Nicholas Gazin, 23

Eighth Ave and 48th St

Nicholas Gazin

Nicholas Gazin Photograph by Jay Muhlin

"This is my moving outfit. It's the absolute least stylish clothing I own. Usually I'm covered in punky junk—lots and lots of patches—or English suits. Or costumes that I've made from children's curtain fabric."

What are you up to? I'm moving apartments.

You preened your Dal 'stache nicely for moving day. I always have to. Otherwise it looks really gross—kind of like face pubes. Not something you'd want near you or near children.

But this way you can go near children? Uh, no closer than, like, ten feet. Just kidding. Kids love the mustache. I'm a big clown.

Where are you moving? From Hell's Kitchen to Greenpoint.

Do you have much stuff to transport? Lots. I've got a gigantic turntable that I'm afraid will get dropped along the way.

Are you a DJ? Sometimes. I'm deejaying this week at a goofy goth party called Bloody Mondays. I like to call it Fudgy Mondays because of how chubby most goth girls are.

Picky, picky. They all show up in bondage gear—really chubby girls squeezing their boobs into bustiers and fishnets, and they kinda look like...the other white meat.

Ha! You're about to alienate your audience. Well, goth is a really stupid thing. Punk is silly, but goth is downright nauseating. It doesn't have a sense of humor about itself. My DJ name, by the way, is DJ Ding Dong Diddily Doofus.

Hot. What else do you do? I was the editor-in-chief of a magazine called Trashed up until December. And I perform in a jokey band.

What's it called? No, We Are Thor.

Thor? No, the name is No, We Are Thor. We sing a lot of goofy songs. There's one about wrestling and a song about my dad, 'cause he's dating a 19-year-old....

For real? Yeah; it's called "My Dad Fucks the Kids."

Kids? He must not have a face-pube mustache, then. No. But he's way weirder than I am.—Kate Lowenstein