The Grayson Perry
Tapestry or embroidery, preferably British-made; the haunting expression of a mining-town nightclub singer doing The Green Green Grass of Home; hunting tweeds and a monocle, and the Billy-Bob™ teeth listed on their website as Megabucks AKA Tombstones; a "Class War" t-shirt; more Burberry than a soap-opera actress with a missing septum. Definitely not a big, babyish candy-pink dress if you are a man – that is Grayson's thing, and he does it best.
The Matthew Smith
Glitter, platforms and solid-gold-easy-action uniform; Marc Bolan's hair and a corresponding toilet-brush; paper-thin skin, as sung about – creepily – by The Sweet; illicit schoolyard fags; a mirrorball suit; an underage companion in hot-pants; a full George Michael costume, owing to an unfortunate misunderstanding about the venue and the nature of the performance.
The Rachel Whiteread
Boxy grey tailoring; yellowing perspex accessories; window-shaped peepholes; not a stitch, describing your naked body to fellow attendees as "a cast of the negative space inside your clothes."
The Petra Cortright
Lady-Godiva-long, centre-parted hair, like a member of HAIM (who I'm told are very fashionable); a webcam filter which makes you appear to be standing in front of a desert island, or a beach; the approval of the MOMA; something from Opening Ceremony with a burger or a seashell printed on it, or a cat saying "Hang In There, Baby." Good looks, and youth, and an air of being unassailably Now.
The Lucio Fontana
What you are wearing now, as you read this, but with a slash through it.
Lucio Fontana, Milan, 1964; Photo © Estate Ugo Mulas.
The Elmgreen & Dragset
What appear to be Prada clothes, but instead are a humorous and subversive commentary created by placing ersatz Prada clothes on your lumpy, art-appreciator body – an unlikely location.
The David Shrigley
A slogan t-shirt, which makes everyone who sees it laugh upon seeing it for the first time, then provokes a slight sadness and a wistful sort of feeling after further thought; a placard which reads: “I'm Dead Tired Of Art Fairs.”
David Shrigley with his taxidermied artwork of a Jack Russell dog entitled I'm Dead (Picture: Getty).
Selected Works C/O Sebastian Izzard LLC Asian Art
A wink, a smile, and an octopus (placed strategically, and – dare I say it - internally); an open kimono. For pre-cocktail hour: a censorship box; a crowd of delighted art perverts, for coverage.
The Stuart Semple
An inflatible sumo suit, with cotton-wool cloud attachments; something violently floral; yourself in any outfit you like, except you are only a representational hologram, and as such, you are thus spared the long and exhausting rigamarole of actually attending Frieze. The development of a personal hologram, incidentally, might also prove to be the key to:
The Hans Ulrich Obrist
This is an impossible task, as it requires both omnipresence and omniscience; one may begin with, say, a cornflower-blue suit (Artspace describes his "sartorial flourish" as "a blazer with no tie") but ultimately, there is no room for false idols at Frieze. Accept no substitutes, and don't even attempt to Do It.
(Image at top: Grayson Perry, The Expulsion from Number 8 Eden Close, 2012, Wool, cotton, acrylic, polyester and silk tapestry, 200 x 400cm; courtesy Victoria Miro Gallery.)