So that’s what we are doing. “What do you think is going to be the best party?” He asks me. “I think this party is going to be pretty good,” I respond, waving in Leonardo DiCaprio’s general direction. He crinkles his nose. “A lot of people are still at Tom Ford.”
I’m caught off guard. I had no idea about Tom Ford—which isn’t great, as my whole job tonight is to know about things like Tom Ford. Worst of all, I’m too shitty a liar to even feign that I did. “I didn’t hear about that one,” I say sheepishly. I scan his expression for any hints of smugness.
There’s none. Tom Ford wasn’t meant to be a flex. Like so many others out tonight, he just wants to be at what I call the B.P.: the best party.
The B.P. is, first of all, almost impossible to get into. You spend a few days or even weeks trying to suss out who, exactly, you gotta talk to get invited to this. Then the email, or maybe the text comes through: you’re on the list. You may act like you always knew it was a sure thing. But deep down, some part of you feels a level of validation, like some social deity has finally issued a divine edict from the heavens above: I forever declare she’s cool!
When you get to the B.P., there’s always a crowd of people at the door. These people have come to the B.P. thinking that a bouncer will let them in because they are beautiful, well-dressed, or both. But that’s not enough to gain entry into B.P. To get into the B.P., you need to have a name worth dropping. Preferably, it’s yours. It can also be a close friend. (It cannot, however, be an acquaintance. Deep down, you’ll always know that you were a plus two or a plus three, and that your connection to this glamorous world was a thin, tenuous one.)
And when you finally do walk into the B.P,—with its cool room, cool music, and cool celebrities—every feeling of F.O.M.O, you evaporates. There’s no other place you’d rather be than right here, right now.
So I simply smile at him. “This is going to be so fun,” I say. I’m telling the truth. Stella McCartney knows how to throw a party, as does Juan Santa Cruz, the proprietor of Casa Cruz. It’s early, but already, I saw people migrating downstairs to the deejay. I give him a hug and head out on my way. Outside, they are handing out personal pizzas. I grab a box. Like for any marathon, it’s probably best if I carb-load.
Party Four: Cardi B x Revolve x Forward at Silencio
Cardi B is hosting a party at Silencio, a new Midtown club designed by Harry Nuriev that feels like you’re in the red room from Twin Peaks. The gown I wore to the museum is way too formal for this, so I change into a slinky black Dolce & Gabbana dress for the more raucous occasion.