The Tamesis
I was biting into a flaky croissant when Chloe Malle called and asked if I’d like to spearhead this year’s “I tried to attend every Met Gala after-party” story. I blurted out “yes” before she could finish. Covered in crumbs, he looks more like a fledgling Andy Sachs The queen wears prada Compared to future Met Gala attendees, I accepted the challenge. It felt less like work and more like a challenge.
I boarded a flight out of LAX with a pale pink Rimowa suitcase, and the contents suggested I had big plans. Inside is a 1980s Saint Laurent black tulle puff skirt dress and a pair of 6-inch Brian Atwood patent leather heels. Clothes make me believe I belong in the room I’m covering, while heels guarantee a higher perspective.
I returned to the city where I had lived for more than a decade, this time as a professional interloper. Two of my closest friends—artist Anna Weyant and actress Lily-Rose Depp who are on this year’s hosting committee—will be at the actual gala. I would circle it like a moth, trying to attend every after-party to see what would happen at the end of the world’s most photographed dinner.
At 9:30 p.m., my Blacklane driver picked me up in a pitch-black Escalade from the Bowery Hotel, where I’d spent the past two hours watching YouTube tutorials on the perfect smokey eye. The party itself ends at this point, with most attendees heading back to their hotels to change into more comfortable or bolder clothes before heading off to the after-party.
My original plan was to stop at the Mark Hotel, the unofficial headquarters of the Met Gala just a few blocks from the Steps, where many guests and brands prepare to spend the night. But when I headed uptown, I decided at the last minute to skip the Mark and go straight to the Carlyle.
First stop: Carlyle Hotel
I arrived at the Carlisle Hotel at 10pm sharp. The entire neighborhood was cordoned off, so I was forced to walk in humiliating circles in public in six-inch heels, waddling like a newborn fawn. At one point, I considered crossing the barricade and making headlines.
When I finally got in, blushing, the party was…empty. The Met Gala isn’t over yet, no one has changed, and no one has arrived. It was just me, among a group of well-dressed PR girls.
As I sat alone on a bench jotting down notes, the buzz of live jazz came from the Bemelman bar. I took some really cute photos of the Madeleine lamp that matches the Ludwig Bemelmann mural, although technically I should have reported it rather than combined it with the light fixture. I saw Coco Rocha across the bar with her Maleficent hair and some vanity fair Writers gathered at the bar to order drinks. Someone mentioned that the Met hasn’t released yet, which means I’m both early and late to whatever social ecosystem is unfolding in Manhattan. I considered my options, whether to stay here and continue admiring the lights, or to return to my car and find the next spot.
Stop Two: GQ After Party, co-hosted by Chase Infiniti, Damson Idris, Lisa, Paul Anthony Kelly and Samuel Hine
I headed to GQ’s Café Zaffri at The 22 in the city center, where things immediately changed. A bartender opened a bottle of champagne with so much force that the cork bounced off the wall, nearly blinding a man. It felt like this was the busiest time in the whole room.
