To score one of the coveted 450 invites to theMet Gala, you have to be somebody.
You cant just be an actor.
You have to be an actor in a hit movie.
Lil Nas X, Camila Cabello, FKA Twigs, and Koreless at The Top of the Standard’s After Party.
You cant just be a model.
And you cant just be someone with cash.
You have to have clout.
Sofia Coppola at Cartier’s post-Met Gala party.
But to get invited to aMet Gala after-party?
Honestly, Im one of them.
Ive been to seven Met Galas, but its incorrect to say I attended.
Lewis Hamilton, Stella McCartney, Serena Williams, Karlie Kloss at McCartney’s Casa Cruz after party.
Im not schmoozing with Rihanna or Kendall Jenner over champagne.
Instead, I am working.
(Or that one year when I assisted with media credential check-in and wassupposedto look out for party crashers.
Chloë Sevigny and Elle Fanning at the Loewe party.
I said, frantically trying to catch the eye of the Met security guard.)
But the dichotomy between going and attending the Met?
That disappears once the main event is over.
Lauren Sanchez and Jeff Bezos at the Top of the Standard.
Luckily, Ive always managed to snag a legitimate invite to many of the late-night parties that follow.
Sometimes its because Im writing about them.
Sometimes its just because I know the right people.
In 2022, I was approached by Vogue.coms then-editor, Chioma Nnadi.
She noticed I was always out and about after the Met Gala.
She had a fun idea: this year, shed heard of around a dozen after-parties.
It was my most ambitious yet, withover14parties on my list.
Ill be upfront: I didn’t even come close to making them all.
But boy, it was pretty wild to fail.
I arrive at 10:02 p.m.
My promptness was no small feat, by the way.
Im attending an event at The Mark, I tell him.
Mind if I come through?
He gives me a quick up and down.
Im wearing a Marchesa ball gown, which makes me seem legitimate.
But Im also carrying ahugeL.L.
This makes me seem…less legitimate.
After a few seconds of silence, he finally shrugs.
I arrive to a near-empty room.
This is in no way a reflection of Burberry.
All of the partys co-hosts and half their invited guests were still there.
Probablylistening to Ariana Grande.
So for now, its just me and a few people by the bar.
What time do you think everyone will get here?
A guy nursing a chilled martini asks me.
I have no idea, I say back.
Id say achieving a critical mass of celebrities is like herding cats.
Theyll show up if and when they want to.
(At this point in the night, Istillthink I can just about do 14 stops.)
I head back out onto 77th Street.
Caviar Kaspia will be just another room Ill never know what happened in.
Theres a pack of paparazzi stationed outside The Mark, waiting to turn their flashes on famous faces.
Of which I am not one.
So instead they look at me with vague disinterest, disappointment, or not at all.
One, out of either pity or confusion, takes a quick snap.
Thanks, I say appreciatively.
Im pretty sure he deletes it as soon as I walk away.
Sofia Coppola at Cartiers post-Met Gala party.
Is…is that a bellhop in a custom Cartier uniform?
I ask my friend Larry as we walk into Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel.
Its a rhetorical question.
It just feels cool.
Elle Fanning, radiant in a silver dress, talks to Molly Shannon.
)I watch Sofia Coppola effortlessly pose for the cameras wearing Chanel.
Ive been at enough of these things that I usually dont feel starstruck.
But with her I do.
(In 2024, Im going to be more aloof, I texted my best friend on January 1.
Lol, she responded.)
I had to hold back tearssomehow both surprised at the power of my insecurity and not at all.
But Im at a party and I aint unpacking all of that.
We do a lap of the room together as a pianist croons smooth jazz.
In my field of vision, I see two people.
The first is a waiter carrying a tray of drinks.
The second is Jude Law.
We collide, and he grabs my arm as we both slightly stumble.
I have no idea what happened next, as I was too busy staring into his hypnotizing blue eyes.
Larry tells me it was a sincere apology and something about not wanting to knock over the glasses.
Did I sense a vibe?
He has so much that hes monetized it formillions.
As I walk back out onto Madison Avenue, I hear Jon Batiste break out into song.
Lewis Hamilton, Stella McCartney, Serena Williams, Karlie Kloss at McCartneys Casa Cruz after party.
Leonardo DiCaprio is surrounded by a possewhen is he not?that at one point includes Ed Sheeran.
I run into a party friend.
A party friend, however, is someone youonlysee at a party andonlytalkabout parties with.
So thats what we are doing.
What do you think is going to be the best party?
He crinkles his nose.
A lot of people are still at Tom Ford.
Im caught off guard.
Worst of all, Im too shitty a liar to even feign that I did.
I didnt hear about that one, I say sheepishly.
I scan his expression for any hints of smugness.
Tom Ford wasnt 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.
is, first of all, almost impossible to get into.
Then the email, or maybe the text comes through:youre on the list.
You may act like you always knew it was a sure thing.
When you get to the B.P., theres 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 thats not enough to gain entry into B.P.
To get into the B.P., you oughta have a name worth dropping.
Preferably, its yours.
It can also be a close friend.
(It cannot, however, be an acquaintance.
Theres no other place youd rather be than right here, right now.
So I simply smile at him.
This is going to be so fun, I say.
Im telling the truth.
Its 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, its probably best if I carb-load.
A bouncer lets Larry, our friend Ian, and I glide past the red velvet rope.
The music is blasting.
Is it her table?
No clue, but suddenly Im at it.
A tequila shot is put in front of me and I throw it back.
It does not go down well.
Everyone dances while I slightly gag in a corner.
People talk at me and I just keep saying, Thats amazing.
I have no clue if what theyre saying is amazing.
Chloe Sevigny and Elle Fanning at the Loewe party.
(Even then they didnt name an actual place, just a street address in NoHo.)
I had tried to find out a lot earlier than that.
The only thing I got back were false leads and red herrings:Its the Lower East Side.
I dont think its happening at all.Thankfully, my colleague Lilah Ramzi figured it out.
She added my name to the list the Friday before.
I fist-pumped in front of her at the office.
Elise Taylor, I say to a small army of iPad-wielding people at the door.
They swipe and give the signal:She can come in.
GerbersBottomsco-star and friend-slash-Instagram troll, Ayo Edebiri, is also milling around.
Meanwhile, Chloe Sevigny sits at a table… cooly.
(I swear to you theres no better adverb to use.)
Jamie Dornan and his striped polo are back.
Waiters pass around burgers and fries that are flying off their trays.
At the bar, Andrew Scott is joyfully lifting a woman in the air.
(Later, I will learn this woman was Kylie Minogue.)
While cheering, I accidentally bump into Kieran Culkin for thesecondtime tonight.
Phoebe Dynevor is on the dance floor, as is herBridgertonco-star Jonathan Bailey, anddamnare those two dynamic people.
Everyones drawn to their energy, and suddenly, it seems like everyone is dancing alongside them in time.
Including meand I stay there for quite some time that I end up losing track of it entirely.
At some point, Larry is spinning me and were both laughing.
Is this the best party?
At this point, Ive been to around 25 Met Gala afters.
And let me tell you something: Im not sure the B.P.
But in this moment, it feels like yes.
Its well past 3 a.m. when Larry and I arrive at The Mulberry, an intimate bar in Nolita.
It sounds nice after the lavish, high-budget events weve come from.
As were heading in, Christian Siriano, holding the massive train of Coco Rocha, is heading out.
We have to step to the side to let them pass.
We do one lap, but we cant do any more than that.
The New York bars close at 4 a.m.
I know Im not going to make all 14, or even 10.
But I want to hitat leasttwo more stops.
A person with an iPad is a person with a list.
And a person with a list means theres still a party that said people on the list can attend.
Elise Taylor, I say to him.
He just gives a blank stare.
Were not letting anyone up.
But Im on the list.
He waves his iPad-less hand.
I dont have a list.
Im not ready to admit defeat.
I see a group of people heading up the elevator behind me and point.
He looks back, confused.
Miss, they work here.
Larry and I lock eyes.
Our party is finally over.
