​     Twiddling my thumbs because it’s 8:30. My roommate Adriana said she’d be here at 8 so that we could’ve left the house by now. Hmm. I guess I should figure out what I’m going to wear. And with what shoes. Since it’s a fashion party, I should probably take some kind of fashion risk. I got it! Heels with socks. That’s an “in” thing, right? And it’ll make whatever shoes I’m wearing instantly more comfortable. Perfect. Adriana’s got some cute hot pink chunky-looking heels that’ll look good with my gray socks. Also, I’ll wear my green military jacket. I know those are both fashion do’s so even if I look completely different from anyone else, I’ll still be subversively fashionable; my M.O. Adriana’s here! She rushes in and I’m slowly walking behind her. “Hey, can I borrow some shoes? The pink ones.” She looks at me and gives me a pained “no.” It pains me more, but only slightly. No matter. I’ll wear something else with socks–my brown leather moccasins that are ridiculously comfortable and cost a mere $6 at Goodwill. The best way to look fashion-forward (if you are using a phrase like this, you most likely are not so) is to do it without paying an arm and a leg. In other words, limbs needn’t be metaphorically sacrificed to give a good fashion impression. Okay, black skirt, white v-neck t-shirt, green military jacket, colorful necklace, brown pre-owned moccasins (the jacket is also pre-owned, mind you) with socks! I’m ready for a fashion party! “Aren’t you going to wear make-up?” Adriana asks me. “Nah, I don’t think so; I feel most comfortable not.”
​

After considerable subway riding, we arrive at the party’s destination. The Hudson Hotel. Swanky. Interesting. After my hand is stamped with a spider image, we are led into an elevator with green and pink lights, everything else dark. Edgy. Then we have to go up a few flights of fire stairs (you know, the stairs one is only supposed to use in the event of a fire because they’re both aesthetically uninviting and smelly). Well, after a few less than serendipitous moments, we arrive at the party and almost everyone looks the same: evidently dyed hair, Betsey Johnson poufy intricate dresses, and tattoos…not to mention heavy makeup. Not my look at all. If straying from the norm and taking risks makes one more fashionable, I must be the most fashionable one here, though I certainly feel like at any moment Betsey Johnson herself is going to pluck me by my used military jacket collar and throw me out, deep humiliation to later ensue.
​

The party’s spread out over two rooms. One of which is significantly more crowded than the other. One of these is where the bar is located, so it’s not the most difficult task to guess which room has the most people. Almost as soon as I walk in and gauge my surroundings, I look around more carefully to see if there are any celebrities. Nope. I thought these things were supposed to be crawling with the mildly famous. Oh well. Let me take advantage of the gratuitous libations. Only vodka? Not a problem. I admit that while there are no celebrities, everyone I see is pretty damn attractive. I bask in this fact while I sip on $1 (tip included) vodka & ginger ale cocktail.

​This place is actually pretty cool. There’s unique, slightly provocative artwork on the walls. Adriana has disappeared with her date and our friends Anika and Tunga want to take pictures with the boobalicious drawings. Unfortunately this is when I realize that my camera is severely malfunctioning: every picture comes out blurry. I know I’m not drunk (yet). The camera is to blame! We take several pictures until we spot our first celebrity. That is, the back of one. Anika notices first. The girl has cameras all around her and she is being interviewed by some wildly dressed woman. Oh, it’s Kelly Osbourne. Wow she is so skinny!
​

After a bit of dancing in the large and empty room, a thought takes over my mind: I must get an interview with Kelly. She’s the only celebrity here and not a very big one at that (in more than one way). She’s approachable. I had earlier realized that there was a third part room upstairs. The VIP room, perhaps? I disappear from the dance floor and head over to the VIP line. This is ironic because since when do VIP’s stand in line? Luckily, the spider on my hand from before makes getting up there a complete breeze. There are crowds everywhere…mostly nobodies. Then I notice Betsey’s loud hair and general presence. The fete is for her, after all. The colors in the room are very warm. Once I see Betsey, I immediately spot Kelly. I stealthily make my way through the crowd and luckily get to her as she’s exiting through a back door. She’s with two other women, one of which is her stylist, I find out. She seems wary of me, as well she should be, I am approaching her in a dimly lit hallway.
​

“Hi, Kelly?”

​“Hi.”

​“I work for Dialect. I was wondering if I could interview you?”

​“Nylon?”

“No, Dialect.”

​“Oh, okay. Well, email me. I’m Kelly’s stylist. Search on Google for Kelly’s stylist. Then add @att.net.”

​“Okay.”

​Then Kelly said “I like your moccasins.”
​

Ah. Redeemed. Aside from getting my blurry picture taken with a minute Omarion, the rest of the night was mostly uneventful.