Even if you’re not a professional model, New York City pays you to be attractive. I was recently invited to an influencer dinner. When new bars and restaurants open up, they need publicity. Promoters and influencers are offered a private party and free food, in exchange for hashtags. Guest list are curated to around 10-20 people who are decent-looking and fashionable enough to post aesthetic stories and reels to draw in more business. The photography is fantastic and the dress code is strict. That’s how I found myself in a lacy, satin two-piece and stilettos in freezing rain at a new, upscale speakeasy on the Lower East Side one December evening at 9:30pm.
Everyone was impeccably turned out. Everyone was on their phones (which had ring lights attached for optimal selfies). Some hungrily reached for the charcuterie boards and endive salads placed in front of us while others pushed their food around.
I probably appeared incredibly stuck up. Not only was I on my phone as well (texting the friend who brought me, saying that I was incredibly bored), but I didn’t eat a thing. Don’t get me wrong, I go to EVERY. SINGLE. EVENT with free food FOR the free food, but my stomach hurt, so I sipped a whiskey cocktail that probably made it hurt more. Despite my pain, my drink was circulated around the table because the orchid garnishing it was very photogenic.
It’s funny how social settings bring out different facets of people.
At corporate parties, I know exactly how to work the room. You say “hi” to everyone, especially those you don’t know, compliment some aspect of their attire, and exchange elevator pitches. Your vintage or couture pieces will get the recognition they deserve. It’s perfectly appropriate for your humor to be a tad inappropriate, just to prove you don’t have a stick up your ass all seven days of the week. Everyone is just crass enough to make people more comfortable but not so crude that they’re uncomfortable again. Lighthearted jokes about what drink you’re already on, recreational drugs, or the assholes you’ve encountered are like tart cherries garnishing your otherwise elegant cocktail. You’ll cheers to lessons learned in therapy or laugh about your most recent dating app fail. Plus you’re incredibly likely to run into fellow NYU, FIT, or Parsons alumni or former coworkers in your field, in which case there’s an instant kinship. You’ll become a clan, drift off to chat with others, and then pool back together to gossip about them.
At family events, I’m useless. I’ll probably sit and say nothing the entire time. My “fuck marriage, fuck kids” attitude won’t go over well the way it does at open-bar events where most people have gone to escape their spouses and children. In fact, my supervisor recently told me about the affairs that often occur at those office holiday parties. Whereas these relatives have actually made the time to meet because they like each other, or at the very least are pretending and expect you to pretend also. The outfits that would be conservative in the city make me overdressed and gaudy. Heavy layers of makeup contour you differently under kitchen lights versus dim lounge lighting.
The influencer dinner was like the worst of both worlds. It had the fake niceties of family functions, with the image-maintenance required of corporate gatherings. It must’ve meant something to someone though, because the people next to me were approached by strangers who recognized them from TikTok. Those not admitted to our table hovered around, trying to clink glasses with us, as if the touch of our drink would heal them of their social leprosy.
In the end, I told my friend I was leaving after about half an hour. She anxiously said, “We can’t! It’ll look bad!” I stared at her, “Do you care what these people think of you?” She demurred, but I knew what I wanted and feeling held hostage anywhere caused me to immediately flee.
“I have to head out,” I told the event organizer.
“Where are you going?” She stared back blankly, as if there was no other place on earth I could possibly go at the same time as her dinner party.
“I have somewhere to be,” I said, “Thank you for everything though.”
To be clear, I love fashion, I love brand design, I love dressing up for free food, and I use Instagram often to the point where people are surprised when I vocalize my dislike for it. However, if I could make social media disappear from the world, I would. And sitting at a table full of strangers who were silently judging each other felt like an incredible waste of my time. I truly have never been to an event so boring, with strangers so vapid. From now on, I’m going to stick to photoshoots and nights out with people I actually like, because that new bar got way more out of my makeup than I did.
Save Your Makeup,
BrainwaveBlog ❤️