Inside the party, fashion’s coolest—second daughter Ella Elmhoff, stylist and newly-Lichtenstein yellow Dara Allen, singer King Princess, comedian Kate Berlant—mix and mingle until we are ushered upstairs to the main event. The verdant tablescape has cold noodles from Momofuku waiting, and we’re encouraged to dig in. And after a word of thanks from our hosts, suddenly Berlant, almost in a guerilla-style coup (which she later tells me was a “performance interruption”), grabs the mic. “I can’t help but notice how this area between the table looks like a runway….” she teases. Oh shit. “This is an improvised toast turned runway show!” Berlant declares, then gives us a walk, fluffing her Julia Roberts curls as she goes.

Immediately, the crowd starts to clap and scream. Real models, musicians, and more all take a spin at walking while a single lit cigarette—both modeling prop and mignardises—is passed hand to hand. Jemima Kirke takes a puff while going chair-to-chair asking, “Do you have a pair of sunglasses?” It was 9:30 pm, so I hadn’t packed a pair, but the sartorially prepared Julia Hobbs shares hers. Shirts are coming off, the crowd is screaming, Berlant is begging for more models—and I’m glued to my seat. As singer Loren Kramar freestyles R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion,” but all I think is I’m going to lose my dinner if I have to get up there.

Photographed by Hunter Abrams