Goodness, am I glad that for New Year’s, I didn’t have to go to a club that requires a minidress and heels. There really is no faster way to turn me into Miss Bitchface than to ask me to wobble through sub-freezing temperatures with my legs exposed, then try to dance for hours while fire-y pain is searing the balls of my feet.
Instead, our friends hosted a “No Frills New Year’s Party”(pics at Societé Perriere) at a loft in Williamsburg, with 11 of our friends spinning tunes from 9 p.m. to 8 a.m. Entry was free, and you brought your own alcohol. You only needed to know someone who could text you the address. I invited an old friend of mine, Vicki, to come. She’s been asking to come out dancing with me for a while, and this was the perfect night to do so. A couple hours before, she texted me, “So, what should I wear?”
“Comfortable shoes. Black. Irony,” I texted her back. “No, but seriously, no one gives a shit what you wear. A skirt, tights and boots?”
What I love about these types of parties is that you can come as you are in whatever suits you. I saw t-shirts, sparkly dresses, a couple fur coats, jeans, silk harem pants, a straw boater hat, suits and ties, sweatshirts, and a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember because it was unremarkable. I mean, people were there for the music, not to show off.
Still, I always try to inject a dose of creativity into my outfits, even if it is “just” a warehouse/loft party.