The Party Circuit
In Which Emma Does Not Beat the Cozy Allegations
It has been many years since I wrote semi daily updates from Graz, Austria where I told my parents about the trials and tribulations of my first time really away from home. Now, I am an adult (of a sort) and making my own way (in a way). Normally I call my parents and tell them everything that has ever happened to me, but due to my insane social schedule I have exacerbated my laryngitis to the point where I can only make two sounds: Boy going through puberty and girl who has experienced a witches curse which turns her into a frog. I want to save my vocal steam for the 6.5 hour barista shift I shall have later today (freelance writer life y’all). So now, because I cannot resist talking, I have decided to start a newsletter that hopefully someone will read.
Last week I went with a good friend to a party he helped get me into. It was a bizarre affair. The idea was that data can help us find love and it was hosted by {REDACTED} who is alternately known as "a big data analytics guy" and "a Gatsby-like figure in the New York Tech community." These three things made me doubtful that I would enjoy this party because I am fundamentally opposed to a data-based approach to love, I hate tech and finance people, and I also hate data analytics (it reminds me too much of Fundamentals of Econ which was not a romantic experience for me). But, despite everything I am first a curious person who wants to know what is going on and a hater only second, so there I was.
The party was hosted in a loft apartment on the Bowery. Friend and I got there early enough that we made it in, but approximately 10 minutes after we showed up the line stretched out the door, down the stairs and into the street. The invite had encouraged costumes, but I felt relieved that I had not gone too hard, because most people were NOT wearing costumes. (How boring!?) Half of the women had attempted SOMETHING, but most of the men were just wearing button up shirts.
Once we arrived we were given numbers and colorful wristbands. I was yellow, friend was green. Then we were set loose to mingle. The idea was that a data analytics program had taken all our data (we had filled out an extensive survey prior to arrival) and that our most compatible match was with a 90% likelihood to be in our wristband color cluster. I quickly discovered that the majority of people with yellow wristbands were boring. This was disappointing. Also all of the men with yellow wristbands were slightly balding in a way that indicated to me that they were well above the age bracket I would consider dating. I found a number of men with blue wristbands attractive but it was difficult to speak with anyone because the music was so loud and also, I sounded like a frog. People weren't really dancing, they were all attempting to speak to one another, but no one could hear anyone, so this was in some ways a comic disaster. I eventually escaped to the roof where I found Friend, who had also escaped to the roof for the joys of- being cold, getting second hand smoke poisoning from all the rooftop smokers, and actually being able to have a conversation since you could hear people up there. On the roof I found one man with a blue wristband who I had wanted to talk to earlier, but we'd had a hearing issue and the convo had been cut short. On the roof I was able to assess his deficient personality. Despite his beautiful mustache he seemed oddly into Mens Self Help gurus. When he went back down to the party I was a little sad but not crushed.
Eventually Friend and I ended up in a conversation circle where everyone was nice and interesting. It turns out that everyone with an orange wristband was polyamorous. This was disappointing because they were the only fun people at the party and I happen to NOT be polyamorous. A girl I met with a yellow wristband who wasn’t boring agreed that all the yellow people were boring, and had traded with a friend for an orange wristband which had massively improved her experience. We were offended by our yellow wristbands. How had we answered the survey so wrong? We wondered if this meant that we were reasonable people, or not into Effective Altruism, or liked to go to bed on time. We thought for a while that the blue wristband people were spiritual but then kept meeting people wearing blue wristbands who were atheists, so this idea did not hold up to scrutiny.
A couple other anecdotes from the night worth sharing:
A relationship expert wearing a coat with impressive pink shag told me that the best way to get to know if you are compatible with someone is not TALKING, but spending the first half of your date engaging in a physical activity where you get a sense of if they give you the ick. I really thought she was saying to have sex with people first and talk later, but she insisted she wasn’t. She also said to always facetime people from dating apps before you meet them in person. During this conversation I had the intense sense that she hated me.
The party was filled with {redacted} (I cannot say their name without fully giving away the name of the party) who were mainly attractive young women in colorful wigs in lab coats holding clipboards. If you met someone you liked you were supposed to remember their number (we were all given numbers) and report it to a lab coat who would do complex calculus on your compatibility.
People scoffed at astrology pretty intensely during this party because it was about DATA not THE STARS and all that mumbo jumbo, but there was an astrology room where a lady would give you a chart reading. The line for this room was very intense but I actually really liked the people I met there. I remembered none of their numbers and did not report them to the clipboard lab coat ladies like I was supposed to.
I later saw this tweet about the party which I think summed up the problems with the whole thing pretty well:
After 1:07 am Friend and I decided we were too cold and left for the subway. I had no voice left, and I had had an interesting experience. The party raged til 4:00 am at least and I heard that someone got carried out on a stretcher at some point. To quote Roz Chast:
Perhaps I am a yellow wristband after all.
Tata for now,
Your socialite friend,
Emma