Standing with The Plastics, and Hud, at Intermix.
We can’t decide what’s louder, the flashbulbs or the chatter, and suddenly I feel a tug on my tee, and Fabian says “excuse me” and Martina giggles.
That’s definitely our cue.
Outside the cobblestones are damp and Elisabeth’s still holding her wine. They play The Stones, and then she says, “I like this party. I’ll never find a boyfriend here.”
Fast forward two hours, and I’m pushing towards Jordan at Webster Hall, and the guy behind me yells to his friend, “sometimes you hear Nirvana and it tears your heart.”
Fast forward again.
This morning there’s a purple line down my wrist, and I can’t remember if it’s when I saw this Matthew Williamson dress and had to stop myself, or when Sarah hugged me so hard at Spin, I almost fell over.
Probably both.
[ARIANNE GOLD - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]