A few years ago, Chioma Nnadi—my former editor at Vogue.com and now the head of editorial content for British Vogue—came to me with an idea. The number of after-parties following the Met Gala had skyrocketed, and someone casually mentioned it would be “impossible” for anyone to attend them all. That got Chioma thinking: What if someone actually tried?

So, in 2022, on the first Monday in May—while the Kardashians were still arriving at the Metropolitan Museum of Art—I left to go party. And then party some more.

Over my eight years at Vogue, I’ve been to about 20 Met Gala after-parties. (Probably more, if not for the pandemic.) By May 5—if all goes as planned—that number will likely jump to at least 25.

As I savor my last few nights of restful sleep before my annual social marathon, I took some time to reflect on what I’ve learned during my one night a year as a professional partygoer. Lessons? Maybe. Musings? Sure. Practical advice for anyone attempting multiple dress-code events in a single night? That’s the goal.

Whatever your reason for reading this, here are my tips for surviving (and thriving at) a multi-party night.

### Choose—And Track—Your Poison

I still remember my first drink. Ninth grade, at [name redacted]’s house, with the Black Eyed Peas playing in the background. I had a crush on a tenth grader and wanted to impress him, so I mixed myself a red Gatorade and rum.

Needless to say, it didn’t end well. But the experience did teach me to (somewhat obsessively) track which alcohols work best for me. Champagne? A blast. Tequila? A disaster. Vodka is fine in moderation, but one too many and I’m sending bizarre drunk texts. (Example: “I think about the Salem Witch Trials a lot,” which I actually sent to a guy I’d gone on a date with.) White wine and rosé leave me wide awake at 4 a.m. Red wine, though? I could match Hemingway glass for glass and still run a 5K the next morning.

At my first Met Gala after-party, I drank whatever a waiter handed me—and a lot of it. The next morning, I woke up with a brutal hangover and a crushing sense of dread from the 100 unread emails in my inbox.

In New York, people fall into two categories: The W-2s and the What-Do-You-Dos. If you’re in the first group—like me, with a desk job, a boss, and a working knowledge of Microsoft Office—you have to balance fun with financial reality. Otherwise, you’re one misstep away from disaster. (If you’re in the second group, ignore this and party like Molly Gunn from Uptown Girls—pre-embezzlement—for me.)

These days, I track my drinks in my iPhone Notes app. Call it maturity.

### Celebrities Are Not Like You

Last year, before the Met Gala, I got a “facial” from a celebrity aesthetician. I put “facial” in quotes because whatever they did to my face was… not standard. I was massaged, exfoliated, lasered, moisturized, micro-currented, and subjected to several other treatments I still don’t fully understand, despite detailed explanations. Two hours later, she handed me a mirror. The reflection looked like me—but better.

I didn’t pay for this facial. I couldn’t pay for this facial. Though her prices aren’t listed, similar treatments can cost up to $1,800 per session. It was comped—industry lingo for “free”—and I wasn’t the only one. A major fashion house hosting a Met Gala table had booked her for several guests, who were also being primped to perfection—no price tag attached.

It’s not just facials. Nails, hair, makeup—everything is astronomically expensive by normal standards. A high-end blowout can cost more than your rent. And while celebrities and influencers get these services comped or sponsored, the rest of us? Not so much.

So if you’re planning a multi-party night, remember: Pace yourself, know your limits, and accept that some people operate in a completely different financial universe. Now go forth and party (responsibly).Here’s a clearer and more natural rewrite of your text:

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A high-end makeup artist usually costs over $1,000—same for hair. Many celebrities have dedicated glam teams on retainer, or the brands they work with cover it. Even if you could afford it, you might not have access to the same services. The facialist I see? You can’t book her online—she handpicks her clients. Last I checked, she’s not taking anyone new.

My point? When you see a celebrity on a red carpet or at a glamorous party, their look isn’t just from “drinking water” or “Pilates.” It’s the result of thousands—sometimes tens of thousands—of dollars, plus exclusive, hard-to-get access.

For them, it makes sense. Their image is their livelihood. The facialists, makeup artists, trainers, nutritionists, and dermatologists? Those are business expenses. But don’t look at them—or even me at the Met Gala—and think you need to do the same. The game is rigged. Buy stocks instead.

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Except They Also Lose Their Friends at the Bar

In my dreams, I walk into every Met Gala after-party surrounded by friends. We laugh in cool outfits, take cool selfies, and cool people think we’re cool too.

In reality, I show up alone in a Toyota Sienna UberX, try to catch the PR person’s eye so they’ll let me in, then desperately scan the room for anyone I know. It doesn’t matter who—a frenemy, an ex, someone I suspect is a grifter, even a confirmed grifter. I’ll rush over and lie through my teeth about how great it is to see them. Meanwhile, I’m texting the group chat: “Where is everybody?” followed by SOS emojis.

For a while, this made me feel like a loser. Then I noticed celebrities doing the same thing—awkward small talk, hiding in corners to text, scrolling Instagram while waiting for replies, downing drinks at the bar to ease social anxiety.

I could say something poetic about how we’re all human, but honestly, celebrities live a weird, disorienting life. Still, no one is cool all the time. Sometimes, you’re just alone in a crowded room.

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Maybe Reconsider That Outfit With All the Cut-Outs

This one’s simple: I’ve seen a lot of nip-slips.

Kendall Jenner can pull off outfits 99% of people can’t—including me. Cut-outs? Riskier than you think.

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Take Care of Your Feet (and Yourself)

I have nerve damage in my pinky toe and recurring plantar fasciitis from standing (and, fine, drinking) in heels for way too long. Most people don’t deal with this because, well, they don’t do this to themselves. For years, I numbed my feet with spray so I could dance all night without pain. (Maybe a metaphor for something bigger, but let’s ignore that.)

Now, I wear an ugly “Carex” brace at home and lurk on Reddit under a burner account asking about icing techniques.

Partying takes a toll—on your mind, your skin, and in my case, your feet. “Self-care” can sound obnoxious (or weaponized: “Sorry I forgot your birthday, I have a lot going on!”). But eventually, your body reminds you to slow down.

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Let me know if you’d like any further refinements!Here’s a clearer and more natural version of your text:

“I’m focusing on self-care right now.” But let’s be real: self-care matters. Ponce de Leon’s Fountain of Youth doesn’t exist. Being young and fun won’t make you invincible. Go to therapy, take off your makeup before bed, and wear comfortable shoes.

And with that, I’m getting ready for the First Monday in May. I have no clue what I’m wearing, which parties I’m invited to, or if that fancy facialist will ever have me back at her Upper East Side studio. But one thing’s for sure—I can’t wait to dish all the details with you the next day.