You might have heard this story before—the one where a Vogue writer (that’s me) attempts to hit every single Met Gala after-party. I’ve written about it four times over four years. Back in 2022, my then-boss Chioma Nnadi—now British Vogue’s head of editorial content—dreamed up the idea when she heard there were five post-Met parties following the “In America: An Anthology of Fashion” gala. The number seemed ridiculous. Would I try to go to all of them and write about it? Absolutely. It’s since become a yearly tradition.
Neither Chioma nor I realized how tame that first year was. This time, for the 2025 Met Gala, there were 17—yes, 17—after-parties. A social marathon just five shy of Homer’s 24-book epic. “You’re joking,” I said to Lilah Ramzi, Vogue’s parties editor, when she added the eleventh event to my list: Alicia Keys and Swizz Beatz’s rollerblade disco at Xanadu Roller Arts in Brooklyn. She swore she wasn’t. Then she started a new row in our shared spreadsheet for a twelfth—A$AP Rocky at Jean’s. The count kept climbing until 5:49 p.m. on May 4, when she added the 17th and final entry: Janelle Monáe and Doechii at the Public Hotel.
At 10:30 p.m. the next night, just as Usher took the Met Gala stage, I set out in a $150 Emilia Wickstead gown from The RealReal, armed with a Duane Reade umbrella and a wild dream of hitting every party.
Spoiler: I didn’t. But like Homer’s Odyssey, the attempt was epic.
### Party One: Willy Chavaria & Don Julio at The Mark Hotel
I arrive at The Mark Hotel at 10:30 p.m. for Willy Chavaria’s Don Julio bash. No celebrities yet—they’re still at the Met listening to Usher—but the place is packed. The Mark is a go-to getting-ready spot for gala attendees, and now that the stars have left, their stylists, agents, and glam teams are finally free. And ready to drink.
The main topic? Not this party, but the next one. “I think I’ll hit GQ, then Pharrell’s,” one stylist says. “Is A$AP Rocky worth it?” another asks.
This is what I call a “starter party”—the warm-up before the real action. Criteria: convenient location, easy drinks, and no awkwardness walking in alone. Everyone here seems to be meeting up before scattering to more exclusive spots.
Or maybe not. As I leave with my friend Laurence, a waiter sets up VIP-style bottle service tables. For some, this is the main event.
### Party Two: Cartier at The Carlyle
Calling Cartier’s annual soirée at Bemelmans Bar just a “party” feels like an understatement. It’s effortlessly chic: white-jacketed waiters pass champagne and sausage rolls on silver trays while bartenders mix espresso martinis under Ludwig Bemelmans’ whimsical murals. I grab a drink and settle in for my favorite pastime—people-watching.
Jeremy Allen White walks in alone, hands in pockets. Louis Partridge chats politely with Cartier staff about his first Met Gala. Quinta Brunson mingles.
But something’s off. These are great names, but Cartier’s party is usually the celebrity hotspot. Tonight? Most of the A-listers are… missing. Which makes me wonder—where is everyone?Where the hell is everyone? I check my watch—midnight.
“Let’s go,” I tell Laurence. “They must all be at the GQ party.”
We step back into the rain, only to realize everyone else is just arriving. Later, I find out Emma Chamberlain, Aimee Lou Wood, Lana Del Rey, Miley Cyrus, Ayo Edebiri, Jeff Goldblum, Colman Domingo, and a bunch of other famous faces showed up right after we left. Del Rey even did a surprise performance of “Candy Necklace” with Jon Batiste. Turns out, they weren’t at some other party—I just didn’t wait long enough.
### Party Three: GQ’s After-Party
Co-hosted by Will Welch, André 3000, Grace Wales Bonner, Law Roach, and Anok Yai, GQ’s post-Met bash is at The Twenty Two’s Café Zaffri—a restaurant-slash-private club that’s one of the hardest reservations in NYC right now. In short: a trendy party at a trendy spot with trendy people.
I’ve swapped my Met Gala ballgown for a Monse mini dress. Or at least, I tried to. “I swear it fits!” I insist as my friend Ian wrestles it over my head in the back of an SUV. Spoiler: it didn’t. Now I’m clutching my bag strategically to hide my broken zipper, and Ian’s hand is bleeding. But hey, Hailey Bieber and Kendall Jenner are here in minidresses too, so it’s all good, right? I ask Ian—who’s still nursing his hand—and he agrees. I grab a margarita at the bar.
A stylist friend checks my Excel sheet of party stops and zeroes in on entry #9: Walton Goggins’ after-party at The Mulberry, starting at 2 a.m. “Sounds like a coke fest,” he mutters.
### Party Four: People’s
Ayo Edebiri, Jeremy O. Harris, Tyler Mitchell, and others are hosting an “intimate” after-party at People’s, a Greenwich Village lounge that’s become a cult favorite since opening this fall. But when doorman Frankie Carattini (in Thom Browne, no less) lets me in, I realize “intimate” means about 100 people—most of them extremely famous.
Robert Pattinson is deep in conversation with Jeremy Allen White, soon joined by Suki Waterhouse. Tracee Ellis Ross and Diana Ross snap mother-daughter selfies in a corner. Someone tries to photograph two women—one in a crisp button-down, the other in a crop top—who Laurence and I quickly recognize as Charli XCX and Lorde. We duck out of the shot just in time. The Dare lights a cigarette inside, and soon, a whole crew follows.
By 2:30 a.m., I know I should leave if I want to hit more stops. But with rumors that Jennie is on her way, it’s hard to walk out.
As I reluctantly head into the rain, Jeremy O. Harris stops me. “Where are you going?” he asks, cigarette in hand.
“Baz’s party at Monsieur,” I say.
He grins. “Blow Baz a kiss for me.”
### Party Five: Baz Luhrmann’s After-Party at Monsieur
“I swear I’m on your list,” I plead with the doorman at Monsieur, Baz Luhrmann and Jon Neidich’s East Village lounge.
“I don’t see your name,” he replies flatly.
A sprinter van pulls up, and a group of effortlessly stylish people hop out. One of them—a male model I always see out—glances at me. “Need help getting in?” he offers, breezing past the rope before I can even answer.
The rain picks up. My mascara starts running.
Just as I’m about to slink away in soggy defeat, Neidich—The doorman swings the door open to let me in. I flash him a sweet smile—See? Told you I was on the list!—before stepping inside. Luhrmann’s holding court in a private room with his wife, Catherine Martin, while people dance wildly on the floor.
But I’m distracted. A friend just texted me from Meatpacking, where Pharrell’s hosting an Uno tournament at The Crane Club. Rumor has it they’re giving out Rolexes as prizes. Laurence reaches for my hand to dance, but I pull away.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“You sure?” he asks.
“Positive. I want to check out Pharrell’s thing.”
Back into the SUV we go.
Party Five: A$AP Rocky at Jean’s
On the way from Monsieur to The Crane Club, we make a quick stop at A$AP Rocky’s after-party at Jean’s—billed on the invite as a “space of his own design.” We walk in, and… it’s dead.
It’s past 3 a.m., so logically, people are probably calling it a night. But my brain twists this into proof that everyone must be at Pharrell’s. After one unremarkable lap around the room, we’re back in the car.
Party Six and Seven: Savannah James and Pharrell at The Crane Club
Technically, The Crane Club’s hosting two parties—Savannah James upstairs, Pharrell downstairs—but that’s just semantics. Because, as it turns out, I was wrong: not everyone was at Pharrell’s. A nice PR person informs me the Uno tournament wrapped up 15 minutes ago. (I promised I’d mention this, so consider it done.)
Party Eight: Walton Goggins (Allegedly) at The Mulberry
The invite said Walton Goggins’ after-party at The Mulberry Bar kicked off at 2 a.m. If anywhere was the late-night spot, I figured it’d be here.
Laurence and I walk in… and don’t recognize a soul. I squint at someone in the bathroom line. “Maybe that’s an actor from The Summer I Turned Pretty?” A closer look. “Actually, no idea.”
We grab drinks and camp in a booth, waiting for the crowd to show up.
Spoiler: It never happens. Meanwhile, the real late-night party was the one I’d already left—Charli XCX, Jeremy O. Harris, Julia Fox, Lewis Hamilton, and Blackpink’s Rosé were all still at Monsieur, some staying till sunrise.
Every year after this assignment, people ask which Met Gala after-party was the most fun. Usually, I just name the one with the most A-listers—the answer they want, like how Cardi B performed or how charming Jude Law was.
But honestly? I don’t know.
Here’s the thing about chasing parties: You’re always wondering if there’s some other room, some other crowd, that’s cooler—whatever that means. You’re never satisfied where you are. And when you’re never satisfied, nothing feels cool. Life’s funny that way. The moment you stop caring about having fun is when you actually start to.
The DJ at The Mulberry cues up Madonna. Laurence offers his hand again, and this time, I take it. “Can you play ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’?” I yell at the DJ.
He doesn’t hear me.
I never did spot Walton Goggins. Maybe he showed up later. Maybe he didn’t come at all.
I get home just before 5 a.m., peeling off my Manolo Blahniks carefully to avoid the blisters on my heels. My half-broken Monse dress hits the floor. In the mirror, I pluck off my fake lashes one by one, humming: “I come home in the morning light, my mother says, ‘When you gonna live your life right?’”