“What’s so wrong with just having a party to have a party? To just have fun?” Stuart Parr asked on Tuesday night in the northern plaza of The Standard Hotel, where André Balazs, André Saraiva and Annabelle Dexter-Jones were hosting a dinner in honor of L’Officiel Hommes, but also seeming to genuinely enjoy themselves.
“It’s rare that these things don’t feel like work,” Parr went on.
The temporary statue by the street artist Kaws that has lorded over the space since midsummer sat nearby with its cartoon head in its cartoon hands.
“Have you met my girlfriend?” Balazs deadpanned, gesturing to Gina Gershon.
“Oh, we dated 52 years ago,” Gershon responded.
“62! But it was a good time,” Balazs crowed.
Olivier Zahm and Terry Richardson held court at one of two banquette tables with Dexter-Jones, Charlotte Ronson, Allison Sarofim, Tom Sachs and Gershon, while Harley Viera-Newton, Cassie Coane and Samantha Ronson sat opposite. A steady breeze whipped through the courtyard, periodically extinguishing candles and blowing cigarette ash onto passersby.
“It’s like being on a boat…perhaps we should all go to the cabin?” said Zahm, whose hair had been blown back.
Olympia Le-Tan was present at the fete, as were many different examples of her accessory designs. Hailey Gates carried one that had been specially made for her in the style of a book titled “I Spit on Your Graves” by Boris Vian.
As talk turned to obscure French literature and coffee was poured, a bored Parr set off on a series of physical challenges. First, he lifted Saraiva above his head, fireman style, before gently setting him back down and doing a handstand-push-up combination near some diners unrelated to the party. Next, he scaled a nearby lamppost before sliding down it and eventually leaping on top of the table, kicking aside some wineglasses and resuming his gymnastic routine in a series of repeated handstands to the mixed horror and pleasure of the other guests. Glenn O’Brien, seated with his wife, brandished two spatulas above his head in a cross, as if to ward off Parr’s feet.
Not to be outdone, Gates joined in, leaping atop the table (cloth now stained by an overturned wineglass) and demonstrating her flexibility by performing a complete split, one foot toward Balazs, the other towards Zahm, followed by Sarofim, who did the same.
Around midnight, the table having nearly been overturned, revelers headed up to the Boom Boom Room to dance, many brandishing cameras. A party promoter, passing by, popped over to invite Charlotte Ronson to “bring your friends over for our party” at a nearby club known for aiding the indiscretions of hip-hop stars.
“Thank you, but no,” Ronson responded politely, gesturing at the wreckage behind her. “Can’t you see? We already have one hell of a party.”