It looked like a meeting of the best-accessorized cult in New York: swaying bodies, glazed eyes and a pounding rhythm that nearly collapsed everyone’s stacked heels.
Whether it was all those lemon cocktails or Biz Markie’s sweaty flood of old-school records, the 500-odd partygoers that came to christen Bottega Veneta’s new SoHo boutique caused a traffic jam down Wooster Street until nearly midnight Wednesday.
“Isn’t this a fire hazard?” Dylan Lauren asked before running outside for a breather. Lulu de Kwiatkowski followed suit, drawing the party away to the quieter confines of the Merc Bar.
A few blocks north, Ingrid Sischy threw a dinner at Chingalle in honor of Victoire de Castellane, Christian Dior’s new house jeweler.
Anna Paquin, a freshman at Columbia, swung downtown with her roommate despite being in the thick of midterms.
“I’m not worried about getting distracted by New York,” she said. “What I am worried about is my science requirement.”
Nearby, Robin Tunney and Amy Sabo were talking about their Halloween plans — the furthest thing from the mind of Charlize Theron, who’d already spent the week running around New York.
“I want to be nonexistent,” she sighed.
Hilary Swank, of course, has spent the last two years in disguise — most recently as Raquel Welch a la “One Million Years B.C.” in Kevin Aucoin’s new book of trompe-l’oeil celebrities.
“Mine are real too,” she said, tugging on the front of her sweater.
Kimberly Peirce, Swank’s “Boys Don’t Cry” director, took a tug at all the long brown hair Swank’s been sporting for her upcoming period drama.
“When are we going to start selling your hair extensions on eBay?” she joked.
After dinner, Sabo rounded up the troops and headed to Lotus, where Ahn Duong was celebrating her birthday.
“We can get a ride from the cops,” Sabo said. “They’re friends of mine.”