After the exhilaration of my Disco Extravaganza on Sunday night, it made perfect sense to grab a bunch of friends and sweep off to Daniel Nardicio‘s 1000th party–an underwear bash extraordinaire held at the West 30th Street club Rebel.
There was just one problem. Only one of us wanted to take our clothes off. But naturally we wanted to get in anyway, in order to grab a look at the cultural ramifications of such a sociopolitically trenchant scene. It’s my job, after all.
Alas, the indoor doorperson to the party was a forbidding type who kept snapping at us, “You have to get into your underwear to get in! This is an underwear party! They don’t call it an underwear party for nothing!”
Well, I wasn’t going to show off my fabulous folds of flesh, sorry.
In a panic, I went over her head and tracked down Nardicio, who graciously allowed us entree without having to show our entrees.
And it was a winter wonderland of cuties (mixed in with other types) unselfconsciously parading around in their skivvies. What a vision! Very Fellini meets Jack Wrangler, it so perfectly completed the night of 1970s realness.
And having an old troll wandering around in multi-layers somehow added texture to the scene.
On the way out, we got some free underwear, but at home I realized there was no slot in them to get your parts out of. Don’t cute guys pee? Don’t answer that.
Congrats, Daniel, and many happy more.