This Is What It’s Like Party Hopping Through the Met Gala Afters With No Clout and a $50 Dress

There are a few ritual emotional stages you go through when you’re the least famous person at a Met Gala after-party. First, there’s relief that you made it in at all—after anxiously fumbling to find your confirmation email and assuring the impatient check-in girl that you can prove you’re meant to be here if she just gives you a second.

Then the extremely humbling A-lister observation—like watching a celebrity stylist you’ve idolized for years beg her friend to take a shot with her or spotting a multi-generational music legend struggling to find out where the bathroom is.

Then, finally, there’s the ego trip. Because in this moment, you’re among these people! That’s the truth! And while maybe they didn’t take an Uber Pool to get there, and maybe their outfits weren’t sourced during an anxiety-fueled sprint through Soho a few hours earlier, being in the room is more than your high school frenemy sitting at home judging red carpets from her couch can claim! (Not that her reality wasn’t my own in the not-so-distant past.)

I started my first post-Met marathon at around 10:30 p.m., at the function hosted by fashion designer Willy Chavarria, stylists Wayman + Micah, and Don Julio at The Mark. Just next door, the hotel’s famous guests were trickling back from the main event (I caught Cynthia Erivo rushing through thanks to someone near me who reverently whispered, “Oh my god, it’s Elphaba”). I spent most of my time scarfing down a healthy serving of French fries. (As someone who ate the fries served at every party I attended, the ones at Willy’s were 100 percent the best.) But starting the night here was great for alleviating the impostor syndrome that threatened to ruin my presence in the moment. Yes, it felt like every other person I met was a CFDA winner or a former Anna Wintour protégé, but something about this function felt so homey, inviting, and egoless. The only reason I bounced was to head to the crème de la crème of the Met Gala after-parties: the annual event at BOOM (FKA Boom Boom Room).

Now, this party has been a subject of intrigue for me since the fateful Solange Knowles/Jay-Z elevator fight that took place there over 10 years ago (and realizing that was over 10 years ago was a truly sobering realization). Every time I mentioned my plan to attend this to someone, I was immediately met with a reminder that it’s the party to be at and everyone stops by. That reputation is earned. When I stepped in at around 11:30 p.m., the topless dancers up on window ledges were the immediate sign that I was in for a good time. Central Cee, Halle Bailey, Lupita Nyong’o, and Nick Jonas all pulled up. And I worked the room solo, where most conversation was focused on the whereabouts of the party host, Burna Boy. The first sighting of him near the DJ booth was probably the most excited I’ve ever seen any group of people ever.

Pharrell’s after-party was a five-minute walk away at the private members’ spot, Crane Club. And it was part party, part elevated Uno tournament. Because when you’re a Met Gala co-chair and the Louis Vuitton creative director who helped put together Doechii and Sabrina Carpenter’s looks for the night, you can make playing cards seem extremely cool and enticing. Especially if guests like Kim Kardashian, Keke Palmer, Simone Biles, and Rosalía are there. And especially if you’re offering prizes like a Richard Mille watch and Tiffany & Co. diamond earrings to the tournament winners. Anyone who feels like those are outsized rewards for winning Uno has never experienced the trauma of being hit with three +4 cards in a row.

My next stop was at WSA for the annual APRÈSMET party, hosted by my TikTok fave Alex Consani, fashion editor Carlos Nazario, Luar designer Raul Lopez, and the model/owner of my dream home, Paloma Elsesser. I’m awarding this party the best decor for the night. For some reason, after about three tequila sodas, there is nothing more enchanting than Ring Pops, chocolate cigarettes, and a tower of olives in glassware.

Ayo Edebiri’s party at People’s, which she cohosted with Janicza Bravo, Jeremy O. Harris, Tyler Mitchell, and Antwaun Sargent, didn’t get the coveted Best Decor award that I’ve fully made up. But it does get the most iconic photo spot. Mostly thanks to this cunty little mirrored corner that everyone and their mother was posted up in front of. The fact that I didn’t get my own picture will haunt me for a long time.

I will also continue to be haunted by the fact that I didn’t get a photo with Keke Palmer or Jackie Aina at the Laquan Smith after-party, which went down at Ludlow House this year. But trust it’s on my manifestation list, should I secure an invite in 2026.

The party I will be talking about until my loved ones beg me to stop bringing it up was Richie Akiva’s 11th annual “The After” party, hosted by Tyla, Doja Cat, Colman Domingo, and Edward Enninful. By the time I pulled up to Casa Cipriani for this (~2:00 a.m.), I was on my very last legs. I had dwindling patience for the insanely long line or the people shoving to shmooze with the bouncers. (I’m not going to drop names for the sake of kindness, but trust me, they did.). But the minute I got inside and laid eyes upon the one and only Stevie Wonder sitting in a corner and nodding his head to a Sexyy Red song, any stress I had was gone. Every moment here felt like it was out of a fever dream. One minute I’m being politely asked to step away from Hailey Bieber’s table and another I’m talking Venus Williams’ ear off about god knows what. (I literally don’t remember what I was talking to her about.)

At one point, thanks to my incredibly sore feet, I sat down in what turned out to be Doja Cat’s section. For some reason, she didn’t immediately ask security to escort me out. Instead, as I tried my very best to look incredibly busy and important, tapping away on the weather app, stars like Sabrina Carpenter and Jenna Ortega made their way through. In any other circumstance, I would consider my intrusion here incredibly embarrassing. And perhaps it was. But I consider being the least famous person in a room a privilege. It allows me to get excited about the unimportant things, like watching Lauryn Hill whip out a bedazzled electric fan. (And I’d like to publicly apologize to this icon for staring at her for a beat too long and getting emotional about it.)

I’m not yet disillusioned by seeing people who’ve created art that matters to me just living their lives—and I’m okay with the fact that I’m a bit overly fanned out at times. Hungover FaceTime debriefs are way more entertaining with a bit of overeagerness. Even in the moments when I felt the most out of place, getting to be a fly on the wall, witnessing key cultural players in live action was exciting enough to shake me out of any thoughts trying to convince me that I don’t belong. And for anyone who struggles to act normal when that nagging self-doubt approaches, remember we’re all human, and the weather app is your friend.