The most frequent phrase heard at Prabal Gurung’s after-party at Mister H in the new Mondrian Soho was, “No way I’m making it to Derek Lam tomorrow, dude.” We felt bad for Lam, but it seemed pretty apparent that none of the people swigging free Belvedere and dancing feverishly to early-nineties club hits (what up, “Finally”!) were going to make it out to a 10 a.m. Sunday show. Egging them on was Prabal himself, grabbing strangers’ shoulders and screaming, “Party!” as he encouraged everyone he could, including Barbara Bush and her BFF Maggie Betts, to dance, dance, dance. “You need a drink! Just have fun!” he told us. Then he did a little dance.
By following the bodyguards, we managed to locate Kanye West in a dark corner of the good-music room, though he was too well protected for us to ask what the hell he was doing at the Standard till all hours, when he’s supposed to be at the Grammys tonight. Jared Leto could be found in the hallway between the two rooms, recently arrived from Guadalajara, if his poncho was any indication. And we spotted James Murphy entering the elevator, seemingly minutes after he’d released his amazing screed against scalpers. As we left, around 4 a.m., Chloë Sevigny was still dancing, and Zahm had just squeezed his way into our elevator car. His eyes lit up when he saw us. “I love you!” he said, then realized that he may not know us. He doesn’t, but he gave us two big kisses on our cheek anyway.
