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Everyone, even you, is prettier and nicer in person.
thought digest, 1.30.2023
This post is “very online.” I apologize.
I thought it would be fun to write a Crumps-style “scene report” about the sole Dimes Square event I’ve attended, the 2nd installment of the De Vere Ball. I even–very drunkenly, too drunkenly–approached the man himself and asked him if he would be down to collab, a post-event podcast (“as soon as this ends! 5 AM!”), a co-authored Substack post…no dice…but…
You know, there’s no story here.
People who post right-wing things on the Internet sometimes had a party. The party had a slightly eccentric theme. It’s not clear to me if anyone save for Phoebe, my dear friend who hosted the thing, gives a shit about Oxfordianism. James O’Keeffe performed, I think, I was standing in the back and didn’t catch it. (A friend tells me he was screaming a rendition of St. Crispin’s Day that party attendees desperately tried to ignore.)
My take is that people in New York will continue to have parties, just like they’ve always had parties. I used to do it; the alt-lit crowd did it; long tradition of people socializing in person, particularly in NYC. And lest we forget the historical importance of the New York club scene.
Anyway, overwhelmingly: Who cares? Apply this retroactively because I know the ship has sailed on debriefs about “Dimes Square.”
But not “who cares” because I think these people are boring.
I talked to as many people as possible, especially people whom I assumed didn’t like me—still might not like me—I thought they were fine. Personable, likable. People who I’d been actively afraid of due to their Twitter presence. Everyone seemed happy to be there; everyone dressed nicely. I was happy to be there. I looked prettier than I’ve ever looked or will ever look again. Maybe I’ll paywall a pic. Inshallah no candids escape the containment zone of Phoebe Nir’s phone.
Ariel Pink performed. He did a good job. And people who say he didn’t just don’t dig that kind of music, and I think that’s okay, too. Time and a place. As a millennial, I appreciated it.
I have ambient memories of talking about Twitter too much.
I apologized to Pariah the Doll for blocking her on Twitter. She’s a likable person. Mommy Milkers, another likable person. She pulls off the blonde bombshell thing better than anyone I’ve ever met. Not convinced writing this won’t get me made fun of, so you know I’m being sincere here.
Phoebe did a great job as a host. I talked to Twitter micro celebs Nightmare Vision and Future Moldovan Citizen for the second time in the flesh. More nice people who are pleasant to be around. My dream for these guys is that they start a wildly successful podcast.
Everyone at the event drank too much and continued to drink too much at the afterparty, which was held in a private room at Russian Samovar. I suspect this afterparty was intended to be much smaller than it ended up being.
Yarvin, a frequent fixture at these Twitter-adjacent events, did his usual thing with his new girlfriend Kristine, one of the friendliest, kindest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting via this sphere. And by his “usual thing,” I mean being a slightly different type of inebriated, good-natured, absorbed in his date in the way that makes you smile to yourself and remember the last relationship you were happy in.
I talked to Anna Khachiyan, another person who intimidates me, for 5 seconds. I had just done two shots of tequila. I implored her to invite my closest Twitter celebrity friend to her podcast. The one who’s also Chicago-based. You know the one. Anyway, I’m sure that was obnoxious of me to do; good thing I introduced myself with my full government name and not “Katherine Dee.” I did the same thing to Dasha a few weeks ago because even my gay ass gets starstruck.
Dimes Square, or what’s left of it: it’s not my bag, it’s not my scene, and they’re not my friends (ok, a few of them are my friends), but I think the alt-downtown set is doing just fine. And so is the 2010s downtown set. I opened up Instagram on Sunday morning and saw that Cat Marnell and Rachel Rabbit White are gracing the pages of Page Six once again, this time with Anna Delvey.
Maybe it’s because I burnt my brain out 10+ years ago following around my much cooler friends J. and F., as they themselves followed around Sophia Lamar–you know, limiting my capacity to be horrified by this, after all, once you see people fuck in the bain at Le Bain, you’re about spent–but all I can say about this stuff is it’s great to see people hanging out in person.
It’s great to see people happy.
Sorry for being critical on Twitter and Substack because I felt attacked. That’s the problem with Twitter. Makes everyone look a lot worse than they are.
It’s much easier to chill when you don’t have 20-follower anons in your inbox telling you everyone hates you.