What You Missed Last Month in NYC (According to Linux), July Edition
This is What You Missed Last Month (According To Linux), in which nightlife it-girl Linux takes us behind the velvet rope and into the VIP section of Scene-City. Through her extreme (sometimes exaggerated) lens, Linux gives us the tea on what really happened at every party-of-the-century that floods our Instagram feeds. This July, we follow Linux’s movements in the thick of New York’s Hot, Wet, American Summer (A note from the author: don’t take what she says too seriously—she’s just a club kid after all!).
There’s nothing quite like summer in New York City. We spend six months out of the year wrapped in Moncler parkas fantasizing about the warmth July brings. For the first time in 2021, the weather in New York is not just worth appreciating, but really worth savoring. As a city, we’re finally able to go outside in nearly nothing… even if it’s just to gawk at our hot Manhattan neighbors! We can finally swim in our rooftop pools, and NYC Parks has announced that we can now actually step on the grass in Washington Square Park! Well—when it’s not being ambushed by NYPD (on Pride, no less!)
That being said, as soon as the going gets good, New Yorkers get going! The most New York thing you can do is leave the city for the summer, so I did just that. Lethargic from Pride month, my it-kid friends and I packed our Rimowa bags, threw them into the back of my SUV, and escaped to our quarter-share in Empire City’s gay backyard: Fire Island Pines.
4th of July Weekend
If you’ve ever been to Fire Island, odds are you’ve found yourself at Reflections, the home of Daniel Nardicio (the owner of Ice Palace). Reminiscent of a Young Money music video, the mansion is the backdrop for quite a lot of Fire Island debauchery. It also made the perfect spot for a 4th of July bash! Aquaria & Ty Sunderland DJ’ed back to back. My agent from One Management came, so I had to look really sickening to remind him why he represents me. I came wearing an American flag bikini carrying a Nicki Minaj flag. Based on the Instagram stories that I know we all saw, we can agree that the Barb flag is one thing we didn’t miss this month in New York City (it was everywhere!) Around 5 pm, a gay pointed towards the water shouting, “Look over there! Nicky Doll’s on a boat coming right this way!” The entire party turned towards the bay and gasped. Sure enough, in the near horizon was Nicky Doll in a star-spangled blue leotard— with gloves to match— on a white speedboat. “I’m here faggots!” She screamed through her wireless mic in her French accent. A crowd of gays cheered as three shirtless men helped her off the boat, and the music blasted. I went to see her and was like, “I didn’t know you were coming here on a boat, girl!” to which she replied, “Neither did I!” At sunset, all one hundred of us jumped into the Reflections pool and water aerobics’d the night away…well, until the open bar closed at 9 pm. What’s red, white, and drunk all over? Us!
You would think that, as a nightlife connoisseur, I would have been to Berlin. You can’t do coke in any New York apartment after 5 am without being accosted by someone wearing Dion Lee who wants to convince you that Berlin is the capital of partying. We’ve all heard that Berlin’s infamous club, Berghain, is where all ravers go to see god. Unfortunately for me, I can’t leave the country (some legal drama, will explain later.) So when I saw that Fire Island’s Joey Goldman was throwing a house-rave in FIP called Bergpines, I was thrilled. What did I have to lose? It wouldn’t be the first shitty party I’d attended on that island. The whole thing started at 2 am, with the club-kid-turned-raver Harry Charlesworth playing terror-techno for us. Conversation was impossible, as Harry’s music was loud AF. There wasn’t a single drop of alcohol in sight, but there didn’t need to be. Remember, the boys of Fire Island drink something else! How Joey Goldman managed to fit 500 men the size of Thor into a two-story house built in the ’70s is beyond me. If you needed to chill out, you could go to the roof, which had an electric fountain in the corner bubbling with lube so that handsy guests had what they needed to get off (I heard that chocolate had been flowing through that same fountain for a Willy Wonka-themed party earlier that day). Don’t dip your hands into this chocolate, Augustus Gloop! The party ended up raising $7,000 for Pines Care Center, but, *checks earbud* it must be made clear to readers that, though appreciative of the donation, Pines Care Center is in no way involved in the hedonism that took place at this event. Save yourself the trip to Germany, you can sin all you want at Bergpines!
Thursday, July 7th
Gossip Girl here… just kidding! As honored as I’ve been to have this column compared to Gossip Girl, let’s make one thing clear: she could never! Also, she’s so shady… She didn’t even invite me to her premiere party at 1 Hotel, leaving me no other option but to walk right in! HBOMax threw a premiere party at the Williamsburg rooftop and I’m not sure if it was intentional, but the streaming platform somehow made a party thrown in New York, celebrating a show about New York the most L.A. party imaginable (Nicky Hilton was there in a polka dot romper!). In keeping with Gossip Girl’s first episode (which premiered the same night), the party began with a fashion show. For fifteen full minutes, models in Monse Maison’s Fall ‘21 back-to-school collection took to the runway. An ‘XOXO’ sign lit up the Manhattan skyline in bold white lettering—it was almost as if Gossip Girl herself was watching her guests’ every move (I was there after all!). DJ-by-day-stylist-by-night Mazurbate sat front row next to Rich Kid of Beverly Hills’ Dorothy Wang. Influencers I’ve never heard of greeted each other with, “What’s your Instagram?” Altogether, the night was one to remember— mostly thanks to the thousands of photos that were taken. Oh, and don’t even get me started on those sickening gift bags! Unfortunately, I think the overall level of superficiality turned Gossip Girl star Evan Mock off (the bicurious legend couldn’t skateboard out of the party fast enough!). You can take HBO out of the West Coast but you’ll never be able to take the West Coast out of HBO. You know you love me. Xoxo, Linux.
Friday, July 9th
In the New York scene, there are different cliques of trans girls. There’s the bodied trannies that work in hotels all day and rarely socialize. There are the well-behaved Bartsch girls that follow Amanda Lepore around. There are the hateful Brooklyn ones with chest hair and endless Twitter rants. And lastly, there are the fashionable techno dolls with slight drug addictions. I had about five events to be at on July 9th, but once I saw on Instagram that the techno trannies were banding together to throw a 3-story rave in Chinatown, I cleared my schedule. As a part-time party producer, I know how difficult it is to secure a good venue in Chinatown, but Angel Money used her Pleiadean magic and got the spot. The party was called ‘Platinum,’ presumably named after Angel’s platinum blonde hair and expensive aesthetic. The promo push was major, flooding Instagram with fully-produced white-backdrop videos of each of the hot girls that would be DJ’ing the party. When I got there at 1 am, there was a crowd of about 50 people in Derelicte-inspired fashions smoking and talking outside. “It’s wild in there, just a heads up,” someone warned me on my way in. On the main floor, warehouse denizen (and recently BBL’ed) Sauscha played heavy-bassed bangers at 140 bpm. Her self-branded crushers propped on the CDJs was now doubling as a merch booth. Other girls who played that night were Jasmine Infiniti, Sunrise Hunter, and Miss Parker. Trans porn star and only-cool-person-from-L.A. Jane’s World also graced us with her presence. It seemed everyone there was platinum blonde, making it not only a doll party but a Russian Doll party. When I left around 5 am, the crowd was still jumping to the music. Angel Money brought the cool kids to Chinatown and it was a huge success. I’m praying to whatever alien race birthed her that Platinum becomes a recurring party!
Saturday, July 17th
Nothing tests one’s passion to party like rain on a Saturday night. Put that party in Long Island City, and there’s almost no chance you’ll get me, or anyone else, to go. Nightlife collective Nosferatu managed to do the impossible when they got hundreds of trendy New Yorkers to show up to an old ballroom near Queensboro Plaza. The one-off was called “Baroque Ball” and you could either take 3 trains or a $70 Uber to get there. With the dress code obviously being Baroque, attendees came clothed accordingly. Outside the ball, a sea of Parsons students desperately pushed their way to shelter from the pouring rain. Just when the crowd almost got tired of waiting outside, socialite Halle Cherry strutted out the front door shouting, “It’s worth the wait girls, it’s fucking major in there!” Finally, inside the two-story prewar ballroom, I was greeted by gaggles of fashionable it-people and their respective interns. Draped in only the finest Antoinette attire, we partied in the unventilated music hall like it was 1721. The bathroom lines were long, leaving some guests no choice but to urinate in the garbage can (that’s how they did it in Versailles, isn’t it?) After about two hours of dancing, Eartheater performed for us. They ended their show by jumping off stage and crowd-surfing while screaming, “I LOVE NEW YORK!” After a seemingly doomed night, Nosferatu successfully impressed the royal court. Yes, you heard that right: thanks to Baroque Ball I had FUN in Long Island City on a rainy Saturday.
Thursday, July 29th
Some tweaker at an after-party told me a conspiracy theory that De Blasio is using rain-boosting drones in an attempt to cool down the city’s record-breaking July temperatures. After what seemed like 10th rainy day in a row ruined my plans, I was starting to believe it. Calvin Klein invited the gayest industry stars to celebrate their belated #ProudInMyCalvins campaign at the SummerStage in Central Park. “Rain or shine,” the email said. Unfortunately, De Blasio’s drones had other plans, leaving Central Park soaked and the party canceled. Where were all these B-List celebs dressed in Calvin Klein going to get drunk?! The PR girl at Calvin Klein texted everyone: “Change of plans, meet at The Flower Shop in LES. Bring the girls!” At an hour’s notice, the entire block of Eldridge street was bustling with the scene’s notable, ready to feel famous at a fashion event. After passing the strict door to get into the bar, you had to schmooze a bit harder to get into the real party, which was in the basement. Finally downstairs, I B-lined to the open bar. The number one rule to follow when at a dive bar is you have to drink whiskey. No exceptions! I drank a whiskey coke while I gabbed with SNL’s Bowen Yang about Ty Sunderland’s boat party that was happening the following night. I tried to convince Aquaria, who was wearing CK briefs as a top, to do shots of whiskey with me but she wasn’t interested. Suddenly, the lights turned on, and in the center of the bar, Kandy Muse performed with a small stuffed Teletubby strapped to her stomach. The crowd tipped her in 20s, 50s, and 100s. She gladly stuffed the bills in her bra and at the end of her number said, “The Teletubby is a Free Britney reference. If you know, you know.” Mic drop. Right after, straight out of HBOMax’s Legendary, the Haus of Tisci split the crowded room in two for a second time that night and started vogueing. Every phone was out and filming on flash as the ballroom girls dipped and dropped for us in head-to-toe white Calvin Klein numbers. The moment was nothing short of legendary!
Models and muses alike celebrated the evening’s spontaneity until well past 3 am. Yes, Calvin Klein’s original plans may have been rained out, but the night wasn’t ruined by any means. The last-minute switch-up is earning CK July’s FOMO Award. The emergency event at Flower Shop proved that everything can (and typically will) change in a New York minute. Us New Yorkers, we’re delusional. We share a false sense of agency regarding how our nights in this city are going to play out. Most times, however, New York City already has a plot written of its own—a plot that, without fail, will always end up being more uniquely thrilling than ours.