“Are you in line for the bathroom?”
“No, the line ends behind Warhol.”
“…Which one?”
This is the first conversation I overhear upon entering the swingin’ party pad in a basement on East Pike Street. There’s definitely no shortage of Warhols at this Factory party. Blond hair and big sunglasses abound in the small, tinfoil-covered room. Rose, one of the hosts, offers me a glass of whiskey while I gawk at her elaborate Edie Sedgwick costume, accurate down to the mole drawn on her cheek. DJ Dandy Narwhal, sporting a stick-on mustache and soul patch, spins some far-out ’60s tunes while a couple dozen twentysomethings dance the night away in an ever-thickening cloud of cigarette/clove/miscellaneous smoke.
A series of colorful projections plays on the ceiling with intermittent homemade screen tests and videos in the style of Andy Warhol (though slightly more PG-13; no Willard Maas BJ videos here).
Guests take the costume element of this party pretty seriously, with most decked out in period garb if not specifically dressed as Warhol or Sedgwick—lots of big hats, false moles, big sunglasses, and winged eyeliner to be seen, as well as a drag queen or two and Seattle music notables—Pearl “Champagne Champagne” Dragon and Kaz “PWRFL Power” Nomura. One uncostumed couple slow-dances in the middle of the room for at least 45 minutes, managing to overshadow my own awkwardness for a short time. Groovy. 
Want The Stranger to question the
veracity of your mole at your party?
E-mail the date, place, and party details
to partycrasher@thestranger.com.