You have to wear a red dress to get into this party, and so I'm wearing a stretchy velveteen number that wouldn't be out of place in a very special renaissance-faire episode of The Golden Girls. Luckily, other people at this party—men and women alike—have the shamelessness and the God-given figures to make the party work.
I ask one man with a headscarf and huge sunglasses why he chose to dress like a Russian grandma, and he looks crestfallen: "I was going for a Jackie O thing." "Oh, no," his female friend says, horrified at the unintentional Onassis bash. Another woman advises her man on the finer points of party-dress shopping: "You should totally return that to American Apparel tomorrow." "What do I say to them?" he says, swizzling his drink, "Sorry, it turns out I'm a guy?"
There's a kind of brazen hussyness to the affair. One man is wearing what appears to be a red fishing net over scant briefs, and the clearly marked "Make Out Room" is in use within an hour of the party starting. One of the hosts runs around shouting, "We need a red sheet—a straight guy is here!" Soon the heterosexual is swaddled in a red toga and looking vaguely uncomfortable. "I'm surprised that we have 100 percent red-dress compliance," says another host, who seems impressed with herself and her guests. Everyone's wearing bright-red lipstick and kisses are blossoming on the strangest body parts. Turns out you can't help but be a little slutty when you're the lady in red.
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