Go to a gala or ball

“Noob me (please, tell me I’m using this right) wore an uncomfortable strapless, sequined red gown, and nervously brushed up on the formal place-setting instruction from cotillion. I remember feeling like I needed to present myself as Emily Post reincarnate so I didn’t look out of place or commit a faux pas in a room full of such elegant women and distinguished gentlemen. I just knew I was already behind the curve because I had no ballroom dancing training [...] The best way I can describe the sensation that washed over me as that first ball kicked off is this: Spending countless hours stressing over and studying for a major exam, only to walk in on test day to have the teacher announce that she’s in a good mood and she’s decided to make it open book. It’s half relief and half resentment for the time you wasted.”

“Then it was time to take our seats at our tables. We strolled out under Cipriani’s magnificent vaulting ceilings and looked out over a sea of fragrant red roses, the voluptuous table centerpieces. And that was the keynote of the gala: voluptuousness. Extravagant gorgeousness. It sounds shallow in a world full of shadows and suffering, but it had the effect of uplifting all who participated. There is something about splendor that fills us with light. We were taking part in something larger than ourselves, something that alludes to beauty and graciousness and a light spirit.”

“People camped in the beautiful old staircases. Headband feathers drooped, the bottoms of bare feet blackened. In the courtyard, people smoked and kissed around fountains while a disco ball tossed shards of light to and fro and smoke machines weighed-in every now and then. A hoop skirt lay discarded against a wall. [...] I walked back to my hotel at 4:30 a.m., as the sun rose on the same Vienna Mozart once woke up in. I wondered if he ever stumbled home from a ball—a ball!”