Crashing the Met Gala

The 2nd of May was an odd day. I’d attended a series of book panels at the Union League Club in Midtown, where I met my bosses — a good portion of the National Review masthead — for the first time. After cocktails there, I continued on to the Shakespeare, an ale-smelling basement tavern at the William (a boutique hotel) that harkens back to the England of the Tudors.

As a young man in Manhattan, I was not about to let the night end there. Scouring my phone for places to visit next, I found that the Met Gala was on. How fortuitous. Here was I, seeking entertainment, when the world’s center of attention was but 40-odd blocks away. I wasn’t invited, but that didn’t matter. With a little ingenuity, one can always find a way into a party, anywhere. The world’s most exclusive social event is no exception.

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About the Author

Arjun Singh

Arjun Singh is an editorial intern at National Review.

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The 2nd of May was an odd day. I’d attended a series of book panels at the Union League Club in Midtown, where I met my bosses — a good portion of the National Review masthead — for the first time. After cocktails there, I continued on to the Shakespeare, an ale-smelling basement tavern at the William (a boutique hotel) that harkens back to the England of the Tudors.

As a young man in Manhattan, I was not about to let the night end there. Scouring my phone for places to visit next, I found that the Met Gala was on. How fortuitous. Here was I, seeking entertainment, when the world’s center of attention was but 40-odd blocks away. I wasn’t invited, but that didn’t matter. With a little ingenuity, one can always find a way into a party, anywhere. The world’s most exclusive social event is no exception.