The balloons were there. So were the mini dresses and go-go boots, the jumpsuits and the afros. But instead of divas, the girls at last night’s Save the Disco party were just role playing – promotional models faking it for the sake of the party.
But hell, the party was at Room Service, and it was in Manhattan in 2007. That said, as guests started rolling in around midnight, the party started to get the vibe you’d imagine the old days of disco had with an eclectic, accepting crowd. The music kicked up a house- infused mix of classic disco tracks you couldn’t stop yourself from dancing to, even if you tried.
Legendary DJ Cerrone hosted the event and was hanging with a more mature sector of the crowd as his young record label-promoter doled out the classic Love in C Minor album. The club industry was in attendance, with the darling doorman Gilbert looking fabulous in a bright ascot scarf. And even in the sardine-can packed room, there was none of the typical attitudes found at most parties.
Seriously, the staff didn’t even oust us from the prime table we were squatting in until the reservation-wielders arrived. Have you ever tried to occupy an empty table at a club these days? Half an ass cheek on a banquette back can draw three security guards to corral you away. Despite the staff’s look of trying too hard for the disco theme, the party got it right. One fierce disco boy in leggings and wedges sashayed with so much gusto I have to assume he wasn’t being paid, that the shiny disco clothes were just burning a hole in his closet.
After leaving Disco, I let myself be dragged to Pink Elephant, despite my 2007 resolve swearing off 27th Street. Inside, the house was packed with crazed revelers. There were more balloons. But these weren’t a throw-back, they were in celebration of owner David Cabo’s birthday.
Along with the red and white helium variety there were balloon animals strewn about, one of which I proceeded to twist into a giant phallus when I tired of watching a clearly-paid Bruce Willis stand stoically on a banquette armed with a Figi water. It wasn’t all bad though, there were ladies handing out cotton candy. Cotton candy! And the sugar fix was the perfect circus-watching snack. It might have been a glucose-induced delusion, but I could’ve sworn the couple banging up against the front of the DJ booth was getting their freak on. From a sketchy beginning at a three-piece-suit party at the new Retreat, Thursday night turned out quite interesting.