It felt like the longest night of the year, a full moon was upon us, as young twenty and thirtysomethings year olds flooded The Parkway, all headed to the Perelman Building, which was originally the Fidelity Mutual Life Insurance Company. Just as the parties were portrayed in the 1970s Great Gatsby film, the 21st Annual Garden Party did just that- owning up to its hype that allowed the party to sell out a month before. It left people so desperate that they were willing to pay double the ticket price, galvanizing a crowd of over 200 under 21-to 40-year old attendees to dress like haute couture. Translation: a bed of sequins, silk pleats, 3-piece men’s’ suits with suspenders and top hats, and colorful flapper dresses.
Although the annual Garden Party was slated to take place in the newly renovated Rodin Museum, the inclement weather forced the party to relocate. So, the VIP reception was the only event hosted at the actual museum, which consisted of a private tour of the newly restructured 1929 inspired architecture and the art. Later, the VIPs were ferried to the Perelman to join the rest of the party for a magical night.
The noisy crowd and the music roaring from old-fashioned jukeboxes alone made me paralyzed with happiness!
The room was full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things, like the newlywed couple, Karen and Gil, I had met that night. They invited me to their “table,” we talked of traveling, Paris and fine dinning, throwing out random French words, while ushering people walking past our table over to ask them what they were wearing. It was as if we were having our own mini party! Like F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote in his novel filled with alliterations, “I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.”
Among the whispering and the champagne and the stars, damsels with their lovers of the night, effortlessly embodying femininity at its best, socialized throughout the galleries. I must have meant twenty people that night, as everyone was just living out the century in its truest ambiance. Drink after drink, laughter and beauty everywhere, I traversed the huge white walled hallways adorned with naked sculptures from the artist Cy Twombly and bazaar photographs from artist’s Mary Ellen Mark “Prom” exhibition. As the clouds accompanied the full moon, the night took shape like a time machine. I was impressed with this twinkling sea of socialites dressed in their best imitations of aristocratic American style, impressed with jazz guy’s outfit, my date for the evening, whom had driven from New York City. My memories are of beaded sparkling bonnets, tuxedos with shirts varying in hues I’ve never seen before!
Afterwards, we poured out of the Perelman doors, onto the streets of old Philadelphia. “Where to next?” said this girl flirtatious taking drags with her long black-stemmed cigarette holder. “To the Art Museum, we go!” said another girl pointing across a dark street leading to the candlelit castle-like building....
(from my examiner.com column)
