NYLON & Maybelline New York Take NYFW To New Heights

Steps from the venerable Indochine and the theater where Blue Man Group did their thing for 34 years, NYLON made history of its own on Feb. 7 with a Fashion Week event, presented by Maybelline New York, that some are calling our best ever.

That designation could be on account of the venue — Jean’s, its unmistakable red accessorized with pink and purple for the evening — or the shade-matching stations, where guests could order from a 24-color menu of Super Stay Lumi-Matte Foundation by the light of silver Verner Panton Flowerpot lamps. It could have been the music by DJs Jake Shore, Charly Jordan, and Beau Cruz, who supplied nonstop bangers on two floors. But really, it was all that — plus the half-planned, half-serendipitous chaos magic of truly great party-throwing.

On the basement level, suited traffic controllers directed three lanes of happy guests through the submarine-tight quarters, though constant friend run-ins delayed their best efforts. “It’s like we have an invisible string connecting us,” was heard coming from the bathroom line. Remi Bader, Shaun Ross, and other recurring characters from the NYLON multiverse made appearances, while servers bachata-ed through the dance floor that contained someone in a furry cheetah-print suit with no shirt, another someone in a “too pretty for rehab” hoodie and a satin robe with a train, and at least two couples fully making out.

Next to an installation of hose-wearing mannequin legs and a revolving rack of NYLON-branded tights (get it?), a vintage vanity styled with “Maybe it’s Maybelline” scrawled in lipstick and a decanter of cognac saw nonstop action all night. Above ground, performance artists spun on aerial silks, while more earthbound dancers shimmied in lavender tulle and color-changing cumulus headdresses. Memorably, around the time bowls of (almost) midnight spaghetti began leaving the kitchen, Princess Nokia took to the step-and-repeat in a Little Bo Peep costume, complete with a hoop skirt and bonnet.

With just 30 minutes left on the clock, there were no signs of last call. Pasta was still being twirled in the booths, the congestion downstairs had only let up slightly, and the hugs and double-cheek air kisses continued as both dance floors raged on. Even those who’d already retrieved their coats and collected their foundation and NYLON matchbooks lingered; the sidewalk outside was just as crowded as it was hours earlier with those not yet ready to leave the intimacy of a big party.