Seeing & Being Seen At Julio Torres' Halloween Party — EXCLUSIVE

When Julio Torres and I talked ahead of his Halloween party — for which NYLON was the exclusive media partner — he said his bingo card for the night included “someone completely unrecognizable that I later learned was my friend the whole time, but they couldn't talk or move.” On Oct. 31 at Bushwick’s Elsewhere, the Cursed Amulet host filled that space himself by walking the red carpet and hanging out mostly undisturbed in the smoking section as a blue-faced trash rat. (This reporter had indeed unknowingly trailed him for a few minutes — my only thought was, “How is this person going to dance carrying an armful of props?”)

“Stuff” was, in fact, one of the themes of the Disco Nap-produced event as New York’s quirkiest and most imaginative pulled up hoisting to-scale cotton buds and a plastic straw (Torres), a 1950s vacuum, a papier-mâché carp, faux glassware affixed to trays, and one blow-up Dalmatian. Earlier, as I scoped out arrivals from outside the VIP area, known informally as Daddy’s Forbidden Room, I watched as Beetlejuice and a chevalier heaved a towering No Face head onto their friend. She was later seen bobbing to Charli XCX — and on stage as a finalist in the costume contest.

By 9:30 p.m. one of the Village People was posing with the titular cursed amulet, rendered as a 7-foot-tall necklace whose pendant was slowly being consumed by necrosis. In the Secret Garden, a smoke lounge presented by The Travel Agency, two swan-dress Björks lit up by the splatter-painted mushrooms (or butt plugs) while two harlequins on stilts ventured out onto the step-and-repeat, where Ghostface wearing nipple tassels had thrown it back previously. (I’m 96% sure this was before he’d even stopped by the bar serving “cemetinis” made with Olmeca Altos tequila reposado and Del Maguey VIDA Puebla mezcal margaritas.) Upstairs in the loft, guests shrieked upon discovering stacks of Warby Parker sunglasses, then again when those who had not taken Torres’ advice to Google Kevin Carpet discovered there was a person lying under the pile of rubber mats and cardboard positioned across the threshold.

Back in the main hall, after co-host Fran Tirado had introduced G.L.I.T.S, the beneficiary of the evening, and Ceyenne Doroshow had called on the crowd to vote to “fund wh*res, not wars,” the party reached a fever pitch. As faceted jewels and demonic skulls spun onscreen, an inflatable Eeyore, Mary Todd Lincoln (and a sexy Abe), and an attendee in full-length pearls and the hair from Chanel’s Spring 2019 show bopped to “Heads Will Roll.” Two hours later, another nacreous aquatic creature’s strands would break, adding to the abandoned bits of braided straw and ostrich feathers already strewn on the steps.

Shortly after midnight, Ziwe, dressed as a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, took over DJing duties from Ty Sunderland before wishing Patti Harrison (as “baby balcony” Michel Jackson) a happy birthday. The costume contest then kicked off, during which a working traffic light, the monster from The Substance, and a group of alternate-universe sardines emerged as top contenders. But the crowd lost it at the lifelike cockroach and “c*nty Nosferatu,” the latter of whom took home the trophy (or rather, a gift bag).

The performances and DJ sets went until 2 a.m., but the most highly trafficked spot was the smoking steps, where partygoers posted up to compliment one another’s costumes, take photos, and celebrate their collective creativity. Because the point, maybe more than any other night, was to see and be seen. And I came, I saw, and I stepped on Kevin Carpet a few times.

Photographs by Krista Schlueter.