Searching For Timothée Chalamet At Hotel Chelsea

You couldn’t miss Timothée Chalamet at the New York premiere of A Complete Unknown — whether you were there or not. By 7 p.m. on Dec. 13, the internet was flooded with images and videos of the 28-year-old arriving at the Searchlight Pictures premiere, his hair blond and his demeanor surly. Was it a hint of a new role he’d be playing? A cry for help? Just a bad day?

The answer: none of the above, but rather a move straight out of his Dune co-star Zendaya’s playbook of method dressing. The look, which included a leather jacket and slim pants from Saint Laurent, was a near-picture-perfect recreation of Bob Dylan’s appearance at the 2003 Sundance Film Festival. You could tell he nailed it when, nearly three hours later, it was still the buzz of the lobby at Hotel Chelsea, where the film was hosting the afterparty in partnership with Levi’s, Heaven’s Door whiskey, Triumph motorcycles, and Gibson guitars (all very on brand for Dylan): Would the blond be making an appearance tonight? Would this be Gen Z’s favorite movie star’s chance to go anonymous?

The smartest move for such detective work seemed simple at first: Just stick by the entrance to catch any comings and goings. It’s there that you could find Elle Fanning arriving with boyfriend Gus Wenner, or breakout star Monica Barbaro failing to make it more than five steps inside before having her performance gushed over by Jeremy O. Harris and Chloe Wise (not to mention the 29-carat topaz that decorated her neck, thanks to Bulgari). But after several rounds of shrimp cocktail and a tequila-based cocktail called Blowin’ In the Wind, it’s time to move further into the party.

Having taken over the entire ground floor (and basement) of the hotel, here, the party becomes a choose-your-own-adventure of a maze. Turn left, and enter a room of Levi’s limited edition T-shirts ready to be personalized; another left, and you’re in the dining room of Café Chelsea, where a spread of sliders and fries awaits. Door No. 3, however, is the one we’re looking for: a bumper-to-bumper crowd of celebrities and normies alike; in the span of a few minutes, Myha’la, Edward Norton, and Diana Silvers all brush past. Apparently, even Lorde is here.

Eventually, somehow, we make it to the back of the room and into an even smaller room, where Boyd Holbrook is mingling and director James Mangold has a reserved table. If the last room was bumper-to-bumper, this one is gridlock. I feel stuck and dejected in my search when my companion for the evening says the magic words: “Oh, he’s right behind you” (said a little too nonchalantly for my liking, but that’s men for you). I turn. Inches away stands Chalamet, no longer blond but no less intriguing. He’s sipping on something in a highball glass and laughing with a group of guys. We eventually make eye contact, and I introduce myself — “I just saw your sister, great work in the film,” etc. — he shakes my hand and moments later leaves me with a hug. I walk away, satisfied.

Back in the lobby, I want to pull a Bob and celebrate a successful mission with a cigarette. I go to grab one from a pile out for display on a nearby ashtray, then I read the sign that sits beside it: “No Smoking Allowed.” It’s a candy cigarette, and officially time to go home.