Much like the crimson-coiffed woman of the evening—NYLON’s July music issue cover star Florence Welch—there was something decidedly ethereal and rarefied in a downtown, kinda-hipster way about the ambiance at last night’s private dinner hosted by Welch, the mag’s leather bomber and shades-clad EIC, Marvin Scott Jarrett, and Habitual Denim atop the Mondrian Soho. As one those blissful, so-overdue breezes after a sticky June day—the summer solstice, no less—rustled the tinkling, slender chandelier up above, there was much to focus on plateside for a small roundup of seriously chic guests like Leigh Lezark, Scott Lipps, Kellan Lutz, Shanae Grimes, DJ Harley Viera-Newton and Fischerspooner’s Casey Fischer.

Imperial No. Nine chef Sam Talbot was in the kitchen, whipping up shareable platters and tureens in a delectable procession beginning with raw tuna rubbed in mustard seed and grapefruit, sautéed beets in a glorious bleu cheese and almond semifreddo,  plus pearls of couscous crowned with mushrooms and asparagus. Then the big guns rolled out, in the form of massive King crab legs, delicate roasted branzino atop flakes of kale and a bed of bulgur grains, and thick, ruby-hued cuts of beef la plancha nestled atop potatoes roasted in duck fat. Di-vine! Kanon Organic Vodka took care of the tipples, and People’s Revolution’s Kelly Cutrone took care of the maternal doting. “I feel like a mother hen! Or a hostess at Big Boy,” Cutrone exclaimed as she crouched down to check in at each corner of the seemingly endless glass table, stretching the length of the entire south side of the hotel’s roof.  

As dinner chatter shifted between Independence Day grocery shopping logistics in Montauk and all matters east-west—NYLON is bicoastal, after all—the well-fed flock trickled downstairs to meander through the afterparty at Mr. H. The line swelled on Lafayette as Portia de Rossi, Vincent Piazza, Carlos Leone (plus Josh Madden on DJ duty) joined the scene. But a few attendees looking decidedly apropos for the crowd was, in fact, a bit more befuddled than appearances would let on. “Nylon? Like the magazine? Oh, I thought this was for a nylon company, like women’s tights. Whoops!” said one perplexed partygoer before putting out his cig and ducking back inside to join the Tuesday night party people.
ALEXANDRA ILYASHOV

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