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After moving to New York in 2015, I used to help my friend throw an annual holiday party. Every year, we would nervously sit in her cleared-out apartment, wondering who would arrive first. These guests were the most important ones of the night. They\u2019d see us in a state of peak vulnerability: wearing sparkles, fiddling with the lighting, and feeling anxious about whether anyone would actually show up. They\u2019d become stagehands, tasked with fetching more ice or fixing a Bluetooth snafu. And we\u2019d be forced into real conversation, before our voices all blurred into the cacophony of 60 adults buzzed on Jell-O shots. The brave early arrivals became more like co-hosts than guests.<\/p>\n
For too long, our culture has equated being late to a party with being cool. But the\u00a0most dramatic entrance you can make is to be first, leaving your mark on a blank slate, receiving the host\u2019s full attention, and making yourself indispensable. Arrive at 8 p.m. and you\u2019ll become an important pillar of the party. Arrive \u201cfashionably late\u201d and you\u2019re just another unmemorable blur of velvet who has to shout above the music to be heard.<\/p>\n
Sure, I\u2019m nearing 40 and have a 1-year-old at home, so when I do go out, I hope to get in a few good quality catch-ups with people I haven\u2019t seen in months and leave in time to be in a deep state of REM by midnight. But even if your goals are to get wasted and stay up until the sun rises, my theory still holds. Yes, you could slide in past midnight when the dance floor has become slutty. But come a few hours earlier and you get a two-for-one experience: Hear about the host\u2019s messy breakup, make their playlist better, and they\u2019ll be even more likely to introduce you to their hot, out-of-town cousin when the night gets loose.<\/p>\n
Admittedly, this approach can backfire. One time, I showed up to a dinner party promptly, right at 7 p.m., and my friend, who opened the door in her underwear, looked at me like I was a virgin who didn\u2019t know basic etiquette. I was mortified; she was a cool girl I wanted to impress, someone who was always wearing the most outrageous outfit or saying the most outrageous thing on a night out. But you know what? I helped her get dressed and prep a pot roast, and I heard some gossip she wouldn\u2019t have shared in front of the group; that night, along with her ass cheeks, are forever imprinted in my mind. The extra hour together, before everyone else arrived, helped cement our bond.<\/p>\n
And I preferred that to the times when I\u2019ve shown up too late and gotten lost in the crowd. Recently, I went to a friend\u2019s comedy-special launch. I was flying solo, and knew it would be filled with the kind of people I knew from their podcasts or their writing rather than close friends. I tried to get there early so I could talk with the host and his husband, but instead, I arrived when there was only elbow space at the bar and spent the first ten minutes surveying the room for a life raft. I clung to a circle where I spotted a mutual friend and a colleague I hadn\u2019t yet met in person. After I pushed through a few awkward pauses, everything was fine! Nice, even! But all I got from the host was a hug on my way out.<\/p>\n
Don\u2019t be that person tonight. Take my advice for a spin. Just think of the memories you\u2019ll make by walking into the party while the overhead lights are still on.<\/p>\n
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