After three months of non-stop socializing in the name of charity, it would be understandable that some party energy was lagging—initially—on Thursday night when El Museo del Barrio threw its annual spring gala. As one well-photographed lady entered the cathedral-like Cipriani 42nd Street space, she posed momentarily for the roving photographers before making her way to the small step-and-repeat-cum-red carpet in the room’s Western corner.

From left: Julianna Margulies and Keith Lieberthal; Yaz Hernandez and Valentin Hernandez

“Where are you going?” asked Patrick McMullan, hoping for more shots.

“I PROMISE I’ll come back,” she said, undeterred from her path.

“Just remember, you’ll meet the same people on the way down as you’ll meet on the way up,” quipped McMullan, before turning his attention to others.

He was joking—I think—but that was as catty as things got. Because not to pull out any stereotypes, but how could one stay in a snappy mood when surrounded by such fun-loving Latin spirit? There were bellinis and tequila everywhere you looked (and rum cocktails—Bacardi USA was one of the night’s honorees) and enough women in red dresses to paint many a town in scarlet hues.

“We Latins like bright colors,” said Carolina Herrera.

A makeshift VIP room slash holding pen was set up overlooking cocktails in the Eastern bar—Carlos Mota, for one, loved it exclaiming, “I want to be where all the young people are!”—but most seemed content to imbibe in the packed fray. In place of the normal announcement for dinner came three sets of trumpet calls that had one girl wondering, “Are the Hunger Games about to start?”

From left: Nina Garcia; Carolina Herrera

Not quite. Unless gazpacho with shrimp, prime roast and huge slices of meringue cake with strawberries constitute a famine.

As guests like Angel Sanchez, Fe Fendi, Isabel and Ruben Toledo, Cindy Sherman and Charlotte Moss dug in, Tony Bechara, the museum’s chair, introduced the evening’s presenters and honorees.

First up was Julianna Margulies, endowing Narciso Rodriguez with the Excellence in the Arts Award (he’s the first fashion designer to receive it).

From left: Cindy Sherman and Narciso Rodriguez; Carlos Mota

“He loves his heritage and he really loves women,” said Margulies, showing off one of Rodriguez’s designs. “I’ve known him for 18 years. When I was on ER, I would call Narciso up and say ‘I need a dress for an awards show… I’m thinking red.’ And I would get a dress in a FedEx envelope and I would be like, ‘This is never going to fit me!’ And it never needed an alteration.”

A very moved Rodriguez thanked the Latin American women in his life saying, “It means a great deal to me because El Museo celebrates my most profound influences, the cultures that made me who I am today.”

From left: Bibhu Mohapatra; Mackenzie Hamilton

After Facundo Bacardi, the chairman of Bacardi Limited, picked up the Corporate Excellence in the Arts Award, Mrs. Herrera introduced “the beautiful and glamorous” Yaz Hernandez, recipient of the Trustee Leadership Award.

“Tonight is my lucky night because I have the woman who is the icon of my life presenting me with an award,” said Hernandez, adding, “It’s my lucky night, but it’s also your lucky night because I forgot my speech at home, so since I don’t remember what I’m supposed to say, it’s going to be a real short one! Humble is not for me, but gratitude, yes. I am really grateful. That’s it, 35 minutes, now enjoy your night.”

Fe and Paola Fendi

And so they did, some in the most unexpected of ways. As dessert wrapped up and many hit the dance floor, designer Bibhu Mohapatra was getting ready to leave. His date, Mackenzie Hamilton, had other things on her mind.

“I’m just waiting for my model to finish her cake,” said Mohapatra, eyeing her.

Yup, no hunger games here.

Photos: Sherly Rabbani & Josephine Solimene

Arriving at the David H. Koch Theater Thursday night for the New York City Ballet’s Spring Gala, one could be forgiven for thinking they were at a Hollywood premiere or fashion soirée. The evening’s honorary chair, Natalie Portman, posed on the red carpet with her fiancé Benjamin Millepied, whose ballet "Two Hearts" was having its world premiere. The costumes were designed by the Rodarte team of Kate and Laura Mulleavy, also in attendance. Inside the theater, a very pregnant Drew Barrymore slid into her seat alongside fiancé Will Kopelman. And Gilles Mendel, who created the costumes for Peter Martins’ "Mes Oiseaux," also having a world premiere that night, came with a glamorous gaggle that included the models Carolyn Murphy and Bette Franke. Not to mention the evening was sponsored by Dior and Swarovski.

Benjamin Millepied and Natalie Portman

“I feel like I’m on vacation,” said Mendel, who was enjoying his sophomore effort collaborating with NYCB. “Because there’s no competition. You just create. There’s no economic reason for it.”

“Thanks to my husband-to-be’s family, I’m getting to go a lot more often,” offered Barrymore of her dance outings (Kopelman’s parents, Coco and Arie, are loyal supporters of the ballet).

Gilles Mendel and Ashley Isaacs (center) with NYC Ballet Dancers

It’s not the first time the NYCB has simultaneously courted film and fashion: their fall 2011 gala featured a ballet with a score by Sir Paul McCartney and costumes by his daughter, Stella, who brought along pals like Liv Tyler and Naomi Watts for the evening. How stalwarts feel about this glitzier side to a more traditional art form—and event—remains to be seen. But it certainly added some sparkle to the affair. And intrigue.

“Do we do this?” said one teenage boy to his friend as they climbed the stairs to the post-performance dinner.

“We have to. We’ll be talking about it for the rest of our lives,” said his friend.

“What do we say?” asked the first, voice quivering.

“Umm, we’re really big fans?” offered the other.

Laura and Kate Mulleavy

Whether they had their sights set on Portman or Barrymore was unclear (I hope for their sakes it was Barrymore, who graciously answered questions, as opposed to the former, who despite being the honorary chair refused all queries). But it was not a conversation you would have heard two years ago.

That said, the night’s theme was not “Famous People.” Instead, it was “A la Francaise,” a celebration of France. Martins’ ballet featured a score by Gallic composer Marc-Andre Dalbavie (and Mendel’s designs); Millepied is francais, and the third part of the dance program was a revival of Balanchine’s “Symphony in C,” originally created for the Paris Opera Ballet and with a score by Georges Bizet (the costumes, by Marc Happel and covered in Swarvoski crystals, sparkled like jewels).

The scene at dinner

As such, dinner on the theater’s Promenade was like eating in the midst of a French garden. Floral trestles hung from the ceilings, huge white vases replete with more blossoms dotted many tables and both ends of the room were flanked by huge white statues and blow-ups of verdant photos taken by gala co-chair Charlotte Moss.

After a bucolic-friendly meal of asparagus and roast chicken, many headed to less green pastures—a ballet evening, after all, is a long one. Not Jill Kargman.

Jill and Harry Kargman

“I need to get in at least two dances before I leave,” she exclaimed, making her way to the dancefloor. “Even if it’s the robot.”

Click here to see more photos and here to watch video from behind the scenes of Swarovski's collaboration with the NYCB.

Photos: Sherly Rabbani & Josephine Solimene

If a party is thrown in New York City and Bill Cunningham isn’t there to shoot it, did it really happen? First off, such a scenario would never arise as the intrepid 80-something photographer manages to hit more events in one evening—on a low-tech bike, no less—than most active socialites attend in one week. But on the off chance it did, the answer would be a resounding, No. Cunningham is as integral to New York’s charity circuit (and street fashion) scene as the dressed up denizens that frequent it, no gala is complete without his beaming face and ninja-worthy footwork.

Annette de la Renta and Bill Cunningham

Long overdue, then, was the Medal of Excellence that Carnegie Hall bestowed on him at their annual gala Monday evening, held at the Waldorf=Astoria and sponsored by—take a guess—The New York Times. The invitation read “Come Dressed for Bill” and come they did, in all their gowned and feathered glory. Cocktails proved a cramped scene full of ideal people-watching, if you didn’t mind being shoved around a bit in what was essentially a very high-end mosh pit, surrounded by adorable cut outs of Cunningham in his signature blue smock and newsboy cap.

“This is a fire hazard,” remarked one observer who wisely stayed on the stairs overlooking the scene.

From left: Mercedes Bass; Christine and Stephen Schwarzman

It probably was, but well worth it. Where else would you see a woman in a red and pink ball gown so voluminous it prohibited all movement, causing her to remain in one spot for all of cocktails while her date fetched her drinks? Or a mix that had Mary MacFadden sharing breathing space with co-chair Mercedes Bass, Francisco Costa, Gayle King, gala chair Sarah Jessica Parker, Linda Fargo, honorary chair Sanford Weill (his wife Joan was under the weather) and Andre Leon Talley? But the real sight was Cunningham himself, who traded his blue smock for a full tux and bow tie, accessorized with his omnipresent Nikon camera. He was so besotted with well-wishers, he barely had time to take any shots, though when he did, he gave those hoping to catch him a runaround.

“It’s very meta,” observed a New York Times photographer of covering the event.

“I keep trying to get him, but he’s moving so quickly,” lamented Trevor Born, as his wife Lisa Airan looked on.

Yes, even the men in attendance were well-acquainted with his legend.

“He told me, it’s all about color and shape, ” said one man of Cunningham’s preferred subjects, his spouse being one of them. “My wife goes fishing for Bill Cunningham. It’s her sport.”

From left: Muffie Potter Aston and Sherrell Aston; Julia and David H. Koch

Well, she had her chance as she made her way into dinner: Cunningham stood right by the door snapping away as long trains trailed past him.

Inside, the meal of salad and lamb was speedy, all the more so for two of my table mates who were on the Master Cleanse (I didn’t realize raspberries, whipped cream and champagne were approved substitutes, but whatever). And then it was time for the ceremony.

The normally publicity-shy Annette de la Renta gave a charming ode to the man of the evening. “I think I can safely say that my beloved friend Bill Cunningham is the only man who could get me up on a stage in front of you,” she said, adding, “He and his bicycle flourish in adversity.”

The scene at dinner

Cunningham then gave a long, moving acceptance speech (accompanied by nine pages of notes, to which he briefly referred), punctuated with a few pauses to collect his overwhelming emotions.

“What can one possibly say? For Annette de la Renta to get up to speak, do you know what that means? Nobody got her out and Brooke Astor tried for years. She wanted to stay under the radar,” he said to much laughter. “Mercedes Bass, I’ve been annoying her for thirty years…Oh forget it!” he exclaimed, tossing his notes aside.

“People always say it was better back then. Well, I was around. And it wasn’t much better. It’s better now, a hundred thousand times,” he said firmly, before adding to much approval, “I’m not fond of photographing parties where women borrow dresses.”

Sarah Jessica Parker (a woman who wears many of her own clothes, thank you very much) took the stage next and was charmingly nervous.

From left: Sanford I. Weill; Sarah Jessica Parker and Bill Cunningham

“Could anything be more terrifying than following Bill Cunningham?” she queried before introducing the night’s performer, 35 year-old wunderkind tenor Vittorio Grigolo. “Vittorio Grigolo, is that correct?” she asked of her pronunciation (to her credit, the actress had a lot of long foreign names to work her way through).

Grigolo proved as winning as Cunningham, telling him, “Bill, I just googled you.”

He also won over Parker, surprising her (and the audience) by kicking off his performance with his guitarist and pianist playing the theme to Sex and the City. Twice. Then it was onto more traditional fare like “Maria” and “Tosca,” though there was nothing old fashioned about his request to remove his jacket and tie.

Vittorio Grigolo

“Okay if I take it off?” he asked the crowd.

“Take it off!” yelled almost every woman in the room.

Most of said women didn’t make it to the junior committee’s dance across the hall afterwards. But Bill did. Would you expect any less?

Photos: © Julie Skarratt

The scene outside the Mandarin Oriental hotel at the Time Warner Center Tuesday night was something akin to a paparazzi stakeout. Or guerrilla fashion shoot. Tall, lithe things in sweeping, sparkling gowns were pressed up against the entrance’s marble façade as a barrage of cameras and iPhones went off.

“Who are they?” asked one passerby.

“They dress like they think they’re important,” sniped another woman, in typical blasé New York fashion.

From left: Crystal Renn, Zac Posen and Coco Rocha

Well, turns out they were semi-important: it was an almost unrecognizable Crystal Renn (with her bleached out eyebrows and blonde hair, she looked like a younger, less goth Kristen McMenamy) and Coco Rocha, showing off their Zac Posen frocks.

“Please move away,” said a security person. “They don’t want their photographs taken.”

It actually seemed like they did considering all their preening, but whatever. It was the night of New Yorkers for Children’s annual New Year’s in April: A Fool’s Fete gala, this year sponsored by designer CD Greene Inc. And as Marjorie Gubelmann put it when I finally reached the hotel’s Ballroom, site of the real event, “This is a pose off.”

There sure were a lot of people dressed to attract the roving photographers. One blonde girl wore a paisley printed top and skirt exposing significant midriff real estate (no, the theme was not Moroccan chic. Yes, I think she was looking for some attention). But who was going to pay notice when half the ladies seemed to be covered in enough crystals to perform a New Age reading?

From left: Marisa Noel Brown, a guest and CD Greene; Erin Fetherston and barefooted friends

“If you see a sparkle, it’s a CD Greene gown,” quipped Lydia Fenet, herself showing off a dazzling version. Indeed the designer had outfitted the evening’s chairs in his shiny creations. Though another designer managed to attract attention less for what she was wearing than what she wasn’t: namely, shoes. Erin Fetherston posed barefoot with her date and two other fellows.

“It’s for International One Day Without Shoes,” she explained of the Toms shoes charity, which raises awareness of impoverished children by asking people to spend a day barefoot. “If the children can’t afford shoes, we won’t wear them.”

From left: Dayssi Olarte de Kanavos; Doutzen Kroes

Well, they will when the cameras aren’t looking, as she slipped back into her nude pumps minutes later.

Soon aggressive servers were ushering us to our seats, at votive lit tables with centerpieces of white cherry blossom bouquets.

Honorary chair Dayssi Olarte de Kanavos shared tips on visiting Columbia with Veronica Webb and her beau Chris del Gatto while Selita Ebanks and her dining companion discussed portion control (this while the Victoria’s Secret Angel inhaled her goat cheese salad, bread and butter and steak—life just isn’t fair). And Alina Cho, in a Swan Lake worthy ball-gown thanked god for her aisle seat.

“I’m sitting side-saddle,” she said.

From left: Alina Cho; Selita Ebanks

It proved a little cumbersome for dancing afterwards, but she handled it with aplomb as others snuck around the dance floor and out the door.

“The first time I came, I was here until 2 am,” said one girl. “This time I know better.”

Click here to see more photos from the event.

Photos: Sherly Rabbani & Josephine Solimene

There were many exciting things to see at the East Side House Settlement’s Gala preview of the 2012 New York International Auto Show. Guests roaming the Jacob Javits Center Thursday night could have admired a Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Grand Sport costing $1.9 million and capable of reaching a speed of 253 miles per hour. They could have eyed the Terragugia Transition flying car, which uses the same gasoline as a traditional car and does just what it sounds like: goes from taking off and landing in over 5,000 US airfields to driving on a regular road (an economic solution for those poor folks forced to choose between their private planes and luxury vehicles?). Or they could have pondered a new taxi design, the Nissan NV200.

I could have been one of these people. But instead, I was stuck in over an hour of inexplicable West Side traffic en route to the Javits Center where the only horsepower being used was by the equine-drawn carriage that passed my stalled taxi. Where’s a Batmobile when you need one?

Fe Fendi in the Fiat 500 Abarth

That’s not to say that when I arrived just in time for the end of cocktails that I was bereft of any entertaining visions. The bars were packed with all variety of male species, the purple pants-clad kind, the banker kind (was I being presumptuous? Sorry, not sure what gave it away), the check blazer kind and so on. (There were also women in very long bandage tops…or were they dresses? Unclear.)

“This is quite the testosterone event,” said one lady.

No kidding. The silent auction alone offered a Joe Namath-signed Jets helmet for $1700, a Phil Mickleson-signed three time Masters champion flag for $1600 and a Jay-Z-autographed multi-record poster for $1500. In what world does Jay-Z take third billing? Where was I?

“I’d like an Alexander McQueen dress,” said Patricia Shiah as she glanced over the items.

Good luck with that.

From left: Arie and Coco Kopelman; Tom and Patricia Shiah

Also on display were multiple Fiat 500s, as the company was the main host for the evening. The piece de resistance, however, was the Fiat 500 Abarth, a black and red number with a MultiAir Turbo engine, electronic power steering and 15 mm lowered sports suspension, among other features. It was driven straight into the middle of our canopied black tie dinner at the start of the meal so diners could stare at it and plot their live auction bids (proceeds benefited the East Side House Settlement, which helps underprivileged youths—and adults—escape poverty through access to higher education).

The Fiat 500 Abarth being driven into dinner tent

And so, just before dessert was served, Lydia Fenet took to the stage to get the fundraising started. A sunset cruise around Manhattan for ten on a private yacht (including drinks and dinner) went for $8000, while a reservation for four at Ari Kopelman’s table at Rao’s (NOT including drinks and dinner) took in $6000. You do the status math. There was a tour for eight of Steven and Alexandra Cohen’s private art collection, led by Sandy Heller, that caused a bidding war—“Oh no, she’s been cut off by her husband at $15,000,” quipped Fenet of one woman—ending at $20,000, an Italian travel package courtesy of Indagare ($22,000) and then the aforementioned Abarath Fiat. It made its way to $28,000. It seats four.

Lydia Fenet

But if Fe Fendi, one of the benefit committee’s co-chairs, had gotten her hands on it, I’m thinking it would have been put to maximum use.

“We once squeezed nine people in a mini when I was younger,” she confided to me.

Now that’s what I call performance.

Photos: Joe Schildhorn and Neil Rasmus/BFAnyc.com

New Yorkers are familiar with masks, at least of the psychological variety. There’s the nodding, agreeable mask we put on when asked to perform an odious task. The frowning, “of-course-you-haven’t” mask when a spouse asks if they’ve gained weight. The cheerful, enthusiastic mask when schlepping to the depths of Brooklyn in the rain for an acquaintance’s birthday party. And so on. (There are also, of course, the more physical renditions that come courtesy of the city’s top plastic surgeons.)

This is all to say that charity circuit regulars were well equipped for the Save Venice foundation’s Un Ballo in Maschera (masked ball for those who didn’t take a year abroad in Italy) Monday night at 583 Park Avenue. Themed “A Night on the Lido” and sponsored by Badgley Mischka and de Grisogono, the event brought out all manner of interpretations on the stylistic cue from the meek (that would be me, arriving mask-free and grabbing a pedestrian one from a giveaway basket up front) to the bold (a woman seemingly channeling Isabelle from Dangerous Liaisons).

Mark Badgley and James Mischka

Cocktails were on the mezzanine level, transformed along with the table-filled space down below into a scene straight from a Venetian beach. Blue and white awning stripes covered canopies over multiple bars procuring bellinis and all manner of spirits, while white clad servers passed around prosciutto wrapped grissini and mini steak filet bites. Champagne buckets with bottles were strewn about so guests could refill their own glasses. It was all rather chic, with one slight misstep, so to speak: the bars were all up rather precarious steps, made all the more so by gowns with multi-foot trains. And the perimeter of the balcony level was so narrow that as one man put it, “One lane traffic only!”

From left: Dayssi Kanavos; Jamie Tisch

“I can’t move,” said Alexandra Lebenthal in a red ball gown whose skirt was comprised of an aviary worth of hand dyed feathers to ombré effect. She wasn’t kidding—she barely budged for the entirety of cocktails, even as a man whose mask sprouted a large sharp nose banged into her.

“Sorry, my beak bumped into you,” he apologized.

Tableau vivant: men in vintage bathing suits and women in Badgley Mischka Gowns

Soon it was time for dinner, at tables under umbrellas covered in the same awning stripes. Cornelia Guest and others at my table stuck their masks into the centerpiece, the better to eat (or drink). On a stage, a tableau of female models dressed in Badgely Mischka and holding parasols (“We got them from laceparasol.com,” James Mischka confided to me. “We googled ‘parasols.’”) stood for the entirety of dinner, flanked by two strapping male models in vintage onesie bathing suits.

“It was our first male casting,” said Mischka. “We chose guys who didn’t have body hair.”

Good call.

As dessert was served, Mischka and Mark Badgley presented awards for best male, female and couples masks. Donna Cruz won in the ladies category with a crystal emblazoned number.

“I knew it was over when I saw her,” said Guest of the contest.

Winners of best couple masks: from left, Will Cotton, Susan Krysiewicz, Rose Dergan, and Thomas Bell

A young man sprouting what looked like a silver reindeer antler from his mouth took one for the guys. There was a tie for couples: one pair seemed to have built veritable castles onto their heads.

Then onto the dance floor, which became a mélange of Journey, Rihanna and men in tuxes with lace covering their eyes.

Jamie Tisch wandered around with a multi foot high black, feathered piece on her head.

“I feel like a show girl,” she joked as she scanned the room. “I can’t find my date because I forget what mask he’s wearing.”

Photos: Julie Skarratt

Since opening in 2010, Marcus Samuelsson’s Red Rooster Harlem has emitted an uproarious hum of clinking glasses and voluble conversation from its perch on 125th St and Lenox Avenue. Reservations at prime time are still a prized commodity and the Siren call of the mouth-melting cornbread and the perfect fried chicken—not to mention can’t miss cocktails from house-infused bourbon—has reached non-Harlem residents from the West Village to Brooklyn.

But while the theater of an evening at one of Red Rooster’s tables—and the activity of the open kitchen—might prove entertainment enough, Samuelsson wasn’t content to leave things be. And so he, along with partner Andrew Chapman, has turned the private dining areas in the restaurant’s basement into Ginny’s Supper Club, which opened to the masses last week.

Ginny’s Supper Club

Red Rooster Lite it is not. Taking cues from Harlem’s 1920s supper clubs and speakeasies (the name Ginny was popular in those times), the space combines live performances with small, shareable plates and specialty elixirs in a cozy environment that is more intimate than its upstairs companion.

“We wanted to give our guests a killer venue to listen to music, while enjoying food and drinks,” explains Samuelsson. “The décor is inspired by two decades: the 1940s and the 1970s. A lot of the vintage pieces are from the 1940s, while the musical vibe of Ginny’s embodies the 1970s.”

So on any given night, you could take in a soul, R&B or Brazilian band from your perch in a vinyl booth, meant to evoke a vintage car seat (a rotating roster of guest DJs take over on non-performance nights). A long wooden bar greets guests, who can choose to sip a Rooster Colada (coconut rum, strawberries, pineapple and cream) or a Good Times (gin, thyme, lemon, colonial bitters), courtesy of mixologist Eben Klemm. Amber lights and Italian chandeliers cast an ever-flattering, sepia toned glow on diners. In one corner is an old phone booth, both a nod to the venue’s back-in-time vibe and a good place to make a call without distracting fellow patrons. A back wall facing the bar is covered in a fabric pattern and wooden paneling whose honeycomb appearance is meant to resemble a vintage speaker. It acts as a backdrop to the stage once the booths in front are moved aside for performers.

On a recent evening, a woman sat at a table with her young son (sporting a very on trend varsity jacket) grabbing an early dinner, while across the room, a couple of Italian tourists perused the executive chef Jeremie Tomczak’s multi-cultural menu of “Relishes,” whose standouts include a 5 Spice duck breast with scallion pancake (a riff on Peking duck) and the Bobo chicken and waffle. As the room grew more packed, the high-energy Samuelsson worked the space, introducing himself to diners at every table, greeting friends. The manager made the rounds, too, complimenting clients and making sure their glasses stayed full.

After a generous sampling of the Powell (a peach and pecan bourbon, sloe gin and lemon creation that is utterly addictive—and dangerous), I made my way up through Red Rooster’s jovial din towards the exit. The tables were noisier, the voices reverberated off the walls, the servers moved a little faster. If Red Rooster is a chorus, then Ginny’s is an a cappella solo, both worthy of your attention, depending on your mood.

Photo credit: Monika Sziladi

Loyalty is hard to come by in the fickle world of fashion brand support of charity circuit events. Quick, can you name the last four sponsors of New Yorkers for Children's annual gala? How about the New York Botanical Gardens' Winter Wonderland? I'm guessing no. But if you were referring to the Metropolitan Opera's opening night gala, the answer would be simple: Yves Saint Laurent. The French house has forged a multi-season partnership with the Met since 2008, a friendship that came to a close Monday night when it sponsored its fifth and final gala, the premiere of "Manon." (Shrewd observers would note that this coincides with the departure of Stefano Pilati as designer.)

Co-chair Mercedes Bass (left) and Barbara Walters (right)

The YSL mark on opening night was apparent from the very beginning of the six plus hour marathon event (despite the absence of honorary committee chairs Salma Hayek and Francois-Henri Pinault) that began with cocktails on the Met's balcony level. Alongside usual operatic suspects like co-chairs Mercedes Bass and Ann Ziff, and Barbara Walters, was a smattering of actresses, more likely to be seen at the Independent Spirit Awards than the opening of what to many might be considered a more mature art form. Chloe Moretz arrived with older brother Trevor. And though the 15 year-old wasn't a total neophyte (she's seen "Madame Butterfly") the outing marked an initiation of sorts. "It's my first actual formal dress, like a full, full red carpet dress," she gushed of her long navy dress (YSL, naturally, as was Trevor's matching suit). "It's great! It's comfortable, except for the shoes."

From left to right: Chloe Moretz, Amber Heard, Emmy Rossum, and Emma Roberts

Her contemporary, Emma Roberts, experienced some wardrobe issues of her own. Just before cocktails ended, the petite actress was rushed to the bathroom, stylist by her side brandishing a large pair of scissors. Turns out the inner zipper in Roberts' strapless jumpsuit had broken and needed to be cut out. Problem solved, she headed downstairs to the Grand Tier for a pre-performance supper of smoked salmon and sautéed sole. There she, Moretz, January Jones, Emmy Rossum, Dree Hemingway and a dollop of models were sprinkled amongst fuchsia-peony bedecked tables like fairy dust amongst the editors and society doyennes in attendance.

Patricia Clarkson, a longtime fan, divulged that in her post-college days she used to buy $15 tickets for seats "waaay up."

"Now I can buy the real thing," she laughed, as she brushed off a waiter's generous hand with the champagne. "No more, I have five hours to go," she told him.

January Jones (left), Patricia Clarkson (right)

Indeed. Dinner began around 6pm, a rather geriatric hour considering the youth blooming across the room. As the non-VIP opera goers made their way in, they gathered on the upper tiers, observing our meal, iPhones in hand, not unlike curious onlookers peering into an aquarium.

"It's like we're on the Titanic with all these people staring," quipped one girl. Then it was off to the first third of "Manon" starring Anna Netrebko as the titular role. Next came a trip back to the Grand Tier for dessert, before three more acts and another intermission. A rather hefty endeavor, to be sure, but some like Amber Heard were relishing the occasion.

"I get embarrassed because I love it so much, perhaps it's one of those things chemically that connects to you as a human and you don't know why. I admire the guts it takes to get up and open yourself up to that experience. Because it's so unlike my work with cuts, where you get cuts and you get a small crew," said the actress, who added a few nights to her NYC stay so she could indulge her theater fix with "Death of a Salesman" and "Venus in Fur." "It's such a luxury being from LA where's not really part of the culture," she offered.

Or as the New York-born Rossum put it, glancing at her boyfriend Tyler, "Our normal date is bowling in the Valley."

The streets were slush-free. Temperatures were balmy. And the coat check girls looked bored to death. Was this really the Frick Collection’s annual Young Fellows ball, the event that each year seems cursed with all manner of inclement weather?

“I’m so glad it’s not snowing!” said Olivia Chantecaille, one of the evening’s chairs.

Not only was the ground blessedly lacking in powdery white—as a loyal attendee I can attest that the worst wintery mix is truly stiletto heels and a blizzard—but this year’s dance, themed the Belle Epoque Ball (in honor of the museum’s current Renoir exhibit) and sponsored by Donna Karan (not a yoga-friendly dress in sight, by the way, thank Krishna) drew more than six hundred young guys and gals aching to trot out their fin-de-siecle finery. So tender of age, in fact, that some more mature attendees had a hard time placing any acquaintances.

From left: Chairman Lydia Fenet and husband Chris Delaney; Lara Meilland-Shaw

“I don’t know who anyone is—who are these people?” said one fashion girl surveying the crowd meandering around the central fountain. “Everyone’s young and attractive.”

Everyone also had a very different interpretation of the dress code. One fellow walked around in a purple top hat, with a back veil trailing behind him, while another woman appeared to be wearing a kimono. Yet another wore an ice blue dress so voluminous in its tiers and train that it moved through the central courtyard’s narrow perimeter like a Zamboni.

“That’s Gone with the Wind meets Belle Epoque,” quipped one guest.

Steering Committee Member Lucy Jane Lang arrives with Cator Sparks by horse drawn carriage

For those who forsook any costumery, there were refreshments to get them in the mood. Waiters with silver trays procured champagne and rose in coupes and two cocktails.

“They all have French names,” shrugged one guy when I inquired about the latter’s ingredients. (Turns out they were white cranberry-vodka and jalapeno-tequila concoctions.)

Olivia Chantecaille and R. A. Shore in the East Gallery Renoir exhibition with Bill Cunningham

Servers maneuvered around dress trains passing out mini blinis with caviar, salmon tartare and mini spring rolls, while in the room comprising the dance floor and a DJ, a buffet offered charcuterie, cocktail shrimp, mini quiches and, rather quixotically, beets tartare.

It was all probably quite a new spectacle for those just beginning their charity circuit years. And even more experienced types seemed to be relishing the ambiance. In one corner, Tinsley Mortimer looked rather zen, sipping her cranberry cocktail.

From left: Tinsley Mortimer and Robert Matheson; Alexander and Sarah Saint-Amand, Elisabeth Saint-Amand, and Sloane Crosley

“I took a break for two years, it was all too much,” she explained of her absence from the society pages. “And now I’m back and it’s actually fun! And I’m single, so I’m ready to meet my man at the Frick,” she continued, with a laugh, adding hastily, “No not really.”

Happy hunting.

Photos: Fenet, Shaw, Lang, Cunningham; Mortimer: Mary Hilliard; all others: Christine A. Butler

The lobby of the School of Visual Arts Theatre in Chelsea looked like the setting of Take Your Children to Work Tuesday evening, what with all the young girls in cardigans and flouncy dresses and boys in Justin Bieber-style kicks running around. But it was more like Take Your Children to Premiere night, specifically a Cinema Society and Calvin Klein-hosted screening of The Hunger Games. As the likes of Zoe Kravitz (whose dad, Lenny, plays costume designer Cinna in the film), Melanie Laurent, Irina Shayk and Gayle King milled around and the male leads Josh Hutcherson and Liam Hemsworth took their turn on the step and repeat, I caught up with Jennifer Lawrence, aka Katniss Everdeen, in a curve hugging deep green Calvin Klein dress, to chat bows and arrows and dealing with the hype.

Jennifer Lawrence

You must have picked up some mad archery skills while playing Katniss. Are you a killshot now?
Jennifer Lawrence: Well, I honestly haven’t done it since we wrapped. I kept telling myself I would and that’s why there are arrows in the back of my car, but I haven’t really had time to get back. But I do love it. I’m really happy I picked it up.

I heard the shoot in North Carolina was 105 degrees. Were you dying in those costumes?
It was pretty hot. Just grin and bear it.

Was it like Method acting?
Yeah, well it is easier when you don’t have to fake the elements.

Did the training for Hunger Games help prepare you for the media circus that you’ve been going through?
I don’t think anything could have helped me for the media circus!

Which was easier: training for the Hunger Games or this non-stop press gauntlet?
The training was a lot easier because it’s just like, do this, this many times and you’re done. But the press, there’s no right or wrong, it’s just like I don’t know, it’s this complicated, never-ending circus that I’ll never understand.

You famously wore that stunning red Calvin Klein dress as a nominee at last year’s Oscars and you’re in another Calvin dress now in a very different scenario. I’m wondering what you were feeling then versus now, how your mindset has changed between these two moments?
Mentally, I haven’t changed. I keep waiting to because everyone keeps asking, “Do you feel different?” And I’m like, “I don’t really feel different, I just feel overwhelmed.”

And this is obviously going to be a defining role for your career beyond all the future work you do. Is that something you’ve come to terms with?
Yeah, it was one of the first things I gripped because it’s a big thing to understand when you do something like that. But this is a character that I admire and I love and a story I’m really proud of and feel really strongly about, so I wouldn’t have done any franchise if it weren’t this one. This is something that I’d be proud to go back to for years and talk about for years.

Photo: Patrick McMullan