Imagine being asked to cover the Serpentine Summer Party for i-D and realizing, three-quarters through the night, that you’ve been having so much fun you haven’t actually covered anything—unless you count the chicken tenders and the caviar bar (I had three servings). I’ll do my best to recount the highs, the fashion, the jelly table, and most importantly, the art-world gossip and pavilion chatter.
The Serpentine Summer Party has a permanent place on my must-attend list, thanks to Bettina and Hans, the most gracious of hosts. This is the event that gave us Princess Diana’s revenge dress moment. Fashion history and contemporary art in one place? Sign me up. I always try to channel that energy by wearing sport shorts with the top half of a tuxedo. I’m a proud outfit repeater, and this party always inspires me to show some knee (photo evidence exists). It’s especially great when you’re deep in conversation with a Very Important Art Person on the lawn, then walk away and flash a little leg. I always look back at the shocked faces and give them a wink.
Getting Ready.
Any excuse to leave work early is a win, especially when it involves Augustinus Bader eye patches and a jump rope workout. I went 45 minutes with weights. I’ve been eating nothing but protein for the last 10 days, prepping for a very last-minute summer trip with my boyfriend, so I was a bit lightheaded. But we move.
Arrivals.
We had car placards and QR codes. I’m having Met Gala flashbacks. After sitting in traffic for 20 minutes, I decided to walk the last stretch (chic). My date for the evening? Drum roll… La Roux. How did I get so lucky? No idea. We recently became friends after she reached out about getting a “Protect the Dolls” tee for one of her concerts. We’re both a little on the spectrum, both deeply passionate people. Sometimes you meet your heroes and become besties. Bulletproof.
The guests.
London really showed up. Highlights included forming an alternative music sandwich for a photo with La Roux and Caroline Polachek. Basically my baby blue iPod mini come to life. I broke my rule about complimenting people without substance—fangirling with nothing to say—because it was Bianca Jagger. I had no witty line in me. I blacked out.
Music royalty everywhere. Lily Allen looked stunning in 16Arlington. Beth Ditto rocked Charles Jeffrey Loverboy. No Charli XCX sightings, though the pavilion signage did feel like a familiar shade of Brat green. For the record, it was a smoke-free event… but the Brat sign offered the perfect discreet cover for a cigarette.
Music, food, refreshments.
Caroline said she loved the DJ’s remix of Toto’s “Africa,” and I have to agree. The music was energetic and people were actually dancing in the pavilion as the sun went down. The structure itself, designed by Bangladeshi architect Marina Tabassum, was stunning.
Alongside the dance floor, they served biryani. I’ve mentioned the chicken tenders and caviar bar, but there was also an entire jelly table by Skye Gyngell that I found completely delightful. The British commitment to jelly is something I deeply respect. So gay, so fun. More jelly, please. Best drink of the night was a margarita, though it went by another name. I kept accidentally ordering the one that was just tequila on the rocks. I wish I were that girl, but I’m absolutely not.
The afters.
After a perfect night at the pavilion, I headed to the afters at Tramp with La Roux and my friends James, Osman, and Sarah. I almost didn’t get in because of the venue’s no-shorts policy, but I pulled the fashion designer card and made it work. Dress codes are made to be broken. Call me a tramp. The night ended with Palomas, more dancing, and a brutal headache the next morning. That’s the most in-the-moment reporting I’ve ever done. Thanks, everyone. I love going to parties, getting drunk, and calling it journalism.
