All it took to get from Prabal Gurung‘s post-show dinner to his after-party was an elevator ride. The designer first celebrated his Spring collection with the likes of Irina Lazareanu and Barbara Bush in the penthouse at the Standard’s East Village branch, then downstairs later in André Saraiva’s basement pop-up club—where, as at the riotous (and talked-about) opener the night before, the proceedings involved some spirited live-band karaoke. “The only thing I’m regretting is I wish I’d practiced,” Gurung said as he prepared to take the plunge. “I’m not shy, but my usual song is depressing and I want to really knock it out of the park.”
It was hardly a night to sing the blues. No need to tell that to Alexander Wang, who’s taken it upon himself to pretty much blow the walls off the place every September fashion week. His fans expect bigger and better every season, and he delivered last night with a bash at the historic Emigrant Bank building. Upon entering, guests were greeted by a metal detector, not a cocktail—for that, you had to approach a teller window. After a moment, you noticed that all the Belvedere-serving bartenders had name tags that read “RICH.”
Raucous was another word to describe the night. The South African hip-hop act Die Antwoord stomped around the stage, and later a fracas sent bouncers diving through the crowds. In between, Busta Rhymes performed a set and asked the question that was on many peoples’ minds: “Where is Mr. Wang?” The man of the hour bounded up and the hip-hop legend raised a Champagne bottle and elicited a garbled, high-decibel “Cheers!” from the crowd. “You guys fucking make the party!” Wang shouted back into the mike. It was, in a word, money.