How to Plan a Fancy Party Worthy of The New York Times Spotlight
Step 1: Choose a Theme So Specific, It Needs Footnotes
Your theme shouldn’t just be “Gatsby” or “Black Tie”—it should sound like a rejected Wes Anderson screenplay. Think “Victorian Robot Uprising” or “Haunted Versailles But Make It Gluten-Free.” The goal? Confuse guests into awe. Hire a local theater major to hand-paint illegible menus in Olde English font while muttering about “the artistic process.” Bonus points if attendees ask, “Wait, is this a metaphor?” (Spoiler: It’s not. You just really like robots.)
Step 2: Invitations That Double as Performance Art
Forget Paperless Post. Your invites must arrive via:
- Wax-sealed scrolls delivered by a bike courier in a powdered wig
- Smoke signals (if your HOA allows open flames)
- An origami unicorn that whispers the date when unfolded (hire a tech intern)
Include a *strict* dress code like “Post-Apocalyptic Regency Core” or “Mermaid Aristocrat.” If no one RSVPs “no,” you’re not trying hard enough.
Step 3: Decorate Like a Baroque Spaceship Crashed Into a Gold Leaf Factory
Your centerpiece should be a 7-foot-tall ice sculpture of your cat’s astrological chart. Rent chandeliers that play smooth jazz when touched. Scatter “antique” books (literally just your old tax returns glued into Shakespeare covers) and napkins made of “clouds” (read: $200 hypoallergenic gauze). For ambience, hire a theremin player to follow guests around, because nothing says “I’m important” like eerie sci-fi noises near the crudités.
Step 4: Serve Food With Unreadable Descriptions
Hire a chef who exclusively uses words like “deconstructed,” “foraged,” and “emulsified trauma.” Menu highlights:
- Air (meringue shaped like your existential dread)
- Soil (beet puree with edible glitter)
- A single lentil on a plate the size of a hula hoop
Pair it with “water” from a mystical alpine spring (aka your garden hose). When the *Times* photographer arrives, casually mention the lentil was “grown in harmony with Saturn’s rings.” Nailed it.
Fancy Party Trends 2023: NYT-Inspired Decor, Menus & Etiquette Secrets
“Newspaper Chic” Is the New Black (And White, Obviously)
Move over, marble countertops—2023’s *~*it*~* decor involves literal newsprint. NYT-inspired soirées demand tablescapes where centerpieces are origami swans folded from the *Arts* section, and walls are “papered” with headlines like *“Local Man Discovers Avocado Toast Is Overrated.”* Pro tip: Scatter crossword puzzle coasters (answers pre-filled in pencil, because you’re chaotic) to spark heated debates about 3-down: “___-drenched squid ink crostini (5 letters).”
Menus That Whisper, “I Read Footnotes for Fun”
Forget charcuterie boards. The truly avant-garde host serves deconstructed Waldorf salads in petri dishes and mains like “sous-vide free-range quail with a side of existential dread.” Beverages? A *Times*-approved mix of artisanal moon water (harvested during a Mercury retrograde) and cocktails named after Pulitzer categories. *“One Public Service Paloma, please—hold the accountability.”* Bonus points if your dessert is a “meta cheesecake” that critiques its own calorie count via edible QR code.
NYT-Approved Etiquette Secrets (That Defy All Logic)
- Clap with your elbows to avoid germy hands. *Science* says it’s “probably fine.”
- Greet guests by whispering, *“Did you bring your own reusable aura?”* If they laugh, they’re keepers. If they panic, offer a *Style Section*-branded paper bag to hyperventilate into.
- Send thank-you notes via interpretive dance. Emojis are acceptable, but only if they’re obscure (looking at you, 🦑).
RSVP Required (But Only in Haiku)
NYT-aligned invites now demand responses in 17 syllables or fewer. Example: *“Your party sounds wild. / I’ll bring my existential dread. / Also, a +1.”* Dress code? “Post-ironic black tie”—think tuxedo shirts with joggers, or ball gowns accessorized with a *strategically clipped paywall article*. Remember: If your soirée doesn’t end with someone quoting a 2017 op-ed on the ethics of confetti, did it even happen?
