Soho Without Her

Dua Lipa completely had my head that year. When V Magazine put her on the cover and she threw a party in Soho to celebrate, I needed to know everything about it - which meant tracking the whole night through Instagram stories from people too busy filming to actually have fun.

The usual suspects showed up. Gigi Hadid, Jonathan Van Ness, designers, models, it-people. She was signing magazines and CDs and apparently body parts, which sounds good in concept until you realize it’s just another moment being performed for the camera.

The real thing about these parties is that nobody’s actually there to enjoy themselves. Everyone’s performing being cool and famous. You can see it in their faces - the careful grinning, the strategic standing, the constant awareness that a photographer might catch them at just the right angle. It’s boring in the most self-conscious way.

I never made it close enough that night. Never got the view I actually wanted - her closer, dressed for less, me drunker, something that might have made it feel like more than just watching other people perform. But that’s how it goes with celebrity crushes. You follow them from your couch and feel like you’re part of something, and then the night ends and you’re still right where you started.