Guests decked in togas and peplums poured into the studio, which had been transformed into a candle-lit Mount Olympus with pillow seating and low-slung tables stocked with grapes, olives and endless bottles of champagne. A host of men came as Russell Crowe-style gladiators — including Terry Allen Kramer’s aging boy toy, who merrily lifted his skirt to frighten everyone with the four-foot-long fake appendage swinging underneath. A lamé-ed Jeff Klein, meanwhile, decided his friends’ sleek warrior look would have been a better fit for him.
“I don’t know how girls wear dresses all the time,” he laughed. “They make you look so fat. Where’s the vomitorium?” But the better-practiced ladies managed marvelously.
“Everyone looks angelic,” said Celerie Kemble, surveying the room. “It’s so deceiving.”
Alex Kramer plucked her snow-white ensemble straight off the home furnishings aisle at Bed, Bath & Beyond.“I’m wearing curtains,” she explained — which she turned into the best dress of the evening.
Sophie Dahl, sans costume, bypassed the strict doormen, who occupied themselves performing toga checks. (No toga, no entry.)
“I didn’t think anyone would dress up because it’s New York,” she said. “I arrived and wanted to run home to change right away.” But Dahl, like the rest of the revelers, remained well after the drum accompaniment to dinner faded and Jay-Z’s dance tunes started pumping.“When does the orgy start?” joked Tim Schifter.