Hey you guys—okay, I have a story. And it's one of those Only in New York™ moments that makes this city exhausting, magical, and the kind of place where one second you're just trying to find a decent oat milk latte, and the next you're dancing under fairy lights on a rooftop you didn’t even know existed.
Let me walk you through what happened.
It Started With a Dress
So earlier that day, I had this adorable Reformation dress (yes, I know half of Instagram already owns it, but let me live) that I hadn’t worn yet. It was just hanging in my closet like, “Rachel, take me on an adventure.” And I thought, you know what? Today feels like a dress day. Not for any reason… that’s always when trouble finds you, right?
Also, I had just done my hair. And when that happens, plans magically start making themselves.
The Quest for Coffee (and a Vibe)
So I’m walking through SoHo, minding my own business, looking for this new Scandinavian coffee shop that someone on TikTok said had rosewater lattes (they were wrong, by the way—it did not). But while I’m wandering around this narrow cobblestoned side street—because every cool thing in NYC is always secretly hidden behind, like, a graffiti-covered alley and a door that looks like it leads to a boiler room—I heard music.
Not just background noise. Music-music. Housey, kind of disco-y, with just enough bass to make your body vibrate a little. And laughter. So. Much. Laughter.
So obviously my nosy little self investigated.
The Door (That Was Not My Door)
There’s this industrial building with a green metal door slightly ajar—which, okay, late-20s Rachel wouldn’t have walked through, but present-day me? I had a good blowout, a cute dress, and no real schedule. Plus, New York rule: If a door is open and music is coming from behind it, you have to at least check.
I go in, find this old elevator (the kind that looks like someone once smuggled bootleg gin in it), hit the top floor button, and pray I’m not accidentally trespassing on a startup office or a Pilates cult.
But when those elevator doors opened? Can I just say—it was like Gatsby threw a party on Euphoria and dropped it on a rooftop in SoHo.
The Rooftop: Not Where I Meant to Be But Exactly Where I Needed to Be
I step out, and boom—this insanely gorgeous rooftop terrace opens up in front of me. People in sparkly sunglasses. Trays of tiny cocktails. A disco ball. A literal violinist playing a remix of Beyoncé’s “Cuff It”—which, by the way, is now my official entrance song. I will be requesting it anytime I walk into a room from now on.
Now listen—I fully realize I was not invited.
But in true New York fashion, everyone just accepted me as if I belonged, which is simultaneously magical and concerning. (Like, who are all these beautiful strangers and why are they so welcoming??)
When in Doubt, Sip the Cocktail
Someone handed me what they said was a “cucumber elderflower spritz” (so naturally I said yes), and I started chatting with a girl named Lila who turned out to be the assistant to a very, very niche fragrance brand founder. We bonded over a mutual love of cashmere and accidentally dating musicians.
A couple other things that happened:
- I saw a guy wearing a Balenciaga hat and dancing, which should not be possible.
- Someone brought their dog. To a party. On a rooftop. Named it Oregano.
- I might have given my number to a guy who said he “curates playlists for hotels.” I don’t know what that means either.
What Did We Learn Here?
Was it private? Yes.
Did I accidentally crash it? Also yes.
Do I regret anything? Absolutely not.
Because in this city, the unexpected is where the sparkle hides. You think you’re just running errands with your hair done, and suddenly you’re part of something glittery and strange.
Living in New York means walking around with a soft yes on your lips, ready to become the main character, even if it’s just for one champagne-fuzzy sunset. And to be honest? I live for those moments.
“It’s not about being invited. It’s about being fabulous enough that nobody questions it.”
(Okay, fine, maybe I just made that up. But tell me that’s not a lesson.)
Stay nosy, stay overdressed, and always trust a door with good music behind it.
Xoxo,
Rachel
💋✨🥂
P.S. If anyone finds my other earring…it’s probably still twinkling under the disco ball.
