Okay. So I know you're not supposed to just "wander into" someone else's rooftop soirée, but… it kinda happened. And it turned out to be one of those magical New York moments that makes this city feel like your own personal rom-com.
Let me explain.
It Started With Wedges and a Spritz
So there I was, getting ready for what I thought was going to be a super chill wine night with Monica and Phoebe. But then, naturally, Monica got roped into some emergency catering gig (someone left goat cheese out in direct sunlight, apparently—tragic), and Phoebe had to meet that guy who "channels Bruce Springsteen's aura" in Prospect Heights. Which left me with a cute outfit, a good blowout, and zero plans.
Rather than sit at home and rewatch vintage Ralph Lauren runway shows (I mean, don’t tempt me), I decided to take myself out. Just me, a cute sundress, and some desperate optimism. I headed to SoHo because a girl can only walk past the glassware department at Bloomingdale’s so many times without buying a martini shaker she doesn’t need.
A Little Detour… and Some Laughter
On Prince Street, I stumbled upon this little side door that was propped open. There were twinkly lights, music (we’re talking old-school disco with some absolutely inspired ABBA remixes), and the faint, flirty smell of coconut sunscreen and champagne.
And okay—this is where things get… Rachel Green.
Without really thinking, I followed the music up the stairs (it was like my Manolo Blahniks had a sixth sense) and suddenly, I was on this amazing rooftop. String lights, velvet lounge chairs, a bar cart straight out of an Architectural Digest spread, and—I'm not even kidding—a DJ wearing a seersucker blazer and mood rings.
People were laughing, clinking glasses, twirling around with Aperol spritzes in hand. It was like stepping into a perfume ad where everyone is just effortlessly cool and no one has ever questioned their 401(k).
And somehow, no one asked who I was. Which, if you’ve ever been a waitress at Central Perk, you know—being invisible can sometimes be kind of… thrilling?
The Saree-Wearing Stranger and the Too-Good Bruschetta
I’ll admit, I started to feel a little paranoid. Like, what if someone realized I hadn’t actually been invited and I got dramatically escorted down the fire escape?
But then a woman in this gorgeous coral saree came up to me, handed me a plate, and said:
“You look like you belong here. Also, you’ve got the best hair I’ve seen tonight—tell me your conditioner.”
We ended up talking for, like, twenty minutes about mango chutney versus fig jam, eyebrow threading, and how New York is basically one giant fever dream in heels.
Then I met a guy named Theo who designs sustainable sneakers (everything is made out of seaweed—I’m not joking), and we did a spontaneous mini photoshoot against a brick wall for his “found-fashion” series. I might be featured on his Instagram next week… fingers crossed.
Why I Think The City Makes Us Braver
Honestly, I think that’s the thing about New York—it gives you these weird, spontaneous moments to just be: to say yes, to walk into a room where you don’t know anyone, to eat way too much bruschetta and forget why you were nervous 10 minutes ago.
Sometimes you have to crash the party (figuratively or, let’s be honest, literally). Because you never know. You could meet your next best friend. Or at least discover a new favorite rosé and the exact right time of day for rooftop lighting.
My Advice?
- Always wear shoes you can run in… or at least climb stairs in 🥵
- Keep a bold lipstick in your clutch—you never know
- Smile at the doorman (or, in this case, the guy fixing a fog machine on the lower floor)
- Be curious. Even if you feel awkward
- Say yes. Just… say yes. (Unless it's to Nicholas who offered me a DIY tattoo—that was a no)
Next time you're on the way to your "quiet night in" and fate opens a magical little side door? Take it. There's probably disco music and seaweed shoes waiting on the roof.
Love,
Rachel 💋
P.S. I never did find out whose party it was. But if you hosted a rooftop celebration in SoHo last Thursday and saw a slightly overexcited girl hugging the bruschetta plate—hi. Thank you. You're fabulous.
