Okay, so let me just preface this by saying: I was not wearing white. I feel like that matters.
So, this past Saturday, I woke up craving something different. You know those moments in the city where you just feel like putting on your best sunglasses, grabbing a lavender oat milk latte, and aimlessly wandering until you "find yourself"? No? Just me? Fine.
Anyway, I threw on this super cute flowy maxi dress—think effortless-but-effort-full—and decided to finally check out that new rooftop garden bar in SoHo that everyone (read: Monica) has been DMing me about. This place is so exclusive, it doesn’t even have a sign. Naturally, I was intrigued.
It Starts With a Bellhop and A Doorman Who Thinks I’m “With the Bride”
So I arrive at this beyond-gorgeous building, and the elevator already smells like someone’s wearing Creed. I’m vibing. And get this—the doorman literally opens the roof access door for me with a little smile and says:
"Welcome. They’re just about to start."
And I’m like, “Ohh, perfect.” Honestly? I thought he meant happy hour (it was 4:47 PM). I walk in. Gorgeous floral arrangements everywhere. A string quartet. Everyone is incredibly well-dressed. A small child hands me Prosecco.
Still, nothing really clicks.
Ten Minutes In, I Realize I’m at a Wedding
I’m sipping my drink, living my best vaguely-European summer dream, and that’s when a woman next to me whispers:
“Isn’t this the most beautiful ceremony?”
And I’m like, “Ceremony?” 😳
I look around and see what I thought was an aggressively fashionable brunch crew are now standing and facing a makeshift floral arch. Before I can even pretend to casually slip away, THE BRIDE STARTS WALKING DOWN THE AISLE.
She looks…amazing. Clearly, this is a money wedding. Like, “we don’t need a planner because we hired an actual curator” kind of wedding. So obviously I stay. I mean, I couldn’t leave—I'm literally trapped between an elderly man holding a Nikon and a girl explaining that she met the groom at Burning Man.
Fun Fact: I Might Be in the Wedding Video??
Because get this: not only did I stay, they had a drone. A DRONE.
At one point, I actually waved because I thought it was a New York tourism thing. And I had no idea they were recording the freaking vows.
Can you imagine the replay?
“To have and to hold… until the end of time,”
[Cut to me holding a mini crab cake and mouthing “Is that Brie?”]
I Finally Figure Out My Exit Strategy
After the kiss (yes, I clapped—what else was I supposed to do?!), I did what any person who just accidentally attended a wedding does: I danced a little to "September," complimented the floral centerpieces, and then fake-answered a phone call and slipped out like I had to go chase a wayward French bulldog.
I did grab a macaron on the way out. I'm not a monster.
So, What Did We Learn?
Besides the fact that I clearly need to ask more questions when entering stylish rooftop spaces?
May I present:
Rachel’s Rules for Spontaneous SoHo Saturdays:
- Always confirm if the event you're walking into is public or private.
- When unsure, find the bride. If you recognize her from Instagram, you’re probably not invited.
- Say yes to mini crab cakes, but no to waving at drones.
- Never wear white to anything where someone else might be wearing wedding white.
- Always keep a fake phone call in your back pocket.
Honestly though, wouldn’t change a thing. I love this city—where one moment you’re looking for the perfect cocktail, and the next, you’re third-wheeling some stranger’s forever.
Only in New York. 🥂
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Have you ever accidentally crashed something? Tell me in the comments! I swear I won't judge—as long as you didn’t catch the bouquet. 💐
