Titania Veda

Whiff of Whimsy: Gift of Gab in NYC

Since arriving in New York City two weeks ago, I have landed a job with an online magazine and have been invited to several parties in Manhattan, all of which were hip and happening.

But I wasn’t attending these functions to rub shoulders with New York’s elite. I was there to write about them — something I term as “enforced socializing.”

Let’s be frank. We all want something from each other and socializing is just one way to get it. It’s what we do in order to get a job, a partner or anywhere in life.

In Indonesia, having an active social life — as well as the right connections — is essential. It’s the whole KKN (corruption, collusion, and nepotism) deal, whereby some lucky individuals reap benefits.

Though not required, being sociable has made me a better journalist. It certainly makes interviewing more pleasant. Yet after hitting three events within the span of a week, I began to wonder how some people can do this every night.

Don’t get me wrong. I like people and enjoy being social as much as the next person. But I am, at heart, homebody who relishes a quiet night in with a good book.

Covering high-profile events, see-and-be-seen parties and hobnobbing with the “It” crowd is different from going to a normal gathering and getting to know people.

At these upscale functions, it’s less about discovering the depth of a person than about obtaining spicy details or an interesting quip from one of the socialites and celebrities in attendance. The trick here is to find a way to entice a good but short story out of the rapper, model or artist I’m talking to.

But the atmosphere — whether fun and light or hot and heavy — can make this a bit difficult. While the music is blasting in my ear and everyone, including myself, is sipping champagne or a screwdriver, no one is going to wax lyrical about anything serious. Everyone is too busy worrying about their image and trading air-kisses.

I should have realized how much image and a fancy wardrobe matters to this crowd, but the first time I was told to cover a bonafide NYC event, I absolutely had nothing to wear.

I headed over to a fashion cocktail reception near Times Square severely underdressed and braced myself for an onslaught of men in tuxedos and women in evening gowns.

Luckily, nobody said anything, and I was reminded once again of the value of a big smile and a lot of chit-chat.

I was also protected by special shields no good journalist is ever without: a pen and a notebook. It’s essential to remember to bring these to any event, as it lets me approach the cutest guy in the room without hesitation. Within minutes, without much ado, I have a quote, a story and a phone number.

Being a journalist at these parties is always a little strange. There I am, acting like everyone else at the party, except that I’m holding a pen and pad.

Am I socializing, or working, or both? The boundaries can be blurry. I try to maintain an air of professionalism.

When men nuzzle my hair to speak, it isn’t to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, but to give me a quote, courtesy of a lot of shouting and spittle over loud music playing. (One such interview made me return home immediately to wash my hair.)

When an inappropriate hand sidles over my knee, the words “Sorry, I’m working right now,” can move the hand away without hurting the feelings of the flirt that I’m interviewing.

When that fails, I hunt down my photographer for assistance. But if the photog assigned to me is male, he’s usually taking pictures of pretty ladies, using his camera as an excuse to chat them up.

Then there’s the free flowing drinks from the open bar. While refraining from drinking can be seen as prudish, on the other hand, it’s easy to get carried away.

I must, therefore, restrain myself, because on most occasions, I have to hightail it home and write the article for the next day.

For those aspiring to be socialites, writing about these parties is the next best thing. After all, I get to attend all the best parties in town, flit from one VIP to the next (or even the occasional non-VIP, should I wish), be regaled with amusing stories, and may just find a picture of myself in the society pages, posing next to someone important.

But for this writer, it is the best way to navigate my way into and around the inner social circles of New York’s finest.

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