Team Party Crash: Puma Panty Party
We wanted to prove to the PR people of Manhattan that we'll go to fucking anything. Now, we have. In this scantily-clad edition, our special correspondents Grellan and Doug venture far beyond the D List and into the nearly nude hipster party for Puma Panties at Ruby Falls. Inside they find dangerous amounts of booze, Lycra... and interns.
Says our correspondent:
It's not often you get invited to a party for panties. It's never often that I do. So I was tickled fuchsia when I found out I would be at the unveiling of Puma's new line of his-and-her's undergarments. The invite said "from 7 until naughty." Having only ever partied until "???," I had no idea what to expect come naughty o'clock.
It's always awkward when you show up to any party on time (7 sharp!). It's especially awkward when you show up and the models are already in the spotlight in their not-so-full regalia. While the models - four girls, two guys - preened in the center of the room, with Puma's underwear barely covering their thunder and unmentionables, most pretended to not notice the fact that six members of the beautiful people were lightly writhing around just a mere few feet away.
The models, and the underage PR interns who love them, provided the only action early on. In the most symbiotic of relationships, the underage interns provided the giggles and camera phones; the male models offered up hairless pecs. Even Steven. [Ed Note: Who?]
Celebrity wattage was decidedly low, or so hip, I had now idea who they were. For the most part, it was the usual assortment of (panty) industry types, fashion victims and hangers-on looking for free liquor (guilty as charged!).
The models continued to sway in the middle of the room, while most in the crowd, save the underage interns, kept their distance... except, of course Manny [Ed Note: Who?] Nobody was even two vodka tonics deep before the awkward "should he be up here?" dance commenced. People with headsets and earphones bolted into action, and a consensus was reached: Manny was bad for business.
After Manny was pulled down from the banquet and replaced with an ever-eager set of PR interns, the music was lowered and we got the pitch. You'd think hot bodies in panties would need no introduction or explanation, but we got a really long one from the VP of Communication of something or other.
After the speech and quick fashion show, the models were free to go, but in order to leave they'd need to run the gauntlet of iBankers. This meant only one thing: it was finally naughty o'clock.
The rest of the party was relatively tame, save for the occasional indoor firework (there is smoking in New York bars!) and frisky cocktail waitress. When I saw the impromptu couch dance, I knew it was my cue to grab a gift bag and jet before I soiled my panties.
Oh, and much thanks to Puma and assorted other sponsors for the hospitality and panty shots. I'll never go cowboy again. Honest.
