On Saturday, Good magazine celebrated its first anniversary by renting out the entire National Museum of the American Indian. They put out a call to the masses and thousands of people came, mostly from Long Island. But! This was only a third of their celebration. Good, which has $200 million dollars behind it thanks to owner Ben Goldhirsh's father's foundation, also rented out the Hirshorn Museum in DC and the Los Angeles Museum of Natural History. NIkola Tamindzic captured the locals.

Few if any of the guests who were milling in front of the museum probably noticed Daniel Chester French's sculptures of The Continents. A rumor was buzzing near the entrance (between Europe and Africa) among the smokers that Shakira was coming. Supposedly Ben had met her at an event earlier and she had said she'd come. Though her hips don't lie, her lips apparently do.

We were led up through the TSA-like security process. Winding up the stairs, who did we see but Julia Allison, without her erstwhile boyfriend Jakob Lodwick, her gray jersey dress displaying copious amounts of flesh. "I'm mad at you!" she said, affecting a pouty face. "Why?" we asked. "Because you said I had no dignity." Oh, right. That.

Page Six magazine's Rachel Syme, the entire staff of the Observer (okay, Nicole Brydson, Michael Calderone, Max Abelson) and a couple of clingers-on were in the Post Collector's Room, a wood-paneled and frescoed room on the second floor that had become the VIP area. Who else was there? Two guys in pageboy caps, one of whom we later learned was a lady.

Two bartenders were made to wear a Good t-shirt. A gaysian named Joaquim who is the photo director of Good had many necklaces around his neck. Julia Allison explained to us why her interest in Ben Goldhirsh was so matrimonial. It has to do with his being young, good-looking and incredibly wealthy. She told us she never dates guys for their money. We reminded her she had been shtupping Lorenzo Borghese, an Italian prince. She left to look for a husband.

How could she not find one? Every man had gel in his hair. They were all good looking. Many seemed wealthy. All seemed healthy and happy. Infuriatingly they were all pretty nice. And I hate to say it (also secretly have been dying to say it), they were all Good people.

But outside, in the second floor rotunda, the scene was different. The striped shirts that looked so literary on the male VIP took on a more outer-borough feel. Pukka necklaces were seen around thick necks. Girls with ugly faces and large smooshed-together boobs were clutching their phones and each other like totems and flotsam. Did they read Good magazine? Of the 10 people we asked, approximately none of them had.