Despite what social media nay-sayers would have us believe, some parties really are as exciting as they look on other people’s Instagram stories. And frustratingly for those of us scrolling disconsolately from bed at 2am (just me?) we are now entering the season of international sesh, when the parties are super-charged and seemingly as endless as Ibizan blue skies.
This hallowed period sees the world’s professional partygoers (and a select crowd of their employed but still very good looking friends), jet between locations, having a really raucous time and posting artfully un-posed pictures from the dancefloor. Lindsay Lohan dancing in Mykonos will always be the patron saint of international sesh. We may have spent the late 2010s Goopified into submission — working on our mental health and our abs — but if the past few months’ worth of opening parties are anything to go by, LiLo’s energy is re-entering by force. Wellness is over — we are post-pandemic, post-good health and the party is absolutely, unequivocally, back on (across several continents).
For those who want to party like the glitterati alongside the safe bets below there are a few major outposts that will always guarantee a good weekender: Ibiza (as well as this week’s big opening, the Standard, the crowds also flocked to the new Six Senses. Both are bound to become palaces of international sesh), New York (The Ned NoMad will be a vibe when it opens in June, for one summer at least) and the entire island of Hydra (don’t eye-roll, it’s not totally over yet).
Pack all the KNWLS, Coperni and Ottolinger you own, keep a pair of Lexxola shades to hand and you will slot right in. Admittedly we too thought jet setting had become a bit icky due to the planet’s imminent combustion but cool hotels must open, and their opening parties must be populated (just no one mention the words ‘carbon footprint’ or your Uber will turn into a pumpkin).
So, where are we partying now?
This week, the brand opened its new outpost on the site of what was once a cinema in the heart of Ibiza Old Town. The design is all curved lines and Balearic white, accented by pops of colour — a ‘caners welcome but keep it chic’ kind of vibe. The opening was conducted in classic Ibiza style with a 48-hour bash. An afternoon soiree on the rooftop (too elegant to be called a ‘pre-lash’ — there were synchronised swimmers in the pool) turned into sundowners, turned into a raucous dance party in the ground-floor restaurant Jara. Róisín Murphy got proceedings going followed by DJ sets from Benji B and Maurice Fulton, who kept partygoers on the dance floor into the small hours — at which point the weak-willed went to bed and the rest went back to the rooftop for sunrise.
There’s no end of fun to be had in Ibiza, but if you are truly up for a good time then we recommend banding together with your nearest and dearest and hiring the Standard’s Casa Privada. With 14 suites, outdoor hot tubs and its own rooftop bar, it’s basically an excuse to go to absolutely no clubs (they are all much too big and frightening anyway.)
The crowd: Florence Pugh, Will Poulter, Cora Delaney and Kai Isaiah Jamal, Bimini Bon Boulash, Jordan Firstman, Harris Reed, Shygirl.
Go for: The no-VIP-area kind of vibe (everyone’s a VIP babe).
Overheard in the toilets: “JT Firstman is here… do you think he came on airmiles?”
A regular on Paris Fashion week schedules, the hotel has hosted after-parties for everyone from Alexa Chung to Edward Enninful. Loiter around most nights and you will rub shoulders with the crowd of editors, celebrities and hanger-oners that prowl around the ultimate be-here-to-be-seen Parisian haunt (that, by the way, was once home to Louis XV’s advisor Etienne Rivie). Although they have outposts in most of the swankiest cities, The Hoxton’s Paris chapter holds a particularly special place in the hearts of the fashion crowd. Nestled in the buzzy 2nd arrondissement near Le Marais, the Louvre and Jardin des Tuileries, the grand 18th century residence is anchored around an “open house policy”. Basically, this means that their lobby is open 24/7 for late-night tête-à-têtes in shadowy (camera-baiting) corners. Occasionally (i.e. almost every PFW) the party moves to one of the gorgeous suites.
The crowd: Katie Grand, Joerg Koch, Marc Goehring, Giorgio Guidotti and Leo Mandella.
Go for: Around the clock oh la las.
Overheard in the toilets: “I’ve got tit tape on my face — why did no one tell me?”
One Hundred Shoreditch
Anywhere that planned to take the mantle from The Ace (the One Hundred opened on the same site earlier this year) needed to make a splash. Did the One Hundred succeed? Well, a lot of cocktails were sunk at its opening party back in March and no one ate dinner — apart from, perhaps, Munya Chawawa who seemed to be enjoying his meal even as everyone else abandoned theirs to get up and dance. Honey Dijon’s set started while servers were still clearing half-full plates and this wasn’t even the real party. Guests were then ferried upstairs to the rooftop for the ‘dancing’ portion of the evening. The hotel was given over to partygoers and we can confirm that the suites were where the true merrymaking happened.
With an all-day-dining, all-night-drinking kind of vibe, the hotel is doing its absolute best to snatch Shoreditch from the clutches of big capitalism.
The crowd: Suki Waterhouse and Obongjayar.
Go for: The basement. The rooftop bar obviously has the views but Seed Library in the basement has the best menu (even better than the restaurant, dare we say). It’s curated by Ryan Chetiyawardana, aka Mr Lyan, who makes herbal tonic-type cocktails that get you totally blitzed but still feel like they might be good for you.
Overheard in the toilets: “It’s not the kind of place you’d want to take shrooms in, but maybe not a bad thing?”
Seek out the painstakingly chic and freshly designed Edition hotel, which threw open its doors in March. With a prime spot in Sol, the Spanish capital’s bustling central neighbourhood, the glittering building counts 200 rooms (don’t worry, there are connecting units for those travelling as a party pack), two restaurants helmed by award-winning chefs, three bars and a rooftop sanctuary where you can get tapas and sangria flowing. The space, designed by John Pawson and François Champsaur, was tried and tested with an adrenaline fuelled first trip led by the likes of Daniel W Fletcher and Tina Kunakey. Think al fresco dinners and flamenco dancers in the duplex penthouse (which just so happens to be the largest of its kind in the city) as guests ran riot around the whole hotel, and American singer St Vincent performed in the subterranean Supper Club. Things are only looking up, too: their gold polish plastered, lower ground floor club is set to open this year, catering for all those after a mad Madrid moment to remember.
The crowd: St Vincent, Bimini Bon Boulash, Rossy de Palma and Spanish hotties Alex Sánchez de Mora and Marem Ladson
Go for: Sliding down wildly sleek staircases and rooftop shots looking out over Spain.
Overheard in the toilets: “Shall we just break into the downstairs room and go clubbing anyway?”