The afterparty was even more badass. We spent a lot of time talking to the models, who were all around twenty. The most voluble model was Dale Kim, who said he preferred to be described as "an entrepreneur of life" rather than a model. Later, we overheard him asking one of the other models who he was with (meaning: representationwise) and what his next big project was.

None of the models got paid except in clothes, but they did get to take home goodie bags full of men's products, such as Mensgroom brand male grooming paste. There was also a little packet of samples from a brand called John Allan's. They were accompanied by a brochure with the John Allan's tagline: "Reality. Commitment. Balance." As if you are going to marry them or something.

The only drinks at the show were Budweiser Select and Fiji water, and the only eats were platterfuls of edamame and mini Rice Krispie treats being passed in pizza boxes. The free things situation was slightly better at the afterparty at Bar Martignetti. Downstairs, the hoi polloi (models included!) were treated to an open bar. Well, the vodka was free. Everything else, you had to pay for.

Upstairs, though, Kristian held court with his inner circle, and the food was free if you ate it off the rich people's plates. Lesser Known Better Connected blogger Gregory Littley was there, as was Social Life magazine EIC Devorah Rose. Socialite reporter Peter Davis's insanely hot boyfriend Paul Johnson-Calderone—but we thought he hated Kristian?—ate frites alongside teen soap star Leven Rambin, who took a sip of a champagne and ginger cocktail ("Her first sip of alcohol ever!" Paul claimed) and pronounced it nasty.

Kristian ordered steak frites. As I left, he offered me a bite of his steak. I ate it, so I guess this means we are friends now. The steak was pretty tasty.

Sadly, she was talking about her OCD.

"I'm serious, I am such a germophobe. I would, like, Windex the pole," Devorah went on. We were standing huddled close in the backstage area of the Unruly Heir fashion show, and I couldn't help but brush up against Devorah's bust with my elbow. I commented on its firmness. "It's a bra," Devorah said, resenting my implication that her breasts weren't real. Turns out, Devorah Rose is a lot realer all over than I'd thought.

She's also a lot smarter than I'd thought, based on that help wanted ad she placed on Columbia's job board. You remember, the one where she said that she was looking for an intern with "a strong sense of grammer." It turns out that she had delegated the task of finding a new intern to the current intern. Bad mistake! "We had to threaten to sue them to finally get it taken down."

Being humiliated on the Internet was sort of a turning point for Devorah Rose. "I was so miserable and embarrassed for, like, a month, but then I eventually realized that if you put yourself out there and accomplish anything at all, especially online, you're inviting this into your life," she explained. "And then I felt better. I actually grew a thicker skin because of it. So, in a way, thank you."

"You're ... welcome," I told Devorah, realizing that what she'd just said is basically what I'd tell Jimmy Kimmel if he ever came up and started talking to me at a party.

Still, there's one thing I can't understand. Why is a self-professed "introvert" who loves the work of her profs Sam Lipsyte and Ben Marcus, and whose real goal is to write serious fiction, working at a magazine that's basically a house organ for a nonexistent club that, if it had a name, would be called something like "the especially attention-craving Manhattan rich kids D-list association?"

"Um," she said, "Because it's easy?"

Well, fair enough.