everyone's taking a lap
A study in nightlife and strategic wandering
This past Saturday, I found myself perched on the leopard-print velvet cushions at Chez Margaux alongside four of my girlfriends, when one taps my shoulder: “Should we take a lap?”
Taking a lap is something of a ritual I perform on most nights out, often multiple times per setting. Who’s here? Any usual suspects in the crowd? We float through the Dining Room, down the center aisle where you can observe everyone at their tables, polishing off profiteroles or ordering another round of cucumber martinis. We catch sight of a table with some familiar faces and tactfully, but casually saunter by, leading them to flag us down mid-stride. Hello, hello. Next thing we know, they’ve gotten up and we’re caught in that delicious swirl of catching up.
As the conversation ebbs, we explain that our friends are waiting for us in the other room. “We were just taking a lap,” I say, giggling because I’m talking to a boy who I assume has no idea what I’m on about. I start to clarify...“Oh, I mean, just walking around, you know?”…backpedaling in real time
He stops me: “Are you kidding? We know what taking a lap is. Boys love taking laps.”
Record scratch. Wait, what?
He explains the male methodology: You take a lap. If you don’t find anything – or anyone – you like, you get a drink and continue on. Unsurprisingly, with each drink, every successive lap starts getting a bit more promising. It dawned on me then that while we might be executing the same physical choreography – circling the room like well-dressed sharks – our intentions are totally different. My girlfriends and I? Hunting for familiar faces. The boys? Scanning for new, intriguing ones. Either way, I was genuinely amused that they’d co-opted what I’d assumed was exclusively girl vernacular.
It made me wonder: why are we so drawn to taking laps?
My conclusion? It’s the thrill of serendipity. There’s something intoxicating about stumbling upon someone you didn’t expect to see, even when you’re already with a great group having lovely conversations. We knew Chez Margaux was the kind of spot where other friends might show up. And wouldn’t it be more fun to expand our drinks table a bit more?
Later that night, half our group – the brave or stupid souls – ventured out clubbing in a blizzard. We ended up at Paul’s. The next day, recounting it to those who stayed warm, we declared: “It was a great Paul’s night.”
What makes a great Paul’s night? Good music is the mandatory prerequisite. But what elevated it was the sheer volume of unexpected run-ins. At every turn, every table, someone from a different chapter of my life: London friends, Duke friends, people from the birthday party we’d attended earlier that evening, a friend-of-a-friend who literally launched herself into my arms and nearly toppled me over. Organized chaos. Beautiful collisions.
One of my girlfriends (who’s from London) had mentioned earlier how one thing New York lacks that London has is designated social nights. “Thursdays are Annabel’s, Fridays are 5H,” she explained. “Anyone in your scene who’s going out is going to that spot on that night. You can count on it.” Even as we scanned the Gaux Gaux room on Saturday, we wondered aloud, “Is Casa Cip better tonight? How’s People’s? Should we try Tribe Room?” But how would we know if it was a “Casa Saturday” when no such rules exist?
In New York, we are spoiled for choice with new bars, an exponential uptick in social clubs, Brooklyn raves, Partiful events, birthday dinners every night. It’s amazing, but it also means you could never overlap with lovely old or new friends in your respective orbits of going out plans. I think the only night you will see all the friends you would want in a night out is your own birthday party. That feels mildly insane, given how often we’re all out in the same neighborhoods, circling the same rooms.
But, that’s what makes it magical when you find yourself in a room where you’ve accidentally bumped into people from all corners of your life. It feels like you’ve thrown this elaborate party without sending a single invitation.
The Verdict? Taking laps isn’t just about seeing and being seen – it’s about orchestrating moments of magic in a city where everyone’s calendar is a Tetris game of conflicting plans. When your college roommate is at a speakeasy in Chinatown while you’re at a wine bar in the West Village, the lap becomes an act of faith that serendipity still exists.
So I’ll keep taking laps – not because I’m looking for something better than the conversation I’m already having, but because I’m holding out hope for those beautiful collisions. The ones that remind you that in a city of eight million people, sometimes the universe does throw you a party. You just have to walk around the room to find it.
Thanks for reading lovelies! Let me know if you are a fellow “lap-er” and if we should revamp the NYC social scene by giving each going out spot a designated day…
keeping laps my dear one ! 💥