Forty-Five! That was the approximate tardiness of Prabal Gurung's runway show at the Gehry-designed IAC building. The Observer, having misread our schedule, arrived on time (that's a first). We even had a few moments to kiss-kiss Mary Alice Stephenson and compliment her Naeem Khan. Who to blame? Surely not front-of-house PR behemoth KCD, they have their shit together more than a Swiss bank.  Zoe Saldana, colorfully festooned in a phenomenal liquid Prabal paint suit took her seat relatively on time. Lily Rabe sat quietly en attente. Buyers are never late. Cross off Anna Wintour, style.com's Nicole Phelps, and Paper's Kim Hastrieter… hell they've never been late! Best-dressed contender, Kate Lanphear of ELLE magazine arrived with time to glare vacantly at her smart phone.

We couldn't tell why Michelle Harper was just shy of tears. The passing of H.R.H. Whitney Houston occurred after this fashion frenzy... perhaps she was suffering from a panic attack or mal au ventre in row one? Frankly not our business.

In the meantime, we decided to get social. Seated betwixt team WWD, we gave it a go gingerly... The Observer had the good fortunate to sit behind the poised Executive Editor, Bridget Foley. "Will you be going to Milan and Paris for the shows?" she sang. Mais oui! Paris! We chirped.  KCD founder and gentlemen, Ed Filipowski whisked over and assured the WWDs that the show would start soon! Sincere apologies. Foley's response was so graceful many churlish divas should have taken note.

Thankfully, he need not apologize, because the clothes made up for all the delay.

Patent leather and black black fur by day; add white tulle and gold embellishments for night. Signature Gurung color schemes and patterns, reminiscent of an iridescent oil spill, were wondrous. Brocade, techno fabrics, appliqué, volants: all there! Look number 28-- a hand-embroidered, black tulle gown with with Fabergé cutwork on Joan Smalls drew gasps. If it's edge, yet feminine elegance that starlets and statuesque first ladies want… look no further!

The clock had barely struck 1pm and our Burberry-clad feet hurt like hell! By the grace of God VPL was just across the way. Whew!

Later, the chaos and disarray at Dream Hotel's Electrick Room (ROOM! Try complex) for Mr. Gurung's after party was indescribable. Praise Syndicate's Anuschka Senge, who ushered The Observer past the rift-raft at the door. Inside, we spotted Candice Swanepoel and Rose McGowan, whilst slurping up delicious Belevdere cocktails and dancing to DJ Mia Moretti's fab beats.

Her energy level is through the roof and her style rivals that of many tight-lipped editors: We're talking about Brisbane/Sydney native, Angela Gilltrap. Having worked as an actor, author and editor, this Aussie beauty has now eased into the role of Omni Media Director for fashionweekdaily.com and Daily Front Row (glossy media staples during fashion week). She not only tweets like a fiend, but is one of the faces behind the publications' surreptitious editorial escapes: the not-quite-a-gifting-suite Style Sessions. We cornered her for further explanation:

What do you do for the Daily Front Row? How does fashion week affect your job?

I am the Digital Strategist at The Daily Front Row. I’m here to support the edit staff so that all of our DFR fans get the most up-to-date insider information from inside the tents and beyond.

For most fashion folks, this eight-day week is a mammoth undertaking requiring super hero-like strength, endurance and patience. Not to mention oodles of lip gloss and a handbag full of Cynthia Rowley band-aids.

What’s all this commotion I hear about some clandestine luxury suite for celebs and editors? Are there other such spaces around town?

VIP suites are the new black. Editors everywhere are scheduling these mini-breaks into their packed calendar and for good reason! The fashion world works hard and deserves to play hard. This is the second season we've run The Daily's Style Sessions—the ultimate VIP lounge that combines the best in entertainment, beauty and hospitality.

Here, the fashion elite can leisurely sip on a glass of Moët Chandon while catching up with their favorite celeb; tweet away the hardships of their life while enjoying pampering Meaningful Beauty by Cindy Crawford and talk shop with other editors over a manicure by Essie.

Where else are people flocking to for merriment or escape?

Another great getaway that combines two things not always seen on the same billing—food and fashion. Goodness, a pop[-up] restaurant created by Elettra Weiderman brings fine dining to fashion. Each day a different chef showcases the best in fine dining. This season Mario Batali, Alain Allegretti, Julian Medina and Leo Forneas are on!

Have any celebs dropped into the suite? Or are slated to show up?

We always have a big celebrity presence at The Daily's Style Sessions everyone from the Bensimons to the Kardashians. Entry is by invite only so fashionistas, editors, trendsetters and those in the know will be there.

Which designers make you “have a moment?”

Bibhu Mohapatra! He is one of my favorite designers, so talented and yet so humble. And of course, Carolina Herrera is always a highlight!

"I wanted to convey a sense of strength and beauty-- this collection is about a streamlined and bold silhouette with lots of textural mixes inspired by John Chamberlain and Brancusi,” stated Som.

How highbrow! Well what ever he did worked. The women seated inside Made at MiLK Studio 2 ate it up like a Malawi at Thanksgiving! Here are a few of their WOW moments:

But oh what a treat was The Observer in for this year!

Rebecca Romijin wins for classiest act. Her delicate and smiley stroll in a flowery Marchesa gown was dignified, yet warm. The mother of Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps walked, and stopped to smooch her golden son watching from the audience. Debbie Phelps received plenty of applause, as many noted her having championed nutritional and health initiatives on a local level. Aisha Tyler’s spin on the dance floor proved that the woman doesn’t age (of course her stunning Badgley Mischka has to take some credit). Glamour editor-in-chief Cindi Leive was cooperative, but a bit sheepish… then again she did sport a killer Jason Wu scarlet number down the runway.

But what fun is class? To balance out our spectrum, we had Millionaire Matchmaker Patti Stranger, who a few pounds lighter, working her magic in Marc Bower. And where to begin with La La Anthony? The editor beside the Observer cocked her head and muttered, “That’s what you get when you put 10lbs of shit in a 5lb bag!” (Perhaps La La's Rachel Roy was a bit too body-hugging, but what’s wrong when a girl’s got curves? She looked foxy… We still love you La La!)

Two catwalkers took the "Fall Collection" season name a little too literally: Rose McGowen thought she had it all in her Donna Karan Collection, until she nearly took out an entire section of the front row after getting caught in her hems. And Christie Brinkley unleashed her inner diva as she strutted onto the catwalk, before she tripped over her billowy Pamella Rolland full-length and nearly ate shit! (In her defense, she never really was a runway model…)

They say to save the best for last and songstress, Gloria Estefan, who closed the collection in a tasteful Narciso Rodriguez (up-do and all), certainly WOW-ed; but Chaka Khan in a rouge, leopard print Chris March dress! Need we say more? Epic!

Having developed a winning formula over the decades, Mr. Azria explained that he draws inspiration from the same source each season. “It’s always a beautiful woman,” he said through a thick French accent. “It’s about smiling. It’s the light,” he said, gently stroking our rather unkempt tresses the way one might pet a friend's cur.

We wondered where Mr. Azria stayed when he came to New York. “I stay in a very small hotel that nobody recognizes me. I like that. I don’t like to show off,” he said. An assistant pointed at her watch. The show was supposed to start 15 minutes earlier, meaning by Fashion Week standards everything was right on schedule. En faisant la bise, he embraced us without hurry, smiling his grandfatherly smile and wishing us well before, much to our chagrin, twirling our tangled mane once more.

We traipsed down the runway through aggressive photographers snapping the likes of Giada DeLaurentiis and Menounos, to our seat in the front row. Across the aisle, a parachute pant-clad Erin Wasson tee-heed and giggled beside Cory Kennedy (bird's nest hair and all). Publicists scurried about, ordering the stragglers to take their seats before the catwalk seal was removed...

In the meantime, we made niceties with the Wall Street Journal to our left: “Who the hell is that?” she whispered under her breath. Not a clue!

Then it got good: The lights had just been dimmed -- warning all that statuesque, boney creatures were about to saunter by in Lubov and Max’s latest BCBG creations— when all of a sudden— Kennedy chuckled, kick off her heels, whispered something to Wasson— who in-turn threw her head back with delight and cackled "Go girl!" Kennedy then darted down the runway-- shoeless— mere seconds before the first model walked.

The Observer had no time to react to this bizarre, yet riotous outburst, before the models paced by donning bold color-blocked shift dresses, autumnal-hued trench coats, and marvelous gold-accented clutches. A few of the fur patchwork trims screamed “attack of the wooly beast,” but all-in-all, the collection had bon chic, bon genre.

McMillan at the Richard Chai Love Spring 2012 Fashion Show

Fresh off the runways in Milan and Paris, model-newcomer Miles McMillan (who walked in Dior, Etro, John Varvatos, Costume National and Damir Doma—to name a few) is gearing up for another strong season of shows and parties in New York. The Observer hunted him down to find out what life is like when you’re so in-demand.

How did this all start? Modeling, posing, and such… were you discovered?
I was standing on the street and a girl came up to me who wanted to shoot me for Urban Outfitters. I finally ended up with DNA [Models] last March and then when I graduated last May from NYU, I started doing it full time… and it took off!

You were quite popular at the shows in Europe this past January—tell us about your rise to the top?
It was crazy! Last time I was in Milan I did two shows… this time I did seven!

Impressive! What is your favorite show to walk in?
Dior is always my favorite. It’s a very big production… the music and clothes are the best! I love it!

What are castings like in New York? Is it painful?
Here it’s very organized: you go to a casting, you wait maybe 30 or 40 minutes and then you get pulled in, give them your book; they take a picture and you have to walk. Then sometimes they'll put you in clothes and then you go back for fitting if they like you.

Sounds pretty exhausting… When do you know you’re confirmed?
It’s not really guaranteed until the end… you never really know until you walk that runway.

What have you booked this season for New York so far?
I’m not completely sure… I’ve had fittings for Tommy [Hilfiger], one for Richard Chai, Concept Korea, Nicholas K… we shall see!

What’s your dream show for New York? Any one you’d kill to be cast for?
My dream is always Richard Chai— it’s always really fun and he’s a friend.

We'll be at his show! What are you dreading most about this week?
It’s pretty good because I live here… when I’m not doing castings… four hour call times before shows… hair done, re-done waiting lots of waiting!

You’re always a man about town! Tell us about your party plan…
Tonight I’m going to a Sandro opening… I did their look book… Richard Chai is having a party— everyone is having party!

Typical! But aside from Chai, who throws the best shindig?
I think V magazine always has the really fun parties and Purple [magazine] and Alexander Wang!

The event, called "Runway 2 Win" will feature big names from the fashion world including Diane Von Furstenburg, Vera Wang and Tory Burch. President Obama is not slated to attend, but the event is part of a growing engagement on the part of the fashion world in politics.

And the event has, naturally, led the GOP to pounce, releasing a web video that pokes fun at some of the high-priced Obama swag that the fashionistas are producing: Read More

Garo Sparo (right)

The Observer stood in the middle of a first-floor studio tucked into what may be the last ratty stretch of Avenue B, eyes closed and arms held aloft, and ducked into a leather chrysalis.

We were being fitted for a “man-corset,” an anachronistic emblem of female oppression that once gripped only courtly ladies but now in New York can outfit any gender.

Our shit was about to get tight.

For lovers of corsetry, this small atelier is a sort of mecca: Amanda Lepore and Daphne Guinness are among the regular devotees. The exact address of the place is unlisted, but it isn’t to hard to find, as the window is washed in silver glitter. This is the domain of Garo Sparo.

Hadn’t you heard? The corset is back in style. Alexander McQueen’s medieval-themed masterpieces drew record numbers to the Met, the blogs are crawling with “steam punks,” and Spanx and competing shapewear have us locked in their formfitting grip.
In short, corsets are having a moment, and soon Mr. Sparo will be having one too. On Sept. 9, the Sundance Channel will premiere Unleashed by Garo, a couture-centric reality show that may turn the city’s go-to corsetier into a star. “This is where it all happens!” Mr. Sparo exclaimed, gesturing around the studio-cum-funhouse littered with gem-studded statues, enormous books of Victorian palacewear and newspaper clippings of women and men he had dressed.

The corset king glided though the room in tan sandals, his facial hair groomed into sideburns, all the while fondling a red string. At tables lined against the art-spangled walls young assistants cut fabric, or sat at sewing machines running garments under the needles. Mannequins in corsets peered out over us, and other examples of the designer’s rib-rattling pièce-de-résistance hung innocuously on racks. Brass band music played on a stereo, and Noah Klein, Mr. Sparo’s studio manager and on-screen sidekick, twirled his pencil-thin mustache in time with the tuba.

It’s no surprise the scene appealed to television producers.

“It looks beautiful on camera,” said Sarah Barnett, who runs Sundance Channel’s day-to-day as its executive vice president. “It’s this colorful treasure trove, an Aladdin’s cave of dream-making.”

The studio’s been in the neighborhood since the mid-’90s—when the area was a good deal seedier—but Mr. Sparo’s been designing since long before that. The corsetier grew up on Long Island, the son of immigrant parents, with four brothers and a house that never lacked a place to sew.

“I was the only child allowed in the sewing room, because it was my passion,” he said. “I was the only one who cared about clothes, etc. I started sewing at a very young age—5, 6 years old. It’s in my family. They are immigrants to this country, they worked in factories. They did lace-making, hand-beading, all sorts of things.”

He moved down south for college, where he parlayed his involvement in the “rinky-dink” fashion scene at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro into a sponsorship from Absolut to design high-end looks for a charity benefit they were putting on in New York. That was 1995. Mr. Sparo got involved in the club world, spending long glorious nights at Limelight, Jackie 60 and Click+Drag.

“It was the budding rave scene, and what was really big then were hats: mad hatter hats, jughead hats, crowns,” he said. “So I would start wearing them to clubs, and then people would start wanting them. The clubs would let them put a little shop in there. And then I started making the clothes.”

The attention led to expansion in 33 cities and eventually boutiques on Avenue B and St. Marks Place. Mr. Sparo weathered 9/11 by branching into bridal wear—“People weren’t buying clothes, but they were still getting married!”—and once the market came back, he began attracting high-profile clients. Amanda Lepore gets all her corsetry from Garo, and Ms. Guinness named him one of her favorite designers, alongside Alexander McQueen and Gareth Pugh. Mr. Sparo refers to the beer heiress and mistress to Bernard Henri-Levy as “my muse of the moment.”

(A representative for Ms. Guinness informed us that the muse would not be able to respond to our request for comment.)

We asked about Mr. Sparo’s experience with perhaps fashion’s ultimate muse, Lady Gaga.

“I designed a dress for one of her music videos,” one of Mr. Sparo’s baby-faced assistants sighed. His hair was cut into a hacked-at Mohawk, and his T-shirt bore the anarchist circle-A symbol. “She returned it totally destroyed. And she didn’t pay for it.”

Despite that experience, Mr. Sparo said he considered the pop superstar an inspiration, along with Yoko Ono. He also has a wish list of those he’d like to dress, which includes Grace Jones, Kate Pierson of the B-52’s and Nicki Minaj.

If Unleashed by Garo proves to be a hit, those icons may be stomping down to Alphabet City any day. The show came about after an assistant became convinced that the combination of manic energy, fierce devotion to clients and mastery of corset-making would be irresistible on TV. Ms. Barnett agreed, calling the show a “special creative twist on fashion programming.”

The clips from the first few episodes, viewable online, are promising. Mr. Sparo has charisma in spades, not to mention the catchiness of that name. Amid a seeming glut of makeover reality shows, a refined specialist like Mr. Sparo may just manage to stand out. Sample episode title: “Can I Pull You a Little Tighter?”

Which brings us back to the designer’s original challenge—he had a male corset, and he wanted to get us into it.

“Just duck right in here,” Mr. Sparo said, holding up a black harness.

“You’re not really doing this correctly unless you break a rib, right?” we asked as the corset slid onto our torso.

“No, these corsets are comfortable!” Mr. Sparo said, lacing up the bottom rungs with a sudden tug. “In fact, when you take out the mutilation, the corset is empowering to women. It gives them more confidence.”

At the moment, we were confident that our abdomen was about to collapse, that the saddle-thick hide of the corset would wedge further into us with each fastening of the shoelacelike web on the back. Still, Mr. Sparo kept ratcheting up the snugness.

“You want it tighter?” he asked.

“Um, sure,” we responded.

He yanked the cord and the leather dug deeper.

“Tighter?”

“Sure.”

Yank!

“Tighter again?”

“Sure!” We exhaled.

Yaaaank!

And then, with the corset fully strapped on, we approached the studio’s giant mirror. Look at that—we couldn’t really move, but damn if we didn’t look a good five pounds slimmer!

“You see,” Mr. Sparo said, in a thrilling voice befitting a TV star. “The corset will never go out of style.”

There are many reasons to test a website's functionality, some more fun and interesting than others. Let us suggest that you use the opportunity of this particular photograph of Ms. Minter's to try out Paddle 8's impressive zoom function -- just click on the image, then hit "zoom" -- which will allow you to explore each individual bead of sweat clinging to Mr. Ford's hair, just above the collar of his suit jacket.

As we all know, art is subjective. So, whether you find the above exercise merely interesting, kind of titillating, or, well, a little gross, depends entirely on your personal aesthetic. It's all in the eye, as they say, of the beholder.

What will they say of you now, Trouble!

Dead upon your gilded pillow

The millions they did double

But this Maltese they could not save.

So go then, Trouble, to the Elysian doggy fields,

Where bones are thrown,

(The Queen of Mean awaits you there alone.)

And only the little people pay taxes,

And it’s always the Eighties.

Your mausoleum will be steam-cleaned once a year,

So you can make your boo-boos there.

The grandchildren they will come, to sign the book

And hate you.

You rode on private jets,

Billed to the business.

When she phoned from the bath,

You jumped at her wrath.

A replacement Harry you could never be,

But at least you were cute.

The  death threats have ended now; find peace loyal friend!

If they trouble you, Trouble, you can fire them.

“I don’t believe Mrs. Helmsley is charged in the indictment with being a bitch,”

a lawyer once said.

But you, Trouble, were a good one.

Here's some stats, followed by, of course, some concerns regarding where all these designers are going to live and work, and show their wares.

• In 2000, there were an estimated 23,143 designers working in the New York City metropolitan region. By 2009, that number had almost doubled to 40,470—an increase of 75 percent.
• No other city has nearly as many practicing designers as New York. While the New York City metro area had 40,470 designers in 2009, the Los Angeles metro area was next on the list with 23,170 designers, followed by Chicago (19,260) and Boston (10,920).
• In 2009, the five boroughs of New York had 40 percent more architectural firms than the next closest U.S. city (Los Angeles) and two thirds as many as the third closest (Chicago).
• New York has 50 percent more interior design firms than Los Angeles
• New York has nearly twice as many members in the major industry association for graphic design companies (AIGA) as any other city. Fourteen percent, or 3,000 out of 22,000 AIGA members, are based in New York City; Chicago is next among cities with 1,200 members and Los Angeles has 1,100.
• A vast majority of the city’s design firms are located in Manhattan, but, the number of companies in Brooklyn has exploded in recent years. Overall the number of Brooklyn-based firms grew from 257 in 2001 to 433 in 2009, a 70 percent increase. The number of graphic design firms in Brooklyn grew by 62 percent in that time, from 86 to 139, and the number of architectural firms nearly doubled, from 65 to 129.

But!

The report points out that while the Bloomberg administration has admirably launched several new initiatives to support the city’s fashion industry, the city’s economic development agencies have not devoted any meaningful attention to other design industries and the city has also done little to promote the city’s designers. The report shows that other major design centers like London and Milan go to much greater lengths to brand their products at both local and foreign trade shows. Indeed, the vast majority of the designers we interviewed thought New York was far too complacent about its status as a design hub.

tacitelli@observer.com :: Follow me on Twitter

Stella McCartney

The 10-year, 5,200-square-foot lease at 112 Greene Street encompasses the ground floor and lower level, said brokers for Cushman & Wakefield who represented the building’s landlord in the transaction. The store, which was first reported last week in Women’s Wear Daily, will open this fall.

Cushman & Wakefield’s Andrew Kahn and Jonathan Scibilia represented the landlord, a limited liability corporation called 112 Greene Street Partners. Joel Isaacs of Isaacs & Company represented Stella McCartney.

“The ownership is thrilled to welcome Stella McCartney to one of the best retail positions for a fashion brand in SoHo,” said Mr. Kahn, a Cushman senior broker, in a statement. “This block of Greene Street represents one of the strongest retail segments in SoHo with brands that include Ralph Lauren, Apple, Louis Vuitton, Etro and John Varvatos.”

jsederstrom@observer.com

Why not? (Getty Images)

Dana Karwas had two images mind as she set about planning her 30th birthday party. It was to be the first grand celebration of her life. One image was the scene at the end of Fellini’s 8½, when a small brass band does a brief march on an Italian beach. Another was a persistent daydream about holding her friends hostage.

“I really wanted to kidnap some people and take them out to Coney Island,” she said.

So she did. On her birthday, a group of 15 people met in downtown Manhattan. At 8:45 p.m., three black cars showed up. Everybody was blindfolded, handed a bag containing a musical instrument and some drink, and then shoved into a car.

“The cars were instructed to zoom as a procession towards Coney Island,” said Ms. Karwas.

The blindfolds came off when they arrived. The late-October night was chilly—a wind blew and a slight rain had started to fall. The group was instructed to play their instruments, march along the beach and recreate the ocean-side scene that Ms. Karwas, who grew up in Missouri, had long dreamed about.

“It made me so happy, I think I cried,” she remembered.

They marched down the beach to Tatiana’s Russian restaurant, where, said Ms. Karwas, a table laden with “trays and pyramids of food” awaited them. They ate. After a performance that Ms. Karwas describes as a sort of Russian Cirque du Soleil—techno, trapeze artists, contortionists, neon lights—the evening evolved into an all-out dance party.

“And that’s when it kind of felt like a wedding,” she said.

As more people hit 30 unmarried and without children—without any real emblem of their now undeniable adulthood—the 30th birthday party has become an increasingly elaborate affair. For some, it becomes a sort of second bar (or bat) mitzvah—a full-on party with the celebrants focused wholly on the honored guest, and an atavistic return to the unencumbered joy of childhood parties. For others, the 30th is a pre-emptive declaration of elderly gravitas, where accomplishments and experiences thus far are elevated to epic proportions by a youth-obsessed culture. The 21st birthday is an amateurish bacchanal, a mere permission slip, usually memorable for the next morning’s ailments. The 40th is so far off as to be unimaginable. The 30th is where the real party is.

As a result, there’s been a proliferation of a different kind of save-the-date, like the email we received last year, subject heading: “new year’s birthday / get your face melted.”

“I am turning 30 in December,” the email read. December, at the time, was seven months away. “I know it’s a big commitment to trek out of the country for a 5-7 day party,” it continued, “but shit, when have we been known not to throw the parties that melt your face off.” More such emails followed.

“I am turning 30 in August (!), and I’m planning a birthday dinner at a restaurant in Carroll Gardens,” said another. “Let me know if you’re around, and if so, I’ll send you an invitation (yes, I printed invitations because I’m obsessed with my birthday).”

When the paper version arrived, it was lovely, like a wedding invitation, with an embossed green bicycle and elegant font on creamy paper. The card was as much a special occasion as the party, and we were reluctant to even throw it away. We sent our reply, put on a nice dress and were treated to a lavish dinner in a very nice restaurant that felt, well, like a wedding reception without the drunken uncles.

The Observer’s solicitation for more stories of extravagant 30th birthday parties at first yielded little.

“For mine I went to Grand Sichuan,” wrote one 30-something. “I await your call.”

“A huge storm hit just before my backyard bbq and power was out for a week,” wrote another. “Not extravagant.”

“I ate a piece of steak in Nairobi by myself,” said a third.

But soon we were inundated. Those celebrating the end of their 20’s rented houses in Costa Rica; they rented bars in Manhattan; they rented restaurants in Brooklyn. They rented party buses, in which they put 50 of their best friends and took them to Medieval Times in New Jersey. (“They all got crowns and big goblets of wine and beer and swords,” said the birthday boy’s wife. “It helps make a somewhat depressing age somewhat more manageable.”) The invitations were exuberant: “Think the Oscars … think of a Vegas night club, Kentucky Derby, or P. Diddy’s Hampton White Party,” said one invitation, for a party at a hotel in California.

In some cases, the planning was underway more than a year in advance. We called a young woman who was planning a birthday for her husband in August 2012 (she asked that her name not be used, as she wants to surprise him).

“So the tentative plan is that I would start contacting his out-of-town friends maybe six months in advance,” she outlined. “I would have everyone fly in, then rent a party bus, and it would basically be a treasure hunt from his parents’ house in New Jersey into Manhattan.

“We’ll probably rent out a restaurant for all those people,” she continued, “and then the next day fly to Vegas and then—this is a little over the top—but then we would go to a beach resort in Mexico to calm down.”

“Like a honeymoon for your birthday party?” we asked.

“That’s the vision,” she said. “If I’m going to take some days off work I might as well take a vacation.” Even married 30-year-olds were treating the birthday like a nuptials redux.

She said the birthday party would be “a different scale” than the couple’s wedding. They had 180 people there, and she expects maybe 50 people for the first phase of the birthday party. She said that she had asked her parents back in Minnesota how they had celebrated their 30th birthdays. Neither one remembered.

“A party bus makes sense; 30 is not old,” said one New York woman who works at a Manhattan private school and did not want her name used, saying she was embarrassed about her party. “My mom was like, ‘Your 30th birthday party is coming up, maybe we should have a nice party—you’ll never get married, so this is an excuse for a party.’” Instead of a party bus, her parents rented out a wine bar on the Upper West Side.

“My whole thing was that I wasn’t married and my younger sister’s married,” she said glumly. “There was just this overkill, in my mind, of ‘We’re throwing a party for you because you’re not married.’” Her parents came to the party, of course.

“I was dating this asshole but we’d only been dating for a month, and having him at the birthday put all this pressure on the relationship,” she said. “We had really good food. I didn’t eat any of it.”

Of the people The Observer interviewed, few wanted their names used, saying that they did not want to seem self-obsessed or made fun of for exaggerating something that wasn’t really that big a deal—even though most of them had in fact made a big deal out of it.

“The whole thing was tongue and cheek in a way, a touch of irony there to laugh at ourselves for having a 30th birthday party. We were playing up the cheesiness of Miami, with a stretch limo picking us up at the airport,” insisted a friend who did not want his name used because he was embarrassed by the excess of it.

He said that he remembered when his dad had turned 30—or maybe it was 35. “I remember a birthday my mom threw for my dad,” he said. “They had a really tight-knit group of friends and they had a cool adult party.”

Ms. Karwas, for her part, said that there was a way in which 30 felt like a “phantom turning point.”

“I think when I was 31 I freaked out and bought a bunch of face cream—I think that was my cultural reaction to whatever 30 is,” she said. “I believe 30 is a decade where big things happen to people, big career things, big family things.”

In the meantime: “Hey, I have no kids. I don’t have a mortgage, whoo!” she said. “Let’s celebrate!”

ewitt@observer.com