In the wake of this week’s Met Ball, Kate Demolder pens an ode to the blowout
My last time dancing before the world closed was spent between the floors and smoking area of a Dublin gay bar. It was early March, 2020 and I’d been to a play, hours before, with my friend Rory. We got so drunk on whiskey and cokes we decided the only way was up, running around, twirling, until the DJ decided to call it a night. It was thrilling – even for a time when congregation wasn’t . . .