party

Back in 2010, New York City nightlife still had teeth. Before everything was optimized, sanitized, and Instagram-polished, nights out were messy, loud, and completely unhinged—in the best way possible. One of those nights was Trash, the legendary weekly nightclub party at Webster Hall, and it’s still burned into my memory as one of the wildest, most carefree nights of my early NYC years.

David and I didn’t just go to Trash that night—we somehow ended up on stage, dancing like we belonged there. Which, for reasons that still make me laugh, we kind of did.

Trash at Webster Hall Wasn’t Just a Party — It Was a Scene

If you were in New York around that time, you know Trash wasn’t just another club night. It was fashion kids, music kids, chaos kids, drag, punk energy, sweat, glitter, and zero concern for tomorrow. Webster Hall felt infinite back then—multiple rooms, pounding bass, sticky floors, and a crowd that fed off pure momentum.

From the second we walked in, it was one of those nights. Drink tickets in hand. No real plan. Just vibes and volume.

Dancing on Stage, No Questions Asked

At some point—and this is where things blur—we ended up dancing on stage. Not as a stunt. Not ironically. Just fully leaning into the moment. There are photos floating around of us mid-dance, lights blown out, bodies in motion, the kind of images that perfectly capture that early-20s, “this feels important even if it’s not” energy.

I’m pretty sure David was actually go-go dancing that night, which explains how we got anywhere near the stage in the first place. It also explains the green room access, the casual hanging out like we were part of the furniture, and the general sense that we had somehow unlocked a backstage cheat code to the night.

Green Rooms, Drink Tickets, and Zero Consequences

We bounced between rooms, hung out backstage, disappeared into conversations with strangers we’d never see again, and kept collecting drink tickets like they were party currency (because they were). Everything felt loose. Easy. Electric.

There was no content strategy. No phones out for stories. No worrying about how it looked later. You were just there, inside the noise, inside the night.

Why That Night Still Matters

Looking back, it wasn’t about Trash specifically—it was about that version of New York City. The one where you could stumble into a legendary party, dance on stage without credentials, end up in the green room by accident, and leave at 4 a.m. with your ears ringing and your mind blown.

That night with David at Trash in 2010 was loud, ridiculous, absolutely wild, and perfectly of its time. And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Some nights don’t need to make sense.

They just need to happen.