"That is, if we ever had to pay for drinks," we added, looking around in the Standard's trippy elevator to make sure everyone was sufficiently impressed by our glamorous lifestyle. Strangely, no one seemed to be paying us that much attention. Rude! But we'll forgive them...after all, it was an exciting night. Jay-Z, the part-owner of the Brooklyn Nets, was rumored to be attending the launch of D'USSE cognac that evening.

When the doors opened to the standard view overlooking the Hudson, we breezed through coat-check. We were regular patrons (as previously noted), so they only needed our initials.

"Put it on our tab!" We scoffed. Since it was such a big evening, maybe the club had employed new help, since they only stared at us blankly. Rolling our eyes, we gave them our initials.

"Keep the change!" We said on our way to the main room.

"That doesn't make any sense!" One of the women called after us.

Whatever. We strode into the crowded room, wondering not for the first time why they didn't just knock down Le Bain and make the entire floor a swanky lounge. "But then, where would the commoners party?" We asked ourselves. Touche, us.

Our entrance was followed by the obligatory flashing of 1,000 cameras, momentarily blinding us. People were screaming our name, begging us to smile for the camera.

"Look, we don't mind posing," we told our admirers. "But at least get our name right. It's not pronounced 'Pharrell.'"

Grabbing one of the D'USSE cocktails, we snaked our way through the writhing crowd, several of whom seemed so excited to see us that they would collide directly into us, spilling their drinks onto our ensemble. Humiliated, they wouldn't even stop and apologize, but would disappear into the crowd as quickly as possible to avoid making eye contact. Settle down, fellas!

Finally we found our friends sitting near the fire place in the back of the room. "We're here!" We announced.

"I overheard Jay-Z tell someone that they should be rooting for the Knicks this season," a member of our entourage was telling a gossip columnist.

"Wasn't so long ago he was telling people to switch their alliance over to his new team," we mused, grateful not to be the center of attention for once. "Team owners are so fickle...look at Mark Cuban!"

We made our way over to the roped-off area where Jay-Z was standing with his wife's sister, Solange Knowles, actor Jake Gyllenhaal, and a young man whose name, coincidentally, also sounded like Pharrell.

We made eye-contact with Jay-Z, and made a face like "Can you believe this mob?" He looked confused, maybe because he wasn't as used to be surrounded by sycophants as we were. As we made our way over to the Nets owner, we were stopped by a big, burly security guard.

"No photos, no press," he growled.

We completely understood. How would it look, if tomorrow's Page Six featured photos of us glad-handing with a man who went into busines with Mikhail Prokhorov and Bruce Ratner.

"Good point. Thanks, friend!" We shouted over the ruckus. "Now, will you please escort us back to our table?"

The music must have been too loud though, since security gave us a long look before turning back around.

"This is why we hate going to the Standard," we reminded ourselves.

(Photo via Patrick McMullan)

Another arrival that made waves: Pussy cat Karlie Kloss, regrettably on the arm of H.R.H Derek Blasberg… What was she wearing? Cushnie et Ochs? The Observer was curious, but before we could inquire, she had pranced off to the next room of Maison Cartier.

Bade Iscil… a name unknown to us appeared to be stoned, blacked out or just crazed. She sashayed, Cartier cuvée in hand— like the sultan of Brunei—with such a glazed face . But when she slithered up to Melissa Berkelhammer, it all made sense…

Genevieve Jones drew double takes with her tropical Salvatore Ferragamo couture. (the Italian brand hosted a fabulous festa for its newly renovated Fifth Avenue boutique next door.) As did the svelte and mischievous Michelle Harper in some outré chic skirt/blouse combo.

Proud parents Beyonce and Jay-Z  dropped in at Skylight Studios for what had to be the most extravagant after party we'd been to in recent memory - we drifted off into a Cartier Cuvée induced haze as LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy gave our eardrums a deep tissue massage.

Click through the gallery for a taste of the evening.

Last night, Italian luxury behemoth Salvatore Ferragamo unveiled a glossy redesign at its Fifth Avenue outpost. Despite steep competition next door— where Maison Cartier was raging with a celebration for Juste un Clou— PR stalwarts Trisha Gregory and Alex Gobo drew plenty of New York’s fashionables to the fanfare. The evening also marked the launch of the upscale vacation guidebook Mr. & Mrs. Smith Hotel Collection: Italy, which was on display somewhere, but The Observer was too distracted to notice. (Perhaps it was nestled in a display of Ferragamo’s new exclusive luggage collection?) Between the tropical-toned couture and accessories, prosecco flowing like water and sleek food stations serving guests high-concept Italian fare - the kind of cibo one might enjoy at a mega-festa at Milan’s Triennale - there was no time to flip through a book. Besides, with Solange Knowles keeping things molto vivace at the turntables, we were too busy fantasizing about our dream pair of Ferragamo dancing shoes.