This is the prologue from a lengthy piece I'll be serializing over the next few months. Yes, the title is a little is a little clickbaity, and superficially, a collection of stories about going clubbing in New York City isn't quite the standard rationalist fare. But at its core are questions about the philosophy of (social) science, the value of science being objective/systematic/detached versus embracing the idiosyncratic talent of individuals, and the merits of method versus anarchy in one's work (a later chapter even includes a tounge-in-cheek rant about Against Method), all with a novel framing I think LessWrong might find worthwhile. This started as a review—it quickly veered off-course and became something else entirely, but that’s how it started—of Very Important People: Status and Beauty on the Global Party Circuit. My favorite book reviews typically waste little time before they crack their knuckles, don their p-hats, and set off spelunking through the stats. Something about the rigor of it all soothes me. But when it comes to quantitatives, Very Important People cares about just four: height (ideally, north of six feet in heels), weight (conspicuously, if not ludicrously thin), age (certainly less than thirty, preferably less than twenty-five), and facial attractiveness (left as an exercise to the reader). That’s me. Hello. So in the name of qualitative research, I found my sample-size-of-one self in a Manhattan restaurant one evening last November, accepting a fruity drink nestled in an inflatable flamingo koozie as I sat down at a long table of like-bodied women, bracing myself for the global, the party, and the circuit. Tonight, and in the nights that follow, I, unlikeliest of party animals, will venture to explore terra luxuriosus. And if there’s any fault I come to find in the book, it’s this: by nature, nothing in nightlife is amenable to the rigors of sociology. There can be no impedance mismatch betw