Wild Card! #3

I Went To A New Yorker Party!

I’ve been striving to be more bold online recently.

I used to be so goddamn precious about it. I lurked and longed to be brave, but I was stuck worrying about the haters.

Last week I was reading Alex Dobrenko’s Substack “Both Are True” where he wrote about storytelling and networking as a writer in L.A.

I left a comment yearning to understand these fancy concepts when I decided to brazenly humble-brag that I was about to attend a New Yorker party and was extremely nervous about it. Alex very kindly replied and told me to report back on how the party went.

I honestly hadn’t even considered sharing my experience before Alex said this to me.

You see, I grew up in a world where humility was the greatest virtue and therefore shrinking yourself into the tiniest spec was morally admirable (yikes).

To openly express pride was both sinful and shameful.

New shirt, Achewood © 2004 (and my exact fears sharing this post)

But I had a breakthrough, team! I don’t fucking care anymore!

Or, that’s not true— I just don’t think about haters anymore.

And on that note— YEAH. It’s true. Last week I went to, probably the coolest party of my life.

it's-a-me, Erika!

I’m currently residing in a small town in Pennsylvania at a humor writing residency called St. Nell’s, hosted by none other than the fabulous New Yorker cartoonist, Emily Flake— which is ALREADY cool.

I’m really jam-packing the second half of February with a years-worth of artsy glamour.

The residency perfectly aligned with the New Yorker party invite, because I was already going to be on the east coast! So I rented a car and drove four hours from Williamsport, Pennsylvania all the way to Harlem to crash with a friend for the night and apparently, party.

I cannot begin to tell you how nervous I was to attend this party. I was so deeply afraid that people would be pretentious since that’s the New Yorker stereotype and all.

I was SO WRONG, in the best way.

I first checked in on the bottom floor of The World Trade Center, then went up to the 34th floor, or “The Empire Room”, where the party was being held. When the elevator doors opened I was like, “Oh God, here we go.”

I took only a few steps forward before noticing that someone was walking by me. I looked up and saw a man with a mask on, but I recognized his eyes somehow.

I uttered the line that I ended up blurting to everyone all night:

“Are you a cartoonist?”

He said yes. I asked his name, he said Jeremy, I said, “Nguyen?”

It was the most serendipitous entry to the party. Not only did Jeremy and I already mutually follow each other online, but he was hosting the after-party which he immediately invited me to. Honestly, everything just kept going well from there.

I almost immediately spotted Liza Donnelly and just bulldozed straight into introducing myself.

(Liza’s spouse and fellow New Yorker cartoonist, Michael Maslin wrote a recent post about the party as well if you’d like to see another angle to the evening.)

I’m telling you, I’ve always been a socially anxious person, but over the last year or so I simply ran out of shits to give. I like to tell myself that my nascent wrinkles are a secret superpower: The more I get, the stronger I become.

David Remnick giving us a speech

Around 5 pm David Remnick, who has been the editor-in-chief of The New Yorker since I was trading beanie babies in my middle school parking lot, gave us all a welcome speech which was fully surreal to witness.

picture stolen from Liza’s Substack post.

I finally met my editor, Emma Allen, who was so kind and charming. I almost immediately b-lined into asking if she remembered how she had found me online, a question I’ve been curious about since 2019 when she reached out to me asking that I submit cartoons to the New Yorker.

She didn’t remember, which makes sense as she’s in contact with hundreds, if not thousands of cartoonists all day, every day.

One way or another, she is definitely a deep researcher, because I’ve never had much of a following online and I’ve always been shocked that Emma ever found me.

It’s been the greatest career opportunity of my life so far, so I am endlessly grateful that she found me, however it came about.

The party went on for several hours and my social battery needed some recharging, so I escaped to the bathroom a couple of times to just sit on the toilet and mentally recalibrate.

It was incredibly hot in the room, so I actually took my sweater off in the bathroom stall and just sat topless for about 10 minutes while my head buzzed from all the conversations.

All-in-all the party exceeded all of my wildest expectations.

I even met several L.A.-based cartoonists who invited me to recurring meet-ups they host and I am TOO EXCITED.

I really dreaded the worst with this party— even telling friends I wanted to “get it over with”, but what a dream it ended up being.

I hope and plan to never forget this evening and all the incredibly kind, goofy, and lovely people I had the privilege to meet.

So, on a concluding tangent:

I have a goal I’m working on with this Substack right now.

I really want to learn how to better open up my posts to discussion.

I want to know who you all are so badly! I want to chat with you and make this more of a community experience.

After studying many other Substacks I’m going to start concluding my posts with some discussion prompts. I’d love, love, love to hear more from y’all.

Comments (Let’s Chat!):

• Do any of y’all have any curious questions for me about this evening of nerdy mayhem? I’d love to go deeper. I could write a damn novella on this night, honestly.

• Are any of y’all humor writers or cartoonists out there?

• Is anyone working on any fun projects right now you’d like to share or talk about?

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Listening to: