There are whole communities of sitters here, people who land-grab swathes of squishy couch, then park and loaf, let the party happen around them. Jane Fonda has begun one of these settlements up near the front — a round table populated first by Gwyneth Paltrow, then by Cameron Diaz, then Penelope Ann Miller. It’s a rotating harem of beauties who fetch drinks and giggle and gossip. Everyone who wants to sit must come to Jane World eventually.
The only alternative to sitting is to keep circulating. Vanity Fair is an ocean. You are a shark. If you stop swimming, the stiletto blisters will catch up to you, and you will sink. If you settle for the colossally famous people in this room, you may miss the astronomically famous people in the next. Swim on. Swim through the outpost that Williams and Phillips have set up on the patio. Swim past “Margin Call’s” J.C. Chandor convincing Colin Firth that he’s glad his screenplay didn’t win. Swim past Michael Moore asking where the bar is — find it yourself, Mike — and past Seth Rogen’s cheerful bray, and Jessica Chastain singing along to an INXS song.