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was more socially acceptable. During periods of transition and economic downturn, such as two years ago, the party turnout dipped below 150. "It was so secret that not a lot of people heard about it," Bacani lamented. "We need to be a louder secret." And so he and the planning committee worked with past committee mem- bers and former Grand Viziers to recruit an influx of new guests and—for the first time in decades—willingly opened the doors to Chicago's longest-run- ning party without a cause. The night is unlike a typical society affair: Instead of assigned seats and a formal dinner, after guests arrive they participate in a "Grand March," parad- ing past a judges' table to vie for prizes for their costumes. Later, larger groups break off to perform skits, and then there's a midnight buffet supper. During the Grand March, according to Bacani, the saying goes you need "skin to win." "It doesn't happen every year, but every so often someone brings in [someone] to help them disrobe," he said. The skits are satirical, pok- ing fun at prominent people in the news—a few years ago, he said, someone performed a parody of the Saturday Night Live song "Dick in a Box" and opened the box to reveal Richard Nixon. Costumes are derived from the theme (in 1969 it was "Let's Take a Trip;" in 1976, "Yankee Hanky Panky;" and in 1996, "Rock Us Bacchus"), and this year's provided ample room for interpretation: "The British Are Coming, Oh A young woman wearing Pippa Middleton's white maid-of-honor gown was accompanied by a man dressed as a bum (a sign around his neck read pippa's bum), and he kept his hand on her rear during the march around the ballroom. Alice in Wonderland wore an eat me sign. Another 40-something attractive couple took their inspiration from 007—he was dressed as "James Bondage" in a black tuxedo with a strap-on plastic phallus, she wore a short black dress and carried a plush platypus. "I'm Platypussy," she said, though when we asked to take her photo she demurred: "I serve on some very sensi- tive boards." Not everyone was so sexily attired—in fact, some were downright proper. Twenty-nine year-old teacher Alice York, whose parents attended in the '80s and '90s (she recalls them bringing home the Horse's Ass award for the most ridiculous skit), came as Paddington Bear in a trench coat and rain boots. Former McPier chairman Ted Tetzlaff wore a tuxedo to accompany his wife, Sarah Beardsley, who was in a wide-brimmed hat and dress up to her neck as Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady. This was Beardsley's first time attending, though she said her husband had attended in the '70s. "It sounded refresh- ingly different because there is no fundraising, no big cause that you have to be committed to, and I love costume parties," she said. After the march, two skits began, which were hard to follow but included naughty moments; a slim, 20-something Hermione from Harry Potter kept "It's one of those 'don't-ask, don't-tell, don't-see' parties. If that bothers you, you shouldn't be here."—Jill Sartori, social marketer God, Don't Stop, The British Are Coming!" The invitation was "signed" by the secret Committee of Twelve who plan the event ("Jekyll Her Hyde," "Sir Shags a Lot"), and advised guests who "appreciate the spirit and traditions of Twelfth Night" that they could bring "as many like-minded guests as they bending over in a short skirt to reveal a tiny thong. One of the skit's themes involved the queen "knighting" 12 people, including former Congressman Anthony Weiner, and ended in a joust with giant inflatable sex toys. A mature woman, who spent the first part of the evening dressed in a gray suit and stiff please." In other words, as partygoer and social marketing pro Jill Sartori told Margaret Thatcher hair, tore off her clothes to reveal a black negligee, in me, "It's one of those 'don't-ask, don't-tell, don't-see' parties. If that bothers you, you shouldn't be here." She and a female friend were dressed as naughty Beefeaters, with tall, black, furry headpieces; red jackets unbuttoned to their navels; and black lace bras. which she danced with abandon for the rest of the night. or masked black tie, and while many of the outfits were clever, some were shocking—and all were intended to get everyone's attention. P For the Grand March, preening guests circled the ballroom to songs like Tom Jones's "Sex Bomb," and some attendees tried to curry favor with the judges by dropping off gifts, including cans of spotted dick (an English pud- ding). Others went for shock value: One woman draped in a toga stripped to reveal a Union Jack bikini; another, dressed as Amy Winehouse, whisked out a silver tray and snorted a white powder. "You'd never guess all these people are investment bankers, wealth manag- ers, and accountants," a North Shore woman who didn't want to be identified told me. A 50-ish gentleman who could have been a judge in his real life whipped off his black cape to reveal a black Speedo and garters; he was dressed as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, the transvestite from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. 114 michiganavemag.com otential guests are allowed to request admittance, and this year brought out a significant number of first-timers. In all, about 375 guests attended at a base ticket price of $135, and the eve- ning's highlight was watching the elaborately festooned partygoers arrive. The invitation demanded either costumes As the clock inched closer to midnight, the English breakfast buffet came out, but by then things had descended into mayhem. I saw a Princess Di danc- ing with a Prince Harry obnoxiously dressed in the infamous Nazi costume. People had been drinking on empty stomachs for hours, and had begun to shed their inhibitions as intended. We decided it was time to pack things in when my photographer's assistant—a beautiful young model type—was prop- ositioned by a 60-something couple with the question: "Are you a virgin?" By then, Bacani was excitedly getting things set up for an afterparty in one of the hotel suites, where more than 50 guests (and a bartender) planned to watch the sun come up. "Unless we burn the hotel down tonight, we are going to try and be here next year," he promised; over the years, the event has been held at various downtown locations, including the Millennium Knickerbocker Hotel Chicago, the Congress Plaza Hotel, InterContinental Chicago, but The Drake was one of the party's longest- running venues. A few weeks later, I called Sarah Beardsley. She's a smart and levelheaded businesswoman, so I was looking forward to hearing her take on what we had both witnessed. "It was more like Monty Python than Eyes Wide Shut," she joked, adding that her husband had found it sillier than in years past. While she wasn't necessarily converted ("I think it was a great experience that was sort of a one and done," she says), for scores of Chicagoans, this blast with a past is definitely worth repeating. MA and the