The Rooftop Wine and Cheese Mixer

It all started with an innocent group text.

Chaz: “Hey guys, I got us invites to a wine and cheese mixer tonight! 🍷🧀 Fancy, right? Dress code: ‘casual chic.’”

Casual chic? That’s the kind of phrase that sends a cold sweat down my spine. Casual chic means something different to everyone, which, in turn, means I’m 100% showing up dressed like either a washed-up rock star or a confused dad at a high school dance.

Me: “What exactly is ‘casual chic’? And why does this sound like a trap?”

Sophie: “Just wear what you’d wear to a date where you’re trying but not too hard.”

Me: “So, a panic attack in clothing form. Got it.”

Tessa was already spiraling. “I don’t own anything casual chic! I either look like I’m headed to a board meeting or a pajama party.”

Mark, meanwhile, was unbothered. “I’ll wear my khakis. They’re casual. And they’re chic… if you squint.”

Fast-forward to that night.

Chaz had somehow convinced us to attend this mixer hosted by his influencer friend—who, by the way, goes by the name “Skye Sunflower.” (Yes, that’s her legal name. I checked.) The event was held at one of those rooftop bars that screams “Instagram trap” from every corner. There were Edison bulbs, succulents, and, of course, wine and cheese towers that looked like modern art sculptures.

We all awkwardly gathered near the wine table, avoiding eye contact with the people who seemed a little too good at networking.

Chaz: “This is perfect! Free wine, fancy cheeses, and cool vibes. I’m telling you guys, this is how you meet people.”

Me: “By standing in a corner like a group of terrified deer?”

Sophie was trying to be optimistic. “Just… blend in. We’ll grab some wine, mingle a little, and then we can leave. Easy.”

Spoiler alert: it was not easy.

Mark decided the best way to blend in was to approach the most intimidating group of people in the room. They were all standing in a circle, holding their wine glasses as if they’d been born doing it. They looked like they belonged in a movie about people who casually own yachts.

Mark, for reasons only Mark could explain, dove straight in: “So, uh… who here knows the difference between Brie and Camembert?”

The group stared at him. Silence. Like, palpable silence. You could hear the cheese melting from the awkward heat of the moment.

Chaz, sensing disaster, decided to help.

Chaz: “Fun fact, Brie is basically just French butter, right? You could probably put it on toast. No big deal.”

More silence. I swear, I saw one of the women blink twice like she was trying to understand how a human being could say something so incorrect.

Tessa, in full panic mode, tried to steer the conversation into safer territory. “Um… anyone here into psychological analysis? I’m a therapist, and I find social dynamics like these super fascinating.”

One of the yacht people looked her up and down and responded in a deadpan tone, “I majored in art therapy. But I don’t practice—I just support art.”

Cue internal screaming from the whole group.

You know, moments like this make you realize just how much social interaction is a game of survival. And we? We were losing. Badly.

Things only escalated.

Mark knocked over a cheese sculpture while trying to demonstrate how “cheese wheels are structurally unstable.”

Chaz accidentally started an argument with someone by suggesting that wine tasting is “just adult juice box comparisons.”

Tessa cornered a poor woman into a ten-minute conversation about the psychological impact of choosing Manchego over Gouda.

Sophie tried to mediate but eventually gave up, whispering to me, “We are not chic. I should have known.”

Just as we were about to retreat into a corner of shame, Skye Sunflower appeared, floating over in an outfit that could only be described as a cloud made of expensive linen.

Skye: “Guys! You’re killing it! The energy here? So authentic.”

Me (in my head): We’re killing something, alright.

Skye proceeded to introduce us to her circle, where things got even weirder. These people were so artsy that we felt like someone should hand us a script just to keep up. One guy was a full-time meditation coach for pets. Another woman described her career as a “celestial aura photographer.” I think someone in the back was trying to levitate.

Mark: “You guys ever wonder what the moon smells like?”

Skye: “Oh, absolutely. I’m convinced it’s lavender and… whispers.”

At this point, I realized that sometimes, you’re just not meant to fit in. And that’s okay. But when you’re at a wine and cheese mixer hosted by Skye Sunflower, you’re also not meant to survive with any dignity intact.

The night finally ended when Mark spilled red wine on Skye’s all-white linen ensemble, which she brushed off by saying, “It’s fine! I think red stains have a story. They’re part of the journey.”

Chaz: “This went great, right?”

Sophie: “Sure. If by ‘great’ you mean we survived.”

Tessa, still analyzing, concluded, “This was an excellent study in social anxiety. I’ve learned so much.”

Me: “I’ve learned that I’m never trusting Chaz’s event suggestions again.”

Mark, on the other hand, looked down at his wine-soaked khakis and shrugged. “Well, at least now I’m casual and chic.”

Moral of the story: When someone invites you to a rooftop wine and cheese mixer, just remember—there’s no such thing as “casual chic.” Only “awkward disaster.”