Since I live about 8 minutes from the party's Beverly Hills location, I would start dressing at 10pm. My new white shirt fit easily, followed by my tuxedo pants, socks and shiny shoes.
But when it came to the penultimate piece of clothing - a black bow tie - I was stumped.
Not to worry, I thought, that's what the Internet was built for.
Type "How to tie a bow tie" into YouTube and you get more than 160,000 results. There are videos featuring celebrities, mannequins, children, grooms, grandfathers, dogs and cats. I even watched one by a Playboy bunny.
But as far as I can tell, none will actually teach you how to tie a bow tie. I watched dozens, and grew more perplexed each time.
One of my favourites featured Jesse Tyler Ferguson from "Modern Family" - not because he explained it better, but because he, too, couldn't figure it out. Midway through, he lets out a melodramatic "Aaarrgh!"
I'm right there with you, Jesse.
But time was running out for me. It was 10.45pm, and I was still at home, one hand gripping the beginning folds of a bow tie, the other rewinding video after video. I was in a panic.
This was the point when I plopped onto the bed and declared to my fiancée that I was staying home. "What am I going to tell my editor? 'I'm sorry, I couldn't go to the Vanity Fair party because I'm too much of an idiot to tie a bow tie?'"
"Maybe you can go without one?" she suggested.
I imagined myself walking into the glamorous party and, like a bad movie, the music would stop as everyone stared at my open collar. The host par excellence, Graydon Carter, would wander over and tell me to leave.
No, I would not give up. So we came up with a plan: My fiancée would hold the front bow while I figured out how to thread the rear loop through a centre hole. We turned on all the lights, froze several YouTube clips and commenced operations.
After several attempts, I somehow managed to get the loop in. We cheered as I grabbed my tuxedo jacket and rushed out the door.
When I finally arrived at 11.30pm, I was careful not to touch my tie for fear that it might unravel. Looking around, the party was as chic as I had imagined, with celebrities and moguls in every direction.
At one point I bumped into Sir Patrick Stewart, who wanted to chat about Twitter and tech. I had other more important topics to discuss: the masterpiece around my neck. "What do you think?" I asked, as we snapped a selfie.
He paused for a moment, inspected my bow tie, then asked why on earth I had worn a real one. "I haven't worn a bow tie in years," he said, adding that when he does, it is a clip-on. Turns out, so did almost everyone else I asked.
© 2015 New York Times News Service
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