It's 3:37 p.m., pineapple juice is fusing my fingers together into hooked claws, and crepe paper is trailing my Pumas like toilet paper at a truck-stop bathroom. I told my coworkers to show up ready to party at 4, but my pulled pork needs at least three more hours in the slow cooker before it's a little less "bleed-y," as a friend put it.
Forgive me, Lauren Conrad, for I have fallen short.
When I received a copy of LC's new book, Celebrate, in the mail a week ago, I wanted to maintain a disaffected nonchalance, because that's what the cool kids do these days. But instead, I squealed. How could I not? The woman's the patron saint of Pinterest. She's leveraged a career in reality TV—which can easily reduce a person to schilling questionable weight-loss pills during late-night infomercials—into a polished empire: A lifestyle website, two clothing lines and nine (nine!) books.
If anyone could help me level up my party-planning skills, it was her. So, for the past week, I've set out to view the world through her rose gold-filtered Instagram, absorbing every bit of advice I could glean from her new book, so that I could throw the kind of get-together people talk about for weeks afterward—and not in a move-to-another-town-and-change-your-name way.
Before the Party, There's the Planning Party.
Lauren recommends answering six questions to set the tone of your get-together, which essentially serves as the 5 W's and dollar sign: Who's hosting/on the guest list, what's the occasion, where and when the party will be taking place, why you're throwing this party, and how much money you're willing to front to make it happen.
I chose to reclaim the office party—a bastion for awkward small-talk and praying the 'fun' will end soon, so you can get back to filing your TPS reports—and gained inspiration from an unlikely source: LC's Hawaiian beach party-themed bachelorette party. Here's the inspo her book laid out:
Nothing says, "hey coworkers, let's get buck wild while respecting each other's personal boundaries!" quite like that mashup, right? But also, if you're going to get people to temporarily leave the stresses of paper jams and deadlines behind, you need a party that transports them someplace else entirely. (Plus, Lauren's bash, as outlined in the book, is wilder than a teddy bear tea party, but not MTV Spring Break crazy. I'm not totally deranged.)
Lauren's big on creating mood boards beforehand, which can help you determine the color palette and overall tone of things. She recommends using Pinterest, but I have zero interest in practical, portable inspiration boards. I was going full-tilt Lauren, so my inspo was going to be laid out and professionally photographed on a slightly distressed white table too.
Lauren draws inspiration from everywhere—kumquats and a bronze fork could inspire a Moroccan brunch, for example—so I strove to, too. Within the confines of whatever I could find in my apartment/cubicle. A few key pieces:
- A Cutout Bikini — It sets the beachy tone and screams "eff tanlines," which is just the right level of raucous rebelliousness this party needs. Like, let's get a little crazy but not so much that we're all fired on Monday morning.
- SPF 50 — That one's more of a reminder to wear sunscreen. I don't get sun-kissed; I get sun-b*tch-slapped.
- Dunkin' Donuts Sunnies — Lauren used heart-shaped ones. These felt a little more me, in an I WANT ALL THE CARBS, ALL THE TIME way.
- Raspberry Sorbet — Okay, I directly ripped this off from Lauren's inspiration board. But come on, it's colorful and you have a refreshing treat to fuel you through the days of planning ahead. (Spoiler: There are days of planning ahead.)
- Mini Tabasco Bottles — Beyoncé isn't the only one who keeps hot sauce in her bag. Swag.
Show Me the Menu.
While Celebrate contains only a handful of recipes—namely, ones for classic cocktails, a clambake and Lauren's four favorite pies—it does offer plenty of menu-planning inspiration, and the author recommends scouring Pinterest and the Interwebs to find easy recipes.
Since developing recipes is part of my job, I was all about riffing off of her ideas:
- Hawaiian Pulled Pork Sandwiches — I'd make them sliders, marinated in ginger ale and pineapple, then slathered in BBQ sauce. (Despite knowing better, I forget to put the pork in the slow cooker the night before, so I tried cooking it on high. Fail! Unless you're looking for an 8-inch thick piece of partially cooked pork jerky.)
- Teeny Bikini Shots — Because even an office party deserves a little booze.
- Piña Coladas — Lauren's fave color is rose gold, so I'm adding watermelon to the mix to make mine blush-colored. Oh, and I'll have virgin ones on hand for the coworkers who don't want to get sauced before returning to their cubes.
- Key Lime Pies — Lauren's has a coconut macaroon crust. This party is all about mingling and dancing off-rhythm to old-school hits from Mystikal (an image no colleague will be able to erase), so mine will be mini. Shake it fast / grab a snack ... ♫
- Sorbet Bowls — Even grocery-store rainbow sherbet seems posh when you serve it in a frozen pineapple or watermelon half (a la LC). Plus, you can use the cored-out insides in your piña coladas.
Set the Stage.
Lauren owns about 300 patinated brass candlesticks and vases, she writes, which helps her create a transporting backdrop for the party. While I don't have access to a Beauty and the Beast-caliber china cabinet, I was just as determined to create a high-end "escape" at the office, so I took a wooden pallet that was painted blue and clamped it shimmied it against the hood of the oven in our office kitchen, probably violating more safety codes than I'd care to admit as I created a faux beach house "wall."
Forget Calgon—my coworkers would be all, "Candace, take me away!" when they saw this thing. Especially after I hung some crepe-paper tassel bunting that I'd spared from the trash. I figured Lauren would appreciate my resourcefulness and commitment to repurposing decorations, even if I took a hard pass on making my own piñatas from scratch, like she does.
Get Crafty.
After seeing how Lauren turned pineapples into crazy beautiful vases, I had to try it for myself. And by try it for myself, I mean nearly chop off my thumb before pounding my head against the kitchen table and recruiting my colleague, Rian, to save me from DIY disaster.
Lopping off the top is easy enough, but you have to almost curve the knife to take out the flesh of the pineapple, if you don't have a fancy corer. (Shamefully, I don't.)
Lesson Learned the Hard Way: Use a small knife to carve out the pineapple's guts. It's easier, and less straight-to-DVD slasher flick.
So this is the point when the clock started winding down, the pineapple juice started solidifying on my hands, and I realized I needed to get it together, fast, if I had any hope of bringing this inappropriate-yet-awesome soiree to life. (And yes, at this point in my party-planning training, I now say words like "soiree.")
Using my claw-hands, I desperately punched out a typo-ridden "Pushing praty back; will email when reedy." It wasn't the formal invitation Lauren recommends sending out four weeks in advance, but it'd have to do. I think I threw in a smiling-extra-wide emoji to make up for my lack of swagger.
Cooking a La Conrad.
I'll be honest: The easiest part of the party planning was Lauren's key lime pie. I had my reservations about the coconut macaroon-esque crust—basically, the soundtrack to the entire 15-minute cook time and hour-long refrigeration process was "Please come out of the muffin tin, please come out of the muffin tin, pleasefortheloveofdessertcomeoutofthetin!"
Thankfully, it did. If you're making minis, put them in cupcake liners—it makes for a prettier presentation (those fluted edges!)—and there's no scraping sweetened condensed milk out of the tray later on.
I Need a Drink.
At this point, the work day is almost over. My coworkers will go home before my party even starts! I've ditched the pulled pork sliders (they can keep cooking, low and slow, and become my lunch tomorrow), but I'm determined to whip up a batch of drinks. It's Thirsty Thursday, after all.
Lauren's signature bachelorette cocktail is a Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini. She doesn't give a recipe—just states it's a mix of ginger, rum and passionfruit—so I eyeball the yellow-orange, speckled drink and make up my own blend: Half passionfruit juice, half rum, a little grated ginger and half a teaspoon of passionfruit seeds.
With everything plated (and a bag of chips, to make up for my missing sandwiches), I called up the squad. Or the three people who weren't currently in other meetings and could make it to the party. Womp womp.
I blasted Spotify's Throwback Thursday playlist, and we practiced the careful art of Instagramming a party. Forty-three minutes later, we had the right shot, and we were ready to sip our ... mostly melted watermelon piña coladas.
As people stopped by, I practiced Lauren's small-talk tips. Some were easy (I don't have to avoid the "what do you do?" question, because everybody knows that already), some—namely, "is this what you did all day?"—were a little harder to navigate, but I followed LC's advice and kept things positive: "Why yes, yes, I did!" I beamed.
I could ask her about what went wrong—and where I can improve—during a stop in her book tour, but the answer is pretty obvious: Time management. And, okay, pineapple-carving skills, which I apparently don't possess.
If you need someone to hollow out tropical fruit for your next party, call my friend Rian. She's a total pro.
As for me, I'm still working on it. Don't lose hope on me, LC.
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