We day-walkers believe Tuesday night is not meant for raging. Where premature partying is concerned, it's widely accepted that Thursday night is the official unofficial start the weekend in the city. So what to make of The Wolf Party at Le Souk Harem held on, of all days, a Tuesday night? It's there you'll find those nocturnal creatures that believe every night out is the weekend.

When I arrived late to a brunch at Le Caprice yesterday, gentlemanly host Zac Posen interrupted his meal mid-bite to graciously welcome me to his affair. I was already riding high with anxiety—arriving late only to discover that the room was filled with the most recognizable faces in the fashion and journalism worlds. But his warm welcome, combined with the fact that I was about to enjoy some mid-day cocktails courtesy of Belvedere Bloody Mary, put me immediately at ease.

The first thing I think when I approach the Rebecca Taylor shop and lay eyes on a mini-red carpet hemmed by actual paparazzi is: “Looky here, a surefire blogger circle-jerk party!” Actually, the first thing I’m thinking is “It’s fucking March and I’m getting pelted by hail and freezing rain.” But back to circle jerks.

Street style photographers have been out in full force this week, bothering and validating the beautiful and well-heeled in equal measure. Personally, I find it incredulous that people would be anything but flattered if one of these rogue paparazzi stopped them for a quick pic -- I know people who spend their Saturday afternoons stomping around Soho in couture in the hopes of bumping into the Sartorialist.

Ankles aching from those Acnes? Mind reeling from all the small talk? Eyes bleeding from all those looks? Instead of waiting for nightfall to indulge in free, mind-erasing booze, find peace and diversion from all of your self-inflicted (and trendy) agony at some of these temporary pop-ups, meant to cure the neuroses of the fashionable masses during New York Fashion Week.

Fashion Week has descended upon New York City, anointing new and yet-to-be-opened venues with its holy presence. Fashion houses and fashionable rags have shouldered their way into seen-and-be-seen restaurants and night spots, and have sold off their first born in order to offer their party guests a first look at some unopened places, like The Mondrian and the Darby's buzzy basement. The perennial question: Whether to elect tried-and-true spots (or, in the case of Alexander Wang, gas stations and bounce houses) over what could be just a flash-in-the-pan hotspot. Herewith, a rumor-mongering and totally useless look at where all the week's parties shall take place.

With a PBR can in my pocket and a glass of DeLeon Tequila in my hand, I negotiated the crowd at Milk Studios, getting tangled in groups of familiar, bold-face names I only get to glimpse but twice a year (not including resort and couture week, if I'm lucky). Last night’s Mac & Milk Fashion Week FW11 kickoff party brought out fashion week friends like Josh Lucas, Liev Schreiber, Tara Subkoff, and Vogue’s Valerie Bolster, models like Le Call and Irina Lazareanu, and ShopBop’s Kate Ciepluch, all excited to catch a performance by The National.

Street artists Mint&Serf, also known as The Mirf, are set to unveil yet another art installation at Garment District house club District 36. The duo will be joined by BrooklynStreetArt to celebrate The Mirf Room's unveiling at the 14,000-square-foot dance club. Mind you, Mirf has already taken over the walls, the entryways, and the stairwells here, and now their original work will adorn The Mirf Lounge, a separate room dedicated to the Moscow- and Brooklyn-born talents. It's been said that The Mirf is so dedicated to District 36 because it hearkens back to their old-school party days spent in the city's quivering mega-clubs of the 80's. It's no wonder they've tapped a slew of club kids—new and veteran—to help them celebrate on February 4th.

The Poetry Brothel, produced by The Poetry Society of New York, is a conceptual group that presents poets as characters—or "high courtesans," as they say. The Brothel aims to take poetry outside the classroom and lecture hall and "place it in the lush interiors of a bordello." Made up of a cast of "Whores" who put on innovative events staged to feel like the fin-de-siècle brothels in New Orleans and Paris, this band of poets strives to evoke the avant-garde movements and French Symbolists of the 19th century. The poets act as whores, calling their audience their "Johns" and, as you can imagine, the events are not your Mother's poetry readings. Their next event isn't until January 23rd at The Back Room (invite below), but the group has offered up a list of their favorite nightlife places where poets can bide their time until then. Here is the Poetry Brothel's top places to live the poet's life: places where poetry is inspired, where poets hang out, or maybe where one can find the ghosts poets past.

When I was working in the restaurant industry some odd years ago, I relished the time just before opening. Servers and managers went out back to smoke and bitch and I would stand in the dining room looking out over the polished silverware in the fading afternoon light. The room looked like an empty, half-lit stage just before opening night. Wijnanda Deroo’s third solo exhibit, Inside New York Eateries, presently showing at the Robert Mann Gallery, articulates this moment in a photo series that documents New York’s culinary institutions as they sit empty, before the evening’s cast has taken a seat. Along with views of Milon and the Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant—all standing eerily silent—the series also captures beloved, now-shuttered venues.