Months of hate speech, misinformation, and Curtis Sliwa were washed away with happy drunk tears.

By Danya Issawi, a fashion news writer at The Cut. She previously worked across the newsroom at the New York Times, including on the “Style” desk and the Pulitzer Prize-winning COVID-tracking team.

Photo: Danya Issawi

Photo: Danya Issawi

Photo: Danya Issawi

Just after 9 p.m. Tuesday, the line to get into Zohran Mamdani’s election watch party stretched all the way down Flatbush Avenue outside the Brooklyn Paramount. The impatient crowd was a Where’s Waldo? of every New York archetype: 30-something men in faux military clothing filming skits for TikTok, Brooklyn moms with totes dangling off their shoulders looking excited just to be there, a group wearing both traditional Hasidic garb and “Palestine” scarves. One guy walked up and down the street handing out pamphlets to those waiting and provoking them to “talk about Trump.”

Celebrity supporters including Emily Ratajkowski, Morgan Spector, and Ramy Youssef floated around the crowd and clumped near the entrances, looking for a pliable staffer to escort them inside the venue. Unfortunately for them, a man in a vest barked, “There is no VIP line!” “But I have a special ticket,” Spector joked. “I get to stand on the balcony.” Motaz Azaiza, the famed Gazan photojournalist, sauntered to the back of the line with two cameras dangling from his shoulders.

From left: Photo: Danya IssawiPhoto: Danya Issawi

From top: Photo: Danya IssawiPhoto: Danya Issawi

When the election results started to trickle in, most partygoers were still going through security. They whipped out their cell phones to pull up the New York Times leaderboard. “It’s looking Mamdani as fuck,” one man said as a tentative cheer broke out down the line. Inside, guests rushed around grabbing drinks, took photos with one another, and frantically tried to locate their friends before the race was called. Just before 9:40 p.m., a smattering of cheers began to crescendo across the lobby.

This early in the night, only a few dozen people had been watching the returns on televisions hoisted across the bar. “Wait, what’s happening?” one person near me asked before they darted up the stairs to the balcony. As the realization that Mamdani had officially been declared mayor of New York City dawned across the crowd, stragglers on the edges of the floor and those waiting at the bar sprinted, their phones thrust forward to record the moment, toward the undulating, screaming mass of people in the center of the main hall. I felt like I was watching a sibling learn how to ride a bike or my partner get a promotion, filled with pride for my fellow New Yorkers and this city that, especially tonight, felt like the indisputable center of the universe.

The mayor-elect’s family and friends had gathered on the mezzanine overlooking the floor, where they were celebrating too. Enveloped in all the hooting and hollering from the crowd below, Mira Nair, the acclaimed filmmaker and Mamdani’s mother, and her husband, the academic Mahmood Mamdani, embraced each other and their friends. Nair, wearing a chartreuse top and royal-blue shawl, was crying. Ratajkowski and Spector found their way up to the balcony, as did Youssef, who gripped Julio Torres and rocked back and forth. Nearly everyone was jumping. Fists and limbs flew in the air; strangers grabbed me and shook me by the shoulders. One woman cried into the shoulder of another, “I can’t believe this is real.” A friend put his arm around me, looked me in the eyes, and exhaled, “We have a Muslim mayor.”

From left: Photo: Danya IssawiPhoto: Danya Issawi

From top: Photo: Danya IssawiPhoto: Danya Issawi

“It feels like when you apply to college and you get accepted,” said Kareem Rahma, the host of SubwayTakes, the social-media series that helped platform Mamdani early on. “This is a fucking W. A big fat W.”

As the initial high of the race call passed, partygoers started milling around and asking, “So … What do we do now?” One person told me they actually “enjoyed the tension at the primary watch party” and wished the race hadn’t been called so early. Bartenders rapidly doled out tequila sodas and Red Bulls; a group of young, Muslim supporters clinked their glasses of seltzer water and jokingly yelled, “Allahu Akbar.” The millennials and zoomers in the room took advantage of this lull in the festivities to attend to their interpersonal mess. “Oh my God, that guy over there ghosted me,” someone within earshot whispered. Another guest vowed to meet their husband tonight: “Everyone here is hot!” While we waited for the man of the hour, several people commiserated over how good the very married Spector, who was wearing a cream cashmere sweater, black pants, and black boots, looked. A tall man with a broom and dustpan appeared frequently as more and more guests sloshed the ice from their drinks onto the floor.

Photo: Danya Issawi

By the time Mamdani took the stage to give his victory speech an hour and a half after the race call, his audience was revved (and liquored) up. The moment the mayor-elect peeked out from behind a curtain, Youssef screamed, “That’s my fucking mayor!” A simple “Thank you, my friends,” from Mamdani was enough to send the crowd into a roar, and they thunderously cheered as he invoked Eugene Debs: “I can see the dawn of a better day for humanity.”

Guests up in the balcony chimed in with an affirmative “Mmmm!” and “C’mon!” as the mayor-elect gave a defiant, metaphorical middle finger to the president. I felt the mezzanine vibrate as the audience banged their fists against the railings and stomped their feet when Mamdani said, “Donald Trump, since I know you’re watching, I have four words for you: Turn the volume up!” As he wrapped his speech and exited the stage alongside his family, the Bollywood song “Dhoom Machale” filled the venue. A woman next to me wiped a tear from her face as she filmed this dénouement, and over the music, I heard someone say, “That’s iconic.”

A Euphoric First 162 Minutes in Zohran’s New York