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As I arrived at New York’s biggest cryptocurrency and art-adjacent edgelord election watch party, a young man in a shaggy blonde wig and suit was pulled past a spread of cold McDonalds to deliver a mediocre Trump impersonation before a set of flash-on iPhones, speaking of how yuge the night was going to be and the certainty of a GOP victory. It marked the sort of casual confidence that defined the evening for Downtown’s dissident right wing—a confidence that ultimately proved warranted.
His was the only obvious wig in the room, but the crowd of the evening can, I think, be fairly described by their headgear. More than half the room were wearing a hat: a mix of MAGA (both the classic red and new “Dark” varieties), at least one fedora, and dozens of the trucker hats being given away, which read: “I’m immune to propaganda, and the deep state fears my swag.”
J.M. Kettle
The party was at Sovereign House, a subterranean venue on the Lower East Side, right by Chinatown, in the neighborhood sometimes referred to as Dimes Square, a nightlife district that has also become a curious metonymy for a heterodox right-leaning scene. One sponsor of the event was Polymarket, an cryptocurrency-based online prediction market where people can bet on anything, including politics. The trucker hats were being given away by Remilia, the other co-host and sponsor, a group described by the magazine Dazed as an “anti-woke crypto community.”
The latter sponsor appeared to be a particularly large draw, dominating the party’s 500-person RSVP list. Remilia attendees were the most online people in the room: If you imagine a type of vaguely goth guy who spends a lot of time on 4chan, with an anime profile picture, who would also vote for Trump—you’re probably pretty close. But there were also several cute young women among them, too, still displaying an affinity for e-girl aesthetics: heavy winged eyeliner, choker necklaces, pleated mini skirts.
Few revelers were willing to speak for attribution. Many of those in attendance, Remilia, MAGA, or otherwise, are better (or only) known by their online personas. Some others, whose full names I know, still understandably did not want to be quoted. But several people, when they were told that I was there writing about the event for GQ, asked me if I wanted them to say a slur for the record.
Sovereign House has become the de-facto event space for anyone even marginally adjacent to this scene, or really anyone young and hip and in need of a place to throw a poetry reading or fashion show. According to the Christian Science Monitor, in a story about New York’s avant-garde religious conservatives, Sovereign House is a “a salon started by Nick Allen, a New York tech worker who wanted to create a space for more dissident Dimes Square artists. They host parties for newly launched magazines, stage new plays, and even just engage in conversations about art and literature. (The tech entrepreneur Peter Thiel has also helped fund an ‘antiwoke’ film festival in Manhattan.)”
The oddly placed parenthetical mention of Thiel, a right-wing billionaire and prominent supporter of the President-Elect, is something that has defined Sovereign House since it opened last year. As another writer recently wrote on Substack, Sovereign House is said to be backed by Thiel and the political writer Curtis Yarvin, both of whom are seen as arguably the biggest—yet quietest—players in the so-called “New Right.” Their involvement in Sovereign House is often spoken of as if it’s fact, but at least in terms of public record, it is largely speculation. On the other hand, Polymarket—one of the other sponsors of the party, is publicly known to be backed by Thiel, so the association is there either way.
Sovereign House is likely the last bastion of “Dimes Square” as an intellectual movement—the neighborhood is, increasingly, like the rest of Manhattan, a place for French tourists to wait in line to overpay for dinner and drinks. But the dream of Dimes Square did really exist for at least this one night.
“This is an eclectic scene of cool young people who aren’t into cancellation over opinions, the drinks are cheap, and the girls are hot,” Tushar, 38, a software engineer from New Jersey, told me. “You can watch the election in a bar or at a house party, but I’d rather hang out with young cool MAGA and DSA people in a basement in Chinatown.”
This sentiment was echoed by another attendee, Roman D'Ambrosio, 26, a playwright whose shows have debuted at Sovereign House. “This is the only place with a jovial spirit about politics. Everywhere in New York is drab and grave. People here smile, even when they have nothing to smile about. It was either this or my apartment.” The less savory aspects of the party did not deter him. “That’s the thing about genuine bohemian culture; it’s not comfortable, D'Ambrosio
continued. “It’s not sanctioned by the DNC. The real question is what’s up with people who have the instinct to cringe at odd, against-the-grain artistic expression. That’s obviously a lot of people, but that’s not why I live in NYC. I don’t live in NYC to be around normal people.”
New York certainly fulfilled that promise to him last night. Some observers have referred to collectors of Remilia’s “Milady” bug-eyed, doll-like NFTs as a “cult.” And by New York standards, the most pro-Trump in the audience were abnormal—beyond last week’s rally at Madison Square Garden, witnessing people in MAGA merch is something of a rarity in this city.
J.M. Kettle
But as the results began to confirm that Trump had indeed won another term, the partiers began to revel in the fact that they are not actually a rarity at all: They are the majority. They are the “normal” people. And if “Dimes Square” really was some psyop to convert conservative-curious young hipsters into full-on Republican voters, it succeeded.
Of course, given that this was a Polymarket party, some of the excitement from the crowd was also due to the fact that many had bet money on Trump’s win. One guy told me he stood to win “tens of thousands” of dollars.
As it neared midnight, some of the crowd began to cycle out. Others, mainly guys in suits who had been watching the results elsewhere, entered to celebrate. One couple appeared at the party with Monsters in hand, summoning the energy to enjoy the moment. I questioned whether I myself needed to stay any longer. Would some sort of official win roll in, culminating in shouts and champagne and group hugs? If so, did I really need to be there to witness it? The winning team will have the next four years to enjoy their spoils. But I, not part of the team myself, preferred to venture out into the unseasonably warm night.
Later, only after the White Claws had fully settled into my bloodstream, I found myself thinking that Trump impersonation was actually pretty decent.
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