You could have been forgiven for forgetting, if only for a moment, that we live in sobering economic times (record unemployment rates seem to spawn flaccid parties—and libidos) at the extravaganza Hermès orchestrated for its opening.

Was it seeing Maiden Lane transformed into an open-air Provençal market (complete with wooden floorboards) teeming with fresh fruit, flowers, fish, cheese, and olive oils, free for the taking? Perhaps it was being among friends jampacked in a village square ambience? Or maybe it was simply the festive mood—helped by a running faucet of wine and a string quartet—that transported us away from the sullenness of San Francisco of late.

Whatever the explanation, it was universally agreed that Hermès—estimated to have spent $300,000 on the bash—threw the party of the year. Two days later, at an AmFAR party at Bulgari that gathered the city's social elite, people were still commenting on it.

"We need more of these kitschy, villagey parties," said Kim Karp, who'd soaked up the fun on Maiden Lane.

In that fantasy alley-cum-market, young and old, stodgy and hip mingled like a town square celebration. Everyone from the social establishment, including Ann Getty, Dede Wilsey, John Traina, Denise Hale, and Susie Tompkins Buell and the next-generation socials Vanessa and Billy Getty, Trevor Traina, and Dorka Keehn, slung free straw shopping baskets over their arms and milled about. Such was the density of the throng that you couldn't budge one stiletto-heeled or loafered foot before running into another acquaintance who embroiled you in conversation.

"Being six and a half months pregnant, I had planned on an early night, but I just kept running into friends," Vanessa Getty told the Socialist.

Others had more material complaints. In the big rush to fill the goody bags with loot, the rich and the superrich queuing up resembled a scene from Communist-era Russia. Except the rationing was for the much-coveted Diptyque candles, which vanished minutes after the woman charged with distributing them appeared. No one can resist getting something for free, especially those most able to afford the finer things in life, a fact Hermès understood all too well. As a New York socialite once reminded the Socialist, "Anybody can pay retail." (Full disclosure: The Socialist, standing conveniently next to the Diptyque woman when she arrived, managed to score a candle.)

"I saw a woman with three of them in her bag," one socialite, who had clearly lost out, groused. (The greedy wench!)

Another partygoer, eyeing my Diptyque, jokingly threatened all kinds of mayhem to relieve me of my candle.

Topics of conversation that dominated the party: yea or nay to a certain publicist's new bangs? (Consensus: yea, despite a few detractors.) Stanlee Gatti, the event planner who

produced the party, still has his touch, despite newcomers nipping at his heels (or his clients'). Radar magazine's second issue, which compiles a B-list (and those who went from B to A and back to B) was harsh in its mention of San Francisco as a city you would think is A-list but is actually B. (The Socialist would have to disagree: We're firmly aware we're B+ list and visit plenty of world-class destinations to avoid seeming provincial.) And yes, Vanessa is looking fabulously pregnant.

The Hermès party capped a particularly busy week for social outings. The day before, Kamala Harris's kickoff party for her campaign for district attorney got under way with a fund-raiser that drew an eclectic mix of people. Boz Scaggs performed for an audience of the affluent young. Congregating on one side of the Great American Music Hall were the Hermès crowd—Dorka, Trevor, Vanessa, Kim Karp, et al., along with Summer Tompkins and Kimberly Bakker.

On the other side came the nonprofit contingent: Chuck Collins, Charles Ward of the Family Service Agency, and others affiliated with domestic violence prevention outfits. But the two worlds came together to support Kamala financially if not socially.

Many of the same crowd reconvened on the Thursday of that week at Bulgari for a joint AmFAR fund-raising party organized by Daniela Faggioli, Vanessa and Billy Getty, and Denise Hale. It might have been a great store party by most standards (such pre-parties have become so passé that only the most exclusive ones, combined with a good cause, can persuade the social elite to get out of bed), but it had the burden of taking place two days after the lavish Hermès blowout. Some new figures who don't regularly make the scene showed up, however: Actress Joan Chen and ballerina and fash-mag mascot Yuan Yuan Tan (see her in Vogue and W) dropped in.

Also present and not one of the regulars was Ada Regan, who came up from her Peninsula estate (captured in the film Yes, Giorgio) at the invitation of Faggioli. The opera fan, who once hosted a performance by Luciano Pavarotti in her garden, seemed refreshingly unimpressed with the social goings-ons at the store. She connected with fashion nut Joy Bianchi.

The week before, in what seemed a million miles away socially from San Francisco, the Napa Valley Wine Auction held its annual gala, Copa de Napa. The Latin supper club-themed auction drew Wine Country society types and wine lovers from all over—except for the city's social elite.

Left carrying the banner for the S.F. contingent were Urannia and Dr. Brunno Ristow and Frank and Daru Kawalkowski. The consensus around town seems to have deemed the gala too large and unwieldy of an affair. The Wine Spectator magnum party, held at Tra Vigne two nights before the vintners' gala, had become the hot party ticket of the week and the most exclusive.

Still, the gala drew a healthy turnout (it sold out at the eleventh hour). Among the guests were Carolyn Duryea Smith, of Hourglass Wines, and her husband, Jeff Smith, reminiscing about wine auction galas of yesteryear. Amid the country-club chic (yawn) prevailing at the gala, Carolyn stood out in a champagne-colored pleated Prada skirt

and a white tank.

"When Jeff grew up here, there was a teenage tradition of sneaking into the gala, which was a low-key, intimate affair," Carolyn told the Socialist. "We joke that maybe we should make that the protocol for guests next year."

Hmmm...sneaking into social functions—now that's something the Socialist can get into.