A Day with Bronson van Wyck Preparing for the Save Venice Ball

Bronson van Wyck has spent five out of the last six nights at extravagant parties: "An event for a fashion brand, a birthday party for an art dealer," he ticks them off. "Oh no, I forgot the night before last!" It's a social schedule that would make even the most passionate extrovert's head spin, but for van Wyck, it's all in a day's (and night's and weekend's) work. For the past nearly 20 years, van Wyck (once a personal photographer to Hillary Clinton and later a contributor to this magazine), alongside his mother Mary Lynn and sister Mimi, has built an event production empire that's become the go-to for organizers of any party hoping to attract a well-heeled set. He's designed the verdant benefit for Friends of the High Line (in whose restoration he was actively involved), a Chanel soirée whose guests included Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, and a birthday party for Madonna—to name a very few. But still, his company retains the feeling of a small business: Bronson himself oversees each event, and extravaganzas at far-flung corners of the globe are all planned—meticulously—from a modestly sized office on 30th Street which he shares with designers Celerie Kemble (interiors) and Lela Rose (fashion). On the morning of one of the New York social scene's hottest-ticket events—the Save Venice gala—I meet Van Wyck at his Flatiron apartment to shadow him for a day of preparations.

9:00 A.M.

Van Wyck, fresh from the gym, meets me at his apartment in New York's Flatiron district. "I've been trying to go to the gym every day," he laughs. "I'm having my birthday party in Greece, so I need to be prepared!" After coffee in his delightfully eccentrically-decorated apartment (much of the decor—from ceiling-sweeping faux trees to striped tenting—adapted from past fêtes), van Wyck is ready for the day.

9:30 A.M.

Grabbing Cat ("with a C, short for Catherine"), a remarkably well-behaved yellow Lab, he's out the door. Though today's start time is a fairly average one, van Wyck's schedule fluctuates as much as the demands of his work. "I work late, so it’s better for everyone if I stay at home in the mornings," he says. "Sometimes I get up at 5 A.M., do some work, and then go back to sleep and then work here in my bathrobe until 11 or 12. I try to get my emails out in the morning so I can see clients in the afternoon."

9:40 A.M.

This morning, it's a walk through the flower district to start the day. "It's on my way to work, so I’ll walk through often even if I’m not working on anything—just to see what’s in season," he says. "It’s never what you think it’s going to be. I’m usually there after the rush, so it’s pretty chill."

9:52 A.M.

We arrive at G Page, where van Wyck, a regular, is welcomed with cheerful hellos. Cat noses around the flora as Van Wyck checks the bouquets being packaged up for delivery to the Pierre, the setting of tonight's ball.

10:00 A.M.

On our way to the Pierre, van Wyck muses on the business of throwing parties, a profession that, at first look, might seem trivial, but which he believes has a deeper—and historic—purpose. "What we’re really doing is creating experiences in the form of ancient hospitality," he says. "Breaking bread together, sharing food and drink. That’s the form, but what we’re doing is a much more nuanced and layered activity which is creating a deep, almost primal connection between the guest and the host." Van Wyck is deeply versed in the traditions of hospitality throughout history—in fact, it's the subject of a book he's working on (more on that later)—and acutely aware of the impact his work can have. "We have such an opportunity to give back in this business," he says. "I don’t have a life where I can write million-dollar checks to causes I care about, but I can make an event look like a million bucks. I can create some sort of meaningful interaction that makes someone understand and appreciate the cause."

10:34 A.M.

Tonight's cause, of course, is Venice and its preservation, a theme that van Wyck has riffed on this year with an added layer of inspiration. "Last year was a big anniversary, so it was all-out Venetian," he explains as we cross Fifth Avenue toward the Pierre. "This year is 'Venice Looking to the East.' Splendori dell'oriente. Venice was the beginning of the Silk Road, so this is the classic European take on the East."

10:38 A.M.

I follow Van Wyck through the lobby, up the stairs of Daniel Romualdez's rotunda, and into the Pierre's grand ballroom. "This is one of the few spaces left in the city that can hold this many people," he says. The space is abuzz with activity: deliverers wheeling carts through towers of stacked chairs, A/V specialists fiddling with lights, staff members on scaffolds adjusting the flags van Wyck has created to look like the sails of the merchant ships that once traveled through Venice. "We’re doing a couple things we haven’t done before," he says of the evening. "Not-for-profit events are fun because you can experiment."

10:45 A.M.

Van Wyck greets his team, then gets down to details. Pointing to one of the aforementioned flags, he suggests it move back 18 inches ("for more depth"), then, after surveying the stage at the front of the room, asks whether the lights might look better shining up from the floor than down from above.

11:00 A.M.

One of van Wyck's associates asks if he's seen the "photo moment." He has not. She walks him to a vignette at the entrance where a stone lion dressed in a flower crown sits atop an antique carpet in front of a set of red lacquered doors in an upscale iteration of a photo booth. Van Wyck's jaw drops—even the ultimate master of ceremonies can be impressed.

11:15 A.M.

It's off to a business lunch "at the Grill, although everyone still calls it 'the old Four Seasons.'"

12:44 P.M.

Post-lunch, van Wyck hops in a cab back downtown, catching up on emails on his iPhone on the way. The time he spends in the office is variable: "Sometimes it's just a few hours; sometimes it's all day," he says.

1:14 P.M.

Van Wyck arrives at the office. I remark that he looks incredibly relaxed for someone throwing a 600-person party in a few hours. "It’s just work," he shrugs. "It’s every night."

1:23 P.M.

Van Wyck's office is, literally and conceptually, the wellspring of his creative work. In one corner, bowls of spices in Moroccon bowls sit atop a table covered in painted muslin—a presentation for a client coming in later that week. Bookshelves along one wall hold volumes of coffee-table books, hundreds of magazines, and several atlases marked with Post-Its. A central table is strewn with masks (though van Wyck eventually chooses not to sport one tonight) and porcelain plates with names written on them in metallic pen ("We’re playing with the idea of using plates as place cards").

1:36 P.M.

After a brief tour of the office, van Wyck shows me a stack of manila envelopes and a pile of printed photos on his table: the makings of his forthcoming book. "So many of these books people do are so precious," he says. "I wanted this to be different. It’s about hospitality in general, not as much about our events but how entertaining is an incredible custom that every culture under every climate in every socioeconomic and geographic position has created. And it’s almost universally divine. With the Greeks, Zeus was the king of the gods but also the god of hospitality. The Christian tradition was born of a couple being denied hospitality at an inn. So the book will follow hospitality from Mesopotamia to Cleopatra hosting Marc Anthony, all the way through today."

1:52 P.M.

Next to the book materials is a tri-folded mockup of a party invite, set atop a book of Pantone swatches. It's for van Wyck's Greek birthday, but he can't seem to get the colors right. "You know, color is so hard these days," he muses. "Because you look at it on your screen and I look at it on mine, and we're seeing different things." He refers to the Pantone book to get the colors as close as possible.

2:05 P.M.

A marble statue outside van Wyck's office door is sporting a brocade cape, which van Wyck will wear tonight. "No mask, I think," he says. "Just the cape over a tuxedo is enough." He makes some slight alterations with the help of his team. (Feathers or faux fur for trim? Feathers win.) And then returns to his desk.

3:00 P.M.

Van Wyck will spend the rest of the day answering emails. When I ask him if he has any sort of beauty regimen before events, he demurs: "Not really. Although if I'm in New Orleans, I'll go to Aidan Gill, where they shave you with a straight razor."

6:00 P.M.

Van Wyck has traded his sweater and chinos for tuxedo and cape and is back at the Pierre. By now, the afternoon's hubbub of activity has subsided, for the most part. Several stylish women in black-tie gowns holding clipboards walk from table to table triple-checking the seating arrangements. Another, wielding a long lighter, lights the candles one by one, and the room takes on a rosy glow.

6:44 P.M.

Meanwhile, van Wyck, the creative genius behind it, keeps a low profile as the festivities begin. "I love at the end of it, sort of hiding in the entrance and watching the guests come in," he says. "Seeing their reaction and the effect you’ve had on them."

7:27 P.M.

The first guests begin to trickle in. One by one, they'll marvel at the surroundings, then drink, dine, and dance until late in the night. And once they've left? "The food goes to City Meals," says van Wyck. "Much of the props and fabric goes to Materials for the Arts, a nonprofit where artists can go to find materials, or they can be donated to schools. We take truckloads there a few times a year." As for van Wyck, he'll head home, the next wondrous occasion already on the horizon.