By Dan Martino

A GIRL ABOUT TOWN What's this? Champagne in a can?

"I love these," Oxy Cottontail says. "Francis Ford Coppola makes them. He named it after his daughter."

The now-famous small red can, which comes with a straw attached, is of course named Sofia, after the famous director's director daughter—no stranger to downtown parties.

"They sponsored my birthday."

Oxy Cottontail says she'd like to get the Red Stripe beer logo tattooed on her arm to get a lifetime of sponsorship. They sponsor most of her events anyway, but wouldn't it be a nice thank you? Hold on. Her cellphone is ringing. This could be the guy that gets us into that Madonna party. "What up, yo?"

It's the end of Fashion Week, but there's plenty of free drinks still to be had. Oxy Cottontail, the alias for 25-year-old party promoter Roxy Summers, seems to know the whole room at A.P.C., the fashionable clothing boutique in Soho. Everyone it seems, except for Kim Gordon, who's at the bar ordering a Sofia, looking a bit confused about the whole thing. She's dressed young, but her face shows the years.

Whatever. Oxy thinks it would be cool to give her a flyer to come to her all-female-DJ party tomorrow night at Sway. But we have to get out of here. There's a Nylon magazine party going on down on Howard. Or Wooster? Which is it? She pulls her cellphone out and begins to dial.

Just as we're out the door, Suroosh Alvi, one of the co-founders of Vice, pops out through the crowd meandering on the street, wearing this year's hipster costume of preppy Polo attire.

"Yo, Roxy, what up?" She gives him a hug. But he's soon talking to someone else.

As we sit in a cab on our way to Wooster—Howard?—Roxy tells me that she used to work at the old Vice store when she was a design student at Pratt.

I question how much longer Vice can go on.

"They've pretty much exploited hipster culture for all it's worth," she says.

Roxy Summers designs handbags during the day, but at night throws parties at small lounges and clubs on the Lower East Side. Her money following is loyal—girls who work in fashion and guys who still carry skateboards and run independent record labels or music promotional companies. Everyone's on a cellphone. Or a text-messaging device.

When I was still in college, I asked a recently graduated friend what it was like to be out.

He said this: "It's pretty much like going back to high school."

And so it is. o