Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

A Vegas bachelorette party, no fiance needed

Fake Bachelorette Party!

Mikey McNulty

Weekly contributing writer Stephanie Weedin celebrates during her bachelorette party at Vanity… only she’s not even engaged.

Fake Bachelorette Party

The Weekly throws a bachelorette party... even though no one is getting married. For the story, click here.

Fake Bachelorette Party!

The Weekly throws a bachelorette party... even though no one is getting married. For the story, click here. Launch slideshow »

"I’m getting married!” I announced to random strangers inside a crowded Vanity nightclub last Thursday. They could have guessed by my white veil, white feather boa and blinking plastic engagement ring. I also had a gaggle of giggling girls wearing complementary pink feather boas and tiny pink tiaras. When we paraded through the club, everyone turned to look. It might have been the most fun night of my life.

Of course, I’m not actually getting married. The “bachelorette party” was a sort of nightlife experiment. Living in Vegas, you’ve probably seen a bachelorette mob wandering around the Strip wearing the tackiest of plastic party accessories. I was curious what that might feel like. How would strangers react? How many free drinks would they buy us? Would we get any odd marriage advice?

We began the night inside the hotel room to “pregame” on vodka cranberry and coordinate our stories. We had to come up with details—my fiancé’s name, how I met him, etc. We decided his name was Richard, but that we know him as “Dick.” My wedding date? July 11, because 7-11 is tough to forget. Eager to get the party moving, I assured everyone that no one would care much about the details, because we looked so cute. I was right.

Within seconds of walking into Vanity I’d gotten a few high-fives. We got a table and established home base. From there on, pure madness. The way I perched on the hard surface above our table, it might as well have been a throne. Men swarmed like flies to poop.

Interestingly enough, I spent the majority of our time at Vanity at the tables of other pre-wedding partiers, downing what felt like gallons worth of shots. My favorite bachelor party of the evening was a group from London dressed like ’70s porn stars. The bachelor, whom my party singled out for our “best pecs” award, wanted my panties in exchange for a round of drinks for my ladies. Being a magnanimous queen (or an impulsive alcoholic), I sat on the bachelor’s lap, reached under my black dress and gave them up. Shortly thereafter, one of the Englishmen professed his love and proposed marriage. I accepted! Just before running off to another bachelor party’s table for more shots.

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