Tickets for nonmembers were $149 ( Harper’s Bazaar once called the NSFW the “SoulCycle of Sex” millennials, as we are always told, prefer to spend their money on “experiences”). Eostre was being hosted by NSFW (that would be the New Society for Wellness), which advertises itself as a “private social club for the open and adventurous” and feels more fancy than sleazy. Bunnies, eggs and chickies are a common sign of this equinox celebration” - in other words, all things I’d never really associated with the idea of a sex party, which for me calls to mind dank basements, a decidedly mixed cast of too-handsy men, and a certain smell I’d rather not describe but which is often difficult to get out of your clothing. A celebration for the return of the sun, the festival is noted for signs of birth. Last week, I stumbled across a weirder-than-usual invite for a sex party called Eostre, which read, “Long before Easter became synonymous with the return of Christ, it was the festival of Eostre, a Germanic goddess of the dawn.
