Youth, culture.

Though the Islamic Wing of the Met (or more specifically, the Galleries for the Art of the Arab Lands, Turkey, Iran, Central Asia, and Later South Asia—say that three times fast) opened in October, there's no reason for young people not to fête the new galleries five months hence.

The event, dubbed “An Oasis at the Met,” was staged by the institution's College Group, to draw in students with a promise of respite from studies and the travails of college life. Unlike the college oases of binge drinking and raucous parties, students could enjoy the magnificent treasures of Arabia. (And isn't it better to OD on art rather than be hungover from cheap vodka?)

Onlookers spied from the balcony, which became an increasingly crammed fire hazard, while hundreds of undergrads milled about the Great Hall (though many were waiting in the serpentine coat check lines). The party attracted more than 3,000 guests.

Even for neophytes, uninterested in art, the visual delights of delicate folios, gigantic tapestries, mosaic alcoves and a room imported all the way from Damascus were arresting.

Despite the grandeur of the Great Hall and the glorious art, the guests of the event were far more fascinating and painfully entertaining. And from these most distinguished guests came a variety of reactions to the wing.

“What the hell, yo,” said a young woman to her companion as they looked at an Indian folio page. Needless to say, the discussion between party guests wasn't always high criticism.

If there is one thing that college girls like to do, it is to take pictures of themselves and others, preferably both in one shot. And by our informal count, more photos were taken at the 3 hour event than an entire day of Fashion Week.

Some party-goers were more artistically astute than others, of course. One young woman pointed to the floor of the Moroccan room to her friends, explaining the design, something she learned in an art history class.

Even if many of the guests were behaving as if the event was a cross between a party and a field-trip, they were still talking about the art. And isn't that what really matters?

After the ensemble Zikrayat played traditional Middle Eastern tunes, DJ Louie XIV hammed it up for the audience with generic club music. It was when The Observer heard Ke$ha echoing through the hall, that we knew it was our cue to leave. Young people these days.

The Diet Pepsi-sponsored show, presented by Simon Doonan (creative ambassador-at-large at Barneys), brought four regional designers to create looks on themes of Mr. Doonan's devising, including “fierce hyena” safari prints, avant-garde workwear that he touted as inspired by Daphne Guinness and Tilda Swinton. (Also, we noticed the Diet Pepsi-inspired looks, which basically meant silver dresses.)

In the front row sat Debra Messing, Kristen Chenoweth, Kelly Rutherford, Angela Simmons, Mary-Kate Olsen, Tinsley Mortimer and Jonathan Adler.

Mr. Doonan opened the show with an air of exasperation, as the poor man professed to searching such lowly places as hostels (the horror!) and “old person homes” for the best young designers the fashion world could cough up. Perhaps instantly recognizable of the designers was Shirin Askari, an alum of Project Runway.

Jay Manuel of “America's Next Top Model” arrived post-show and was immediately mobbed in a storm of camera flashes and clamoring voices, later posing on the catwalk for photos with his fans.

Diet Pepsi was ubiquitous in the event's décor. Johnathan Adler's red, white and blue retro pattern was everywhere, festooning the invitations, program and giant lamps in the studio space. Adler's retro pattern extended to the smallest details, like long, plastic straws that balanced precariously in glasses of pinot grigio clutched by party-goers, or tumblers filled with the signature drinks of the night: Diet Pepsi mixed with rum or vanilla vodka (Um, ick!). Not to mention that the catwalk was lined by those skinny cans Sofia Vergara dances around with in those commercials.

As Mr. Doonan put it, Fashion Week is "vast, annoying, hilarious and fabulous at the same time. You just have to surrender to it."

Though when asked what he hated about Fashion Week, he parried.

“I hate that there are so many shows that I can't get to them all. I would want to go to everything, but that's virtually impossible. It's utterly overwhelming and completely insane but kind of fabulous as well.”

After the celebrities had split and the music was still blaring, off-duty models and party-goers took to the stage and runway, busting out model poses, or danced as they awkwardly sipped the Diet Pepsi concoctions with Adler's tall straws, trying to keep the dwindling party alive before getting kicked out unceremoniously at 10pm.