Memphy

A "dollmania" is taking over the city's nightlife, and Memphis Murphy might be the most fabulous of the DJs.

- BROCK COLYAR

BACK ON PRIDE WEEKEND, in the early hours of the morning, I stumbled into a semi-secret rave in East Williamsburg called MORE MORE MORE. There, down in the basement, I encountered the DJ Memphy. Everyone at that point in the party was looking sweaty and strung out-me included, I'm sure-but she looked flawless and unbothered and enraptured the entire dance floor, snapping the crowd back from its druggy stupor. I was immediately a little bit obsessed and wanted to know more about her.

Around a month later, I meet up with Memphy at her friend's birthday party in a very spacious loft in Tribeca. It belongs to two 20-something scene kids who apparently are doing something right in life (or maybe their parents did?). Zachary Quinto is here for some reason; he’s sweating profusely, but to be fair it’s an incredibly hot night out. I find Memphy in the kitchen, towering over almost everyone and looking particularly fabulous in a skin-baring ivory knit top and skirt with long braids hanging far below her bum; even her vape matches the outfit. I get to chatting with an uncomfortably close-talking longtime friend of hers who looks like she could be the third Fanning sister. “I’m a New York fashion doll, but I’m living on the Lower East Side: frat central,” she complains before launching into a long, spitty spiel about bad dates and bad men. Memphy interjects her own dating philosophy at the moment: “It’s giving—men are just toys for me for now. They’re not worth it unless there’s dollars.”