Several things make September in San Francisco a standout. Indian summer. Fall fashion. And, of course, opening night at the symphony.

As sure as students armed with new notebooks and a back-to-school wardrobe go marching off to class, so goes the social set to Davies Symphony Hall. Patrons turned up in their finery, with made-to-measure gowns as talked about as the made-to-measure faces. But conventional wisdom has the sparkly stuff and not the sparkly smiles holding sway.

"Symphony opening night is all about the jewelry," one partygoer told the Socialist. But of course. Only last year, I had the, um, pleasure of chatting with a patron who itemized in great detail each piece of jewelry she was wearing (all from Graff). It's also business as usual for Cartier, which donated the gifts for the gala and brought ten VIP guests.

Still, the people who made the night shine were not always the ones with the most carats. Some simply have presence. You feel it in the vibrations, the oh-so-sly glances in the room that reveal who's who. It's the "it" that nobody can define. But you know it when you see it.

Who was "it"? Undoubtedly, Vanessa Getty, who came in a black vintage '50s lace dress, understatedly accented with a brooch, and her date, Denise Hale, who in a show of supreme confidence opted for a Gianfranco Ferré bejeweled skirt and jacket ensemble. "It" kudos almost always go to Yurie Pascarella, who went with a chic ostrich-feathered Oscar de la Renta dress with a diamond and sapphire choker. Urannia Ristow, too, turned heads with a Givenchy feathered jacket and John Galliano dress. And stylista Tatiana Sorokko went for a "new look" with a 1951 Dior gown. Not new faces, of course, but reassuringly glam ones for a small pond where few stars debut.

Others were conspicuous in their absence. Partygoers scanning the room noticed that Ann Getty and her gang of Jo Schuman Silver and Sharon Owsley were not there. Nor, for that matter, was Danielle Steel.

But perhaps what made this opening night so strong was its combination of old San Francisco and the glam and glitzy nouveau crowd. The mix included longtime symphony patron and past gala chairwoman Laura King Pfaff, as well as Nan McEvoy, Joachim and Nancy Bechtle, Walter Shorenstein (who arrived on the arm of gal-about-town Dorka Keehn), Maryon Davies Lewis, and Larry and Pam Baer. Not to mention our brilliant conductor and showman, Michael Tilson Thomas. He immediately won over the audience with a surprise performance of the last movement of Stravinsky's Firebird Suite, which had been interrupted by a false fire alarm at last year's opening night. With the audience warmed up, MTT got everybody in a great mood by segueing into Bernard Herrmann's score to the quintessential San Francisco film Vertigo.

Such a strong symphony cast seemed to overshadow the opera opening, which took place two days later. On the circuit, the week is nicknamed "Hell Week," but the truth is that the galas' guest lists no

longer overlap much.

Talk at the opera centered on the brave Trude See, the party's cochair, who turned up even after word broke that a week before, her tenure as general manager of the local Neiman Marcus had come to an abrupt end. The latest word has See mulling retiring to Florida.

There was a time when the opera gala was the event of the season. A scene from 1990's Pretty Woman has Richard Gere whisking Julia Roberts to San Francisco for opera opening night. It was that big of a deal. "People would come in from all over, and pedestrians would line up at 5 p.m. to watch the arrivals," lamented one veteran social observer who attended this year's fete. "There were always stars—George Hamilton, Shirley Temple Black... You used to have Placido Domingo, Pavarotti."
Ah, nostalgia. This year, postgala kudos flew to the fab Renée Fleming and the bordello-chic ambience staged by event planner Skip Price. Yet despite the hard work and earnest efforts by the Opera Guild, which puts on the gala, there is a "corporate feel" to the event these days, remarked one astute social critic (or is it snob?). The moneymen (thank you, Wells Fargo and See's Candies) are needed to make the show go on—especially considering the opera's tight finances. But many are rooting for a night that again also draws social celebs and the dailies' shrewdest eyes (the Chron's Catherine Bigelow and the Examiner's P.J. Corkery did not make it to the dinner). 

One event that has gained momentum is amfAR's preparty at Louis Vuitton. Aside from the promise of chic goody bags (this year, everyone got LV-monogrammed chopsticks and holders), the party, hosted by Adrianna Pope Sullivan and Kimberly Bakker (among others), draws a lively mix of gay men, socialites, and the young chic set. This year saw Ann Moller Caen, Academy of Art's Elisa Stephens, Zuni co-owner Vince Calcagno, Kim Karp, and Meg Bertero. With gallons of Moët being passed around, a DJ playing dance music, and an electric uptown-downtown mix, this was no sedate charity function.

"It's getting to be the best party to start the year," said one partygoer. "It's a good group." But isn't that always the case? As any hostess worth her salt knows, it's the people who make the party.

That fact was not missed by the folks at A.C.T., which threw a bash for the opening of The Black Rider. Those turning up included Sean and Robin Wright Penn, as well as former alum Winona Ryder, who's in town filming a feature for the next couple of months. Craig Slaight, A.C.T.'s Young Conservatory director, caught up with Ryder; the star, perhaps feeling nostalgic, suggested, "Wouldn't it be fun to work on This Property Is Condemned [a play that Ryder performed in while studying at A.C.T.] with a different perspective on life?" Of course, for some of us in the social swirl, it often feels like we never left school in the first place.