Nobody has ever made sex and blow look as boring as Stevie Nicks. None of my friends would even come with me to Night of 1,000 Stevies, the annual celebration of Nicks, her witchy wardrobe and her wacky ways. “No, I can’t, I have to do laundry,” one lied. Another said he had a hot date, but he hasn’t been laid since 1999. Obviously, they didn’t give a crap about Nicks or Fleetwood Mac. The band has sold between 100 and 200 million records but few young people know them. So what is the big deal about Stevie Nicks?

I wondered that while en route to the 19th celebration of Night of 1,000 Stevies, which took place at the Highline Ballroom last week. I was wearing a blousy black chiffon dress with wizard sleeves. I could have also worn a sorcerer cape, some thistle accents, important Celtic jewelry or gone for the Welsh Witch effect that seems so popular these days. Someone made a film about the event and, last year, 800 fans came to the party. How could it be? Lo and behold, when I passed by the Western Beef sign, there were lots of top hats, shawls, fake white doves and lace on both the men and the women, although I wasn’t always sure which was which.

When I entered the room and heard “Go Your Own Way” wafting through the air, a little tear almost rolled down my cheek. Everyone was stylin’, and it felt good. The Stevie Nicks aesthetic is somewhat cozy. It’s feel-good music. The 1970s did have that effect.

But before I could get too wrapped up in the idea, I found an Urban Dictionary entry for Fleetwood Mac that defined it as a noun meaning to urinate and break wind simultaneously.

Thunder, apparently, only happens when it’s raining.