When you’re about half an hour from Gwyneth Paltrow’s Amagansett home, you pass a sleek, formidable Tracy Anderson studio, enclosed off on its own on the side of the road, as if serving as a signpost (you’re heading in the right direction!). And once you hit the main street in town, mere minutes away, you pass a store called Decorum, which feels entirely appropriate. Gazing at the “DECORUM” awning, I wondered if I should have brought a gift, as is usually the custom when you arrive at someone’s house for a dinner. Though, I considered, what would one even bring to a meal hosted by Gwyneth Paltrow—and at her Hamptons compound, no less! I imagined handing her a bottle of Champagne, and her just nodding politely and handing it off to an assistant who would use it to water the (gorgeous) flower beds or something.

Once I arrived, for a Goop x Cartier dinner at Paltrow’s home on Thursday night, I realized there was nothing on the planet I, or anyone, could have brought that would have improved upon what was already in place. A Lumineers-esque four-person band was crooning folksy tunes by the pool. Jean-Georges (yes, the actual man himself, Jean-Georges Vongerichten!) was set up in a station in the backyard to cook for everyone. Men who all looked like the SoulCycle instructor you and your friends have a crush on served three varieties of cocktails by a poolside seating area and handed out hors d’oeuvres. Nearby, a constructed “pop-up” kiosk showcased all kinds of glistening Cartier items (necklaces, pendants, rings), watched over by a stone-faced security guard (the event celebrated the launch of the brand’s new Cactus de Cartier and Panthère de Cartier collections). I nearly reached out to try a panther ring (was I a different person entirely at Gwyneth Paltrow’s house?!) but held back, perhaps because I noticed Rachel Zoe was standing a few yards away.

Zoe and husband Rodger Berman were among the roughly 30 guests in attendance for the dinner, a group that also included Leslie Mann, Jessica Seinfeld, and Molly Sims. (Paltrow’s 14-year-old daughter, Apple Martin, did not join for the dinner, but made a few brief appearances to chat with mom and otherwise observe.) A table had been constructed in Paltrow’s backyard for the meal, lit by about a hundred hanging bulbs—Pinterest could not even handle these hanging bulbs, I am telling you. Someone pointed out to me that further away in the backyard was Paltrow’s on-property yoga studio. I was in a true Hamptons Goop fantasia.

Paltrow—dressed in wide-leg white pants (shades of Meghan Markle’s Wimbledon outfit!) and a black top—seemed quite content (and why wouldn’t she be?) at the head of the table. She noted Jean-Georges’s cooking—the chef served a family-style meal of “lobster in red curry, roasted salmon, smoky eggplant dip, and green chickpea hummus”—and shouted out the Cartier co-hosts, as well as her team who had made everything for the evening “so perfect.” Paltrow is the consummate Hamptons hostess, of course: somehow, despite the precision of the event and the grandeur of the surroundings, it all felt pretty low-key with her as the focal point. There was the sense that if someone had stood up in the middle of the dinner, smeared the green chickpea hummus on themselves, and jumped in the pool, Paltrow just would have laughed heartily.

As the night wound down, Zoe moved to sit next to Paltrow to catch up, while Mann and Seinfeld stood up to stroll around the pool area. A few male attendees, all seemingly in colorful blazers and with long wavy hair, laughed chummily together. A number of diners took Instagram Stories of their menus and the property (the tabloids are abuzz that Paltrow will reportedly marry fiancé Brad Falchuk at the house later this year; a guest also mentioned that Paltrow’s mother, Blythe Danner, owns the house adjacent). When I was leaving and saying my goodbyes, Paltrow assessed, looking up the table, “They’re nice people,” of the mix of individuals at hand. At this point, most were standing and saying their farewells; the buoyant, wine-fueled spirit, generated by Paltrow, persisted. It was dinner under the stars at Gwyneth Paltrow’s house—it felt both separate from Earth and also, as people checked their phones and ordered Ubers, on some level like just a dinner with friends. On my way out, I waited with a couple for a few minutes until the foreboding, massive gate to the street opened. Once it did, we made our way through to the other side.