Pack a venue with old creepy, monied, single or married, socially inept sugar daddy types, and a bunch of hot, size 0-4 thoughtless girls, and, "AHA!", KFC's secret sauce!! We have the coveted recipe for meatpacking and NYC's PREMIERE nightlife experience.
I've often contemplated this scene, tried to rationalize it as normal and cool and exclusive to the most stretching and make-sense-of-ness method that I could in my mind. But in the scheme, it seems rather appalling. However fun however rambunctious the scene, why is it such a pursuit to find a HOT AF party? filled with delicious and worthy specimens of prey I so desire.... As a man-eater, I find myself asking this question thoroughly and often.
I hosted dinner party at dear OMARS's the other night, Greenwich Village's insider and member's only private dining club to the in-the-know, the in-the-rich, and the in-the-fabulous. A week night soiree, I had table set for 7 packed with the 11 hottest, well dressed and most articulate women in the room. 10 pm struck, and we sat there noshing on sea bass and parmesan kale chopped salad, sipping their signature tequila cocktail with a mulled red wine float. Conversation was abundant, and not the coffee talk sort, we were lingering over politics, people and social policy such as we were the salted caramel macaroons that concluded the meal. What a fete. Two more old friends from my Alta Mader surprised me by showing face on my third tequila and lime and two glasses of wine in. I was the IT girl of the table, swaddled in my newest royal blue vintage kimono, my vast sleeves flapping and directing like a ridiculous conductor, I played comrade and host and all sort of personality. Checking in with my beautiful guestlist and getting drink tickets stuffed with cocaine being shoved at me left and right, I funneled the party favors to the girls and kept the drink tickets to myself ;)
Best of all was the late night encounter I met at the bar. A New Mexico native architect in NYC for business often who seemed to have tapped into the concierge business with force, by recreation. The man had surpassed my own pursuits by compiling venue lists thoroughly and thoughtfully in his iPad notes. And me, PAID to do this? Un reve extroidinaire... let's hope I don't blackout by the end and eat the left over valentine's day candy in my room next time.
MM