On West 55th Street Tuesday night, deejay and Lindsay Lohan paramour Samantha Ronson could be spotted chatting on her cell phone amidst a swarm of paparazzi. It helped that Lohan was spotted entering and exiting the Peninsula Hotel with Ronson already. But last night, the celebrity spinster was upstairs, at the the top of the Peninsula and Salon de Ning, the new rooftop lounge, which opened two weeks ago and is named after Shanghai socialite Madame Ning, and played host to Men.Style.com's Women of Fashion party. In between biting her nails and receiving guests, Ronson played music while folks like Dolce & Gabbana's Ali Wise, designer Tara Subkoff, Earnest Sewn's Eleanor Ylvisaker, and stylist Natasha Royt were honored, which for all intents and purposes means they were photographed surrounded by guests drinking Veuve Clicquot or Grey Goose concoctions. It was a beautiful evening. The air was clear. The temperature very moderate. And were it not for the two guys who busted out a bowl and began lighting up on one of the outdoor balconies, it would've smelled nice, too.
At last night's Madonna promo show at the Roseland Ballroom, the gays were out in full force. Bravo chief Andy Cohen, Logo chief Dave Mace, and a packed room of Chelsea boys and LES hipster homos watched the Material Girl run through a few new tracks from Hard Candy as well as "old school" numbers like "Music." Justin Timberlake joined her on stage for "Four Minutes"; apparently Timbaland and Pharrell were too busy to show up for their numbers. But for the millions of fans who were waiting on MSN.com for the live web cast of the show, there was only disappointment: When the countdown clock hit zero, a "video unavailable" message stood in place of Madonna's five-inch-heel boots. Harsh.
Hey, you know what’s hip with the kids? Marketing. You know what else is? Blogging. Put the two together and you get marketing bloggers, and they know how to party. Not even in their parents' basement!
Case in point: Blogger Social '08, a networking event for marketing bloggers being held April 4-6 in glamorous New York City. Tagline: "It’s not about social media…it’s about being social!" Oh. Dear.
This may be the most depressingly nerdy gathering of human beings to hit our fair city until ComicCon.
Here are some questions from the FAQ: “Is NYC really like Sex & The City?” (Answer: “Actually, yes”), “Will I remember Social for the rest of my life?," “What if when it’s over I’m sad?," “Is my hotel room really the size of a NYC apartment?," “Should I get worried about being mugged?,” and “Why are all the cab drivers ignoring me?”
Also, the answer to “Will I be blogging from this event?” apparently requires explaining that “most people aren’t at computers during parties” and “if you REALLY want to liveblog then contact Drew or CK and we’ll try to figure out how this is possible, again these are ‘party venues.’”
Still confused about this "bloggers socializing" craze? Then allow famous TV New Yorkian Jerry Seinfeld to explain it to you, from the official Blogger Social event guide: CONTINUED »
The Gotham Awards moved to Brooklyn's Steiner Studios this year, but that didn't stop the stars from coming out to celebrate their independent films. And by stars, we mean a few people you have heard of, and a handful of others that make you say, "Who?" Thankfully, we dispatched Intern Whitney to handle red carpet coverage (read: gawk at Javier Bardem) and gloat over the superfluous number of food-related products in her goody bag. What follows are her faithful recollections, thoughtfully written up for us in the royal "we." (Special thanks to Intern Sara, right, for the photographic evidence).
Although the evening was semi-successful, we had our fair share of disappointments. Which is to say, we encountered more than a couple ill-tempered publicists and learned that not everyone is as nice/friendly as their cuddly on-screen personas might suggest.
Last night, as we regretted not wearing a thicker coat or comfier going-out shoes, it occurred to us that going from the Gotham/Bravo launch party for The Better Half at Room Service to the College Humor "One Last Desperate Gasp of Summer" bash at an East Village dive bar was the veritable party-hopping equivalent of jumping from a hot tub into a freezing cold swimming cool.
Which is to say, an extremely disconcerting adjustment that, in time, reminded us exactly why it is that we've always hated swimming so much in the first place.
On Monday night at the Bowery Hotel, a party was thrown for the relaunch of the Members Only line. Former Star creative director (and chief of since-deceased Celebrity Living) Kelli Delaney designed the collection, which meant a good chunk of the RSVPs to the Harrison & Shriftman-arranged event were from Star veterans.
"They were joking it was old school Star," says one attendee.
Bonnie Fuller and Tara Kraft walked in together. David Caplan – who went from New York bureau chief to VH1 to People – mingled. As did former EIC Joe Dolce. Even some folks from OK! were there. Paul Sevigny DJ'd. Julia Allison crossed her legs. All My Children's Leven Rambin giggled.
Last night, we braved the brisk autumn air for a downtown jaunt to Skylight (Hudson, between Broome and Spring) where we mingled with pretentious artsy types who feigned interest in everything from the high-ceilinged loft space to the delectable hors d'eouvres in order to give the (false) impression that they were there for some reason other than to pick up their complimentary Microsoft Zune.
And despite the fact that (a) most of the event's attendees looked like extras from the set of "Rent," (b) we overheard someone in line for the bar complain, "My stylist told me I have a small forehead!" and (c) a girl wearing a tin-foil colored hat had the audacity to audibly ridicule our plus-one's rather innocuous ballet flats, we actually managed to have ourselves a pretty good time.
Last night, everyone who was anyone headed to Avery Fisher Hall for the Glamour Awards to whip out their (embroidered) handkerchiefs and sob their way through an emotional awards ceremony paying tribute to various strong, empowering women who, coincidentally, also happened to be famous.
Afterwards, the teary-eyed guests checked their designer watches, carefully shoved their balled up Kleenex into their shiny Marc Jacobs' bags, and hightailed it over to Butter for the restaurant/club's fifth anniversary party.
When you got over the sweat running down your brow and pushed hard enough to make your way to the truffle oil-infused cheese being served in the other room, you might have found yourself enjoying Supper Club New York, imported from London, which launched last night at the National Arts Club, a building whose age and austerity were used as the excuse for zero air movement.
Allegedly stuffed with 300 media and social elite, the OW! Onorato Wixom-thrown event drew people we'd expect to see there, like Out's Aaron Hicklin, and those we wouldn't, like the girl who tried designing handbags before opting to spend the project's start-up money traveling through Germany and Argentina. As it turned out, she was just someone's plus-one. CONTINUED »
This is Jossip publisher David Hauslaib getting bleary-eyed with Post media scribe Keith Kelly. (Yes, that is one thumb way up.)
Keith had just returned from the bar with a Ketel One and soda for David, and a proper beer for himself. You see, when Keith arrived at In Touch's fifth anniversary party, he had been handed some sort of raspberry-and-pommegranite beer concoction. He did not like it. We're sure of that.
What we're unsure of it whether he enjoyed Kanye West's performance, because we were too busy noting how many feet apart a Post columnist and a New York Daily News columnist (in this case, Ben Widdicombe) should keep between them.
Eyeballing it, we guessed at least six or seven. CONTINUED »
Two weeks ago, we patted ourselves on the back for making it through yet another grueling Fashion Week, and swore we'd never, ever go to another pretentious clusterfuck where people are only there to be "seen" and everyone has that glassy-eyed "I'm looking for someone more important to talk to" stare.* Unfortunately, that's pretty much exactly how we would describe last night's New York magazine's Look Book party.
The shindig (thrown on the fifth floor of Bergdorf Goodman's) featured an open bar, miniature black-and-white cookies and the worst hair we've seen since 1985. Although the invitation specifically said that an RSVP was required, some people came that, like, did not RSVP. Fortunately for those people, there weren't any bitchy-looking girls with clipboards or refrigerator-sized bouncers, so the "exclusive" event quickly devolved into a bacchanalian free-for-all.**
Ever wondered what it was like to attend a fancy-schmancy book party thrown in honor of Sudanese supermodel, Alek Wek? Well, yesterday we decided to crash Wek's downtown bash at Socialista to find out what happens when 300 or so fashion snobs stop being polite…and start getting real ridiculously drunk on Mojitos.
And we weren't the least bit disappointed. While we explored the cramped two-floor event space and downed champagne in a sincere—and selfless!—effort at fitting in, we spied on various washed-up reality stars and ran into our old friend Patrick Huguenin from the NYDN (whom, we're told, "screeched with joy" at Diane von Furstenberg's arrival) as well as the lovely Jennifer Barton (a newbie associate editor for Fashion Week Daily) who shamed/intimidated us with her tres chic accessories such as a "working tape recorder," "ballpoint pen" and "standard reporter's notebook."
Fortunately, we were able to flag down just enough mango margaritas to keep from blowing our cover, and even managed to jot down a few astute observations. Our fuzzy, morning-after recollections, after the jump.
From last night's CITY party at the Soho Grand, where John McDonald's magazine was feted for churning out 50 issues, comes this line when a photographer began snapping away: "I'm a model. I can't take a flash."
And that about sums up the evening.
Atoosa Rubenstein's career and communication with the outside world may exist mostly on MySpace these days, but that was no matter for Step Up, the for-women-by-women empowerment-slash-charity-slash-action network that hosted its Third Annual Inspiration Awards on Thursday night.
Joined by husband Ari, a couple Miss Seventeen contestants (including the Miss 17), and WNBA vet Kym Hampton, Atoosa spoke about her alpha-kitties, being inspired, and how her job as EIC of Seventeen – a print magazine! – was just too limiting for her to make an impact "on her girls."
That's when we looked over at tablemate Sue Schulz to catch her reaction. Sue, of course, is CosmoGIRL!'s EIC, friend of Atoosa, and her former deputy. That means she also works at a print magazine. How limiting!
Elsewhere, fellow tablemate and presenter Ivanka Trump watched other people eat Godiva chocolate (though Ivanka did have bread! with butter!) and MTV maestra SuChin Pak discussed her red carpet chat with Paris Hilton (read: what you saw was what you got) and how she canceled her trip to South Korea to do Oprah.
WWD's Stephanie Smith, meanwhile, could be spotted outside on a Vespa. That's a sign of women being empowered or something, right?
Ever crashed an Ed2010 event, ambushed a successful magazine editor and come this-close to ruining her motivational speech/book party? Well, that pretty much describes our Wednesday night. Except replace the words "successful magazine editor" with Bonnie Fuller, and "pretty much" with exactly.
It all started back on Monday, when Intern Joseph woke up from a four hour nap long enough to forward us something about an East Village happy hour shindig. "Come hear Bonnie Reveal her Seven Secrets To Magazine Success!" proclaimed the odd, semi-capitalized heading.
Naturally, we were intrigued.
Which explains why we spent our one free afternoon trekking down to Mo Pitkins (Avenue A between 2nd and 3rd) to find out all of Bonnie's tricks of the trade.
Unfortunately, since we forgot our tape recorder, digital camera and reporter's notepad (in typical Jossip event reporting fashion!) then consumed an entire pitcher of sangria, we're a bit fuzzy on all the details. (Something about living in Canada, moving to New York and stalking Jann Wenner, as we recall).
Last night's First Annual Young New York, thrown by CAA's "Assistant Task Force of New York" (gag, right?), was, by all accounts, a bust. Funny, 'cause we had a hankering it would be. We're told the only anybody worth talking to in a sea of gophers was Israeli actress Meital Dohan (you've seen her and her ribcage in Weeds), sitting in a makeshift VIP area – what CAA event wouldn't have one? – with her, ahem, chief of staff. Add to it that in an evening of downpour, the coat check managed to lose umbrella after umbrella, while handing out multiple umbrellas to a certain select few. (This violation of umbrella ethics is a personal issue, dear to our heart.)
No wonder Alec Baldwin fired them.
Calling all young professional ladder climbers. If you've got plans tomorrow night, cancel them. CAA is in town with its army of assistants ("CAA Assistant Task Force of New York"), rounding up "entertainment industry professionals, trendsetters and celebrities" to raise money for … oh, that's where they lost us. Anyhow, the event is the First Annual Young New York Party, and it promises to attract the upwardly mobile crowd normally content to keep their levels of obnoxious inside the confines of Buddha Bar.
So, see you there?
You're only reading this for the boldfaced names. So fine, let's cut to the chase: Martha Stewart, Richard Branson, Michael J. Fox, Cate Blanchett, Brian Willams, John Mayer, Gayle King (sans Oprah) and Elie Wiesel were there, separately of course. Not to mention America Ferrera, George Lucas, Arianna Huffington, Ziyi Zhang, Elizabeth and John Edwards, Brian Grazer, and Malcolm Gladwell's hair. And yes, there were more. Like those girls behind The Secret.
And, now that we've got that out of the way, we can get on with telling you about last night's Time 100 event. For starters, it was at Jazz at Lincoln Center at the Time Warner Center, which is akin to, say, you throwing a party in your own 80-story glass tower. Except it wasn't you, it was Dick Parons.
It's Time's third year in a row throwing this bash, which is part marketing gimmick, part celeb worship, and part excuse to impress Jordan's Queen Rania (and, of course, Julia Allison) with the Central Park view.
Time Inc.'s publicity team can rest assured: They've succeeded in all three.
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Was it Sheryl Crow and Laurie David's tiff with Karl Rove that put Arthur Sulzberger & Co. over the edge? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But either way, after Frank Rich announced in his Sunday column that the Times would no longer attend the White House Correspondents dinner, the media bubble has entered analyzation mode.
Why is the Times choosing this year to cease its RSVPs? Was it that New York Governor Eliot Spitzer was mostly focused on snapping a photo with Sanjaya? Or that the post-dinner debate has mostly focused on whether there was spitting involved in that Crow-David-Rove incident?
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The drinks were flowing at last night's RTCA dinner long before Karl Rove decided to 'get jiggy with it' on the dance floor. And Fox News' gazebo bash was the place to be, attracting throngs of Republican movers and shakers with its luminary candles, easy-listening jazz band and, of course, open bar. Inexplicably, we scored ourselves an invite, and ended up partying with FNC, sipping on Chardonnay with the likes of Bill O'Reilly, Roger Ailes, Geraldo Rivera (finally!) and Bill O'Reilly.
And when we say "sipping on Chardonnay with" we actually mean "guzzling Maker's Mark on the rocks while attempting to eavesdrop." Unfortunately, due to some combination of a loud jazz band, partial deafness and copious amounts of whiskey, we were only able to overhear enigmatic sentence fragments and context-less murmurs devoid of any actual meaning.
"Jerry Seinfeld was bawling his eyes out every day."
"Has anyone seen Geraldo?"
"Hate the speeches, love the food."
"Totally. Wait, Bill Richardson is the one with the jowls, right?"
And so on, and so forth. But it wasn't until we were seated inside that the real fun started.
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Editorial Director
