Party photographer, Andy Warhol protege, and Cobrasnake inspirer Patrick McMullan is starting his own magazine. But yikes, print is dead, long live print, so McMullan's whole idea (which is generously lavished on in the recent New Yorker profile about the photog) is to have a magazine…on your phone! Stroke of genius or goofy vanity project, it's getting hard to tell these days.
PMc is the world's first iPhone only mag, which is such a good idea, because low-overheard, right? And everyone who is anyone has one of those computer phones these days. Except for Patrick McMullan:
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Society photographer Patrick McMullan is launching his own magazine. Of sorts. It will be called PMc ("pee-mick"), cost only 99 cents, come out every other month, and able to be held in your hand. That is, provided you have an iPhone, because that's where you're going to have to download this fashion-luxury thing. That PMc will be distributed on a tiny screen is actually a bonus, because readers will be less likely to notice the blurry shots taken by Mr. McMullan's shaking hands.
Has socialite photographer Patrick McMullan gone and done the unforgivable in online business: forget to pay his domain name bill? That's what domain name registrar Network Solutions will tell anyone willing to look. The photog's PatrickMcMullan.com domain name expired on Oct. 13 and has entered the "pending renewal/deletion" stage. Thankfully, NetSol was nice enough to let PatrickMcMullan.com remain online, for the time being. Not sure where else we could find such captivating shots from Esquire House. If you can find it in your hearts, please donate to the McMullan Can't Find His AmEx Fund. And all this time, we figured it would happen to Radar first.
• The homeless people are not to be used as weapons. [Gothamist]
• Now you can help stop the spread of STI's by sticking swabs up your own butt. Someone should alert Stephanie Klein. [Queerty]
• Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban somehow managed to not be awfully mean and horrible celebrities. [Hotel Chatter]
• Patrick McMullan picks on lowly journalists that aren't as good as his socialite friends. Ass. [FBNY]
• If Maggie Gyllehaal and Peter Sarsgaard move to Park Slope, they better ask us to babysit. Preferable while Uncle Jake is in town. [Brooklyn Record]
When the sun kissed gods of Miami grace New York City with their presence, and we're invited, we hardly decline. And because the opportunity to skip dozens of people in line still thrills us, we trekked up to Marquee last night to celebrate the special New York issue of Ocean Drive.
Admittedly, we were there half as press and half as party goers, but we made every attempt to contact the hosts of the party. The host list which read like a who's who of SoHo House, promised such socialites and scenesters as Patrick McMullan, Tinsely Mortimer, Jonathan Cheban, and Michael Musto. Oh, and we were told Maer Roshan would be there too.
Yet, when we arrived at the Ocean Drive party section of the club, there wasn't even a PR person to be found. And while we're definite fans of Michael Musto, he played the role of "stand in the corner and don't talk to people host." No Tins, no Patrick … not even Peter Davis made an appearance.
We did, however, find Hilary Duff sitting in another corner, surrounded by friends and of course her sister Hailey, and being blocked by her bodyguard. Who was allowed to smoke inside. When we tried to talk to her, she looked at us, looked at her bouncer, and we were quickly shooed away by the very, very large man. And despite the help of Ben Widdicombe, we were unable to locate a Maer Roshan or a single Radar-lite among the sea of clubbers.
Somewhat disappointing — we were promised the Tins, we got the Duffs — but nothing a few mojitos and random hotties from Denmark couldn't cure.
A Jossip reader is quite concerned that we may have jeopardized our access to the booze which flows freely from Paper magazine parties.
Peter Davis, socialite reporter and one-man Tinsley Mortimer press machine extraordinaire, backs Paper. And since we insist on prying into the journalistic motives of this elite media and society member, well, we risk being blacklisted from the Paper scene.
Paper gives good parties - read: lots of free booze - and P. [Peter] Davis is a backer of Paper. Didn't you know he was loaded? It's Davis as in the "Davis Cup," a tennis to-do founded by his great-great-something (uncle? grandfather?). If you don't beieve me, just look at his signet ring.
We are flattered that our reader is so concerned — especially because he insinuates that this coverage in some way makes braver than our peers who choose to ignore this socialite on socialite dry hump in order to maintain their open bar access. (We think that it's just because nobody else really cares.) Either way, fear not.
If a Paper party worth attending comes along, and we are left without an invite, we will simply crash. If only to ask Peter Davis if he will please put photos of us on Patrick McMullan in exchange for more favorable coverage on our blog.
We think we have found a new topic of fascination here at Jossip: socialite reporter Peter Davis. (In addition, we also love the term "socialite reporter" and are going to start throwing it around the way Davis throws around his sister-in-law's name to get writing assignments.)
After his New York Times "Socialite Boys" story, which favorably featured his boyfriend/arm candy Christian Leone, we thought it was pretty funny/pathetic that he thought maybe nobody would notice. But then we realized his preferential writing style, not to mention personal climb up the social Himalayas of New York, didn't end there. He's wiggled into the Mortimer clan, writes about Tinsley Mortimer for every magazine including Fashion Week Daily, and went to college with Jared Paul Stern.
Davis also trumps up more ink for Leone in Avenue Magazine, that uptown real-estate cum socialite rag that rich people get in their doorman buildings. In his Avenue column this month, Davis snaps a photo of a smiling Leone and also of his family: socialites sisters-in-law Tinsley Mortimer and Dabney Mercer replete with glowing mentions of what they are wearing.
If, in fact, the rumors are true (Avenue has not yet returned calls or e-mails) it is quite interesting that Davis is not only talking up his family, but also trying to score a few point with his editors by glowing over them in the Times
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"People have their pose down," Mr. Leone said, watching as Mr. Saffir grinned for the cameras with yet another woman, Debbie Bancroft, a society columnist for Avenue magazine.
The next morning, many of those images appeared on the Web site of the photographer Patrick McMullan, and perhaps would later show up in the party pages of glossies like Quest, Avenue, Vogue, Gotham and W. The site patrickmcmullan.com has page after page of pictures of men about town (578 for Mr. Saffir) or, for lack of a better term, male socialites.
So do you think the Times should also include an editor's note on how he works for Debbie Bancroft and that he himself appears on Patrick McMullan's site more than MisShapes end up on Last Night's Party?
Our tipsters full e-mail, stuffed with amazing "I heard" quotes and tons of "elitists suck" sarc, after the jump.
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• Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the threeway with Jude Law and Sadie Frost and maybe, well, it was more drugs like that fist-sized lump of coke she snorted with Naomi Campbell, but yes, Kate Moss is out of that H&M gig. Oh, but that's not the news! Rather, it's that now ex-boyfriend Pete Doherty was spotted snogging another man.
• There will be no Comeback comeback for Lisa Kudrow. HBO has canned her post-Friends effort because of other "commitments," otherwise known as "shitty ratings." But the "we don't care about ratings" network can't say that, of course.
• Sarah Jessica Parker clocks in as Gotham's highest-earning female with an estimated $38 million year (thanks, Gap!) followed by Kimora Lee Simmons (thanks, uh, Russell!).
• Naomi Campbell is usually tearing worlds apart, but her Fashion For Relief charity catwalk brought together the feuding Tyson Beckford and Diddy, who shook hands and hugged. Though we didn't see Diddy hand Tyson that $600,000 check he owes him.
• To go with the imagined Louis Vuitton toilet paper is this actual (yes, they really make this) Dior toothpaste cozy. (via)
• Party photog Patrick McMullan might not wind up with his own reality show, by his own accord. His talks with New Line cooled when he started assessing the potential legal issues, as in getting the A-list to sign even more releases.
• And don't forget to attend the WYSIWYG show on Sept. 27 (that's a week from today!). Catch Jossip's editor David Hauslaib waxing on his worst roommate experience that, in all hopefulness, will pale in comparison to yours. Read David's interview at The Precog Blog and purchase your tickets in advance here. And while we're dropping gratuitous plugs, today is also David's birthday, so let the gift baskets commence.
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