The Eight-Day Week
Wednesday, September 21
Hint of Limelight
The dog days are over. The lounging by the pool, the summer Fridays, the Hamptons benefits: all things of the past. And what better way to get back in the metropolitan mood than to recall all those Read More
The hotel guests at Dream Downtown had suitcases, satchels and children piled up next to the check-in counter, waiting interminably for a chance at a room, and as they did swirls of fashionable men and women speed-walked by without a word or a look—they were headed to the last big event of the week, the after-party for Marc Jacobs and his spring and summer collection. The hotel guests ventured an occasional glace at the well-attired cohort with the mysterious wristbands, striding confidently toward the tucked-away area in the back, but mostly they slouched on pieces of luggage and scratched at purple eyes, unknowing of the scene unfolding out of sight.
The Wee Hours
A few minutes before midnight on Sept. 10, The Observer walked along Pier 40 staring at the impaired skyline of Lower Manhattan, the lights from the buildings reflecting fuzzily on the water. Thus distracted, we failed to notice that above the door of the pop-up structure that would host fashion designer Alexander Wang’s after-party were two Greek letters, not unlike those marking door frames on college campuses. We hadn’t realized that Mr. Wang had opted to forgo the usual Fashion Week postshow bash for something decidedly more sophomoric.
The most exciting designer in the world was throwing a frat party.
Somewhere beneath the streets of the Meatpacking District, near the new Dream Downtown hotel, there’s a new tiny space that will attract more attention than any other Fashion Week after party locale. It’s called Electric Room. And with a capacity supposedly maxed at 100 people, well, good luck getting in.
Designed by Nur Khan, the Read More
The Wee Hours
Where do we go from here?
It was still the last light of a late August day but the cement courtyard of PS1, in Long Island City, had already been taken over by video artist Ryan Trecartin and his massive DayGlo cadre of manic creative types to celebrate the closing of his show Any Ever, the subject of breathless praise all summer long. The name of the party, hosted by Dis Magazine, was “DIS_RT [REALTIME/RETWEET/RYAN TRECARTIN]”
The Observer stood in the middle of a first-floor studio tucked into what may be the last ratty stretch of Avenue B, eyes closed and arms held aloft, and ducked into a leather chrysalis.
We were being fitted for a “man-corset,” an anachronistic emblem of female oppression that once gripped only courtly ladies but now in New York can outfit any gender.
Our shit was about to get tight.
The general manager of M. Wells, perhaps one of the best-reviewed new restaurants of the year, didn’t want to talk about the sexual harassment scandal.
“The only people that know what transpired would be the server’s butt and the hand,” said Deven DeMarco.
The Observer sweated out the 7 train to Long Read More
The Wee Hours
“BUT HOW DID HE DIE?” said a young man to the girl standing next to him in an outsize dress.
The couple was looking at a blossoming, red-feathered, evening-wear creation, the first taste of the Met’s hit exhibition “Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty.” Read More
In the last hours before the Senate passed the agreement to raise the debt ceiling, thus avoiding a crippling loan default, the Transom went to Kenmare—the only hotspot awake at the 3 a.m. dark night of the soul—to talk to a few experts about the potential credit cataclysm.
“We’re not gay,” said a man smoking Read More
The Daily Transom
Last night, advertorial king Gilt Groupe booked an entire wing at The Dutch – a new drooled-over West Village eatery that Sam Sifton deemed the “song of the summer” — to celebrate the advent of their partnership with GQ, Park & Bond. It’s a full-priced online marketplace hawking upscale menswear.
The new Gilt-y Read More