The Wee Hours

"We were a bit dinged up."

Big Snare On Kenmare: The Wee Hours Tracks Down the Men Who Mugged Us

The unmarked cop car sped out into the late night cobwebbed streets of Nolita at 3 a.m., bursting through red lights, sirens blaring, and ricocheting around turns that shook us back and forth, east to west. We had to lay low in the back seat, even for the quick trip to the corner of Mott and Houston. We pulled up next to three cruisers, sitting hotly in a giant cough of simmering exhaust, tire tread and the flash of red, white and blue. Read More

The Transom

Dexter-Jones and Saraiva.

Andre Saraiva: The Nightlife Baron to Save New York

For nearly a year, red-eyed connoisseurs of New York after midnight have been waiting, impatiently, for French graffiti guy Andre Saraiva to open his Manhattan branch of the notorious Paris sin den Le Baron and save the city’s nightlife. The chosen nook of Mulberry Street has been cordoned off, with little to no activity for Read More

The Wee Hours

The Wages of Fashion Week

Four nights of Fashion Week parties left The Observer with plenty of notes, a few hazy recollections and very little energy to tell the tale.

There was Derek Blasberg, fashion writer, screaming, “Julia! Julia!” stretching out the first syllable as if it might catch the attention of Julia Restoin Roitfeld, the daughter of Carine Read More

The Wee Hours

Whirlpool at Kenmare

Oh, hon, you look so cold,” Megan Ronney told The Observer outside of Kenmare, where she works the notoriously tight door. We offered a quick nod—we were cold, and so were the 10 others forced to brave the wind instead of the endless line of drinks and glamorous patrons that surely lay beneath this Nolita Read More