I actually did see (and sat at the table next to) LiLo. She was very beautiful in person, but she looked like she was very bored with the cadre of blond skinny girls with her. I have no idea if she was drinking or not, as her glass looked like water to me. I apparently was also in the presence of several fashionistas and, undoubtedly, a few other people I should have known if I were in the know.
This club/bar is in the basement of an apartment building. The single door does not open into a sleek, understated Ian Schrager space where you might expect to find such stars. Instead, you duck into to a rambling collection of rooms with low-slung ceilings (at 6'3", I was a hair short of an inch until my head hit the ceiling), paint-by-number oil paintings and sofas I doubt the Salvation Army would take.
As I walked across the thread-bare carpet, through the crumbling plaster rooms to the plywood bar to order a drink (the staff was actually pretty nice to us, a testament to my friendly host), I found myself thinking about what a co-worker said about another bar I wanted to go to in the Meatpacking District, Cielo.
Co-Worker: Cielo? Yuck. That place is so last year, so B&T*
*(Bridge and Tunnel: meaning it attracts, well, a very non-LiLo crowd).So I have not gone to Cielo. Cielo has sleek interiors, apparently the best customized sound system in New York, and more drink choices than you can shake a stick at. (I recognize comparing Cielo and Beatrice Inn is sort of like apples and oranges, but stay with me here).
Instead, I crouched in a smoky hovel of a basement, in a space better suited for a laundry room than the hottest spot in New York, and sipped my 4 ounce, $17 drink. I sat, careful not to stare too much at LiLo, or the fashionista with those stupid skinny jeans that flatter no one, or at Josh Hartnett, for fear of being asked to leave. Apparently the main reason that Beatrice is one of the hottest spots in town is the fact that the people who spend their life seeking fame can come here to find something even more valuable to them in the end: anonymity.
And, I was bored.
Having worked at a sports marketing company, media companies, and even the White House, I have met my share of famous people (in fact, Mike Bloomberg just walked by my office, as he is speaking here today). While I am always curious, I am rarely taken back by them. At least not taken back enough to stand in a leaky laundry room and feel obligated to stare at the floor in order to avert the eyes of the young actress sitting next to me.
I can't quiet summarize my point here. I guess it's that I am more impressed with architecture and design than the famous people that may fill the space. Or that I would rather spend my time with friends, laughing it up, in last year's bar than to be in the hottest spot in New York if the latter means you cannot be yourself.
Anyone want to go to Cielo with me?
