I'd like to see someone from IMG do that!

[Intelligencer]

The story, retrieved from Variety's RSS feed:

Vanity Fair party changing locations
Oscar-night soiree leaves Mortons for Craft

The Vanity Fair Oscar-night party, held at Mortons for the past 14 years, is changing its venue to Craft in Century City.

"When Mortons announced it was closing, we thought it was time for a change," said Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter. "Craft is the ideal place for the party: great food — which we will not be serving family-style, by the way — great location with a dramatic entrance and a big, sweeping space."

Craft is so close to CAA's new headquarters and so frequently used by its agents that it's jokingly been referred to as the tenpercentery's commissary.

On Oscar night, Vanity Fair will be building out beyond Craft's terrace to make more space. But a Vanity Fair spokesman said the party's guest list will "definitely" not be larger than it had been at Mortons. Traffic and parking, which frustrated guests in the past, should also improve with the change of venue.

"Alan Linn, an ex-manager of the infamously rowdy English club Blacks, and partner Steve Ruggi are vetting applications to something called Norwood... According to its promo material, Norwood is looking for tweedier and artsier types..."Membership criteria are not based on fame or wealth," the material insists, "but by talent."

Recently valued at $9,770,000, the house was built in 1847 by developer and stockbroker Andrew Norwood and marked "the beginning of 14th Street's brief fashionable era." For much of the 20th century, the mansion was owned by another developer, Raf Borello. According to a 2006 NYT article

, ...the brick Greek Revival town house on the street's north side near Seventh Avenue stands out like a trumpet blast. Its black doors, bearing the address in gold leaf, almost glow, and a cast-iron balcony sets off the parlor windows, which stretch from the floor nearly to the 14-foot ceiling. Inside is a perfectly preserved 1847 mansion, with 13 fireplaces, huge mahogany doors and intricate plaster crown moldings along the ceilings. Hidden touches abound, like the carved bird pecking a flower among the mantelpiece's Carrara marble foliage.

His clients include Ron Burkle, the Beverly Hills supermarket billionaire, for whom he has been trying to find a New York residence.

"I tried to buy Soho House (the private members' club) for him but they wouldn't sell," he says.

Catwalk models stimulate sales in upscale New York [The Australian]

The pool at the Gansevoort is the nicer of the two; located on the 26th floor, it's 45 feet long (larger than Soho House's) and boasts a damn nice view. It's expectedly littered with eurotrash, however, and those willing to get their hair wet will have to endure music being pumped underwater, a popular gimmick from 2003. The scene is calculatedly chill — it's a hotel pool, first and foremost, before a party venue, though the Ibiza Chill-Out Mix pumping in the background might suggest otherwise. An additional drawback: anyone can stay at a hotel, and that means the Gansevoort's emaciated sunbathers may find themselves mingling with a Minnesotan family that booked their room on Expedia.com.

And then there's Soho House, the pool made famous by those damn Sex and the City hags. Open only to members and their guests and located on the seventh floor, the view is nice enough - but the pool is 32x15', and that makes for a very cramped swimming experience. That is, if you'd dare to go swimming: get there in the morning, and you'll find at least 8 silver-spooned babes splashing around, plus a handful of water toys (this lovely image of the anatomically correct, somewhat-destroyed doll was taken there on a Sunday). On weekends, kiddies have to leave by 1 PM, at which point the place becomes quiet and pleasant for an hour until the masses appear, transforming the venue into a scantily clad networking bonanza. And good luck finding someplace to sit - the area is teeny-tiny, fluffy chaises and white mattresses all crammed together in hopes of fitting as many people as possible. If you don't get a spot, you can sit in an uncomfortable deck chair or, should you be so foolish as to arrive after 2 PM, resign yourself to an afternoon spent sprawled on the ground, enjoying $5 plates of beans and rice from the special Amstel Light BBQ Menu. Tasty and ghetto chic!

What the bosses at Soho House hope is that they won't squeeze out the very character they sought in this part of town.

Whoops.

It was roughly two seconds later that the Meatpacking District began its quick morph into a playground for the faux-rich and skanky. Things officially died on August 24, 2003 — the day the club made its inevitable appearance on Sex and the City, the now-defunct HBO series that we've to blame for a decent part of this mess, having sold midwestern girls everywhere on the fantasy of a swan's lifestyle on a journalist's salary. And yet Soho House quietly remains in a quasi-exclusive pose, unjustifiably and inexplicably. What follows is a rough guide to understanding a building filled with the ghosts of 2003.

First, the basics:
To gain entry, you've got to be recommended by two other members and fork over annual fees of $1400 (plus the ubiquitous $200 registration fee). Entrance is difficult but not impossible; the level of exclusivity is in a different orbit than that of Bungalow 8 - more businesslike, yet with a dash of cocaine and alcoholism — which might explain why the joint is overrun with skeezy banker types and not the chic celebs and media darlings who its owner might've preferred.

The members:
Founding members include debatable celebrities like Ethan Hawke and Alan Cumming, plus your usual famous-for-NYC types like Nicole Aragi and Lucy Sykes. There are still some boldfacers who pop in here and there: Jude and Sienna, Jack Nicholson, Vince Vaughn, and Adam Sandler. But nowadays, you're more likely to see anonymous 30-somethings who like eurotrash or imitation eurotrash, whose vague amount of disposable income falls above the club's membership fees but below a decent summer rental. These people include your spastic real estate broker or your douchebag neighbor whose Pete Tong Pure Pacha CD is on permanent repeat. Women tend to resemble cheap knockoffs of models, but they are few and fleeting — the club is said to be aggressively pursuing new female members with media backgrounds, though management is apparently unaware that only a select few female media-types could actually afford membership. And then there's the guy who wanders around wearing Hawaiian print shirts, refers to himself as "the mayor," and will steal your chaise the second you stand up.

The venue:
Arguably, the rooftop pool is the House's main allure, though it's a fraction of the size it would seem. Roughly larger than a luxury bathtub, it's a family-friendly hell during the morning hours and, come afternoon, resembles a party at the MTV Beach House. Inside, the restaurant and bar prides itself on overpriced, mediocre food*, served by staffers who alternate between surly and sycophantic (and who, according to rumor, just might steal your credit card). The Drawing Room is where most members go to be jostled about and balance themselves on the edges of crowded leather couches, and the Games Room is where one might smoke and play pool in an uncomfortably small space. Private rooms are reserved for special events, such as the fight between Ian Spiegelman and Doug Dechert at Toby Young's book party.

Getting in:
Nowadays, the door policy remains "strict," but having your wasted friend upstairs call down to the front desk and drop a member's name should be all it takes to get in. Granted, this requires having someone who's already inside the club, but rest assured, you want it that way. The only thing that makes Soho House even mildly tolerable is the presence of your friends — though, if they're actually hanging out at the club, you might want to reconsider the friendship, as they are obvious social climbers aspiring to a lifestyle marked by indiscernable accents, artfully mussed hair and striped shirts with the top two buttons calculatedly unbuttoned.


*Veteran readers might recall that Gawker's obsession with the venue's crappy fruit cocktail cost Gawker alum Choire Sicha his club membership — to which we say, how the fuck were you affording that, Bloggy McSugartits?

Next: Buddakan, Del Posto, Craftsteak.

Earlier: Principal Hells: Florent, Hogs & Heifers, Pastis, Meatpacking District: The Video Overture

Luscious has approached my friends and I on multiple occasions. Usually in the Meatpacking District, West 27th Street b/w 10th and 11th avenues and all the way over to the Murray Hill area. I always tell her that she should be selling BMWs and get off the street. What an attractive and well spoken prostitute.

[Photo: glediator]

UPDATE: Regarding the Luscious lurking, Soho House general manager Mark Somen responds, "This is the first I've heard of it."

Earlier: Gawker's Coverage of Soho House

Luxury Brand Sets Sights on Miami [Brandweek (site not loading consistently, full text after jump)]

Luxury Hotel Brand Sets Sights on Miami
July 17, 2006

By Jenny Holland

NEW YORK — Soho House, the exclusive club that even PR powerhouse Samantha Jones in Sex and the City couldn't get into, is planning to open a 74-unit Miami property in 2008.

Soho Beach House, as it will be known, will be part hotel, part condominium development. Only members from the clubs' New York and London locations will be able to buy units in the property, although non-members will be able to book rooms for regular hotel stays.

"You're buying into a little piece of Soho House, the brand," said North America general manager Mark Somen, who is overseeing the launch of the Miami property.

To reach out to the 3500 New York-based members, the club has done some "aggressive" direct marketing, Somen said, including presentations and question-and-answer sessions with Nick Jones, founder of the club, Somen and the developers working on the project.

"We're looking for like-minded people in film, media, fashion, and television."

Miami is the logical place for a Soho Club south, Somen said.

"It says music, it says fashion," he said. "It's a really fun place to be."

The condos, ranging in size from 400 to 1000 square feet, will sell for between $550,000 and $1.9 million, Somen said Monday. For overnight visitors, room rates will be in the $500 range.

Condo hotels, where people buy units in the property and can lease them back to the hotel when they are not using it, have become something of a trend in Miami, according to one real estate broker in the area.

"The benefits to the buyer are large," said Sheldon Green, CEO of Condo Hotel Center, a real estate firm in Miami.

Many of the area's buyers are wealthy baby boomers who want the amenities of a 4 or 5 star hotel but also want to be able to sublet the property out through a rental program, he said.

"They can use it when they want it, then put it in the rental program with the comfort that a brand name like Starwood or Hilton will take good care of it," Green said.

Shockingly enough, Spiegelman has been none too pleased by the fact that Dechert had him fired from his gig at the Post nearly two years ago, nor was he beaming when Dechert had later threatened to "push his Jewish schnoz into his face." He aired his beef with Dechert two drinks into Young's party, asking Dechert whether the "racist, fucking anti-Semite piece of shit" in fact still wanted to push/bash his nose in. Spiegelman proceeded to lightly bump Dechert, initiating some sort of violent lambada, but Dechert refused to shove back, instead telling Spiegelman that "he was not going to start shit with his punk hot-head ass" because "I don't believe in fighting in clubs." He punctuated this retort by telling Spiegelman in no small terms that if he did want to fight, he better come outside ready to get his ass beat.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Marty McFly Spiegelman proceeded to shove Dechert with both hands, calling him a "fucking pussy" and declaring his intent to "shove his eyes into his nose." Before Dechert could take the bait, Toby Young's saintly/emasculating wife intervened to halt the fight, noting that a book party was neither the time nor the place to settle such a gentlemanly dispute. Dechert later told us that Spiegelman "has it coming and deserves to get clocked," but Dechert didn't act "because there's no rush." Spiegelman claims that Dechert should be thankful for the breakup by Young's wife, lest Spiegelman "beat the fucking piss out of him."

Alleged extortionist and party co-host Jared Paul Stern, for one, would have liked to see who the better pugilist was in person. "I was looking forward to the fisticuffs," he said—a statement with which Toby Young clearly agreed: "Let 'em fight!" he concurred. "It's great publicity!" Sure, but for what? Was anyone there promoting a book or something?

—Reportage by Neel Shah

Earlier Toby Young's Book Party: Best Fight Ever.
Elsewhere: Near-Fight Breaks Out at Toby Young Book Party [FishbowlNY]

We hate these events, these self-importantant celebrations of a crowd's collective arrogance. But once every three or four decades, something genuinely interesting happens. In this case, at Toby Young's book party tonight at Soho House, the crowd was treated to two writers working out their mutual hatred like twelve-year-old boys. Former Page Sixer Ian Spiegelman lost his job in 2004 ostensibly because of a threatening email he sent to [insert sketchy adjective here] writer Doug Dechert (more backstory here). Tonight, these two were reunited and, after the right amount of lukewarm liquor, they worked out their issues with fisticuffs. There's more to explain later in the forthcoming party crash, but at this hour the pictures are story enough. More bloodshed — or the drink-throwing sissy journalist version thereof — after the jump.

Restaurants accumulate more points for more violations, and an establishment must score 27 or lower to pass. So how did Soho House fare?

42.

We're reminded once again of how thrilled we are not to be nearly cool enough to visit there with any regularity.

The complete database entry — including dirty prep space, no hand washing, and live mice! — waits after the jump.

SOHO HOUSE
29-35 9 AVENUE, Manhattan 10014
212-627-9800

Current violation points: 42

Inspection Date: 12/12/2005

Violations were cited in the following area(s) and those requiring immediate action were addressed.

1.)
Hand washing facility not provided in or near food preparation area and toilet room. Hot and cold running water at adequate pressure not provided at facility. Soap and an acceptable hand-drying device not provided.

2.)
Evidence of mice or live mice present in facility's food and/or non-food areas.

3.)
Food contact surface not properly washed, rinsed and sanitized after each use and following any activity when contamination may have occurred.

i lost my wedding band thursday, october 27th. approx 6pm at soho house.
i left it in the men's bathroom on the 6th floor.
generous REWARD for return.

And we're betting he's yet to find the ring. Such a shame — what kind of world do we live in when a man can't even safely remove his wedding band to peacefully finger-fuck a nice young lady in the bathroom of a private club?

REWARD Lost White Gold Wedding Band at Soho House [Craigslist]