A couch, a fireplace, good company: sounds like a nice cocktail party at home.
For the sake of argument, let’s assume Jimmy Fallon hangs out in your living room, and your wet bar rivals Roger Room.
Then you’d be at Warwick—it’s a magnificently sexy new lounge from Jeffrey Best (the only guy Mike D trusted to handle his wedding party), taking reservations now for its October 5 debut.
Looks like your famous photographer pal’s elegant SoHo loft in here, a cavernous space with exposed rafters, leather couches and the kind of brick walls that require some oversize nudity in the name of art.
And it’s not some thumping loft-themed mega-club. Just a nice place for you to kick back with a few kaffir-watermelon-gin coolers from the Roger Room guys while you get to know some new people. New people whose faces are plastered all over the sides of Sunset Strip buildings. (Jimmy Fallon broke the place in with his Emmy party.)
Eventually, you and your new friends may want to book the private all-white balcony upstairs, where the bottle service is like... wait. We’re losing you. We can tell. But this isn’t a vodka-and-OJ situation. The table girls here have farmers’-market garnishes and gravity-pressed ice spheres.
That’s not a metaphor.
For the sake of argument, let’s assume Jimmy Fallon hangs out in your living room, and your wet bar rivals Roger Room.
Then you’d be at Warwick—it’s a magnificently sexy new lounge from Jeffrey Best (the only guy Mike D trusted to handle his wedding party), taking reservations now for its October 5 debut.
Looks like your famous photographer pal’s elegant SoHo loft in here, a cavernous space with exposed rafters, leather couches and the kind of brick walls that require some oversize nudity in the name of art.
And it’s not some thumping loft-themed mega-club. Just a nice place for you to kick back with a few kaffir-watermelon-gin coolers from the Roger Room guys while you get to know some new people. New people whose faces are plastered all over the sides of Sunset Strip buildings. (Jimmy Fallon broke the place in with his Emmy party.)
Eventually, you and your new friends may want to book the private all-white balcony upstairs, where the bottle service is like... wait. We’re losing you. We can tell. But this isn’t a vodka-and-OJ situation. The table girls here have farmers’-market garnishes and gravity-pressed ice spheres.
That’s not a metaphor.
