When Andre Balazs took over the Raleigh in Miami, he translated some of the style of the Chateau Marmont, with its dilapidated-chic look and long waits for faxes.
I considered myself someone with New York style when I ran events, but I’m here to tell you that that doesn’t mean bubkes outside the five boroughs. When I’d arrive to meet clients in, say, Atlanta or Texas, I’d inevitably be introduced as “the hottest thing in New York.” They’d ooh and aah and immediately become suspicious that I would try to incorporate drag queens into their retail launch.
One example: I was asked by a massmarket retailer—they sell khakis—to host a series of store openings for their women’s-only outlets, then a new idea. The first outing was in Beverly Hills, so I felt that two things were called for: something with an entertainmentindustry slant, and something brief.
I had done their openings before; in Texas, we booked Aaron Neville. But Los Angeles is different. First of all, everyone drives, so no one drinks or lets their hair down. Secondly, they are always bitter from their drive and booked for dinner 45 minutes away. But to their credit, they show up. They need schmoozing platforms.
So here’s what I came up with: I booked Claudia Shear, who had just finished a well-reviewed and much-talkedabout Off Broadway one-woman stageburst called Blown Sideways Through Life in which she described the thousand side jobs she had endured while pursuing a career as an actress/writer/scenemaker. She described answering phones at a Japanese broker, delivering stuff, and—meaningful for this story—a stint in retail.
She’s an auteur/artiste type, thus repellent to the idea of performing on an eight-foot raised platform in a store, meaning we had to pay her a lot. She also got a wardrobe for her 10- or 15-minute act. Of course the client asked to see the script beforehand, and of course Claudia refused, but she read me bits over the phone that killed.
My biggest mistake was not having insisted that the retailer’s branding team see her show, which would have clued them into les observations deux: She swears like a truck driver, and she’s a size 10 (if memory recalls—Claudia, forgive me, you are beautiful, just not what they pictured in their perfunctorily hip clothes). She delivered a sarcastic, witty, and custom-written diatribe, but the room barely made a sound.
The line that sunk it was when she put on a leather jacket and said, “Leather. You always feel important in leather, don’t you?” The audience twittered, a sign of life. But the payoff—“But you never get laid in leather, do you?”—searingly defined for me the phrase awkward pause.
We forget that even though these L.A. types churn out action movies that border on porn, in person many of them are Stepford wives. Different strokes for different towns, no?
Some cities you get lucky in. In San Francisco, where they are all super-confident in their style, there is this caterer Paula LeDuc. Once you do business with her, there is simply no other vendor. She invariably knows more about your client than you do and has one of those diplomatic bearings that never fails. She’s linked at the hip with designer/producer Stanlee Gatti, who is super-talented and charges accordingly. If you are new to that town, you would be dumb not to stop there first.
Chicago is trickier. The big deal there is a food and restaurant company called Lettuce Entertain You. I vouch for their professionalism, but to be frank, the double-entendre name tells you all you need to know. They’re flashy.
In Miami, all the business is run out of the hotels. They’ve got the infrastructure you need. I consider the Delano to be bustier city, and I only recommend it for a bra or lingerie launch. Shore Club has a weird history; honestly, it was more interesting before Ian Schrager got involved. The chicest game in town is now of course the Raleigh. The pool is still le dernier cri of Miami visual style, but an event I went to recently served up soggy nuts with forks, which both interested and repulsed me.
If you have a small group, I recommend either the Astor Hotel or Indian Creek. The Astor has all the sleekness of the big guys but with impeccable service, which is lacking in that town. Indian Creek is a bit off the beaten path (it’s on a creek, for starters). The rooms are nifty but spare and the staff a bit slow on the uptake, according to my experience (which is one year old), but the vrai internationale setting is validated by one of the most clever, simple, and affordable restaurants that doesn’t leave you feeling gouged for a glass of iced tea. If you’ve got money to burn, or are feeling a bit Helmut Newton, the Ritz Carlton is for you. Socialite Dayssi de Kanavos’ husband, Paul, has made this the slickest stop on the strip.
Now, Detroit is sorely lacking in stylish venues. If you must entertain there, bring Petrossian caviar or cookies from your favorite chic patisserie back home (Sant Ambroeus is mine). They think their ballet and opera are a big deal. I’m no expert, but I found that buying lots of stuff like commemorative programs and little lapel pins ($60 for brass finish!) shows the defensive natives that you are on your side.
There are a few nice hotels in Hotlanta. I remember not wanting to leave the Ritz Carlton. But I’ve never found a good florist in this town—buy your flowers and rearrange in your hotel room. Also, driving is tricky: One minute you think you’re on your way to the Sports Illustrated bikini issue throwdown, and the next you’re at a discount carpenter (where wine is served, I happily recall).
I worked for Time Inc. in Washington as a hungry bright youngster, and most every uncle or cousin I know attended Georgetown. This is a power town, with smart (though often drunk) folks everywhere who fool you with their outdated clothing and tassled shoes. These people are well-trained, so there’s no swappin’ stories. The Four Seasons Hotel is the classiest going.
I couldn’t tell you one blessed thing about Boston.
Posted 12.06.06
One example: I was asked by a massmarket retailer—they sell khakis—to host a series of store openings for their women’s-only outlets, then a new idea. The first outing was in Beverly Hills, so I felt that two things were called for: something with an entertainmentindustry slant, and something brief.
I had done their openings before; in Texas, we booked Aaron Neville. But Los Angeles is different. First of all, everyone drives, so no one drinks or lets their hair down. Secondly, they are always bitter from their drive and booked for dinner 45 minutes away. But to their credit, they show up. They need schmoozing platforms.
So here’s what I came up with: I booked Claudia Shear, who had just finished a well-reviewed and much-talkedabout Off Broadway one-woman stageburst called Blown Sideways Through Life in which she described the thousand side jobs she had endured while pursuing a career as an actress/writer/scenemaker. She described answering phones at a Japanese broker, delivering stuff, and—meaningful for this story—a stint in retail.
She’s an auteur/artiste type, thus repellent to the idea of performing on an eight-foot raised platform in a store, meaning we had to pay her a lot. She also got a wardrobe for her 10- or 15-minute act. Of course the client asked to see the script beforehand, and of course Claudia refused, but she read me bits over the phone that killed.
My biggest mistake was not having insisted that the retailer’s branding team see her show, which would have clued them into les observations deux: She swears like a truck driver, and she’s a size 10 (if memory recalls—Claudia, forgive me, you are beautiful, just not what they pictured in their perfunctorily hip clothes). She delivered a sarcastic, witty, and custom-written diatribe, but the room barely made a sound.
The line that sunk it was when she put on a leather jacket and said, “Leather. You always feel important in leather, don’t you?” The audience twittered, a sign of life. But the payoff—“But you never get laid in leather, do you?”—searingly defined for me the phrase awkward pause.
We forget that even though these L.A. types churn out action movies that border on porn, in person many of them are Stepford wives. Different strokes for different towns, no?
Some cities you get lucky in. In San Francisco, where they are all super-confident in their style, there is this caterer Paula LeDuc. Once you do business with her, there is simply no other vendor. She invariably knows more about your client than you do and has one of those diplomatic bearings that never fails. She’s linked at the hip with designer/producer Stanlee Gatti, who is super-talented and charges accordingly. If you are new to that town, you would be dumb not to stop there first.
Chicago is trickier. The big deal there is a food and restaurant company called Lettuce Entertain You. I vouch for their professionalism, but to be frank, the double-entendre name tells you all you need to know. They’re flashy.
In Miami, all the business is run out of the hotels. They’ve got the infrastructure you need. I consider the Delano to be bustier city, and I only recommend it for a bra or lingerie launch. Shore Club has a weird history; honestly, it was more interesting before Ian Schrager got involved. The chicest game in town is now of course the Raleigh. The pool is still le dernier cri of Miami visual style, but an event I went to recently served up soggy nuts with forks, which both interested and repulsed me.
If you have a small group, I recommend either the Astor Hotel or Indian Creek. The Astor has all the sleekness of the big guys but with impeccable service, which is lacking in that town. Indian Creek is a bit off the beaten path (it’s on a creek, for starters). The rooms are nifty but spare and the staff a bit slow on the uptake, according to my experience (which is one year old), but the vrai internationale setting is validated by one of the most clever, simple, and affordable restaurants that doesn’t leave you feeling gouged for a glass of iced tea. If you’ve got money to burn, or are feeling a bit Helmut Newton, the Ritz Carlton is for you. Socialite Dayssi de Kanavos’ husband, Paul, has made this the slickest stop on the strip.
Now, Detroit is sorely lacking in stylish venues. If you must entertain there, bring Petrossian caviar or cookies from your favorite chic patisserie back home (Sant Ambroeus is mine). They think their ballet and opera are a big deal. I’m no expert, but I found that buying lots of stuff like commemorative programs and little lapel pins ($60 for brass finish!) shows the defensive natives that you are on your side.
There are a few nice hotels in Hotlanta. I remember not wanting to leave the Ritz Carlton. But I’ve never found a good florist in this town—buy your flowers and rearrange in your hotel room. Also, driving is tricky: One minute you think you’re on your way to the Sports Illustrated bikini issue throwdown, and the next you’re at a discount carpenter (where wine is served, I happily recall).
I worked for Time Inc. in Washington as a hungry bright youngster, and most every uncle or cousin I know attended Georgetown. This is a power town, with smart (though often drunk) folks everywhere who fool you with their outdated clothing and tassled shoes. These people are well-trained, so there’s no swappin’ stories. The Four Seasons Hotel is the classiest going.
I couldn’t tell you one blessed thing about Boston.
Posted 12.06.06
