An in-the-know FBvian mingled at the official Ghostbar opening last night. Her recap is after the jump.
Was not fashionably late. Was fashionably early. 7:40 for 8:00 party. Walked into hotel and stood in line diligently, sixth person in line directly behind Alexa Conomos. After about 10 minutes of standing sans cocktail, we asked the doorman if this was the right line. Apparently this was the unmarked line for media only, so we were kindly placed outside in the blistering sunshine to stand until 8:30 when they started letting we plebians with special invitations inside, where we were allowed to wait in line for another 15 minutes before they let us into the line for the elevator. They had the nerve to say that the media people would go in first because they wanted to be there to take all of our pictures when we arrived. Yeah. The guy with “The Ticket” radio station video camera was really there for society photos.
People-watching outside was fun: how many people thought they should be allowed to jump to the front of the line was directly proportional to the number of guys with their Mystic Tans running down their gold-chained chests in the Texas heat. The guy behind us in line said at least we’d all smell equally as bad when we got inside — how charming — but it looked like most of the pretty people in line had already had their sweat glands Botoxed, so not a problem.
Being first in line for the coveted elevator ride, I asked if Ghost Bar was full already. The very charming line guard said no, they just wanted people to wait in line so it seemed popular. Wrong move, dude. At a private party, perhaps you make people feel special, not part of a social science experiment.
Once we got upstairs, the view at dusk was spectacular. Okay, why was Skip Hollandsworth not so hungover that he and wife Shannon were back for Round Two where point values were doubled? Skip, Alexa and Victoria Snee were the only visible “celebrities” we could find.
My charming Neiman’s-shopping companion noted that as the evening wore on, there were three kinds of people: gay guys and expensive hookers, and girls wearing designer outfits that were “so 2003.” But let’s not forget the anorexic contingent. We heard there was a weight limit for the glass-bottomed patio. Good news is that there were so many size “0” girls that they were letting people in four at a time. Nicole Ritchie and Lindsey Lohan would have been so proud.
Most of the tables were marked “reserved” and we were told that if you purchase $300 bottle service in advance, you get a table and six guests in for free. How nice for them.
Will be curious to see in a few weeks what the crowd looks like, don’t you think, when it’s not a guest list of pretty people and they really have to pay $20 per person to get in. I’m probably curious enough to cough up the cover charge. Once.
