NY Mirror

Overflowing with like, I'll even wish a Happy New Year to the new model-friendly "ultra lounge," Marquee—via Noah Tepperberg and Jason Strauss—mainly because it has a dramatic stairway to pose on and it lessened the BS factor by not overinviting people or torturing the invited on opening night. Which brings me to Crobar, the club that—to make up for my having been dissed at itsopening—offered me a table at their Queer Eye-hosted holiday ball, DJ'd by Boy George. Yes, it sounded like an international convention of wildly overexposed gays, but I added to all that by accepting, only to get a mass-mailed invite the next day! I went anyway, and was greeted on arrival by a goon snapping "Are you here for the Crobar?" (That's like saying "Are you here for the Elaine's?")

But I got in, was treated like gold, and finally saw the latest development in the Miami/Chicago/ Ireland-ization of Gotham nightlife—a massive, laser-lit tug between foofy art and crass commerce. Video screens at the entrance and ambient visuals around the dancefloor give an aggressively artsy feel, but the emphasis in the outer room is on bottle-service groups and their big, juicy bucks. What's more, the bulk of the crowd seemed overwhelmingly generic, and—too perfectly for a Queer Eye party—gay kooks are presented for their sideshow entertainment. Still, the dancefloor—a vast cross between the Mall of America, a Gap commercial, and a Hollywood Squares set—is spectacular, and on Fridays, nouveau club kidz Aimee Phillips, Drew Elliott, and Mack Dugan provide a V.I.P. viewing area slash strut space. So Happy New Year, y'all—and that's coming from a big trannie whore porn star and an esteemed fart doctor.


musto@villagevoice.com

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