Manhattan nightlife is such a big, Louboutin-clad mess of the hot and haute, one can barely keep track of which club is worth your precious efforts. But that is, of course, why we're here: to tell you what venues merit your sad attempts at entry. Gawker Special correspondent David Klein braves the humiliation of of the doormen at Lenny Kravitz and Denzel Washington's Kos and returns with the first of the a series of regular nightlife reports.
When word spread that Denzel Washington and Lenny Kravitz would be opening their very own club together, I nearly soaked my Gap jeans. Not since Eddie Murphy and Michael Jackson joined forces for Whatzupwitu has there been a sweeter collaboration between a black actor and a lighter toned musician.
I began to imagine what a world created by the Mississippi Masala star and Sarah Jessica s sidekick would be like: lots of velvet, a couple of Oscars (most likely de la Renta and de la Hoya), burning effigies of Lisa Bonet, maybe even an oversized private room reserved for dudes who have nailed Nicole Kidman. The possibilities were endless.
Obviously, I had to go. But getting in would be harder than finding someone who bought LK s last album. Although Kos isn t members only (which, by the way, is Soho House last year) as originally planned, rumor had it that unless you were pals with Denzel or got at least to third base with Lenny, the pearly gates would not be opened.
I decided to round up my Ivy League posse, enlisting the help of smooth-talking man about town Adam A. and two of the finest looking Connecticut blondes this side of Greenwich. Our ratio was just as Lenny would have wanted it: half-Jewish. As we rolled up to the joint, success looked promising. Aside from the requisite velvet rope, Kos exterior looks like any other ho-hum storefront on the Bowery. Dealing with the crowd outside was not a problem because, well, there wasn t one.
The only thing standing between us and our destiny was Mark the doorman. I decided to play it cool. How s it going? I asked. Not tonight, he answered in a refreshingly hospitable tone. I see. Well, how about tomorrow? I couldn t tell you, Mark responded (genially, of course), the situation changes each day. This called for desperate measures. I removed my wallet and began peeling off Washingtons. Unfortunately, wholesome Mark was clearly not that type of guy.
Just as it seemed all hope was lost, Herman, a second, more imposing bouncer emerged. Donning a Secret Service-like ear piece, an understated Kos necklace, and a pair of sunglasses, so, one can only assume, he could keep track of the visions in his eyes, Herman was our final hope. I sent the ladies to do the dirty work but all they could elicit was a polite sorry. Rejection has never been so pleasant.
Nevertheless, I ll be returning to the Bowery real soon. It s gonna take a lot more than a snooty club to keep me away from my Sneaky Pete.