The High Bar made a fitting venue for such a publication’s get-together. Despite being located dangerously close to Times Square, the place is of the hip sort that gets written up in bad papers like The Post when someone famous is spotted doing something therein, like drinking at a table. Unsurprisingly, it is dedicated to the obnoxious Manhattan institution of “bottle service;” for $1,600, a real, live waiter will deliver to your table a bottle of Patron Platinum, presumably served in its very own bottle. At least one of the mixed drinks is named after a supermodel; all of them start at $16. In contrast, the resident hamburger goes for only $6, as even the sort of person who may be convinced to pay far too much for liquor cannot be easily convinced to pay far too much for a burger. There is simply no glamour to be had in that.
Before one can get inside, there is a series of trials to be undertaken, much like one of those Greek mystery cults of the 4th century or thereabouts. One arrives at an inauspicious front door, is confirmed by the bouncer to be on the guest list, walks through a winding series of darkened hallways, is allowed onto the elevator by another bouncer who pushes the correct button for you, and then one eventually arrives on a rooftop patio that’s filled to the brim with people who, taken collectively, don’t seem particularly stylish or hip or anything other than numerous, and who at any rate do not appear to be having as much fun as they should.
There are quite a few more frat boy types than one might expect to see at an event dedicated to the celebration of skin care products – third-tier frat boy types at that, being pudgy, prematurely drunk, and visibly intimidated by their surroundings. Scattered among them were a few of the sort of people one would more reasonably expect to see here – tall, good-looking, and visibly irked by the presence of so many short and not very good-looking frat fellows. It was, in fact, very much like every other evening at every other bar of the sort.
Other than that, the event was marked by a marked absence of eventfulness. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; a fire could have broken out and dozens of people could have been killed in the ensuing stampede, for instance, which would have been worse. Luckily, nothing of the sort, or any sort, actually happened.