Home Nightlife Dossier Journal arrives at Tribeca Grand. And how…

Dossier Journal arrives at Tribeca Grand. And how…


Patience is not often used to describe the panting excesses and greatness of a once prevalent, now rarely glimpsed true New York party. But, patience is its most discerning element. The line to enter was long but quick. All the giraffes in buttoned-up collars and Jewish hair and all the gazelles, in large-framed, lesbian-aunt glasses and those Johny Depp accessories stood, waiting. Patiently. A courteous woman checked a sheet. A kind man opened a rope. There is no need to check a dress code when the best is assumed. There is no need to gallop, tugging at your lead, when the grazing field is plentiful. Had there not been a line at the open bar, I would have no complaints. Such long necks may require lots of hydration, but a giraffe can drink anywhere he wants.

Parties should be judged solely on the basis of how well the crowd ignores an open bar. Period.

This was the sort of party where large amounts of black women attend but the only black men are gay, or working. And the only gay men are straight and the only straight men are like black women, alert and fearless.

The short dude should have handed out magazines. Or peeped up a mini-skirt. Or somehow made himself useful. There were no Dossiers anywhere to be found. Even they understood my rule of patience. The lifestyle consideration in magazine promotion is overwrought and challenging. Like an eco-system, or a zoo. But, with so many giraffes, why not attempt the impossible?

Go to Photo Gallery.




  1. Craig Dershowitz is either a fucking idiot or a genius! This post is insane. All the hyperbolic poetry juxtaposed with run of the mill event snaps, it’s hilarious. All the descriptive language describing decadence, in particular tallness, paling in comparison to the astounding banality of the actual event documents, the snapshots! None of the people pictured are tall, none particularly beautiful, no giraffes, gazelles, snow or blowjobs! The pictures feature the nerdy fashion day-laborers who make our culture’s myths on a quasi-volunteer basis. I know first hand these party goers are not very tall, not fucking too much, usually not on drugs, and the drinks only last an hour, if you can even get to the bar. But, fuck, man, I wish I’d gone to this party. At the first Dossier launch party, some Euro-trash Brit chased everyone from room to room, doing everything he could to foil the event. Invited guests were left out while those who got in were rudely ejected. It’s hard to do coke and fuck, much less be tall, while an asshole club owner is showing you the door. I’ve been to a couple of parties in NYC, only a couple, where the room was actually populated by glam tall people, where I was the troll spectator seduced by beauty. Despite the photographic evidence to the contrary–has Dershowitz managed to cherry pick only the snaps featuring somewhat chubby guys as a joke–I still kind of believe it when he says beauty was on display this night. I kick myself for having not been invited! The joke’s on me.

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