At the Harry Brown after-party last night, we were twisting prosciutto around our fingers and sipping Grey Goose martinis on the platform in the secret Bay Street subway station with Clive Owen. It felt like we were in the hippest of British society clubs. Also in the underground were Harry Brown co-stars, Sir Michael Caine and a dashing pregnant Emily Mortimer, along with uninhibited director Terry Gilliam (whose TIFF film, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, was the last to star Heath Ledger).
The defunct TTC platform was transformed into a party space by Soho House, a posh network of private social clubs, allowing guests to get comfy in the subway cars. With spotlights, air conditioning and Grey Goose cocktails, this classy spin on public transit seemed anything but civilian. “Grit and glam” is what Soho House founder Nick Jones was going for, so we were correct to pair our Value Village blazer with Gucci pumps. Jeff Stober, owner of the Drake Hotel was absolutely impressed, and exchanged hotelier banter with Jones, whose über-cool Manhattan Soho House grew to mega-fame after Samantha Jones, masked as a member, was kicked off the rooftop pool in an episode of Sex and the City.
We had a bang-up time at this bash. Chill, sophisticated and incredibly inventive, this was the party to attend on Saturday—the Holt Renfrew party felt like an unventilated rowdy high school dance. It appears that, in recession times, consumers opt for international cool over haute couture.
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