The Glamorous Exhaustion Of Club Promotion
The Post spends some quality time with the diabolical men behind the velvet ropes, Richie Akiva and Scott Sartiano of Butter and Noel Ashman of NA. Apparently, these guys' jobs are really hard — they have (bolivian?) insomnia and have to work, like, every day. So it goes, we suppose, when your job is to make sure your famous "friends" are having fun. Being fabulous was never supposed to be easy:
"I study these people as if I were a scientist," says [nightlife] impresario [Steve] Lewis. "Each promoter has an emptiness inside them - a profound hole. Some of them weren't good-looking growing up. Some of them are uneducated. There's a lot of them who are short. The club business makes them into the icons they dream of being. The sad part is when it destroys who they are.
"And," he adds, "they all get destroyed in the end."
In the biggest fallout from this impending nightlife apocalypse, MK and Ashley will be left as homeless as they already look, forced to wander about the streets in search of a banquette not yet marred by the breath of the middle class riff-raff.
