Team Party Crash: 'Because She Can' Book Party
Last night, Gawker photographer Nikola Tamindzic and Emily Gould hit Matt and Marisa Brown's luxe Soho loft—that's her on your left—to celebrate the publication of Gawker Book Club pick Because She Can, the roman a clef that's "not" about Judith Regan. After the jump, Emily meets the literary elite people who went to Harvard with Bridie.
Team Party Crash: Because She Can Book Party [photos]
Most book parties tend to be staid affairs. By 'staid' I mean 'off the charts dorky.' But Bridie Clark, who I'd met in decidedly unglam circumstances, surprised me by being friends with a lot of people who own very expensive and fancy jewelry, not to mention Soho lofts. I suppose the fact that her name is "Bridie" ought to have tipped me off to the notion that she might be sort of upper-crusty. For a change of pace, I will not hold it against her. After all, acting all jealous of rich people just betrays my own insecurity over my lower-caste beginnings.
But it's not like I am feeling sensitive for no reason: "Where are you from?" asked society reporter par excellence David Patrick Columbia as he took a photo of me and Nikola. "Maryland," I said. "WHAT? MARYLAND?" David replied. Well, sorry, David! We can't all be business climbers. Speaking of! Tatiana Boncampagni, the woman responsible for that seminal article, was in attendance, and excited to be: "I've lactated twice tonight!" she exclaimed to me.
Let's face it: Bridie's book is exciting. Anyone who's ever had a crazy boss can relate to it, and it's a fun read, which is just what we need in these troubled times. Even HarperCollins CEO Jane Friedman is rumored to have given the book a flip-through; she apparently even RSVP'd yes to the book party! Alas, she was a no-show.
But many others DID show: comic Chelsea Handler, Daily Intel's Jesse Oxfeld, Daily News reporter Jo Piazza, skinny heiress Olivia Chantecaille, Seth Mnookin, Peter Hyman, and a redheaded banker whose pickup line was "You look so out of place here. You look like you'd be much more comfortable in the East Village!" This was, in fact, the case. At the stroke of 9, I took one last look around (the party had cleared out so that the motorcycle on display in the dining room was visible) and allowed myself to be led into the elevator by an attendant. That book party was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.
