You take an elevator to get up to the venue after getting through the check list stations. The list is always strictly enforced at Soho House. The elevator opens up to a massive two level space. There’s a piano in front of you to the right. On the left there are pool tables. Very men’s clubby. Or, like, where judges hang out. Toward the back there are private dining areas. But most obvious is a giant staircase that opens up after the foyer leading upstairs to a huge bar surrounded by small tables and cozy booths. The room is bordered on three sides by glass. Outside the glass is a wraparound terrace, the smoking area. A long corridor to the right of the staircase leads you past photo booths and curtained corners that feel like there are secrets behind each one. At the end of the corridor is an inside patio. That is, it’s completely covered by glass with trees sprouting everywhere and large slab black and white tiles. Another bar runs the length of the wall closest to the exit. Small tables again dot the room with booths lining the edges.

I hit up the private dining room downstairs first to check out the Biutiful and Winter’s Bone party. First person I saw when they opened the door was Javier Bardem. In a leather jacket and a huge smile working the room. No Penelope but I heard him say to someone that she’d be around on Sunday. Not sure if that means the afterparty but she’ll be out that night, somewhere.

Then I squeezed by Kathryn Bigelow who is TALL and AMAZING and I wanted to beg her to give me a job as her coffee girl, or the like. Jennifer Lawrence was there too, very pretty in person, and PETITE. She actually looks small boned -did to me now that she’s lost so much weight. I didn’t see Nicholas Hoult and, I’m sorry to say, I didn’t stick around to because I spotted a plate of mini burgers go by and I had to giv’er before another glutton got her bitch hands on them first. By the time I had my face into some beef, Lawrence had moved to another corner of the room.

Then it was upstairs to the patio. Have I mentioned before how beautiful Jamie Dornan is? That Keira Knightly certainly rivals Scarlett Johansson in her preference for pretty boys?

Sebastian Stan is surprisingly pretty in person too, much more so than on television. John Stamos never ages. It’s freaky. He’s more handsome in person, if you can believe it, but strangely enough, not a lot of sex appeal. He was glued to Gina Gershon the whole time.

Never mind these minor boys though. Let’s focus on the Queen. Helen Mirren has great posture. She was with Taylor Hackford, sitting on a couch, elegantly holding onto a flute of Grey Goose Le Fizz (elderflower is the secret ingredient + champagne if you’re thinking of Oscar cocktails at home) and not once would she have let the book fall off her head. It’s truly marvelous. I may have spent a little too much time admiring her grace. And her haircut. And the way her hips moved in that yellow skirt. The broad can still shake it, you know.

Totally wanted to insert myself into the conversation between Amy Poehler, Will Arnett, and Maya Rudolph. Reunion styles! Very much wanted to insert myself in between Anthony Mackie and all the horny cougars riding him by the bar. He is a beast. GodDAMN.

Better looking in person? Alexander Skarsgard. And really, he is really that tall. Slim cut suit, nice gait, didn’t seem like the typical insecure actor who walks into a party and starts furtively looking around for 1. People to notice him 2. Who else is better than him. Kate Bosworth wasn’t with him, at least not when he got there. I stopped paying attention after that.


Because. Jon Hamm.

Looked like day old scruff in person but in photos maybe a little more. Whatever. That man. He doesn’t swagger. But he’s comfortable in any surrounding. Confident, not cocky. Does that make sense? So nice to everyone. And of course walking around with a tumbler of scotch the whole time. Hot, right? You know what else makes him great? At one point he left the patio. When he returned he was with an ordinary-ish man who was thanking him for the access. Like, he looped back outside and made sure to talk to the list guarders that the dude was with him. I find this so endearing. Just me?

But not even Jon Hamm owns the place like Leonardo DiCaprio. The most casually dressed of everyone, he was escorted onto the patio with personalised service, a woman with an earpiece, leading a posse of 4 that included Kevin Connolly. Leo was clean-shaven, more handsome in person, a little, and taller than I expected. About the same height as Jon Hamm actually. Maybe even slightly taller.

They took him to a back table. His table. They actually moved people off the table to accommodate him. He pulled out a giant cigar, leaned over, and spent the rest of the time speaking authoritatively, telling jokes and funny anecdotes, while his buddies listened rapturously. Those stories you hear? Yes. That’s actually how he rolls. I saw him laughing and smiling a lot. It made him seem young again, quite a departure from the austere, uber professional we’ve been accustomed too. Happy is a good word for it. He was happy. He looked happy. It’s not an adjective I’ve ever used, I don’t think, to describe him in previous posts. Fascinating when the veil comes down, non?

I love it that there were several girls hovering by his table, perched coquettishly, not talking to each other much, waiting and hoping he would notice. But last night was boys’ night. He wasn’t taking, at least not when I was there. And since “his table” was situated right beside the cheese station, and the goddamn cheese at this place was out of my mind, I made a few flybys for several fat + carbohydrates fixes that I’ll have to work off this afternoon, motherf-cker.

More from Soho House/Grey Goose later.

Photos courtesy Grey Goose