When I first was invited to the opening reception for the vitaminwater social club I was a bit hesitant in confirming my attendance. The fact that this new, though temporary space, dedicated to local "music, fashion, fitness, art, literature, technology and more..." on Capitol Hill had "vitaminwater" at the forefront of its name had me a bit on the skeptical side of how genuine to indie-ness it could be. After cross-referencing an email address from the invite, I realized who was involved with the launch party and thought, "Hey, it's Thursday and I've done Art Walk how many times? Why not check it out?" I am most certainly glad I did.
I donned a wildly orange, cyan and azure, East-meets-West print, collared shirt and accented it with an equally busy, triangular-geometric print Pucci tie (in coordinating colors, of course, [thank you Finerie]) squeezed into my tiniest pair of Hugo Boss jeans (thanks again to The Finerie,) dug out my old clunky brown leather Sketchers (circa 1998,) a vintage leather belt covered with over-sized studs and my super slim, Yanuk denim-blue corduroy jacket (thanks CC) and to complete my hipster-inspired ensemble, a pair of faux horn-rim glasses which I picked up as a party favor at a past gala. With my recent haircut, I felt quite incognito.
I departed my Midtown flat right when the party was scheduled to start and arrived about half an hour later. Yes, I was on the list. Once inside the newly transformed Sole Repair space I spotted some familiar faces in the crowd; some local media folks, dining industry peeps and a few others I've encountered at past fashion shows. After declining a vodka+viatminwater cocktail (apparently I'm an honorary member of the Cocktail Geek Club according to TV) and choosing an IPA (higher alcohol content, beer-wise [thanks for the tip SW]) instead, I wove my way through, as I predicted, a throng of hipsters in tightly clad denim and awkward eyeglass-ware and clunked my way up the metal staircase to the lounge.
I past an attractive crew sipping on Stoli and reclining decadently while doing so, and headed toward the food. To my surprise (not really,) betwixt a secondary bar and trays of quite tasty hors d'oeuvres (crab cakes, meatballs in Marinara, cheese and charcuterie cuts, etc.) I ran into some more media peeps. While noshing and chatting we discovered it is not six degrees that separate us but only two. That is one thing I will always love about the Emerald City, it is, and always will be, a big, small town.
In addition to talking about who we knew and how, we of course, continued on about food, cocktails, our favorite venues and bartenders, parties past and on the horizon. We also spoke of the "Emerald City Chill or Freeze," inter-office dating, long-distance relationships, short-term flings, and of course, more about food and booze.
From our perch, we had the perfect vantage to view all of the party's going-ons; the guy at the downstairs bar stealing a $1 out of the tip jar to re-tip the bartender with for his already free Stoli cocktail; the trio of undulating girls clearly enjoying DJ Colby's cuts; the staff running around in their black t-shirts doing whatever tasks necessary to keep the party going, including schmoozing; the latest photos projected on the wall from the user-friendly photo booth; the semi-autonomous cliques (all wearing cloned copies of each other's outfits) that rarely interacted with their neighboring gaggles (much reminiscent of high school.)
From our little lookout we also were able to take in the well-executed aesthetics of the venue. Sporting a fresh coat of paint, our surroundings gleamed iPod-white, from the tree stump stools on which we sat, to the walls which doubled as a projector screen in places, to our acrylic case coffee-table containing a collage of various computer components-all white, save for a few working monitors, (there was an all black version of this downstairs,) behind the bar a grid of black blocks interrupted with glowing rows of blocks, containing back-lit bottles of vitaminwater in corresponding candy colors, echoing the invite graphic. It was quite clever and quite cute. Branding was everywhere, and even the one responsible was concerned it might be a little overkill, but it was tastefully done, suited the venue and didn't take away from the vibe of the party. What kept catching my eye was, directly across from where we sat, a white wall (surprise, surprise) covered in computer accessory cables and wires each painstakingly placed and pinned to the wall. The effect, continuous movement and candy for the eye; only from afar did I realize it was another not-so-subtle branding placement, this time white space was left to spell out "vitaminwater zero."
By the time I made my way back downstairs and grabbed a third beer, I was able to jockey for a prime position near the front of the stage (not that the venue is that big) just in time for Champagne, Champagne to perform. I felt so... Emerald City, (and so in the know... having just read about the trio in the last issue of CityArts magazine.) Something tells me that no more than three degrees of separation exists between me and them (just sayin'...) By the second song, most of the freeloaders seemed to have moved on to greener pastures and the crowd remaining had a genuine fondness for the band. Many of use were movin', shakin' and droppin' down low and we didn't stop when DJ Colby resumed her throne.
I ended my night, after one more IPA, at the hotdog stand across from the Comet and Quinn's gorging myself on a Beef Polish with cream cheese (thanks for introducing that combo to me SK) and gleefully staggered home, movin' and shakin' the whole way.
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