As many of you know, my "real job" is in PR and Marketing. And while this blog thing seems to eat up just as many hours as a full-time job, let's be honest, it don't make squat. But I do it for a few personal reasons and the occasional "perks." Last week was one of those particularly perk-filled weeks - a private icing demo with the cupcake queen of the world, lunch at a DELISH Mexican restaurant in Hillcrest and a private preview of the new Souplantation Express that is now open and is just minutes from my house. I pretty much ate my way through the week. Then late Thursday, Jason gets an email from a PR agency in LA that represents Nivea For Men, inviting him to a "super exclusive pre-Golden Globe party at a famous jewelers Beverly Hills private estate!"
Being the celeb-u-whore that I am, I *almost* screamed with excitement. ME?! At a PRE-GOLDEN GLOBE PARTY IN BEVERLY HILLS?!
With thoughts of the palatial estates of Lisa and Adrienne of RHOBH, I envisioned this fabulous LA cocktail party. I pictured myself in a fabulous dress and platform Louboutin's casually laughing with someone who turned out to be a high powered executive at Sony pictures who just happened to be looking for a work-from-home social media consultant. And yes, in the fantasy I was 20lbs lighter and had the after-glow of a vacation in Cabo.
Alas, what I really am is 100% naive.
I GREW UP IN LA, I really should have known better. But! In my defense, in the past 10 years I've been to some super amazing corporate parties with some amazing people in attendance. Just ask me about the time I ate fried chicken with Tone Loc and Vanilla Ice at the Rainbow Room on Sunset. Still...
Sigh. I need an iPhone 4 with a flash something FIERCE.
The party was more of a gigantic line. We waited in line to get in, we waited in line for a drink, we waited in line for a few bites of food, then we waited in line for another drink before waiting in line at the valet to leave. The party, which was advertised as "old school Rat Pack Hollywood glamour" with a "cocktail/dress-to-impress" dress code, was full of women that looked they were trying to be porn stars or men that looked like they were trying to be P. Diddy (or is he Ditty Dirty Money now?). I kinda got the feeling this was going to be the case: on the drive up to LA I searched the party's Twitter hash-tag and checked out the profiles of the 4 other people tweeting about it. Think of all those house-party scenes you see on Entourage, then make all the people in attendance about 30% less attractive and 50% less interesting.
But the thing that irked the PR girl in me most is that flat-out misrepresentation of the event from the PR company. The "private estate" turns out to be a house, owned by some jewelry company, that is used strictly as an event rental. The gift bag that the invite claimed to be "worth $200" was a few samples of Nivea for men products. And the best misrepresentation of the night: the announcement of the attendance of James Franco - but I'll let Jason tell you all about that one.
The whole night I couldn't help but think how out of place I felt. I don't think we exactly looked out of place (quite the opposite, I was actually complimented on my shoes a few times!), but we really felt it. Then again, the entire gathering was enveloped in an awkward feeling. It seemed to be crammed full of people, none of them really wanting to be there, but feeling like they had to be seen there JUST IN CASE someone else was there. Maybe it's the LA thing? Or maybe it was just a horribly executed event. But what I do know: our little VIP party for the opening of Sprinkles in La Jolla last week was about 50 times cooler.
