BlackBook Magazine

I’m walking up to the door of Marquee, and between the hipster club kids that glide right in and the shiny Guido’s yelling from the line, I can’t help but feel that combination of indignation and excitement that only nightclubs can provoke. Lately, I have been feeling quite domestic—induced, no doubt, by the freezing temperature—but seeing doorman Wass orchestrating the event in slick leather reminds me that nightlife is better spent bar-hopping on the buzzing streets than between the sheets.

Confession: I have always had an ardent love affair with the ever-popular Marquee, despite the constant condemnation by friends who wouldn’t be caught dead in a setting that didn’t pose the possibility of seeing an Olsen twin. I have also had a relatively similar love for pop star Ashlee Simpson, despite the fact that no assemblage of leather jackets or stringy hair will ever make her an Olsen twin. 

In an attempt to bring my two guilty pleasures together in one night, Marquee hosted the “Bittersweet World” CD release party for the now ginger haired Ashlee this past Tuesday.

The crowd was a varied mix that only Marquee can produce—promoters with tables filled with blondes, the dancing fools in neon and spandex, the shockingly chic—all of whom refused to admit they were even remotely interested in seeing Ashlee perform. “I’m just here to see if she lip-syncs again” a buxom blonde confides. All pretension is forgotten once the diminutive damsel enters with beau Pete Wentz, and the aforementioned pessimists optimistically crane their necks to get a good look.

Standing on the legendary staircase (legendary for the intoxicated tumbles down it) she performs a set of four songs. No lip-syncing was involved, but perhaps a little lip. Saying fuck a total of three times (three times!), along with her delightfully devilish lyric “use your head/ not that one,” I felt like Ash had grown up a bit since her MTV days. And there was something different about her nose, too. She then informed the crowd that they would be hanging out for a while and we were more than welcome to come and say hello (note: the bouncers did not accept this as a formal invitation) as they sipped Caribou Iced Coffee, an appropriate choice since Pete doesn’t drink. Just like Lohan…

Outside, we run into Ken Paves and Ashlee’s mom Tina. My friend T and Ken strike up a conversation about hair, and after a couple of drunken high-fives regarding cut and color, Ken exits with Ashlee and Pete, making a run no doubt for Wentz’s haunt Angels and Kings. I watch as the varied crowd slowly saunters out, silently impressed by all of the personalities and looks. Lately, night owls and bloggers have been steadily comparing Marquee with Studio 54, similarities being drawn betwixt the infamous doormen, the variation in music selection, and the fact that transsexuals can mingle with Upper East Siders any night of the week. I pose this comparison to Wass, said infamous doorman.

“I learned from Steve Rubel,” he says thoughtfully. “So that is a really great compliment. It’s so important to have a good cross-section. That’s what makes Marquee so interesting. And you have to understand your clientele, on any given night—what kind of people are going to have a good time, and who just isn’t going to fit in.”

I let Wass in on my guilty pleasure confession. He dutifully assuages my love for Marquee. “Look at the crowd tonight—very high end, and very mixed. And everyone that made it in came ready to have a good time. Very excited crowd, such great energy.”

Whether they would stand to admit it, I beleive I share my secret love for Marquee—and Ashlee Simpson—with a few (hundred) other New Yorkers.