In the mid 90s, the nightlife “VIP” were legit “very important people“. If you wanted to get into the hottest clubs and coolest parties, you had to climb a fairly difficult social ladder. Going out all the time wasn’t enough. You had to find the gatekeepers and they had to like you.
Guest lists were not managed by marketing firms. They were managed by haughty models and cut-throat drag queens. If you were not on the guest list, there was no option to buy a “VIP/Line-Bypass ticket”. The host (female or drag queen typically) would laugh, sigh or glance to security to navigate you away from the lineup.
Today, if you look at some of the Grand Prix parties you can buy yourself and your crew a “VIP super lounge” with bottle service for as much as the promoters think they can get away with. You can be the sweaty-palmed dorky son of a dirty oil baron and all your socially inept buddies can come! You can be the fake-as-cake shrill daughter of a real estate mogul and afford your way into the scene.
You can even rent gorgeous “escorts” to add to the rather expensive illusion that you are in fact a real VIP. But you’re not… you’re a “VRP“. Nothing more than a “very rich person“. Just the ironic victim of a new kind of “club capitalism” where cold cash trumps clout.
Escaping the VRP
This year, I will let my party monsters discover for themselves that not all of these over-crowded events are worth their time. I found myself a free but invitation-only cocktail party, tucked away on a hotel rooftop terrace in downtown Montreal.
IF I go, I will go with a good friend I haven’t seen in months to drink champagne, while happy that we both escaped the VRP. I bet you’re curious, but I promised the organizer I may only reveal the location after the party to not risk the nouveau riche trying to crash it. ;)
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Creative Director, brand manager & curator of lavish experiences. Currently curating: everything charming.