Up Late: The XX and Football Fêtes

Dirk DeSouza reports back from French retail mansions and football fêtes.

April 01, 2013


We don’t visit shopping malls much for “Up Late,” what with the can’t-stop-won’t-stop nonstop action that megaclub VIP sections, hotel rooftops, and Bluewater yacht events consistently deliver. But not even the most jaded VIP could resist this mega-deliciousness: the incredibly important grand opening of Louis Vuitton Aventura. So about 500 hand-chosen sartorial superiors red-carpeted their way inside the cavernous, indescribably opulent two-story mecca of leather, jewels, glass, wood, and sex. Not just any new LV store—this one’s considered a maison by bigwigs, because of both its size and installations of art, which adorn every wall, encapsulating the Apple Store-like glass circular staircase and reminding mortals that very expensive consumables abound. Speaking of art, Debra Scholl, one of Miami’s most important collectors, hot off her multimillion-dollar 300-piece art donation to the Pérez Art Museum Miami, sipped endlessly flowing Dom Pérignon aside a bespectacled Craig Robins, the visionary behind Miami’s Design District, LVMH’s retail development partner, and boyfriend of Jackie Soffer—whose family owns Aventura Mall itself. A DJ did her duties on a podium as exclusively male models passed fancy nibbles and trays of Dom under hot lights. Power publicist Lauren Gnazzo scampered about, movie-star-smiling and air kissing the likes of The Webster’s Cedric Aumonier and socialite Dana Leigh Shear, while I slipped deep into the good night. Trés chic.

The XX, the red-hot group of British shoe-gazing mood rockers, rolled into The Fillmore Miami Beach at Jackie Gleason Theater for a spectacularly sold-out show. Dubious-aged, Breakfast Club-esque fans of all ilks—the dweebs, the jocks, the hotties, the indie outcasts—chanted and heart-hurted their way through hours of droning, syncopated, circuitous tracks. Super mopey, blackclad Kelly Osbourne-looking guitarist Romy Madley Croft and grim-faced Third Reich-hairdoed bassist Oliver Sim mumbled their way through endless downtempo beats and faint harmonies. Two hours later, when Sim finally cracked a smile, the crowd went wild, and even YoungArtsSarah Arison felt the love, if for one shining split second.

The Super Bowl conjures visions of brawn, brutality, bright lights, quirky commercials, and land acquisition gaming, so it came as a strange surprise that Champagne Krug, the deeply civilized bubbly many consider simply the world’s finest, held a gridiron-themed fête on the Gale South Beach hotel’s rooftop. Grande Cuvée downright rained on a select 75 VIPs who enthusiastically gathered on a bright, chilly night, while Krug CEO Margareth Henriquez, freshly landed from Paris, toasted the likes of billionaire developer/art patron Jorge Pérez and star chef Ingrid Hoffmann. No Super Bowl party is complete without photo booths, copious pizza, baton-twirling cheerleaders, and marching bands, and Krug didn’t disappoint. The crowd was transported to New Orleans with live jazz renditions of “When the Saints Come Marching In,” a jiggling hottie dance team powerjamming to Jay-Z and Beyoncé tracks, and general halftime mayhem. The good times then rolled downstairs, deep into the Gale’s Rec Room, for a postmortem drink.

photography by Jason Koerner (the xx); worldredeye.com (birbragher); seth browarnik/worldredeye.com (benharrouch, shear)

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