 | |
 |
 |
Nowhere to HydeL.A.’s hottest bar is tiny, dark and earthy – and inexplicably packed with celebrities.
ILLUSTRATION: KIMI KOMOKI When Britney Spears and Paris Hilton became pals, did the town and then drew apart – all within the span of a week last year – Hyde in L.A. was, more than any other place, the sound stage for their friendship. When Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore both, not long back, found themselves single at the same time and saw their planets suddenly align in that great celebrity galaxy of breakups and hookups, the two Angels celebrated at Hyde. (They did so with a new, not-so-angelic third wheel known as Lindsay Lohan.) When Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey – neither new nor wedded at this point – had their first awkward public meeting after their own split had come and gone, Hyde is where it all went down. There may be other clubs. There may even be celebrities who actually stay home. But on this planet, right now, for celebrities who like their nightlife, there is only one club that gets this much buzz for its buck. And it’s this small (very small), exclusive (very exclusive) outpost on Sunset Boulevard that rhymes with “died” (as in “and gone to celeb heaven”). Sometimes, even, it’s a little fuzzy to recall: What came first, the Us Weeklys and the Stars or Hyde? And if just-over-a-year-old Hyde were to disappear tomorrow, whatever would those stapled glossies do, let alone the hundreds of celebrity blogs on the web? If L.A. were Harvard, this boîte would be the Charles River. Everyone who’s, like, anyone crosses it at some point. Ken Baker, an editor with Us Weekly, has his own special take on the raison d’être of Hyde. During an interview with the Los Angeles Times, he mused, “So, it’s like a nightly unofficial press line. I’ve known celebrities who will show up, get their photo taken, walk inside for five minutes and breeze back out.” This being a game of Hyde and Seek, it is strictly forbidden to take pics inside the club, but, outside, ironically, it’s a frenetic free-for-all. Posing is almost a rite of passage, and a phalanx of photogs stand idly by, waiting to document the nightly arrivals and departures. I saw the mini-maelstrom for myself when, standing outside one night last year, I saw Courtney Love come tumbling out of the place. I noted two things about this scene, coming as it did in the neon, eternally post-coital lights of Tinseltown. One: The singer did the deer-in-the-headlights thing, which was just plain odd. If you’re going to go on safari, aren’t you expecting to see animals? Two: She wasn’t exactly Princess Diana getting into the car, and forgot the delicate rule of one leg at a time. Inside Hyde, what’s the deal? “Earthy” is the best adjective I can come up with. “Small” and “really, really dark” are others. The first time I stopped by, I was stunned by how much of a buttonhole this spot really is and how, inevitably, like most mythical joints, it’s more fabulous in the mind than it is in brick and mortar. The dance-friendly banquettes were nice, as were the fancy-but-not-overdone ottomans and the trippy batik walls. Ditto the wait staff – hot enough, unsurprisingly, to helm an MTV reality series. But it was still a bar like so many bars in so many cities, except that this one is always caterpillared with celebrities. This jibes with the larger theory I have about parties, which is that people are always the best decor. It was the same with Studio 54 and more than likely, too, with that Round Table Arthur was into. Add this to my pool of theories: Celebrities are just like regular Joes and Janes at a house party. They’re attracted to hanging out in the kitchen where everybody already is, except that this house party is the City of Los Angeles and the kitchen is a tiny club down the street from a Laugh Factory. Sam Nazarian, who’s one of the go-getting co-founders of Hyde and also has a burgeoning hotel empire, explained it in simpler terms when I had a drink with him last year at another dreamy sound stage, Hotel Bel-Air. “It’s like a high-end Cheers,” he marvelled. A place where everybody knows your name and the kind of spot where even the velvet ropes have velvet ropes. Write to us: letters@enroutemag.net Shinan Govani is the Scene columnist for the National Post and frequently appears on television commenting on celebrities and the social whirl. |
