That Madonna filmed her latest music clip shameless attempt to stay relevant at The Standard Hotel is testament to the iconic Meatpacking hotspot’s status as sultan of cool.
Imagine if your local high school’s former resident nerd launched a multi-billion dollar tech start-up and wanted a surefire way to impress his former white-picket fence bullies on Facebook during a whirlwind weekend in the Big Apple, including the money shot – the requisite picture of his abs being cloaked in models with bottles against the backdrop of a blistering orange setting sun – and you’ve just conjured up a description of the scene on The Standard’s rooftop. On a Monday. At noon.
The Standard, while not the newest hipster hangout boasting a fancy-pants rooftop pool, has earned its stripes as one of the Meatpacking District’s, or better yet, downtown, hipster hangouts, frequented by the Louboutin-wearing jet set and low-key traveler in pursuit of a luxe getaway alike.
The Urban Dictionary definition of the ‘jet set’ lifestyle is one which involves freely travelling to major cities of the world while always locking down the most expensive accommodation, synonymous with a group of obnoxiously offensive wealthy folk who relocate their Gucci-clad selves from hotel to hotel with an equally repulsive regularity.
While The Standard is, indeed, a destination affectionately referred to as a ‘home-away-from-home’ by fashion’s one percent, the staff, décor and overall vibe at the 18-story boutique hotel is chilled enough to have you feel like you’ve checked into a chic modern resort in Montauk. If that said abode featured a penthouse discotheque with a ‘swimsuits are optional’ saucy plunge pool, sure to incite a hike in the blood pressure of your father visiting from a 32-hour flight from Australia.
When not transformed into a raging rooftop electronic, booze-fuelled dance party, Le Bain, or The Top of the Standard, as the space is more respectfully known during daylight hours, transforms into a sophisticated supper lounge, with the grass-covered outdoor rooftop providing the perfect place to perch with a summer Negroni as you admire the glittering sunset with 45 other of your favorite New York peeps.
Upon returning from a day of hobnobbing about town, you’re free to enjoy The Standard’s hotel rooms, which feature floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows, providing guests with an uninterrupted, private view of New York’s Hudson River – a stark contrast to the on display people-watching hipsters perched in the reception area or at one of the location’s several trendy bars, busy perfecting the art of catching the latest celeb to check in. You’ll barely have time to select an Instagram filter for your #IjustsawaKardashian selfie before you click again on the pins of an equally famous street style blogger and her entourage of photographers, setting off for a day of snapping pictures of themselves performing mundane tasks, soon to go viral through the addition of a $3000-plus bag and heels on the cobblestone streets of MePa.
Our beloved former trendsetter, Madge, enlisted the street cred of a dozen of her closest friends, otherwise known as fellow investors in failed music service, Tidal, to film three-second cameos of themselves dressed in Moschino threads while mouthing the lyrics to her seemingly endless pedestrian dribble, ‘B$tch, I’m Madonna’. Superimposing the face of major hip-hop and pop artists onto a clip deemed ‘exclusive’ for Tidal users for 24 hours, and then floundering in the delivery of such promise, is a bit like being granted guest access to a hotel’s private pool, then being told it’s closed from noon for a private party, for local starving hipsters, for free.
Seeing the faces of either posse carefully curated in one highly conspicuous location, is a vision you would rather not pay for, when any gossip site will happily provide their mug shots from the occasion in compromising positions, online, in a more entertaining hot mess, 12 hours later.
Why Madonna felt the need to create a visual ode to the Billboard Class of 2015, is as baffling as her comprehension that filming the clip at NYC’s arguably hippest hotel would eradicate any viewer’s recollection of her running around a stage with two cones strapped to her chest, 20 years ago. This, however, is an image sadly less pathetic than her dry humping the ground of an elevator in her clip’s chosen location, before strutting about holding a giant cardboard cutout of Nicki Minaj, who was conveniently on tour when the 228 second visual assault was filmed.
If Madonna’s overworked publicist deemed, as a result of her seven interns’ collective research, that transporting Madge, fishnets, lip-syncing six-year olds and all, to The Standard, would inject some much-needed sense of relevance to her otherwise ill-fated third-act twist, then it will pay off in spades, and then some, for you, during your next vacation at the Beyoncé-certified gem.
But please avoid a Madge-inspired elevator twerk or a Solange/Jay-Z TMZ-worthy brawl. If you need the exercise, jump aboard the adjacent High Line walk for a less pap-worthy way to burn the Martini calories.
Because, as Madge should take note, sometimes is better if the world doesn’t know or care who you are.
