Nightlife in Shanghai

Seems like I missed all the parties last weekend in Hong Kong, with the fabulous Philip Lim being in town for a Lane Crawford warehouse party at The Factory—those are always mighty freakin’ fun. Then there’s HK Quintessentially’s fifth birthday, and they brought top London nightclub Bougis over as pop-up club at The Space, a new extension of The Cat Street Gallery, right by 208 Duecento Otto and across from our offices. DJ Klaus from Bougis spun for the charity party, raising money for the Quintessentially Foundation, the elite concierge service’s philanthropic arm. And I was initially to be on board the White Tiger, the official vessel for Mr. Gay HK 2010 at this year’s Floatilla (Hong Kong’s unofficial floating gay pride. The government won’t let homosexuals party on floats on the streets? Well, here the homos do it HK style—they come out on boats on the sea).

Coincidentally, upon arriving at Four Seasons Shanghai, I was offered a complimentary two-and-a-half hour spa time with a “White Tiger” treatment—cocooned in a white ginseng powder and rice wine tonic wrap, then slathered with hydrating rhubarb and angelica gel, after the therapist coaxed me into doing a series of tai-chi-esque stretches (which I wanted to hate, but I ended up thoroughly relieved of tired post-airplane ride muscles).

First evening of Nightlife consisted of walking the Expo grounds and trying not to lose my cool and scream: “BITCH, PLEASE. DON’T PUSH ME!!!” every 20 steps. The Spain pavilion was an explosion of passionate creativity; you feel the palpable national pride the Spanish have—volunteers were friendly Spaniards who spoke fluent Putonghua. Their grand finale was a cute experiment in surrealism, a giant baby which reminded me of a statue of Buddha. The French pavilion was doorbitched by local Shanghainese dressed like the French, who had on chic berets, striped sailor shirts and an extra layer of RUDE. The pièce de résistance was a Louis Vuitton exhibit at the end, which resulted in 4,790 Chinese being mesmerized by shiny holographic LV logos and blocking the fucking exit. And the Korea pavilion, a marvelous structure intricately composed of Hangul, their national script, was a big middle finger to Japan. Vietnam was a beautiful cathedral of bamboo. Oman rocked with rock formations, Sindbad and fragrant frankincense. Denmark brought a smile to my face—Lego! A lot of thought was put into that pavilion—including having the seawater from Copenhagen Harbor transported with the iconic statue of The Little Mermaid. Not a lot of cultural consideration was taken into account though, when they put up the sign that read: “Dip your toes in the water by the mermaid. Just like how you can in Copenhagen…” Uh, yeah, but no, this ain’t Copenhagen, this is China, and 3,000 peasants are going to dip their filthy feet in without lining up. Silly, happy Danes. Obviously, the Mermaid is now velvet-roped off and a 24-hour security camera has been installed.

The second night, I checked out el Cóctel, Shanghai’s hottest cocktail bar at the mo by Willy of el Willy. Unfortunately, he caught a monstrous flu from Hangzhou over the holiday so I didn’t get to meet him that night (but I just ate on that gorgeous terrace at el Willy, and my parents are now BFFs with him. WTF). Anyway, I had a Wormwood Sliver (an absinthe cocktail with a branch of rosemary) and I was good to GO. I took myself to Shelter, a club set in a dark labyrinthine former bomb shelter. What happens down there stays there!