Ah, the old days of New York City nightlife: Steve Lewis’s waltz down memory lane with Sherry Cosovic, who (wo)mans the door at Butter on Monday nights, contains some choice quotage. It sounds like the line to get into the joint doesn’t have quite the same pop it used to, according to Cosovic:
“The thing is that people try too hard. They’re not dressing for themselves; everyone just looks the same to me. All these girls. I guess it’s because, and I mean no disrespect, but they’re not from New York … We still have people that come every week that don’t get in, and they’ll wait four hours … It’s like they have no life, they have no fucking life.”
Amen! Why, before Butter opened there were all manner of downtown stylehounds in the neighborhood, milling with the scenesters at such avant-garde “clubs” as the Flophouse and the Mission. But in recent years, such authentic and desirable clientele has been pushed aside by their unsightly Jersey brethren — and anyone else sad enough to spend four hours waiting to get into Butter.
Butter Is Still Better [Good Night, Mr. Lewis]