I'm okay, Eurotrash

In the cafeteria of the public junior high school I attended, there was a nook called the Red Room--decorated with images of our mascot and painted a scarlet red, meant to reflect spirit and school pride.  Everyone from a certain crowd--the cheerleaders, the jocks--ate in the Red Room.  Junior high school was the pinnacle of stardom for most of them, and this figurative velvet rope only made their glow of popularity burn brighter to those on the outside--you wanted to follow their every move, but first, you had to get past the door.

There is a hotel in Paris so fabulous, just seeing the name in print prickles the very hairs on my neck--Hotel Costes.  Wait, the hairs on the back of your neck didn’t stand up?  Perhaps you pronounced it wrong in your head the first time.  Try saying “OH-tel CUST,” not “Hotel Coast.”  Bien.

The hotel is tony, gorgeous, and doting, yes.  But other hotels in Paris do it better.  It is also exclusive terrain for stars, fashion and music people, and those who are exceedingly rich and beautiful.  And nobody does it better.

I mean there is nothing mock-worthy when it comes to The Costes.

This place just rocks (pretentiously).  From the gorgeous (infamously rude) staff, to the elite (eurotrashy) clientele, to the pool that plays music underwater (allegedly, because who actually swims laps at The Costes?), to the somber lighting that pervades the space (all the better to savor narcotics, my dear).

Coquette seems bitter you say?  Coquette has got her reasons, can’t we just leave it at that?   

KIDDING!  Of course we can’t leave it at that.   Honestly, why would you come here and read this if we were going to leave it at that?

Humiliation à la Costes

We’d started at the Opéra Garnier on a crisp Saturday night in November.  I was taking Kathleen to see Katia Kabanova for her birthday.  We were having a tra la la night in Paris, so we thought, "Let us end with drinks at the Costes!"

10:30 pm I call Hotel Costes to reserve a table.  "We only take reservations for dinner," the hostess tells us.  I ask if there are still tables available at the bar.  "Yes," she responds, "we still have room at the bar."

11:00 pm Our taxi arrives at rue Saint Honoré, a man in a black leather coat walks up to my side of the cab.  Thinking he’s trying to get into the cab with us,  I start to shake my head, “Huh, un Buster.”  Then I look up and see that we are, in fact, just in front of the hotel (the entrance is quite hush hush, you see); I realize the man is, in fact, the valet. 

11:02 pm Instead of entering a spacious, light-filled lobby (The Costes is all about dark, dark, dark), you begin by passing through a tight corridor.  In the corridor, I keep hearing voices just next to me, talking and laughing.  The voices come from left and right, causing me to jerk my head around, only there’s no one else in the hallway.  I realize THEY ARE PLAYING A RECORDING OF PEOPLE AT A COCKTAIL PARTY.

11:03 pm We see the hostess--petite, dressed in black, exquisitely, no cruelly beautiful.  She is the most popular girl in school, just daring you to talk to her.  I swear that she actually looks us up and down.  THANK GOD I WAS WEARING MY GOLD JEAN-MICHEL CAZABATS, (you know the ones I mean), PHEW! 

Me:  Table for two, please?
Hostess:  Sorry, we are complet right now.

Her cheekbones are so chiseled, you get the idea they could cut you.  I give her a huge smile. 

Me:  On n’est pas difficile, on peut attendre.  (We’re not fussy, we can wait).

This was my first big mistake:  I told her we weren’t fussy.  If there’s one thing understood by those who spend time around velvet ropes--NEVER UNDERMINE ONE’S OWN IMPORTANCE IN THE TIME-SPACE CONTINUUM.  “We’re not fussy!”  Jesus.  I might as well have offered to massage the hostess’s scalp and give her a facial, too. 

Hostess:  You can’t wait here.
Me:  Oh, okay.  Can we wait at the bar?
Hostess:  The bar is full too.
Me:  Okay, we’ll just stand at the bar then.

Second Big Mistake:  The Costes is not a standing kind of place.  You lounge.  You sit.  We had betrayed ourselves as amateurs.  Costian newbies. 

Hostess:  I’m sorry, you need to leave. 
Me:  What?
Hostess: sighing Fine, you can come back at midnight. 
Me:  WHAT! 

I started to say something about my call earlier, but the decision was made--she began pointedly ignoring us and ushering in the important looking couple who had just arrived.   

This is where people who have pride would have left. 
 
This is when Kathleen and I decided to use the bathroom.  And all you really need to know is that Kathleen and I stayed in the bathroom a looong time, BECAUSE WE HAD A POW-WOW IN WHICH WE EXCHANGED BLOOD AND DECIDED THAT THERE WAS NO WAY IN HELL EITHER OF US WAS LEAVING THIS HOTEL.  We made a fuss.  We wore them down.  WE. WON. 

Next time you go to The Costes, notice the mirrored wall just to the right of the bar.  While waiting for our table, I kept catching my reflection, and I wasn’t sure I liked this person I saw.  It didn’t bother me that they hadn’t let us right in.  What concerned me was this:  For someone who claimed not to be fussy, why did I make all that fuss?  Do we never grow out of that junior high school desire to belong?  Once we are on the inside, why does it suddenly seem less important?  And why was the voice in my head sounding like Carrie Bradshaw?

Luckily, I didn’t have to look at myself for long--within a few minutes, we had a table, and then there were other things to look at.  The velvet banquettes, my mojito--the powdered sugar swirling, then settling like flakes in a snow-globe--all the beautiful people.  Who maybe were watching us, too. 

Comments

[Jecca]

Ha! Good for you! I'm so tragically unhip that I didn't know people like that hostess even existed outside of movies and faux-snooty commercials. I bet she wouldn't have liked being laughed at and asked, "Are you for real?!"

[Auntie M]

I nearly passed by Hotel Costes my first time and I was looking for it! It is not an obvious entrance, I agree. How was the meal?? Was it worth the effort?

[pismire]

What a great story - and yes, we are all still trying to fit in somewhere, no matter how old we get. And we do realize we have behaved silly once we are on the "other side". It's like a game that never bores us. But someone eventually has to lose.

Oh, and was the bathroom fabulous? Any recordings of women chatting while peeing and primping?

[JP]

Mon dieu - is that dear woman still there? Probably not but they always seem to find another one just like her to take her place.

I ran into her or her twin a few years back when my friend Magda and I decided to stop in late one evening after dinner for drinks. Thankfully, neither M nor I are intimidated by bullies. I immediately went into the overly polite attack mode taught to me by my dear southern grandmother (kill them with kindness dear) and left the front-on attack to my friend Magda who doesn't take anything from pretentious waitstaff.

Once seated we rallied in the afterglow of battle, stayed for one drink and left never to return again.

Did they have recordings of women chatting while peeing?

[Willful Expose']

Poor Coquette! However painful this may have been for you, your writing was great. Very full of life. You have a great blog.

[Flare]

I imagine you camping out in the bathroom with your friend... so classic.

[Marilyn]

If only you could have summoned a waiter to serve your drinks IN the bathroom...that would have shown HER! :) No, my dear, that desire to 'fit in' in even the most ridiculously superificial ways sometimes still rears its ugly head no matter how old we grow. Ah, but life would be so much less interesting if that were not sometimes the case...as your delightful post shows. :)

[Jason Stone]

I went to the Hotel Costes with a female friend of mine this summer. I would never attempt to go there on my own. So, I waited until my super skinny, legs for days, cheeks sucked in from smoking so much, female friend came from the States came for a visit. We were dressed rather fashionably as we had just attended a snobby party around the corner. I thought for sure we would score a good table. The same snotty woman greeted us at the entrance. My first mistake was trying to speak French to her. From my accent, she immediately discerned we were not locals and, also, not well educated. Surprisingly, she began to lead us to a table. We kept walking by areas where I thought it would be fun for us to sit and watch and be watched. But, the hostess kept walking. And walking. And walking. And just before she reached the back exit, she seated us at a table in a tiny room. I sat down and immediately scanned the room for models and celebrities and instead, only found other "unhip" people like ourselves. To add insult to injury, the drinks were like 20 euros a piece.

Never again. (Unless someone else is paying.)

[bluepoppy]

"THEY ARE PLAYING A RECORDING OF PEOPLE AT A COCKTAIL PARTY" -- okay, that part freaked me out.

But didn't you honestly feel once you got into the epicenter of "cool" that it wasn't so great? People trying so hard to be/act/impress suck the oxygen out of a room-- give me a raucous pub any day if it is a good time I want. But oh Coquette-- thank you so much for doing this field research for us-- now I never have to walk the corridor of shame to see the inside of Costes . . I have ridden on your coattails. Merci.

[Mathieu]

Those places are only fun if you go with someone who gets the red carpet treatment, and then you can snub the snubbers to your heart's delight.

Makes you understand why they are so nasty when they can...

Pity THEM, my dear.

[Negroito]

I love that post... You are brilliant , that's it... I mean, the Hotel Costes is really overevaluated in the little world of the parisian fashion victims. After all, all real People - with a big P - are gone for long, the food is without interest... and the place did not change or nearly in months... What is it worth to come twice in such a place ? Now it is good for Ukrainian bimbos :-)

[Gretchen]

Oddly enough, that post only made me want to go to the Hotel Costes despite having never really thought of it before...good story!

[alessandra]

my experience wasn't nearly as bad as yours but i still have no desire to ever go back there. it just isn't that fabulous. and there are so many other places in paris that are . . .

[schuey]

very fine analysis of what you did wrong, i think you are ready for the mathi's, but not yet for the "baron". The mathis is a fine place where you can sit next to Mick Jagger and Yves saint Laurent, while Edouard Bear makes a funny entry. Oh and it has the size of cubicle, making it very intimate...

[Miss P]

I'll have to pass on this one, the Costes is my HQ. Just love this place and miss it so much.

[Alexis Housden]

I am, as I write this to you, grooving to the 8th installement of Stephane Pompougnac's mortifyingly chic and beautiful collection of sounds, that is of course the costes compilations. This should have been your first indicator as to what kind of establishment this was going to be. Whether you wish to belong or not is out of the question, if you act as though you belong and show the staff the same icy treatment they give you, you will earn their respect, Paris just is a, "ma fortune est plus grande que la tienne" kind of place, you simply have to adapt. If you do, you will never endure such snobbery again, you will belong, Costes is the same. The experience is what you make of it, personally I have never had any trouble with the staff of Costes.

[Lesley]

THAT is a beautiful story. I have had myself a couple of sorry encounters at the "cust"...with chic French friends to boot. I've decided on an all-out ban on the place, well, on all of their places. And as they are currently taking over Paris, that is not going to be easy.

I do send some of my customers to the Cafe Marly, however. For the view, for the view!

Lesley

[Albertina]

I seem to remember you had some pictures of black and white cows that i really liked but could not find them. where are they? I am new to the blog experience...

I LOVE la coquette. X

[Amerloque]

Some day you'll grow up and realize that all the posing and posturing was an enormous waste of time. Carrie Bradshaw already "did" Paris and found its romantic charm empty. Why don't you volonteer your time to help homeless people, rally against climate change or find a cure for AIDS.

[Coquette]

It's so hard to find the time in between painting my nails and shopping.

[Marisa]

Bravo, Coquette! I didn't realize that Carrie Bradshaw "doing" Paris meant that it had definitively been "done" and therefore, La Coquette need not "do Paris" also (particularly as you live there)! This may shock Amerloque, but the world's fascination with Paris predates Sex and The City's journey there and will continue long after people have forgotten who Carrie Bradshaw was (love her though, I admit, I did). I am also shocked to learn that popping out to a chic nightspot or splurging on a new pair of shoes negates my activism and volunteer work with the local battered women's shelter. How absurd!

[Monique]

Je suis vraiment desolee pour to experience:)

I've been to the ManRay but at least i was lucky...even if I'm Romanian, my friend who made the arrangements did not forget to tell the PR I am journalist...so they were kind with us, we paid for the mail the champagne was on the house, and i even bumped into David Cronenberg on the toilet hall...

[Samantha75]

YOU TOOK A CAB FROM OPERA GARNIER TO HOTEL COSTES!!!!! Shame on you, no matter how high were your heels that day!

[femibobby]

That is too funny... good for you for sticking it out. I would have shanked miss cheekbones, personally.

[Veronica Fuentes]

excuse me, I dont get all these comments. What is the big deal with Costes? I lived in Paris for 6 years, went there weekly and never saw the place in the way you describe it. Quick lunch, winter sunday afternoons tea, pre-dinner drinks, whatever, there was never some nasty person ruining it for me or impressing us. Alone of with friends, i always comfortably enjoyed the place for its beauty adn atmosphere. Period.

With all due respect, i think most perceptions described here are generated by your own american way of perceiving things you see in Europe. Maybe its different and you're so much more casual than us, that that makes you see places like Costes as something more impressive than it actually is.