How would you describe your style?
Gay Brooks Brothers.
Where did this outfit come from?
I got the scarf at an Indian store on 23rd Street, and the blue blazer is from a thrift store on Eighth Avenue. It was $10, and it took me $60 to make it wearable. I went through a friend’s closet and took all the ties he doesn’t wear. He used to be a corporate guy, and now he goes to work in jeans.
What do you do?
I’m a doorman at Crobar, in New York and Miami. I’m pretty much in New York now—I live in Chelsea, surprise surprise.
Are you tough?
I hear I have a reputation. Some have referred to me as having a diva attitude.
Hell no! We’re running a business, not a kindergarten. Sometimes you have to make calls that aren’t pleasant. Saying no to people who have an anticipation for an evening does not make you popular.
What keeps someone out of Crobar?
Every doorman has a different list. One guy I work with hates guys in Timberlands—I could care less. For me, I hate athleticwear—like Derek Jeter’s shirt. You’re going to a nightclub, not to a gym. I hate that hairdo that all those Gotti boys are putting out there. Whatever that’s called—the scarecrow, the chicken head. And this thing now of women all looking like tramps, I don’t get that. I hate leg warmers, too.
Tell me a good, crazy door story.
Oh, Lord. There are so many. I’ll give you the most recent one. A woman asked me, “Do transsexuals have to wait?” and I said no. Then I looked at her date, and said, “Did you know about your date?” He looked totally shocked.
Since you work at night, do you sleep all day?
Only on the days that I work. I’m really a broke-ass, unemployed writer. I write about the human condition, which currently isn’t great. Celebrity outranks brains, money outranks taste.
It must be hard to be anti-celebrity at a nightclub.
It’s part of the job. I have nothing against celebrities, it’s their fans that are a problem.