On a recent evening, Rupert Everett could be found lounging about on one of the Park’s glossy banquettes—which, in this day and age, is good news to that certain breed of New Yorker who lunches on Cosmopolitans and dines on apple martinis. At a time when every hip New York destination continues to go for the dark and minimal, the Park’s splashy retro aesthetic is a welcome standout. The main dining room and bar area is vast and colorful, a sort of Brady Bunch chic, with glazed teal brick walls and a 35-foot dracaena soaring toward a massive sunroof. If it’s too clogged with models and gallerists, head for the Red Room in back, where more models and gallerists (and their bankers) sprawl on kitschy wicker furniture under crimson Chinese lanterns. Adjacent is the Solarium, a glass cube of a lounge with chintzy redwood couches and disco ball, made cozy with a fireplace. But go soon, and early in the week, for as with any place too hip for its own good, we’ve noticed an infusion of path-train pretenders on weekends, searching for that perfect glass of white Zinfandel.