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"It's a Saturday afternoon, two weeks before Christmas, and the Plaza Hotel is jammed. Tourists in spandex and sneakers are lining up by the busload in the hotel’s lower-level shopping arcade, while one floor above an altogether different — but no less frenzied — scene unfolds.
There, in the ordinarily-fusty environs of the Oak Room, a Champagne-fueled orgy of gyrating jet-setters, lithe gold-spangled dancers and Chanel-sheathed debutantes is taking place. One particularly enthusiastic young man, Gareth Brookes, 29, is triumphantly perched on top of a service station in the center of the room, drinking Veuve Clicquot out of his Tom Ford lace-up shoe....."
Read more of the fantastic article by Carla Spartos here
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