An angle of attack when approaching a doorman is mission critical.
Clubs need shmucks outside playing their Crackberries like violins just as much as they need Persians inside popping bottles as if Great Neck had succeeded from the Union. Following these guidelines will have you inside in no time.
Walk with conviction.
Storm the door as if it were fucking Normandy: head up, chest out, shit-eating grin. Most doormen are like Dobermans; if you approach one with confidence and clout, he will heal. Approach him with a shtickle of doubt, and Aalex Julian (of Tenjune and the Mr. Clean Products) will have you "bent over" eating Kibble.
Have a door story rehearsed and, just as important, keep it as succinct as Twitter. This is a 10 second elevator pitch. Your bullshit doesn’t have to be a great tale, but it needs to be something they haven’t heard before - and must be well presented. For example, the virgin approach: “I’m here +2, I’m on no list, no table whatsoever and I have zero credentials... but it’s my first time and I want to come in and have a few drinks. Can you accommodate me?” Doormen are often taken so off guard by this honest approach that they can’t fire back with a comeback-worthy reply. More often than not I’ve found this to be a prudent tactic.
Exuberate some fucking humor.
For a doorman, standing outside 5x per week can get mundane. Most of these professionals know the ropes (literally) and your job is to play double-dutch. If you’ve got some smooth shtick or a funny joke about what some rope-rejected bimbette is wearing - use it. Not only will it act as a breezeway catalyst but it’ll make you more recognizable to door staff for future visits.
A slight head nod is often appropriate to our earpiece-imperious intimidators; but unless you’re coo-de-la with “Tenacious Tyrone” muscling the venue, keep it subtle and stay in your element. Just because you had a WuTang-themed Bar Mitzvah doesn’t mean you’d be welcome at the Apollo Theater.
Scrutinize your posse.
Ask yourself the following questions: A) Are there at least two “XX” for every “XY” chromosome? B) Would your doorman or roommate give you the silent thumbs up if the worst looking girl in your group came home with you at 4 a.m.? C) Would Eliot Spitzer pay to have any of your women ruin his political career? Or D) Are the girls’ physical assets as toxic as Courtney Love’s vital organs? If you answered “no” to the afore questions, go home and trim the fat on your BBM roster.
Dress the part.
This is not Boston, it’s New York. The “fighting Irish” image won’t even work for Colin Farrell in this city. Whatever look you’ve cultivated, put yourself together.
Don't Level Jump.
Just because Wass Stevens lets you into “Avenue” one night, doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with you a week later. Eye contact and a confident smile is mandated, but don’t go so far as to reach in for a man hug like you’re Jeremy Piven. Additionally, an uninitiated handshake is not advised. Like security, doormen do not like to be touched.
Don't over-extend yourself.
You’re not a promoter - you bathe. Make sure your human capital is less than six in total keeping the 2:1 ratio in mind. Any more in your group will make you look like you just stepped off a party bus from Staten Island.
Don't wait around.
The moment the doorman ignores you, you’ve been branded as “outside rope-rat real estate.” The club is currently using you as an exterior seat-filler. Now your likelihood of waiting indefinitely is as high as Adam Goldstein’s toxicology report.
Don't roll with liabilities.
If one of your “gallop girls” still drinks like she’s pledging SDT at Hofstra, send the slop back to Syosset. The last thing you need is one of your crew-members throwing up on Noah Tepperberg’s bald head. Advise the Long-Island-loon to regurgitate as per her normal schedule, right after meals.
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The comments stated in this column are Justin Ross Lee's personal opinions and do not represent the opinion of Clubplanet.com or any one of its parent companies.