I feel like celebrities don’t party like they used to. I could be wrong. But now, we all have smartphones in our pockets. Such devices can snap pictures and upload them to the internet where they can be viewed by millions in mere seconds. I wouldn’t want to be caught at my worst drunken moments either. Esquire contributor Stinson Carter bartended at Hollywood’s legendary Chateau Marmont hotel in the 2000s. As he mixed martinis for the stars while trying to make it as a screenwriter, he got a front-row seat to a rip-roaring era of fame before hyper-curated grid posts were a thing. He documented his experiences, including an eventful run-in with Robert DeNiro, in the story below. —Chris Hatler, deputy editor
|
|
|
|
I worked behind the bar at L. A.’s hottest hangout in the 2000s. For over a decade, I thought I was one shift away from my big break.
|
The Chateau Marmont first opened as a luxury apartment building in 1929 but sold after the stock market crash and became a hotel in 1932. It grew into a pied-à-terre for actors, writers, and directors; a clubhouse for industry insiders; a singular place in Hollywood history. The cast of Rebel Without a Cause rehearsed in a Chateau Bungalow. Writers Joan Didion and Eve Babitz chronicled its cultural significance. Rock legends like Robert Plant and Jim Morrison held lengthy residencies. John Belushi famously died there in the early ’80s. To this day, no hotel in Hollywood, in the world, can surpass the Chateau’s if-these-walls-could-talk aura.
But as I stood poolside on the night of Thursday, May 2, 2002, I wondered if this was still the nexus of Hollywood. Clearly, I had not yet learned the first rule of Los Angeles nightlife: The cooler you are, the later you show up.
First came the sound of slamming car doors on Marmont Lane, then the blitzkrieg of flashing cameras from shouting photographers. Within ten minutes, I was in the middle of the hottest party in the world that night: “Tell No One.”
|
|
|
|
It’s officially that time of year. The days are long, the sun is beating down, and a giant segment of the male population has become obsessed with wearing linen.
This is understandable. For decades, linen has been held up as the one warm-weather fabric that really matters, the only way to keep cool and breezy when the dog days arrive. If you believe the lore, once you put on a linen, well, anything, you’ll be transformed into an unfussed paragon of summer style. No sweat.
There’s a lot of truth to that, but it’s not the whole story. While linen absolutely has advantages come summertime—it wicks moisture, helps regulate temperature, dries faster than cotton, and looks better than synthetics—it has its limitations too.
|
|
|
|
This year has been a scorcher, and we’re not just talking about the 102-degree weather during the Fourth of July. The year has been a rocky one for Hollywood as the cracks in the streaming wars threaten to burst the whole dam wide open. Massive studio acquisitions, layoffs, the ever-looming threat of AI—yet, quality television carries on.
The show of the year is, without question, Widow’s Bay. The Apple TV phenom from Kate Dippold broke out big time with an always-on-point Matthew Rhys anchoring the show’s hurricane of humor and horror and a revelatory Kate O’Flynn as its MVP. Personally, I’m still laughing at “Ow! My sciatica!” Perfect delivery, perfect timing, perfect show.
Unpredictable as the industry may be, there’s still quality television to add to our queues. Here’s what Esquire’s editors say are some of the best TV shows of 2026 (so far) that you need to watch.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Take our quick survey and help shape a smarter, sharper Esquire experience—for you and everyone else reading along.
|
|
|
|
|
No comments:
Post a Comment