The latest from Los Angeles Confidential's Editor-in-Chief, Spencer Beck.
Celeb-rating the Serapian Milano boutique on Rodeo Drive with Serapian’s Managing Director, Monica Dastin, and Los Angeles Confidential Associate Publisher Valerie Robles.
It’s not the women In my lIfe… it’s the life in my women. Thank you, Mae West, for the paraphrase, and welcome to our annual Women’s issue. This spring, we celebrate with feverish fun all the gals in LA who enliven our city, from Santa Monica to Silver Lake. First up: our cover star, Kate Beckinsale! Who can resist a beautiful, badass Brit chick with chic for days? Funny. Cheeky. Smart. Complicated. That’s my kind of woman, frankly. (Plus, she smokes when she feels like it. Counterintuitive to today’s Puritanical point of view—I find that sexy.) I can’t stand prissy women, and there are none in my personal or professional life. Thank God. It’s worth lifting the veil once a year and calling out a few of the don’t-mess-with-me dames who help create our magazine every month. Here in LA, our publisher, Alison Miller, is a force to be reckoned with. When I’m not butting heads with her (such is the biz vs. edit model since time immemorial), I do my damnedest to crack her up. As another Kate (Hepburn, that is) once said, “If you can’t laugh, you might as well slit your throat.” Alison gets it! Lovely, talented Ramona Saviss, our deputy editor, keeps everything running, despite my attempts to overwhelm her with endless tasks, both consequential and trivial. Ramona is a model of “can-do” equanimity. I fear at some point she may well snap, but she hasn’t yet. Our VP of creative and fashion, Ann Song, a longtime colleague and friend, is as tough as she is talented. Ann’s obsessive attention to detail and excellence can occasionally irritate the uninitiated. My point of view: When someone is good, who cares? Bring it!
Hanging (with a) ten! Riding the awards season wave at the Weinstein Oscars viewing party with my favorite partner-in-fun, JP Reps’ CEO, Jorge Perez.
I can’t leave out my boss in New York, Chief Editorial and Creative Officer Mandi Norwood. On a personal level, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than hang—couple of drinks in hand—with this other badass, funny-as-hell Brit. Mandi’s laugh is infectious. Professionally, there are some rollicking “Devil Wears Burberry” moments, which I perversely relish (and which Mandi knows I adore). Reminds me of the good old days in publishing. Out of an abundance of caution, I’ll leave our owner and CEO, both women, out of the mix here. I love them too much to provoke their good natures and risk being handed that appropriately colored pink slip for my famously snarky attitude, or “snark charm,” as I prefer to think of it. At the end of the day, women have it all over men. They’re much more sensible, clever—once you figure out how to maneuver all the Venusian obstacles. Even in love. In that regard, I often joke that gay men are impossible (I’m gay). To catch a top-of-the-line mate you have to be handsome, smart, successful, witty, and sexy like a porn star. Oh, and don’t forget a flat stomach! Very important. Women aren’t so shallow. I’m quite certain Georgina Chapman (see “If the Shoe Fits,” page 80), the beautiful and talented designer who also happens to be married to Hollywood mogul Harvey Weinstein, could care less about HW’s stomach. As it should be! Bless her and all women! Okay, off to do some crunches.…