We refer, of course, to the new Standard Hotel in Manhattan’s Meatpacking District. It sticks out like a very tall, very bare sore thumb over the low-slung red brick buildings that in the not so very far off days of yore housed meat packing plants and the odd all-night diner and underground-fabulous club.
Now, the supremely pretentious hotelier Andre Balazs has moved in with this hulking monstrosity that lumbers like a graceless giant over the new Highline park.
The hotel staff are awful: walk into the reception with a smile on your face and gentle inquiry about the best available rate, and you are unceremoniously referred to the hotel’s Website. Not cool.
Also not cool: the tiny lobby with its perfunctory yellows and crumpled whites. Note to designers, the retro-’60s look is dead. Though the truckloads of bridge-and-tunnel types who, judging by the crowd, flock to this place, might think it hip, it’s really about as provocative as “Jonathan Adler for Barnes & Noble.”
Up on the top there’s an oversized lounge that affords an admittedly spectacular view over the Hudson River and the corrupt New Jersey towns beyond.