COUP BOSTON SPRING 2012

SPrING ����

THE DÉBUT ISSUE

BrILLIANT

BEGINNINGS

Spring's boldest colors & gutsiest prints

THE MAKING

Of A HOT SPOT

Chef Will Gilson's wild ride

coach class

Inside the South Shore home of Bill Belichick & Linda Holliday

sECrETS & LIES

Why Bostonians lie about their plastic surgery

GONE rOGUE

Sleek menswear takes to the streets of Southie

LAND ROVER NORWOOD 9 NEPONSET STREET NORWOOD, MA 02062 781.619.9000 LANDROVERNORWOOD.COM

94 CENTRAL STREET WELLESLEY, MA P 781.237.7010 W GRETTASTYLE.COM

CONTENTS & DEPARTMENTS

�� ARMOIRE GARDEN PARTY

Unapologetically bold spring looks, shot on location in the Boston Design Center.

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR The Boston revolutioN

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COUP DE GRÂCE A DIFFErENT STrIPE

Couture may line her closet, but

Alli Achtmeyer’s rarest accessory

is her relentlessly good attitude. �

NEST A NEW TUrN OF EVENTS

Switch up your living space with

today’s reinvented swivel chairs.

�� ABODE play time

Inside the South Shore home of

Bill Belichick and Linda Holliday. �� VANITY why do bostonians lie about their plastic surgery?

Plenty have had it, but most won't admit it—

even when the results are as plain as the

(reconstructed) nose on your face.

�� SOCIETY THE FrONT rOW

Who's wearing what, why, where, and how.

�� OBSCURA NOTES FrOM BOSTON'S LIFESTYLE UNDErGrOUND

What the Together festival, Mary Katrantzou,

and Upstairs on the Square all have in common.

�� WANDERLUST MISSION: DELECTABLE

Can a weekend cooking class in one of

New England’s most exclusive kitchens

make a food-agnostic traveler into a

culinary wizard?

�� ARMOIRE

UrBAN mYTHS The male of the species, armed with pieces that

finally pull him completely together, hits the

byways of Southie— geared up in everything

from all-knowing suits to high-end streetwear.

�� TABLE the making of a hot spot

The wild ride behind chef Will Gilson's

forthcoming restaurant.

�� COUP D�ÉTAT RISK And reward

Who knew the Radisson Hotel could become the

city’s new destination? Apparently, Simon Mais. �

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

Alexandra Hall Editor-in Chief Joseph Gordon Cleveland Creative Director Austyn Ellese Mayfield Managing Editor Miguel Flores Gaydosh Graphic Designer Coco Knudson Social Media Manager Michael Blanding Editor-at-Large MICHAEL TrOTMAN Copy Editor Contributing Writers Katherine Bowers Amanda Hark Jolyon Helterman Erin Murray Brigid Nastasia Jeffrey Osborne Lisa Pierpont Janine Stafford Dani WageneR Contributing Photographers Joel Benjamin Daniel Bleckley Conor Doherty Tim Gilman Tristan Govignon eric levin Bob Packert Jessica Weiser Editorial Interns Kelsey Beando OLIVIA CArTLAND Shanique Fowlkes Jordan Petrie alexa robertiello Lisa Baker Sales & Marketing Director Public Relations Consultants Cristina Moniz Nicole Russo

alexandra hall looking better than usual thanks to photographer jessica weiser.

THE BOSTON EVOLUTION

When is a Coup needed? The answer lies in its definition.

Webster’s calls it a highly effective, unexpected stroke or act.

A clever action or accomplishment. Or a successful revolution.

Boston has never been a stranger to great revolutions, and now once again the tide’s risen — this time what’s at stake isn’t just quality of life, but quality of lifestyle. We’re a city writhing with innovation and vision, and increasingly with white-hot talent, adventurousness, and bona fide style. But until now, none of it has had a point of connection. This magazine is the community for those kindred spirits.

Coup is the first word on living well in Boston, never the last — an ongoing conversation in which the fashion, home décor, dining, beauty, and travel worlds that have always been taken for granted in this town get questioned, turned on their heads, and reintroduced as something completely new. We’re determined not to simply echo trends, but to either create or redefine them, always from a sophisticated-but-fun perspective.

Our pages (like our readers) brim with intelligence and complexity, but are also tinged with rebellious spirit — a willingness to push ahead, and upend the local status quo. Above all, we’re for Bostonians who love their town enough to keep changing it for the better.

So when is a Coup needed? Never more than right now.

Read on.

Alexandra Hall Editor-in-Chief

alex@coupboston.com COUPBOSTON.COM

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A STUDY IN CONTRAST Achtmeyer in the hallway of her Beacon Hill home; (far right) in her lacquerblue living room. ďż˝

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � COUP DE GRÂCE

A DIFFErENT STrIPE

Couture may line her closet, but philanthropist-cum-style dynamo Alli Achtmeyer’s rarest accessory is her relentlessly good attitude.

BY Alexandra Hall �� PHOTOGRAPHS BY JOEL BENJAMIN

Y

ou just don’t hear the term ‘cheerful fashionista’ very often — except maybe as an oxymoron. And yet, Alli Achtmeyer may be its walking, talking paragon. “When I first moved here, it was a complete shock to see that not everyone was walking around drunk on sunshine the way they are where I grew up,” says the SoCal native turned Beacon Hillite. “But then I started to appreciate Boston’s lack of phoniness. Now when I go back West, I wonder why everyone’s smiling at me.”

Her own warmth — as witnessed by her indefatigable philanthropic work (as chair of UNICEF’S Children’s Champion Award Dinner and a trustee at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, among a slew of other projects) — is about as genuine as it gets.

Ditto her style cred, which comes via a smattering of experience in catering, interior design consulting, and event planning at her private firm, Style Alli.

But the latter’s been sent to the back burner at the moment, while she puts together what she calls a “coffee table entertaining and photography book” — of the ilk she worshipped as a child.

“This has been in my brain since I was young. Martha Stewart’s Entertaining was revolutionary for me,” she insists. “I would sketch out fashion, stylish travel, stylish home design, you name it. Style is an umbrella term that encompasses all those things.”

Not the least of which is her laudable evening wardrobe.

“I grew up in Catholic school, so I find having a sort of seasonal uniform for daytime easy and not stressful. I recommend it for everyone. But,” she adds, “then when I go out at night, I think of myself as costume-y. So by day, I’m just good ol’ me, then for evening, out comes my dramatic side.”

Said drama plays out primarily in her juxtaposition of the masculine and feminine. “I’ve always played with androgyny in my clothes,” she says. “I don’t put on anything feminine without adding something masculine. My body is tall and lanky; I’ve always thought I look like a surfer dude from far away. So that kind of look suits me.” Hence her predilection for that king of all image-makers, Ralph Lauren —himself a proponent of women’s evening collections infused with masculine elements. “I’ve worn sexier versions of tuxes to formal events since my early 20s,” she explains. “I love a smoking jacket with heels, slicked-back hair, and lipstick.”

When not flipping through racks in the Lauren boutique, she can be found doing the same at Serenella (“for those harderto-find pieces”) or Neiman Marcus. Favorite designers include Hermès for tailored luxury, Lanvin’s cocktail dresses, Céline (“for exquisite simplicity”), and vintage Yves Saint Laurent.

Looming large on her radar screen for spring: color, color, and yet more color. “That’s the Cali girl in me,” she says. “I can’t get enough tangerine, hot fuchsia, or citrus yellow. I have no problem buying that up, because I’ll always use it.” One spring trend she can’t abide? “Print on print on print,” she says. “It looks sloppy,” she issues. “I’m all for fashion risks, but that only goes so far. And risk for risk’s sake makes no sense.”

Oh, and one last cavil, which she applies liberally to any and all seasons: “I don’t always like the fashion industry for all those scowls along the runway,” she says. “Good manners, a smile, and confidence are the markers of true style.”

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � NEST

A New Turn of Events

Today’s reinvented, sexy swivel chairs are the sharpest way to switch up your living space.

BY Jeffrey Osborne & Amanda Hark

T

hey’re back, and back big. And where their ancestors once conjured up visions of tacky cruise ship lounges and bad hotel lobbies, the new designs carry finish options that run from leather to linen and stainless steel to blackened bronze.

It isn’t easy to find design solutions that function in multiple ways—for formal conversation, say, plus television viewing, and as a play zone for young gamers. What makes a good-looking swivel chair such a find is that it can rotate to watch Netflix, but also look formal when flanking a fireplace or cocktail table. And when chosen well, it also offers visual relief to a room full of rectangles created by sofas and coffee tables, consoles and carpets . And the excellent designs are definitely out there: Take Flexform’s sublime and new Italian ‘Guscioalto’ version, created by Antonio Citterio. The base comes in several metal finishes, as well as wood. Flexform’s meticulous detail in construction is obvious, as is its fine materials. (The down-filled cushions use sumptuous, triple washed-down feathers that last decades.)

Another high-end swiveler is the aptly named Shrimp.

Produced by COR, its segmented back is offered in either painted finishes or wood veneer, to contrast with either leather or fabric. It’s an ideal statement piece alongside the clean lines of a sofa, or as an anchor to a space that calls for an aesthetically pleasing, functional objet d’art.

The Walter Knoll Bao swivel lounge chair is equally eye-catching, thanks to its sensual scoop back. Just released at the Cologne show, it was designed by the Vienna-based design trio, EOS. With gorgeous saddle leather on the back and fabric on the seat, it combines sleek materials for a silhouette that would work well in a contemporary or transitional setting.

For larger-scale transitional spaces, don’t bypass the Bel Aire Club chair—part of the Cameron Collection by George Cameron

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Nash. It’s the brainchild of the Dallas-based designer and his long-time partner, Mark Williams, and is all clean lines and comfort. And speaking of cozy, Minotti’s new Martin swivel chair has down-wrapped seating structure with a slightangle to it that’s so comfy, it creates a womb-like feel.

Then there’s the latest from the duo Markus Jehs and Jürgen Laub, designed for Knoll. Its large proportions and elegant form make it perfect for relaxing, napping, or curling up with a book or iPad. Or, of course, simply just staring at, and admiring.

Jeffrey Osborne and Amanda Hark are the duo behind

hark+osborne interior design 46 waltham street, boston, ma (617) 270-7095 // hpluso.com

THE ROSTER Exact prices within any given range are dependent upon materials and finishes. � Guscioalto chair by Flexform, starting at ��‚���, at Showroom. � Shrimp lounge chair, ��‚��� to ��‚���, at Montage. � Bao chair by Walter Knoll, pricing starts at ��‚���, at M�L. � Martin swivel club chair by Minotti, ��‚��� to ��‚���, at The Morson Collection. � Jehs + Laub lounge chair from Knoll, from ��‚��� to ��‚���, at Addo Novo.

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TWO TO TANGO Corte and Rodriguez, having just returned from Argentina; (far right) Corte's native Buenos Aires.

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

PARTNER SPOTLIGHT

BRINGING IT HOME

Boston-based fashion designer Daniela Corte is known for doing nothing by halves. So when she recently jetted off to her native Argentina with her creative director Ricardo Rodriguez in search of treasures to stock her Newbury Street store, it was no mere buying trip. It was a sartorial expedition.

PORTRAIT & INTERIOR PHOTOGRAPHS BY ERIC LEVIN

D

aniela Corte is feeling a little dizzy at the moment, and not merely thanks to the vertigo-inducing view from her 11th-floor suite hovering over a wide slice of Buenos Aires, Argentina. “I haven’t slept in at least 24 hours,” she sighs, gratefully sipping her espresso. “We’re the walking dead,” says Corte’s creative director (and dear friend), Ricardo Rodriguez, who’s come with her on the buying trip. “We went from a red-eye to the hotel, and have had back-to-back meetings all day.”

Traipsing about in a chartreuse top and pink jeans (both her own designs), Corte futzes with her shoes (five-inch Balenciagas), which, tired as she might be, certainly aren’t coming off any time soon. “We’ve got to get back out there and meet more,” she urges — by which she means with more belt buckle and leather artisans, denim designers, and Lycra manufacturers, just for starters. After all, the pair is here on its twice-per-year mission: to ferret out excruciatingly beautiful clothes and accessories to fill up her new store back in Boston. “We look at everything, but only bring home things that are really interesting and unseen,” says Corte, “and that mix extremely well with what we create.”

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ny Bostonian who didn’t just fall off of a Duck Tour already knows all about Corte. About her eponymous, Boston-based clothing line.

About her ridiculously impeccable appearance (she works out at least two hours per day). About her collections that have thus far managed to steal the spotlight at every Boston Fashion Week she’s shown at.

Yes, that much we all know. What most probably don’t know is that she’s now aiming that laser-like sense of taste outside of her own demicouture label, and dipping a perfectly manicured toe into the waters of retail.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

Walk into her new Newbury Street retail space, and you’ve entered into a world of her clothing designs (edited from her upstairs made-to-measure studio) and swimwear splashed with her own original patterns, all paired with the things she personally loves to wear them with. There are lustrous, delicate earrings by Catalina de La Torre, and funky rope belts (think nautical by way of Miami) by de La Torre especially for Corte. Nearby might be hanging pieces by Argentine designer Jessica Trosman, whose funky, Demeulemeesterlike tops are killer paired with Corte’s sleek and prim pencil skirts. To the right of that, you might just find delicate pillows by local designer Fernanda Bourlot for Simplemente Blanco; to the left, you’re faced with nothing less than a one-of-a-kind rubberized, handstitched harness by Argentine designer Tramando, “They’re just things we fall in love with,” says Rodriguez. “What we buy and wear ourselves, we sell too, simply because we love it.”

And while the point is to mix it all up and wear it together, Rodriguez’s quip is the true unifying element of the entire store. “It’s the best pieces we find, but all through the lens of our taste. Everything is handpicked because it’s the best, and we just can’t not have them.

The best way to know if something should be in the store or not is if we want it ourselves.”

None of which is to say that buying internationally for Boston can’t be tricky; it is, after all, a very different, definitively less daring place than Buenos Aires in its traditions and taste. Rubberized harnesses —no matter how meticulously handmade — are hardly guaranteed to fly off shelves in a city that brought Talbots to the world. To Corte and Rodriguez, however, that’s more than worth the risk.

“We’re bringing home designs that we believe Boston can appreciate, even if some of it is taking chances,” Corte says enthusiastically. “I wouldn’t be true to myself if I did anything else.” And in fact, her current spring/summer collection is dedicated to just that notion. ‘Quiéreme o déjame,’ it’s titled, which translates literally to: ‘Love me or leave me.’

“Sometimes you have to do or buy or wear things just because you want to,” she adds. “Fashion is about risks, and loving what you’re doing.”

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TALKING SHOP Corte's Newbury Street boutique; (above left) On the streets of Buenos Aires. ��

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � SOCIETY

THE FRONT ROW // REISS SPRING FASHION SHOW Who's wearing what, why, where, and how Beyond the stacks of cashmere cable-knit sweaters, steps away from the pitter patter of L.L. Bean gummy boots, there’s another dimension in Boston: a world dazzling with fashion fanatics shod in sequined high-tops, wrapped in military sheaths, and topped with ruby-red fedoras. They strut the streets with master’s degrees tucked away in patent leather clutches, IPO contracts clenched in skull-ring-dotted hands, all while walking Maltese puppies adorned with a neon pink bow. With a lifetime pass to Boston’s glitziest gigs, these are the men and women we call The Front Row. Is there a seat with your name on it?

BY LISA PIERPONT �� PHOTOGRAPHS BY DANIEL BLECKLEY

Nicolle Saylor || Janis Joplin, Bianca Jagger, Kate Moss, Coco Chanel, and Lana Del Rey. Quite the range of fashion icons, to be sure, but Nicolle Saylor counts them all as hers.

Then again, a mix that eclectic sounds about right coming from a San Paolo, Brazil-born photographer who jets everywhere from Finland to Uruguay shooting rock concerts. “I realized capturing beauty, style, and personality made me really happy,” she says. At Reiss, Saylorchose pieces characteristic of her “rocker-gypsybohemian chic”: a sequin dress snatched up for 20 bucks at Urban Outfitters (“I’m a bargain hunter”), Jeffrey Campbell booties, a blouse by local designer Helena Martin, and a $5 vintage hat from a yard sale (“I just think hats are charming!”). When she’s not snapping pics, Saylor shreds the floor at ballroom and Latin classes. Just more proof of her fiery approach to life: “Live with passion. To fail is not to try.”

Steven Kareem || “Well, why not?

Why not a skirt that’s a kilt that’s called a ‘sport kilt’?” asks Steven Kareem, who scored the piece during a trip to Oakland, California. Kareem, cofounder of UrbanFresh—a vanguard of stylists, personal shoppers, and social activists hellbent on dressing Bostonians in modern, democratic style —credits the Roxbury neighborhood where he grew up for developing his aesthetic. “It was tough, but it taught me individuality and how to stand strong in the midst of adversity,” he says. “The Civil Rights movement had figures that I adopt style from— Malcolm X, The Black Panthers, and the artists of the Harlem Renaissance.”

Aside from the kilt, Kareem (who, by the way, is also a trained chef and graduate of Le Cordon Bleu) donned a 1952 German military bomber jacket, his grandfather’s favorite hat, and a gas mask. “Everyone was asking, ‘why the gas mask?’” he says. “Back when I was in the U.S. Army, we never went anywhere without that. It’s a statement of my rebel way of living.”

Jeannie Christensen || “I want to be the director of strategy for a kickass technology start-up.” Bam. Jeannie Christensen has spoken. Don’t be fooled by the casual, slouchy satchel: Her favorite quote is, “Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.” (Thank you, William Blake.) And it’s a perfect nod to her self-described hobby of “mischief in all forms.” Growing up, the Detroit native dreamed of becoming a dancer in music videos. “I was in the dance studio about four to six hours a day. It was my passion,” she says. These days, she’s chasing down her directorial ambitions as a marketing specialist at a high-tech firm. For the Reiss event, Christensen chose a BCBG military trench, AllSaints Spitalfields top, and Levi's skinny jeans — all typical, she says, of her eccentric elegance. “I push boundaries with my style, but still like to remain somewhat under the radar,” she says. “It’s easier to be truly subversive if you don’t have face tattoos or something.”

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BARN THIS WAY The Winvian's grounds teem with herb and vegetable gardens kept by its chefs. ��

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � WANDERLUST

MISSION: DELECTABLE

Can a weekend cooking class in one of New England’s most exclusive kitchens make a food-agnostic traveler into a culinary wizard? michael blanding hits the road for a truly transformative meal.

L

et’s get one thing straight: I’m no foodie. My ideal meal is a rice and bean burrito con todo, preferably from Taqueria Cancun in San Francisco’s Mission District. I’d happily eat it five nights a week. So it wasn’t without irony that I found myself driving through the hills of western Connecticut on my way to take the Winvian Resort’s signature cooking class. Ironic, sure. But I had good reason: A few years ago, I had one of the most superlative meals of my existence there.

The glorious food made by chef Chris Eddy is a big part of what makes the Winvian one of New England’s most exclusive resorts, and that meal — exquisite mouthfuls that perfectly balanced the flavors of salty sea urchin and citrus; foie gras and drunken cherries — lingers in my memory. So years later, when I heard that the resort had started offering private cooking lessons with its chefs, I hit the road immediately.

It may be touted for its luxury, but the Relais & Châteaux property first strikes guests with something much more basic: silence. Shrouded by wooded conservation land on all sides, Winvian's 20 cottages are nestled in isolation, stars spattered across its night sky like flecks on the shell of a quail egg. Each cottage is a fantasy made real: one a tree house that actually sways in the breeze; another a beaver lodge with a bed built of birches; yet another with an actual Sikorsky helicopter crashed through the middle of it. My cottage, “Library,” is filled with two floors of books, its plush leather furniture arranged before a fieldstone fireplace.

Housed in the resort’s original 18th century farmhouse, the restaurant is a collection of intimate dining rooms with exposed beams and antiques, containing only a few tables in each. I take a seat close to a fireplace to browse the menu, and whatever anti-foodie pretensions I may have are swept away in the procession of dishes that follows.

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As the meal unfolds, the most memorable creation is also one of the simplest — an appetizer of scallops in yuzu and orange blossom. The tartness of the citrus paired with a fragrant, floral essence nicely wraps around the sweet meatiness of the scallops.

My appetite officially whetted, I’m excited to arrive the next morning in the resort’s test kitchen, a cavernous homage to stainless steel, to start cooking myself. Sous chef Patrick Espinoza, an affable Ecuador-born gastronome, gives me a tour, which includes a stroll through the impressive indoor herb garden he grows in back. Under fluorescent lights grow arugula, baby kale, cilantro and shangiku, a fragrant Japanese herb I recognize from that magnificent scallop dish in last night’s dinner.

Given the elaborate meals I’ve had in the Winvian’s dining room, I’m disappointed at first to learn we’ll only be making pasta during the class. (Even I know how to boil water and toss in spaghetti, after all.) But as chef Espinoza demonstrates how to prepare dough from scratch, I realize this is an entirely different proposition. After kneading the dough until it’s firm as a softball, Espinoza instructs me in feeding it through a pasta machine, and meticulously cranking the settings down until it comes out in translucent sheets.

After cutting it into squares, he spoons a mix of butternut squash and ricotta onto each, making a little nest with his fingers. Then he cracks an egg and shuttles the yolk quickly back and forth between his hands until the white disappears. As I follow his movements, I’m convinced I’ll break my yolk, but I manage to carry it safely and set it down on my nest of fillings, then gently press another square on top to make a large ravioli — or technically a raviolo, since it will come just one to a plate — to be quickly cooked, so the yolk is still runny.

We walk through how to form a slew of pasta shapes — bowties, hand-cut fettuccine, cigar-shaped “pici” among them — before Espinoza produces a new ball of dough for gnocchi. Made with potatoes, it’s soft and yielding, and needs to be rolled almost tenderly to keep its shape. For the sauce, chef leads the way to the stove where large oyster mushrooms sit beside giant hen-of-the-woods, Gaudi-esque monstrosities that look like giant growths of seaweed. He throws them into a pan and my stomach does a giddy somersault as the smell of garlic, butter, and mushrooms fills the kitchen.

While the flavors meld over the flames, I ask Espinoza about the kitchen’s philosophy, and he confirms my suspicions that simplicity has a crucial role in all of this. “Some chefs like to put a lot of stuff on the plate,” he says, spooning butter repeatedly over the sizzling mushrooms. “We respect the ingredients and try to work with just two or three things at once. It’s a really simple, clean flavor.”

And a delicious one, I think, as he guides the gnocchi onto a dish so I can taste it.

The earthy flavor of the mushrooms is coaxed out perfectly with a hint of truffle oil.

The real payoff, though, comes a half-hour later, when I’m seated back in the restaurant for lunch, sunlight pouring through the windows, the resort’s idyllic grounds rolling out before me, and merlot breathing in my glass. The first dish that arrives is my very own raviolo, lightly dressed in a brown butter sauce.

I cut into the firm buttery shell, and the yellow yolk oozes out to knit together pasta and sauce. There's just enough bite from the saltiness of the cheese to balance the richness of the filling, and I can’t help smiling as I wash it down. This might not be the best meal of my life, I think, but it may just be the best I've ever made.

winvian resort, 155 alain white road, morris, ct (860) 567-9600 // winvian.com

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � WANDERLUST

STARTING FRESH CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT Hen-of-the-woods mushrooms, used in Chef Espinoza's gnocchi; a farm egg is the surprise ingredient in the kitchen's raviolo; micro herbs grown in the restaurant's kitchen.

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WILL

TO

Opening your first restaurant can be so tumultuous, you’ve got to be a force of nature to survive. Chef Will Gilson — after years of pop-up restaurants and working on the line for others — is finally on the cusp of commanding his own hotspot.

Here’s how, in under six months, he’s gone from (almost) nothing to (almost) everything, back to (almost) nothing, and then back to everything. Almost.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � TABLE

SUCCEED

BY Alexandra Hall PHOTOGrAPHS BY JOEL BENJAMIN

Quick change artist “Things basically went from, ‘My boat has no rudder’ to, ‘I need to build a bigger boat,” says Gilson. ��

it's all in the wrist Gilson’s tattoo is equal parts body art and imperative statement.

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t’s usually a soiled blue apron, but tonight it’s a suit. Will Gilson is gussied up not because it’s the opening party for his big new restaurant (that would probably mean jeans and an ironic T-shirt), but because it’s the night that will decide the fate of his big new restaurant’s opening.

In a fluorescent-lit, basement room in the corner of the Michael J. Lombardi Building in Cambridge, Gilson and his band of partners are here on a frigid March evening, lined up in seats beneath a perfunctory, suspended ceiling. They’ve come out for a licensing hearing that will decide if bridgestreet (lowercase b intentional), their new proposed Inman Square eatery, will open adequately armed to become the neighborhood’s hottest new restaurant. Meaning, with wine and beer.

The room is nearly full. A stenographer and three board members preside at the front of the room. Gilson sits still and silent in his jacket and lavender button-down, his Technicolor garden tattoo nowhere in sight, but signature beard scruffy as ever. He’s flanked by his soon-to-be general manager Chris Yorty, plus investors Mingtai Huh, Nick Vantzelfde, and their attorney, Sean Hope.

“This represents a longtime dream of Chef Gilson,” says Hope, rattling off his history as a line cook at Oleana and Garden at the

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Cellar. “It will primarily be a high-end restaurant,” he adds in an effort to soothe abutters’ concerns. “The whole building has been renovated since the previous licensee, so it’s now become suitable for a residential [area].”

But the neighbors are having little of it. One woman stands up to cavil about bridgestreet’s predecessor, which she contends filled the back alley with stinky trash and cigarette smoke from wait staff late at night. She lobbies for a closing at the new restaurant of 10 p.m. on weekdays, 11 p.m. on weekends. “It’s tough, because I know you guys have this dream. But the dream of most of the residents, at one a.m., is to get a full night’s sleep.”

Gilson listens patiently, and then explains that he and his partners have leased a separate indoor space next door specifically to store trash far away from residents. The neighbors seem unmoved.

Then up steps City Councilor (and ex-Cambridge Mayor) Ken Reeves, with nothing less than a full-fledged speech to deliver. “As we become this epicenter of innovation, we get compared to other cities,” he begins. “And here we have to believe that there is something called nightlife, and people live it.” It isn’t just the hours he’s arguing for, however, but the team itself: “I saw Chef Will take what was a vacant restaurant and turn it into Garden at the Cellar— a fine dining spot where there has never been a complaint. His food isn’t good,” he says, pausing for effect. “It’s incredible.” Then he turns to the room’s dissenters. “To the neighbors,” he says, not without admonition, “You’re about to have a treat.”

That argument ultimately wins the day. Fifteen more tense minutes of back and forth go by, and the committee delivers its verdict: a wine and malt license subject to a six-month review.

Roughly half the room breathes an audible sigh of relief.

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pening a restaurant is always a dance with many temperamental partners and ungainly moves: There’s the Political Tango; the Alcohol Licensing Hoop Jump; the Menu Concept Booty Drop; the Construction Deadline Running Man; the P.R. Hustle. All of them, performed on the shaky stage of financial backing.

In fact, it’s not a little ironic that the very places where the public goes to kick back and de-stress over great food and drinks are also some of the most stressful businesses to run — and often a complete and utter bitch to open. That’s why few restaurants, save McDonald’s, ever launch on time. Even so, Gilson’s crusade is singular on several fronts. For starters, he’s doing it in almost no time, with what started as a last-minute fire sale late this past December, when he and his partners swept in and bought a restaurant on the brink of financial ruin, when its owner wanted out immediately.

But compounding all of those factors is that this is Gilson’s first bona fide restaurant. He’s spent years working for other people — first Chef Charles Draghi at Marcuccio’s as a teenager, then Ana Sortun, chef-owner at Oleana, and then as chef for Garden at the Cellar. Simultaneously, he played pop-up king, starting temporary restaurants all over the region before finally

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steeling himself to open his own place right around the corner from his alma mater, Oleana.

And yet, as inevitable as his opening may now seem, he’s still on tenterhooks. “Restaurants have such a high amount of risk,” he says. “You’ve got to be enamored of the business to get into it.”

The fact is, for every restaurant that seems to just magically open, ready to serve us up unforgettable food and joviality, there’s an army of professionals who’ve struggled with red tape, money, zoning — and sometimes themselves — to birth it. “The hardest thing about what I’m doing right now is that I’ve never felt so prepared to do anything, yet it feels so much harder than anything ever could,” says Gilson. “Because every which way you turn, there’s some kind of roadblock.”

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ack in January, Gilson found himself up against the wall. Or, rather, up against the wall with a magic marker. Soon after buying the restaurant, he stood scribbling options for a name all over the dining room’s brick-hued walls. Finally he settled on bridgestreet — an abbreviation for its Cambridge Street address — before he and his partners learned that another restaurant would be opening up nearby around the same time, with a name that also has ‘bridge’ in it. So back to the wall he went — before eventually landing back on bridgestreet. “Maybe we can convince them to go with ‘Left Bank’ instead,” Yorty had said. “It is a French place.”

Such problems demanded immediate solutions, and there were significantly more of the former than latter. The target opening date of early April meant construction had to start by February.

They’d called in an interior designer immediately, and discussed everything from hiring a tattoo artist to funk up the walls to what could be done about how loud the room was bound to get on nights when all 120 seats were filled with diners. In the end, they landed on creamy manila walls, butcher-block tables, and art made from reclaimed, weathered window shutters.

On one hand, this team was luckier than most. The space they purchased came already furnished with most of the trappings a restaurant needs: sprinklers, lighting, a fully equipped kitchen, handicapped-accessible bathrooms. Then again, as quickly as the deal had fallen into their lap, it had also taken some serious espionage to sniff out.

“When a good restaurant space goes on the market through a broker, everyone goes for it,” says Gilson. The trick is to find a place on the verge of a sale. And that’s precisely what Yorty, in his former gig as manager at Temple Bar in Porter Square, had pulled off. Back in December, the owner of Turkish restaurant Bosphorus had come in asking him questions that signaled that his place was having money problems, and that he might be looing a partner. Not missing a beat, Yorty asked him his walking away money. He happened to know a guy, Ming-tai Huh, who hadsome capital he was looking to invest.

Within three days of seeing the space, Yorty and Huh found themselves ultimately forking over a deposit on a $241,000 sale.

Suddenly, they had a sprawling space at an incredible price, very little fine dining competition in the vicinity, and the promise of a grandfathered alcohol license. Trouble was, they had no chef.

Garden Variety A salad of asparagus, fava beans, haricot verts, edamame, and king oyster mushrooms is spring on a plate. ��

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hen the phone rang, Gilson had a bag of Cheetos in one hand, and a glass of bourbon in the other. It was somewhere around midnight, after a night of cooking in The Herb Lyceum, his parents’ farm-cum-restaurant on their family farm in Groton, Massachusetts. He was, as he puts it, in the midst of a “controlled nervous breakdown.” After spending last summer in Truro running a small pop-up restaurant with friends Aaron Cohen and Garrett Soloman, he’d come home to Boston at the end of the season feeling adrift.

“On the Cape I learned how to be a cook again,” he explains.

“Not a chef, but a cook. Being a chef means you need to worry about running the business, and it can take you away from cooking — which is the reason people get into restaurants in the first place. It was just me, a staff, some food, and some customers, and I suddenly I was cooking exactly what I wanted to.” But sometimes, newly opened doors can also lead down a spiraling rabbit hole. “It’s incredibly freeing to do whatever you want, but it’s also overwhelming,” he says. “After that, I had to figure out what to do next, so I could continue cooking that way, and hold onto that fresh start.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s started over. Back at age 15, 12 years of working on his family herb farm had fomented his curiosity about food. So when his father, who sold herbs at the Government Center Farmers Market, ran into Charles Draghi there, he hooked his son up with a part-time job under the chef at Marcuccio’s. Gilson found himself readily espousing the elder chef ’s ethos. “He was pulling off things that most chefs in the city right now only wish they could do on a nightly basis,” he says. “Making stock risottos from scratch, and talking about technique as though it was incidental — how you did something was always secondary to caring about why. He’s a guy who just makes you want to be not just a better chef, but a better person.”

To ask Draghi, Gilson managed to become both. “Right out of the gate you could see he had a real love of food,” he recalls. “He had native talent. We threw him on the line, and we really abused him. At first he panicked some when I said, Listen, all the guys are going to look to you, and you give them orders. But he rose to the challenge.”

Gilson stayed in Draghi’s kitchen for three years before taking off to attend Johnson & Wales Culinary University culinary school in Providence, Rhode Island. In his senior year, he started at Oleana as a line cook under Chef-owner Ana Sortun. The agrarian in him felt right at home. “Ana genuinely cared about farms,” he says.

“She did it in a way that was so seamless, it was just part of what the restaurant was.” Then came a stopgap. “At a certain point, I thought I deserved a promotion, and it became clear I wasn’t going to get one.” Instead, they offered him an extra dollar per hour. “A young cook would have jumped up and down. But I thought I was a chef, so I was heartbroken. I didn’t know what I was doing at the time,” he adds. “I thought I had it all figured out.”

So he handed in his hat, and instead of going to work for someone else, he went after “one of the riskiest options that was out there— something that wasn’t 100 percent mine.” He signed on with Garden on the Cellar as an independent contractor with two partners, in a deal that sent all the alcohol income their way

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Write Brain Activity In the earliest stages of conjuring the restaurant’s concept and name, its walls were used in lieu of whiteboards.

and the food profits to him. (Bear in mind, alcohol sales are the primary profit of most restaurants.) There he earned a rabid following (and a James Beard nomination for Rising Star Chef of the Year award) for his elevated gastro pub grub, the humility of which belied the quality of its ingredients. There was a marjoram-laced tomato soup with organic Iggy’s Bread croutons, made-from-scratch tater tots, and a grilled cheese with aged Vermont cheddar.

Gilson insists he would be very happy never to make any of those again. “I’m my own bad cop,” he says. “Because I hate [it] when people are okay with mediocrity. Creating those dishes made sense at the time, and I do want Garden to be successful with all of them still. But I can’t go back to doing that.”

All of which was why that wee-hours phone call couldn’t have come at a better time. On the other end of the line was a friend, telling him about Huh and wondering how soon he could meet with him. Not 24 hours later, Gilson looked at the proposed space. Before he knew it, he was shaking hands on a deal to be not only the chef, but also the company’s biggest shareholder.

“It absolutely came out of nowhere for me,” he says. “Things basically went from, ‘My boat has no rudder’ to, ‘I need to build a bigger boat.”

That boat’s precise course may still be meandering, but its velocity is unquestionable. “I know I’ve got to kill it out of the gate,” says Gilson, “with menus that are just really good and

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Getting Fresh An Italian-influenced tuna tartare with tomatoes, toasted garlic, basil, and olive oil.

simple.” For someone who’s been committed to seasonal food since before he even started cooking, the locovore approach is already a given —but not, in Gilson’s eyes, a very particularly big deal. “I don’t have any interest in being pigeonholed into wearing a cape of sustainability,” he says. “I’ve been doing it long enough that I know it can be tough to do 12 months a year.” He’d rather get certain foods elsewhere when they’re not available locally, and then focus on making straightforward, clean-flavored dishes, and on surpassing diner’s expectations in price.

“I’m really not worried about the food,” he admits. “But I am worried about living up to expectations.” By that he means his own, but also those set by heading up his own place. “The biggest thing for me right now is that for too long, I haven’t had an actual restaurant. Now I’ll finally have a home.”

T

he imminence of that reality still has Gilson giddy when, about a week later, the restaurant gods decide to prove, once again, just how merciless they can be. “We just found out that we can’t touch any of the money we haven’t even gotten yet,” he says dejectedly. In the aftermath of the team's triumphant score of the wine license, his business attorney has advised him that bridgestreet’s investors will be required to keep the lion’s share of their funds in escrow for 90 days while background checks are run on them. Only after they’ve been cleared will those dollars be released to finance the restaurant’s construction. Or its

marketing. Or staffing. Or rent. The upshot: an opening that was originally April, delayed until June — or worse, early July.

“I suppose we could throw up our hands and say, Well, I guess we have to wait,” says Gilson. But Draghi, from everything he knows of working with his mentee for years, doesn’t think that’s in his DNA. “He was raised working with his hands. If you watch him, he always finds the calm in a storm. This is a chaotic business, but he looks around and says, ‘Okay, where’s the tether, so we can regroup?”

By the next day, Gilson’s uncannily bears that out. “What’s in my control here is that I’m not going to freak out,” he says. “We’re going to fix this. Worst case scenario is that we open later.” The team’s triage plan — to use the money they’ve raised as collateral to get a personal loan at ten percent interest — would allow plans to proceed as scheduled. It’s no small task, however; it essentially means finding twice as much capital as originally anticipated, and within in the crushing timeframe of a December buy and a June opening.

And yet, within a few days, that plan is set in motion, and the storm returns to (relative) calm. “The thing in restaurants that becomes your drug is the unpredictable nature of it,” muses Gilson.

But if there’s one thing he’s gleaned from the business, it’s how to get things done in a roundabout way. “I’ve learned how to get from Point A to Point B when I don’t have all the resources, but also how to enjoy getting there,” he says. “Ultimately, that’s how I’m going to be a cook and a chef at the same time.”

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Good things come in pairs Ardan co-owners, husband-and-wife team Helena and Elie Cohen.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

PARTNER SPOTLIGHT // 20 Minutes With

Helena Cohen

a co-owner and founder of ardan medspa + salon, wellesley PORTRAIT BY JESSICA WEISER

She grew up next to Neil Diamond and Barbara Streisand in Brooklyn, was a New York bridal model before moving to Newton, and opened her first salon when she was nine months pregnant — in the midst of the blizzard of ’78. Meat hasn’t passed her lips since she was 15, she doesn’t drink, and after decades of marriage, still has one of the most ridiculously sweet working relationships with her husband, Elie, at Wellesley’s best medspa and salon. (She does color, he cuts.) A skincare fanatic, she led the charge in New England’s very first wave of med spas — and is still out in front now, hunting down the most cuttingedge treatments and procedures. Oh, and did we mention she looks less than half her age?

Here’s how beauty pioneer Helena Cohen pulls it all off.

HOW AND WHEN DID YOU OPEN ARdan?

People basically forced us to. I owned a salon in Brookline, but had so many clients from Wellesley, and everyone just kept saying, ‘We need a great spa here, and we’re so sick of coming to Brookline to see you.’ So when the perfect space became available — where we still are now — we jumped. And we named it after our two children, Aria and Daniyel; Ardan is their names, combined.

IT WAS JUST A SALON AT FIRST, OR A SPA TOO? When we first opened, we had just a small spa downstairs, but then I realized aesthetics were taking off. So we bought the space next door and redid it, and made room for skincare, too. I’ve always been crazy about my skin, and I figured if I was, others would be too. And people flocked to it, so we doubled the space.

AND IS THAT WHEN YOU BUILT YOUR CURRENT SPA AREA? It’s changed dramatically since then, but yes. In between, it took us eight years to become a medspa; I researched lasers for over a year so we could feature laser hair removal, then bought the best laser on the market for all skin types and with the best results. We do that continually still.

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INTErIOr MOTIVES Ardan's interior is accessorized with specialty Italian pieces.

And now we’ve just brought Susan Fallon on board. She’s a registered nurse who’s an instructor for the Esthetics Skin Institute — she’s amazing — and we’ve armed her with the best equipment possible. She’s certified to do Fraxel laser therapy, a non-invasive laser skin resurfacing treatment. Clients are leaving looking like they just took years off. She also does Isolaze, which is ideal for unclogging pores and removing acne and treating rosacea. And she also features a ‘liquid facelift’ — she’s a certified expert with Botox and facial fillers and she’s the vice president of the Society of Nurses for Medical Esthetics, and can do everything from skin resurfacing to skin tightening and pigmentation.

Basically you name it; she does it, and does it wonderfully.

WHAT'S YOUR PROCESS FOR SOURCING THOSE CUTTINGEDGE LASERS AND TREATMENTS? I do extensive research online and have close relationships with the laser companies, so I’m always well informed on what the top doctors around the country are doing. I look to see what’s out there, and then I check out all the latest machines. A lot of them are supposed to do miraculous things, and half the time they don’t deliver. I don’t want to do anything that doesn’t get results. You have to be very, very careful.

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WHAT ABOUT FACE TREATMENTS? ANYTHING BRAND NEW AND EXCITING THERE? Absolutely: Dermasweep. It’s a resurfacing that administers a really great exfoliation and skin tightening without using crystals, which is significant because they can sometimes get in the pores.

Then after that we add whatever the skin needs most — hyaluronic acid or Vitamin C. It’s highly customizable, so it can treat everything from pigmentation and acne to wrinkles and scarring. We love it because there’s no down time, and clients want to leave looking as if they’ve had nothing done.

HOW ABOUT HAIR? HAVE YOU SEEN SIMILAR SHIFTS IN THE SALON INDUSTRY OVER THE YEARS? Color has taken on new meaning. Now everybody’s into it — people are using it almost as makeup. They’re having so much more fun with it than they used to, with different depths and dimensions. The most popular shade now is ‘bronde’ — that multilayered mixture between blonde and brown, dark to light. Everyone’s after it. For spring it’s dark brunettes, strawberry blondes, and warm browns. But I strongly believe whatever you do has to match everything from your eyes and your skin to your personality. We customize everything to exactly who you are. We take the whole person, inside and out, and make sure the hair color works.

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � SPONSORED FEATURE

haiR coloR can be so highly peRsonal. how do you make suRe clients don't get upset?

First I try to access the client’s lifestyle. You have to find out how much work they really want to put into their hair because, in the long run, if they can’t manage their hair’s upkeep, they won't be happy. I have the gamut of clients, and it’s up to me to figure out what they really want. It helps when they bring in lots of pictures, because it’s something definitive. It’s so funny: Most people see themselves completely differently than others do. That’s why if you really spend that time with clients, you find out what they are really looking for.

what aRe you hoping will be youR next big find?

Right now, I’d really love to find something for cellulite removal � tightening that isn’t invasive. But I just haven’t been and skin totally convinced by anything yet. The best option now is something called medical lipolysis, or smart lipo. I’ve recently partnered with Dr. Edgar Ballenas, our new medical director, to do it. But I also can’t wait until they have something nonsurgical. Women will just go cuckoo for that.

Ardan Medspa & Salon, 72 Central Street, Wellesley, MA (781) 235-7788, ardanspa.com

DO YOU EVER GET REQUESTS YOU WON'T ACCOMMODATE? Leaving the hair’s integrity intact is my first priority, so I try not to do things that destroy the hair. I just won’t. I tell my clients that we can work together and get them to the color they want to be in several stages. I want my clients to look their best, so I try to come to a happy medium ANYTHING ELSE ON THE BEAUTY FRONT THAT'S GOT THE SALON BUZZING? Really, it’s Organic Elements — a beauty line I brought in that’s organically farmed in Parma, Italy. If we care about eating organically, then why do we put chemicals all over our skin? It’s been a home run with our clients, so much so that we created an online retail store that’s ours exclusively: organicelementsusa.com.

The entire line smells and feels incredibly good, and it works.

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118 NEWBURY STREET, 2FL BOSTON, MA 02116 617.262.8118 WWW.SALONEVAMICHELLE.COM

COMMISSIONED ILLUSTRATION 6 1 7 - 2 6 2 - 3 5 4 6 H E I D I P R I C E . M E

COMFOrT ZONE Belichick and Holliday in their living room, finishing a puzzle together.

pA L Y TIM E

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � ABODE

Scores of personal treasures may decorate the laid-back South Shore home of Bill Belichick and Linda Holliday, yet it’s anything but a trophy house. joseph gordon cleveland settles in.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY TRISTAN GOVIGNON

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TO THE LETTEr The couple's Scrabble throwdown, in progress.

P

erched on a hill at the end of an unassuming street in Hingham sits one of New England’s best-guarded secrets. It’s a traditional house — a loose interpretation of a classic Cape, clad in cedar shingles. It isn’t especially large, though by no stretch of the imagination is it small, either. To its left stretches another home quite like it, but to its right is a sweeping and picturesque fairway, the only blemish on which is a trail of deer tracks in the sand trap. And from the looks of it, those deer weren’t in much of a hurry.

But the idyllic rural tableau isn’t what’s most striking here. Rather, it’s what’s missing from it, given who happens to live here. A power couple of epic proportions like New England Patriots Head Coach Bill Belichick and longtime girlfriend and TV Correspondent Linda Holliday would naturally have an estate of equally epic proportions to match, right? And it would, no doubt, be overwrought with a mélange of period details, a driveway crowded with luxury cars, a flood of gates, guards, and an army of hedges designed to keep the neighbors at a distance. In short, it would come with all the ostentatious domestic trappings expected of sports and entertainment icons.

Somehow, none of that is here. In its place: a house that’s best described as welcoming — a place where the only invitation required is a knock at the door. And the truth is, Belichick and Holliday wouldn’t have it any other way.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � ABODE

HAVE A BALL Footballs from Belichick's most noteworthy games line the game room.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � ABODE

F

rom the moment you enter the foyer and pass into the living area, it’s clear: This is a home designed for comfort and company, strategically strewn with beautiful but fuss-free furnishings and significant personal objects that make the entire space, in fact, that much more personally significant.

Take, for example, the living room. It centers on a deep sofa, its silhouette softened by chenille upholstering. Anything but stuffy, it’s simply a great place to relax. There are mahogany chairs with turned cabriolet legs flanking it, and across sits a pair of club chairs.

It’s a deftly executed, if traditional, scenario. But as the eye moves through the room, each vignette reveals a singular object of interest.

Holliday gestures to one piece — an actor’s trunk from the turn of the century. It’s a puzzle of interlocking hidden chambers, with historic photographs glued and tacked on to nearly every square inch of the interior. “It makes you wonder what made one clipping more important than the other,” she says, seeming almost to think out loud. “I like that it has history, but is also very sentimental.”

That’s a running theme throughout the entire Belichick-Holliday household: There are no prizes or status showpieces gleaming under spotlights here, only meaningful keepsakes and symbolic mementos. Never mind that many of them would be considered nearly priceless to the rest of Boston — if not the rest of the nation.

Nodding to one painting of a landscape in the living room, for instance, Belichick describes it as a gift from an old pal. That said pal, Stephen Hannock, also just happens to be an esteemed artist

whose work is in the permanent collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art seems irrelevant to him. “Steve’s a college friend,” he explains. “I knew him through Nantucket. He was a hockey goalie at Bowdoin.”

In any case, it’s one of the finer pieces in the home. One that, for collectors of all stripes, would merit bragging rights. But for Belichick, it’s notably simpler: “I’m not a big art guy,” he says.

“But I’m a big Steve Hannock guy. If he’s there, I’m going. We went and saw him at the Met, of course.”

The real treasure trove, however, sits downstairs. One room in particular, centering on a pool table, is crammed with Belichick’s favorite keepsakes. One entire wall of it stands covered in mounted footballs from his most significant games, each in its own case. Beside them leans a pair of wooden lacrosse sticks that Bill first used when he was in seventh grade — close to a guitar signed by, of all people, Jon Bon Jovi.

“They’re good friends,” explains Holliday. “There really is a connection there. You wouldn’t think it, but Jon loves football. And Bill loves music, so there’s a mutual respect.” There’s more to the story than that, of course, but Belichick is characteristically nonchalant. “He’s from Jersey. He loved the Giants.

So you know, he’d come and watch practice and after we’d go listen to Bon Jovi and Springsteen,” he elaborates. “That was a guitar that he signed for an auction and somebody didn’t bid very high. So I’m like, I’ll give a couple thousand bucks to charity. Gimme that.” Then Holliday adds the kicker: “And you went on tour with him in Europe.” It’s neither the first time over the day — nor the last — that the two finish each other’s sentences.

B

ack upstairs, the home’s center is what the couple calls the great room — an open kitchen, plus dining and family rooms that spill into one another. Its warm palette surrounds a dining room table set with a Scrabble board that appears to have been abandoned mid-game. It’s a more perfect accessory than any objets d’art could hope to be.

Just ten feet away, a near-finished puzzle covers a cocktail table in the family room. “Bill and I like putting together puzzles,” she says. “It helps relax us.” Doing anything else in the space is tough to imagine. Against the expansive windows, the rest of the three cozy rooms seem to fade, punctuated only by the games and mementos that remind the couple of their personal histories.

And still, the scene outside is the most dominating accessory: evergreens lining the fairways, an uninterrupted swath of sky, and those lazy deer tracks in the sand. Suddenly, it’s easy to understand why they lingered.

� Holliday with a painting by artist Stephen Hannock. � The dining room overlooking a picturesque fairway. � A seascape by Hannock— a gift from the painter to Belichick. � The wine cellar's impressive vintages include one made by Jon Bon Jovi. ��

Garden Party

PHOTOGRAPHS BY Jessica weiser

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Florals they may be; wallflowers they are not.

Spring’s best clothes are a take-no-prisoners riot of color and abstract prints, which means even the most staid silhouettes have been transformed into exotic statements. As exuberant as they are surprisingly wearable, every last one. Shot on location at Webster & Company in the Boston Design Center.

SPRING ���� � COUP BOSTON � ARMOIRE

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � VANITY

WHY DO BOSTONIANS LIE ABOUT THEIR PLASTIC SURGERY?

Plenty have had it, but most won’t admit it — even when the results are as plain as the (reconstructed) nose on your face. alexandra hall ticks off the arguments for replacing our city’s current code of secrecy with a new one: honesty.

ILLUSTRATION BY MIGUEL FLORES GAYDOSH

“W

hat the hell did you do to yourself? You look like you got punched." This from a friend* as she stared at me from across the patio table at Met Back Bay. Putting down her forkful of quinoa, she pointed to the bruises on my forehead. I looked her in the eye. “Botox,” I shrugged.

She and our other dining partner burst into a mini chorus of laughter—the kind that’s one part nervousness, two parts genuine amusement. “I can’t believe you just said that out loud,” she answered. “Did the Botox go straight to your brain or something?”

Now, to be clear, this friend is clearly a Botox fan herself. In fact, several in our circle have quietly wondered what other, more in-depth work she’s had done recently because, subtle though it may be, she looks ten years younger than she did even last year. That said, we have no proof of any of this, because she vehemently denies it, even when we prod her.

She’s hardly alone, and she’s hardly the most extreme case out there. A few months ago at a cocktail party, I ran into a woman who clearly had just had something severe done. Her face was pulled back so tightly, she looked like she was in the process of re-entering the earth’s atmosphere. “Wow,” I said, a little stunned. “You look, uhm, really different. What have you been doing?”

She mistook my shock as a compliment, but still wasn’t about to cough up the truth. “Nothing!” she beamed, shaking her head. It was such a ridiculous lie, I had to stop myself from calling bullshit on her right then and there. “Just soap and water, my dear.” Ahem.

* She asked that her name be withheld, so that readers wouldn’t know she gets Botox. Thus proving the very premise of this story.

Yeah, soap and water… plus at least three scalpels and a seriously jacked-up laser, I thought, silently sipping my wine.

You could argue I shouldn’t have even asked her. After all, at the end of the day, it’s none of anyone’s business what we do to our own bodies. And as New Englanders, we prize our privacy like few other regions of the country. But I’m not complaining here about people who simply keep mum about what they get done; I’m talking about people who publicly insist they’ve done nothing, all visual evidence to the contrary.

And it isn’t merely a privacy issue, anyway: There’s also the fact that Bostonians simply don’t go out for status markers the way other cities do. In Manhattan and L.A., I’ve had girls’ lunches similar to the one above, where the chatter wasn’t whether someone had altered herself, but how much did it hurt, how much did it cost, and was her surgeon taking new patients—and soon?

These weren’t merely circles of altruistic information sharing; in several cases, they were bragfests, complete with undercurrents of hubris and jealousy. These ladies talked about getting cheek implants and liposuction as if they’d just scored an iPad 3 or gotten back from Cabo.

So, no, I’m certainly not arguing for that kind of attitude— or for the cavalier embrace of elective surgery that it engenders.

But the problem isn’t that Bostonians aren’t just a little different from that, it’s that we’re at the absolute opposite end of the spectrum. We might be going under the knife more than we ever have before (the American Society of Plastic Surgeons reports that, last year, plastic surgery increased by 5 percent to a new high), but we’ll be damned if we’re going to admit it.

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COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � VANITY

“I

can’t get a good Botox recommendation to save my life,” says Beacon Hill resident Karen Fabbri. “Because no one will ever say that they’ve even done it.” And that’s only Botox—a minimally invasive treatment that isn’t even considered actual surgery, but is looked at within the industry as more of a gateway drug to more invasive procedures.

But numbers don’t lie, even when we do.

According to the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery statistics, our region spent roughly $630 million on procedures in 2011.

And yet, we persist in our deceptions. Says one local plastic surgeon* who’s worked in New York, Miami, and San Francisco, women in Boston hide their procedures from their husbands more than she’s seen in any other city. Another friend’s story about her friend—it’s always a “friend of a friend” on this topic—backs that up. Apparently, she’s twice now told her spouse she was taking a vacation in Miami, but instead stayed in Boston to have surgery, then booked herself into a suite at The Ritz for a week to recover with a private nurse.

Likewise, husbands hide it from their wives. “I get tons of men in for Botox and fillers like Restylane,” says Nicole Brennan, the R.N. who runs Skin Deep Med Spa on Newbury Street. “And it’s men you would never expect: businessmen, bikers, farmers.” So are they fessing up to the public? “One or two do, but most won’t even tell their wives—and their wives are also clients. So it’s really awkward, because I know both people in the marriage, but I have to pretend I don’t.”

And of course, we lie to our friends. The first thing that executive recruiter Anita Kagan noticed about her girlfriend one day was that her eyebrows were suddenly lopsided. “She denied everything, but can we say Bad Botox?” she recalls. “Then she suddenly had those telltale lumps in her cheeks. Once again: denial. ‘I think it’s hives,’ she told us. ‘I might be allergic to some new skin cream.’ Uhm, would that skin cream be called Restylane?”

It’s a prime example of someone trading in their secrecy for dishonesty—the opposite of what Dr. Leonard Miller of Boston Centre for Aesthetic Medicine says happens in many other cities. “In places like Florida and Texas, there’s a sort of ‘status face-lift’ that is very obvious, and that certain big-name

* She asked that her name be withheld so that her patients wouldn’t start worrying that she was talking to the press about them. Thus proving several other points of this story. ** In the spirit of honesty: The answer is, my lips have been big since

the day I was born. (Photographic evidence here.) These days, though, I do help them out occasionally. Collagen scrubs are great (though they hurt like a mother), Masha Banar is terrific with hyaluronic acid, and Lip Venom Lip Gloss is, simply put, the bomb.

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doctors have made their signature look,” he explains. “Having that face-lift is almost like carrying a brand-name product.”

Brennan agrees. “In Miami, people just say, ‘Oh, I like your lips, who did them?’” she says. “And people answer.”

By contrast, Bostonians are all about keeping their visits secret. “I have clients who insist on going straight into a treatment room and closing the door so that no one will see them,” says Brennan. “One man came in to get procedures done and ran into his cleaning lady in the waiting room. She was like, What are you doing here? He just told her he was having his eyebrows waxed and ran off.”

No shocker, then, that the most popular surgeons and nurses in town are not only the most discreet, but also the most adept at producing 100 percent natural results. “My patients come in and say they absolutely don’t want anyone to notice they’ve done anything,” says Masha Banar of Visage Sculpture. “That’s the biggest success I can have is when no one notices a thing.”

That’s admirable enough on an aesthetic front, right?

Hey, ultimately it means a lot fewer people walking around our city looking like terrible phonies. But it’s when they start acting like terrible phonies that I get my dander up.

On a certain level, it’s easy enough to blame this on the puritanical vestiges of the New Englander gestalt—the very disposition that (until recently, anyway) has held us back from letting ourselves openly adore fashion, admit that we might secretly admire our neighbor’s McMansion, drive glittering cars, or reveal how much we spend on our favorite charities.

Native Bostonians like me would probably agree that there’s something endearing about the ethical grounding that represents. But at a certain point, it also becomes its own form of reverse snobbery and stops ringing true. And while it certainly may be that we carry a moral stigma about being superficial enough to surgically alter ourselves, if that’s the case, then why isn’t there also a moral stigma about being dishonest—especially about something so allegedly unimportant? Isn’t making liars out of ourselves over something minor a more damning reflection on our character than a little vanity?

My personal answer to that is yes. So if you ever want to know if I’ve ever had anything done, just go ahead and ask.*** I promise I’ll spill.

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � OBSCURA

BUrBErrY JACKET, $�,���, AT NEIMAN MArCUS � VINTAGE rING, $��, AND VINTAGE CUFF, $��. BOTH AT ��TH CENTUrY LTD � uNEArTHEN WATCH, $���, AT STEL'S � COMME DES GArÇONS WALLET, $���, AT rICCArDI � EYE OF HOrUS PrESS-ON NAILS AT EASTErN TrADING COMPANY

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Notes from Boston's lifestyle underground.

BY LIL GOVERNMENT PHOTOGRAPHS BY TRISTAN GOVIGNON

L

ast year, I could hardly blame GQ for referring to Boston as "America's bad-taste storm sewer," given how unabashedly so much of our own fashion press has continually embraced lumpy, poly-blend wrap dresses and box-toe loafers peeking from misshapen khaki hems. But this is more a problem about where we're shining the spotlight, not a lack of cultural currency. The accepted marginalization of our city's individual envelope-pushers and early adopters extends beyond just fashion and into music, nightlife, and art; it’s perhaps why “The Departed” could have been a film about creatives fleeing to other cities.

This column seeks to unearth the strange and unsettling forces that are flowing frenetically beneath the Boston landscape.

Will you ever find yourself blowing bubbles into a blacklight alone to the sounds of Boston’s own Rizzla and blk.adonis’s “Portia Nuh Play” mix for Dis Magazine, commemorating the election of Portia Simpson-Miller, Jamaica’s LGBT-friendly new prime minister?

Perhaps not, but I will let you know it's out there, should you get curious. The point is to share, partake, observe, and provoke discussion between the perceived status quo in Boston and those here who see their impact better interpreted elsewhere. It’s time to put an end that to that fragmentation.

As a starting point, the second week in April brings us the Together electronic music festival, which draws global talents like Photek and Massachusetts expat Oneohtrix Point Never, as well as Todd Edwards for a rare joint effort (that I, full disclosure, happen to be hosting): Hearthrob + Nu Life at Middlesex, with DJs Lil Internet, Dev/Null, Morgan Louis, Baltimoroder, Rizzla, blk. adonis and D'hana (April 3, Middlesex Lounge, 315 Mass Avenue, Cambridge). This is the perfect night, in my opinion, to debut some of Riccardi’s killer Mary Katrantzou or Givenchy prints, or for those on a writer’s budget, perhaps some gently worn sky-high Nicholas Kirkwood or Alaia heels from Rescue. I highly recommend grabbing a drink first amongst the clashing patterns, mood-lifting zebra stripes and acid pastels of UpStairs On The Square, where we shot our images.

So welcome to the world of Obscura, that which by definition is hidden, left of center, or lacking clear delineation. Consider this your wormhole into a different side of our city—and an ongoing adventure. After all, if I could condense all of my secret weapons, fashion forecasts, interviews, learning experiences, and enthusiasm into one column, I’d be writing “Worst Of ” lists for GQ.

The male of the species, armed with pieces that finally pull him completely together, hits the byways of Southie — geared up in everything from all-knowing suits to high-end streetwear.

PhoTogrAPhy BOB PAcKErT ArT DireCTion & sTyling JOSEPH GOrDON cLEVELAND

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SPRING ���� � COUP BOSTON � ARMOIRE

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PrEVIOUS PAGE �� Rag & Bone Blazer, ����; Shirt, ���, AND Jeans, ����. ALL AT rAG & BONE / Marc BY MARC Jacobs Necklace, ���, AT MArC BY MArC JACOBS. THIS PAGE �� Tom ford Suit, shirt, tie, and sunglasses. all price upon request, AT Neiman Marcus.

OPPOSITE PAGE �� Neil Barrett Shirt, $���, AT Riccardi � marc by marc jacobs Tie, $��, AND waxed jeans, ���, AT MArC BY MArC JACOBS � VINTAGE tie bar, $��; GF Waltham Watch, $���; VINTAGE gold square chain bracelet, $��; VINTAGE sterling silver link bracelet, $��; bulova ����s watch, $���; VINTAGE ����s gold woven chain bracelet, $��; bulova ����s watch, $���. all AT ��th century ltd. ��

GrOOMING NOTE

kEEP A STrONG HOLD BUT STAY FLEXIBLE. OrIBE'S rOUGH LUXUrY MODELING WAX ADDS BOTH STrUCTUrE AND TEXTUrE.

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THIS PAGE ��

Tom ford jacket, $�,���, AT Neiman Marcus � edun crewneck, $���, AT the tannery � patch nyc necklace, $���, AT PATCH NYC � marc by marc jacobs jeans, $��, AT MArC BY MArC JACOBS.

OPPOSITE PAGE ��

edun jacket, $���, AT the tannery � marc by marc jacobs shirt, $���, AT MArC BY MArC JACOBS � zegna Tie, $���, AT neiman marcus � rag & bone jeans, $���, AT rAG & BONE � anson tie bar, $��; benrus ����s watch, $���; vintage bracelet, $�� � all AT ��th century ltd. ��

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THIS PAGE ��

lgb blazer, $�,���, AND lgb sweatshirt, $���, Both AT Alan Bilzerian

OPPOSITE PAGE ��

lgb sweatshirt, $���, AND julius JEans, $���.

Both AT Alan Bilzerian.

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PhotographY Bob Packert �� Art Direction & Styling Joseph Gordon Cleveland HAIR ERIN DUNN, JAMES JOSEPH SALON �� MAKEUP LORI GREENE, ENNIS inc. �� model cody d., dynasty models & talent �� model Tom s., maggie inc. �� STYLIST's assistants olivia cartland, evan michael, enocha tellus, sarah turnage �� photographer’s assistant liz loyte ��

BE HIS GUEST Mais surveys the scene outside the newly-renovated hotel, (far right) and takes in the view from a guest room. ��

COUP BOSTON � SPRING ���� � COUP D�ÉTAT

Risk AND Reward

Who knew the Theatre District’s tired Radisson Hotel could become the city’s coolest, most beautiful new destination? Apparently, Simon Mais did.

BY AUSTYN ELLESE MAYFIELD // PHOTOGRAPHS BY CONOR DOHERTY

S

imon Mais is on the edge of his seat, literally and figuratively.

Perched at his desk in a humble (read: miniscule) office, he sits with both feet planted firmly on the floor, his frame pitched slightly forward. His excitement is palpable — and understandably so. He is, after all, the man leading the charge on one of the largest and most ambitious hotel makeovers in Boston history.

This month, fresh from a $30 million facelift, the hotel formerly known as the Boston Radisson will be revealed as the new Revere Hotel Boston Common, the latest property in the Northwood Investors portfolio. Gone is the bland lobby: it’s been replaced by an artfully designed reception area with sweeping hardwood details. Where dated, uninviting hallways once languished, modern sconce-lined corridors now stretch. Alongside 356 guest rooms appointed with tufted leather headboards, houndstooth chaises, and Skoah bath amenities, the Revere’s offerings include an ultralounge, a state-of-the-art theatre, luxury event spaces, and a 24th-floor presidential suite. All of it, background for a serviceobsessed staff.

Mais himself is very much obsessed. “I think it started with my father,” says Mais. “He was always the renowned host. Cocktails at 5, gin-and-tonics on the veranda — things like that. He’d make absolutely certain all of our guests were having a great time. I saw that and really began to love taking care of people in that fashion.”

He admits the hotel’s predecessor wasn’t the most obvious base from which to launch a luxury property. “It was somewhat of a risk to go in and take on a Radisson,” says Mais, ”But since we’re repositioning it and creating an independent, I can bring the best of everything to this. It’s almost a culmination of what I’ve done in my past.”

And it’s an impressive past. Before the Revere Hotel, the Jamaican-born, Canadian-raised Mais managed the likes of Le Meridien in San Francisco, and two properties with the acclaimed Morgan’s group: the Clift in San Francisco, and most recently, New York’s Hudson Hotel. Now that he’s here, though, he’s aiming to create a luxury experience that’s hyper Boston-centric, starting with the property’s moniker.

“We chose ‘Revere’ because it has a double meaning,” he explains. “It’s the person who did the incredibly famous ride;

but it’s also, ‘I revere that hotel,’ ‘I respect that property.'

There were some people who came back and said, ‘Eh, ‘Revere’ isn’t the best part of town.’ And we consciously understood that. But we’re relying on the fact that once our reputation is established, we won’t be lumped in with ‘Revere’ the city.”

Beyond the name, Mais intends to introduce hotel guests to a more authentic Boston experience by bringing local purveyors into the Revere service-scape. The hotel has already brokered partnerships with the Massachusetts College of Art, Bully Boy Distillers, and Shipyard Ale, with more in the works. Delighting patrons in even the smallest ways is what Mais believes will distinguish the Revere from other hotels in the city. “Little details make a truly great hotel,” he says, “and that’s the hardest move to make: from good to great.”

The Revere Hotel Boston Common, 200 Stuart Street, Boston, MA RevereISCOMING.com

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