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Issue 5
24 Articles • 2 Surprises
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Game Changers

Table of Contents
Title
# of words

Cleo Wade

The Influential Poet Turning Girl Power into Woman Power
176

Misty Copeland

The Ballerina That Became an Icon by Breaking Down Barriers
Gallery

Julie Gilhart

The Fashion Innovator’s Personal Game Changers
77

Ian Schrager

How the Visionary Entrepreneur Turned Hospitality into a Celebration
239

Game-changing Moments in History

A Visual Exploration by the Iconic Magnum Photographers
67

Black Coffee

The DJ Bringing the South African Club Scene to the World
126

Mezcal Mamas

Meet the Two Bootlegging Alchemists Transforming the Spirits Industry
174

Jane Goodall

The Feminist Icon and Conservationist on How We Can Still Save the Planet
350

Virgil Abloh

How the Creative Polymath Is Pushing Fashion to New Heights
187

Game-Change Your Life

From Meditation to Entrepreneurialism, How to Make Big Changes with Small Steps
123

Positive News

What’s Going Right in the World
370

Saving the World’s Oceans

How James Jagger and Project 0 Are Using Their Star Power for Preservation
25

Cooking in Motion

For Barcelona’s First Female Sake Sommelier and a Nomadic Chef, Food Is a Simple Performance
169

Pundy’s Picks

The Six Activists Who Should Be on Everyone’s Radar
109

Game Changers

A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS
299

I’M A GOOD AND LOYAL CUSTOMER, A REGULAR PATRON AND A GRATEFUL GUEST.
When I love a restaurant or a hotel I treat it like it was my own—a wonderful club I belong to. This is my kind of joint! So I cherish the people who make it great. (Hi Ian!) I like the people at the door to know my name and to know that I will do nothing to diminish the excellence of the establishment: I’m on my best behavior.

 

My host is my protector. Therefore, I love hosts who are militant about their high standards, taking appropriate and even difficult measures, such as “Sorry, we are completely booked…yes all these tables are reserved.” The people who enforce high standards are heroes.

 

Hopefully we are ladies and gents, but we are also animals who need to feel secure when feeding, or sleeping, or otherwise engaging in the boudoir. Snapping at a threat is a natural instinct.

My greatest fear is completely losing it at a restaurant or hotel that I love. I’d hate to seize a stranger’s phone and hurl it into the swimming pool. It’s not just the bullhorn loudness of cellular converse, it’s also the fear of a room full of cameras, many seemingly pointed this way. I don’t want my portrait done by strangers. Don’t want to be background in a selfie. I might have spinach in my teeth or be whispering in the ear of a young lady apparently lecherously when I’m simply being avuncular. I don’t want to appear to be having an attack of Tourette’s syndrome when I am just defending my turf.

 

To that end, I like my leisure stomping grounds to be decorous. I don’t like foreplay in the next booth, however, a well-placed loud phrase, aimed nowhere in particular—

 

“Get a room! Somewhere else!”—may suffice.

The people who enforce high standards are heroes.

More problematic is an adjoining loud ladies’ night, perhaps celebrating a hard-earned promotion or well- deserved divorce and taking it out on the wine list. I’m with you, but softly. I’d never pick up a fork in anger, but provoked I might strike up a conversation with rowdies, even elegant ladies, perhaps by visiting the table and proving that I know far too much about them involuntarily, and in only an hour! A well-placed aside might help remind them they aren’t alone: “He doesn’t deserve you!”

 

But really I bring up the texting situation because I don’t think young people like to talk. Which is why more and more restaurants are playing music at near rave levels. Upping the music covers for those who are conversationally averse, which is epidemic.

Recently this speechlessness has spread to elders
trying to be youthful, and flagrant texting is only slightly less annoying than cell phone hog calling. I do fear that someday I will confiscate another restaurant guest’s phone (perhaps even someone at my own table) and drop it into the lobster tank. I’m not afraid of the law, I worry for the lobster!

 

That’s why I’m a regular. Some hosts just get it. They maintain decorum almost magically, quietly enforcing an unwritten code by setting a mood, finding a middle way that accommodates the fashionista hipster and the hepcat fogey like me. I honor them with my custom. They get it! They enable great pleasures and they keep me out of the slammer, all at the same time.