On a Friday night, you open Raya and swipe on the first girl whose profession is listed as model. “ZB tonight?” you say. “I’ll put you on the list.”

Casa Cipriani

You are also a real-estate developer. Isabel, your 26-year-old girlfriend, told you this monogrammed Gucci polo looked good. Yet as you sit there, looking at a bunch of European guys in Italian-cut button-downs, you wonder if you just look…dumb.

Leonardo DiCaprio and Vittoria Ceretti walk by without acknowledging you. “I thought you said you knew them,” Isabel says, looking at you with disgust.

“I said a friend knew them,” you snap back. “Do you want to go to my place in Miami next weekend or not?”

San Vicente West Village

You are a successful Hollywood executive, agent, actor, or creative who regularly travels between Los Angeles and New York. You use San Vicente—with its clubhouses in West Hollywood and the West Village—for power lunches, drinks, and dinners with other successful Hollywood executives, agents, actors, and creatives.

Or you’re the adult child of one of those people…who they kind of had to let in. Cue scene.

You get a phone call from the membership director. They want to talk.

Look, they’ve known you for a while. Your father. And they love having your father—and of course you too!—as part of the San Vicente community. But here’s the thing. This is supposed to be a social club. You cannot keep bothering members of the community about business opportunities. Especially the, uh, known ones.

You scoff. “They would be lucky to get in on what I’m working on—a digital-first series about a native Angeleno who ditches his life of privilege to become a DJ in the Tbilisi techno scene. It’s gonna be shot entirely on an iPhone. Like Tangerine. And Sean Baker just won a fucking Oscar.”

They pause. “I just think those types of discussions are best kept between agents.”

“I don’t work with WME anymore. They can go fuck themselves.”

“Maybe your dad’s agent can—”

“I don’t need my dad’s help for anything!” You hang up, throw on your matching Aviator Nation sweatsuit in your SoHo loft, and refresh your IMDB page to see if you’ve finally got that producer credit you requested for that time you shadowed Michael Bay for 12 hours on the set of Transformers. He’s a family friend. You bet he’ll approve it eventually. *