Skepta brought with him an entourage of a dozen or more to the launch of Dear Darling, a place that is absolutely peak Mayfair, even if it’s technically in St James’s. He was there to DJ, to entertain scores of influencers; when a procession of bar staff mowed through with sparklers, phones lit up like firecrackers in the night.
The first level of the place, one flight of stairs down, is reasonably tame. A gin palace of sorts with a slight, possibly subversive Victorian edge — somewhere you might imagine Virginia Woolf to venture. There are plush banquettes, chandeliers and a mirrored ceiling, moody lighting amid a curtained room of bushy green. Is the tiger print sofa incongruous? Perhaps. A drinks trolley is likely to appear by way of a woman dressed as a French maid. It is 2024 but feels like it isn’t. But this is the neighbourhood. People here are old school and ignore the status quo. They laze next to fires and pull silk handkerchiefs out of Prada handbags.
