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VIVE LA FRANCE POUR LES FRANÇAIS


The French President’s Lover

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SWEETHEARTS Carla Bruni, the former model, and her new boyfriend, President Nicolas Sarkozy of France.
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By GUY TREBAY
Published: January 13, 2008
MAN trap, serial heart-wrecker, rocker arm candy, photogenic cipher, arrogant heiress, polling gimmick — the woman who appears likely to become the first lady of France has been called a lot of things lately. The last thing anyone would have thought of is that she’s a catch.


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SINGER Carla Bruni performing in Paris in 2003, the year she released her first album.
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Dave Benett/Globe Photos, via Getty Images
ARM CANDY Carla Bruni and Eric Clapton at a benefit for rain forests about 1992. Her name has also been linked with that of, among others, Mick Jagger.
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Gerard Julien/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images
Ms. Bruni on the catwalk for Yves Saint Laurent in Paris in 1995.
Barely three months after his divorce from his wife, Cécilia, the polarizing but media-savvy French president Nicolas Sarkozy has become a principal in a hyper-publicized romance that has even the normally high-minded French press gossiping about the details in goosey tabloid terms. See the lovers moon around the pyramids and Euro Disney! Watch the Saudis grapple with the free-living ways of the French! Can Indian officials invent protocol to accommodate a First Sleepover Pal? Will the French public accept a woman who espouses polyandry, has a son by a philosopher whose father she once also dated, and who has been romantically linked with Eric Clapton and Mick Jagger? Will a whirlwind courtship and marriage ultimately bring Mr. Sarkozy’s approval ratings up from the dumps?

Because model is so often used as a synonym for moron, few have stopped to consider that, in pure résumé terms, Ms. Bruni may be better equipped than many for a gig at Élysée Palace. For starters, she is a stepdaughter of an Italian tire magnate and classical composer, Alberto Bruni Tedeschi, who is married to her mother, Marisa Borini, a concert pianist. She is rich and well educated (in France, where her family moved in the 1970s to escape a wave of kidnappings in Italy) and speaks three languages.

After she aged out of her career as one of the most highly paid models of the 1990s, with campaigns for Dior and Chanel and some 250 magazine covers to her credit, she became a musician, a transition less surprising when one considers her heritage and past relationships. Her first album of breathy emotive music, set mostly to acoustic guitar was released in 2003 and quickly became a success. “Quelqu’un m’a dit” (“Someone Told Me”) produced a best-selling single, sold over a million copies in France, another 300,000 outside the country and in 2004 garnered Ms. Bruni the French equivalent of a Grammy as the country’s best female vocalist.

That she managed to make a go of her sophomore album, “No Promises,” was no mean feat, either, said Joe Levy, the newly appointed editor of Blender magazine. Why? “It’s pretentious and sexy at the same time,” Mr. Levy said, adding rhetorically, “how completely appropriate is it for a woman who embodies those virtues to marry the president of France?”

Of course, plenty of people think otherwise, although the feelings of Mr. Sarkozy’s ex-wife must be left to the imagination. In several just-released biographies she takes aim at her ex-husband as an unstable skinflint, but does not deign to comment on her successor.

Ms. Bruni, though, may turn out to be well suited to Ms. Sarkozy’s former role. She is also no slouch in a catfight. Just three months after meeting the French president at a dinner party, the woman who told a French magazine that she indeed was “a cat” and a tamer of men was seen wearing a pink diamond engagement ring made for her by Victoire de Castellane, the Dior jewelry designer, and had already transformed an Élysée Palace salon into what the French press referred to quaintly as a “pop music room.”

“Carla works quick,” a French fashion editor familiar with Ms. Bruni from her modeling days, said of her, speaking anonymously to avoid betraying their friendship. Certainly this view is shared by Justine Lévy, the novelist daughter of the philosopher Bernard-Henri Lévy, who was married to the philosopher Raphaël Enthoven when Ms. Bruni fell in love with him, after reportedly conducting an affair with his father, Jean-Paul. A novella Ms. Lévy wrote afterward about this contorted scenario featured a fictional character based on Ms. Bruni, a woman “beautiful and bionic, with the look of a killer” and known as the “Terminator” in the book.

These things may not be positive in the political arena. Yet, some people ask, is Ms. Bruni less publicly palatable than her diffident predecessor just because she has been photographed in nothing more than underpants?

“Who’s trading up here?” said Paul Cavaco, the creative director of Allure magazine, and a seasoned fashion business insider. “Is Carla the right quantity to be at state dinners? Why not? She’s smart, she’s conversant, she’s from money, she’ll know about literature and art and current events. She’s warm as a person, and the fact that she’s a recognized beauty, why does that hurt?”

Beauty was no drawback for Cécilia Sarkozy, from whom Mr. Sarkozy was divorced in October and with whom he has a 10-year-old son, Louis. Haughty she may have seemed, and remote and, as it turned out, flatly uninterested in staying the course. But in the brief period before she decamped for New York and put an end to her marriage, Cécilia Sarkozy bewitched the press on two continents with her bearing and looks that few could resist comparing to Jacqueline Kennedy.

In fact, except for the difference in their ages (Ms. Sarkozy is older by a decade) the two women are in many ways more alike than not, sharing a musical background (a maternal great-grandfather of Ms. Sarkozy was a Spanish composer), close ties to fashion (she was a fitting model at Schiaparelli and one of the witnesses at her wedding to the French president was Bernard Arnault, the chairman of LVMH Moët Hennessy) and a decidedly relaxed interpretation of the marital pact.

On the record, at least, the Roman Catholic French president himself is a believer in the institution of marriage, despite his highly publicized divorces. The women who attract him are not. Nine months pregnant when she married for the first time, in 1984 to Jacques Martin, Ms. Sarkozy reportedly embarked on an affair with the future French president when he was still married to someone else.

Ms. Bruni, for her part, has said that “love lasts a long time, but burning desire, two or three weeks.” She is monogamous from time to time, as she remarked to the magazine Le Figaro Madame. “But I prefer polygamy and polyandry,” she said.

Still, it isn’t necessarily the couplings and uncouplings and recouplings (and cheesy photo opportunities) that appear to offend so many who have tuned into a story that is less soap opera than Feydeau farce. It is the unspoken sense that it is unseemly for those so materially blessed and genetically gifted to want more.

And it may also be the cheekbones. “People always secretly hate the rich and beautiful,” said Long Nguyen, the editor of Flaunt magazine, which in August ran a pictorial spread of Ms. Bruni that made it look as if, at 40, she may even have managed to give age the slip.

“A has-been or a junkie would have been much easier for people to accept,” Mr. Nguyen said. “It’s not a matter of whether ex-model is a career path for a first lady. It’s that nobody can stand a person who has it all.”

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The 3 P.M. Brunch With the 4 A.M. Vibe By BEN DETRICKNOV. 16, 2011 Continue reading the main story Share This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Photo An enthusiastic reveler parties to a performance by Roxy Cottontail, a promoter, at Eat Yo Brunch at Yotel on 10th Avenue, where the $35 brunch allows patrons to eat and drink for two hours. Credit Deidre Schoo for The New York Times BRUNCH, an occasion for flapjacks, Bloody Marys and meandering conversation, is traditionally the most sluggish of meals. But a smorgasbord of clubby New York restaurants have transformed lazy midday gatherings into orgies of overindulgence with blaring music, jiggling go-go dancers and bar tabs that mushroom into five figures. No, boozy brunches aren’t new. Inspired by the daytime debauchery on Pampelonne Beach in St.-Tropez, where jet-setters arrive by Ferrari and yacht, early iterations began at Le Bilboquet on the Upper East Side in the early ’90s, and spread to meatpacking district flashpoints like Bagatelle and Merkato 55 in 2008. But more recently, these brunches have been supersized, moving from smaller lounges to brassy nightclubs like Lavo and Ajna. The party blog Guest of a Guest has taken to calling it the “Battle of the Brunches.” “Not everyone gets to run to the beach or jump on a plane,” said Noah Tepperberg, an owner of Lavo in Midtown, which started its brunch party a year ago. “If you want to leave your house on the weekend, brunch fills that void.” On a recent Saturday, Mr. Tepperberg stood in Lavo’s basement kitchen, surrounded by meat slicers and employees readying confectionary “poison apples” for a Halloween party for a pre-split Kim Kardashian. Upstairs, patrons in costumes danced atop tables and chairs, bobbing to the carnival syncopation of Jay-Z and Kanye West’s “Paris.” Confetti and blasts of fog filled the air. Continue reading the main story Related Coverage slideshow The Brunch Party Takes Over Clubs NOV. 16, 2011 Advertisement Continue reading the main story It was 3 p.m. “People walk in and say, ‘I can’t believe this is going on right now,’ ” Mr. Tepperberg said. The brunch bacchanalia shows no sign of running dry. The Mondrian SoHo is starting Scene Sundays this month at its Imperial No. Nine restaurant. In Las Vegas, the original Lavo started a Champagne brunch a few weeks ago. Similar affairs have bubbled up in Boston, Los Angeles and Washington. For those looking to replicate the formula, here’s a guide to some of New York’s frothiest. Day and Night Ajna Bar (25 Little West 12th Street, dayandnightnyc.com); Saturday, noon to 6 p.m. This extravagant French-themed party landed in October at Ajna Bar in the meatpacking district, after dousing the Hamptons, Art Basel in Miami and the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel with rosé. Beneath an industrial skylight and fluttering flags from the United Kingdom, France and Israel, well-heeled patrons pumped their fists and posed for purse-lipped Facebook photos, racking up huge tabs every Saturday. “I understand there’s a lot of people out there going through hard times,” said Daniel Koch, the promoter who helped start the Day and Night parties at Merkato 55. “But what you want to do with your money is your business.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES “If you’ve been sprayed with Champagne, make some noise!” a hype man will shout between piercing dance tracks from Robyn, Calvin Harris and Oasis. Dancers in orange bathing suits will emerge; pipes will blast jets of fog. In a dangerously drunken take on a bar mitzvah ritual, a man spooning dessert out of a giant bowl will be seated on a chair and lifted high into the air by his cronies. BRUNCH SET Club-savvy guests seem piped in from Miami, Monaco and Merrill Lynch. “I’m from the South, so drinking during the day is not new to me,” said a woman who wore a Diane Von Furstenberg dress but not the necessary wristband to enter the V.I.P. area. Outside, near a black Aston Martin coupe, a young man wearing paint on his face and sunglasses delved into socioeconomics. “We’re the 1 percent,” he said to a woman, matter of factly. THE BUFFET The Nutella-stuffed croissants ($12) cater to Europeans, while a gimmicky $2,500 ostrich egg omelet (with foie gras, lobster, truffle, caviar and a magnum of Dom Perignon) is for aspiring Marie Antoinettes. Champagne bottles start at $500; packages with several bottles of liquor and mixers for mojitos or bellinis are $1,000. The check can be sobering. “You didn’t look at the price of the Dom bottle!” a man barked into his iPhone, to a friend who apparently ditched before paying. “It’s $700!” STILL-HOT ACCESSORY Slatted “shutter shades” live on at Day and Night. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Lavo Champagne Brunch Lavo (39 East 58th Street, lavony.com); Saturday, 2 to 6:30 p.m. Smog guns. Confetti cannons. Piñatas. Masked masseuses. Dancers in Daisy Duke shorts (some on stilts, obviously). Since last November, this Italian restaurant has roiled with the energy and pageantry of Mardi Gras. At the recent Halloween party, Slick Rick, an old-school rapper with an eye patch and glinting ropes of jewelry, lethargically performed several ’80s hits. Some of the younger “Black Swans” in attendance were unsure of his identity. “Is he big in London?” asked an Australian woman wearing a top hat. SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES Caffeinated anthems like Pitbull’s “Hey Baby” and Roscoe Dash’s “All the Way Turnt Up” are accentuated by processions of bouncers carrying women above them in tubs, like Cleopatra on a palanquin. Polenta pancakes taking up precious square footage? Just kick them aside with your stilettos. Newsletter Sign Up Continue reading the main story Open Thread Newsletter A look from across the New York Times at the forces that shape the dress codes we share, with Vanessa Friedman as your personal shopper. You agree to receive occasional updates and special offers for The New York Times's products and services. See Sample Privacy Policy Opt out or contact us anytime BRUNCH SET Share Champagne spritzers with willowy model types and inheritors of wealth. The scrum on an October afternoon included the son of a Mongolian dignitary, six scions of Mexican plutocracy wearing novelty somberos, and at least one supermodel. “She’s everywhere,” said Mr. Tepperberg, as the nymph, whose name he couldn’t remember, disappeared into the jungle of merriment. THE BUFFET With the emphasis on tabletop dancing, Italian trattoria offerings (margherita pizzas for $21, and lemon ricotta waffles for $19) are often abandoned underfoot and sprinkled with confetti. Proving alcohol reigns supreme here, ice buckets are carefully shielded with napkins. Bottle service rules: Moët Brut is $195 and liquor starts at $295. Balthazar and Nebuchadnezzar sizes surge toward the $10,000 mark. RISKY ROSé Alcohol and high-altitude dancing can be perilous: there was a brief hullabaloo in one corner when several women took a tumble. DID THE D.J. PLAY “WELCOME TO ST.-TROPEZ”? Yes. Eat Yo Brunch Yotel (570 10th Avenue, yotel.com); Sunday, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. If spending thousands of dollars makes your stomach turn, this newish party at Yotel is more easily digested. This affably cartoonish affair, held at the space-age hotel in Hell’s Kitchen with the design aesthetics of a Pokémon, draws a gay-friendly crowd lured northward by Patrick Duffy, a promoter. “There’s a lot of pressure in night life,” Mr. Duffy said. “But I feel like Sunday is a comedown. It doesn’t have to be perfect.” SIGNAL TO DANCE ON TABLES These connoisseurs of brunch wear designer shoes too stylish for tromping atop omelets. With a D.J. spinning dance tracks from LeLe and Earth, Wind & Fire, guests sip bellinis at the bar or banter at long communal tables. The performers are looser. One afternoon, Roxy Cottontail, a pink-haired promoter, vamped around the sunken dining area with a microphone. “Don’t make kitty pounce,” she rapped, before climbing atop a table. 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The 3 P.M. Brunch With the 4 A.M. Vibe By BEN DETRICK NOV. 16, 2011 Continue reading the main story Share This Page Share Tweet Pin Email More Save Photo An enthusiastic reveler parties to a performance by Roxy Cottontail, a promoter, at Eat Yo Brunch at Yotel on 10th Avenue, where the $35 brunch allows patrons to eat and drink for two hours. Credit Deidre Schoo for The New York Times BRUNCH, an occasion for flapjacks, Bloody Marys and meandering conversation, is traditionally the most sluggish of meals. But a smorgasbord of clubby New York restaurants have transformed lazy midday gatherings into orgies of overindulgence with blaring music, jiggling go-go dancers and bar tabs that mushroom into fiv

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