Irish babes mingle with posers and playmates at hottest party in town

Mention the term Playboy to someone and the response is a mixture of disgust, fascination and cynicism. So last Saturday I went to see what really goes on in one of America’s most iconic empires with my two best Irish model friends here, Tiffany Stanley and Roz Lipsett. 

 

It’s an annual event where LA’s most beautiful AMW’s (actress/model/whatever) get the hottest ticket in town to pout and pose in skimpy lingerie in Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Mansion.

 

So we got to mingle with an older crowd of wealthy men as they pouted and posed in pyjamas and glitzy Hollywood networking took place amid much nakedness.

 

 

The night began with a strict security screening where myself, Roz and Tiffany had our photos taken. The Polaroids were then collected in a box for Hugh Hefner to peruse – if he likes a girl, she might get to feature in a future edition of Playboy Magazine.

 

Shuttle buses took us and a host of A-list celebrities up to the Mansion. On the bus I sat beside a big-name director who, as he sat in his robe and slippers, told me not to be nervous and joked that even in see-through underwear I was probably overdressed. 

 

And he was right. When we entered the Mansion – lit up with glittering pink lights and looking just like a castle from a fairy tale – there was every kind of sight imaginable. 

 

Lots of girls wore nothing at all, with just a dash of colourful paint on key parts, so our little Irish group was looking quite conservative. After a few overwhelming minutes of taking in all the boobs and bums proudly on display, we became accustomed to it and started to appreciate the beauty of the human body in all its various, if fake, forms.

 

I recognised some of the more famous playmates, like Kendra Wilkinson, who kept it casual with her hair in a ponytail. In the bathroom there was a secret sorority of former centrefolds, with one exclaiming: “Oh my god, I was Miss March 1996, a lifetime ago.” Another shouted: “I was May 2011, I love your boobs, who did them?” 

 

The Mansion resembles a huge nightclub with indoor and outdoor areas, music pumping, free bars at every turn and a VIP area to the left of a large stage where Hugh Hefner himself sits. 

 

His son Cooper is very much involved in the business these days and outlasted Hef, who just stayed to oversee the event for a brief period before getting an early night.

 

Here, we mingled with Jamie Foxx and reminisced about Dublin with the Irish photographer Tony Kelly, who attended with his best friend, the editor of Playboy Magazine. 

 

The dancefloor was packed, but our moves were interrupted more than a few times by men who would whip out a business card or a picture of their yacht.

 

They were all eager to assert their own importance and explain how they could “help you out”. By midnight, we had been invited to at least 12 parties for the following day and collected double that amount in business cards. 

 

 

Later in the evening we braved a trip into the famous Grotto, where the well-known joke is: ‘Don’t fall in or you’ll get pregnant!’ It’s like a cosy cave, but we didn’t test the waters, just in case…

 

Staff served sweet treats to revive tiring guests in the early morning and while Roz was taken aside by a casting director for Playboy, Tiffany and I sat down for a cup of tea.

 

We were invited to a Playmate after-party, a house party at a well known actor’s (who shall remain nameless) home, to a movie mogul’s mansion and to a party on a yacht.

But we decided it was time to call it a ‘night’ and went home to bed as the sun came up. 

 

It was an experience we’ll never forget, but it was perhaps a bit tamer than the portrayals and myths that surround it.

 

It’s a paradise for men who can have their very own Hef moment with all the young, busty and giggly gorgeous girls. 

 

Yet, really, you might see more debauched behaviour in an Irish pub or at a teenage disco!