By: Elena Mart
If you’ve noticed what seems like a sudden spike in rooftop selfies and mysteriously tagged entrepreneurs you’ve never heard of — congratulations, you’ve likely caught wind of LA’s worst-kept secret. The Godfrey Hotel rooftop — and occasionally Skybar — has developed a reputation as the backdrop for LA’s most curious recurring ritual: sheer dresses, pseudo-celebs, and what some might describe as entrepreneurial delusion dressed in Amiri.
The crowd? Instagram models, podcast guests, and the kind of men who often use phrases like “personal brand” in casual conversation. Everyone’s networking, or so they claim — though it’s unclear what anyone actually does, besides talk about “building community” and post reels about it later. There’s a shared understanding that no one’s famous, but everyone’s brand depends on pretending they might be. It’s a cocktail of ambition and performance, where even small talk can sound like a pitch deck and everyone’s waiting for someone seemingly more important to walk in.
Naturally, a few recurring names tend to orbit these evenings like planets around a ring light. Michael Sartain, ex-military and now a full-time charismatic guy with a podcast, is often near the red carpet, flanked by a small army of sunburned protégés who call him “coach” and refer to women as “leads.” His disciples are easy to spot: tight shirts, tight fades, and opinions that leave little room for debate. He’s possibly the only man who can say “female hypergamy” out loud without flinching, often explaining evolutionary psychology to three women who just wanted to find the bar.
Then there’s the Eliott Nazarian types — filmmaker, photographer, self-proclaimed media mogul — who you might spot not because you know him (or want to), but because you’ve likely seen him tagged in your ex-girlfriend’s last thirst trap. He’s built an entire career out of being adjacent to relevance. He’s the kind of guy who shows up in a blog post like this one and treats it like a press feature.
Jim Mullin, the man behind Supermodel Management, makes his rounds too, clipboard energy without the clipboard. He claims to manage models. Or manages the girls who manage the models. Or at least follows enough of them to appear “in the mix.” It’s unclear. He walks in like the bouncer’s on his payroll, and says things like “she’s got a good look” while nodding vaguely at a group of people not even facing him.
Even Owen Cook (yes, that Owen Cook) has made a few appearances. These days, he’s ditched the pickup lines in favor of spiritual epiphanies — but the energy remains familiar. He used to teach men how to pick up women; now he teaches men how to transcend their ego and manifest abundance, usually at the same bar, with the same audience.
The whole vibe? Curated chaos. The kind of place where no one knows who’s throwing the party, but everyone is convinced they were personally invited by the host. A faux hedge wall, a logo backdrop no one recognizes, and three people trying to act like they’re at a movie premiere instead of what could be described as a glorified Instagram trap. The Godfrey and Skybar rooftops are well-suited for this kind of thing — open-air, photogenic, and just exclusive enough to give the impression it matters.
If you’re wondering how to get on the list, you’re already asking the wrong question. These aren’t just events. They’re ecosystems — self-contained worlds. No one knows when the list went from “friends of friends” to “models and media types with 40K and a ring light,” but here we are.
So the next time you see a rooftop group photo with five models, two podcast hosts, and one guy holding a ring light, relax. It probably wasn’t for your benefit.
It was for the algorithm.
