The Beatrice Inn—just when your last hazy memories of the old party girl had faded, just when you started to forget things you thought were forever burned in the darkest corners of your brain—she’s back, and taking reservations starting Monday.

You’ve got Graydon Carter of the Waverly Inn, Monkey Bar and... Vanity Fair to thank for this. He’s turned it into... a different Beatrice Inn. And wouldn’t you know it, Fashion Week is right around the corner to help break her in (it’s like they planned it). But if your memories here involve James Murphy DJ sets and leaving at sunrise, prepare yourself. The place has matured a bit. Observe...

Getting In
Then: A strict “be more famous” policy.
Now: Reservations are... existent. Or walk in and grab a seat and a martini at the bar.

You’re Surrounded By...
Then: A candlelit fireplace, collapsing ceilings and as many as two Olsen twins.
Now: Studded hunter-green banquettes, antique mirrors, rich mahogany and behold: some natural light.

The Crowd
Then: Celebrities, Sevignys and women most commonly seen in magazines.
Now: Celebrities and the guys who run said magazines.

Go For...
Then: Serious dancing, being seen and a tacit approval of anything you could contrive in a bathroom stall.
Now: Dry-aged rib eye and mushroom-topped oysters Rockefeller from a former Per Se chef.

They grow up so fast.