The worldwide headquarters of Conde Nast publications, located near Times Square. It resembles the deathstar, if it had been squashed in the middle by two big planets. Also it is inhabited by gaggles of stormtrooper fashion police, with the notable difference being that they are all bona fide anorexichotties. The most recent scandal involved a cockroach being spotted in the cafeteria, which caused widespread pandemonium and frantic cellphone calling to their Westchester hedgie hubbies.
Guy1: Dude, let's dress up like metros and go raid the deathstar cafeteria.
Guy2: Dude, I can't. I pass out in the elevator from all the perfume.
Girl1 in elevator: Oh, you must be new to the deathstar! That's so cute how you still wear last season's Manolos.
Girl2 in elevator: Oh, thanks, uber-bitch. Is that J-Lo you're wearing?