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Looking in from the street, the showroom for the Bohemian Embassy condo development on Queen Street West in Toronto resembles a gigantic tank of blood. The partygoers inside could be goldfish, floating aimlessly about a macabre aquarium, cocktails clutched to their gills.

But stepping through the front doors, past the smokers' menthol gust, you realize that it is all just an optical illusion. The windows -- not the room -- have been tinted scarlet. Inside, the lights are blazing and the bar is splayed wide open. Uniformed sponsorship reps serve free Grand Marnier cocktails to thirsty-looking men in three-button sports coats. Each drink gets a stir stick with a blinking red light and the brand name attached. A pack of high-heeled office girls skitters across the polished concrete floor, wobbles, then narrowly regains its balance. In the corner, a woman in a fox-fur vest attacks a platter of complimentary pinwheel sandwiches.

The party is being held to sell condominiums. It is hosted by Toots Capital, a public-relations firm, which is offering all its clients a 2-per-cent discount off the sticker price of any unit. The invitation, which came to me even though I am not a Toots Capital client, described the evening as "an exclusive VIP preview event." I RSVP'd, but nobody asked to see my invitation at the door. There was no guest list in evidence either, which, depending on how you look at it, is either slightly sad or admirably egalitarian.

The irony of it all, of course, is that there nothing particularly bohemian about the Bohemian Embassy.

Judging by the scale model suspended in the centre of the room, it is to be a massive structure containing 345 units in a nine-storey mid-rise building and a 19-storey tower. Amenities include an executive concierge, underground parking and a co-ed fitness centre.

It is just another condo development in an ever-expanding sea of condo developments that is washing across the southern stretch of Toronto's west end. But unlike the dozens of other glass, brick and steel piles that have been plopped in the area in the past few months, the Bohemian Embassy has attracted controversy since the inception of its marketing campaign. From Grand Marnier cocktails to granite countertops, rarely has a Toronto development been so woefully misbranded.

Despite its plushy spread of bourgeois accoutrements, the Bohemian Embassy insists that it has artistic street cred, branding itself as "a condominium so stylish and cool, it promises to redefine the way this city's hipsters live."

It's a credo that, unsurprisingly, has the real neighbourhood hipsters (who would never call themselves such, which is exactly what makes them hipsters in the first place) shaking their shaggy heads in embarrassment.

Critics include artist Michael Toke, who satirized the development with his video installation Bohemian Embarrassment (the developers later threatened to sue), and neighbourhood watchdog group Active 18, fronted by the CBC's Jane Farrow, which has been lobbying to prevent (or at least heavily modify) construction altogether.

"It's turning Queen West into St. James Town for the martini set," Farrow quips, making reference to one of the most densely populated neighbourhoods in the country. Her objection to the project (and others like it) is not aesthetic, she adds, but community-based. "Developments like this come in for the same culture they inevitably kill. It's like the parasite eating the host."

Indeed, there is a paradox in this self-described "ultimate place for culture-loving urbanites to BE" situating itself on a strip in which small galleries are struggling to exist in the face of rising rents. According to Farrow, three have closed down in the past month. As for the rest: "Their days are numbered."

In the sales centre, I sidle up to the group of thirtysomething office girls and ask whether they are thinking of buying at the Bohemian Embassy.

"I am," says a pretty blonde in a black and white striped blouse. She introduces herself as Katrina. Katrina is from Woodbridge and works in marketing. She wants to move downtown even though her job is in the suburbs. "I love this area," she says. "And I like the way the builder went out of its way to incorporate the arts community."

Before I can finish my conversation with Katrina, a pointy-faced publicist is on me. "Who are you here with?" she snaps, without introducing herself. "Can I see a card?"

I hand one over, which seems to mollify her a bit. I ask her name, which turns out to be Nicole. I ask Nicole to explain to me how exactly the builder is incorporating the arts community in the development. She looks at me suspiciously, and admits she doesn't know. "You'll have to talk to someone else," she says before scampering off to fetch a sales rep.

In the corner, I notice a young man in a scratchy tuque with a lip ring. He's taking pictures of a marketing poster featuring the Bohemian Embassy "spokesmodel," an overdone hippie girl who is the subject of much ridicule. I stand beside him and look up at the poster. A free-verse poem has been superimposed over the image. The first line reads, "Out of the James Dean void . . ."

Tuque takes one look at my notebook and announces he's not telling me his name. He does allow his age (20) and his calling (art photography). He lives in a basement apartment in the east end, where rents are cheaper. He's here, undercover, taking pictures for his online photoblog. I ask what he thinks of the poem.

"I think it's contrived," he says. "Same with the whole condo scene. I've only been here for two minutes, but it seems like a bunch of parents paying for their kids' condos."

I ask Tuque if he would ever live in a building like this. He laughs.

"Like I could ever afford it. Yeah right. They should call it the Fauxhemian Embassy."

lmclaren@globeandmail.com