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The first two edible items on view at the Nov. 15 launch party for Trader Monthly in the Mandarin Oriental ballroom in the Time Warner Center were foie gras canapés and foil-wrapped chocolate coins. At the far side of the room a James Brown impersonator, gold suit jacket hanging open over a bare chest, yelped his way through the highlights of the Godfather of Soul’s catalog. The night skyline glowed through the 36th-floor windows.

"You can’t cut corners," said editor in chief Randall Lane, standing by the doorway. "That means the Mandarin. That means foie gras floating around."

Mr. Lane, former editor of the now-defunct men’s magazine POV, was savoring the atmosphere around his new start-up. Like POV, Trader Monthly is dedicated to an unsubtle whiskey-cigars-women kind of male hedonism. Unlike POV, Trader Monthly doesn’t intend to be aspirational about it.

When Trader Monthly writes about the Porsche Carrera GT or a Bvlgari dive watch good to 2,000 meters (at $2.40 per meter), the theory is that the readership is actually going to buy those things. The audience, publisher Wilkie Bushby said on the phone the day after the party, is "young guys who are earning really enormous amounts of money."

Specifically, Trader Monthly is being handed out free to a controlled circulation of 100,000 names gleaned from the trading industry. It is published by Doubledown Media, an independent company, with newsstand distribution—at an ostentatious $10 cover price—through Comag. Founder Magnus Greaves, Mr. Bushby said, is a former trader himself, who hopes to revive a sense of community that’s fading as traders move from pits to electronic trading systems. "There was nothing that was sort of pulling these guys together anymore," Mr. Bushby said.

At the Mandarin, the party was light on magazine-launch-party types and heavy on young men in neckties. Mr. Lane said it was a relief, after aiming for a broad readership at POV, to narrow his focus. "You can be everything to this specific guy," he said.

Hence the six kinds of olives at the martini bar, the occasional puffs of Mayor-defying cigar smoke and the goodie bags featuring Hummer-branded body wash, miniature bottles of 18-year-old Chivas and gift certificates for $500 off a Tourneau watch and $5,000 off a $100,000 jet-service package.

On the page, Trader Monthly presents a kind of crass integrity. One front-of-the-book item reproduces and annotates a receipt for a £4,804.70 meal at Nobu in London ("Gosh, free soup. And after only $1,600 so far!"). The founder of Paragon Capital Management reminisces about trying to abandon a wounded buck, rather than tracking and killing it, so he could get to a backcountry pay phone to "long the NDX." A travel piece on Cabo San Lucas describes a pair of traders "conducting a complex business negotiation" with "[t]wo long-legged Mexican beauties."

The most entertaining—and charming—feature is the "Celebrity Trader" section, in which the magazine gives Damon Dash $50,000 to invest for a week, with all the results going to charity: "First, Dash goes long and heavy into oil futures …. " The Roc-A-Fella boss ends up turning a 23.9 percent profit.

Meanwhile, at the party, the band took a break. In the far corner of the room, a blond acrobat, wearing a red velvet top and wine-colored tights, grabbed a loop of rope hanging from the ceiling and began to do contortions. Eyes closed or nearly so, she hauled herself above the crowd as moody, drum-heavy music played; the rope formed various triangles, blunt wedges, a parallelogram. She dismounted and disappeared.

"The party is beautiful," said Charles Bradley, the James Brown impersonator, who performs under the name Black Velvet. "The crowd is beautiful." He was heading off to change out of his gold suit, carrying a fresh outfit in cleaner’s plastic on hangers.

And how’s the magazine? "I like how they’re straightforward and kind of up-front with their agenda," said Maurice Malfatti, a trader on the New York Stock Exchange. "I like how it brings together the trading world with a little bit of fashion."

The band resumed, with another vocalist spelling Mr. Bradley, to play a series of Motown covers. Toward the end of "My Girl," they stretched into an open-ended vamp. "Say ‘Traders magazine’!" the singer called out. "Say ‘Traders magazine’! ‘Traders magazine’!"

Then Black Velvet reappeared, in a tuxedo with a short-waisted jacket. The band prepared to reintroduce him. "Anybody in the house got soul?" the other singer asked. "Say ‘yeah!’"

The majority of the crowd failed to say "yeah."