The Party Reporter: Living in Technicolor
There are two kinds of people in East Hampton: Those who drive on Springs-Fireplace Road and those who opt for Three Mile Harbor. The former are committed to getting somewhere. The latter drive like they own a house with a view and accidentally took an extra dose of Prozac.
As the town was getting ready for another busy weekend, world travelers were arriving in droves and I was gearing up for my morning walk at the beach. I headed south from Springs on Three Mile Harbor, mostly because I hadn’t had my coffee yet and didn’t want to subject the Three Mile Harbor drivers to my driving in that frame of mind. At Damark’s Deli, I snatched a deal on a 20-ounce cup with skim milk (one of the least-expensive hot coffees out here!) and ran into my friend Alex Silva Ulaje, one of the East End’s most well-respected garden and landscape designers (whose clients include Martha Stewart), along with his golden retrievers, which are perhaps more famous around town and featured on the side of his company’s trucks.
After chatting with Alex about when we’d all have dinner with our friend Consuelo and her gorgeous family, we hugged and went our separate ways — off to the beach I went . . . or so I thought! As practically the only person on the road before 7:30 a.m. on a Thursday, I thought it would be okay to apply the rules of Springs-Fireplace to Three Mile Harbor Road . . . wrong! A branch protruding into the roadway took out my passenger-side mirror. I ran across the street from the place where the incident occurred to Sam’s Auto Service to order a new side mirror and see if they could fix the disaster. I called my PR agent (my aunt), who happens to co-own Sam’s Auto Service with my “Uncle” Seb. He told me German, one of the mechanics, could fix it. (The car part just arrived at my house, and I’m pulling into the mechanic shop as you’re reading this.)
On Thursday night, I met with my PR agent on Two Mile Hollow Beach — opting for the slower route via Three Mile Harbor. We had a lot to discuss: the car situation, the men I had spotted at Maidstone Park that morning, the boys I’d see at the upcoming Callen-Lorde benefit on Saturday, and other pressing matters from our family group chat.
Friday night came faster than parking spots disappeared, and my evening’s schedule was crowded. I called Sophie Flax, my closest friend since we were 11 years old, and asked if she’d join me in dicing up my 16-pound (about seven kilograms, for my European readers) watermelon after going to the Jacob Jonas The Company dance show at Guild Hall, which featured a solo performance by New York City Ballet Principal Dancer Sara Mearns. The 16-pound ball of melon was about the only thing I could purchase from the Stop and Shop grocery store, other than Shake N' Bake Seasoned Panko bread crumbs, chocolate bars, or other shelf-stable products: There had been a gas leak in the building and all of their refrigerators seemed to be broken, too. I went to the supermarket for $4 chicken nuggets and left with a $10 melon. After I’d parked on Pondview Lane at the other end of the village, the volunteers of Guild Hall greeted me as if I was Odysseus returning home to his family after 20 years — smiles, hellos, and even a Playbill for the evening’s performance. I hadn’t purchased my ticket beforehand, and bought one at the box office, but as I entered the building, Nev Schulman — former host of MTV’s Catfish and an active player on the “Artists” team for the annual Artists and Writers Charity Soft Game in Herrick Park — walked up to me and Phoebe Gianis to say he had extra tickets. With many thanks, I kept my own ticket in hand — a small contribution to the local arts ecosystem. Even in the Hamptons, free tickets have a way of finding you.
In the lobby, while waiting for the house to open, I ran into Kristin Eberstadt, who is Guild Hall’s chief philanthropy officer. Her skin was glowing and her earrings dazzling . . . her birthday was a few days before, and we got to catching up after a celebratory squeal. She was wearing a perfectly manicured bob hairdo, beige-and-black leather Chanel Mary Jane heels, and a black silk dress. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Melanie Crader; she joined the pre-show party we were having in the corner of the lobby. Ms. Crader’s wardrobe is one I should not be allowed near — not unless I want to end up in the East Hampton Star police logs for a very specific kind of fashion-related offense. She was dressed in perfect black, her layered silver jewelry adding just the right amount of shine, earrings the finishing touch. The show was captivating, with dancers who made the impossible look effortless. I was left inspired and looking forward to the season Anthony Madonna has planned for the Guild Hall community . . . John Waters, Fran Lebowitz, and the New York City Ballet are still to come before the month ends.
On Saturday morning, I arrived at Two Mile Hollow again for my morning walk with my large coffee with skim milk. I spotted two whales, a couple of pods of dolphins, and a man who tried to cruise me while also attending to his tiny Yorkie. He winked, and I turned around to head back to my car. There I found a flat tire on the rear passenger side of what was sold to me as an indestructible and trail-rated vehicle. Things happen. I was looking in my trunk for a car jack, when a local real estate agent for Compass happened by and lent a helping hand, which gave me enough air to get to Springs Auto where I got my tire fixed for $32.
I was on the road to success.
Later, after a quick drive with zero mechanical issues or accidents, I found myself at Callen-Lorde’s annual Hamptons Tea Dance fund-raiser at Nova’s Ark Project in Bridgehampton. I was directed to a parking spot by handsome men in tight polo shirts and khaki pants (a small and intentional detail) and walked in just behind Georgette Grier-Key, the executive director of Eastville Community Historical Society. Dr. Grier-Key was wearing a Max Mara dress and blue-and-yellow Adidas sneakers she had bedazzled. The Callen-Lorde committee welcomed me, and explained where I’d find the auction tables, dance floor, bar, and other attractions. I noticed Susanne Bartsch, the dazzling host of the party, from across the way dancing on the shoulders of Demetre Daskalakis, the chief medical officer of Callen-Lorde.
Shortly after perusing the silent auction table, where an Andy Warhol neon sign was up for grabs alongside a vacation for two to Mexico, I meandered toward the grassy area between the dance floor and the open bar. There, John Navin, the actor, approached with a smile and asked if I was from out here. I told him I was covering the evening as the Party Reporter. After a brief pause, he laughed, which prompted me to ask what he did. His answer: He lived in Sagaponack.
“Ooh, south of the highway!” I replied.
He appreciated the distinction — and the joke — quickly realizing I wasn’t just another weekend arrival with a borrowed beach towel. I told him I was back home in East Hampton for the summer after completing my master’s programs. The conversation continued, but my attention eventually wandered toward another pressing matter: the virgin cocktails being served at the bar . . . and the divas serving hair and makeup near the bar. Susanne Bartsch was now dancing next to me as I was waiting for a fruity virgin mashup on a cute cocktail napkin.
Ms. Bartsch was shining like a diamond, wearing bright neon pink tights and a corset with patent leather chrome-colored flowers that hung from her midsection. Her eye shadow was as bright as her outfit, and eyeliner was sharper than glass. Her hair was a dark beehive, and pink hair peeked in from underneath.
On the same evening, Neil Patrick Harris and his husband David Burtka hosted an evening in their backyard raising over $500,000 for God’s Love We Deliver’s “live-saving tailored meal program for New Yorkers affected by serious illness.”
My personal analysis of the PR photos suggests a relatively thrifty dress code: Harris seemed to be wearing a TRPremium navy blue shirt ($29.97 on Nordstrom Rack’s website) paired with tailored white jeans, and I believe Burtka’s shirt was an OxKnit’s Green Knit tee ($39.99 on Amazon) which he also paired with tailored white jeans, and a white leather belt.
Across the lawn, I found Una and Vie, who both sit on the client advisory board of Callen-Lorde, and I couldn’t help but run up to Una to share my admiration for their earrings. We had a great conversation about New York, and chatted about the upcoming Jay-Z concerts at Yankee Stadium — they were both thrilled to be out east.
I later found myself at Chris Turk’s booth, where he was selling his swimwear and linen shirts and pants. I couldn’t help but buy a hat and a Speedo-size bathing suit, too — the two must be worn with one another, as a uniform, of course. The hat reads, MOST LIKELY TO MARRY FOR MONEY and the swim briefs are the perfect shade of red to make sure people don’t mistake me for a lifeguard. . . . I’m sure they won’t.
The event was nearly ending, and I ran into Tom House, the director of Hamptons Pride. We walked out together, admiring the sunset.
My Sunday was simple. In my new swim briefs and hat from Chris Turk, I went to get a fresh pedicure, as well as see the ongoing exhibitions at Guild Hall. Claire Watson was the 2023 top honors recipient of the 84th Artist Members Exhibition at Guild Hall, and now has a solo show on view there through Sunday. The exhibition was quite spectacular, and curatorially cohesive. There were sculptural works on view, as well as small chairs thoughtfully placed in the exhibition space, and on-canvas were pieces of leather pants and coats.
It was a weekend saturated with color in the galleries, and in the nail salon, ending naturally with a sunburn across my back.