| TED KRUCKEL 08.08.07 10:59 AM |
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| Hot Fun (?) in the Summertime |
| Tenting notes from all over. |
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Regular readers of this column (hi, Mom!) know that I am like a canary in a goldmine when it comes to hot (as in Fahrenheit, not sexy) parties. I have a very short life span, down to about 20 minutes. One reason for the summer sweats is a badly designed party tent. Hosts and planners think they hire the tent company to provide shade and shelter and that’s it, but it’s not. And a badly planned tent is often worse than braving the sun. Here’s why.
If the tent has no vents up top (which is more and more the case with these stretch-top versions), hot air is captured under the awning. And the higher the tent, the more hot air is captured. The ratio of total tent height to the ground to tent edge is a key proportion. A 30-footer with only six feet between the grass and the lowest fringe is a recipe in human toasting disaster. Fans help, but if there is no place for hot air to escape up top, you just end up blowing the hot air around. (Partygoers tip: The coolest air is to be found just outside the edge of the tent, where thermodynamics are sucking cool air along the ground into the vacuum.)
Likewise, the angling of the tent is a crucial factor. The longest edge should face the prevailing winds (which in most of the United States is from the west; organizers in Uruguay, you’re on your own). Does it even need stating that you never put side panels on the side that faces the breeze? Apparently it does. And while I’m on the topic, do you really need side panels at all? Most of the ones I see are in place to block things like ugly equipment that could be handled in a zillion other ways. Likewise, having the cooking tent attached to the main tent is fundamentally dumb.
Speaking of dumb, why doesn’t everyone know that a fan aimed downward in a hot tent is blowing hot air down? Why indeed.
A new problem I’m seeing more and more is placing too big a tent on too small a piece of property. This was the case at Acria’s otherwise nifty cocktails a few weeks ago on artist Ross Bleckner’s beautiful grounds in Sagaponack. If the tent is too big for the property, then air can’t circulate around the outside edges enough. Besides, who wants to be under a generic white tent when the surroundings are attractive? Not me.
Often, giant-tent syndrome is a victim of success. That seemed to be the case at “On the Town,” this year’s installation of the annual summer party to benefit Southhampton Hospital, which is always one of the more important social occasions of the season and sold out again this month. The tents have grown so enormous that they seem to have outgrown the giant field across from the hospital on Wickapogue Road. The space is so crowded that they now park cars around the tent, so you can have a cocktail and at the same time look through someone’s windshield at their drying bikini top. (To the organizers’ credit, only attractive cars got nosed up against the guests.)
None of this tent tension prevented me from having fun, though. First of all, everyone gets dressed up. The dames are great decorations. Robbins Wolfe always does the catering, and this year drinks were easy to get, starting with very sweet champagne cocktails in saucers at the door, which really get ya goin’. Also, there are always cheese sticks on the bars, tasty and plentiful. This year’s hot hors d’oeuvre is mini BLTs, and here they were placed in cherry tomatoes, super tasty (but tiny—I preferred the skewer approach that Acria served up, but we’re splitting hairs here). The Art Deco decor was by Tony Urrutia. Zebra bars and pink tablecloths worked great, Mylar cube chandeliers and improperly hung black-and-white posters of dancers less so.
But this event is all about seeing and being seen. There were the Hiltons, Rick and Kathy (in Pucci), in their first public outing since Paris’s attempted prison break (not the next night at a screening, as reported by Page Six); Rudy Giuliani and his wife hadn’t gotten there by the time I left, and, annoyingly, since I know him and once worked for him, everyone kept asking me where he was. I can confirm he showed and spoke. Tom Wolfe offered to buy me dinner if I would give him my turquoise and crimson dinner jacket—Mr. Wolfe, if you’re reading this (I wish), I was super tempted and flattered, but it was my grandfather’s, so I’m gonna pass.
Somers Farkas always wears a long skirt and looks great. Fresh from getting out of jail (as in getting out of having to go), Arrigo Cipriani gave me a wicked wink, obviously enjoying his freedom. I bid on a preppy painting and a Manolo Blahnik gift certificate, got interviewed by The New York Observer, had my picture taken by a lady with the hospital, saw my best friend from college and a coworker from my first post-college job at Fortune magazine (Carol, sorry we couldn’t talk). Not bad before breaking a sweat.
—Ted Kruckel
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