
Racing the racks with the girls from Lucky.
One of the most annoying rituals of going home for Thanksgiving is answering questions from the nice people in your hometown about New York.
“What is the new restaurant?”
“What show should we see?”
The truth is, I don’t mind answering questions like these—I’m supposed to be informed about these types of things—but I know that Mrs. Giberga (“My daughter Sammie just divorced—why not give her a call?”) doesn’t think she’s asking an expert, she just assumes all city folk are New York ambassadors, and part of our responsibilities include acting as translators for the suburban wealthy folks.
But when you tell them the truth, they’re confused. I remember one 90’s big-money era exchange:
“It must be so lovely in the city during the holidays, all the opera and ballet. What are the best things you get to do in the city?” Mrs. So-and-So asked.
“Well, honestly, the real action theses days is fragrance launches. Let me tell ya, those cosmetics companies can really drop a dime. The last one I went to had an elephant.”
Mrs. So-and-So walked away shaking her head, thinking I was a weirdo. Does she expect me to describe the tree in Lincoln Center this year?
That’s also why I can’t answer questions about where I shop for Christmas—because I don’t go to stores. I shop at parties and/or regift goodie bag merch. But when I tell people I did all my shopping in 20 minutes at the “Lucky Shops preview shopping night benefiting NYC Free Arts,” they just won’t get it.
But the shopping party is a way of life now, christened many moons ago by the first 7th on Sale organized by the Council of Fashion Designers of America and Vogue and run by Fern Mallis. It was an extravaganza, yes, but the magic was getting all this stuff cheap. I was a committee member in the early days, so I learned the ropes. (The event has been dormant for more than 10 years, but Vogue brought it back last week with a big blowout at Skylight.)
Later, the idea was brought to the Hamptons by Super Saturday, launched by the late Harper’s Bazaar editor Liz Tilberis at her Peconic Bay home, when she got sick, and I got involved in that scene, too.
What I gleaned from insider knowledge is that there are two killer time zones for shopping. There’s the preparty, noncompetition zone, which is when you race around buying stuff before the other guests get there. Then you drink while all the other folks do their looking, and wait until “markdown time,” when the lazy PR assistants start knocking the prices down ridiculously low so they don’t have to schlep the samples back to the showroom.
I’ve also learned that as these events get bigger, older, and more established, they become less of a bargain hunter’s heaven.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Anna Wintour and her party elves put on a fabulous show at this year’s 7th on Sale, but somehow my invitation got lost. At least I could read in The Times about the last-minute planning, the “enormity” of it all. (Do all these big event PR efforts that Vogue does now make you long for the silent, secretive Anna? Just asking.)
Anyway, back to shopping. I recommend an assistant to take vouchers and keep a list of purchases, so you’re not bogged down with the tedious elements of actually buying. If you are good, you can do a whole year of shopping in about half an hour.
I chose to race the racks this year with those younger, kickier girls from Lucky. After all, aren’t they supposed to be the shopping fiends?
Lucky Shops began in TriBeCa a few seasons back, and has become one of those multiday big deals. It’s now at Gotham Hall for a second season.
I got tipped off to go to the Lycra Denim Bar, where a fit expert would measure me for jeans. Being single, I’ll take any action I can get, even a pat down/tape measuring from a stranger for such hip brands as Earnest Sewn and Habitual. There from the balcony I scoped out my next stop, L’Atelier du Savon, where they were selling candles.
I can never have enough candles. During the blackout, I had about 40 pre-arranged in my apartment, plus 10 battery-powered numbers—all my neighbors thought I had a generator. Tip: Always save the glass from good candles, they are high-quality. What you do is dig out the little metal wick anchor with a knife, then microwave the whole sucker til you’ve got all liquid; pour off (using a pot holder!) the wax (the alchemist in me loves to pour the last drips of one into another just for fun). Quickly wipe with paper towel, and after four candles, you have juice set!
These are fancy candles, so the booth attendant wouldn’t burn more than one flavor at a time for me. He was right, actually, because good candles take awhile to get their vibe going, so burning competing scents defeats the purpose. He turned out to be the founder of the company. But I was impressed enough with “Concombre” that I bought a whole bunch. Fashion designer Tory Burch blessed my choice, saying, “It’s the only candle I burn.”
They come in a silvered vessel that looks like mercury glass, so they’re perfect for holiday parties. Go to Bergdorf Goodman.
Soon it got crowded with latecomers, so I retreated to the lounge, sponsored by Finlandia, and ran into Joan Steinberg, who explained how the gig worked for her. “Their V.I.P. nights we do, plus we act as the vendor of soft drinks and backstage snacks for all the consumer shopping days, too.” It has been awhile since I’ve had the offerings of her company, Match Catering and Eventstyles, and they are still good.
Lucky publisher Alexandra Golinkin (a friend) is a seasoned entertainer, and she insists on only bite-size offerings. Why can’t everyone get the hang of this? The sesame-oiled tuna tartare on brioche was a standout and an achievement if you’ve ever tried to do it. Raw marinated tuna has zero shelf life—you basically have to chop it and serve it within an hour or so—and Match made it even more challenging by using an absorbent bread which can become soggy but wasn’t.
I saw Super Saturday chairwoman Faith Kates Kogan checking out the competition—I love when people do that. I remember once going to a Whitney gala tricked out by Colin Cowie, and escaping from the zillions of flowers to grab a smoke on the street. I loitered and chatted up what seemed like a stargazing passerby. It turned out to be MoMA honcho Agnes Gund, scoping her rival. We had a great chat, and now whenever I see her we exchange a knowing wink.
Super Saturday is known for great gift bags, but Faith had to concede: “Theirs is amazing, can you get me an extra?”
I usually don’t take gift bags. If I’m going somewhere after, I don’t like walking around with a little retail-emblazoned paper-purse. But after my guest asked me to hold her 30-pound monster, the next thing you know I was hauling one of these suckers away.
First of all it included a weekend wardrobe, at least of tops, plus $200 worth of certificates for various beauty treatments. If you know a lot of fancy dames who are always willing to waste an afternoon having new and different unguents rubbed on them—and I do—that’s like cash, baby. But my absolute favorite was an ornament cocktail: a mini-bottle of Chambord which you can hang on your tree, and then chug secretly if things get desperate.
Posted 11.15.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior, and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].
“What is the new restaurant?”
“What show should we see?”
The truth is, I don’t mind answering questions like these—I’m supposed to be informed about these types of things—but I know that Mrs. Giberga (“My daughter Sammie just divorced—why not give her a call?”) doesn’t think she’s asking an expert, she just assumes all city folk are New York ambassadors, and part of our responsibilities include acting as translators for the suburban wealthy folks.
But when you tell them the truth, they’re confused. I remember one 90’s big-money era exchange:
“It must be so lovely in the city during the holidays, all the opera and ballet. What are the best things you get to do in the city?” Mrs. So-and-So asked.
“Well, honestly, the real action theses days is fragrance launches. Let me tell ya, those cosmetics companies can really drop a dime. The last one I went to had an elephant.”
Mrs. So-and-So walked away shaking her head, thinking I was a weirdo. Does she expect me to describe the tree in Lincoln Center this year?
That’s also why I can’t answer questions about where I shop for Christmas—because I don’t go to stores. I shop at parties and/or regift goodie bag merch. But when I tell people I did all my shopping in 20 minutes at the “Lucky Shops preview shopping night benefiting NYC Free Arts,” they just won’t get it.
But the shopping party is a way of life now, christened many moons ago by the first 7th on Sale organized by the Council of Fashion Designers of America and Vogue and run by Fern Mallis. It was an extravaganza, yes, but the magic was getting all this stuff cheap. I was a committee member in the early days, so I learned the ropes. (The event has been dormant for more than 10 years, but Vogue brought it back last week with a big blowout at Skylight.)
Later, the idea was brought to the Hamptons by Super Saturday, launched by the late Harper’s Bazaar editor Liz Tilberis at her Peconic Bay home, when she got sick, and I got involved in that scene, too.
What I gleaned from insider knowledge is that there are two killer time zones for shopping. There’s the preparty, noncompetition zone, which is when you race around buying stuff before the other guests get there. Then you drink while all the other folks do their looking, and wait until “markdown time,” when the lazy PR assistants start knocking the prices down ridiculously low so they don’t have to schlep the samples back to the showroom.
I’ve also learned that as these events get bigger, older, and more established, they become less of a bargain hunter’s heaven.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Anna Wintour and her party elves put on a fabulous show at this year’s 7th on Sale, but somehow my invitation got lost. At least I could read in The Times about the last-minute planning, the “enormity” of it all. (Do all these big event PR efforts that Vogue does now make you long for the silent, secretive Anna? Just asking.)
Anyway, back to shopping. I recommend an assistant to take vouchers and keep a list of purchases, so you’re not bogged down with the tedious elements of actually buying. If you are good, you can do a whole year of shopping in about half an hour.
I chose to race the racks this year with those younger, kickier girls from Lucky. After all, aren’t they supposed to be the shopping fiends?
Lucky Shops began in TriBeCa a few seasons back, and has become one of those multiday big deals. It’s now at Gotham Hall for a second season.
I got tipped off to go to the Lycra Denim Bar, where a fit expert would measure me for jeans. Being single, I’ll take any action I can get, even a pat down/tape measuring from a stranger for such hip brands as Earnest Sewn and Habitual. There from the balcony I scoped out my next stop, L’Atelier du Savon, where they were selling candles.
I can never have enough candles. During the blackout, I had about 40 pre-arranged in my apartment, plus 10 battery-powered numbers—all my neighbors thought I had a generator. Tip: Always save the glass from good candles, they are high-quality. What you do is dig out the little metal wick anchor with a knife, then microwave the whole sucker til you’ve got all liquid; pour off (using a pot holder!) the wax (the alchemist in me loves to pour the last drips of one into another just for fun). Quickly wipe with paper towel, and after four candles, you have juice set!
These are fancy candles, so the booth attendant wouldn’t burn more than one flavor at a time for me. He was right, actually, because good candles take awhile to get their vibe going, so burning competing scents defeats the purpose. He turned out to be the founder of the company. But I was impressed enough with “Concombre” that I bought a whole bunch. Fashion designer Tory Burch blessed my choice, saying, “It’s the only candle I burn.”
They come in a silvered vessel that looks like mercury glass, so they’re perfect for holiday parties. Go to Bergdorf Goodman.
Soon it got crowded with latecomers, so I retreated to the lounge, sponsored by Finlandia, and ran into Joan Steinberg, who explained how the gig worked for her. “Their V.I.P. nights we do, plus we act as the vendor of soft drinks and backstage snacks for all the consumer shopping days, too.” It has been awhile since I’ve had the offerings of her company, Match Catering and Eventstyles, and they are still good.
Lucky publisher Alexandra Golinkin (a friend) is a seasoned entertainer, and she insists on only bite-size offerings. Why can’t everyone get the hang of this? The sesame-oiled tuna tartare on brioche was a standout and an achievement if you’ve ever tried to do it. Raw marinated tuna has zero shelf life—you basically have to chop it and serve it within an hour or so—and Match made it even more challenging by using an absorbent bread which can become soggy but wasn’t.
I saw Super Saturday chairwoman Faith Kates Kogan checking out the competition—I love when people do that. I remember once going to a Whitney gala tricked out by Colin Cowie, and escaping from the zillions of flowers to grab a smoke on the street. I loitered and chatted up what seemed like a stargazing passerby. It turned out to be MoMA honcho Agnes Gund, scoping her rival. We had a great chat, and now whenever I see her we exchange a knowing wink.
Super Saturday is known for great gift bags, but Faith had to concede: “Theirs is amazing, can you get me an extra?”
I usually don’t take gift bags. If I’m going somewhere after, I don’t like walking around with a little retail-emblazoned paper-purse. But after my guest asked me to hold her 30-pound monster, the next thing you know I was hauling one of these suckers away.
First of all it included a weekend wardrobe, at least of tops, plus $200 worth of certificates for various beauty treatments. If you know a lot of fancy dames who are always willing to waste an afternoon having new and different unguents rubbed on them—and I do—that’s like cash, baby. But my absolute favorite was an ornament cocktail: a mini-bottle of Chambord which you can hang on your tree, and then chug secretly if things get desperate.
Posted 11.15.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior, and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].