Paris, sure, but will we always have Venice? After La Fenice opera house burned down, I started to have my doubts—although I am a fan of those giant tidal gates they’re supposedly building to keep the sunken shrunken city from submerging any further. (I saw a demo on PBS. It could work!)
That’s why I’ve always loved Save Venice Inc. (Well, I also love their organization’s title. So brief and snappy.) So I was glad to be reminded of the annual Young Friends of Save Venice costume ball, held last Friday, as always, at the Metropolitan Club, on one of the rainiest nights I can remember in a long time. (Is it just me, or does anyone else think it always rains on the super dressy nights?) It is one of the few galas on a Friday, and I think that’s just right given the festivity of it all. They are obviously doing a lot of things right. Here are five.1. You know exactly where the money is going. This year’s party proceeds will go to the restoration of two pieces by Marco Ricci, Landscape With Horses and Landscape With Stream and Figures. They look like real nice paintings, all lush and ornate and, well, Venetian. A bit dark, perhaps, but who knows—maybe after they’re restored they’ll be all colorful like the Sistine Chapel. (Although some people criticize that power-washing is a bit too Disney. I’m not sure where I stand on that, but who can argue with clean?)
2. They sell out almost every year. Back when I considered myself youthful enough to attend anything with “young” in the title, this was an event I often patronized but just as often missed due to not calling on time. I went briefly as a journalist this year, sin costumi, and was surprised by how many attendees I recognized as being older than me—which I find a bit creepy, but satisfying. I hope they all paid the extra $125 "over-40 dinner charge" wisely articulated on the invitation. Movie publicist Peggy Siegal, who I know is older than me but looks younger (I quite like her), asked me if I was running the event, which I found adorable but had me concerned if she has early-onset Alzheimer’s. (I remember telling her years ago that I had quit the biz.)
3. It’s a simple and classy affair. Cocktails in one room, dinner in the next. This year’s tables were designed by H. Devinn Bruce. He used beautiful clear candlelit chandeliers as centerpieces atop the silver tablecloth. I found out later that the centerpieces were actually plastic, not glass (who knew?), and was surprised; I had assumed it was Italian art glass—possible Venini, the absolute best (a former client of mine).
4. They try to keep it fresh by giving it a new theme each year. This year's dress was “iridescent,” but the invitation, while attractive, wasn't quite. I'll go as far as opalesque. I think that contributed to the confusion among guests, not one of whose costumes I could describe as truly iridescent. A number of people whom I asked about their outfits pointed to sequins or sparkles or glitter or shiny points on their person and were nonplussed when I would say, “But that’s not iridescent.”
I once made an iridescent costume for a party (I was King of Pearl, get it?) and it is so easy—which is why I was crestfallen. All you need is some of that iridescent plastic wrap and you’re there. Or good pearls, of which at least a few were on hand. One cleverly costumed fellow had a giant monocle on a decorated Venetian wand covered in purple paillettes, which he claimed were iridescent, though I couldn’t be sure; it was dark.
5. It’s a masked ball! Readers of this space may know that I love a masked ball, and that I consider myself at least informed about the genre. I lived in New Orleans, survived Carnivale in Venice, and even once outlined the rules in this forum and on NPR, as I understand them. It’s not Save Venice’s fault that, by my count, only 10 percent even bothered to wear costumes, way down from my era. Glamorous vice chair SunHee Grinnell, an old colleague and the beauty director at Vanity Fair, carried a proper Venetian wand mask (and sported a marvelous gray chiffon number designed by ... oh, my note-taking skills aren't quite up to par). She responded to my lament of missing masks with "I see you didn't bother, either." What's the Italian word for touché?
I hope I’m asked back next year, and will arrive en masque, me promissi.
That’s why I’ve always loved Save Venice Inc. (Well, I also love their organization’s title. So brief and snappy.) So I was glad to be reminded of the annual Young Friends of Save Venice costume ball, held last Friday, as always, at the Metropolitan Club, on one of the rainiest nights I can remember in a long time. (Is it just me, or does anyone else think it always rains on the super dressy nights?) It is one of the few galas on a Friday, and I think that’s just right given the festivity of it all. They are obviously doing a lot of things right. Here are five.1. You know exactly where the money is going. This year’s party proceeds will go to the restoration of two pieces by Marco Ricci, Landscape With Horses and Landscape With Stream and Figures. They look like real nice paintings, all lush and ornate and, well, Venetian. A bit dark, perhaps, but who knows—maybe after they’re restored they’ll be all colorful like the Sistine Chapel. (Although some people criticize that power-washing is a bit too Disney. I’m not sure where I stand on that, but who can argue with clean?)
2. They sell out almost every year. Back when I considered myself youthful enough to attend anything with “young” in the title, this was an event I often patronized but just as often missed due to not calling on time. I went briefly as a journalist this year, sin costumi, and was surprised by how many attendees I recognized as being older than me—which I find a bit creepy, but satisfying. I hope they all paid the extra $125 "over-40 dinner charge" wisely articulated on the invitation. Movie publicist Peggy Siegal, who I know is older than me but looks younger (I quite like her), asked me if I was running the event, which I found adorable but had me concerned if she has early-onset Alzheimer’s. (I remember telling her years ago that I had quit the biz.)
3. It’s a simple and classy affair. Cocktails in one room, dinner in the next. This year’s tables were designed by H. Devinn Bruce. He used beautiful clear candlelit chandeliers as centerpieces atop the silver tablecloth. I found out later that the centerpieces were actually plastic, not glass (who knew?), and was surprised; I had assumed it was Italian art glass—possible Venini, the absolute best (a former client of mine).
4. They try to keep it fresh by giving it a new theme each year. This year's dress was “iridescent,” but the invitation, while attractive, wasn't quite. I'll go as far as opalesque. I think that contributed to the confusion among guests, not one of whose costumes I could describe as truly iridescent. A number of people whom I asked about their outfits pointed to sequins or sparkles or glitter or shiny points on their person and were nonplussed when I would say, “But that’s not iridescent.”
I once made an iridescent costume for a party (I was King of Pearl, get it?) and it is so easy—which is why I was crestfallen. All you need is some of that iridescent plastic wrap and you’re there. Or good pearls, of which at least a few were on hand. One cleverly costumed fellow had a giant monocle on a decorated Venetian wand covered in purple paillettes, which he claimed were iridescent, though I couldn’t be sure; it was dark.
5. It’s a masked ball! Readers of this space may know that I love a masked ball, and that I consider myself at least informed about the genre. I lived in New Orleans, survived Carnivale in Venice, and even once outlined the rules in this forum and on NPR, as I understand them. It’s not Save Venice’s fault that, by my count, only 10 percent even bothered to wear costumes, way down from my era. Glamorous vice chair SunHee Grinnell, an old colleague and the beauty director at Vanity Fair, carried a proper Venetian wand mask (and sported a marvelous gray chiffon number designed by ... oh, my note-taking skills aren't quite up to par). She responded to my lament of missing masks with "I see you didn't bother, either." What's the Italian word for touché?
I hope I’m asked back next year, and will arrive en masque, me promissi.
About a tenth of the guests donned costumes—most of which weren't quite as iridescent as the wearers claimed.
Photo: Julie Skarratt
Proceeds from the event went to the restoration of two classic landscapes by Italian artist Marco Ricci.
Photo: Julie Skarratt
In addition to the elegant centerpieces, designer H. Devinn Bruce scattered crystals atop the silver tablecloths for an overall shimmering effect.
Photo: Julie Skarratt
