It’s August, and the sticky situation for Hamptons hosts is keeping everything cool. For me, that starts with tents.
At the National Foundation for Facial Reconstruction's (NFFR) dinner and fashion show in Water Mill, there was just one large tent. The dinner and fashion show took place on one end, and the other side had cocktail tables that served as gathering points during drinks. Then, on another part of the lawn, there were two exhibit tents that housed the wares of sponsors including Zegna, jeweler Buccellati, and cashmere maker Agnona. For a number of reasons, the big tent worked. People came and went, and the layout encouraged you to try the great outdoors.
At the Southampton Hospital’s annual Dinner by the Sea, one of the season’s social highlights, the much, much larger tents had the opposite effect. Here, the swarm worked Tent One like a fury as the soiree unfolded, hitting the two open bars, navigating the star-shaped layouts of the voluminous silent auction tables, and posing for photographers. (Bill Cunningham was there, and the ladies he shot stood knowingly at attention every time he whisked by.) Then I noticed that, despite the late hour and the bearable sun and humidity of the afternoon, the tent was boiling hot.
Sure enough, when the group swarmed the dinner tent, the same thing happened. And then I saw why—it was the sides. The hospital people had left about two-thirds of the side flaps on both tents. At first I thought I was imagining it. I’m the canary in the gold mine when it comes to air flow at events, but then the editor of Hamptons.com told me I was right: “Oh yeah, crazy hot in there, but nobody is noticing. They’re busy.”
At the NFFR party, dinner was small passed plates of food, catered by Acquolina of Manhattan, and at first I thought they were just elaborate hors d’oeuvres. But while the quality varied from dish-to-dish (I preferred the vegetable items), you couldn’t help but be impressed by the variety the kitchen turned out. I counted 12 different plates passed bountifully my way. There may have been more—when I talked to others, they described risotto balls and lamb chops that I didn’t get. But the measure of the catering is if the food makes it your way, isn’t it? In this case the caterers get an A.
And this kept the night, with its semiannoying fashion show (who wants to look at men’s shearling coats and women in cashmere skirts in August?) alive. Bored with the person you’re talking too? Ask what kind of cheese is in the salmon crepe with the chive bows. Want another champagne with strawberry puree, which they handed you on the way in? Make your way back to the bar and find a bunch of guys also bored with the runway, someone to share a cigarette with.
At the Southampton Hospital dinner, the opposite is the case. The tables are high ticket items and people guard their real estate firmly. And I understand that, if you are a guest at one of these things, as I have been many times, you’re really not supposed to get up and work the room. I was a self-financed solo, so I loitered, but it was reassuring to see people firmly planted for a real meal—though at some point, for the party to kick into high gear, you’ve got to get the music going and the people moving again.
And the problem here was gift bags. When you entered the dinner tent, with its striped canvas tablecloths and cheery flowers, the laundry bag-shaped gift bags looked like the ultimate table gift. But once you seated yourself, there was the huge question of what to do with it. If you hung it on the back of the seat, the chair tipped over every time you got up. If you put it on the ground, the waiters would step on it. And if you put it under the table, you’d end up kicking it all night and wondering who else kicked it all night, and do you really want a bag touched by everybody’s smelly feet? Really, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think about these things.
I saw Somers Farkas, who Mr. Cunningham featured in his photo round-up; she is very tall and looked very lean in her fuchsia goddess gown, and I saw the gift bag leaning on her chair, and I thought, “I hope she doesn’t get knocked over.”
For the ultimate in light and breezy, I wanted to make it to the August 10 Audemars Piguet Hamptons Princess Race, where you watched notable Hamptons females (that is if you consider Samantha Cole, ex-girl-lover of Peter Cook, notable) sky dive and jet-ski and do other fast stuff, followed by awards at Nello Summertimes, which seems to be the restaurant to go to if you miss New York City. I think that Nello Balan guy is crazy, thus interesting—who else gets arrested for belting his girlfriend and then takes out an ad opposite Page Six with his picture on it? And remember when he ran that ad with a list of all his famous customers and a bunch of them got mad because he hadn’t bothered to ask? But August 10 was a Thursday, and I forgot.
Posted 08.23.06
Photos: Fifth Avenue Digital
At the National Foundation for Facial Reconstruction's (NFFR) dinner and fashion show in Water Mill, there was just one large tent. The dinner and fashion show took place on one end, and the other side had cocktail tables that served as gathering points during drinks. Then, on another part of the lawn, there were two exhibit tents that housed the wares of sponsors including Zegna, jeweler Buccellati, and cashmere maker Agnona. For a number of reasons, the big tent worked. People came and went, and the layout encouraged you to try the great outdoors.
At the Southampton Hospital’s annual Dinner by the Sea, one of the season’s social highlights, the much, much larger tents had the opposite effect. Here, the swarm worked Tent One like a fury as the soiree unfolded, hitting the two open bars, navigating the star-shaped layouts of the voluminous silent auction tables, and posing for photographers. (Bill Cunningham was there, and the ladies he shot stood knowingly at attention every time he whisked by.) Then I noticed that, despite the late hour and the bearable sun and humidity of the afternoon, the tent was boiling hot.
Sure enough, when the group swarmed the dinner tent, the same thing happened. And then I saw why—it was the sides. The hospital people had left about two-thirds of the side flaps on both tents. At first I thought I was imagining it. I’m the canary in the gold mine when it comes to air flow at events, but then the editor of Hamptons.com told me I was right: “Oh yeah, crazy hot in there, but nobody is noticing. They’re busy.”
At the NFFR party, dinner was small passed plates of food, catered by Acquolina of Manhattan, and at first I thought they were just elaborate hors d’oeuvres. But while the quality varied from dish-to-dish (I preferred the vegetable items), you couldn’t help but be impressed by the variety the kitchen turned out. I counted 12 different plates passed bountifully my way. There may have been more—when I talked to others, they described risotto balls and lamb chops that I didn’t get. But the measure of the catering is if the food makes it your way, isn’t it? In this case the caterers get an A.
And this kept the night, with its semiannoying fashion show (who wants to look at men’s shearling coats and women in cashmere skirts in August?) alive. Bored with the person you’re talking too? Ask what kind of cheese is in the salmon crepe with the chive bows. Want another champagne with strawberry puree, which they handed you on the way in? Make your way back to the bar and find a bunch of guys also bored with the runway, someone to share a cigarette with.
At the Southampton Hospital dinner, the opposite is the case. The tables are high ticket items and people guard their real estate firmly. And I understand that, if you are a guest at one of these things, as I have been many times, you’re really not supposed to get up and work the room. I was a self-financed solo, so I loitered, but it was reassuring to see people firmly planted for a real meal—though at some point, for the party to kick into high gear, you’ve got to get the music going and the people moving again.
And the problem here was gift bags. When you entered the dinner tent, with its striped canvas tablecloths and cheery flowers, the laundry bag-shaped gift bags looked like the ultimate table gift. But once you seated yourself, there was the huge question of what to do with it. If you hung it on the back of the seat, the chair tipped over every time you got up. If you put it on the ground, the waiters would step on it. And if you put it under the table, you’d end up kicking it all night and wondering who else kicked it all night, and do you really want a bag touched by everybody’s smelly feet? Really, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think about these things.
I saw Somers Farkas, who Mr. Cunningham featured in his photo round-up; she is very tall and looked very lean in her fuchsia goddess gown, and I saw the gift bag leaning on her chair, and I thought, “I hope she doesn’t get knocked over.”
For the ultimate in light and breezy, I wanted to make it to the August 10 Audemars Piguet Hamptons Princess Race, where you watched notable Hamptons females (that is if you consider Samantha Cole, ex-girl-lover of Peter Cook, notable) sky dive and jet-ski and do other fast stuff, followed by awards at Nello Summertimes, which seems to be the restaurant to go to if you miss New York City. I think that Nello Balan guy is crazy, thus interesting—who else gets arrested for belting his girlfriend and then takes out an ad opposite Page Six with his picture on it? And remember when he ran that ad with a list of all his famous customers and a bunch of them got mad because he hadn’t bothered to ask? But August 10 was a Thursday, and I forgot.
Posted 08.23.06
Photos: Fifth Avenue Digital
The National Foundation for Facial Reconstruction’s big tent.
Matt Lauer was the M.C.
I ask you, who wants to see cashmere sweaters in August?
Peter Cincotti performed, too.
