Aug 02 2004
Hamptons Diary, Part I
Suzy’s Hamptons Diary*, Part I
Thanks to my fabulous friend K, who introduced me to her original and absorbing pastime of deciding whether random girls walking down the street have butts that are bigger or smaller than ours, I have become as avid an ass appraiser as the gayest denizen of the Castro. And almost as critical! Try it, it’s addictive (though it can also be very, very depressing, depending on where the game takes place).
No girl in the Hamptons has a butt bigger than mine, whether she’s famous, infamous, or just plain wealthy and privileged. It’s an indefinable quality that the rich, especially old money, have. They can be wearing shorts, t-shirts, and sandals with no jewelry, but something about them just says (in a refined tone of voice, of course) money and high society.
Other than the Guatamalan day laborers milling around outside the Seven-Eleven, hoping to get a day’s work, I was the poorest person for miles around. Even living in San Francisco couldn’t prepare me for the level of power and money in the Hamptons. I’m talking $17 million estates, people with private planes or helicopters to get them to the city once a week or so to check up on the little people, or the po’ folks who have a share in a beach house for $150,000 a summer.
*Not the real Hamptons Diary, which appears in the irresistibly and delightfully trashy New York Post. And yes, I read the Post every single day I was in the Empire State, sometimes while wearing the pink wig. I’m delightfully trashy myself at times.