With less than a month away from the official onslaught of mayhem that comes with hordes of people bum rushing it to the Hamptons I’ve decided to set an outline of all the reasons why I’m inevitably going to regret the Hamptons and to remind myself of those reasons now before someone connives me into coming along with them this upcoming Memorial day long weekend- the official start to scandal, sunshine, prima donnas, over priced hot dogs and the arrogant stare of Argentinian polo players that I’m suppose to metaphorically make out with. Not to mention the extra hand stroking as a journalist I’ll be inevitably asked to perform in front of young socialites who have come to believe their special myth and demand that it be reported in high resolution form, patented of course by Patrick McMullan photo ops.
For those of you uninitiated to the Hamptons, the Hamptons is not a quaint part of Long Island where nice friendly people give each other loving winks of endorsement and practical tips on how to procure the perfect suntan. No, the Hamptons is instead a menacing part of the world where faux aristocrats, over zealous socialites and media types nearly kill each other to get to on a Friday night with the intent of validating themselves while innocent locals sit in parlor malls terrifyingly looking on.
In short, the Hamptons is an idyllic media whore destination, a short hop and skip from Manhattan, with the illusion of green fields, frothy waves, rollicking mansions and the vital belief that if I somehow make it there I have a special license to become the thing in my delusional mind. I will smile, tan gracefully, drink pina coladas by the pool and when given a chance offend anyone I don’t like, strut as I please, sniff to abandon, all with the knowledge that somewhere someone will be watching and wishing they could get into my pants or my bank account. Of course that’s the dark version of the Hamptons, but who really ever order diet fillet mignon to begin with?
So in order of no particular importance let’s go over my five point list why like me you will come to regret the Hamptons.
1/ The Wealth factor.
Arriving in the Hamptons will remind you how incredibly poor you are and that even if somehow in your mind you had arrived at the idea that wealth really didn’t matter to you because you were an arbiter of culture, beautiful or just plain young all that will diminish in a heart stroke when you realize gazing at all the parked Ferraris and the diamond spangled girls in those Ferraris that these people don’t care for a minute that you once wrote a poem, realized something profound or that you know the difference between good and bad. That’s stuff that gets left behind the office or your fourth spritzer…