It's always the way, isn't it? You finally get a decent bonus and you decide to go for it and buy a nice little place south of the highway in Bridgehampton, and then what? Then the pressure starts. People start inviting you to parties. You buy the $100-a-pound lobster salad from you-know-where, you have the boiler and air-conditioner and basement mold problems, you have to get in touch with your decorator. You wonder if you should upgrade to oceanfront or not.
Then you decide the easiest thing to do is to summer on the Amalfi coast or Saint-Tropez. But the problems don't end there. No, you're having an intimate lunch at La Fontelina, one of Capri's best and most picturesque seaside kitchens, when a bunch of people you know get off a cruise-ship-sized yacht. You feel ashamed for staying at a hotel like the Poors, instead of a yacht. Finally, you're whiling away the hours at John Paul Getty's converted seaside palazzo before you have to get to the first class lounge at Fiumicino, and you listen in to the conversation of another Hamptons acquaintance. Horror! Apparently someone was so poor this year they had to use their Hamptons estate instead of going to France and Italy. You relax. Things could be worse. Scusi, cameriere? Un altro Campari prego!
· The Emptons: Fleeing for Europe [NYOb]