The cold weather has brought with it an additional blight, and nobody wants to talk about it. It’s simply too ghastly. No, I’m not talking about influenza or cystitis, which, according to my grandmother, was the result of riding a bicycle in cold weather sans undies. No, not that.
I’m talking about lost jewelry !
All over Manhattan, rings and bangles are sliding off extremities that are too numb to register the departing bijoux . Why is nobody warning the bejeweled denizens of New York? As scarves are unwound or readjusted, earrings are being torn from frozen lobes, the owners of which are none the wiser. Just this week, I spotted two dangly earrings lying in the slush, one at 33rd Street near Penn Station, and one on Fifth at 47th Street.
I myself have fallen victim to this scourge. On Jan. 15, I lost my beloved Dior pinkie ring in the Continental Airlines Domestic car park. This ring, dubbed “Le Nougat” by the house jewelry designer Victoire de Castellane, resembles a large marshmallow with a hole in it. Such an ostentatiously large (hollow) hunk of gold would normally make a significant clang when it hit the pavement, but it slid off my pinkie unnoticed as I ran through six inches of snow. I didn’t realize it was missing until I got warmed up on the plane and the feeling returned to my fingers.
Acquired last summer, this glamorous adornment is sorely missed. I had planned to wear it into my dotage and beyond; adoring acolytes were to have grabbed my gnarled, arthritic hand and kissed this ring respectfully and repeatedly. A reward and an hour of free fashion advice awaits the Good Samaritan who returns it to me.
Speaking of gold: Are you one of those irate people who is spitting tacks of resentment over the proliferation of conspicuous consumption and wealth in Manhattan? How long before they rename it Trumphattan, right? It’s time for you to grow up and face the horrible, sad truth about rich people: Despite the moolah, they are as ordinary, bored and boring as the rest of us. They eat birthday cake off paper plates, too!
For verification, check out photographer Andrea Stern’s new show at the Ricco/Maresca gallery (529 West 20th Street, 212-627-4819). Ms. Stern is a member of the New York–based Stern family, real-estate and pet-food zillionaires. They are the sometimes startled subjects of her brilliant and often hilarious large-format photographs. Don’t expect lavish interiors and tiaras: Ms. Stern is both the anti–Slim Aarons and the Martin Parr of the Manhattan Jewish aristocracy. Though her show is entitled Inheritance , she uses the word to conjure family meshugas rather than material wealth. “We all have an inheritance, even if we are born in a trailer,” the tall, glamorous Ms. Stern said to me at her packed opening. “It’s what we do with it that counts.” Inheritance runs through March 20.
Talking of Jewish girls-are you one of those irate young women who has always resented the preferential treatment given to the boys in your family? Have you always had a secret hankering to wear a yarmulke? Well, now, thanks to Yarmulkebra.com, you can wear two. The creator of Yarmulkebra is a talented, low-key young Jewess who goes by the name of K.S. “My work combines religion, sexuality and humor,” is how she put it to me. “It’s my art, but I don’t want people to freak out and take it too seriously.” K.S., who pertly said that she’s in her “mid-yenties,” creates her brassieres from authentic yarmulkes imported from Israel. With prices starting at $55, a Yarmulkebra is a great deal for a limited-edition piece of art that is guaranteed to add a provocative je ne sais quoi to your dinner parties, not to mention your Boca Spring getaway.
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