La Peregrina Pearl

Every now and then, an invitation comes in that makes us so happy to be on the party circuit; and the chance to view Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry collection at a Dom Pérignon sponsored lunch was one such invite. Diamonds and Champagne, what could be a better way to spend a chilly fall afternoon?

And this was ice like you’ve never seen it before. Elizabeth Taylor collected jewelry the way that some people might collect stamps or maybe pens. She was a diverse collector—never sticking to one period or jewelry house. While, as a general rule her mantra seemed to be “bigger is better,” there were a number of surprisingly interesting pieces that showed a more discerning level of taste than one might be inclined to give Ole Violet eyes.

Jennifer Hall, a senior vice president, said of the works, “Even if you took Elizabeth Taylor’s name off it, this would still be the most important jewelry collection ever to be sold by Christie’s.”
Groups of women drifted in, scarcely able to contain their excitement as they headed to the glass cabinets holding the cornucopia of twinkling gems. Ritual air kissing was all but forgotten as the ladies paused in front of their favorite pieces.

Sadly, due to express orders from Elizabeth Taylor’s estate, no one was allowed to touch the hoard but judging from the oohing-and­-aahing heard around the room everyone was pleased just to have a first look. (The collection officially goes under the hammer in mid-December.) Olivia Chantecaille, Marina Rust, Jamie Tisch, MacDowell Win and Sophia Marinakis all rushed to their preferred pieces.

“My favorite is the Opera Tickets,” said the statuesque Lydia Fenet, director of strategic partnerships at Christie’s, referring to a gold and ivory necklace made of turn-of-the-century theater tickets. The necklace was left to Taylor by costume designer Edith Head. “It’s incredibly wearable and yet completely unique and you would have something unique in history.”

As the ladies sat down to a lunch of truffle risotto and sipped their glass of 1996 Dom Pérignon Oenothèque, Rahul Kadakia, head of jewelry at Christie’s, dropped a few more gems (sorry–couldn’t resist) about the collection.

One of the best stories has to be the tale of La Peregrina, a natural pearl found on the Gulf of Panama in 1519, which even back in the day was recognized as so important that the slave who found it was instantly granted his freedom. Richard Burton famously bought the pearl for the then tremendous sum of $37,000 in 1969 for Elizabeth on their wedding day. La Peregrina has graced the neck of no fewer than eight Spanish kings and remained unscathed even after famously being masticated by one of Taylor’s puppies.

Then there is the Taj Mahal necklace, a carved diamond set in a ruby and gold chain, famously given by Emperor Jahangir to his son Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal. Mr. Burton gave Ms. Taylor the exotic necklace for her 40th birthday.

And of course, there was the Elizabeth Taylor diamond that weighs in at a mere 33.19 carats, originally sold for the price of a Park Avenue apartment, now the price tag is a mere $3 million. Still,  Taylor’s taste is not for everyone. Jennifer Wright, specialist in Old Master drawings, peering at the stone the size of a watch face, said, “Well, some guy is going to get off the hook because 33 carats is just too big for my little hands.”

Ms. Chantecaille, of the eponymous jewelry company, who has been busily designing new evening eyeshadow colors for the festive season, had an even stronger reaction to the stone’s size, “Wow, to sleep on that would be like the princess and the pea—you’d get a bruise.”

As lunch drew to a close with delectable Dom Pérignon Rosé ice cream and one last sneaky glass of the Dom Pérignon Rosé 2000, we swayed out into the street in a golden haze wishing that our life was half as sparkling as Elizabeth Taylor’s.
dprince@observer.com

Lauren Santo Domingo.

“Did you know there’s a guy named Nacho here?” Kathy Griffin asked The Observer.

We were on Governors Island for the Veuve Clicquot Polo Classic, the fourth annual polo match that takes place in New York City. The crowd, a smattering of socialites (Lauren Santo Domingo in white, tiny once again three months after giving birth), actresses (Naomi Watts and Julianna Margulies), designers (Donna Karan and Catherine Malandrino) and a ubiquitous reality TV show star from somewhere (Whitney Port), turned out in their finest glad rags to cheer on a sport that few people can play and even fewer can afford.

In the sea of people in gaudy hats and pastel colors, Ms. Griffin was wearing black. She had on Crocs. We told her we did, in fact, know there was a guy named Nacho here: Nacho Figueras, the cherubic poster boy for the sport, who, as the entire crowd of growingly intoxicated spectators seemed to unite in a chorus of alliterative voices to proclaim, is trying to “bring polo to the people.”

“Do you think he knows he’s named after an appetizer?” Ms. Griffin said.

Mr. Figueras, aside from playing the afternoon match, was in high demand. The Observer followed protocol and stood in line behind camera crews, journalists and publicists with headsets to ask him a question, but he kept getting pulled away to have his picture taken while kissing a baby or shaking an old person’s hand. Finally, we cornered him as he walked out of a fancy Porta-potty slightly removed from the chaos. So how does one make the sport of kings mainstream?

“Hopefully you’ll be a witness of it,” he said. “It was a dream of mine to bring polo back to New York in the way it was in the 20’s, when 30,000 people would go to games and polo was in people’s minds. It’s this drive that I have inside me. I can’t explain it.”  As for the polo match, the crowd—mellow from drinking Champagne in the afternoon sun—watched the field passively as the horses stomped quickly around.

Inside the V.I.P. tent, which was restricted to people who spent up to $50,000 for a seat at a lunch table and an eight-ounce steak, Hugh Jackman, the event’s M.C., wearing a slim-fitting beige suit, was welcoming his guests.

“Let’s get this party started!” he said. Then he went into a bizarre stand-up routine filled with one stinker after another.

“Polo was first played here 100 years ago, or as 100 years is called in show business: 40!” The audience continued talking over him. “This is kind of like being at home; nobody listens to me! I feel very comfortable here.”

The crowd quieted down as he began talking about charity—the day benefited Ms. Karan’s organization, Hope Help & Rebuild Haiti. Marc Jacobs, in an expectedly tasteful black suit, was chatting with his old boyfriend Lorenzo Martone. “I think it’s so surreal,” Mr. Jacobs said, scanning the room. “Polo, it evokes to people that they need to put on their summer clothes and don the hat and flowy dress. I guess people watch too many movies.”

Across the room, Wyclef Jean, wearing a slim gray suit and white tennis shoes, was talking to a few admirers while next to him Paul Haggis, the Academy Award-winning director of Crash, sat alone and stared sternly off into the distance. He looked out of place. The Observer sat with him and asked if he would talk about the New Yorker article about Mr. Haggis’s defection from the Church of Scientology.

“You can ask,” he said, slapping The Observer’s knee, “I won’t necessarily answer. The only difference is a lot of people aren’t speaking to me or working with me. We’ll see. My children lost friends, but I think they realize those weren’t really friends. Now when you look for my name, the first thing that comes up is ‘Paul Haggis vs. the Church of Scientology.’”

“It sort of trumps the Academy Award then?”

“I don’t know about that.”

A few very attentive waiters were pouring out Champagne and rosé faster than the crowd could drink it and everyone grew steadily more...um,refreshed. Mr. Jean went to the center of the room and announced: “Excuse me, my name is Wyclef and I was born in Haiti but I grew up in Brooklyn.” He continued: “If you don’t know who I am, you need to Google me. So I’m gonna entertain you for free, but you gotta give something. How many of you know what freestyling is?” There were a few woots from the lunch crowd, but for the most part their countenances looked as empty as when Mr. Jackman was telling jokes. Mr. Jean began freestyling: “Veuve Cliquot/Wyclef Jean, I play a little polo/June 5th 2011/my father was a reverend/Wyclef, I take the course/I come from Haiti and I know how to ride a horse.”

This went on for some time.

Mr. Jean then demanded the D.J. play Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie.” Almost on cue, Ms. Karan—who looked a little ridiculous in an enormous hat that drooped down to the small of her back—emerged, grabbing Mr. Jean from behind and running her hands up his torso, rubbing her body against the singer’s. Mr. Jackman entered the circle that had formed around the two, with his daughter resting on his shoulders, both smiling as they danced to Mr. Jean singing along to his own song.

Meanwhile, the Veuve Clicquot-sponsored team lost the game. —Michael H. Miller

As the "stars" of the NYPL are writers, documentary makers and cultural leaders, known more for their words than their faces, they can be a little tougher to recognize than your average pop star. Mindful of this, the NYPL had thoughtfully provided medals for the honored guests so that the reporters would know who they were talking to. 

At the pre-dinner VIP drinks, library president Paul LeClerc spoke movingly about the library to a crowd that included Toni Morrison, documentarian Ken Burns, David Dinkins, Jonathan Franzen and Martha Stewart. 

We asked for a word with Mr. Dinkins, who agreed but not before "Bill has taken his photographs"--referring to Times photographer Bill Cunningham. Mr. Dinkins had been honored in Mr. LeClerc's speech for his decision to keep the library open six days a week in the depths of the 1970's recession.

The former mayor told us, "It cost us $47 million dollars, if I remember right, and it's one of the things I'm most proud of." What will be on his reading list this summer?

"I'm looking forward to writing a book on my life. That's a long period of time. I was born in 1927. We're hard at work. I don't know that we'll finish it, but we're well on the way."

Fran Lebowitz appeared at the table with Mr. Dinkins and Ms. Morrison. Ms. Morrison fingered Fran's NYPL medal and told her that she wanted one. "Well, you've already got a Pulitzer Prize, so you can't have one," said Ms. Lebowitz teasingly.

Martha Stewart, who is taller in person than she looks on TV and was wearing a checked coat with a satin and pearl necklace, said of her summer reading, "I'm still reading Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese, which I should have finished by now, but I haven't. I have piles of biography and garden books to read. I hope I find the time." 

Chris Tomson, drummer of the band Vampire Weekend, was featured in the centennial book, a collection of essays by luiminaries about their favorite item from the NYPL's collections, was there with his girlfriend, Megan. "This is a little out of my context," he admitted. 

We caught up with Mr. Franzen on the way up the stairs to the Rose Main Reading Room, where the rededication ceremony was due to take place. Mr. Franzen was one of the earliest honorees to arrive--"6:37. I wanted you all to see that."

Mr. Franzen thought that this might be the summer to read all seven volumes of Proust.

"I'm told the last three volumes are the best. You think you loved it even though you wimped out after barely three volumes. You didn't actually get the great stuff," he said with the air of a man who reads volumes of literature the way some people sip a cappucino.

Click here for the week's best parties.

He asked The Observer if we'd ever read Proust. We lied and said we'd started but never finished.

"Well, everyone says that Swann's Way is the best but it's not the best. In fact, it gets better, but not before it gets slower."

At the rededication ceremony, a roll call of New York's who's who walked down the aisle in the center of the Rose Main Reading Room. Barbara Walters was the mistress of ceremonies and illustrious authors from Frank Rich to Robert Caro paid tribute to "a great treasure house of history."

Centennial book contributor Uzodinma Iweala revealed some of the lesser known uses of the library. "I used to come here mostly to fall asleep and be woken up by the security guards and I've gone on no fewer than four dates with people I've met here." Dinner in the Edna Barnes Saloman Room was a rare treat; guests feasted on lobster salad, sliced filet of beef and lime-marinated chicken, which was passed family-style around the tables. Enormous green and white arrangements of mini-rhododendrons completed the setting; guests laughed and drank under the watchful eyes of portraits of former benefactors of the library, including one of Vincent Astor (also known as the late Brooke Astor's husband) in his naval uniform.

Doug Bernstein was the creative consultant for the party and the perfect dinner companion. As the party wound to a close, guests exited the building to see the library completely illuminated for the first time in its history. A trustee hugged the gray Lego lions that had been created for the party--we knew just how she felt. --Daisy Prince

The POSH affair was just that, a venn diagram of bold-face names from New York High Society and Haute Fashion crowds. The dress code for the evening was POSH and the crowd did not disappoint. Iris Apel was a resplendent bird of paradise in chartreuse silk Ralph Rucci, festooned with costume jewelry and her signature black-rimmed glasses. Carolina and Reinaldo Herrera drifted in a little later and chatted with Vanity Fair's Bob Colacello and Lady Jane Spencer-Churchill. Emilia and Pepe Fanjul were on hand to support their friend and fellow host, Pauline Pitt. Mrs. Pitt's daughters were also in attendance: Dr. Samantha Boardman Rosen and Serena Boardman Theodoracopulos. Waiters wafted around pushing through the long palm leaves that hung in front of them like stage curtains, bearing flutes of champagne and full-to-the-brim glass es of cold white wine.

Lorry Newhouse was in a floral creation by Rodarte. Her husband Michael, who runs the newspaper division of Condé Nast, looked natty in a striped purple suit. When we complimented him on his choice, with the speed of a flasher, he showed us the bordello-red lining of his jacket.

When the recipient of the POSH Fashion Visionary Award herself arrived, Vanity Fair Special Correspondent Amy Fine Collins, she was instantly swarmed by admirers. With her raven-black elfin hair and a designer's dream slim physique, Ms. Fine Collins takes very classic clothes and makes them cool. Last night was no exception, as she arrived in hot pink Carolina Herrera accessorized with dangling emerald and diamond earrings. She was accompanied by her daughter, Flora, a poised 17-year-old. "I'm wearing Alice and Olivia" she said, "except for these," she noted pointing at her rhinestone covered spike heels, "these are hers" she said pointing to her mother. (Later we looked at the label, "Manolo Blahnik," Flora said, sounding almost apologetic.)

Designer Naeem Khan chatted to Anthony Todd with his wife Ranjana, who wore a dress of her own creation that could have come straight from the set of Pirates of the Caribbean, complete with sheer netting and shells. They mused on why the sale was called POSH, "I don't know, but it's a word we use in India a lot," said Ranjana, "we were all taught the Queen's English."

Stacey Bendet had taken POSH to a new level by carrying her own flask full of Champagne. "It's Caitlin's birthday," she said by way of an excuse, pointing to one of the girls, her fingernails painted in jail-stripe black and white. 

Guests were finally herded into the Plaza's Belle Époque-inspired dining room. The Observer sat next to the king of fur, Dennis Basso, who told us that he used to volunteer for Lighthouse and read to the blind. "I thought I'd be reading them journals, magazines and so forth. They gave me a man who was studying microbiology and I had to read these incredibly complicated scientific tracts to him. Every other word, he'd have to make me stop and explain it to me. The blind man was telling me how to read!  We soon decided that it wasn't for me and that I was much better at recording readings." 

The evening's hosts got up one by one to make speeches. Co-founder and Lifetime Visionary award winner Kim Baker Campbell made a sweetly rambling speech in her 1930's movie star tones about her "entire Baker family" and named them all, including step-children.

Bergdorf Goodman's SVP, Women's Fashion Director Linda Fargo also received a Lifestyle Visionary award and finally explained the origins of the word POSH. It came from traveling in the best cabins on the legendary Cunard Cruise Line to from England to India, those which avoided the glare of the sun: Port Out and Starboard Home.

As the clock stuck the witching hour (in this case about 10:15) guests drifted out the door, their multi-colored frocks spread out into New York's city streets like a rainbow fan. -Daisy Prince

Even famous health fanatic Rupert Murdoch was seen to grab a few while standing with his wife Wendi, who wore tremendously fetching turquoise blue sheath dress. The cocktail party was held outside the State Supreme Court House and the crowd milled around enjoying the balmy late spring weather.  

Christopher Walken is well-known for his ability to play crusty, stern military men, most notably in the Pulp Fiction sequence about the consequences of hiding the family jewels in...well... the family jewels. But has he served his country for real? Walken was put on the spot about his military career by friends and ex-marines Scott Glenn and Harvey Keitel. Mr. Keitel and Mr. Glenn, wearing exactly the same black shirt and black blazer combo, shared a moment of man love and had a hearty hug before Mr. Keitel shouted, "A fellow Marine - we have to stick together!"  Mr. Keitel called out to Christopher Walken standing nearby, "Hey, Walken were you in the Marines?" Taking a long sip of red wine, the slightly ashen actor replied with a smile, "I was but no one ever believes me."  (The Observer had a look and it appears that Walken never actually served in the armed forces.)

His friend and fellow actor, Scott Glenn did serve, and told us he was discharged from military service on November 22^nd 1967, "Which was a pretty interesting time to be in the marines." Mr. Glenn was both a judge at the festival and as well as promoting a movie he was featured in called Magic Mountain.  "I was in three movies this year, one had a budget of $100 million, another was $35 million and the one at the festival was just $600,000." When asked if he preferred Independent movies or studio ones, Mr. Glenn replied, "If money wasn't an issue, I would always choose Independents but studio films pay the rent."

Grayon Carter presided over his party in a natty green-checked spring tweed coat for the occasion. Other attendees included: Salman Rushdie paying hooky from his duties as the president of the PEN awards, Oscar award winning director Tom Hopper seen leaving with new squeeze Tara Subkoff and Robert de Niro surrounded by a huge and immovable crush of fans.

dprince@observer.com

Modern Declaration's Daun Curry turns up the volume at a duplex Chelsea loft owned by DJ and model Sky Nellor.

At the launch of Black Sweater, filmmaker (and Johnson & Johnson heir) Jamie Johnson's new men's wear line at Bergdorf Goodman, not even an epic hailstorm could keep the stampede of socialites away. The name comes from a WASP legend, in which an upper-class grande dame would send black cashmere sweaters to individuals she wished to banish from society for indecent behavior.

The clothes are billed as having elements of classic tailoring while pushing the limits of contemporary fashion. The line includes blazers, trench coats, trousers and the signature black sweater. Jamie has added a few "special touches" to the collection, like trousers with racy hand stitched cutouts: men holding tennis rackets on one side and naked women on the other. His signature black sweater has the names of great society destinations (Hobe Sound, Newport and Fisher's Island) hand-stitched on the cuffs, which can be conveniently rolled up out of view. The party was also thrown to celebrate tie-maker Alexander Olch's Spring 2011 collection.

Today, of course, the practice of explicitly expelling people from within the ranks of polite society no longer exists (although many undoubtedly wish it did). However, if the practice were still in place, who would this exclusive crew give a black sweater to?

Vanity Fair contributing editor Todd Eberle fingered the linen lining of one of the black jackets and said, "I'd give one to Victoria Jackson-that comedian who went on an anti-gay rant. What does she think she's doing?"

His friend Alexander May took a more political stance: "Sarah Palin. She could definitely use one, and, I mean, she needs to tone those bright colors down anyway."

A Ryan O'Neal look-alike named Hamilton introduced himself before turning away to admire a rack of gray flannels, showing the back of his green cashmere sweater riddled with moth holes. Todd sighed appreciatively after him, "This party is so haut WASP; I love that there are people called Hamilton wearing a sweater with holes in it."

Burgeoning filmmaker JC Khoury was eager to talk up his first feature film, "It's called The Pill, about a guy who has a one-night stand, takes the girl for the morning-after pill and his relationship with her in between the time she takes the first pill and the time she has to take the second pill 12 hours later. It's a mix of comedy, drama and romance, so I came up with 'romantic dramedy.'"

And who would he give a black sweater to? "Hmmm. Qaddafi. He's pretty out of line."

Most of the crowd appeared to know each other from schools, holidays abroad and clubs. The conversations drifting through the air could have been from a Fitzgerald novel, "Didn't I see you on Fisher's last summer? When are you heading up there?" "Can you believe this hail? I wish I'd decided to stay an extra week in Aspen." "Are you going to Jamie's dinner after at Desmond's?"

Despite the cocktail party atmosphere, the conversation kept returning to the host's clothes. One guest who preferred not to be named said, "These clothes are nice but expensive, that's what killed Tom Ford. I mean, how can these compete with J.Crew?"

The designer himself seemed to hang back from the crowd even though his attention was much in demand. Although it was rumored that Jamie had been shunned from polite society after his 2003 documentary Born Rich, The Observer saw no evidence of that, as members of the Rockefeller and Bloomingdale families were in attendance, as well as various American countesses.

How did he come up with the concept? "Well, I didn't, only because it was a pre-existing story and I found it interesting. Stylistically, the stuff draws on that faction of the upper class and the patrician world. I think it is routed in traditional tailoring. Men want a very classic look with subtle variations. There are these traditional tailoring references which come from uniforms, whether they are institutional references like schools or sporting uniforms or equestrian wear."

Has he abandoned film to become a clothing designer? "No, movies are happening; currently there is an HBO documentary going on. I can't get too much into what it is about, but a new film is afoot."

And who would he give his black sweater to? "The Kennedy cousin who crashed his car and claimed he was only on 'sleeping pills.'" Would he give a black sweater to Charlie Sheen? "I would definitely give a black sweater to Charlie Sheen-and a copy of Emily Post."