These days, however, loyalty among young patrons of many New York charities and institutions seems to be waning. The New York Public Library’s Young Lions Dance Party in November 2007 had only 77 young patrons on its committee, down from 106 the previous year, and only 11 were returning.(“We reconfigured the event,” was the explanation Gayle Snible, an spokeswoman for the library, gave The Observer via email.)
Recently, meanwhile, Douglas Blonsky, president of the Central Park Conservancy’s board of trustees, instigated the formation of a new Junior Advisory Committee in order to ensure that the maturing pool of park patrons—best known for donning pastel hats at an annual, venerable outdoor luncheon—gets restocked. “We wanted to put together a network of young and energetic and professional New Yorkers who would dedicate time and effort to support the conservancy’s mission,” said Kate Sheleg, a public-relations representative.
One high-profile New York socialite, who asked not be named, said she has noticed that a lot of young people are moving away from the typical “Upper East Side socialite” circles that have traditionally undergirded such institutions, because they don’t want to be judged by the merciless, anonymous standards of cyberspace. “The Internet had a huge effect on all people who were social last year,” she said, referring primarily to Socialite Rank—the Web site that was shuttered last April not long after a complaint was filed with the Manhattan district attorney’s office, which alleged the site had stolen socialite Olivia Palermo’s identity by publishing a forged letter from her. “That’s why people don’t really get involved.”
“In the charity circuit, which was traditionally a way for people to give away money, you’re finding more ambitious, social people,” said Mr. McMullan, the party photographer who has been covering New York high society for over 25 years. Muffie Potter Aston, an old-guard New York socialite in her mid-40’s, acknowledged that, in many cases, “a higher profile raises more funds when you are involved in a charitable endeavor.” But this rule, she added, has a serious caveat. “My mother told me at an early age, ‘You’re born with your reputation and you die with your reputation.’ When people try to cut corners and they try to just put their names on committees without producing any fruitful results, they get found out.” Ms. Aston said. “Not only is it the wrong thing to do, but after a while people know who you are and your reputation is the one that becomes tarnished.”
Lydia Hearst, the 23-year-old high-fashion model and publishing heiress, said the stigma of a New York socialite has become so severe that staying away from high-profile fund-raising events can seem like simple pragmatism. “There are charities that I’ve avoided specifically, not because I don’t agree with the cause, but just because of the party itself,” she said, emptying several packets of raw-cane sugar into a cup of coffee at Bouchon Bakery in the Time Warner Center the other day .
“I think it’s refreshing in a sense to see a backlash against the girls who are going out and behaving poorly and being disgraceful,” she continued. “Not only to themselves, but to their families.”
Asked what comes to mind when someone says the word “socialite,” Ms. Hearst replied: “Girls that forget to put on panties and are just very extreme and over the top when hitting the social scene. They’ll essentially go to the opening of a door.”
Fabiola Beracasa, the Venezuelan-born daughter of Veronica Hearst, likewise suggested that New York’s charity circuit has become dangerously overrun with young, press-hungry patrons who are in it for all the wrong reasons. A few hours before speaking to The Observer by phone, Ms. Beracasa participated in an hourlong conference call with the other board members of a venerable New York institution she preferred not to name. “We were talking about a committee list, and all of us were discussing who puts in the work,” she said. “At the end of the day, you know that three-quarters of these people are not doing anything.”
‘I Don’t Have the Time’
Fauxcialite Charlotte Ronson, the daughter of society doyenne Ann Dexter-Jones and real-estate mogul Laurence Ronson, asserted that, even if she wanted to be a part of the charity-gala circuit, she simply doesn’t have the time. In addition to remodeling her eponymous jewel-box boutique on Mulberry Street in Nolita, she has been preparing her fall 2008 collection, which was shown on Monday, Feb. 4, in the Altman Building—a project she said she has overseen “every step of the way.”
Ms. Ronson was sitting in a banquette at Koi, an Asian-inspired restaurant in the Bryant Park Hotel, on a recent frigid afternoon—“it’s close to my office,” she said—and bemoaning the labor that goes into the traditional socialite enterprise. “[You have to] pick the dress, get your hair done, your makeup done, your nails done, pick the purse to go with the shoes and to look totally different every time,” she said in a deep, emotionless rasp. After a moment, she stared down at an untouched cup of green tea and whispered, “Yeah. I don’t have the time.”
