THE HAMPTONS, N.Y.—Billed as a takedown of the Hamptons, an essay The Daily Beast published this week, “The Hell of the Hamptons: Why the Exclusive Hotspot Is a Mind-Numbing Drag,” has turned out to actually be a release of frustrations by a man who resents having to hang out with his wife’s boring friends.
Though the author is supposedly irate with the Hamptons, he goes on to complain about his wife’s friends’ bad jokes and infighting—as if those problems are geographically specific.
“Fed up of being surrounded by a revolving cast of affluent crashing bores, I vowed to get out more,” the author, who uses the pseudonym Robert Gold, writes. But that didn’t work out for him either, because he has Champagne taste on a beer budget.
His complaints that were, however petty, actually related to the Hamptons included not seeing celebrities at a Montauk hotspot, and the size of the bill at one of the most highly praised restaurants on the East End. (He did not pick up the check for dinner, even for his own portion.)
Even though he secured an invitation to an East Hampton movie premiere with many notable actors and filmmakers present, Gold was upset that he did not get to hobnob with celebrities more during his time out east, as if they would have really enjoyed his company, anyway.
Another chief complaint in Gold’s cathartic essay was not spending enough time at the beach while in the Hamptons, as if that is anyone else’s fault but his own.
Because he admits to always sitting back and waiting for someone else to pick up the check while out to eat, I’m sure his NYC friends won’t miss him the next time they venture east.
The writer muses about wanting to say to an apologetic investment banker, “No, Gary, it’s you that is the problem, not your profession.”
I say to the writer, “No, ‘Robert,’ it’s you that is the problem, not the Hamptons.”