Every morning, if it’s not raining, I walk on the beach and contemplate the same questions I’ve been asking since I was a child: “Is the Moon really as far away as it seems? Will a shark come and eat me if I swim without a lifeguard present?” A new series of thoughts floated into my head on July 22 as an orange sun rose over Two Mile Hollow: “Who are influencers influencing? Do they ever get tired of photographing themselves, or putting their name on the latest sunscreen, canned cocktail, or pair of flip-flops?”
A woman walking two impossibly small dogs passed by as I was pondering what I’d be wearing to Camp Rubirosa in East Hampton the following night for their product-launch party with FreshDirect. Existential question: “What do you wear to a pizza party as an adult”? As a kid, stripes are okay. As an adult, are stripes still okay? A private bus would be whisking a handful of guests from Manhattan to East Hampton, but I’d be driving myself. (For those keeping track of my parking adventures: There was a valet — complimentary.)
The Camp Rubirosa building holds a lot of memories. Before this, it was Dopo La Spiaggia, where I ate broccoli rabe for the first time, many years ago, with Luisa Kane and Stephanie Ditullio (a.k.a. D.J. Steph). Many remember it as the dearly missed Laundry restaurant. It was once, indeed, a commercial laundry. My jaw dropped when another friend told me, “I remember roller skating there as a little girl with my brother and my dad when the industrial washing machines were still there.”
The bus from New York was running late, stuck in rush-hour traffic, when I arrived. I sat down at the bar and got a club soda with lemon. A few seconds later, Max Tcheyan walked in and ordered a pink-colored cocktail. We compared notes on the surfing conditions at Ditch Plain and Westhampton Beach, and talked about his media company, Caper Media, which hosts one of my favorite columnists, Annie Armstrong.
When cocktail hour (alas) ended, we were ushered into the back dining room where red tomatoes on the vine, potted kale plants, and bright yellow lemons were the tablescape. We mingled and I moved around catching snippets of conversation and watching a certain woman flip through her dating apps to show another certain woman which guy she is seeing, and which she certainly will never be talking to again. . . . Hinge was her recommendation and, as of recently, I must agree with her. . . . I also must agree with her handbag, and the way she used it: a Chanel 2026 Small Caviar 25 Hobo in Gold from the Cruise 2026 Collection by Matthieu Blazy.
After about half an hour of small talk and flash photography, I was ready to devour the menu cards and porcelain plates. We all took our seats. Tomatoes with our names written on them in silver marker were the place cards; Rubirosa-branded extra virgin olive oil was set in front of each plate.
Maria Pappalardo stood and told us the story of her family — the kind of story that begins at a kitchen table and somehow finds its way into a room full of strangers. Her partnership with FreshDirect felt like more than a business announcement, the passing along of something personal. Family recipes, once held close, now are becoming part of the fabric of New York life.
I was seated next to two kind and lively women who were ex-executives on Wall Street, and we passed slices of tie-dye pizza, pasta bowls, and a bit of local gossip. “You look like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman,’ ” my neighbor said to the guest opposite us. “That is probably the best compliment I’ve ever received,” Emily Fedner replied, with a beaming smile.
Ms. Fedner is a food-and-culture content creator online, known as @foodloversdiary on Instagram, and has recently been seen cooking on the Food Network with Bobby Flay and Rachel Ray. Sitting to her right was Ian Martin, a food reviewer on Instagram with nearly 830,000 followers. The two were giggling and whispering, and whenever a new plate of food arrived at the table, the cellphone flashlights moved like klieg lights.
It truly felt like a family meal — a group of strangers wining and dining together. I got my car back from the valet, and returned to my quiet spot in Springs in an Italian-food coma.
Friday night was movie night for me at the Sag Harbor Cinema, then I shared a few giggles with my friends Sophie Flax and Frankie Ferrari as we strolled on over to where the old 7-Eleven used to be for hot dogs and bags of chips, and ate them while watching boats float beside the wharf. Walking back to our cars, we were nearly mowed down, repeatedly — on the sidewalk, on the crosswalk, and in the parking lot. People don’t know how to drive! (Note: Defensive-driving courses are offered at the Amagansett and East Hampton Library for a reduced cost, year-round, and sometimes for free.)
Saturday night was the Watermill Center’s annual benefit, which had a dress code calling for monochromes. I wore my vintage 1970s B.V.D. red pajama caftan, red lamb suede slippers from Sabah — I have almost every color, they are like butter on your feet — paired with a red bag my friend Will Morris brought back from Mexico. I arrived with precious cargo: my editor, Frances Sacks. We were greeted by a sea of smiles and Julius Mueller gave us our guest bracelets. Turning into the 10-acre campus, we met Lilah van Son Yektai and her wife, Joanna van Son, and all walked in together. The social hunt began.
Jesus Benavente walked past, and we said hello to one another silently with a blink. Kelly Darlene Dennis and I shared a smile, and, to my left, was Anna Delvey. I blinked again a few times, looked down to her ankle monitor, then back up. Frances and I marched forward to find a sip of water — traffic had been heavy coming from East Hampton Village.
Next we spotted Lily O’Neil, the Watermill Center’s marketing manager, in a black dress with silver-studded Tory Burch ballet flats and perfect black shades. With her were Sailor Brinkley Cook in pink tulle and Emmanuelle Perrin in a black dress that hugged the body perfectly, complimented by a sharp bob haircut and one of her family’s heritage-brand leather handbags. BFA Photography snapped our photo, and we parted ways to the bar, the dinner buffet, and the performances.
I caught up with Sara Stern, a previous Watermill Center artist-in-residence, and introduced her to Christian Scheider, who told us about a project he’s been working on with similarities to the evening’s theme, “limitless time.” Evvy Rattray also joined, and we laughed, contemplated time, and watched Mikhail Barishnikov walk past just as a photograph of him was projected onto the backside of the main building. Evvy and I were among dozens of guests participating in ‘The Nelkin Line,’ a few simple gestures from Pina Bausch’s 1982 “Neklen (Carnations).” After a few minutes of moving around the gravel, the dance disintegrated and the audience clapped.
Another performance in-the-round was just beginning: “I WAS SITTING ON MY PATIO THIS GUY APPEARED I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING,” based on the original production by Robert Wilson and Lucinda Childs and reimagined by Charles Chemin, the center’s new director. It was both hilarious and phenomenal.
Next, we walked back to the middle of the campus where a loud performance piece by Eye Eye was happening. A cone placed on a platform lit up in blue to signal to the crowd of 200 people when their moment had come to bang their cymbals. The arena became a sea of noise, and the crowd was thrilled. Shortly after that was a D.J. set by King Shabazz.
Most guests followed orders and dressed in monochromes, though some came in Versace prints and others in see-through lace. There were also many in dots, variations on black and white. Laurie Anderson wore Issey Miyake pleated pants and a white poplin shirt; Baryshnikov wore a blue linen suit jacket and cream linen trousers, and Elenore Simotas and Sylvia Channing wore orange silk dresses. An honorable mention must be made for an honorable outfit with an even better accessory: Sivan Lavie in her flowy black dress — hair up and covered by a beaded headdress — carrying a selfie stick.
This weekend reminded me that artists, influencers, writers, retired executives, surfers, and party reporters aren’t all that different. We all spend an awful lot of time wondering whether we’re wearing the right thing, saying the right thing, standing in the right room. The only real difference is the costume.
