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Off to the Polo Match

There are those moments in life where you get a glimpse of how the upper crust lives. There was that time in Paris at the art gallery evening opening of Fernand Léger’s works when the New York art dealer turned to me and told me he could get the painting for me for 12, instead of 13. And by 12 and 13, I mean million. So this weekend Victor and I drove to Bridgehampton. Pretty windmill always shown on Royal Pains:

This is a pretty lake. If you turn around when facing the lake, then all of a sudden you are in polo land.

That’s right: polo in the Hamptons. It is up there with the Paris gallery (not quite as good) but the people watching was equally fantastic. There are two kinds of people at polo. The ones who sit and watch (actually care about the game) and then the people there for the VIP tent (I guess I fall into the category of observer of both).

One of the trainers let us hold a mallet and it is surprisingly light-weight as is the ball they are trying to whack around:

And now for the voyer part of the blog (really, this isn’t creepy, The New York Times runs a page of this every Sunday issue). First up, winner for best pants in the male category:

Second up, winner for the best “I look like I just got off of a jet from Milan.”

Here, we have a double winner for best hat and couple trying to be on a Real Housewives show:

And last but not least we have the winner for best accessories:

I really don’t understand how women can stomp divots in shoes like these:

Well after the high society, beach time is always nice:

But wait, the best beach outfit goes to this kid. I kind of wish they made adult sizes because then I wouldn’t get sunburnt!

Alas, all weekends must end, so there is always that ferry ride back to Connecticut:


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