Bye Bye Chelsea and Mark!
Rhinebeck, my little hipster hamlet hard by the glorious Hudson River, was hit this weekend by Hurricane Clinton. We residents partied right alongside the official wedding celebrants, at private houses where toasts were made to not having to get gussied up and attend, at the town’s many bars where glasses of Mark and Chelsea-inspired cocktails (Clinton Vineyards spritzer, anyone?) were raised, and in the streets of the town, where some shopkeepers, celebrating a two-day hiatus to a grinding recession, opened bottles of champagne and served it on the sidewalk to the press and onlookers alike.
Those of us who value the anonymity of our understated little NYC escape hatch know things around these parts will shortly return to its mellow, pre-Chelsea flow. Our traditions run deep. And so we townies confidently proclaim the six reasons Rhinebeck will never be the new Hamptons
1. We’re not particularly impressed by new money. The money in Rhinebeck is so old that the Astors and the Vanderbilts are considered new money. Get it? Rhinebeck had been a weekend bolt-hole from NYC for 100 years when Edith Wharton was writing Hudson River Bracketed back in that first Gilded Age. We’re not about to go all ga-ga over the latest Wall Street cheeseball or reality TV star. So those who require props and obsequiousness as part of their weekends need to stay on Long Island’s far reaches.
2. Mansions and mobile homes sit comfortably side by side here. We practice no class warfare in these parts. Plus, that eminence grise in the doublewide might be a descendant of an Astor Orphan, so newcomers learn fast to keep their eyes from looking down their noses. Nobody from the Hamptons would see the charm in this.
3. The bohemian spirit runs very deep around Rhinebeck. Even at the great houses. Make that especially at the great houses, where all manner of green, counterculture, new-age wiftiness such as spring wiccan celebrations and annual orchard-blessing wassails are as ritual as a rapper party is on the South Fork.
4. We don’t much care for late-model fancy cars. Now, old and/or ratty fancy cars … in these precincts, that’s evidence of elevated taste. The richest people in town can be relied upon to ride in the rattiest old Range Rover or mud-caked 30-year-old BMW. No new $360,000 Maybachs for our 16-year-olds in Rhinebeck.
5. Our idea of a big deal Saturday night is to meet for dinner in a 200-year-old farmhouse to talk about the flock of turkeys that backed the ratty old Range Rover down the road while en route to the recycling center.
6. We have this place rigged with an early warning system in case a Paris Hilton type takes a look at any home for sale. Residents immediately converge on the property and re-enact scenes from "Deliverance" (yes, even that one) until said fashionista makes haste back to the Hamptons. All of the real estate agents are in on it, too. It’s our modern-day version of the bonfires atop Mount Beacon to the south, lit during the Revolutionary War to warn farmers of the British ships sailing upriver.
So bon voyage and adieu, Mark and Chelsea, we loved having you here, loved your chic wedding, your educated and elegant guests and your understated sense of taste and style. In fact, when you begin your own search for a country home, we think you two might just fit right in around here. One of us will pick you up at the train. You’ll know us by the ratty-looking Range Rover.
Editor’s Note: Deborah Barrow is the former Editor-in-Chief of wowOwow.com.
Loved it!
Posted by: Chris | August 04, 2010 at 08:44 AM