Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Monsieur ... Qui?

As if we needed further proof that life is simply not just, news comes from across the pond that the French—of all people—have no respect for money.

The crack financial investigators from Page Six of the New York Post sadly report today that the toast of toute New York, Steve and Christine Schwarzman, apparently could not get the time of day from the locals, tourists, and wannabes at the hoppin' jive joint Club 55 in beautiful downtown St. Tropez.

To top this vile humiliation off, it appears that the celebutant hoovering up all the oxygen in the room was none other than another miniscule Gothamite, Tommy Hilfiger. The nerve! As if Steve couldn't buy that Ralph Lauren wannabe twenty-seven times over. (And I have it on good authority that Steve wore newly-purchased Vilebrequin swimming shorts, to boot.)

No doubt on the advice of the Schwarzmans' publicist, who travels with them to both incite and document the fawning adulation of would-be mini-moguls everywhere, the Post writers put a brave face on the fiasco by venturing that the Schwarzmans probably preferred to be left in relative obscurity next to the kitchen entrance. But let me tell you, Dear Reader—one girl to another—absolutely nobody goes to Club 55 in search of peace and a quiet Croque Monsieur. Il faut faire un coup d'éclat, comprenez-vous?

And this, no doubt, was Steve and Christine's intention. What better way to goose the old ego after slaughtering gazillions of simoleons on the altar of not-so-private equity and escape the looming prospect of actually having to file a tax return next year than to jet over to the Gold Coast and accept the groveling admiration of legions of skimpily clad demimondaines and fashionistas? After all, surely the mere presence of a man and woman to whom most New Yorkers would sacrifice their first born child's guaranteed slot at The Episcopal School in order to get on their mailing list would reduce the charming but oh-so-much-poorer Continentals to a similar state of drooling incontinence?

Alas, it was not to be. Someone, I fear, forgot to flag the Cultural Idiosyncrasies chapter of The Squillionaire's Guide to All Things French for the happy couple. Had they read it, I am sure they would not have put themselves in harm's way by going to a society hot spot expecting to be recognized, much less celebrated.

There it is, plain as day, on page 22, among the Chief Principles of French Society and Culture:

"Money is BORING."


© 2007 The Epicurean Dealmaker. All rights reserved.