Saturday's Mercedes Benz Bridgehampton Polo Match was but our second-ever outing to a day of polo. A crush of Maserati, Jaguars and, of course, Mercedes jammed the roads. Horses galloping in the distance sent plumes of dust into the air. Each tent contained its own internal social logic. The sponsors tent was the smallest. It was there where Brooke Shields, her husband and the two kids sat. Also buzzing about was Miss USA 1983 (now a real estate agent!) Julie Hayek and Josh Bernstein, the Jewy and affable television host and American explorer. Laurel Ptak took the pictures.
The big tent was reserved for the rich-and-yet-common guests. It felt like a State Fair or Comicon. Some people had had a lot of work done to their faces.
It became pretty apparent early on that though these people were technically rich; in the world of the Hamptons, they were nobodies. They were arrivistes, up and comers, down and outers, cads and, by 5 p.m., completely wasted. The Evian had run out earlier in the day, leaving only alcohol to quench the thirst. (Except in the VIP tent, where the Evian flowed like the Euphrates.) Pink- and blue-striped shirts became stained with beer and sweat. Ladies began to shake unsteadily atop their high heels and wedges. White skin, made red by the beating sun, jiggled and conversation became animated to the point of grotesque mimicry.
When the chukkers were over (no one watched, no one cared) the assembled company trekked through the field back to their luxury vehicles. Drunkenly compliant, they sat in their queued cars for the hour-long wait to get to the next party (sponsored by St. Regis at the W House), not noticing the glistening hides of the horses trotting nearby, the susurrus of the trees rustling in the wind nor the smell of fresh cut hay and wildflowers.