Things that would otherwise be boring are in fact not boring—and worthy of extended commentary by the New York Times—if they happen in The Hamptons. In The Hamptons, everything is consequential. In The Hamptons, they wear various t-shirts.

Employees of the New York Times Style section enjoy spending time in The Hamptons, and they can't help but spot social trends, with their trained journalistic peepers. These trends can be profitably converted into Style section stories that will pay for more weekends in The Hamptons. They could spot these very same trends in many inferior areas, but that would necessitate traveling to inferior areas. The trends would then become unimportant.

In The Hamptons, people judge one another based on t-shirt design. The multitudinous t-shirt designs of The Hamptons are one of the world's most interesting topics.

I am talking about T-shirts, of course, like the one from Ditch Witch in Montauk, sold in one place only: a car adjacent to the Ditch Witch food truck...There are those who swear by T-shirts from a strangely honky-tonk roadside lobster shack in Amagansett...There are some who prefer the pastel T-shirts that, until last year, were sold from only one place, beneath the counter at the Candy Kitchen luncheonette in Bridgehampton...Others demonstrate their south-of-the-highway credentials by sporting a homely T-shirt from Harry Ludlow's Fairview Farm on Mecox Road...Some lucky folks have managed to score shirts from Big Olaf's Ice Cream in Sag Harbor...There are T-shirts so echt-Hamptons that they have entered local lore, like the one commemorating Virgil the Frog Boy...A T-shirt from the Meadow Club in Southampton remains, in its way, the matchless symbol of privileged belonging.

Fascinating. Fuck The Hamptons, and their t-shirts.