Your ‘Betters’: Hampton’s Gomorrah with Drug-fueled Orgies, Sex Scandals


Kia Makarechi writes in Vanity Fair that America’s elites are spending the pre-summer season at the Hamptons in orgiastic revelry reminiscent of the latter days of the Roman Empire.

Sex has roiled the Hamptons in its pre-summer season.

Cops put the kibosh on a burlesque party at East Hampton’s Maidstone hotel. A professional orgy-planning outfit is hosting its first bacchanal later in June. Wednesday Martin, the author of Primates of Park Avenue, warns that married, heterosexual women in the Hamptons are conducting steamy affairs with their female fitness instructors. “Female flexuality,” she calls it. A randy rabbi, who blazed through five ex-wives, finally got the ax after running around town with a former flight attendant who was decades his junior. And a Southampton schools superintendent was investigated after one of his X-rated selfies made the rounds on campus.


A number of Hamptons establishments did not survive their own (cultural) collisions. Shutdowns have been rampant. Harbor, a restaurant in Montauk, closed under the weight of municipal restrictions. It was not alone: to hear Page Six tell it, “the party could be over in Montauk” if snoozy, older residents succeed in using cabaret licensing requirements to prevent The Surf Lodge from hosting a summer concert series. A Sunday tradition in Amagansett is under threat, too: wealthy homeowners are sick of blue-collar locals parking their pick-up trucks on the beach, and are going to court over the matter.


Drew Barrymore celebrated the triple launches of a “book of memories,” a rosé wine, and a new fragrance. Tesla opened a showroom in East Hampton.


Candace Bushnell, the author who recently threw herself into a first-person experiment on Tinder, purchased an 18th-century Sag Harbor farmhouse. She advises Hamptons-goers to “take a Xanax” before heading East from the city.


Rosé continues to terrorize the East End: the New York Observer reports that “you’re probably drinking your rosé wrong,” which, honestly, who could be bothered to care? A supersize bottle of the pink stuff was going for $27,000 at the Jue Lan Club, where a customer recently punched the owner.

Read the rest here.