Reggie Is Having Fun Over At Privilege

Reggie is thrilled (and tickled pink) to have collaborated with LPC, the writer of the marvelous blog Privilege, on a post analyzing and discussing the sartorial style of the East Coast Grande Dame.  For those of my readers who aren't familiar with LPC's Privilege blog, I whole-heartedly recommend that you click on over to it and give it a gander.  I am sure that you will become as hooked as I am.

The Style Icons of the East Coast Grande Dame
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

I first became aware of LPC's Privilege blog shortly after I started my own, and we have since become fast friends, transitioning from an initial electronic acquaintance discussing our shared High WASP backgrounds into a live, "Let's have dinner when you are in town" one.  Several years ago we guest-posted on each other's blogs about attending our twenty fifth college reunions at the Ivy League schools we went to, in her case Princeton and mine Yale.  You can link to her post about it on my blog here.

The East Coast Grande Dame's favored accessories
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

On her own blog, LPC frequently discusses the sartorial equipage of three types of WASP women: the "Sturdy Gal," the "Artsy Cousin," and the "Grande Dame," each of which she cleverly defines and analyzes for her devoted readers.  A month or two ago LPC did a post about Grande Dame style where Reggie commented and which prompted LPC to invite him to collaborate with her on a piece about the style of the East Coast Grande Dame, a subset to her broader Grande Dame category.  LPC sought Reggie's input because she is a life-long Californian (her parents decamped there from their East Coast High WASP origins before she was born), and felt that I could provide a window into the style of the East Coast Grande Dame from "the inside" (so to speak), as a New Yorker.

Modern Day East Coast Grande Dames
as selected by Reggie Darling for Privilege
Image courtesy of same

I had much fun collaborating with LPC on her post, peppering her with images and suggestions, and I think the result is absolutely swell.  I am honored that she asked me to contribute to it, and I encourage you, Dear Reader, to click on over and read the piece here.

I hope you like it!

Many thanks, LPC, for giving Dear Old Reggie the opportunity to have fun with you on our collaboration.  You are a treasure.

Oh, Those Devilish Velvet Slippers!

During our recent holiday on Nantucket, we were fortunate to be visited for several days by our friends Calista and John Littlefield.  We're crazy about them.  Their visit was a laughter-filled, boozy, uproariously funny jabberfest.  I'm still recovering from its merriment.

Calista is a great fashion plate and shoe diva, and stepped off the jet that delivered her to the island wearing a pair of classic Stubbs & Wootton black velvet slippers that feature an impish red devil wielding a pitchfork.  You know the ones I'm referring to, of course.

Reggie's Stubbs & Wootton velvet slippers,
the same ones Calista Littlefield sported

Apparently Calista's slippers excited rather a lot of comment among the fellow travelers waiting for their luggage after the flight.  One fellow said to her that the devil featured on her shoes reminded him of one that appeared years ago on a brand of canned deviled ham that he couldn't remember the name of.  None of us could remember it, either, when we spoke about it later that evening over what turned into a veritable waterfall of martinis.  We figured the company that once made the deviled ham had probably long-since dropped its mascot, falling to the pressure of lunatic protesters who threatened a boycott unless the company dispensed with its supposedly Satan-promoting imagery.

Reggie has a long personal history with velvet slippers, Dear Reader.  He bought his first pair thirty or so years ago at Bergdorf Goodman, long before they became the rage of his lifestyle compatriots on the blogosphere.  They were embroidered with a gold threaded fox head.  He still owns them.  Back in the day Reggie would wear his velvet slippers around the house and to parties, and he sometimes would wear them out dancing in Manhattan's downtown clubs late at night.  Most of the time people he came across while wearing them had never seen such a thing, and they almost always had something to say about them, and not always flattering to the wearer.  Ah well, ignorance must be bliss . . . or so I've heard.

I first became aware of Stubbs & Wootton's velvet slippers a decade or more ago, when I first saw a pair of their devilish slippers on the feet of a man at a black tie party.  So clever and so soigné, I thought at the time.  I had to have a pair.

And so I bought myself some shortly thereafter, and I wear them from time to time, usually at dinner parties or to some festive affair.  Unfortunately they are just a wee bit tight on Reggie's feet, and so are strictly party shoes.  In July of this year I bought myself another pair of Stubbs & Wootton slippers as a birthday present to myself, made out of midnight blue velvet embroidered with the sun on one of them and the moon on the other.  My new slippers fit me better than my devil ones do, and so I've worn them out and about more.

So where is all this leading, you may ask?  Well, the other day, Dear Reader, while shopping for groceries at a supermarket near Darlington House, I chanced to find myself in the canned meats section of the store, for reasons that are too mundane to go into here right now.  On one of the shelves of said supermarket I espied a paper-wrapped, diminutive can of Underwood Deviled Ham, featuring the very same impish red devil found embroidered on Calista's and my Stubbs & Wootton velvet slippers.  Eureka!  The mystery was solved!

How fortunate it is that Underwood still makes its deviled ham, and still features the same red, pitchfork-wielding little devil on its packaging.  And how clever and amusing it is that Stubbs & Wootton replicated the little creature on its iconic slippers.  How devilicious!

I wonder, though, am I the last one in on this particular joke?

Better late than never, as they say . . .

Photographs by Boy Fenwick

A Very Reggie New York Saturday

Reggie had an unexpected New York weekend, Dear Reader.  At the last moment he wound up staying in Manhattan instead of running up to Darlington House, due to rather tiresome work commitments.  So he made the best of it!

Casa Lever Restaurant

On Saturday, after a morning spent chained to seemingly endless conference calls and tedious document reviews, Reggie decided that enough was enough and treated himself and Boy to a tasty lunch at Casa Lever, located in Lever House, the iconic Skidmore, Owings & Merrill designed masterpiece of modern architecture on Park Avenue at 53rd Street.

Lever House, shortly after its completion in 1953
Photograph courtesy of LIFE Images

Casa Lever is a "scene" restaurant during the week, what with full-throttle "power" breakfasts and lunches full of Type-A deal makers and their clients, busily one-upping each other.

The after-work bar scene and dinner crowd at Casa Lever can be truly assaultive, with bar stools and tables packed with desperate 30- and 40-somethings looking for the next best thing.  Or at least the next better thing.

The view into Casa Lever when one enters the restaurant

But on weekends Casa Lever is a delightful place.  One practically has the restaurant to oneself, at least during lunchtime.

One enters the dining room through this
"futuristic" tunnel

Casa Lever is part of the Sant Ambroeus empire, which has other restaurants in New York on Madison Avenue on the UES, in the West Village, and in Southampton.

The interior of Casa Lever is very "modern" in a 1970s Italian looking way, at least to my eye.  It is all sort of a jumble, as if Muriel Brandolini decorated it, or Miuccia Prada.  Not exactly coordinated, Dear Reader, but not unpleasant, either.

The dining room at Casa Lever

The food at Casa Lever is transcendently delicious.  We had one of the tastiest lasagnas there for lunch that I've eaten in ages—at least not since the one my dear friend Lindaraxa made for me several years ago.  Casa Lever's lasagna is made in the Milanese style—not too cheesy, but rather creamy, savory, and yummily divine.  Heaven!

The flowers at Casa Lever are lavish and beautiful.

And the restaurant's lighting, particularly in the bar area, is very flattering.

The bar is usually very crowded after work on a weekday evening

After lingering over coffee and a plate of delicious buttery cookies we decided to head over to Fifth Avenue, as Boy wanted to buy a new pair of Gucci loafers.

Paley Park, named after William Paley's father

We genuflected as we passed Paley Park, the hallowed former site of the legendary Stork Club.

The Stork Club, back in the day
Photograph courtesy of LIFE Images

I wish that I had been a Manhattan-living grownup when the Stork Club was in full throttle.  But it closed in 1965, when I was only nine years old.  I would have loved to have gone there in its heyday.

Reggie's Stork Club ashtrays

I've consoled myself, though, by collecting a number of Stork Club ashtrays over the years.  I used them back when I still smoked cigarettes.  Even though I quit puffing years ago, I can't bear to part with the ashtrays.  Not yet, at least.

Judy Garland and Fred Astaire strolling down Fifth Avenue
in the 1948 movie of Irving Berlin's "Easter Parade"
Image courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Fifth Avenue in midtown on a Saturday afternoon is clogged with tourists gawping and milling about.  I don't begrudge them their fun, and I appreciate that they spend their hard-earned dollars in our city, helping our economy.

The Fifth Avenue Easter Parade it ain't!

However, I generally try to avoid this stretch of Fifth Avenue, as it can be unpleasantly crowded with people bumbling about.

Sometimes one has no choice, though, and one must push forth with one's errands . . .

The Gucci store in the Trump Tower was off-puttingly full of under-dressed boors, most of whom didn't appear to have any intention of actually buying something.  Mostly they were there to clock the goods and waste the sales staff's time.

Most of the shoes on display were, um, not to our taste.  Given the mayhem in the store it was challenging to find a salesperson to help us locate the classic horse-bit moc in brown leather that Boy was there to buy.

There were lots of loafers available, though, in pastel ice-cream colors that Gucci has issued in honor of the 60th anniversary of the launch of this, their classic shoe.  However, these shoes were not quite what Boy was there to take home . . .

Gucci's horse-bit loafer, now available in plastic

I rather liked the loafers Gucci had on display, though, shown in the preceding photograph.  They were made entirely of plastic, with the exception of the metal horse bits.

I wear these muck boots during wet weather at
Darlington House, where they are a godsend!
Image courtesy of the Original Muck Boot Co.

I think the plastic loafers Gucci is selling would make a terrific (and amusingly stylish) alternative to Muck Boots.  So useful to wear on a muddy morning when supervising one's pug's constitutional!  On second thought, though, they might be perhaps a bit hot on the foot, given what they are made of . . .

Frustrated by our failed mission at Gucci, we headed out the door, back onto Fifth Avenue.  The next time I'm in the market for a new pair of Gucci horse-bit loafers, Dear Reader, I'm going straight to their outpost on upper Madison Avenue, far removed from this tourist fray.

Our next stop was Tiffany & Company, so Boy could replace a worn-out belt strap to go with a gold buckle I bought him there years ago.

The main floor at Tiffany & Company

We never made it past the ground floor.  Tiffany was so crowded with tourists that we decided such an errand there was as foolhardy on a Saturday as the one we tried at Gucci, so we bolted again.

We hurried past the nearby Nike Town sneaker store.  I've never been inside of it, and something tells me I never will.

The sidewalk in front of the Nike Store was littered with trash.

Turnbull & Asser is, fortunately, a mere block beyond the Nike store.  It is a haven amidst the hubbub of midtown these days.

The crowd-free interior of Turnbull & Asser

Turnbull was blessedly free of the crowds that thronged Gucci and Tiffany.  Other than an attractive young couple selecting ties, we were the only people shopping there.

I was quite taken with the selection of colorful umbrellas.

They come in both solids and stripes.

However, it was for shirts that we visited Turnbull.  Boy selected several rather attractive ones to add to his wardrobe . . .

An explosion of colorful knotted silk cuff links

. . . along with several pair of knot cuff links, including a pair in orange, his signature company color.

His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales

Prince Charles is a customer of Turnbull & Asser.  The New York store proudly displays his royal warrant, along with a signed photograph.

I couldn't decide which one I liked best . . .

I was crazy about the silk dressing gowns at Turnbull.  I might have been tempted to buy one if my darling Pompey wasn't so inclined to rub his face on my clothes, which he does at seemingly every opportunity.

Mr. Charles H. Cash of Turnbull & Asser

While we were at Turnbull, Boy was assisted by the very helpful Charles Cash.  I recommend that you look him up if you find yourself in the store.  Tell him Boy sent you, please!

Charles helped Boy select this handsome bow tie, along with other purchases.  Boy liked the tie so much that he wore it out of the store; his other acquisitions are to be delivered.  Having one's purchases sent 'round to one's apartment, rather than having to carry them away in shopping bags, is one of the great pleasures of living in New York.

Well, it is transportation . . .

After leaving Turnbull we hopped on the M3 bus up Madison Avenue.  I long ago learned that trying to find a taxi on Madison Avenue in midtown during rush hour or on a Saturday afternoon is an utter waste of time.  Buses are a far more efficient and reliable means of getting on one's way uptown, away from the maddening hordes clogging the streets of Midtown.  

Our destination was Bemelman's Bar, in the Carlyle Hotel.  It is one of our favorite watering holes in the city.

Prossie Trotters at Christian Louboutin

Before slipping in to Bemelman's, though, we decided to look in some of the store windows on upper Madison Avenue.  I had to photograph these stiletto platform, open-toed Prossie Trotters that were in the window of the Christian Louboutin boutique.  I ask you—who wears such things, and where?  Are there really that many transvestite Louisiana hayride-themed galas?  Seriously, I thought they were vulgar beyond belief.  Apparently I'm in the minority, though, since we heard the doorman at the store inform a middle-aged woman trying to gain entry that it was full with customers and that she should wait on the street or come back at another time.  I mean, really!

A lovely dress for a lovely lady, at Vera Wang

Fortunately my nerves and sensibility were soothed by this beautiful confection of red tulle a few doors up the Avenue, at the Vera Wang boutique.

Home at last!!

With cocktails beckoning, we made for the doors of the Carlyle Hotel.

Mr. Bobby Short's portrait at the Carlyle Hotel

Of course one must pay one's respect to the portrait of Mr. Bobby Short that hangs in the lobby there.

The view into Bemelman's Bar at the Carlyle Hotel, as one enters it

And then to Bemelman's Bar!

The divine bar at Bemelman's

Bemelman's is one of the most appealing and comfy bars in the city.  The amber lighting is flattering, to say the least.

Ellis, Bemelman's bartender extraordinaire

Our favorite barman, Ellis, was on duty and at the ready to serve us the perfectly made martinis he knew that we wanted.

Note the extra vessel of gin on ice, waiting to replenish one's glass

Bemelman's martinis are rather wicked, as they are delivered along with a little vessel filled with another glassful on ice, so one's single martini is, in reality, a double.  I suppose that is one of the reasons we are so fond of Bemelman's!

The Carlyle's swizzle sticks

Ellis gave me a trio of swizzle sticks so that I could feature them in this story.  The Carlyle is managed by the Rosewood Group, which owns and manages hotels and resorts all over the world.  One of our favorites is Little Dix Bay on Virgin Gorda, where we've stayed three or four times over the years.  While I've stayed at other Rosewood properties as well, Little Dix Bay (and the Carlyle) are my favorites. 

Boy and Pompey, happily sleeping it off . . .

After fortifying ourselves with martinis and an order of mini hamburgers at Bemelman's we wobbled our way out the door and into a taxi for the journey home to our apartment.  Pompey was quite pleased to see us when we lurched through the door.  After a quick tinkle and his dinner, he was more than amenable to spending the rest of the evening snoozing on a supine Boy, who was completely tuckered out after his busy day taking advantage of what New York City has to offer.

The closing caption of "Easter Parade,"
looking up Fifth Avenue in midtown Manhattan
Image courtesy of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer

Tell me, how did you spend your Saturday, Dear Reader?

Please note: Reggie has received nothing in return for mentioning the stores and other establishments named in this post, nor does he expect to.   He has written this post solely for the amusement of his readers, which is the reason he writes this blog in the first place.

All photographs, except where noted, by Reggie Darling