11 minute read
VERNISSAGE
Guilty Treasures M y life as a concierge junkie began innocently enough 12 years ago, following a banner year on Wall Street. Today we are in a concierge boom, when every hedge funder and private equity type is a member of one bespoke “lifestyle service” or another. But back then the idea of paying six figures for an annual membership to elevate one’s leisure activities was novel. So I joined not just one, but two different services to help plan a family vacation. Within days it was clear that the world is different for the concierged. All of a sudden, people, places, and things that would ordinarily have eluded me became accessible. I would dream up some once-in-a-lifetime experience, call the concierge, and then sit back and watch it materialize. First it was backstage passes to a sold-out Bryan Ferry concert, followed by an introduction to the singer himself. Next came lunch with a celebrity chef, and dinner at an impossible-to-book restaurant. Then I took it up a notch. Our family flew to Uruguay, where we stayed at the most glamorous beach retreat in South America, sipping cocktails by the infinity pool amid installations by James Turrell, Zaha Hadid, and Anselm Kiefer. In Patagonia we bobbed about on a boat while observing a colony of rare penguins, an expedition inaccessible to mortal tourists. It was only back on shore that we figured out that our companions were a Fortune 500 chief executive and his family, and the stocky man in military issue boots (who checked under the cars each night for bombs) was his bodyguard. When you are in the concierge club—endangered penguins be warned—this is how you roll. I was ruinously blowing through money, but living in concierge Technicolor makes it hard to return to travel agent gray. By the summer of 2012, when my addiction was out of control, we took the family to the London Olympic Games. My English friend, along with the rest of the British public, sat at a computer for hours each night, hitting the refresh button on the Olympic Games website, in hopes of scoring a ticket. As the games rolled on, the rarest ticket of all became access to the men’s tennis final between Britain’s Andy Murray and Swiss superstar Roger Federer.
Our tennis-obsessed son begged and pleaded, so I grimaced at the expected cost, but called the concierge anyway. “A pair of tickets to the men’s singles final? Consider it done.” (To this day, the word “concierge” can bring tempers to the boil in my friend’s house.) For the price of a small car, we purchased two tickets to the 12 p.m. final.
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That morning, we set off to the concierge’s London outpost, but when we arrived, something was amiss. The manager was very sorry, but the tickets no longer existed. Our son’s face fell; his lip wobbled; the concierge looked pained. He bustled off to make a call. Minutes passed. The clock ticked toward midday. More waiting, then a sudden flurry of activity, and the concierge rushed us into a black cab, saying mysteriously, “The passenger waiting inside will take you to the tickets.”
It all felt slightly ominous, like a Cold War spy thriller. Behind the Access All Areas lifestyle of the concierge member is a phalanx of smart professionals in tailored suits—and behind them are the fixers, who have legions of VIPs on speed dial.
Our taxi companion, firmly in the latter category, greeted us with the words “I heard a child was involved, and I don’t like to disappoint children.” The cab driver took off at speed, our companion talking rapidly about World Series and Super Bowl tickets, and partying with the NBA players who were in town for the Games.
Finally we screeched to a halt in front of a dingy pub full of sports fans and cigarette smoke; our man leaped out, disappeared into the fog, and reemerged one minute later flourishing an envelope with the golden tickets—just in time to make the final.
How did it all happen? Best not dwell on that, or certain other matters (such as the 2016 scandal when International Olympic Committee members were busted selling tickets illegally.) Suffice to say my son and I enjoyed that momentous day in British Olympic history from some of the best seats on center court. What I learned then and know now is: nothing succeeds like access. —Kitty BixBy
All Hail the King J ean-Michel Basquiat’s legacy has been pulled in all directions since his death from a heroin overdose in 1988 at just 27. He reigns as the unimpeachable avatar of downtown cool, and a cautionary symbol of the voracious art market—an eternally young cipher trotted out by the fashion and culture industries, from Uniqlo to Gagosian. His story has been told by everyone, it appears, except for those who were closest to him. Until now. Opening at the Starrett-Lehigh Building on April 9, “Jean-Michel Basquiat: King Pleasure,” a comprehensive exhibition of more than 200 previously unseen or rarely shown works, is the first exhibit of its kind to be presented by his family. “This is a way for us to collaborate as a community and fill in the spaces from all of our perspectives on Jean-Michel and his impact on the world,” says the artist’s sister Lisane Basquiat, who has curated the exhibition with her younger sibling, Jeanine Heriveaux, and their stepmother, Nora Fitzpatrick. “It’s a gift to our family and others that they can look at this personal account of who he was.” Adds Jeanine, “There have been many exhibitions of Jean-Michel’s work, but never told from our perspective—Jean-Michel as a child, a man, a son, and a brother. We wanted to bring his work and personality forward, in a way only we can, for people to immerse themselves in. We want this to be an experiential and multidimensional celebration of Jean-Michel’s life." Spanning 12,000 square feet and designed by Sir David Adjaye, the award-winning architect behind the National Museum of African-American History in D.C., “King Pleasure”—the title refers to one of his paintings, which was named for a bartender turned underground bebop legend whom Basquiat’s father, Gerard, was fond of— consists of several themed rooms, including a re-creation of the artist’s Great Jones Street studio (rented to him by Andy Warhol) and the VIP room of the former Palladium nightclub. In addition to Basquiat’s paintings and drawings, there will be live performance, dances, and fashion shows, as well as educational programs. The objects and ephemera interspersed throughout the show not only illustrate his artistic efforts and influences, from Black American sports figures to literature, but also his unflagging interest in social justice, politics, and class. “Jean-Michel stands at the forefront of really strong people who are committed to showing up in the world in a specific way,” says Lisane. “And that runs through our bloodline. Now our children know what can happen when you live your truth, when you stand up for what’s right for you and exert a work ethic, passion, and commitment to why you believe you’re here.” Jeanine puts it more succinctly. “I think the title sums him up perfectly,” she says. “Jean-Michel was a king.” —horacio silva
Prints Charming
Lilly Pulitzer was famously inspired to create her signature dress prints while tending her family’s Palm Beach orange juice stand—the vibrant florals being perfect for obscuring spills. From there it wasn’t a giant leap to apply the colorful patterns to other areas of life whose inherent messiness might benefit from a bit of cheerful camouflage, like table linens and a recent teenagers’ bedding range for Pottery Barn.
But the genius who realized the same principle could also be applied to childbirth? Give that person a Pulitzer Prize!
Last spring, the Good Samaritan Medical
Center in West Palm Beach began offering two
“Lilly Pulitzer Birthing Suites” at $750 a night.
They not only boast luxury features that you might associate with The Breakers or the Colony Hotel more than a hospital (concierge service!
VIP menu! waterfront views!), but also come replete with swag. In addition to their postpartum bundle of joy, new moms get to take home a diaper bag containing a teddy bear, some newborn pajamas, a fleece blanket, and other accessories, all in one of Pulitzer’s distinctive prints. Take it into the Lilly store on Worth Avenue, and they’ll even monogram it with initials. (The diaper bag that is, not the baby.)
The suites have already served several dozen families and are booked seven months ahead, according to Naomi Seymour, the center’s associate chief nursing officer. “And the reservations keep coming in,” she said.
One recent happy customer is Brianna Potter, who recently welcomed her daughter, Rose— slightly less than two years after firstborn William arrived in the same (pre-Lillified) room. “I enjoyed the space so much but after seeing the renovation, they completely brightened it,” she told
Avenue. “It's such a cheerful, happy place to be, surrounded by all the colors, and the room has such nice light.
“I don’t want to call it a vacation, but it felt more similar to a hotel experience than a hospital experience,” she continued. “For example, I love drinking coconut water, and they would be sure to have fresh coconut water in my room every day. And the second thing is the menu—I was expecting Uber Eats or something like that, but I ate grilled vegetables and lobster for dinner every night. I don’t know any other hospitals where you get to have that experience.”
Although the average birthing suite stay is two nights, Potter managed to hang on a week. Her husband enjoyed the lamb.
Good Samaritan’s innovation has been so successful that it’s tempting to wonder what other untidy elements of Palm Beach life might be improved by a Lilly Pulitzer makeover—parking tickets, defib paddles, divorce papers? Alas, for now it’s only the birthing suites.
Potter said she already had some Lilly in her closet before staying in the suites, but has bought a lot more since. Not only is there a strong emotional connection, given Rose’s first pictures are all in the Pulitzer pattern, but also you can’t beat that practicality. “Not only giving birth, but the months thereafter there are some pretty messy spills that get on your clothes,” she said. “And so it certainly comes in handy to have a busy print.” —Ben WiddicomBe J ane Holzer has played many roles. A former model turned Warhol superstar turned contemporary art collector and movie producer, Holzer is also a major commercial property owner in Palm Beach, including the city’s hottest restaurant, Le Bilboquet, of which she is also a partner with Philippe Delgrange. But on a recent Saturday she was happy to play the part of doting meemaw and rave about her granddaughter, Emma Holzer, an aspiring actress, and couture-wearing It Girl.
“She’s going to be a big star,” Holzer insists— adding that so is Emma’s brother, Harrison. “Look him up. Supercute, super talented.” Holzer, now 81, sounds as elegantly assured as one can while eating a boiled egg and appears remarkably chipper for someone who had Covid just a few days ago.
In the early 1960s, the native Palm Beacher was nicknamed “Baby Jane” Holzer by a newspaper columnist riffing on a popular film of the era— she didn’t care for it initially, but it stuck. Today, she is sitting in the Ocean Boulevard home of her son Charles “Rusty” Holzer and his wife, Ashley, she explains, because her new, $8 million property across the street gives her allergies. So, it sits empty, awaiting renovation and a good clean. Covid means she has had to cancel a few commitments, including a speaking engagement in Australia, but mostly she remains as busy as ever. One of her big current projects is 247 Worth Avenue, a fashion and art destination building that also houses Brioni and Loro Piana, as well as two buzzy popups for Lehmann Maupin and Christie’s.
“I’m not attending many art fairs these days,” explains the perennially black-clad collector, who has recently been turning her attention to KAWS, in addition to extending her formidable pop art collection, “but there’s always something to keep me in trouble.”
“She reigns supreme around here,” says Nick Hissom, a 29-year-old co-owner of Aktion Art, who became friends with Holzer via her granddaughter Emma. “You have dinner with her at Bilboquet or the Colony Hotel and half the restaurant will approach her during the course of the night.”
Just don’t expect Holzer, who was the subject of “To Jane, Love Andy: Warhol’s First Superstar,” the 2014 exhibition at the Norton Museum of Art, to make an appearance in Ryan Murphy’s coming Netflix documentary about Andy Warhol. “I wouldn't talk to that man,” she fires back, when asked if the megaproducer has been in touch. “Did you see the Netflix thing he did on Halston? It was all about fucking. It was so nasty. There will only ever be one Halston, okay? I don't need to see, you know, Ryan Murphy's take on Warhol.” —horacio silva
BRIANNA POTTER
