High life
Sure-footed
Taki
New York During May and June of 1968 I had the misfortune to be in Paris playing polo. I say misfortune, because that was the time that all those publicity-seeking freaks — the soi-disant students — were hogging the world's headlines with their antigovernment demonstrations, and keeping me out of my favourite Left Bank nightclubs. When the workers joined in and a general strike paralysed Paris, I got my first whiff of inconvenience. Petrol became as scarce as clean-shaven Iranians, thus limiting my movements. Not for long, however. As there was no fuel for anyone. not even for the rich, t began riding my polo pony instead,, and I was able to ride without the fear of being run over by some French maniac.
Strikes, lack of petrol, even the cowardly polo authorities who stopped the seasonlong tournament thinking it would enrage the 'students', were not enough to make me leave town. But when Regine closed down her new Jimmy's, on Boulevard Montparnasse, I knew that it was time to go. My Mini Cooper had five gallons in the tank and by doing 25 m.p.h. I managed to reach Sens, 50 miles south of Paris, where petrol was in abundance. My destination was Geneva, and I was carrying a passenger. She was a rather fat, fairly loud but funny Belgian girl called Diane AMT.'. Diane used to hang around the polo players and tell funny Jewish jokes about herself and her family. When she heard I was going to Geneva. she asked to go with me because Regine's closing had affected her as much as it had me. She also wanted to meet a boy she liked, Egon von Fiirstenberg (the one she eventually married and by so doing became Princess von Fiirstenberg). She is now a successful designer in New York.
Last week I read probably the most hilarious letter I have ever read. It was from Diane and it was addressed to a pseudoradical-trendy magazine. In it Diane complained that her generation — 'all of us that fought together in the barricades in 68' — had let her down, for first electing Ronald Reagan and then murdering John Lennon. (That name again.) Now the reason why Diane went ahead and wrote such a stupid letter was in order to cash in on the Lennon hysteria, and the trendy pseudo-Marxism so prevalent in New York's chic circles. Diane had campaigned for Jerry Brown, the Californian screwball who wants Jane Fonda to run our nuclear programmes. She was right; she got some publicity for her troubles. And as everyone knows, the mark of a successful social climb is the ability to conceal one's obsession with society. Show ing concern over the death of a rock star, or the election of a man who does not believe in EST, is just the thing.
After Diane, someone whom I in fact like, I will list some of the most egregious social climbers, but not necessarily in order. The first one who comes to mind is Woody Allen. Peter Ackroyd (Cinema, 3 January) got it as right about him as anyone can get it. Allen pretends to hate publicity, but makes sure he is at every media event, wearing sneakers with a smoking jacket in case someone does not notice, and will go out with anyone or anything that will get him publicity. He is the quintessential social climber, smart enough to know that the way to make it is by pretending you do not want it.
Jan Golding Coleman Cushing Olympitis is an ageing blonde, once a member of the BBQ (Brooklyn, Bronx and Queens) aristocracy, now married to a Greek fisherman. Jan was friendly with I lenry Kissinger when he was Secretary of State and got as much as she could out of the association. Peter Tofu. a lawyer who escorts Lee Radziwill around when the're is no one more important he can get his hands on. Fred Hughes. Bob Collacello and Andy Warhol. These three need no introduction. They have been climbing since time immemorial and continue to do so with a passion. For some strange reason.. however, they are quite nice and do not have the lean and hungry look of most climbers. Halston, the Dracula-like figure, is as subtle a social climber as YOU will ever hope to find. But‘when he is not designing clothes for Jackie 0 he is climbing, and Boy. does he climb!
Now who are the greatest climbers in England. Well that is easy: there are only a few. Princess Michael of Kent, Mark and Lola Winters. Charles Benson (only with rock stars, athletes, and royals. and the very rich) and Sabrina and Miranda Guinness. AlthoUgh very pretty and nice the twins have a problem: the former loves rock stars and royals, while the latter took to her bed feeling sad for Yoko Ono.
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