July 25, 2011
We know, we're not morons, the Hamptons isn't a city. That's exactly what we fucking love about it. We also get that it's a New York thing and while we clearly love that too, that's not what makes the Hamptons the betch epicenter that it is.
If the lure of the Hamptons continues to elude you, we'll keep it simple.
Take a small percentage of betches and bros from the NYC scene out to the East End of Long Island for the weekend and you have a whole new level of exclusivity. As Heidi Klum would say, you're either in...
You won't find any huge losers or poor people in the Hamptons because they wouldn't be there in the first place. It's expensive and a major hassle to get to, so if you don't have a house there you better hope your friend who does likes you enough to invite you.
Weekends in the Hamptons are like spending two full days in betchy bliss. You're granted the luxury of doing nothing while celeb-spotting at Main Beach, (not) eating delicious foods prepared by the help, and going out #20 clubbing with people who are just all around better.
It's not like a regular city where any slut with a low-cut shirt and minimal game can walk in on a table. You either know people and you'll get in or you'll look like a douchebag trying. No one stands outside clawing at the bouncer like they're a fucking college freshman on Thanksgiving Eve in NYC.
Other than town-specific stereotypes, the hierarchy in the Hamptons subtly hinges on how you're transported there. The poorest way is the train, then the Jitney. So the question is, are you going to sit in Friday LIE traffic or rot away on public transportation that makes 25 fucking stops in every stupid ass town out there?
Or did you hop on the family jet at Teterboro and park it at East Hampton airport?
For the true Hamptonians out there, let's go by town:
Westhampton/Quogue: We love the easy access to these towns but need to state the obvious. People from East and South love to rant about how these towns aren't really the Hamptons, which is funny because that's exactly what Westhampton people say about Quogue. How many times do you have to see the entire world at Baby Moon before you decide to stop eating
Southampton: This is where everything converges. The town is packed with great stores and lots of aspiring housewives trying to be seen eating lunch at the Golden Pear (News flash: the paparazzi aren't in the Hamptons to photograph you). Lots of old money here, and this is where most of the clubs are - South Pointe, Dune, and Nello for baby betches.
Sag Harbor: A bunch of artsy hippie fuckers.
East Hampton: EH is the trendiest Hampton. There are amazing places to shop, and then you have the restaurant franchises like Serafina, Nick and Toni's and The Palm to remind NYC residents that they're only a short heli ride away from their winter abode.
Amagansett: Cyril's for 5 o'clock drinks.
Lunch Lobster Roll, for the obvious. Stephen Talkhouse to wait in line for listen to a musician you've never heard of and drink with people who belong in Nantucket.
Montauk: You know those fugly bumper stickers that say "The End"? These refer to Montauk, but putting one of these on your car sort of negates the status of living there. If you're trying to hang out with surfer bros and cool musicians, hit up Surf Lodge and play a Bethenny card when you claim to be "over the scene."
So betches, the Hamptons are really our shit in every way possible. Oh and it's definitely a prime location to find #62 Pros; they'll be out there if they're on their game. They're somewhere between the douchey city kids and the East Village hipsters but shouldn't be hard to spot if you're a true betch. After the long, hard work week, we love the privacy and relaxation of the Hamptons during the day and the exclusivity of the clubs at night.
And if you're jealous that you can't make your way out there, making fun of those who go isn't exactly your ticket to lampin' in the Hamps, no matter how fucking toolish it sounds when they brag that their dad's cousin's friend's dad owns
Lily Pond SL East.
Cause you don't wanna miss a thing