One unusually warm night last November, the exclusive Japanese handbag line
Samantha Thavasa launched its first US flagship on New York’s Madison Avenue.
The guest of honour was the Virginia-bred, Manhattan-based socialite Tinsley
Mortimer, who had signed a big deal to become a guest designer. As the cream
of New York society, and stars including Penelope Cruz, stepped out onto a
pink carpet (Mortimer’s trademark colour), and models wearing baby-doll
dresses (Mortimer’s trademark silhouette), mary-jane shoes (Mortimer’s
trademark footwear) and blonde curls pinned behind their ear (Mortimer’s
trademark hairstyle) circulated through the crowd, conversation revolved
around what a fabulous success Mortimer had become. The once introverted
Southern belle — reportedly a descendant of Thomas Jefferson, and a member
of the National Society of the Colonial Dames of America — has exploded, in
a flurry of highlighted ringlets, past the social scene and into the retail
market. Mortimer is no longer just another social decoration. She is a
business force to be reckoned with.
And she’s not alone. Recently, her pouty posse of pretty mid- to
late-twentysomething friends — seen above carousing at their favourite
nighttime hang out, Bungalow 8, in Manhattan — have been using their social
lives as platforms to start up lucrative industries of their own. Suddenly,
the useless, vacant New York celebutantes Brits love to hate, in books such
as Plum Sykes’s Bergdorf Blondes, have morphed into mini Donald Trumps, as
concerned with business plans as blow-dries. Where once their financier
husbands would have talked about “my wife’s little project”, they now have
full-on brands. “They want more than a great husband, a great last night and
a picture in a magazine,” confirms the social commentator and fashion
designer Alvin Valley. “They want to build a business.”
Indeed they do. From launching a series of how-to style books (the heiress
Amanda Brooks) to designing jewellery ranges (the girl about town Zani
Gugelmann), being the face of beauty ranges (Olivia Chantecaille),
co-running international denim companies (Eleanor Ylvisaker) and revamping
ailing fashion lines (Lauren Davis), in 2007, you’re nobody in Manhattan
society if you don’t have your own mini empire to talk about at charity
dinners.
It wasn’t so long ago that a socialite was a woman born into a wealthy family,
who married wealthy and would, with her wealthy friends, host luncheons and
charity events for those who were, unfortunately, not wealthy. But times
have changed.
“The word socialite used to have a negative connotation, alluding to a
frivolous party girl who was rich and didn’t worry about anything,” says
Fabiola Beracasa, the daughter of the uber-hostess Veronica Hearst, reached
by phone in Paris between the Dior and Valentino couture shows. Beracasa, a
curvy brunette with a penchant for miniskirts and hosting over-the-top
Hallowe’en parties, is the creative director of Circa, a large international
buyer of antique jewellery. “The rules have changed,” she says. “It can now
mean a businesswoman or someone with the ability to promote and sell a
product, even if it’s herself.”
So fascinating are this tribe and its exploits, they are now tracked
fastidiously on gossip websites such as www.famegame.com
and www.socialiterank.com, a lowbrow site that has come under fire for its
scandalous coverage. It’s hard to imagine Brits taking such a fervent
interest in the exploits of Jasmine Guinness, Leah Wood and co.
In America, though, these girls are becoming celebrities. Big enough
celebrities, in fact, that Giorgio Armani flew Mortimer, Gugelman and the
publishing heiress Amanda Hearst to the recent Armani Privé couture show in
Paris, along with the likes of Cate Blanchett and Katie Holmes, putting them
up in the five-star Plaza Athénéé hotel. “They’re much more exposed than the
socialites before them,” says a spokesman for Armani. “They’re beautiful,
and real, too.” Or as another, anonymous publicist puts it snippily: “It’s
just as important to get these girls to my party as it would be some heifer
from Hollywood. And just as much hassle.”
Indeed, the girls — who, lest we forget, are used to getting their way — have
not been slow to realise the commercial potential of their popularity. Many
are now demanding transportation and expenses such as hair and make-up for
personal appearances. Heaven forbid that standards should have slipped since
the socialites became working girls. Many of them maintain the same
ultra-groomed appearances as their more bovine elder sisters: hair
appointments at Oscar Blandi, on Madison Avenue, and long hours in the shoe
department at Barneys are fitted carefully into the diary alongside meetings
with editors, design staff and CEOs. And the girls spent months preparing
for their appearances on the front rows of the recent New York fashion week.
There is a reason for this. Networking and image-building are crucial to good
modern business practice, and these women are past masters at it. “Social
women today have the unique ability to parlay a sense of visibility into a
marketable product,” Mortimer says via e-mail (like other celebrities, she
is reluctant to be interviewed be face to face).
It’s difficult to argue with her. Highly educated, exceedingly well connected
and with the calculating minds of the sharpest political operators,
socialites are in pole position to clean up. Best of all, Daddy’s all for it
— so long as there are no sex tapes involved. It’s a wonder nobody thought
of it before. “If you have these cards in your hand,” Beracasa says, “you
should play them.”
Whether or not these girls really need their own empires is debatable. There
are rumours of family fortunes drying up, of women with padlocked prenups
gathering nest eggs in case they are suddenly single, but these topics are
not discussed in public.
“What I’m ambitious about now isn’t just my social standing or where I’m
seated at lunch,” Ylvisaker says. “It’s my career.”
She says this, twirling her blonde locks absent-mindedly around a finger,
while simultaneously checking her BlackBerry.
SO HOW DO BRITISH SOCIALITES MEASURE UP?
Princess Beatrice
The latest social bunny on the block, Bea has become a self-styled princess
about town. There was the Victorian-themed 18th-birthday party at Windsor,
the obligatory boyfriend once involved in a brawl, the cover shoot for
Tatler, the alleged partying with Kate Moss and Pete Doherty at New Year and
a professed desire to “be just like a mini-Mummy”. Lord knows what lies in
wait.
Camilla al-Fayed
As the daughter of Harrods owner Mohammed, al-Fayed is a fully paid-up member
of the Euro jet set. Seen skipping around daddy’s pads in Paris, London and
St Tropez, she’s glossier than your average Brit It, with her thrice-weekly
blow-dries and the run of Harrods for her wardrobe.
Jasmine Guinness
The quintessential British socialite, with a Mitford for a great-grandmother,
a celebutante modelling career and a toy shop on Portobello Road. Spare time
is spent down her local Notting Hill boozer and looking after her
rock-star-themed children, Otis and Elwood.
Jasmine Lennard
The daughter of a Bond girl and a high-street retailer, Lennard made a name
for herself as a loser on Make Me a Supermodel. She has since hogged the
limelight, calling Rachel Hunter a “munter”, allegedly shagging Simon
Cowell, and wearing practically nothing to the opening of an envelope.
Classy.
Leah Wood
The daughter of Rolling Stone Ronnie, Wood has tried just about every
profession a self-respecting rock child would. A model turned singer turned
charity worker turned artist — we wait with bated breath for her next
“career”.
