Fashionweekdaily gave me a belated Christmas present -- oh yes they did -- in the form of this letter from Lucy Sykes, her husband, Euan Rellie, and -- oddly -- her precocious 17 month old baby, Heathcliff (what can we say? The Sykes girls like Clark Gable movies), who signed alongside with his parents. We grade them on their name dropping and social climbing, as evidenced by their writing:
(image via Gawker)
"Seventeen-month old Heathcliff Rellie said he wanted to go somewhere sunny for Christmas, so we took him down to our favorite holiday island, where we spent our honeymoon in May 2002. We?ve been going to Harbour Island for many years, but are now beginning to worry a bit about how popular it has become with the cognoscenti."
This is beginning to sound like a "cognostinkie." Whew! Someone open a window! You only dropped one name for me to pick up, Sykeses. Is this really the Sykes clan? Is this an imposter letter? Pick up the pace, guys!
"Lucy was ready for a break from the frantic preparations for Spring/Summer 05 Season 1 at Lucy Sykes Baby which will hit Barneys, Calypso, Neimans, Saks stores everywhere, Scoop Baby, and Selfridges in the UK at the end of February. Euan took the chance to get fit: he ran the length of the beach and back seven miles every day."
Okay, now we're talking some world class name dropping; this is clearly the Sykes clan alright, brand names peppering the content like the September Vogue issue; popping ... real consumerism at work in an actual "conversation"
"Harbour Island, off North Eleuthera in the Bahamas, is always jam-packed full of fashion tribes.
"Its a small island with a population of 1,100 people, but has attracted photographers like Gilles Bensimon and Pamela Hanson since the 1980s."
Ah yes (The Corsair clasps his chin, pensive), The Corsair sees ... they are going after the Patti Hansen-Rolling Stones namedropping connection. Small island, rock and roll, rock royalty; very retro. Exclusive. Postmodern, even. An excellent choice. We approve. Yes ... our compliments.
"If you want to go there, youd better like small planes and airports ..."
Blast the colonials. Come on. You know you want to.... Blast the colonials (The Corsair squints). You wouldn't be a Sykes if you didn't ...
" ... India Hicks moved down there from New York ten years ago. She and her husband David Flint Wood were kind enough to include us in their Christmas lunch and New Year plans. They live in bliss with three beautiful, sun-drenched sons, and together offer without doubt the warmest and most natural hospitality we have ever experienced. Christmas lunch included all their Italian friends, including the very pretty, very talented artist and former model Jessica Zambeletti, her cool banker husband Leopoldo, and India?s impossibly chic mother, Lady Pamela Hicks."
It took them quite a while to drop a "title" bomb, no? They abstained from going further on "those colonies." Their self restraint is improving. They have gotten strong in the force.
"We finished the meal with Christmas pudding from Tesco reputedly as preferred by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II."
(Loud whistle) Totally unnecessary. Inappropriate besides. The Queen? Louch! Pudding? We say: Penalty! Three CP points are forthwith withdrawn from the Sykes account. Peasants!
"If you go, stay as we did at The Landing, owned and run by Toby Tyler, his wife Tracy Barry and her mother Brenda Barry ? in partnership with India and David. It?s the best small hotel in North America, built in 1800, so book ahead."
An appeal to history. But only 1800. Wasn't she a history major? 1 CP point restored.
"Elle Macpherson and her boyfriend Arki Busson gave the party of the week (though Jessica Zambeletti?s dinner was a close rival). We were all instructed to wear white and appear at dusk on a tiny secluded beach. Elle and Arki celebrated her brother Ben's birthday by releasing white balloons from the end of the dock into the sunset, to the sound of the local Junkanoo band. "
Ka-pow: Ella mention,elevation-- instant restoration of all three CP points; it's all good.
"Guests included gorgeous British Vogue features editor Pippa Holt (who is best friends with Sydney Fashion designer and Euan's cousin Alice McCall, and charmed the island with her sandwich magnate boyfriend Julian Metcalfe and his sons), .."
They are in the middle of a name drop-coma. Surely they jest. We needed a pause to refresh.
A magnate is fine, but why spoil it by placing betwixt two pieces of processed bread and some congealed meat, and, possibly a sauce. Why did we need to know that someone vaguely socially related to you made money on sandwiches, fast food, no matter how brimming with excellence.
It just doesn't make any sense. We can only attribute the social misdemeanor to the "name dropping coma," that evidently befell Euan, who, like a shark smelling blood, the climbers instincts is to just sort of toss out any name, any boldfacer, as if by tyhe lightness his social station wouls rise, seeking elevation ... and it doesn't; it just ... doesn't. (sadly) Minus 2 CP points.
"... pregnant Boden art director and Red magazine stylist Mary Eustace with her understated and elegant boyfriend Luke Ridley, Julian Vogel of Modus Publicity from London, Audrey Marney and Alex de Betak, Richard Gere and Carey Lowell, and Lulu Guinness?s Beverly Hill and her husband Mark. All seemed to bring with them toddler age sons and daughters ? the ideal future customer base for Lucy Sykes Baby.
"Heathcliff was pleased to learn from fellow holidaymakers Tina Brown and Harry Evans ? providing some much-needed literary and academic clout on the island that their daughter is reading Wuthering Heights."
Permit me. We really can't read anymore, although you can here. Nice to know Tina Brown's daughter reads books that inquisitive, bright young women did a half a century ago. But the Sykes clan .... Too postmodern. Quality commingled with fuselage. Scattered energies. Immense ambition without the requisite talent.
A fascinating sociological document, to be sure, one, no doubt, that will be pored over by astuste anthropologists and social scientists of the future of the general decadence of our age. One can almost hear the lead scientist saying, "Precisely what the fuck was a Julian Vogel of Modus Publicity from London?" to general confusion. The Corsair couldn't answer the question now.
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