CP NEWS: Hamptons Unwrapped

[ddm-news]

-Naomi Baria

Aaah, the Hamptons. What better way to fritter away excess wealth and a weekend than by binging on parties, socialites and polo matches? This past Saturday, Clubplanet was lucky enough to hang with high society in its summer habitat at Cain’s Southampton estate and nightclub. Grey Poupon in hand, of course.

The Party

Shutterbug-extraordinaire Patrick McMullan celebrated his birthday in full form at the Cain Jaguar Estate with hosts Nicole Miller and Asian pop sensation Sun at the figurehead helm. Recently purchased by the eponymous nightclubs’ owners Jamie Mulholland and Jayma Cardosa, the Cain Jaguar Estate was conceived as a VIP-only pre- and post-party adjunct to Cain Southampton Nightclub, catering exclusively to the crème de la crème of Hollywood, the hoity toity and any blue blood in between. The deluxe 8-bedroom compound even hides under MapQuest's ubiquitous radar.

The Sponsors

Like the White House, the Cain Jaguar Estate holds deep corporate pockets sponsorships from a variety of shi-shi brands, counting Jaguar, Perrier Jouet Champagne, Verizon, V1 Jets, Sony, and Nicole Miller among its benefactors. We kept our hands (and stomachs) empty for any free swag awaiting us.

Chassée, Entrée

Arriving fashionably late and Somalia hungry, we catch a glimpse of the red carpet royalties. Guest of honor Patrick McMullan was enjoying the celebration from both ends of the lens—after posing with his buddies on the red carpet, he’d immediately lean over, grab his own camera and voraciously snap away. Just then, a booming series of drums usher in what appears to be flowing couture on sticks. No wait. It’s a Chinese dragon team dancing in to welcome guests and scare away any D-list spirits. Afraid it might detect our gatecrasher stench—do we even qualify as F-list?—we make a quick beeline away from the bevy of Ukrainian models to hors d’oeuvres table.

Beaver Sighting

In the backyard, we waited anxiously for the next Prada-clad victim to fall into the pool while cursing the mobbed open bar. Our prayers must have been answered—what looked like to be an escort, stripper, or possible post-op tranny (this is a Patrick McMullan event, after all) teetered atop the poolside stairway in rainbow blinking jewelry. She dazzled everyone with her special “light show,” coyly lifting and lowering the hem of her skirt to showcase her skivvie-less skin. Possibly psyched out by her own parlor tricks, Miss Thang lost her footing and tripped down the steps. Yikes.

Celeb Sighting

The room stood still as Sun invoked Marilyn Monroe with her seductive rendition of “Happy Birthday.” With her embrace of the birthday boy, more recognizable faces magically appeared in the crowd. Russell Simmons, Fabian Basabe, and, um, Prince Dimitri of Yugoslavia dropped in while Paul Sevigny took to the DJ decks with Patrick’s son Liam in tow.

I’m Lovin’ It

In true party style, 5-0 rolls up with complaints about the Porsche- and Ferrari-choked streets with strict orders to shut everything down. With Nicole Miller gift bags slung over our arms, we headed to the next port of call: the McDonald’s parking lot. Who’da thought that the evening’s biggest highlight would be sitting in a limo with four shopping bags full of Big Macs and Chicken McNuggets? (Note to self: Always eat before attending a party full of models).

The Afterparty

After gorging on trans-fatty extravagance, the walk upstairs to Cain Southampton nightclub was no easy task in stilettos. But the trip was well worth the wait. Seemingly perched above the rest of the world, the petit Capetown-themed venue feels is like a members-only treehouse for grown-ups, complete with a canvas tenting, tribal dancers and a colorful selection of African masks.

We commandeer four tables away from a party of Eurotrash artistocrats as Sun’s party trickles in. (She's, like, Asia's Madonna. Or something) The gals take their place standing on the banquettes to headbang to AC/DC and croon to Gnarls Barkley in front of an audience of dropped jaws. As Sun’s latest single, “Gone,” throbs out into the crowd, a toast is made to her success.



Perhaps to keep the buzz in the air, we crowded onto the outside decks for our last red-carpet-esque farewell with Patrick McMullan. Gadflies swarmed the procession, eager to have their photo op with Patrick’s Midas lens. Jaded, drunk, and blistered in places we didn’t know existed, we gulp our last drops of champagne before the limo ride back to our respective crashpads.



The End

As we lay in bed, itemizing the evening’s events, we say a silent prayer of thanks to the God who created double-sided tape, ibuprofen and supersizing. Leave it to the Hamptons to remind you of the wonders of material wealth, consumption and comfort. Amen.

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