Rose Shortage in the Hamptons Means All the Socialites Will Be Forced to Drink Riesling :(
Um, guys? I don’t want to freak you out or anything, but... something terrible has happened: There’s a rosé shortage in the Hamptons. Gasp! The horror! What are we going to do??? The fate of the universe depends on this lavish getaway location having an endless supply of the chilled pink beverage available at all times! We’re doomed, I tell you! Doooooooooooomed!
Good ol’ Page Six, reporting on the news that really counts: Word on the street has it that wealthy vacationers have been drinking so much rosé this summer that the Hamptons are running dangerously low on bottles of the good stuff. Restaurants like 75 Main, for example, has gone through its entire stash of Domaines Ott; they have, however, ordered an “emergency pallet of VieVité.” Once that’s gone… who knows to what depths they’ll have to lower themselves.
Naturally, the media has having a field day with this glorious piece of ridiculousness. Vanity Fair, for example, cataloged exactly how difficult a summer it’s been for the Hamptonites: Between Calvin Klein’s horrid “no trespassing” sign (“With all those signs and cameras, it looked like something from a penal colony,” said one neighbor) and Christie Brinkley’s inability to leave her house without her hair extensions (for reals), goodness! My heart radiates out sympathy for those in such a dreadful plight. Meanwhile, NY Mag’s The Cut writes poetically of the rising, wine-soaked tension we assume must be ripping its way through the community: “In truth, no one knows whether they will make it through the summer,” Maggie Lange writes. “But they can always cling to hope; they can cling to hope as if it were an empty glass of wine. But even hope resists only so long before it shatters into a million tiny shards.” Too true.
Gothamist’s Jen Carlson, however, has my absolute favorite response, which I strongly urge you to read in full. A dramatic reenactment of what must be going through the minds of all those poor dears upon hearing that they must now make due with — heaven forbid — sauvignon blanc, it tells the sorry tale of one Mitzy and her mounting horror:
“She unfolded the paper, and was immediately attacked by the seven most alarming words in the english language: ‘Rosé running dangerously low in the Hamptons’! Mitzy vomited delicately, and in the shape of a fleur-de-lis, on her white linen blend wide leg pants.
And upon reading further:
“‘God help us all,’ Mitzy whispered into a conch shell.”
Why, yes, I am currently mopping up the coffee I just spluttered all over myself due to my extreme fit of laughter. Why do you ask?
Anyway, Hamptons folk, I’m sure you’ll survive this terrible, terrible thing; after all, you’ve been through it before, haven’t you? Back in 2012, there was so little rosé to go around that wine shops had to limit sales to four bottles per customer. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, so I’ve no doubt you’ll rise above the current disaster to emerge more ridiculous than ever. Stay strong, Hamptons. I believe in you.