Reflecting on the Enduring Nostalgia of Summer Parties
Two 4th of July Soirées taking place on opposite sides of a Hamptons bay, couldn't be more different. One is star-studded & splashy; the other is a gathering for strangers & friends alike.
In the days leading up to the Fourth of July, massive trucks line up on the sleepy Dune Road, in Bridgehampton, New York.
The two-lane road runs for a mile before dead-ending at W. Scott Cameron Beach, a resident-only beach that sits on the Atlantic and overlooks Mecox Bay. Mansions hug either side of Dune Road, poking out above the eponymous dunes and brush. All different eras and styles of architecture are represented in this stretch of road in the middle of The Hamptons: there are rounded Victorian porches on the classical homes and contemporary homes are carved with square windows that offer a glimpse of the bay from the street, only interrupted by a hanging light fixture.
But it is the massive, modern home of Michael Rubin, the founder of sports merchandising powerhouse Fanatics, that brings the infestation of trucks and workers to Dune Road.
In late June and early July, box trucks carrying pallets of alcohol line the banks of Dune Road, forcing the light traffic of beachgoers to the dotted yellow line. 20- and 30-somethings pace along the hedges talking into headsets and phones while men working security sit at entrances to driveways. Bases of cranes are anchored down as their arms lift high lights, speakers, and sound equipment over the hedges and onto Rubin’s roof. On the beach side of this home, more security guards sit under an umbrella just in case a wandering neighbor wanted to enter through the back and hide in the bushes. Lights and fireworks equipment are installed on the sand while contractors scurry through all levels of the house. Another woman suns herself on a lounge chair of the pool, overlooking the ocean.
They are preparing for Rubin’s all-white Fourth of July party, the party of the summer in the Hamptons, and judging by its media coverage, you’d think it was the summer party for America.
Rubin’s guest list of A-listers rivals the roster of any awards show. It’s the who’s who of Hollywood, music, sports and business. The modern, 8,000 square foot manse (purchased for $50M in 2020) has a roofdeck where Tom Brady and Bob Kraft share drinks. Last year, tabloids questioned whether Brady was dating Kim Kardashian after they were seen together there. Jay-Z drives himself up Dune Road to attend the bash while his mother-in-law, Tina Knowles, rolls up driven by Kelly Rowland.
The party is not exactly private. Its exposure is everywhere. Michael Rubin posts drone footage and tight shots of celebrities hobnobbing. Instagram is flooded with pictures from those celebs and paparazzis alike. Celebrities who want to remain in the shadows surely wouldn’t love all of the publicity that attending brings. But despite the social media photo onslaught, it’s a notoriously difficult party to get into.
Rubin told Barstool he was offered a million dollars by two people trying to get on the list. “I’m like you can’t buy your way into this party,” he said.
“We have 90 security [guards at the party]. People try to sneak in through the bushes. It’s crazy.”
But across Mecox Bay, another Fourth of July party holds onto the integrity of a neighborly party from an earlier time.
This party, thrown by longtime residents of Water Mill, a hamlet of Southampton, sheds all of the Gatsby-qualities of Rubin’s party and replaces it with warmth and community.
This party in Water Mill is an open-door policy for friends and strangers alike.
Throughout June and the early days of July, the homeowners hand out physical flyers to anyone they run into on the beach, in town, or at the bar of the restaurant they frequent on Friday nights.
This year’s flyer read simply “Let’s Celebrate America’s Birthday!” and then there’s fine print at the bottom: “For the past 38 summers, we have invited friends (and their guests) to share a cocktail in our garden on the 4th of July weekend.”
38 summers of 4th of July parties for friends and their guests. It’s an incredible tradition.
The 2024 iteration of this party could’ve been set in the 80s, the era in which they first threw the party. Cars are parked on the main road, then the guests make their way down a private street and follow one another until the reach the home at the end of the block. There, the lawn slopes down to a finger of Mecox Bay. Bartenders make strong vodka-sodas at white table-clothed table overlooking the water. Dozens of guests, mostly gay men of all ages, mingle as the sun sets. The conversations and the drinks flow.
This year’s chatter included (but were not limited to): reviews of a new Keith Haring biography, the anxieties of teen summer camps, and whether voters would be excited by a Kamala Harris ticket (Biden wouldn’t drop out for another two weeks).
What was striking about this party wasn’t just the warm and beautiful atmosphere; it was the manner in which it was arranged: flyers handed out en masse where truly all were welcome. No social media, no exclusivity, no jockeying of lists. But an opportunity for strangers to become friends.
What makes a summer party?
The gathering made me wonder: what elements make for a proper summer party?
Surely, a summer party must be outside. Whether friends meet in a park, a rooftop in Brooklyn, a porch on the Jersey Shore, or a lawn in the Hamptons, the environment must be open-air and take advantage of the warmer season.
And because it’s outside, there’s a general understanding by all involved that it can be called off at any point because of inclement weather. No other event has such flexibility.
Summer parties also take advantage of seasonal dishes: outdoor grills, waterside clambakes, salads with local corn, pies with home-grown fruit. In a world where the global economy allows for nearly all produce to be regularly available at all times, even in its off-season, summer parties still place an emphasis on the locally-owned goods from the market down the road.
Then there’s the company. Unlike birthday gatherings or formal dinner parties, the guest list is usually more malleable, allowing for a greater mixing of friend groups and mingling of people.
In the age of social media, dating apps, and work from home, our opportunities to meet and connect, in the flesh, have evaporated or twisted from the ways we’ve known.
Except the summer party. These have held their character through the years.
Gatsby’s extravaganzas were opulent and overcompensating. Yet F. Scott Fitzgerald describes his summer parties with beauty: “In his blue gardens, men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the champagne and the stars.”
At this unofficial end of summer, may we hold on to all of the good of the summer party… and perhaps find a way to bring the camaraderie and the conversation, the whisperings and the champagne and the stars, to our gatherings in all of the seasons.