Voilà an example of a coveted invite for a garden party in LA:
10 pound paper. Check.
18 pt. A-list hosts. Check.
Second group of lovely “with” hostesses. Check.
Third group of fortunate “host committee.” Check.
Extreme residence locale. Check.
Celebs in attendence. Check.
This lovely dejeuner en plein air was a benefit for one of my favorite non-profits – PS ARTS. As it says on the invite, it was held at the home of one of the founders of Juicy Couture. This is an annual event and it’s a clever idea to which I give bags every year which they then auction off in the silent way. It is a coveted and precious invite and every year they have to find a residence more amazing than the last. While I’d have probably been thrown out for taking my own pictures of the place, I remembered seeing this house in Bazaar, which I couldn’t find online but I found this blog.
That’s the pool house behind Heather, and yes, it’s bigger than your home. For the most part, those of us who wanted to catch a real glimpse of this Bev Hills Manse were out of luck. Although we were escorted through the house to the yard, there was no lolly gagging in the salon. It was how much your eyes could absorb as you sauntered through. Why, why, is the only thing my brain retains of that trip across the vast expanse of home is the elaborate, à la Juicy Couture, dog bed I saw in the foyer?! The auction was held outside on the side lawn and then we retired to the pool lawn where multiple Indian blankets were scattered under umbrellas. Next to each blanket was a decorative picnic basket overflowing with kitschy things (which no one touched) like super-sized boxes of Hot Tamales, potato chips, retro sodas and draping grapes and cherries. Lunch was a gorgeous salad buffet which we all ate sitting awkwardly and very un-lady-like on the ground in our loveliest of ladies-who-lunch attire.
Which brings me to what we wore: Heather donned at gorg Stella McCartney red number with a to-die-for turquoise clarevivier clutch.
While I went purple floral vintage – of course, from Oskar’s shop, of course. I knew when I bought it months ago that it’d be perfect for this event. Only right before I left the house, something didn’t feel right – too matronly – so I cut off two feet of the dress: voilà modern! Then I attended the fancy luncheon with no hem. I felt punk.
(photo of HBT and swan courtesy Victoria Namkung.)