Some clueless young persons who have founded an elite organization, the Native Club, were evidently unaware that the first rule of such associations is supposed to be a ban on publicity. No talking to the Times!  The second rule — anybody can rent a room at the Plaza — to to occupy a building to which you can deny entry by non-members.   

Membership parameters have also loosened. It’s no longer restricted to people who understand that the soft-shell crabs are the thing to order at Swifty’s. The group now includes musicians from the Lower East Side, a painter on the Upper West Side, even folks who hail from far-off lands like Connecticut (you can be an “honorary member” if you’re born outside the city, so long as you display the Native mind-set, Mr. Estreich explained).

Larger parties, like the one at the Plaza, amount to rush parties, where candidates are brought for inspection. A counsel of 14 administrators functions like a Sutton Place co-op board and decides whom to admit.

For the inner circle, there are also private parties, drawing 25 or so to members’ East Side town houses or art-filled SoHo lofts. No one talks about the rituals at those events. “That’s where we burn lambs,” joked Freddie Fackelmayer, a member who wears his hair in a dramatic swoop of forelocks — call it the Fop Flop — familiar from a thousand Ralph Lauren ads.

Drop me a line at rjk@dailyblague.com
This entry was posted on Thursday, March 3rd, 2011 at 8:00 pm.