Hilary Knight, illustrator of Eloise creates a self-portrait for East.
With darkness descending by 4 p.m., it’s time to hole up to write the Great American Novel, knit the Great American Sweater, or, um, secretly watch a ton of TV and movies with a “Hamptons” theme. Here are our picks that are either timeless, essential watching, or just so hysterically, obnoxious that we can’t look away.
Bridgehampton is home to a sports team whose feel-good winning streaks are unrivaled anywhere outside the realm of Hollywood fiction — and now, with a documentary movie in the works, the world is about to hear the buzz.
A story about Stuart and Susanne — a legendary bayman from Bonac and a shrink from Berlin who forged a rare friendship, a bond of mutual respect that lasts even after their deaths.
For decades, the ideal garden and the pristine-green lawn has come at a steep price: chemicals that poison the land and water (and, sometimes, even people). But today, as Christine Sampson reports, there are alternatives — and they are beautiful, because pure nature is perfect.
Darting between Sag Harbor, the city, and Palm Beach, Marc Zowine — possibly the most in-demand hairstylist on the East End scene — creates the perfect surfer blonde.
Like the California pop of 1960s and ’70s, the sound of Jack and Eliza is as warm and irresistibly bittersweet as the last day of summer vacation.
When Paton Miller stumbled into Fairfield Porter’s studio in the 1980s, he found not just a workplace, but a surrogate family — and, hidden and forgotten in a corner of the old barn, a trove of irreplaceable paintings that would change forever his understanding of art, creation, and fame.
It was 1973, the year Michael Shnayerson lived at the windmill at Quail Hill. He pretended successfully to be a tennis pro and unsuccessfully to be Kurt Vonnegut, and surprised even himself by defeating Geraldo Rivera on the court. Those long-ago memories of teenaged freedom were rekindledrecently, when he read a real-estate ad. . . .
Technically, they were told to walk, but Sag Harbor’s Legs ain’t walking anywhere. And why should they?