So by now, I’m sure you know what I did this weekend — and I’d venture to guess that if I even begin to utter the phrase “Veuve Clicquot Polo Classic,” one more time, you’ll collectively tell me to shut the hell up.
So instead, I’ll skip it and get to the highlights — the golden moments before, during and after the match. Fashion Week style.
Polo Classic Day in Which We Sat In a Field to Swill Champagne successfully entailed: Lots of friends, four(ish) bottles of rosé, two boat rides and one shower curtain.
9:45 a.m. I feel like an asshole putting on make-up in the gym bathroom, but I have no other option. I encounter the all-too-familiar Single Girl Problem and tip-toe to the front desk, asking them to kindly zip the back of my dress (without pinching that back fat, pretty please).
9:55 a.m. I’m running late, obviously, so I forgo drying my hair. That’s part of the reason you take boat rides, isn’t it? Gimme dat wind-blown look, Ferry at the South Street Seaport! That’s where I’m going, right? Need to check my phone. MOTHER F–KER! Didn’t charge it last night.
10:05 a.m. I’m headed down to the subway now, and wow, you can really tell who’s going where today. Never ever has the One train seen so much seer-sucker and white denim. Literally, never. There’s a few people with road pops/DIY mint julep-style drinks in water bottles.I change seats to sit near-er to them (and because the sleeping homeless man next to me is encroaching into my shoulder territory). Sharing is caring, my new subway friends!
10:15 .m. I’m here! I’ve ar-rived! Holy shit. It’s packed. And actually, I have no idea where I am. Where the hell am I going? I guess I’ll walk toward the water; that sounds right.
10:28 a.m. There must be 2,000 people here, all queuing up around the park waiting for the Ferry. Yep. I’m definitely going solo to polo (sorry, I had to), as I’m never going to find my frien– … Carly! Carly and Garrett. Thank God!
10:40 a.m. Carly and I catch up in line for a bit until we’re joined by Victoria, Julia and Anel. By now, the ferry line has tacked on another 600 or so white-clad event-goers. I’m thankful that Carly let me scoot in line with her and I spend the rest of our time in line making a conscious effort not to make eye contact with the group behind us. Daggers, guys. Can’t say I blame them.
11:20 a.m. It’s been close to an hour and I’m already starting to sunburn, despite the SPF 45 I’ve applied. Sigh; oh ye Irish genes…
11:35 a.m. At last, we’re inching closer to the boat — and hey, there’s BILL CUNNINGHAM!
11:37 a.m. “Hey, Bill.” I say casually for the second time in my life (here’s the story behind the first). We promptly adjust our postures and nonchalantly inch toward the legend in the blue jacket. He snaps pictures of V and Julia. Hooray! (Mental note: Damnit.)
12:10 p.m. Once aboard the Ferry, we find seats on the top deck. The boat is really rocky, so perhaps it’s a blessing that none of us have eaten in a few hours. Hundreds of people pile in behind us — including lots of Ten’s (read: attractive males in seersucker pants and bow ties). Are they straight? Gay? Don’t worry, I’ll find out.
12:30 p.m. In the 20 minutes it takes us to get across the harbor to Liberty State Park, Julia somehow breaks her hat. I laugh and immediately regret doing so, because karma comes full-circle in the form of a swift breeze and lifts mine off my head. I literally body-check Carly into the side of the boat to tackle it before it goes overboard. I win this time, Universe. (JUST KIDDING.) How’s your hip, Carly? Sorry!
12:32 p.m. We decide to pee before we get off the boat, which is actually a nearly impossible feat as (1) the water is very rocky and (2) the stalls do not have locks. Engage the core! (Good times & TMI, that’s what you’ve come to expect ’round here, isn’t it? Love ya.)
12:40 p.m. It’s about a 20-minute walk to the field, during which I think repeatedly how thankful I am that I’m wearing flats. How the hell are some of these girls wearing high-heels? You can’t stop divots in stilettos, guys (and this right here is the extent of my polo knowledge).
1:00 p.m. We arrive to the field and find a small patch of grass to call home base (#lolsportsjokes). There are so many people here! Where are the celebs? Oh, over there under those tents with bottle service and wait staff. Ah, yeah. Makes sense.
1:09 p.m. All right. First thing’s first: Champagne.
1:25 p.m. Next order of business: FOOD. ALL OF IT. There’s ten or so food trucks lining the outskirts of Liberty State Park, and we immediately rule out lobster rolls as the line is more than 10 minutes long (seen below). I absolutely do not have that much life left in me, so we settle for veggie burgers and sweet potato chips.
1:35 p.m. Silence ensues. This is quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.
2:10 p.m. Over the next few hours, we’re joined in good company by Grace, Caitlin, Christine and a few other friends. We happily (and all-to-easily) continue to sip our way through bottles of champagne and rosé.
2:15 p.m. I venture toward the field and realize how unfamiliar I am with the set-up. I’ve never seen a Polo match, but it’s, like, croquet meets soccer, right? On horses.
3:45 p.m. Feeling a bit sunburnt (and champagne drunk), we start to storm clouds rolling in — and, shit, you can clearly see it’s pouring in Manhattan. An executive decision is made (by someone; we’re not quite sure whom) and we pack up, pound the rest of our champs and hit the road. It’s starting to drizzle.
3:49 p.m. That is why I wore flats. So that I can skip and shimmy and saunter my drunk ass outta this park!
3:52 p.m. Okay, cramp. And it’s raining.
4:05 p.m. We’re still 10 minutes from the ferry when the sky opens up and it starts to pour. One of our “blankets” is actually a shower curtain (brilliant, Victoria!), so we form a brigade of sorts and job in tandem with our make-shift, oversized umbrella situation. Equal parts brilliant and hilarious to watch. Whatever, we’re owning it!
4:10 p.m. I become acutely aware of the fact that my dress is a white canvas-y material. Lots of innocent match-goers are getting more than they paid for this afternoon.
4:18 p.m. We’re back on the boat, so naturally it’s stopped raining and the sun is out again. I’m glad we left early, though. I can’t imagine getting stuck on the island with a few other thousand people jockeying (#LOLMORESPORTSJOKES) for a position in line for the next return ferry.
4:30 p.m. All right. Next plan of action: Get the heck outta of Battery Park. I know I’ve had a lot of champagne, but… Go home, Uber. You’re drunk!
4:45 p.m. We make our way back uptown to Victoria’s, where we continue the rosé binge on her rooftop. It’s days and nights like these I’m reminded why I love New York City — and why I’m forever thankful to have friends with cool apartments.
What happens next is another story for another day, but it can be summarized by this photo. And a receipt for $200+ worth of Mexican take-out. Arriba Veuve Clicquot! Until next year…
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