Topcoat Magazine: Camp Hamptons by Shauna Horn

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CAMP HAMPTONS
New Yorkers love their city. It defines them, supports them, and drives them crazy. There are a multitude of options for everything at almost any time of the day or night. It is home to Broadway, the MET, Yankee baseball, the Empire State Building and sometimes the best part of the city is actually getting out of it for the weekend. In traditional New Yorker style, I snagged my very first weekend in the Hamptons (properly pronounced through slightly clenched teeth just to sound important). I really wanted some quality R&R and to catch some rays at one of the amazing nearby private beaches. Almost the end of summer, this was my first real break. Myself and two of my girlfriends headed out of Gotham with visions of sandy beaches and blue waters swimming in our heads. The weekend had been arranged by a private company that caters to arranging social events and planning vacations for young Manhattan professionals, so the share had seemed legitimate or so we thought. Upon arrival we discovered our sleeping arrangements (four twin beds squeezed into a small room, with an adjacent room set up the same, only separated by a closet door and an adjoining bathroom we all had to share…four ladies and four gents). We had signed up for camp. But this was just a place to sleep, right? We had a grill on the deck, a pool and hot tub to keep us occupied. We were by the beach, not in the city, all was good. But what we thought was going to be a house share with 15-20 other adults inadvertently turned out to be a singles weekend with a house of about 35-40 people ages ranging from 25-40, with one 50-something sadly thrown in the mix. At dinner on the first evening, we discovered an arrangement of sex books (presumably to spark conversation) and a basket of condoms that read and I quote, “These are not souvenirs. Please use on the premises. Have fun and be safe!” I’m all for safety, but what had we signed up for? Fun in the sun quickly became a glorified adult Spring Break. It became obvious most were there to just party, hook-up and go out clubbing with some intermediate pool time. The vision was completed with a drunken guy bursting into our room at 8 am looking for hook up time with our fourth roommate and a young woman passed out from the night before, on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, whom we discovered at breakfast wrapped in a towel rumored to be naked underneath. I thought the MTV cameras were going to show up any minute. Our beach getaway to the Hamptons Hellhouse had quickly turned toxic. One of the most interesting discoveries was learning people’s occupations. The 50 something turned out to be a surgeon, some worked in fashion and some were newly out of school settling into shiny new finance careers. Then there was one girl we met, who always appeared drunk to me whether it was breakfast or late night cocktail hour and earlier that morning had regaled us with the story of how she (only a bit tipsy at the time she insisted) had dived into the shallow end of the swimming pool and scraped her chin on the bottom, revealed to us that she is…wait for it…a life coach! There were a few others, like us, who had also walked into this blindly so the place wasn’t filled with all spring breakers. We met some really great people and managed to fit in fabulous beach time to boot. I’m all for partying and having a good time and obviously that is different for everyone. So just a friendly reminder, the next time you are heading to the Hamptons, partaking in a house share or even looking for a life coach, don’t forget to do your research. by Shauna Horn

CAMP HAMPTONS

New Yorkers love their city. It defines them, supports them, and drives them crazy. There are a multitude of options for everything at almost any time of the day or night. It is home to Broadway, the MET, Yankee baseball, the Empire State Building and sometimes the best part of the city is actually getting out of it for the weekend.

In traditional New Yorker style, I snagged my very first weekend in the Hamptons (properly pronounced through slightly clenched teeth just to sound important). I really wanted some quality R&R and to catch some rays at one of the amazing nearby private beaches. Almost the end of summer, this was my first real break. Myself and two of my girlfriends headed out of Gotham with visions of sandy beaches and blue waters swimming in our heads.

The weekend had been arranged by a private company that caters to arranging social events and planning vacations for young Manhattan professionals, so the share had seemed legitimate or so we thought. Upon arrival we discovered our sleeping arrangements (four twin beds squeezed into a small room, with an adjacent room set up the same, only separated by a closet door and an adjoining bathroom we all had to share…four ladies and four gents). We had signed up for camp. But this was just a place to sleep, right? We had a grill on the deck, a pool and hot tub to keep us occupied. We were by the beach, not in the city, all was good. But what we thought was going to be a house share with 15-20 other adults inadvertently turned out to be a singles weekend with a house of about 35-40 people ages ranging from 25-40, with one 50-something sadly thrown in the mix.

At dinner on the first evening, we discovered an arrangement of sex books (presumably to spark conversation) and a basket of condoms that read and I quote, “These are not souvenirs. Please use on the premises. Have fun and be safe!” I’m all for safety, but what had we signed up for? Fun in the sun quickly became a glorified adult Spring Break. It became obvious most were there to just party, hook-up and go out clubbing with some intermediate pool time. The vision was completed with a drunken guy bursting into our room at 8 am looking for hook up time with our fourth roommate and a young woman passed out from the night before, on one of the lounge chairs by the pool, whom we discovered at breakfast wrapped in a towel rumored to be naked underneath. I thought the MTV cameras were going to show up any minute. Our beach getaway to the Hamptons Hellhouse had quickly turned toxic.

One of the most interesting discoveries was learning people’s occupations. The 50 something turned out to be a surgeon, some worked in fashion and some were newly out of school settling into shiny new finance careers. Then there was one girl we met, who always appeared drunk to me whether it was breakfast or late night cocktail hour and earlier that morning had regaled us with the story of how she (only a bit tipsy at the time she insisted) had dived into the shallow end of the swimming pool and scraped her chin on the bottom, revealed to us that she is…wait for it…a life coach!

There were a few others, like us, who had also walked into this blindly so the place wasn’t filled with all spring breakers. We met some really great people and managed to fit in fabulous beach time to boot. I’m all for partying and having a good time and obviously that is different for everyone. So just a friendly reminder, the next time you are heading to the Hamptons, partaking in a house share or even looking for a life coach, don’t forget to do your research.

by Shauna Horn

Hamptons