Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sanchez

Source: Bigstock

Back in the good old days, before anyone had ever heard of the name Kardashian, the month of August signaled the smart set’s exodus from the French Riviera for cooler climes. The great unwashed, as they were then called, would arrive in droves, prepaid to do so by a socialist French government, hence the hasty departure of the rich and famous.

Actually, I’m exaggerating, as it wasn’t as blatant or as obvious as all that. But August was the month that saw the Riviera become overcrowded, and those of us who had boats rather than houses on the Côte d’Azur floated or drove toward Italy (Venice, to be more precise). I am talking about the late ’50s and the ’60s, just before mass tourism ruined the most beautiful country that ever was, Italy.

“Although I’m fully aware of the ghastly taste the newlyweds exhibited, bad taste is neither illegal nor a sin.”

I cannot describe how wonderful life in Italy used to be for those of us who went to Rome, Florence, Siena, or Venice simply to enjoy ourselves. The hotels were magnificent, the service impeccable, the food the best in the world, and the people among the nicest and friendliest ever. Italians had more style than anyone, and their music was the most romantic, just as their opera was perfect and their beautiful buildings to die for. “Dolce far niente” was the slogan, how sweet it is to do nothing. I remember competing in the Foro Italico, a Mussolini-inspired tennis stadium in Rome, and not caring that much about losing because I knew that a Roman evening promised much more than passing a round in the Italian championships.

People back then dressed to the nines to eat outside, and every beautiful street in Italy was lined with wonderful trattorias serving cheap but very good food. Then all this marvelous life came to an end with the arrival of something even worse than Attila the Hun—mass tourism. Millions of Chinese and Americans flooded the narrow streets of Florence and Rome, photographing everything while marching in step, blocking traffic while arguing over the price of a cheap trinket, and—recently—bringing the city to a halt while taking nonstop selfies on the Spanish steps. I was recently in Rome and watched in horror as the crowds swelled, all taking photos of some luxury ad on the walls while totally ignoring the Keats and Shelley museum on the bottom left of the steps. When I spoke to the lady curator she told me no one had bothered to visit recently, an indicator of the way our culture is heading.

Which brings me to a recent wedding that took place in Venice that had some people upset. The Big Bagel Times headlined it as “The Triumph of Tacky.” (No relation.) The paper asked, what happened to understatement and restraint? Well, I can tell them: I used to attend some very grand balls in Venice, parties given by local nobles such as Countess Volpi in her magnificent palazzo, and Lord Howard, a childhood friend of mine. Lily Volpi may have had a useless son who blew the great fortune she left him, but she really knew how to entertain while keeping it low-key. The perils of income inequality were never obvious in the Venice I knew, with minimalism and quiet luxury in vogue.

I attended two of the grandest Venetian balls of the time—during the early ’60s in the month of September—and what struck me back then was the fact that as we disembarked from our ferrying gondolas to the palazzo Volpi, the crowds began to cheer. Poor Venetians had lined up to look at the rich—there was only one film star, Paul Newman—and applauded. I suppose they were cheering the good luck of the few, I never really figured it out. Actually, I was rather embarrassed.

Which brings me to the recent wedding in Venice, or better yet, the Venetian photo opportunity of the year. As much as those with more understated taste might condemn the Bezos couple for their crassness, I will not. Envy is one of the few sins I am not guilty of. Although I’m fully aware of the ghastly taste the newlyweds exhibited, bad taste is neither illegal nor a sin. Furthermore, capitalism’s unequal distribution of wealth is far better than socialism’s equal distribution of misery. (Thank you, Garry Kasparov.) The ghastly Alexander Soros is spending his even ghastlier father’s money on extreme left-wing causes, but none of the Venetian show-offs displayed inherited wealth, which I truly believe in, by the way.

The over-the-top show in one of the world’s most stunning sites mixed Hollywood vulgarity with sporting heroes, Silicon Valley billionaire freaks and the horrible Kushner man married to The Donald’s daughter. Even the beauty of the setting could not erase the odiousness of some of the guests. But again, so what?

The envious mob claimed that the wedding had reduced the city of Marco Polo to a mere background for the photos of tourists and the rich. This argument sounds pretty pathetic to me. The wedding brought business to shops and restaurants, and the mob hated the fact that hardworking merchants were rewarded. So I ask once again: Why were we applauded fifty years ago and this lot jeered? I’ll tell you why. Envy is the prime mover behind socialism, and back when I was young and attending Venetian balls, people were too poor and busy working to embrace socialism.