Gstaad—For some strange reason there have been no #MeToo complaints around these parts. Some locals have grumbled about yours truly, and an interview I gave about this village to a Swiss daily, but even though Harvey used to hang out around here during Christmases past, no one’s come forward to claim rape. Is there something wrong with our womenfolk? No, most of them are semi-ladies who have made it big and landed some ...

Gstaad—I had a whiff of it as it rolled in from the east, the smell of hypocrisy being different from others that penetrate our olfactory nerves in everyday life. It was coming from Davos and it had a Greco-Roman reek to it. The prime ministers of those once-upon-a-time great countries, Greece and Italy, asked for a Marshall Plan for Africa to solve the root cause of the migrant crisis that threatens the Old Continent’s ...

Before his untimely death last year, David Tang had attended a Pugs club luncheon under the proviso that no one would ask him how he felt. So all twenty of us asked him in unison, “How do you feel?” He burst out laughing. Sir David—he threw a riotous party at the Dorchester to celebrate his knighthood some years ago, and I got a bit tipsy and asked a good friend of his the reason for the knighthood; “for inserting his ...

I spent the better part of two sunny days indoors writing about authenticity for a Greek magazine, a strange subject in view of how inauthentic politics are in that Brussels-run southeastern outpost dotted with islands. Mind you, what is taking place in the West makes Greek politics seem ideal by comparison. The witch hunt is on, and it’s as phony as the one that burned those poor women in Salem long ago. Thank God for the ...

What I miss most up here in the Alps are the literary lunches conducted on the fly with writers like Bill Buckley, Alistair Horne, Natasha Stewart, occasionally Dmitri Nabokov, and, yes, movie star and memoirist par excellence David Niven. This was back in the late ’60s and throughout the ’70s, during the winter months and in between ski runs. Bill would ring early in the morning and suggest a run somewhere, then he’d ...

Had she claimed to be 100 percent African-American, or to be lesbian, transgender, or simply bisexual, the adoration would have been even more pronounced. If she had a criminal record, the perverse New York Times would have gone bananas in praising her to the skies. Not to mention the politically correct British media, such as the BBC, that would have groveled in ways that would shame Uriah Heep. Alas, she is only 50 percent ...

When the snow finally stopped, the sublime silence of the stars above made for dramatic viewing. Silhouetted against Alpine peaks, the starry nights—untainted by light pollution—seem made in Hollywood. I arrived in Gstaad one week before Christmas, determined to get in shape following the debauch of New York. The snow was coming down, the town was empty, the slopes were perfect, both my children were with us—then ...

Here we go, it’s that time of year again! Yippee! And get your wallets out. Scrooges are no longer tolerated during Christmas, although once upon a time people were so fed up with the annual Christmas shakedown that in 1491, London biggies ruled that Christmas solicitations would be banned. Servants, apprentices, tradesmen, and churchmen had all become professional supplicants, and were not best pleased by the ukase. But as ...

Rose-colored glasses conceded, the ’50s were still the best decade ever. Uncle Sam was propping up recovering Europe, our borders were not being overrun, the French Riviera was not covered by cement and inhabited by oligarchs and oil-rich camel drivers, tennis players played for love, and Mickey Mantle hit balls way out of the park without the aid of steroids. And pro football had suddenly caught on. The pros ran onto the ...

Is there anything not to like about Christmas? The answer is a resounding NO, and I include the secular sham that goes with it, expensive trees and cheap pink paper and maddening shopping. The birth of our Lord Jesus came in handy on his 1914th birthday, when the German and British troops called a halt to the slaughter and played football instead. (The high command should have followed the troops’ example, but they ordered ...

Like the song almost says, what a difference a year makes: 2017 is not over yet, but it’s been a lousy one so far. For starters, losing two very close friends was a real bummer, then the Brexit negotiations and the Trump presidency revealed that I declared victory too soon. Last year at this time I was singing about what a great year it’s been, what a great mood I’m in, and so on. The British people had decided they no ...

If you thought comedy was dead, take a look at the newest Napoleon on the block, the one wearing sandals and a tablecloth on his head and striking a heroic pose with his hairy legs wrapped around a camel’s hump. This ludicrous figure resides in Riyadh and is fawned upon by people like Prince Charles and our 45th president, not to mention those with greased palms in Washington who are busy spreading the word that Saudi Arabia ...

There’s fear and loathing in this town, and in El Lay it’s even worse. Torquemada and Savonarola are in charge, and if this is not a new edition of the Spanish Inquisition, I don’t know what is. The enemy is “toxic masculinity,” as exhibited by the latest to lose his job forever, Charlie Rose, not a bad guy but a bleeding-heart liberal who acted like Benito in front of fair maidens. Or so they claim. In the meantime, ...

Two rather splendid dinners given in the Bagel by George Livanos and Mick Flick, where the subject of the faux Leonardo that sold for 400 million greenbacks—plus a $50 million fee for Christie’s—was a subject dissected again and again during the glitterati’s chitchat. Mind you, my fellow guests were not the types to be outraged or shocked at the obscenity of the moola involved, but it beat talking about the weather or ...

What news can one report from the Home of the Depraved after the church shooting in Texas, one that included babies and children and eight members of one praying family? It is almost too hard to fathom. I’ve been here six weeks and three mass-murder sprees have taken place, two by deranged male shooters, the other by an Allah disciple from Uzbekistan who unfortunately survived a cop’s bullet and demanded an ISIS flag be ...

A dinner by Michael Mailer in honor of Arki Busson in Michael’s brilliant Brooklyn flat on the banks of the East River, overlooking the Statue of Liberty a quarter mile away. His father Norman had some very brainy people living it up on these premises, and Michael has continued the custom of feeding pretty women, bitchy columnists, talented cinematographers, and brainy tycoons like Arki, among the few tycoons I know who ...