I can't say I'll weep over the discomfiture of Palm Beach matrons, but I can chortle

see? They’re already trying to blend in

Old-time Palm Beachers bemoan the arrival of New Money New Yorkers. “So rude! So flashy!”

Well of course they are; the new arrivals bring with them their desperate insecurities, their fears that people will discover what frauds they are; their social circle will shun them, their money will be taken away, and they’ll be dragged back to Central Islip in disgrace. So they buy Maybachs and Rolexes, and put gates up at the foot of their driveways to announce that someone important lives behind them, and generally live fretful, unhappy lives. Then, after a few decades have passed, those who have managed to keep their money finally relax, learn to love Lilly Pulitzer pants, and blend in nicely with the old guard who, when they’d first arrived, were just like them.

I worry more about New Yorkers carrying along the politics that soiled their nest in Manhattan than whether their pushy, rude manners upset the Palm Beach social club regulars, who can be just as rude as the nouveau, but do it ever so politely.