Reading · AND ANOTHER THING

Ariana Grande on night two of her Brooklyn concerts at the Barclays Center.

A selfie with Kerry Washington on opening night of *The Whoopi Monologues* at Lincoln Center Theater, where she's both a producer and one of the show's stars.

At the Met: The Christian Dior hat that Lillian Bassman famously photographed for *Harper's Bazaar* in 1949, alongside a telegram from Richard Avedon praising the image.

But, speaking of divine omens: Did anyone else find Wednesday night’s blanket of smoke and smog just a tiny itty bitty bit unsettling?

Between the heat wave in Europe, the Canadian wildfire smoke rolling into Manhattan—and now a sinkhole on the Sunset Stripe, right in the middle of West Hollywood? Mother Nature is pissed, guys!

Here’s a related thought I had earlier this week:

In 2016, I wrote this Architectural Digest cover story on Neil and David’s Harlem townhouse.

The night’s purpose was supporting God’s Love We Deliver, a New York charity that prepares and delivers medically tailored meals to people living with serious illness. Similar to Citymeals on Wheels, where I’ve served on the board for more than a decade, it’s the kind of organization that quietly changes lives every single day by doing the simplest of tasks: feeding them.

But, of course, the most inspiring part for me was the evening’s entertainment: A flash mob of synchronized swimmers diving into the pool!

[Start Carrie Bradshaw voice]: I couldn’t help but wonder, why don’t more parties have synchronized swimmers?

Sunday was all about family culture.

I took Grace and Noah (and one of their stuffed animals, apparently) to Dia Bridgehampton, one of my favorite small museums in all of New York.

The building has had several lives—it began as a fire station, later became a Baptist chapel, and since 1983 has housed Dan Flavin’s permanent installation of fluorescent light sculptures. The museum is fun for all ages, and because it’s so compact, it’s the perfect place to pop in for an hour.

Last summer, I interviewed Dia’s director, Jessica Morgan, about what makes this museum so special.

All that said, even if I’d like to think I’m creating an artistically enlightened household, if you asked Grace and Noah to rank the day’s attractions, Candy Kitchen would win by a landslide. That’s where we often go for lunch, especially on weekends. Open since 1925 and still family-owned, it’s practically a Hamptons institution. Succession gave it a second life when Logan Roy took Kendall there, but locals have been ordering grilled cheeses, egg creams, and hot fudge for generations.

Who cares about one of the twentieth century’s greatest artists when you’re competing with chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? Fine.

On Monday, I made my way back into the city on the Long Island Rail Road, which, in itself, can feel like a cultural experience. Remember, New York is a melting pot, and these trains are the ladles.

My ride gave me the chance to read (finally!) Michael Schulman’s terrific profile of Lisa Kudrow in the March 23 issue of The New Yorker. One of the biggest revelations was how fiercely protective Kudrow was of The Comeback and how reluctant she has always been to chase the obvious next step after Friends. I’ve never met her, but like many, I think I’d really like her if I did.

And I loved the accompanying New Yorker cartoon:

I was headed to Lincoln Center for the opening night of the revival The Whoopi Monologues, and, miraculously, every piece of New York public transportation cooperated.

I changed trains at Jamaica, arrived at Penn Station on time, hopped on the C train to Columbus Circle, wolfed down a ShackBurger at Shake Shack, changed into my jacket in their bathroom (glamour!), and walked over to the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater with a few minutes to spare.

Erika Woods, Ayo Edebiri, Tasha Smith, Karine Jean-Pierre, and Angela Bassett on the red carpet at Lincoln Center for the premiere of *The Whoopi Monologues.*

A little Broadway history: in 1984, Mike Nichols, who is a god to me, saw Whoopi Goldberg performing her one-woman show, The Spook Show, in California and immediately recognized something extraordinary. He helped bring the show to Broadway, where it became one of the decade’s most acclaimed theatrical events and launched Whoopi’s career.

Nichols later called her “a major, major talent” who could be “a dozen people.” Whoopi, in turn, described Nichols as “the person who saw me when no one else did,” crediting him with believing in her before she fully believed in herself.

This new production, directed by Whitney White, takes a fresh approach. Instead of one performer embodying every role, the material is shared among five remarkable actresses: Kerry Washington, Kara Young, Dominique Fishback, Kecia Lewis, and Danielle Pinnock. The women divide Whoopi’s unforgettable gallery of characters—including Fontaine, Blonde Girl, Surfer Girl, Jamaican Lady, and Lurleen—and prove that, more than forty years later, the material still feels funny, surprising, and deeply human.

The original production was a cultural earthquake, introducing the world to one of America's singular talents. This revival proves the material has lost none of its bite. FYI: It runs through August 30.

Whoopi and Angela Bassett backstage after the show.

And, oh! I happened to be sitting next to Tracee Ellis Ross, who is currently making her Broadway debut in Every Brilliant Thing—a show I know a thing or two about from when I saw it starring Daniel Radcliffe—at the Hudson Theatre through August 9.

Originally, my entire trip back to New York revolved around a workshop with a designer—an entire day planned to dive into their archives for a major project. At the last minute, they canceled.

In the flighty world of fashion, this stuff happens. It took me nearly two decades not to take it personally. Here’s the secret: no greater gift exists than canceled plans.

Suddenly, I had the day to myself. I cleaned my office, sorted clothes to donate, did a little shopping, and caught up on all the life admin that somehow never gets done. It was an unexpected free day, and I was grateful for it.

Helen sitting with her friend Chiara Clemente in the gallery.

The culture portion of the day began that evening at Gagosian in Chelsea for the opening of a new exhibition by Helen Marden. Marden has been painting for decades—luminous canvases layered with resin, pigments, feathers, seashells, and other found materials. She was married to the late, great Brice Marden, and her work has always possessed its own quiet, lyrical voice. My favorite quote comes from her Gagosian profile: “It’s not forced, I love painting. I hope I live to be one hundred and I paint until then.”

Then came the day’s main event: Ariana Grande at Barclays Center:

First and foremost, I respect the efficiency. No opening act. An 8 p.m. curtain. The opening video rolled at 8:15. That’s putting the business in show business. (Especially after Jay-Z kept his audience waiting nearly three hours the weekend before, due to a security issue.) She also had five costume changes, a fabulous dance squad, adn played the hits. Near us was the luminous Charlize Theron, fresh from The Odyssey premiere, filming her daughters as they filmed Ariana. Sweet.

My absolute favorite bit of the night? Ariana recreated Whitney Houston’s legendary “It’s Not Right But It’s Okay” music video moment—pausing mid-song to touch up her makeup before launching right back into the performance. It was glamorous, self-aware, and just camp enough.

Here’s the reference:

As we walked out with our friends Marcos Feccino and Tucker Brown (no relation to Nick, ha!), I found myself going on and on about how Ariana Grande is the Gen Z Celine Dion. For the record, that’s about the highest compliment I can give.

I saw Celine perform three times during her legendary Las Vegas residency, and each time I left with the same thought: this woman was put on Earth to do exactly this. She lived so fully in her role as a performer that it felt less like a career than a calling. Walking out of Barclays, I realized I felt exactly the same way about Ariana.

The day kicked off with deadlines. Deadlines!

I spent the morning finishing two stories for September issues. Can you believe we’re already closing September? (You all know how much I love debating a September issue.) Print deadlines stop for no one!

Afterward, I rewarded myself with a screening of The Odyssey in glorious IMAX on the Upper West Side, hosted by Richard Gelfond, the CEO of IMAX, who shared a bit of movie magic before the lights went down.

Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey is the first feature film ever shot entirely on IMAX film cameras, a feat that required inventing new technology—including silent equipment and specially designed “blimp” cameras. Gelfond said this was already his third time seeing the film, and he was looking forward to his fourth. Show off.

My first thought watching the film? If only my high school English teacher had this version, I might have actually paid attention to Homer instead of hunting for the shortest translation I could find. (Though, admittedly, Nolan does take a few creative liberties.)

Guess what: the movie is spectacular. The New York Times’s The Morning newsletter kicked off with this headline: “Passion in every frame.” It’s big, bold filmmaking—the kind that reminds you why going to the movies is still one of life’s great pleasures.

As we were leaving, the people sitting behind us asked, “Didn’t you think it was too long?” At 196 minutes, it’s certainly not short.

“I didn’t,” I said. “Besides, it’s called The Odyssey. It’s not Girls Trip.”

Yesterday, I was excited to get back out to see my kiddos. Before catching the Jitney, I made one last cultural pilgrimage: the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the Lillian Bassman exhibition. As with the Ruffles & Ribbons show at the Frick that I wrote about last month, it’s wonderfully intimate. And don’t the best presents always come in small packages?

Bassman—one of the great fashion photographers of the twentieth century—made pictures that feel less like photographs than dreams. Her ethereal, high-contrast images—pioneered under the legendary art director Alexey Brodovitch at Harper’s Bazaar—have an almost painterly quality, blurring the line between fashion and fine art. I loved seeing a telegram from Richard Avedon that celebrated one of her pictures of a Dior hat. (It’s at the top of the newsletter.)

This is a gorgeous little exhibition, and if you’re in New York before it closes on July 26, don’t miss it.

I made it back home in time to pick up Grace and Noah from camp, stick around for dinner, and help with bath time. I still can’t figure out how they continue getting tanner than I am when I practically marinate them in SPF 1,000.

After they went to bed, I settled in to watch one of the year’s most unexpectedly nostalgic documentaries: Bang My Box. When I was growing up in St. Louis, my parents were too cheap to get cable. But one summer, during a high school program in New York, I discovered the wonderfully strange world of Manhattan public-access television—and, more specifically, The Robin Byrd Show. It was campy, weird, low-budget, a little naughty, and completely irresistible

Co-produced by Sarah Jessica Parker, Bang My Box tells the story of Robin Byrd’s unlikely rise from late-night public-access curiosity to New York cult icon. Along the way, she became an unexpectedly important advocate for sex positivity and safe sex during the height of the AIDS crisis.

Funny how a week that began with couture in Paris ended with Robin Byrd on Manhattan public access. That’s range.

This morning, I dropped these cuties off at camp, came home, and spent the rest of the morning writing this newsletter.

Grace and Noah holding the fans that came with the Christian Dior haute couture invitations last week. (I stole LSD’s because I needed two, obviously.)

So, that’s a wrap on one very busy—and very cultured—week.

Go Big or Go Homer?

In 2016, I wrote this Architectural Digest cover story on Neil and David’s Harlem townhouse.

Last summer, I interviewed Dia’s director, Jessica Morgan, about what makes this museum so special.

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