28 new york | august 5–18, 2019party. “He said he didn’t want to be there when someone had a
heart attack on the dance floor.”
This is the scene Ivanka liked before she arrived at the White
House, a scene that occasionally tolerated her father but more often
ex cluded him—real power brokers, kingmakers, people who knew
the way the world worked instead of simply sliding down the surface
of it—though she wasn’t a Hamptons person in particular. When
she was young, Donald and her mother, Ivana, rented a cottage on
the ocean for a couple of summers; she’d play in the surf while a
bodyguard stood next to a limo idling in the driveway, her father
stalking around inside talking about how much he had to do in the
city and how much the houses out here sucked. One time, when she
was a toddler and Ivana was pregnant with baby Eric, they drove
through a roller coaster of the beach’s sand dunes (a not-unheard-of
practice in the pre-climate-change ’80s), and afterward Ivana
almost had a miscarriage, lying on the floor, shaking, her bottom half
mottled with blood.
As a teenager, Ivanka came to the Hamptons intermittently as
the guest of friends. She did the party-girl thing: chatted up hot
Argentine polo players at Saturday- afternoon games, danced at
nightclubs in potato fields with models who may not have been able
to drink legally—that blasphemous Jeffrey Epstein scene.
Then, over the course of the past decade, Ivanka transformed.
Everyone knew she wasn’t rolling in dough, what with Donald’s
bankruptcies and general miserly nature—and even Jared Kush-
ner, her dreamboat billionaire husband who once seemed like such
a good match, had thrown part of his father’s fortune down the
drain. But she craved being in the mix. And in the vortex of inher-
ited wealth swirling around the Hamptons like the Great Pacific
Garbage Patch, she and Jared struck the rich octogenarian set as a
cut above: polite, Ivy- educated, compulsively groomed, tall as pop-
lars, and more respectful than other ungrateful millennial heirs
(beloved grandsons and granddaughters excluded).
But this year Ivanka didn’t go to Lally’s to kiss the ring. Did she
think her role as adviser to the president meant she was better than
them, this crowd whose members travel here from midtown heli-
pads, own four or five houses, and have their names emblazoned in
fine stainless-steel letters on cancer wings? Was she off someplace
else with more-significant people, people who move world markets
and control armies, some of whom also take endangered animals aspets? At the party, as guests chose their entrées and the Motown
band pumped out tunes, there were further questions about Ivanka’s
absence: Was it a snub, because she was flying closer to the sun and
didn’t need this crowd anymore, or was she simply not here because
she was embarrassed to show her face? The latter explanation, in
part, would have been the legacy of a few years spent in her father’s
never- ending rage war, a mutual excommunication period in which
Ivanka and the New York society she’d spent her 20s cozying up to
got more and more disgusted with each other, seemingly by the day.
Getting Lally Weymouth to proclaim Ivanka the next Jackie O. was
always going to be a hard sell, but now that whole fantasy of becom-
ing the city’s most glamorous grande dame just seemed preposter-
ous. Things had only gotten more humiliating, it seemed, in just the
past few days, when she became the world’s laughingstock at the
G20 in Japan. There she was, trying to drop some knowledge about
women and the global economy, when French cameras caught her
being dissed by IMF chief Christine Lagarde and leaders of the
Western world’s most important countries, all the while flapping her
hands around like a baby seal with its flippers.
She seemed so out of place, but she was making a place for her-
self, too—post–White House, post–New York, even post- America,
a princess diplomat astride the globe, f lying the next day to South
Korea to greet service members, accompanying her father to the
demilitarized zone to meet Kim Jong-un, and watched by people
all around the world for whom the images would be indelible, the
proximity much more important than the snootiness. Who cared
whether some New Yorkers were cringing with shame. As always,
her father was among the audience, though of course he already
believed she belonged. This spring, while she was touring Côte
d’Ivoire, she revealed that he’d offered her the job of running the
World Bank; he thought it made sense, he said, because she was
“good with numbers.”Many daughters have made a mark in their fathers’
administrations—Andrew Johnson’s daughter was a hostess for her
father, Maureen Reagan traveled to Africa, and Anna Roosevelt
influenced FDR, particularly during his last year in office, plus kept
her father’s relationship with his mistress a secret from her mother.
Earlier in the Trump presidency, Ivanka seemed to fall somewhere
on this spectrum: She was the first First Daughter in American SOURCE PHOTOGRAPH, PREVIOUS SPREAD: MAX MUMBY/INDIGO/GETTY IMAGES. PHOTOGRAPHS, THIS PAGE, THE LIFE PICTURE COLLECTION VIA GETTY IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (1991); SHUTTERSTOCK (1997); RON GALELLA/RON GALELLA COLLECTION VIA GETTY IMAGES (2002).PHOTOGRAPHS: FOC KAN/WIREIMAGE/GETTY IMAGES (2006); DIMITRIOS KAMBOURIS/VF15/WIREIMAGE/GETTY IMAGES (2015); THE ASAHI SHIMBUN VIA GETTY IMAGES (2019)1991 1997 2002
Captured by paparazzi at
age 10 with her father.At a Seventeen fashion show during
her modeling period.With her mother, Ivana, at the
25th-anniversary party for Studio 54.With Paris Hilton at the
release par
single “Stars Are Blind.”TRANSMITTED________ COPY ___ DD ___ AD ___ PD ___ EICTRANSMITTED1619FEA_Ivanka_lay [Print]_35541681.indd 28 8/2/19 5:50 PM28 new york | august 5–18, 2019
party.“Hesaidhe didn’twanttobetherewhensomeonehada
heartattackonthedancefloor.”
Thisis thesceneIvankalikedbeforeshearrivedat theWhite
House,a scenethat occasionallytoleratedherfatherbutmoreoften
ex cludedhim—realpowerbrokers,kingmakers,peoplewhoknew
thewaytheworldworkedinsteadof simplyslidingdownthesurface
ofit—thoughshewasn’t a Hamptonspersoninparticular.When
shewasyoung,Donaldandhermother,Ivana,renteda cottageon
theoceanfora coupleofsummers;she’d play inthesurf whilea
bodyguardstoodnexttoa limoidlinginthedriveway,herfather
stalkingaroundinsidetalkingabouthowmuchhehadtodointhe
city and how much the houses out here sucked. One time,whenshe
was a toddler and Ivana was pregnant with baby Eric, theydrove
through a roller coaster of the beach’s sand dunes (a not-unheard-of
practice in the pre-climate-change ’80s), and afterwardIvana
almost had a miscarriage, lying on the floor, shaking, her bottomhalf
mottled with blood.
As a teenager, Ivanka came to the Hamptons intermittentlyas
the guest of friends. She did the party-girl thing: chatteduphot
Argentine polo players at Saturday- afternoon games, dancedat
nightclubs in potato fields with models who may not havebeenable
to drink legally—that blasphemous Jeffrey Epstein scene.
Then, over the course of the past decade, Ivanka transformed.
Everyone knew she wasn’t rolling in dough, what withDonald’s
bankruptcies and general miserly nature—and even JaredKush-
ner, her dreamboat billionaire husband who once seemedlike such
a good match, had thrown part of his father’s fortunedownthe
drain. But she craved being in the mix. And in the vortexofinher-
ited wealth swirling around the Hamptons like the GreatPacific
Garbage Patch, she and Jared struck the rich octogenarianset asa
cut above: polite, Ivy- educated, compulsively groomed, tallaspop-
lars, and more respectful than other ungrateful millennialheirs
(beloved grandsons and granddaughters excluded).
But this year Ivanka didn’t go to Lally’s to kiss the ring.Didshe
think her role as adviser to the president meant she was betterthan
them, this crowd whose members travel here from midtownheli-
pads, own four or five houses, and have their names emblazonedin
fine stainless-steel letters on cancer wings? Was she off someplace
else with more-significant people, people who move worldmarkets
and control armies, some of whom also take endangered animalsas
pets?Attheparty,asguestschosetheirentréesandtheMotown
bandpumpedouttunes,therewerefurtherquestionsaboutIvanka’s
absence:Wasit a snub,becauseshewasflyingclosertothesunand
didn’tneedthiscrowdanymore,orwasshesimplynotherebecause
shewasembarrassedtoshowherface? Thelatterexplanation,in
part,wouldhavebeenthelegacy ofa few yearsspentinherfather’s
never-endingrage war, a mutualexcommunicationperiodinwhich
IvankaandtheNewYorksocietyshe’d spenther20scozyingup to
gotmoreandmoredisgustedwitheachother, seeminglybythe day.
GettingLallyWeymouthtoproclaimIvankathenext JackieO. was
alwaysgoingtobea hardsell,butnowthat wholefantasyof becom-
ing the city’s most glamorous grande dame just seemed preposter-
ous. Things had only gotten more humiliating, it seemed, in just the
past few days, when she became the world’s laughingstock at the
G20 in Japan. There she was, trying to drop some knowledge about
women and the global economy, when French cameras caught her
being dissed by IMF chief Christine Lagarde and leaders of the
Western world’s most important countries, all the while flapping her
hands around like a baby seal with its flippers.
She seemed so out of place, but she was making a place for her-
self, too—post–White House, post–New York, even post- America,
a princess diplomat astride the globe, f lying the next day to South
Korea to greet service members, accompanying her father to the
demilitarized zone to meet Kim Jong-un, and watched by people
all around the world for whom the images would be indelible, the
proximity much more important than the snootiness. Who cared
whether some New Yorkers were cringing with shame. As always,
her father was among the audience, though of course he already
believed she belonged. This spring, while she was touring Côte
d’Ivoire, she revealed that he’d offered her the job of running the
World Bank; he thought it made sense, he said, because she was
“good with numbers.”Many daughters have made a mark in their fathers’
administrations—Andrew Johnson’s daughter was a hostess for her
father, Maureen Reagan traveled to Africa, and Anna Roosevelt
influenced FDR, particularly during his last year in office, plus kept
her father’s relationship with his mistress a secret from her mother.
Earlier in the Trump presidency, Ivanka seemed to fall somewhere
on this spectrum: She was the first First Daughter in American SOURCE PHOTOGRAPH, PREVIOUS SPREAD: MAX MUMBY/INDIGO/GETTY IMAGES. PHOTOGRAPHS, THIS PAGE, THE LIFE PICTURE COLLECTION VIA GETTY IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES (1991); SHUTTERSTOCK (1997); RON GALELLA/RON GALELLA COLLECTION VIA GETTY IMAGES (2002).1991 1997 2002
Captured by paparazzi at
age 10 with her father.At a Seventeen fashion show during
her modeling period.With her mother, Ivana, at the
25th-anniversary party for Studio 54.