Emily Kame Kngwarreye, Untitled. 1992. Image Courtesy of Katharina Baron.
“Chiltern Firehouse is open during Frieze — they were also open during fashion week. Just the bar, before they close again for a year.”
The last time I was in England, I forgot my credit card there. They sent it back to Paris for the modest amount of £120. Convenience was not London’s strong suit. I planned to stay a night in London after a wedding in Somerset but then realized Frieze was happening.
Frieze in LA has lost its glamour — they only got it right the first year when they were central on the Paramount lot and you ate and dined where countless movie sets were shot. It looked like a street in NYC, suddenly with some charm — not a soulless fair. So I changed my flight and stayed. It was so easy with the Lufthansa app that I think I’ll book with them forever.
The day before, I was randomly invited to an art opening at Unit and an after-party at The Maine. The only thing that stood out to me was the installation with the signs — it made me think of this man on Instagram holding them up. “Books make you look smarter” was my favorite one — maybe because I have a book coming out. I didn’t know anyone in London, but the art world is small, so I ran into some people who recognized me there.
“I only go to Frieze Masters,” said Lady Victoria. “That contemporary art at Frieze is always a bit disappointing.”
Hans Arp, Collage, 1916-1917. Image Courtesy of Katharina Baron.
I liked the Masters — it looked like wood and old frames, old beauty, nice colors — but when I arrived, my other friends, owners of a cool concept store called Loop Generation, said, “We always go see the contemporary art first.” I walked over through Regent’s Park — the Masters were in the north and Frieze London in the south. It was a 15-minute walk and a bit of a catwalk; I was glad that I wore my light rose Bibi Bachdaze skirt, because people in London do dress up. Somehow the art crowd seemed to have better taste than the fashion people. There was something practical about it — suits, coats, flats. I had arrived in fall, with the leaves falling down. Seasons. Something I forgot about after living ten years in LA.
Frieze London was crowded. The line was huge, but somehow I booked my entry time for earlier and could just sneak right in. It was bigger and better than LA. I saw some of the same art pieces being exhibited, but also some entirely new ones. It felt less Instagrammable than the Californian counterpart.
“I hate art fairs now. They make me so tired. I’ve been to so many — there is absolutely nothing exciting about them anymore,” complained an art gallery owner I met at Art Basel Miami. Maybe it’s the art market, after the tax situation in London made everyone leave. “Do not move to London,” he warned me. “NYC is the best. I love it there.”
Another publisher told me to just stay in Europe for Art Basel in Paris. “We’ll have much better events then” — that was where the hope was to revive the art business. “Americans love Paris,” he said. It’s a test to see how it will go. Fondation Cartier is opening a new location and Gerhard Richter has an exhibit. I didn’t care. I was now in London — and so were Claudia Schiffer and Nick Cave, who had to take selfies at the fair.
Someone gave me a name for an Arts Club Frieze party because they wanted to go to Prada. “Is that still cool there?” I asked, but didn’t end up going.
Instead, I went to see a friend who invited me to the opening of Explora Journeys — a new, huge luxury “yacht-at-sea” concept. “We don’t like to use the C word,” they said — meaning cruise — positioning themselves as a hotel on the ocean, celebrating a collaboration with Clarendon Fine Art.
Back at the hotel, I noticed an umbrella rental. By that time, I had spent hours in Ubers; it made me more tired than the traffic in LA. It was impossible to meet everyone I knew in town as it was so spread out.
Estelle is the new members’ club now. My friend Lauren had a sticker for Beakham Hotel. I went back to good old Dean Street Townhouse — the only Soho property where you don’t need a membership. I was a Little Beach House member, but mine was on pause since Malibu burned down.
We later tried to get a table at Mountain, but the wait was one hour. Maybe that’s why people need all these memberships — to have somewhere nice to eat without an embarrassing wait time.
On my last day, I made it to Harrods, where my beauty client Julisis is sold. I couldn’t find the displays we edited a while ago, but instead had a great pizza and looked at one of the best shoe and clothing selections in a while. I even liked their elevators but decided my suitcase was full enough — and you never know how these pounds convert. Knightsbridge was a great little neighborhood. I wasn’t scared, despite Victoria warning me that her phone was grabbed out of her hand and stolen.
“You must leave LA,” my friend insisted. “It’s so toxic after the fires. Come to London.” The Londoners are a bit like Berlin people — they love-hate their city depending on who you meet.
My personal Brexit — and my art cruise exit. Next stop: NYC.