The uber-exclusive Southampton Bathing Corp. shuns the nouveau riche — as well as modern conveniences such as air conditioning. (Doug Kuntz)
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Southampton Bathing Corp. — the exclusive, members-only beach club for the privileged Mayflower set — has a wasp problem.
No, really. An actual wasp problem.
“For a while, they would put these jars of sugar water on the tables to attract the wasps and keep them from stinging people,” says Steven Stolman, president of Scalamandré, the New York decorative textiles company and a regular guest at Bathing Corp. since the early ’90s.
“And I just thought that was really ironic that a WASP club is beleaguered by real wasps.”
Ironic? Maybe. Acceptable? Absolutely not.
This is, after all, the seaside haunt for nearly 800 of New York’s most established old-money names. Founded in 1923, the Bathing Corp. is said to be one of the hardest clubs to gain entry to on the entire East Coast. It regularly blacklists billionaires (hedge funder Walter Noel before the Madoff scandal disgraced him) and axes spouses, who are too flashy or too pedestrian (Elena Ford, daughter of Charlotte Ford and Stavros Niarchos, is a member, but neither of her ex-husbands — a maintenance man and a plumber, respectively — made the cut).
Members regularly appear in “The Blue Book,” the annual Hamptons society phone book that lists Long Island residents-of-worth, along with their club affiliations, colleges and prep schools, and estate names.
The snob factor runs so high, Bathing Corp. lifeguard Christian Londono says he can pick out guests “who go to public schools” because “they don’t have that classy look to them.”
One would think that for all the behind-the-scenes drama, an estimated $30,000 initiation fee and social X-ray members such as Muffie Potter Aston, Anne Hearst and Debbie Bancroft padding about in their Jack Rogers sandals, the Bathing Corp. would be a luxurious seaside retreat with loads of amenities not available to the average plebe.
But in fact, “the beach club,” as it’s endearingly known to cable-knit-clad insiders, is nothing more than a “teeny-weeny,” lunch-only, no-frills “Holiday Inn on the beach,” according to a frequent guest who asked to remain anonymous.
Annual dues in the $3,000 to $5,000 range gets you pool access, no A/C and a cafeteria-style lunch line with plastic trays and admittedly “OK” food, says one male lifetime member who made The Post swear to shield his identity, lest he be dropped from the club and sully the family name. (Not included: the tallied costs of chairs, towels, umbrellas, meals and drinks.)
The bit of beach reserved for members (though technically public terrain) sits adjacent to an uncomely outflow pipe for nearby Lake Agawam. And the biggest social event of the season is an old-fashioned “Battle Royale”: “You’re all on floaties in the pool and you have to try to knock people off and get them out. It’s really fun,” says Kristina-Li Neknez, who worked at Southampton Bathing Corp. for six years as a busser and buffet server.
And yet, for all its simplicity, socialites are clamoring to gain access to the exclusive enclave, immortalized in member Tom Wolfe’s “The Bonfire of the Vanities.” And not everyone is happy about it.
As reported on Page Six in April, clubgoers became irate when a list of proposed new members was sent out and included party-page staples such as Vogue contributing editor Lauren Santo Domingo and her Colombian beer-heir hubby, Andres.
“I am shocked that it appears the club might accept the Santo Domingos,” a member complained to Page Six. “Lauren courts publicity and that is exactly what the club eschews . . . And it is not like they are Hamptons fixtures who are now applying for membership. They just bought this house for about $30 million in Southampton.”
(Members could not confirm whether or not the board finally approved the couple.)
The club previously shunned real estate mogul Aby Rosen, when he and his wife, Samantha Boardman (whose mother is a member) tried to apply. Boardman was told she’d be accepted, but Rosen, the man behind the Diamond Horshoe, a club in tacky Times Square set to open this fall, would only be allowed in as a guest. Boardman declined the offer, though still frequents the club with her mom. (Spouses of current members must request their own memberships; otherwise they are typically given spousal privileges which do not hold should a divorce take place).
The Southampton Bathing Corp.’s goal, after all, is keeping out the Kardashians and their ilk, who might spice up the beach club’s perfectly bland existence.
“It’s a Mediterranean Revival clubhouse that is essentially frozen in time,” says Stolman, who notes that the club remains the same even as the old guard passes the torch. “I can still see the late [interior decorator] Mark Hampton coming out of the cafeteria line impeccably dressed with his tray. It’s very, very evocative of the old Hamptons of a time gone by.
“And I think that the members work very, very hard to keep it that way,” he adds.
Including, apparently, by driving crusty old automobiles.
“They’ve got a gazillion dollars but they all drive sh- tty cars. That’s why they’re rich,” says Southampton neighbor Dave Pilossof, who resides near the club.
In keeping with its old-school appeal, cellphone usage is prohibited inside the clubhouse, as well as within a roped-off slab of beach, according to lifeguard Londono, who has worked there for “seven or eight years.”
The food, including staples like tomato aspic and lobster salad, is similarly dated.
And that’s just fine by members.
“The most popular dish is just mayonnaise,” quips the anonymous guest, who adds that if she and her husband were ever to join a club in Southampton, they’d join a Jewish one, even though they’re not members of the tribe. “They know what good food is. They know what amenities are, and they know how to take care of their properties.
“If the Bathing Corp. just washed out onto the beach, they would rebuild it the same exact way,” she adds.
But that consistency, and dedication to preservation, is part of the appeal, says lifetime member Alison Price Becker.
“The only thing I’ve ever wanted was more hot water in the showers,” says Becker, who owns restaurant Alison 18 in the Flatiron District. “But it doesn’t really need it,” she says. “The club’s a little funky, and that’s part of its charm, frankly.”
Plus, whatever the club lacks can be found elsewhere. Most members also belong to the Meadow Club for its pristine tennis facilities, as well as the Southampton Bath and Tennis Club, which Stolman says “is known for its sensational food” and “contemporary decor.”
The Bathing Corp., unlike its peers, shuns bells and whistles — and outsiders. How many new members are accepted each year “depends on how many people die, how many people have children,” says one grand dame of the notoriously press-shy Bathing Corp., who said she’d be “beheaded” if she leaked anything more.
“All the clubs out there have a secret blackball [list],” says Becker, who admits that legacies are usually prioritized.
“I don’t really see too many new faces here,” adds Londono. “It is a lot of old-school money.”
That doesn’t mean the Bathing Corp. doesn’t welcome the occasional celebrity visitor. Vera Wang, Brooke Shields and teammates from the Rangers have all paraded across the hallowed grounds.
But even they’re subject to tightening restrictions: This summer, the beach club enacted a new rule limiting the number of member guests.
“Now you’re only allowed to bring in three or four people,” says Becker. “They also limited how many times a month a certain person can come in.”
Becker claims the infamously WASPy club has “a wider membership” than it used to. Still, she admits that entry remains synonymous with a “certain rarified existence.”
Even if it is overhyped.
“Most of the members are really good, normal people that I’ve grown up with,” says the male lifetime member. “It’s really just a place to have lunch.”
dschuster@nypost.com