Who is the mysterious man-about-town who won the heart of America’s favorite "It" Girl/style icon/TV starlet Olivia Palermo? Meet the devastatingly dashing and handsome Johannes Huebl, who ditched a career in business, moved to New York to model for mega-labels like Cole Haan, Hugo Boss and Hogan, and quickly became a society favorite. We talk to Huebl about his low-key life with Palermo in Brooklyn (where paparazzi regularly snap the couple and their neighbor Anne Hathaway), his favorite New York hangouts and his next career move.

When did you move from Germany to New York? I moved to New York about seven or eight years ago. In Germany, we finish school after 13 years and you have to do military service or social service—it’s mandatory—so I served in the military. Right after that I started studying business economics in Hamburg for three years, took a year off and started modeling a little on the side. I went to Paris, Milan and London and after a year I came back to study cultural science. Once that was done, my agency in New York, Wilhemina, asked me if I wanted to come to New York and make this [modeling] a full-time job. But there’s so many other things I do on the side. I am also a photographer. Olivia and I work on editorial for her website. Unfortunately we both travel so much that we don’t always have a lot of time but we frequently work on a section for Olivia’s site called ‘I Want What She’s Wearing’ and I’ll shoot her editorially. Recently, I snatched two new photography jobs, so I am looking forward to that. At some point I will be able to make the full transition into photography. My modeling work is just very busy at the moment.

Speaking of modeling, you’ve been traveling all summer for jobs, where to next? I have to go back to a job in Germany for Hugo Boss. Right after that, I have another job in London; from there I fly to Ibiza for a good 12-day summer vacation. Then I’m going to the South of France and Majorca for other jobs. In September I usually spend time in New York for campaign season. I just shot a DKNY advertisement with Ashley Greene and Peter Lindbergh. Even though I’m not in New York very much this summer, the 3 weeks in September is the perfect end with a still warm summer at home.

When you do find time, where are your favorite places to go in New York? My all time favorite place that is Cafe Gitane on Mott Street. It’s a really nice spot—the food is fantastic and it’s very well priced. I like going out to dinner and having the option of doing something after and ACME has a really cool bar so it’s fun to stay there after you eat. I also love Sant Ambroeus in the West Village—which is probably one of my favorite areas next to Dumbo—but I like Le Bilboquet, as well. We drive uptown quite a bit because Olivia’s mom lives up there so we have lunch with her or go to the park.

Why did you choose to live in Brooklyn? I love being in Brooklyn. I didn’t have a preconceived notion of moving to New York and living in a certain neighborhood. I just came here and a friend of mind referred me to an apartment that happened to be in Brooklyn Heights. It was late August and it was this beautiful, European-like area. I ended up staying there for about three years with my flat mate, my best friend from Montreal, and at some point we slowly moved over to Dumbo. I wanted to live in this particular building [in Dumbo] and my friend and I were shown a few places, including a beautiful loft, so we moved right in. At the time, Olivia was living in Tribeca, but about a year later we both decided it was time to stop going back and forth [to each of our apartments] so we found a new apartment in the building I was living in. We’re really happy—we’ve been there together for about three years now.

As a native Upper East Sider, did you have to convince Olivia to move to Brooklyn? The building we live in makes the transition very easy. We have the two parks in front of the house, we have a beautiful view and Olivia likes to get away from the city just like me. Of course it was new for her, but we have a little dog and she sees so many upsides of living here. Now she doesn’t want to live anywhere else. A lot of people have that [feeling] with Dumbo I think.

You are dating an international style icon and you, yourself, are one of the most well-dressed men in New York. What are you going to be wearing this fall? I have a few things that are fall related, like a herringbone three-piece Zegna suit, but otherwise I hardly have trend-related things. Most of my fashion is the typical Italian/English way of dressing without too many things that you’ll see on fashion blogs or on the runway. For classic wear I have a few suits that I just had made by my tailor in Germany, who I’m really fortunate to have. A friend introduced me to him and now we work together all the time. I can tell him exactly what colors and fabrics I’d like and he gets them to me in 6-8 weeks. It’s really nice to have a suit that I designed and fits the way I like. For leisure wear, a lot of my stuff is Bruno Cucinelli. I like to always pair classics with subtle details. I don’t wear much jewelry except for maybe a watch. I tend to wear tassel shoes for some reason, but again, they aren’t trend-related—though they might have different colors for the season. I like cargo and chino pants, and I would probably always wear a button down and blazer or sports jacket.

The Surf Club made waves on Christmas Eve in 1984, during the heyday of New York nightlife (perhaps a testament to the flourishing economy and the plethora of post-collegiates who flooded the city and brought with them a welcoming naïveté toward drugs). Though fondly remembered, today the Surf Club’s legacy may be one of self-destruction; it was a place where people went to have fun—sometimes too much—losing jobs (and credibility) along the way. As most clubs at the time catered to the downtown crowd, many also made their mark on specific demographics (faux-Victorian at Nell’s, gay disco at The Saint and the art elite at Area), the Surf Club was undeniably a palace for preps. Adorned with striped umbrellas and white lattice reminiscent of the private beach clubs of Southampton or Edgartown, it became a home away from home to trust fund-toting blue bloods. The club may have courted a yuppie crowd, alumnus of Andover and Amherst who went on to become investment bankers, but by no means was it buttoned up. 

Adding to its popularity, many grew to love the Surf Club’s owners, Toby and Angus Beavers, brothers who were heirs to a fortune traced back to two old New York families: the Beekmans and the Devereauxs. The Beavers grew up in a two-story maisonette on 93rd Street off Fifth Avenue, and “in an effort to avoid a $14 cab ride to Studio 54, only to risk being turned away by its legendary doorman Mark Benecke,” Toby Beavers says he opened his club within walking distance, and quite earnestly admits it was also for “free booze and free women.”

Seven long years after the club closed its doors in 1990, in the wake of the 1987 stock market crash, 200 former regulars attended the Surf Club reunion and Toby Beavers’ 43rd birthday party. Still, Toby Beavers did not immediately lose his penchant to party, and though his days of hosting the likes of Mick Jagger and Rick James were seemingly over, he made some on-again, off-again efforts to capture the Surf Club years with a screenplay called Moonlight Memories or The Rise and Fall of a Party Animal.

In Manhattan, a place where clubs burn bright but burn out quickly, the Surf Club lives on in the hearts of many of its preppy patrons.

Florent soon became a sanctuary for artists to both socialize and work. Performance artist and theatre director Lucy Sexton was once a night manager; performer and choreographer Richard Move and short-story writer Vestal McIntyre were waiters; Matthew Barney was a regular for lunch. However, over the years the crowds grew to include more than just creative types—from celebrities and socialites to silver foxes, pink-haired punks and everyday New Yorkers. In the 2010 documentary Florent: Queen of the Meat Market, which profiles this legendary diner and its fabulous owner, Morellet refers to his costumers as “an absurd mix.”

But that was exactly the point. Morellet made sure Florent was not exclusive but inclusive—open at all times, to anyone. This put the HIV-positive owner at the forefront of activism and his restaurant became a safe haven in the early days of the AIDS crisis.Morellet even posted his dwindling T-cell count on the menu board.

After nearly 23 years in business, due to an extremely high rent increase, Florent closed on ­­Gay Pride Day, June 29, 2008—fitting for a place that was a symbol of transgressive ideas and had acceptance permeating its walls. Since its closing, the space that was once home to a New York institution has housed three different restaurants—two of which closed within a year of opening.

Two days after Florent's closing, the landlord attempted to bring the space back to its roots and serve the same food, by the same staff, under its original name. Then, less than a year later, in September of 2009, Gansevoort 69 opened with a decor that was hardly recognizable from its modest diner days, and was flooded with a more contemporary district crowd: investment bankers, waifish models and European diplomats. This new-wave of American comfort food (traditionally uncool comfort food served alongside cool cocktails in a chic setting) didn't seem to stick.

Today, the space houses the Vinatta Project with contemporary American small-plates and family-style dining. The interior has been redone to be more condusive to the current downtown crowd's interests, containing a zinc bar, tufted banquettes and communal wooden tables to encourage mingling amongst guests—an idea that pays homage to the beloved inviting atmosphere of the Florent. But can it survive in a space that is so widely known for its past? Perhaps the sticking point will be the Vinatta Project's seasonally bespoke beverages, courtesy of the Mulberry Project team, or the vending machines that offer three-ounce pours of various liquors and wine at the push of a button. Time will tell, but what is known is no matter what takes shelter at 69 Gansevoort Street, it certainly has some big, fabulous, shoes to fill.

S: What are some of your favorite New York spots?
h: ABC Carpet & Home to shop and get inspiration for my apartment; Rubirosa for vodka pizza; El Parador Café for the best mexican and margaritas in the world; Ten Degrees to enjoy a glass of wine with friends; and Super Linda's sexy downstairs lounge to see all the beautiful people!

S: Who are your favorite designers?
h: Alexander Wang, Rag & Bone and Isabel Marant

S: What is your favorite piece of jewelry?
h: I haven't really bought a terribly expensive piece of jewelry yet—my favorite ring was a gift. It's a Lia Sophia cubist ring.

S: As the face of Estée Lauder, what are your beauty must-haves?
h: Estée Lauder’s Sumptuous mascara, Bronze Goddess bronzer and body oil; I'm also religiously applying Advanced Night Repair serum; and the Private Collection powder compact to slip into my clutch for nights out.

S: What’s the best part of your job?
h: The amazing places I get to see. I like to travel, but only for short periods of time. This works out well for me because I'll shoot somewhere incredible that I'd otherwise never go to for one or two days, I see it, I experience it and then it's back to New York.

S: What is your most obvious characteristic?
h: I'm very punctual and pretty easy going!

S: What is your favorite way of spending time?
h: I actually enjoy going to the gym. My friends make fun of me for this, but sometimes when we've had a couple glasses of wine, I will start recruiting them to join me for a spin class the next morning! It's much more fun to do it with friends. I make it a priority to fit it into my schedule every day (even if that means at 6 a.m., ouch).

S: What is your greatest extravagance?
h: Private training sessions.

S: What is your motto?
h: Live well, laugh much, love often.

Photographed by Juan Algarin, Styled by Cricket Burns, Hair by Brian Buenaventura for Orlo Salon, Makeup by Bryan Zaragoza at Ford Artists NY

In 1983, three years after Caroline’s marriage to Philipe Junot ended, she walked the down aisle with Stefano Casiraghi, an Italian heir, socialite and businessman. The couple had three children: Andrea in 1984, Charlotte in 1986 and Pierre in 1987. On October 3, 1990, Caroline’s husband was killed in a speedboat racing accident. Caroline fled to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence in France, where she and her children were kept out of the media spotlight until rumors surfaced about her relationship with Prince Ernst August of Hanover (a direct descendant of King George III). The rumors were put to rest—at least temporarily—when the Prince and Princess wed in 1999.

The family is notorious for keeping mum and avoiding interviews with the press and until recently, Caroline was successful at shielding her children from the gossip pages. As of late, headlines seem focused on the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton, Pippa Middleton’s fashion fancies and the rowdy party lifestyle of Prince Harry. But now, all eyes are on Princess Caroline’s three, stunningly gorgeous and shockingly private children—and with good reason.

Not to say the Casiraghi clan hasn’t been on our radar, but only lately have they been the center of attention. Since their coming of age, they have quickly made up for lost time. They were first introduced at the annual Bal de la Rose, created by Her Serene Highness, Princess Grace and has become the second most famous gala in Monaco (after the Red Cross Ball). Later in 2007, pictures surfaced of them at Valentino’s Haute Couture Fashion Show and his 45th Anniversary Gala Ball with the likes of Alejandro Santo Domingo, Eugenie Niarchos and Anna Wintour’s daughter Bee Shaffer. Though they have not yet received official royal titles, their very lineage—and subsequent bewitching genes—makes them hard-pressed to escape the limelight as staples on the international scene and faces of the modern monarchy.

However, despite their tabloid-tainted family, the three, for the most part, have kept themselves out of a scandalous spotlight. Unlike their uncle Prince Albert, who kept stateside during his studies at Amherst College in Massachusetts and later popped up in the Manhattan and Hamptons social scene, Andrea and Pierre have yet to be known for their bachelorhood or their wild ways with women.
Since 2004, after meeting at boarding school near Paris, Andrea, the eldest son and second in line to the throne after Caroline, has had a long-term romance with Columbian beer heiress, Tatiana Santo Domingo. Andrea has been a presence in Manhattan since 2007 when he was studying for his master’s degree in International Affairs at The New School, but  he's somehow remained relatively elusive despite sharing a townhouse in Washington Square Park with his girlfriend, who holds her own as a member of one of the most visible families in New York. Listed as one of the “most beautiful people in the world" by People in 1999, Andrea tries to hide in plain sight, even skateboarding around Soho.

Charlotte, the 25-year-old breathtaking beauty was recently named the face of Gucci’s Forever Now campaign, shot by photographer Peter Lindbergh. She captivates audiences not only with her looks, but with her talents as an avid equestrian, amateur show jumper and Olympic hopeful. With her pouty lips, olive skin and hazel eyes, she bares a striking resemblance to Angelina Jolie. And like Jolie (and her own family members), Charlotte has caught the attention of the fashion world.

While the Duchess of Cambridge has garneredattention for her traditional and, dare we say, pedestrian fashion choices, it was Charlotte’s undeniable style and striking splendor that landed her the coveted cover in September 2011 of Vogue Paris. Famed photographer and celebrity BFF Mario Testino (who has also photographed William and Kate, as well as Princess Diana) shot Casiraghi. She follows in the fashionable footsteps of her mother Caroline, who also graced the cover of the magazine in 1983 (which was designed by Andy Warhol). Charlotte's fashion résumé also includes Editor-at-Large of the environment and green lifestyle publication Above Magazine and cofounding editor (with pals Elizabeth von Guttman and Alexia Niedzielski) of Ever Manifesto which supports the eco-friendly fashion movement. She appeared on Vanity Fair’s Best Dressed list in 2006 and is one of Karl Lagerfeld’s favorite muses. Expect many more fashion shoots and paparazzi shots of Charlotte’s every stitch of clothing.

Charlotte has thus far stayed out of any scandals—despite the fact that many were up in arms over her reported split from longtime boyfriend, British curator Alex Dellal (yes, Chanel model Alice Dellal’s brother—royals gravitate to other boldface names). It is rumored that she’s now dating French comedian, Gad Elmaleh (she was spotted slipping out of his apartment in January). Though Elmaleh is more than 10 years her senior, Charlotte has certainly deviated from the various and rumor-inducing relationships that her mother and aunt once had.

Pierre’s relationship, though hardly racy, is also one of interest as he’s been seen gallivanting around Milan, Rome and the Spanish hippie island enclave of Formentera (Kate Moss’ haunt) with Italian Countess and TV personality Beatrice Borromeo. But most recently, the third in line to the throne of Monaco has made headlines due to his involvement in a brawl at the exclusive Meatpacking District boîte, The Double Seven, where the alleged antagonist, businessman and ex-club owner Adam Hock, punched Pierre in the face and was charged with four counts of third-degree assault. It was reported that 24-year-old Pierre was partying with a trendy clique of European expat party boys including shipping heir Stavros Niarchos III (with model girlfriend Jessica Hart), Vladimir Restoin Roitfeld and their friend Diego Marroquin. Imagine a very fancy frat pack, with bottles of Cristal replacing cans of Budweiser.

Last summer, in the wake of the British royal wedding—that of Kate and William—was the marriage of the 53-year-old prince and the 33-year-old Olympic swimmer Charlene Wittstock, which ended the longtime bachelorhood of Prince Albert and a three-decade wait for a new princess. The last wedding of a ruling prince in Monaco was that of his mother and father in 1956. While the wedding was stocked with A-list guests and other royals, the most anticipated welcome may have been for the other members of the Grimaldi family, specifically the Casiraghis and the people on their arms.

The three garner attention in their own right, but it doesn’t hurt that they can be found front row, partying and jet-setting with equally chic “children of” such as the Santo Domingos, the Niarchos’, Margherita Missoni, Bianca Brandolini d’Adda and the Restoin Roitfeld siblings. Whether stateside or across the pond, these three are inevitably the ones to watch. While the social spotlight can fade with time, royalty is always in fashion.

illustration by Camille Shimshak

When my successful numbers racket was busted and disbanded in fifth grade at Barclay school, I needed another way to feed my addiction to video games, gummy bears and smoke bombs. After my cool 500 clams a day (fixed lottery drawings and my spinning toy roulette wheel) dried up, I felt like my quaint Upper East Side ‘hood had become my own personal skid row.

I turned my parents' library, lined with my mother’s books on decorating and my father’s leather-bound tomes on subjects like (snooze) the Russian Revolution and novels written in French, into my own X-rated movie theater. On weekends, my parents went to Southampton and I was left with Lourdes, our cook, who thought I was the golden child. I invited a select group of ten classmates to watch The Robin Byrd Show, a cable program where a stoned-looking Robin Byrd interviewed strippers and porn stars before making them dance naked to her theme song. To add even more cash to my porn empire (I used the dining room chairs lined up movie theater style in front of the TV), I sold candy bars and soda (at double mark-up) that I charged to my parents' house account at Zitomer Pharmacy. Lourdes only came in once, proudly holding a tray of her famous chocolate chip cookies. “For your friends, Charlie,” she offered sweetly as I tried to politely nudge her out of the room. I grabbed the tray and announced to my “customers” that each cookie was $1, which was a much better price than Kathleen’s Cookies. The kids gobbled them up and my wallet got fatter. Soon, weekly showings of The Robin Byrd Show grew and grew until kids were sitting cross-legged and crammed in the library. This went on for months.

Then one Sunday around 11 a.m., my mother woke me up having decided to leave the country early. With rage in her blue eyes, she dragged my sleepy head into the library and pointed to the channel and said sternly, “I know exactly what you and your friends were watching last night and your aunt Bitsy told me how to lock that horrific channel.” I immediately responded with, “You’re crazy. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Lourdes,” my mother called, “please come in the library. Charlie wants to apologize.” My shoulders slumped. I loved Lourdes and didn’t want her to get in any trouble, ever. “I’m sorry Lourdes,” I said flashing her a smile and my most innocent-looking eyes. “I don’t know anything Mrs. Campbell,” Lourdes told my mother, looking down at her white shoes. “Charlie just watches TV with nice boys.”

“Charlie and his friends are no longer watching TV, Lourdes,” my mother proclaimed. “Charlie will be coming to the country with us every weekend from now on and you can have the weekend to visit your sister in New Jersey,” my mother declared, as if addressing the nation. Lourdes nodded her head and scuttled back to the kitchen. My mother ordered me to go back to my room and “study.” I skulked down the hallway as if marching to the electric chair...

With my porno theater shuttered for good (my mother miraculously did figure out how to lock “that dirty, disgusting channel”), was my reign as the Hugh Hefner of Barclay school kaput? No. And my addiction to sugar and gadgets was getting worse, so overnight I devised a new XXX enterprise to score candy and toys without ever spending a single penny. [end scene]

Good Days by Unruly Heir

There are a few things you don’t expect to see on the cover of a novel. Socialite Tinsley Mortimer’s name is probably one of them. And yet next month, Mortimer, the “It” girl-turned-handbag designer-turned-reality star, will publish her first novel, Southern Charm, about a “Southern Belle thrust into the frenzied world of high society in New York City.” In other words, it’s a roman à clef, and not a very veiled one at that. The book’s plot couldn’t any more closely mirror Mortimer’s real life (or that which she is somewhat public about) without having to be marketed as a memoir.

Mortimer, who co-wrote Southern Charm with “a friend,” didn’t feel the need to get overly creative with the book’s characters. The heroine is named Minty Randolph Mercer Davenport. Mortimer’s real name? Tinsley Randolph Mercer Mortimer. Minty has a Chihuahua named Belly. Mortimer’s Chihuahua is named Bella. Minty hails from South Carolina. Mortimer was raised in Virginia. Both Davenport and Mortimer move to Manhattan, marry into old-school, blue blood New York families, become boldfaced “It” girls and then end up in highly publicized break-ups.

Mortimer’s literary agent, Mollie Glick of Foundry Literary + Media told The New York Times that her client received a “healthy six figures” advance “in the ballpark of what TV personalities have been getting.” Not too shabby for the star of High Society, Mortimer’s failed 2010 reality TV show, which has the dubious distinction of being the lowest rated series debut on the CW, the network which also broadcasts Gossip Girl.

But will Southern Charm bring Mortimer fame and front row seats at Fashion Week (which some insiders say she lost due to the dismal response to High Society) or the scorn of the social world? Let’s not forget that celebrated author Truman Capote went from hosting the Black and White Ball in 1966 at The Plaza Hotel (a raving success) to being blacklisted by society swans like Babe Paley after excerpts of his unfinished novel Answered Prayers appeared in Esquire in 1975. After Capote’s chapter “La Côte Basque 1965” was published and was unmistakably similar to the lives of his good friends CBS founder William S. Paley and his wife Babe, Mrs. Paley led a brigade to ostracize Capote who went from being the confidant of the ladies who lunched at La Côte Basque to someone very few people in Manhattan wanted to meet for a hot dog on a street corner. Yet, Candace Bushnell’s Sex and the City, based on people she knows in Manhattan, has turned her into a literary star.

“Books are the new handbag lines for socialites and celebrities,” quips Alexandra Lebenthal, a financial advisor, black tie party fixture and the author of The Recessionistas, a roman à clef about four women struggling with the economic downturn. “It’s a good thing to have on your résumé.”
Take, for example, horse-loving Georgina Bloomberg, the daughter of New York Mayor/mogul Michael Bloomberg, who just released the second book in her series about a young equestrian with a Wall Street billionaire father. Hmm. Then there’s the former Mrs. Billy Joel, Katie Lee, whose novel Groundswell features a young woman who falls in love with a surf instructor after a difficult divorce. (Publicists for both Bloomberg and Lee say their clients’ books are works of fiction, but readers may jump to a different conclusion.)

The list hardly ends there. Reality stars Lauren Conrad, Nicole Richie and even Nicole “Snookie” Polizzi have published novels inspired to varying degrees by their lives. And much like the shows that have made these women household names, their books tap into society’s seemingly endless appetite for the pseudo-real. You get an idea of what the truth is, but it’s heavily glamorized and then crammed into stock “storylines.” Readers don’t seem to mind. Lauren Conrad’s L.A. Candy, a bildungsroman set against the blinding lights of reality TV fame, spent a combined 59 weeks on The New York Times bestseller list. Says Farrin Jacobs, Conrad’s editor at HarperCollins, “People like to see behind the scenes and feel like they're getting the real story.”

There’s nothing new about that. According to Sean Latham, the author of The Art of Scandal: Modernism, Libel Law, and the Roman à Clef, fictionalized tell-alls became popular in the seventeenth century and often focused on intrigues at court or within the Catholic Church. These romans (that’s French for novel) were often sold with a clef (or key), a separate document that exposed the real-life identities of certain characters. The keys were often published anonymously, and for good reason, as exposing a king or pope’s immoral behavior was considered a criminal offense. “You could be executed,” says Latham, the Walter professor of English at Tulsa University and editor of the James Joyce Quarterly.

If some were killed for it, others were celebrated. In her critically acclaimed biography, Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, Amanda Foreman noted that Georgiana, a fashionably flamboyant British aristocrat, wrote about her life in a roman à clef called The Sylph (a bestseller for its time). “She felt trapped by her marriage, and couldn’t believe what was happening to her,” says Foreman, adding that although the tome was published anonymously in 1778, many in Georgiana’s circle knew she wrote it.

Flash forward a couple hundred years to the rise of chick-lit and books like Bushnell’s Sex and the City (based on her dating column for The New York Observer), The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger (about her stint as one of Anna Wintour’s beleaguered assistants), The Nanny Diaries by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus (two former Upper East Side nannies) and Bergdorf Blondes by Plum Sykes (chronicling the author’s glamorous friends). These literary confections reinvigorated readers’ desire to glimpse into the rarefied worlds of haute fashion and high society. It wasn’t long before readers of Bushnell’s column figured out that the notorious “Mr. Big” boyfriend was actually based on Ron Galotti, the then-publisher of Vogue. A spate of other tomes, all written by Manhattan insiders, followed in their best-selling wake: Karen Quinn’s The Ivy Chronicles (about coaching preschoolers for private school entrance exams); Bridie Clarke’s Because She Can, which was rumored to be about Clarke’s former boss, Judith Regan; and Anisha Lakhani’s Schooled (about a fashion-obsessed teacher/tutor on the Upper East Side).

There’s no doubt these books are fun to read and try to decipher who’s who in real life. But are they art? “The novel tries to set itself up as everything the roman à clef is not,” says Latham. A novel, unlike a tell-all, is entirely invented or imagined by an author; whereas a roman à clef acts almost like a “parasite,” cribbing from the real world. “It suggests that the author isn’t all that talented,” says Latham. “They have to steal and sort of cover up and make their book look like a novel.”
That’s one point of view.
But others argue that most writers, even highly respected, prize-winning novelists, pull from their lives in some way. “Storytellers from Jane Austen to Jay McInerney base their work on real life,” says Sykes. “For the reader that is half the fun of it, to me it doesn't diminish a work of fiction or make it derivative in a negative way. In fact in a social comedy, if the book is to have any value and make any comment on society, it must seem as real as possible.”

But will Mortimer’s Southern Charm be a little too real for social circles? Capote ended up a friendless, drugged up drunk when Answered Prayers turned him from the darling of café society to a social pariah. After Capote died of liver cancer at age 59, author Gore Vidal commented that his death was “a good career move.”

Public scorn is one thing Lebenthal doesn’t worry about, despite the fact that she based two villains in The Recessionistas on people she knows. “The bad people in the story would have no trouble knowing who they are,” she says. “The power of the pen is the ultimate ability for revenge.”

If some write to get even, others for a fast buck and still others for fame, is it worth it in the end? The answer may depend on what you value most in life—friends or riches? Social clout or tabloid notoriety? Those aspiring to red-carpet royalty might be wise to try other avenues. “I think if anyone wrote a novel to attain celebrity, they would be nuts!” says Sykes. “Most novels languish in deep obscurity.”

Which brings us back to Mortimer, already a red-carpet regular, and already familiar with what can happen when you choose the pursuit of celebrity over social mores. With Southern Charm, it may be reasonable to assume Mortimer hopes to regain some of the status she lost after being widely ridiculed for High Society.

And as implausible a novel (presumably) written by Tinsley Mortimer may sound; it does make a measure of sense. After all, her life would make for a juicy read and—as I was recently reminded at an Upper East Side cocktail party—she does look every inch the chick-lit heroine. Which gave me an idea…

The crowd parted and there stood Tinsley. She was dressed in a floaty black frock, her hair as blonde and glossy as ever. I set down my drink—I’ve never been one for apple-flavored vodka—and gave her an air kiss. “Tell me about the book,” I said.
     She batted her faux lashes. “It’s not like yours. My character comes from the South.”
“So does mine,” I said.

“Oh.” A tawny hand flicked to a glitter-dusted breastbone. “Oh. I'm sorry.”

   The truth is I had never expected her to read my book. She was a busy girl. Photo ops. Designing handbags. And those eyelashes surely didn’t glue themselves on. "That's okay," I said.

She flashed an embarrassed grin.“I did host your party!”

   I nodded, now wishing I had kept my mouth shut. Tinsley was sweet. And nice. I hadn't wanted to put her on the defensive. “Really, it’s fine.”

“I would have read your book. But I don’t read. Like, ever.” There was a brief pause. A tiny line appeared between her bright blue eyes. “I mean, I did write my book.”     End of chapter.

Jay Zuckerkorn, Marek and associates

Here are some things I love the most:
The Rolling Stones; a sultry, warm rainstorm; a cozy pair of rubber wellies; and, "God save the Queen," the Union Jack flag. Leave it to the eponymous producer of the original Balmoral-stomping boots to unite my not-so-secret desires and, ta-dah, here you have it! Jagger may tell us "you can't always get what you want," but it seems to me that Hunter has just proven my rock icon wrong. Maybe, in the end, these boots are just what I need...until the next thing I just can't live without. Now go get caught up in a chic storm!

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Of all the identities that could have been stolen in this town, it had to have been the one belonging to the broad-shouldered, balding man standing in front of the Sherry-Netherland Hotel one warm Sunday afternoon. That man—who despite his secret protestations to friends and despite his best efforts to maintain a respectable career in finance, will forever be known as the ex-husband of socialite Nicky Hilton—is Todd Meister.

Meister was standing by his BMW SUV, sporting a sharp pair of Persol sunglasses and a tweed jacket while tapping out a message on his iPhone. To have stood there with no fanfare or recognition was surprising. His face had made it back to the newspapers after becoming the unwitting victim of a massive swindle perpetrated (allegedly) at the hands of his trusted assistant. It was a story that had the perfect headline, the perfect subject matter, and perhaps the perfect combination of characters: "Raider Renata: Foxy personal assistant of Nicky Hilton’s ex-hubby swindles nearly $1 million from the hedge fund millionaire, claims she and him were doing more than just business."

The story did not get much play in the papers, largely due (and largely thanks) to the “Millionaire Madam.” As Renata Shamrakova, the easy-on-the-eyes Ukrainian immigrant who was accused of robbing Meister, was appearing in Manhattan court to face felony charges of grand larceny, Anna Gristina, the alleged proprietor of a booming Upper East Side brothel, was grabbing enough media attention to prevent Shamrakova and Meister from becoming frequent fixtures in the newspapers.

To make the tale even tawdrier, Shamrakova claimed, through her attorney, that Meister had given her permission to use nearly $1 million of his money because they were lovers. Once again, Meister’s loins, which have been tied to socialites both young and old, were given more press coverage than his business chops.

“This is not a story about Todd Meister nor who he has dated, but a story about a criminal and a thief who stole somebody’s money and looked for shortcuts,” says a person close to Meister.

It is perhaps both a blessing and a curse that Meister would seem so appealing to both women and the public eye. He has the face, the brawn and the bank account to make him a catch in any society woman’s date book. His romantic résumé is a testament to that. He had squired women who, like him, were fostered in a world of privilege, educated in top Ivy League schools and would eventually grow up to become prominent faces in the Manhattan social scene.

Born the son of Robert Meister, a longtime vice chairman of Aon Group, Inc., the insurance brokerage and risk consulting giant, Meister attended Allen-Stevenson and Riverdale for grade school and high school, respectively. He went to Harvard University, where he would meet and begin a long-term relationship with Samantha Boardman, the stunning daughter of D. Dixon Boardman, who founded the hedge fund Optima Fund Management, and Pauline Pitt, a banking heiress and Palm Beach mainstay.

He and Boardman dated throughout the 90s before they parted ways sometime around the new millennium (a split he was reportedly slow to recover from). Boardman, who was one of New York’s favorite 90s "It" girls, was later linked to Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter and former Condé Nast editorial director James Truman before marrying art collector and RFR Holding president Aby Rosen.

Meister, meanwhile, continued to have relationships with women of equal social stature and good breeding. He was with Elizabeth Lindemann (née Graham), a Yale and Columbia-educated relative of Samuel Graham, who founded the Graham Gallery of New York in 1857. The relationship lasted three years. He followed that with a four-year relationship with Jamie Tisch, the ex-wife of New York Giants chairman Steve Tisch and the BFF of Tory Burch. Now, at age 41, Meister has kept a low romantic profile. His love life has been quiet since August.

While his love life remained a constant curio in the eyes of the public, Meister had forged a respectable and profitable business career. After graduating cum laude from Harvard, he worked at Lazard in the boutique bank’s investment banking group for two years. He returned to Cambridge for Harvard Business School, and followed that by becoming a founding member and a general partner of Rhone Capital LLC, a $350 million leveraged buyout firm. In 2001, he helped found Priderock Management; a hedge fund that a person close to the company said had billions of dollars in management, including funds from Leslie Wexner, founder of Limited Brands, and the Fanjul brothers, among other investors. Priderock performed strongly, producing 20 percent returns and “three-year locked-up money.”

He now runs Meister & Co., a holding company that has investments in energy companies, alternative energy companies and venture capital funds, among other industries. The firm also has invested in 40,000 acres of oil and gas properties in Eagle Ford, Texas, and Meister is a board member and a significant shareholder of Texas International Energy Partners.
But in the public eye, his business life mattered little. “He can take his Texas energy companies public at a significant valuation, and it still won’t interest anyone as much as Nicky Hilton,” says a person close to Meister.

There may be a reason for that. For a marriage that was executed on a whim, only to be annulled six weeks later, Meister’s brief nuptials to Hilton has come to be a defining marker in his life nearly eight years since it took place at the no-frills Las Vegas wedding chapel.

The two had known one another since Hilton was 15. Perhaps the more reserved of the two Hilton sisters (Paris has gotten herself involved in more misdemeanors than her younger sibling), Nicky’s marriage to Meister was fodder for magazines, blogs, newspaper gossip columns and supermarket tabloids.

Meister, according to friends, underestimated how much of a public bonanza his marriage to Hilton would become. The two eventually annulled the marriage, and they remain friends to this day (Nicky declined comment for this article).

But the story has become a veritable tattoo for Meister, one that will forever be associated with his name, regardless of the story. When Keith Meister, his brother and a former senior vice president at Icahn Capital who managed Carl Icahn’s $3 billion hedge fund, was featured as one of Fortune’s “40 under 40” in 2010, the magazine made sure to note his “tabloid pedigree”: “Meister’s brother, Todd, was married to socialite Nicky Hilton briefly in 2004.”

In 2011, Meister was in need of a new personal assistant for Meister & Co., which has its offices on 57th street. His last assistant left to go to graduate school at Columbia University, and Meister reached out to a woman who worked with Warren Lichtenstein, the CEO of Steel Partners, to see if she knew of anyone who she could recommend, according to a person close to Meister & Co. That woman, whose name was withheld, had a friend she did recommend: Renata Shamrakova. On the strength of this recommendation, and the subsequent interview, Shamrakova was hired as Meister’s personal assistant.

The position would pay her $43,000 in 2011, according to a document later recovered in her apartment by the police. It would also give her complete access to Meister’s personal information, from his bank information to the passwords for all his personal and work email accounts. She would also have access to his driver’s license, his social security number, and his mother’s maiden name–almost every facet of his personal life.

As far as Shamrakova’s personal life was concerned, little was known about her. She was a Ukrainian-born 27-year-old with piercing blue eyes and entrepreneurial aspirations. She grew up in Long Island and attended Hofstra University. In 2008, she starred in an ultra-low budget movie called Fighting Nirvana, about a group of youths marooned in a house. In the trailer, Shamrakova appears quite the femme fatale, wearing a low-cut top that is all déco-lletage, and a shade of red lipstick that is both lustful and dangerous. In one scene, she angrily tells a woman playing her sister “my life isn’t your business, got that?”
When she started work at Meister & Co. in March 2011, she made no mention of her brief film career.

Shortly after starting work at Meister & Co., Shamrakova had resumed an on-again, off-again relationship with Michael Smaye, a Toronto native whom she met at a bar on Houston Street in 2010. Smaye, who had returned to Canada because of visa issues, agreed to return to New York City, partly to resume a serious relationship with Shamrakova, the other to start a “serious” jewelry website business, says Marc Fernich, Smaye’s attorney.

Shamrakova sold her credentials to Smaye by saying she had worked previously at “an online jewelry and clothing company,” says Fernich. She added that she had accrued a substantial amount of savings after working there for a number of years. Her fashion background, along with her feelings for Smaye, were quite serious. “More serious in his mind, anyway,” Fernich adds.
Called “Karat & Ice,” the website offered a “curated collection” of jewelry from “acclaimed fashion designers” and “emerging new comers [sic] who are sure to steal the show.” Smaye, who previously worked as a wealth management consultant at UBS Financial Services, would handle the business side of Karat & Ice while she funded the company and would be its
“creative brains,” says Ferdich.

Meanwhile, Shamrakova’s relative inexperience was beginning to show at Meister & Co. Meister would complain that she was difficult to reach by phone or email whenever she was outside the office. As her job title required that she handle some of Meister’s personal expenses, a duty she did not handle with ease, the firm hired an accountant to oversee some of her activities, says a person close to the company.

It was also around that time that she started “a pattern of stealing” from a company credit card she was given when she started working for Meister, making small charges to the card to see if it would be noticed by her higher-ups. Then, using Meister’s credit, she allegedly created an American Express platinum card in her own name. Using that card, she started booking trips to Aruba, Canada and Europe. The purpose of those trips, other than for the sake of a glamorous international jaunt, was to purchase jewelry for Karat & Ice, prosecutors said.

Smaye had joined Shamrakova on her European trip, along with a trip to Aruba, said Fernich. She also went to India and Miami, staying in five-star hotels.

Shamrakova would transfer money from Meister’s JP Morgan account to cover the escalating charges she had made on the credit card, prosecutors allege. If JP Morgan tried to report unusual spending on Meister’s account, Shamrakova would have been the point person to initially receive those reports, insiders say.

“Karatandice.com” started to take shape. The company advertised its spring 2012 launch on its Facebook page. Shamrakova and Smaye promoted the company on Twitter and on Facebook, using professional-quality studio shots of the two, both of them appearing young and fashionable and spunky, to enhance the company’s image.

Smaye, his attorney contends, was kept in the fog about the true source of Shamrakova’s finances, even as his girlfriend amassed a collection of nearly 5,000 pieces of jewelry, new furniture and other goods for the business. Meister, too, was kept in the dark. Shamrakova would present him with statements from her company credit card, masking the charges she was secretly making (which would eventually total $150,000). Those charges included trips to India, taxis rides and grooming for her dog, prosecutors allege.

By December, Meister received a call from his bank saying that a check of his had bounced. Shamrakova apparently overheard the conversation and told Meister that the bank appeared to be mistaken.

Although concerned, Meister decided to put in cash that was two times the amount that was suggested to him by his bank. Meister also had a personal assistant who worked for his family in Palm Beach fly up to New York to help him get his affairs in order and double-check each credit card and bank account tied to his name and to his company, insiders say. He then noticed that more money was eventually being withdrawn from his account without his consent. This January, he notified the police, and Shamrakova was arrested for grand larceny and identity theft. Police searching Shamrakova’s apartment on West 21st Street found a pink Filofax that contained Meister’s Florida driver’s license and his United Healthcare card, which some suspect she had official copies made for her own purposes (Meister reportedly still had his license at the time of this discovery).
Police also recovered a letter of resignation, dated January 23, from Shamrakova to Meister.

Shortly after she was arrested, Meister had the all the systems in his office shut down and he hired T&M Protection to investigate other possible breaches of his personal files.

In March, Shamrakova was arraigned in a Manhattan court on charges of grand larceny, identity theft and obstruction, among other charges, and was arraigned on a whopping 44-count indictment. All told, she was accused of swindling over $900,000 from Meister through bogus credit card charges.

A cache of jewelry purchased on Meister’s card was seized by cops from two connecting apartments at 321 West 21st Street and a
Manhattan Mini Storage on West 23rd Street. The reserve was impressive: 2,393 earrings, 1,164 necklaces, 658 bracelets, 359 rings and 5 watches. The police recovered several sealed TD Bank envelopes containing thousands of dollars in cash, some as high as $8,000. Investigators also recovered two pairs of Maison Martin Margiela high-tops—one blue, the other gold—at the Manhattan Mini Storage.

Despite the bail being set at $450,000, Shamrakova managed to get out of prison. She still faces possible jail time and deportation if convicted. Shamrakova’s attorney, Marc Agnifilo, claims that his client had Meister’s approval to spend his money, citing a romantic affair between the two.

Meister categorically denied the claims, adding that he never even shared a meal with the woman.

Smaye was charged with tampering with physical evidence and obstruction, a charge his attorney says he committed unwittingly after Shamrakova asked him to help remove files and electronic devices before investigators showed up to their West 21st Street apartment (and its adjoining office).

At his March arraignment, Smaye learned a heartbreaking lesson: he was not Shamrokova’s lone suitor. After arriving at court, he met a Frenchman named Matthieu who claimed to be her lover, according to an insider. It was also revealed in court that she was still legally married to a man in Queens (investigators also recovered a passport that listed her as “Renata Fertig,” and shared federal and New York state 2007 tax forms for Renata and Daniel Fertig).

“She traveled from apartment to apartment in order to avoid one boyfriend running into the other,” said assistant district attorney Cory Jacobs in a March 6 court appearance. “Mike was one of many victims used and duped by his cunning and deceitful codefendant,” said Fernich in court. “He’s just a patsy. This story is as old as Adam and Eve,” he added.

Agnifilo tells SCENE that Meister had turned Shamrakova over to the police because he was a jilted lover. “She had been given this card by him,” he says. “She had expenses on the card every month. The card statements, he would review them, and this went on for eight or nine months,” adds Agnifilo. “At some point, she gets disenchanted with the job there. I think their romantic relationship hits the rocks, and he goes to the DA’s office.”

Smaye’s case is still pending.

Through his attorney, Meister denied the allegations of a romantic liaison between the two.

“This was a woman who was given an opportunity to work for a good firm and create a better future for herself,” said Meister in a statement. “Instead she chose to deceive her employers, steal [Meister’s] identity, spend vast amounts of money recklessly, and choose to come up with a cheap excuse by fabricating a relationship that does not exist.”
Shamrakova and Smaye are both due back in court in April. They are no longer dating, Fernich says.