Life and Death in the Hamptons

Main Street, East Hampton

I have never approached having even a fraction of the wealth necessary to experience the glitzy lifestyle most people associate with the Hamptons. That is just as well.

Last summer, the Hamptons were awash with gossip about a married couple, Candice and Brandon Miller. The New York Times published their cautionary tale, “How an Instagram-Perfect Life in the Hamptons Ended in Tragedy.”

While Candice was forcing her young daughter to interview her on social media to secure her status as a Hamptons influencer—her favorite store? “Chanel in East Hampton”—her husband was overleveraging their assets and sinking deeper into debt ($33.6 million). 

The Millers

On July 3, 2024, when his last-ditch business deal collapsed, Miller committed suicide. His wife and kids were left to pick up the designer-flecked pieces. (Page Six reports that Candice, who moved to Miami and accepts no responsibility for their ruination, just this week skipped her late husband's tombstone unveiling because she was still angry at him over the family's financial collapse.)

All of this took me back to thirty years ago, when any dreams I may have had of summering in East Hampton were quashed by a brash realtor. A bona fide Long Island character, she lectured my friends and me that Montauk was “sleepy-tired,” but “East” [Hampton] was where to find your "wah-wah" houses. When we disclosed our rental budget, she informed us that we could afford sleepy-tired, not wah-wah.

Montauk Point, Long Island

We escaped the Manhattan heat by renting a modest place for the summer months in sleepy-tired Montauk and frequented the surfer beach at Ditch Plains. It was fun.

On excursions to nearby "East," I got a glimpse of the place where the Millers so desperately sought to keep up with the Joneses.

I picked up a brownie or two at the original, overpriced Barefoot Contessa specialty food shop. Ina Garten herself might even have waited on me.

We went to the movies in "East,” where I gawked at the prices in the real estate office's window. And I admired the quiet, old-money homes around Georgica Pond. 

Today, New York magazine claims that no one even speaks of "the Hamptons" anymore, but rather, people refer to each town as its own entity with its own vibe and celebrity denizens.

2025's Montauk, I’m told, would be unrecognizable to me, a summer renter of the '90s. It’s been developed, gentrified, and transformed. In its own way, it’s just as “wah-wah” as “East.”

In the '90s, there was no Instagram, no influencers, no cell phones. I felt no pressure to share my fabulous weekends with complete strangers on social media.

I can only imagine the hell the Millers created for themselves, and thank my lucky stars that my Long Island dream was nothing like their subsequent nightmare.

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