Priscilla Rattazzi

My deepest condolences to Willy, Georgiana and Eddie and the entire family of Liliana Cavendish @lilicavendish . You were a great mother, wife, fellow European immigrant in New York since the roaring seventies, and model who posed when I was just starting out. I will miss you dearly. May you Rest In Peace.

I can’t believe I went to the Met Gala when I was 20 (1976) with Mrs. Vreeland and @nvreeland in my pajamas. Major faux pas 😂 📷: @realbillcunningham

An insane living horseshoe crab crawling around Halsey Neck beach with clinging friends on top.

Nonna Mimi, Nonna Pira, and Miss Clemmie! We are showing and telling our treasures on Grandparents Day in home made shoe boxes!

As the @nytimes said in the headline of their 2011 review: “Like Rao’s but You Can Get In.” I used to go to Ballato all the time in the seventies. Went again last night for the first time in decades. Completely charming, the spaghetti Bolognese and home made focaccia were delicious, and because I was with @nvreeland Emilio, the owner, treated us like royalty. 🇮🇹 🍝

Happy 30th Birthday to this very beautiful and talented lady @ebheath ❤️❤️❤️ 📷: @__milesandmiles__

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 @davidfrum in @theatlantic

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 @therickstengel @guardian_us

Easter in East Hampton twenty five years ago with a wonderful gang, now in their thirties. Proud of all of you @awhittlebit @sashafiercey @nikeyucallaway @olivercalvoplatero @cliocalvoplatero @maisiekiser @paigepeterson55 @mariocalvoplatero

Repost from @prattazzi "Word came from Dallas, Texas that Emilio Pucci would be given the Neiman Marcus Award for Distinguished Service in the Field of Fashion in 1954, considered the Oscar of the fashion industry. The only postwar Italian recipient had been Salvatore Ferragamo, shoemaker of the stars, who had won seven years earlier. Emilio called his friend Suni Agnelli to ask if she would accompany him to America. "My God, yes" she replied. Eventually she would recall: "Puch, we always called him. And immediately the memories, the beach of Forte dei Marmi, the sandcastles, the marble races we used to do together on the wet sand near the waves so they wouldn't dry up right away. Skinny, he was always skinny-like a scarecrow-said the Tuscan women who helped around the house. We spent summers there year after year. Then he returned after a stint at university in the United States, where his skiing left a mark. Then in Sestriere, even thinner, twirling on the slopes. He looked like Fred Astaire in the snow. He would tell me about his life: the war, his name in the noon bulletins, his loves, the debacle, escape, torture, his arrival in Switzerland. There, with the bicycle I loaded onto the train, I would visit him at the boarding school, where, under a false name, he taught. We would walk under the trees in the street near the school, and talk about everything, the past, the present, and the future, so impossible to decipher. Long years of silence, me in Argentina, him who knows where, but meanwhile he had become a "fashion designer" and what a designer! When he was awarded the Neiman Marcus Award, he asked me to accompany him to Dallas to receive the award, and then go on a promotional tour of the United States. So together we would go and sell his designs to the great American stores. I dressed only in Pucci chemisiers. He would share with me his nocturnal adventures, and I would tell him all of my non-adventures." Discussion tomorrow at The Four Arts in Palm Beach, with Priscilla Rattazzi with Pamela Fiori. @terenceward.idannapucci @thefourarts @prattazzi @sallyfischerpr

Word came from Dallas, Texas that Emilio Pucci would be given the Neiman Marcus Award for Distinguished Service in the Field of Fashion in 1954, considered the Oscar of the fashion industry. The only postwar Italian recipient had been Salvatore Ferragamo, shoemaker of the stars, who had won seven years earlier. Emilio called his friend Suni Agnelli to ask if she would accompany him to America. “My God, yes” she replied. Eventually she would recall: “Puch, we always called him. And immediately the memories, the beach of Forte dei Marmi, the sandcastles, the marble races we used to do together on the wet sand near the waves so they wouldn’t dry up right away. Skinny, he was always skinny-like a scarecrow-said the Tuscan women who helped around the house. We spent summers there year after year. Then he returned after a stint at university in the United States, where his skiing left a mark. Then in Sestriere, even thinner, twirling on the slopes. He looked like Fred Astaire in the snow. He would tell me about his life: the war, his name in the noon bulletins, his loves, the debacle, escape, torture, his arrival in Switzerland. There, with the bicycle I loaded onto the train, I would visit him at the boarding school, where, under a false name, he taught. We would walk under the trees in the street near the school, and talk about everything, the past, the present, and the future, so impossible to decipher. Long years of silence, me in Argentina, him who knows where, but meanwhile he had become a “fashion designer” and what a designer! When he was awarded the Neiman Marcus Award, he asked me to accompany him to Dallas to receive the award, and then go on a promotional tour of the United States. So together we would go and sell his designs to the great American stores. I dressed only in Pucci chemisiers. He would share with me his nocturnal adventures, and I would tell him all of my non-adventures.” Discussion tomorrow at The Four Arts in Palm Beach, myself included with Pamela Fiori @terenceward.idannapucci @thefourarts @sallyfischerpr

Happy Birthday my bubulino, bubulino! Who’s gonna break more hearts down the road, you or your cugine?! ❤️❤️❤️