Oscar Wilde once noted that the way to get into the best society is to amuse or shock. That theory may have worked in Victorian London, particularly for witty, shocking Oscar Wilde. But it never went over in New York. Afraid of jeopardizing their own social security, New York's finest followed the example of the Boston Brahmins, clung to the names in the Social Register and the rules in Emily Post as loyally as if they had made them up themselves−which mostly they had. In recent years, however, New York has gone Wilde, and the newest darlings on its social circuit are artists and artisans who ten years ago were talked about but seldom talked to−such as, say, Norman (Mailer), Tennessee (Williams), Sammy (Davis Jr.), Gadge (Elia Kazan), Rudolf (Bing) and Cal (Robert Lowell). At the moment, the magic names are Andy and Edie.
Depths & Heights. Pop Artist Andy Warhol is the man who sells exact-to-the-copyright reproductions of Brillo boxes for $1,000, lines his studio with aluminum wrap, paints his hair silver, and devotes eight hours of "underground movies" to such hitherto unexplored subjects as the depths of man's sleep or the height of the Empire State Building. Edie Sedgwick is his constant companion, an electric elf whose flashing chocolate-colored eyes and skittish psyche make her a perfect star for his slow-moving movies.
Last April, when Manhattan's Metropolitan Museum of Art gave a black-tie party to celebrate the opening of its "Three Centuries of American Painting" exhibition, Edie and Andy stood cheek by jowl with Lady Bird Johnson, Mrs. Vincent Astor and Harry Guggenheim. Andy was wearing yellow sunglasses and a ragged tuxedo jacket over paint-splattered black work pants. Edie had dyed her hair silver (to match Andy's), wore lilac pajamas that covered nothing but a body stocking. Since then, they have gone to more parties than a caterer, sometimes staying for just a moment before moving on to the next one.
At a formal benefit opening of George Balanchine's Don Quixote, Edie climbed to the highest balcony in Lincoln Center's New York State Theater to twist, while Andy and fellow onlookers toasted her in champagne from below. A week later they showed up at the exclusive dinner given by the old-guard Nine O'Clockers of New York, Andy dressed in his usual black, bespotted denim work pants and Edie in a black crepe evening gown with shoulder-length white gloves, topped with ostrich feathers.
Some Dream. Biggest bash of all came last week. To celebrate (or mourn) his impending return to Claremont Men's College, Producer (Funny Girl) Ray Stark's 21-year-old son Peter threw an "underground" cocktail party at The Scene, Manhattan's freest-wheeling nightclub. The guest list read like a society columnist's dream: Huntington Hartford, Mrs. Eric Javits, Wendy Vanderbilt, Melinda Moon, Freddie Guest (Winston's son) and his wife Stephanie (Joan Bennett's daughter), Maria Cooper (Gary's daughter), Liza Minnelli (Judy's daughter), Alexandra Cushing and Christina Paolozzi, plus a constellation of Southampton and Newport debs, some of whom flew in for the occasion. But all eyes were on Edie and Andy.