The Dolly Sisters were off to Davos last week for the World Economic Forum: Nat Rothschild and Sebastian Taylor in their finest playing up to Harry Selfridge, in reality Christine Lagarde, the IMF chief. This total waste of a week advertises itself as a discussion of the global issues of the day. In reality, it’s utter twaddle, unless one is networking like the Dolly Sisters, or showing off like Justin Trudeau, the Canadian premier whose mother is Margaret, once upon a time a Studio 54 regular and a friend of yours truly.
Old Greek ship-owning families, prominent ones such as the Livanoses, Goulandrises and Chandrises, eschew such shenanigans, leaving them to that downmarket version of Zorba the Greek, Alexis Tsipras. His vulgar manner and hairy appearance would have pleased the likes of Tom Driberg and Guy Burgess almost as much as he’s pleased the Greek electorate, who have twice voted him prime minister within a year.
Not everyone in Davos is a hustler, starting with the sainted editor of this magazine, who writes in the Diary this week about his surprise at a £52 hamburger. You should try Gstaad during the high season, oh exalted one. Another good man among the barbarians was Dimitris Diamandopoulos, aka Jamie Dimon, of J.P. Morgan fame. Yes, we Greeks get around, but most of us dislike mingling in the circus of egotism and self-absorption that Davos has become. And speaking of Greeks, all of us here in Gstaad have decided to boycott the Academy Awards this year because no Hellenes have been nominated.
Actually, although I have been invited to the after-Oscars party these past 20 years, by the Vanity Fair editor Graydon Carter, I have never attended. That’s because, year after year, no Greek actor or actress has been nominated.
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