The town of Palm Beach lies on a narrow strip of land, just a short drive across the Intracoastal bridge from the mainland, and since the early 20th century, has been the home and playground to the rich and famous. The main shopping street which begins at the Atlantic Ocean and extends for 3 blocks west up to the exclusive and severely restricted Everglades Club, is appropriately named Worth Avenue. This uber-manicured strip of designer fashion stores, small boutiques, exclusive restaurants, and some of the worst art galleries on the planet, is where the 1% go to shop and hang out, while the rest of us go to watch them shop and hang out. For most of the year it is a sleepy lazy, not-much-happening street—that is until “The Season”—starting at Christmas, when the locals, their friends, guests, and hangers-on, descend on this small sleepy, laid-back town to see, and be seen, as they hang out with their 400 closest friends. As evening approaches, the maids will walk their master’s dogs, while the locals gradually appear to shop, dine, and sip their cocktails. This will happen every night until Easter, when everybody suddenly departs for home. The town will be deserted until Christmas, and then it will happen all over again.
