The annual Radnor Hunt Cup was this past Saturday, and an exceptional day it was, as one might expect. This time around I didn’t take any pictures since I’m not really on speaking terms with my phone. I think my new modus operandi is to just be photographed as much as possible and then hunt for those images online. It’s fun and I highly recommend it for any fashion conscious gals and guys out there who hate carrying cameras and prefer to leave their hands open for cocktails and shaking other hands.
One tip: Wear the biggest, brightest, loudest thing you can find. This vintage dashiki I’m wearing is like a brightly burning light, attracting shutter-bugs to my flame.
That’s my agent Erika to my left and our body-guard who shall remain nameless a few steps behind. photo compliments of Malvern Patch.
The theme for the Radnor Hunt was “Islands, Large and Small” so I went with Cuba. I basically channelled my inner Santeria Priestess and also this woman:
Sure a dashiki is an African garment but there are plenty of Cubans of African descent, and isn’t that where it all started anyway? I hope my loose interpretation of the cultural melting pot isn’t offensive to anyone; I just want a piece of it all.
World Clique, y’all.
My hat is a series of rooster wings and tail feathers gathered around a visor with a vintage cat brooch and other embellishments. A millinery masterpiece by no means, it was a last-minute confection whipped up just for fun and FUN IT WAS. I rolled in four deep with some polo friends, old and new and upon entering the Philadelphia Style tent dove headfirst into the oyster table, forgetting that whole 6 days of food poisoning that ravaged my internal organs just two weeks ago. We had already enjoyed some Spodee (have you had it yet? Le duh. Try it!) and now it was onto the race-themed cocktails. I enjoyed a Finish Line with champagne and berries.
Soon enough I was chatting away with all my pals who I hadn’t seen since last Summer and watching the races. They got off to a rough start, with several riderless horses running the course after having thrown their jockeys, In another entry I’d like to explore my thoughts on the complicated world of horse racing when I can articulate it better, because it’s much more emotional and complex than on might think from first sight, but for now I will focus on the fun stuff.
I bet on a horse named “On the Corner” for the second race but he mostly stayed on the corner and didn’t win me any money. No matter; just being there enjoying my health, my friends, the food and sunshine was all the winning I could have asked for.
My friend Jaun, who plays polo, is also apassionate photographer. He is the best as covering these events, photo-wise. I ran into him and the lovely Sharilyn, plus their wonderfully engaging daughters, under the tent but didn’t have much time to chat- saving it for the Brandywine Season Opener next week, suppose? Can’t wait. Anyway, I can’t steal any of his pictures to post on here so please go to his site and check them out. He’s got it call covered: Juan Vidal Photography.
Other folks who have the Philadelphia social scene on lockdown are Susan Scovill who is a perennial delight and one of my fave rave folks to run into at these venues; (check her out here: Susan Scovill) plus Hughe from Philly Chit Chat who never remembers my name but gives me love nonetheless. In fact he threw me some of that on yesterday morning’s episode of Good Day, Fox 29’s morning news show. I took the liberty to upload a video of just the segment relating to MOI. Turn up your volume for the chuckles:
For full video go here:
Was Jenn Fred At The Radnor Hunt?: MyFoxPHILLY.com
We had to wrap it up and head out a wee bit earlier than last year (no rest for the wicked Mole Street crew) but it was just the right amount of fun and revelry. Oh! The hat contest. By the time I mosied up to the judges stand, the women were piling into a gold cart to hand out the prizes to winners whom they’d already determined. One shot me an exasperated look and I just shrugged. Another one managed to hand me an “honorable mention” ribbon as a consolation prize. Familliar scene? Perhaps, except this time around sans heartache. I’ve realised that sometimes it’s best not to be judged.