Our Spy On the Upper East Side

Each Monday our resident 10021, well, resident, Betsy Perry, will be joining MainStreet to dish the dirt on what it’s like to live among the hedge fund masters of the universe—and their expensively dressed and educated families—as the times get tougher and the Gucci belts get tighter. Stay tuned and please let us know what you think of her new column, “Our Spy on the Upper East Side.”

New Yorkers of a certain age and wallet depth tend to have winter homes in Palm Beach and summer homes in the Hamptons, and, not unlike animals of the same species, travel in packs sticking together for security and comfort.

But I don’t get it. What’s fun about that? Humans aren’t migrating animals and we don’t need a comfort zone all the time.

I’m kind of a loner; I love getting the invitations but I don’t really want to go to the party and that seems to apply to my hibernation den as well.

So I struck out on my own choosing instead the bizarre vacation spot of the late Gianni Versace and of various renegade misfits: the pulsating–music-driven-rollerblading–but-totally-accepting world of Miami – South Beach to be exact. My late grandmother would be horrified if she knew I were there.

It definitely wasn’t a financial choice because South Beach is not cheaper than Palm Beach; real estate is tight and condos on the water go for millions and sell to basketball players, hiphopsters, movie stars, and people looking to invest in a piece of the action. But, what you get in South Beach that you don’t get in Palm Beach is the choice to do anything you want and never run into anyone you know…although I did run into A-Rod at the restaurant Prime 112…and he’s definitely a hottie.