High life | 7 May 2015

If any of you sees Graydon Carter, the editor of Vanity Fair, walking around with a begging bowl in his hand, it’s because he took me to dinner recently. I sort of went a bit nuts with the wine and the VF chief ended up with the bill. We went to a new Bagel restaurant, Chevalier, a futuristic marvel with great food and wine and even grander prices. New York is no longer elegant, and there are no longer society types dressed to the nines sitting on the banquettes and downing Manhattans.

The Jewish ascendancy that downed the Wasps was as elegant as the one it replaced. William Paley, John Loeb and others like them dressed at Anderson & Sheppard, were shod by John Lobb, and had their shirts made by Sulka. They had exquisite manners and aped their predecessors. Now it’s slob time, and men dress the way I used to when I left the locker room for the playing field: sweatpants, a hoodie and trainers. But on the night I went to Chevalier, there were at least five tables with suited men and women that didn’t have ‘tart’ etched on their forehead. In order to celebrate, I got drunk and Graydon paid for the damage.

The strange thing about the Big Bagel in particular, and America in general, is that political discussion is a thing of the past. Anyone who disagrees with, say, the New York Times way of thinking is a bigot and a racist — no ifs or buts about it. Engaging civilly with those you disagree with, recognising their equality as citizens, has gone the way of high-button shoes and ladies with fans — not to mention standing up when a lady enters the room. This denies the superiority of reasoned argument over a punch in the face.

Liberalism’s father John Locke held that exercising reason was the highest perfection a man can attain in his life.