With her trusty Canon SLR camera in hand, the artist and upper-crust photographer Jessica Craig-Martin (below) documented some of the glitziest benefits, film premieres, and high-society soirées of the 1990s for a variety of glossy publications. But her knowing, unconventionally cropped snapshots—of sweaty air kisses between socialites long past the first bloom of youth, the garish accoutrements of wealth, and often uncomfortable behind-the-scenes moments—are less celebratory portraits than a permanent record of the alarming concentration of riches that characterized the decade. “They’re about the underbelly that lies just below society’s stained silk cummerbund,” says Craig-Martin, who, just like her raw and unflinching photos, doesn’t pull punches. The rise of gossip tabloids, 24-hour cable news, and paparazzi culture, she says, meant that “the polite veneer of gold leaf could not hold as it had 100 years before.” The access her camera provided allowed Craig-Martin to witness the decade’s excesses like no one else. “I slipped on a sequined Bill Blass hem, as it were,” she says, half-jokingly, “and landed in the molten epicenter of New York society’s most flagrant vanities and aspirations.”
“I attended the amfAR Gala in Cannes several times in the ’90s,” says Craig-Martin. “This event was the proverbial cherry on the meringue on the profiterole on the gâteau of the entire 10 days that are also allegedly a film festival. In 1997, Prince Albert of Monaco’s date appeared to be wearing a hairy pineapple on her head, to which she had attached a tiny veil—for discretion, I presumed? After all, you don’t want people to remember you as the one who wore the hairy pineapple to the gala.”
“If this is Tuesday, it must be Alzheimer’s—the Rita Hayworth Gala, at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, benefiting Alzheimer’s, to be precise. Here, the wife of a well-known arms dealer confided to me that her Givenchy couture gown, which clung to her remodeled body and looked almost as if it were made of caviar, had cost $250,000. Very reasonable for that much beluga.”
“At the Waldorf-Astoria, I found myself gazing into the plaintive eyes of Suzy [above left], the renowned gossip columnist, who had been to a thousand too many parties. Her hands gripped her Judith Leiber Swarovski-studded zebra clutch as if she hoped it would gallop out of the gala with her on its back.”
“The dancing started very early that evening. I was slightly taken aback, for it was still only cocktail hour. Richard Johnson, the editor of Page Six, hit the dance floor with a bang. It looked strange because the event was at the Armory, and the room was huge. I was impressed by his joyful abandon, to which he appeared fully committed for a brief time before stopping abruptly and leaving the building. Perhaps he had a lot of parties that night at which to very briefly, fully commit?”
“This photo was taken at the opening dinner for Francesco Clemente’s retrospective at the Guggenheim. I surveyed the rotunda and spotted a potential shot I needed with gut-clenching urgency: Fran Lebowitz had made her way down the ramp to the banquet area. She was the first to arrive and was sitting at a table in her inevitable black tuxedo jacket, waiting to—what else?—complain. Fran complains with the virtuosity of Miles Davis at his trumpet. She is the Miles Davis of complaining. I had no way of knowing if I’d gotten this shot of her that night, as this was predigital. The suspense was excruciating. I miss film.”
“I once spent half an hour with Heather Locklear while she waited to host the VH1 Fashion Awards. She wore a poison green Versace dress that left nothing to the imagination. Let me say that Barbie has nothing on Miss Locklear. Flawless! Smooth as a grape and delightful company.”
“The ’90s are a blur of launches, banquets, and hangovers for me. The ‘season’ never ended, because I went wherever the party was. Venice, Cannes, Bilbao, Miami, L.A....awards shows, festivals, charity galas, the relentless cycle of fashion.... Wasn’t it the same for all of us in the biz?”
![Lynn Wyatt [left] and Nan Kempner [center] are embracing with genuine affection.](https://imgix.bustle.com/uploads/image/2022/9/16/534502cc-80fd-4548-986b-c3c4d594fdcc-wm202204jess08.jpg?w=808&h=614&fit=crop&crop=focalpoint&q=50&dpr=2&fp-x=0.288&fp-y=0.0298)
“The mighty socialites Lynn Wyatt [left] and Nan Kempner [center] are embracing with genuine affection. Nan liked this photo. Her departure from Park Avenue marked the end of an era. She was a wonderful muse.”
“Here is Yvonne Force Villareal, my dear friend of nearly 30 years and my most prodigious and willing muse. My title for her imaginary memoir was From Cinderella to Rockefeller, but she preferred From Rags to Riches and Other True Clichés, as Lived by Yvonne Force. I greatly admire her ferocious determination, her enormously kind heart, and her god-given ability to eat chocolate soufflé. She is seen here doing so brilliantly at La Grenouille.”
