We live in a world where the only acceptable form of elitism seems to be wrapped in social justice slogans and avocado toast. Yet, let's take a refreshing detour that even your college history professor might have glossed over – Camp Topridge. Here, Sally Slater, the queen of New York City society from the 1920s, set up a summer retreat like no other. Built along the shores of the breathtaking Lake Placid in the Adirondack Mountains, it opened its doors in a time when men were gentlemen and women knew how to host an elegant soiree. It's the kind of place where you wear a dinner jacket because you can, not because society demands you 'break down gender norms' on the dress code.
Founded in the 1920s, but reaching its zenith during the 1930s, Topridge was more than a mere escape from Manhattan's swirling chaos. Funded by the robust wealth of Marjorie Merriweather Post, heiress to the Post cereal fortune and America’s original #GirlBoss, this sprawling estate wasn't just a luxurious dwelling. It was a symbol of achievement through persistence, hard work, and dare I say, capitalism. 68 structures spread over 207 acres, with log cabins that could rival the Mar-a-Lago, constructed with the rustic charm of native forest logs. Take that, your average weekend glamping experience!
Now let’s talk architecture, but only briefly because nobody wants to get bogged down in the boring parts. Picture vast verandas, stone fireplaces, and a boathouse designed to make any modern architectural magazine dribble with envy. It was the work of Ben Muncil, one of the great Adirondack style champions, who threw in a hunting lodge aesthetic only those seeking harmony with nature would appreciate. But unlike the modern-day yoga retreat, this was an unapologetic celebration of luxury, not a forced ‘be one with nature’ politics.
Why did Topridge rise beyond a typical enclave for the elite? Simply put, it was a hub for influential folks to network like humans, not like profile-pics-with-quotes that populate today’s LinkedIn. Post, who knew the value of hard-earned family fortune, hosted lavish parties that saw the likes of Amerigo Vespucci as a guest. Alright, maybe not Vespucci, but an endless procession of American bigwigs that quite literally carved out history as we know it. A surprising number of these guests left Topridge not just with a hangover, but also with deals, confidences, and partnerships that today would make a businessman cringe at the thought of being misspelled in the tweeted backlash.
By the 1950s, the spotlight shifted and the camp was transferred to the State of New York. There in the clutches of public ownership, it’s existence became a quaint reminder of a bygone era where perhaps certain people were allowed to enjoy the fruits of success without the obligatory remorse that accompanies today’s wealth. The State used parts of it for recreational space, and for more urbane purposes once MTV rid New York of anything resembling sophistication. Perhaps it was inevitable that the value of a place like Topridge, which stood as an emblem of personal merit and affluence, would fade into the bureaucratic red tape. After all, history only amuses the taste of today’s social justice warriors something awful.
The irony here is almost Shakespearean. Camp Topridge no longer fits the mainstream depiction of 'inclusive'. But here’s the kicker – it reminds us that there was a time when success was celebrated without guilt. Today, as every product or service tries to lead with being 'the most inclusive', Camp Topridge is left as a relic. Sure, it symbolizes a compartmentalized privilege – but let’s not cherry-pick which parts of history we’re comfortable with celebrating. This was one of many places where the American Dream sprawled, ironically making those who wish to lambast the rich a home run player on the team they didn’t know they were supporting.
There’s a story here that refuses to bend to the whim of modern narratives. The aesthetic beauty of Topridge frames a sentiment that doesn't just say, "Look at what we built," but rather, "Look at what is possible when ambition is free from scrutiny." Camp Topridge isn't just a memory – it’s a debate stirring moment that still echoes in the forests of Adirondack. If you're one of the few who finds the glory of Marjorie's kingdom more than a guilty indulgence, then you’ll understand why it’s not just an old camp. It's a bold stand for a past when meritocracy was something to be proud of.