I'll Try Anything Once: Being a Gold-Digger For a Night

I don’t like to half-ass anything. If I’m going to gold dig, I’m going to strike the best gold ever.
Publish date:
April 16, 2013
princes, gold-diggers, Royalty

I don’t like to half-ass anything. If I’m going to gold dig, I’m going to strike the best gold ever.

Some girls fool around with the finance bros of downtown Manhattan. Not me. I’m going all the way. Royalty, baby. Go hard or go home.

This may come as a shock to you, but a career in writing is not particularly lucrative. A girl’s got to eat, right? So when I was presented with an opportunity to meet a prince (by Mandy, of course, who I am pretty sure has made it her mission to find me a boyfriend) at the ASPCA Berg Ball, I was like “YES.”

Prince Lorenzo Borghese was confirmed for attendance. My first thought was “Who?” My second thought was “Do I even care that I don’t know who he is?” Then my thoughts just began reruns of scenes from that one episode of “30 Rock” when Jenna tries to date a prince and he’s all genetically diseased from generations upon generations of inbreeding and so I thought it may be best to just Google him.

And you should, too, because d-d-damn! Even the fact that he was the bachelor in the ninth season of “The Bachelor” couldn’t stop my lady boner.

I was only confirmed for the cocktails portion of the event, but I was going to make it my mission to make the dinner and dancing portion of the event, as well. Gold digging with the rich and famous, bitch.

That’s also when I realized I had NOTHING to wear because my regular joints aren’t exactly black tie. If I was going to sneak into this event and make Prince Lorenzo Borghese totally fall in love at first sight with me, I needed a fancy dress. I started manically texting my best friend who happens to do PR that I needed a dress in less than 12 hours. Freaking out, man.

She told me that I’m not famous enough (Excuse me, but don’t you know who I AM?). She then told my ass to chill and she’d have some options pulled for me that following morning.

I showed up at her PR offices in Midtown at 10 AM for my fitting (from Williamsburg looking busted as hell. She immediately took me to the closet and we picked out some options. As soon as she pulled the dress, I knew it was the one.

I got to try on the dress in the show room like a fancy model. Jealous?

With my fancy dress secured, I was sure I was done and could relax for the rest of the day.

“Aren’t you going to need jewelry and get your hair and nails done?” asked another close friend (I’m popular) as she looked me up and down.

Oh.My.God. This is going to take up my whole day, isn’t it? I’m actually not much of jewelry person. I mean, I like getting jewelry and looking at it, but I never remember to actually wear it. The only piece I regularly wear is this beautiful antique handcrafted white gold diamond ring. The diamond is small (maybe a carat) and is imperfect. I’ve worn it every day for the past 3 years.

Anyway, after getting my nails did I hurriedly contacted a girlfriend of mine who owns Haute Vault with her sister. Haute Vault is like Rent The Runway except it’s beautiful and expensive jewelry you can rent for fractions of the retail price. Glamour on a budget. They did not have a showroom, but she said she had some pieces on hand if I wanted to run up to her apartment to take a look. Perfect!

We picked a gorgeous statement necklace by an Italian jewelry designer Rebecca. I was in the mood for Italian that day. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

It was also already 5 pm and I had to be at The Plaza Hotel by 7 pm. That’s when I realized that being a socialite is really stressful and hard, you guys. I was already exhausted and I hadn’t even started getting ready yet.

I came home and stress-ate half an avocado, then I threw on the dress, brushed my hair back and up grabbed a clutch and was out the door. I did my make up in the car.

I sashayed in like I owned the place. I immediately began hunting for my target. Unfortunately he had not arrived yet. Instead, there were Georgina Bloomberg, Isaac Mizrahi and Carolina Herrera. Fine. I guess they’ll do.

I decided that if anyone would know how to seduce royalty, it would be Georgina Bloomberg, who is practically New York royalty herself since her father is practically the king of New York City. She’s absolutely lovely by the way: completely down to earth and approachable.

However, she said the only advice she could give me was to be myself. Um, I’ve been myself for 28 years and I’m still single so clearly being myself is not working. She did add that I should never trust a man who doesn’t like dogs. I think there’s something to that theory.

I began scanning the room again and saw a gorgeous tall blonde with big blue eyes that were shaped like beautiful saucers. I immediately recognized her as Camilla Hansen. Models must have some thoughts on wooing royalty, right? You would think.

“I’m dating a chef so I don’t know.”

She then went on to tell me that I should just be myself. Why wouldn't anyone help me?

I grabbed Isaac while he was doing interviews about his participation in ASPCA and immediately started asking him the questions that matter: “What advice would you give to a young gal trying to woo an animal-loving prince and do you think this dress is a “prince-wooing” dress?”

The wonderful and amazing and incredible Isaac totally approved of my outfit and also gave me some choice advice. “I was saying this earlier, that adopting a dog is a great way to meet men. It’s a horrible thing to say. I met my husband walking my dog, you know? That really is the truth. You’re in the right place.”

As I began to look around, the room became more crowded and I was really starting to feel the heat. The heat of PASSION, because I suddenly made eye contact with the man I came to woo: Prince Lorenzo Borghese had finally arrived and he was in a suit and he is actually quite tall and even better-looking in person. He was literally a few feet away from me chatting with some other reality TV person or whatever.

At first I was scared. Do I just go over? Or should I wait and maybe he’ll come over to me? But then it occurred to me that he is a fancy pants prince and I’m pretty much nobody and why the hell would he come up to me? This is not a Disney romantic comedy. I’m trying to gold dig, for fuck’s sakes. So I put on my big girl pants and I walked right over to him.

“Hi. I’m Olga and I’m here for xoJane.”

“Olga? Are you Russian? I dated and Olga before. It didn’t end well.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because it ended.”

“Was she crazy? Sometimes Olgas can be crazy.”

“No. Sometimes you guys can be a little colder … at times.”

“I’m not cold at all. I can tell you that right now.”

“Well some are. Some are.”

I grew tired of the small talk and went in for the kill by straight-up asking him what a girl has to do to seduce a royal these days.

He was not impressed. He said the only advice he had was to be yourself (boring) and he also looked a little annoyed and cut the conversation short. His disinterest was palpable. I did get a picture with him, though.

Isn’t he beautiful? Don’t we make the best looking couple that’ll never be? Le sigh. My gold digging career was over before it could even begin.

As the guests were ushered in for the dinner and dancing portion of the event, I wanted to find him and apologize and thank him for being a good sport and not completely telling me to drop dead, but I wasn’t fancy enough to be on the list for the main event no matter how many times I tried to tell them that I adopted my family dog from the ASPCA when I was 12 and paid the $70 which was like a lot of money to me back then so technically I am in fact a patron of the ASPCA.

Oh, well. At least Carolina Herrera said I looked beautiful.