This article should come with its own health warning, such is the excessive level of luxury within. It is the tale of Monaco's Rose Ball, Monte-Carlo’s most anticipated weekend; the story of a prince and two princesses; a stiletto king, a property king, It girls and Michelin stars; culminating in a sunset ball met by Dom Perignon a whisker before sunrise. Tatler is back on the Riviera for Le Bal de la Rose (The Rose Ball, in support of the Princess Grace Foundation) – which marks the beginning of the social season in this exacting enclave.
Blame Christian Louboutin for the scale of hedonism: Princess Caroline has entrusted him with the curation of the event. ‘What is a great party? A lot of alcohol, let’s face it,’ he says over tea the afternoon before the ball in the pastel-hued Le Limùn bar at L’Hermitage hotel. On the round table next door there are frequent cackles of laughter: F1 eligible Charles Leclerc and his It girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux have arrived with the designer Simon Porte Jacquemus. Louboutin continues. ‘So you have to have the right people and make sure that everyone can get drinks easily; but what makes it come alive is the music. You can have a great party with s***y food, but you cannot have a great party with terrible music.’
The Duke of York's daughter posted the image alongside a number of other snaps as she marked Mother’s Day
And really, the music shouldn’t be a problem. The theme is sunset, as in Caribbean, so reggaeton, carnival performers and the Earth, Wind and Fire Experience are the order of play. (Although, let’s clarify for the record that the food is going to be equally as ravishing: Marcel Ravin, whose Blue Bay restaurant in Monte-Carlo has two Michelin Stars, has whipped up the menu.) Princess Caroline has given Louboutin carte blanche to turn the Monte-Carlo Sporting complex into an exotic setting, complete with sand. ‘This is the moment when the sun is going down and you’re having your first drink: it’s golden hour.’
The princess and the designer have spent months of dinners planning it all together at their homes in Paris and Monaco, or at Parisian restaurant Le Divellec on Rue Fabert – where the tables are separated enough for private conversations. ‘We have known each other for a long time,’ he says, reminiscing on their serendipitous first encounter in the ‘90s, when she tried on a rose and black velvet stiletto in his store. ‘It was very flamenco. She put them on and without saying anything she started dancing flamenco. She gets the references. We have a lot in common.’
Princess Beatrice recently penned a moving essay detailing the ‘overwhelming fear’ of welcoming her baby prematurely
With the theme set, the doyennes of Monaco have been lighting up Whatsapp for weeks, from their floating palaces in the sky, ahead of what one describes as the most beautiful, fun and glamorous party of the year. It is an opportunity to pull gobstopper jewels out of the safe and let loose on couture. Feathers? Embellishments? Emeralds? Nothing is enough. Indeed, my own journey to the principality began two weeks ago in the Giorgio Armani showroom on Bond Street facing a rail of exquisitely cut gowns. After agonised deliberation, I boarded the flight with a hanging bag containing a full length, backless, sheer glittering gown, a matching embellished black bag and crystal-studded stilettos.
Hopefully it suits Louboutin, who advises that the one key item for the Rose Ball is shoes you can dance in. ‘You have to have good shoes for dancing. You can expect people dancing before the end of dinner. The first to start will be one of the Princely family: it’s a tradition.’ It has to be asked. Prince Albert, good dancer? ‘Yes! And Princess Caroline is a professional dancer. But Charlene is also a great dancer.’
As tends to happen in Monte Carlo, we say ‘see you later’ – but it happens to be sooner seeing as we all (including Leclerc, Mleux and Jacquemus) end up on different tables at Pavyllon, Yannick Alleno’s Tiffany blue Michelin-starred restaurant facing out onto the Mediterranean. Instead of ordering a full tasting menu, we keep it casual – Monaco casual – and enjoy the melt of wagyu beef millefeuille and a fizz of champagne on our tongues before sneaking off to prepare.
The daughter of Prince and Princess Michael of Kent has taken on a new role as she marks a year since the death of her husband, Thomas Kingston
Thanks to one Louis Starck, the hotel’s ebullient manager, I have been placed in the Princely Suite – the upgrade to end them all. And it is the perfect getting-ready palace, with a gigantic bathroom featuring bathtub, steam shower and his and hers sinks (an obvious requirement for a single diva big on hair, makeup and glamour). Ming vases line the living area and three sets of French doors lead out onto a balcony met by a view onto the port, Prince’s Palace and sparkling azure sea. At golden hour – after my hair stylist, Islem, has scraped the last piece of my hair into a voluminous updo – it provides a fitting backdrop for a pre-ball photoshoot.
By the time I make it for champagne over in the neighbouring Hotel de Paris – the place to be seen – the lobby is packed and glittering. A full-lipped, taut-faced glamazon sweeps past in metres of gauzy train with chinchilla shrug hanging from her shoulders. Perrier-Jouët is served from jeroboams by the American Bar. Santé! C’est parti.
Out front is furore as tourists and Monegasques alike bustle to see who emerges from the hotel and into one of the many private cars lined up to take us to the venue on the other side of the bay. Once there, Beatrice Borromeo sweeps onto the hot pink carpet in a gust of ruby Dior arm-in-arm with Erdem-draped Tatiana Santo Domingo and Charlotte Casiraghi, who is wearing corseted, black, crystal-embellished Chanel. The clique is completed by Alexandre de Hanovre, who exudes confidence cosseted in a trained froth of rose Giambattista Valli.
It isn’t until after the room of 800 is seated on bamboo chairs and ensconced with sunrise cocktails and more Perrier-Jouët that stars of the Princely family arrive. Prince Albert II, Princess Charlene, Princess Caroline and Christian Louboutin float in together and 1,600 hands applaud as they make their way to the table at the centre of the hall.
Marcel Ravin’s dishes shine atop tables dressed with a combined 750 metres of tropical tablecloths. There is breadfruit gnocchi with lobster and cajun peas; poached mahi mahi with coconut water; and marinated, smoked and grilled beef with sweet potato cassava. All this as Ethnick’97 carnival band, complete with feather- and jewel-adorned dancers, pounds the stage.
As promised, the Princely family begins dancing the minute the main course is cleared. Led, literally, by Prince Albert, who takes to the stage first to bop to the reggaeton, the crowd floods the dance floor. The discrete, billionaire property king of Monaco, Patrice Pastor – wearing Converse-style trainers among the glamour, no less – is suddenly not so shy: his signature long hair waving as he jives. He is, after all, accompanied by a knockout beauty. In the melée are many of the bankers and socialites and CEOs who live in the palatial towers he has constructed: billionaire body to billionaire body, they writhe.
Alexandra of Hanover throws caution to the wind, waving her arms around with Charlotte Casiraghi; and Christian Louboutin is so surrounded by admirers I fear he might not get to dance like he hoped. Albert politely says ‘excuse me please’ as he weaves his way back through the crowd – security is close by but at ease. Only in Monaco is royal proximity this easy.
The climax of the evening is the Earth, Wind and Fire Experience who finish to a confetti explosion. As the stage becomes a beach bar and the party spreads out to DJ Carla Genus, everyone’s talking about Jimmy’z, the Monegasque nightclub beneath our feet – and as Le Bal dies down that’s where we all go. Courtiers and royal insiders are the central ring, where bottle-upon-bottle of Dom Perignon is being popped and the vibe gets wilder. Troubles seem to evaporate here on the Riviera: this feels like a beginning. The start of the season that will next unfold with the Monte-Carlo Masters tennis, the Grand Prix and the Red Cross Gala. Months and months of high rolling and hedonism.
At 4am, the party is still packed; chauffeurs wait outside; and staffers hand out water to the fatigued. But oh, the glamour. The Rose Ball is the talk of the town the next afternoon over coffees at the American Bar and in the hot tub at the Thermes Marins – the spa atop L’Hermitage, where a massage sent this Features Director to sleep. All in a weekend of hard, hard graft.
