She is a year out from leaving Gagosian, where she had spent the previous decade and a half working her way up from assistant to director. The buildings glimmer, illuminated by the gold autumn light as the sun starts to set. It is October in New York, and the weather is just cool enough to throw on a jacket. When Hoover and I meet, she is embarking on a new adventure. “She really encouraged me to write, which is, I feel, a big part of our relationship,” Ratajkowski says. “I looked her up on Instagram, and I saw her captions and was like, ‘Oh my God, this person is amazing,’ and I want to be her friend. … I essentially hit on her.” Hoover and Ratajkowski often send each other pages of their writing for feedback. This is precisely what appealed to Emily Ratajkowski, who counts Hoover as one of her best friends. From my experience, that discomfort can often make things very fun for the one who is causing it. People often have trouble reconciling complexity served hand in hand with a performance of classic femininity. In a post from the Rosewood Baha Mar in the Bahamas, in which Hoover is wearing a floral-printed chiffon Valentino dress, the caption reads, “In the seminal feminist text The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan talks about ‘frilly blouse syndrome’ which is when women wear overtly feminine clothing in order to subvert patriarchal suspicion as an act of innocuous protest.” She continues, “I am no doctor but I think my diagnosis is positive!!!” Official event photos from evenings out broadcast her bold fashion choices (often monochromatic, frequently hot pink, always something glittering) and are paired with wry, self-aware captions, often with a political slant. She tells me, half jokingly, that her greatest skill is “finding friends who play nice with others.”Ī glance at Hoover’s Instagram reveals a dichotomy at play. She is on the board of the arts nonprofits Art Production Fund and Recess Art, and she cofounded the Accelerator Committee at American Ballet Theatre, which advocates for more choreographic initiatives led by women. She is a writer whose vulnerable confessions about motherhood have resonated with new and prospective moms.

She is an art-world connector, having worked at New York’s Gagosian gallery for more than a decade.

Hoover, 37, is a particular kind of New York enigma, one of those magnetic people with a string of titles who always seem to be wherever culture is converging, all while enjoying every minute of it. On evenings out at art openings, society galas, or fashion dinners, she will pair her miniskirts with heels that make her a solid six feet tall. This glamorous detail feels like a natural extension of her overall sensibility. “I do it to my nightgowns too,” she tells me. Thirty-two inches below the collarbone: That is the length that Sarah Hoover gets all her clothes hemmed.

Synopsis of happy hour marlowe granados