The Art Daddy's Weekly Daddy Wrap Up For 6/27/25

Your semi-toxic, fully-informed guide to who’s thriving, spiraling, or quietly rebranding in the art world this week. All the art daddy news that's fit to print.

Darlings, we’ve hit peak High Hamptons Season, and spiritually I’m floating face-down in a Negroni Sbagliato made by someone who once tried to pitch me an NFT at Felix. Basel is behind us—just dried-out Champagne flutes and the faint echo of a VIP lounge sob. The booths are packed, the parties are over, but the chaos? Oh she’s still here—sweaty, filtered, and filtered again.

Erica Pelosini is rumored to be on the Gagosian compound. Yes, that compound. Somewhere behind hydrangeas and hedge funders, she’s likely floating barefoot in a Miu Miu bikini, misting herself in her own press release and projecting filtered selfies onto a mahogany wall. Erica is no longer a person—she’s a Chanel-sponsored hologram with surgically uploaded lips and a brand deck instead of a soul. She speaks not in words, but in hashtagged affiliate links and phrases like “I'm curating my aura.” Larry is in danger. He’s wandering the property in Allbirds, wondering how he ended up in a spiritual entanglement with an algorithm in sunglasses. Larry, if you’re reading this, blink twice. The Gagosian interns know what to do.

Meanwhile, Kenny Schachter had a full-tilt, heatwave-induced tech bro collapse. First came the raccoon thong thirst trap (which should be classified as performance art terrorism), then a screaming match with The Baer Faxt where he threatened to puke if anyone mentions the art market collapsing again. Kenny, please. We’ve been emotionally vomiting over your columns since the Obama era. The only market in decline is your dignity.

So are we, Kenny.