Does anyone wear a stack of bracelets with the panache or presence of Brooke Garber Neidich? Unlikely. The stylish New Yorker does have a professional advantage: her father, Sidney Garber, started a fine-jewelry business in Chicago in 1946, and Neidich has not only honored his legacy as its creative director but made the house something of an international sensation. When she isn’t dreaming up fantasies of diamonds, pearls, and bands of gold, she serves as a trustee of the Whitney Museum of American Art and of Lincoln Center Theater, and as a board member of the Child Mind Institute, which she co-founded. She gives all her profits to these and other causes close to her heart. Here, she shares her key components to the good life. —Ashley Baker
Airline: The one with no turbulence and no chatty seatmates. I’m still looking for it.
Airport: Rémy de Haenen Airport, in St. Barth’s.
Alibi: “Wait, what time is it?”
App: Merlin Bird ID, by Cornell Lab. It’s like Shazam for birds.
Bag: The Row makes a wonderful flat envelope with a zipper, and I always travel with two of them. I put my Kindle, iPad, AirPods, sleep mask, hand cream, lip balm, toothbrush, and toothpaste in them, and I don’t have to search through my carry-on when I want something. And when I get to where I’m going, they’re the perfect size for a clutch.
Bedtime: Way too late.
Bike: No, thank you. I’ll walk.
Birthday: Mine, on Christmas Eve, with friends at a long lunch and our feet in the sand.
Boyfriend/girlfriend: There’s nothing like a real girlfriend.
Breakfast, weekday: A few skim lattes from the Miele and White Moustache plain yogurt with Kind granola and fresh fruit.
Breakfast, weekend: At Bar Pisellino with Danner and a grandchild or two. Skim latte and either an almond cake or a little sandwich with curried egg salad—and, ideally, no spills.
Car: Anything as long as I’m not driving or giving directions.
Child: A grandson—any one of them. That’s why you don’t kill your children.
Cocktail: Tito’s vodka, shaken cold with a twist.
Cocktail appetizer: Castelvetrano olives or Planters lightly salted peanuts from the can. (But I serve them in a dish.)
Couple: George and Gracie.
Date: Dinner on a tray and two or three episodes.
Dinner, weekday: A club sandwich at the Nines.
Dinner, weekend: Caesar salad, sautéed mushrooms and peppers, and cannoli at Emilio’s Ballato.
Disguise: François Pinton giant dark glasses.
Dress: An Alaïa shirtwaist dress: calf length, button front, with long sleeves you can roll up. It hides every flaw. When I told the sales director that the dresses were too short, he apparently talked to Azzedine about making longer ones. I have one in every iteration.
Drive: The P.C.H. from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
Enemy: All is forgiven.
Escape:
The Whitney Museum.
Excuse: “Start without me. I’m five minutes away.”
Family: My kids, their kids, their friends, their friends’ kids.
First Lady/First Man: Hillary and Bill.
Fit: Tailored by Christy Rilling.
Flaw: I always believe I can fit one more thing in the day, in a suitcase. It’s a problem.
Foil: Tin.
Friend: My girl group, every one of them.
Good-bye: I drag it out as long as possible.
Hideaway: A cabana at the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc.
Hotel: Le Yaca, in St. Tropez.
Indulgence: Peach cream pie from Briermere Farms.
Insult: Dead silence and total avoidance.
Jacket: A black Chanel bouclé jacket from 1996.
Kiss-off: “It’s not my thing.”
Last Meal: Spaghetti alla Nerano from Lo Scoglio, on the Amalfi coast.
Lunch, weekday: If I’m uptown, shrimp on butter lettuce at the Mark. Downtown, it’s asparagus with hard-boiled egg at Sant Ambroeus.
Lunch, weekend: Salt-crusted shrimp, onion rings, and, if I’m living dangerously, a hot-fudge sundae at Mary’s Fish Camp.
Match: I prefer unmatched: my tri-color Rolling bracelets, four on one arm.
Movie: The Thin Man, any of them.
Name: Daniel.
Neighbor: My new neighbor, Andy Cohen, but for the next four years, it’s his construction workers.
Nonfiction book: Nothing Is Lost: Selected Essays, by Ingrid Sischy.
Novel: Middlemarch, by George Eliot.
PANTS: For traveling, High Sport stretch-cotton pants are incredible. They have a wide elastic waistband that doesn’t cut into you. And they hold their shape without bagging at the knees.
Pet: Did that. Coco, the chocolate lab. Is in heaven now.
Piece of advice: “I like to give it; I’m happy to take it.”
Podcast: I don’t indulge; I’m a reader. Heather Cox Richardson every day.
President: W.J.C.
Restaurant: The Nines.
Ride: Blade from New York to East Hampton.
Saying: “It’s nice to be important, but it is important to be nice.”
Shoes: Gucci loafers.
Singers: Carly, Joni, Janet, Stevie, Bebel.
Spouse: Daniel. Third time’s a charm!
STORM: The one in the distance.
Street: Rue de la Citadelle, St. Tropez.
Television series: Borgen.
Theme song to your life: “Diamonds and Pearls,” by Prince and New Power Generation.
Time of day: Sunset.
Toast: “Viva sweet love.”
Vacation: St. Barth’s, for as long as humanly possible.
Victim: I don’t play it.
View: The sea.
Wake-up time: Sunrise.
Weekend bag: L. L. Bean Boat and Tote.
Work of art: A Ruth Asawa hanging wire sculpture.
WRITING IMPLEMENTS: Blackwing pencil and Uniball Vision pen.
Brooke’s Essentials
