While I'm not ingratiating myself with many of my Upper East Side neighbors, I might as well point to this ad, which ran in Sunday's NYT Magazine. Its elitism is as transparently stupid as those Bridgemarket Food Emporium ads that used to run on the back page of Section A, ["I dare say, I must send my manservant Halstead to Bridgemarket to pick up some radicchio for my chic get-together with the Prince next week."] but it manages to fit it into far fewer words. Which is an accomplishment of sorts.
And furthermore, ignoring the fact that it's only 50' long, a private pool in the city should look like it's in the city: narrow and in a vaulted grotto, not like it's set into just another Modernist McManse patio in Greenwich. I guess I'm old-school that way.