Does Larry Gagosian Like His Hamptons Bookstore?

At BookHampton in East Hampton at 3 p.m. on a Sunday.
Photo: Mark Peterson/Redux for New York Magazine

I get a bigger discount now, right?” says Larry Gagosian, standing in the middle of BookHampton, a cozy, sun-washed bookstore bustling with well-groomed, Loro Piana–wearing customers — and, on this Sunday, more than a few unruly toddlers. The art dealer is tiptoeing around the shop in On Clouds, surveying it as most people might a gallery — walking slowly and methodically and occasionally stopping to opine on whatever’s in front of him. “It’s in pretty good condition, not too beat up,” he says, admiring the tall windows.

It’s Memorial Day weekend, and the 80-year-old art-world lion, and 35-year resident of nearby Amagansett, has come to pay a visit to the indie bookstore he’s just purchased. BookHampton, opened in 1971, is the kind of place where you might spot Bill Clinton and Emma Roberts shopping at the same time or attend a book talk with Hillary Clinton or Hilaria Baldwin. In 50 years, it’s passed through several owners — most recently Carolyn Brody, who bought it in 2016. This past fall, Brody decided to sell the store, causing much concern that it would become yet another Tiffany or Louis Vuitton on East Hampton’s Main Street. (Local bibliophiles were still riled up about a Barnes & Noble that had opened in Bridgehampton.) In May, Brody announced that the keys were now Gagosian’s. “I consider this a win for the Village of East Hampton and the East End,” she wrote in her newsletter. “In the face of strong market pressure, an independent bookstore will remain on Main Street.”

Gagosian, who seems somewhat surprised to find the store so busy today, tells me he heard about the listing through one of his employees, and after some negotiations — he doesn’t offer any specific details — he decided he wanted it. “It makes me feel good,” he says, recalling the time one of his favorite bookstores in Los Angeles got priced out of its lease and wound up as a Taco Bell. (Not that that would happen here, he notes.) As he tours the store, customers intermittently approach him to express their gratitude. “You’re doing such an amazing thing,” says a Chanel-clad grandmother picking up an illustrated children’s book. A chipper 20-something man comes over. “Mr. Gagosian! I’m a big fan,” he says. “What’s your favorite art book?” He says he doesn’t have one. Among his favorite books, he tells me later: The Guest, by Emma Cline. Apparently, she wrote it while staying in his guesthouse.

Two of Gagosian’s employees trail him the whole time, furiously taking notes on what he wants now that the store is his. Though he’s assured the locals that this will remain a “general interest” bookstore — “I didn’t want to come in and just change everything,” Gagosian tells me — he seems eager to make his mark. He definitely wants to add more art books, such as the one he’s currently reading, Irascible: The Combative Life of Douglas Cooper, Collector and Friend of Picasso, or the photographer Richard Prince’s latest catalogue, which Gagosian published. (BookHampton doesn’t carry either of them for now.) There are also plans to put up a magazine rack — “There’s nowhere to buy them. At the drugstore, all you can buy is Star,” he says. Here’s another idea: “More sports, maybe. Everyone out here is jogging or playing tennis.” One of the only current offerings Gagosian takes any interest in is his friend Barry Diller’s new memoir, which he picks up off the shelf. “They were together last night,” one of Gagosian’s staffers tells me helpfully.

Across the store, a tot lets out a screech. One of Gagosian’s employees shakes her head. “That’s what Larry doesn’t want,” she says. Gagosian pays the meltdown no mind. He does, however, seem rather bothered when he reaches the back of the store: the dreaded children’s section. It’s filled with picture books and board games, including one “Special Edition” Hamptons-themed Monopoly set (instead of Reading Railroad, there’s the Jitney). Gagosian’s aides remind him that customers, like that stylish grandmother, come here for this kind of stuff. “I know it’s not your sweet spot, but you do need kids’ books,” one tells him. “I don’t know if we need parents picketing the store,” he says. “‘Gagosian hates kids.’ Though that’s true.” Continuing to mull things over, he says, “We should keep the name, right?” After again consulting his staff — they firmly assure him that changing it is probably not a smart idea — they instead settle on updating the sign outside, where there is also a chalkboard that reads, A DAY WITHOUT BOOKS IS LIKE … JUST KIDDING, WE HAVE NO IDEA. “I’ll take some risks. I just want the store to look more serious,” Gagosian tells me before jetting off to his weekend plans. “There’s smart people out here.”