An Observation at Intermission

Charleston at Table: Part V

Me pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute vises, cum ridere voles, Epicuri de grege porcum

- Horace

Someone pointed out to me — or perhaps I read it — or maybe I even heard it myself — that music radio stations have been describing themselves to this day as playing tunes from “the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today.” Ostensibly, this today begins with the inauguration of President George W. Bush and proceeds until the moment of this writing in 2026.

Twenty-six years of Today.

Most can distinguish a song from the 70s with only a short listen; likewise with the 80s and 90s — one need not have lived them to know. Each era had a style and the lyrics of most songs tended to harp upon the same moments, the same anxieties, the same fashions of those periods. The distinctions will always be obvious between them. And yet, none of this appears to be so for the twenty-six years of Today.

To join a long line of hack writers and chattering class inanities before me: Fukuyama’s The End of History and the Last Man is all too prescient (or is it more fashionable to say he was wrong? I wouldn’t know — I haven’t read it).

This long today, this malaise, may be omnipresent in the larger, more national cultural discussions about music and literature et cetera et cetera, but here we do not lack for eras. We do not lack for eras because Charleston’s historical, cultural arc can be followed with the lamp of memory: architecture.

We need not dwell on the centuries preceding to prove its point. It does not need to note the Pink House and its nod to Bermuda and the pirate age; nor do we need to mention the Charleston Hotel once at 200 Meeting Street or Institute Hall just further down that both once embodied the antebellum; we need not mention neither the Riviera nor the Sottile as theaters that rose to prominence as film became the medium; it need not mention the Ashley River Bridge as a conduit of expansion for not only the automobile but the city of Charleston itself, the bridge that made annexation of the outlying counties more practical; and we need not note Dock Street Theater contains so many multitudes of the antebellum and New Deal eras. We are only speaking about the last thirty-five years or so — Après Hugo, if you will allow it.

Après Hugo has been described better by others, more specifically Jack Trotter in a 2014 essay collected in The Last Train To Dixie. Titled “‘In All the Ancient Circles:’ Tourism and the Decline of Charleston’s Elite Families,” Trotter traced the displacement of locals from their peninsula homes to the outer boroughs after Hugo’s destruction. This era is defined by others moving in when the homes became too unaffordable for older families South of Broad. Also in this time, there was the erection of Waterfront Park. What was once where the indigo shipped from Crokkat’s pier, where the fish stalls were, where once was overgrown, is now a place from which local and tourist alike can sit on a bench to gaze as the ships roll into the harbor or observe the dolphins on the hunt. Charleston Place, though built a few years before Hugo, is emblematic of this era. It brought in the luxury stores that now stretch King Street. Maybe even the James Island Connector best defines the era of Après Hugo, bringing the island to the peninsula. But of all these, it is the Ravenel Bridge, finished in July of 2005, that best embodies Après Hugo. Its massive size, its spider’s web design — it shows a city ready for expansion.

Après Hugo lasted from the moment the first winds blew on September 21, 1989 to 2012 when Travel + Leisurefirst named Charleston as its best destination for travel — and I suppose leisure. Thus began Le Déluge. Le Déluge is defined by the era of luxury tourism, of Experience as Commodity — think of the smarmy Anthony Bourdain coming to town here and describing the city and its food scene. This era is defined by the expansion of the food and beverage scene — Husk comes to mind most prominently. At that time, the service industry was expanding. All those grads coming out during the Great Recession couldn’t find jobs matching their studies, so bussing tables had to do. Le Déluge is every resident’s nuisance: the filled parking spots, the beach teeming with tourists, the restaurant booked for weeks in advance. It is seen in the Michelin restaurants now dotting the peninsula, their lines stretched around the block. I do not seek to place blame on Travel + Leisure: they are just a useful node for this polemic.

But travel defines the cultural zeitgeist of the early 2010s. Anyone in their 30s and 40s knows of someone who went on a trip here, or perhaps they took their own trip and never left. The Millennial moved to Destinations. The Millennial moved where he could write about it or tell his friends about how unique the place he moved to was. I, a former resident of Richmond, Virginia, am all too familiar with the Brooklyn-lite.

What building defines this age, Le Déluge? Where will we look one-hundred years from now and point and say, “there is the embodiment, there you can see — there is Le Déluge!” There are a few. The Hotel Bennett is a good place to start. Built in January of 2019, it is a luxury hotel accommodating a patisserie, restaurants, and a rooftop bar — a glamor according to Millennial tastes. It is a tasteful, well-decorated establishment. Overlooking Marion Square, it is appropriately placed to guide a traveler between the old and new. The valets are always square, and the drinks poured just right.

But the apogee of Le Déluge, where it achieves its apotheosis, is the newest luxury establishment: The Cooper. Opening only a month or so ago, it has achieved a level of notoriety. Laying on the Cooper River, on Concord Street, it has every quality of being the structure that defines the era.

First and foremost, it is exclusive. Too many complain of the “resortification” of the city — perhaps one should consider just because you are not invited does not mean it is a bad thing. The Cooper partitions the tourists by class and furthermore wrinkles the brow of the local who wants to enjoy a new watering hole but cannot because he can’t seem to find the entrance — a clever maneuver by the designers to keep those from the street on the street. Part of its exclusivity is the hefty price tag. But it is expensive because Charleston is desirable — the best-looking always have a list of suitors. What no one wants to sense, let alone hear, is “you are not invited.” The Cooper has the nerve to say it aloud. Our egalitarian ethos cannot tolerate this, sadly. It can also boast of hosting a fine-dining establishment. Having spent only an evening at the bar, I with my limited palette can attest to its refinement. And, finally, The Cooper has a unique style. Inside, it is as if you have boarded a yacht. The brass, the teak: it is as if you are on the latest private ship launched from Rotterdam. The aesthetic is not seen anywhere else in the city. Thus, instead of repeating a fashion from another era, The Cooper seeks to carve out its own.

You may not be invited to The Cooper, but you are invited to Ben Navarro’s other grand achievement of this era: American Gardens. Opening during the 2025 Christmas season, it is a humble venue for those weary from window shopping on King. Its effect has already been manifold: anyone who went during the height of Christmas can attest to this — its Venetian carousel was a wonder. Those who like to solve their problems of life with a walk can rest here under the shade, with the burble of the fountains guiding their thoughts. It affords the resident and tourist alike what is so exclusive: a wondrous garden, a pair of fountains, a place to rest and ponder what to do. It is of those gardens so tempting to spill into as one walks through the old portions of the city. It is, in my humble estimation, the greatest public asset on the peninsula today.

But Mr. Navarro is not done, and nor is History — perhaps Fukuyama was wrong! With his acquisition of Union Pier, we will likely see the greatest expansion of residential property in the city’s recent history. All bodes well with his two accomplishments in The Cooper and American Gardens.

Après Hugo and Le Déluge. It is fun to twist Louis XV’s foreboding into something positive. It is too obvious and easy to lament the carriage going by your home as you are drinking your eye-popper — privacy, please! But those on that carriage crave what all Men crave: Beauty. Charleston is illegal to build anywhere else right now. Again, it is illegal to build something great and lasting. The zoning laws in every jurisdiction forbid it. The suggestion that those who come here from elsewhere somehow want to shift the sensibilities to resemble their former residencies are overthinking: it wouldn’t make sense to uproot and move because you loathe a place and want to change it. Life is too short for such grand conspiracies. We underestimate the strength of what is so alluring. The city was built with bastions, and those bastions remain.

With The Cooper and American Gardens, we seem to have reached a peak of Le Déluge. What comes next is currently being charted — I think of the presentations of Project 3500 at the Dock Street Theater the other month, where 3500 affordable homes are being planned for here on the peninsula. Could this project inaugurate a new era? One can dream.

But when else were so many accolades bestowed, forgetting for the moment the intricate decision-making process likely involving a friend of a friend deciding who receives approbation? When else was the city so desired, so envied for its beauty? When else did everyone want to be here? The pews at Saint John the Baptist are filled fifteen minutes before any Sunday Mass, standing room only. Saint Philip’s has been restored to its former glory and is building its own classical school. We complain of lines at the bar but think of the line we shall encounter at the Gate.

For all its faults, Le Déluge is a Golden Age. It is a flood of pleasure, up to your neck in the finest food and booze. Savor it. Have another. Have too much. You are in it: today is The Golden Age.