Make It RAIN

A wave of wealthy New York–to–Florida transplants must prove to the taxman that their hearts  and minds—and their charitable dollars—have truly flown the co-op.

- DANIELLE STEIN CHIZZIK

On a recent afternoon a prominent society doyenne who splits her time between New York and Palm Beach took a look at the scene down in her winter getaway and noticed a perceptible shift in the casting.

“It used to be the typical older crowd. You know, Wilbur and Hilary Ross eating dinner in 45 minutes flat at the Mark before speeding to Teterboro to take off before the clock struck 12,” she said. Then Covid came. “People who already had Florida homes realized they were naturally spending enough time outside of New York to file as Florida residents. Plus, all these young people who came so their kids could be outdoors got them into the Benjamin School. And suddenly Sant Ambroeus at the Royal Poinciana Plaza isn’t all ladies who lunch—it’s hedge fund guys in Loro Piana quarter zips who can now work from anywhere and chose here.”

Traffic jams on private runways at 11:55 p.m. Apps that track how many days are spent where. Receipts that prove beyond a shadow of a doubt the precise time one entered the Lincoln Tunnel on the way back to Manhattan. These are the new circadian rhythms of New Yorkers turned Floridians—on tax returns, if not in spirit—and evidence of their presence is not just anecdotal. As Steve Rattner recently pointed out with one of his handy charts on MSNBC’s Morning Joe, New York has been steadily losing its share of millionaires to Florida since 2010, and if early census data, real estate prices, and even the dullest powers of observation are any indication, the trend has skyrocketed since the pandemic. That was all well and good until New York nonprofits clocked a more distressing development: With wealthy residents go their dollars, and when Museum of Modern Art stalwarts start writing checks to the Norton Museum of Art instead, more than eyebrows are raised.