Saint-Tropez has spent sixty years being misunderstood by people who arrive at midnight. The town's best hour is six o'clock, when the boats come in and nobody has changed yet.
There is a version of this place that involves velvet ropes and bottles carried above shoulder height. Ignore it. The Saint-Tropez worth having is Bardot-era, faintly sunburnt, and considerably quieter — a rosé on a terrace above the port while the light does the work.
The rule for the golden hour is simple: French, warm, and never insistent.