Coworker Dennis and I went to Barnes & Noble last night to hear Candace Bushnell read from her new book One Fifth Avenue and to see how her facelift had settled (allegedly.)
I will admit that I was skeptical. I have a love-hate relationship with Ms. Bushnell and her oeuvre. On the one hand, I think a lot of her writing and certainly the show it spawned are quite entertaining, and am never opposed to being entertained. On the other ... well, Edith Wharton she's not, as the she herself would tell you.
But later for that admission, which I found quite charming, as I did Ms. B herself, and more surprisingly, the part of the book she read us. Let's talk about my major issue with Sex and the City and its ilk (Lipstick Jungle, Candace Bushnell's written work, and the 9 million blogger-imitators all of this has spawned.)
If the latest news on the economy tells us anything, it's that we never had as much money as we thought we did. I'm just an English major, but even I can tell you that the thing about money is that it's more of an idea than it is a reality. You can hold a quarter in your hand, but you can't really tell how much it's actually worth at that exact moment. It's all theoretical.
Candace Bushnell, while entertaining and fashionably coiffed and more than willing to admit, when asked by an audience member to compare her writings on New Yorkers with that of Wharton and James, that she's "not as good a writer as they were," has a bit to answer for in our current obsession with It Bags and $500 shoes and logo everything.
She writes, and has written, shoe porn, and while it's enjoyable in its way, woe betide us all if we start to mistake her fables with reportage. We wind up, if you'll allow me to extend the metaphor, like that sad former frat boy who can't understand why his girlfriend doesn't look exactly like Tila Tequila.
That said, she did have a very nice, very large leopard-print handbag last night. I know, because she flung it rather dramatically on the table behind her as she took the podium. I can't tell you what brand it was, though, because I've made a pledge not to learn the names of things that cost more than my monthly rent.
I will admit that I was skeptical. I have a love-hate relationship with Ms. Bushnell and her oeuvre. On the one hand, I think a lot of her writing and certainly the show it spawned are quite entertaining, and am never opposed to being entertained. On the other ... well, Edith Wharton she's not, as the she herself would tell you.
But later for that admission, which I found quite charming, as I did Ms. B herself, and more surprisingly, the part of the book she read us. Let's talk about my major issue with Sex and the City and its ilk (Lipstick Jungle, Candace Bushnell's written work, and the 9 million blogger-imitators all of this has spawned.)
If the latest news on the economy tells us anything, it's that we never had as much money as we thought we did. I'm just an English major, but even I can tell you that the thing about money is that it's more of an idea than it is a reality. You can hold a quarter in your hand, but you can't really tell how much it's actually worth at that exact moment. It's all theoretical.
Candace Bushnell, while entertaining and fashionably coiffed and more than willing to admit, when asked by an audience member to compare her writings on New Yorkers with that of Wharton and James, that she's "not as good a writer as they were," has a bit to answer for in our current obsession with It Bags and $500 shoes and logo everything.
She writes, and has written, shoe porn, and while it's enjoyable in its way, woe betide us all if we start to mistake her fables with reportage. We wind up, if you'll allow me to extend the metaphor, like that sad former frat boy who can't understand why his girlfriend doesn't look exactly like Tila Tequila.
That said, she did have a very nice, very large leopard-print handbag last night. I know, because she flung it rather dramatically on the table behind her as she took the podium. I can't tell you what brand it was, though, because I've made a pledge not to learn the names of things that cost more than my monthly rent.
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