1. [redacted fashion editor: ] nylon was totally iconic in 2001-2004
    2. kj: that's when i was there!
    3. [redacted: ] it was like sassy
    4. kj: i wrote a book about sassy!
  1. yesterday i was wearing a mostly-grad-school-outfit when i saw anna.

    i emailed a friend and former colleague and said “i refused to look at or get in the elevator with her. i really hope she didn’t notice me.”

    the friend replied “oh, anna. i sort of feel like she remembers everyone, forever?” 

    yes. oh well. today i wore the marni dress i bought for myself on my 30th birthday and the miu miu heels i wore at my book party, plus assorted other actual fashion.

    i also told someone that i lost a bunch of my marni to my last breakup. “collateral damage” she said and i agreed. i like the idea of it carelessly mixed in with the rest of the ex-girlfriend detritus. it makes me think too much to wear this stuff, anyway, and not in a marxist feminist book club way. 


  2. also i was just telling a friend about quitting smoking as related to nora ephron and feminist privacy concerns

    "her son, who also went to college with me, used to hang out at the bar that mike and i basically used as our living room. he was there every night. i was convinced he was going to see me smoking and narc on me to wwd, where he was a media reporter. and that anna would fire me. because i was the beauty and health director. so i quit."  

  3. this is a fuzzy picture of our refrigerator collage in 2001. the picture on the far lower left is my favorite, but i don’t think i have the original. i think i might need to start using rgr's #ultrapersonal. 

  4. cuntext:


    Deborah Marquit neon lace bras

    via: Net a Porter

    so apparently the key to getting me like neon lingerie is making it cost like $200 per piece. ftsssss.

    deborah marquit neon lace lingerie was pretty much the main thing the nylon staff cared about around 2000-2002. deborah came to our office and gave us fittings and i got her to make me a custom bikini in black french nylon—black french cotton?—for a trip to tulum i was going on with my then-boyfriend. this must have been at the encouragement of my beautiful russian art director; i could not possibly have been sophisticated enough to know that i could request custom french material bikinis in 2001. i wish i had more pictures of that trip; he destroyed all almost-ten years of photos when we broke up, which i thought was devastating and understandable. there’s an aqua bra around here somewhere that i never wear, though. 

  5. i inadvertently gave aliza the early new york life tour, soho and west village edition, as we walked around for all those hours yesterday. i guess i was so chatty because i’m rarely in those neighborhoods anymore or out in the world in general. i lived in this building in 2000 and part of 2001, when i worked at nylon, and i remember we called it ‘the teacup’ is was so small that the bed was lofted, but i can’t even remember which apartment was mine. it was across the street from the cubbyhole, a kind of fun lesbian bar that is still open. around the corner is a restaurant where i once broke up with someone and aliza was like “THAT place?” and i assured her i didn’t pick it and she assured me she knew i didn’t pick it. also i don’t have a single blister and my pedicure looks brand-new, despite the heels and the number of hours, and i don’t even know how i do it, it’s like magic.  

    Tagged #oldlife
  6. categoryerror:

    “Who are you?”

    jemima kirke was so great in tiny furniture. in the spirit of “i once dated stephen king’s son for a month,” but significantly more boring, is the fact that when i worked at teen vogue i used to interview lena dunham constantly. especially the first year. this is Bad Journalism, to interview the same person over and over again, but i didn’t figure out how to make the pool more diverse until later, after the initial hazing, which included showing layout after layout to anna with, like, all different kinds of hair accessories for spring, and she’d look at it, her arms already crossed, and say “i don’t know what i’m looking at,” and i’d redo it, and then she’d say that again, and then she’d keep saying that until i showed her a page that was just one kind of hair accessory—all barrettes, say—and then she would know what she was looking at and approve it and then the page would probably get killed anyway. feminist boredom, but i still think saying “i don’t know what i’m looking at” is amazing, it’s so deeply bitchy, and has a lot of potential for other kinds of interactions. at the very least the affect is inspirational. 

    anyway, lena was only in high school and she was really nice and smart and quotable and worried she would only get into oberlin, then worried about going to oberlin, and i gave her a few pep talks. i also remember telling her that i had gone to see her mom’s show over the weekend and that it had been really good, which it was. 

    i saw tiny furniture for the first time a few weeks ago and liked it, and thought jemima kirke’s character was probably like the apolitical vaguely artsy girls i hated in real life in college who all seemed really impressed, even a few years after graduation, that i had an actual job and wasn’t, like, living off my parents. i guess some of those girls ended up working at vogue or as, like, gallery assistants, or assistants to fashion designers or maybe they started their own capsule collections or have written books on crafting. i am sure they still make occasional appearances in the pages of the styles section. 

    he’s kind of a big deal on youtube.

  7. i called to tell him i won an award and there were 2 cards and 2 bottles of champagne on the table when i got home and i excitedly told him the details of what had unexpectedly happened—i didn’t even know a writing award existed—while we drank champagne and then we went out to dinner and then came home and drank more champagne. some sort of special white champagne from our bougie little wine store. it was, in fact, a big deal, a sign that if i didn’t fuck it up i could stay, and we celebrated accordingly. 

  8. please note the hotmail address. (and the address of the old building.) this was before i had a real nyt email address; i had to get these paper-thin kinko’s cards made up as soon as i was hired so i could go to LA the next week. this was back when the paper had money—when everyone in the media had money—and so i was allowed to act like i still worked at conde nast and stayed in fancy hotels and had a driver to take me to lunches with advertisers and rich people who knew people who could write things that i could then edit into something sensical. 

    i complained constantly—like, WTF was i doing, i thought i just quit this—but the entire experience was amazing in its way. i came home to my tiny apartment one day to a message from a man with a thick italian accent and said to mike “i think he said he’s calling from the new york times?” i went to interview with his executive editor, who i was immediately smitten by even though she told me she worked at ms. magazine the year it launched and that all of her coworkers were bitches. (i’m not paraphrasing. she definitely called them “bitches.” i was already kind of in love with her because she was so tiny and she sounded like cyndi lauper and i liked her clothes and she complimented my bottega veneta bag and it’s kind of next level to tell someone you don’t know that you know gloria steinem and she’s a bitch and not have anything else to say about it.) at the time t came out maybe six times a year? but they wanted to add two beauty issues, which is what they paid me an astronomical amount to edit, and which meant working less than three days a week for four months a year while i freelanced and wrote my book and eventually edited at a section of the paper. it was a dream, although not my dream, exactly. 

    when i finally met stefano, the editor-in-chief with the italian accent, he hugged me very effusively and said “you’re the youngest editor we’ve ever had,” which i let myself feel smug about retroactively, since my closest friends now are academic superstars who are significantly younger than i am. he also asked ”are your parents happy? parents are always happy when their children work at the new york times.” i think my parents thought the whole fashion thing was silly no matter where i did it, and in many ways so did i, which is also part of the reason i did it, and i’m glad i did. what i do now is also ridiculous, but way more interestingly ridiculous, with better and more obvious theory and politics, and i do it with less money, but no ambivalence.