In a matter of the last week, I think I’ve started to figure out who the figureheads are around these here blog-parts. I blame mostly Twitter for leading me to a few choice blogs, that I then subscribed to, and it didn’t take long to find out about the Emily Gould fiasco, the Julia Allison trainwreck (or brilliant self-promotional exploits, depending on what side of the fence you’re on), or how decidedly and simultaneously sad and addictive this little corner of the world can become.
If you have no idea who I’m talking about, no worries. I feel like I’ve opened Pandora’s box here and I’m hoping I can just look at the evil things through a six-inch thick plexiglass zoo enclosure. Anyway, a week ago, my ignorance kept me from giving a shit. Today, I’m finding the topic of the kind-of famously infamous nobody to be incredible fodder for what have become my McLuhan-esque forays into the study of social media.
So, into the meat. Recently, Allison blogged her lamentation of the time she’s spent making herself look pretty. Immediately I fell in love with San Francisco again. Given, I fall in love with this City afresh most days, but I particularly fell in love with the women of SF. We’re snubbed on “most fashionable” lists, or at least some recent one I saw, we (like everyone else who has a television or computer) are told that it’s all about New York, Los Angeles (gag) or Paris (it is all about Paris, but I’ll get to that one another time so we’ll keep this in the U.S. today).
There are two camps of sexy women here. Camp One is of the Julia Allison variety. These girls really do want to be Carrie Bradshaw (and generally manage to be almost as whiny). How to spot one:
The easiest and most obvious feature of an I’d-rather-be-in-Manhattan Girl in SF is the logo. Louis Vuitton’s “LV” on a purse is probably the most popular. While this girl is becomes a walking advertisement, she believes she’s setting herself apart as wealthy and stylish. What she ends up doing is marking herself as not only poor, but poor at knowing what to spend her money on.
Giant black sunglasses (with logo).
Jackie-O wannabe sunglasses, which I believe became popular after that friend of Paris Hilton started wearing them.
More is more. She wouldn’t dream of leaving her apartment without being fully pancaked, lip-lined and gunked with eyeliner.
At least to her shoulders. If this girl was “blonde when she was a kid” (hello, all white girls were) she’s determined to be blonde as a 20- or 30-something. Baby blonde the color is not. Her hair is so fried from chemical treatment, and that god-awful straightening iron that it appears touching her head might cause the mop to fall out in chunks.
Always with at least one friend, a date or nonstop chatting on her phone. You will not see this girl, ambling along, stopping to smell the roses, or peeking around curiously into new avenues of delight. To ameliorate her constant fear of rejection, she arms herself with buddies (who look exactly like her), or has her phone glued to her ear. If you happen to be on public transit when this happens, your eye-rolling and death-stares are in vain, as she is truly incapable of seeing past the tip of her own nose (there are frightening things out there!) You will find the conversation to be about (1) her friends (2) boys or (3) the boys with her friends. Sometimes she complains about her boss.
The Book of the Year.
I guarantee you, if she’s reading something that’s not a magazine about shopping or celebrities, it’s going to be Eat Pray Love. This girl thinks she’s showing off some kind of literary prowess, and she’s probably smart enough to know she can’t read an explicitly chick-lit book (anything by Candace Bushnell or Plum Sykes, anything with the words “shopping”, “confessions”, or “Prada” in the title) in public, so Eat Pray Love has become this year’s favorite. Last year it was The Lovely Bones and I’ll alert you as soon as I figure out the newest pick.
It doesn’t even matter anymore if it’s a spray-on, fake bake, or from the real, actual sun. The color of her skin is unnatural and a bit orangey. She wouldn’t know “healthy glow” from “bar tan” and errs on the side of way, way too much.