NEW YORK—Although the fashion world's most elite shoppers haven't always been noted for their clever rejoinders and supple syntax, editors at the top publishing houses have busied themselves of late with turning this misconception on its blueblood head. "It's beyond judgmental to think that just because a girl has a huge credit line and gets invited to exclusive sample sales she can't put a pen to paper," Doubleday editor Stacy Creamer insisted. "She can. How do you think receipts get signed?"
Books topically ranging from diatribes on failed relationships to the search for employment when in one's twenties have cropped up ornamented in Victorian leitmotifs and scrappily drawn Prada shoes with coiffed and sanded ex-model heiresses and surgically altered Ivy League graduates stiff-lipped and hungry on the back covers. The same young women that collect at Barney's to stave off boredom have discovered that the next best thing to Vogue editor Anna Wintour's clothing allowance is to create a great work of art, even while living on Park Avenue.
"Some people think I'm totally ana," proclaimed Plum Sykes, author of the novel Bergdorf Blondes, about a fetching pair of rich girls who have hijinx at Hermes, "But I'm just skin and bones because I'm an artist. Artists are supposed to starve, and if you've already got a new Valentino for the soiree of the year, it's such a waste to eat. I'm giving the girls of the world real heroines to look up to; girls just like me that want companionship, love, and a closet the size of a studio apartment!" Sykes' closet was indeed so expansive and lush that there was room enough for the ambulance crew to easily carry her out after she fainted without knocking over a single quilted Chanel bag. "Are those Choos?" Rick the ambulance guy asked, picking up a sandal. "I like her style."
Rick, and the rest of the ambulance crew that stalled for twenty minutes to sort through Stella McCartney and Prouenza Schouler treasures, are not alone in their appreciation of a dame with a knack for garb. Lauren Weisberger, author of The Devil Wears Prada, joins Sykes in linking garb with gab. She presents a bold and imaginative role model to young girls. Her 5'10", 115 pound heroine rises to her success while recovering from dysentery, coveting her waify colleagues' figures, and joining them to don fluff-and-leather outfits. Mickey LaRue, a local tween who dreams of following in Weisberger's footsteps, responded fervently that she would love to be like heroine Andrea Sachs. "She gets to wear all the cool designers and drive her boss' car. Boys end up totally liking her."
LaRue's collegiate older sister, on the other hand, disagrees. "She has no life plan, no ambition, and then gets handed an exclusive job at a top fashion magazine without being an intern first. That's not life. That's having connections and possibly a tiny little magical man with pointy shoes." Mildred stabbed the stoop with her Lucky Strike. "Plus she wears a lot of suede. If a girl can't choose a better animal skin, how can I be bothered to read her stupid book?"
Loyal subscribers to Vogue and W, however, are even reading tomes that do not come with perfume samples. Doubleday's director of sales, Allan Ficus, commented on the figures that keep publishing giants tapping unknowns with their finger on the pulse of fashionistahood. "It's no coincidence they've had such an impact on the market at this time," Ficus said. "I mean, did you see the Spring 2005 Fashion Week shows?" Ficus then asked for his Burberry umbrella back.
Perhaps, then, it is time that the world's intellectuals and academics quit the cease-fire separating the heady world of design and the drab domain of thought. "I used to read Proust and Sartre and Kirkegaard," Ficus added. "Now, do you think then I had pants that made my ass look this good?"
Ficus' assistant Rosemary dropped off a tray of madeleines and commented, "I may never get to have the budgets of the women in those books. I may never date princes or international playboys. I may never even try to kill myself because I'm not the only one with the new Vuitton. But this fine literature has made it clear to me that there are women out there who will do it all; they inspire me to do things I never would otherwise try, like be an Opera singer!" Rosemary then croaked out a passage from Carmen.
"Just as long as you're still a size two!" Ficus laughed. "I mean, who wants to listen to a fatty?"
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