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257 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 17, 2013
Thomas Workman, with the American Institutes for Research in Washington, D.C., has worked on college drinking issues for years. “With flavored vodka, the drinking of female college students became much deadlier,” he says. “It is so easily abused. I still see quite a number of student deaths and egregious injuries and sexual assaults, ones that don’t get publicized. Women in adolescence confuse notoriety with popularity. The fear of being the girl who will sit alone in her room and not be seen is pervasive. Somewhere, our culture has told girls that they need to be recognized—invisibility is the enemy. We see this scenario over and over. We have done a terrible job of helping young women situate themselves socially.”There is no follow-up on the scourge of flavored vodkas, no extended investigation into the topics broached by the subject. Simply another in a long line of self-contained interviews, chronologically arranged and tied to the autobiography through only a moderate relation of alcohol intake. If the next series of interviews posed pointed questions to their subjects about why flavored vodkas were so popular, adding to the thrust of a narrative rather than creating a terse, meandering platform for their subject to unburden their personal histories, the vignettes might have some impact. Instead, Drink continues to plow forward, lacking any overall thrust or direction outside of the author’s own demons; each interview is sealed off from any wider meaning, a delineated beginning and end with no cohesion to a whole. The only through-thread is the author’s own addiction, which means that although there are many brief personal statements from many interview subjects, there is little depth and no connective tissue to "women and alcohol" outside of the mere fact that the author is, in fact, both an woman and an alcoholic.
I wanted to know: why are we so oblivious to the effect advertising has on us? “Ads are so trivial and silly that people feel above them,” says Kilbourne. “And for that reason, they don’t pay conscious attention. The advertisers love it: our radar is not on. We’re not on guard; it gets into our subconscious and affects us very deeply.”While this all feels very apocryphal—who is the unnamed agency chairman the interviewee is quoting?—it is at least informative. But, like the abdication of any sort of follow-up investigation into the subject of flavored vodka, the topics broached in this interview are abruptly dropped; in this particular case, all traces of the scorn for targeted lifestyle advertising seems to be not only forgotten but pointedly ignored—within four pages—by the first interview after the chapter transition:
Kilbourne quotes the chairman of an ad agency saying, “If you want to get into people’s wallets, first get into their lives.”
A tall girl, with glossy chestnut hair, Nivea skin, and a winsome smile, she pauses and looks away several times before she can begin to talk.Describing someone as having Nivea skin is somehow less insidious than, say, a Captain Morgan thirst for adventure because why—this is a book about alcohol, not untenable standards of beauty? The carelessness keeps the pace brisk, but makes it the whole thing so shallow that it is borderline insulting. If you want to prop up a personal odyssey with quotes from others with similar experiences, that’s fine; but this is not a book about “women and alcohol.” It is about the author and her experiences as an alcoholic. This is my single biggest criticism of Drink; it feels piecemeal, bumbling onward like it has forgotten its own history after every paragraph, promising one thing while giving you another.
At twenty-eight, Julia Ritz Toffoli is the founder of Women Who Whiskey, a Manhattan-based club people by eighty-seven young women between the ages of 26 and 32. Many are recent graduate students of Columbia University, where Ritz Toffoli just earned her master’s. Now working as a program coordinator with George Soros’s Open Society Foundations, Ritz Toffoli loves what she calls New York’s speakeasy revival, and considers herself part of a cocktail renaissance. The entrance to her favorite bar—Please Don’t Tell, in Greenwich Village—is within a vintage phone booth in a hot dog store.Unless the stairwell in Crif Dog—the obliquely referenced hot dog “store”—is about a mile longer than it feels, or the phone booth takes a page from Narnia and actually whisks the traveler into an allegory of the Christ-figure set across town, Please Don’t Tell is in the East Village, not the Village. If the conceit of a secret speakeasy was more than just marketing hoopla, maybe I could give this a pass. But Google can and will tell you, instantly, where in New York Please Don’t Tell hides. It’s less than a thirty second fact check, so telling the reader it is in Greenwich Village is simply an error of fact. Petty or not, it’s still wrong, and while you may not notice or care about the distinction unless you’ve been there, it is absolutely needless.
Scotland has indeed declared its intention to set a minimum price for a standard unit of alcohol at fifty pence—a decision backed by the medical profession. There was an immediate backlash. The policy was challenged by the European Union: backed by such wine-producing countries as France, Spain, and Italy, the EU said the minimum pricing breaches free trade. Moreover, the Scotch Whisky Association and Spirits Europe were granted judicial review of the legislation: they have many arguments, including one saying that minimum pricing would damage a valuable export industry. Whiskey is Scotland’s number one export after oil and gas.Not to be pedantic, but there is considerable debate about the whys and wherefores of the internecine whisky ‘e’. I am surprised that the one time it is unambiguous—when referring to mash from Scotland—the author has chosen to say that “Whiskey is Scotland’s number one export…”. Especially because the Scotch Whisky Association is cited within the same paragraph. Technically, then, the sentence tells the reader that Scotland imports whiskey—distilled outside of its sovereign borders—and then exports it in amounts so voluminous that it becomes Scotland’s number one export after oil and gas. More likely, it is an oversight and whisky, not whiskey, was the intention. Another niggling error that could have been avoided with thirty seconds worth of Googled fact checking. It simply baffles me.