Status Updates From The Fame Lunches: On Sadnes...

Daphne’s unironic, smug self-righteousness is becoming increasingly obvious and unbearable.

Never in my life did I ever think I would read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s personal flirting advice to his little sister. And yet here I am, realizing that the man so beloved for his prose had the most limited game I have ever seen in all my days.

How is it that nearly every author I’ve ever enjoyed despises cats and is desperate for a dog? I thought writers were meant to be (at least a little) intelligent?

Mildly self-aware WASPs and JAPs, mildly self-aware WASPs and JAPs everywhere…

I love being told of all the people who are just better writers than me (and of how depressed they all are)

That moment when you’re reading essays on celebrities but you were born in 2004 and have no clue who some of these people are.