Here’s a feature I wrote for Al Jazeera America: “Fashion Police are No Joke in Some Cities, Schools.”
“What other people wear makes people nervous,” said Ruthann Robson, author of the new book Dressing Constitutionally: Hierarchy, Sexuality, and Democracy from Our Hairstyles to Our Shoes. “They try to legislate it or make arrests based on it, and then — BLAM! — lots of work for constitutional lawyers.”
Read the whole story here.
Look what I found in my Project Runway Finale Fashion Show gift bag: the hot-off-the-presses paperback of our sweeping fashion history!
In case you missed that part of NY Fashion Week, here’s the book on Amazon for just $12!
I have an essay in this Sunday’s New York Times Magazine Lives column: “Falling for Sprawl“:
One preteen summer, I was sent by my parents to Kent, Ohio, to spend a few days with my cousins, Jessica and Anna. They were close to my age and looked like me: Norwegian, with blond hair and blue eyes. They, and their parents, a dental hygienist and geographer, were warm and easygoing. And yet, when I arrived at their cozy two-story house, it felt like touching down on an alien planet.
Read the whole thing here.
The NYTM’s 6th Floor Blog also asked me to blog about the best writing advice I ever got. I confess that my entire career is a revenge fantasy.
This is totally him talking to me on the phone. Read the interview here.
Have any stories about St. Marks Place for my history of the street? Please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
My vow to do nothing but work on my book while on this residency lasted exactly 48 hours, at which point I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote an op-ed on Mother Teresa.
I’m left to wonder if it’s something about Mother Teresa herself that has caused her bid for sainthood to stall. In a book of letters published posthumously, “Come Be My Light,” she wrote: “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.” Some atheists gleefully latched onto those remarks as a confession of doubt. But that book endeared her even more to others, including me. The fact that she felt doubt but continued to do so much (even if it wasn’t everything imaginable by Western standards) was inspiring to those of us who struggle to muster basic human kindness when we haven’t had enough coffee.
Read the whole thing here.
Here’s what I’m doing for the next two weeks: outlining my book in index cards, in a cabin in the woods of New Hampshire. Index cards make my editor happy.
When I was in high school and interning at SPIN circa 1993, I dated musician guys who would read The New York Press while eating borscht at Veselka and ignoring their younger non-girlfriends. Now I get to review a book by the guy who wrote (if memory serves) that entire paper.
Here’s a little of the review (in the New York Times Book Review‘s Summer Reading issue, of John Strausbaugh’s The Village): Hail, hail, the gang’s all here: a galaxy of scoundrels, artists and geniuses commingle in John Strausbaugh’s ambitious 600-plus-page history of Greenwich Village. Strausbaugh …turns a collection of stories and profiles into something less like a textbook than a party spinning happily out of control.