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Dear Nylon,
This is like a bad relationship. We know we’re not right for each other. Last month you extolled the virtues of Cory Kennedy and the LA fashion culture (the latter two words I use with more than a little factitiousness) she represents. But this month, you had your “It Girl” issue, and Zooey Deschanel was on the cover. You also had an article about Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist and seemed as enamored with Michael Cera’s talent, and as excited about this newest installment in the teen movie lexicon, as I am. In these things you had done something so delightful, and wonderful, and I was ready to forgive you all your faults.
And then you had a photoshoot with Cory Kennedy in the back.
I’m sorry, but though I wavered, I cannot budge. It’s over. Cera and Deschanel or no you cannot buy your way back into my heart.
I do not believe I will be renewing my subscription to Nylon. I just can’t get behind anything – even my precious Urban Decay – that exalts a person to the status of “style icon” who has done nothing more than be rich, responsibility-free, and be prone to mixing purchased clothing in an as-yet-unconceived (or conceived, and dismissed for its hideousness) manner. I cannot support any so-called celebrity whose rise to fame requires sleuthing on par with one’s thesis research to understand. Doubly so if, after all that digging, I still don’t get why s/he is famous.
Right now I’m looking at you, Cory Kennedy. Props for building success out of an apparent lack of any sort of skill. Maybe that’s a skill within itself. But not one I can respect, and not one that will ever make you any more than an accident and minor, inexplicable infatuation of pop culture.
Nylon, when you stop putting 90210 (the current one), Cory Kennedy, and all other artifices of the “LA club kid” scene up on a pedestal, I will come back. Yes, perhaps there is some style and innovation there. Maybe it warrants some nifty on-the-street pictures. But to push people into celebrity, and to suggest there’s any more culture there than one of white-out and unabashed privilege, is a joke. LA is LA because it is all money and no substance, and on the outside it’s pretty, but on the inside it’s not, and call me picky but I like my famous people to have more interior than a cardboard cutout.
You were doing so well, too. There were even some black models in that last issue. Though I seem to recall the one before had none. And your covers remain uniformly whitewashed. I’m not so hot at math but it doesn’t really average out in your favor.
