Hello everyone, I am back from a glorious week of not Slogging on the Virginia coast. During my time away, I sat on planes and beaches reading magazines (remember those?). In the stack: Vanity Fair, which was designed for me by God, who forced People and The New Yorker to have a baby, then swaddled the results in ambitiously art-directed fashion ads. It is one of America's great narcotics, and before I go further into something I particularly loved in last month's issue, I need to ask if you are familiar with this:
GOOP is the lifestyle website of Gwyneth Paltrow, whose weekly email updates I've happily received since GOOP's founding, because the entire world of Gwyneth Paltrow's GOOP is insane.
Yes, it's common knowledge that Gwyneth Paltrow is an elegantly uncrowned American princess with fat-free rice milk in her veins, whose poop comes out in perfectly tapered s-curves that smell like almonds. Still, GOOP is insane in a really dense and odd way, that is hard to describe. After reading each week's newsletter, with Gwyneth's tips on what to SEE and GET and DO and BE, I'd think, "I've gotta Slog about this shit"—but doing a quick-hit bitchpost felt too picking-on-midgets (who expects anything but pretentious vapidity from Gwyneth Paltrow?), and doing a comprehensive study required a level of thoughtful suffering I was unwilling to endure.
So thank God for Craig Brown, who captures all of GOOP's loony magic with one lithe as-told-to spoof. A sample:
I love film. After a yummy meal for the whole family and some truly great friends, we often go out to see something beautiful and unique.
Here’s a tip for all moms. Never ask young children to pay when you go out to the movie theater. It is simply unfair to ask a four-year-old to pay for herself.
Why not give her the trip as a very special present? That way, you—and she—can learn so much more about what it is to love and to give. Repayment can come later.
Next week, we learn to ride a bicycle with a world-expert bicycle nutritionist.