26 Truths About Your Twenties 

This book made me angry. It was clearly marketed to me, in its pretty chick lit packaging. Reading it, I realized it was EXACTLY the kind of shit written about NYC that I HATED before I moved here. I mean, I still hate that shit, but I guess it’s the kind of chick litty stuff that’s supposed to make me relate to it because the main character is BUYING EXPENSIVE STILETTOS! AT a NAME BRAND STORE! That’s ON FIFTH AVENUE! To denote its NEW YORKINESS! Because it’s one of the few things about NYC you’ve heard of if you’ve never been here. Oh the glamour of a publishing job and a small roachy apartment! Oh the loneliness/freedom of drinking too many cosmos and cabbing it home.

I wanted to throw this book.  Maybe I am too old for it, which makes me a little sad.  It would be more accurately titled: “My Parents Pay My Rent: Being 22 and an Upper Middle Class White College Graduate and Manufacturing Disaffection About It Until I Get Married and Become a Successful Writer.”  That’s probably not catchy enough though.