Whodunit? It Was Sally Quinn in the Labyrinth with the Lead Pipe
There is nothing, really, as enjoyable as a silly story about silly people and their silly lives. Such monkeys! Why are we all so funny? (Spoiler: it's because late-stage capitalism renders us with too little to worry about.) Thank the Lord for this very silly story in Vanity Fair about the extremely silly Sally Quinn. God bless us every one! Here are two sentences that made me roll about on the floor in delight.
1. "After the firestorm, she entered the concrete meditation labyrinth her husband had built for her on their country estate in St. Mary's County, Maryland, to think."
2. "After an astrologer told Sally that [her son] Quinn would benefit from yoga, she had lunch with New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, who recommended her own teacher, Pary, whose students included David Gregory and Rahm Emanuel."
Oh, the whole thing is a delight. I mean that. It'll make you want to join the Peace Corps or take up arms on behalf of something radical or, more likely, to go off and spend some poor person's day's-worth-of-wages on gourmet small-batch ice cream. Who cares? What does it matter?
#BOOMER HOTHOUSE FLOWERS
You know what's making me roll about on the floor in delight? THIS POST LAKFSHFLKHLSKHLFKSHLSK
Also: THAT PHOTO! (I have a Crazy Quilt almost exactly like the one Sally is leaning and pouting on!)
And Also: Does Evgenia's Peretz's name give anyone else a horrible case of the squeams?
You know what #lifts my heart? CHOIRE SICHA.
(I have a photo of that quilt)
I like where she drags her son back to the brothel to identify the lady of the evening who deflowered him. That sounds like an uncomfortable moment!
Woops! Turns out the son was special. Tasteless comment withdrawn.
I don't know what's better, your own private Concrete Meditation Labyrinth or your own private James Turrell Skyspace. Decisions!
That concrete meditation labyrinth – can it be capped and sealed?
If not, I would certainly favor a Top Kill.
Sakes alive . . .
"In her employment interview, Bradlee asked the 28-year-old if she could show him something she'd written. "Mr. Bradlee," she told him, "I've never written anything. Not a word." When he told his colleague editorial-page editor Phil Geyelin about this, Geyelin replied, "Nobody's perfect." Sally, who graduated at the bottom of her class at Smith . . ."
More name-droppings than all 94 episodes of SATC combined, right down to the Turnbull & Asser shirt!
Admittedly, they make a really nice shirt.
I sure as Charvet can't afford one, myself.
As an outsider to the whole process, it's details like this that make me wonder about How Journalism Gets Done.
Turnbull & Asser doesn't put logos on their shirts. There's no equivalent of the little horse-riding guy on the breast that lets the casual onlooker say "oh, hey, he's wearing a Polo brand shirt." They don't have a terribly distinctive stripe or anything; really, the only way to identify a shirt as a Turnbull & Asser is to look at the label on the inside (part of the understated charm, I'm sure!), which is really only possible when it's not being worn.
So unless Mr. Bradlee was all "Yeah, Sally's a peach and did you get a load of my fucking awesome Turnbull & Asser shirt," how did it even come up? (and if that is what he said, wouldn't that be an eminently reportable line, all of a tone with the piece etc. etc. etc.?) Was Ms. Peretz poking through Mr. Bradlee's closets in more than just a metaphorical way? Is she some kind of Rainman-style shirtstripe savant? Vanity Fair is KILLING ME WITH THE UNANSWERED QUESTIONS.
T&A (heh) is more or less a traditional, no-bullshit British bespoke & RTW brand at the upper-echelons of chemiserie, correct? At that level of luxury goods, no corny logo or marketing strategy is needed, I would think. By and large, I agree with you, there.
Unmarked clothes are occasionally capable of shocking distinction- My dad has a Savile-Row suit that he had made back in the day, and to see it, it's like Damn. That has to be a bespoke English suit, or from Hong Kong at the very least.
…but yeah! Sniffery? Braggary? A combination of both?
The article makes it clear that her qualification for the job was that she knew who the players were.
Haven't read the article, but T&A shirts with button cuffs have 3 buttons. Like most brit shirts they are all cuff and collar. After tie its generally the first thing one notices (more likely if you yourself wear T&A shirts).
@Louis Fyne: Hm, good point; I didn't even think about the three-button cuff, and it is their signature. Or maybe Bradlee was wearing one of the old 60's-style ones with the 2-button turnback cuff! Bradlee. Ben Bradlee.
I have not seen that much fawning since Bambi Goes Down for a Couple of Bucks. It was an ABC after school special I believe.
Nooo, it is so much better. It is make-believe fawning set amidst vicious smackings. Ho-lee smokes.But Choire is right — the whole effect is to make one want to burn shit down/
@oudemia: I'm totally with you – the "bottom of her class at Smith" bit killed me. Sooooo super bitchy!!!
@o: Okay, just reread it and now I getz it. Ok well done.
Didn't a labyrinth on the floor of some cathedral figure prominently in what was called, I believe, The Worst Style Section Piece The Washington Post Ever Ran [or somesuch?]
I skimmed it but I think you are correct!
I made it through the caption on the photo heading the article, and I was done.
The caption in question: "Sally Quinn in the living room of her historic Georgetown home, which once belonged to Abraham Lincoln's son." Really? Wait, -really-?
Also: which son? I'm guessing it was the one who never really got along with his dad and later sent his mother to a mental institution, but secretly I'm hoping for Tad (aka "the jerkwad Lincoln"). Come on, Vanity Fair, I NEED CLOSURE ON THAT POINTLESS ANECDOTE.
I thought my week was made by the article yesterday about rich people who struggle valiantly to bring their art with them to their summer houses in the Hamptons.
But this?
Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
I hated the final Sally Quinn column without really hating the woman behind it. Thanks, Vanity Fair, for rectifying that situation.
Jesus H. Crowninshield Christ.
xox
If only they'd given the assignment to someone who wouldn't be so eager to buy in to Sally's delusions of power, grandeur, and significance.
I think I like her best when she's using her son's learning disability to get attention. Here's a good clipping for her Mother-of-the-Year application:
"Sally was determined that Quinn not miss out on anything. In the summers, she'd hire a tennis buddy to play with him. Marshall recalls how Sally took Quinn to see the Christo Gates in Central Park right after he had had both feet operated on. 'Of course it snowed that day. So there was Sally pushing Quinn through the park in a wheelchair so he could experience The Gates as well.'"
If only all parents were so dedicated!
Well, there is the implication that she bought her son a spouse.
But did she order up an HIV test on her like she did with the prostitute?
You don't think she did that AND ran genetic panels AND sequenced the woman's DNA?
No, don't you see, she loved him SO MUCH that she would do ANYTHING for him, including consult an astrologer about other pseudospiritual ways to console herself over her self-titled child's inability to get into Harvard, and then drop a lot of names in talking about it later. It's what any devoted mother would do and oh did she mention Maureen Dowd was involved?
This is the wealthy WASP version of Sarah Palin's "mama grizzly bear" persona. My behavior may LOOK petulant and self-indulgent, but it's just 'cause I'm such a great MOM! (Don't ask about my stepkids!)
I don't think any database could handle that Join. But then, we peons are dealing with reality.
Somebody help me because skimming that article doesn't provide the answer: what is "her son Quinn"'s full name? Please tell me it's not "Quinn Quinn." Wait, is it "Quinn Bradlee-Quinn"? Oh god, that's just as bad.
It's beyond your wildest imaginings: "Josiah Quinn Crowninshield Bradlee"
Crap. I'm late to the party as usual, but I'd like to propose a toast to Ben Bradlee Sr. Father of the Year. We all know Sally's a twat, but her husband gets away with all kinds of crap.
Let's see:
(1) Married first wife (Jean) and quickly divorced, leaving his first son, Ben Jr., to be raised by his mother and step-father. Ben Sr. and Ben Jr. are now officially estranged.
(2) Married wife #2 (Tony, short for Antoinette). Had a son (Dino) and daughter (Marina). Dino is also estranged from his father, as evidenced by his contributions to the article. Ben has met his six-year-old twin grandsons once? Sure, they live in different states. Ben Sr. lives in about four different states every year.
(3) Met Sally, had an affair, dropped Tony. Also dropped then-teenaged Dino who got his first glimpse of evil step-mom-to-be when he saw her taking his place in the owner's box of some sporting event where his father used to take him. Dino lived with Tony until he went to college.
(4) Senior just issued a book, Fathers and Sons, in which (per the article, I'm not buying the book) Ben and Dino get a token acknowledgement up front but are otherwise not mentioned. It's the same thing in his memoir, A Good Life. Try searching the index for mentions of his first two sons.
(5) Most damning of all: the quote in the VF article, when asked why his two eldest sons are not mentioned in a memoir called, Fathers and Sons, his response was: "My children all know that Sally Quinn has made me enormously happy for 30-umpteen years, and that is more important to them than anything else, I think." I think not, Ben. It does not sound that way.
You know when Ben kicks the bucket he will get an above-the-fold, page 1 obit. I wonder what they will say about him. Sure, he was editor of the WaPo during Watergate, but let's face it, it was Woodstein who broke it and Kay Graham who authorized it. Apart from that one accomplishment, Janet Cooke? It remains a mystery why this man has ever been relevant or celebrated.
Spare me the Boston Brahmin crap. If the Bradlee family is so rich, how come they don't appear in the Forbes 400? And how can the article describe Bradlee Sr. as "descended" from Frank Crowninshield, the founder of Vanity Fair, who was gayer than Nick Denton? He was a distant gay great-uncle.