Jonathan
VFG Member
I read the book 'Them' yesterday by Francine Du Plessix Liberman. The book is about THEM -- her parents!
It isn't as juicy or horrendous as Mommie Dearest, but its a pretty dysfunctional situation that only worsened with age. Her mother had been the Saks Fifth Avenue custom milliner from 1942 until 1965, and her father had worked his way up from starting as an art director at Vogue to becoming the editorial director of the Conde Nast publishing empire.
Anyway... there is a lot of good dirt in it... did you know for example that Anna Wintour's nickname at Vogue is 'Nuclear Wintour'?
But the best part is a scene where the writer meets Marlene Dietrich, who is a good friend of her mother's.
"I first met Marlene at a beachside cottage on the north shore of Long Island in 1948. In my first sighting of the star, she stood barefoot at the stove, cooking an elaborate dinner. Her blond hair was tousled with studied casualness, her makeup so artfully applied as to be invisible, and her naked legs were topped by a cotton shirt... Discussing the half cup of brandy she considered essential for a proper boeuf bourguignon, she bent toward a low shelf to reach the bottle and revealed the only fabric, other than her cotton shirt, that adorned her nakedness that day: the string of a hygenic tampon, dangling demurely between the legendary legs."
It isn't as juicy or horrendous as Mommie Dearest, but its a pretty dysfunctional situation that only worsened with age. Her mother had been the Saks Fifth Avenue custom milliner from 1942 until 1965, and her father had worked his way up from starting as an art director at Vogue to becoming the editorial director of the Conde Nast publishing empire.
Anyway... there is a lot of good dirt in it... did you know for example that Anna Wintour's nickname at Vogue is 'Nuclear Wintour'?
But the best part is a scene where the writer meets Marlene Dietrich, who is a good friend of her mother's.
"I first met Marlene at a beachside cottage on the north shore of Long Island in 1948. In my first sighting of the star, she stood barefoot at the stove, cooking an elaborate dinner. Her blond hair was tousled with studied casualness, her makeup so artfully applied as to be invisible, and her naked legs were topped by a cotton shirt... Discussing the half cup of brandy she considered essential for a proper boeuf bourguignon, she bent toward a low shelf to reach the bottle and revealed the only fabric, other than her cotton shirt, that adorned her nakedness that day: the string of a hygenic tampon, dangling demurely between the legendary legs."
