It should be short. I mean, here's the title:
Brooklyn Virgin Discovers Naked Dancing"
Here's how it starts:
Somehow it happened that in all the years I’ve lived in New York City, I’d never been to Brooklyn. But when I heard that choreographer Noémie Lafrance had a new show opening in Williamsburg, I decided it was as good an occasion as any to venture beyond Manhattan for the first time. I loved the music video she choreographed for Feist’s “1234” in 2007, and “Rapture”—her piece for aerialists staged on the side of a Frank Gehry building at Bard College—was undeniably awesome. So on Tuesday night, I boarded the L train (heading away from the West Village) and made my way to hipsterville. I’d heard from my more global friends that Brooklyn is a charming borough inhabited by cool young families, gourmet cheese shops, and creative intellectuals. It has parks! And trees! And slow walkers aren’t mowed down on the sidewalk! But I’m what you might call a bona fide Manhattanite. Or, to be more precise, a bona fide Upper East Sider. I’ve traveled the world, I said to myself—how exotic could Brooklyn really be?
Perhaps my tweed J. Crew jacket and Tory Burch ballet flats weren’t the best wardrobe choice for that day, but I overcame the fact that I was a total Williamsburg misfit and hoped my foreigner status wouldn’t be glaringly obvious to the natives. (It was)..
It gets more annoying from there. Apparently girlfriend was shocked, shocked, at the realities of downtown* theatre, from lack of proper accomodations to nekkid performers to I can't even read all that shit to be honest. Short version:
"I'm a total pointless snob with nothing remotely interesting to say and particularly not about this show I'm supposed to cover, (I don't know much about Art, but I know what I -don't- like, even if I feel totally insecure about it); but if I write this piece in an archly kidding-on-the-square 'ironic' tone (see, I AM hip, I know 'irony' is what all the cool kids do these days...maybe) people will think I'm ever so charming and clever and amusing."
The first comment sums it up really:
good riddance and don't come back. we don't need you.
just sorry I never invited her up to my former digs in Queens, and don't I feel DARING for saying that. or, um, not? i did and do consider myself damn lucky to have a (nice, at that) place to live in the city (or anywhere for that matter, look around you you stupid toff) at all?
Oh yeah, and yes, it is depressing that this is a (presumably paid) piece for Vanity Fair and not someone's livejournal, as another commenter noted. Indeed.
(*Williamsburg is often considered an extension or 'new'(er) "downtown," i.e. the East Village moving East. Yes Virginia, that certainly DOES include, nay, is probably by now OVERWHELMED by, a fuckload of privileged gentrifiers and/or other annoying UES twits faux-"slumming" it for the length of the nearly-as-inflated-as-Manhattan-by-now-lease or the evening, respectively, so girlfriend there shouldn't have felt remotely out of place unless she's really so damn insecure that a couple of equally-pretentious hipsters glaring over their black-rimmed glasses gives her the vapors)