Written by Clara MacMeekin
Art by Lute Campbell
It is the same temperature outside than it is inside the building. Though, that’s probably because I’m dehydrated—which is also why I am feeling drunk after one whiskey sour. I specifically ordered a whiskey sour in order to seem cooler. I’m also drunk on the intoxicating aura that is this party. A party held in what is said to be a “record store,” but is really an aesthetically curated event space with vintage records hung up on the walls (none for sale) in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. A cigarette, the complementary magazine issue, or a $15 drink are all clutched in the hands of partygoers either wearing an outfit that’s entirely thrifted, or a new one masquerading as secondhand. I can almost smell the latest books they’ve read: White Nights by Dostoevesky, Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion, and M. Train by Patti Smith. As I’m standing outside contemplating how I can look like I belong here, and trying to keep my face presentable for the professional photographer roaming about, two thoughts are churning in my head: I’ve made it and I’ve never been so sweaty in my life.
When you’re an intern at an independent book publisher in New York City over the summer and your boss asks if you would like to attend a literary magazine’s latest spring issue launch party, you say yes. When you think about said literary magazine’s issue launch party, you get stressed. Because you’re not just going to a literary magazine’s issue launch party, you’re going to the incubator for the cool literary It-Girl.
New York is one of those special places where anything is cool if you wear it well enough. Your insufferable ego becomes your irresistible allure. Your wrong choice in shoes becomes someone else’s fashion inspiration. And a book or magazine launch party is the party of all parties. Before we go any further, I need to make one thing clear: I love all of these things about New York. I’ve only called the city my home for three years, so I am far from someone you could call an expert, but I do believe I’ve acquired some merit on the ins and outs of this Metropolis (I can now go to my doctors appointments without having to research the subway routes beforehand).
You may be wondering who this Literary It-Girl I speak of is, and why someone now needs to look like they read. The Literary It-Girl’s allure (like all It-Girls) is embedded in her certain je ne sais quoi; she’s beautiful, stylish, creatively and aesthetically superior, and whether genetically or otherwise has earned the It factor. There are two groups that fall under this title: the women who write the things that Literary It-Girls love, and the women who make you want to read those things. Right now, I am referring only to the latter. The Literary It-Girl is more or less a social media aesthetic (which are equally as challenging to explain) brought to life. Her online and physical persona portrays how effortlessly chic and literary superior she is (she’s hot and she really gets Franz Kafka and Simone de Beauvoir and you do not, but if you did, you’d look like this). While the desire to seem as cool as the woman next to you in a cafe reading a book—with an ambiguously artistic cover—predates social media, the Literary It-Girl has brought a certain unattainability to the aesthetic, as all things on social media do. Which is to say that the “unattainability” of the Literary It-Girl means you can never believe you have succeeded in becoming one. And, those who actually are deemed a Literary It-Girl should pretend that they don’t know it. It’s the same democracy of any social media trend: you must be chosen by the people to wear the title, but do so submissively, so that the people will always be wanting more from you. It’s also the same social media trend hierarchy: you must be unattainable in some way (i.e. looks, livestyle, book collection). You certainly can’t look like you sweat.
I find the whole “looking like a niche social media aesthetic,” which social media has popularized since the beginning of its making, pretty nonsensical. But particularly for the Literary It-Girl, because you shouldn’t be trying to sell your entire character solely off your aesthetic when said aesthetic only portrays that you are well-read (in an aesthetic way). I can only hope that the theatrical ridiculousness of that sentence depicts the ridiculousness of the character. New York City can truly be a pretty isolating bubble filled with aesthetes, but I digress.
At the age of 22, my frontal lobe has developed enough to understand that the appeal of a Literary It-Girl lies within its faux effortless achievability. And yet, as a 22-year-old (and in spite of my tirade), I also want so desperately to be her. It’s nearly impossible not to get swept up in their dazzling aesthetic, especially when you’re at their erudite watering hole in Brooklyn on a Thursday night.
It’s not that I think this magazine launch party or the people attending it were amorally faking their coolness, but these things are curated to make you feel cool. They’re supposed to make you feel like you are now part of the exclusive elite literary world, but also that you’re not as cool as this other person. Getting invited to the party is not what makes you cool, looking like this is a regular Thursday night for you, is. It’s hard to resist what they are telling you: you can be just like us! It’s so easy to afford to spend the little remaining money you have after paying your absurdly high rent on clothes and books and talking about Dostovesky’s critiques of social utopianism over $15 cocktails after an exhausting day of work. Not only do I think that Literary It-Girls aren’t faking their coolness (unfortunately, I instinctively believe everyone in New York City is cooler than me because I have crippling imposter syndrome), I also don’t believe they are faking their love for literature. The unattainable beauty standards that infest the brains of the Literary It-Girls has become more important than their genuine love of reading. At the end of the day, everyone wants to be perceived as interesting. That’s just part of our human nature. But you don’t need to be perceived as some untouchable beauty or attend the coolest parties in order to like reading.
Maybe I’m just a cynic. I really did love going to this party, and if given the chance, I’d go to another one in a heartbeat, because their mantra did in fact get to me and my credit card. ‘Tis the odylic force of the New York City literary magazine launch party. I highly encourage you to try on this hat as well. But, I strongly advise that you bring extra deodorant if the party is in July. And if you don’t feel as cool as everyone else, just remember that the Literary It-Girl still sweats.