Posts Tagged ‘Erica Kennedy’

I was shocked and saddened this weekend when I clicked on an email telling me that Erica Kennedy–fashion publicist turned writer turned author–had died. How I wished I could unclick it–the email, and the news. Today is no better: my head feels clouded, like I’m thinking through mud. My gut feels heavy, as though I ate a bowling ball for breakfast.

The thing is, I didn’t even know her that well. When I was working on Undecided, her second novel, Feminista, had just been published. I honestly don’t remember if I started following her on Twitter first, and that was how I found out about the book, or if someone (or Amazon) had recommended the book to me, and that was how I came to follow her. Regardless, so many of the themes in her book lined up so closely (I mean, eerily so) with the issues the real-live women I was profiling in Undecided were grappling with, I had to talk to her. And she was immediately receptive. We began chatting—or, you know, tweeting; soon enough she sent me a direct message with her email address. I was stunned and flattered by how generous she was with her time, how open she was with me about what she was going through–and had gone through–in her own life, and impressed by her sharp, decidedly un-sugar-coated take on society, pop culture, and Life As A Woman. (You can read an edited version of our interview here.)

We talked about the pressure to have it all—and what the hell that ridiculous message is supposed to mean, anyway—and its shadowy sister: grass is greener syndrome. Kennedy was honest—and enjoyably blunt—about how ambivalent she felt about her own success (as an NYT bestselling author, of a level that’s unimaginable to many of us but that meant little to her); how sometimes she was envious of friends she’d gone to school with who’d gotten married and/or had kids very young, to hell with career… even though Kennedy herself did not particularly want children. She said the happiest time in her life was when she was finishing up Feminista, living in a small rental in Miami, far away from her more-permanent digs in New York. She’d write in the mornings, then ride her bike to the beach for a swim. A relatively mellow existence for the woman who’d taken on the big city—and won. The woman who’d talked Puff Daddy (back when he was called that) into ditching the hip hop gear in favor of sleek suits.

She was just so honest, so forthcoming and so real. She spoke and wrote so many of our truths–though I don’t know to what extent she realized it. I asked her about Feminista’s main character, Sydney, about how she sabotages herself, pushes people away, has so many moments of hot-messedness… and how it is that, despite all that, she’s totally relatable. How did she manage to write such a character? And Kennedy said, while she knew she wanted to write a woman who was angry—one who could really embody all the anger women feel over the mismatch between the great expectations we’re raised to believe are our due and the pressure we feel to be amazing and have it all and what’s actually possible—she never expected the feedback she’d received. Never expected so many people would tell her how much they related to Sydney.

That’s particularly wrenching to think of now.

Kennedy disclosed some darker things too. Things she asked I keep off of the blog (although-that generosity again–she said I was welcome to include any of it in the book, as it felt more removed; while much of her story is in the book, I opted to keep many of the very personal details out), and which I intend to keep to myself here, too. Many have speculated about how she died. I immediately wondered. Just typing those words makes my heart break a little more. Again, I didn’t know her well, but I feel that I knew her.

We emailed back and forth for a while. I riffed on things she wrote. At one point, I hadn’t heard from her in months, and then I got an email with a link to a story and a short line: Hey! What do you think about this? Might be something for your book. (I wrote about it on the blog; you can read that one here.)

Apparently, she was like that with countless people. A connector. A spark. A deep thinker and a deep feeler. Which can be rough for anyone—rougher still for some.

I’m so sorry that I’ll never know her better – and so thankful that I knew her at all. As Roger Ebert tweeted upon learning the news: The world is a lesser place.

Indeed it is. Rest in peace, Erica.

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Tuesday. Weight: not gonna disclose that. Cigarettes consumed: zero. Alcohol units consumed: one more than appropriate.

Yes, I’m channeling Bridget Jones, and it’s not knickers- or Darcy-inspired. Fact is, I’ve been ruminating on Renee Zellweger’s (alleged) statement that, though she’d like to do another Bridget Jones flick, she doesn’t want to pack on the lbs this go-round–and the postulating over the whys–all day long. And, given some particularly fascinating tangents, I figured you might as well join me.

Much as we love the relatable, perpetually plump-ish character, and even despite the reported $20M payday, who can really blame Zellweger for opting to forego the gravy this go-round on the gravy train? While I enjoy the random cupcake/cookie/passed appetizer binge as much as anyone, gaining 20 pounds on command doesn’t exactly sound like my idea of fun. Add to that the psychotic counterpoint, crash-dieting to lose it all in time for the media tour? Nothankyouverymuch. What’s more interesting, though (/of course), is why Zellweger (allegedly) said she didn’t want to go yo-yo again: According to The Frisky:

Also, Renee allegedly thinks the demise of her and Jack White’s relationship had to do with her extra pounds and doesn’t want to risk having it affect her relationship with Bradley Cooper.

Errr, ew. Said ew being fairly self-explanatory, let’s not get into it, shall we? What I would like to get into, however, is what Erica Kennedy–our favorite Feministahas to say about that lil rumor. Check it:

…now that she’s got Bradley Cooper on the hook, she doesn’t want to go down that road again. (And what the article doesn’t say but I will go ahead and add –> especially since she’s 40 now and childless.)

So you know what this means, if true? It means that Renee Zellweger, who gets $20 million a picture and probably has some stake in the gross of the Bridget Jones franchise so stands to make even more, is basically trying to decide between $20+ million (and 20 lbs) or… a man. Ain’t that some shit (allegedly)? That’s a real modern woman conundrum like I’ve never heard!

…At what other time would a woman be in the position to make $20 million? For a few months work? Or be in the position to turn it down?

…But at the same time, Renee can get the $$$ to do another movie where she doesn’t have to gain weight and if I were her, I would be more worried about locking shit down on the home front at this point. If we’re using celebrities as analogies here, I would think Heidi Klum or Jennifer Garner is what you would want, ideally. An involved husband, kids AND a career that you can do until you don’t feel like doing it anymore. What you don’t want to become is Jennifer Aniston (what goes on in HER head at night?) and end up living alone in a ginormous Zen-influenced palace that you design to feel like a big hug. Which is exactly where Renee looks like she’s heading.

Whoa and whoa again. While I adore Ms. Kennedy for her delightful willingness to go there, her thoughts on the subject leave me wondering: What is this really all about? Somewhere deep down, do women believe that we really can’t have it all? That we can’t have the career, the guy, and–in Zellweger’s case anyway–the bod, that everything must always be a choice, an either/or?

Or is it a classic case of grass-is-greener syndrome: That, no matter what we have going for us (ahem, $20M payday much?!), we can’t help but focus on what we don’t?

What is our problem? Are we just spoiled? Or is part of the human condition the absolute inability to focus on what’s in our own backyard–so blinded are we by our Alice in Wonderland perceptions of our neighbors’ oh-so green grass?

Consider: If Zellweger is in fact so consumed with her biological clock that even a cool $20 million won’t assuage the fear of being left alone, that she can’t see how amazingly, craptastically blessed she is to be in such a position, to have a $20 million offer on the table, that she’s financially free enough to turn down, might her perspective be just an eensy bit skewed? Maybe her scary-knickers-sporting counterpart might have a lesson to offer here: I mean, it seems to me it’s all a little bit like Ms. Jones’ lamenting over her ‘smug married’ friends, who, while married, were nowhere near as smugly so as Bridget imagined… or her inability to realize that a Colin Firth in the hand might be worth two Hugh Grants in the (proverbial) bush?

I guess the main question I’m wondering here is this: Are we unable–or unwilling… or both–to imagine that the path we didn’t choose might in fact be as imperfect as the one we did?

A wise person once said that it’s not the cards we draw in life that’s important, it’s how we play the hand we’re dealt. And maybe we’d enjoy the game a whole lot more if we were able to remember that.

And if not, maybe we’d do well to take a cue from Bridget, and have another glass of wine.

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Earlier this week, I got an email from Feminista author/blogger Erica Kennedy (you remember the interview I did with her back in December), asking if I’d seen this item in the UK’s Daily Mail, a trend piece about (unmarried, non-mom) women opting out of the rat race in favor of waiting tables, walking dogs, and QT with grandma, sprung from a book entitled–get this!–“30-Something And Over It: What Happens When You Wake Up One Morning And Don’t Want To Go To Work… Ever Again” by Kasey Edwards. I hadn’t yet, but once I did, my fingers got to twitchin. Why’d I feel the need to pen my own post about it? Well, consider:

‘Have you ever woken up and realised that you didn’t want to go to work?’ [Edwards] asks.

‘I don’t mean you had a big night and you’d prefer to sleep in, or it’s a nice day and you’d rather take your dog to the park instead. I’m talking about being over it.

Completely and utterly over it. Sure, you might have a gold card, but you’ve maxed it out buying things you can’t afford and that you don’t even need, trying to fill a void that just can’t be filled. You numb your discontentment every night with gin and tonics.’

Okay, this being the United States and not the United Kingdom, I’m inclined to doubt we do our numbing with gin and tonics. But still. The sentiment tends to ring true. Those fat dinners at the hottest restaurants with the open kitchens and mixologist-conceived cocktails…. Those boots… Those highlights… Those weekends away–filled with spas and syrahs and tapaaas…

Here’s a bit more from Edwards in the Daily Mail piece:

‘All through your teens and 20s you’re working towards something, and there’s this sense of delayed gratification: ‘I’ll work hard now and I’ll get a better job.’ And you get to your 30s and you go: ‘Where’s the pay-off?’ The gratification that you’ve been expecting for years doesn’t come, or when the reward comes, it’s not satisfying. I really did think: ‘Is this all there is?’

…And far from fuelling our ambition, it seems that the current economic crisis is only compounding our sense that status, success and money are a fool’s gold.

First, let’s back up. The girls from the piece? They had fat jobs. But they were busting their asses. And they saw their bosses… and didn’t want to be them. And so they up and quit, trading in their expense accounts for pooper scoopers, their time in the executive suite for time in the rec room at the retirement home. This recession? It’s global. And they’re barely covering their bills. So what made them do it?

I tend to think it’s the great expectation question all over again. And, having just written about the little-bit-marrieds, welll, I couldn’t help but see a little parallel: Are our working girl fantasies, perhaps of Melanie Griffith, scoring the corner office and the pretty new briefcase–given to her by one Harrison Ford, every bit as ridiculous as those spawned by Disney, in which the princess scores the happy ending wedding and the glass slipper–given to her by Prince What’s-his-name? Which is to say, do we find disappointment in our real lives because we’re expecting a Hollywood-style happy ending?

Actually, I don’t know if it’s as simple as that. In fact, I don’t think it is at all–I just like movies. Really, I think it’s more a generational thing–and a too many choices thing. These milestone institutions–career, marriage, mortgage–they all involve a pretty serious dose of commitment. And our generation, with everything on the menu… well, could it be that, no matter what the routine, once something becomes routine, we’re doomed to be just not that into it anymore? No matter the pluses, are we unable to see anything but the minuses? This isn’t quite perfect, so why should I stick around? Once we’re confronted with reality’s non-perfection, do we begin to imagine what we’re not doing–in the loveliest possible way, of course? Or are we categorically incapable of satisfaction–do we equate finding, even looking for, satisfaction with a certain complacency, with settling? Is that friggen grass always going to be greener, no matter which yard is ours?

Or is this non-attachment, this willingness to pass on the status-proving trappings a step on the path to enlightenment, an epiphany? You know, kinda like the one in The Devil Wears Prada, where the put-upon assistant working the job “a million girls would kill to have” up and quits to find happiness in a shabby newsroom…

And then kinda ends up with the prince?

Someone stop me. I’m doing it again.

Kennedy’s take?

Is this cool or crazy — I can’t decide. (Actually, I think these women are going to spend a year going on long walks and hanging out with Grandma then they’ll figure out what they’d rather be doing and get back to work.)

In other words, the grass will still be greener.

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Readers, we’ve missed you, but we promise we’re back — and we’ve returned bearing gifts, in the form of a Q&A with the sharp, funny, honest, and slightly potty-mouthed author Erica Kennedy, whose first novel, Bling, is a New York Times Bestseller. But we bring her to you because Sydney, the main character in her new novel, Feminista*, is undoubtedly one of us. Allow me to quote:

She grew up believing she’d have it all. A Career with a capital C. A husband. Babies! She’d be the Enjoli woman, brining home the bacon, frying it up in a pan, never letting him forget he was a man! Who would’ve guessed the whole thing would turn out to be a scam, a cultural Ponzi scheme that would dupe every middle-class woman of her generation?


Ahem. I told you she was one of us. How could I not want to get Kennedy’s take on a few of our favorite subjects? It being the season of giving, she graciously obliged. Here are some excerpts.

SK: With regard to that quote [above], this feeling that it’s a scam, that we’ve all just been set up — do you believe that?

EK: In a sense, yes. But I don’t think it’s a scam. I think it’s a ‘grass is greener’ thing. When women were expected to stay home and take care of the kids, they yearned for more. They wanted to be out there, engaged with the world, making their own money, chasing their dreams. But then you get that and there are downsides to it. And then most still want to have kids and you realize how tough it is to manage both. But you can’t predict what that will be like until you’re in it.

I think that’s what the Opt-Out revolution is about. Women who got great educations because they were raised to believe they would have careers and that would be fulfilling but then they got out there and started working and realized how hard it was to juggle everything and made a choice to stay home. I know there are people who say the Opt-Out Revolution is a myth but I know many women who are living this life and many who would if they could afford to.

But that’s why “balance” is always the catchword when women are talking about their lives. Because we don’t want to kill ourselves working all the time, we don’t want to stay home forever, we want to find a way to integrate work and family (and whatever else we need to feed our spirit) in a way that feels right for each of us. And I think we’re in a time now where we are still learning how to do that. The paradigms are not in place. We all have guilt about making these choices, no matter which we choose. I think in the future, things like flextime programs will be more prevalent because that’s a way that companies won’t have to lose smart, talented women who feel like they need to make this either/or choice.

SK: So do you think the idea of ‘having it all’ is just a bunch of bullshit?

EK: To me, the bullshit is to think ‘having it all’ means one cookie cutter thing. Everyone is different and everyone has to define their ‘all’ for themselves. And do you really need it all? Can’t we be content with some? Do we always have to be chasing more?

SK: Your character Sydney is tormented by the pressure to do something amazing — the Career-with-a-Capital-C thing. Have you felt that yourself?

EK: I went to Stuyvesant, a high school for gifted students in New York. I went to Sarah Lawrence where women were encouraged to have Careers and the thought of NOT working was unheard of. I went to Oxford my junior year. So I think there were expectations that I would do something great and I internalized that and put a lot of pressure on myself. I don’t blame anyone for having high expectations of me but it goes back to what does ‘having it all’ mean? Does it mean having some fancy title, executive perks, making a lot of money, having your book on the NYT bestseller’s list? Or does it mean waking up and looking forward to your day, whatever you make of it? I sublet a place in Miami Beach when I was finishing Feminista and it was, hands down, the happiest time of my life. I would write at the beach, swin in the ocean every day, ride my bike around town. And part of that happiness came from being around people who were very chill, who didn’t define themselves by their jobs.

SK: Here’s another great quote from Feminista, variations of which we’ve heard from several of the women we’re profiling in Undecided: “Sometimes she thought, in a strange way, life was so much easier for people with no options… You didn’t sit around thinking, I could have been a documentarian or a forensic psychologist or a sitcom writer…” The angst over the road not traveled – a definite side effect of all the options. Does that affect you? How do you move past it?

EK: This has always been a huge problem for me, even now. I grew up in a middle class family where my father was a corporate exec, my mother started her own design business. Then I went to school with very wealthy kids and knew people in the hip-hop world, most of whom didn’t have formal educations but became millionaires by the time they were thirty. So nothing seemed out of reach for me. I lived in New York and knew people who were business owners and lawyers and CEOs and restauranteurs, anything you could name. And everyone knew I was this honor student, so literally every road was open to me. Which was crippling. So I floundered for many years, working at jobs I didn’t have any interest in because I didn’t know what I should be doing. There were too many possibilities.

A really big pet peeve of mine is that no one, at least in my experience, helps you identify what kind of career you might excel at. Because I think the thing that you will be successful and most fulfilled doing is that thing that you’d do even if someone wasn’t paying you. You can always find a way to make a career out of your talent or passion. But that innate thing may be the thing you completely ignore, like I did with writing. In college, no one helped me identify what my passion/talents/marketable skills were. Why isn’t that a required class?

The week before graduation, one of my professors asked me, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” And I said, “Um, married with children?” She was horrified. As was I. But I think that may have been my unconscious wish, to find someone to take care of me and make the decisions, because I was so ill-prepared, despite my ‘good education’, to do that for myself. I quit my 9-5 job at age 28 to write professionally and didn’t start writing my first book until I was 32.

And too many options doesn’t just apply to jobs but also to men and where we should live and what kind of life we should have. It’s the predicament of abundance. As women, all these doors have been thrown open for us but it’s like, Oh no, which one do I choose and where the fuck is it going to lead me?!

SK: In the book, Sydney sabotages herself, beats herself up, pushes others away–and yet, she’s extremely relatable. What do you think it is about Sydney that’s so universal?

I think what’s relatable about Sydney is that she’s trying to work it all out, what she wants and what she doesn’t want. But I actually didn’t expect a lot of women to identify with her because she’s very angry and bitter–and I consciously did that because I think we, as women, do have this anger and resentment about all the choices we have now and not knowing which to choose but we are socialized NOT to show our anger. We’re supposed to suck it up and worry about everyone else. I wanted Sydney to embody all of that repressed stuff. I hoped women would find her and they story interesting but I’m really surprised that so many women say they identify with her or that her story is their story.

*Feminista, St. Martin’s Press, 2009.

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