completely inane non-commentary which unsuccessfully attempts to quell "am i cool, guys?" class anxiety -- n. rochefort's monologue on irish girls in a certain groundbreaking youtube video could function as this review tbh. it's like 100% "my parents' 6-figure salaries are, in many ways, similar to my classmates' parents' 7-figure salaries" and then laying out, in unadorned list-style, what those reasons are -- pathetic, boooooooring, resonant for similarly status-obsessed striver lib girls with "intellectual" parents (to borrow the "music is my bag" taxonomic tool, imagine the "low" NPR lib w/high school english teacher parent or the "high" faculty brat).

the flight attendant essay is both the highlight and the most brazen missed opportunity. idk who the fuck assigned her to work on something Actually Interesting because she simply does not have the voice for it -- she herself says as much in the introduction and Boy She Delivers

american shiksa has some good lines but literally is just a tina fey bit; the polyamory one is similarly alright but has not aged well -- there are many Riper Examples immediately available to you on twitter et al any given week

cosigning other reviewers' pov: "thank god i never moved to new york" might be the big takeaway
( )

I don't know why I identified with Daum. Maybe I'm also obsessed with the trappings of life rather than its substance. I, too, pick my dreams based on a material understanding of things -- I strive for a life of hardwood floors, intellectual conversations -- a life of doing things for the sake of living. I related to all of her essays, even the snarky, supercilious ones -- especially those. It's too bad that so many of GR reviewers vilified the snobbishness in the writing -- because that's what I thought made Daum so strong. She swung into every essay with her own predetermined set of opinions and attitudes and used them to transport the reader into her life, to see things from her viewpoint. And even then, she even disclaims about her own snobbishness -- she was, in fact, one of those Music Is My Bag kids, she was one of those losers who fall in love with an Internet persona, she was one of those people buried in thousands of dollars of debt. This entire collection exclaims, "I'm imperfect -- in fact, like the world around me, I'm pretty shitty."

It's original and honest in a way not many books are. The style is smooth, fresh, cutting in a way that made me snigger. Daum's one of those writers who gets to the heart of her subjects -- or at least to the heart of her feelings on the subject -- which is something commendable. When discussing the family/colony of polyamorous lovers, she's not dismissive of their polyamory -- she's dismissive of how almost sheltered their lives are. ( )

3 stars ONLY because her writing style is fantastic. I love how she analyzes her life and how she got to where she is, but some of these essays just irked the shit out of me. She talks of writing things that are true and not true, so I'm hoping that more than a few of the details are false, written just for the thought process and shock value of those who staunchly disagree with her alleged thoughts. ( )

If you read a favorite author deeply enough, and if she's written enough books, you will eventually hit a dud. These are dated essays which don't hang together well. I already know about what Daum is trying to share here, through her other, better books and essay collections. ( )

The title essay is excellent. The rest rub me the wrong way. Too much of a Gen X "lol nothing matters" ethos. ( )