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And out of this unusual payoff emerged both my initial excitement and my ultimate disillusionment. The reward was recognition rather than respect, a life richer in style than in substance. From me they wanted items and preferably salacious ones. I learned before too long that readers looked elsewhere for good writing and real insight. And like any infatuation, mine was blind. Admonished to distrust the flattery and to keep my distance from the glamour, I grew infatuated with both. I lived a fast life and one result may have been inevitable: for a time, I became almost totally self-absorbed. It also made me an open target for criticism, personal and professional, sometimes inaccurate, occasionally vicious and always disheartening. The celebrity meant that I was recognized and sought out in public places, flattered by waitresses at the Stage Delicatessen and questioned with endless curiosity about my job. The power derived from the fact that exposure is a precious commodity, and my column could provide it in spades. The result was a certain personal celebrity and a measure of power I had never before known. It bore my name as its title and was accompanied by my postage-stamp-size photograph. Three days a week, the column appeared in the slot once occupied by Leonard Lyons. For a brief spell, I wrote a featured gossip column for the New York Post. Although Elaine (of Elaine’s) never went that far, she did as much in her own way: a table up front, a kiss-on-the-cheek hello and an occasional round of Courvoisiers, on her, late at night.Īnd what did I do to deserve all of this extraordinary treatment? Just one simple and unlikely thing. Often enough to make me uneasy, a check would not be presented unless I specifically requested one. Merely by mentioning my name, and generally without advance notice, I was assured a choice table at the most elegant restaurants. I was on the opening-night list for the theater, the advance-screening list for films and had my choice of tickets to concerts. I had just turned twenty-four and my evenings were spent mingling with Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli and Faye Dunaway Norman Mailer, Kurt Vonnegut and Gay Talese Linda Ronstadt, John Lennon and Bruce Springsteen Chevy Chase, Kris Kristofferson and Peter Falk Barbara Walters, Bella Abzug and Lee Radziwill and finally even Jimmy Carter and Walter Mondale.įor fourteen weeks I was invited to New York’s most glamorous parties and accorded special attention at the ones I chose to attend.
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To read every Esquire story ever published, upgrade to All Access.įor several months, beginning last fall and ending just after the inauguration, I lived a dazzling life. It contains outdated and potentially offensive descriptions of sexuality, gender, and class. This article originally appeared in the July 1977 issue of Esquire.