Normal Gets You Nowhere Kelly Cutrone (classic english novels txt) 📖

in stores that were selling turquoise fur vests to tweens, I realized I had a responsibility to use my platform to speak out against it. People in fashion, even if they disagree with the use of fur, do not speak out against it as a rule. They do not reveal their true opinions. To them I say, “Let’s move on and be progressive. We don’t need fur; it’s outdated. What’s more important, your outerwear or leaving your grandchildren a planet that’s not violent and sadistic and out of harmony?”

I am not trying to be a Debbie Downer here. There is nothing wrong with owning nice things; everyone is entitled to bask in his or her good fortune, whether you’re a publicist in SoHo or a middle-class kid in Syracuse shopping at the mall. But at the same time, we can’t be drunk on faux glamour and frivolity. I am urging you to do your homework on anything you have been sold, whether a news story or a vest. We need to be able to see through the millions of brands vying for our attention in order to find out what we really need to know. I’m asking you, when you see something in the news or the media that you love or sparks your interest, to follow the story further. Think of it as a diving board into a beautiful lake: you need to jump off and swim across to get to the place you truly deserve to be. Ask questions, do some research, and develop your own point of view. Determine if both the end result and the origin are in line with what you believe in, instead of just blindly trusting and following everything you read or hear or see in the pages of your favorite magazine or newspaper. And don’t be afraid if your opinion isn’t the normal one—in fact, that probably just means you’re on the right track.

I know it’s sometimes easier to kick back than to think honestly about these things. I mean, sometimes I choose unconsciousness too. When I’m really in the mood for something, I can make myself forget about what’s really happening, just like everyone else. Sometimes the want is just greater than the wince. But only when we start to dig deeper and understand the ways brands manipulate us can we make it stop. I’m not saying we’re ever going to be doing our best in all areas, but we need to try to make our actions line up with our beliefs as much as we can. In doing so, we’ll be shining a light down a long, dark hallway. Initially, these brands will try to ignore us. But if they want to stay in business, they’re going to have to buckle and change. Look at Super Size Me, a documentary film about the health implications of eating Big Macs every day. Not only was it a huge embarrassment for McDonald’s; it forced the company to start looking at changing its product offerings.

You, the almighty consumer, are the one that all these brands and their marketers, publicists, and reporters exist to sway. Everyone is trying to get your attention. They want your money and your devotion at any cost. And only you can put them out of business. Take a minute to figure out who you are in this equation and what you stand for. Then act accordingly.

And please, don’t ever show up in fur to an interview at People’s Revolution, because I will hang you upside down by Gravity Boots.

Chapter Two

The Kella-Sutra:

If You’re Not Getting Fucked by Midnight, Go Home

One must shock the bourgeois.

—Baudelaire

Over the July 4th weekend last year, I stayed in New York to work. All my friends and frankly the whole city had skipped town, so on Saturday night I said to my daughter, Ava, “Grab your sweater and let’s go out to dinner!”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” she replied. “I have other plans.”

“You’re eight! What plans could you possibly have?”

“I have to watch the new episode of Hannah Montana, followed by The Suite Life.”

Bam—here it was, the downside to raising an independent child. Ava was literally the only person I knew in New York who was potentially available to grab a bite to eat that night, so once she blew me off, I was left to spend the evening by myself. Can you say “pathetic”?

I grabbed a few spiritual pamphlets, one called “Surrender” and one called “Grace,” by my guru, The Mother, and walked to one of my favorite restaurants, on Mulberry Street. Unfortunately, while New Yorkers skip town on holiday weekends, the rest of the country—actually, many countries, including England, Italy, and France, the Navy, and the suburbs—descend. Little Italy was jam-packed. I settled into a corner table, the only New Yorker in the restaurant. I thought back to the first time I went to the movies alone, in the late 1980s. For about ten minutes I felt slightly odd and isolated, but then I realized I’m my own best company.

On this night, though, I was not allowed to enjoy my own company for long. Before even taking my drink order, my usual waiter approached to tell me that his teenage daughter had just gotten off work nearby and would love to meet me. Since I was alone, he wondered, could she sit at my table? “No” is actually one of my favorite words in the English language, but I couldn’t manage to spit it out, since her father had always treated me well. With a sigh, I put down “Surrender.”

She sat. She was a superfun, bubbly Italian American high-school girl, and she was on a mission. Her father was barely out of earshot when she launched an arsenal of questions.

“Can I ask you a few things?” she began.

“Sure,” I replied, preparing to be grilled on whether she should wear an asymmetrical shoulder dress to prom or when she’d be too old to wear silly bands. Unfortunately,