Not everyone wants to work at Vogue.
"Was approached for it, they want 4 days in office. Respectfully no.”
Good afternoon everyone. Halfway through today’s letter you will see a paywall. If you want a paid subscription to Feed Me for 25% off, you should use this link, not that one.
Today’s letter includes: Why beauty writers don’t want the beauty writer job at Vogue, Tucker Carlson told me why he’s running ads on Red Scare, an SC103 store is coming to Chinatown, and the new not-yet-named food media company from Puck and Vanity Fair alums is hiring.
📱 Have a story you think we should look into? Text the anonymous Feed Me Tip Line: (646) 494-3916
Over the last few days, my Google Calendar has become a Jenga game of holiday parties and lunches and drinks. A million reasons to celebrate something. A million opportunities to catch a cold. If you’re wondering, I drink a lot of green juice from delis, but Juice Generation is also good. I don’t fuck with pre-bottled. I think skincare is mostly an act of faith, but I try to keep up with that as well. I’m reluctant to mention one of my favorite places in this newsletter, but there’s this hammam in Paris that
and I always go to for a few hours when we’re in town. They serve this overly-sweetened spearmint tea while you’re waiting for different spa services, and I recreate it at home and drink a lot of it in hopes that I won’t get sick. This is also an act of faith.I started a chat over the weekend about the hard parts of the holiday season, and I hope the responses make you feel a little less alone.
“As a former magazine editor in the Golden Era in NYC now living in the WNC mountains, I have become enthralled with your writing and see it as a lifeline to keep ‘in the know’.” - Paid reader
Social Skills is a monthlong Feed Me series to help you survive the most social season of the year. Today, Sasha Mutchnik (senior social director at GQ, mastermind behind @starterpacksofnyc, and one of the only people I’d give the It Girl title right now) writes about the inevitable characters you’ll run into at a holiday party this season.
Congrats! You got an invite to a cool holiday party. Maybe a few! It’s time to put on some sparkles and/or wool, take your atrophied small talk skills for a spin, and try not to get too wasted.
The holiday party is a crucible of social collision. Where else could you find your former co-worker, your ex, your friend from high school who just moved to the city, and your actual friends all in one place: Gathered underneath a framed vintage New York Film Festival poster, fussing with the butter display, mispronouncing offerings like ‘endive’ and ‘bruschetta?’ Something about the holidays (religious undertones, perhaps) seems to make attendance a bit more obligatory than your run-of-the-mill, anytime party. Everyone shows up, resulting in a truly strange and wonderful smattering of people who don’t often interact, some of whom likely haven’t done a shot (let alone a bump!) in years.
It’s also full of magical possibilities. Maybe you’ll do shrooms with some guy who one day becomes your husband! Maybe you’ll exchange numbers with the soon-to-be producer of your future film! Maybe you’ll meet a couple with a baby at home who haven’t had a real night out in ages (epic!) Maybe they’ll tell you they’re interested in exploring threesomes (decline, politely!)
The convergence also allows for an end-of-year cultural temperature check: What movies are people ranting or raving about? Which pop girlies are on the playlist? What books are the boys performatively reading? What zeitgeist-y moments are being referenced? Who are we wearing? What left an impression on this group of eyes and minds in the past year, and what didn’t? Everything becomes clear, then blurry, then clear again in the glow of the holiday party punchbowl.
Please enjoy the following bingo card of likely encounters, events, and overheard interactions you might be faced with when you’re out and about in New York this holiday season. If you get bingo, congrats, you’re meme-able. If you don’t, you probably still are.
