Yesterday at work, my boss discovered that I have a secret career. He then Googled my name and went down a rabbit hole, reading a million old things I’ve written while I was trying to work. He also came across a bad review of my twenty-year-old book, “Cosmically Chic,” on Amazon.
It’s the second bad review I’ve got on Amazon for a book that was written several years ago. I don’t why anyone would be compelled to put in their two cents about an out-of-print book that includes relatively ancient fashion advice, but to each their own!
To me, it’s kind of funny because both bad reviews I’ve read make the stupidest points. The first one that someone posted a few years ago mentioned how anyone could get the same information online nowadays. Of course, when my first book was published in 2000 I was the only game in town. Facebook wasn’t even invented yet, nor were any of today’s popular social media platforms. I literally created the fucking genre in which I was working.
The second review accuses me of having an anti-Libra bias and being “catty.” In what world do fashion writers coddle their audiences? The reason I get work in the fashion business is because of my writer’s “voice.” If that comes off as catty, I’m doing my job. If I wanted to write about everyone’s “spiritual journey” and tell everyone how wonderful they are, I’d become one of those Twitter astrologers whose daily word-vomit is about as appealing to me as my daily bowel movement. I’d rather just flush both things down the toilet without having to spend too much time looking at them.
So, to those Karens who feel compelled to leave me online reviews about a book I wrote over two decades ago, I only have one thing to say: I don’t care what you think. And I feel pretty good about myself knowing that I’m not the kind of person who lives to rain on anyone else’s parade. The idea that you would try to make me feel bad because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear has a lot more to say about you than it does about me.