Menace to Society
Becoming a socialite is a grueling slog even in the best of circumstances. And I’m not in the best of circumstances. I don’t really know anyone or have any money, and while I’ve gotten plenty of ink over the years, it’s not the kind on the society pages (it’s on my shoulders, calves, upper arms, forearms…).
But nobody does it alone. Cinderella had a Fairy Godmother and a bunch of little birds. I had an editor, a stylist and a photographer lending occasional advice, but it wasn’t enough. I needed a publicist. And I knew of only one man for the job: R. Couri Hay.
Today’s Thursday Styles in The New York Times profiled Tinsley Mortimer, former reality show star and legitimate socialite. Speaking of which: can’t we think of a better term to apply to her? “Socialite” almost seems too ubiquitous a rank–like hipster–to qualify anymore, since anyone who is photographed doing anything above 43rd st. is now deemed a socialite. Though Ms. Mortimer might embody the definition of the word as “a person who attends many fashionable upper-class social events and who is well known because of this.”
Especially now that Ms. Mortimer has returned from a self-imposed hibernation to re-brand herself. Tinsley returns!