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Oh, hi.339 comments to Oh, hi. |
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Oh, hi.Room-elephant acknowledged. 339 comments to Oh, hi. |
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Copyright © 2024 Emily Magazine - All Rights Reserved. Site design by What's That Cat |
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You display a narcissism of profound, fundamental, breathtaking quality. It’s no surprise your relationships don’t last (and I would never feel like it was my place to say such a thing but for your narcissistic invtation to do so.)
Like a moth to a flame, you’ll never leave the “over-sharing” alone. Unlike the other poster above, I really don’t feel sorry for you. There are enough innocent victims of poverty and circumstance in this world to feel sorry for.
You get a lot of kudos about how you write. Try writing about something other than yourself, and we’ll see how it goes.
Blech. What bullshit.
Just finished reading your NYT piece. It was rivoting. 10 online pages, woman, and I ignored everything else to get to the end. (Which is like, what, reading 1000 real-book pages with undivided focus?) I never knew my attention span had that in it.
For me, one of the most striking things about this whole blogging/Gawker/constant-instant-information-sharing clusterfuck (um, sorry, is swearing allowed?) is that no matter how “intangible” the internet may seem, it creates real ties. Real connections. Real feelings – both good and bad. It becomes so easy to start caring about these people that you would have never known about or “met” were it not through the Internet. (God. It sounds like I could be talking about anything from blogs to anonymous dating chatrooms.)
Your article was able to illustrate all the highs and lows of blogging – why some people choose to share so much with relative strangers. I admire the honesty you approached everything with. Kudos to being able to walk away from a lot of the bad. I’m glad to be able to put a real person with my memories of that LKT interview (um, massacre?) and countless Gawker post readings.
If it makes you feel better about your propensity to overshare, I’ve never heard of you.
Um, yeah,…if you ever get around to reading this, Em,…the NYT article makes you sound like you’re “looking for life in all the wrong places” (to co-opt an old country music chestnut). You’ve taken a tiny reflexive turn, looking at the new frontier where the stable dialectic of public and private is morphing into something that we don’t have a vocabulary for yet, but it’s a *tiny* reflexive turn and not likely to give you great and lasting happiness.
You are now standing on a sheet of paper at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, thinking, “maybe, yeah, just maybe by standing on this sheet of paper I’m getting closer to the rim.” Keep parlaying your compromised privacy into high-profile pieces on compromised privacy and you’ll end up like John Malkovich down his own rabbit-hole: solipsistic solipsism. “Being Emily Gould.”
You really want to get out of the hole? Start reading up on studies on happiness. Also: Become selfless, anonymous, and do charity work where you really see a need. It’ll come along. Honest.
Loved your story on fakeanecdotes.com. Your NYT Mag thing really pales in comparison.
Pretentious?
Although, I must say, I WAS informed about the impulses of blogging and the addictive/gratifying nature of it all. So I did read it.
But – What is it about “young, hip, New Yorkers” that think they’re the center of the universe? Is it because you went to some expensive school you didn’t pay for? Is it because you get to hang out in one of the most expensive cities in the world and pay $15 for the same booze I get for $2?
There are 5 or 6 billion other people on this planet. Something like 75% of which are starving… and you are complaining like a 3rd grader because everyone knows you kissed so and so?? Please. My mother’s got cancer. What?
If being humiliated by your own accord is the worst thing that has ever happened to you… I got news… You will be humbled. (And that would prove my comment about you living a privileged/sheltered life.) I’m probably younger than you – and I have lived a life that reads like a fucking novel compared to some of this triviality. I’ve had friends die, lovers cheat, mistakes were made, people go to prison, babies are born, someone you love is raped, friends commit suicide… The kind of shit you don’t want everyone reading about. Things you definitely can’t just “Password Protect” or delete. Things you can’t forget.
I have never even heard of Gawker. So I went. What a waste of time and bandwidth. It kinda makes me sick that people are making money/careers out of crap like that. Gossip?? Go work for the Enquirer? At least that is funny sometimes.
Listen – the article wasn’t ALL bad. As I said before – it made me think. So thank you for that. I would even go as far as saying you’re a good writer. That’s probably what kept me reading. There was a sense of intimacy. So I think you learned some valuable lessons. Why do you feel the need to be constantly re-affirmed by other people? Why give a shit about what other people think? They’re all just as dumb and clueless as the rest of us.
Get out into the world. Live a life of abandon that is completely overwhelming and fascinating. Discover new things. You won’t have time to type it all up at the end of the day.
With love and respect. (And an ironic sense of satisfaction)
Oh hai, I seriously masturbate while thinking about people like you dying. Like, for realz. Thx!
I love David Williams (commenter) – all the proof you need that it was a great article.
I had stopped reading gawker after Jessica left and also because I had a new job that involved work, but last summer I started reading it again and was drawn back in mainly by they way you could weave a personal story into a larger context. I never knew where you were going and I loved it. I hope you don’t stop writing about yourself.
Hi Emily
Very intelligent piece in NYT – really good writing!
Louise
…good read. Self censorship is overated.
I dont know if your deleting all the negative comments or what, but why is this story the cover of NYTM? Theres a lot more amazing stories out there then blogger drama. Ten pages for this? I mean really
Have you ever written a screenplay? This could make an interesting little movie.
Emily, you are a FIMH (friend in my head). That is, if by some chance we were to know each other, I’m sure we’d become fast friends. I sort of fell in love with you in that article, slightly jealous of your friend Ruth (my best friend also escaped to New Zealand, seemingly never to return), but mostly just warm and tender thoughts (empathy perhaps?) brought on by your smart writing and the unwavering strength that is required to pen such a piece.
Now, I will go back to the article (didn’t finish reading it yet! you captivated me enough!) and imagine attending an Iyengar class with you, cooking up a curry stir fry and smoking a bowl and drinking blue moons on your roof after watching “secret lives of women.”
Thanks for this.
Congratulations. The cover! The Magazine. You are obviously a powerful writer, you make me feel your emotions deeply even though my experience is a worls away from yours. Would you consider writing about something that isn’t yourself? You remind me of what happens when a mirror looks at a mirror, which rather quickly gets very long and startlingly empty.
This comment is for Ruth: I think you have been a really good friend to Emily, and you are quite talented yourself.
You are heart-stopping beautiful, besides an engaging and fun writer. Great article. Please write more.
Fantastic piece. Nice personal touches to go along with very insightful info on the behind the scenes world of the blogosphere – yes that’s the first time I’ve been able to use that word. Good luck on your future endeavours and I’ll become a regular visitor to Emily Magazine now.
One thing no one is talking about: Emily actually writes well and she’s comfortable with her own aesthetic. Most bloggers have neither advantage.
Thanks for acknowledging that durned elephant.
Thing about the internet is, it’s so easy to make a mistake or 15 when you’re young, and then you have to live with it forever, because the internet seems really ephemeral, except nothing you do there goes away.
My best friend alienated the heck out of her parents because of a blog she keeps about BDSM. (Am I freaking out a little bit because now there’s a record of my email being attached to that? Yes. And telling myself to Deal.)
From one Emily to another, good luck. Like many bloggers (like my awesome best friend, no less) you can certainly sort out a thought in print. Your heart’s in the right place, and shit gets weird sometimes.
Seriously. To the new project, public or private, whatever it is.
It was interesting to have such a candid look at someone my own age, who is dealing with several issues that take have taken a large toll on my life but with a completely different approach than what I have taken. I have been relentlessly critical of myself while doing my best to project an air of stability. Your course of nearly complete disclosure with no limit on the circulation intrigues and terrifies me. I admire your courage and your tenacity. I can speak to the difficulties in dealing with the self doubt that your piece evocatively described. Even when you put all your personal foibles on display for the world to see (and comment on), you are still your own harshest critic. There is nothing wrong with feeling those pangs when you look back at who you were. What matters is that you are continuing to critically look at yourself and still humble enough to grow from those past times when you were a bit less schooled. Your willingness to remain vulnreable then and now speaks volumes.
Emily, dear. Get over yourself. Love, the entire population of the Planet Earth.
Good article in the Times. Your writing persona is very endearing, as usual. Am looking forward to a novel from you.
Soon you will go away and be forgotten.
As a long time retired professor now having fun as a writer, I was caught up with your NYT word weaving article. Your article on a literary loom helped me better understand the uniqueness of Big Apple energy, trivia, culture and applesauce. I sensed your fiber elementst of air (romantic confession)…earth (critical acceptance bringing euphoria and lethargy and therapy).. fire (Fire Island..you are an attractive woman and pillow talk with Josh must have ignited more passion than with poor Henry) Then, water (winding in and around the flow of your demons and saviors from comments I think are better off not read too…like this one)
It makes a fascinating tapestry if I can ever figure out if you’ve woven something as smooth as silk or is it rough nubby linen? Alas, too long am I pondering over Emily’s journey caused by Socratic revelations not yet known… always asking “Why?” I’ll just say “Why Not?” and know blogs help keep many people occupied in our increasing needs for intensive sharing about human comedy and pathos.. And maybe they create jobs? Good Luck!
We worked together, you and I, 7 years ago at an old steakhouse in Manhattan. Hah, well we worked when we weren’t doing our incessant chatting. You were new to the city then, and very young, but you were already extraordinary. I remember your verve, wit, and unconventional mind; you were independent and strong without ever being arrogant. In spite of your beauty, grace, and smarts, even then you were willing to be vulnerable, to learn all you could about life and this fantastic city, which must have still seemed so mythical to you.
And now, seven years later? Well done, Emily, living as authentic a life as possible in the artifice of New York and, what’s more, writing brilliantly about it. Anyone who thinks you’ve lost yourself doesn’t understand how committed you are to learning, and to living life deeply. Apparently you’ve grown and matured, but your essential qualities have not changed since last I saw you.
Oversharer, or just honest and without a mask? Well, keep it up. It’s people like you who make this Earth a better, more interesting place.
Do you remember ICQ? Maybe 1994? It was like a drug, like pornography, like anonymous sex. But we only talked of sick kids and cold weather.
Weird and compelling. We’ll look back on this time as the Age of the Voyeur.
Thank you for sharing yourself with us, especially those of us who never asked you to. You are a beautiful and talented writer.
Does moderation mean editing after monitoring…huh?
It is always good to have cheerleaders in life, but I fear Emily’s supporters are shielding her from a few very important facts. My intention here is not to tear Emily down, but to translate the anger and frustration currently being vented over at the New York Times. First of all, being a good writer does not count for much when the subject is yourself. The standards are much higher and readers expect you to teach them something about humanity and themselves. For this, you have to be a great, brilliant writer, or people will be angry at you for wasting their time. Second, there are a lot of people who are completely fed up with the insta-culture that has taken over our society in recent years. People have become self-obsessed to an unhealthy point, and that is a valid and legitimate criticism. Some of these comments may be borne out of a general seething anger for which Emily is not responsible. But a lot of them come from a very sincere resentment. We don’t expect Emily to be out saving the world but we do expect something substantive. Maybe not on a blog or on gawker, but most definitely at the New York Times. Shame on them, by the way, for enlisting Emily in their effort to remain relevant. Shame on her for saying yes. I hope that she comes out of this with something to say about someone else besides herself — write about people living in inner city ghettos or war refugees or poor rural families. Hell, don’t be nearly that serious and instead write about movies or travel or books. Instead of therapy-drive insights, give us ideas — good, solid ideas that will actually make us think, consider our place in the world. Therein is the path to redemption.
Enjoyed your article. Couldn’t believe the 600-plus comments it generated on the NYT site in so little time. I’d never heard of you before. The NYT commenters are way too negative. I sense a generation gap issue here. At any rate, please keep writing.
-from a 40-year-old Seattleite
You are, and always will be, a cunt. Get used to it.
self-absorbed & whiny, though you kept me reading 10 (internet) pages .. perhaps a morbid fascination that someone could put themselves so out there. i got embarassed reading it for you.
2nd what others are saying … you are a talented writer with great potential .. get outside of your own head and hip .. nyc world of woes.
best
c
Excellent work, as usual. Thank you for doing what you do. Also, YOU WIN. Seriously.
I never read anything more than a page in the NYTimes until I read yours!
cruised over here from nyt feature, dig the insights and perspective of your writing.
just wanted to say re: “I Have a Blog so You Don’t Have to”– thanks!!!
I wrote a huge comment, and hit submit, and was informed that the NYT was no longer accepting comments. Screw that. So I came here and decided to paste the whole thing, because I even spell-checked, damn it.
Here goes:
I’ve read all 715 comments at the time of this posting, and I don’t think that I’ve seen a single question for Emily to answer next Tuesday. I do, however, see A LOT of jealousy coming from people who think that they’re Nabakov and that Emily is the hack (despite the fact that, um, SHE’S the published author who has worked her butt off to support herself with her writing, and they do… what exactly?). And the people telling her to cut down the length are pretty amusing: the NYT told her exactly how many words to write, geniuses.
But I digress.
Anyway, I have an actual question about something you touch upon in your comment about sacrificial virgins. I’m only a year older than you, and I think that it’s ludicrous that a 24 year old was given such an influential job. And for better or worse, we all have to agree that Gawker was influential. This had to have been a calculated decision on the part of the site owners: get young, inexperienced girls who really don’t understand the repercussions of airing dirty laundry the way someone even a few years older would, to do the dirty work. They’ll burn out quickly, either see through the manipulation or have a nervous breakdown, but smart, ambitious 24-year-olds are a dime a dozen so another one can always be found. Do you have any feelings about this strategy? Do you think it was a system that set you up to fail? Do you feel used?
I guess I have a second question, which probably isn’t really appropriate to answer, but I’ve been musing about you all day. The college that we both went to (as I said, you were one year behind me and I only vaguely knew you but was well aware of your prolific emailing… for Student Affairs or something like that?) was very small, insular, and at a certain level, very forgiving of transgressions. Being so small and with very few connections to the outside world, it kind of had to be. These factors made it so that there was very little privacy: everyone knew everything about everyone else. The gossip machine wasn’t some ruthless Mean Girls thing, it was just what happens when you put a thousand-some teenagers on a hill in the middle of nowhere. “Stalking” was a term that was used very lightly, without the creepy connotations it has in the real world, and was a popular way to while the time away. New York is also, in a really weird and ironic kind of way, very small, insular, and forgiving. However, the gossip mill is ruthless, and stalking people is a bad, bad thing. Did you understand that there was going to be a culture shock? Were you prepared for it? You use “stalking” so lightly in the infamous Kimmel interview, and immediately correct yourself: it occurred to me that you were using it the way you would have chatting to friends in Pierce, and then had to remember that you were actually on national TV. You went from being a prolific campus emailer where most of your emails served the public good, to running a small blog that was primarily read by your friends and people who enjoyed hearing about your life, to editing a hugely popular and influential blog which people love to hate and where you made plenty of enemies. It’s quite a leap, and it happened very quickly, and I don’t blame you for acting as if you were still in college, considering what a formative experience college is for many people. If you don’t answer this here, I at least look forward to reading your essay about it in the alumni bulletin
As the only person who has actually asked a question in this entire thread, I look forward to answers.
Excellent NYT article, you have an extra fan. Ciao, Luis
I loved the NY Times Magazine article. I had never read any of your blogs before or been on Gawker so for me it was a great discovery. Well done.
You are, actually, a decent writer. Which is why it’s disheartening to see you turn yourself into a “personality.” There’s something disingenuous and icky about internet celebrities (well, about famous people in general who gain fame through revealing details of their personal lives). I don’t know you, but I hope that in the future you can find a way to direct (again) your considerable talents to a subject besides yourself. People might love reading salacious personal details, but in the end the personal narrative is often cheap and disposable.
I love what that older man wrote, it sort of reminded me of those notes from your grandfather you write about–I hope he’s right, and the NYT story is part of something more consequential for you. Regardless, I wish you luck (as meaningless as it may be coming from some random anonymous person on the internet).
Great piece in the NYT, Emily. Keep up the great work!
I just do not get it. I mean, I understand that you’re interested in you. What I don’t get is why others seem to be.
I think I’m going to regret this…
Two years ago, I reached some kind of critical mass after years of writing. Strangers were coming to my door. Other strangers were calling me. I had an entry on Wikipedia, and finally, enough people cared about me to deface it on a semi-regular basis.
You know what? I hated it. I asked for it — subtly begged for it — for years. There is nothing more jarring than to suddenly find yourself loved or hated by people who don’t know who you are.
Do you know what I did? Vanished.
Do you know what Emily did? Wrote about wanting to vanish. Publicized her deep desire to vanish and the lack of meaningful contact she has with damn near anybody. Throughout the whole thing, the whole article, that’s the common thread: wanting to be invisible and wanting something more out of life than shallow text messages and twitters.
And so it goes. I expect that in two years, we’ll have an article in Newsday’s weekend supplement about the article in the NYT weekend supplement.
IS that your real nose?
Emily,
In this day in age, with our shortened attention spans and constant clicking/highlighting/scrolling around various websites/RSS feeds/social networks/blah blah blah, it takes something special to glue me to a 10 pages without stopping. Your piece was incredible and I wish you nothing but success in the future.
hey emily.
i really appreciated your article. this is the first time i’ve read your work.
what is it about wanting people to know our deepest thoughts? i am starting to think it’s because we don’t feel we have a way to be authentic in our real life- with our friends and family- so we do it online.
i’ve got friends that don’t know a lot about my inner world and i feel like if they did, they’d disown me.
what do your parents think about you? do you have friends that you share everything with? do you keep anything for yourself these days?
i started a website called http://www.MiserableOldCow.org because i feel like it’s so important to speak your truth- all of it. women can post on relationships, body image, career, etc. they can express all the crap around these issues- things they feel they can’t say to friends directly, but need to get off their chest.
i’ve been hesitant to let folks know about it though because i think people will judge me for even putting it out there. women from all over post- which is great, but the idea of having such intimate details out there for anyone to read is scary.
and then i get to the place of, what the hell? am i going to be a prisoner to other people’s opinions for the rest of my life? and then i go even further to the question of, ‘is it really other people’s judgments i worry about or am i the one who isn’t comfortable with myself?’ i really think that’s it, but i don’t yet know how to reconcile that piece.
thanks for sharing. super helpful.
peace.
You are so talented!!
To think that all this ridiculousness stems from one simple thing: You loved Josh and he didn’t love you back. The lengths to which your breathtaking vanity will let you go…!
I wish I hadn’t wasted the last 30 minutes of my life reading that article you wrote. Actually, I didn’t read it–I’d read parts, sigh, get annoyed, skip ahead. Then I decided to come here and tell you about it, since you and yours will probably get off on my negative comment. All I can say is, you deserve everything you’ve ever gotten.
Where were the fact-checkers when you described Josh as attractive? Googled pics. He looks like an albino camel. But you on the other hand are fucking hot, great pics. I actually stumbled upon your blog YEARS ago before you went to Gawker and thought you were a good writer.
I’m glad that I’ve never heard of you until now. Your narcissism seems boundless.