Everybody else is perfect How I survived hypocrisy, beauty, clicks, and likes

Gabrielle Korn, 1989-

Book - 2021

"From the director of fashion and culture at Refinery29 comes a provocative and intimate collection of personal and cultural essays featuring eye-opening explorations of hot-button topics for modern women, including the uptick in internet feminism versus ongoing impossible beauty standards in media, the battle against anorexia, shifting ideals about sexuality, and much more"--

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BIOGRAPHY/Korn, Gabrielle
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Subjects
Genres
Essays
Anecdotes
Autobiographies
Published
New York : Atria Paperback 2021.
Language
English
Main Author
Gabrielle Korn, 1989- (author)
Edition
First Atria Paperback edition
Physical Description
257 pages ; 22 cm
ISBN
9781982127763
  • Prologue
  • 1. The Beautiful Flaw
  • 2. Staying Out
  • 3. Aren't You a Little Young?
  • 4. Low-Rise
  • 5. Everybody Else Is Perfect
  • 6. Happy Weight
  • 7. Fashion Weak
  • 8. Bone Broth
  • 9. Entitled Millennial
  • 10. The Cult of Empowerment
  • 11. Nobody Else Is Perfect
  • Acknowledgments
Review by Booklist Review

Korn was named editor in chief of Nylon at 28. Not only was she unmatched in industry leadership for her age, but she was also the first openly gay woman to hold such a high title in fashion media. In this juicy memoir, Korn reveals how it all went down. Korn is cognizant of the fact that she could not have made it so far if not for the cheap New York City housing she enjoyed thanks to a relative. With a knack for social media, aesthetics, and managing others, Korn experienced meteoric rise from freelance writer to director of fashion at Refinery29 to her ultimate top title at Nylon. During this short period, Korn also battled anorexia and the shame that comes with loathing her own body while publicly proclaiming empowerment and body positivity. Her self image issues seeped into her romantic relationships, each of which inspired growth, teaching Korn much about her intimate self alongside her professional persona. A candid glimpse at the fashion media industry in the era of diversity and inclusion.Women in Focus: The 19th in 2020

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Debut essays from the director of fashion and culture at Refinery29. Though Korn, the former editor-in-chief at Nylon Media, worked at women's magazines throughout her 20s, their constant use of thin, cisgender cover models often collided with her ideals of diversity, inclusivity, and body positivity. Before the concept of being "woke" gathered steam, the author promoted change, penning viral columns on subjects like body hair. "As women's media grapples with how to be more positive and inclusive while covering topics like fashion and beauty," writes the author, "I frequently find myself caught between two worlds--the world of empowerment culture and the world of perfectionism." In addition to chronicling her rapid rise to the top of Nylon Media, Korn offers intimate forays into her struggles with anorexia, coming out as a lesbian, and finding meaningful love. The narrative serves as a poignant insider's look at women's digital media as well as a tender retrospective on growing into adulthood in the early 2000s. The author is honest about her enviable position as a tastemaker, though some readers may not muster sympathy for her depictions of salary negotiations or dressing for Fashion Week. In the breezy, clever "Low-Rise," denim trends inspire reflection on the complexities of sexuality, body image, gender presentation, progressive politics, and social media. "I was coming of age in a time when everything was hypersexualized," she writes, "but I didn't understand the relationship between that and actual sex, a disconnect that's one of the main reasons I didn't realize I was gay until after high school: it was like being disembodied." Particularly incisive is Korn's essay on feminist language being co-opted for profit while one of the author's themes--that feminism and aesthetics needn't be at odds but that the beauty and fashion industry still need to change--is keenly observed, if familiar. Korn also offers darker reflections about personal and wider pressures on women. A confident, confessional modern account of breaking free from image obsession. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Prologue Prologue Dear Readers, For two chaotically busy, gloriously productive, high-profile years, I was the US editor in chief of an international, independent publication called Nylon --a promotion I got when I was twenty-eight, younger than any Nylon editor in chief before me, and definitely the only lesbian who'd ever been at the top of the masthead. I was, in fact, younger and gayer than all the female EICs at competing publications in New York City, which was a point of pride for me but also made me an outsider. People like me were not supposed to get promotions like that. What's more, I was promoted on the same day the print magazine, which was in many ways beloved and iconic, folded. It was a terrifying task, but being put in a position of power meant that I could pour my idealism into something concrete: institutional change. I loved the brand but saw its flaws very clearly, and I was committed to building an editorial strategy that prioritized racial diversity, that welcomed all bodies to the table, and that didn't limit the idea of coolness to a certain economic class. Speaking of coolness: Growing up, I had been, in many ways, the kind of person for whom Nylon magazine was created, but I never felt like I was cool enough to read it. Like other magazines, it was so exclusive that it barely included anyone. As a teen in the early 2000s, I was an art kid who loved fashion but not in a popular-girl way, who self-identified as a music snob at fifteen, who dated skaters, who went to emo shows and played guitar in a punk band. Nylon was sold at Urban Outfitters, where I shopped; it partnered with Myspace, on which I spent my free time. It had always been in the background of my life. But as a queer woman, I also didn't see myself reflected in its pages, or really, any glossy magazine pages at all; even before I had words for my deepest desires, I felt that there was something inherent that rendered me other . Maybe because of that, when I was younger, working as a magazine editor didn't even occur to me. I fluctuated between vague ambitions. Sometimes I wanted to be a painter or a photographer, other times a poet. But I also wanted to write articles, and as I tried to make a career around online journalism in my early twenties, the lifestyle publications were the ones that paid me. And as someone who cared a lot about my own physical appearance, I also turned out to be good at writing about aesthetics in a compelling way. I found myself pulled toward the vibrant, bustling world of New York City fashion media, as though it weren't a choice but an inevitability. In my early days as a beauty editor, I was confronted by how a women's industry could be so obviously centered around, and controlled by, a straight, cisgender, white male gaze. I was astounded to watch my inbox fill every day with pitches from publicists about how to groom my body hair to please "my man"--I'd then watch as competing publications that had clearly gotten those same pitches would run stories using the same language. So, in turn, I began to churn out work about not shaving your body hair, among other things, and in general I became a very vocal, probably annoying, voice for change. What was the point, I asked myself, in working myself to the bone for big, fancy publications as a dyke if I wasn't going to try to make the content accessible for other queer people? Eventually I went to Nylon , where I was a digital editor for three years before my final promotion to the top spot, which meant the people in charge were finally starting to listen to alternate viewpoints. It was a huge win not just for me but for everyone like me who didn't see themselves represented in mainstream media. Behind the scenes, though, a very different story had unfolded. I'd achieved something majorly shiny and glamorous, but along the way, it hadn't been so pretty. At various times, I was underpaid, discriminated against, and sexually assaulted. And despite my fancy day jobs, in my personal life, I consistently behaved like a typical twentysomething: I was dating women who didn't treat me well, I was sleeping with women I shouldn't have, and I was struggling to figure out how to identify my own needs, which in turn made me a shitty person to be in any kind of relationship with. I smoked too much pot and didn't get enough sleep. I alienated people who loved me with my inability to ask for help and my tendency to self-isolate. I was also trying, and failing, and trying again, to recover from anorexia, a secret struggle that impacted every single aspect of my life. In contrast with my personal brand, the hypocrisy of my diagnosis wasn't lost on me, and that was just one more reason for me to be filled with self-loathing. Once I had big, "important" jobs, I was more than happy to hide behind the busyness that came with them, rather than face my own demons. I wanted so badly to show the world that an iconic fashion-based publication could become a beacon of thought leadership if you just let young women steer the ship. And we were very successful. I prioritized diversity within everything we made, and the brand evolved. Young readers called us "woke Nylon ." My junior editors called me "Mom." Eventually, I made a name for myself as a champion for inclusion. Work was still crazy, but by the end of my twenties, I was starting to get my emotional life together, falling in love with a woman who treated me with kindness and respect. I felt I knew myself. And then, in July 2019, two months after my thirtieth birthday, Nylon was suddenly acquired by a much larger company. I was caught completely off guard. I hadn't realized how burnt-out I was until that moment. I felt like I had nothing left to give, and so I resigned. I had thrown myself fully into the work of making women's media safe for all kinds of bodies but had become almost disembodied in the process. I could power through exhaustion and starvation and high heels that tore up my feet, and justify it with how important the work would be to other people. I'd been led to believe that notoriety is the ultimate aspiration, but the truth of the matter was I had been running a company as though it were mine when I didn't own a single piece of it. I had made positive change, but when you strip all the pretense away--the things our culture says make you an empowered woman--what's left? Who are we, as contemporary feminists, without capitalism? I realized that without my fancy job title, I didn't know how to describe myself. And really, the question for all of us is this: As a new generation of women, how do we recognize ourselves and each other without the pressure to be perfect--however that's currently being defined? I learned the hard way that professional success is not a good indicator of well-being. And I believe that is a deeply relatable phenomenon, though it's usually spoken in whispers, especially for women. So when I quit my big, fancy job, after spending a few weeks moping, I got to work. But it was a new kind of work, and the first step was returning to my own body. The second was remembering what it felt like to have ownership of my time. The third was deciding what to do with it. I also, immediately, had a book to finish--you're holding it. In the yearlong period between pitching the idea and finishing the manuscript, my life had been turned upside down. And I came out the other side stronger, and more self-aware, and with a clearer idea of what I needed. Suddenly, I had a much bigger story to tell. This is a book about what happens when you put your own well-being on hold to achieve a version of success that you think you're supposed to want, and how I finally was able to see--and then escape--the confines of perfection. I hope you enjoy the ride. Gabrielle Excerpted from Everybody (Else) Is Perfect: How I Survived Hypocrisy, Beauty, Clicks, and Likes by Gabrielle Korn All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.