Abstracted book review:
'Bergdorf Blondes' goes right to the roots of rich-girl fun
By Alison Maxwell, USA TODAY
Missing Carrie and the sassy, privileged gals from
Sex and the City?
Bergdorf Blondes, a debut novel by
Vogue contributing editor Plum Sykes, is the next best thing and quite possibly more amusing for the twentysomething crowd. (
Related story: Read our interview with Plum Sykes)
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 | | Bergdorf Blondes provides a frothy fiction fix for Sex and the City fans who are still in withdrawal. | |
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Sykes uses her ultimate insider's position to give the reader a fun glimpse into the world of PAPs (not the medical procedure, but Park Avenue Princesses) searching for PHs (nope, not the acidity scale, but prospective husbands).
Bergdorf Blondes— the title is a nod to gorgeous flaxen-haired New York rich girls with perfect lives — uplifts with its comedic fiction.
"This is meant to be an intelligent comedy about very superficial people," Sykes says. "I'm very serious about the superficiality of the book. I worked really hard at the fluffiness."
In
Blondes, the reader follows the exploits of an unnamed narrator who refers to herself in the French Moi, has an affinity for peppering sentences with words like très and uses acronyms to describe everything from a rich boyfriend (ATM) to a mogul in training (MIT).
Moi is a fashion writer and "champagne bubble about town" who bounces from charity luncheon to Chanel sample sale to high-profile baby shower and back again with her rich heiress friend Julie Bergdorf, who has an affinity for shoplifting from Bergdorf Goodman, her family's store.
Among the more humorous bits:
Devastated by a broken engagement, Moi vows to kill herself under "très glamorous circumstances," wearing a Ritz-Paris bathrobe and rhinestone-trimmed Manolo Blahniks.
Julie sends Moi to her "therapist." When Moi realizes she's not at a shrink's office, she furiously dials Julie. "Darling, dermatology is the new therapy," Julie chirps.
While having sex with one of many partners, Moi text-messages Julie. She gets an immediate reply. "Can I borrow rabbit trim Prada for Frick benefit?" Minutes later Moi's partner ends the relationship.
Adding to the book's appeal is the well-developed cast of secondary characters.
Throughout the tale, antagonistic friend Charlie Dunlain pops up at the most convenient times — when Moi is stranded at an airport with no money, when she's locked out of her room at the Mercer Hotel — but it's his final appearance that seems the most predictable and disappointing.
Then there's Jazz Conassey, a lumber heiress and fashion muse who bears a striking resemblance to Paris Hilton or the like, who Moi is supposed to interview.
And of course there's Moi's mother, who is fixated on British aristocracy, insists on being called "Mummy" because it's "more British" and is determined to hook Moi up with the earl-next-door.
It's a cast of characters not unlike
Saturday Night Live, with lines written just as cleverly.
Blondes is an over-the-top, witty social comedy sure to put a spring in your step — whether you're walking in Manolos or Keds.
