Oh sweet baby Jesus.
Now, don't get me wrong, every once in a while I love a stupidly trashy gossipy 'memoir'. As I was at the library last night picking up a couple books I had on hold, I spied this one and thought, why not? Sometimes something mindless helps recharge my brain for the more academic books I usually read. I was hesitant when reading the back cover and how reviewers said it was as though Jane Goodall was an urban anthropologist, infiltrating the Park Avenue Mommy club. But still I went ahead with it.
That might seriously be one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made in relation to books.
This chick is seriously ridiculous, and not in a funny or ironic kind of way. She presented this like an anthropological study because her mom just loved anthropology when she was growing up in the Midwest and gosh this would be such a challenge because we have to have an apartment in THAT neighborhood so our kids can go to THAT public school. For f**k's sake, lady. Please pardon my language, but seriously.
By page five when the author is comparing herself to Jane Goodall, all I could think was how insulting that was to Goodall. Basically, this was just an excuse for a super rich white chick to brag about how much money they have and how hard life is with being a stay at home mom in Manhattan with nannies and blah blah blah. I totally skipped over the equally as pretentious 'field notes' section where she again tries to present this as 'research'. I will not dignify this book with any other response to this blathering drivel.
I quit reading after they got their condo or whatever. I don't even know. I don't even care. Don't read this, it is awful.