Good morning, Thursday. It's gloomy outside and I'm very much in chill mode, but need to be in work mode.
So lately I've been posting about my redefinition, how to get that, my fear of change, my goals, etc. I feel like I've been a bit hoof in the headlights of late, and I'm slowly starting to feel that all clear. But truly, no matter how confused, vexed, or frustrated I get, I have bigger concerns. Because I'm deeply worried about Tinsley Mortimer, and that's the truth. The more wine she drinks, the more nervous I become. Homegirl is positively untethered.
If you are a Real Housewives of New York fan, you've no doubt noted the presence of one Ms. Mortimer this season. Society stalkers will most likely recall Tinsley's original "it girl" status in New York back in the day- she of the curling iron curls and doll parts. She was pretty much the toast of the town, until she ended up on an ex's lawn on Palm Beach accused of trespassing. Seems she's trying to claw her way back into New York life, and damn if she is not just the most fragile bird with a blowout of all time. And she's dancing as fast as she can.
I've oft fantasized as well as obsessed about the life of a fallen heiress. The seclusion, The Garbo glam of it all, the poor little rich girl mystique. But not when it comes to Tinsley. You can just look at her and tell she's trapped in some former version of herself, still milking that hair, those sorority girl get ups, the whole lot of it. Plus, there's that pesky drinking situation while on antidepressants. I'm not judging the poor lass but truly- going up against vipers like Bethenny Frankel can't be easy week after week and taping after taping. I'm worried about you, Tins. You need to get it together, girl. Put down the fake lashes and move on. And when Bethenny takes you to the Bronx for some bolognese, don't dress like it's rush week at J. Crew U, even though you still like to make out with men fresh out of Vanderbilt. Truly she is not my brand of socialite- I tend to like the more exotic jetset classics of yore like Marisa Berenson, Nan Kempner, Carolyn Roehm- even the stealth drunkenness of Pat Altschul on "Southern Charm". I live for her. You may not know who these people are, but I've always been fascinated by society chicks. I also think the life of Tinsley could be an excellent musical- has all the makings. I'd queue up for that one.
Listen, I'm not making light of her problems. But as I contemplate this vast amount of change coming my way whether I like it or not, I think of poor Tinsley, and realize I may not be in as bad shape as I think I am. It's a sick form of entertainment watching someone self combust on reality TV, and I'm rooting for Tins to turn it all around, get an edgy new haircut, move to Brooklyn, and fall in love again, perhaps with a more "normal" sort who will love her without the baggage of a pedigree.
I'm worried about my Summer plans, or lack thereof, and I'm also worried about Tinsley. And chance are, if you've been watching the latest episodes of RHONY, you are too. For if there is anyone in need of a change, it's that gal. If I had the chance to style her, I'd absolutely go more Kate Moss/Marianne Faithfull and get her a good bit more rock and roll glam- she's been through some shit, she needs to wear that with pride and stop dressing like a wedding cake topper. And she definitely needs to unplug that look. Strip it down. Tough it up. I'm hopeful. Maybe as I figure out my own shit, she'll figure out hers.
Cause that's what's up this Park Ave Princess of a Thursday not on Park Avenue. Not even close. Cause that's what's up this real housewife of a Thursday in the 718. Yours, in displaced concern and broken dreams. Pick up the phone, Tins. I'm calling you, girl. XO