Reading While Hot
Reading, so hot right now.
Among the litany of trends whirring past at a Tiktok-accelerated rate, reading is now… hot? I mean, it’s always been hot to be smart *in my book* but I suppose when the It girlies start (publicly) doing it, it’s worth a write-up (or two).
Bustle distills it best by observing the calcification of a certain sub-genre of alt-lit that’s emerged among the noise: a proper Hot Girl Book must have (1) a hot female protagonist — “They’re the Winona Ryders of the world: Hot because they’re cool, not because they’re prime objects for the male gaze.” (2) a certain degree of emotional fragility that maladies said hot female protagonist, (3) pages must contain a lot of sex — but like, Sally Rooney sex, not the porn-y kind. And certainly not the 50 Shades kind. Hot Girl Books™ are Smarter Than That™. (I’d tally in Hot Girl Memoirs™ to the fiction picks, too.)
I love a fat stack of new reads precisely like these staring at me expectantly from my bedside table.
Clicking around the algorithm-guided suggested reading sent me down an escapist Amazon rabbit hole — a time capsule of all the books I’ve read before. It had me imagining the Hot Girls (like me! like you!) curled up reading them.
The book: Tonight I’m Someone Else: Essays
The author: Chelsea Hodson
The skinny: "Chelsea Hodson catalogs and explores all the weird kinks you develop while looking for love in your 20s: excessive longing, self-sabotage, self-delusion, self-obsession, self-deletion, and lying all the time. . . .Hodson digs deep beneath the surface of her loves to draw out life-sustaining truths trapped as stray thoughts, poignant details, and well-wrought memories." ―The Stranger
The bedside: Moleskine for jotting down memoir missives, iPhone charger that doesn’t quite reach bedside (perhaps for the better, as she runs down her battery swiping the apps), copy of Lolita, half-burned Palo Santo next to a matchbook from Sel Rrose, Rosegrown coffee mug smeared with Violette.FR’s Petal Bouche lipstick, The Row perfume oil.
Related reading: The Houseguest, And Other Stories
The book: literally show me a healthy person
The author: Darcie Wilder
The skinny: “literally show me a healthy person reads like the schizo-monologue of a young, wired maniac who’s given up trying to figure out where and why the fuck they are, why anything is what it is, why anything. In here, all rules are off, all time is broken, and all ideas are drugs. Who the hell writes like this about daily life? Darcie Wilder does.” — Blake Butler
The bedside: half-smoked pack of Marlboros, wired headphones (dirty from the bottom of her bag), iPhone lit up with push alerts from Twitter and the Chani app, copy of The Drunken Canal, Duane Reade receipt for Bioderma, Prozac bottle from sketchy Internet provider, Stila smudge pot, Loewe wax candlestick.
Related reading: So Sad Today
The book: The New Me
The author: Halle Butler
The skinny: "Ingenious . . . masterfully cringe-inducing and unsparingly critical . . . The New Me continues the author's interrogation of the disappointments of the workplace and the diminished rewards of the so-called American dream...[and] explores self-improvement at its absolute, impractical, soul-crushing worst...[Butler's] wit and insight keep the pages turning." — Chicago Tribune
The bedside: TV remote, half-finished bottle of Malbec and a grapefruit LaCroix (both leaving rings on the table), bottle of OPI “Funny Bunny” nail polish, Nest candle, USB lighter purchased via TikTok, Laneige lip sleeping mask, iPad 2 lit up with the front page of The Daily Mail.
Related Reading: Boy Parts
The book: My Year of Rest and Relaxation
The author: Ottessa Moshfegh
The skinny: “Ottessa Moshfegh is easily the most interesting contemporary American writer on the subject of being alive when being alive feels terrible. Watching Moshfegh turn her withering attention to the gleaming absurdities of pre-9/11 New York City, an environment where everyone except the narrator seems beset with delusional optimism, horrifically carefree, feels like eating bright, slick candy—candy that might also poison you.” —Jia Tolentino, The New Yorker
The bedside: near-empty Ambien prescription bottle, stack of unread fashion magazines, unusable Mad et Len candle with wick dug out, Vinter’s Daughter serum, Juul, Dorsey tennis necklace in Ginori ashtray, penny bar receipt from Fanelli’s, post-laser Dr. Rogers healing balm.
Related reading: Cleopatra and Frankenstein
The author: Jia Tolentino
The skinny: “From The New Yorker’s beloved cultural critic comes a bold, unflinching collection of essays about self-deception, examining everything from scammer culture to reality television.”— Esquire
The bedside: tretinoin, Augustinus Bader The Rich Cream, disposable camera, iPhone lit with neglected BeReal notification, Ghia can, Cartier tank sourced via Dimepiece, empty coffee cup from Abraço, bobby pins, current copy of The New Yorker, Weedie Parker lighter.
Related reading: Dress Code
The book: Conversations with Friends
The author: Sally Rooney
The skinny: “This book. This book. I read it in one day. I hear I’m not alone.”— Sarah Jessica Parker (Instagram)
The bedside: Apple Airpods max, Nuface, Lelo SONA vibrator, brand new Biologique Recherche Masque Vivant, Diet Coke with straw, Rhode lip balm, Emi Jay hair clip, Carbone matchbook, cardboard “No Pictures” coaster from Soho House.
Related reading: Beautiful World, Where Are You
The book: Sweetbitter
The author: Stephanie Danler
The skinny: “Danler’s sexy, astute debut is really a love story about the addictive pull of restaurant life… Anyone who’s ever tied on an apron will think, ‘Finally, someone wrote a book about us.’ And nailed it.” —People
The bedside: Pineapple Estate heirloom tomato candle, Fishwife tinned fish and crackers (eaten in bed), half-glass of Scribe Pet Nat, corkscrew from local wine shop, pen swiped from St. Regis bar, Jennifer Fisher gold hoops, tube of Tom Ford red lipstick.
Related reading: Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
The book: Token Black Girl: A Memoir
The author: Danielle Prescod
The skinny: “Former BET style director Prescod lays bare the toxic scaffolding of the fashion and beauty industries in her piercing debut…As she reckons with [these] small- and large-scale oppressions, Prescod maintains a striking self-awareness and even hope that these problems have solutions. The result is sure to galvanize those who are looking to make change from within fraught spaces.” —Publishers Weekly
The bedside: Hermes lip oil, laptop with half-written email to therapist, print issue of The Cut, Byredo Loose Lips candle, Edward Enninful autobiography, Anna Wintour biography, dosist pen, highlighter, well-loved Bottega sunglasses (no case), 4-carat engagement ring in Dinosaur Designs trinket dish, Rohto eye drops, iPhone lit up with article about return of skinny pants.
Related reading: I’m Glad My Mom Died