As the daffodils blossom, the birds get to chirping, the days grow longer, and I gradually stuff my arsenal of circa-2009 Hue tights back into the “winter heap” underneath my bed, so too do the weddings in the Sunday New York Times begin to suck less and less every week. Y’all can have your skanky old groundhoug… I know it’s springtime when the Styles section thickens and the January wedding weirdos retreat back into their second-rate law firm/engineering/chiropractor office hidey holes.
Let’s slowly stroke our chins like we’re Dumbledore pondering horcruxes and think for a moment about how this particular couple got the NYT stamp of approval.
Overachieving Jewish Princeton grads…. Groom is in finance and bride’s father in real estate development… Wedding at the Natural History Museum….
But the real humdinger here is obviously the fact that the bride used to be Anna Wintour’s assistant! Now there’s a human interest story for you.
When I saw just by glancing over the announcement that we were in for some kind of meet-cute background story, I figured/hoped it would be a nice, juicy “our love survived the real life version of the Devil Wears Prada” saga. But goddamn you Vincent Mallozzi! Instead I had to find a way to stay awake while I slogged through some drek about how she’s a cougar and his friends are wack. In the words of me every morning between 6:30 and 7:30… SNOOZE!