Kids for Kons
Kids for Kons
Of all my cons—living in this godforsaken city is a con; on Thursdays between 12-2 a group of young people call me “professor” HAHAHAHAHA—my greatest con going right now is my two Nuuly accounts. Nuuly is a clothing subscription service catering to women who want a “funkier” wardrobe vs. Rent the Runway’s office smarts and wedding chic. This is more for looking somewhat cool at drop-off, seeing a play at BAM, riding a bike down the Rockaway boardwalk. If you like heart appliqués on your sweaters, then Nuuly is for you. (I am available as a brand ambassador.) For $88/month you can get six new items that are ALL YOURS for 30 days. Here’s what: at least two of those items won’t work because the fit model had a three-inch torso or the last hoe to wear the strappy dress had a compulsion that made her work the strings into knots or your husband will look at you and say you are looking very experimental. You will blame the dress’s design for your middle-age weight gain.
This is why I have two Nuuly accounts. For their already confounding business model to succeed, each customer is supposed to only have one. The first is in my name, the second is in the name of my 19-month-old son. What is the point of having kids if you are not going to use them to run low-stakes frauds? Who is to say that “Tru” isn’t my good time gal roommate? (The most expensive and ornery roommate ever, I will say. An angry slob too, will throw a chicken nugget right at your head, barbaric.) So, since using my son’s email address (where we send him notes and pictures that he will one day see as a record of his childhood if Russian hackers don’t get to it first) and my husband’s cell phone number, I now get 12 new items of clothing a month—again, at least 1/3 of them relinquish in their box, 1/3 make you say OH WOW WHO SHE and 1/3 make you scratch your head.
That may sound steep and perhaps it is. But I haven't bought a winter coat or a dress for an event in years. And moreover: I do not know how to shop like a grown-up. Were you to give me $100, instead of buying one smart high-quality item I would by ten pieces of shit at H&M. None of them would fit and I would not return them to the store, reasoning that it was only ten dollars per. The only clothes I know how to buy are carcinogenic and made by children in poor countries. I walk into a boutique on Smith street, where the shirts are lovingly folded and of breathable fibers, I look at the safety pinned price tag and just feel confused, blank. I do not understand the question. But get me in a clearance section of Old Navy and FASHION SHOW AT LUNCH!
So, I recommend clothing subscription services, sure. The environment, sustainability, less cancer, etc etc.
But more than that I recommend: using your children in a low-stakes fraud.
What else are they good for? I had an episiotomy with one and perinatal depression with the other and right now, that one only likes his dad and eggs. I am not his dad or an egg, so unwittingly allowing me to use him in a petty con is a way he can demonstrated filial piety.
A shadow clothing subscription service is just one of many small-time frauds kids are good for. Brooke’s nana used to trot her out at any food purveyor to request a sample, even if they weren’t offering samples at that time. “Who can say no to a kid?!” she reasoned, ice cubes tinkling as she swirled her tumbler of cooking wine. (This is unfair and inaccurate re Brooke’s nana, god rest her soul, but it is how I picture her.) Why not take out a line of unblemished credit on your kid? Had a c-section? A mortgage! They must pay. Like having a nemesis, running a con through your kids gives some shape and intrigue to one’s days.
Scott and I have been running a long con on our kids for April Fool’s Day, four years going now. The beneficiary here is “our own amusement.” We’ve told them that on April 1st everyone in America gets measured, and indeed we line them up against the wall and mark their height. I am rubbing my hands in glee for the day the scales fall from their eyes and they come home from school dehoaxed and angry. I think this newsletter might be a Gofundme for my kids’ future therapy. It’s all a con, baby!
I also recommend:
The show Rain Dogs—This brilliant BBC export is equal parts hilarious and wrenching and about so many things, but principally it’s about one of life’s most interesting (and underexplored on TV) dynamics: platonic co-dependency and toxic but important friendships. The writing and performances are to die for.
Revisiting the writing of my beloved David Rakoff. He is hands down my favorite writer and lemme tell ya is work only gets better and more hilarious with time. I once dated a guy who knew him looesly and it extended our doomed relationship by a good couple months with me imploring on the daily Do you think David would’ve liked me??? (Hard yes! If for no other reason than I would’ve kissed his ass to touch the hem of his garment!).
Lilac szn
This profile of Agnes Callard and her ideas on marriage
Jaime Green’s The Possibility of Life. This is my most favorite kind of nonfiction book: it’s about a topic (SPACE ALIENS) that I haven’t spent a ton of time thinking about (as one, would be navel gazey of me) but the brilliance of the writing and the research suck me right in.
And an ask!!!
I’m trying to make this newsletter more of “a thing,” of the Substack variety, with more subscribers, so would you please consider forwarding this to somebody who might dig it, or posting about it or retweeting it or something?! I’d very much appreciate it. This is, obviously, another con in my repertoire.
And at this very moment, I have a book proposal out on submission. Don’t worry, I’m not maniacally refreshing my inbox/making sure my phone isn’t on DND (it’s not) SO would you please be so kind as to most importantly 1. Send me your good vibes and 2. Take a minute to leave a review of my tomes on Amazon or wherever?! I don’t know the calculus these days but I figure a few more five-star shout-outs can’t hurt.
Thank you.
And do share: what cons are you running these days?