Sally Quinn, snobbery and the Mink Stole Ladies Syndrome
Washington is full of people telling others how to live their lives or at least wishing they could. Same for the media world. I call it the Mink Stole Ladies Syndrome, based on a party scene in The Solomon Scandals from the D.C. of several decades ago.
Sally Sterling Quinn, with her judgmental dissections of social-climbers such as the late Steve Martindale, isn’t entirely innocent (nor am I, since this post is a bit of a Catch-22).
Having entertained for eons on the Georgetown party circuit, not to mention all her media work, Ms. Quinn probably has committed her own share of solid-gold gaffes. She might admit to as much. On top of everything else, her relations with her stepchildren have been Katrina-stormy at times.
But could critiques of Ms. Quinn’s life, in Vanity Fair, Gawker and elsewhere, be a little over the top—complete with Gawker’s high-schoolish headline, “Sally Quinn Is a Creep”?
Even the Vanity Fair writer, Evgenia Peretz, acknowledges the obvious; yes, Ms. Quinn has been a hyper-dedicated mother toward Quinn Bradlee, who suffers from learning disabilities. She could easily have followed an expert’s advice and have locked him up in an institution, freeing many thousands of extra hours for her journalism and entertaining. On top of that, despite all the time Ms. Peretz must have lavished on her highly readable profile of Ms. Quinn, do we know the full story of the society doyenne’s relations with the stepchildren? Families can mystify and surprise even friends. Consider the separation of Al and Tipper Gore. Remember? The Gores’ marriage would last forever, while the Clintons would race to the courts for a divorce the very nanosecond Bill left the White House.
I’d also caution the media against the reflexive dismissals of Ms. Quinn as a pure elitist snob. There is that side of her, granted, and Sally-haters have even summoned up a comparison between Ms. Quinn and Marie Antoinette, who, like her, gloried in the rural life or, as the critics might put it, the synthetic rustic. But wait. The ultimate elitist wouldn’t blog for the Washington Post and write party tips for the masses; do you really think Ms. Quinn is the same as Washington’s old cave-dwellers? What’s more, consider her enthusiastic approval of Quinn’s engagement to a yoga instructor named Pary Williamson (photo). For all I know, maybe Ms. Williamson is a Vassar honors graduate born to blue-blooded millionaires. But buried in the Vanity Fair article are a few facts that suggest otherwise: “While some observers question Pary’s motives—she seemed to appear out of nowhere and is said to have had a hardscrabble life—those who know her disagree. ‘She really is a very upbeat, very exuberant, sweet, nice person and believes in all the spiritual values of yoga and all that stuff,’ says one of her students. ‘The whole idea of your life lived out in public is not her style at all.’”
Let’s decode that, or try to. What does Ms. Peretz mean by “hardscrabble life”? That like most other small-business people, Ms. Williamson has had to struggle? That she might actually come from a mere middle-class background or, gasp, even below? If so, the facts would not jibe very well with the image of Ms. Quinn as an unmitigated snob. Granted, Ms. Williamson is an instructor to such luminaries as David Gregory, Rahm Emanuel and Katharine Weymouth, but who’s to say her connections will endure forever? Might Sally Quinn’s eagerness to do the right thing for her son have beaten out snobbery? Based on what I’ve read, I think so. Quinn Bradlee has written of his family’s preparations for his life after his elderly parents die. If the publicity is right—I can’t say—Ms. Williamson will be a partner rather than a mere “caretaker.”
While Ms. Quinn’s relations with parts of her extended family are dysfunctional in the extreme, I suspect that her own immediate family, step-children excluded, has been far, far more functional than those of many of the critics. Could a little jealousy be at work here? I wonder after having read A Different Life (Quinn’s memoirs) and A Life’s Work: Fathers and Sons, a collaboration between Ben and Quinn Bradlee, “with observations by Sally Quinn.” Father and son love to saw down trees and do other yard work, and Ms. Quinn has bought her own pink model. In fact, the family acquired a retreat in rural Maryland because the one in West Virginia was too remote, in case Quinn needed medical help for one of his many health problems. Antoinette synthetic? Hardly. Tree-work is what Ben Bradlee enjoyed as a boy: “Pop and I worked out in the woods from the beginning.” Ms. Quinn recognized her husband’s love of tree-chopping and learned to feel comfortable with a saw. In this case she might as well have been a Walmart mom.
Going by some morsels in the Vanity Fair article, I’d wonder, too, about Ms. Quinn’s enemies portraying her as a full-strength home-wrecker. The marriage may already been doomed. Tony Bradlee “had found Washington journalism shallow,” writes Ms. Peretz, and “was getting increasingly swept up in the mysticism of the George Gurdjieff spiritual movement.” By contrast, according to Bradlee’s memoirs, Sally Quinn “found the all-consuming nature of my involvement with the Post natural, even exhilarating.” If Sally Quinn hadn’t appeared, might another woman? I’m not condoning Bradlee’s timing. But it’s his life, and I find it endlessly baffling how people dedicated to the right of corporations to foul the Gulf of Mexico—or at least try to lobby away the regulatory apparatus—would want to dictate their “morality” to Bradlee and wife.
Simply put, although I’d never confuse Sally Quinn with Mother Teresa, it’s time for some tolerance.
Amazon mystery: As of this writing, I don’t see a single customer review of A Life’s Work (rank 28,940 in Books) on Amazon—rather strange, given Sally Quinn’s stature in the media. Part of the reason could be that Quinn Bradlee’s memoirs have already scooped the new book and more directly address the needs of parents of children with learning disabilities. Another could be what others have already noted—the dueling-weddings controversy. Still another could be that A Life’s Work is so full of intimate details that outsiders might feel they are trespassing, especially if they believe they cannot be completely laudatory. I’d rate Work four out of five stars. The book has its flaws but is worth reading if you want between-the-lines knowledge of the ways of certain members of the Post media élite. Ditto—as in the case of A Different Life—if you’re the parent of a child with learning disabilities.
- The Watergate editor and the society legend: A loving look at them by their son who lives ‘A Different Life’
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- Rexwood Garst and the darker side of ‘meritocracy’ in journalism, politics and other fields
- The Georgetown name game: Roffman, Rothman, Solomon and The Georgetowner
- Sally Quinn wedding feud: Don’t fire Ms. Quinn — turn her ‘at large’
The Washington Post, Sally Quinn and the Mink Stole Ladies: How much VIP-watching is too much?
How closely should the world follow VIP journalists and politicians and—for that matter—celebrities in general?
“Newspapers spend too much time explaining themselves.” So said Marcus Brauchli, executive editor of the Washington Post; and a media watcher even gave the pronouncement a name—the Brauchi Doctrine. Look, Marcus. Your paper is in decline for the moment despite some bright spots; but essentially it’s still a powerful monopoly daily at the metro level, trading off the fame of its writers or at least its Watergate-glorified self. Why the devil shouldn’t the Washington City Paper and the rest keep calling up the Post on various topics? From all signs, Barnes & Noble won’t even stock The Solomon Scandals unless the Post reviews it. Even with the sacred names of Chandler and Hammett invoked, an enthusiastic City Paper write-up by a Yale lit major just didn’t count (Post bypass information here).
I’m endlessly amused when certain VIPs at the Post and elsewhere complain of too much publicity. Come on, guys. On the whole you love it—if nothing else, as a reminder you’re still alive.
That’s partly why I’m sympathetic toward Sally Quinn even though I wish she’d stop defending her wedding column about her “dysfunctional” family. As a journalist she is more committed to disclosure than Brauchli appears to be. Emerson be damned, here’s to Ms. Quinn and consistency! Media critics, bloggers, novelists and other info-parasites—mea culpa—should join me in my quixotic call for a Quinn at Large column for both the print and electronic editions. Sometimes private and public lives should intersect. What if the Sally Quinn of the 1980s had been on the trail of John Edwards, a living, breathing Scandal who almost ended up A Heartbeat Away?
The other side: The Mink Stole Ladies Syndrome
Despite the above, I can also see the VIPs’ side, and I agree with Carol Joynt on the need to factor in “collateral damage” to people written about, both celebrities and the obscure. What I’m really calling for is balance. As Exhibits A and B for the Joynt viewpoint, may I introduce to you Mink Stoles One and Two from The Solomon Scandals? They’re suburbanites at a party that a somewhat Quinnish columnist—no, not the Quinn—has thrown for “name-in-the-paper people” and those a few levels below. The Mink Stoles are jabbering away several decades ago, but the same scene could just as easily unfold in the PETA era. An excerpt follows.
I went to get myself a drink from Wendy’s bar, but instead stopped to overhear two fat women in mink stoles. They looked like clones; even the folds in the double chins matched. Both wore Elkins hairdos.
“It’s absolutely disgraceful, the way she carries on,” Mink Stole Number One was saying about an unnamed person.
“You’ve heard the pony story, haven’t you?” asked Two.
One shook her head.
“It’s sort of ancient,” said Number Two, “but it gives you an idea of why she’s so mixed up. She fell off this pony one day when she was little, and the family didn’t even see if she was hurt. They just ordered her back on. Tough, demanding people—both parents. She must have been starved for affection. So you can see why she’s so mixed up.”
“I’m glad she’s not mixed up with my daughter,” sighed Mink Stole Number One.
“I bet she’s on drugs.”
I was about to think it might be Wendy when one of the husbands materialized and presently asked whom the women were gossiping over.
“Why, Caroline Kennedy.”
“You know her?” asked the husband, a small, timid-sounding man who belonged to Number One.
“Well, not exactly,” said Number Two. “But you hear things.”
I’d spent years in McLean without meeting one Kennedy, and yet this woman spoke in the tones of a disapproving next-door neighbor. I wondered which tabloid was the source of her malarkey.
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The Sally Quinn post
It should be online by 7 p.m. Eastern tonight, and, yes, it’s mostly sympathetic toward her. I’ll make my case in detail.
Update, 6:45 p.m.: Here’s the promised post.
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Rexwood Garst and the darker side of ‘meritocracy’ in journalism, politics and other fields
In The Solomon Scandals, I have a little fun with a hyperspecialized Yalie named Rexwood Garst, a reporter at a Washington Post-type newspaper.
“Serbo-Croatian,” says this young resume jock who lives in a converted carriage house in Georgetown, “that’s the key. I know how to speak it.” It all jibes with my suggestion that the real-life Post become less aloof and start caring more about project managers and teachers and a little less about an élite Slate–style audience. Slate can be a delight; the Post newspaper’s fixation on “upscale” is not. Solvency ahead of snobbery, please—including the meritocratic kind.
Now David Brooks (University of Chicago, ‘83) has weighed in with the sensible opinion that “context,” not just academic and technical creds, should matter. In fields such as journalism, politics and banking, says the New York York Times columnist, traits like compassion and decency are losing out too often among Ivy-educated meritocrats.
Result? More scandals, fewer effective organizations. “The talent level is higher, but the reputation is lower.”
Hear, hear! For decades, James Fallows has warned against “credentialism,” and it’s good to see Brooks writing in a similar vein. Class differences figure prominently in The Solomon Scandals, which depicts Washington as it is: a white-collar factory town.
Brooks himself notes that social gaps are widening, as bankers marry other bankers rather than, say, secretaries. Nothing against such banker-to-banker transactions; but could intra-class marriage now be too common? And are we afflicted with too much credentialism?
Speaking of the Post: In the next few days, I’ll run an item on Quinn Bradlee, son of ex-editor Ben Bradlee and his wife, Sally Quinn, the columnist. No, it won’t at all be like the others you’ve read about young Quinn’s forthcoming marriage to Pary Williamson. Check back in on Monday or Tuesday. Meanwhile, from afar—since I don’t know the Bradlee family or the bride-to-be’s—congratulations to Quinn and Pary.
Image of Yale commencement: CC-licensed photo from Poldavo.
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The Georgetown name game: Roffman, Rothman, Solomon and The Georgetowner
Two kinds of parties show up in The Solomon Scandals, my D.C. media novel: the private variety (“party-parties”) and “name-in-the-paper parties” (where the givers and the guests want publicity).
For both, the location is still the Georgetown section of Washington, famous over the years as home to the liberal élite. I’ve never applied for “élite” membership. In fact, I live and work across the Potomac in Alexandria, Virginia.
Georgetown, however, in an odd, amusing way, has come to me. I’m just two letters away from being the editor at large of The Georgetowner (“the newspaper whose influence far exceeds its size”).
The real one is named David Roffman, and in past years I received a few of his phone calls. Nowadays I’ve started getting his Facebook and Twitter invitations. It’s an easy mistake to make. When it happens online, I confess to being the Virginia Rothman instead, but sometimes end up dropping by the virtual parties anyway.
You might also enjoy:- The Watergate editor and the society legend: A loving look at them by their son who lives ‘A Different Life’
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- Rexwood Garst and the darker side of ‘meritocracy’ in journalism, politics and other fields
- Georgetown Dish joins TBD blog network: Deju vu angles—in Washington Post’s backyard
- Sally Quinn’s ‘Party’ column dropped from print: Shades of LBJ’s Hoover surprise for her husband?