Bergdorf Blondes FROM THE PUBLISHER
Plum Sykes�s beguiling debut welcomes readers to the glamorous world of Park Avenue Princesses, the girls who careen through Manhattan in search of the perfect Fake Bake (tan acquired from Portofino Tanning Salon), a ride on a PJ (private jet) with the ATM (rich boyfriend), and the ever-elusive fianc�.
With invitations to high-profile baby showers and benefits, more Marc Jacobs clothes than is decent, and a department store heiress for a best friend, our heroine known only as Moi is living at the peak of New York society. But what is Moi to do when her engagement falls apart? Can she ever find happiness in a city filled with the distractions of Front Row Girls, dermatologists, premieres, and eyebrow waxes? Is it possible to find love in a town where her friends think that the secret to happiness is getting invited to the Van Cleef and Arpels �ber-private sample sale? And how is she going to deal with the endless phone calls from her mother in England demanding that she get married to the Earl next door?
With enormous wit and an insider�s eye, Sykes captures the nuances of the rich and spoiled in a heartwarming social satire, featuring a loveable "champagne bubble of a girl" who�s just looking for love (and maybe the perfect pair of Chlo� jeans).
About the author:
PLUM SYKES was born in London and educated at Oxford. She is a contributing editor at Vogue where she writes on fashion, society, and Hollywood. She lives in New York City.
FROM THE CRITICS
The New York Times
Into the blender go Bridget Jones, Anita Loos, "Sex and the City" and "Clueless"; out comes a diabolically amusing concoction. Ms. Sykes somehow manages to treat this as satire while also playing it nearly straight in a book that boasts as many flagrant product plugs (Michael Kors, anyone?) as it does funny one-liners. — Janet Maslin
Publishers Weekly
They're ravenous. They're ruthless. They live in a strictly hierarchical, alpha-dog, eat-or-be-eaten world. No, it's not a rerun of Wild America; it's the world of dressed-to-the-nines Park Avenue heiresses, aka Bergdorf Blondes, botoxed to within an inch of their barely-into-the-third-decade lives. Our unnamed London-born heroine is New York's favorite "champagne-bubble-about-town" and just as effervescent and exhilarating as a fine bottle of Dom Perignon. Blissfully self-interested and flush with the cheeriness that comes from being, well, flush, Miss Disposable Income 2004 sashays her way through New York society in search of the perfect P.H. (Potential Husband)-"Have you any idea how awesome your skin looks if you are engaged?"-and the perfect butt-shaping pair of Chloe jeans. Despair occasionally strikes when her latest prince turns into yet another toad, but it's nothing an invitation to an uber-exclusive Hermes sale and a gallon or so of Bellinis can't fix. She's got the creme de la creme along with her for the ride, including her best friend, the fabulously wealthy heiress Julie Bergdorf, who is tres supportive of her nervous breakdown-"You'll be able to dine out on how crazy you went in Paris for months"-and a posse of chattering, Harry Winston-bedecked clones with whom to limo around New York. Tacky? Absolutely. But it's impossible not to be massively entertained by a woman who refers euphemistically to oral sex as "going to Rio" in memory of the first man who suggested she get a Brazilian bikini wax, considers vodka a food group and who holds up glamour as the first of the commandments. This is a savvy and viciously funny trip into a glittery, glitzy world we sure wouldn't want to live in-but by which we're more than happy to be vicariously consumed for the length of a book. (Apr.) Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Sykes, a contributing editor at Vogue, got an advance of more than $600,000 for this roman fluff about thin, chic, Botoxed, waxed, wealthy, and designer-clad blondes. The two main characters, "Moi," the narrator, and her best friend, Julie Bergdorf (who occasionally gets off on shoplifting from her family's famous department store), are both on the hunt for a P.H. (that's Prospective Husband-"The only sexually transmitted disease I wanna contract is fiance fever," says Julie). Moi scores first, snagging a handsome if mystifying celebrity photographer. However, after he breaks off their engagement, Moi attempts suicide via Aleve and gin, then moves on in short order to other P.H.s, until she ends up with-surprise!-the perfect man. Sykes's intermittently humorous first novel will delight or repel readers depending on their tolerance for innumerable brand names (Chlo butt-hugging jeans, Manolo Blahnik shoes), thrilling glimpses into a lifestyle few can even aspire to, and vacuous characters who make the Sex and the City gals and good old Bridget Jones seem like rocket scientists. Be aware of the publicists' hype, and be prepared for demand.-Nancy Pearl, Seattle P.L. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.
AudioFile
Thank heavens for Sonya Walger; her superb narration is the only reason to give this insipid novel a listen. She applies distinctive American and British accents to a group of self-absorbed heiresses whose days are filled with such pressing matters as designer clothing sales, skin treatments, and touch-ups of their blonde hair, apparently accompanied by full lobotomies. Walger moves seamlessly into the French and Italian accents used by the equally shallow men they encounter. Unlike many narrators who give no heed to authors' directions, Walger convincingly cries, moans, and sobs right along with the characters, never mind that they're emoting over the lack of such essentials as private jets and crater-sized engagement rings. J.J.B. © AudioFile 2004, Portland, Maine
Kirkus Reviews
Yet another tale of New York girls with more room on their credit cards than thoughts between their ears-but not in a bad way. There may come a time in the future when a scholar of literature will come across a copy of this debut novel and shudder, thinking it one of those post-millennium Manhattan books that worship Vera Wang and Harry Winston as deities, regard Us Weekly as a holy text, and treat reality like a sexuality transmitted disease. That would be a shame, because if books of this sort must exist-and the publishing powers-that-be seem to have decided that they must-they should all go down as smoothly as this one. Vogue contributing editor Sykes has a frightening insight into the mindset of unemployed, label-addicted blonds. When she's not working (which appears to be 99% of the time), our fashion journalist narrator/author stand-in is being dragged around Manhattan by Julie, her Upper East Side PAP (Park Avenue Princess, one of the story's less inspired acronyms, of which there are plenty). They shop, they spa, they obsess over food allergies and hair highlights. The narrator hooks up with a photographer whose Jude Law looks are belied by his Freddy Krueger personality; their engagement goes to pot pretty spectacularly, but it's nothing that a round of Bellinis and a fake bake (tan) can't cure. There are more romantic contretemps and even a suicide attempt (with Advil: these girls aren't too bright), but by the close everything gets wrapped up prettier than a Tiffany's gift box. Be assured, this is all as ungodly shallow as it sounds, but at least Sykes knows how vain and ridiculous her characters are. She makes no attempt to redeem them and in the end really does want the girlsjust to have fun, which lets the reader come along for a guilt-free ride that's akin to being let loose on Fifth Avenue with Donald Trump's platinum card. Like a dozen Paris Hiltons bombed on champagne, but funny. Author tour. Agent: Elizabeth Sheinkman/Elaine Markson Agency; film rights handled by CAA
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