Broadsheet's Judy Berman calls Crosbie's column "a head-scratcher," and we have to agree. After quoting a bunch of song lyrics and an unfunny line from Two-and-a-Half Men, Crosbie says it's "the plumbing, not the chromosomes, that define and estrange us from the brothers." Ok, but what about women with androgen insensitivity syndrome? Or transgender women? Or women who have had hysterectomies? We get that it's hard to define womanhood, but surely Crosbie can do better than "plumbing."

She goes on to hail the 1990s as a time when "autobiographical sex and erotic writing were popular and manifest, as were women with electric guitars, as was the very image of a woman so fluid in her possibilities, she could never be captured, let alone compared to anyone but herself." At least one woman with an electric guitar was publicly pilloried in the 90s for supposedly derailing her husband's career, but according to Crosbie, these were the glory days of women in the media. Now it's all gone to shit. Her evidence: The Reader ("Kate Winslet plays a haggard pedophile and a bored Hollywood throws statuettes") and The Manny.

Of the latter, she writes, "I bought Holly Peterson's The Manny recently, highly recommended by two of the women who have worked very hard to degrade us all with their insipid, vulgar world views, Sophie Kinsella and Candace Bushnell." Apparently Crosbie purchased a book blurbed by two people she considers awful and anti-feminist, and was surprised to find it awful and anti-feminist. Maybe, just maybe, she's looking for feminism in the wrong places. Broadsheet suggests Tina Fey and Amy Sedaris, Pedro Almodovar, and (thanks!) us. We'd like to emphatically add Battlestar Galactica to that list.

Crosbie's analysis of contemporary pop culture is hampered not only by a weirdly blinkered view of that culture's offerings, but also by an overly generalized idea of what women want. She winds up with a mention of the upcoming film Obsessed. The film, she writes, "promises itchy, illicit sex and lots of it. Ladies, what would you rather do: Consider seducing your hot boss in a bathroom stall or watch Queen Latifah being chased by bees and talking about friendship?" Itchy sex sounds like a yeast infection, not a good time, and since when was sex with the boss in a bathroom stall the ultimate in feminist portrayals of women? Crosbie's piece reads like a plea for more movies and books that interest her, which is fine — but we degrade the word feminist if we only apply it to things we like, and withhold it from things we find boring.

In Pop Culture, Feminism Is Dead [Globe and Mail]
Is Feminism Dead In Pop Culture? [Broadsheet]

Listen, I'm not hating on these women for using their considerable connections to accomplish their creative goals, but why is it that of all the "chick lit" books that hit the shelves every month, those written by or about socialites and urging conspicuous consumption the only ones that get any press?

Earlier this year, NYC society doyenne Holly Peterson, daughter of the chairman of the Blackstone group wrote an aggressively mediocre book called The Manny, made a YouTube video with her rich friends to accompany it, all followed by mentions in the New York Times Sunday Styles, and the New Yorker.

What's curious also is that in the Bazaar profile, Goldberg and Harper choose a Jenni Kayne dress as one of their fashion picks. Kayne, a rising designer, was the subject of the Bazaar "Personal Style" feature just two months ago. She is also the daughter of the wealthy LA elite, and counts Rachel Zoe and the Olsen twins as members of her inner circle. Kayne told the L.A. Times last year, "My dad happens to be really good at what he does, and he has been successful (her father is a high profile investment banker). But my parents are not socialites, and I'm not a socialite. I've found articles online where they compare me to Nikki Hilton. I think she's a really nice girl, but that's not me." Tell it to Tory Burch, sister.

There are so many excellent books written and clothes by women who don't happen to have access to multi-million dollar fortunes, Phillip Lim dresses, or media reporters. Can't book publicists and magazine editors give those women some love, too? Though maybe Ruthanna Hopper deserves all the breaks she can get, because when she was a kid, her batshit papa tried to stab Rip Torn, drank thirty beers and did three grams of coke a day, and subsequently has given large sums of money to the Republican party. It's hard out there for a celebutante!

Cinema Verite [WWD]
Jenni Kayne's Big Picture [Los Angeles Times]

Earlier: The Problem With Chick Lit