Okay, I spoke too soon about the great British bitch-champion Julia Burchill. I realized upon seeing her photo that she was, like, my absolute heroine in high school. Because I was one of those suburban high schoolers who read The Face, I was naturally as obsessed with her weight gain as I was with her awesome sentences. Was she as happy being fattish as she had been when she was so skinny? Could she have been as good a writer if she had stayed thin like Joan Didion? I figured my other British heroines like Justine Frischmann and Louise Wener managed to stay both funny and skinny only because so little in the way of output was really asked of them; they could concentrate on shooting up and starving themselves 85% of the time and eat/write the other 15%. (No truly, I thought about these things.)
Anyway, I'm pleased to report I don't really think about this shit anymore and I'm sure Julie doesn't either, though clearly the eating disorders did a number on my memory. I know some of you took issue with her essay on bitches, but uh, as Julie might put it:
24 Mar 93
Dear Professor Paglia,
Fuck off you crazy old dyke.
Related: The Julie Burchill Random Recycler