Gwyneth Paltrow is not a friend to the working mother. And yes, I know, she is a working mother herself, as she reminds us all the time, but still, she is no friend to the working mother. We have a long history together, Gwynnie and I, that you can read about here:
Today I’m cranky and feel like barking at someone. This week I had my fourth miscarriage, so forgive me my need to bark. Grrrrr. Gwynneth seems like a good target. Put your seatbelt on, darlings, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride . . .
Gwynnie has her own working mom’s blog called GOOP. It’s all things Gwyneth all the time. That means it’s white and privileged and completely unaware. IMHO. She writes about lifestyle – – that elusive thing that JCrew and Banana Republic markets to the masses. For Gwyneth, who breathes a more rarified air than I, it’s that elusive thing that can be purchased in stores I don’t have enough money to allude to, let alone shop in.
Recently she wrote about visiting her “bf” in Chicago. (It is my belief that adult women should not refer to their “bf.” Ever.) It was a whirlwind trip that afforded her just enough time to recommend four hotels, five “shops,” or what most of us refer to as stores, and twelve restaurants. Schwa, over on Ashland, is described as, “so punk rock that they don’t even answer the phone.” And yet, somehow, our Gwynnie managed a reservation. God bless her. And also, the joint is so punk rock it serves a nine course tasting menu. Um. Yeah. I don’t think that’s so punk rock. A punk rock nine course tasting menu would be a case of Old Style missing three cans that were thrown at the band.
Gwynnie also deems Q at 1160 N. Dearborn, “By far the best bbq in Chicago.” Shut the front door. This bitch doesn’t have a clue. The best barbecue (and yes, Imma take the time to type that word) in Chicago is not to be found in freaking River North. One teensy tiny critique she did make was that it was “meat heavy.” Are you freaking kidding me, Gwyneth? Who in their right mind sits down for barbecue and refers to it as “meat heavy.” Hell to the no.
And then there are her few brief words about Barney’s Chicago. God forbid you confuse it with Barney’s New York. In this piece meant to highlight Chicago, dear Ms. Paltrow demonstrates her achievement in putting down those who on the surface she is celebrating. Truly, she is gifted in the art of the backhanded compliment. She writes about Barney’s selection, “A huge plus, because Chicago tends to be more conservative [sic: pedestrian, bland, parochial, provincial], is that you can actually find runway pieces, as they tend to disappear lightning fast in New York.” Bitch.
Moving on, folks. Theres a bunch more GOOP, or as I like to say, CRAP, about “gastropub fare” and “authentically modern” decor, kitchens as “laboratories” and Italian winter outerwear. Blah, blah, blah.
Go home, Gwyneth. Go home to your rock star husband and your kids with odd names. Go home to New York or London or LA or the Hamptons. Go home, dear, we don’t want you here. Here in Chicago, we’ll eat our barbecue on the south side and furnish our homes at Ikea and be happy. Bitch.