Let me preface this by saying that we don't get a lot of hate mail. (Yes, I know. We're more surprised than you are.) And when we do get hate mail, I have a masochistic tendency to publish most of it.
So in the last 48 hours or so, we've gotten 40 or 50 emails that say something along the lines of "I love Gawker stalker and elevator stories are hysterical." We've gotten exactly three that have saidand I paraphrase"shut the fuck up about Anna Wintour."
I hate having to explain the joke. It makes me feel so tired. So old. So Janeane Garofalo.
But it has been suggestedby someone who signs my paychecksthat I take a step back and explain the Wintour obsession, celebrity sightings, etc.
God, this is painful.
But here goes:
Gawker is a frivolous site. It's supposed to be a frivolous site. Writing in to Gawker and demanding that we stop talking about celebrities is like writing in to Vogue and telling Anna to shut up about John Galliano.
(I can't believe I'm doing this. Being sincere is so torturous.)
So why Anna? Why celebrities?
Because it's funny.
I'm sorry; it is.
Yes, chronicling someone's every movement every time they step into an elevator is absurd. That's the point. And when it's someone that most people have never heard of, it's even funnier. No, it's not side-splitting-laughter funny, but it's definitely snicker-in-the-corner-mischievously funny.
Oh my god, that hurt.
Regarding celebrity obsessions: they're Gawker's raison d'etre. They're not my raison d'etre, nor my publisher's. I have actual celebrity obsessions, but they're with obscure academics no one's heard of, a handful of novelists, and for reasons I can't fully explain, Christopher Hitchens.
But enough about me.
Let's get back to the topic at hand...
My areas of professional experience and expertise are very limited and specific and more oft than not, boring to most people. We could talk about liquidation preferences in venture capital transactions, chemical weapons disposal policy, or I could teach you dirty words in Arabic.
If you want to hear about any of those topics, raise your hands.
See what I mean? I can't even fucking see you, and I know you're not raising your hands! (Well, except maybe you twoemail me and I'll send you the dirty words.)
People do not come to Gawker for serious discussion of important topics. They just don't.
I need a drink; where's my intern?
"Lindsay! Fetcheth my martini! ... Thanks. Hey, wanna do a map of the seating arrangements at Michael's? Oh, you already did one? Excellent."
Did I tell you I saw Anna Wintour in the Condé Nast elevator?