Plum Sykes: Mediocre Writer, Mediocre Liar

As we're often accused of hating everyone and everything (we don't, for the record — we love chocolate and baby animals), we try to make a concerted effort to not publicly despise that which you would expect us to despise. Case in point: Plum Sykes. Despite the adorably fanfared release of her second novel, The Debutante Divorcee, we've kept our ire at a minimum. Hell, we even ignored her piece in the May issue of Vogue, in which she wrote about the trials and tribulations of decorating her fabulous apartment with imported English wallpaper and, even more challenging, convincing her husband to adore her paint choices.

But we can no longer turn a blind eye to Sykes, as she's taken to spreading enthusiastic lies. In yesterday's Independent, she convinces an otherwise normal journalist that she is adored in America and, moreover, that her arm is in a sling from signing too many copies of her book. Which is about as likely as Sykes spraining her arm while pleasuring her husband.


Plum Sykes: the New Confessions [Independent]