We've been thinking a bit about New York's recent package on celebrity stalking. We're not sure what annoys us more, the fact that they ripped off our map or the fact that said rip-off was accompanied by a 2000 word essay that was full of sanctimony and studied ambivalence. Our initial anger at the deliberate misinterpretation of the Stalker feature (as Elizabeth Spiers made clear elsewhere, "The point of Gawker stalker was not being impressed by the celebrities. The irony was subtle, but I'm fairly certain it was obvious.") gave way to a more measured understanding: This kind of package is the ultimate New York feature, in that it wants to have it both ways.
Well, you can either hunt with the pack or sympathize with the prey, but you can't do both. Once that dick comes out of your mouth and you're handed the money, you're a whore; it doesn't matter how many pages you spend contemplating the symbolism of sucking cock for cash. We, at least, know who we are - and we welcome Adam Moss and Co. down here to the gutter (an invitation we probably should have extended after that Topher Grace cover).
Also, did anyone else find Bee Shaffer's involvement with the map a little creepy, or was it just us?