Seriously, who cares if Taylor Antrim's new prep school novel with a Smiths song title is good? Just look at him. The Observer's Sara Vilkomerson certainly is looking, and boy does she like what she sees.
Even for someone as painfully—ridiculously—attractive as author Taylor Antrim, the process of picture-taking can still be painful. Posing for an Observer photographer last week, leaning against a wall off Sixth Avenue in the West Village, the tall and fair 33-year-old smiled tightly and shot embarrassed and apologetic glances at the curious passers-by who stepped around him. His pink-striped shirt was unwrinkled, gray pants neatly pressed, teeth straight and white, and his sandy hair ruffled in the late afternoon breeze. He may have felt uncomfortable, but Mr. Antrim looked downright Gatsby-like.
It would be fun to someday read a profile that starts like this and ends with the interviewer and the subject actually totally doing it. We would even volunteer to write one if WASPy, squinty-eyed Yalies were remotely our type, but they're not. Sorry, Dana Vachon!