Back in March, we'd heard that Social Life magazine editor in chief and Columbia M.F.A. student Devorah Rose was once a Champagne Room massage girl at Scores West. Last night, she set the record straight. "It's not true!" Then she paused. "Wait, don't write that I said it wasn't true! I think it's funny that people think that I was a stripper. Because anyone who knows me, well, they know how anal I am."
Sadly, she was talking about her OCD.
"I'm serious, I am such a germophobe. I would, like, Windex the pole," Devorah went on. We were standing huddled close in the backstage area of the Unruly Heir fashion show, and I couldn't help but brush up against Devorah's bust with my elbow. I commented on its firmness. "It's a bra," Devorah said, resenting my implication that her breasts weren't real. Turns out, Devorah Rose is a lot realer all over than I'd thought.
She's also a lot smarter than I'd thought, based on that help wanted ad she placed on Columbia's job board. You remember, the one where she said that she was looking for an intern with "a strong sense of grammer." It turns out that she had delegated the task of finding a new intern to the current intern. Bad mistake! "We had to threaten to sue them to finally get it taken down."
Being humiliated on the Internet was sort of a turning point for Devorah Rose. "I was so miserable and embarrassed for, like, a month, but then I eventually realized that if you put yourself out there and accomplish anything at all, especially online, you're inviting this into your life," she explained. "And then I felt better. I actually grew a thicker skin because of it. So, in a way, thank you."
"You're ... welcome," I told Devorah, realizing that what she'd just said is basically what I'd tell Jimmy Kimmel if he ever came up and started talking to me at a party.
Still, there's one thing I can't understand. Why is a self-professed "introvert" who loves the work of her profs Sam Lipsyte and Ben Marcus, and whose real goal is to write serious fiction, working at a magazine that's basically a house organ for a nonexistent club that, if it had a name, would be called something like "the especially attention-craving Manhattan rich kids D-list association?"
"Um," she said, "Because it's easy?"
Well, fair enough.