Mortimer's reality show wraps taping this week, but it wouldn't be right for the show not to have a climatic battle and the chosen antagonist is Devorah Rose, editor of alleged magazine Social Life. Apparently Rose was going around telling people Tinsley's man is a poor! The Tinz couldn't stand for that and went over to defend poor Prince Casimir Wittgenstein-Sayn's honor as the richiest rich who wipes his ass with Fabergé eggs. Her on-camera entourage (including Paul Johnson Calderone) all went over to scream at Rose. If the photos are this good we can't wait to see the CW promos!

By all accounts (except the inevitable Page Six item about the brou-ha-hoax, where CW honcho Justin Rosenblatt says of the program, "It's entirely unexpected and in the moment. The storylines all arose organically."), the whole thing looked staged, with many at the party ignoring the action completely. Before, it used to be enough to fuel these social fueds by floating a few items in the gossip columns and reaping the benefits. These days the hottest accessory in town is a camera crew—just look what it did for the Real Housewives of New York—and this altercation is really the most brilliant form of manipulating one.

It starts at a party full of media types, most of whom stood by acting blasé as supposed fight took place in front of the camera. Nevertheless, they are expected to blog and tweet and write about the action, even though no one believes that it happened. This not only gets publicity for the personalities involved, but also their respective reality projects. The fight will continue to play out over months, while being massaged and edited by television executives. By the time we see the finished product (in Tinsley's case, the show comes out in January), it has been chewed, swallowed, digested, and pooped back out so what we end up with is a beautiful sparkly diamond turd of a reality television moment. We'll be so blinded by the dramatic luster that we won't even care that it was effectively staged, we'll all just be covering our gaping mouths at that bitchy thing The Tinz said about The Dev's outfit.

This isn't Rose's only fake drama buffet as of late. Last week at the launch for bikini line diNeila she got into it with socialite Jules Kirby, when the latter showed up to the party unannounced. Guess what there was a camera crew there too! Welcome to step one of the brand new process.

Well, we wonder if the editor Social Life and face of diNeila bikinis is signing her real name to all those reality show release forms. Which is Deborah Denise Trachtenberg. Yesterday when the crew was following her to the airport, they wouldn't let her on board because she was trying to get past security using pseudonym Devorah Rose and they weren't having it. What, you expect a fake editor who engages in fake fights to not have a fake name?

[Image via Guest of a Guest]

There are oh so many of these Hamptons society magazines, with party pictures galore. Which one keeps it the realest, society-wise? The New York Observer finds a shocking number of people who will discuss that question as if it were not a self-evident farce. Decry the poseurs, fawning socialite chronicler David Patrick Columbia!

"With the great bubble of prosperity, you had all these aspirants to that world," Mr.[David Patrick] Columbia continued. "But since they are not part of it, they've actually created their own world-a satellite world which they call society, which it absolutely is not. They're trying to create a hierarchy based on publicity, which is something that follows hierarchy-it doesn't precede it."

Put your feud with rival vapid magazine Hamptonite into perspective, Social Life editor Devorah Rose, pictured!

"It was like Olivia Palermo versus Tinsley," Ms. Rose chimed in. "They were trying to Olivia Palermo us!"

Call out the fakers, celebrity photog Joan Jedell!

"Social Life doesn't interest me," Ms. Jedell said, "because it's like, ‘Who are these people?'"

Break it all down, Andrew Cuomo's sister-in-law!

"When Pamela [Gross, Avenue's editor] asked me to be on the cover, I asked her, ‘Don't you see this as competition?'" Ms. Cuomo recalled. "And she said, ‘No, we only cover society. You cover affluence.'"

Now everyone go throw up on purpose!
[NYO]

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In Which Blood Bubbles Up Through The Cracks Of New York City Streets
Real Housewives of New York City is not new. It premiered to horrified lookers on last year, its particular brand of gonzo nouveau riche tackiness eventually wooing viewers close to its leathery bosom. Now it's filming again, with a new "housewife" called Kelly Killoren Bensimon who films little internet movies with famous people in the Hamptons. No word yet on when the new season will begin but, again, they are filming. A tipster tells us: "I live VERY close to Alex and Simon of Real Housewives (I see them daily) and they were filming ALL weekend. I was most excited to see Jill Zarin there, happily chatting with Alex. I noted that Alex changed her outfit multiple times over the course of a day. Simon enjoys smoking outside with the crew."

In Which The Blood Seeps Under Doors, Into Homes and Shops, Threatening to Drown Small Dogs and Children
We warned you about this long ago, and now it seems to have become a reality (hardee harrr). Whitney Port, the dove-eyed and ghostlike silent observer from MTV's Los Angeles dream ballet The Hills, is currently working for the tremendously scary fashion PR guru Kelly Cutrone, which brings her and her cameras! to New York City. Yes, she's filming a show, rumored to be called The City, about her trials and travails in this biggest of rotten crab apples. Joining her on the carefully moderated ride will be Olivia Palermo, the confusing socialite who does something having to do with fashion sometimes. Fellow socialite Inevitably Emily Brill does not approve. Palermo's people have denied her involvement, but The Brills seems fairly convinced that she is. Sigh.

In Which The Blood Gets In the Elevator Of the Empire State Building and Lurches, Ominously, To the Top
As reported earlier by the Guest of a Guest, a new show called Social Heights will soon be leaving us bleary eyed and irrationally afraid of door knobs and streetlamps. It's to star various society types like socialgay and PR ninny Kristian Laliberte and friend of reality-TV hating Emily Brill Devorah Rose. Ms. Brill was approached at one point to be on this show, formerly titled 10021, but she eventually turned it down. The ins and outs of getting this stupid thing off the ground are probably more "interesting" than any of the tiresome plotlines the producers could ever hope to come up with. Either way, fellow socialgay Micah Jesse sits in a corner and sulks.

In Which the Blood Oozes Out of the Elevator and Precariously Close to the Edge...
We just don't really know what's going on with Julia Allison's reality show. The former Star editor-at-large and current fancy apartment-haver and her two Weird Sister buddies, "tech geek" Megan Asha and Fulbright scholar Mary Rambin, recently started NonSociety, an internet amalgamation of their Tumblr musings and various photo and video diary entries. Supposedly this is all being turned into a reality show for Bravo, which may or may not be subsidizing Ms. Allison's apartment. It's all terribly confusing and I'm not really sure these girls are actually considered "socialites," but whatever; they're pretty and have money and people seem to sorta pay attention when they do things. Again, sigh.

In Which the Blood Spills Over, Set to Rain Down and Destroy the City's Populace, Until a Bright Yellow Umbrella Catches It All and Protects Us Forever
Tinsley Mortimer and her indefatigable (if exasperated) housekeeper Guadalupe get a reality show in which they putter around the house and say funny things, Tinsley tells long rambling stories to the camera, and they go on various car trips. In one episode they go to Vermont to "see the exfoliage" as Tinz puts it, and she ends up getting stuck in an apple tree. The credits roll while Guadalupe pokes at the tree with a stick, trying to shake the socialite and handbag designer loose. (OK, so this one is made up. But it would be amazing, I think. You know, if Guadalupe existed. Get on it, Tinsley!)

Being asked to apologize brings out the Human Nature-era Madonna in me. You know, "I'm naaaaaaaaat saaaaaaaaaaaaaaareeee, it's human nature/ I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me/I'm not apologizing!" However, I guess we are all doing this Blogger's Selichot thing today, and I might as well take my sins down to the water's edge and cast them away while I've got the opportunity. So here goes.

• Dear Social Life EIC Devorah Rose: I'm sorry I started the rumor that you were a stripper. I'm also sorry that I ended the rumor that you were a stripper! I know you didn't really want me to disabuse people of that illusion, but the truth is pretty important to me.
• Dear Village Voice writer Tricia Romano: Regarding your Ultragrrrl article a while back, I quoted something you told me in an email. I should have asked your permission or reminded you that you were on the record. This was a dick thing of me to do; I was just learning the ropes at the time (still learning!) and I realized at the time that I had hung you out to dry but I had too much pride to apologize. Then one night Balk dragged me over to apologize to you at a party! That was a dick thing of him to do, but I'm glad he did it. Even though he is a massive, massive dick.

  No, I will never apologize for saying that Balk is a dick.

• Dear Julia Allison, I'm sorry I called you a "pundit-floozy" a while back. Now that I know you better, I understand that you're not a floozy at all. You're serially monogamous with a series of jerks, just like me!
• Dear Sarah Silverman: I am sorry you have to do it with Jimmy Kimmel. I'm also sorry that you're way smarter and funnier than he is. You're kind of letting the whole female race down with this shit, dude. I guess that was more of a "Jewpology" than an apology. Oops! Hey, it's cute when I'm funny in a bitchy quasi-Antisemitic way, right?
• Dear Internet: I'm sorry I overshared with you about my personal feelings. Looking back, I wish I hadn't abused you with my ranting about how I believed in love (don't worry, I no longer do!) or posted pictures of myself in a bathing suit, thereby establishing a dangerous precedent that can only end badly with some kind of Choire-Balk wrestling singlet shot. Wow, if that comes to pass, we will ALL be sorry.

The afterparty was even more badass. We spent a lot of time talking to the models, who were all around twenty. The most voluble model was Dale Kim, who said he preferred to be described as "an entrepreneur of life" rather than a model. Later, we overheard him asking one of the other models who he was with (meaning: representationwise) and what his next big project was.

None of the models got paid except in clothes, but they did get to take home goodie bags full of men's products, such as Mensgroom brand male grooming paste. There was also a little packet of samples from a brand called John Allan's. They were accompanied by a brochure with the John Allan's tagline: "Reality. Commitment. Balance." As if you are going to marry them or something.

The only drinks at the show were Budweiser Select and Fiji water, and the only eats were platterfuls of edamame and mini Rice Krispie treats being passed in pizza boxes. The free things situation was slightly better at the afterparty at Bar Martignetti. Downstairs, the hoi polloi (models included!) were treated to an open bar. Well, the vodka was free. Everything else, you had to pay for.

Upstairs, though, Kristian held court with his inner circle, and the food was free if you ate it off the rich people's plates. Lesser Known Better Connected blogger Gregory Littley was there, as was Social Life magazine EIC Devorah Rose. Socialite reporter Peter Davis's insanely hot boyfriend Paul Johnson-Calderone—but we thought he hated Kristian?—ate frites alongside teen soap star Leven Rambin, who took a sip of a champagne and ginger cocktail ("Her first sip of alcohol ever!" Paul claimed) and pronounced it nasty.

Kristian ordered steak frites. As I left, he offered me a bite of his steak. I ate it, so I guess this means we are friends now. The steak was pretty tasty.

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.

The scrum outside Tenjune on Little West 12th Street was dense and fragrant; sweat, trash, desire. Ladies in high heels pushed up against the velvet rope like pieces in a game of human Tetris. Were they just pushing to get in because a large black man was pushing to keep them out?

Pete Wentz being paraded across the red carpet like a lemur in heavy eye makeup. Behind him trailed NBA baller Jason Kidd, who is very tall and who wore little or no eyeliner.

On the main dance floor, ex-Top Chef beefcake Sam Talbot was dancing with another Season 2-er, Josie Smith Malave. Celebrities! Of sorts. Nearby ex-Project Runway gay Malan Breton was standing with a guy with a faux-hawk and a cougar tattoo. Though they did time on the same network, these reality folks did not greet each other.

Other than them, the place was completely packed with that kind of striped-shirt-collared men and tarted-up women that you'd expect in the Meatpacking but not necessarily at a party nominally thrown by a singer in an emo band; a man that once wrote, "What meant the world imploded, inflated then demoted all my oxygen to product gas and suffocated my last chance..."

A man in a "The Hamptons Are For Suckers" t-shirt angled for entrance into the VIP lounge. He has a house in Water Mill. A man in close-cropped gray hair tried to kiss, rather violently, a young girl of Indian descent. She firmly placed her hand over his mouth and said no. He moved on to her friend.

Devorah Rose, editor of Social Life magazine and socialgay Kristian Laliberte came in from the Hilfiger party at MoMA. Laliberte was in a good mood and drunk. He tried unbuttoning my shirt with one hand and taking a picture with the other. "Promise you'll be nice," he said. Devorah Rose snaked an arm around my waist. Seriously. This was supposed to be a good party?

First and foremost, you need to have a strong sense of grammer.

I am looking for someone who is an avid reader and who knows how an article should flow both structurally as well as musically and rhythmically. Your responsibility will be to help edit anywhere from two to ten articles. Being in the New York area is not a necessity since you will not be coming into the office but will be working from home. Therefore, a student at Princeton or Yale can definitely work on articles from their campus dorm. You can come into the office the week before we go to press and help with proofing the magazine but that is not required. The application process -Please feel free to send me an email to devorah@sociallifemagazine.com or devorahrose2004@hotmail.com. I would like to know why you are interested in our magazine and why you think you are a good candidate for the position. Please attach a resume and a writing sample.

Devorah's MySpace
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