The Australian and former Blackbook intern describes her personal style as "semi-employed superhero" and is wearing a vintage bathing suit—she's "obsessed with" them—as a jumpsuit. She "really appreciate[s] details, like if something has embroidery on it, even if it's just a little flower, or a button that's in the shape of a duck."

(We only have a tiny pic! Need scanner!) Oh, wait—here's a bigger photo.

Moberg said he didn't want to tell anyone about their breakup "because I loved the idea of people making their own endings to our unusual story." But Hayton just blabbed to the Austrlian press:

"We dated for a while, but now we're just friends," Ms Hayton says.

"It's really nice that people embraced the story. It is part of my life now."

She says she dated Mr Moberg for about two months, but it didn't work out.

"The situation was so intense that we bonded in a way that you could mistake for being more romantic than it was. But I wanted to give it a go, so I wouldn't later wonder, 'What if, what if?'."

So the relationship lasted all of two months. Maybe both people got something nice out of the experience: Moberg said he wrote a "little" illustrated book about the saga and Hayton perhaps has a gimmick for getting an audition for certain acting gigs. She landed a small role on As The World Turns and was an extra on Sex And The City!

But who dumped who? And what, exactly, went wrong? Here's a clue, from the Australian newspaper story:

"We see each other now and then and we email quite a bit - I guess that's his forte," Ms Hayton says.

Zing! Communication problems, perhaps? Yes, probably. And a lesson: If you can't introduce yourself before a crush walks out of your life forever, maybe it's best to let that person actually be out of your life forever.

Alternate lesson: It never hurts to try, even if you have to use the internet and/or embarrass yourself and so forth. You might have a fun experience!

[Herald Sun, Patrick Moberg]

Novelist (and dude) Nick Antosca, 25, saw a girl reading a galley of a forthcoming book by Chuck Palahniuk, and "I was like, ‘Oh, shit, I want to get that!’ I wondered whether she was a reviewer or if she worked at the publishing house."

Another man, former literary editor Tom Meaney, claims carrying a galley three months before publication is hotter than "the right jeans or the right purse or whatever... it's just an incredible selective object."

But the women, not so m... oh wait, here's one who is totally into galleys! "Reading galleys on the subway is the closest the publishing industry comes to having a standardized mating call" said Karan Mahajan! Score! But the spelling is a little funny there... Wikipedia... ya, that's actually a guy.

Real women are polite, but unimpressed. Liz Maples, an assistant editor at a Farra, Straus & Giroux imprint, told the Observer she actively hides, on the subway, any reading material that gives away her status as a publishing insider, because she doesn't like being approached by strangers.

And then there's editorial assistant Ali Heifetz, at Norton:

“If and when [I saw] a cute dude reading a galley on the train,” she said, “he would be more attractive to me than same dude not reading a galley.

But less attractive than the same dude carrying a guitar case."

D'oh. But you know what? When the right girl comes along, she'll totally be impressed with your advance gallery. So keep carrying them around, publishing types, and holding them visibly at important mixers, just in case. But also try initiating conversations yourself, on even the barest of pretenses. Like, say, of writing a trend piece on literary hookups!

[Observer]



(Image via Lex in the city on Flickr)

"I was [a diner] last night [in the East Village], and this new waitress came up. She told us it was her first day, and she had an Australian accent, high waisted corduroys, and daisies in her hair (which was pinned up in two Austrian braids a la Lauren Conrad). My friend was like, "That girl is SO cute," and I was like, 'I think it's the Subway Girl!'"

So I asked her and she turned all red and said, "Oh, that was SUCH a long time ago."

Then the waitress next to her was like, "What do you mean, The Subway Girl," and [Camille] gave her a look like, "Ask me about it and die."

Alas, I didn't have the guts to ask if she was still with the cloying guy - you know what my mom says, "Don't fuck with the chef" - and I think that applies to the waitress too.