Haha oh god. The Rules. Vomit. How to manipulate a man into marrying you. Muh Feminism. Gross. Does't shock me though., she's materialistic as hell and treats men as meal tickets and ladders {chaos is a ladder eh ... . nah, not chaos, cock is a ladder George, COCK). She also writes exactly like a moron whose sole reading matter of choice throughout her life has been ad copy and American self-help crap infused with the kind of self-identification with one's brand of shoes that comes from someone who took Sex and the City and its grand scale cynical product placement seriously and uncritically at a formative mooment in their life. Identity formed via constant, vapid consumerism. People who think their Jimmy Choochoos or Manalo Blergh-niks are actually an important and wholly necessary part of their female character. Fetishization of certain consumer goods internalized as 'who I am'. Gross.
I read the first 150 pages or so of FF (a press e-copy someone passed around a forum I was on for mockery purposes, like fuck I'd ever pay for her vapid shite) and what struck me immediately, from the first page, apart from the kind of syrupy, cringey prose a sixth fomer should be embarrassed to write, was the constant label-droping, as if designers one seeks out are a vital part of one's personal identity, and fruthermore, one sould be super fucking impressed by Smeg's access to such goods, and lick her taint for having them, as it proves she's Better Than Thou. Reall;y gormless, unpleasant tripe.
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