katharine hepburn

So, TheGloss, I’m leaving you.

It’s because you got fat.

Cue the musical number!


And there are other reasons. I will now be editing the NYO section of the New York Observer, which is a cool newspaper. It’s pink, so that’s a sign that it’s pretty cool right there, if, I suppose, you really love the color pink. Technically, I believe it’s salmon, but, close enough. I’ll also keep writing for the New York Post and Salon, and other places.

So, you know, I won’t be dead or anything.

I considered not writing a goodbye blog post. They generally strike me as self-congratulatory and self-indulgent. I am not going to list various pieces I’ve written over the course of three and a half years and ask you to clap for them. First, because you already did and, God help me, it meant the world when you did. Second, because I can frankly remember very few of them.

The problem with blogging – at least for me – is that you cannot remember anything you wrote by the end of the week.  That is not because TheGloss required too much output. The Gloss required a perfectly reasonable number of articles, and they paid me well for them. Memory fails just because that is the way blogs work. If you write thirty pieces a week, they will blur together into a sort of mush. When people ask me what I wrote that week, I stare at them blankly. If they suggest I had written about my desire to kill and eat children, I would probably nod and say, “Sounds about right.”

I mean, they would have just latched onto a correct assumption, though. I wouldn’t have actually written that.

Interestingly, though, I do remember other people’s pieces, which I had the great pleasure of editing.

Some of those were terrific.

I remember Jamie Peck’s piece on being sexually harassed by Terry Richardson, which was one of our first original reports, and the one that first placed us on Page Six. Jamie, we really should have paid you more. Maybe it would stop you from always trying to plan the revolution that would kill me. I’m still glad I was the one to photograph your breasts.

I remember Amanda Chatel’s brave, fantastic piece about her own abortion. Amanda is happy in Paris now, in case you were wondering.

I remember all of Allie Brosh’s pieces, but most especially her one on the Crack Cocaine Employment Plan. She has a book coming out now. You should probably buy it, because I bet it will be great. I am proud of the fact that we had even a small role in promoting her.

I remember Brandy Alexander’s love and dating pieces, and her defense of them. I liked that TheGloss showed different viewpoints, and didn’t toe one particular line.

I remember Lindsay Cross, who made me not only less afraid of marriage but also of parenting, by virtue of her doing both so excellently, and writing about them with such humor.

And Jen Dziura. The moment I saw her color coordinated closet, I accepted that she will forever do most everything better than me. But then, I already knew that.

I am forever walking around New York at early hours, and I never do so without thinking of Alice Walker Wright.

And Randi Newton – no one will ever do stunt pieces better than her. I mean, maybe someone some day, but not someone whose pieces I read for TheGloss.

Mallory Ortberg was and remains so brilliant that I am pretty much in awe of her. This piece. This one was my favorite. She has her own site now, The Toast, which you should visit if you are a lady who does not hate to laugh.

Thank you to Ashley Cardiff for being a longtime deputy editor and now managing editor of this wonderful site.

And then there’s Sam, who is a fantastic new addition to TheGloss. We talked about which piece of hers to list, but I am not going to list any, because I want to leave that spot open for her future.

I take great comfort in the fact that I’ve been working with the best.

As for me, well, I’m excited to be moving into a new chapter. I’ll probably be tweeting about that every five minutes, so if you want updates follow me on Twitter @jenashleywright. The Observer section has a nice interview with Gaby Hoffmann coming up, and one with Buzz Aldrin, and some other articles I think you will like, so maybe it would be fun to check out. I’m stupidly, ludicrously proud of the section.

And this chapter is closed. It’s odd, because I think as an adult you do not have graduation ceremonies. Chapters are not supposed to close definitively. You become accustomed to pretending that things are not really over. A few weeks ago, I said goodbye to an intern I knew I’d never see again. He mentioned he wasn’t coming in the next day and, as the elevator doors closed, I kind of awkwardly exclaimed, “I’m sure I’ll see you around!” It’s not polite to say, “I will never see you again. Toodles, forever.” Of course, saying otherwise is dishonest. This is not the case. Some things do end for good. This isn’t a Tony Kushner monologue. Things do get lost forever.


Well, maybe it is.

And fine. If you ever wanted to know, or clap for anything, this is my all time favorite post.

Bye now, you bright, lovely things.

I’m sure I’ll see you around.

Spitzer Testifies Before Reform Committee