I must admit, I always thought they were the same person. I always admired Annie Leibovitz, the great and talented photographer, who took my job at Rolling Stone. Then there is Fran Lebowitz, who apparently is a social critic of some note, according to some people.
Not me.
I always loved the photographer’s work. She didn’t really take my job. But when I was lolling through my 20s in Berkeley, I routinely took pictures of my friends with my antique Nikon. One fellow loller saw the pics and suggested that I go to San Francisco, where a new rock magazine was looking for photographers. It was much too far away and I was living the high life on my $45-a-week unemployment. I never made the 30-minute trip to San Francisco. The magazine was, of course, Rolling Stone.
I could have been a contender.
I always assumed when I saw the dour countenance of Fran Lebowitz and read her dour comments, that it was the Rolling Stone photographer, Annie Leibovitz. Once again, I was wrong.
I certainly found that out this week when Frannie, not Annie, attacked men wearing shorts. Naturally, I was aghast. I don shorts when the temperature thankfully tops 40 degrees, wear them all year until it snows or falls below 40 again. I despise pants and don them reluctantly, only for wakes and weddings. It feels like wrapping a curtain across my legs when I wear “big-boy pants,” as my detractors sometimes call them. Other detractors call shorts my “Buster Brown” outfit. Naturally, I pay no heed to the jeers and catcalls.
Truth be told, I have fabulous legs. I have been told that my gams have been wasted on a man.
I paid some heed to Frannie, not Annie this week. In a magazine interview, she said this: “Men never wore shorts when I was young. There are few things I would rather see less, to tell you the truth. I’d just as soon see someone coming toward me with a hand grenade. This is one of the worst changes, by far. It’s disgusting. To have to sit next to grown men on the subway in the summer, and they’re wearing shorts? It’s repulsive. They look ridiculous, like children, and I can’t take them seriously.”
Hand grenade? She cannot be serious. I am now languishing in Florida in my L.L. Bean shorts, which I shall wear at least until New Jersey. I cannot understand why this fashion maven is so outspoken about shorts. Perhaps she has never seen legs like mine.
She didn’t stop there. “The trademark of New York City fashion used to be that we dressed more seriously here. More formally. Now people need special costumes to ride bicycles. I mean, a helmet, what, are you an astronaut??”
Costumes? Astronauts? I am guessing that Frannie has never been on a bicycle in her adult life. Ask anyone who has crashed a bicycle about the helmet that saved their brains. I dumped a bike last week on the fabulous Withlacoochee bike trail when a pickup truck snuck up on me at a grade crossing. I was more than thankful that I had a helmet on to save what is left of my precious, decaying gray matter. I once watched a filmed collection of bike crashes (some life, huh?) which clearly illustrated the protection provided by a helmet.
Our girl Fran, the fashion expert, is taken with men’s suit jackets and cowboy boots and smokes like a broken chimney.
But she is not all bad. First of all, she was expelled from high school in Morristown, New Jersey. She was later hired by Andy Warhol as a columnist for the magazine Interview. She proceeded to Mademoiselle. She wrote a series of essays about New York City, “Metropolitan Life” in 1978 then “Social Studies” in 1981. You might have seen her on Letterman or “Law and Order,” where she plays a judge.
The more I looked into Lebowitz, the more I liked her, despite her intemperate remarks about shorts. Her quotes include:
“All God’s children are not beautiful. Most of God’s children are, in fact, barely presentable.”
“Ask your child what he wants for dinner only if he’s buying.”
“Great people talk about ideas. Average people talk about things. And small people talk about wine.”
“I’ve done the calculations and your chances of winning the lottery are identical whether you play or not.”
“If you are a dog and your owner suggests that you wear a sweater, suggest that he wear a tail.”
“In real life, I assure you that there is no such thing as algebra.”
Alright, I will forgive Frannie and will never confuse her with Annie again. But I would suggest that Ms. Lebowitz take a nice, long bike ride through Central Park, wearing a helmet and, of course dressed in shorts.
Forget the hand grenade.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.