Before Bridget Jones, Carrie Bradshaw, and the Shopaholic, it was a world of Fabulous Nobodies
Now, back in print after fifteen years, it’s your chance to experience this hysterically wild cult-status novel for the first time.
Get ready to meet:
Reality Nirvana TuttleA self-described "doorwhore" at one of Manhattan’s hottest clubs. She never gets up before 2 P.M. and has vivid, two-way conversations with every dress in her closet.
Hugo "A Go-Go" FalkGossip columnist and documenter of all things fabulous in the fashion scene. This man is the key to turning Reality into a true Somebody.
Phoebe JohnsonJunior shoe editor of Perfect Woman magazine who has dedicated her life to looking like Audrey Hepburn—and the one woman Reality can trust with her frocks.
and Freddie BarnstableA transvestite with an uncanny knack for finding fabulous fashions, and his sidekick, a little dog named Cristobal Balenciaga. These Fabulous Nobodies will take you on a quest to be Truly Somebody, in a city long gone but never to be forgotten: New York City of the 1980s.
|Product dimensions:||5.31(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.68(d)|
Read an Excerpt
I'm standing on the door of the Less Is More club, thinking about my fingernails. I'm up here, above the throng, a fashion leader, with the crowd below almost swooning at my feet, and I'm dressed impeccably from head to toe except for three chipped nails on my right hand. Three chipped nails! This has never happened before. I always check my nails before I leave home. I know how tricky nails can be. Not a night goes by without my making sure the nail polish starts at the cuticles and ends at the tips, a perfect unsmudged slash of color. I'm not the kind of girl just to slop it on.
I'm sensitive to little details like chipped nail polish—including the wrong color combinations, or sandals worn with woolen skirts, or pale blue eye shadow—but especially chipped nail polish. Chipped nail polish is almost the most upsetting thing in the universe, after people who wear leg warmers. The fact that I am standing up here with chipped nail polish, even though everyone else is too far away to see it, is a crisis. I know that my nails are chipped, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm the only one who counts.
The nail polish is flaking off almost to the cuticles. It's bubbling and blistering in the heat like leg wax on the boil. Maybe I shouldn't have mixed any of that battleship gray house paint with Revlon Firma Nail. It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially as I didn't have the exact shade of gray at home to go with my silver Courrèges mini, which I had my heart set on wearing tonight. It's a Courrèges kind of night, all steamy and noisy, like a walk down Carnaby Street in the summer of 1965.What a walk down Carnaby Street would have been like in the summer of 1965 if I'd been born then.
I could stick to plain old Max Factor like everyone else. But that's so predictable. You can't be fabulous and predictable at the same time; this is one of the facts of life. The reason I am fabulous is that I am never predictable. Even I can't predict what I'm going to do next.
I have to act. I just can't stand here like this. Sooner or later somebody fabulous is going to come up these stairs and home in on my nails like an eagle. Fabulous people know about nails. They look for them. Sooner or later somebody fabulous is going to want to shake my hand or kiss it. Which means that sooner or later I'm going to have to take it out of my purse. A girl can't pretend to be looking for her compact all night. I wish I'd worn gloves. Gloves make serious fashion statements, and come in handy, too.
I decide. I dig around in the purse some more—it's got a plastic mother-of-pearl handle that slips neatly over my wrist—and find my emery board. I hold my hand up in front of my face, splay the fingers out, for everyone to see, and start to scratch away at the old polish. The bits of gray paint flake off all over the Astroturf like confetti at a wedding. If you're going to do something unpleasant, you might as well do it with style.
The crowd below is getting restless. They're pushing and shoving and standing on tiptoes to see what I'm doing. I can feel a tremor of irritation as they watch me unscrew a bottle and apply strokes of base coat. They're wondering how I can stand here doing my nails when it's a matter of life and death for them that they get into the club.
As far as I'm concerned, anyone who wonders why a girl would stop everything to repair her nails shouldn't be in a club like this anyway.Fabulous Nobodies. Copyright © by Lee Tulloch. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
What People are Saying About This
“I was glued to this book! Reality is such a funny, sharp, fabulous character . . . and I want her frocks!”
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I bought this book when it first came out in 1990. I was 19. I loved it. I have read it over and over again in the past 16 years and loved it every time. However, I recently re-read it and I didn't love it. It is a fabulously girlie book. Maybe I wasn't in the right mood for it. Maybe I'm just not so much of a girlie anymore... However, I give it 4 stars for all the pleasure it gave me in my younger days!
Best. Book. Ever. If you like fluffy novels that deal with lovely clothing, accessories, and hip New York clubs in the 80s, I recommend it. It was chick-lit before chick-lit was a genre.
I picked up this book on a whim and I was pleasantly surprised. It's a funny story about the excess and silliness of the eighties.
Twentyish Reality Nirvana Tuttle determines who can enter the Less is More Manhattan nightclub though no one, not even she, knows her conditions, which change almost on a whim, but that impulse is inside her brain. It might be an outfit that was in a half hour ago but seems so ancient at this moment. Reality is a pro at what she does as fool ¿doorwhores'' can match her skill at picking the trendy and tossing the has-beens and wanabees to the street.--------------- However, Reality faces reality when it comes to her one ambition in life as so far she has failed to achieve her goal. She desperately wants to be featured in Hugo Falks¿ weekly gossip column in Frenzie as a hip woman of power on the move. She enlists her friends, Perfect Woman editor Phoebe, transvestite Geoffrey, and his dog Cristobal Balenciaga to cause a scandal that will turn her from almost famous to famous.---------------------- This reprint still retains its sharp acerbic lampoon of the jet set who needs to obtain fame even if it only for fifteen minutes. Reality is a terrific protagonist whose obsession becomes her reality, but never interferes with her selection of who¿s in and who¿s polar. Celebrity status takes a beating as Lee Tulloch¿s satire rips into the cost and inane need to become a known ¿personality¿.------------------ Harriet Klausner