Everybody (Else) Is Perfect: How I Survived Hypocrisy - How I Survived Hypocrisy, Beauty, Clicks, and Likes

This publication is a memoir. It reflects the authors present recollections of her experiences over a period of years. Some names and identifying characteristics of individuals have been changed. Some dialogue has been re-created from memory. Some scenes are composites of events. Events have been compressed and in some cases their chronology has been changed.

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Copyright 2021 by Gabrielle Korn

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First Atria Paperback edition January 2021

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Interior design by A. Kathryn Barrett

Cover design by Laywan Kwan

Author photograph Lauren Perlstein

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Korn, Gabrielle, 1989 author.

Title: Everybody else is perfect : how I survived hypocrisy, beauty, clicks, and likes / Gabrielle Korn.

Other titles: Everybody is perfect

Description: First Atria Paperback edition. | New York : Atria Paperback, 2020.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019057651 (print) | LCCN 2019057652 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982127763 (paperback) | ISBN 9781982127787 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Korn, Gabrielle, 1989 | Korn, Gabrielle, 1989Anecdotes. | Women journalistsUnited StatesBiography. | LesbiansUnited StatesBiography.

Classification: LCC PN4874.K667 A3 2020 (print) | LCC PN4874.K667 (ebook) | DDC 818/.603 [B]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019057651

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019057652

ISBN 978-1-9821-2776-3

ISBN 978-1-9821-2778-7 (ebook)

For my sisters, literal and otherwise

Dear Readers,

For two chaotically busy, gloriously productive, high-profile years, I was the US editor in chief of an international, independent publication called Nylona promotion I got when I was twenty-eight, younger than any Nylon editor in chief before me, and definitely the only lesbian whod ever been at the top of the masthead. I was, in fact, younger and gayer than all the female EICs at competing publications in New York City, which was a point of pride for me but also made me an outsider. People like me were not supposed to get promotions like that.

Whats more, I was promoted on the same day the print magazine, which was in many ways beloved and iconic, folded. It was a terrifying task, but being put in a position of power meant that I could pour my idealism into something concrete: institutional change. I loved the brand but saw its flaws very clearly, and I was committed to building an editorial strategy that prioritized racial diversity, that welcomed all bodies to the table, and that didnt limit the idea of coolness to a certain economic class.

Speaking of coolness: Growing up, I had been, in many ways, the kind of person for whom Nylon magazine was created, but I never felt like I was cool enough to read it. Like other magazines, it was so exclusive that it barely included anyone. As a teen in the early 2000s, I was an art kid who loved fashion but not in a popular-girl way, who self-identified as a music snob at fifteen, who dated skaters, who went to emo shows and played guitar in a punk band. Nylon was sold at Urban Outfitters, where I shopped; it partnered with Myspace, on which I spent my free time. It had always been in the background of my life. But as a queer woman, I also didnt see myself reflected in its pages, or really, any glossy magazine pages at all; even before I had words for my deepest desires, I felt that there was something inherent that rendered me other.

Maybe because of that, when I was younger, working as a magazine editor didnt even occur to me. I fluctuated between vague ambitions. Sometimes I wanted to be a painter or a photographer, other times a poet. But I also wanted to write articles, and as I tried to make a career around online journalism in my early twenties, the lifestyle publications were the ones that paid me. And as someone who cared a lot about my own physical appearance, I also turned out to be good at writing about aesthetics in a compelling way. I found myself pulled toward the vibrant, bustling world of New York City fashion media, as though it werent a choice but an inevitability.

In my early days as a beauty editor, I was confronted by how a womens industry could be so obviously centered around, and controlled by, a straight, cisgender, white male gaze. I was astounded to watch my inbox fill every day with pitches from publicists about how to groom my body hair to please my manId then watch as competing publications that had clearly gotten those same pitches would run stories using the same language. So, in turn, I began to churn out work about not shaving your body hair, among other things, and in general I became a very vocal, probably annoying, voice for change. What was the point, I asked myself, in working myself to the bone for big, fancy publications as a dyke if I wasnt going to try to make the content accessible for other queer people?

Eventually I went to Nylon, where I was a digital editor for three years before my final promotion to the top spot, which meant the people in charge were finally starting to listen to alternate viewpoints. It was a huge win not just for me but for everyone like me who didnt see themselves represented in mainstream media.

Behind the scenes, though, a very different story had unfolded.

Id achieved something majorly shiny and glamorous, but along the way, it hadnt been so pretty. At various times, I was underpaid, discriminated against, and sexually assaulted. And despite my fancy day jobs, in my personal life, I consistently behaved like a typical twentysomething: I was dating women who didnt treat me well, I was sleeping with women I shouldnt have, and I was struggling to figure out how to identify my own needs, which in turn made me a shitty person to be in any kind of relationship with. I smoked too much pot and didnt get enough sleep. I alienated people who loved me with my inability to ask for help and my tendency to self-isolate.

I was also trying, and failing, and trying again, to recover from anorexia, a secret struggle that impacted every single aspect of my life. In contrast with my personal brand, the hypocrisy of my diagnosis wasnt lost on me, and that was just one more reason for me to be filled with self-loathing. Once I had big, important jobs, I was more than happy to hide behind the busyness that came with them, rather than face my own demons.

I wanted so badly to show the world that an iconic fashion-based publication could become a beacon of thought leadership if you just let young women steer the ship. And we were very successful. I prioritized diversity within everything we made, and the brand evolved. Young readers called us woke