Robin's Reviews > The Vixen Diaries

The Vixen Diaries by Karrine Steffans
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's review
Jul 30, 2011

did not like it
bookshelves: trashy, memoir, nonfiction
Read in July, 2011

The cover of The Vixen Diaries features a grainy photo of a dead-looking Karrine Steffans throttling herself with a long phone cord. She is clearly attempting to seduce the camera, but it all feels off; her lips are pale and pasty, her eyes are blackened into oblivion. There is some level of glamour that she is striving for that never really existed, except in her own mind.

I read Steffans' first book, Confessions of a Video Vixen, purely for the juicy gossip. The gossip was indeed juicy, but I felt dirty reading it. I wanted Steffans to be a powerful, independent woman in command of her sexuality. What I got was a woman who sees all other women as competition, who has no problem airing other people's dirty laundry in order to make a buck.

If Confessions was a one-star book, The Vixen Diaries is a zero-star book. The difference in general level of atrocity is glaring. The first book had good gossip going for it, period. In The Vixen Diaries it is very clear that Steffans ran out of stories, panicked, then slapped this together. It's all about her life, and man, is her life boring. If I wanted to read about someone going out to dinner or freaking out about what to wear for their Oprah appearance, I'd make a point of reading about someone who I have even the vaguest interest in/positive feelings for. I have no interest in reading about the errands of a woman who despises all other women and thinks that Hollywood life is what everyone should aspire to. "Oh, you joined Myspace? Cool story, bro. Way to write a whole chapter about joining Myspace." (Every chapter is like this.)

There are plenty of low points in this book- her provisions of inspiration to Arkansas college students (for what?) during a speech, her incoherent ramblings about her relationship with Bill Maher (that, of course, is a baffling match), her weird dalliances with Bobby Brown, who apparently crashed in her house for months at a time (but they weren't having sex, she swears!)- but I'd have to say, the absolute low point is the chapter where she mocks Teddy Pendergrass for being old, wheelchair-bound (she calls it "incapacitated," how awful), and thinking he has a shot with her. She calls him washed up, and apparently finds it hilarious that a man like him would think he'd have a shot with a girl like her, which is extra sad considering we now know that he was on his deathbed during this time. This chapter really pulls the book together for me: a nasty, spiteful woman whose "career" will be over the second her ass starts sagging and crow's feet come in around her eyes thinks she's better than one of the greatest soul singers of all time. Good to know, Karrine.
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