And It Wouldn’t Be Make Believe if You Believed in Me

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Why is everything curated from artisanal pickles to a reading series in Dumbo.  One editor I met at a lunch date said she curates her Instagram account. You mean you put up pictures that you choose?  How does a smart Vassar graduate recently promoted to assistant editor say, over cobb salad, that she’s curating projects in the non-fiction space. I give up. Stop with the curate. Stop with the space. It’s happened. I’m no longer that young thing in a rust colored raw silk blouse and a black Ann Taylor suit trying to impress some agent bitch with her lacquered nails and signature necklace. I hate the world right now. I’m in the self-loathing space.

What are you curating.