Peaches Geldof: The Parodist On Nylon Cobbles And Contradictions
“THE sun glows a burned orange as it sinks behind a skyscraper, a car horn screeches irritably, the wind whistles through the acres of willows in Central Park…”
Peaches Geldof sits at her lap top, wondering… It is reassuring to know that Peaches is in New York, laughing at the locals in a brilliant work of parody that were it repeated here it would see her laughed into oblivion. Write on Peaches:
America is a strange place, a place of contradictions, but a place that never fails to change one’s world view…
Travel broadens the mind. Americans should try it. Pack shorts, big ones; huge ones…
I am constantly surprised by this huge country—each state tells a different tale: It’s like a never-ending novel with each page more exciting and bizarre than the last.
This land is your land, this land is my land
From California, to the New York Island
From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters
This land was made for you and me
America ends at the edges. Or maybe it doesn’t? Peaches is like Helen Wagner on As the World Turns…
Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved London, it’s a city where being unusual is accepted-the norm, even. The music scene is so strong that you can’t walk through certain areas without being compelled to duck into some dive bar to see a band playing music unlike anything you’ve heard before. I grew up there, walked its cobbled streets a thousand times, and frequented its infamous haunts. The skies are always gray and the weather is freezing, but the place is alive, an epicentre of art, and vibrant with culture.
That’s London, England, in case any Londoners listening to imported American rap on the pub jukebox, taking the sun or stumbling on a bit of broken tarmac (its the next big thing, trust us) wonder what Peaches is talking about.
I traveled across America in a cramped, packed U-Haul and experienced parts of the U.S. not many people see unless they go off the beaten path.
Unless they live there…In New York:
Girls here look like they just stepped off the catwalk:
Or fallen off, face first…
My best friend here is a boy named Bunny. We spend our days traipsing around Manhattan—him in skin-tight plaid trousers, huge geek glasses, and a mass of red hair sticking out haphazardly from beneath an Amish-style hat. We buy pizza from street vendors, run through Times Square marvelling at its energy, and source new vintage boutiques. Nights involve dancing at Beatrice Inn or Lit, watching the Misshapes spin some tunes, or catching one of the amazing bands Brooklyn has to offer.
Perhaps better than this work of parody are the comments.
I have tried to read this article objectively and without bias, trying VERY hard to ignore that I know who wrote it. My first thought was ‘Just what is the writer trying to tell us here?’ and I don’t have an answer. The piece meandered from one vague point to another. Half-stories with no focus and no final point. What were you trying to tell us, oh dear writer? Something about New York? Something about America? Something about yourself? The banality is shocking. I almost feel like this is an ironic piece. Contrary to what other people have written on here, I DO think you wrote it. Otherwise it is a work of inspired genius. I hope you heed the comments here. Perhaps go away for a while. Stop searching for limelight. Stop living in dreams and see now, now. Get some life experience, keep your head down until you do and save us from this insipid, vacuous social commentary that justifies the dislike of you. I read your interview in the Sunday Times. You claim that people give you a hard time because they don’t understand you. Well Missy, I think they know you more than you think…. – AA GIll
Hello. I’m Max Gogarty. I’m 19 and live on top of a hill in north London. At the minute, I’m working in a restaurant with a bunch of lovely, funny people; writing a play; writing bits for Skins; spending any sort of money I earn on food and skinny jeans, and drinking my way to a financially blighted two-month trip to India and Thailand – Max Gogarty
Oh, him…
Clichéd I know, but clichés are there for a reason…
To right, daddy’s boy. Next!
This is obviously a very clever dry satire parodying her public image of a self obsessed mediocre brat. Obsessed with shopping, being ‘cool’ and under the false impression that any body cares a single iota about her dribbled out thoughts movements. Bravo Peaches! – Sam
I love Peaches Geldof. She’s the most talented person on the planet. I can’t wait to hear about her next adventure and how she spends her fathers money – Encee
Hey P. How’s it hanging girl? Feeling the love? Sweet. Great article by the way, we loved it! Can’t wait for the next read. 🙂 America just doesn’t know how lucky they are to have you over there. We miss you so much back here on the cobbled streets of London – PEACHES UK FAN CLUB
But what beautiful, daring, challenging prose. I felt uplifted and giddy with laughter and joy. – De Peches Mud
Well now, NYLON, if you’re hiring: we have other talented writers in the UK. Ever heard of Kerry Katona? Katie Price? Jodie Marsh? I suggest you move fast, in case they get snapped up by other publications! Press Complaints Commission
Peaches, Anorak is looking for writers. Call us…
Posted: 28th, October 2008 | In: Celebrities Comments (2) | TrackBack | Permalink
