So here’s what happened:
I was the happiest woman on earth, living right up to the hilt, yelling and cheering and shouting at the correspondents who wrote to the “Ask E. Jean” column. We carried on together for twenty-seven years. Then I accused Donald Trump of assault, sued him for defamation, headlines went round the world, and . . . BOOM. Elle fired me.
Some readers said they would #BoycottElle. Others said they were going to cancel their subscriptions—but as no one can figure out how to cancel their subscriptions, I think Elle will be fine. So anyway, when things died down, I crawled off the muckheap and began writing for The Atlantic and Vanity Fair . . .
The two best magazines in the history of the world, of course; but I missed my “Ask E. Jean” correspondents! I yearned to hear what private mischief they’d been up to—how their boss hadn’t taken a shower in three weeks, and their boyfriend wouldn’t pay back the $1,700, and how they somehow gained 14 pounds in the pandemic and are thinking of trying a threesome, and just when I was missing their letters the most—HEAVENS TO MERGATROYD!!—I see New York magazine’s Heather Havrilesky on Twitter gibbering about something called “Substack” and publishing her “Ask Polly” and her “Ask Molly,” and well . . .
and just let me just say, Fabulous Reader, from that moment on, I began, once again, to live deliciously!
I could send “Ask E. Jean” out in a newsletter!
Heather’s “Ask Polly” is like having dinner with Plato. Cheryl Strayed’s “Dear Sugar” is a sleepover with the Bronte Sisters. “Ask E. Jean” is like a road trip where you’re constantly leaping out of the convertible to get snacks. And although Monica Hesse says in The Washington Post there is a bluntness and sadness in “Ask E. Jean” and Jia Tolentino in The New Yorker says the column is “brisk, stylish, tough, and compassionate,” I am NOT tender towards cads, scoundrels and dickwads. No, Excellent Reader. I was born to avenge my sex!
You will hear from me twice or thrice a week. Everything will be open for a bit, but fancy events like the “Ask E. Jean” Cocktail Hour zooms, and the Pep Squad Knitting Circles—YES! Wily Reader, we’re gonna knit!—are going behind a big, tall pay wall.
In Case You’re on the Substack App and Flummoxed How the Heck to Subscribe…..Click Here.
So write to me!
No matter what problems are driving you crazy—-your career, your wardrobe, your love affairs, your lusts, your loneliness, your friends, your orgasms, or your finances—send them to AskEeeeJean@gmail.com. And please! Drop me photos of your pets!
Ravishing Regards,
E. Jean
Jean,
I am a male, so I am not sure how much time I will have to knit with my schedule (I am trying to build a rental house for a tenant at the moment), but I 100% support you and your fight against the orange raping asshat.
Will you be keeping your readers updated on what is happening in your trial? I am still waiting to hear he has delivered his DNA for your case. What is his latest excuse thus far?
Keep up the great work!
Best,
Since I was 14 when I saw your column in a magazine at my mother's hairdressers I've wanted to be just like you!! All of my family thought it was strange that I was the only high schooler that had an advice columnist as a hero lolololol. I am going to zoom the fuck out of these events!