" I know, I shouldn't even admit I read it, but I was desperate for something light (ok, that it was) and didn't realize I was walking into the shopaholic genre so unabashedly - it doesn't even pay to talk about how bad this book was; it would be like saying, I was reading Cosmo and you know, it was really shallow .... But I was thinking, Khay, that you and I often debate the merits of lets say, Olivia Goldsmith or even Maeve Binchy, I mean they're both very different but just in that some authors offer up a lighter read but it is still clever or original or something - so I don't think Goldsmith is total trash or Binchy is classic chick lit, and neither kills brain cells, whereas this book was one big eye roll after another. Aside from all the brand name dropping that only makes the book seem like SVH for grown ups who love to know what goes on behind closed mahogany doors along Park Avenue, this book pulled all the typical tricks to make morally questionable issues suddenly not so questionable. Snort. Well, it served its purpose, I guess, but I just wonder, is this where we're at now, that it's either weirdo post modern books or total wastes of ink?? "
— marg, 1/30/2014