From celebrity book clubs to the revival of the edgy literary party, being a book lover is in. Dior has launched new versions of their Book Tote emblazoned with the covers of classics such as Ulysses and Dracula. Earlier this year, Coach collaborated with Penguin to produce miniature literary bag charms – fully readable micro-versions of books, from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings to Sense and Sensibility. Miu Miu hosts a Literary Club; Chanel its Rendez-vous littéraire.
Being bookish is now sexy, we’re told. i-D magazine recently ran a piece on the Whitney Review – a literary journal based in New York – proclaiming its team part of the “hot literati reshaping criticism”. The founder describes the Review as “sexy, surprising, stubborn”, and its contributors “curious and beautiful” (corroborated by an accompanying shoot in which the Whitney team look more like a bunch of models than anything else). But the piece raised eyebrows in the comments section of i-D’s Instagram page: “the definition of vacuous and vapid”, writes one user; “No room for ugly literati, only HOT”, says another. Should we be sceptical about reading’s voguish turn?
