TONY OF ALL MEDIA

Something about Saudi men whispering about contrasting cultures and putting women in veils and abayas versus large, constricting gold belts.

How to honor a man who built a television empire—even if he did it by exploiting the worst instincts and aggressively proud ignorance of everyday Americans? How to report straightforwardly on his impressive career achievements, without pointing out that his greatest creation paved the way for the current, awful inhabitant of the White House and the national disaster we now wake up to every morning? How does one take a moment, upon the news of his death, to pay homage to the man and his accomplishments—without writing about the fact that, despite his vision and ambition, he was privately a horrible monster who preyed on and abused the women he supervised and ended up being driven from his lofty perch? Back there somewhere, I was a magazine editor and once signed off on the choice of Ailes (they were always a group decision of the staff, these choices—I was but one voice) as "TV Executive of the Year"—about six months before details of his disgusting behavior were revealed.

If this week's issue of New York seems a little thicker than usual, it's because it boasts that truly unusual thing nowadays, for any magazine but especially a weekly or biweekly—a big, fat gatefold cover followed by a multipage advertising promotion for the forthcoming atrocity that is Hudson Yards, the pointless, soulless development on the far, far west side that has made traversing Tenth Avenue a nightmare for drivers, automobile passengers, pedestrians and winos for the better part of the last five years and that promises, when completed, to have Manhattanites who don't live or work in far, far west midtown or far, far west Chelsea making the far, far schlepp over to shop at, eat at and otherwise experience what is basically an overblown, depressing suburban shopping mall—one that will also, as it happens, house the headquarters of corporations like Time Warner, L'Oréal and Coach, thus making it equally a depressing suburban office park. The insert feature

Via Men's Health

You may have heard of the award-winning British ad agency called Adam & Eve—but as a Google search reveals, that's not the only type of business to appropriate the names of the original sinners. I hope my mother isn't reading this blog.

For those who don't read or who get their information only from media properties run by Rupert Murdoch, here's why. 

I felt somewhat bewildered going through the Times's Met Gala slideshow this morning. Who are these people? I kept asking myself. (The question What the fuck are they wearing? is, meanwhile, a given.) Except for Catherine Deneuve, Madonna, the hostess Anna Wintour herself and a couple of others, I caught myself wondering whether I was looking at A-listers from a fashion event or a bunch of juvenile delinquents who'd gotten into their mothers' makeup. The theme of the so-called Oscars of the East Coast this year was "edgy and asymmetrical." Which to me just seems to be an excuse to wear your pants without having them tailored. While the hottest runway models, actresses and musicians were natural choices for Anna's invitation list, others were a little more curious. Katie Holmes, really? Are we actually still pretending she's famous? Just check out her imperious, austere pose—I think she's played Jackie O so many times now that she thinks she is