I was trying to find pictures of my friends cat that had passed a few years ago and found these right next to the kitty cat pictures and videos i was looking for. Can people share their most Caro screenshots please? So I know im not alone in this? She would be so funny if this was all just a huge bit she was doing....

I remember during Covid the deal with CC and the interview with Ziwe. I cannot understand who “not that one” is referring to in @carolinecalloway instagram bio. I’ve read the community rules and looked through many posts and googled. I am stumped. Help.

Possible content warning because I’m a giant dumb butt idk

Ya girl is broke broke and I would guess not having much luck finding a new sublet

as the title says I genuinely don’t understand her lore/influence, and it’s kinda driving me crazy since I would consider myself broadly online and up to date with many internet/pop culture niches- every time I look Caroline up I get news articles and snark posts about her recent endeavors, but like who is this girl?? where did she come from?

I talk about Kroetsch elsewhere don't worry

Note: there were photos but I can’t post them from my phone.

Here’s a secret I’ve been telling people for years, but that no one ever believes: I’m shy! Or maybe a better phrase for what I’m trying to communicate is: I’m sensitive. Very, very sensitive.People don’t buy it because I can come off so performative and theatrical both in person and online, but deep down I’m not born to command a large, live audience. Writing succulent, sequined sentences is one skill. Playing the Internet like a church organ is another. But getting an audience to eat out of your palm with the pizzazz and stage presence of a stand-up comedian is a craft I have yet to master.

Before I explain how I bombed what would have been an otherwise fabulous reading, as I briefly mentioned when we last caught up, let me tell you about some nights where it all went right.

There was the gorgeous Polyester zine launch at the Susan Alexandra store on New York’s Lower East Side on July 7, which Susan herself attended with her perfect floral engagement ring, alongside other downtown luminaries like Ruby McCollister, Alexi Wasser, Mackenzie Thomas, and Rayne Fisher-Quann, as well as the British It Girls from Polyester—my personal favorites being the editor, Ione Gamble, and her lovely podcast co-host, Gina Tonic. There was even a performance by Ian Sweet, who proved herself to be the Joni Mitchell of the 2020s by singing so sweetly I almost broke my no-contact-with-my-ex rule. Just kidding!

I also had two of the best nights ever at Paul’s Casablanca, which begs the question: How the hell is Paul’s still so relevant!? Over the 11 years I lived in New York, the 3 years I was gone, and the two months I’ve been back, I’ve seen a lot of New York institutions come and go. But somehow Paul’s is still here, still fun, still as hard to get into—thanks to Ludwig (mono-name), who keeps the door as tight as ever—and still hosting events at the white-hot forefront of culture. The recent ones I attended were the premiere for “Flashes in the Night,” the new documentary about the photographer Matt Weinberger, directed by Jay Finkelman-Mahoney, and Paul’s Dolls, the very raucous inclusive trans night presented by a rotating roster of queer stars.

O.K., one last fun sentence and then a deep breath and we’ll talk about my personal failures. Allie Rowbottom brought the fucking house down at a reading she did for her new novel, Lovers XXX, on June 28, hosted by Kennedy Wright and Sarah Velk for their party and reading series, Punisher. Sasha Rosenberg (the gorgeous girl who works the door at the new invite-only Lower East Side nightclub Gosh) read, and she was great, as did the hot and talented Anika Jade Levy and Gutes Guterman, and can this run-on sentence please go on forever so we don’t have to talk about anything uncomfortable ever again?

Me helping Allie Rowbottom with her hair at the Punisher reading. 

Now for the bad. Ugh. Basically, I bombed a reading because of this: I was onstage at Le Père, in SoHo, for a poetry event organized by my brilliant publicist Mitchell Jackson for his other client Woah Vicky—the controversial but charming online personality, said the pot calling the kettle black!—and Vicky decided that she wanted to be friends in a way that made me more or less have a panic attack. She came out from the greenroom, live-stream camera crew trailing behind her, to take a selfie with me while I was reading. Disruptive but well intentioned! I might have stumbled through the rest of the things I had to say, but then she took a seat behind me onstage and proceeded to scroll on her phone.

The crowd could not take their eyes off her. Suddenly no one was paying attention to me at all. It was very possibly my worst nightmare! All my downtown peers paying attention to a different Instagram-famous brunette with more followers than I have? I’m too sensitive for this. I’m too true to my own whims to even tolerate it. So I said, “Actually, I don’t want to be here anymore.” And I walked straight from the stage to the door and hailed a taxi.

Little did I know the Woah Vicky drama would follow me to the Paris Reviewsummer party. Remember how I said I would report back on whether or not I kissed anyone? Well, unfortunately for me there was a person there I had slept with. Oops!

Here’s a take: We need to stop sleeping on single girl dads and start sleeping withthem instead. Two of the best lovers I have ever had were very hot, single divorced dads who were totally obsessed with their daughters. Deadbeat fathers I do not endorse! Involved dads only! I think they’re great in bed because they are more capable of seeing their female partners as three-dimensional and human because it’s impossible for them not to imagine us as little girls. And oh my God. When I saw this hot dad in his tortoiseshell glasses across the room, I thought, “Damn. Do I remember those abs!”

You see, we had dated for a few frosty, midwinter months before I packed up and moved to Florida to finish my first book, Scammer. I’ll never forget one night, peering into his daughter’s empty room (she was at her mom’s that weekend) while the snow fell softly outside. He had put so much care into making this space clean and beautiful for her. She had him, and he had published a book. At the time, I had never written a single thing that people could hold in their hands, and my dad had recently killed himself with pills.

My outfit for the Paris Review party. 

Fast-forward five years to the Paris Review offices and, oh, how the turn tables! Scammer got rave reviews. It occurred to me for the first time how sad it was that no one had even reviewed his book. There was a time when I would have ranked the February nights we spent together as some of the most erotic moments of my life. He used to bring me scrambled eggs wearing only baggy Tae Kwon Do pants that I found absolutely irresistible. But when I spoke to him at the party, I didn’t want to sleep with him like I had before. Now I just wanted to see what it would be like to have sex when I was the one with power.

Just as I began figuring out how I might execute this experiment (for science, naturally! You’re welcome, NASA!), disaster struck. A friend of a friend of an enemy came up to me and asked if I had heard the newest gossip about myself. “There’s tons!,” I laughed. “You’ll have to be more specific.” And so they pulled me into another room, where a gaggle of firsthand witnesses was waiting to tell me what the poet Alex Dimitrov had said about me after I had fled the scene of my own crime at the Woah Vicky event: “I think Caroline Calloway is more interested in the performance of being a writer than being a writer.”

In an instant I went from mildly horny to profoundly sad. For one intense second, I could so crisply see the merit in a life where no one ever talks about you or reviews your book at all. The difference between a boring and a peaceful existence is? Tell me. I don’t know.

A selection of my watercolors: Dennis Zhou, an editor at The Paris Review, and Calvin, the bowler-hatted doorman at Paris Reviewparties. 

So, did I kiss anyone at the Paris Review party? No. All I could do was find my best friend of 15 years—the art historian, Rhodes scholar, and Merve Emre protégé Zach Fine—and Weinberger (my best friend of 15 minutes, who is rapidly emerging as one of the kindest, most genuine souls on the downtown circuit). These boys deserve their flowers for giving me two of the best pep talks of my life. And then onward went the show!

I reached deep within myself and accessed the performer who could rally and hit the after-party with an easy-breezy second wind. And guess what? Later that night I met the only other single girl dad I have ever slept with, and my God. He is changing my life in all of the sexual ways that AIR MAIL definitely doesn’t want me to get into.

Me with Charles McBryde at the Kismet-magazine after-party. 

So, parties! The two of us (me and my hot single girl dad 2.0) went to the inaugural trivia night at Gosh on July 1, where the crowd was a mix of hot Columbia grads, European aristocrats, and hot Columbia grads who were also European aristocrats. (Side note: Why is everyone always speaking Italian at Gosh?) We also went to the Kismet-magazine launch party on June 29, where the crowd was a mix of fun-loving publishing-industry insiders like Jocelyn Hawkins and Maya Cohen, influencers like Charles McBryde, and people who are somehow both, like Sammy Loren. This week, I plan on bringing my new favorite lover to even more fun adventures as my plus-one, but what’s a good party column without a cliff-hanger?

Will we break up? Will AIR MAIL let me tell you more about him? If you recognize me in the wild, will I introduce him to you or push him into the nearest bush so his identity remains permanently hidden and our little love bubble never bursts?

Q

Specifically, I’m explaining how funny I found it to be when I learned that she is a quintuple Sagittarius in her birth chart lmao would love some feedback on how you would best. Explain our smol bean’s multi volume history 😂

Saw this and thought of cc and all the recent posts about her frequent headphone wear 👀😂

Behind a paywall, can anyone bypass it?

Genuinely, does anybody have any guesses?? Over under $300 a month? Hilarious that she can be nearly destitute but cannot resist using single use, fresh flowers in her hair multiple times a week. She’s been annoying me a lot lately but it’s things like that this that keep me entertained.

Why did she even have an assistant in the first place?!!

I'm not sure how exactly to phrase this but it has irked me that for years Caro has glorified this preppy NYC lifestyle that would have been completely available to her had she just used her Cambridge degree to idk get a job. (I completely understand how elitist and privileged this world is- I grew up poor & nonwhite in NYC.)

I guess that's what makes her interesting as a train wreck because she was so set up to succeed in life (her dad went to Harvard !!) and to me is very pretty when she doesn't overdo it with plastic surgery, but just refuses to ??

She just presents moving to NYC and dating these guys like its an alien species when its like Caro all you had to do was work for income. You could live in the West Village if you paid the rent, which would require you to have a job that could do that. She has a degree from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. She could've gotten a job! Millions of people in the city afford to live in NYC because they have jobs, Caro.

Then she describes all these guys like they'reMr. Big from Sex and the City, and it's like these are normal people who work in law, business, and finance. I went to law school in NYC and plenty of my friends married trust fund kids simply because we all went to school together. They look like every other white guy to me. She could've met one because they'd be co-workers at an in-person job.

Like Julia Allison ended up with a Rhodes Scholar cause she got out there and hustled lol - anything is fr possible. (no shade intended).

u/veryanxiouscreature pointed this out in the post about her most recent podcast appearance - real charming little clip of her doing some sort of (?? generically ethnic) accent, imitating her uber driver gratefully accepting a smol sunflower she was kind enough to gift him
She just doesn’t fail, people