Professionals & Academics
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Dilettante: True Tales of Excess, Triumph, and Disaster
A witty, insightful, and delightfully snarky blend of pop culture meets memoir meets real-life Devil Wears Prada as readers learn the stories behind twenty-five years at Vanity Fair from the magazine's former deputy editor
"Dilettante offers the best seat in the house into the workings of one of the great cultural institutions of our time."-Buzz Bissinger, New York Times bestselling author of Friday Night Lights
Dana Brown was a twenty-one-year-old college dropout playing in punk bands and partying his way through downtown New York's early-nineties milieu when he first encountered Graydon Carter, the legendary editor of Vanity Fair. After the two had a handful of brief interactions (mostly with Brown in the role of cater waiter at Carter's famous cultural salons he hosted at his home), Carter saw what he believed to be Brown's untapped potential, and on a whim, hired him as his assistant. Brown instantly became a trusted confidante and witness to all of the biggest parties, blowups, and takedowns. From inside the famed Vanity Fair Oscar parties to the emerging world of the tech elite, Brown's job offered him access to some of the most exclusive gatherings and powerful people in the world, and the chance to learn in real time what exactly a magazine editor does-all while trying to stay sober enough from the required party scene attendance to get the job done. Against all odds, he rose up the ranks to eventually become the magazine's deputy editor, spending a quarter century curating tastes at one of the most storied cultural shops ever assembled.
Dilettante reveals Brown's most memorable moments from the halcyon days of the magazine business, explores his own journey as an unpedigreed outsider to established editor, and shares glimpses of some of the famous and infamous stories (and people) that tracked the magazine's extraordinary run all keenly observed by Brown. He recounts tales from the trenches, including encounters with everyone from Anna Wintour, Lee Radziwill, and Condé Nast owner Si Newhouse, to Seth Rogen, Caitlyn Jenner, and acclaimed journalists Dominick Dunne and Christopher Hitchens.
Written with equal parts affection, cultural exploration, and nostalgia, Dilettante is a defining story within that most magical time and place in the culture of media. It is also a highly readable memoir that skillfully delivers a universal coming-of-age story about growing up and finding your place in the world.
"Dilettante offers the best seat in the house into the workings of one of the great cultural institutions of our time."-Buzz Bissinger, New York Times bestselling author of Friday Night Lights
Dana Brown was a twenty-one-year-old college dropout playing in punk bands and partying his way through downtown New York's early-nineties milieu when he first encountered Graydon Carter, the legendary editor of Vanity Fair. After the two had a handful of brief interactions (mostly with Brown in the role of cater waiter at Carter's famous cultural salons he hosted at his home), Carter saw what he believed to be Brown's untapped potential, and on a whim, hired him as his assistant. Brown instantly became a trusted confidante and witness to all of the biggest parties, blowups, and takedowns. From inside the famed Vanity Fair Oscar parties to the emerging world of the tech elite, Brown's job offered him access to some of the most exclusive gatherings and powerful people in the world, and the chance to learn in real time what exactly a magazine editor does-all while trying to stay sober enough from the required party scene attendance to get the job done. Against all odds, he rose up the ranks to eventually become the magazine's deputy editor, spending a quarter century curating tastes at one of the most storied cultural shops ever assembled.
Dilettante reveals Brown's most memorable moments from the halcyon days of the magazine business, explores his own journey as an unpedigreed outsider to established editor, and shares glimpses of some of the famous and infamous stories (and people) that tracked the magazine's extraordinary run all keenly observed by Brown. He recounts tales from the trenches, including encounters with everyone from Anna Wintour, Lee Radziwill, and Condé Nast owner Si Newhouse, to Seth Rogen, Caitlyn Jenner, and acclaimed journalists Dominick Dunne and Christopher Hitchens.
Written with equal parts affection, cultural exploration, and nostalgia, Dilettante is a defining story within that most magical time and place in the culture of media. It is also a highly readable memoir that skillfully delivers a universal coming-of-age story about growing up and finding your place in the world.
Editorial Reviews
"I got to work with Dana Brown when I was asked to edit Vanity Fair's comedy issue. As I got to know him a bit, I kept thinking-Oh the things he's seen! While Dana was too discreet to tell me the good stuff back then, I'm so glad he's chosen to share it all now in this amazing, insightful, and funny memoir."-Judd Apatow
"Dana Brown's unlikely rise to deputy editor of Vanity Fair is a fairy tale. But if he started out as a dilettante, he became much more than that, shepherding culture-defining stories into the pages of America's glossiest monthly. Impossible to put down, Dilettante is an irresistibly juicy memoir."-Nancy Jo Sales, New York Times bestselling author of American Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers
"In writing his story, Dana Brown has not only written about movie stars, power brokers, cocaine-fueled parties, alcohol-fueled parties, alcohol-fueled cocaine, New York at its zenith, New York in the morning (when it was shaky), New York in the evening (when it was riding high), Vanity Fair, Graydon Carter, the magazine industry when it was worth calling an industry, but also the story of Generation X, the second-greatest generation, which is the story of America's last great good time. It's a power ballad of a book. It's ‘November Rain.' I loved every single page."-Rich Cohen, bestselling author of Tough Jews and Sweet and Low
"A scintillating memoir, elegantly written, witty, self-deprecating, observant, chronicling how a great magazine is put together, giving the intimate detail that provides a unique social history of two decades of New York and Hollywood."-James Fox, bestselling author of White Mischief and co-writer of Life by Keith Richards
"An immensely engaging memoir and inside view of the magazine world . . . [Brown] offers grounded and insightful observations-not only about the internal workings at Vanity Fair, but also major shifts in a media world rapidly transitioning to digital platforms and up-to-the-moment information content alongside rapidly evolving American cultural tastes."-Kirkus Reviews
"Dilettante is a coming-of-age story written with grace and humor and poignance. It is searingly honest without the typical suspects of snark and smirk. It is a window into a different place and time when the world of New York and magazine publishing gleamed with dazzle and glamour. Dana Brown splendidly reminds us of how much fun and serendipitous it all was."-Buzz Bissinger, New York Times bestselling author of Friday Night Lights
"Dana Brown's unlikely rise to deputy editor of Vanity Fair is a fairy tale. But if he started out as a dilettante, he became much more than that, shepherding culture-defining stories into the pages of America's glossiest monthly. Impossible to put down, Dilettante is an irresistibly juicy memoir."-Nancy Jo Sales, New York Times bestselling author of American Girls: Social Media and the Secret Lives of Teenagers
"In writing his story, Dana Brown has not only written about movie stars, power brokers, cocaine-fueled parties, alcohol-fueled parties, alcohol-fueled cocaine, New York at its zenith, New York in the morning (when it was shaky), New York in the evening (when it was riding high), Vanity Fair, Graydon Carter, the magazine industry when it was worth calling an industry, but also the story of Generation X, the second-greatest generation, which is the story of America's last great good time. It's a power ballad of a book. It's ‘November Rain.' I loved every single page."-Rich Cohen, bestselling author of Tough Jews and Sweet and Low
"A scintillating memoir, elegantly written, witty, self-deprecating, observant, chronicling how a great magazine is put together, giving the intimate detail that provides a unique social history of two decades of New York and Hollywood."-James Fox, bestselling author of White Mischief and co-writer of Life by Keith Richards
"An immensely engaging memoir and inside view of the magazine world . . . [Brown] offers grounded and insightful observations-not only about the internal workings at Vanity Fair, but also major shifts in a media world rapidly transitioning to digital platforms and up-to-the-moment information content alongside rapidly evolving American cultural tastes."-Kirkus Reviews
"Dilettante is a coming-of-age story written with grace and humor and poignance. It is searingly honest without the typical suspects of snark and smirk. It is a window into a different place and time when the world of New York and magazine publishing gleamed with dazzle and glamour. Dana Brown splendidly reminds us of how much fun and serendipitous it all was."-Buzz Bissinger, New York Times bestselling author of Friday Night Lights
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
We all have a moment or chance encounter that defines us, sets the narrative of our life in motion. Newton and that apple; John meeting Paul at St. Peter's Church in Liverpool; Mick running into Keith on that Dartford train platform; Justin meeting Britney, I'm guessing in Orlando, both head to toe in denim of some era-specific wash. My origin story may not be as significant as those, but it was to me, and it began behind the bar of a restaurant in midtown Manhattan in April 1994.
At the time, I was toiling away behind that bar, living off tips, residing in that roach-infested dump with my older brother Nathaniel in the East Village. Only twenty-one, I had a spotty record in life already, the shadow of wild and unproductive teen years chasing me into early adulthood. I had no skills, no real passions or interests. I had a vague interest in being a rock star and was playing guitar in a few bands, but in reality I wasn't a very good musician, and debilitating stage fright was a roadblock to that fantasy. Expectations for my future were low. The youngest of four, I was the one who wasn't talked about, or if I was, the topic was quickly changed to something more pleasant. I wasn't just the black sheep, I was a complete f***up.
I was quiet and shy when I was young, sensitive to a fault. A late-in-the-year birthday meant I was always small for my age, more a follower than a leader. I wasn't a bad kid, never had any of that toxic masculinity that plagues so many boys. I was kind and friendly, but I lacked confidence, suffering from crushing insecurity and gutting self-doubt that only got worse as I moved into my teens. I began biting my fingernails obsessively, to the point that my fingertips were so swollen and disfigured that I always kept them hidden in my pockets or behind my back.
I was never good at much, especially school. And when you're never good at anything as a child, you get frustrated, and eventually stop trying, and sometimes end up rebelling. Watching others succeed and find their passions just made me feel smaller, more insignificant, and sadder. How come I couldn't have that?! Negative and nihilistic thoughts calcified. I retreated into the cavern of my own head, always thinking there was somewhere else I was meant to be, somewhere better, or just different from a suffocating suburb of New York City. A geographic cure.
Looking back, I didn't quite know where or how I fit into the world, and it made me uncomfortable and detached. I had two imaginary friends when I was little. They were from another planet, or dimension, and lived behind my bedroom wall. I'd spend hours alone, talking to them in some made-up language. They might have been figments of my imagination, but they were mine, and they understood me. In a cruel twist, I could never get to them or actually see their faces behind that wall.
I barely made it out of high school.* And not having gone to college, I missed out on an important experience-more than the academics, the formative friendships that are cemented over those years. Those core relationships that last a lifetime for many and create a support network as you begin to develop and make that passage into adulthood.
* Two high schools, actually.
I knew a lot of people and always had an active social life. In the spring of 1994, it was co-workers and other acquaintances from the neighborhood. I frequented downtown's bars and clubs, staying out all night every night and managing to get into all kinds of trouble-I was a lot of fun, especially when there were drugs and drinking involved, and there always were. But I didn't have many close friends. I had difficulty connecting with people, especially those around my age. I never felt good enough, and that ended up making me feel self-conscious and, worse, desperate for approval and acceptance. I was able to move on from friendships without sentiment, like an emotional transient, always looking for something or someone that would make me feel more comfortable.
Of course, this level of introspection and self-evaluation isn't available to most twenty-one-year-old kids-it only comes with maturity and time*-but this is who I was back then, a bit of a car crash, working as a barback and occasional bartender at a restaurant called 44. For those who were in New York in the early to midnineties, especially those in media, the entertainment business, fashion, or the arts-and back then, those were the only people who mattered in New York-44 needs no explanation. It would be like describing clouds to a fighter pilot. It was a place so sublime, so awe inspiring, that it was hard to believe it had been built by human hands or conjured in the imagination of a human mind. And yet, like the pyramids, the Taj Mahal, or...
We all have a moment or chance encounter that defines us, sets the narrative of our life in motion. Newton and that apple; John meeting Paul at St. Peter's Church in Liverpool; Mick running into Keith on that Dartford train platform; Justin meeting Britney, I'm guessing in Orlando, both head to toe in denim of some era-specific wash. My origin story may not be as significant as those, but it was to me, and it began behind the bar of a restaurant in midtown Manhattan in April 1994.
At the time, I was toiling away behind that bar, living off tips, residing in that roach-infested dump with my older brother Nathaniel in the East Village. Only twenty-one, I had a spotty record in life already, the shadow of wild and unproductive teen years chasing me into early adulthood. I had no skills, no real passions or interests. I had a vague interest in being a rock star and was playing guitar in a few bands, but in reality I wasn't a very good musician, and debilitating stage fright was a roadblock to that fantasy. Expectations for my future were low. The youngest of four, I was the one who wasn't talked about, or if I was, the topic was quickly changed to something more pleasant. I wasn't just the black sheep, I was a complete f***up.
I was quiet and shy when I was young, sensitive to a fault. A late-in-the-year birthday meant I was always small for my age, more a follower than a leader. I wasn't a bad kid, never had any of that toxic masculinity that plagues so many boys. I was kind and friendly, but I lacked confidence, suffering from crushing insecurity and gutting self-doubt that only got worse as I moved into my teens. I began biting my fingernails obsessively, to the point that my fingertips were so swollen and disfigured that I always kept them hidden in my pockets or behind my back.
I was never good at much, especially school. And when you're never good at anything as a child, you get frustrated, and eventually stop trying, and sometimes end up rebelling. Watching others succeed and find their passions just made me feel smaller, more insignificant, and sadder. How come I couldn't have that?! Negative and nihilistic thoughts calcified. I retreated into the cavern of my own head, always thinking there was somewhere else I was meant to be, somewhere better, or just different from a suffocating suburb of New York City. A geographic cure.
Looking back, I didn't quite know where or how I fit into the world, and it made me uncomfortable and detached. I had two imaginary friends when I was little. They were from another planet, or dimension, and lived behind my bedroom wall. I'd spend hours alone, talking to them in some made-up language. They might have been figments of my imagination, but they were mine, and they understood me. In a cruel twist, I could never get to them or actually see their faces behind that wall.
I barely made it out of high school.* And not having gone to college, I missed out on an important experience-more than the academics, the formative friendships that are cemented over those years. Those core relationships that last a lifetime for many and create a support network as you begin to develop and make that passage into adulthood.
* Two high schools, actually.
I knew a lot of people and always had an active social life. In the spring of 1994, it was co-workers and other acquaintances from the neighborhood. I frequented downtown's bars and clubs, staying out all night every night and managing to get into all kinds of trouble-I was a lot of fun, especially when there were drugs and drinking involved, and there always were. But I didn't have many close friends. I had difficulty connecting with people, especially those around my age. I never felt good enough, and that ended up making me feel self-conscious and, worse, desperate for approval and acceptance. I was able to move on from friendships without sentiment, like an emotional transient, always looking for something or someone that would make me feel more comfortable.
Of course, this level of introspection and self-evaluation isn't available to most twenty-one-year-old kids-it only comes with maturity and time*-but this is who I was back then, a bit of a car crash, working as a barback and occasional bartender at a restaurant called 44. For those who were in New York in the early to midnineties, especially those in media, the entertainment business, fashion, or the arts-and back then, those were the only people who mattered in New York-44 needs no explanation. It would be like describing clouds to a fighter pilot. It was a place so sublime, so awe inspiring, that it was hard to believe it had been built by human hands or conjured in the imagination of a human mind. And yet, like the pyramids, the Taj Mahal, or...
