On Tuesday, New York magazine published an essayby a 24-year-old law student who recently paddleboarded around Manhattan for the first time.
“I signed up for the race because I thought it sounded cool,” writes our participant. “Of course, when I asked around, everyone said it was really hard and I’d better start training.”
The smugness, the entitlement, the painfully obvious observation — one might wonder: Who cares?
Until you look at the byline and realize: Oh, of course. Another Kennedy, foisted upon us.
Our diarist is none other than Jack Schlossberg, grandson of JFK, son of Caroline, accomplishment-free save for that 25-mile race around Manhattan — which he curiously notes he lives “on” rather than “in”.
This semi-self-deprecating essay is juxtaposed with 14 portraits of Jack in black-and-white on his big day, muscular and shirtless and smiling, just one of the guys. He resembles no one so much as his late Uncle John F. Kennedy Jr., who, until his untimely death in 1999, was the Kennedy family’s last last great hope.
Is anyone asking for this?