They drank some wine. They talked some more. He fluttered his long, slender fingers. He seemed so comfortable in his own skin, so authentic. He had this eerie feline self-assurance, and it was hypnotic. Forty minutes later, they were back at his place.
The whole thing is totally creepy in its blatant worship of a once-meek man, as Macaulay goes on to call Gladwell a “classic loner” turned “master boulevardier,” both “intriguing and
But by the time the article’s author reaches out to Gladwell for a comment — “I don’t think I want to participate in this at all,” said Gladwell — you realize that Macaulay, too, has realized the sheer ridiculousness of the article’s premise and is in on the joke. And the way he slyly mimics Gladwell’s writing style, going so far as to get an “expert” quote, is actually pretty great.
But it’s tough to convey subtle humor online and the site’s commenters were not having it: “The Daily Beast is going to have to decide whether it wants to be a dispenser of intellectual/quasi-intellectual fare or TMZ!” read one response. And Salon’s women blog Broadsheet took offense as well. “Nerds can totally get hot chicks if they bring something to the table…rather than seeing them as an alien race to be conquered with magic seduction techniques,” wrote Kate Harding. Sure, the piece is creepy, but it seems to be comedy posing as journalism, far from serious, and not the other way around.