Talk The Talk: Paper Doll
Paper Doll ó a young lass with Christian name she canít decide whether to reveal or not ó is the new sex columnist at the City Paper. And frankly, and pardon the pun, she didnít come a moment too soon. Paper Doll replaced CPís long standing run with the ìAsk Isadoraî franchise which, over the years (and with the onset of the sex column smash Savage Love, which runs in PW), turned into touchy-feely nonsense rather than sex news you can use. In Paper Doll, our heroine boldly walks out into Hostile City each week and finds out about all the weird ways we, as Philadelphians, go about getting some. We caught up with her and found out what was what.
Shocking revelations and full interview after the jump.
Hi A.! Or, if you prefer, “Hi, Paper Doll!”
Paper Doll ó it’s more anonymous, yeah? And I’m all for anonymity.
But your name is right there! You’re not handling this whole anonymity thing that well, you know. Do you think in this day and age people who write about sex still need to shield themselves?
Judging by the crazies I’ve met on Myspace thus far, yes.
Then honey, you gotta get a little more slick. What’s the opposite of the well-trodden I-wrote-about-sex-so-now-hairy-dudes-stalk-me thing? Do you get people coming up to and suddenly gushing their entire sexual histories, a la Kinsey?
I still find myself having to pry. People who ordinarily wouldn’t tell me a thing are starting to open up. A gent stopped by the office to “talk” on Monday; my editor told him I was on deadline. I’m curious what it was he wanted to talk about ó although it’d have to be the sort of conversation that takes place in a catholic confessional booth. Putting a face to a fantasy is too visual. Or maybe he just had a question about listings.
My mom is opening up more than ever. Does that count?
No.
Oh.
So, the column’s been running, like, what, a month now? How has it affected your dating life? Which is to say, your drinking and screwing life.
Yeah, four weeks now. I’ve seen a precipitous drop in the number of interested parties, actually. They’re all petrified I’m going to write about ‘em. Even the past flings are stepping forward, begging for anonymity should I choose to divulge their many (many, many, many) sexual shortcomings. But sex with the ex has never been better.
Knowledge is power, yo. There might not be a delicate way to put this one: How much of your sexual travails for the column are news to you, and how much is old hat? (This is simply a less aggravating variation on the “What makes you qualified to be a sex columnist?” question.)
It’s a mix. The whole premise of the column is that it isn’t 100 percent my sexual travails; it’s supposed to be me exploring the kinky things other Philadelphians are into. I stumble across several story ideas a day, but many feel done-to-death. Not that every column needs to be sensationalistic/shocking/tittilating jerk-off material… but so many topics feel too Sex And The City-ish obvious to tackle.
Ah, yes, the spectre of Sex And The City. As a parting shot, give us your armchair reading of the sexual Philadelphian. Are we cool? Or just fucked up beyond belief?
No more fucked up than anyone else. More repressed, yes. Especially the young ones. That’s why I’m swearing off Philebrity boys and only dating men who have to wear suits with mango-colored ties between the hours of 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. That’s where the kinky boys are.
Yo, that ain’t right.
Otherwise it’d be an escort. You said it yourself ó all these indie rock boys are a bunch of eunuchs.
But on the other hand, most of our male readers ARE gay, so….
Well, this is true. And I’m a total fag hag. If only they’d have me…
Sigh. Everybody hurts, Paper Doll. See you in the funny papers?
More than you could ever imagine.
CP: Sexcapades At Second & Chestnut!
