This is one of my favorite photos of Los Angeles. It’s Hollywood when it was Hollywoodland. It’s the Herculean effort it took to create what’s here now. It’s omnipresent and never the same. According to TIME:
“The 50-ft.-tall lettering, which was lit by thousands of flashing light bulbs, was erected as an advertisement not for the movie-making mecca, but for a housing development called Hollywoodland.”
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Hi Susannah
At the onset thank you for writing the below blog.
https://www.forbes.com/sites/susannahbreslin/2012/06/08/how-to-sell-yourself/#630bb2136843
Let me give you a quick background of why I am writing to you - I am good at sales, having demonstrated over achievements of targets YoY, however my growth within my company has been limited. And when talking to one of my friend yesterday he had an interesting remark to make - Those who are good at selling to others are usually bad at selling themselves, and they do not realize it.
That triggered my thinking, and I started reading, and first article I came across was your blog that left me stunned.
Your #Tip1 and #Tip2 both were eye openers for me.
I do not follow either as prescribed in your blog.
This blew me away, and I was compelled to reach to you.
Thank you again ! I am based in Dubai. If you ever plan to visit Dubai , do let me know.
It will be an honor to meet you and host you in Dubai.
Your fan !
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Fascinating. How is this real? Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop is selling a candle called This Smells Like My Vagina. It costs $75, and here’s the backstory:
“This candle started as a joke between perfumer Douglas Little and GP—the two were working on a fragrance, and she blurted out, ‘Uhhh..this smells like a vagina’—but evolved into a funny, gorgeous, sexy, and beautifully unexpected scent. (That turned out to be perfect as a candle—we did a test run at an In goop Health, and it sold out within hours.) It’s a blend of geranium, citrusy bergamot, and cedar absolutes juxtaposed with Damask rose and ambrette seed that puts us in mind of fantasy, seduction, and a sophisticated warmth.”
The Cut has some very funny reviews.
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Finally saw “Joker.” “The King of Comedy” meets “Taxi Driver” meets “Logan.” A triumphant performance wrapped inside a decent movie. A celebration of mayhem, murder, and insanity. Grimly nihilistic but sometimes gorgeous. The best parts are when Joaquin Phoenix dances. The third act stumbles, then resurrects itself. The point, if there is one: Sometimes it’s up to madmen to change the world.
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The other day, I came across an ad — I think maybe it was on Instagram — for Writers Blok, which is basically like a co-working space, but for writers. From the website: “We function like a gym or a yoga studio, using a set schedule to help our writers break their projects into bite-sized portions. Writing is like exercise: more effective in small doses and better in a group setting.” I found the idea annoying and stupid, so much so that I tweeted about it: “What kind of crackhead wants to write when other people are around.” I added a GIF of Tim Gunn making a gagging face to my tweet to emphasize my point. This morning, I had a phone call with my agent. Afterwards, I decided to do some outlining work on the project we’d discussed. But I decided to do it in a place that I knew would be both filled with people and noisy. It was a pretty counter-intuitive choice for an INFP. My theory was this: The context might be so agitating that it would encourage me to get some work done at a high rate of speed. In a cacophony of sounds and motion, I might be less likely to ruminate or rehash. Compelled by a desire to get the hell out, I’d get my shit done. As it turned out, my guess was pretty much right. My auto-experiment was a relative success. I’ll likely do it again. (See also: this LA Times story.)
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In a recent post, Sree Sreenivasan, a visiting professor of digital innovation at Stony Brook, asked: “What are three tools, platforms, services, skills you’d like to work on/explore/use more/get better at in 2020?” Mine are:
TikTok. I haven’t tried it yet.
Video. I’d like to improve my video skills.
Podcasting. I have a meeting tomorrow about a podcasting project.
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As I mentioned here previously, I was interviewed for an essay that appears in Sex and Journalism: Critical, Global Perspectives. Titled “‘In a Pink Ghetto’: How Female News Workers Define Sex Journalism” and written by Belinda Middleweek, the chapter seeks to define sex journalism and identify its practitioners. They are predominantly female and mostly freelancers. I was one of those interviewed for the piece, and it was interesting to read her insights. In her conclusion, she writes, quoting me (Interviewee 4): “‘When does the first sex journalist win a Pulitzer?’ (Interviewee 4). My answer? Never in this pink ghetto.” Middleweek isn’t launching a criticism here or looking down her nose at sex journalism and those who do it. She’s merely observing that between the gender of sex journalists and the ghettoization of sex journalism in the news landscape, it may be unlikely that one of its own could be given one of journalism’s highest honors. I, for one, disagree with Middleweek. Or, at least, I hold out hope that sex journalism will one day rise out of the pink ghetto in which it exists, and someday one of us will win a Pulitzer. The unknown is when.
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I was thinking about starting a newsletter focusing on the vices beat—from the adult industry to gambling trends to the luxury firearms market, all of which I’ve covered on my Forbes blog and elsewhere—but then I checked out the “Legal Policies” for the newsletter platform I’d be most likely to use: Mailchimp. Their “Acceptable Use Policy” prohibits, among other things, “Pornography/sexually explicit content”; they’re freaked out by “Escort services, mail-order bride/spouse finders, international marriage brokers, and other similar sites and services,” “Hookup, swinger, or sexual encounter sites or services,” and “Gambling services or products”; and they scrutinize content that mentions “Adult entertainment/novelty items.”
Anyone have any suggestions for another newsletter platform?
Email me: susannahbreslin at gmail dot com.
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I had a dream that I was dating Joe Pesci. The stress of the relationship caused me to destroy a wall hanging in someone else’s home, which I then attempted to hide the evidence of. In the end, I told him I wouldn’t go to Vegas with him. I think that was the end of my relationship with him.
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Following on the heels of my decade in review post, I present my 2019 year in review:
The Future of Journalism Is Female. I learned a lot as a fellow at U.C. Berkeley’s Investigative Reporting Program, but the most important part of that experience was the relationships I had with the graduate students at the School of Journalism. They are an amazing, diverse bunch, who are truly reinventing what journalism is. Their relationships to sources is different, they are no longer are interested in silo coverage or single-medium tracks, and they’re just really fucking bright. It was a delight, an inspiration, and an honor to get to know these people. The future of journalism is female.
I Love LA. I don’t understand people who don’t love Los Angeles. Since returning to the city, I’ve tried to pin down my abiding affection for it. Where else can you make a living pretending to be Superman while standing on a star-covered sidewalk? In this city, there’s no difference between reality and fantasy. It’s all the same. The surrealism is everywhere, and it’s intoxicating.
Write More Weird Shit. I wrote some strange stuff this year. An appreciation of a woman who kills. A stripped-down personal essay that mashed up nonfiction and fiction. And the most widely-read thing I wrote involved Kylie Jenner’s foray into Playboy, which isn’t exactly weird, but some things never change, and what never changes is the general audience’s interest in sex. I guess boobs are eternal. And good for digital engagement. Now and forever.
Never Quit. I didn’t publish a lot of fiction this year, but I was delighted to learn last week that a short story I wrote years ago will be published in February 2020. The story, which is fiction, is called “Spike,” and it’s about a male porn star who has a penis problem. Or an erection problem, really. I submitted this story to over 14 publications, and it was finally accepted as the decade came to a close. I find it bizarre that more people didn’t want to publish a story about a guy’s relationship to his dick, but I guess editors aren’t as into the penis-for-hire genre as I am. Go figure. Speaking of which, “The Hardest Thing About Being a Male Porn Star” remains my all-time, most-viewed post on my Forbes blog with over 2.1M views.
See It. I posted a lot of photos to my Instagram feed.
I Am the Hunter S. Thompson of Sex. Or at least that’s what I told the researcher who interviewed me for this new book. I am “Interviewee 4” if you want to find out what it’s like to spend over 20 years digging through the bowels of this country’s perversions.
Confess Your Sins. I did a uniquely revealing interview with my friend Valerie Baber for her podcast, “Sex & Society.” While I’ve spent years investigating other people’s sex lives, I rarely discuss my own. You can have a listen to what I’ve got to say about nudity, Playboy, and other illicit topics by clicking here. I was ambivalent about being more personally revealing, but Valerie did a great job of pushing me out of my comfort zone. I suppose that’s how we grow, right?
The Dating Zone. I dated a fair amount this year. I’ve got a pretty sharp, strategic mind, but I don’t know if it’s possible to create a perfect strategy for dating. Maybe love is like an eel, and you spend a lot of your life trying to grasp the thing while it wriggles in your hands. Or maybe that’s not such a great metaphor. I have no idea what the answer is here, but someone said that at least I keep swinging at the ball hurtling towards me. Or maybe that’s not such a great metaphor either. Maybe love is a mystery. We’ll leave it at that.
Agents of Change. Back in October, I visited the LA offices of CAA which is where some of the Hollywood universe’s most powerful agents do their business. The rather dramatic building was designed by I. M. Pei and is known as “The Death Star.” Most of the people in the lobby were men who were dressed in black. After I went upstairs to talk to a film and TV agent and then came back downstairs, I went outside. There was an art installation with walls that read DOUBT, JUDGMENT, and RESENTMENT. There was a place where you could write your obstacle in white ink on a black card, so I wrote the word FEAR on the piece of paper, and then … what did I do with it? Stuck it in a slit in the top of a box, maybe. That’s my goal for 2020. Write the fear away. Anxiety is a writer’s gasoline. Prose is a fucking bonfire.
Find the Beauty. Without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I saw this year was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was in New York City for the Russell Sage Foundation’s Social Science Summer Institute for Journalists, and one day I made a pilgrimage up to the Met. I wanted to see the “Camp” exhibit. There’s one massive room in the show that’s darkly-lit but lined with big colorfully-lit boxes featuring mannequins in some of the most glorious clothes ever made. I was delighted to see Viktor & Rolf’s I love you wedding dress from the fall 2005 collection, which you can see at the 34-minute mark here. It was such a beautiful creation that being in the same room with it, rather than being separated from it by some screen or some photo or some magazine, made me cry. According to George Saunders, “There’s something that happens in the moment of creation of a good sentence, or a good swath of sentences, that feels like the dropping away of self. Somebody else shows up and that person is better than the normal, everyday you. I’m guessing that the various approaches to writing are ultimately all about getting to that moment, that moment of spontaneity and self-negation.” Get lost when you can.
[Image from my Instagram feed]
46 Likes, 5 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "#selfie"
In the spirit of decade-in-review lists, I thought I’d look back at mine:
Move or Die. I moved a lot during this decade. I lived in Austin, Texas; Chicago, Illinois; Naples, Florida; and Los Angeles, California. Austin was hot, Chicago was cold, Naples was humid, and Los Angeles was — well, the other day, a guy told me there are two seasons in L.A.: summer and not summer. I liked living in those various places. You get to see the full point of view. I live in L.A. now and forever.
If All Else Fails: Retreat. I did a bunch of seminars, and residencies, and that sort of thing in this decade. I don’t think I’d done much of that before. That included THREAD at Yale (loved the train ride there and the Yale campus) in New Haven, Connecticut; the Logan Nonfiction Fellowship (amazing experience and made some of my great friends there) in Rensselaerville, New York; a Noepe Center retreat on Martha’s Vineyard in Massachusetts (not a great experience, but the island was cool); I was the Lawrence Grauman Jr. Post-graduate Fellow at the Investigative Reporting Program at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of California, Berkeley in Berkeley, California (didn’t think I’d score that but you don’t get every fellowship you never apply for); and the Social Science Summer Institute for Journalists at the Russell Sage Foundation in New York, New York (nothing says summertime like the UES, the Met, and a Philip Johnson building). All of these experiences were interesting for different reasons. Please keep applying, even if you get rejected. I didn’t expect to get most of these opportunities. They bring you into new worlds.
Work It. I did a lot of work things during this decade. I was a journalist, and a fiction writer, and an editor, and a copywriter, and I did readings and talks, I wrote TV shows, and I was a mentor. For whatever reason, this piece I wrote for Billfold, “Blood Sacrifice,” is a standout in my head, probably partly because it’s so weird. I’m proud of what I did as the editor of Forbes Vices. And I liked helping develop the voice of Pepto-Bismol on Facebook. I was also delighted to self-publish “The Tumor,” which you should buy. If you want a career as a writer, you might want to diversify. That’s what I did. I wasn’t precious. If it involved words, I did it.
Hitched, Unhitched. I got married, and I got divorced.
When the Call Comes from Inside the House. In 2011, I was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer. I spent a year and a half undergoing treatment: a lumpectomy, chemotherapy, radiation, and a gene-targeting IV drug for my specific type of breast cancer. I’ve been NED (No Evidence of Disease) ever since. I’ve tried to describe what the experience was like, and sometimes I compare it to the line in the movie where the guy on the phone says that the call is coming from inside the house. Most challenges come from outside the house. Your boss sucks, or your partner leaves, or you don’t get some thing you want. When cancer calls, it’s already set up inside the house that’s you. That is very hard. I am glad cancer is no longer calling me from inside the house, and I hope that it never does again. There’s no lesson here — other than people don’t know why they get cancer a lot of the time, and when you survive it, it usually just means the drugs worked. It’s neither more nor less dramatic than that.
Queen of Vice. More recently, I’ve been a strategic consultant for vice companies. As the editor of Forbes Vices, I learned a lot about vice. And, man, it sure does sell. I shot guns, sampled THC, drank well, ate better, watched porn get made, and generally had a good time. If you’re interested in hiring me as a consultant, email me at susannahbreslin @ gmail dot com. Sometimes, I’ve said vice is all the things that we like to do that aren’t necessarily good for us. They sure are fun.
The Cowgirl Is Back. In 2002, I started one of the internet’s first sex blogs. It was called The Reverse Cowgirl. Obviously, that’s a double entendre, but it was also a reference to my days horseback riding. Now I’m riding again, and jumping again. Which I love. There’s some confidence building, and there’s some athleticism, and there’s a recognition that when you’re on top of a 1,500-pound horse that’s sailing through the air, you’re not exactly in control. Which is the point of life, I guess. To let go and hang on for dear life.
[Selfie from my Instagram feed]
Several years ago, I started writing a series of short stories (fiction) set in Porn Valley. Some of those stories have been published over the years. One that I had a hard time placing was entitled “Spike” and featured a male porn star whose erection wouldn’t subside. After 14 rejections, that story was finally accepted for publication. I’ll follow up with details closer to the date of publication, which will be in early 2020.
After spending the last year and a half helping Forbes build out a popular new digital vertical devoted to vices, Forbes Vices, I’m transitioning to strategic consulting for vice companies. My expertise is in helping adult, gambling, cannabis, alcohol, tobacco, alcohol, drugs, and firearms businesses grow their brands and includes strategic planning, branding, public relations, marketing, and digital. Interested in becoming a client? Email me at susannahbreslin@gmail.com.
15 Likes, 0 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "For a clean up 🧽"
These pink vans can be seen parked around the Los Angeles neighborhood where I live. They promote various adult websites that offer various services. This one is for Topless Maids and suggests you “BOOK HER LIVE FOR A CLEAN UP !” I’m not sure how effective this marketing strategy is, but I’d like to find out.
You can follow my Instagram here.
I was interviewed by Dr. Belinda Middleweek for “‘In a Pink Getto’: How Female News Workers Define Sex Journalism,” the first chapter in Sex and Journalism: Critical, Global Perspectives. I believe I’m “Interviewee 4,” who describes herself as “‘The Hunter S. Thompson of sex writing” and her role as “‘Virgil to the readers Dante,’” and “describe[s] the ‘war correspondent mentality’ […] that comes from this form of news work in which ‘your mental state and your body [are] on the line in pursuit of a story.” You can buy a copy here.
24 Likes, 1 Comments - Susannah Breslin (@susannahbreslin) on Instagram: "Burbank sunset"
I took this photo on the Chandler Bikeway in Burbank, California, a few days ago. I used my new iPhone Pro Max, which I very much love and highly recommend. I made no adjustments before or after taking the photo, other than running it through the Oslo filter on Instagram, which just amplified the golden hour a bit. Check out more of my photos by following me on Instagram here.
Like my work? Get “The Tumor.” It’s been called “a masterpiece of short fiction.”
The Swaddle has an interesting piece up on why men go to strip clubs that mentions my 2011 project: “Letters From Men Who Go to Strip Clubs.” The story is called “Men’s Preferences for Strip Clubs Stems from Vulnerability” and sheds some counter-intuitive light on what’s really going on in the half-light.
A brief glimpse into the psyche of the strip club-going man is offered by Susannah Breslin, who set up a blog titled “Letters From Men Who Go To Strip Clubs” in 2011. She collected and compiled submissions from men she deemed authentic and provided a window into their motivations to watch, in the company of other men, women take their clothes off for money. Their reasons included the need for company: “Who else can you talk to? Your business partner? Can’t afford to show weakness. A friend? His wife is friends with your wife so you have to be careful. A therapist? I’ve been trained to walk off a heart attack”; the need for control: “I’m 61 and I like to think this is my revenge for all the beautiful women in the world whom I can’t approach, whom I can’t get. [In strip clubs] I can have some young beauty dance and smile at me anytime I want,” and “Women hit on you all night. Everything is reversed. You, the guy, are pursued”; a need for attention and love: “[the girls] are genuinely interested in me”; and a need to prove their manhood: “to prove I could do it, sit in a testosterone-filled room and pretend the women there wanted to dance for me because I am a man.”
You can read more about The Letters Project here, and you can read the rest of the article here.
Buy my short story: “The Tumor.” It’s been called “a masterpiece of short fiction.”
