The perils of much too much ‘Much Too Much’

Never has an allegedly famous author blended so well into her homecoming cocktail party as Bonnie Fuller. The bewildering amount of Canadian media attention granted the publication of The Joys of Much Too Much was reflected in the turnout on the back patio of the Amber nightclub in Yorkville, packed with the definitive guest list of professional celebrity observers, interviewers and photographers – a few might’ve even qualified as local celebrities, but who needs ‘em when there are so many sycophants to go around? The idea that any girl can achieve pseudo-stardom just by acquiring a corporate media internship owes considerable debt to Bonnie, who’s written 214 pages detailing how she doesn’t think she’s all that special, yet has succeeded by becoming the manifestation of her own fantasy life. Too bad the women most likely drawn to Fuller’s tale of raising four kids between a succession of jobs as the helm of glossies dedicated to hausfraus craving checkout counter escapism are more likely to be experiencing their daily nervous breakdown at dinnertime than slurping back salmon tartare and flutes of Moët to celebrate the publication of a book advising younger gals torn between pursing their own career path, or hunting down a husband who’ll buy everything for you, to reap the benefits of trying both. Well, those recent grads must be too preoccupied with chipping away at their student loans than getting free advice directly from Fuller. And based on the 30 apparent fans who turned out for her post-cocktail book signing around the corner at Indigo, most of them were either older or more masculine than the demographic the book is addressed to – evidently, Fuller’s self-proclaimed ordinariness excludes her from fag hag status, or that of somebody flamboyant middle-aged females are yearning to meet. The bookstore gathering began with Bonnie reciting a prepared summary of her platitudes. However, when some old chap asked about her current job, it was instantly clear that Fuller’s natural rapport is the stuff of media industry boardrooms – like how moving Star from a tabloid format to one with staples allowed for the insertion of cards, resulting in 600,000 new subscribers. Bonnie is clearly better off sticking to media shop talk than imparting elliptical epiphanies like, “I think there’s a difference between geeky and goofball … they’re sort of related … but …” But won’t Mrs. Fuller’s unbridled confidence that magazines fixated on celebrity flaws are here to stay diminish after she gets bored with the effort to be mass marketed as a star herself?

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