My friend Alyse sent over this humorous/terrifying story from the New York Observer that dissects the practices of a type of New York male they call the Homme Fatale–he’s a man who’s not necessarily attractive, but always seems to be surrounded by scores of beautiful (and eventually heartbroken) women.
And despite the fact that the author Irina Aleksander makes clear in the first page that the “the Homme Fatale, while related, is not the same as the oft-bemoaned indie rock or emo boy,” she specifically names Ryan Adams as one of the archetypes of l’homme fatale kind of man.
I have to say, this story made me nod in shocking agreement (albeit while I was shaking my head to its absurdity), haven’t personally witnessed some of the victims of homme fatales who roam this town.
And one description in particular, dished by “Claire” a 25-year-old assistant in the music industry sounds eerily familiar to a conversation I once heard in the basement of Bowery Ballroom one time.
Have you come in contact with your own homme fatale? Or are you one yourself?
Methinks if the much beloved (but no longer active) Constant Dater were still blogging, she’d have a load to say about this.