I do feel very protective of children, though, and frequently fear for young people I encounter with parents who tolerate—or, more often, model—insane behavior.
The scariest instance of this was one day when I saw a mother literally putting her children’s lives at risk.
I left my dentist’s office in New York’s Greenwich Village and walked west to Sixth Avenue. I waited at a red light as cars passed along. At the corner beside me was a woman with two small children, one of whom was in a stroller. To my shock and horror, the woman entered the path of moving traffic using the child’s stroller as a battering ram with the full intention of crossing the street no matter what.
The older child, her daughter of about four, was by her side, but the onslaught of traffic clearly frightened the little girl to a point of total paralysis. She stood in the middle of the street while a car screeched to a halt a mere foot from her. Her mother, now successfully across the street, returned to her, yanking the now sobbing child by the arm, yelling, “When the sign says ‘Don’t Walk,’ it means run!”
I was shaken by the incident and felt bad that I hadn’t done anything to stop it. Should I have run to the child’s rescue? Should I have scolded the mother?
As a nonparent myself, I never want to assume I know better than a child’s own mother or father, but sometimes even those of us without kids can identify dangerous behavior. The parents I have relayed this story to agree that it seems pretty psychotic. They also typically enjoy the following story, about the ultimate in permissive parenting.
I was walking home on Broadway from the Ninety-sixth Street subway station. It was one of those rare summer nights in the city when the temperature is bearable, the humidity low, and sweet air wafts in from Central and Riverside parks.
All the restaurants with sidewalk tables were full and boisterous. Everyone was happy to escape air-conditioning.
A few blocks from my apartment, I saw a young boy of three or four walk up to a table of al fresco diners. He greedily grabbed some pasta with red sauce off one stunned woman’s plate and proceeded to eat it with both hands.
The boy’s mother spoke to her son about the incident, but not with the admonition that I was expecting, which would have gone something like this: “Stop! What are you doing? That is not your food! Apologize to these diners at once. You are in trouble, young man!”
Instead, she took a napkin from an empty table, wiped his hands, and said, “Darling, if you like that, then we’ll go inside and get some to take home.” She never even acknowledged the diners!
Every time I walk by that restaurant, I wonder, Where are that mother and son right now? I would say this child was doomed to grow up to be a social outcast, but it’s altogether possible he will grow up to be a star. I see a lot of similarly terrible behavior on sets.
A celebrity who shall remain nameless announces to an underling, “I’d like a Diet Coke. I want a twelve-ounce glass and five ice cubes, each no bigger than three-quarters of an inch in length.” Once the Diet Coke arrives, the celebrity says, “These ice cubes are at least an inch, and I count six. This is unacceptable.” And fling!He throws the drink across the room.
In academia, too, you see this kind of outrageous behavior. I knew a dean who had soup delivered to his office. I once saw him bring a spoonful up to his mouth, scream, “This soup isn’t hot enough!” and hurl the container across his office onto a wall, which I noticed already had stains on it.
Is this really happening?I thought. But I was glad I saw it, because if someone had told me the story, I would say it couldn’t possibly be true.
What enables this kind of behavior? What allows people to think that they are permitted to behave that way?
Don’t even get me started on Isaac Mizrahi. In my view, he’s one of the world’s biggest divas.
One time, Isaac threw a fit about a security guard from the second-floor showroom at Liz Claiborne Inc.’s Times Square offices. Why, you may ask? Was he stealing? Harassing guests? Showing up late? No, he was wearing brown.
Can you imagine having your senses so offended by something that it provokes such an extreme reaction?
You just never know what’s going to set people off. One time when I was on Martha Stewart’s show, she visited me in the greenroom. I threw out my arms to embrace her, but in lieu of a greeting she asked with a tone of horror, “Who let you in here with that?” She pointed to the Diet Coke I was drinking.
“No one,” I said. “Someone brought it to me.”
“W-what?” she stammered. “I don’t allow Diet Coke in this studio. It’s not to be anywhere around me. I’m going to find out who’s done this.”
And she stormed off. Then later she made an off-camera announcement to her audience about how they shouldn’t drink Diet Coke, either. She gave me a lecture in front of the audience about how bad Diet Coke is. Something about the chemicals? I couldn’t even focus on what she was saying because of how vehemently she was saying it.
About a year later, I was at a table with colleagues from Liz Claiborne Inc. for an event at which Martha was the honoree, so I offered up my Diet Coke story. They didn’t seem to believe me, and no one laughed. Everyone acted as if I’d made it up.
Later in the evening, Martha, while at the podium, pointed to me, and said, “Tim, I see you’re here! I hope you’re not drinking Diet Coke!”
My table exploded in laughter because they had the bizarre backstory. I think the rest of the crowd was a little confused.
Now, while we’re on the subject of Martha, who incidentally appeared in my first book as a fashion icon: Martha’s daughter, Alexis Stewart, strikes me as one of the angriest people I have ever met. Alexis and I did a commercial together for Martha’s Macy’s line. Whoever was directing the commercial was wise enough to have Alexis and me do our lines together before bringing Martha in.
Alexis kept cursing under her breath in anticipation of her mother coming, saying things like, “goddamned bitch,” almost as if she had Tourette’s syndrome. I was shocked that she could be so disrespectful toward her mother in front of total strangers. I also found it deeply ironic that the domestic goddess seems to have such an odd relationship with her daughter.
Speaking of irony: The domestic goddess and her daughter were at the Four Seasons for Thanksgiving dinner in 2009. I read Martha Stewart Living,and I always love looking at her calendar and seeing all the things she’s doing for Thanksgiving preparation: “Get the turkey” … “Make cranberry sauce.” The truth in this case was “Make reservation” … “Put on fancy clothes.” Not that I begrudge her a meal out. Sometimes even if you’re as domestic as Martha you’d just as soon let someone else whip up the Riesling gravy.
But back to the commercial shoot. We were out on a sound set in Queens and they’d totally re-created Macy’s Herald Square at Christmastime, right down to the last detail. It was magnificent. But when Martha first arrived at the studio, she took a producer aside and said, “I thought this was going to be a closed set. What are all these people doing here?”
“We’re supposed to be at Macy’s during the holidays,” he said. “They’re extras acting as customers. They’re shopping.”