The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Deep Look at a Shallow Year may be the laziest book I’ve ever read. Once, I kinda liked Andy Cohen the way you like your annoying gay cousin. After drudging through an absurdly tedious 352 pages of narcissistic drivel, now I know that I imbued more credit to Cohen than he rightfully deserves (though my expectations weren’t high for this book). Cohen meagerly attempts Warholian observation, but the total lack of insight makes his diary read like a glorified to-do list. A better title might have been The Andy Cohen Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shallow Queen. Cohen name drops to the point of disorientation failing to provide the reader with even a last name or crumb of context. Half the time I’m like who the fuck are you talking about, but I never bother to dig very deeply because it’s not even like there’s a morsel of noteworthy gossip to geek out on. Cohen adopted a dog, Wacha, and like many first-time dog owners is obsessed with his canine to the point of co-dependency. He had me considering dog adoption for a minute, but then I talked to this lovely woman who warned me she spent $12,000 on vet bills last year for her adopted golden lab. Poop in the house and a drain on the savings account, no thanks; I’ll keep my clean carpets and compound interest. Back to the scathing review. Is there a Razzie equivalent for shitty books? If so, I nominate The Andy Cohen Diaries for worst book of the year.
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