CULTURE WATCH I: Forever Monica - The ex-intern and her nation - Monica Lewinsky - Brief Article

National Review, April 17, 2000 by Pia Nordlinger

Manhattan

MONICA LEWINSKY'S post-scandal career couldn't be brighter. The president's former plaything has an adoring public, and they have turned out en masse on a mid-March day to catch a glimpse of her as she hawks her new line of handbags at Henri Bendel, a high-end clothing store on Fifth Avenue.

Though the crowd is generally more interested in the woman than in her product, they aren't going away empty-handed. Because they followed her story so closely, they feel a connection to her, want her to know that they're rooting for her. Forget the reason for her fame (or infamy). What matters to her admirers is that she's the jilted one. The victim. And for all her suffering, her fans offer support-words of encouragement and, perhaps more important, purchases of her fabric tote bags and purses, priced between $138 and $198. These bags are far from sleek and sexy; rather, they are cute and cuddly, like security blankets. Monica says she thought of them during her long hours of knitting, as she waited for the impeachment drama to end. It shows.

Here at Bendel, the former intern stands behind a counter for two hours-flanked by a publicist, hunky security guards, and piles of handbags-and plays fashion designer, sharing her creative vision with the shoppers. The security team allows quivering customers to approach the counter one or two at a time, to ogle the merchandise and meet the star. As a very poised Monica greets her public and makes small talk ("Great glasses!" "I love those beads!"), photogs from an array of publications snap away. Monica gives a standard sales pitch and seems genuinely pleased when customers select a bag they fancy. Well-wishers, autograph-seekers, creepy stalker-types-all are politely managed. Following strict rules, Monica will sign only the tag that accompanies a purchased bag or a copy of her book, Monica's Story.

For the throng, arriving at the counter is no small feat. The line is long and, because Monica lavishes attention on each person presented to her, rather slow-moving. But that doesn't squelch enthusiasm. "I admire her for not disappearing with her head in the sand," says Michele, a 31-year-old designer from Manhattan. "It's Linda Tripp who should." Two young women from a soon-to-be-launched Internet site for (what else?) twentysomethings have shown up in hopes of getting Monica involved with their site. In excited, rapid-fire sentences, they try to explain what is so special about Monica: "She has a lot to say to people of our generation." "She's starting her own business." "Women, especially, can relate to her." (Attention, male readers: This is a weight thing. You wouldn't understand.) Asked about Monica's notorious past-the very reason for her fame-one half of the Internet pair pipes up defensively: "That's not what's interesting about her." Says the other: "I don't think that any 21-year-old would have passed up that opportunity."

Another couple of ladies are equally nonchalant about Monica's fame- making exploits. They place themselves squarely in the "poor thing" camp and are hoping for an autograph. "She's been through a lot," says one of them, Patricia, who is on her lunch break. "They did treat her badly. It's been said before, but it can't be said enough: Friends don't treat friends that way [as Linda treated Monica]." One man-a proud 30-year reader of NATIONAL REVIEW-feels sorry for Monica because her "sex life" was made so public. He is considering the purchase of a bag: "I might buy one for my wife. She saw Hillary yesterday [at a campaign stop]. Maybe I'll one-up her!"

Among the enthusiasts are a few regular Bendel shoppers-perfectly coiffed and coordinated-who have wandered up to the fourth floor to check out the commotion. One woman, Carolyn, has her son in tow. He is twelve years old and bored out of his skull. "I applaud Monica," says Carolyn. Even though she is famous for servicing a married chief executive? "That's our culture. That's our country. You don't have to do something good for mankind to be a celebrity." Well, how about the example that Bill Clinton has set for her twelve-year-old son, standing right here? "He's very aware." More so, she continues, than her eight- year-old son, who doesn't really understand the whole thing but "knows certain phrases, like, 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman.'" And here she giggles-it's all so cute.

For the tourists in attendance, the Monica event is a perfect souvenir and celebrity moment. "We're from Mis souri," announces one beaming woman, pleased to see the former intern after her plans to see Regis and Kathie Lee fell through. Says a stylish woman from L.A., "I just want to see her. I'm curious."

And for these curious ladies and gents, it is true, Monica is putting on a very good show. Her image-hair, make-up, clothes-is all very Bendel-approved and au courant. She wears a hot pink, faux-snakeskin halter top (an entire rack of which is nicely positioned near the front of the store) covered by a knee-length jacket that is slimming. (The Jenny Craig magic, sadly, has not made quite everything disappear. Waifs have no need of bulky knee-length jackets.) And all of Monica's customer-schmoozing has paid off: She has drawn 500 people and sold 200 handbags.