Back in December 2007, she wrote:
But unlike quirky, cool British girls, U.S. ones have no real style when it comes to fashion, merely putting on whatever American Vogue tells them to.
They (and I am talking mostly here about women who work in the fashion and media worlds, and who live in LA or New York) are also incredibly, earth-shatteringly, want-to-eat-your-own-arm-when-they-are-talking-to-you boring.
We shouldn't be fooled by Carrie Bradshaw and her ilk - they have scripts. When you have the misfortune to meet one, they will give you a glassy, unfocused stare, like that of a shark, swiftly followed by the mantra: "Hi, how are yeeewww?" (as if they care, unless you are A) male; and B) own a yacht).
American women are also mindbogglingly stupid. Rare is the New York female high-flier who A) knows how to dial Britain; and B) can ever work out that they might just be ringing in the middle of your night.
They all have several masters degrees, which makes me think the American version must be multiple choice, are fearsomely ambitious, despite having absolutely zero talent (have you read the super-sycophantic dribblings in New York Magazine? Ohmigod!), and obsessed with staying young and marrying rich.
Why any man would prefer one of these honey-skinned, difficult, vacant, blow-dried-daily divas to a lovely, super-intelligent, witty, self-deprecating British girl (OK, me) is beyond belief.It should be noted, however, that her ex-husband left her for an American woman.
And just this past weekend, she was at it again with this blanket statement:
I told you all American women were stupid.Obviously I'm Canadian and even if I were American, I wouldn't be offended in the slightest because Miss Jones comes across as nuts, neurotic and bitter. Nonetheless, I have been on the receiving end of such Anti-American attitude. It's only happened to me once, in the three and a half years since I've lived here, and I am convinced the attitude was entirely due to the fact that the woman assumed I was American.
About two years ago, Paul and I ventured into IJ Mellis Cheesemonger for some posh French cheese. As we stepped into the wee shop, a well-dressed middle-age woman followed us in. Paul and I poked around the store while the middle-age woman went to the counter to order. After deciding which cheese to buy, I went to the counter as well. The lovely shop attendant came over and upon asking her how much the Vacherin was, the middle-aged woman slowly turned to look at me, gave me a once-over glance and assuming I was American, narrowed her eyes at me and LITERALLY upturned her nose to me.
Maybe it was because I asked how much the cheese was but honestly, I can only assume it was because she thought I was an uncouth and barbaric American. After she left the shop, Paul asked me what her problem was. I was so shocked by her incorrect summary of myself, I could only manage to respond in four-letter words.
Who knows? Maybe it was Liz Jones herself. Then again, I highly doubt Miss Jones would step foot in Glasgow.