I have to admit that I picked up Janice Dickinson’s 2003 memoir No Lifeguard on Duty at the Housing Works $1 rack and wouldn’t have paid a cent more for it. I was expecting a light beach read about sex, drugs and fashion that could be washed out with the tide.
There’s no doubt that the bitch is crazy and that she’s lying through her teeth when she claims to invented the term “supermodel,” but this book could break the coldest heart. Detailing her dysfunctional childhood, raised by a prescription drug addict mother and sexually abusive father, it gets pretty graphic and leaves no sordid detail undescribed. When she finally gets to New York and works as a model, there’s no glamour to be found– unlike Tyra Banks is force-feeding us on America’s Next Top Model, the same show Janice judged on and criticized young girls mercilessly just as Eileen Ford did to her.
I was hooked on the first page and read until 2am without putting it down. Pick it up next time you’re at the Goodwill.
UPDATE: Oh, no! I just got to the part where Janice walked in on her too-good-to-be-true boyfriend with another woman. I feel a downward spiral coming!