Sublime

Taylor called this authenticity, and it became the unreachable horizon of modern life. It’s a concept that makes sense only in its absence; we recognize inauthenticity, phoniness, when someone’s clearly being a poseur. Yet the struggle to feel authentic—this is very real, even if we know better. In Taylor’s telling, everyone becomes a kind of artis

wearing a rust-colored middy blouse and skirt by a Japanese designer. I wondered if her editor at Knopf, Shelly Wanger, had bought it. She often helped Joan with clothes.