To: Graydon Carter
From: Jennifer Weiner
Subject: Your magazine

My new Vanity Fair arrived yesterday, and my first question is, Who is this guy on the cover? This was not asked in a good way, as in, who is this unbelievably hunky young thing gracing the cover of my magazine? It was more along the lines of, I've never seen or heard of this guy in my life, and yet there's a five-page story in here about him which apparently involved a staff writer flying to Ireland to spend many drunken evenings in the unknown's company. What gives?

I understand that you all like to think of yourselves as the arbiter of what's cool in Hollywood, the ones who decide not only Who's Hot and Who's Not but Who's Going To Be Hot Very Soon. Unfortunately -- and how to put this? -- your track record sucks.

Case in point: Matthew McConaughey, who VF anointed the Next Big Thing a few years back. McConaughey, despite every evidence of early promise, is at this moment best known for getting arrested while playing the bongos naked and stoned. Not good. A few years before him it was Gretchen Mol swanning on the cover. Gretchen Who? My point exactly. And a mere few months ago you plopped Kirsten Dunst on the cover, beneath the unwittingly hilarious headline "The Hot New Star You Haven't Heard of Yet." Um, right. Nobody's heard of her. Except the people who caught her in Interview with a Vampire. Or in my favorite guilty pleasure movie, Bring it On. Or on a little TV program called ER.

My advice -- stick with genuine stars. Or, if you must kick over rocks to discover unknowns squirming about beneath them, try to fnd ones who aren't quite so odious. Mister Never Heard of Him announces to the world that he enjoyed his time in Austin because of the "beautiful women. So many of them. It's like an ant farm." Yuck.

Next point. Dominick Dunne? Build him a bridge and tell him to get over himself already. Did you read his latest diary? The one where he starts off by announcing that he ought to be at the Hotel du Cap, but was unavoidably detained by a trial that's only happening because of his novel A Season in Purgatory? I mean, does he have to stand sideways to fit his great swollen head through doors? Also, tell him that Andy Rooney called. He wants his eyebrows back.