Last Saturday started like any other dreamy NYC day — oat milk cappuccino in hand, oversized sunglasses on, strolling through Central Park in that Carrie Bradshaw-meets-Zara look I’ve absolutely nailed lately (thank you, spring sales). I had no idea my casual walk would somehow turn into me running a full-blown literary organization without ever finishing the book.
So, Here’s How It Happened
I spotted a charming group of people sitting in a grassy circle near Bethesda Fountain, surrounded by iced coffee cups, tote bags with feminist quotes, and what I assumed were really smart thoughts. I heard snippets of conversations like:
“Bukowski’s cynicism is a metaphor for late-stage capitalism.”
And while I have literally no idea what that meant — I love the vibe. So of course, I hovered. Like a moth to a highly aesthetic flame.
Someone smiled and waved. I'M TELLING YOU — never wave at me unless you want a full-on commitment, because seconds later, I was sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket, pretending I knew who Zadie Smith was.
(Maybe I thought she was friends with Taylor Swift?)
Anyway, someone passed me a copy of Swing Time. I nodded like, Yes, obviously love this piece — underline 'piece' as if I've used that word before in an actual sentence. Then things escalated very quickly.
Things That Escalated Very Quickly
- I was asked to share my “take on the protagonist’s relationship with movement.”
Spoiler: I thought "movement" meant yoga. I spiraled. - There was a vote on “who should organize next week's meetup.”
Before I could fake-text my way out of there, I was nominated. - Then someone said: “Rachel, I think your perspective was the most original today.”
Me, inside: Because it came entirely from confusion and cappuccino-induced adrenaline. - And just like that, we had ourselves… a president.
Leading a Book Club, The Rachel Green Way
Let’s be honest, I’m not exactly an intellectual powerhouse. The last thing I read cover to cover was a Marc Jacobs fall lookbook. But you know what? I bring energy. I bring vibes. And I bring snacks (I once brought macarons from Ladurée and someone cried).
So, I began to create my version of a book club presidency:
- We now alternate between literary fiction and fashion memoirs (hi, André Leon Talley).
- Our tote bags are curated.
- There’s an official club Spotify playlist (Lana, Phoebe, Sade, you get it).
- We have a "Best Dressed – Page 112" moment each week. Yes, you can totally win with vintage Prada.
Central Park Book Club: Unexpected Joy Pill
I know it sounds ridiculous — another influencer talking about "finding herself" in the park — but honestly? I did kind of find a piece of myself there. Amid the dog walkers, pan flutes, and the occasional shirtless rollerblader (sir…), I found connection. I found community. I found a reason to read more than emotional Instagram captions.
Plus, leading a book club gives me major main character vibes, and isn’t that sort of the NYC dream?
And okay — maybe I still don’t totally get Bukowski, but I did organize a very chic The Bell Jar picnic where we all wore black and cried while drinking cucumber seltzer. Sylvia would’ve loved it.
Final Thoughts Over Iced Matcha
Here’s the lesson: Don’t be afraid to sit on a stranger’s picnic blanket. You might leave with 10 new friends, a semi-literary vocabulary, and a Sunday morning routine that has nothing to do with hangovers and everything to do with healing (and cheese boards).
So, if you’re in Central Park next Sunday around 11, look for the girl holding Conversations with Friends upside down and making a speech about how Sally Rooney should write a novel about brunch anxiety. That’s me.
Madam President. 💅🏼
Love,
Rachel
