By Pete Kotz
By Michael Musto
By Michael Musto
By Capt. James Van Thach told to Jonathan Wei
By Kera Bolonik
By Michael Musto
By Nick Pinto
By Steve Weinstein
Who on earth would turn down a byline in Vanity Fair's new Fanfair section? A playground for Spy grads, the section is littered with Spy-like epithets and asides. It boasts the vaguely British bylines of James Wolcott and A.M. Homes. But one byline is vaguest of all: A listings page appears under the dubious moniker "Calendar Boy."
A VF spokeswoman refused to identify Calendar Boy, which tells me he must be hiding something. Or perhaps the "writer" is a composite. But if "he" is one person, he appears to be a young, religious man with a naughty side, a Sharon Stone obsession, and a sarcastic streak. (After telling subscribers that this year they are all "invited to Graydon's super-swanky V.I.P. Oscar party in L.A.," he snaps, "Yeah, right. Like he'd even eat at the same restaurant as you.")
Maybe Calendar Boy is a cousin of "Josh Freelantzovitz," who until recently wrote a monthly "diary" for VF. Josh was obviously an editorial creation, a caricature of a jerk who passed his days pestering Norman Pearlstine and Steve Brill with stupid ideas. The genre of the gossipy pseudocolumnist was perfected at Spy in the 1980s, when it sicced "J.J. Hunsecker" on The New York Times and "Celia Brady" on detested Hollywood agents and producers.
Now, the pseudocolumnists are everywhere. The Globe and Mail has "Tertius" and Fortune has "Stanley Bing" (in real life, a top CBS flack). The New York Press has "Mugger," who eventually outed himself as Russ Smith, then proceeded to out his nemesis, the "Masher" (Don Hazen of Alternet). Rick Barrs is New Times's "The Finger."
Pseudonyms flourish in the ironic domain and, increasingly, on the Web. Most Suck writers choose to write under an alias, and Dave Eggers doubles as "Lucy Thomas" for McSweeney's. It's no surprise to see so many noms de screen, because the Web is all about games of persona. Hence, Jake Tapper wrote for Suck as "James Bong," and "Donna Johnson" told Nerve readers how she used a dildo on her boyfriend.
Why hide behind a mask? Above all, to get attention. Whether or not Joe Klein deliberately tried to hype Primary Colors by signing it Anonymous, it helped sell the book. That kind of stunt doubles the publicity, encouraging postpublication stories that speculate about the byline, reveal the truth, and weigh in on the outrage of it all.
Ideally, a pseudonym lets you frankly recount an experience that's unique. This first-person genre dominates Web sites like Nerve and Word, and according to Word editor Marisa Bowe, "only a small handful of people ask us to change their names to fake ones." Nerve editor Jack Murnighan points out, "Sometimes pseudonyms allow people to be honest where they wouldn't otherwise; other times, the reverse."
You might change your name to tell a story without giving up your day job. Supposedly that's why police officer Edward Conlon writes for The New Yorker under the name "Marcus Laffey." (He got a book deal, too.) This week, Washington City Paper is publishing an anonymous tale by a local nurse. Editor David Carr says he performed "due diligence" to confirm her identity, "but many people will still think it's bullshit because there's no name on it."
Some noms de plume are used to duck confrontation. Starting in the 1980s, The New Yorker began responding to readers' letters under the name "Owen Ketherry," supposedly because the responses were the product of many editors. But one insider says the pseudonym was used for fun and for cover: "In a job like that, you don't want to get stalked." Pseudonyms can also be used to spread gossip without taking the heat. In 1988, Spy's Celia Brady was dishing so much dirt on Hollywood that a powerful agent was rumored to have put a detective on her trail.
It's a good idea to use an alias if your contract prohibits you from publishing somewhere else. Thus, a Condé Nast writer might try to use a fake name in Talk, or vice versa. If Entertainment Weekly's Andrew Essex had used a pseudonym to publish in The New Yorker, he might not have gotten fired for contract violation last year.
One of the biggest pseudoscams involved "Robert X. Cringely," a tech columnist for InfoWorld. Initially, Cringely was the creation of editors who put the name on their masthead for fun. Then they asked "Stanford professor" Mark Stephens to write a column as Cringely. By the time it came out that Stephens's Stanford credentials were bogus, it didn't matter any more. He had already landed a book and a PBS deal.
The first step to becoming a star pseudonymist is choosing the right name. Many are derived from the classics: J.J. Hunsecker debuted as the Burt Lancaster character in Sweet Smell of Success, while Suck's "Holly Martins" alludes to the Joseph Cotten character in The Third Man. (In real life, Martins is Newsday's Chris Lehmann.) Anglo-Saxon names can be reassuring. For example, some readers assumed Owen Ketherry was Welsh, only to learn the name is an anagram of The New Yorker.
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