this is what concerns me

I haven’t subscribed to the New Yorker for a couple years now since it’s pretty pricey and it’s not like I read the thing for the cartoons, so I don’t mind getting the articles online. I haven’t been blown away by anything since the profile of David Foster Wallace many issues ago, but this, now this… this is good.

Elizabeth Kolbert profiled Colin Beavan, a.k.a “No Impact Man,” in terms of the absurdity of his project to live with a carbon footprint of zero — in Manhattan. She also writes about other Thoreau-wannabes who’ve undertaken similar pseudo-eco-friendly stunts in order to propel their writing careers (including one woman who gave up toothpicks but bought a three-story house and went on several cross-country plane trips).

The nouveau Thoreauvians have picked up from “Walden” its dramaturgy of austerity. Their schemes require them to renounce (if only temporarily) various material comforts—cars, elevators, Starbucks—that their neighbors take for granted. Renunciation sets them apart and organizes their lives in the name of some higher purpose. The trouble—or, at least, a trouble—is that it’s hard to say exactly what that purpose is.

At twenty-eight, [Vanessa] Farquharson is almost exactly the age that Thoreau was when he set off for Walden Pond. And she’s a lot like him, too, if he’d been the type who, as she writes of herself, enjoys blowing a “month’s savings on a bottle of pink Veuve Clicquot and pairing it with back-to-back reruns of ‘America’s Next Top Model.’ ”

(Yeah, she’s the one who bought the house and started going to “eco-friendly spas.”)

These projects are about guilt, gimmicks and cold hard cash. But of course Kolbert, writing for a print publication, looks over the most absurd bit of all: that the goddamn “No Impact” book is printed on a whole lot of environmentally unfriendly paper (really, is it even New Leaf? and how many copies will be sent back coverless to the publisher when the next gimmick rules). Still, at least someone is calling these people out while they sit in the scented soy-candlelight eating their organic grass-feed kobe beef and counting their money.