The other day I finished reading The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. It’s a teen girl book that’s diverse enough to keep anyone interested (it follows four unique friends) and not quite deep enough to lose those afraid of using their brains. In all it was a good read, but I wished it explored the issues it raised a little deeper. It seemed to scratch the surface and move on, leaving me wanting more.
Of course the sequel came out this year, and I’m beginning to see it as a part of a larger trend in literature: Chick Lit. The Traveling Pants is barely a part of the Chick Lit trend, which centers more around books like Bridget Jones’ Diary, but it’s almost a teen version, Chick Lit Lite, if you will (similar books include Sloppy Firsts, Second Helpings, Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging, What My Mother Doesn’t Know, and Gossip Girl among others). Last night I was in Target and I realized the sudden proliferation of these Chick Lit books (like Confessions of a Shopaholic, Mr. Maybe, Milkrun, See Jane Date, Asking for Trouble, and The Trials of Tiffany Trott, among others). They’re all written by young women and feature the stories of young, hip, single, sexy urban women who are chasing after the perfect guy. They’ve all got hip attitude and cynicism, and are packaged in pastels or with attention grabbing photos of hip urban women. It’s amazing how quickly a trend like this can come and go. After all, if Target devotes an endcap to it, you know it’s yesterday’s news.
And if Kevin is pondering about it, you know it must be even older news. I love discovering bandwagons long after they’ve left.