Revelations from a glamorous high-fashion model who spent her life adoring men tell of her stint as a stripper, her involvement with mobsters, her term in jail, and her more than two thousand amorous liaisons. 25,000 first printing. Tour.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Long Live Liz Renay,
By
This review is from: My First 2,000 Men (Hardcover)
This fabulous piece of garbage is a classic just for that reason. Don't try and be clever and psychologically break this one down, just enjoy the true camp of this piece of writing. Sitting by the pool with this cover in front of your face always looks fantastic as well, and that's what it's all about, isn't it?
1 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
2.0 out of 5 stars
Lionel Hutz, RIP,
By William Wilson (Sullivan's Island) - See all my reviews
This review is from: My First 2,000 Men (Hardcover)
A brief review to let the curious know that this book is mostly just a collection of tepid kiss and tell stories about the author and other celebrities and semi-celebrities. Renay later admitted that the title was a complete fabrication, which explains why it bears no relation to its contents. A low grade gang moll and Z-movie actress, Renay was, most of all, a complete fraud.
8 of 18 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Conventional, loveless, self-conforting lecturing on males,
By A Customer
This review is from: My First 2,000 Men (Hardcover)
This book describes the stance of the author in a rather pompous and very conservative way. It is definitely very small and unsignificant, pregnated with a dusty conservatism belonging to another age. The moralizing is almost nauseating. After puting into view her shrieking psychological mechanisms (displayed by dryly describing, allegedly drawn from the data of her own astronomic statistical density, the various categories of males into which all are to be fitted), thereby showing an uncommon narrowness of soul and lack of heart, the author condescends in delivering us the usual small-talk trash about prominent people (actors and so forth). A typical revealing lapsus is shown in the following sentence "I want to talk about more than just sex." Well, besides being a funny and astoundingly naive statement for a book with such a title, it implicitely reveals she never really enjoyed sex at all, despite her alleged numerable experiences. But what it really does show, is that for the author, just as for many other women, sexuality was not a goal in itself, but just a cheap available mean to reach certain goals and a certain social status. How sad, how depressing, how poor. Two thousand males, just to end-up with such a piece of garbage. What a waste... (of the males, of herself, of time, etc). The only little light shining forth is her description of a lusty, life-loving tranvestite named Michelle.
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