153 of 159 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Parent, Man, Friend, Woman, Love, Dependency, October 4, 2007
I had a debate with a co-worker about whether Superhead had learned anything in her first book. While my co-worker refused to budge on Superhead learning a thing and still being the same person, I was just as stubborn about saying that I felt she'd grown as a person. However, I still can't bring myself to support any publication that depends on gossip (I don't even read gossip magazines and flat out will not read forwards about celebrities--I simply don't care unless it's positive), but I read her second book in about 3 hours while sitting in a cafe because her last one was funny as hell, and I wanted to see if I was right about her evolving as a person.
Three things came to mind.
Men in Relationships: I've never sided with a rapper who speaks badly about women, but if I was a male rapper and had dealt with Karrine, I could understand Nelly's point on "Hip Hop Versus America" when he said that a man may talk badly about women if in a bad situation with someone close to him. I read this book and she turned down so many good guys because they weren't fun enough. Then when they were fun enough, they weren't wild enough. Then when they were too wild, then they weren't smart enough. Then when they were smart enough, then they were boring. Then when they were boring, then she wanted young. When they were young, she wanted steady. It just went on and on and on. I got to the point where I was thinking "Lady, just be single! Stop wasting all these good men's time."
Parenthood: I have a friend who just had a baby. She talks about her daughter to death and since I don't want children, I can't relate when she is excited about so many small things her daughter does. But reading this book, I felt more sorry for Steffans' son now than I did before. Every single chapter, there was another man involved (and some revisiting), a nanny taking care of her kid while she was out perusing the town, and pretty much the only time her son was mentioned was when one of her many men took an interest in him and momentarily played daddy. I just cannot understand why Steffans does not realize that while she's out chasing the man of her dreams, she's got a young boy who probably DREAMS that she'll pay as much attention to him as she does to sex and dating. I'm absolutely positive that as that boy grows up, he's going to have a negative perception of women with the rotating door of dudes walking in and out of his mom's house. He's also going to crave attention. Karrine, if you're reading this review, has it ever occurred to you that the same amount of love you need from a man, your own son could use that kind of love from you? From this book, it sounds like he's a second thought. Her book made me more interested in the small things a parent loves about their child simply because there are too many parents who neglect their own seeds.
Cattiness: Various times through this book, Superhead said repeatedly that she's grown as a person, is more mature, and does not rely on sex. She said she doesn't understand why everyone is always worried about her sex live. HELLO! YOU WROTE A BEST-SELLING NOVEL (by the way, I've met so many best-selling authors over the years, and ironically, not one of them has ever felt the need to keep reminding or even mentioning that they are a best-selling novelist--that was getting really irritating and arrogant) ABOUT YOUR SEX LIFE AND IT WAS BASED AROUND SEX WITH RAPPERS! How do you expect us to regard you? Even as a best-selling novelist, your book was a memoir about your sex life. It's hard to divide the two, kinda like dividing Stephen King from horror. But as much as this best-selling author KEPT saying she grew as a person, she kept putting people on blast. It was very nasty to say the comment about Larenz, completely tacky to make the comment about where Antonio's mouth had been, unnecessary to make the comment about Tisha, and then calling out Papa at the end of the book proved nothing more than to break up more marriages. I find it very pathetic when a woman who is supposed to be grown finds nothing more satisfying than making sure people in their own relationships are as unhappy as possible and you're the cause of it. Why was it necessary to say who Papa was? That was low, especially considering his wife's circumstances. She could've at least respected Papa's wife's situation even if Superhead felt that his body language wasn't matching his words. Still worse, the comment to Bobby for revenge was just as bad. I felt like I was reading a memoir from a 13-year-old girl who is head of some high school club and doesn't understand why boys suck rather than a mother and a "best-selling author."
I really hope that someday she gets into a relationship that is permanent, stops opening her legs to random men (70% of new HIV/AIDS patients are Black women in our age group), and pays attention to her son. I tried to be objective in this review, but there's no way around it. This book was well-written and a page-turner, but I got it at the library because I could not see myself supporting a woman so incredibly immature. Unbelievable. I developed a whole new line of respect for Jamie Foxx, and I hate saying I was wrong, but I guess I have to go tell my co-worker she was right: Superhead/Karrine Steffans has not learned a thing.
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57 of 58 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
The return of Supahead, January 10, 2008
Here's the problem with writing a revealing autobiography -- you have no material left for the inevitable sequel.
But that's only one of the many problems with "The Vixen Diaries," a flaccid recounting of Karrine "Supahead" Steffans' sex life and career in the year of 2006. When she's not posing, preening and preaching, Steffans is racing from one one worthless fling to another.
Much of the book is a celebration of how her life has changed since the publication of "Confessions of a Video Vixen" -- she now has money, notoriety, celebrity friends, a nice home, new ultramegaexpensive cars whenever she damages one (which seems to be frequently), and enough financial room that she can make a habit of club-hopping through L.A.
This is where reality starts fuzzing out, because apparently her small amount of fame (or infamy) has gone to Steffans' head. Suddenly she's no longer a damaged hip-hop groupie/video girl who exchanged sex for money, but a "an author" who writes "internationally bestselling nonfiction" with a "message." Oh yes, and if you disapprove of her, you're obviously a chauvinist.
But this book isn't just about Steffans' success with the last one -- it's also about men. Ray J, Eric Benet, a strung-out Bobby Brown, Mike Tyson, Magic Johnson, the Icon, and her ex-boyfriend Bill Maher -- whom Steffans rhapsodizes about until I got the squirmy feeling that I was seeing a woman beg. Not pretty.
One of the most hilarious lines of the entire book is: "... some people can't seem to get over my past -- the partying, the relationships, the sex..." This, of course, coming from a woman whose "internationally bestselling nonfiction" was all about sex with rappers.
It's a pretty funny pronouncement from someone who poses like a porn star on the cover, and revels in the fame her sex-drugs-hip-hop book has brought her. No matter how many times she says she loves staying at home, puts her son first, et cetera... what really stands out is the amount of time she spends chasing men and partying. It leaves you feeling sorry for her kid, who watches his mother bounding desperately after one man after another.
Despite her tepid, gossipy prose, Steffans does manage some stirring moments -- the painful account of grandfather's death is quite touching, and her encounter with Jamie Foxx shows what a pleasant guy he is. But these are only a few moments in a paper-thin narrative, dominated by a schizophrenic carousel of men who are married, creepy, wounded or strung-out -- all of whom she claims to "love."
Aside from her disdain for LA, there's little that's new here. The thin book is padded with pompous ponderings about Hollywood, homosexuality, relationships, marriage, double standards, being a parent and the woes of being rich'n'famous. Insightful, they ain't. One interlude -- where she scratches a Mercedes and goes screeching to the dealership for a new one -- is absolutely painful.
And though she piously outpreaches a hypocritical minister, Steffans comes across as a pretty nasty piece of work herself. She drips scorn on her lovers' wives, on a publicist who does not recognize her as a "celebrity," and even calls Bobby Brown to gleefully tell him that his ex-wife is now having sex with Karrine's ex-boyfriend. How mature.
The nastiness climaxes in the final pages, where she writes a drippy, sexual letter to her married lover, "Papa." But she reveals his name this time -- how wonderfully classy of her.
"The Vixen Diaries" is a tedious, trashy trip through the ego of Karrine Steffans, who apparently thinks that recounting sex with rappers makes her a Great Artist. Ultimately, it makes her a walking headache.
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