Wanna read ANOTHER think piece about JFK Jr., CBK, and Love Story? Of course, you do!
The finale episode of the hit series airs tonight, and it seems we're all overjoyed and/or offended
Howdy, fashion fans! Thanks for coming back to AND ANOTHER THING.
The final episode of Love Story airs tonight on FX. I wonder how it ends.
Okay—who’s sick of a seemingly endless deluge of newsletters and TikTok posts and magazine listicles and Instagram Reels and cocktail conversations about John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy?
No one? Great. Me neither!
I’ve been inspired and seduced by the mystique and pure stylishness of America’s tragic golden couple since I was a starry-eyed, glamor-starved teenager living in St. Louis, Missouri, in the 1990s.
I literally wallpapered my childhood bedroom with pictures of CBK—the wedding dress, obviously, but also the belted red plaid coat, the leopard jacket, the Prada skirt, the Yohji dress, that perfect pair of brown corduroys. (I’d hyperlink to these images, but you already know them.)
As a closeted Midwestern teenager fantasizing about getting to New York and starting a real life in fashion, CBK was the ultimate muse.
She still is.
I attended the premiere of the first episode of FX’s wildly successful, polarizing limited series Love Story at Carnegie Hall in February. At the after-party, I turned to my date, Sara Moonves, and declared that, just like generations before us could remember exactly where they were when JFK was shot on November 22, 1963, everyone in our generation remembers exactly where they were when JFK Jr.’s plane went down on Friday, July 16, 1999.
I found out when I was standing in my parents’ kitchen in St. Louis, wearing a black polyester tuxedo I had rented from Desmond’s Formal Wear at the Crestwood Mall, transfixed by the live coverage of the missing single-engine Piper Saratoga plane. But I was supposed to be at Central Presbyterian Church in Clayton—my Uncle Ken had asked me to be an usher at his (third) wedding. I couldn’t pull myself away from this tiny TV that was tracking the story.
I kept waiting for someone to say the plane had landed. That they were safe. That this glamorous couple was still alive and well.
Finally, my mom forced me to leave. At the church, in a daze, I handed out programs and escorted little old ladies to their pews. During the ceremony, I prayed for JFK Jr., CBK, and her sister, Lauren.
When I got home, I couldn’t believe they were gone. I remember thinking, I bet they had big plans for New Year’s Eve 1999. It felt so tragic that they wouldn’t get to see the new millennium—or do everything they had planned in it. Isn’t it odd the things you remember?
In the days and weeks that followed, I bought every magazine I could find with them on the cover at my local Barnes & Noble—Time, People, Vanity Fair, which had those iconic black-and-white photos by Bruce Weber—because I wanted to keep a little piece of their legacy. (Much to Nick’s chagrin, I still have every single one of these issues in my archives.)
I met Sarah Pidgeon—who plays CBK in Love Story—in January. Loved her immediately. (Fun fact: She played Diana in the original Broadway cast of Stereophonic.) At that fateful first meeting, she said something so unintentionally offensive I’ll never forget it.
We were seated next to each other at a Chanel dinner at the Château Marmont (don’t want to brag, but Conner Storrie was on my other side), and I asked if she had seen the kerfuffle over the early wardrobe test shots. The rabid CBK fan base (hi, my friends!) had opinions—strong ones. She said yes, of course—everyone on the show had seen it. (Ryan Murphy himself had to address it.)
Then she asked me, with complete sincerity: “Why do you care so much? Did you, like, know her?”
Excuse me?
I had to say, “No, girl. I was 17 when she died, and I was enrolled in a public high school in South County, St. Louis, thankyouverymuch. How old do you think I am?!”
Did I know CBK? Pff, I wish!
The reason I have long been consumed with the JFK Jr-CBK legend is that their existence fulfilled so many of my fantasies. As a kid, I was obsessed with the Kennedys. I dressed up as JFK for my first-grade career day. In middle school, I visited my Uncle Bill in Rancho Santa Fe, CA, and stole my Aunt Arlene’s copy of Jackie Oh. I’ve always been intrigued by the glitz and the glamor of the 1960s, the chic diplomacy of Camelot, and its abrupt, mysterious end.
JFK Jr. was the modern embodiment of that, of course—a handsome, fit, topless, rollerblading version of it. And then he married CBK, who was so chic, presented as the exotic mix of loyal friend and secret wild child.
Want to know something spooky? My conversation with Sarah on the night we met happened on what would have been CBK’s 60th birthday—January 7, 2026. Boo!
Love Story—which also stars Paul Anthony Kelly as JFK Jr., Dree Hemingway as Daryl Hannah, Naomi Watts as Jackie Kennedy, Alessandro Nivola as Calvin Klein, and Grace Gummer as Caroline Kennedy—has become an undeniably massive hit. According to Puck, the series racked up more than 1.5 billion minutes (!) of viewing after airing its first five episodes, a record streaming number for an FX limited series.
It has also become a lightning rod for controversy. Forget Heated Rivalry; the hot topic at dinner parties over the past few months has been whether or not we should be allowed to love Love Story.
I’ve found that people who want to talk about the show fall into two very distinct camps.
There are the lovers: The performances! The costumes! The soundtrack! “Ryan Murphy has done it again.”
And then there are the haters: It’s all made up! It retraumatizes a family that has already endured enough! It’s sensational! It’s irresponsible! “Ryan Murphy has done it again.”
The question I pose in today’s newsletter: Why does everything have to be so absolute?
This is probably a bigger problem for modern society, and it's no doubt exacerbated by modern politics, but why do so many people feel compelled to pick a team—pro Love Story or anti-Love Story—and fight to the death for it?
We’ve become a nation of absolutists. About everything, even stylish, historical TV dramas, it seems.
Are we not complex creatures? What happened to everyone embracing their inner Walt Whitman, who wrote in Song of Myself, “I am large, I contain multitudes”? Why is everyone acting like Chappell Roan, or her overeager security guard, depending on who you ask?
Here’s the thing: two things can be true!
I can say, with zero shame, that I have devoured every single episode of this show.
I’ve also watched every Reel that the algorithm has served me. I’ve read every Substack post about CBK’s style, even though I’ve already seen every single one of the photographs, so none of them are new. (My friend Simone Harouche published this diary about spending last summer shopping for vintage pieces worn on the show.)
I devoured WWD’s story on the real CK offices and read Narciso Rodriguez’s interviews in both The Cut and Vogue, in which he set the record straight about designing the best, most famous wedding dress of the 20th century. (No offense to Grace Kelly and Princess Di, of course.)
I loved Dree Hemingway’s performance so much I went back and watched old interviews of Hannah on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno—she nailed the giggle, the cadence, the whole thing.
I relished Maureen Dowd’s piece two weeks ago—and when that wasn’t enough, I dug up this letter to the editor she wrote from JFK Jr’s POV, an absurd, amusing artifact from 1997. What inspired her to write it? The portrait below, photographed by Mario Sorrenti and featured in the September 1997 issue of George. (How did a recreation of this photoshoot not make it into Love Story?)
And yet!
I can also say that everything Daryl Hannah wrote in her New York Times op-ed, which was published earlier this month, about the dangers of fictionalized history being mistaken for fact, was absolutely, unequivocally correct. (Carl Swanson edited that piece—bravo!)
How dare the show fictionalize drug use, or suggest she crashed Jackie Kennedy’s memorial? She is right to be pissed off.
The internet has been quick to remind us that none of the people making this show actually knew Hannah, or any of the others in her real-life orbit, for that matter. (Apart from that op-ed, Hannah has never spoken publicly about her relationship with JFK Jr.)
Reportedly, Calvin Klein was surprised—and pissed off—when Larry King pushed him on questions about setting them up in this interview. (I love it when he tries to interject with, “Let’s move on to cosmetics,” to no avail.) He didn’t chime in on the plotlines of Love Story either.
There are no historical pictures of JFK Jr.’s Tribeca loft, where much of the action in the show takes place. (I can confirm this because I’ve scoured the internet for them.)
Timelines don’t line up. Characters are simplified. Conversations are imagined.
Those portrayals are, at best, speculative. At worst, they’re pure invention.
But, it’s television! It’s not a documentary, people.
Love Story may as well be The Crown, or even Braveheart. Of course, it’s trickier for Love Story because so many of the players are still alive, and they’re pissed off. (And the lawyerly instincts in me wonder if this one will play out differently, at least in Hannah’s case.)
But, is it a shame to love the show? How guilty is this guilty pleasure, if it’s as factual as the World Wrestling Federation?
The final episode airs tonight. Spoiler: they die.
Some of my friends think we should feel sinful for reliving this tragedy. They’re not wrong.
Many agree with JFK Jr.’s nephew, Jack Schlossberg, that it’s strange so many people are profiting from these stories while none of the proceeds go to the causes JFK Jr., CBK, and their families supported. Also not wrong.
The people who knew them personally? They have every right to be pissed off, of course!
But what about the romantics? The ones thrilled to see CBK’s influence ripple back into culture. Was she not the first influencer? Or the ultimate anti-influencer—silent, elusive, allergic to press, the original patron saint of “quiet luxury”? (I know, I know—we hate that term now. But she did it first.) They’re not wrong either.
And those who merely love revisiting Calvin Klein’s minimalism. (I’m sure they went back to Zitomer to buy headbands.) Those viewers love romanticizing a version of New York that feels impossibly chic because it was pre-social, pre-digital, and always slightly out of reach. They recently added Sade’s “No Ordinary Love” and Lenny Kravitz’s “It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over” to their Spotify list.
Like me, they smile when they see a payphone on the street now. I know I’m not wrong.
Guess what?
You, me, the fans, and the furious—everyone’s right!
When I watch tonight’s final episode, I’ll be indulging in everything I’ve always loved about these two strangers: the glamour, the style, the fantasy. This impossibly beautiful couple. This very specific, very seductive moment in New York. God, I would have loved to have been here in the 90s.
I’ll be watching with a smile, knowing it’s pure entertainment. I mean, this is FX—not the History Channel.
I’ll be thinking about my teenage self, too, the one who papered his walls with collages, and admired the Kennedys when they stood for democracy, style, and sanity. And thinking about how excited he’d be to know I made it to New York.
Thank you for reading all the way to the bottom.
Have you been watching Love Story? Favorite scene? Favorite song? Favorite outfit? Tell me!
Please like this post, leave a comment, and tell all your friends about your favorite fashion Substacker!
I’ll be back soon with more fashion news.
Until then, stay safe and chic,
Derek C. Blasberg
PS. AND ANOTHER ANOTHER THING. One of the most unexpected twists in the Love Story saga has been watching Carole Radziwill reenter the chat.
Until this show came along, she was mostly known to a certain generation as the coolest cast member—yes, a low bar—on The Real Housewives of New York City. What the show never fully capitalized on (somewhat shockingly!) was her proximity to the very story now dominating our feeds.
Carole was married to Anthony Radziwill—JFK Jr.’s cousin and Lee Radziwill’s only son—who died of cancer just weeks after the plane crash. But as Love Story has rolled out, Carole has emerged as one of its most articulate—and pointed—critics on her Substack. She’s written, with real authority, about how painful it was to watch magazines like Vanity Fair publish stories about CBK after her death that she believes were untrue or unfair—most notably sparring (at least from her side) with then–editor in chief Graydon Carter in the early 2000s.
And this week, Radziwill sharpened the argument even further, questioning the show’s slippery relationship between fact and fiction—what happens when a dramatization becomes, for many viewers, the default version of events.
The original verison of this post had two glaring errors—Grace Gummer plays Caroline Kennedy, not Lee Radziwill. And Lee's son died a few weeks after the JFK Jr's plane crash, not before. I'm HORRIFIED, please forgive me!
Son, thanks for the memories; enjoyed as always! When do you sleep—only your mom would note the time your piece was published!💕