This “pink Ladurée macaron of a novel” ( The New York Times ) is a modern Manhattan fairy tale about a Southern belle who must decide if the glamorous life she thought she wanted is really everything she hoped it would be. Southern girl Minty Davenport has always dreamed of skyscrapers, yellow cabs, and a life like Eloise’s in New York City. So upon graduation from college, she bids adieu to Charleston and makes a beeline for the Big Apple. Almost instantly, she finds herself at an event being photographed for Women’s Wear Daily , and her career as a New York society “It Girl” is launched. But as Minty navigates the ironclad customs of New York society, a blossoming love life, and a job working for a ruthless and powerful publicist, she finds that the rules a southern belle lives by—being nice to everyone, accentuating her femininity, and minding her manners—don’t necessarily guarantee success in Manhattan. But the more she emulates the Manhattan elite, the more complicated her life becomes. When a fellow “It Girl” spearheads a smear campaign against Minty, starting rumors that threaten to ruin Minty’s social standing for good, Minty is forced to consider if the glamorous life she thought she wanted is really everything she hoped it would be. “A pink Ladurée macaron of a novel.” ― The New York Times “Readers will delight in watching Minty sweetly take on the Big Apple.” ― Publishers Weekly “Tinsley Mortimer's first book, Southern Charm , is just that: CHARMING! It’s like a mint julep—sweet, sassy and with a kick, all set against the glittering backdrop of the New York social scene—a modern day fashion fairy tale!” -- Carson Kressley “ Southern Charm will remind you of who you were before you became a jaded New Yorker.” -- Kelly Rutherford “A delicious journey. . . . It was exactly the escape I was looking for. In the vein of Plum Syke's Bergdorf Blondes , Southern Charm gives a pinhole into a world most will only dream of or read about in Page Six.” ― Examiner.com Tinsley Mortimer grew up in Richmond, Virginia, and is a graduate of the Lawrenceville School and Columbia University. She has since been featured on the pages of many fashion and celebrity publications, including Vogue , WWD , Harper’s Bazaar , and Marie Claire . Tinsley has served as a beauty ambassador for Christian Dior and starred in the reality TV show The Real Housewives of New York City . She lives in New York City. Southern Charm Prologue Sometimes You Just Have to Go for Broke One of my first memories involves two of my favorite places: the Plaza Hotel and New York City. I was eight years old. My mother, Scarlett Macon Davenport, a proud Southern belle from her Aqua Net–lacquered bob down to her perfectly polished Chanel ballet flats, decided it was about time she and I got out of Charleston, South Carolina, and had ourselves a “girls’ trip.” Apparently, there was no better place in the world to do “girly” things—shopping, giggling, being all-around glamorous and frivolous—than the island of Manhattan. She tracked me down in the sunroom of our family home, Magnolia Gate, a grand, Georgian-style estate just outside of Charleston. It was a bona fide plantation with red brick and white pillars and a mile-long driveway lined with, yes, magnolia trees. It had been handed down in my father’s family for five generations. When I wasn’t playing tennis, I spent my afternoons in my mother’s sunroom poring over her latest copies of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar, and Elle. I would carefully cut out the most beautiful photos and paste them onto large sheets of poster board, creating collages of inspiration like my mother did for her interior design clients. “I’ve bought us two tickets to New York City, Minty,” my mother said. She stood over me with her hands on her hips. Although she rarely left home without putting on a dress, she was partial to cashmere turtlenecks and slacks when she was hanging around the house. That day her outfit was entirely white—“winter white,” as she called it—except for her monogrammed velvet slippers, which were black with white lettering. She had her cat-eye glasses on, the ones that made her look smart and authoritative, like a chic librarian. “We’ll visit Santa Claus,” she continued. “We’ll go shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue. We’ll stay at the Plaza, of course.” I was sprawled out on the floor barefoot, wearing a pink plaid jumper and wool tights. I had pink satin ribbons woven through my French-braided hair. I always had ribbons to match my outfit, which meant I always had pink ribbons. Up until that point, I hadn’t been paying much attention to what my mother was saying. I was too caught up in one of my latest creations, a colorful mishmash pulled from the pages of an old Mademoiselle. Flat on the poster board, Lauren Hutton stared up at me from an Ultima II perfume ad, smiling. Next to her, I’d laid out a photo of Grace Jones, the fierce, exotic yang to Lauren’s all-American yin.