Anecdotally, women on mum forums talked about their incumbent “Fifty Shades baby”, while retailers cashed in on knockoff “Generation Grey” onesies. Sociologists predicted a boom in babies that could never be causally linked. Experts variously claimed that Fifty Shades was a sexual turn-off (among college-age women) a measure of women’s self-esteem (fans aged between 18 and 24 were more likely to binge drink, have eating disorders and end up in abusive relationships) responsible for increasing STDs among the over-50s (anecdotal) and covered in herpes and cocaine ( according to two Belgian professors who studied the surfaces of library copies).
Immediately, attempts were made to measure its impact.
or something.” The New York Times said it was “like a Brontë devoid of talent”, while Salman Rushdie said: “I’ve never read anything so badly written that got published.” Much was made of the power imbalance between Grey and Steele: after years of fighting for equality, did modern women secretly want to be tied up and forced to submit? Was it a feminist win or deeply regressive? The critics guffawed at lines such as: “His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel. The world was fascinated by its success, as it often is when something enjoyed by women and girls breaks through. But alongside the huge number of copies sold, was there a lasting cultural influence? Worldwide, by 2015, more than 150m copies had sold, with millions more ebooks on top. (The fourth biggest-selling book, Jamie’s 30-Minute Meals, sold 1.8m.) At its peak, two copies of the first book sold every second for a time, the UK ran out of silver ink, thanks to its use on the books’ covers. In the UK alone, Fifty Shades of Grey sold 4.7m print copies, Fifty Shades Darker sold 3.3m and Fifty Shades Freed sold 3.1m. Late last year it was announced that they had been the runaway bestselling books of the decade. The trilogy by EL James, the writing moniker of the British author Erika Leonard, was published between 20. “I’m getting it for my wife,” men announced, unprompted, while women – often younger than the label “mummy porn” suggested – would recount whole conversations with unnamed friends who had deemed the erotic thriller “quite good”. I soon amassed a range of excuses from customers who so often seemed to be embarrassed to be buying what everyone else was buying. I was working as a bookseller when Fifty Shades of Grey was published and spent weeks stacking shelves with the glossy tomes, only for them to be whisked away as soon as they arrived.
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