I’ve been happily spoiled by my mother’s lack of restrictions, and her never feeling the need to perfect my proverbial picture—allowed to grow up, and slip up on the surface (read: blue eye shadow, bikini tops over t-shirts) without feeling shamed by my choices.
These lists are fashion content at its worst: regurgitated “guidance” with roots that should be more at home sometime around 1950.
Is not being able to bridge the gap between yourself and someone else the loneliest feeling? I’ve been revisiting this question a lot lately, because amidst the current chaos of my life I figured some extra existential dread couldn’t hurt.
Women rethink the narrative they’re born into, laughing at Mean Girls rather than recreating their own version. They aim to bake a great, gooey pie, rather than merely perfecting one rigid, self-absorbed slice.
Inspired by the brilliant Meh List published every week in The Sunday Magazine of The New York Times, I thought I’d start crafting my own, in a similar spirit to the Dear Diary posts.
Head honcho Matt Zoller Seitz continues his reign over my brain/heart with some expertly crafted (natch) words of advice for us baby writers.
A recent post on Man Repeller declares that belly buttons are the new nipples on the scale of shock-worthy body embellishments to reveal in public. While that may be the case for your average woman, it was laughable to me, because guess what? I don’t even have a belly button.