Be thankful you’re not the woman melting down and aggressively cutting everyone in the security line–but know that that woman totally exists inside of you. And more gems, after the jump!
Today’s list includes: everything Gucci Mane has put out since “Lemonade,” Yelp, and considering pixie cuts “alternative.”
A list of people I do not trust, some more valid than others.
My family would never make it onto a cereal box, but–despite lacking excessive designer clothes and expert contouring skills–we’d probably give the Kardashians a run for their money on reality television.
“If you want to maintain some level of not-being-a-fucking-loser, best not to admit how often “Fuck with me you know I got it” plays in your head. Except right now, right now it’s okay.” And more gems, after le jump!
Society has built up a problematic narrative where the ideal woman acts in a very particular way: she doesn’t care about superficial things (make-up, fashion), yet always manages to look and feel perfect despite that. Call it Jennifer Lawrence syndrome, if you will.
“Eye-fucking on the subway is strongly encouraged: today, tomorrow, and always.” And more wise words from me to myself, after the jump…
On Sunday I Instagrammed a cry for help in the form of a drab coconut popsicle, the sad caption reading: my only friend. This dramatic statement is far from the truth, but in that moment, as everyone in NYC appeared deeply invested in something called the World Cup with their pals, and I sat alone in my apartment clogged with snot and overwhelming angst, it felt true.
I’ve been treating New York like an ex-lover that I’m ashamed to still be sleeping with: continuing to use and abuse it, while complaining about it profusely to anyone who will listen. In the last 48 hours, though, I’ve had what you might call a come to Jesus moment (the Jesus in question being one who shops at Atelier and drinks eight cups of black coffee a day).