If content is king, then headlines are its crown. That was my suggestion for the headline of this story. I messaged it to our team Slack channel specifically reserved for headlines where it was quickly shut down and a bevy of ideas far more worthy were pinged out in rapid succession. Headlines are an important part of story packaging. If the headline is weird, out of context, confusing or just not interesting, people are less likely to click — no matter what the inside holds. At the same
There was a time when I would check Perez Hilton before I checked my email in the morning. After Perez, there was The Mail Online, then TMZ, then tabloids like The Mirror and The Sun, then skinnyvscurvy.com (celebrities on the scale). That’s before I’d even picked up the weekly gossip magazines. I was completely anesthetized to the trashy, bombastic, cliched language of showbiz rags: “baby weight,” “piled on the pounds,” “putting on a leggy display,” “celebrating her curves,” “cracks showing,”
For a long time, I lived with a partner and assumed I’d never live with roommates again. The shower politics, the labeling of leftovers, the unspoken tracking of who cleaned the bathroom last — I was thrilled to leave it all behind. But when I decided to move to New York on my own and knew I’d have to re-enter the roommate realm, I found myself inexplicably excited. The group grocery trips, the family hangovers, the what-should-we-do-tomorrow mentality. I kind of missed it! But
I have spent the greater half of my 20s trying to figure out the je ne sais quoi that defines what it means to be “cool.” I know that runs counter to what it means to have je ne sais quoi, but I also refuse to believe that I can’t figure it out. At 22, I called it swag and believed we all had it. At 24, when I learned we don’t, I demanded that you could fake it until you made it — just wear leather jackets and sunglasses and ripped blue jeans until the cows
This piece was originally published on December 18, 2015 Amelia is Jewish only when it is convenient. That is, if you call her on Yom Kippur, you can rest assured she is eating a sandwich and reminding you about her baptism. When Purim rolls around, though? She’s the queen of costumes and alcoholic beverage consumption. Eating at a restaurant and the special is tender pork belly? She’s on it! And then as though it never happened, there she is, smearing white fish over her bagel,
I don’t take personal offense to being called an “ugly” Christmas sweater. Really — I don’t. I’ve watched enough of Oprah’s Master Classes to be comfortable with myself. I understand that our quirks are what make us beautiful, unique snowflakes, even if those snowflakes are doilies that have been stapled to your grandpa’s old sweater from Sears. There are other grievances that I’d prefer to address rather than trying to rebrand at this point, like the notion that I’m incurably itchy.
I must be very still. I mustn’t panic. I am unsure as to whether or not my stomach is about to rip apart like that one woman’s did in Aliens. The difference here, if that does happen, is that this will not be an alien crashing through my belly’s glass ceiling; it will be the Thanksgiving dinner that I just consumed. Oh god. Cannot think about food. But what else is there to do? A referee’s whistle blows on the TV. I wish I could shut this off but the remote is long gone and I can’t get up. My
Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything more annoying than waking up, listening to voicemails, your roommate or refilling the Brita filter, here comes that text message you do not want to deal with. The one where you’d rather throw your phone out the window or pay a cat to lean on the keyboard so that it just types back ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh forever. But you’re an adult now. You know that it’s good manners to répondez