Leandra Medine's Blog, page 34

Corona Sex Diaries: A Week in the Life of a “Very Celibate” New Yorker

I would not say my sex life was rip-roaring fun prior to the New York City-wide mandate of self-isolation. But now, to no one’s surprise, it’s a barren wasteland. Tumbleweeds.

I guess the most ironic piece of this is that right before coronavirus started settling in, I was feeling better than I have in a while. After a long-term relationship ended in the fall—followed by some short-term dating adventures in the winter that also wrapped up anticlimactically—I had taken a few months to acquaint myself with what I wanted and who I am and what I’m looking for. As of a few days prior to self-isolation, I was ready to start dating again. I even had a conversation with my therapist about it.

Instead I’m here, now, slowly devolving with baked goods and repeat viewings of Tiger King. I work in digital media, and my work life has been demanding since the start of self-isolation, even just being in close proximity to news every day. I haven’t had a lot of brain space to think about sex, but I’ve somehow had more than enough to think about being alone. So, for better or for worse, I’m here to present to you: A week in the life of my celibacy.

Monday

I’m writing this from the relatively early perspective of Week 2 of self-isolation, so right now I can say it’s so easy to not think about sex on a busy workday. Not sure if I’ll be singing that tune on Week 5. Luckily for me, the anxieties of our present crisis, compounded with my tenuous grip on reality, have me completely de-sexed today. An orgasm: One less thing for me to have to worry about. I finish work at 7pm, make myself a healthy dinner, and go for a walk in the cool evening. Rather than feel emotionally overwhelmed, I think of that time my ex [redacted] my [redacted]. I go home and take care of the situation myself with my vibrator of choice.

Tuesday

All right, so no, rip-roaring fun wasn’t exactly true for the past two months. I was sleeping with my ex. I was also sleeping with a woman. Since then, the woman has moved on to a woman who isn’t me. I see they’re quarantined together, according to Instagram. Witnessing it feels like a wound, but a wound of my own making. My ex has moved on to a life that doesn’t involve “me.” I still care about both of them. And both of them were great in bed. Sex doesn’t even cross my mind until right before I fall asleep. I think about previous lovers, but not in an intimate way, more in a fond way. Nothing arouses me in the moment. I miss intimacy. I miss embraces and fingers on skin. No telling when the next time is that I’ll have it.

Wednesday

In between watching Tiger King, I’m also watching High Maintenance. And something about the show just gets me hot. It could be the fact that it’s just genuinely good television. Or I could be into The Dude? I’m not sure. I pour myself a glass of wine right after I finish a particularly draining day of work that I feel lucky to have, and I pair it with Annie’s Mac n’ Cheese. I need to go to the grocery store again, but thinking about going these days gives me a lot of anxiety. I guess that’s the underlying theme of this sex diary. I end up pouring myself two more glasses of wine after streaming more episodes and am more tired than anything else so I scrap the idea of even attempting solo time. I swipe through Tinder for a while and feel completely blah. What’s even the point of talking to someone for weeks if you don’t know if you’ll like them when you meet in real life.

Thursday

I wake up HORNY. Like this. I guess that’s a delayed reaction from last night. I know that if I jump right into the news I’ll turn it off, but it’s nice to feel true, primal arousal, in a way that’s different from nostalgia or dull desire. Call it my weird thing but… I read erotic lit online. If I’m tired of relying on memory or disinterested in anything visual (most of the time), this is my go-to. I’ve always masturbated to words. I read a mediocre story about a man and a woman on a bus, weirdly, and it does the job. I don’t think about sex for the rest of the day, but the more I look at the Cuomo brothers the more I’m convinced I would [redacted]. You know when I write redacted it’s not the editors actually redacting, right? I’m sparing you.

Friday

A notoriously inappropriate boy I know from living abroad–with whom I haven’t spoken in years–slides into my DMs and says, “The big question is how many times are you doing it a day” with a wink emoji. I do not respond. But I do think about it. I guess my unsexy answer is once, if that? I always considered myself a pretty sexual person, but the mix of emotional stress and work anxiety has me at a new libido low. I look absently at my Hinge account and see that four people have liked me. I nix them all. I still don’t feel like this is the right time or place for fostering any kind of connection. I know others do. Some of my friends are chatting with people on the apps. Maybe they’ll go on walks, six feet apart. A part of me envies them for being able to try right now.

Saturday

Bored today and deeply craving gentle emotional intimacy. I know I can’t have the physical kind right now, so it makes me want to be soothed. I call my family members one by one, then FaceTime with my best friend, who lives in Manhattan and whom, obviously, I haven’t seen physically for weeks. I’d do anything to reach through the phone and give her a hug. I bake cookies from a cookbook my roommate owns and think about being held. I lie down to take a nap and curl around one of my pillows like it’s a body, thinking to myself that this isn’t even all that bad. Physical touch for the sake of physical touch doesn’t do much for me, anyway. I know when I’m out of this that I’ll need something primal and immediate, and I’ll settle for it. Afterwards, I’ll feel unfulfilled. When there’s tenderness, care, and respect behind touch, it means the world to me. I really wonder when I’ll find that again.

Graphics by Lorenza Centi.

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Now Is a Really Good Time to Have Breakfast for Dinner

The other day, Austin and I had a 10-minute conversation about Life. I don’t mean we talked about our thoughts and feelings, or the state of the world, or our experience orbiting around each other in close quarters like planetary moons for the past two weeks. I mean we talked about Life! The cereal. The subtly sweet squares, golden brown and reminiscent of a woven basket. The breakfast staple of our ’90s-era youths.

This particular conversation sparked when I purchased a box of it, on a whim, in the midst of buying pantry staples when the quarantine first began. It sat there for a little over a week, surrounded by more nutrient-dense options–canned lentil soup, chickpea pasta, raw cashews, kale chips. I prioritized consuming the latter, dutifully sandpapering the texture of my days to make them resemble something like a normal, healthy routine. I spent hours plotting how to make everything look and feel the same and hours wondering why my anxiety almost seemed to worsen with each measure of supposed self-care:

Wake up as soon as my alarm goes off–no snoozing!

Get dressed in a presentable ensemble!

Work!

Exercise!

Bathe!

Eat a well-rounded dinner with protein, vegetables, fats, and carbohydrates!

Read!

Go to bed!

Then one night, after a particularly manic day of regimented activity, I was standing in front of my kitchen cupboards, contemplating the responsibilities of an impending mealtime. I attempted to hype myself up about the prospect of drizzling raw chicken breasts with herbs and olive oil and baking them in the oven at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, and then sautéing some spinach in a skillet because I had a carton in the refrigerator that was about to go bad, and heating up leftover white rice in a pot… when the box of Life caught my eye. I took it down from the shelf, opened it up, and poured some into a bowl. I topped it to the brim with oat milk, carried it to the table, and started eating.  It tasted like 1998. It tasted like my mom braiding my hair before school. It tasted way better than chicken.

I was still hungry after finishing the bowl, so I fried an egg sunny-side-up and ate that on top of a heel of toast. When I was done with that, I pressed my fingers into the plate to pick up the crumbs and licked them off. I sat back in my chair and thought about a quote I’d once loved but hadn’t thought about in years, from the first season of Modern Family, spoken with comedic seriousness by the uptight Uncle Mitchell: “I am loose. I’m fun. Remember breakfast for dinner last week? My idea.”

Hehe.

I’ll be the first to admit that pouring cereal into a bowl instead of roasting some chicken breasts hardly constitutes “living on the edge,” but the tiny thrill I got out of it was enough to make me pay attention. Over the next few days, it dawned on me that–despite all the advice I’ve heard about the importance of adhering to the habits that buffered my pre-quarantine life–a “normal” routine does not necessarily lend itself to a completely abnormal situation. In fact, for me at least, it was a bit like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole: frustrating at best, damaging at worst.

I still see the value in routine, I’m just open to rethinking what the concept of routine looks like right now. Maybe it looks like chicken, maybe it looks like cereal. Maybe it looks like watching TV on weeknights. Maybe it looks like trying to start the first chapter of the book I’ve always wanted to write. Maybe it looks like lying on the floor in my living room and closing my eyes for a few minutes every day. I’m still figuring it out, holding gently to the things I thought I knew, understanding now that the answers were always meant to evolve.

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This Month’s Theme Is Not Like the Others

Usually it’s easy to pick the monthly theme for Man Repeller. It doesn’t happen any one way—sometimes we choose it far in advance, apropos of nothing. Other times it happens in a pitch meeting right before the first of the month, and we whip up a few related stories as quickly as we can. I’m personally pretty attached to having a theme, possibly because I studied fiction writing in college and love a good prompt. But if I look at it more deeply, I think the real reason I like having a theme is because it’s just an excuse to invent a reason to bring everyone together for a conversation that makes us feel connected, when our daily lives feel mostly untethered from each other, as they almost always do when life is operating as it normally does.

But right now, the ways we’re inextricably linked to have never been more clear. The proof first arrived via the speed with which the coronavirus spread across the world, through airports and handshakes and big Sunday dinners and offices and church services and on and on and on. Now, as we’ve become physically separated but psychically connected, our lives, and the days—ah, yes The Days of Our Lives—are blurring together even more, creating a weeks-long supercut of precarious baking projects, 1000-piece puzzles, never-ending Instagram stories, 7 p.m. rounds of applause, and group photos of doctors kindly reminding us, via markered-sign, how uneven the exchange of sacrifice is between us.

This is all to say: There’s no invented theme this month because a theme has already presented itself. We threw around a few ideas for specific words and phrases, but ultimately we all agreed that the theme is omnipresent. While we’re all inarguably isolated, there’s also an undeniable togetherness in the rhythms and concerns of our daily existences. Basically: You know what this month’s theme is because you can already feel it.

I’d still like to know what you want to read, though. What would make life easier right now—or more interesting? Do you want more recipes? (Easy or ambitious?) Are you looking for stories about people working in the medical field? For the MTA? For the postal service? Are you staring at your walls for longer than ever, wondering what you should hang on them? Considering a new paint color? DIY wallpaper? What are you feeling this week that differs from last week? What do you want to talk about right now?

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Meet the Champion of Man Repeller’s 2020 Sweatshirt Bracket

In this era of March Sadness, we’ve been fielding a lot of requests for a sweatshirt bracket, and who am I to withhold such a thing from our readership? Coming off the heels of this winter’s (suspenseful, remarkable, transcendent) Fleece Bracket, I felt ready to unleash the voting methods I’d beta-tested with my Close Friends upon the broader Man Repeller Instagram audience. After five rounds of voting, thousands upon thousands of index fingers declared a winner.

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While assembling the bracket, I did feel an earnest curiosity about my coworkers’ and my friends’ and your favorite sweatshirts—the one that feels like Linus’s blanket for you right now. I have a few myself: well-worn, collegiate hand-me-downs pre-softened by my parents, the top half of this tie-dye sweatsuit by Wolf & Gypsy Vintage in London (a vestige from a week spent dressing like Pete Davidson), and a marigold crewneck from a Rowing Blazers x Luke Edward Hall collaboration that looks like summer in long-sleeved, cotton form.

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You can't tell from this photo but I am speaking exclusively in Iambic pentameter

A post shared by edith (@edithwyoung) on Aug 9, 2018 at 7:33pm PDT

NORMCORE FOR THE GREAT INDOORS


Entireworld


Everybody.World


COS


KOTN


Uniqlo


Everlane


Alex Mill


Entireworld


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I’M A LUXURY


Ganni


Acne Studios


Lady White Co.


J.W. Anderson


Missoni


Needles


Marimekko


Ganni


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LOGOS FOR POGO STICKS


Eric Emanuel


Rowing Blazers


Sky Ting


Aimé Leon Dore


Met Museum


MoMA


éliou


Tracksmith


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WILDCARD


Wolf & Gypsy


Kozak


Monogram


Memes


Rachel Antonoff


Virgil Normal


Reebok by Pyer Moss


Thames


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Ultimately, we saw two popular inclinations gain momentum throughout the bracket: an ongoing appreciation for the classic normcore crewneck (à la COS), and the enduring appeal of a mouthwatering Gobstopper-colored logo that brings some chromatic levity and delight to the Zoom conference call. At the end of a five day sprint, éliou took home the gold, winning the title by a nail-biting 137 vote lead.

éliou


COS


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Feature photo via Getty Images.

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Open Thread: What Were You Doing on This Day Last Year?

On this day last year, I was on vacation in Australia, watching the Southern Hemisphere’s summer come to a close, excited that while I was away, New York would be slowly unthawing. I spent the day with friends at Bondi Beach, eating fresh prawns and drinking Aperol spritzes (remember 2019?), looking out at the ocean and feeling the fog of jet lag begin to clear. When I flew back to the U.S. two weeks later, I started working at Man Repeller. After a winter of uncertainty, navigating job-loss in a country where I need to be employed in order to stay, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

To me, this time last year was perfect—it felt that way at the time, and it feels that way in hindsight, too. Three weeks after that day in Bondi, my best friend visited me in New York. One morning before I went to work, we took the A to Columbus Circle and walked through Central Park. It was one of those mornings when you can feel the memory being made. We were greeted by a million cherry blossoms and the city’s air was the sweetest it’s ever been.

Fast forward to today, and I’m trying my best to live by that Dr. Seuss quote I most definitely reblogged on Tumblr at some point in 2010: Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. For every plan I’ve had to cancel this spring—including my annual trip home—I’m able to look to last spring and find something I’m thankful to have been able to see come to fruition. And so, I’m curious: What were you doing on this day last year? What happened in your life last spring that you’re feeling thankful for now? Or if last spring wasn’t great for you, what’s something in the last year that you’re grateful for today? Please leave your favorite memory in the comments below—I’d love to read them.

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Should We Still Be Shopping? Leandra and Harling Discuss

At the end of last week, Leandra sent me a link to an article by Vanessa Friedman in which she debates whether shopping for clothes can be a moral imperative right now. Given how integral this question is to the future of the fashion industry, and our role as consumers, supporters and information deliverers as it relates to stuff, we had a lot of thoughts. Below is an email conversation fleshing some of those out. Scroll down to read it, and in the interest of adding perspective (and discourse), please, we beg you, meet us in the comments for further discussion. —Harling

On Fri, Mar 27, 12:31 PM, Leandra wrote:

Hey! What did you think of that Times piece from Vanessa Friedman on whether we should be shopping right now? It’s clear that she’s pretty morally conflicted, or maybe I’m projecting, but I read it as an oscillation between trying to respect and observe the severity of the impact of the coronavirus as it is unfolding in real-time, while also supporting brands that are on the brink of pretty grim outcomes if it doesn’t get solved soon. I guess I just wonder at what point you can actually justify shopping during this time? And on the other end of the spectrum — not to sound sensationalist or anything, but do we kind of have a moral obligation to, if we can, spend money right now?

On Fri, Mar 27, 12:34 PM, Harling wrote:

It’s definitely complicated. Which was apparent even in the way the story was written–it seemed like she was doing more than just presenting two sides of the coin; she’s actually debating these things personally, which I think to some extent, a lot of us are. I’ve been giving some thought to how and where I want to spend money right now: I’ve been making small donations to charities that are actively trying to solve problems that have been exacerbated due to coronavirus, and I haven’t “shopped” for anything beyond what I would consider essential–food, household items like toilet paper, etc. But as we’re wading deeper into a situation that doesn’t appear to be dissipating anytime soon, and as I continue to read about brands and retailers (even big ones like Net-a-Porter) temporarily shutting down, I do feel a sense of urgency around what my role, or I guess our role, as able consumers is in helping small businesses stay afloat. But again, like Vanessa, I can argue it both ways. Where is my money actually the most useful right now?

On Fri, Mar 27, 12:41 PM, Leandra wrote:

And how much of it should we be conserving? Maybe my even asking is a function of the fact that I am basically a freelancer to the extent that I don’t draw a salary but do earn a commission on my personal partnerships. Maybe it’s a function of the basic principle of survivor-mode mentality: conserve, conserve, conserve! But I find myself cringing when a paper towel is discarded before it’s been completely used. Or too much toilet paper is drawn from the roll. I have always been like this in some respect, but not yet to this degree.

What really stuck with me from her story was how she wrapped it up: “That work-from-home loungewear that is being dangled so temptingly, so surprisingly affordably, before your screen-weary eyes? Those sweats and sneakers? That potholder? They represent labor and ideas, not just stuff. Sometimes a fleece is only a fleece. And sometimes it can be a creative rescue line, and a bet on the future.” It makes me wonder if–and hear me out, I don’t actually know if I believe this yet–shopping right now is, in effect, some form of charity?

On Fri, Mar 27, 12:52 PM, Harling wrote:

At the very least, it’s a tangible form of hope–which feels almost as necessary as plenty of other socially-acceptable behaviors right now. It is, as she puts it, a bet on the future. A vote of confidence. An expression of our conviction that [insert brand] deserves to exist. And a recognition of the fact that, by purchasing an otherwise unassuming sweater, we are supporting multiple people’s livelihoods–which is even more critical in the case of small brands that don’t have the cash flow or credit lines to sustain an indefinite closure. I think people really underestimate how intrinsically fashion is connected to the economy, especially because it’s often considered non-essential, or frivolous. And for what it’s worth, I include myself in that camp. Every time I’ve browsed a fashion retailer’s site over the past two weeks–something I used to do for fun on a regular basis–I’ve felt a pang of guilt. It seems superficial to entertain the thought of buying a something new right now, but the more I read about how high the stakes are economically, the more I believe that kind of thinking might be unproductive. So while I wouldn’t say “charity” is the right word for shopping right now, I certainly think “vital” would apply. Have you been considering any non-toilet-paper-adjacent purchases?

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:04 PM, Leandra wrote:

To your point, I still look at the What’s New page on Matches every morning — it’s a habit I’ve really looked forward to in the mornings, it calms me down and that makes it worth it. We’re all using the resources and capabilities we have to survive, right? And if we can actually apply them without feeling judged, we absolutely should! But to this point… lately, the browsing is also kind of tense because I feel pretty guilty, especially when it’s buttressed by bleak push notifications. To answer your q though, no, I haven’t actually bought anything. Considered, yes. But not to the extent that I’ve come close to pulling the trigger. (Except, actually, for a pair of sequined boxer shorts, ha. Those are in a shopping cart on Poshmark.) I even think twice before getting some groceries. Example: When I’m at Trader Joe’s, I ask myself if I should buy olives because, yes, they’re additive to the experience of eating, but for $8, are they really necessary when I can add $4 more and get a protein option to feed my fam? I don’t know that it’s helpful or constructive thinking, though. And to this, let me add the disclaimer that having this conversation assumes we’re taking measures to protect and support ourselves and broader virus relief efforts as a priority.

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:10 PM, Harling wrote:

Good one to add, thanks for that. One silver lining is that I know if I am going to shop at some point, I’ll be especially conscious of whether the purchase is meaningful or impactful in some way–which is forcing me to double down on what those words really mean to me.

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:17 PM, Leandra wrote:

Oh, trying to define “meaningful purchase” is a good exercise and makes me think we have an opportunity, once this is all over, to significantly shift our relationships with consumption. We’d definitely reached peak impulse-buy prior to the crisis. I wonder how this will change that behavior.

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:24 PM, Harling wrote:

Yeah, it seemed, culturally speaking, that we were inching slowly toward prioritizing meaning and mindfulness in shopping pretty organically before all of this, so I’m guessing this experience will most likely speed up the pace significantly. But wait, while we’re on the topic of supporting small brands during this time, I do think it’s worth touching on ways to support without spending money. Anything from liking a brand’s Instagram post to tagging a friend in the comments constitutes some form of support, and small things like that add up. Engagement/community/awareness = a form of value, even if it’s not as tangible as money in the bank. It still matters, especially because it can have a cumulative effect. Maybe you didn’t buy something from a brand, but the friend you tagged in the comments does, etc.

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:38 PM, Leandra wrote:

Good point. And v true! Are you shopping?

On Fri, Mar 27, 1:45 PM, Harling wrote:

I haven’t made any purchases yet, but I compiled a list of some of my favorite small brands earlier this week as a start: Ciao Lucia, Lonely Lingerie, Kule, Labucq, The Frankie Shop, Coco Shop, Doen, Rixo, Great Jones, Emily Levine Milan, and Megababe are all ones I would personally like to try to support in some way, whether through actual purchases or shoutouts on Instagram. I also visited their websites to see what they’re selling at the moment and promptly fell back in love with the idea of wearing head-to-toe terrycloth as soon as I reunite with a beach.

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One of my best friends’ bdays is coming up and I’m thinking of getting her this very good sweater. I’ve also been thinking about these shoes since Eliz posted a photo of them in our shared market folder months ago.

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On Fri, Mar 27, 1:53 PM, Leandra wrote:

Ha, that is very cute! The two brands on my mind right now are Terry (purely because you reminded me of the fabric) and Pretties, which I found through Camille Charriere’s Instagram. Also would not mind The Upside’s tiger shorts to wear through quarantine with this, and separately, this is fun, too. Also, those Yali emperor jackets are speaking my language right now.

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On Fri, Mar 27, 1:58 PM, Harling wrote:

That jumpsuit is great and looks like something Carrie B. would wear circa season 2; agree/disagree? Oh, I also recently discovered the Australian brand SIR The Label and they’ve been top of mind. I think because I’m nuts about smocking and they have this amazing top that really scratches the allergy-itch.

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On Fri, Mar 27, 1:59 PM, Leandra wrote:

Oh, I got the matching skirt before Coronagate!

On Fri, Mar 27, 2:00 PM, Harling wrote:

I love the skirt too, so much. I can’t speak for you, but I just got so fired up! It feels nice to talk about shopping for a second, like everything is normal. At least for us in the context of our jobs and interests. Though at the same time challenging to avoid talking in circles since the moral questions that surround it right now are so tangled. Because even beyond the debate over where our money is most impactful right now, there’s also the concern that continuing to order non-essential things puts warehouse and postal service workers at risk, but on the other hand, I know a lot of employment is probably dependent on those orders coming in. It’s really a double-edged sword. I’ll be curious to hear what other people think when we publish this, which is my way to say please don’t reply, I’m done with you. And to wrap things up I just want to reiterate Vanessa’s advice for guiding any shopping considerations rn, because I found it both helpful and straightforward: “Consider the provenance and make an informed choice.”

Graphics by Lorenza Centi.

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Dispatch #004: Who I Am vs. Who I Want to Be

I heard myself telling someone last week that at the most basic level, Man Repeller asks, “What if you just tried to live for yourself for once?” I specifically note that I heard myself telling this to someone because I’m not exactly sure if it is true or if I simply want it to be true. And this tension—between what actually is and what I want to be, has been on my mind a lot.

If two weeks ago, the energy that was pumping through my veins and shooting out of my fingertips was so chaotic I could have combusted and come back as the emoji with an exploding head only to combust again, and last week was, as a direct reaction to the previous week, the precise opposite: deliberately psychologically slower, then this week, I think I am settling, or have settled, into an adjusted state of reality that defines my right now.

And it’s got me feeling contemplative.

Is this what happens when you give yourself space to think and permission to let your mind run as it will into the uncharted corners of your thoughts where truths and fallacies loiter, waiting for both exposure and destruction?

I called my dad last Tuesday night and told him I was anxious. He reminded me of what he said when I was ten years old and off from school for two weeks and complaining that I was bored. “There is no such thing as boredom, only lazy minds,” but also, that any changing of scenery requires adjustment. What I was feeling wasn’t boredom, it was the lull that bridges a packed school schedule and the benign emptiness of two unplanned weeks. He was right. Within days, the mass of formless time started to feel like it was disappearing and before I could savor the quiet, I was back at school. As we get older, he told me, the bridging lulls stop looking like boredom and start to feel more intense. Like panic. Whether he’s right or wrong, it made me think that maybe I’m not anxious, so I stopped saying I am anxious and now I’m not. I don’t think. 

But back to that tension—last week was a tough one. I was confronted rather directly by my integrity as it told me I’m not living up to it. And it wasn’t The Negative Voices. It was right. For the thing I say I value most: to make people feel less alone and more understood, completely free to be, I’m not living up to the principle. I see how in a number of ways, the easiest to share being: when my husband hesitates to tell me that I’ve done something incorrectly (it can be as trivial as how I hook the toilet paper roll into the holder) because he’s not sure how I will respond. Or when my older brother calls my mom to criticize me because it’s easier than delivering the feedback directly. Per this brother, once my dad told me that sometimes I bite so hard in my evaluation of family members that even though he knows the intentions are pure, I make it impossible for anyone to hear me. I’d like to work on that.

My kids have lately been flocking to Abie like pigeons finding seeds during especially frantic bouts of the weekday morning hours, where I’m still trying to adjust to working from home, but not Being Home. What kind of two-year-olds so routinely exclaim, “No mommy, only daddy”? The kind, I guess, who find more comfort with the latter.

Less alone and more understood? Doesn’t seem like it.

I don’t feel bad for myself, to be clear. I’ve been saying this a lot lately. I guess because it sounds to me like I’m complaining, but I’m really not. Or maybe I am but don’t want to be—the point is, I don’t feel bad for myself. I would if I couldn’t see the disparity between me and what I call my integrity. If I kept on—floating above my body detached, too scared to look in the mirror and thus continually self-distracting but this, I think, is precisely what a slower pace brings. It’s Sunday right now. The 30th of March. I’m sitting on a white cushion speckled with black dots making up a constellation of stripes on a bench directly next to three panels of large windows that look out onto Centre Street between Grand and Howard Streets. There’s not a soul out there. I’m wearing beige sweatpants and black socks and a navy blue half zip. My hair is pulled back and there are exactly 7 rings on my fingers. Only one bracelet though.

A car just drove by, it was moving rather slowly. I wonder if its driver is adjusting to a new pace too. If she is evaluating this period as a silver lining opportunity to examine the features she’s either taken for granted or never cared to lift the lid on because she’s internalized these features as Things That Are True (or frankly, Not True). That’s what I’m doing. And it is worth mentioning that if we can assess this time as a silver lining opportunity, we are very, very lucky. Imagine the frontline heroes, those begging for their lives, or the lives of their loved ones. What a privilege to be able to think: am I proud of who I am?

One time I listened to someone say that to be an icon, you have to actually do the thing that makes you iconic. It seems this is true for whoever, whatever, however you say you are.

Except, I guess, for being human. We are all that. We might be far from ourselves, but deep deep deep deep (and in some cases, even deeper) inside every last one of us, there is a human either suffering as it attempts to break free, deteriorating or accelerating at the helm of this will, or flourishing because it already has. Today, I guess I’m asking, Who do you want to be?

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7 Days of Mirror Selfies and Endless Accompanying Thought Spirals

Putting on clothes has always been the primary vehicle for the expression of my identity—but only because of the dialogue it begets with other people’s eyeballs. I’m consistently eager to put thought into an outfit when I know it’s going to be seen by someone who will understand what I’m trying to say with it. Without that, though, I’m lazier than a squid on dry land, content to swaddle myself in my favorite Mets T-shirt and tattered sweatpants.

Indulging in this laziness has always felt like a luxury–a little reprieve from the impulse to wear things that actually mean something. But when, last week, I found myself staring down the barrel of doing so for an indefinite period, I wondered if what used to feel like a luxury would start to feel like an erosion of my sense of self. So I preemptively intervened, pitching a story wherein I would attempt to put effort into getting dressed every day for a week while quarantining at home and chronicle the experience in real time. Below, my outfit diary and all the accompanying thought spirals it (unsurprisingly) engendered.

WEDNESDAY

Today is my third day of not going to the office and, as fortune would have it, the first day when I actually get excited about the prospect of getting dressed just to sit at my kitchen table. All because Carrie Bradshaw poked her head up from the graveyard of defunct TV shows, tapped me on the shoulder, and basically said, “Hey! Try this!” This being gym shorts styled with a short-sleeve white cotton blouse–simple ingredients I already know I have in my closet. I put them on and I don’t feel like I truly nailed my WFH style (a little more midriff next time, perhaps?), but I do feel glad that I tried. I take a photo and post it to Instagram, just for fun.

Then I sit down at my kitchen table with a bowl of yogurt and a big spoonful of peanut butter and attempt to make eye contact with the back of Austin’s head. He is facing his two computer monitors in another part of the room, typing furiously. Maybe if I stare long enough he will turn around and tell me that he has a little bit of free time and would I like to have a conversation about our thoughts and feelings and, I don’t know, the pleasing symmetry of my face while we sip caffeinated beverages and ease into the day? No dice.

I work work work and work some more. I can’t decide if I’m more productive working from home or less. I definitely look at my phone more often, but I also have fewer distractions and therefore can work for longer stretches uninterrupted, so I’m fairly certain it evens out. I have approximately 1,000,000 Google Hangouts with my colleagues and no one mentions the fact that I am wearing a real shirt that is not pajama-adjacent for the first time this week. I’m mildly offended, but I miss them too much to mention it.

At the end of the day I take off the shirt and put on a sports bra and feel a sense of accomplishment that I am already wearing gym shorts, and therefore this is an honest-to-goodness work-to-workout-out ensemble. I do a quick workout video in my bedroom, but I sort of cheat during the hard parts because no one is there to tell me not to.

THURSDAY

I have to take a photo of my outfit today for Amalie because she’s rounding up our team’s #goingnowherebutfuckitimgettingdressed contributions, so the pressure is on, as they say in this biz. I stand in front of my closet with my hands on my hips like a sitcom mom. I want my outfit to “pop” but all of my “pop” clothes aren’t really things I would want to wear around my apartment all day and nowhere else. Every single pair of pants with a button and a zipper feels wrong. Every dress feels too fancy or too summery. I have a eureka moment when I realize my super cozy sweater pants that I bought long ago at a Rosie Assoulin sample sale perfectly coordinate with my favorite Tory Sport sweater and my striped Entireworld socks. If only I had infinite pairs of patterned sweater pants and corresponding knitwear/socks, I would hack comfortable home clothes that “pop” for eternity. Pop pop pop.

Austin comments on the fact that I’m wearing quote-on-quote real clothes and lest he suspect I’m dressing up just for his personal amusement, I assure him it’s only because I have to take a photo for work.

FRIDAY

Pants with buttons and zippers still feel wrong, so I pull on a pair of legging trousers. When I finish getting dressed, thanks to the addition of an oversized button-down layered over a striped T-shirt and pearls, I am devastated to discover that this is definitely an outfit that would look so much better with shoes. Ballet flats, perhaps. Or rhinestone-encrusted pumps (which I don’t own but now think I probably should). Given that in non-sequestered times I usually have the opposite problem–i.e. a penchant for coming up with outfits that are inevitably ruined as soon as I need to put on shoes–this feels like a particularly rich betrayal. I’ve never been more annoyed at my feet for resembling two hunks of dough, no rhinestones in sight.

I try to psych myself up on the fact that it’s finally Friday, but reading the news about so many New York hospitals running out of protective gear and digesting the uncertainty over how long we will be living like this leaves me feeling more anxious than anything else. I stop reading the news and start scouring the internet for personal essays, which I’ve been craving more and more during this time. Reading about someone else’s interior world seems to function as a quasi-buffer for the jumble of thoughts that have been ricocheting around relentlessly in my own.

After I finish work, I go on a walk. I’m still wearing the same outfit, and as I walk in circles around my neighborhood, I reach up to play with the pearls around my neck. I realize it’s the first accessory I’ve worn all week–strange to think about, since I normally wear jewelry every day.

SATURDAY

I wake up alone in bed and sleepily register that Austin must already be working. I scroll through Instagram until my wrists start to hurt, but at that point I have already come across my outfit inspiration for the day, courtesy of a follower who tagged me in their #stickofbutter ensemble. I go to my closet and put on my favorite yellow sweatshirt from Entireworld. I used to have matching sweatpants, but I can’t find them anywhere, which is a little spooky but mainly annoying. I put on pale yellow vintage Dries van Noten pants that I bought on The RealReal ages ago instead. I really like this outfit. It’s super comfortable and definitely conducive to a lazy Saturday that will inevitably be spent indoors while still looking somewhat intentional.

After I’m finished getting dressed, I peer outside my kitchen window and see people lining up six feet apart to enter the weekly farmer’s market that–to my surprise–is still open, despite everything going on. I’m comforted that customers are respecting the social-distancing rule, and that the local farmers, bakers, and butchers who routinely populate the market’s booths are able to continue selling, at least for now.

SUNDAY

I really don’t feel like wearing actual clothes today, so I change out of the T-shirt and boxer shorts I slept in and put on “fancy” pajamas–a matching floral set from Tanya Taylor. If I was going to put more effort into actually styling myself, I would also put on an oversized navy cardigan, my pearl necklace, and indoor loafers, but the effort of changing at all maxes out my emotional quota on this particular morning.

I receive an invitation to my own wedding in the mail–I sent it to myself just for fun, so I could have the experience of opening it. When I do, it feels bittersweet. One of my best friends just had to postpone her wedding from the first weekend in May, and even though mine isn’t until late June, I’m worried I’ll have to do the same.

I spend hours making chicken and rice soup with garlicky chili oil from scratch while Austin works. I don’t love cooking, but I’ve been doing it quite a lot over the past couple of weeks for obvious reasons. I also don’t love that the task of feeding us has consistently fallen on me, but I recognize this particular division of labor is objectively what makes the most sense for us right now given our respective working hours.

I’m stirring the garlic, still dressed in my fancy pajamas, when I receive a text message from a friend saying some really nice things about my writing–out-of-the-blue in the best kind of way. I read it multiple times and almost burn the garlic.

I wear the fancy pajamas to bed, another transitional outfit victory.

MONDAY

I’m not sure what comes over me, but today I accidentally dress like a creepy Nordic doll you might find in a grandmother’s attic (I concurrently muster the courage to wear pants with a zipper–finally). The silk scarf in my hair is slippery, and I can already tell I’m going to remove it after I take a mirror selfie. Its purpose is fleeting but straightforward: to mask the fact that I haven’t washed my hair in over a week.

With the scarf gone, the rest of the outfit suddenly feels kind of pointless. I gradually peel myself out of it and into other things over the course of the day, exchanging the trousers for sweatpants and the sweater for a fleece. I look like a slob, but at least I’m comfortable and no longer distracted by the literal and figurative friction of an outfit that isn’t quite landing.

I open up my mail and one of the things I receive is a “juror qualification questionnaire” from the city of New York. I’ve never served on a jury before, and I wonder what it would be like to do so when most of the city is shuttered.

Later, Austin sits across from me at the kitchen table to eat a bowl of leftover chicken and rice soup for lunch. It’s piping hot because I heated it up for him on the stove. Each time he bends over to blow on the spoon, he reflexively places his other hand over his heart like he’s holding something there.

TUESDAY

It took me seven whole days to come up with an outfit that actually feels like it encapsulates my WFH style. I’ve accepted the fact that real pants are definitely not part of that equation, so I’ll be living in jogger-type silhouettes like these for the foreseeable future. A graphic T-shirt is perfect because it retains all the properties of… a T-shirt… while still looking somewhat “designed.” I probably won’t wear the jacket all day, but putting it on for a little bit has a grounding effect. The only blight upon this look is my hair, which I still haven’t washed, and I don’t think the ponytail is helping.

I write some copy for Man Repeller’s new text service, Thoughtline. Then I remember I haven’t brushed my teeth yet today, so I go do that and then sit back down at my kitchen table and for 10 seconds I wonder if I subconsciously forgot to brush my teeth when I woke up just so I would have an excuse to go on an excursion later in the day. An excuse to walk from one room of my apartment to another? I’m losing it.

When I’m back at my “desk,” I open up the WordPress link to a story I’m writing about celebrity antics during quarantine, but I keep getting distracted by the feeling of the graphic photo on my T-shirt rubbing up against my braless skin. I realize I have a choice: I can put on a bra, or I can change into a different shirt. I opt for the latter.

See All 17

I lie in bed later that night, reflecting on what it was like to try putting thought into my homebound outfits for the past seven days, and come to the conclusion that although it was an interesting experiment, I’d ultimately rather just wear plaid flannel lounge pants and an oversized sweatshirt on repeat. I’m about to start psychoanalyzing whether that impulse conflicts with certain self-identified characteristics about myself that I have historically cherished–a deep curiosity about the ways in which style and self intersect, a longstanding appreciation for the creative outlet of getting dressed, a dogged desire to comb through photos of Claire Waight Keller’s old Chloe collections for hours–when I feel my inbox ping with an incoming message.

It’s a calendar invite from Gyan reminding me–and a handful of other team members–that tomorrow is the first day we need to submit a photo for the second round of (Out of) Office Apropos (first batch is here if you missed it). In other words, at least one more day of putting thought into my homebound style is ahead of me. I suppose it’s just as the saying goes–when you make plans (to wear plaid flannel lounge pants and an oversized sweatshirt on repeat), God (or at the very least, our editorial calendar) laughs.

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Snack Reviews: Taste-Testing Your Most Controversial Food Combinations

Two things happened between the day I agreed to review Man Repeller readers’ favorite “odd snack combinations,” and the day I actually sat down to do it.

The first: I spent 10 days with my parents, who were on a militant cleanse. Their routine involved living on the edge of voluntary starvation until, a couple times each day, they would totter out from their office to prepare small meals of blended greens and “mushroom loaf,” like members of some late-1960s commune that everybody suspected was a cult. At one point, I saw my own father, 63, become downright giddy at the mere idea of a chocolate chip.

The second: New York closed up shop. I made it back to my apartment in Manhattan just in time to hole up with the essentials I’d need to carry out my promise: Funfetti frosting, a variety of chips, pickles, a family-sized vat of sour cream.

So that was the state I found myself in—suddenly isolated, looking like a shipwreck victim in days-old pajama pants I’d stolen from a friend in 2015, grateful for my groceries, and having consumed no added sugar for weeks—when I first dipped a Nacho Cheese Dorito into frosting, Snack One of Seven I’d committed to review. And my, my, my, was it a wild ride from there on out. My initial tasting note read simply, “Granulated sugar is fucking perfect!!”

Below, please find a more even-keeled and detailed account, ranked from worst to best snack combination.

7. “Nacho Cheese Doritos Dipped into Funfetti Frosting”

Tasting Notes: If you’ve had two beloved friends from different walks of your life start to date—and then found the new couple insufferable—you’ve basically dipped a Nacho Cheese Dorito into a can of Funfetti frosting. On its own, a jar of Funfetti frosting presents so many existential questions, packaged, as it is, with the sprinkles neatly separated: Is the frosting without its fetti just fun? Should said fetti be mixed into the fun, at the risk of manhandling each sprinkle and mashing it into neon-toned bits? Or should the fetti be sprinkled atop each frosting-covered bite? I tried this snack combination both ways, and I’m disappointed to report that like most things in life, the answers bear no consequence (time is a continuous spectrum, etc etc, ad infinitum).

What I’m trying to say: This snack bummed me out. Coating a perfect chip like an NCD with frosting neither heightened each component’s best qualities nor mitigated the unpleasant ones (like chemical-y aftertastes). I tried it with just the tiniest schmear of frosting, like I was buttering toast for a child with tummy troubles, but even that amount of Funfetti rendered the cheesiness of the chips completely null.

Would I Eat Again: I so badly wanted to make this combination work, but no—unless I get really high or run out of my other rations.

6. “Sweet Pickle and Potato Chip Sammy”

Tasting Notes: This snack combination intrigued me, largely because it sounded like the logline for a straight-to-streaming film about fun-loving neighbors up to no good. It also plays on the sweet-and-salty tune that’s long been the theme song of my snacking game, as well as one of my core religious beliefs.

Here’s the thing: The experience of building a tiny sandwich out of any ingredients is delightful. But must we construct these tiny sandwiches? I’m not saying the Sweet P&PC was awful—in fact, texturally speaking, it was so much fun—but the ratio of sweetness to saltiness was not ideal, because the pickle chip was three times thicker than any of the potato chips I tried: Sour Cream and Onion Ruffles, Doritos, tortilla chips.

Worried I was misinterpreting the reader submission, I also tried this with two pickle chips, which served as the sammy’s “bread,” and one potato chip serving as the sammy’s “innards.” That trial was a disaster, all gooey-sweet-softness and me gagging over a trash can.

Would I Eat Again: I would not. But—but!—I might experiment with less sweet plays on the pickle portion. Maybe a potato chip-cabbage kimchi sammy, with a subtle sweetness from the cabbage but none of the treacliness.

5. “Peaches with Cream Cheese”

Tasting Notes: Peaches with cream cheese did not change my life. I would say that they didn’t even change my day, except that this snack combination led me down a rabbit hole of early 2000s music videos. This was considerably more exciting and prurient than my reality (still social distancing in unwashed pants, except at this point they also had a smudge of Funfetti on them).

But the snack itself was only good, not great. The beauty of a peach lies in the overlay of sweetness, juiciness, and tartness. Adding cream cheese into the mix means adding velvety richness, sure, but also a slight sour tang. The peaches, already tart, didn’t need a second, dissonant acid—they needed only the rich creaminess, and if anything else, a touch more sweetness, since they weren’t peak-season. A more suitable partner for fresh peaches would’ve been whipped cream or vanilla yogurt.

Would I Eat Again: I might try peaches and cream cheese again if the cream cheese in question were one of those freewheeling sweet flavors you only ever see on a passerby’s rainbow bagel.

4. “Carrots and Peanut Butter”

Tasting Notes: I once heard a rumor in college that The Artist Formerly Known as Prince went to the restaurant Butter—which at the time, had been recently featured on Gossip Girl, and so was the subject of almost all conversation—and brought along his personal chef. According to the lore, Prince’s chef entered the kitchen and assumed a place at the hot station, to prepare the only food Prince wanted to consume: sautéed baby carrots. This story is dubious at best, but as a Prince devotee, I’ve clung hard to it. As a result, I have a real fondness for baby carrots.

Accordingly, I tried this snack combination first with baby Cs, before giving it a go with horse carrots, unpeeled then peeled. While it was best with the babes—unexpectedly mellifluous, with just enough crunch and creaminess—I’d contend that this concept would play out ideally with a carrot coin, for a better ratio of veg to nut butter. This is great news for carrot coins, which up until this point have served as disappointing players in canned soups (why can’t they be carrot chunks??).

All in all, the carrot and PB combination had ants-on-a-log vibes with a little more je ne sais quoi, and zero raisins. But in spite of celery generally sucking, the carrot substitution still felt like a bit of a mismatch, failing to complement peanut butter as well as mayo complements hot sauce, or John complements Chrissy.

Would I Eat Again: I mean, peanut butter spread onto melted plastic would still be delicious, so sure, I’d eat it on carrots.

3. “Cheez-Its Dipped in Sour Cream”

Tasting Notes: My baseline love of Cheez-Its is fervent and well documented. I’ve amortized entire flights purely on the basis of free bags of Cheez-Its consumed. I would dip Cheez-Its into a puddle of fetid swamp water, probably. So to say that I was excited to try this snack combination would be a massive understatement. To say I sent my mom a calendar invite to watch me try this snack combination over FaceTime would be, well, closer to the money, but more socially pathetic than I’m willing to disclose at this time. So let’s move on, quickly.

Now, was the sum of the parts better than the individual components? Not necessarily. But there was nothing not to like about making Cheez-Its even more pleasurable with a tiny, velvety jacket that tasted almost neutral (not sour) against the tang of the ‘Itz. The rich got richer, and all that. Plus, the ‘Itz themselves could be used to scoop, which was nice and efficient and required no washing of a side spoon.

Would I Eat Again: Hell yeah.

2. “Grilled Cheese with Bananas In It”

Tasting Notes: You may want to sit down for this. (Who am I kidding, it’s self-quarantine, we’re all sitting, all of the time—you’re probably still in bed, for the love of God. That’s fine. I validate your choices.)

Okay, so this RULED. This is not an elaborate prank. The sandwich was perfect. I used Dave’s Killer Bread in whole grain, American cheese singles, banana sliced about one quarter-inch thick, and vegan butter on the outside, because I gravitate toward chaos.

The end product was savory and just the littlest bit sweet, with the banana pieces themselves somehow reminiscent of a street crêpe despite being swaddled by processed cheese rather than chocolate. Conceptually, the sandwich reminded me of this divisive Poilâne avocado-banana tartine, which asks nicely that you suspend your preconceived notions about ingredient pairings. In the case of this grilled cheese, the asking is less nice, and you will not regret having acquiesced.

Would I Eat Again: Not only would I eat this again, I already have eaten it again, twice in two days. This sandwich is easily my favorite discovery of self-quarantine, which is saying a lot since I recently learned there’s an Instagram account with the handle @cakefucker.

1. “Pringles Original and Nutella”

Tasting Notes: At the risk of public hatred, I will admit that in the past, Pringles have been a snack I’ve relegated to panic-eating on road trips when all other chips supplies dwindled. Even though they’re salty, and that’s good, I’ve always felt they lacked the structural integrity I want—NEED—in a chip. Also, they leave a fuzzy after-feel in my mouth.

For those reasons, my expectations were low as I transferred a spoonful of Nutella from its plastic jar to my pre-selected chip, which couldn’t be dipped directly into the Nutella due to the aforementioned flimsiness. (Sending a Pringle into a vat of Nutella and expecting it to come out in one piece would be like trying to hammer a nail into cement with an iPhone screen.)

So imagine my glee when the resulting snack was easily the most exquisite of the bunch, a queen among pretenders, a veritable cronut among stale Safeway croissants (no offense, grilled cheese with bananas, still luv u lots). The degree to which the Pringle tasted like straight sodium was perfectly matched by the near-cloying sweetness of processed hazelnut spread, and together, the two lifted into the air and performed a pas de deux worthy of any snacking hour, anywhere, but especially in my mouth.

Would I Eat Again: It would be my honor.

Have a hot (or cold) tip for our Snacks Critic? You can follow Ella on Instagram and Twitter, or leave her a comment below.

Photos by Cody Guilfoyle. Prop Styling by Kalen Kaminski. Featuring Fendi shoes.

The post Snack Reviews: Taste-Testing Your Most Controversial Food Combinations appeared first on Man Repeller.

An Anthropological Catalogue of Celebrity Quarantine Antics

Thanks to social media, we know a great deal about famous people’s lives. We know what they like to eat for breakfast and where they keep their shoes. We know what the inside of their homes look like and whether they have good taste in books. We know the kind of voice they use when they talk to their pets and how it differs from the kind of voice they use when they’re recording a front-facing video about their skincare routines. Until recently, one of the few things we didn’t know is how they would react to being cooped up during a global pandemic–but thanks again to social media, we now have an inkling.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been equal parts alarmed, delighted, confused, and intrigued by the antics of various celebrities. These antics, if I had to guess, are the unmoored sum of feeling a call to provide fodder for entertainment (their profession, after all) in a world where all their previous mechanisms for doing so (talk shows, red carpets, concerts, film sets) have suddenly been removed. Like kids trying to bicycle without training wheels for the first time, they have wobbled along intrepidly, producing content that will surely, mostly go down in history as endearingly unhinged.

In an attempt to catalogue it for posterity, I have tallied up some salient highlights below.

WFH Style, Celebrity Edition

I honestly don’t even remember who I was before I was a person who knew what celebrities’ performative home clothes really looked like. This knowledge has transformed me wholly and completely, leading me to ask myself questions like, Do I need a sparkly rainbow caftan to wear while I draw myself an evening bath? Is now the time to wash my sneakers even though they’re the only shoes I’m actually putting on these days? Should I DM Ellen DeGeneres and ask her if she knows what a #stickofbutter is? I will likely be parsing these queries for weeks to come, but in the meantime, it’s mildly comforting that even famous people’s brains turn into peach purée when confronted with the aim of feeling comfortable and looking presentable at the same time.

Your syllabus:

January Jones wearing a sparkly rainbow caftan and a T-shirt tucked into sweatpants

Mindy Kaling wearing “Google Hangout couture” (a.k.a. professional on top, pajamas on the bottom)

Ellen DeGeneres wearing a yellow sweatsuit

Christopher Meloni wearing a “quarantine kilt”

Cardi B’s impressively long electric blue fingernails

Sam Neill’s freshly washed sneakers

John Legend and Chrissy Teigen in bathleisure

Music to My Ears (Sometimes)

I imagine the requisite 6,000-word think pieces about Gal Godot’s “Imagine” compilation are already in the process of being written, so I won’t delve too deeply into those waters except to say that no matter how you feel about the video itself, do you agree with my hypothesis that celebrities on social media during quarantine are gradually inching close to a 21st-century equivalent of medieval bards?!? No elaborate sound systems or stages, just a bunch of entertainers armed with nothing but their voices and maybe the occasional piano or guitar, making music (generous in some cases, I know) that captures–for better or for worse–this particular moment in time. Am I onto something, or was it a bad idea for me to start the first Game of Thrones book last week?

Your syllabus:

Anthony Hopkins serenading his cat Niblo, who apparently demanded it

John Legend, Chrissy Teigen, and occasionally Luna serenading the internet

JoJo sharing a new version of ‘Leave (Get Out),’ fittingly titled ‘Chill (Stay In)’

Neil Diamond remixing ‘Sweet Caroline’ (“hands… washing hands”)

Gal Godot and her celebrity friends singing verses from “Imagine”

Rita Wilson rapping “Hip Hop Hooray”

Choose Your Own A-List Adventure

If, centuries from now, scholars are studying the year 2020, I would like them to know there are certain pieces of celebrity content that are not easy to unpack, but that is precisely why they were (are) so important. I couldn’t even begin to explain why Cardi B decided to run head-first into a tower of Jenga blocks, or why Martha Stewart needs 23 different kinds of copper pots, and yet I do feel enriched in addition to confused.

Your syllabus:

Cardi B running into a Jenga block tower

Elizabeth Banks cheers’ing with paloma cocktail

Kelly Clarkson admitting she had to use her toddler’s toilet

Gabby Sidibe letting her cat choose what to watch on Netflix

Lizzo’s meditation and mantra

Madonna in the bath

Martha Stewart with all her pots

So tell me, what are your thoughts on the truly bananas celebrity content that has rained like popcorn dust from the heavens over the past couple of weeks? The good, the bad, the ugly–let’s hear it.

Graphics by Lorenza Centi.

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