Leandra Medine's Blog, page 358

I’m Going Public With My UTI Woes

I had my first UTI as a freshman in college.

Earlier that year, I spent countless hours in self-imposed quarantine inside a dorm room in Penfield Hall while my three closest friends and I painstakingly combed lice out of one another’s hair. We had come to discover that we were all plagued with nits, and as a result, were sentenced to spend our freshmen evenings with a spread of fine-tooth combs and special shampoo. We locked the door, because we would obviously never make the right friends, kiss the right boys or join the cool normcore acapella clubs if we became the lice girls (I’m currently violating our pledge of secrecy; sorry guys).

As it turns out, UTIs are not so different. Sure there are no bugs, shampoos or risk of contagion, but we are equally reluctant to speak out loud about our urinary tracts. In spite of their frequency, their complete and total normalcy, UTIs are not a hot topic of conversation. As someone who suffers from UTIs all too frequently, this is truly a tragedy.

When I contracted my first UTI, I was under the impression that there was an actual alien growing in my stomach. To make matters worse, it felt like someone had cruelly replaced my urine with Tabasco sauce. The pain was so startling, I convinced myself (with some added intel from WebMD) that I probably had Dengue Fever.

I was prescribed two antibiotics: one for the pain, one to fight the infection. The pain pills, as most women are likely aware (I was not), turn your pee a hideous, fluorescent orange. It’s Jolly Rancher urine.

I had never heard women complain openly about UTIs. I didn’t understand what they were, what they signified or what they felt like. I was embarrassed to share the diagnosis with friends (or pee in public places, for that matter). I figured it made me gross, slutty, unkempt — all labels I hoped to avoid with the same frantic fervor as lice girl.

That first UTI somehow opened the floodgates to a litany follow-ups. It was like the UTI version of “breaking the seal.” They seemed to pop up reliably every couple of months, no matter how frequently I peed, how much water I drank or how religious I was about clean underwear.

There was the plane ride to Copenhagen, where I stood up to pee so many times, I developed a casual conversational relationship with the man who sat in the row nearest the bathroom (he kept giving me these knowing little head nods, as if we were in on something together). There was the time I ran into the boy I wanted to kiss from my music theory class while I was squatting, arms around my knees, between stacks of books on the second floor of the library, hoping that if I ground my teeth hard enough, the Tabasco-sauce sensation would fade. I muttered, “Nice place to think,” or something equally bizarre, by way of explanation (I never kissed him).

During my junior year, I contracted a UTI while doing research in Varanasi, India. The sting began merely hours after bathing in the holy Ganges River. Locals from all over the country spent hours, days, weeks even, making pilgrimages to pray beside these waters — so skipping my chance to bathe in the river was definitely not an option (at the time I was operating under some sort of live fast/die young mentality). To call the water unclean would be the understatement of the century: I watched a dead goat float past while I was submerged. In short, I pretty much deserved the UTI that time around.

I had a hard time communicating my problem to local medical professionals. My Hindi was fairly respectable, but I had yet to learn the words for “urinary tract.” I was given a powder to drink with purified water that looked a bit like turmeric and a bit like molding rust. The drink, however, came only after a firm scolding from a woman wrapped in a traditional Rajasthani sari. I wasn’t sure what she’d said, exactly, but the sentiment was clear: This is an unclean disease for unclean girls.

In my 22 years, I have likely spent hundreds of dollars on coffees I had no desire to drink, purely in the interest of using cafe bathrooms in moments of fiery UTI panic. On more than one occasion, I have Postmate-ed over-the-counter UTI relief pills to my place of work. And at bars, I have responsibly ordered many a vodka-cranberry to promote urinary tract health. I’m not alone in my suffering: According to my current gynecologist/life coach, UTIs account for over 8.1 million annual hospital visits in the U.S. Numerically, that is the entire population of New York City — a metropolis of aching UTI victims.

This is an era of gloriously open dialog about our methods of birth control. An era of wielding our tampons while we walk to our office bathrooms, rather than hiding them up our sleeves. We’re supposed to be reclaiming our bodies, our definitions of femininity, our womanhood. Why not start with our urinary tracts? Who’s with me?!

Collage by Maria Jia Ling Pitt. 

The post I’m Going Public With My UTI Woes appeared first on Man Repeller.

How to Dress in All One Color Without Looking Like a Crayon

There is a game I like to play with fashion’s new penchant for tonal-blocking (when you dress head-to-toe in different shades of the same color), called: Which fruit are you? A lemon, perhaps. Maybe a raspberry. You could go fully grape, like ladies of a certain d’age for whom the British term ‘grape spotting’ was coined. OR. How about a tomato? (Yes, you heathens, it is a fruit.) Because tonal blocking is having a moment. Every fashion magazine editorial this spring advises dressing head-to-toe in (millennial) pink. It’s ‘a Look’ with a capital L, as my friend Monica would say — but how truly wearable is the solo-color thing?

As it turns out, wearing one color OOE* is not *that* wildly weird. At least for me. I’ve loved tonal blocking for ages and felt a vague familiarity when plotting my fruity ensembles. I’m old; I thought it just might be the passage of time rippling through my gnarled limbs. But look what the Internet threw up! Mid-twenties Pandora, enjoying red and burgundy (for timescale reference, she is now 30-year-old Pandora. With a tendency to third personify.)

It was pretty easy to choose the colors I’d dedicate outfits to. I wear a ton of red, I love yellow and, well, pink — there’s no escaping it. It would be irresponsible to try. I was tempted to throw white into the mix, because I particularly enjoy wearing this doublet at the moment, but I thought some smartass might tell me that white is by definition the absence of color.

Melissa Pinkstone leather coat, Mochi Flamenca earrings, vintage T-shirt, Bliss & Mischief jeans via MATCHESFASHION.COM, Petar Petrov boots

A tip: When tonal blocking, make sure one thing does not match. It throws your outfit ‘off’ and ensures that the “love your fancy dress!” comments are kept to a bare minimum. Typically, I would say lose the matching shoes, but in this case I knew, I JUST KNEW, that my red Petar Petrov boots (complete with rum stains) would go swimmingly with my red, leather Melissa Pinkstone coat and a pair of really comfortable Bliss & Mischief jeans (I love Bliss & Mischief, Hillary’s whole range is spectacular.) Lilac isn’t my usual jam, but I bought this vintage T-shirt recently for £8 on Portobello Road (forever my favorite spot for vintage shopping and, helpfully, on my doorstep) and I really like how it works with brighter colors.

The eagle-eyed among you will spot that I am toting a cup of coffee, the ever-popular street-style prop. I wanted you to see the smudge of red lipstick on the rim, thus bringing the ‘red count’ to six. It felt meta, or in some way a commitment to the cause. The coffee was nice, though; I bought it from the place you see in the photo because I wanted to keep my steps really, really low that day. (It’s not a competition or anything, but my Health app states that 24,000 steps is my record high and 232 my record low. WBU? Please tell me in the comments section. I’m curious and not ashamed about this.)

I would swap the tee and coat for this Topshop red-and-white striped shirtdress, worn with the jeans. Or, because spring is still fucking cold over in London, this fluffy, tomato red Ganni jumper.

Marni crepe blouse, Rebecca de Ravenel earrings via MATCHESFASHION.COM, vintage dress, MR by Man Repeller mules

For the pink look, I almost shot this Marques’Almeida pink shirt and these Petar Petrov pink trousers, but I wanted one of the outfits to feature a dress to show that tonal blocking can be femme, too. I bought this floral tea dress a few months ago and typically, I like to contrast its tissue-paper fragility with enormously chunky black Ellery boots. But it also works well with a layer underneath — in the same way that nineties boy-band members found a long-sleeved tee worked wonders under their short-sleeved tee. Pleats abound at the moment, and I love the salmon-y blush hue of this Marni blouse. These mules are designed by Leandra, but this is not hashtag spon. I’m just trying to suck up to her. Joking! Or am I? I’m generally a fan of dresses worn over trousers but something about the silhouette of this dress just didn’t work with these bubblegum Gucci pants. Best to endeavour only with dresses free of nips and darts.

Loewe coat via Net-a-Porter.com, Marques’Almeida taffeta blouse via MATCHESFASHION.COM, Topshop trousers, Staud bag, Céline pumps

And finally, my favorite: me, freshly hatched, like the baby-bird emoji. Like I said, pleats are full-throttle right now and I’ve double dropped here with Loewe’s pleated coat and Marques’Almeida’s pleated blouse. Full disclosure, I don’t know how comfortable I’d feel taking the underground in this (it’s verging on a total Look), but the way the various hues clash with one another — lemon, canary, egg yolk and mustard — does something for my soul. Incidentally, this Staud bag is a real crowd-pleaser. I get comments on it everywhere I go. You’ll note for once (very un-me), I avoided earrings. It felt like overkill. As for shoes, yellow and purple work well together. Just ask Celine.

Bye!

Formerly the Fashion Features Editor and Wardrobe Mistress columnist at London’s The Sunday Times, Pandora is a freelance journalist, brand consultant, stylist and co-host of news/pop-culture podcast The High Low with Dolly Alderton. Read Pandora’s work at pandorasykes.com or follow her on Instagram @pandorasykes and Twitter @pinsykes. Photos by Frances Davison.

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Who Let Us Do This? Our Worst-Ever Haircuts

In journalism class, you learn to attack the six W’s first: Who, What, Where, When, Why and hoW? These basics help you tell your story so that the reader gets all the facts. It’s a useful formula for other things as well, like event invitations, phone call grilling tactics (frequently used by moms) and bad haircuts.

Oh yes.

Every time I come across a photo of myself from the age of baby-bald to straightened-bangs-plus-mousse-waves, the first I think is, Why, god, why? Then I ask, Who let this happen? Followed by, What was I thinking; Where did I go looking like this; When was this photo taken; How did I react upon various interactions with mirrors?

Because we had so much fun sharing our prom photos with you (and more than that, looking at all of yours in the comments), we figured there was no better time than to hair our dirty laundry among the Man Repeller public. Enjoy the slideshow above, and please, for the sake of community, tell us about your worst-ever cuts into the comments.

The post Who Let Us Do This? Our Worst-Ever Haircuts appeared first on Man Repeller.

W Magazine’s Jewelry Editor is Making “Ladylike” Fun Again

In today’s edition of What to Wear This Week, Grace Fuller, Jewelry Editor at W Magazine and founder of CINQUE, breaks down the mechanics of what she wears and why.

What do you think about when you get dressed in the morning?

Not much. I just go with what feels good. Recently, I’ve been focused on comfort. I love something that I can feel great in all day, like my Cinque robe coats, jeans and boots.

Before going out?

Lipstick.

Do you start from the shoes and then work your way up, or clothes and then down?

Shoes are always the last and hardest part.

How does living in NYC influence your style? What about where you’re from or where you grew up?

I love and respect the sleek, serious nature with which New York women dress. I’m from Philly and personally love to wear color and exuberant shapes. NYC dressing makes me want to head to the tropics.

Help! One transition-weather dressing tip:

I don’t own a raincoat so I’m not a good reference point for mid-season style.

What do you like your outfits to say about you?

I wish they said I’m practical, efficient, organized and disciplined, however, I think they scream quite the opposite. I feel as though each day my outfits take on a new persona: sometimes classic, sometimes bohemian, sometimes influenced by travel, friends or conversations.

What’s your foolproof styling trick?

Smile!

The one garment that never lets you down?

Commando-brand thongs.

What item of clothing makes you feel most like yourself? Why?

Floral, long, flowing dresses because you can dress them up or down, toughen them up and make them appropriate for any situation.

At what point in your life did you really start to come into your own in terms of personal style?

I’m still coming to terms with and accepting my style. Confidence can be an ongoing, active effort. Fashion week is the most intimidating and scariest week for me, and somehow I always get sick during it. To be honest, I don’t think I’m there yet.

How do accessories change an outfit?

Just envision wearing a white T-shirt. And then envision wearing it with a draping, wide-brimmed sun hat. Accessories change everything.

How does working in fashion influence your daily style?

It’s a pressure cooker. We all have our own personal style, but the constant commentary affects you and, for better or worse, shapes you.

What are your favorite three places on the Internet to get inspired?

Pinterest, WMagazine.com, ReadCereal.com

What about three favorite places in the city (or the world) to get inspired?

India, Mexico, Hawaii

Best song to get dressed to?

“Snow (Hey Oh)” by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Follow Grace on Instagram @gracefuller, CINQUE @cinqueworld and W Magazine @wmag. Photos by Edith Young.

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Did Anna Wintour Inspire Carrie Bradshaw’s Style?

I spent the past week pouring through photos of Anna Wintour from the ‘80s and ‘90s, which led me to a very important conspiracy theory that I can’t stop thinking about. Have I built up enough suspense? Okay here it is: I’m pretty sure Anna Wintour’s pre-millennium outfits were the inspiration for Carrie Bradshaw’s wardrobe in Sex and the City.

Comparing these two women is interesting. Though I realize one is fictional, they are both ascribed an almost mythical authority when it comes to style — and they, in turn, have a relationship with style that borders on reverence.

“Fearless” and “timeless” are two adjectives frequently used to describe Carrie Bradshaw’s style, which is interesting because those characteristics rarely coexist in fashion. You’re either experimental or classic, but Carrie (a.k.a. legendary SATC stylist Patricia Field) merged them and somehow replicated that formula again and again. ’80s to ’90s Anna was no different. Her style was “of the time” while also being utterly apart from it: sequin mini dresses, statement blazers, enormous fur coats, silk slips and pops of color administered in generous doses, the entirety of which was also subsequently on display in Carrie’s laughably large walk-in closet.

I could easily copy and paste these outfits into 2017 and they would resonate just as acutely, perhaps because of their mutual aversion to overt trendiness. “Trends is a dirty word,” Anna once said to Tim Blanks. I can just as easily picture Carrie’s infamous voiceover saying the same: “I couldn’t help but wonder, is ‘trends’ a dirty word?” (She would likely tie this philosophy to shoes, dating, Magnolia cupcakes and Miranda’s hair in the same breath.)

Both Anna and Carrie exhibit a flagrant, almost joyful disregard for the notion that an interest in fashion should in any way minimize your intellect or undermine your authority. Anna said as much plainly when she wrote in Vogue about Hillary Clinton turning down a cover shoot: “The notion that a contemporary woman must look mannish in order to be taken seriously as a seeker of power is frankly dismaying.” (I don’t think she means “mannish” in the literal sense, but more so as a catch-all, stereotyped characterization for deliberately demonstrating a lack of interest in fashion).

Anna took over as editor in chief of Vogue in 1988, which means all of the photos included in this story were taken during her early years at its helm. While she proceeded to cement her jurisdiction as arguably the most important figure in the fashion industry, she dressed herself in technicolor dream minis, prints worthy of a chic grandmother’s living-room wallpaper, neon shifts, Barbie-pink suits and necklines that were decidedly, for lack of a better word, sexy. She was a walking testament to the fact that you can have fun with fashion and still demand to be taken seriously.

Ditto for Carrie. Granted, she isn’t the editor of Vogue, but she is a complex human woman with ideas and thoughts and a career and a life, a woman who is so much more than the outfits she unapologetically enjoys putting together.

She defends her right to do so, too: in a Season 6 scene when her short-lived boyfriend Jack Berger makes fun of her hat in the middle of a fight, she retorts, “It’s fabulous and you just said that to hurt my feelings. FAB-U-LOUS.” She takes the hat off, though, which always needles my empathy to watch, knowing full well what it’s like to be made to feel small for loving something often deemed superficial.

Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the tweed elephant in the room. I can’t write about Anna Wintour’s wild ’80s to ‘90s style without acknowledging the fact that it ultimately evolved into something less experimental. The Anna Wintour of today is noticeably more consistent with what she wears than the Anna Wintour of yore. She has a go-to uniform: black sunglasses + a dress that hits at mid-shin + a coordinating sweater or tweed jacket. Plus a long coat with a fur collar if it’s cold.

So what gives? What happened to the neon and the sequins and the athleisure? Why did she stop experimenting and start relying on a formula? If I had to guess, she finally hit upon the precise combination of clothing that makes her feel like the best version of herself. There is pleasure to be had in the process of uncovering that template (I’m certainly not ready to stop yet), but there is also something equally wonderful about recognizing that someone has found it. I can’t help but wonder (sorry — had to), if we ever had the chance to watch Carrie grow past middle age, might she make the same discovery? I’m personally rooting for the naked dress.

Photos via Getty Images. 

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I Tried the Jennifer Aniston Diet, and the Results Were Chilling

I’m about to be the first writer in the history of magazine journalism to refer to Jennifer Aniston as “an enigma,” but, well… JENNIFER ANISTON IS AN ENIGMA.

When I volunteered to attempt a Jennifer Aniston Diet, which, in Man Repeller-speak, refers to the practice of living, eating, sleeping and breathing like Jennifer Aniston for an allotted period of time, I went into it feeling pretty cocky. This isn’t my first time at the celebrity diet rodeo, after all. I’ve done Amy, Ellen, Anna, Hillary and Gwyneth. Adopting the lifestyle of yet another A-lister with nice highlights would be easier than riding a bike with training wheels, a memory-foam butt cushion and a basket filled with organic fruit snacks, right? Wrong.

I innocently kicked off the process the same way I always do, by purchasing my subject’s favorite foods and beverages. In Jen’s case, this meant Ezekiel bread, avocados, chicken burgers, oatmeal (which she sometimes cooks with an egg white for “extra protein” — a trick relayed to her by none other than husband/protein aficionado Justin Theroux) and Smartwater. Lots and lots of Smartwater.

Jen is an ambassador for Smartwater, meaning Smartwater pays her a likely exorbitant sum to star in all its ad campaigns and make statements like, “I drink three to four 23-ounce bottles of Smartwater a day.” I am an ambassador for Smartwater in the sense that I often pay what is definitively an exorbitant price for one 23-ounce bottle that I promptly guzzle and then keep at my desk to refill with plebeian tap from the sink. In other news, apparently margaritas and guacamole are Jen’s so-called indulgences, which is great because my roommate’s birthday dinner took place at a Mexican restaurant in the midst of this exercise, and I made sure to indulge accordingly.

In addition to Smartwater, Jen is also ambassador for the beauty company Aveeno, so I picked up a bottle of its Nourishing Coconut Skin Relief Body Wash at my local teen hangout, also popularly known as Duane Reade. After soaping up in the shower, I sniffed my armpit and contemplated whether I was smelling what Justin Theroux smells when he climbs into bed and nuzzles his gelled locks against Jen’s perfect left nipple.

Now is the point in this article where I discuss Jennifer Aniston’s nipples — because they are indeed perfect and worthy of their own chapter. You may skip this section if you choose, especially if you’re my dad, in which case you most definitely should.

I think I’ve waited my whole life to wax poetic about Jennifer Aniston’s nipples. Okay, that’s an exaggeration: I’ve waited 10 years, which is the amount of time since I first watched Friends and became acquainted with their iconic protrusion. Jen’s nipples were the real star of that popular sitcom, if you ask me. At the very least, I would have preferred Monica to marry them instead of Chandler, but that’s a diatribe for another time.

The nipples make many an appearance throughout the show — in tank tops, slip dresses, you name it. They were and continue to be phenomenon — with actual Facebook pages, Twitter accounts and YouTube montages devoted to them — so I couldn’t, in good conscience, complete a Jennifer Aniston Diet without paying proper homage.

Conveniently, I happen to work alongside a bonafide fake-nipple expert. No, not Samantha Jones, silly goose — Amelia Christina Diamond. She’s taken a plastic pair around the block more than a few times in her day and very generously agreed to loan me some for my own journalistic research.

I donned the fake nipples underneath a white, ribbed tank top — a Jennifer wardrobe staple (don’t worry, I will fully unpack her outfit proclivities in a minute, but right now it’s Nipple Time). I’ve got to admit, they looked pretty good. They certainly felt good — like my own set of lighthouses guiding ships upon the horizon. I took them for an outing to my local coffee shop, where I dared myself to say, “It’s kind of nippy out, isn’t it? I think I’ll do a hot coffee instead of iced.” Don’t worry, dad, I chickened out.

I was very excited to tackle Jennifer’s signature style because it is markedly different from my own. While my inner style monologue frequently seems to be an echo chamber of, Can I add three necklaces to that? And maybe some popsicle-red shoes?, Jen’s is a toast to laid-back, California cool. It is the definition of “easy dressing”: stick-straight hair, blue jeans, plain James Perse T-shirts and tank tops, aviator sunglasses and little black dresses galore.

When I put on a white tank top and jeans and nothing else besides my vigorously straightened blonde locks, I felt more naked than when I’m at the doctor’s office. I snuck on a pair of “un-Jen” yellow slippers as a compromise. Such a Phoebe move.

The naked feeling only intensified that night, when I donned a stretchy, form-fitting, one-shoulder LBD from American Apparel in an attempt to channel Jen’s look from the recent Leftovers premiere. I bought the dress at the beginning of my freshman year of college after deciding I needed more “going out” clothes, as one does. It hasn’t seen daylight (or night light) in half a decade and frankly I’m shocked it is still in my possession because holy Hollywood did it feel weird upon my 25-year-old self. It was just so…adhesive? On the flipside, I felt extremely comfortable repping Jen’s Friends-era style in a recently acquired pair of baggy overalls.

At this point I was nipples-deep in my research, and a weird sensation began to creep over me. I usually feel a deep kinship with my chosen subject — a bond forged by shared experiences and the kind of intimacy only an egg-white-laced bowl of oatmeal can engender. With Jennifer, though, the deeper I dug, the more puzzled I felt. As I read interviews, watched late-night talk-show clips, took Buzzfeed personality quizzes and perused Getty archives, she certainly seemed easy to understand. Funny! Blonde! Loves avocados! America’s sweetheart! But…well…take a look at some quotes I flagged from a few of her interviews (Warning: Material intended for mature audiences. Viewer discretion advised)…

“I wouldn’t change my childhood, I wouldn’t change my heartaches, I wouldn’t change my successes. I wouldn’t change any of it, because I really love who I am, and am continuing to become.” — Vanity Fair, 2005

“I don’t know if I ever really get mad in real life.” — Vogue, 2008

“Laughter is one of the great keys to staying youthful.” — Harper’s Bazaar, 2016

“The most challenging thing right now is trying to find what it is that makes my heart sing” — Marie Claire, 2016

DO YOU HAVE CHILLS? I’m getting them all over again just typing this. Her answers are epically perfect — the real-life manifestation of an inspirational quote board on Pinterest — and you don’t even realize it until you read them boom boom boom right after the other and your hands start to get kind of clammy. I was ultimately forced to ask myself a troubling question, a question that made my blood run cold and my Ryan Seacrest-shaped tattoo throb like Harry Potter’s lightning bolt: Do we have any idea who Jennifer Aniston really is??

Just listen to what she says about her exes:

“I have nothing but absolute admiration for [Brad Pitt], and…I’m proud of him! I think he’s really done some amazing things.” — Vogue, 2008

“There was no malicious intent. I deeply, deeply care about [John Mayer]; we talk, we adore one another. And that’s where it is.” — Vogue, 2008

I mean…????? Jen is either the Messiah or she’s playing us all like a grand piano.

I’m a little terrified, but I’m also in awe. Jennifer Aniston is an enigma — an onion, if you will — and I have only just begun to peel away the top layer. I should probably stop until I find a better knife.

In the meantime, if Smartwater is reading this:

If you liked this escapade, you’ll probably like the Amy Schumer Diet, Hillary Clinton Diet and Gwyneth Paltrow Diet. If celebrity stalking isn’t your cup of tea or cappuccino, how about an iced coffee?

Photos by Edith Young; iPhone photos via Harling Ross. 

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10 More Reasons to Put a Jade Egg Inside You TODAY

I must admit that when popular science research publication Goop first suggested I insert a jade egg in my vagina in order to to have better sex, I was skeptical. This was due in small part to the repeated use of the word “yoni” (which made me think of the musician Yanni), and in large part to the suggestion that I stick a sizable, heavy gem into my body.

The practice looks like this: Put it in, live your life or do some exercises — it can be in there for four to six hours — and then take it out. That’s really it! According to beauty guru and healer Shiva Rose, you must do this daily for about a month before you’ll notice any results, which might seem like an eternity, but really it’s only half an eternity. Of the myriad benefits, Rose told Goop: “Jade eggs can help cultivate sexual energy, increase orgasm, balance the cycle, stimulate key reflexology around vaginal walls, tighten and tone, prevent uterine prolapse, increase control of the whole perineum and bladder, develop and clear chi pathways in the body, intensify feminine energy, and invigorate our life force. To name a few!”

To name a few is right, but I wanted more.

As if reading my mind, this morning Goop published a follow-up to its original jade-egg evangelism, titled “12 (More) Reasons to Start a Jade Egg Practice.” By “practice,” I assume they mean insert, watch 12 episodes of Seinfeld, then be more in touch with my feminine energy. “We’re never particularly surprised when our stories break the internet,” writes Goop humbly, “but we were surprised by the reception of the jade egg, which stirred up a formidable debate about the practice.” What follows is what appears to be a letter-to-the-editor-style response from a sexuality coach named Layla Martin, Goop reader and jade egg aficionado.

Martin cites additional reasons such as, “There are currently no scientific studies proving (or disproving) the effectiveness of a jade egg practice,” and, “The jade egg does not cause toxic shock syndrome,” and, “Stay curious.” I walked away convinced. And in case you didn’t, I’d like to offer up a few more reasons for which you might explore jade egging as soon as possible:

1. Next time someone says, “It’s what’s inside that counts,” you can say, “Sure is,” with a sexy wink.

It’s hard to find the right time to wink, but this is the perfect time and will make you a lot of friends.

2. You can store them on your book shelf for decoration when not in use.

They are gems, after all.

3. Fancy paperweights are so 1995. Join the digital age and put your weights up, not on.

Bonus: You can repurpose your old desk accoutrement. Free starter kit!

Eager to get in touch w my feminine energy

A post shared by Haley Nahman (@halemur) on May 12, 2017 at 9:31am PDT

4. It will make you feel like Gwyneth Paltrow.

Not explaining this.

5. It brings a whole new meaning to “eggs for breakfast.”

Tired of old tropes? Me too. Be the change.

6. It’s about time you took advantage of Nature’s Purse.™

You know how they say we only use 10% of our brains? The same is true of our vaginas, I think.

7. They’re an investment you can pass on to your offspring.

Imagine your future child’s graduation party with Jade Eggs.

8. Climb out of the pocket of Big Kegel.

Don’t stand for kegel propaganda. Find new ways to strengthen muscles you can’t feel.

9. When people pay you compliments you can say, “Thanks, must be the egg!”

And never explain it as it’s cool to leave people guessing.

10. It will put you in touch with the chicken experience.

This is key. That we, as women, don’t more literally understand the daily experience of chickens is horrifying. You’re not a real woman until you lay a jade egg.

Let me know if you’re convinced. See you on the other side of this four to six hours!

Get your Jade Egg here. Collage by Maria Jia Ling Pitt; photo by DeAgostini via Getty Images.

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Dior’s Calabasas Show Was Surreal and Surprising

When Maria Grazia Chiuri left Valentino and her partner (with whom she had resurrected the fashion house) to assume the position of creative director at Christian Dior, the move was bound to be controversial. Here was a woman, powerful by all accounts but mostly seen as such in the context of a duo, taking over a house that has never been run by a woman and doing it on her own.

If you ask me, she was set up to disappoint. The bar had been set so high. People expected perfection, brilliance, a knock out of the park so profound, her clothes might actually fix the broken fashion system. There was also skepticism. Was she equipped to run a house of this magnitude solo?

Last night, she showed a comprehensive collection for the resort 2018 season (what were once considered smaller, in-between collections are becoming increasingly more important in the scheme of retail) at the Upper Las Virgenes Canyon Open Space Preserve in Calabasas, 45 minutes outside of Santa Monica. It took about two hours to get there during rush hour.

When I arrived, flurries of cowboy boots, cropped fur jackets and sheer mid-length dresses and skirts — like those from her previous two collections — were waiting on an expanse of dusty, desert land to be escorted by golf cart to the show venue. I’ve never been to Burning Man, but imagine this is what it looks like.

At the show venue, two hot-air balloons that read “Christian Dior Sauvage” were stationed among a fog of flying dust. A series of earth-colored couches, located among deliberately placed tumbleweeds, provided intimate seating for groups of show attendants. The setting was surreal; the clothes were surprising.

Her first two collections seemed like a soft launch, a quiet whisper to the house’s history and heritage. And if that is true, if they were soft, this was seemingly the grand reveal — a big-ass opening party that rescinded whatever skepticism you may have felt to make room for, finally, the knock-out collection.

And it was a knock out. But I don’t know what made it so great: Was it how exacting her vision and the subsequent execution was? Here we were, watching various iterations of Georgia O’Keeffe wander through a valley.

The tieback to Dior was faint, but there in various garments printed with renderings of the Lascaux cave in France (a historic source of inspiration for the house).

For what it’s worth, I’d wear all the clothes. They were the right amount of serious and folky, never becoming parodies of themselves in spite of the fringed hemlines.

It feels as if each of the three collections she has so far designed for Dior are like novellas unto themselves, threaded together by a much more esoteric theme that builds as we progress, allowing them to make sense in the scheme of each other. Sure, you can draw the sheer, ankle-length skirts to each other, but ultimately, the leather berets and denim jumpsuits of Fall ’17 have very little to do with the long-sleeve, tulle, turtleneck dresses of Resort. That’s okay, because her steadfast inspiration, the unflinching string holding her clothes together, is a very true celebration of the woman in all her permutations.

The men who have designed at the helm of Dior have had a very clear picture of the particular Dior woman. But is there just one woman suited for these clothes? Could just one woman maintain such a binary definition of her own identity?

For as many eye rolls as the first collection of T-shirts, swiped from a stunning Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie text (“We Should All Be Feminists”) invited, maybe she had to be that literal. To hit us over the head with her purpose, because now it seems singular: spread femininity like wildfire, whatever it takes.

Feature photo by Rich Fury via Getty Images; slideshow photos via Vogue Runway.

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Take This Quiz! How Cynical Are You?

If you called me cynical, I’m not sure I could deny it in good faith. I roll my eyes 204 times a day. I question whether the sparkling skyline of New York is actually pretty or if I’m merely projecting a commercial fantasy onto it. I peel the layers off little interactions in search of real intentions, even if there’s nothing to peel. Just last week I had an hour-long discussion wherein I made the case that most couples should break up. Seriously! I said that. I might be really annoying.

But, the soft underbelly of my cynical shell is crawling with romanticism and optimism. I like when the wind blows during that one part of that song and I’m liable to anthropomorphize a spoon. I want everyone to love themselves and I try, very hard, to discern the good intentions of bad people. It’s a mess. I’m a mess! One moment I’ll tout Stephen Colbert’s claim that cynicism does not equal wisdom and in the next, I’ll side-eye people who don’t employ at least a little of it. I’m a cynical and idealistic mush.

It makes me wonder: How cynical am I really? And how cynical are you? I built the below quiz to answer these very questions. It was an emotional exploration of sorts, with a side order of statistics I hadn’t used in about 10 years. The result is my definitive cynicism flowchart, sure to reveal our truest natures. For the record, when I took it I fell in the middle of the road, but I’m not sure if I’m allowed to take my own quiz. Is that like scratching your own back? No one call Scientific American, I did not follow the method. I just went with my gut! It was very uncynical of me.

What’d you get? Did it feel right?

Graphic by Maria Jia Ling Pitt.

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Does Your Birth Order Affect Your Personality?

You’re such an only child, might be a simple observation, or a blatant insult. Swap in middle child or baby of the family or firstborn and everyone’s offended. Birth order theory has the capacity to insult and captivate in equal measure. Psychologists have been talking about it for over a century; supporting studies have been all over the map.

The theory of birth order was first proposed in the early 1900s by psychotherapist Alfred Adler, a disciple of Freud. Adler believed his theory answered the question of why siblings (who might share both nature and nurture, to some extent) are so different. While the relevance and application of its principles inspires a bit of debate, the core tenet of birth-order theory — that family position influences one’s personality — is hard to contest. So, what exactly does birth order theory say about you?

Eldest

The firstborn, sometimes called The Achiever, is reliable, conscientious and controlling. “If you are a firstborn, you are probably a high achiever who seeks approval, dominates and is that perfectionist who uses up all of the oxygen in the room,” says Dr. Gail Gross, a human behavior and parenting expert. “The eldest child will probably have more in common with other firstborns than their own brothers and sisters.”

Dr. Kevin Leman, who’s been studying birth order since 1967 and wrote The Birth Order Book: Why You Are the Way You Are, says, “The one thing you can bet your paycheck on is the firstborn and second-born in any given family are going to be different.”

Middle

Middle children, sometimes called The Peacemakers, are social people-pleasers with rebellious streaks. “If you are a middle child,” says Dr. Gross, “you are probably understanding, cooperative and flexible, yet competitive. You are concerned with fairness.” You’re also more likely to have an intimate circle of friends that act like family.

“These kids are the most difficult to pin down,” says Dr. Leman. “They are guaranteed to be opposite of their older sibling, but that difference can manifest in a variety of ways.” He says if firstborns are CEOs, middle children are entrepreneurs.

Youngest

The baby of the family, which Dr. Gross calls “the life of the party,” is fun-loving, uncomplicated and manipulative. “As the youngest child, you have more freedom than the other siblings and, in a sense, are more independent,” says Dr. Gross. “Your range of influence extends throughout your family, which supports you both emotionally and physically.” She says youngest children, for that reason, experience a sense of security that their siblings might not.

As the baby of my family, I will hold my offense until the end.

Only

Only children are said to be mature and diligent perfectionists, not so different from firstborns, but have no one to compete with for attention. “If you’re an only child, you grow up surrounded by adults, and therefore are more verbal,” says Dr. Gross. “This allows for gains in intelligence that exceed other birth order differences. Having spent so much time alone, you are resourceful, creative and confident in your independence.”

These are extreme characterizations and they beg the question: How could birth order possibly have this much impact? Or rather, why do so many experts believe it does? “Some of it has to do with the way the parent relates to the child in his spot, and some of it actually happens because of the spot itself. Each spot has unique challenges,” says Meri Wallace, child and family therapist and author of Birth Order Blues.

New parents’ cautiousness and attentiveness with firstborns, for example, may make the child more concerned with being perfect. Second and middle children, by contrast, may not receive the same level of obsession, making them more likely to vie for attention through people-pleasing. Last-borns benefit from the least amount of discipline and plenty of coddling, and may turn out more free-spirited. (I’m paraphrasing; you can see examples broken down here.)

There are plenty of situations for which these explanations won’t apply. Kids’ natural temperaments hugely influence personality, as does sex and gender. (Some say that a second-born of a different gender is like another firstborn.) Also, physicality matters — a smaller eldest and a larger youngest might change their dynamic — as do things like age spacing (of the kids and the parents), twins, adoption and blended step- and half-siblings.  There are millions of caveats, which is exactly why birth order theory is so hard to prove.

“Psychology goes through periods of alternatively accepting and rejecting these myths,” says Dr. Susan Whitbourne in Psychology Today. “Although various theories abound, when you come right down to it, the matter is one that requires the right research approach. Methods are everything in studies of birth order and personality.”

A lot of early studies have proven ill-constructed. There was the 1972 study that found a disproportionate number of firstborns in Congress, for example. Or the one in 2010 that said 21 out of 23 astronauts were elder siblings. But Dr. Joshua Hartshorn, psychological research and language expert, calls these findings inherently flawed.

Take, for instance, family size. Dr. Hartshorn points out there are many reasons that family size could affect our predilections and personalities. More children mean that parental resources (money, time and attention) have to be spread more thinly. Perhaps more telling, family size is associated with many important social factors, such as ethnicity, education and wealth. For example, studies have shown that wealthier, higher-educated parents typically have fewer children, meaning kids who grow up in lower-stress environments are more likely to be firstborn (think of a two-kid home versus a five-kid home: in the former, a kid has a 50% of being firstborn; in the latter, a kid has a 20% chance of being firstborn) Maybe, then, you could reason that astronauts are more likely to be firstborn simply because they came from wealthier, more comfortable upbringings. There’s a bias there.

“Of the some 65,000 scholarly articles about birth order indexed by Google Scholar,” writes Dr. Hartshorn in Scientific American, “the vast majority suffer from this problem, making the research difficult to interpret.” Most of the data just doesn’t hold up.

Alan Stewart, a psychologist interested in making sense of all this, wrote, “what is perhaps the definitive recent work (2012) on the theory and research on birth order,” according to Psychology Today. Stewart’s most critical breakthrough was distinguishing between “actual” birth order (ABO) and “psychological” birth order (PBO), the latter of which is self-perceived. Your PBO is just whichever type you most identify with. This was later realized in a test developed to measure whether people are a psychological match for their biological rank. It’s called the White-Campbell Psychological Birth Order Inventory. Surprisingly, only 23% of women and 15% of men identify with their actual position.

That casts a serious shadow of doubt on the initial approach to birth order. There have been some recent studies, however, that have held up under scrutiny and which do support the biological theory. There was a 2007 study in Norway that showed firstborns had IQs two to three points higher than the next child, for example. And a study in 2009 — of which Dr. Hartshorn was a part — that proved, “birth order influences whom we choose as friends and spouses. Firstborns are more likely to associate with firstborns, middle-borns with middle-borns, last-borns with last-borns, and only children with only children.” That, of course, means there are personality factors at play.

Despite being around for a while, birth order theory is clearly still in its infancy. Validity notwithstanding, I see the appeal. I, too, want to latch on. Personalities are shifty, nebulous puzzles, and there’s something satisfying about diagnosing them, even if the implications are a little affronting. Middle child or youngest child, Type A or Type B, creative or logical, ENTJ or ISFP. Labeling can be the perfect antidote to feeling like a contradictory, gaseous cloud.

As I was researching this story, I kept applying the baby, middle and firstborn characteristics to myself and my two siblings. It’s hard to know whether I found them to be true — I am charming, TYSM, but am I irresponsible?! — or whether I’d fallen victim to the Forer effect. Have you heard of it? It’s the psychological phenomenon, “whereby individuals will give high accuracy ratings to descriptions of their personality that supposedly are tailored specifically to them but that are, in fact, vague and general enough to apply to a wide range of people.”

It’s the same reason, in my opinion, why horoscopes feel true. (Sorry, Amelia.) The thing is — and this may be the case with astrology, too — it didn’t ultimately matter if the theory was accurate to a T, because it offered an interest framing through which to observe my sibling dynamic.

Do you believe in birth order theory?

Illustrations by Amber Vittoria; follow her on Instagram @amber_vittoria.

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