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Leandra Medine's Blog, page 97
August 1, 2019
You’re Almost Definitely Going to Meet-ur-Cute Online
A few weeks ago, Stanford released a study that tracked how couples have met each other over the past 80 years. The most dramatic thing about it was the least surprising: Since the year 2000, coupledom via online dating has gone skyward.
But the changes in other methods of meeting were striking to me too. More couples connecting online shouldn’t necessarily mean that there are less couples meeting elsewhere—it could, in theory, have just been contributing to more couples overall.
But no. Friend intros are in sharp decline. Workplace romances, like Furbies and Bill Clinton playing the saxophone, peaked in the 90s. Elementary school romances are done. College sweethearts too. Your church friends? They want no part of your messy romantic life. The only other way of meeting that is trending up is having your best friend hip-check you into someone cute at a bar or restaurant.
I saw this dataset because when I am not editing this website, I spend my evenings reading academic studies in a majestic library to pass the time until my one true love appears in front of me, gently chides me for being so adorably bookish, and invites me to walk hand-in-hand into the most sublime sunset either of us has even seen. JK, I saw it on Twitter, which I was looking at because I needed a break from swiping, an activity I find increasingly boring even if the people I could meet through dating apps are not. (Twitter as a palate cleanser… imagine.)
I, personally, don’t really care how I am introduced to someone. But as a person who very much relishes a good origin story, it does pain me a little bit to say that. It’s not just that meeting online is kind of a one-note narrative, it’s also that I’ve personally thought of it as a supplemental approach to meeting interesting people during my day-to-day life, which I still regularly do, despite—it turns out—getting literally no help from anyone in my orbit!
When I mentioned the study to friends, people had pretty wide-ranging reactions. Some were thankful to be unburdened by coordinating setups and risking the fallout of a chaotic breakup. (Those people tended to be in relationships, lol, while the singles simply shook their heads in dismay.) Another person found a silver lining in the graph’s suggestion of a rise in romantic autonomy: If apps and bars and restaurants are the most random, contextless way of meeting someone, then maybe we’re ultimately committing to people for reasons of compatibility instead of convenience. (OK, that person was actually me. Always in hot pursuit of the silver lining.)
Anyway… what do you think about the study? It is good news? Bad news? Do you still cling to visions of rom-com style meet-cutes or are all of these possibilities just a means to an end?
Graphics by Kayla Kern.
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Might I Suggest: How to Get Dressed When It’s *Way* Too Hot
As a team, we’re often fielding fashion-centric quandaries via Twitter, text and Instagram DM, so we figured, why not make it dot-com official? Welcome to Might I Suggest, the style advice column that solves your most elusive market searches and enduring style challenges. This week, Harling answers a seasonally-appropriate query from community member, Olivia:
How can I dress for unbearable heat but still find creativity in my closet?
I identify with this inquiry so deeply it resonates in the very marrow of my bones. Heat waves are abounding in major cities around the world, New York included. My armpits are never not moist. My rosacea is never not acting up. My hair is never not moonlighting as the most cumbersome of neck sweaters. I am never not devising schemes for how I can wear as little clothing as possible while still maintaining some semblance of personal style. Along the way, I’ve developed some salient outfit ideas that skirt within the bounds of acceptable nudity. Allow me to introduce you to them, ranked according to the percentage of nakedness you’re inclined to indulge in:
30% Naked? I Gotchu
Where 30% nudity is concerned, might I suggest a sleeveless shirt and shorts? But not boring ones, I promise. Not your typical white-tank-and-denim-cut-off fare. No! We’re here to beat the heat whilst simultaneously beating the same-sameness that haunts a wardrobe whenever dramatic weather comes along, and beat them we shall. Potentially with these purple shorts from LPA paired with this heavily discounted pleated dream from Rosie Assoulin. Oooh, or how about these delicious twill shorts with a hot pink tank that will chemically induce your brain to crave watermelon (well, maybe, but seems likely)?
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60% Naked? Giddy-Up
If you’re aiming for the sweet, sweet bliss of 60% nudity, might I suggest a sheer dress? This black one with lace trim is super pretty, but I also love this white one for a more ethereal, nightgown-esque feel (doesn’t hurt that it’s 100% linen and $56.25 with the promo code REAL). Also very into this crochet option ($19.99!) from Urban Outfitters. What you wear under your sheer dress is, of course, up to you and the places you intend to wear it. A matching bra and high-waist underwear set can look quite cool, having tried that combo myself on numerous occasions. This one from Lonely Lingerie is a delicate treat, while this from Pansy offers more coverage. If you’re looking for more coverage in general than a bra and underwear have to offer, try bike shorts (Haley is obsessed with these from Cuyana) and a contrasting tank (I love these from Entireworld).
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90% Naked? Let’s Do This
If you can get away with wearing a swimsuit as your shirt and little else, might I suggest doing so immediately? There are chic ways to do so without looking like you’re actually at the beach, I assure you. For example: layer this short-sleeved button down shirt over this bikini top and wear this skirt on the bottom. Voila! OR, wear this on-sale one-piece with these easy breezy linen pants. Flips flops optional but encouraged.
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What outfit tricks do you have up your navel when it comes to staying cool while still getting dressed?
Photo by Corbis Historical via Getty Images.
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A $20 Foot Massage That’s Actually a Pair of Shoes
The Product: Shiatsu Relax Sandals
The Price: $19.50
The Reason: It started as a joke when I was surveying the most recent new arrivals on Maryam Nassir Zadeh’s website. I saw a pair of flat sandal slides by the brand Bless. They looked like a portable hot stone massage, the medicinal equivalent of a pair of Adidas shower shoes. Snap judgment provoked me: call them in! Try them! Use them for a shoot. It was a harmless pursuit—a vanity-driven inclination toward creating a comical narrative that would double down on how to style shoes with pebbles affixed to their sole. Nothing more, nothing less. But alas, they were sold out—of course! $160 stone sandals made to feel like you’re at the spa, even when you’re not; an opportunity to uncover the silver lining of a very hot day because at least your shoes are being put to work? Genius. A small price to pay.
Upon investigation (a google search initiated by one Elizabeth Tamkin), we found shit tons of the “stone massage slippers” on websites with the word medical in them. One search led us to a pair by Romonacr, a brand that purports to exist exclusively on Amazon and sells the shoes for a literal, blessed fraction of the other price. (See what I did there?) What the first pair did not share was the very specific use case for the sandals, “rooted in principles of reflexology and traditional Chinese medicine,” and the benefits of wearing them.
Instructionally, you are supposed to wear them for 10-15 minutes every day and when you are done, it is recommended that you drink plenty of water—for your metabolism! But in addition to the metabolic benefits, they purport to:
+Massage your feet’s acupuncture points
+Relieve fatigue
+Lift your spirits
+Keep your body healthy
+And happy
As far as design, “You will feel cool and comfortable in [the] summer; and warm in winter.” Romonacr goes on to reiterate that, “It will lift your spirits, relieve stress at work, and improve your productivity at [the] office.”
I hold a great deal of respect for the benefits of Chinese medicine, which have been documented in spades, but since Romonacr’s slippers have yet to be tested by the scientific community, I took their lofty promises with a grain of salt. What would happen if I wore them for longer than 10-15 minutes? Would I need to eat protein to offset the uptick in my metabolic rate? If my spirits were not to lift, would that indicate more chronic blueness?
At a minimum, it was imperative that I try them. And almost immediately, some of the questions were answered—you can’t know, for example, what would happen if you wore them for longer than 10-15 minutes because it is painful as H to walk in these shoes. They say you’re not supposed to judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes, but I have to tell you, a mere 12 footsteps is far enough for me to guturally understand another’s resilience. The greatest victims and probably benefactors of their wrath were the balls of my feet. On a day after a night of wearing heels, it hurt so good.
I imagine people with flat feet, like my husband, who uses a golf ball to roll out his soles, will really, really like them.
And for what it’s worth, they delivered on the lifted spirit clause. Tbd on whether this is a side effect of having taken myself out for a walk (and an orange-mocha-frap-uccino!) but look, anything that gets me up and out of this seat midday is good enough reason to pursue. I probably offset the healthy body piece with my sweet, caffeinated beverage but to each their own, we all have vices, and as far as feeling cool, even after I put them in the oven (not a metaphor) to see whether I could withstand a truly hot stone walk on the wild side, it must be said that in my view, this outfit never would have been as satisfying had I worn another set of shoes.
So: if you’ve ever wondered what a financially sound foot massage at scale, whenever you’d like one and without the interception of another person could be like, if you’d like an excuse to leave the office midday, if you know you need to roll out the bottom of your feet or simply speaking, if you don’t want to spend more than $20 on a pair of statement sandals this summer, trust me—you should try it.
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Photos by .
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Oh No, “Bad Summer” Is Upon Us
an you feel it? The air has changed. Perhaps you feel tired. Perhaps you feel angry. Perhaps you are suddenly longing to trudge through a huge pile of snow. Welcome to Bad Summer.
As previously mentioned, the official dates of Good Summer are June 4th to July 31st. This is the scientific* interpretation, and in the fairness of science, I think I should expose my bias upfront: My personal Good Summer only exists between June 4th and July 4th, but I will attempt to keep an open mind through the rest of this intellectual exploration for fear of alienating Leandra’s #lovesummerhateeverythingelse base.
So what delineates Good Summer from Bad Summer? So glad you asked. Good Summer breezes in with the sweet promise of freedom and ice cream cones to come. It’s like spring but bolder. The sun shines only to warm your face and tan your skin. Good Summer represents a much longed-for levity, both physical and metaphorical. The longest day of the year, the relief of no longer having to bundle up, the freedom to walk wherever you want. Your neighbors spilling out into the streets to stretch their limbs and remind themselves why they choose to be where they are. Enjoy it, because while it is brilliant, it is brief.
August first. Enter Bad Summer. It’s too hot. It’s been too hot forever. Can you even remember Good Summer? What did you like about it anyway? Your throat hurts from sleeping in the air conditioning. Your skin itches from the weeks of dry sweat you try but fail to remove, like a constantly humid Lady Macbeth. You reconsider everything, your stance on Botox (gonna get it to stop sweating), your concern for the environment (it’s all going to hell anyway, I’m gonna drink a plastic bottle full of seltzer in the AC with the window open), love (is the support and care of another person worth the extra body heat?). You go to the beach but you do not frolic, all you can focus on is the garbage in the sand and the mutant fish in the water. You grow tired of the smell of grilled meat, once the mesquite sign of a cookout full of joy and laughter reminds you only of your own hot decaying flesh. Whoever thought endless summer was something virtuous?
Many people think winter is a lonely and isolating time, but Bad Summer has thrown its hat into that particular ring as well. Sure, you’re inside more in the winter, but so is everyone else! Hermitude is baked into the social order! Hygge! During Bad Summer, however, if you find yourself hiding out from the sun’s brutal rays, it comes with a special side of guilt because, well, it’s summer, and you should probably be outdoors doing something “fun.” You tell your out-of-town friends not to visit you, knowing that Bad Summer will make you all too grumpy to enjoy each other’s company. When you are with people, the sounds of their voices are drowned out by your own internal screaming.
Even if you #lovesummerhateeverythingelse, Bad Summer is bad for you, too. Because it signals the end, forcing you to face down all you have yet to do and realistically won’t get done before fall (mercifully) cools things down and bundles folks up. It is a time for the melancholy checking-off of one’s summer bucket list.
Harling’s friend Anthony describes August as a month full of Sundays, which is the true Bad Summer Rorschach test. Does August feel like the Sunday Scaries of the calendar year? Dangling you between the fulfilling fun of Good Summer but not fully allowing you to return to normalcy, to just get the dang thing over with? Or is it truly your Sunday, a bittersweet end, to your favorite part of the year — a time for checking off those final, joyful errands before getting back to business? No matter where you fall on the Good Summer/Bad Summer/ Why Are We Even Talking About This When The Earth Is on Fire? spectrum, the good news is we have each other, a mass of sweaty, sticky, exhausted, and exasperated humans wanting to return to the past but knowing that the only choice is to move forward, ceaselessly and steadily, toward Good Summer once again.
*Not science
Feature photo by Staff/Mirrorpix via Getty Images.
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Is This Headline My Latest Mistake?
he worst part of life on earth, other than millions of horrifying things, is that you have to fuck up in order to mature. What a disaster. What a horrible reality for the risk-averse. Why can’t thoughtfulness and an earnest desire to do the right thing pay off in the form of mistake-free living? Why must we evolve only by way of our own stupidity? How deeply disappointing.
At least, that’s how I feel most of the time. And then, every once in a while, something unpredictable happens—like I discover, by accident, that all my summer clothes look better with black tube socks, or I move in with someone who seems lame in his roommate application and then proceed to fall in love with him, or I eat roasted broccoli out of politeness at a dinner party and realize that not only do I not hate it, but I love it—and suddenly I remember that my best laid plans will always pale in comparison to the delightful and serendipitous fruits of chaos. But then, I guess that’s disappointing too. Because what hope do we have to wield control?
Mistakes are a tricky business. The good ones are utterly random, and we’re not supposed to regret the bad ones because they teach us something, but isn’t regret supposed to be its own kind of lesson? And shouldn’t we try to avoid fucking up, even if we know we need to sometimes? Or is there really no difference between the careful and the careless because both are their own form of didacticism? The first a lesson in letting go, the second a lesson in paying attention?
I was recently invited, along with another writer, to do a Q&A with a group of students studying journalism. Both the other writer and I had circuitous paths into media, but hers was much more perilous. Whereas mine was dotted by cushy, unfulfilling jobs and gently anxious blogging, hers was marked by drug addiction and a total disregard for her future. In the end, we were in the same place, and one of us with a book deal (not-a-me). This isn’t an anecdote about tragedy capital, it’s merely proof that there is no correct way to learn. And that sometimes, 100 mistakes can teach you faster than one.
This month on Man Repeller, we’ll be exploring the life-on-earth vertical known as MISTAKES. The horrifying ones, the helpful ones, the pointless ones. Whether related to love or clothes or work or life, we’ll be analyzing in real-time and in hindsight, hopefully for the benefit of us all. If there’s something you’re interested in reading this month, please place it in the suggestion box known as the comments section below. And leave the typos, if you don’t mind. They’ll get our juices flowing.
Feature photo by .
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July 31, 2019
The Biggest Style Movement of Summer 2019
straw hat so full of joie de vivre it looks like a bird of paradise. A cowrie shell anklet. A tie-dye tank top married to a floral prairie skirt. A dress that resembles a lovingly tattered doily. A quilted patch that doesn’t cover a tear. A crocheted cardigan. A pair of knit trousers with kick-flares, just because. Picture these disparate elements in your head, paste them on a mental paper doll, and behold: the prevailing vacation uniform of summer 2019.
It feels almost oxymoronic to ascribe the term “uniform” to an outfit worn on a summer vacation, much less a uniform composed of such un-uniform-like components. The idea of considering tie-dye tank tops and floral prairie skirts viable material for uniform dressing would probably make a purist quake inside their white jeans. And yet, the evidence is too overwhelming to ignore. Everyone seems to have mutually agreed to dress like they just got back from a garden party in Ibiza by way of a music festival in Sedona. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t personally thrilled about this consensus.
But how, precisely, did it manifest? This question is one I’ve been pondering since I began tracking the emergence of the aesthetic movement as early as April, when I spotted this photo of STAUD designer Sarah Staudinger lounging somewhere tropical in a flowing white dress, with every extremity bedecked in cowrie shells. Around the same time, Loewe released the look book for its collaboration with Paula’s Ibiza, replete with patchwork jeans, straw bags emblazoned with peace signs, and paisley wrap skirts. Then there was this dispatch in May courtesy of blogger Lee Litumbe, featuring more cowrie shells, a straw sun hat, and an enormous straw bag. In June, Fisayo Longe and Busy Philipps contributed to burgeoning fray with a doily dress and crocheted cardigan worn over a bikini, respectively. The real kicker came in July, though, when LoveShackFancy’s Resort 2020 look book dropped, encompassing all that I had been observing in one fell swoop.
There is an energy to this particular manner of dress that, the more I think about it, feels somewhat revelatory. It’s the first solid, palpable evidence that we are truly entering a post-trend era. Sure, there are traces of summer style trends, past and present, scattered throughout—seashell jewelry, tie-dye, prairiecore, etc.—but not in the sense that they steal the show. These ingredients aren’t watered down so much as they are blended like a soup, according to the individual wearer’s specifications. Perhaps that’s why summer vacation style appears more flavorful than ever: It’s doing the most it’s ever done. It’s the sartorial equivalent of a piña colada with extra pineapple chunks. An Out of Office reply with a wittily self-aware rejoinder. A pool float that doesn’t care you’ve seen it a million times on Instagram.
It’s ubiquitous enough to be a uniform, but fungible enough that it will never look the same twice. There’s no trick to mastering it besides this: Close your eyes, and think about how summer smells. Think about how it looks, how it feels, how it tastes. Okay, now open your closet, and wear exactly that.
18 PHOTOS
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Photographer: Marley Rizzuti
Stylist: Harling Ross
Art Direction/Production: Emily Zirimis
Models: Amira Natanne and Frankie Cavalcanti
Market: Elizabeth Tamkin
Makeup: Isabel Rosado
Hair: Karla Serrano
Photo Assistant: Erik Rasmussen
Production Assistant:
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5 Authors on the Best & Worst Things About Writing a Memoir
This is the delicate balance, I imagine, most writers must manage: to suppose you matter just enough not to quit, but not so much that you spend your life staring into your navel. And to some extent, that tension is probably healthy. Because even though I’m confident that writing, as an artform, can make a difference—that in fact other people’s work makes me feel like my life is worth living—it’s not untrue that it’s an exercise in vanity. In reveling in one’s own mind for long enough to sift out a narrative and then package it for other people’s consumption. The nerve! The gall! I’m so glad people do it.
When it comes to writing a memoir, this ideological tightrope seems especially treacherous. Not only must you feel confident in your life story, but you must hold onto that feeling long enough to hammer it into 50,000ish words, let editors tell you which parts of it suck, and then let anyone read and review it using the five stupid stars at their disposal. It’s a process that seems to demand both a flexible and ironclad constitution. I can’t imagine doing it. Which is why I reached out to five memoirists I admire about how they managed it. Below, in their words that I love so much, the best and worst parts of writing a memoir.
Samantha Irby
Samantha is a blogger, a TV writer, the author of We Are Never Meeting in Real Life (2017) and Meaty (2018), and, according to Amber Tamblyn, “one of our country’s most fierce and foulmouthed authors.”
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The best parts of writing about yourself:
1. Readily available subject matter. Even when I’m doing literally nothing of excitement or importance, I can decide to maybe take a class (lmao yeah right) or go to a bar (that doesn’t have a dress code) and hope that something gross or hilarious happens while I’m there so I can write about it. Also the world is fucking absurd and reacting to it provides so much material, and I never have to worry about “advancing the plot” or whatever. As long as I manage to avoid death my entire writing career can survive on “hey what do I think about this dumb thing?” and then *clickety clack* until I hit my word count.
2. I’m an expert so I can never be wrong. Being wrong is embarrassing, which is why I don’t do journalism. I think that if you’re going to write authoritatively about a subject you should be educated in it and I don’t have the capacity to learn new or complicated things. At this point in my life I just let information wash over me and hope that I absorbed at least a little of it, and that’s fine when all I have to know are my own feelings. No one wants to hear me talking about politics or the ozone, I can’t even define them. But if you’d like to know how many times I’ve sat outside a party in my car watching people have fun through the window because I was anxious about having worn ill-fitting pants well then great, I have a PhD in social anxiety!
3. Um…better me than someone else? Although if I weren’t writing about me who the fuck even would? I’m only interesting because I can joke about my own butt.
The worst parts of writing about yourself:
The absolute worst part is the potential collateral damage, because I’m not only writing about myself—I often write about myself in relation to other people or places or experiences. And if I’d like to keep those relationships intact I have to take care not to shit all over a person I actually enjoy and would like to keep around. I don’t do a lot of public airing of private grievances unless I’m ready to go full scorched earth, but I do try to get permission from people to write about a shared experience or put our drama out for the world to pick apart. And sometimes those assholes say no! Which is the next-worst part of writing about myself. So many horrible and funny things I gotta keep in the group chat because my homies have a healthy amount of shame and self-worth. It’s a tragedy for real.
Lesley Arfin
Lesley is the co-creator of Netflix’s “Love” and author of Dear Diary (2007), which Sarah Silverman describes as “[a] chance to have all the benefits of a tortured adolescence without the shitty childhood.”
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The best parts of writing about yourself:
I’m not interested in writing about myself anymore. I’ve done it to death and I’m pretty bored with that character these days. That said, I remember what the “best part” was—I use quotations because I’m not sure I agree with what I’m about to say, which was that I probably felt like it was “easier.” Writing is hard and pointless work and I’m not sure why anyone does it (including me). When I was in the habit of writing about myself it was only because it felt like a “work loophole” at the time. I don’t think it was and I’ll say that the best part of writing for me now, and for always past, present, and future, is being done.
The worst parts of writing about yourself:
You can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube.
The worst part of writing about yourself is thinking that you’re special—that you’re unique and deserve to be heard “so that you can be of service and connect to others.” That’s bullshit. If I really wanted to “be of service” I certainly don’t think WRITING is the best way to achieve that goal. Maybe, I don’t know… soup kitchen? That might be the quicker, easier, most selfless act of performance—it’s actually genius. Volunteering as performance art. I dare any millennial to major in volunteering at art school.
LaTonya Staubs
LaTonya is a blogger, stylist, and the author of Woman of Color (2019), which Joanna Goddard describes as “a must-read for any and every kind of woman.”
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The best parts of writing a memoir:
Writing Woman Of Color was like writing one story, only to be rushed with a flood of other stories, memories, sights, sounds, feelings. It was like unlocking certain boxes that I’d stored away. Some made it in the book and many didn’t. But the whole process allowed me the room to care for parts of my past I hadn’t yet, because I simply did not remember them.
Equally, it was the experience of writing and working on such a project, and having my children be aware of that. The experience of writing my first book while raising school-aged children who are actively part of that experience with me, and seeing me working on something in small doses every single day that is much larger, was quite remarkable. It was a wonderful teaching experience about life, work, creativity, womanhood, and of course, telling our stories.
The worst parts of writing a memoir:
Woman Of Color was released in April, and now in (almost) August, I am just settling into what may have been the worst part. For me, it was dates. I wanted to be accurate, but memory (or kids, or trauma) often made these blurry. I would remember what I was wearing and how young I felt, but not exact years. My memories are a bit like puzzle pieces, and the idea that they needed to be exact was a bit scary. But I remember something I read long ago, that if you don’t write as if you’re precise, you don’t need to be. So I start off the book with a disclaimer of how I see things—that “this story is mine in a sea of others.” It was important for me to divorce myself from a perfect recounting and answer to my inner self instead. Before surrendering to this though, coming to terms with the imperfections in my memory was sort of the worst. We aren’t told we don’t need to be perfect when writing a memoir. But memoirs are often about the imperfections in life.
Claire Dederer
Claire is a freelance writer and the author of Poser (2012) and Love & Trouble (2018), which Stephanie Danler describes as “the most surprising and subversive memoir I’ve read in years.”
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Everyone already thinks memoirists are chronic whiners, so I’ll be true to form and start with the worst part. The biggest problem with writing about myself is that I don’t live alone in a stark, featureless cell. (I mean, that’s the problem with a lot of aspects of my life.) In order to write about myself, I must write about other people. And—here’s a tip for aspirers—other people really, really do not want to be written about. What’s more, there’s a lot of moral gunk involved in the whole process. I’ve come up with various policies that help set boundaries and shape how I write about the people I love, but the problem of representing someone else’s life is never going to go away. And an awareness of that problem is a healthy impulse for a memoirist.
The best part of writing about myself: no research! Just kidding. Sort of.
Actually the best part is the knowledge that, if I’m doing it right, I’m helping the reader, in a way that I believe is unique to personal writing. Not to sound annoyingly goody-goody. When you write about your darkest self, the reader feels less alone. She sees her own pain reflected in your writing, and she realizes she’s not the only one who feels that particular pain. And moreover, she’s reading nonfictional pain, and has the chance to be comforted by the knowledge it really happened. No other art form provides this exact manner of solace.
Not that it’s easy. A month before I published my first memoir, I took to my bed. I was overcome with terror and embarrassment. All the shameful, humiliating things I’d confessed about myself crowded my head as I lay there clutching the counterpane. Now the world would know what a terrible person I was. Luckily I had just enough sense to reach out to a fellow writer, Lisa Jones. She had published her own memoir just a few months before, and she told me the feeling of exposure I was experiencing was normal. She said my feelings of squeamishness and embarrassment meant I’d done my job correctly. Readers, she promised, would respond most strongly to the passages of the book that had been most difficult for me to write. She wrote in an email that I reread dozens of times: “You’re simply a nice carpenter who has helped make a shelter for other people’s uneasiness by exposing your own.”
The phrase lodged in my head and I refined it into a kind of mantra: We build a structure out of our own discomfort so that others might take shelter there.
It turned out Lisa was right. When my book was published, a surprising thing happened—well, surprising to me anyway. Readers came up to me after events and passionately told me that what I’d written made them feel less alone. Sometimes they’d throw their arms around my neck and hug me. Sometimes they cried. And they invariably mentioned the parts of the book that had been the most difficult, most shameful to write: the parts where I savagely laid bare my own most troubled self.
When I wrote my second memoir, Love and Trouble, I kept that experience in mind and found myself going toward what was unappetizing in my consciousness, rather than backing away from it. And I found there’s a weird pleasure into stepping into the least appealing part of the self, rather than pretending it’s not there. I find it a kind of relief.
Meaghan O’Connell
Meaghan is a freelance writer and author of And Now We Have Everything (2018), a memoir Cheryl Strayed described as, “Smart, funny, and true in all the best ways.”
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Three points:
1. Having my memoir edited, really intensely (and well!) involved people I don’t really know leaving hundreds of comments in Microsoft Word about my innermost thoughts. I wrote things in my book that I was at that point fully unable to say out loud, and then would get an edit like, “I don’t quite know what you mean or why you did this, can you explain?” I have truly never forgotten some of my editor’s notes; some of which genuinely changed how I think about myself! I love to be edited and my editor was a genius, but to not just be discussing or defending or explaining my craft choices, but my human choices as well, was another level of ego-destroying. Probably in a good way, or necessary for the book, but painful nonetheless.
2. You will have to someday stand up in a room of people and read from your book while they stare at you. I love going to as well as participating in readings and events (mostly!), but sometimes it struck me as hilariously undignified to, for instance, be at an award ceremony with a dozen other writers and stand up in front of the crowd in semi formalwear and read about asking my husband to jerk off into my vagina.
3. I don’t know if this is particularly true lately or if it’s inevitable but I feel like a lot of people can’t help but read memoir as an opportunity to judge the author, as if reading is a game where if you can catch the writer revealing themselves to be less than perfect, then you can rest knowing you are better than them. I think a lot of it must be internalized sexism. Or just missing the point? But writing a book about your own life means people can feel like they know you, and easily forget that you wrote this book (often what feels like a lifetime ago) and chose what to share and how to present all of it. And it’s not you. You change, you change your mind, you feel different ways in different moods. But a book is forever!
How do their answers compare to your own experiences? Did this make you want to do some personal writing or run in the other direction?
Graphic by Madeline Montoya.
The post 5 Authors on the Best & Worst Things About Writing a Memoir appeared first on Man Repeller.
It’s Official, I’ve Joined the Secondary Sneaker Market
id you know that sneakers are called “sneakers” because they don’t make noise when you walk in them? This is why they were seen as the choice footwear for burglars in the late 70s, according to a heated history of sneaker culture in the United States, published by The Atlantic in 2016. It is a thorough, fascinating, and satisfying deep dive that illuminates a handful of the societal and political implications of the decisions you make when you put on a pair. I invite you to read it if you have ten minutes, but for the purpose of what we’re doing here today, all I can offer in the way of intellectual stimulation is the following anemic assertion: I think I’ve joined the cult of the secondary sneaker market.
A statistic the Smithsonian cited in 2017 indicates that we’re talking about a $6 billion market. That’s $6 billion generated by the hustle of enterprising individuals, acutely aware of the opportunity to make a very quick and distinctly disproportionate return on the acquisition of sneakers. Which, mind you, does not include the recent sale at auction of the original Nike Moon Shoe—a pair of sneakers cobbled in 1972 by Geoff Hollister—for $437,500. Puts that vintage Yves Saint Laurent suit to shame, no?
I was not a participant in this market until last month, when I bought Nike’s react element 87 sneakers from StockX. I first saw them last spring after my older brother bought them from Nike, but I couldn’t find them in my tiny-ass size (mens 4.5) anywhere but eBay, which was commanding a 5x markup on their retail price of $160. So I moved on. Didn’t think about them again, even, until a harmless Google search for, actually, something else (Sacai’s Nike collab sneakers), took me to StockX, where I found them for a 20% markup on the original $160.
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Without bidding, I paid the “Buy Now” price and they were mine. I believe that makes me a regular contributor to the secondary sneaker market. And as an aside, let me tell you, the volume of compliments that these sneakers command—and the quality of person who delivers them, which is almost exclusively male—makes me wonder if the secret to finding heteronormative companionship is baked into a pair of slightly obscure Nike sneakers. That, or, I have been married for so long that if a man so much as speaks to me, I assume he must like me, but I digress. Or do I? Now I invite you to observe three ways to wear them.
Starting with: a dress I practically stole off Harling’s back, for a rainy day.
By Georgia Alice. Maybe I think it’s a good option for a rainy summer day because those are the precise grounds under which Harling styled the dress (her story hasn’t run yet), but also, if you’re a sneaker person and a dress person, I imagine this to be a silhouette and color play (black with less-expected white stitching) to interest you. Socks have become the unsung hero of summer styling, so I also invite you to consider Comme Si, with their back tabs and all.
Up next: a pinstripe suit.
So you can wear them on your commute! And if your boss is out of town, just keep them on. Keep! Them! On! In my view, a suit is only as interesting as the contrast you affix to it, and no odd-coupling is so literal as a pinstripe suit with a pair of rubber-bottom shoes. I included the sequined shirt because I have it and love it but don’t frequently-enough wear it. I don’t know why—maybe it can feel like too much at times—like it needs to be suppressed by an overcoat. Accentuated by pseudo-rare sneakers. But onward to:
The unlikely outcome of going rogue at a salad bar.
A striped cotton tank top, stretch-knit underwear shorts that are like looking through a kaleidoscope directly into the crotch of their wearer, and a summer tweed jacket. That is already a baseline of three disparate fabrics, all of which are rendered in different colors and prints. It makes no sense, but I genuinely don’t see another way. To add insult to injury, or bonus points to an already perfect score depending on how you see things, the socks are multicolor and silk, and the shoes, rubber bottom as you know, are also seemingly rubber top, to see through a see-through fabric that envelops the vamp. See what I did there?
I’m not sure where you’d wear this; maybe on an impromptu run through your local park or to a literal salad bar. Maybe you wouldn’t wear it all. Any of these options work, and as I think about the sneakers: how I got them, how much I like them, how much I like the way I got them — as a sort of a crystallization of this unique inflection point in the history of consumption, I am reminded of the conversation we started last week, pegged to the earlier mentioned vintage YSL suit that is for sale on Matchesfashion right now.
I am still not an expert on sustainability, but the more I think about it, the more I think that secondary markets may well be the highway exit sign that directs us toward a road to self-correcting in the quest to, not blankly have less, but really force us to reconsider how we value what we buy.
Maybe.
For now, I assure you, I am not a burglar.
Photos by Emily Malan.
The post It’s Official, I’ve Joined the Secondary Sneaker Market appeared first on Man Repeller.
The 17 Best MR Comments from July
So, first: thanks for jumping into the comment section. We see you, we hear you, and we appreciate you. I hear, see, and appreciate you so much in fact, that I’ve put together a round-up of some of the most notable comments from Vanity Month aka July. Please note this was very hard! You’re all such a gorgeous mix of thoughtful, opinionated and deeply strange. It’s a joy to share this part of the internet superhighway with you all.
The lovely and sincere
With age comes acceptance
From 7 Women on Whether They Regret Their Cosmetic Surgery, Iman’s dynamite interview that presents thoughtful and nuanced takes on cosmetic surgery.
From 7 Women on Whether They Regret Their Cosmetic Surgery ,Iman’s dynamite interview that presents thoughtful and nuanced takes on cosmetic surgery.
Special delivery: Inspiration
From Man Repeller’s Mail Guy Is So Cool We Can’t Even Think of a Headline, my interview with our very very very stylish mail carrier, Aubrey.
You are beautiful and so are your friendships
From The Unmatched Purity of Vanity Among Friends, Kiki’slovely story about the beauty and freedom of bragging to your friends.
Date night >>>>>
From Would You “Renegotiate” Your Relationship Every Year?, Haley’s firecracker of an essay about what it really takes to make love last.
The ones that made us think
Drawing an important line
From How Helpful Is Instagram Therapy, Really? Meghan answering the question we were maybe all thinking.
Relationship advice and good life advice
From Open Thread: What’s Your Take on Open Marriage? Leandra posed the question, y’all answered.
We could probably use a little more of this
From I Thought I’d Be Cool About Aging. I Was Wrong, my story about how I failed to live up to my expectations of myself as a “chill” woman.
I stan a public library stan
From on My Little Trick for Reading More Books, self-help for the literary-minded courtesy of Edith Young
On PCOS
From on I Got My Fertility Checked Before Wanting Kids. Would You?, Haley’s story that is equal parts information and personal examination.
The hilarious and out there
Not a bad idea actually….
From Open Thread: What’s Your Take on Open Marriage? Leandra posed the question, y’all answered.
You learn something new (about the Dutch) every day
From on Low Stakes Hot Take: Dutch Twitter is the Best Twitter, Edith with the Twitter news you can use.
Remain vigilant, souper_crackers is on the loose!
From on My Pettiest Pet Peeves, in No Particular Order, trust me it is funny and very much worth the read.
First place in the format of a comment division
From on 3 Older Women on How Vanity Changes With Age, another classic from Iman, this time talking to three women with very different takes on vanity.
I was not not thinking this too.
From on What’s FaceApp Really Getting At?, the FaceApp take you need (aka isn’t about hacking).
I’ve actually got nothing to add
“Embrace the camel toe” – Paige on 3 Unexpected Ways to Style Bike Shorts
Because it’s vanity month
Please know this comment was directed at me
From Celeb Look of the Week: Tessa Thompson Won Wimbledon, my story about my style icon being perfect.
The most relatable comment exchange of all time
Feature photo by Georg Göbel/picture alliance via Getty Images.
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MR Writers Club Prompt: Does Growing Up Have to Hurt?
Have you heard of the Man Repeller Writers Club? Every month we pose a story idea, you write about it and then send it to us (write@manrepeller.com) with the subject line “MR Writers Club.” We go through all submissions and post the winner on the first Friday of every month. Ready? Let’s go.
Sometimes when I look back on my writing, I’m startled by how repetitive the themes are, and how often I’ve come to a realization only to relearn it a year later with different props. This makes me wonder if writing is actually therapeutic or if it’s just a literal representation of the dizzying process of learning. Maybe both? Either way, if I ever needed proof you can’t brute-force life lessons, my byline at Man Repeller would be a good place to start.
Growing up is one of our favorite topics to cover on this website/supper club/group therapy session/nude beach colony, because it’s one of those rare human experiences that is somehow both universal and singular. Exhilarating and terrible. Expected and yet unpredictable. And maybe a little repetitive. So for this month’s round of Writers Club, I have not a prompt, exactly, but a question: Does growing up have to hurt?
You can endeavor to answer this philosophical quandary in whatever way feels right: a personal anecdote, a fictional story, an op-ed, a letter to your younger (older?) self. The floor is yours, just send it to us in 500 words or less at write@manrepeller.com on or by Friday, August 30th.
Photo by Gerhard Fitzthum via Getty Images.
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