How Lunchbox TikTok Is Healing My Relationship With Food
Lunch-packing videos have shown me that, regardless of your age or your body size or how big of a breakfast you had, we all deserve to eat.
Lunch-packing videos have shown me that, regardless of your age or your body size or how big of a breakfast you had, we all deserve to eat.
Maybe I was tired of hiding and being afraid. Maybe I was just overheating and my nipples were starting to chafe. Maybe it was all or none of the above.
I needed her to tell me that it was okay to doubt, to yearn, for the lyrics in our headphones to mean something sacred—with or without God.
David Wojnarowicz captured the chaos of living as a gay man in the 1980s and early 1990s with HIV overshadowing everything we did and felt.
I’m embracing the label, with all its yearning, try-hard connotations, because desire shouldn’t be embarrassing and love does require trying hard.
When Russia invaded Ukraine at the end of February, I found myself asking: What pleasures are permissible during wartime?
Make me thin, I told God. Make me pretty. I added to the list: Make me Annie.
Letty Ortiz reflects back the best of our hero’s characteristics with fewer of the hang-ups.
I’ve wondered if I, too, have become a member of a generation reluctant to move past adolescence.
Southeast Asia is a colonial construct, a modern concoction brewed from the dregs of centuries-long imperial conquest.
I turned to my friend and asked, “What if I don’t want it all?”
Artists like Olivia Rodrigo validated my suppressed anger—and gave me space to be petty—by helping to create a world that validates feminine fury.
Unlike these stories, we don’t have decades of do-overs—especially on the West Coast, where the droughts are real and the big earthquake could shake things loose anytime.
For me, longing for filter coffee and missing my father are one and the same.
Diners are affordable, accessible, and a staple of our national imagination. They’re also disappearing—and we need them now more than ever.
Fritz Kistel was a reclusive artist who produced a body of work so fabulously unproductive—in the capitalist sense—that I can’t help but admire him: He created for himself.
The brownstone stood for everything I wanted: solidity and urbanity, possibility and permanence. I could see it, stand inside it, even sleep there. But it wasn’t mine.
To my family, yams are more than just a root vegetable.
A year in fruitcake means a year soaking in hope and optimism. Committing to the cakes meant believing that we would all see some semblance of survival.
As of January 2021, only six of the first twenty-one sweepstakes winners were able to live in their Dream Home for longer than a year.