Anxious is a state with which I’m well-acquainted. Like a sweater that’s faded and worn-in, I habitually cloak myself in nerves. I don’t have an anxiety condition that I know of, but a quick perusal of the nervous natures which populate my family tree would seem to indicate that worry is an unavoidable inheritance.
Since long before the term “on fleek” entered our collective lexicons, I’ve been obsessed with eyebrows. My quest for perfection probably began when I was about 10 years old, and noticed that my wily, wild, Scottish-moor-esque eyebrows looked slightly “odd.”
It’s a tragic reality that discrimination still exists in our society. I don’t think I really need evidence that people are treated differently—looking around at the world would indicate that—but let’s make a short list anyways.
I was recently scrolling through Facebook, late one hungover morning, when I noticed that one of the highest trending topics of the day was Chloë Sevigny saying that Jennifer Lawrence was “annoying” and “too crass.” Looking more into this apparently breaking news, I found that it was a two-second blip in an interview, wherein she was talking about the marketing of movie stars.
There comes a point in every Other Press Editor-in-Chief’s career when they get a little bit burnt out and exhausted, and the weekly writing of a 500-or-so-word Lettitor becomes increasingly daunting. I feel I reached that point months ago, and have attempted to truck along as though I have all the inspo in the world.
Over the last few years, I’ve had a relationship with food that seems perpetually in flux. When I was 17, I became a pescatarian because I read it was more environmentally friendly to not eat meat. Indeed, in Eating Animals, Jonathan Safran Foer notes that factory farming is more detrimental to the environment than driving
Appearance and physicality are central aspects of fashion. All you have to do is look at the relative uniformity of the modelling world to know that. Few models challenge the standard slender, tall figures that dominate runways and fashion spreads—”plus-size” models tend to be anyone between a size six and size 14.
It’s been six months that we’ve been together, and I never knew how cared for and carefree I could be until you entered my life. It was difficult and even uncomfortable at first. I was nervous, palms sweaty, knees weak, arms heavy, but I knew that it was right—or at least, that I would never find out if it was right unless I gave it a shot.
I had some trouble coming up with what to write about for this Lettitor, to be honest. I briefly considered writing about da bae, but I empathize with those who would find a 600-word piece on my happiness sickeningly saccharine. Let’s be honest, Valentine’s Day is among the most overwhelmingly caloric of all the sweet holidays, and I think I would blush with embarrassment if I spent editorial space on giving people cavities.