The plane trembled below me, jolting my stomach into awareness of the fact that I was thousands of feet above the Earth. Breathing deeply and gripping my armrest, I felt the familiar and unwelcome sensation of motion sickness take hold. Enviously, I glanced at the other passengers around me, unaffected and even bored by the descent as […]Read more "Touching Down in Managua"
Thank you for collecting handfuls of sea glass and eating dark chocolate on the beach. For making long drives home from school feel like a party instead of a chore. For making my cheeks hurt from laughing too hard. For dancing like no one was watching.Read more "I Don’t Have a Soul Mate"
If you’ve ever been lucky enough to meet Honora Beirne, you’ve likely wondered how so much poise, warmth and vivacity ended up in just one person. As my older cousin, she’s always been a few steps ahead of me in life, first navigating high school, then college, and now New York City. Though I only get […]Read more "In Honora’s Shoes"
I remember when Joan Rivers died. The matriarch of Fashion Police and the go-to comedian of the red carpet would no longer appear on my TV to dish the most cruel, yet amusing jokes. I thought she was mean, but she was strangely captivating. I never wanted to laugh at what she awful thing she […]Read more "One Year Without Joan"
I am her biggest critic. I’m quick to notice any flaw she has when she’s in front of me, be it an off-center hairline or an unflattering angle. I cringe at her imperfections; they jump out at me before she’s even said a word. Has she gained weight? I think to myself each time I […]Read more "In Her Shoes"
Dear John Klein, I think about you all the time. I think about our mean nicknames for each other, our racist smack talk and flirty bickering. I think about your constant emotional distress over your incredibly messed up ex-girlfriend. I remember making fun of you for your stereotypically “girly” tendencies: eating salad, feeling raw emotions, […]Read more "Dear John Klein"
It is with great excitement I introduce the work of Lulu Steurer. I met her in 7th grade, when our sense of fashion and and self were just developing. We had just become neighbors and shared seats on the bus. Though at first we discussed at great length the romantic turbulence of Twilight, for three years onward […]Read more "Wild Child, Inc."