All I have left from her time among the Qashqai are a few photographs and her many stories.
And 28 million people can relate.
My small Catholic college had an unspoken dress code, and finally I had had enough.
These are jeans that wear in, not out.
Of all the items you can find yourself newly in possession of when a parent or loved one dies, few are as fraught with intimate meaning as clothing.
Working as a body double for film and TV meant that I got to wear all the designer clothes — and pretend to be all the people — I could imagine.
Lab coats aren’t designed with women’s bodies in mind, but I still love mine.
When I couldn’t find the clothes that made me feel like myself, I decided to open a shop of my own.
Hoodies are the worst, so why can’t I let this one go?
The wealthy women she tailored for asked her to cut size tags out of their dresses; years later, I struggle with the same impulse.
Taking off my bra when I get home is great, but it’s just so I can change into my house bra.
An excerpt from Jessica Pishko’s memoir In the Red.
The body positivity I’m interested in is true and inclusive and unconditional; it doesn’t require caveats.
A journey of sleeveless self-discovery.
Taking up space in a world that wants women — especially fat women — to be small.
Can’t wait to lock myself out and flash all the salespeople.
How do we keep the sweaters and dresses that remind us of funerals and miscarriages? How do we let them go?
Brick Lane truly gets me.
They offer instant outfits and effortless movement.
It gets stains out of jeans, couches, and, I guess, lingerie.
I can’t always translate myself into language or motion, but I can translate myself into clothes.
They might seem anachronistic, but to me they fit just right.
There’s no better way to look cute when you’re secretly covered in food.
Goodbye, cute little dresses; hello, spit-up-repelling cardigans.
Turns out you don’t have to be perfect or polished.
The internet will be your best friend (and worst enemy).
They’ll transform you into the jaunty young boy of your dreams.
Give. Me. That. Purple. Cocoon. Coat.
Dealing with trichotillomania has cost me thousands of dollars, and I still can’t help but feel that I’m faking it.