You’re Killing Me With Your Picnics
Obligatory eating on grass is the worst thing about summer.
The mere thought is probably making your skin crawl, but hear me out.
Forty-eight hours in Gstaad, made for Instagram.
An unexpected evolution.
Just like at bars, it's the crowd that counts.
Or: How your celebrity-memoir sausage gets made.
The cultural preoccupation with duration is a very modern worry.
We caught up with the xoJane essayist. "Now I wish I'd taken a picture of it," she said.
Christine Ouzounian is an audacious antiheroine.
I refuse to believe this. But maybe that's the problem?
Pleasure must be balanced against pragmatism.
Talking to the man who managed the other Jen's breakup with Ben.
The etiquette is tricky, but the results can be magnificent. Or so we hear.
If you think her new book is about Sex and the City, "you're just cray-cray.”
An Instagrammable social lubricant for modern mystics.
How being orphaned made her treasure love.
Stop telling me about The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.
Friends of friends of friends, says the dating app Hinge.
If Williamsburg is the frat house of Brooklyn, then Tulum is our Cancún.