Newly minted director Greta Gerwig never liked being called a muse.
The Ohio governor’s 2020 kamikaze mission.
A year later, what New Yorkers still don’t want to admit about Trump.
Michael Grimm runs from disgrace, and for Congress.
When predators are the nation’s storytellers.
How the late-night monologue got topical.
Caleb Landry Jones can play the unhinged bully, and his victim.
Balancing tits and heart with Bridget Everett.
Last year, Ross Lynch was playing a teen heartthrob; on November 3, he stars as a teenage Jeffrey Dahmer in the biopic My Friend Dahmer.
Four decades after his death, celebrating Gordon Matta-Clark’s “anarchitecture.”
Getting “The Contest” past the censors.
Patrick Rothfuss, who’s tired of being asked when his next book will be published.
Stranger Things 2 loses some of its purpose.
The New Museum’s “Trigger” is radical in content, retrograde in form: What should we make of that?
Lady Bird is nearly perfect.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri unsettlingly blends eccentricity and tragedy.
Twenty-five things to see, hear, watch, and read.
A sequined, sparkly fashion takeover.
Readers sound off on New York’s 50th anniversary issue.
Our deliberately oversimplified guide to who falls where on our taste hierarchies. Mouse over or tap the image for related links.
Four sheepskin chairs, a Scandinavian pop-up, and more.
The artist who’s been wearing all white since 1998.
Ten chefs’ menus for their very first dinner parties.
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