Nora Ephron

Thursday

Josie Cox

The curious case of Botox babies

"You look great,” my friend beamed at me as she opened her apartment door a few months ago. “Have you had Botox?” Of course I hadn’t. I’d had something that’s almost certainly far rarer — especially as a parent — in this age of ubiquitous beauty-on-demand services: eight solid hours of sleep, followed by a strong cup of coffee, followed by a ten-minute power walk through a New York City downpour replete with gale-force winds blowing in off the Hudson. Take that, injectable dermal fillers. Botox, it seems, is everywhere. Many of my acquaintances, even those barely old enough to remember Tamagotchis or Princess Diana’s funeral or that AOL dial-up tone, casually drop into conversation how overdue they are for an appointment with Doctor So-And-So.

Botox

Thursday

Harry Mount

Curtis Sittenfeld is the great American observer

If a Martian landed on Earth and wanted a quick summary of the state of modern American life, I would point him toward the works of Curtis Sittenfeld. Sittenfeld (born 1975 in Ohio) is a novelist. Like all the great ones, her perceptions are more accurate about real life than most nonfiction writers’ could claim. In Prep (2005), she skewered American class in the story of a Massachusetts boarding school; Sittenfeld herself went to private school at Groton. In Rodham (2020), a novel about Hillary Clinton, she nailed today’s politics. And, in her best book to date, American Wife (2008), a thinly disguised novel about George and Laura Bush, she filleted the American approach to inherited money, and the swaggering confidence it produces.

sittenfeld

Thursday

Kara Kennedy

An ode to good breasts

When I was eighteen, my ex-boyfriend sent naked photos of me to all my friends and family after a particularly bad argument. Inconsolable and embarrassed, I looked to my mother to see if she could help, or if she never wanted to speak to me again. She said something that I will never forget. “Don’t worry love, if I had tits like yours, I'd put them on my Christmas cards.” After that day, I no longer thought of breasts as inconsequential hanging sacks of fat. Now I just adore them — and not only my own. I have become somewhat of a breast connoisseur, and I get a good look at a pair whenever I can. So you can imagine my delight when Sydney Sweeney entered the public eye. I haven’t seen a rack that good in a while.

sydney sweeney breasts