An essay exploring the ways queer families challenge traditional notions of heredity and paternity.
The more "lifelike" simulations are, the less effective they risk becoming.
I was told zits are for teenagers. This was a lie.
John Waters, self-described garbage guru, wonders how he stumbled into what every young artist fears: acceptance.
A childhood in a wealthy Houston megachurch instilled the virtues of low taxes and the perils of French kissing. For Jia Tolentino, it also lit a shimmering path to intoxication.
And just about every aspect of my life has changed because of it
“Pieces were stolen from me Or dare I say… given away?”
The better I know a person, the easier I'll recognize them. The rarer I deal with someone, the more insecure I am at an encounter, whether it is that person or not.
Amazon has an accessibility problem that quietly affects 70 million people worldwide.
On discovering the limits of self-analysis.
The thought of someone who didn't even know my cousin using the horrible, violent way she was taken from my family as "material" is unfathomable to me. This is what I think about when I try to watch or listen to true crime.
I have experienced the benefits of healthy eating and I cannot believe I must keep this up for the rest of my life.
If society stopped seeing gender as a binary — and stopped equating biological sex with gender — a task like taking a flight wouldn't be such a trial for trans and non-binary people.
With a barely-4-year-old and a not-quite-2-year-old, in a 32-foot boat sailing up the Inside Passage, a family discovers the best rewards are those never imagined.
As a struggling grad student, I happened upon a lucrative side hustle with an elite team of card-counters — and found the community I'd been looking for.
What makes ADHD dangerous is the stress and shame that come with it. The shame of feeling lazy, or dumb or socially awkward. The stress of not doing enough.
When your mom loses her job, you realize all those years of turning you into you — waking up at 3 a.m. to clean your vomit, fielding existential crises, driving you home from high school ragers — aren’t things she can line-item on a resume.
It was September of my sophomore year at Barnard College and Beto's senior year at Columbia when we first sat together and talked at a party.
Sometimes I thought of it as war reparations. On the outwardly civil but quietly vicious battlefield of my parents' divorce, I had been the clear loser.
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