Is donning cowboy boots a symbol of independence for women, or an attempt to fit in with a culture that does not seem to recognize — or respect — our autonomy?
Armond White's film reviews were once electric: part historical analysis, part posturing, part insult comedy, an attempt to take black art — and art in general — seriously. What happened?
When I learned that the jewelry my family had given me over the years was a morbid kind of safety net, I came to dread my future every time I put on a piece of gold.
I wonder if the trees are screaming. I wonder where the birds go. I wonder how anything could ever escape the inferno and rebuild. I think about my marriage.
Why did I go to work for the TSA? To try to connect with my father? To soothe various concerns as a new father myself? Was I researching a book? Having a midlife crisis? All of the above?
For the past five centuries being black has meant collectively experiencing grief in ways that the rest of society does not understand and cannot fully comprehend.
The protagonist of the 2002 comedy represents an area of conversation still largely overlooked in South Asian communities: the child who meekly defies cultural expectation.
Imagine finding out your father wasn't the man you thought he was. Imagine finding out he was your mother's fertility doctor.
During her brief ’80s reign as one of film’s biggest stars, Cher didn’t disappear into roles — she brought her indelible presence to bear on women thought to be invisible and cast them into the light.
In April 2016, eight family members were slain in their homes in Ohio. Nine months later, the killer or killers are still on the loose, and the town has all but forgotten the crimes.
Ambition. The word itself makes me want to run and hide. It’s got some inexorable pejorative stench to it. Why is that? I’ve been avoiding this essay like the plague.
A man’s appetite can be hearty, but a woman with an appetite — for food, for sex, for simple attention — is always voracious: she always overreaches, because it is not supposed to exist.
There was a reason none of the teens in the legendary director’s films were real rebels, but rather outsiders with an eye on upward mobility.
I was trying to accustom myself to the fact that my cat didn’t want to be my pet anymore. And then a friend gave me a phone number.
Gordon Korman wrote his first bestseller in seventh grade. Eighty-eight books (and counting) later, a movie adaptation revisits the early work of a man whose audience changes every graduation season.
An act that rarely involves blowing and only occasional labor, “blow job” sounds like something created by a thirsty Marxist, a guy as alienated from his own pleasure as he is from his work.
Nancy Reagan, Antonin Scalia, Glenn Frey: Are all celebrity deaths equal and equally hilarious?
If your child gets sick, hope for something mechanical. Failing that, wish for something commonplace. This is a mother’s quest to find her daughter a diagnosis.
Readers who embrace futuristic narratives about artificial intelligences or evolved dolphins may balk at those about magicians or goblins, but creators are increasingly bridging the genre gap.
Ever since Gus Van Sant’s "Good Will Hunting" introduced 1997 audiences to a beautiful but violent and appealingly damaged young man — stuck doing construction in Southie, wrestling with undiscovered genius — the “Boston” movie has become its own specific genre.