Paige is 21 years old, with bright pink hair and an impish smile. Most nights, she pitches her blue tent in a graveyard in Brighton because she feels safer lying among the dead.
She gets her own space among the graves, it’s pitch black at night and she has some respite from the usual cavalcade of drunk men offering a tenner for sexual favours. Sometimes, her boyfriend JP shares her tent; other times he’s at a hostel without her. When she is on the street during the day, she moves in a pack, staying close to at least one other woman so she’s not mistaken for a prostitute and propositioned by some guy. When she has the energy, Paige visits her little girl, but even when they’re not together, her maternal instinct to protect her seems to weigh heavily on her. She speaks often about her deteriorating mental health.
We meet Paige on a new BBC3 documentary series called Love and Drugs on the Street, the first episode of which airs tonight. As the show opens, Paige is telling the camera what a “tramp’s wash” is: it’s her best attempt at hygiene, when she grabs some baby wipes and cleans herself in a toilet cubicle or inside her sleeping bag. This, and the constant craving for drugs and warmth, is the reality of sleeping rough. Paige is often cold, wet and frightened, alone but for the graves beside her and the other homeless people nearby in their tents. It is a grim life, one where she must always be alert, always be in survival mode.
These days, one in eight rough sleepers is a woman, and her life expectancy is 43 years. Rough sleeping has more than doubled in England since 2010, with the highest increase being on the streets of Brighton. More than half of those homeless in Brighton came from outside the city. Many of them alternate between sleeping rough in a sleeping bag, tent or doorway, and getting to spend time with their heads on pillows in hostels or council flats. Nothing is certain or permanent. Everything is just for the night.
In the first episode of this new series, we meet four women who all live in Brighton. There’s Paige, whose story I’m already hopelessly invested in. By the time we leave her and by the next episode, there may be some hope of a development in her story.
Then there’s Tanya, who is seven months pregnant at the time of filming – or as she says, 48 days away from getting her body back to herself. She shares a sleeping bag and survival tips with her partner, Mark, and they’ve been together about a year. She knows that their baby boy will be put into foster care after he’s seen by doctors – he’ll have to wean himself off whatever drugs or medication Tanya is taking.
We meet Suzie next, an older woman who says that if she could go back to prison tomorrow, she would. It was cosy there, she says, and she was guaranteed three meals a day, regular medication and a bed to call her own. For a short time, she takes a 21-year-old woman called Jo-Jo under her wing, trying to keep her calm and stop her from antagonising passers-by. Jo-Jo smokes spices and has lived her life in care, which she says has always made her feel homeless anyway.
The show is distressing without being voyeuristic. It is intense but extremely watchable. Each of these women seems to want to tell her story, if only to pass the time. It’s lonely on the streets of Brighton and even though there’s some sense of community among homeless people, each woman is very much fending for herself. Paige and Jo-Jo are just 21 years old and we don’t know a lot yet about exactly what life events led them to the streets but I suspect we will find out more as the series continues. We don’t know yet why Suzie went to jail but it is powerfully sad that she wishes she was back there because at least, for her, it was a sort of home. We may be around for the birth of Tanya’s baby boy and if so, it will be harrowing to see her have to give him up.
I, for one, will be tuning in next week to find out more about these courageous women. In the meantime, I expect to think a lot about Paige, in her tent; Tanya, in her sleeping bag; Suzie, in her hostel; and Jo-Jo, in her doorway.
Love and Drugs on the Street: Girls Sleeping Rough will be shown on BBC Three from Sunday 5th November.
It's the most sensual time of the year! This Tuesday, celestial seductress Venus slinks into Scorpio, stoking the erotic embers everywhere. Subtlety is an art form during this Venus cycle. Allow attractions to warm up slowly and keep a firm sense of privacy in place. It's nobody's business what's going on with you and bae — and no, you don't even have to share the deets with your best friend. This is a time for sexual healing. Seek partners who are as trustworthy as they are lustworthy. True love can wash the pain away!
Since Venus is also the stylist of the skies, tap into Scorpio's mystique when picking your OOTDs. Lingerie as outerwear? Black leather everything? Noir nails and lipstick? Yes, please. This edgy energy defines punk rock, so let the hunt begin for the perfect pair of combat boots.
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Women across the globe have brought awareness to the pervasiveness of sexual harassment and assault through #MeToo, but French women created their own hashtag that puts more emphasis on the men responsible.
The phrase #BalanceTonPorc, which means "out your pig," became a rallying cry throughout France in the aftermath of Hollywood tycoon Harvey Weinstein's public downfall. French journalist Sandra Muller created the hashtag in a tweet describing when an executive told her: "You have big breasts. You are my type of woman. I will make you orgasm all night." It wasn't long before French women from all walks of life were also outing their pigs on social media.
#MeToo kicked off in America after dozens of women accused Weinstein of sexual harassment and assault, leading to the filmmaker being ousted from his company and expelled from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. The allegations against Weinstein had a ripple effect, as other prominent filmmakers, journalists, politicians, and chefs have been publicly accused of inappropriate behavior toward women in recent weeks.
It wasn't just women, either. Actor Anthony Rapp claimed Kevin Spacey made unwanted sexual advances when Rapp was 14, acknowledging that the influx of harassment stories and #MeToo posts encouraged him to come forward. Multiple others have since made similar allegations against Spacey, and his Netflix show, House of Cards, has halted production.
Jeune stagiaire, le producteur me dit en fixant mes fesses « marche devant moi que je te regarde. Ça te va bien les talons» #balancetonporc
As the movement crossed the ocean, French women put their spin on the #MeToo hashtag. But unlike the American campaign, the French's language choice puts the focus on the men who target women. Because it calls out perpetrators instead of centering around victims, "out your pig" more closely resembles the smaller #HimThough movement that began to take form in the U.S. and U.K., as well as encouraged women to name their abusers.
TW//Rape, Sexual Assault, Abuse The French have got me considering naming & shaming abusive men from my past.#balancetonporc#OutYourPig
France could also soon see new legislation surrounding harassment, championed by the French minister for gender equality, Marlène Schiappa. Last month, she proposed a bill in parliament that would fine men on the spot for street harassment and catcalling.
Schiappa told La Croix newspaper, "The point is that the whole of society has to redefine what it will accept and what it will not."
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Twitter has been accused of "deliberate bisexual erasure" after users spotted that making a picture search using the #bisexual hashtag produces no results.
Instead, users who search #bisexual under Photos are greeted with a message that reads: "No results for #bisexual. The term you entered did not bring up any results. You may have mistyped your term or your search setting could be protecting you from some potentially sensitive content."
However, even if a user unticks a box marked "hide sensitive content," Twitter still brings up no photo results after searching the #bisexual hashtag.
No results are produced either if a user searches "#bisexual" under News or Videos. UK-based activism group The Bisexual Index has accused Twitter of "deliberate bisexual erasure," pointing out that "#bisexual is not a slur."
What does deliberate bisexual erasure look like? Click this hashtag and then see how many pictures come up: #bisexualpic.twitter.com/VEOUhoHiIZ
The Bisexual Index's Kate Harrad told the BBC: "Every bi-activist knows the problems of trying to search for bi-content on the web and some public wifi systems block it altogether, even when it's nothing to do with sex, because bisexual is seen as a dodgy word in itself. This is why Twitter needs to be very sensitive to any filtering that reduces access to bi content, and very aware of the problem of bisexual erasure."
Many others are also criticising Twitter for appearing to block searches using the #bisexual hashtag. However, Twitter has yet to respond to being accused of bi-erasure.
If anyone knows a few tricks to help you look your best, it's surely Kate Moss. After all, the supermodel, contributing editor to British Vogue, and founder of the Kate Moss Agency has nearly 30 years' experience of photo shoots, catwalks, and attending high-profile fashion events.
In a new interview with The Sunday Telegraph, Moss shares her biggest beauty trick – and it's something that's very easy to try at home, by yourself.
"The ice plunge is the best trick," Moss tells the newspaper. "Fill a sink with ice cubes, cold water and slices of cucumber and hold your face in for as long as you can. It instantly reduces puffiness and tightens up your skin."
Moss also reveals that she adopts a "less-is-more" approach to her everyday beauty look, saying: "I spend so much time wearing a lot of make-up at work, so I tend to keep it simple when I’m not. Even though I’m low-maintenance, I do still like a facial and massage when I can."
Oh, and even though she apparently has a secret Instagram account, we shouldn't expect to see Moss embracing social media any time soon. "The whole modelling scene is completely different to when I first started out," she tells The Sunday Telegraph. "Everything now is so instant with digital photography and there’s no mystique. I don’t have any personal accounts on social media, I'm just not into posting about personal stuff online."
When Venus Kanani worked on the upcoming TV series Heathers, s he had a specific directive for Heather Chandler's role: The producers and writers wanted a plus-sized actor. In the original '80s movie, Chandler was played by Kim Walker, a slim, blonde actress who had cheekbones ready to slice a tomato. But nearly 30 years later, the creative team wanted someone who would be cool in 2017; as Kanani describes it, someone "super confident, super sexy, and always the baddest bitch in the room...she has to ooze confidence and assertiveness." In other words, someone much more radical than Kim Walker's all-American girl.
After two months of searching, Kanani found Melanie Field, a recent Yale Drama School graduate. The 27-year-old has a P!nk vibe — aggressive, fearless and unapologetic. In the past, Field's headshot might have landed her in the pile of character actresses or maybe that of the comedic sidekick. But Kanani saw her Heather Chandler: a girl boss who runs her high school. (It's worth noting that all of the Heathers in the upcoming reboot are more diverse than in the original. Heather McNamara, played by Jasmine Matthews, is a black lesbian. Heather Duke, played by Brendan Scannell, is genderqueer.)
Kanani has a complicated job. Casting directors have to digest a nebulous idea and bring it to life it in a way that feels realistic, while achieving the overall look and tone that a creative team is going for. The trouble is, that overall look often isn't realistic, even in 2017. When it comes to size, the industry is still way off. According to a study performed by Dr. Stacy L. Smith and the Media, Diversity & Social Change Initiative at USC Annenberg exclusively for Refinery29, 54.8% of 13 to 20-year-olds and 42.4% of 21 to 39-year-olds on screen were thin. These percentages should be way lower; if they reflected reality, they'd be closer to 32%.
We spoke to three casting directors about how they're working to change the casting process to allow for a greater breadth of body diversity in Hollywood. If their dedication to the cause is any indication, the revolution will be televised.
Casting The Spell
Casting is the corridor between conception and creation. A project starts with the script, which the casting director reads before meeting with the creative team to discuss prototypes. They might name a few recognisable actors as tentpoles for the role, e.g. "We want a Laura Linney-type for this part." From there, the casting director writes a breakdown.
The breakdown is a short paragraph describing the look of the desired actor. It usually includes age range, ethnicity and gender. A run-of-the-mill one might be, "female, 20s, attractive." Directors can pull the description directly from a script, or they can go a little off book — but they consult the writers as they do. The process is meant to produce a concise description of an imagined actor.
When a writer puts in 'attractive', I do think there's an automatic assumption that that means 'thin'.
In the event the casting and creative team don't want to make an offer to a higher-profile actor, they will ship this breakdown off to agencies. Then, it's up to the agent to play matchmaker: pair the breakdown with the actors, and hope for the best.
Until now, there hasn't been much wiggle room in breakdowns for a show or film to reflect reality. That's because it takes conscious effort, detail, and specificity, as when the Heathers team conceived of a spunky, plus-size lead. But this isn't the norm. According to Tiffany Little Canfield, a casting director who worked on NBC's This Is Us, descriptions are frequently vague, which leads to unconscious bias. "If a role is not physically described in the script, people default to think of an average-size actor," she says. So for roles that aren't as prominent, such as extras at a party or classmates of the main character, a plus-size actor might never be considered.
"When a writer puts in 'attractive', I do think there's an automatic assumption that that means 'thin'. If you put that in the breakdown, you're not going to get a lot of submissions of plus-sized people. Because the agents aren't thinking that either," Kanani adds.
Body diversity requires careful attention to even the smallest roles on a show; this can be done, but not without a lot of creative push — and creative agency as well. It doesn't help that the default pool of actors in Los Angeles is already homogenous. In fact, when it comes to casting a plus-sized woman, even finding actors can be difficult.
Take Kate Pearson. Chrissy Metz plays Kate on This Is Us, an overweight woman struggling to escape society's definition of an "acceptable" weight. Kate's storyline calls for a plus-sized actress, and this was included in the breakdown for the character. Canfield estimates she saw 50 actresses for the role after she put out a casting notice to agencies — a major role in a network pilot typically generates a few thousand submissions. The same goes for Heather Chandler in Heathers. Kanani says she saw 40 actresses for the role. Of the women she saw, six were sent to producers for approval.
There are a few reasons behind the smaller pool of people: Many agents don't represent actors who are larger because they don't fit the mould of what mainstream lead actors look like — which in theory makes them less lucrative as clients. Then there's the idea of self-elimination. If you don't look like what's already on television, why would you head out to LA with a latte and a prayer?
Having Women At The Wheel Helps
Kanani sometimes works with Felicia Fasano, another casting director who works a triple-bill of lady comedy: She casts Better Things on FX, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and I'm Sorry. All three are headed by women: Pamela Adlon, the team of Aline Brosh Mckenna and Rachel Bloom, and Andrea Savage, respectively. Fasano explains that she's made it her mission to a) work in comedy and b) work for creatives who have a clear vision at hand. All the better to avoid homogeneity.
"I'm lucky. I'm working on three different shows where the creators are women of a certain age that have all been in the business a really long time," she says. "They all feel that way; they say, 'I want to show what real people look like.'"
Some of this is simply about working for women, Fasano says. "Women are clearly sensitive to seeing what the reality of every day is. These stories that these women are creating, however comedic they are, they're still very real." Working for these showrunners, Fasano emphasises that she feels included in the creative process. Her voice and her opinion as someone picking the roles is heard and heeded.
The role of Paula Proctor on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, for example, wasn't written to be plus-sized. Fasano says the breakdown asked for a woman in her 40s "struggling to lose the baby weight." She saw a range of women — around 150 in Los Angeles, while the New York team saw 100 — and landed on Donna Lynne Champlin, who is 46.
"We were looking for someone who was real," Fasano explains. "[Champlin] just blew us all away with her acting and singing." Champlin is now a regular on CXG, which is on its third season.
Fasano wasn't always so fortunate. She recalls an early instance in her career when she cast a plus-sized woman for a typical "date" role and the costume designer emailed her at a loss.
"We cast somebody who was a size 14 in a big recurring role and the costume designer kind of freaked out," Fasano, who is also plus-sized, recalls. "She asked me where I shop for clothes. And I was like, 'Wow, okay, you're not used to casting normal-sized people.'"
It's easy to shirk body-positive responsibility in such a tightly stratified industry. Film and television are a packed assembly line; each worker only does the most minute job. Inclusivity is everyone's responsibility — from writers to agents to casting directors — but it's easy to pass that job off to the person behind you.
Kanani, Canfield and Fasano seem to agree the responsibility is shared, but casting directors can help. "We oftentimes have to try to push those boundaries. We do it all the time with ethnicity. A role might be written white, but we might bring in other ethnicities because why not?" Kanani says. "We see it as our job to ask those questions: Why does it have to be this? Can't it be this? Let's think not so narrow."
When there is rejection, it's rarely specific, which can make it harder to address as size discrimination. "A lot of times you hear this vague, 'This isn't how I saw the role,'" Canfield says. "They don't want to say, 'This person isn't [thin]'. It's usually all locked into what's right for the part, and they'll try to say some other reason."
Change Is In The Air
Change begins at the top, and we live in an era where the top is changing quite a bit. Television is no longer a system of three freeways — thanks to streaming, there are backroads and trails that provide alternate transportation.
The network sets the tone for the shows it produces. You may notice that certain networks have a certain look. It can feel like The CW exclusively features the upper halves of centaurs. Compared to the networks, HBO is a cosy pocket of reality. Their rotating cast of actors — Chris Bauer, Natalie Paul, Dominique Fishback, and Oscar Isaac come to mind — is variegated and specific. In general, shows on cable networks like HBO and streaming services like Netflix, Amazon and Hulu all provide a more fully realised portrait of reality than their basic contemporaries.
"Cable and streaming are definitely opening it up a lot more — the networks are trying, they're definitely having conversations," Fasano says. "But I feel like the people getting cast [on networks] are still the traditional way you've seen them." Crazy Ex-Girlfriend airs on The CW, which Fasano notes as proof that the teen-centric network is interested in realistic television. The pilot of the show was originally developed for Showtime.
Canfield, who works for Bernie Telsey Casting, one of New York's biggest casting agencies, has done a lot of work with Netflix; she cast Atypical as well as One Day at a Time, both shows with a vast array of actors.
"You see the difference between network and cable and streaming quite a bit," Canfield says. "I think [Netflix] just likes really terrific actors and they're really collaborative with their creative team, and so it feels more actor-driven than looks-driven on Netflix," Canfield says. "You're not worrying about likability or symmetry of features or how attractive everyone is. You're just thinking, 'Do they bring truth to the role?'"
Different modes of access seem to push the narrative forward. Netflix doesn't air on television; it doesn't have to answer to commercial advertisers. Even more traditional media players are starting to catch on that they need to evolve in order to stay relevant. Heathers belongs to the Paramount Network, the rebranded version of Spike TV that will debut in 2018. If it seems hard to imagine the same channel that brought you Manswers launching a diverse and inclusive teen drama into the world, you're not alone. But it's a sign of real, exciting progress, and hopefully just a preview of even bigger things to come.
We are at a tipping point. The current generation of viewers has the potential to spark true societal change, if we demand true representation on our screens. These women are the vanguard. They are only the beginning.
It's clear that in Hollywood and elsewhere, Weinstein is hardly the only alleged predator who used his power to sexually abuse women. And, in what will surely come as a shock to no one, this type of behaviour has been going on for decades. A 72-year-old article has gone viral on social media, in which late Hollywood icon Maureen O'Hara spoke out about sexual misconduct in the industry.
In a 1945 interview with The Mirror, O'Hara stated that producers called her "a cold potato without sex appeal" because she rejected their sexual advances.
"I am so upset with it that I am ready to quit Hollywood. It's got so bad I hate to come to work in the morning," she told the outlet. "I'm a helpless victim of a Hollywood whispering campaign. Because I don't let the producer and director kiss me every morning or let them paw me they have spread word around town that I am not a woman — that I am a cold piece of marble statuary."
"I guess Hollywood won't consider me as anything except a cold hunk of marble until I divorce my husband, give my baby away and get my name and photograph in all the newspapers. If that's Hollywood's idea of being a woman I'm ready to quit now," she continued.
O'Hara's interview is noteworthy because it dates back to the 1940s, when it was even more taboo to discuss sexual misconduct than it is today. She was brave to speak out, but unfortunately it appears that no one listened or rallied to her side.
O'Hara gave a very clear account of what it was truly like to be a woman in Hollywood in 1945 — and it's noteworthy because it proves that, over 70 years later, precious little progress has been made.
If you have experienced sexual violence of any kind, please visit Rape Crisis or call 0808 802 9999.
Over the years, the homes of young people in mainstream film and TV have been portrayed in a way which is hopelessly unrealistic for the majority of us. The onscreen archetypal abode of a professional twenty or thirtysomething – think of the Friends gang, the SATC women, pretty much any rom-com – is a gorgeously decorated, airy city apartment, where you can live for years on the salary of a waitress, masseuse or freelance writer.
Some even make no discernible wage at all. I still want to know how an 18-year-old Keira Knightley afforded her Notting Hill mews house in Love Actually: the average price of a home on the real-life street, according to Prime Location, is £1.98 million. To be fair to the Manhattanites, Rachel and Phoebe lived in Monica’s rent-controlled flat inherited from her grandma, and fellow New Yorker Carrie enjoyed rent control too. But off-screen, the reality for young professionals is very different.
Jeremy Corbyn might want it, but rent control is not a thing in the UK. According to research by think tank Resolution Foundation, while mortgaged owners spent around 12% of their income on their housing in 2016, private renters paid 36% – three times as much. After a decade of spiralling house prices and stagnant wages, the number of young people quitting London to move to cheaper towns and cities is at a five-year high.
And so the phrase ‘generation rent’ is now a dictionary-defined term. While home ownership was an achievable reality for our parents and grandparents, it’s now just a fantasy for millions of millennials, and people are making TV, theatre, music and poetry about it.
Last year, Fleabag actor Phoebe Waller-Bridge wrote and starred in Crashing, a Channel 4 TV series about a bunch of young Londoners giving up things like privacy, sanity and safe household appliances in exchange for cheap rent as property guardians in an abandoned hospital. It explored the idea that we’re expected to nail down finding a home, love and a career in our twenties. “By your mid-twenties you’re supposed to have a pretty good idea about those [things],” said Waller-Bridge. “But I hadn’t ticked any of those boxes. I couldn’t even see them.”
This inability of renters to reach traditional adult milestones is being investigated in an eight-part documentary series by Viceland. Set to air in 2018, the programme will be fronted by journalist Billie JD Porter and will examine the long-term consequences of the housing crisis on British and US renters.
On stage, emerging playwrights are questioning the psychological impact of not having your own space too. Share close quarters with anyone and questions of boundaries, privacy and loneliness emerge: something actors and writers Lucy Bairstow and Jess Murrain delve into in Digs, a play they wrote and starred in this year. A dark comedy which ran at London’s Pleasance Theatre and the Edinburgh Festival, on the surface it’s about housemates dancing, arguing and drinking their way through renting together. There’s a lot of glitter and '70s disco involved, and the play is stuffed with gags about the passive-aggressiveness that creeps in when you’re trapped in a few square metres of space with someone.
Underneath the humour, though, Jess says the play is about how renting often means “panicking. Anxiety is rife. Maybe we can’t pay the rent at all, let alone on time. Maybe we’re too sad to head into our own front rooms. Maybe our parents never hear from us. Maybe we crave some green space…”
Writer, filmmaker and model Greta Bellamacina is investigating the very human desire for a home through New River Press. Alongside her partner Robert Montgomery, Greta is giving a platform to writers battling issues including “Orwellian, ridiculous rent prices”. She’s already convinced Burberry to host a literary salon at their Regent Street flagship store, and her poets have performed readings at the famous Paris bookshop Shakespeare & Co.
Online, journalist James Barber is venting about the renting lifestyle (#ventyourrent is a hashtag, by the way) via an upcoming web series. He wrote, crowdfunded and is about to film Flatshare, a comedy about four young professionals living in a rundown flat in Peckham. A born-and-bred Londoner, “I'm getting to an age where I would like to settle down and buy somewhere close to my family, but most of the areas they live in, like East Dulwich and Peckham, have been massively gentrified and house prices have skyrocketed,” he says. “I needed a place to vent my frustration and that's when I started to write Flatshare.”
With the amount of work coming out about the subject, perhaps the UK’s housing crisis will prove to be a problem that shapes and defines this generation of British writers, filmmakers and creatives. While we may have been brought up on a '90s and '00s TV diet of dream apartments, McMansions and conflict-free house sharing, the next few years look set to serve up slightly more battle-worn stories about the way we live now.
When my father died after a sudden illness in June 2015 I thought, Okay, this is the worst thing that’s happened to me. And it was, right up until the moment last November when my brother called from Texas to say that doctors hadn’t been able to save our sister’s toddler son from what we thought was pneumonia but later learned was myocarditis.
Hours after that phone call, I flew home to Austin. Apart from snot-crying through the entire memorial service, I mostly set my grief aside and focused on being useful to my sister and her family. I packed lunchboxes and did the school run. I tidied up. I bought presents and patted backs and listened and tried to find words of comfort.
I returned to London about a month later. My stomach quaked with guilt — why was I leaving my family? — but also anxiety. I would have to see people. I would have to talk about everything. I would be the person who got comforted. I knew I needed the support but I felt too raw, too exposed. I was grieving, and I felt embarrassed about it.
When my father died, I put a lot of my energy into keeping things together — outwardly, at least. I would throw myself into solving other friends’ personal problems, then go home and cry in my room, hoping my flatmate wouldn’t notice. I’d brood and want to talk to someone, without actually asking anyone to talk. I’d try to be the life of the party, but be conscious that one drink too many might send me spluttering and sobbing.
I did grow closer to a few people who had also lost a parent; we swapped sad stories and joked that we’d formed some tragic sort of club. But most people have or will eventually endure the death of a parent. The death of a child, or a beloved niece or nephew, is too horrible, too unspeakable.
Sure enough, I just couldn’t get the words out the first time I met with friends after my nephew’s death. Sitting in a back booth at Albion, I wept. My tears tore holes through tissues. I apologised for crying. They offered soothing words, but I felt mortified and self-indulgent. And yet I also sensed that this emotional plaster had been ripped off. It had to get easier, yes?
And sometimes it did. Other times, I’d remember the words a good friend shared after my dad’s passing: “Grief isn’t linear.” One day it's a giant boulder; the next, a stone in my pocket. I’d congratulate myself on making it through my first catch-up without tearing up, then go to a party days later and have a little sob-fest when an acquaintance came over to express her sympathies (which, for the record, I appreciated).
The importance of self-care has been drummed into us over the past year — we should steer clear of social media, run a nice hot bath, take a long walk. As a grieving person, self-care meant avoiding overwhelming social situations that might trigger uncomfortable displays of emotion. When my long-distance besties suggested Skype calls, I declined, arguing that it would just be me sobbing in front of my laptop. Why trouble them when I could pay a professional therapist £80 to thoughtfully nod along to my wails (and tell me that I should wait at least six months before pursuing therapy)?
Looking back, that strategy seems less about self-care and more about sparing others any awkwardness. In romantic relationships I've grown used to stifling my needs and affecting an air of "cool girl" nonchalance rather than put off a boyfriend. It never worked, and yet I was taking the same misguided approach with my grief.
This became glaringly obvious when I recently encountered someone I'd once considered a close friend at a birthday party. He'd essentially slunk out of my life during my bereavement stretch, never checking in and, on occasions when we would be in the same room, ignoring me entirely. I felt isolated and cast as this tragic (read: boring) figure, which only made me try harder to present myself as a fun-loving party girl with zero issues. Now, here we were, hanging out like old times. It was nice, but I couldn’t not point out the elephant in the room.
Not surprisingly, he got defensive. He hadn’t mentioned my nephew because if something like that had happened to him, he’d never want to talk about it. I shouldn’t acknowledge it. I should be more positive. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, I should really stop going on about my “dead dad".
I stormed out, sobbing as I walked home in the rain at 5 in the morning. I spent the next day in bed, feeling sad and letting his words bounce around in my head. Had I alienated my cool friends by addressing the not-so-cool aspects of my life, even though, with this guy, I hadn't really addressed it at all? Was I grieving more than was socially acceptable?
I know from reading Option B, Sheryl Sandberg's book on coping with grief and being resilient after the untimely death of her husband, that some friendships fall short when one person is bereaved. Dr. Sheri Jacobson, clinical director at Harley Therapy, explained this to me over email.
"When people have experienced a death, others they interact with who have not yet experienced such a loss can on a certain level be unwilling to deal with it," she said. "This is because death invokes a realisation of our own mortality and that inevitably we, too, must face such a loss one day. Of course this might all be unconscious, and they might simply tell themselves they are too busy to help and avoid their friend in need, not realising what they are trying to avoid is their own fear, worries, and uncertainties.
"For the person who has experienced a loss and desperately wants to feel supported and loved, this can of course feel awful. Losing a loved one can actually trigger feelings of abandonment. Friends not being fully available can then heighten such feelings, or indeed become an unconscious outlet for expressing such feelings of abandonment."
If that's the case, it's best to address the matter in a nonjudgmental tone. A professional grief counsellor or support group can also offer the solace and sympathy our friends may not be able to provide. The bottom line, Jacobson noted, is that it's important not to keep these emotions bottled up; it's just important to trust them with the right people.
At this point, I think I know who those people are. The friend in Dubai who had a pie delivered to my home when I was having a bad day. The pals who handed me tissues in that Albion, and took me to lunch on what would have been my nephew's third birthday. All the others who are quick with hugs and kind gestures. With these people, I'll never feel pressured to be the cool girl — which is something I need to remind myself when I'm trying to zip everything up.
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Whether or not the revival of the trouser suit is down to perennial pantsuit queen, Hillary Clinton, it's official: sharp tailoring is one of this season's biggest trends. But don't be intimidated by the resurgence of the suit – in its latest iterations it's not only for the politician or businesswoman. The new suit is as playful as it is powerful and works just as well in the office as it does at the pub or an elegant evening event.
On the AW17 catwalks there was tailoring to suit – sorry – us all, from maximalist patterns at Gucci to classic checks at Off-White and Raf Simons' Calvin Klein debut as well as sporty, slogan suits at Versace, emblazoned with the words 'Love', 'Unity' and 'Loyalty' and a looser shape at Victoria Beckham.
If you're put off by the prospect of tomboyish tailoring or the fear of being swamped, the latest two-pieces come in a variety of silhouettes including culottes, flares and high-waisted cigarette pants to flatter those with a more feminine aesthetic. And when it comes to a power/party suit, why not really make a statement in a bold colour (red or yellow are my preference) or a sumptuous texture (velvet or cord are perfect for the festive season).
Still unconvinced? Ahead, I've road-tested five easy ways to wear a suit this winter, whether it's a more everyday Prince of Wales check or something a little more show-stopping. Dress up with vivid heels or down with trainers but either way, there's a trouser suit out there for you that will make you feel your most confident, empowered self.
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After my first job MTV working as a music programmer, I can't stop trying to matchmake people with music they might like. So, I wrote a book calledRecord Collecting for Girlsand started interviewing musicians. The Music Concierge is a column where I share music I'm listening to that you might enjoy, with a little context. Follow me on Twitter or Facebook, or leave me a comment below and tell me what you're listening to this week.
Willow "Boy"
There is so much to unpack on Willow's debut album (read a conversation with her about it, because it will shine a lot of light on the project). I must admit I was surprised when I pressed play, because it is so unlike anything else happening in music right now. The string arrangements on this particular track will make it stand out on any current Spotify playlist, but the low register her voice reaches is what grabbed me. The tone of her voice is soothing, and that low key she goes for, rather than the high notes many pop divas reach for, lends both sadness and wisdom to her sound. She's also picked a prime time of year to release it, as her soul-searching lyrics just go better with the autumn atmosphere. I recommend listening to the full album on this one.
Vance Joy "Like Gold"
I didn't think there would be a follow up worth caring about for Vance Joy after "Riptide." And, fair enough, putting one near perfect pop song into the universe is an achievement that many will never unlock. But damn if they haven't caught my ear with "Like Gold," which takes up the mantle of low-key banjo pop that Mumford & Sons laid down. If you like plaintive and plainspoken or have a bit of love for good old-fashioned folk music, this is the jam for you.
N.E.R.D. feat. Rihanna "Lemon"
Obviously, we need to talk about this song. I've read a lot of hot takes on Twitter that I think are getting it all wrong. A lot of people don't like it because it doesn't do what Soundcloud rap is doing now, opting instead for some old N.E.R.D. production tricks and beats we remember from the '00s. Peel down to the layer below that and it's also referencing the golden age of hip-hop from the late '80s to early '90s, when sampling and repeated sampled wordplay was the style. The other thing this track does is bring us Rihanna the rapper for the first time, and whether you think she's good at it or not is so not the point: it forces that conversation about how many women can be on the rap charts at one time. Historically, they only let you have one. So, Rihanna and N.E.R.D. are here to prove that's not true. And, by letting Rihanna do her verse and own her sexuality and gender, Pharrell and Chad Hugo are trying to make good on their history of being less than woke about feminism (shout out to "Blurred Lines," never forget). It's a lot to pack into one song, and I'm reserving judgment until I hear more from this project, but I'll take this step with them.
Stef Chura "Speeding Ticket"
Detroit doesn't sound like it used to if indie rocker Stef Chura is any indication of what's brewing under the surface of the city. Her voice has that near-but-not-quite a growl and dicey delivery in line with Stevie Nicks, but her aesthetic is all lo-fi '90s rock, like Mary Timony, Liz Phair, or Juliana Hatfield. The whole thing sounds intensely personal, less like listening to music and more like listening to your conscience whisper to you.
NSTASIA "Hell of a Time"
Good luck being anything less than charmed by NSTASIA's delightful track. When this Haitian-American singer/songwriter sings "stick with me kid," you will be locked in. There are no down moments, it's all groves here. Everything is sweet in this track, from the wavy island synths to her lilting vocals to the unwavering confidence she brings to the lyrics. Just trust me, you need this track in your life.
At the age of 24, model Lauren Wasser lost her leg when a case of toxic shock syndrome resulted in an infection that caused her to have to have her leg amputated.
In an interview for StyleLikeU, Wasser opened up about what it's been like to lose a limb, discussing what it was like for her to undergo below-the-knee amputation on her right leg.
It all began on what she called a "normal day" — she had been feeling under the weather, and was also on her period, so had made a run to buy her usual brand of tampons during the day. Despite not feeling her best, she made it to a friend's birthday party, where her friends remarked that she didn't look too well.
She then went home and proceeded to fall asleep, and the next thing she knew, her dog was perched on her chest barking loudly, and a police officer was banging on the door.
She eventually was rushed to the hospital with a heavy fever — her internal organs were shutting down, and she felt like her "feet were on fire." Wasser was diagnosed with toxic shock syndrome, a complication that involves bacterial infections. It's often associated with menstruating women and tampons, though it can affect anyone of any age.
While laying in her bed, she heard a nurse outside tell someone, "I have a 24-year-old girl here who's going to need a right-leg below-the-knee amputation."
"I knew my legs were not good, but hearing those words and being by myself, it was so surreal."
In 2015, Wasser told Vice that her toxic shock syndrome had caused an infection that turned into gangrene, a dead tissue condition that may cause someone to have to have a limb amputated as a last resort.
However, toxic shock syndrome is extremely rare — according to the National Organization for Rare Disorders, it occurs in an estimated three in 100,000 menstruating women.
“[TSS] is a rare event. I’ve been in practice for 25 years and I’ve seen one case,” OB/GYN Lauren Streicher, an Assistant Clinical Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Northwestern University’s medical school told us back in 2013.
When it does happen, however, TSS involves flu-like symptoms such as headaches, chills, and sore throat. Amputations are not typically associated with TSS, and Wasser's case is a rare but scary circumstance.
"I felt every single thing that happened, for 24 hours, screaming my head off, throwing shit," she said about waking up after the operation. "It was fucking hell. I was miserable. I hated everyone, I hated everything, I hated myself... I just did not want to live."
Wasser said that as excruciating as the experience was, she's learned a lot, and said that if things hadn't happened the way they did, "My heart wouldn't be full. I wouldn't feel like I'm doing good. I wouldn't feel like I'm making an impact in a positive way. I wouldn't have known what that felt like, because I didn't do that before."
Illamasqua's gender-fluid Christmas campaign has just dropped and it's as full of colour, individuality and creativity as we'd hoped. Featuring Munroe Bergdorf and self-identified 'gender capitalist' model Rain Dove, the makeup brand's statement reads loud and clear: 'MERR YX MAS: Celebrate Without Chromosomes'. "We are not afraid to talk about complex issues that affect our generation," Illamasqua's statement reads, "whether they be race, gender, age, or the environment. We seek to create an open, equal and diverse society."
During the fallout of being let go from her L'Oréal contract for calling out systemic racism, in an interview with R29, Bergdorf explained her reasons for working with Illamasqua. "I’ve worked with the brand for quite a number of years and they’ve always been really supportive with my career. They've supported me and encouraged me to use my voice, and think deeper as well. I like that they also ask their customers to think deeper – it’s not all about 'Here, buy our product' and play it safe."
In the campaign, Bergdorf wears an electric-blue Precision Gel Liner, lilac Antimatter Lipstick in Vibrate, and Sophie Powder Blusher in a baked rose hue. Her hair, worn curly with a rolled '50s back fringe, is coloured to parallel the shades and tones in her makeup. "The ideologies of Illamasqua are so in-line with mine – everybody is as beautiful as each other, and it's all about our differences," she states. "What makes us individual is what makes us beautiful."
"Gender is a very comforting thing to some people. And a lot of people are confused by fluidity," states Dove, who appears in the campaign wearing gunmetal Powder Eyeshadow in Hype, a coral Antimatter Lipstick in Lyra, and a sunshine-yellow Powder Eyeshadow in Superstitious swept across cheekbones. "I don't think gender and gender labels are bad, I think that gender reinforcement and limitations are bad. When people try to make others live a certain lifestyle because they're born with a specific genitalia and assigning them with duties and obligations, even sexpectations, it's dangerous and it's limiting. It's not the label, it's the limitation."
Living your identity colourfully is key to the campaign's message. Stating that "gender is colourful", the brand highlights that fashion's recent foray into gender was "beige, oversized, 'boys in girls clothes'. But gender is not neutral: it is bold, colourful, and above all individual." Of course, colour is at the forefront for legendary stylist and accessories designer Judy Blame, who styled the campaign. The beauty looks were created by makeup maestro Sharon Dowsett, who explored "colour and texture and how the unique placement of both can celebrate and highlight an individual's personality".
Illamasqua has brought us a rainbow-filled Christmas campaign, full of character, individuality and colour. As the brand's statement reads: "It's not about being a girl; it's not about being a boy. Forget the biology. It's about being free to explore your individuality, celebrating who you are today, and who we all want to be tomorrow." Props to Illamasqua for recognising that gender limitations have no place in beauty – let's hope more brands follow suit.
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Gabrielle Union came to fame in the early 2000s thanks to prominent roles in nearly every teen classic of the decade: Bring It On, Love & Basketball, 10 Things I Hate About You...the list shines bright, and the list runneth long. But after shedding what she's referred to as her "mean girl " past, Union now plays the spunky, ever-determined Mary Jane Paul on Being Mary Jane. She's got her dream job, her dream man, and is fêting the release of her biography, We're Going To Need More Wine. In this week's episode of UnStyled, Union tells Refinery29's co-founder and global editor-in-chief Christene Barberich how she pulled it all off — and what lessons she's learned along the way.
If you've been paying attention to her rise, you know Union is consistently authentic, be it in television interviews or on social media. Her exchanges with husband and NBA star Dwayne Wade on Twitter have got to be some of the cheekiest tweets we've ever seen; a welcome reminder that marriage can be really, really fun. But, as Union explains on this week's UnStyled, her relationship is a work in progress, and it has taken years of experiences — from pushing through the heartbreak of divorce and reconciling a miscarriage to raising children — to know how to indulge in the good when the bad is over and gone. On top of all of that, Union tackles issues like intersectional racism and sexual assault in Hollywood (including the reexamining of her own experience, which forever changed her).
But, her UnStyled chat has its lighter moments, too. In fact, it ends in an a cappella version of one of Union's favourite '80s hits. Check out her pipes (and so much more) in the podcast below, and don't forget to subscribe to UnStyled for more conversations that will leave you feeling just as full as this one.
There’s so much shame, and mystery, and guilt — and feelings of, like, you’re in this secret society of defective women.
Why do you think you struggled with self-esteem? Gabrielle Union: "I think being Black in predominantly white spaces, constantly being told that you’re in, but you’re out; like the party was happening in a glass house and I’m on the outside. So you can see it, you’re dancing, you can hear the music — but it never really felt like I was on the inside. I was always feeling somehow less-than. Those parties looked damn fun. But it just never felt like I was fully in, you know?"
What have you been thinking about with all of the sexual assault news surfacing? GU: "So many people have experienced the same thing, the feeling of, 'This is what comes with being a woman in the world. And toughen up kid, this is what it is.' And we’re basically telling young women, older women, that sexual violence is the same as getting a work physical. It’s just a part of the job. And what we’re seeing right now is a widespread, 'No, the fuck, it isn’t. No, it isn’t — and I am calling everyone to the carpet.'"
Was it fun writing your book? GU: "Some of it [was] very satisfying, some of it a relief; like literally an orangutan had hopped off my back, just writing it down. But a lot of it I just never thought I would ever share with the public, much less, I didn’t want to share it with my therapist — somebody I pay to not judge me. It was a challenging process at times. [There are] more funny chapters, [which] are written, just — I needed comic relief between some of the deeper, heavier, heavier stuff."
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My mother grew up in a generation that believed thin was everything; you were either skinny, or trying to get that way. As a child, I watched her go on diet after diet, struggling with standards that, as a Latina woman, were totally unrealistic. Seeing my mother struggle with her weight confused me: I looked at her and thought she was beautiful, she was my mum. And this woman, who I looked up to every day, couldn’t see her own beauty? I watched her become so fixated and stuck on being a certain jean size, on being thin and not too curvy, that she was always waiting to be skinny, waiting to fit into that dress, waiting to be happy.
And that's what really struck me: I didn’t want to wait.
It wasn't until I started going to acting classes and getting involved in my community through the arts that I really found myself and my voice: the voice that would tell me that if you can dream it, you can achieve it. I studied acting, dance, and singing, and those skills and talents fulfilled me and lit a fire in me. Eventually, I followed this voice to California at the age of 18 to become an actress.
It was in Hollywood that I understood you don’t become an actress real quick. I was repeatedly told by different casting agents and directors: 'Oh, if you just lost 10-15 pounds, you’d be perfect for this part.' Too tall, too short, too curvy, too sassy. If I had tried to fit their moulds, we’d all still be waiting. I just couldn’t believe that my craft, my brain, and my tenacity were being overlooked because of my size.
But I’m not one to let someone else change me. Hollywood would have to wait while I set my sights on something else. As a creative at heart, my next path was in makeup and beauty, and that was where I was discovered as a model. One day, a photographer asked me if I'd ever modelled before and if she could take my photos. There I was thinking, 'This woman is crazy.' I couldn’t see it. I kept thinking ' I’m too short; I’m too curvy,' but I ended up agreeing to the project, and the rest is history. It only took one voice, one woman, to change my path. And the more I shine, the more I can help others shine too.
Now, I am a mother myself. Nowhere have I felt so much awesome responsibility than when teaching my daughter that there is no wrong way to be herself — to be a young woman, whatever her size. I know how early these ideas are instilled in each new generation, and it’s my job to be that voice; to tell her that she is beautiful and that she can achieve whatever she sets her mind to.
It’s been a long time coming but my mum has finally embraced her beautiful body, too. While I definitely think my career and my successes have played a part in that, I’m even happier to think this change has come because people all over the world are finally speaking up about body positivity. It helped her. It helps all women. And we need to keep talking and encouraging women to feel like they can be themselves — inside and out.
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Sixty-seven percent of women in the UK apply some form of cosmetics in transit, the Guardian revealed today. Some men, and women, feel this behaviour is unbecoming – a black mark on a woman’s otherwise good name in the Central Line carriage. Public outcry has ranged from men telling women off on the Tube, to Telegraph reader Sandra's letter of complaint accusing young women of shattering the societal illusion of a painted lady! The comments under the Guardian article today say the practice is “rude” and "against common courtesy”, and a Metro survey from 2016 found that 26% of people thought it was " definitely not acceptable."
Well, I’ll bet 67% of men fart on public transport. I’ve been groped more times than I can even remember at rush hour, and twice been a victim of men pleasuring themselves while sat opposite me in empty carriages – but that’s a different story. On the more mildly irritating end of the spectrum, a man recently hung up a bag of dry cleaning on the rail directly above my head in an extreme display of manspreading, leaving ample room for his own head as he sat down next to me. Drunk people vomit on the train, sober people read 50 Shades Of Grey, football fans get on and cause a riot, people with colds sneeze, and sad girls (also me) listen to Sia’s “Breathe Me” at full volume while sobbing into a receipt. I’m not about to say that women applying makeup on public transport make Britain great, but it certainly shouldn’t make the top 12 list of annoying commuter behaviour. A woman who can apply a perfect cat-eye flick without extending her elbows even one centimetre in the moment’s stop between Bank and St Paul’s should be saluted, not trash-tweeted.
With the average commute at 57 minutes, applying makeup on the way is just part of the multitasking, time-efficient life of a busy ‘modern woman’. Leaving work 10 minutes early to "touch up" in the toilet isn't always an option. And if a man were to put makeup on on the train, wouldn’t we encourage him? Imagine the hero worship that would ensue if an older woman (often the loudest tutters) were to pull out a wireless hairdryer for a quick blow-dry between High St Ken and Paddington.
True that anything which gets into other people’s airways is a no-go, but within the 10cm space a woman can call her own on public transport, she should be free to eat her lunch in peace, and do an eye, a lip and a cream-blush cheek if it makes her day as a busy woman 10 minutes easier.
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This weekend, we all watched that viral video of Uma Thurman. She was answering a question from an Access Hollywood reporter, who asked for her response to the ongoing Harvey Weinstein scandal and sexual harassment at large in her industry. Her response was deeply unsettling. You could feel her rage and see her struggling to restrain herself.
Mashable has uncovered a Rolling Stone interview with Thurman from 1989, when she was 19 years old. Thurman, even at that age, and with so much less clout and experience in the industry, bravely talked about feeling objectified by Hollywood.
The journalist, Ben Yagoda, who wrote the profile, spent a lot of time talking about her looks; he even got quotes on the record from other actors about her body. "She has this Jayne Mansfield body and a horrifyingly great brain," said John Malkovich. Yagoda also noted that "gasps have been heard in cinemas nationwide when her breasts are exposed in the film [ Dangerous Liaisons].
He also writes about an incident in which Sylvester Stallone asked Thurman for her number. "I was here last week at the same table," she told Yagoda during the interview. "Sly Stallone was at the next table. He was with a woman, and as soon as she left to go to the ladies' room, he asked me for my phone number. I said I didn't have a phone. I kept putting him down. Finally I said, 'Look, I'll go skywriting and write my number in the sky.'"
An insightful comment comes from a moment in which she is feeding some animals at a park. Writes Yagoda: "Uma leaves the apartment for a trip to nearby Riverside Park. One of her favorite pastimes, she says, is feeding nuts to the squirrels and birds. After one toss, a squirrel tears into a nut with ferocious vigor. 'People are like that too,' Uma says. 'Unfortunately, I'm the prey.'"
We know that Uma will speak out when she's ready. She's clearly indicated as much. But in the meanwhile, it's worth noting that she has spoken out, but at the time, little attention was paid to her words. That article was written in 1989, and since then, it's obvious that she's only collected more stories.
I identify strongly with Hela, Cate Blanchett's Goddess of Death villain from Thor: Ragnarok, Marvel's third instalment in the mythology of the Norse God of Thunder. Not because I'm a sucker for a good jumpsuit/smokey eye combo (I am), or because I would kill for that antler headdress (I would), or even because I'm ready for any woman to take over the Marvel Cinematic Universe (preach!).
At some point or another, we have all been Hela.
Peel back the whole "evil being trying to take over" thing, and you'll find a very relatable story: a woman whose unparalleled powers and ambition are celebrated when used in the service of male goals, and then reviled when they no longer suit them.
As Odin's (Anthony Hopkins) first-born, she, not Thor, should have been the rightful heir to the throne of Asgard. But as we learn in the film, she was passed over once her ambition for conquest outstretched Odin's own thirst for power. Fearing her strength, Odin banished her to another dimension, where she dwelled until his death trumpeted her triumphant return to her birthright.
Once Odin decides that he wants to be a benevolent ruler, which requires glossing over his blood-thirsty past, his daughter becomes a liability. Her own independent ambitions are seen as dangerous, her passion as a thing to be suppressed and squashed. Sure, she is the Goddess of Death and has vowed to rule all bazillion dimensions no matter what the cost, but that was all well and good when Odin was in charge, right?
Think back to the first instalment of the Thor franchise, when Loki (Tom Hiddleston) was the designated antagonist. The trickster god — and Thor's half-brother — quickly became a fan favourite for his charming wit and stylish antics. Men's ambitions are seen as worthy of respect, even when they don't align with our own ideals. But when women want to to take over the universe — watch out.
That being said, Thor: Ragnarok is the first Marvel film to feature not one, but two strong female characters in meaty, complex roles. Fighting alongside Thor to defeat Hela is Tessa Thompson's Valkyrie, who's already made headlines for being the MCU's first openly bisexual superhero. It's exciting to finally be able to root for women on both sides of the fight, and I, for one, am ready for a Valkyrie/Hela spinoff where those two bury the hatchet and decide to rule the universe together. Let Thor and Hulk smash all they want. If it really comes down to it, I'm siding with the ladies.
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In a statement shared with Refinery29, Antonio E. Puente, PhD, responded to President Donald Trump's assertion that the Texas shooting was the result of a "mental health problem. "
"The vast majority of people with mental illness are not violent," Dr. Puente said. "A complex combination of risk factors, including a history of domestic violence, violent misdemeanour crimes and substance use disorders, increases the likelihood of people using a firearm against themselves or others."
Following the Texas shooting (as well as several other shootings that have preceded it), many are calling for gun control policy and reform, not just offering "thoughts and prayers" — or using mental illness as a scapegoat.
"Gun violence is a serious public health problem that requires attention to these risk factors, as well as more research to inform the development and implementation of empirically based prevention and threat assessment strategies," Dr. Puente said.
"Calling this shooting a 'mental health problem' distracts our nation’s leaders from developing policies and legislation that would focus on preventing gun violence through a scientific, public health approach."
The holidays are quickly approaching, and with them comes the barrage of gift guides that tell you which deals you can snag on Amazon, how to impress the Game of Thrones fans in your life, and which lipsticks are perfect for putting in your own stocking.
All of these things are fantastic, but what I want for Christmas is a lot less shiny. This year, I want every woman to give a whole-hearted "screw you" to their haters. Not sure how? Allow Sia to expertly demonstrate for you.
On Monday, the Australian singer completely owned someone who was trying to sell a nude photo of her online by sharing the pic directly with her fans.
"Someone is apparently trying to sell naked photos of me to my fans. Save your money, here it is for free," she tweeted, alongside a screenshot of her bare bum. "Everyday is Christmas!"
Someone is apparently trying to sell naked photos of me to my fans. Save your money, here it is for free. Everyday is Christmas! pic.twitter.com/aeQlnTwLuy
Of course, many couldn't resist making a joke that Sia, who is notorious for not showing her face (but who definitely has), was OK with showing off her backside. Unfortunately, some people took this as an opportunity to objectify Sia's body or make racist comments. Like the photo seller, those people are disgraceful.
But what's really important here is that Sia didn't let someone else bring her down. If 2017 has taught us one thing, it's that women will no longer be silenced. We'll call out harassment, abuse, and other violations. To hell with the Weinsteins and Tobacks; this is our time.
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