This column was only ever, sort of, about hair. But apologies, yet again, if you were expecting a gender theory to explain it all. So here it is: The Last Hairy Woman Column, And It’s Not About Hair (getting away with two headlines).
Well, we’ve certainly veered from the topic of body hair. You must be thinking, "Using the column to persecute spandex-stealers?! How dare she wield her power (?) and fame (?) for non-hair affiliated pursuits!"
I’ve been feeling terrified about my future as a human being in “the real world” (enough to postpone graduation? Maybe). But I’d like to discuss my missing bathing suit.
Halloween sort of haunts me as a concept. It is fraught with outfit questions: When does sexy become too much? When does poking fun become offensive? When do we get to go home and take off these dumb ears?
I’ve recently acquired a new female friend.
I began freshman year with a mix of self-loathing, contempt, depression and a dash of delusion. I was working eight-hour shifts at a café nearby because I wanted to support myself, and thus felt that everyone else was childish and entitled. But we all know that game. I call it “cool, aloof girl that doesn't know how to express feelings.”
As promised, here are some thoughts on my Argentine host mother:My host mom was a diva. That’s right, a DIVA.I never knew her real height because she always wore heels. One of the first conversations we had was about my leg hair, which had been growing for nine months at that point and was certainly ...
Oh dear.That sums up how I feel going into this first column. “Utter dread” is another phrase I’ve been thinking about to describe the feeling. On Sunday, realizing I was contractually bound to writing something on a weekly basis, I went into full panic-mode. I thought about all of the Discrete ...
