Katie here. I was just searching our archives -- can you believe we've been emailing each other nonstop for 12 years? It's like, Wanna Feel Old? (That's a Twitter joke lol.) Email feels super antiquated to me, tbh. It's like, it's 2016.
I was born with a strip of red hair that my parents liked to fashion into a Mohawk until it finally reached the rest of my head. My father’s grandfather had red hair, and someone on my my mother’s side must have—it’s a double-recessive trait, meaning it has to be passed along on both sides.
If you’re like me (constantly hungry, bespectacled, obsessed with dogs), your formative makeup years were not the blazingly bright 1980s or the “various shades of morose brown” early 1990s but the shiny, proto-futuristic, low-waisted years of the early 2000s.
If Barack Obama were your dad, you would know you shouldn't ask him for help with your government homework, but you’d do it anyway, and he would go on and on and on for so long it would be like the damn State of the Union. You wouldn't be able to escape, so you'd start keeping track of how many times he said "Let me be clear" (15).
If Oscar Isaac were your boyfriend, he'd know about your penchant for doodling people during long phone calls. You’d leave your notebook open on the kitchen counter and return later to find your sketches surrounded by speech bubbles, giving them fascinating conversations that hinted at rich inner lives.
If Oscar Isaac were your boyfriend, sometimes he’d jokingly call you his “problematic fave.”
If Jason Bateman were your boyfriend, you would know who exactly had wronged him, and would help him enact the occasional petty revenge. “You're…really good at this, honey,” he'd say, with mild alarm in his voice as you prepare the glitter trap.
Now that we've all finished constructing our memorial altars for The Toast (mine is made out of light rye, maple butter, & tears), it's time to look at a few more makeup trends through the ages. Normally these pieces focus on a large period of time & what was happening worldwide(-ish), but this column is going to zoom-focus on Japan's brief stint as the home of manba & ganguro makeup & fashion.
For a start, the title of the production is grossly misleading. The subtitle promises an apocalypse, yet delivers only one American city under threat. While some may argue for a small, personal apocalypse, I cannot be satisfied with the word’s usage unless a good proportion of the living surface of the planet is in danger.
I'm sorry I forgot to meet any poor people--
I'm sorry I forgot to pay attention
To the bad kind of masculinity
That doesn't result in wealth.
Please join me as I experience self-abasement and other intriguing feelings.
Watch as conservatism’s ugliest turn yet makes me rethink my column.