2015 in Review
I wouldn’t be depressed so long as I had this insurmountable mission in front of me.
Why, in the face of an unquantifiable disaster, are we talking about numbers at all?
The month that Blue Jays pitchers and catchers reported to spring training marked the first anniversary of my husband and I trying to have a baby.
Public representations of black women can be beneficial when the women involved are in control.
A gay daughter inviting her conservative mother to a porn convention has to be a conversation starter, right?
I lay awake in my old apartment, listening to a squirrel claw his way through the popcorn ceiling, and decided, “You know what? It would be great if I was the one who had to pay to fix this problem.”
This year, I watched women on television—and black women in my own life—embrace, document and celebrate their natural hair.
We’re all dying of slow damage, if nothing else, but she’s dying of things we’re not.
Contempt for reality television is less a specific response than a herd sentiment. And yet, after so many hours under its spell, I feel like I’ve turned a corner: Gordon Ramsay is a genius.
Some people say “rabbit rabbit” first thing on New Year’s Day for luck, while some people know the first words you say on some arbitrary date don’t make a goddamn bit of difference.
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