Category: Finding Your Voice

I Was On BBC Radio London—ARE YOU DYING???

Yoooooo! Ho ho hooooooo! Maybe a little too soon for the Santa greetings, but whatever, IT’S THANKSGIVING HERE IN THE U.S., which means that I’ve officially pulled out my clear bin full of balls and plan on hanging at least one fake garland before the day is out. (Then again, I live across the street from the world’s cutest Parisian floral designer, so I should probably go over there with a beret on and a cigarette and pretend to be

Right Now, Someone Out There is Admiring You, Greatly.

They might not have said it. In fact, they probably kept it to themselves—“don’t want to seem like a creepy ass stalker.” But no matter who you are, you have changed things for someone. You have made them rethink their career. Rethink their stance. Rethink their makeup. (Because, hey, Urban Decay is a religion.) You have made them bolder. Brighter. Less afraid to use their voice. You have made them hopeful. Hungry. Reinvigorated. You have shown them what’s possible, simply

You Don’t Exist to Please Dipshits

You know how when you meet someone, and they give you this snotty little look like, “you’re a fucking freak,” and then you start wondering, “AM I A FUCKING FREAK?! IS THAT WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” And you’re so quick to second guess yourself instead of second guessing the constipated stuck up instead? I hate moments like those. When I was young, I thought that any person who looked at me sideways was looking at me sideways because something about

A Virus Can Keep You Inside, But It Can’t Keep Your Ideas There

You ever see people that look like your dead relatives and then you CAN’T STOP STARING? I do that a lot. Like this fall, in Dublin, when I creepily tried to take a photograph of a total stranger in a pub without his knowledge by casually waving my phone around in the air—#PROTIP: do not drop mid-operation—because I was convinced he looked like the spitting image of the one photograph I have ever seen of my father.     This

The Tired Excuse That Women Need to Stop Making (Have You Ever Used It?)

Last week I almost made a very big mistake. You see, I had THIS GRAND IDEA that led me to performing the following slightly delirious activities: Scouting jungle wallpaper for my dressing room; Buying a T-Rex head to hang on the wall of said dressing room; and Calling a notoriously well-known closet design company to come custom fit the rest. Now, mind you: I grew up in a Pennsylvania trailer park. The closest we got to “custom fit” was the

The Surprising Reason Why I Decided to Buy My Own (GASP!) Apartment—As an Independent Woman With Her Own Money and Her Own Mind

“WINNER, WINNER! OFFER ACCEPTED!!!” That’s what the subject line read as I cozied up with a glass of red wine, last night, nervously awaiting the news. And when the email came through? I almost choked. “Omg, I have tears in my eyes!” I wrote in response. (Along with a shit ton of other capital letters and exclamation points, my favorite.) Because here is what I learned on March 7th, 2019, just in time to celebrate International Women’s Day (hooray, it’s

No, You’re Not Overreacting. You’re Not Reading Into It Too Much. And You’re Not Being Overly Emotional, Either.

They say you should trust your gut, but I never really liked that saying. You want me to entrust this REALLY BIG DECISION on a bunch of leftover pizza and four Werther’s Originals? I prefer to say, “trust your inner anarchy,” mostly because at least that makes me feel like a little bit of an outlaw. None of this Tony Robbins crap. (Not that I don’t think Tony Robbins has a great smile. Tony Robbins has an EXCELLENT smile. Why

A Wee Little Heart-to-Heart on The Fear of Being TOO. MUCH.

You know how I know when someone’s lying to themselves? *chomps peanut* The way they write. I can tell a lot about about a person by the way they write—myself included. I know there are people who are all, “But wait, WHAT ABOUT GENUINELY BAD WRITERS?” to which I say, yes, I know, they are absolute monsters, but also that—this has nothing to do with being a good writer or a bad writer, and everything to do with the person

Don’t Cower. Don’t Make Yourself Small. Be Your Absolute Fucking Self Every Single Day.

I need to talk to you about my obsession with pearls. More specifically, I need to talk to you about HOW EVERYBODY LOOKS AT ME LIKE I AM A GIANT WEIRDO when I wear fifty strands and then wrap ’em round and round my neck. Ditto when I wear a blazer to a soccer game; black lip gloss to a meeting; fishnets underneath a pair of shorts, or dye my hair grey on purpose. It’s not just a matter of

24 Ways to Love Yourself Fiercely + Bravely—Even When You’re Feeling Like a Heaping Hot Mess

Loving yourself means: The courage to reject their opinion. A kind, but firm: “This is what I want.” Remembering to be a mother to yourself, every single day. Asking more questions: What do I really crave? Does this make sense for me, personally? Does this feel heavy or light (or fucking dreadful?). Asking fewer questions: I cannot make a mistake if I’m doing what I love. Everything always works itself out in the end. Don’t overthink it—go, go, go. Keeping