In a tiny, tiny study, women who ate probiotic yogurt were able to match "a series of angry or fearful faces on a computer screen to other faces that appeared" in less-emotional ways than women who didn't, apparently.
A single article, which combines monarchy and the physical ailments of the long-dead and the idea of celebrity and the nature of female visibility and sexuality and ownership in one majestic sweep. Hilary Mantel's "Royal Bodies". GO, read. Argue! Read it twice before dinner and once after. Today I like it, tomorrow I may hate it, but I am ABSORBED nonetheless.
The Independent has it all wrong, for the record. Mantel may say Kate Middleton is plastic and has dead eyes, but, amazingly, you must trust me when I assure you it is with the deepest kindness that she says it. Or, don't trust me, because when I [...]
Last week, at an annual issues conference in Virginia, House Republicans held a panel called “Successful Communication with Women and Minorities,” moderated by former 'Real World'-er Rachel Campos-Duffy. Here, a lady-script for both Democrats and Republicans.
Hey girl, what's up?
Did you see Downton Abbey last night?
Matthew looks so weird this season. I know — poor Edith.
Ugh, my legs are so sore from spinning.
It's, like, $35 a class. Super expensive. That's why [D: it's cool that taxes rates are staying low/R: it sucks that the government is taking all our money].
I like your bangs, but I think my face is too round. What do you [...]
Deborah Kogan has something epic to say:
Fast-forward to 1988: I am raped by an acquaintance the night before my graduation from college. The next morning, before donning cap and gown, I stumble into the University Health Services building to report the crime. I'm advised not to press charges. "They'll smear you," I'm told by the female psychologist assigned to my case. I don't want to be smeared. I've got a life to live. Twenty-five years later, while watching CNN lament the effects of the Steubenville rape on two promising lives—the rapists', not the victim's—I'll hold two competing thoughts: nothing has changed; I wish I'd been braver. I [...]
Haley Motek asked a group of women about the books/music/moments that started them on the road to feminism, and the answers are funny and different and unexpected and great.
I think my first encounter with feminism was likely Mary Poppins. I remember while I was watching it my mom explaining to me who the suffragettes were, and repeating the line of the song that they sing: “Our daughter’s daughters will adore us/ and they’ll sing in grateful chorus/ hats off to the sister suffragettes.” I don’t think I quite got it at the time—I think because it was so hard for me to fathom that women were treated so [...]
The What I See Project is a global digital art and science study of women’s perception and self-expression. … There's no agenda, angle or campaign here — just a collection of individual points of view that grows and changes with your participation.
Women from around the world answer "What do you see when you look in the mirror?" More information about the project and how to submit can be found here, here, and here; other featured [and nerve-wracking] questions include "What's the biggest risk you've ever taken?" and "What does happiness mean to you?"
The Moscow News explores the lives of the women who devoted those same lives wholeheartedly to the greats of Russian literature:
Sometimes this dependence was even physical. Both Nadezhda Mandelstam and Vera Nabokov could be seen lugging heavy cases, while their husbands strolled around unencumbered.
But some women found this self-immolation too much to bear. Sophia Tolstoy was a spirited painter and writer; her husband took the name of his heroine in "War and Peace" from a youthful novella of hers, "Natasha." But in the midst of her husband's religious conversion, she began to regret her devotion.
"Everyone asks: ‘But why should a worthless woman like you need [...]
Tina Fey and I chose the exact same instant to arrive at the Paley Center for "Hey Dummies: An Evening With the 30 Rock Writers," but she had a much better ride and smoother hair. Lest she make eye contact and catch me in a The-Queen-and-Hilary-Mantel moment of naked, cannibalistic gawpery, I instinctively whipped around and started pretending to text as a small throng of kind, nervous young women in fingerless gloves pressed forward with their smartphones, saying Tina, Tina! as loudly as they dared, which was never as loud as the voice you would ideally use in a business meeting, were you to find yourself in one.
One of my sons told me recently that I had not taken enough interest in him before he was seven. My reply was that if I had known as much as I do now, I should not have had him at all.
There's a new biography of Lady Nancy Astor (Viscountess Astor?), which the excellent Emma Garman reviews for The Daily Beast. Nancy's wearing an incredible dress on the cover, if that swings you one way or the other.