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There was a time—gather ‘round, children—when winter required Structure. Denim. Buttons. Waistbands with ambition. That time is over. This winter, I have lived in loungewear. Not visited it. Not occasionally dabbled. I have relocated my personality into matching knit sets. If there were a census category labeled “Primary Residence: Soft,” I would check it confidently. And no, this isn’t one of those breathless “I discovered comfort!” lifestyle awakenings. I have always believed in comfort. I just used to believe it had to be earned. You know. Productivity first, softness later. Winter said: absolutely not. So here we are. Below are the loungewear sets I’ve been living in this season—the heroes, the enablers, the elastic-waisted confidants who have seen me through early mornings, late nights, and the existential spiral that happens when it’s dark at 4:37 p.m. 1. The Elevated Sweat Set That Pretends I Have Plans 4 You know the one. Structured enough to look intentional. Soft enough to f...

There are few things more human than throwing a tea party. You gather cups no one actually drinks from. You assign roles. You pour invisible liquids with deep sincerity. You nod solemnly at someone who isn’t there. And now, apparently, you can add this to the list of deeply human behaviors: An ape sitting down with scientists… and serving up imagination. Let’s set the scene. A research lab. A table. Toy cups. Props. Curious primate eyes. Scientists hoping—quietly, cautiously—that something interesting might happen. And then it does. An ape begins engaging in pretend play. Not just manipulation. Not just copying. Not just “press lever, get grape.” But imagination . Now, before we all grab monocles and gasp into porcelain teacups, let’s acknowledge something: humans have been guarding imagination like it’s a private club membership. “Symbolic thought? That’s us.” “Pretend play? Exclusive.” “Tea parties? Reserved for toddlers and literary heroines.” But then along ...

There are few things more unsettling than watching someone you know very well become… happy in a way you don’t approve of. Not “won the lottery” happy. Not “finally dumped the guy who kept forgetting her birthday” happy. No—this is the deeply unnerving kind of happiness. The kind that comes with community. Purpose. Inner peace. Possibly a potluck schedule. This is the happiness that makes you squint. This is the happiness that makes you say, Good for her , through clenched teeth while silently assembling a prosecution case in your head. Because your friend didn’t just change. She converted. She crossed over. She went from rolling her eyes at religion to rolling up her sleeves at church fundraisers. From “organized religion is a net negative for humanity” to “the women’s Bible study really spoke to me.” From atheist hot takes to suspiciously serene brunch energy. She found God. And worse—she seems better off for it . And now you, a reasonable, thoughtful, live-and-let-live atheis...

Every few years, the media discovers the same phenomenon, gasps dramatically, and acts like it just fell out of the sky wearing heels and confidence. Older women are dating younger men. Again. Cue the pearl-clutching. Cue the think pieces. Cue the faux concern about “power dynamics,” “biological clocks,” and whether society is “ready” for a woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t need a man who still uses the phrase “my ex ruined me.” According to the latest round of headlines, cougar relationships are hotter than ever, with older women “snatching up” eager young men half their age. Which is an interesting way to describe consenting adults meeting on dating apps, enjoying each other’s company, and not asking permission from the internet first. But let’s be clear: this isn’t a trend. It’s a correction. What’s new isn’t women dating younger men. What’s new is women doing it openly, unapologetically, and without pretending it’s a quirky phase they’ll eventually outgrow. And the ...

Once upon a time, the American mall had anchors. Big ones. Literal temples of mass consumption where you could buy socks, a lawn chair, a microwave, and a sense of mild despair all under one fluorescent roof. Sears. JCPenney. Macy’s. These weren’t just stores — they were civic infrastructure. They told you where to park, where to enter, and how long you’d probably stay before questioning your life choices. Now? The anchor tenant isn’t a department store. It’s a members-only club with a wine director, a velvet rope, and initiation fees that quietly scream, this space is not for everyone, and that’s the point. Welcome to the new American retail reality, where malls aren’t dying — they’re being privatized, curated, and filtered for income, taste, and social signaling. The escalator that once took you to bed linens now takes you to a speakeasy. The old food court has been replaced by a tasting menu. And the biggest draw in the shopping center isn’t a sale — it’s access. This isn’t a qui...

Every election cycle has its jump-scare moment—the one result that makes party strategists drop their coffee, refresh spreadsheets, and quietly text each other, “Okay, but… how?” This time, that moment came out of a place Republicans have treated like a gated community with a long-standing HOA rule against Democrats: a Fort Worth–area Texas state Senate district that just elected one anyway. In a runoff that landed with the political grace of a bowling ball through a china cabinet, Democrat Taylor Rehmet beat Republican Leigh Wambsganss by 57% to 43% in Senate District 9. Not squeaked by. Not “within the margin of error.” This was decisive—clean, loud, and impossible to wave away with the usual “low turnout, weird vibes, Mercury in retrograde” excuses. If this were just another special election in a sleepy district no one’s ever heard of, it would be a footnote. But it wasn’t. This was a deep-red district that had voted for Donald Trump by about 17 points in 2024. Democrats didn’...