A crush, by definition, is “a strong but temporary feeling of liking someone romantically”. But in reality, it is a peculiar kind of cruel experiment. Some would even call it a curse. Like Andie Anderson in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and after being a victim of the crush infection for longer than I would like to admit, I decided that, in the same way she explains how to get rid of a man using the typical behaviours that women exhibit and men hate, I would create something

Maybe it's not youth I'm drawn to. Maybe it's the possibility of someone who hasn't yet been convinced that love has to get smaller as you get older. I have reached a rather inconvenient conclusion about myself. I don't think I want to date older men, ever... Actually, let me correct that: I know I don't want to date older men. And before everyone starts preparing their angry little spreadsheets about age gaps, maturity, fertility, emotional intelligence blablabla and

Reading has always existed as a means for me to get out of my own head and go somewhere else. Learning something and, God forbid, developing some empathy for people whose stories are unlike mine are just natural, positive by-products. Regularly reading for pleasure was never something I thought was particularly exceptional until I realised how common it had become for my friends and family to say they hadn't picked up a book in weeks, months or even years.

Everyone goes through pain differently, but there are some experiences that become eerily similar among people who have fallen in love with a narcissist. Different faces, relationships, stories, and somehow you hear the same sentences. Taylor Swift’s Patient Zero feels like one of those sentences made into a song, and watching Dakota Johnson move through the highs, the confusion, the fights, the fear and eventually the physical weight of it, there is an uncomfortable familiar

As adolescents, women are introduced to sex from a very male-centric perspective. It is a world that we will partake in for the rest of our lives but, for some reason, never fully belong to. Sexuality was almost a costume that was given to us from time to time to serve the desires of the male gaze, but we were never really allowed to wear it long enough to understand what it meant. Or what it felt like to us, not to them. Sexuality seemed to inherently belong to men, and it w

There are certain things about the men in our lives that we all seem to encounter at least once. Maybe we just don't talk about them enough. Or maybe we've become so used to them that we've stopped questioning them.

On creative obsession, the pressure to succeed, and why believing in yourself might be the only way to get anywhere. The first time I meet Henry Morris, he's sitting in a Whole Foods somewhere in Oklahoma City. Not a recording studio, not a backstage dressing room, not even a particularly atmospheric café. A Whole Foods. His tour bus, he explains, is somehow

Is social media to blame? Absolutely. Are we watching people become richer, more successful and more beautiful? Constantly. Is it real? There is legitimately no way to know, but we buy into the vision, and as our brains rot and our greed increases, we have forgotten how truly lucky we are. How lucky we are to have dreams, to have access, to connect with like-minded people around the world, to have the leisure to be bored and the opportunity

I have to admit, when I first started my job at a fashion magazine in Vienna, I proudly told my roommate that this time I would look flawless every single day. I was going to wear makeup, do my hair, and always look amazing when I went to work. It didn't take long before she saw me leaving the house in jeans rocking a bare face. When I look around on the streets, I see so many people wearing clothes that are comfortable and practical. It made me wonder: Are we, as a society,

Find My Friends seems well-meaning, but I can’t decide whether it’s unnecessary surveillance or just performative community. I am baffled by how normalised it is to share your location with your friends at all times. Many will say, “Well, what are you hiding?” The answer is: nothing… but also maybe everything? Why do my friends need to know when I’m at home or the grocery store? What value does that add to anyone’s life? It’s quite intrusive to think my friends could

Back when people met in clubs or simply out in the real world, I was a clueless teenager who apparently thought kissing someone while tipsy and dancing in a club was more than enough. By the time I was a little older, more mature and a bit more experienced, the world had changed. More precisely, a huge part of our love lives had moved onto our phones.

This week, I saw a reader submit a question that stopped me. Why is no one talking about the connection between young adults refusing to move back home and pursuing graduate degrees? At first glance, the two things seem unrelated. One is about housing. The other is about education. But for many people my age, they are deeply connected. A bachelor’s degree used to represent a clear transition into adulthood. Graduate school was often a choice, something pursued for specializat

As a society, honestly, I think we’ve killed the art of caring rather embarrassingly and loudly. We have become so concerned about how we are perceived by onlookers rather than by ourselves. We have prioritised the maintenance of a persona, a character that we have adopted rather than following our own desires. We have become so caught up in this world of (curated) effortless appearances, so we can be seen as detached or mysterious, like we have forgotten the very thing that

Like countless individuals before me, I have finally realised my low-commitment, long distance, casual humiliationship may, indeed, not be particularly interested in me. Countless friends have attempted to convince me that I can do better (thank you Lucy, for your endless patience over the past year of emotional meltdowns). As many people stuck in the teenage mindset do, I buried my head in the sand and refused to acknowledge my own feelings, as well as those of the other per

On the modern knight, the fantasy of being rescued, and what happens when a woman finally becomes her own. Like many modern women, I grew up with stories of knights on white horses. The hero who would arrive at exactly the right moment to save me. My knight in shining armour, my salvation. And like many women, I had unintentionally, subconsciously outsourced something far more important than I realised: my autonomy, my sovereignty, to a fantasy.