Profile for Kate Fridkis

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Mirror, Mirror: I’m Always Checking Out Other Women

Mirror, Mirror: Carbs
Is Kate the only person who still eats carbs? Read More »
Mirror, Mirror: Bra
Why Kate's ditching her padded bra. Read More »
Mirror, Mirror: Skinny
Kate used to be known as the skinny girl. Read More »

Fairest shmairest! Let’s get real about beauty and body image. Mirror, Mirror is a column running every other Thursday on The Frisky. It is written by Brooklyn-based columnist, freelance writer, and bagel enthusiast, Kate Fridkis who also writes the blog Eat the Damn Cake. You can follow her on Twitter at @eatthedamncake.

I am always checking out other women. I can’t help it. They look good. It’s not a secret. They look better than men.

Women wear bright, interesting colors in creative combinations. They wear catchy jewelry and have fantastic, innovative hair. They do bold, playful things with makeup. They have cool shoes. They stand out. So I want to look at them. And then I feel awkward, because maybe I’m being weird. Maybe I’m just as bad as the annoying guys who are always staring hungrily at young women on the F train, when those women are just trying to read their damn book, thank you very much.

I feel just like a gross guy, because it seems like one gaze isn’t that much different than the other. And I don’t know what the rules really are. Or what they should be, for straight women checking out other women. Keep reading »

Mirror, Mirror: Am I The Only Person Who Eats Carbs?

Bye Bye Bra!
Kate is ditching her padded bra. Read More »
Sex For Salad?
No way! Here are some things we would actually give up sex for. Read More »
Sayonara Skinny Girl
Kate used to be known as the skinny girl. Read More »

Fairest shmairest! Let’s get real about beauty and body image. Mirror, Mirror is a column running every other Thursday on The Frisky. It is written by Brooklyn-based columnist, freelance writer, and bagel enthusiast, Kate Fridkis who also writes the blog Eat the Damn Cake. You can follow her on Twitter at @eatthedamncake.

I am the only person in my family who eats carbs. I am a rebel. But I am not able to be self-righteous about it because I might be killing myself with sugar. I don’t want to die! But these doughnuts are so friggin’ good. Am I just weak-willed and gross? Or is it possibly a little bit OK to eat some junk food once in a while? Or, you know, the occasional carb.

My whole family is not only mostly composed of type one diabetics, but also, everyone is obsessed with health. All the time. Everyone is passing around these 500-page books called Sugar: The Mass Murderer and Why You Will Die From Eating That Thing You’re Eating Right Now.

I grew up eating all organic. We lived in a rural area and my mom grew all of our vegetables. The rest of our food came by truck, frozen, from a distant, organic coop. As a kid, I thought pasta was made from artichokes. OUR pasta was, anyway.

Type one diabetes, in case anyone was wondering, is the kind that doesn’t have anything to do with what you ate first. It’s a chronic illness that you have to take insulin shots every day for, and it really, really sucks. Not eating carbs makes it a lot easier to regulate your blood sugar, which is really important. So my dad and my youngest brother and my husband and my husband’s mom all don’t eat carbs. Because that’s how many diabetics there are in my life. Keep reading »

The Soapbox: Some Friendly Advice For That 22-Year-Old Girl Who Wishes She Was Poorer

Wishing To Be Poor?
This successful college grad wishes she was poorer. Read More »
Mommy Wars Ceasefire
I want a ceasefire on the mommy wars, because it helps no one. Read More »
The Soapbox
A response to Julia Allison's NY Post article on dating in NYC. Read More »

Some thoughts for Taylor Cotter (the 22-year-old girl who wrote about wishing she could be poorer on the Huffington Post):

Right now things kinda suck. I know. You wrote an oblivious-sounding piece about how you kind of wished you were getting the chance to be poor and scrappy in your 20s, like artistic people are supposed to be. Like the girls on “Girls,” which sometimes seems very realistic because Lena Dunham is the only young woman with any body fat on TV. And then the piece went up on HuffPo and then Gawker picked it up and now everyone is making fun of you.

My friend sent it to me. She was like “OMG this girl wishes she was poor!” and I was already worried about you.

I mean, maybe you’re totally OK and don’t even care. Maybe you’re laughing. But if you’re anything like me, I’m guessing you’re not. I’m guessing you’re more like, “Oh shit shit shit. No wait! I didn’t mean it that way! Wait, guys! I’m not that bad! I swear. I said that in a funny way. I was trying to make this point, and I was trying to illustrate it, and the piece is more about how we’re taught that being poor is cool when you’re an artist than about how I actually really wish I was poor. The piece is really more about the images we’re given of artists. And how it can be awkward not to fit the image, even if that means being more stable than the image. You know? Seriously! I’m not a bad person!”  Keep reading »

Girl Talk: The Girls In The Clique (And How I Accidentally Flashed Them)

Friends We Need
Six types of friends every woman needs. Read More »
Childhood Frenemies
The crappy friends we once thought were awesome. Read More »
College Friendships
campus confidential
Friendships at college aren't about having one big clique. Read More »

I didn’t know girls still did cliques at this age. I mean, I guess I could’ve figured it out, but I didn’t really give it much thought.

I was homeschooled, so I missed a lot of that stuff, which I’ve always felt lucky for. But no one can miss all of it.

It takes about two seconds of remembering to whip me back in time to the girls’ bathroom at the synagogue, where I am engaged in that most classic and venerable of traditions: crying helplessly, locked in a stall. It is my first day of Hebrew High School. I’m thirteen, and none of the other girls will talk to me. It’s not just implied, it’s outright. They cross the room to avoid me and then cluster together, whispering. Keep reading »

Mirror, Mirror: Ditching My Padded Bra

Small Boobs Rule!
10 reasons to love small boobies. Read More »
Mirror, Mirror: Skinny
Kate used to be known as the skinny girl. Read More »

Fairest shmairest! Let’s get real about beauty and body image. Mirror, Mirror is a column running every other Thursday on The Frisky. It is written by Brooklyn-based columnist, freelance writer, and bagel enthusiast, Kate Fridkis who also writes the blog Eat the Damn Cake. You can follow her on Twitter at @eatthedamncake.

A funny thing happened in the heat. I briefly forgot about my breasts.

Which you’d think would be an easy thing to do, considering how small they are. But it isn’t, because I’ve been busy trying to make sure I look like a real woman and stuff. It goes like this: My padded bra is like a wig on a bald person. I only appear to have long, lustrous hair when, in fact, this is all a clever trick. I only appear to have long, lustrous boobs …or, you know, just boobs.

My padded bra makes me feel comfortable, normal. It’s a disguise. I can blend into any crowd when I’m wearing it. People who glance at me won’t give me a second thought. “Oh, just another woman with some boobs.”

But it’s a lie! When I take the very padded bra off, there’s a different story underneath. A story about some very small breasts. Breasts that, for whatever reason, decided they were done before they hit the “done” stage (stage 5 in the What’s Happening To My Body? Book For Girls). That book convinced me that there was hope when there wasn’t any. Just one more stage, and they’d fill out pleasantly. They’d be little adorable balloons, perched on my chest, soft and proud and round. Keep reading »

Girl Talk: All My Bad Relationships Went On Too Long

Dating Red Flags
guys
These red flags should send you running. Read More »

I dated my first boyfriend for about two years. Our relationship started when I was 15. Over the course of those two years, I saw him for … like five days. Total. We were long-distance. We used to write these very, very dramatic love letters to one another. He couldn’t spell, but he clearly conveyed how much he loved me through a series of poems punctuated entirely by exclamation points. I finally broke up with him because—OK, I can’t remember why. I think I was just really bored. Maybe my writing hand got cramped. Keep reading »

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