In honor of Love Yourself Week, each day a Frisky staffer will share 30 things she loves about herself — and we encourage the rest of you to do the same in the comments!
Ask me if I have good self-esteem and the answer is “yes.” But ask me to explain the reasons why I love myself? It’s hard. I gave it my best shot … and I hope you’ll all do the same (about yourselves, not me) in the comments! Keep reading »
I was in fourth grade when my grandmother first took me to a hair salon. She drove me to her hairdresser, Betsy, a 50-year-old woman who dyed her hair pitch black, and had a head full of curls the perfect shape of large hot rollers. I squirmed as Betsy ripped out the rubber bands holding in my afro puffs and inspected the black cloud of kink on my head.
“Naomi, have you been trimming this yourself?” Betsy asked, horrified.
“Well, yes, but I don’t know how to do her hair.” Gram said sheepishly. Gram raised five straight-haired Irish-American kids, my mother being one of them. No curls were in sight until my father’s African-American hair genes messed it up. She was lost. Keep reading »
In honor of the season four premiere of “Mad Men” on Sunday, July 25th at 10/9 Central on AMC, this weekend The Frisky is re-posting a few of our favorite “Mad Men”-inspired essays.
As a redhead, I’ve often been told I resemble, well, anyone else who also happens to have red — or even reddish — hair. When I had a pixie cut, people told me all the time I looked like a young Mia Farrow from “Rosemary’s Baby,” and before that, when my hair was longer, I always got compared to Lauren Ambrose from “Six Feet Under.” About two years ago people started telling me I looked like a character on a new series called “Mad Men.” I’d never seen the show, but a friend soon emailed me a picture of Joan Holloway and wrote “Your doppelganger!” in the subject line. I had to admit — we did kind of look a little alike. Keep reading »
Monday was my birthday. I turned 28. That would have sounded old to me when I was in college or even as recently as when I was 26. Today, it sounds perfect—young, in fact, and exactly where I want to be. During lunch on my birthday, I took a walk near Central Park and got to thinking about how much my outlook has changed and the route that got me here.
Two years ago this June, my whole world turned upside down. During the course of a few weeks, my boyfriend of over three years broke up with me, I had to find a new apartment (a result of the breakup), and I started my first full-time job in New York City. Since I’d allowed my world to revolve around him, I had very few friends in the city. The friends I did have were so amazing that it still makes me cry in gratitude; nonetheless, this was a breakup of ugly proportions—one that involved a lease, money, each other’s families and the kind of shattered expectations that led to deep bouts of pessimism, sadness, fear and nostalgia. Keep reading »
This morning I woke up and the sun was shining. Lucca (that’s my dog) was lying on her back, paws straight up in the air, when she rolled over, yawned, and said to me, in her puppy way, “Moms” — she pluralizes things a lot — “I love you. You’re awesome.” And she’s right. I decided to make a list of 30 things I really love about myself, from the sort of shallow to the deeply ingrained. I hope you’ll all do the same (about yourselves, not me) in the comments! Keep reading »
Memo to the ladies: Your boyfriend jerking off to Perfect 10 or the occasional American Apparel ad is not cheating. Masturbating to a hot message that he got from a new 17-year-old “friend” he met on Facebook is. See the difference there? We hear a lot of complaints, especially from women, about concerns regarding their partners’ insistent masturbation. “Would you consider this cheating?” some ask. While no question is a stupid question, such queries do give me pause. Catholic guilt aside, when did self-love become tantamount to infidelity? Keep reading »
Masturbation isn’t a very sexy word. But despite its poor branding and marketing, self-lovin’ gets us all (hopefully) to the big O. So, rather than harp on the weird choice of word, like vagina (not the best work of the English language), why not try one of these ridiculous euphemisms for “dancing with myself”? Hey, they might inspire you to come up with more, uh, nicknames.
Keep reading »
There are two types of women in the world: women who are totally comfortable with masturbation and those who are ashamed of the act. I realize there are more than two types of women in the world, so forgive my rhetorical cheat. It’s for a good cause.
I don’t know why some women are weird about pleasuring themselves. I am not, in fact, a woman. But to those who are embarrassed about it, please, think about rubbing one out for your boyfriend or husband tonight. He will love it. There are few spectacles as captivating as a woman getting herself off. It is pure sex on toast. Watching your girl squirm, growl, and hit the right buttons while you whisper dirty little secrets and improper commands is so hot, it makes my guts ache. It’s vulnerable, and intimate, and epically eye-crossing. Keep reading »