We recently discovered that one of the many things we have in common is a deep love of new age bookstores. Ami actually used to work in one in LA, while Winona has spent countless hours wandering the aisles of Portland’s many alternative book shops, sniffing incense and wondering if she could ever make a living as a palm reader. The funny thing is, as unique as each of these quirky little stores may claim to be, they’re all exactly the same. Tarot readings? Check. Meditation room? Check. Wind chime soundtrack? Check. Light your spell candle and read on for a list of signs you’re in a new age bookstore… Keep reading »
In a recent Slate article, bookstore employee, Emma Straub, talks about bookstores being a perfect setting to find true love:
“There are many reasons why bookstores are naturally romantic environments: the smell of paper, the soft lighting, the baseline understanding that those inside like to read, and are therefore probably not morons. Browsing customers often circle each other like timid sharks, the piles of books in their hands their only weapons.”
As a book-loving single woman, you’d think bookstores would be my ideal place to meet guys. Not even close. When I shared my own reasoning (which you can read, after the jump), with the Frisky staff, a lively debate ensued. Check out our editors’ respective camps after the jump. Tell us what you think in the comments. Are you pro or con bookstore romance? Keep reading »
There’s something comfortable and familiar about chain bookstores, like Borders and Barnes & Noble: The vanilla latte always tastes the same, the photography books are always near the fashion books, and there are always comfy chairs. I’ve probably spent thousands of dollars at chain bookstores and I spent many a weekend during my high school years at their poetry nights.
But the bookstore most dear to my heart is a tiny little place called Bloodroot, half vegetarian restaurant and half feminist bookstore. My brother-in-law took me to Bloodroot when I was a teenager and it became a part of my identity. I came of age in the late ’90s and early aughties, when Britney Spears slithered around onstage and suburban kids wore Playboy bunny T-shirts to school, which, don’t get me wrong, is all enjoyable, yet nauseating after a while.
Luckily, the bookstore at Bloodroot proved to be a godsend for the feminists and freaks and gay kids who were trapped in the suburbs until graduation. We could have something we didn’t have anywhere else: a community. Keep reading »