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.
Every year for Halloween, I used to dress up as a gypsy. I was a lazy little kid, I guess, and I didn’t want to make some complicated costume. So I just put on a long skirt and a bunch of my mom’s jewelry and wrapped a bandana around my head, and people were like, “Are you a hippie?” And I was like, “Obviously not. I’m wearing a sash. Come on, people.”
One year, when I was being a gypsy and I was trick-or-treating with a pirate, a witch, and Simba in the sprawling ranch house development lower-income suburban New Jersey had conveniently provided us with, I saw my babysitter, dressed as a devil. But she didn’t look like a scary devil. She looked like some other kind of devil I’d never imagined. It was weird. I wondered if when I got to be older, as old as 14 say, if I’d wear things like that, with my belly showing even though it was cold. I wondered if Halloween was different when you were my babysitter’s age. Keep reading »
Happy Yom Kippur! Today is the Jewish Day of Atonement and while some of us are members of the tribe (Simcha, Kate), others of us are not, but still consider this a great day to reflect on some of the sins we’ve committed and would like to repent for. We bare our souls (some anonymously) and bow our heads after the jump, and urge you to atone away in the comments! Keep reading »
“Are you going to go to Rosh Hashanah services?” my sister asked me on the phone last week, and my gut instantly churned. Not because I’m now separated by the Atlantic Ocean from my family on the Jewish New Year, but because: a.) I had forgotten about it and b.) I didn’t feel like dealing with it.
“It’s tomorrow? And what year is it in Jewish anyhow? 18 million or something? I didn’t really make any arrangements. Maybe I’ll just fake going to services so mom and dad don’t freak.”
“I know you’re not religious, but aren’t you at least afraid of the wrath of mom?”
“I’ll repent for it a week later on Yom Kippur.”
Every year, when Yom Kippur, the day of repentance rolls around, I reluctantly put on a conservative pencil skirt, pack into the family Subaru, and fast for a day. At least I’ll lose a little weight, I think. Because why would I need to repent? I’m a good person. I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t seriously offended any of my friends or family. I eat my vegetables. I even vacuumed under the bed. Once. Keep reading »