Salad days are unequivocally here and, look, we’re as big a fan of the Pret chicken avocado box as the next person but by 4pm – or let’s be honest, 2.30pm – dare we say we find ourselves a tad… peckish?
Yes indeed, salads are handy for summer in that they tend to require very little cooking, so no need to slave over a hot stove in heatwave conditions; they’re light and bright but all too often this comes at the cost of raging hunger later on. After all, lettuce isn’t exactly filling, amirite?
Well, not to worry, as we’re here to tell you that it’s absolutely not the law of food that salads have to contain leaves and leaves alone. It is totally possible to make a series of proper, big, filling meals that also just happen to be salads; they’re filled with delicious things like falafel, roast sweet potato, juicy grilled chicken, softly oozing boiled eggs and crisp, satisfying veggies like asparagus, cucumber and fresh peas (not all at once, mind). And do you know what the best thing is? These are all really healthy to boot. You’re welcome.
Kale Chicken Caesar
When we first heard about kale salads, we’ve got to say we weren’t convinced – raw kale isn’t appetising. But promise you’ll try this out because, as ridiculous as it may sound, massaged kale is a game-changer and this one in particular really stands up to the strong creamy flavours of a Caesar. Here it comes with a healthier, more nutritious Caesar dressing, salty anchovies, a generous amount of grilled chicken and plenty of parmesan. The fact that kale is more fibrous than romaine lettuce means you’ll be far more satisfied than with a standard (saturated fat-laden) Caesar salad, and topping it all off with some low GI rye croutons will definitely keep hunger at bay. Plus, the chicken and the egg-based dressing means you’re getting protein galore, sending signals of satiety straight to your brain. Here’s what to do.
You will need:
1 large skinless chicken breast fillet 50g kale 30g parmesan 4-5 anchovy fillets (optional) 1 large egg yolk 3 tbsp Greek yoghurt 1 tsp Dijon mustard 1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil Squeeze of lemon juice 1 slice rye bread
Instructions:
Start by making the croutons; cut the rye bread into small squares and bake in a medium oven while you make the salad.
Make the dressing by whisking together the egg yolk, yoghurt, mustard, olive oil and lemon juice until well combined and smooth. Grate in half of the parmesan and season to taste.
Check that there are no thick, woody stalks in the kale and pop it in a bowl. Pour the dressing over it all and spend up to five minutes really massaging it in to the kale; this marinates and softens the kale.
Season and grill the chicken – this should take around five minutes each side. Let it cool slightly, then slice it into 2cm strips. Add to the kale, then add the anchovies too.
Finish by grating the remaining parmesan over the top, a twist of black pepper and scattering the rye croutons.
Smoked Trout, Egg, Jersey Royals and Summer Veg Salad
Hot smoked trout or salmon goes brilliantly with such summery bedfellows as Jersey Royal potatoes, asparagus, fresh peas and peppery watercress, and the fact everything is so seasonal makes it feel quite special. Smoked trout gives you a whacking great load of hard-to-find vitamin D and omega 3 fatty acids in addition to being an excellent source of protein, but we’ve amped up the protein load even further with some lovely six-minute soft-boiled eggs. The veggies provide vitamin C, fibre and lots more and the Jersey Royals provide some much-needed carbohydrate to keep energy levels up. It’s all brought together with a hot horseradish dressing and some lovely lemony dill. This one really is summer on a plate and – more to the point – a really complete meal that ticks all the nutritional boxes.
You will need:
1 fillet smoked trout or salmon 1 egg 3-4 Jersey Royals 5 asparagus spears Handful fresh peas 25g watercress 1 tsp hot horseradish sauce 2 tbsp crème fraîche A pinch of fresh dill Squeeze of lemon
Instructions:
Boil the potatoes for 10-15 minutes until tender and set aside.
Get a pan on to a rolling boil and simmer the egg for six minutes, then plunge into cold water until cool enough to handle.
Snap the woody stalks from the asparagus, then cook the asparagus and peas together in a pan of boiling water for about 3 minutes, then set aside.
In a bowl, bring together the potatoes, asparagus and peas and toss with the watercress and dill.
Make the dressing by mixing the horseradish, crème fraîche and lemon together and stirring through the veggies. Now flake the trout over the top.
Your egg should be cool enough now; firmly roll it on a chopping board until the shell cracks almost all over and it should then be easy to peel. Slice it in half over the salad (to catch any escaping yolk!).
Falafel Rainbow Buddha Bowl
Eating the rainbow (aka eating loads of different coloured veggies in one meal) isn’t just prime Instagram fodder, it’s also amazingly good for you. Not only do you ensure you achieve a wide range of vitamins and antioxidants, eating a large variety of foods also tricks your brain into thinking you’re eating more than you are. This Middle Eastern-inspired bowl of vegan-friendly goodies will definitely keep those satiety levels in check thanks to protein-rich falafel, slow-release starches via the sweet potato and a healthy dose of good fats from the avocado. It’s bulked out with colourful grated carrot, cucumber, beetroot and cumin-roasted cauliflower and dolloped with coriander and mint garlic yoghurt dip – vegans feel free to leave out or use CoYo which is good.
You will need:
2-3 readymade falafels 1 small sweet potato, chopped 1 small cooked beetroot, diced 1 small carrot, grated 3in cucumber, diced 1/2 avocado, sliced 1/4 small cauliflower 1 tsp ground cumin 1/2 tsp ground turmeric Handful coriander Handful mint Small clove garlic 2 tbsp Greek yoghurt
Instructions:
Preheat your oven to 190C. Roast the sweet potato chunks on a baking tray with a little olive oil, and the cauliflower on another tray with a tiny amount of olive oil, and the cumin and turmeric sprinkled on top. The sweet potato will take around 30 minutes and the cauliflower a little less time.
Assemble the Buddha bowl by arranging each of the diced, sliced or grated veggies around the bowl in sections, leaving space for the falafel, cauliflower, sweet potato and dip in the centre.
Make the dip by blitzing the garlic and fresh herbs in a food processor, Nutribullet or similar. Add the yoghurt and blitz again briefly.
Heat the falafels in a pan or the oven according to packet instructions and pop them all on the plate along with the cooked cauliflower and sweet potato.
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How's this for a 21st century meet cute? Back in 2014, a woman was preparing for her sister's wedding and jokily asked her Twitter followers for a date. Little did she know, three years later she'd end up marrying the man who replied to her tweet.
Almost exactly three years later, I can say... Reader, I married him. 😎 https://t.co/4Gldzbbsw2
It all started on the 6th July 2014, when Londoner Llia Apostolou put a callout on the social media site asking for a man to "borrow" for the event the following weekend, the Mirror reported.
"Bonus points if you can source a baby that I can pretend is mine too," she joked. We all know that turning up to a family wedding alone is bound to incite a few prying questions. Sad but true – even in 2017.
Are you a man? Can I borrow you for a wedding next weekend? Bonus points if you can source a baby that I can pretend is mine too.
Phil needed to clarify a few things, but even his family were on board with the impromptu union – which, in hindsight, is a clear sign the pair's relationship was meant to be.
Llia has since pointed out that Phil never actually accompanied to her sister's wedding – but the couple did tie the knot themselves almost three years to the day since her first tweet.
Polka dots have made their way back into our sartorial lexicon, appearing across the high street and couture this season. The pattern evokes '40s glamour, in large part thanks to Christian Dior's post-war 'New Look', which featured exquisite pieces in dotted fabric. During the '50s, retro swimsuits and circle skirts were often worn in polka dot prints, and iconic cultural references like Rosie the Riveter and Minnie Mouse have kept the print firmly in a vintage context.
And yet its revival was prominent on SS17's catwalks. Perhaps inspired by the Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama (her 2016 installation All the Eternal Love I Have for the Pumpkins was all over Instagram), spots came in all shapes, sizes, patterns and colours. Anteprima stuck with classic monochrome but clashed big dots with small, Givenchy gave '80s-inspired dresses a rainbow of polka dots, and Dolce & Gabbana kept the old-school glamour with ruffled dotted dresses and hair bows.
On formal dresses, frilled blouses and playful dungarees, polka dots are no longer confined to one aesthetic, making them the most accessible print for summer. Click through for our pick of the best pieces around.
We'll be wearing this multicoloured Zara blouse on hot summer evenings.
Zara Puffy Polka Dot Top, £7.99, available at Zara
This whole look is very Sade, and we're hooked.
Kitri Vera Polka Dot Wrap Blouse, £95, available at Kitri
Perfect for lazy Sundays, these Monki dungarees add some fun to the trend.
Monki Polka Dot Dungarees, £40, available at Monki
Ruffles and polka dots are big hitters this season.
Diane von Furstenberg Polka Dot Blouse, £191, available at Matches Fashion
Dresses over T-shirts are summer-in-the-city dressing sorted.
& Other Stories Wide Strap Dress, £45, available at & Other Stories
This satin dress is a classic shape and timeless print.
Ganni Leclair Satin Dress, £200, available at Ganni
More ruffles, but this time Stella pairs polka dots with stripes for a print clash.
Stella McCartney Stripe And Polka-Dot Silk Skirt, £435, available at Matches Fashion
This '50s-inspired dress is super-sweet.
Topshop Spot Dobby Button Bardot Dress, £39, available at Topshop
We've seen plenty of polka dot jumpsuits this season, but this Urban one is our favourite.
Urban Outfitters Pins & Needles Wrap Jumpsuit, £52, available at Urban Outfitters
Now this is a dress. Pair with huge statement earrings and your best heels, and hit the Riviera.
When pilot Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic, disappeared over the Pacific Ocean in 1937 during an attempt to fly around the world, it became one of the biggest mysteries in aviation history and inspired countless conspiracy theories.
The official story of her death is that she lost communication on her way to Howland Island in the Pacific, where she was heading to refuel, ran out of fuel and then crashed into the ocean. However, there was never any evidence, i.e. debris, to support that generally accepted version of events.
This means other theories have long existed in tandem with the official story – and one of them may have just been strengthened by a newly unearthed piece of evidence, which suggests Earhart might not have died in a crash but in Japanese custody instead, the BBC reported.
Some believe a black and white photo found in the vaults of the US National Archives, taken in the 1930s on the then-Japanese Marshall Islands, could depict the legendary pilot. The blurry image shows a group of people standing on a dock and is thought to have been taken by a US spy.
Experts claim the seated figure with their back to the camera, in the middle of the huddle, could be Earhart, while the person on the far left could be Fred Noonan, her navigator on the final flight who also disappeared. Experts also believe the pair's plane can be seen on the far right-hand side of the image.
“When you pull out, and when you see the analysis that’s been done, I think it leaves no doubt to the viewers that that’s Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan,” Shawn Henry, the former executive assistant director for the FBI and an NBC News analyst, told NBC News.
An expert in facial recognition, forensic analyst Kent Gibson, also said it was "very likely" to be Earhart and Noonan depicted in the photo. He was speaking to US TV network NBC, which released the photo ahead of a documentary about the pilot to run this weekend, reported The Guardian.
However, not everyone is convinced by the photo. “This is just a picture of a wharf at Jaluit [in the Marshall Islands], with a bunch of people,” said Ric Gillespie, author of Finding Amelia and the executive director of The International Group for Historic Aircraft Recovery (Tighar). He added: “It’s just silly. And this is coming from a guy who has spent the last 28 years doing genuine research into the Earhart disappearance and led 11 expeditions into the South Pacific,” The Guardian reported.
He said the appetite for all things Amelia Earhart is such that even something as "ridiculous" as the newly discovered photo is bound to get people talking.
Japanese officials have denied more than once that Earhart and Noonan were ever in the country's custody, although many of their records are known to have been lost. At least one thing's certain – more people are bound to tune in to the new NBC documentary after this.
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Something happens when you get married. It isn’t just a change between you and your partner, or even a change within yourself, but a total transformation in how others see you. People start treating you like an adult when, the day before your wedding, even if you’ve lived in domestic bliss for years, you were still a child to them. Very Serious Topics start coming up with greater frequency. “Are you thinking of settling down in the area?” “Any plans to buy a house?” My personal favourite: “So, who wears the trousers?”
This one’s often meant as a joke, of course, but I still have a serious answer: “Well, we’re both usually wearing trousers.” I mean it literally, and yet it’s still funny — or at least, more fun than hearing a fiery tirade about my egalitarian relationship with my husband and the feminist politics that we have shared from the beginning of our relationship.
But one remark dwarfs all the others in both frequency and impact. Very often, when a stranger or acquaintance finds out that I’m married, they ask the question that I most dread: “So, when are you two going to have kids?” A question bound up in assumptions.
Never, I think. But, as with the pants question, I usually tone it down for the sake of amiable conversation.
People my age are increasingly putting off or deciding against having children. For some, that's motivated by economic precariousness and uncertainty about the future. Others might cite how difficult it is to raise a child in this day and age, with threats all around — both real and imagined. Maybe it’s global climate change, and the fear that your kids will be left living in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. There's a tired and incorrect stereotype that feminists simply hate children and don’t want families. I, as a feminist who does not want a family, can reconcile this in my own mind. But generally speaking, my decision to not have children is not political. It is deeply personal.
To be brutally honest, I don’t like kids. I don’t hate them, I just feel uncomfortable around them. I don’t know how to talk to them. They kind of annoy me. Parents love to tell you, “Oh, it’s different when they’re yours!” When they’re yours, you’ll love them, they say. All of that frustration and awkwardness will disappear, and you will suddenly cherish your child through the magic of DNA transmission, hormones, sharing blood. And I’m sure that is true for some people. But there is a dark reality that rarely gets spoken aloud. For some people, it’s not different when they’re yours.
There are parents who do not love their children, and I know this truth the same way I know that in Florida in the summer, it rains every day at 3 p.m. sharp and stops abruptly at 3:30. I have lived it.
And no matter how loving and kind, supportive and attentive a parent is, I believe — no, I know — that children can sense when they are resented. When they are not wanted.
As a child, I was a daddy’s girl. He could do no wrong. When the police came to our house in the middle of the night to arrest him for domestic battery, it was surely not his fault. When he got drunk and slept until 1 p.m., leaving me alone and hungry all morning, he was just tired. I understood. It wasn’t until I was about 11 that he finally started to fall from grace in my eyes.
My parents had been divorced for nearly a decade by this point, and for a year my father lived three hours away from me. It was painful for me, because visits were relatively infrequent — once every two or three weeks. I pleaded with him to find work closer to me, but he always had an excuse. Nonetheless, as the daddy’s girl, I understood. This was grown-up stuff. It was just impossible.
Then he met a woman and, within a few months, they got married and he moved in with her, about 20 minutes from where I lived with my mother. She was a lovely woman, and I got along with her and her two children very well. But I was resentful. Had I not been worth moving for? Why was this relative stranger more of a reason to pack up his life and move than I was? And why, now that he lived so close, did he not see me more often? Where were the Wednesday night dinners or Sunday afternoon park visits that I had dreamed of? And like that, the spark was lit. My naïveté was cracking.
The crack deepened one hot and muggy Florida Saturday when he just plain forgot me. I was 12, and I will never forget that I had chosen his visit over a birthday party that would include a limo ride to the movies. (A limo ride!) He was supposed to pick me up in the morning, and being the responsible 12-year-old that I was I woke early, packed up the little pink suitcase I always brought with me to his house, and, in my excitement, locked up the house to stand by the road a bit early. He would certainly be glad that I was all ready to go — very grown-up. I waited. And waited. By now the sun was higher in the sky, it was getting hotter. I was thirsty. I don’t know exactly how long I waited outside, but it seemed like an eternity at the time. I called him: No answer. Night fell. I had cried most of the day. I waited for his call. It didn’t come.
That night I called again, and he answered, groggy and slurring. He had crashed his car the night before and spent all day working on it. He was sorry. He didn’t mean to. Did I forgive him? I didn’t answer.
Months later, we had a fight. It was Father’s Day, and when I forgot to help carry some groceries inside he called me the laziest little girl in the world. I absolutely snapped. I told him he could not speak to me that way. I had never screamed at him before, but I was now. I was nearing 13 and still harbouring anger about the time he forgot me, and remembering other times and events that now struck me as neglect, or at least indifference. He, in turn, said I was behaving like a child, that I was ungrateful, and some other very nasty things. Things that made me feel unloved, unwanted, burdensome. Despite my rage, I also felt that I had fallen short of being a good daughter. I ended my weekend visit by calling my mother to come pick me up. He didn’t even walk with me to the front of the apartment complex. He stood in the doorway and shouted at me to “Get your ass back here right now!” as I walked away in the blistering Florida heat, pink suitcase in tow.
For weeks, I asked my mother if he had called for me. I just knew that eventually he would pick up the phone to apologise, to admit that he had been wrong. But the call never came. It broke my mother’s and stepfather's hearts. I cried myself to sleep at night. I considered calling him, but resolved that I was not at fault. I was not to blame. I would not concede. I inherited my strong will (read: stubbornness) from both sides of my parentage, and it has almost always served me well.
We did not speak for another 12 years, when I reconnected with him through Facebook. It was mostly out of curiosity. What was he like now? Had he changed? Was he happy? Did he ever miss me? But I found out quickly that he had not changed much. He blamed me for our estrangement. He blamed his 12-year-old daughter for taking his insults personally, for not being the first to try to rectify the split. But I have always secretly held a fear in my heart — that it wasn’t his stubbornness or his temper or even his alcoholism that caused him to abandon me. It was that he felt like a burden had been lifted. Maybe he was just glad to see me go.
But being worthy of love and knowing how to do it is still not enough of a reason to have a child of my own.
Then, two years later, he messaged me out of the blue to chastise me for unfriending him on Facebook. (What strange times we are living in.) I replied that I unfriended him because it was painful to be reminded of him. It turned into a heated argument, yet another litigation over who was to blame and who should have called whom. He called me crazy, “just like your grandmother!” who, incidentally, suffered from bipolar disorder, as I do. He called me an immature child, and many all-caps fuck-yous were exchanged. There was no doubt then, as I deleted the message thread so hate-filled it made me sick, that he did not love me; that quite possibly, he never had. And suddenly I was 12 again. Crying. Looking for a father that did not exist.
In fact, I had been looking in the wrong place. My stepfather has loved me more fully than I could have hoped. Blood and DNA do not ensure loving bonds between child and parent. Parenting is a connection based on unconditional love, respect, and care. This is what my true father has shown me, and I am eternally grateful to him. He is a daily reminder that I am worthy of a father’s love. Thanks to the love from both him and my mother, and now my husband, I know how to love.
But being worthy of love and knowing how to do it is still not enough of a reason to have a child of my own. I know without a doubt that I would never abuse a child. I would never abandon one, as I was abandoned. I do not have that kind of selfishness and hatefulness and depravity in me. But I know very well that I might resent them. And no matter how loving and kind, supportive and attentive a parent is, I believe — no, I know — that children can sense when they are resented. When they are not wanted.
I have often heard people claim that not having children is selfish — that it’s a shirking of responsibility, based on petty desires to be comfortable and travel and sleep late on weekends. But mine is a choice between two possible outcomes: That I may have children and regret it, or that I may not have children and regret it. The latter would certainly be sad, a decision that I could never take back. But the first impacts another human being for the rest of their life, and the second impacts only me. If making the second choice is selfish, then I must be using a different definition of the term.
I think for most people, asking a person about their plans to have children seems like a pretty innocuous question. And when they push the subject — tell you that you’ll change your mind, that it’s different when they’re yours, that having children will give your life meaning — I wonder if they can imagine all of the different reasons someone might have when they make the very difficult decision to forgo being a parent. I wonder if they have any sense of how hurtful it is to hear that, “It’s different when they’re yours.” Because sometimes, it isn’t.
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The first online dating profile I ever set up was on OkCupid when I was 21. I remember taking a lot of time on it — making sure to pick the exact words to describe exactly what I was looking for. I wanted a partner who was compassionate, intelligent, had a close relationship with his family, who liked to cuddle, and who wouldn’t roll his eyes when I wanted to veg on the couch for a 5-hour-long Real Housewives of New York marathon. I had conjured up an image of the perfect partner in my brain, and I wanted to get as close to it as possible.
As many people know, high expectations tend to beget huge disappointments. So after a few months, I readjusted my “type.” When prince charming still wasn’t showing up, I tried to be a little more flexible and free with my requirements. I was lucky to learn that lesson early on in my dating life — that the perfect partner doesn’t exist, and you shouldn’t expect the people you’re dating to fit neatly into a box of “must haves.” But I took that idea a little too far, and completely abandoned my list completely, dating anyone and everyone who swiped right on me.
I had fun for a while, and because I wasn’t looking for an exact “type,” I opened myself up to a lot of unique, exciting dudes. I went out with a whiskey distiller, a few investment bankers, a bunch of comedians, a carpenter who hung all of the shelves in my apartment, a tugboat captain (seriously), and spent an entire summer dating Australian men exclusively. But I also was wasting my time with a lot of people who weren’t looking for what I was trying to find: a real connection that could grow. So about a year ago, I decided that I would only pursue dates with men who were looking for a relationship.
It was surprisingly easy to discern who wanted a relationship and who didn’t. The men who weren’t interested in something more serious would promptly stop responding after I answered their what are you looking for? inquiry honestly. So I was left with guys who were genuinely interested in finding a partner and settling down — right? Well, not exactly. Because, as I’ve written before, saying you want a relationship and actually being in a relationship are actually two completely different things. I’d meet men who probably wanted a relationship, but who didn’t want one with me. On bad days, I’d meet men who claimed they wanted a relationship, would get me in all nice and cozy, only to ghost a few days later, leaving me with a giant question mark.
Another thing I kept running into? Men who were perfectly nice — the type of men who you’d want to bring home to mom — but who I 100% did not want to have sex with. The idea of sleeping with these men made my skin crawl, even though they were super sweet. It was around this time that I created The Naked Test, a test in which I had to decide by date three whether or not I wanted to ever be naked with the guy. It was a way for me to avoid feeling guilty over not dating “nice guys.” But that still didn’t help my dating fatigue — and I couldn’t figure out why. This led me to the therapist’s chair, and then to eventually delete my dating apps.
I was dating guys who seemed like Pinterest versions of partners, without really caring about what made them tick.
Of course, I’ve made my triumphant return to the dating scene and have had many lovely experiences since — including a two-month long relationship with a guy which ended in a total clusterfuck. Since him, I’ve felt a little uneasy, since that breakup coincided with the death of my grandmother and the weddings/engagements of three of my cousins. (Life has a way of shitting on you all at once, doesn’t it?) But I’ve continued to date, lest I become the last female cousin in my family to get married — a fate all of my now-married-or-engaged cousins tell me is “no big deal,” but they’re not eager to swap places with me.
About three weeks ago, I realised that the past four dates I’d gone on had failed The Naked Test. They were nice, sure. But I didn’t want to get down and do the nasty with them. And it wasn’t as if grief had struck down my sex drive — it was humming along quite nicely. It was just the men in question that turned me off. It was then that I realised why I found these men so boring — we had nothing in common. They were men who I wouldn’t have given a second glance at two years ago. But all four of them had one thing in common: They looked like they were relationship material. They seemed like the types of guys who would easily fill the role of “boyfriend.”
In this vulnerable time of my life, I’d unconsciously reinstated my “type,” but this time, it only involved one requirement: Seems like he’d make a good boyfriend. I was dating guys who seemed like Pinterest versions of partners, without really caring about what made them tick. Instead of getting to know them as people first, I was basically interviewing them for the role of “boyfriend.” That’s what I was doing back when The Naked Test had to be instated, and that’s what I was doing again.
So where does one go from there? Well, for starters, I’ve recognised that the idea of being “relationship material” is incredibly subjective, and changes depending on the person. I’ve definitely pulled back from the apps a bit, only using them a few days a week instead of every day. But, most importantly, I’m recognising the importance of getting to know a person as, well, a person before I start putting them in the relationship bin.
There are some lessons we learn early on in our dating journey — like the fact that a long list of requirements isn’t helpful. But there are some, like this one, that come a little late in the game. My recent dates have felt less like I’m auditioning men for a role in my life, and more like I’m just getting to know a new friend. And while no one has passed The Naked Test yet, I’m sure someone will soon — after I’ve learned how they feel about 5-hour-long Real Housewives of New York marathons.
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It's not a secret that women make less than men for doing movies. Dozens of female actresses have come forward with their stories throughout the years, detailing the large pay gaps between them and their male co-stars. Most recently, the internet exploded upon learning that Gal Gadot in Wonder Woman made less than Henry Cavill initially did for playing Superman. Of course, studio execs and insiders quickly came forward to spell out exactly why the female actress starring the biggest summer movie would have been promised less than a man for a spectacularly similar role. There's always an explanation for a pay gap, but never a solution. (The solution is pretty simple: pay them the same.)
But if you're Emma Stone, you've lucked out a bit in the wage roulette. The lucrative actress has acted alongside a slew of talented men, and apparently they've taken a pay cut on her behalf ensuring that they all make the same wage on a project. In an interview with Out discussing her upcoming role in Battle of the Sexes as the real-life athletic superwoman Billie Jean King, Stone and her co-star Andrea Riseborough candidly discuss the topic of gendered wage discrepancies with King herself.
"In my career so far, I’ve needed my male co-stars to take a pay cut so that I may have parity with them," Stone admitted. "And that’s something they do for me because they feel it’s what’s right and fair. That’s something that’s also not discussed, necessarily—that our getting equal pay is going to require people to selflessly say, 'That’s what’s fair.' If my male co-star, who has a higher quote than me but believes we are equal, takes a pay cut so that I can match him, that changes my quote in the future and changes my life."
Stone added: "It’s not about, 'Women are this and men are that.' It is, 'We are all the same, we are all equal, we all deserve the same respect and the same rights.' And that’s really what I’ve been so grateful for with male co-stars — when I’ve been in a similar-size role in films, and it’s been multiple people who have been really incredible and said, 'That’s what I want to do. That’s what’s fair and what’s right.'"
Taking a look back at her career, it's fair to assume that the likes of Ryan Gosling, Andrew Garfield, and Steve Carrell (her co-star and nemesis in Battle of the Sexes), are the ones who felt the need to make things right when it came to compensation. So, kudos to them, I guess.
But that still is far from fair, and does not happen often, as Riseborough says that she has never experienced that sort of male-female balance. "I don’t know how many films I’ve been in—20, 25 films, something like that," she said. "And I’ve never had the experience of a guy taking any sort of pay cut."
In summary: Stone is pretty lucky. The rest of the women of Hollywood are still in a very real battle of the sexes of their own.
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If there's one show that should give you trust issues, it's Game Of Thrones. The HBO series loves to kill off even its most important characters, and while some of them, like Kit Harington's Jon Snow, come back from the dead, most of them meet a tragic, and very permanent fate. It's the rare character who doesn't end up in mortal danger at some point over the course of the series, but when it comes to Sophie Turner's Sansa Stark, we're rooting that she makes it to the end of the line alive and well. One person not convinced that Sansa will make it to the finale of the epic drama? Turner herself.
In a new interview with TIME, the actress — who also stars as Jean Grey in the X-Men franchise and will receive her own solo movie, X-Men: Dark Phoenix, in 2018, admitted that she's not sure how things will play out for Sansa. The royal has already had an incredibly tough life, and has had to contend with being ripped from her family and brutally raped by Ramsay Bolton (Iwan Rheon) in a particularly controversial scene. Now that Sansa has finally reclaimed some of her power — she used Ramsay's own hounds to kill the evil man during the Battle of the Bastards — it would be shocking for her to die. Alas, Turner is afraid that's exactly what may happen — even though she hopes it won't.
"Ideally, I’d like [Sansa] to get her revenge on Cersei and many of the others who have done her wrong," Turner told TIME. "What I loved about the character and what I didn’t expect was how much she’s been growing. Even if she didn’t get that final end result of being united with her family again, my hope for her is that she continues to keep growing more and more powerful and confident in herself. But in reality, it’s probably not going to happen, and she’s probably going to die!"
"I can totally see [Sansa] becoming a Cersei and kind of driven mad by it, by the threats against her family," she told the outlet. "At the end of the day, that’s why she does the things that she does, because she’s terrified of losing the people she loves. And so she’ll stop at nothing to protect them."
Could she give her life to protect her family? It's totally possible — but I'm hoping that this game never comes to that.
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No interiors photo seems complete at the moment without the addition of something woven. Be it placemats, laundry or storage baskets, the trend is dominating homeware magazines, Pinterest and Instagram.
We particularly love the woven bowls we're seeing in all shapes and sizes, from large fruit bowls to small jewellery dishes. Some people have even been hanging a selection of woven bowls as wall art (we implore you to do a Pinterest search ASAP).
The trend has filtered down from designer to high street, where there are some lovely bowls available to buy on Etsy, Trouva and The Little Market.
But they are on the pricey side. Luckily, though, we've found out how you can dupe the look of woven bowls, and other lust-worthy woven objects, using rope.
Buying a two-tone rope means the weaving is already done for you: the result looks intricate with no effort. So here, without further ado, are three woven things you can make using just one £5 rope.
Materials
You can find woven rope available to buy cheaply in most hardware stores and even supermarkets. It may be branded as washing line, mooring line or climbing rope – ignore it all as it’s going to be your beautiful new bowl! Choose a rope no thicker than about 6mm; any thicker and it becomes hard to mould into shape.
2. Using the nozzle, place a thin line of glue about 15cm from the end of your rope. You don’t need to use a lot of glue, the less the better.
3. To start the first and tightest coil, fold the end of the rope in on itself in the centre of the bowl. The aim is for the glue to bind it with the next line of rope. Again, you want the minimum amount so it doesn’t spill out.
4. Twist the rope around itself with one hand, using the other hand to keep it down flat. Pull on the excess rope to make it slightly tighter if needed.
5. The glue is fast-drying and holds the rope together while you continue the next section. We only glued 15-20cm at a time.
6. Continue until the ‘flat’ bottom of the bowl is complete. If you place one hand flat on the top of the bowl, the rope should follow around the curve of the bowl nicely. Remember to pull gently on the excess rope to ensure it’s tightly bound.
7. Continue around the bowl, rotating and gluing.
8. We stopped 3 inches below the top of the Pyrex dish, so as not to make the sides of our bowl too high. The glue held our bowl together really well and was already beginning to dry and harden. If you did feel yours needed a little more support, you can place glue in-between the layers once coiled.
9. Using fabric scissors, neatly cut off the end of the rope. Add a small drop of glue to the end and pinch the rope between your fingertips. This will stop any fraying.
10. Leave your bowl to dry for an hour. It should be hard to the touch and with some gentle persuasion, come off the bowl. This is why sparse use of glue is best.
11. Should any glue be left on your bowl, we can confirm this comes off in warm soapy water!
DIY Rope Coasters
How To
Once you have the technique down, these are a doddle.
1. Follow the same instructions for the bowl, working on a flat surface.
2. Stop when your circle gets to 4 inches (11cm) in diameter.
3. Repeat another three times, to complete the set. Leave to dry for 40 minutes.
DIY Rope Earrings
Rope earrings are officially having a moment. These are perfect for summer, and that colourful holiday selfie.
How To
1. Use the exact same technique, stopping when your circle is 2.5 inches (or 6cm) in diameter.
2. Use scissors or tweezers to open the circle on the earring findings, and simply hook these at the top centre of each earring. Close the circle with scissors to secure.
The total cost for one bowl, four coasters and a pair of earrings = £6.23. Now that’s a bargain of a craft project!
Hair removal is a complicated arena. Some people choose not to touch their body hair, while others are religious about their routine. There are layers of privilege, too: while people with fairer skin often have less visible and more manageable hair, those with darker skin often have an entirely different experience. Body hair can be political, cute, painful, laborious, a source of pride or, simply, just there. If you do choose to remove your hair, there are now countless ways to do so, which can be at best confusing and at worst exhausting. Waxing, threading, shaving, sugaring, and tweezing are all highly popular, practised across the world in various forms.
One method that gets arguably less airtime is epilating. An epilator is a handheld machine that plucks multiple hairs quickly as it rolls over the skin – while that sounds slightly frightening, many women prefer it to other methods. "My mum used to tell me to wax instead of shave, to keep hairs fine, and epilating is the more affordable way to do that," Sasha Buckham, 26, tells me. "It allows me to just leave my hair for about a month before having to epilate again, although I know that isn't for everyone." So if you're sick of ankle shaving cuts and post-wax rashes, here's your handy guide. We spoke to Adam Boulding, Gillette Venus research + development expert, about the ins and outs of epilating.
What is epilating? Epilation works by gently plucking hair from the root with a series of tweezers which can grab the smallest of hairs (as short as 0.5mm – the equivalent of two days' growth). This means that with epilation you don’t need to wait for regrowth, so there are no more in-between days.
How does it differ from other methods of hair removal? There are two key types of hair removal: surface hair removal and root hair removal, and women use on average 2.5 methods across different body areas/at different times. Surface hair removal refers to the cutting of hair at the skin’s surface – this would be shaving or hair removal creams. Epilation is a form of root hair removal, which refers to methods which see the hairs removed from the root for lasting results.
How often do you need to epilate? Around every four weeks.
How painful is it? The imagined pain hurdle can put people off from trying epilating, but they are often surprised by the low level of pain they actually experience. The pain also diminishes with use. The second time you use your epilator, only 30% of hairs will have regrown, so pain is diminished by two-thirds.
Any tips and tricks? Purchase an epilator which can be used in the shower, as the warm water opens pores which loosens the hair follicles so they are removed more easily. Pre-treating the skin makes the epilation process gentler. If you’re epilating dry, rub your skin with a dry towel – do this prior to epilating as it causes hairs to stand up from the skin surface, ensuring a perfect finish. Epilating systems do not remove skin layers, so exfoliating with a separate product as part of your skincare routine helps to avoid ingrown hairs and again helps to lift the hairs ready for epilation. Hold skin tightly and do small areas at first. Your hairs should be short – if they are too long, shave first and then wait a day or two before epilating.
Our pick of the best epilators: Braun Silk-épil 5 Wet&Dry Cordless Epilator Starter Kit, £79.99, available at Braun Philips Satinelle Advanced Wet and Dry Epilator, £99, available at Philips Braun Silk-épil 9 Epilator and Facial Cleansing Brush, £102, available at Look Fantastic
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‘Pride in London’ has become somewhat of a joke among many members of the LGBTQIA+ community in recent years. There was the UKIP fiasco of two years ago, the Red Arrows flypast last year and the absurd, illogical, infuriating, invalidating advertising that prioritised straight people this year. It is as though the organising committee gets together to think of the most inclusive potential option for this yearly parade and then does the exact opposite.
As a fat, gender queer, femme, working-class person (yassss labels), Pride – in the corporate sense of the word – is unquestionably not designed for me, or for anyone who falls outside of straight people and their hot, white, straight-acting gay male mates box.
And still, year on year, the date rolls around and I find myself in a tangle of confusion re attending ‘White Muscle Fest in London’. "It’s good to be visible," I think; "it’s important for brilliant charities who make most of their money from fundraising at Pride," I wax; "it’s so important for young people to see a huge body of people celebrating their community," I wane. And yes, these things are all true, and so yes, I am attending.
But in attending for myself, and so many, the day of Pride in London is not one of safety, or where we reclaim the streets. It’s actually one which feels silencing, whitewashing and totally generalising. “Stop fucking moaning” I hear you cry. But the reason this is such an emotional topic for so many – and the thing people fail to understand – is that Pride itself was born from need, from protest, from anger and rebellion. The entire institution of Pride was built to create space for those so incredibly marginalised it pushed them to protest. The problem with Pride now is that it couldn’t be further from that: it’s a money-making opportunity for brands like Wagamama, Barclays and BAE Systems to co-opt and milk for cash at the expense of those in our community who continue to be marginalised, and who need some sort of Pride so desperately in order to survive, but are denied it by the louder, assimilationist voices in the community and brands who see financial potential.
But instead of writing yet another long, complaint-filled op-ed about ‘Why Pride is o-v-e-r, gurl’ I wanted to ask a range of differing voices about what Pride makes them feel, and why they are or are not attending.
Amrou Al-Kadhi
I am going to Pride this year. I have a lot of political issues with Pride, and there's a lot that makes me feel resistant from going. However, it's been a catastrophic couple of years politically, and I just want to mute the critical voice in my head, even for a few hours, and be around queer people for an entire day and have a good time. I'm so angry all the time – and I have reason to be – but I just want to be happy for a day. Does that sound lazy? Also, one of my biggest issues with Pride is how white and commodified it has become. As a gay gender queer Iraqi, I feel that if I am not there, and if I am not visible, I will be facilitating my own exclusion. So I do think there's something very important about staying visible, regardless of all the commodification, and showing the increasingly white masc LGBTQIA+ landscape that I am here, and not going anywhere.
Amrou Al-Kadhi
To be honest, I practise Pride every day. Every second. I feel it's my duty as a gender queer gay Iraqi to constantly take up space, to challenge heteronormativity, and to assert my identity wherever I go. Society always wants to make me invisible, and it is my duty to challenge this. So the Pride parade isn't something that will feel that novel to me, especially when I'm in drag doing shows multiple times a week. It does sadden me to see how white gay men dominate LGBTQIA+ spaces – more and more I feel excluded by gay men on account of increasing Islamophobia and hate towards femme people on the scene – UKIP and Tory floats at the Parade certainly don't help here.
Pride is a very complicated word for me. As someone who grew up in a conservative Muslim household, I was taught on a daily basis that my sexuality would land me straight in hell. And the internalised shame that has come with this has dominated my life, and I suffer recurring nightmares, and am on medication to cope with some paralysing anxieties. So while I'm proud to be queer, and practise Pride daily, what we collectively need to start talking about in society is how to reduce and manage the shame that comes from growing up queer in a world so hostile to us.
Torraine Futurum
I did go to the main pride parade in NY, but only because a friend and I passed by it on the way to dinner. It wasn’t super-intentional. I honestly don't feel a great connection to most things related to Pride with a capital 'P' I guess. Everyone under the LGBTQ acronym gets swallowed up into the monolithic image of the cisgender white gay male. And despite how inclusive people like to assert that that acronym is, I don't often feel a part of it.
Torraine Futurum
I feel seen and welcomed in more specified spaces like the trans march that happens every year. Or when I'm in spaces for queer women/femmes of colour. I am both a queer woman and also a trans woman and I don't think being trans automatically makes you queer. But so often when I'm in LGBTQ spaces with broad stroke groupings like this, I feel like my identities get muddied or ignored. I hate being in spaces where I feel misunderstood. I'm not queer because I'm trans, I'm queer because I'm attracted to women and non-binary people. But also, with that being said, LGBQ people need to do a better job at representing the T people. I know it's easy to enact erasure because T is the only letter that doesn't represent a sexual orientation, but... try harder. It's important to include trans people without making them think you see them as extremely 'gay' versions of the gender they were assigned at birth.
Literally just try to include more intersectional voices. Think outside of your myopic viewpoint about what you're celebrating. At the very least, stop saying 'gay pride'. There are a lot of heterosexual trans people who have just as much right to celebrate Pride and a phrase like that is so frustrating and invalidating.
Emily Carlton
I’m going to Pride, for the first time in years. I’m generally put off by the big corporate ‘Pride Org’ in this country, that seems to relentlessly commercialise and whitewash being gay. But no matter how much I disagree with how it’s packaged, at the end of the day it’s a really important thing globally. I guess being able to be critical of London Pride is a luxury in itself, and I think it’s important to powerfully demonstrate your freedoms for people who don’t have them around the world. Thanks to social media, they still see it and feel it.
Emily Carlton
As a bisexual woman who has dated a lot of men, I’m used to my identity shifting depending on where I am. At its worst, Pride feels like it’s an event for gym-ripped shirtless gay men, but even at its best there’s not a huge amount of space for bisexual people there. Ironically, I rarely feel more ‘straight’ than I do at Pride. I get dubbed a fag hag and end up adopting the role of straight ally. That’s not who I am, and when I was younger it really upset me, but it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. Now I’m comfortable enough in my sexual identity to get involved with Pride in whatever capacity. I guess I feel like a quiet bisexual ally at gay Pride, rather than at an event that’s really for me.
Temi Wilkey
No, I’m not going to Pride this year. I'm performing at a festival with my Drag King company. I'd definitely be going to London Pride if I wasn't. We're performing at Brighton Pride, so I'll at least get to go to that! I think Pride is important. It may not be a protest, like it used to be, but I think it can be a really joyful celebration of being able to be 'out', a privilege that people in lots of countries are not easily afforded.
Temi Wilkey
As a woman of colour I don’t think Pride caters to me. I think the marketing for London Pride this year was inexcusable. Pride can often feel as though it's mainly for gay white men, but they took it a step further and geared it towards straight white men.
I'd be keen to go to Black Pride if I was in London this weekend and I know there are great events, like Femmes of Colour happening, which I'm sad to be missing. I think people of colour, especially queer people of colour, are amazing at creating our own spaces when we don't feel included in mainstream scenes – and these spaces can be so special, so empowering and so much more fun than the spaces we weren't originally included in.
But I think, if Pride wanted to improve, it could seek out these spaces and centre them in Pride. I think that that's the key to being inclusive rather than tokenistic. It's easy to book one performer of colour, but creating a space or several spaces that centre queer people of colour is truly inclusive.
Jake Woodhead
It was Lancaster’s first Pride this year and it was undoubtedly small, but important. The day went really well (despite the rain) and spirits were high. Lancaster is not known for its diversity so when I heard that somebody had organised a Pride here I was really glad, because I feel it’s important for people to see us and hear our message. I feel like straight people from big cities where huge Pride events have been going for years are a lot more accepting to people from the LGBTQ+ community since it has become the norm for these events to take place. In a small town like Lancaster, most people have never even been in a gay bar let alone a Pride event! A few did stay clear of town that day and took the 'Warning: gays in town this Saturday' signs seriously, but generally people came to see what was going on out of curiosity and people were supportive. I hope it’s the start of bigger things to come.
Everybody knows London is a melting pot of all cultures and backgrounds so it’s expected there. While it’s still important for London to have a huge Pride to set an example, it’s even more meaningful for regional prides to take place since Queers aren’t just from the capital! No matter what town we live in we should feel like we fit in, not just within the comfort of Soho. In fact, London and Bristol Pride are both on at the same time this weekend and I’m actually going to Bristol for the first time, and I can’t wait.
Jeremy Goldstein
I’m undecided as to whether I’ll attend Pride this year, although I’m unlikely to go to the Parade. If I do anything at all, I’ll be at the Duckie DeCrim with my tribe.
The last time I went to Pride was in 2012. I marched the entire length of the Parade route carrying a banner celebrating art, freedom and sex, which Ed Hall made for Penny Arcade’s Bitch! Dyke! Faghag! Whore!. Penny was there with her dancers and after the Parade we arranged for them to dance in the windows on Old Compton Street. We turned it into a scene from Amsterdam's red light district and the crowds went wild. It was great fun.
There are various reasons I haven’t been since but it’s largely to do with the fact that I struggle to find truth in such a large and generic catch-all event. Now Pride makes me feel more nostalgic than anything else. I grew up in Sydney so my Pride was Mardi Gras in the 1980s when things were a lot more political and there was much more of a feeling of defiance in the air, as we were in the midst of dealing with the HIV and AIDS epidemic. It was a formative and important time for those that lived through it so the meaning of Pride to someone of my generation is, I imagine, much different to a younger person coming out and experiencing their Pride for the first time.
My favourite memory of London Pride was when I volunteered backstage in Victoria Park in the 1990s. It was the year Chaka Khan graced us with her presence and I remember dancing on stage as she belted out "Ain’t Nobody". The roar of the crowd was unlike anything I had ever heard. Believe you me when I say I felt the Pride!!
Olivia Smith
Yes. I am going to Pride. I've been going to Pride every year for the past 6 or 7 years – I go mainly because it's an activity that my friends all enjoy and rally around, so it's a chance to see people I like and be extra-visible as members of the LGBT+ community.
Olivia Smith
Pride is the one time where that enormity of the LGBT+ community is present and loud and tangible and there's a safety in that – there's no other time or place where you can find that many people being open about their sexuality and unafraid. For me personally, I can walk down the street with smudged rainbows on my face and covered in stickers about how unashamedly queer I am and it's the safest I'll ever feel doing that, and that feeling means so much because it doesn't come round a lot.
The most important thing about Pride for me is feeling both visible and invisible – visible as a very proud, queer, big, masculine woman, and yet not feeling singled out for that fact. A lot of my interactions with the 'gay scene' happen in spaces which are either heavily male-dominated, or more diverse but still feel excluding of people like me – with Pride, I feel like I get less of a second glance than I would in some queer spaces.
Max Hurd
Hella yeah I’m going to Pride! I go every year with my friends and family, and we always have an amazing time! I come away every time with a huge amount of love for the community that I am so proud to be a part of. I grew up in a very heterosexual environment, especially living in Brazil as a child. The closest I got to gay culture was Posh Spice! I then went to two very strict boarding schools here in the UK, where being gay simply wasn't an option. I didn't have any gay friends 'til I was 19, and would have been terrified of going to Pride by myself, even though I was dying to go. When I came out, and first went to Pride, surrounded not only by my sisters but also my gay friends, I felt like I was finally able to enjoy the gay community that I had wanted to be a part of for so long! I know Pride has a reputation for being a bit naff now, or worse, exclusive of certain tribes, or minorities, but for me it's a chance to share the pride I now feel in my sexuality with not only my gay friends, but also my family and straight friends, who want to come and support me. Something that I never dreamed would happen as a child. At its core, Pride is a celebration of us. And for that, I love it.
Sadhbh O’Sullivan
Sadhbh O’Sullivan
I'm not going to Pride, no. There's a huge part that wants to go – I want it to be this incredible, inclusive, celebratory riot of joy and colour and queerness, but the run-up makes me feel really uncomfortable. All these brands slapping rainbows on their logos as though that changes the lives of LGBTQ people – it's a pat on the back for basic humanity (not hating people for who they love) that serves straight people more than it does us. What does this do for the 'less palatable' LGBT people? Provisions for and violence against trans people is a horrific reality; LGBT migrants are being deported back to countries that will condemn them. The representation that comes from this branding and from Pride is only the first step. It should not be the be-all and end-all. As a space it should be for all of us and not just a party. It is, and should always be, a political fight. When fucking UKIP gets a float and the banks get pride of place, it's not anything.
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The narrative surrounding abortion – even in the UK, where it’s mostly legal and accepted – often implies that the woman seeking one is at fault. That she (you’ll notice the man is never blamed) was “stupid” enough not to take precautions.
It’s never assumed that, actually, she may have got pregnant due to failed contraception. But according to a new report by the British Pregnancy Advisory Service (BPAS), a shocking proportion of women seeking abortions do so for this very reason.
More than half (51.2%) of the 60,592 women who sought an abortion at BPAS clinics in 2016 were using at least one form of contraception when they became pregnant, including condoms and diaphragms. Which, we think you'll agree, is terrifying.
What's more, around a quarter (24.1% or nearly 15,000 women) were using contraceptive methods purported to be the most effective – either hormonal contraception, such as the pill, or a long-acting reversible contraceptive method (LARC), such as implants, injections or IUDs.
No contraceptive method is 100% effective, but the discourse and public health initiatives encouraging us to use contraception often imply that it's a foolproof way of avoiding pregnancy, BPAS said. Long-acting reversible methods are said to be 99% effective, the pill is estimated to be 91% effective and condoms 82% effective, the BBC reported.
However, BPAS's worrying findings suggest this is far from the case. The pill may be the most popular contraceptive method in the UK, but almost 10% of women who use it fall pregnant each year (nine in every 100). Six in every 100 using the contraceptive injection, and nearly one in every 100 using the IUD, will find themselves in the same situation.
Unplanned pregnancies can happen if the method isn't used correctly, such as if it's not inserted properly, moves or falls out, BPAS said. Women using hormonal contraception may also find themselves needing an abortion because the symptoms of pregnancy are masked – either their periods are suppressed completely or have become light or irregular.
When contraception fails it can mean women identify their pregnancy at a later stage because they hadn't anticipated it, said BPAS.
Ann Furedi, chief executive of BPAS, said contraception was no substitute for the provision of safe abortion. "When you encourage women to use contraception, you give them the sense that they can control their fertility – but if you do not provide safe abortion services when that contraception fails you are doing them a great disservice."
The report shows women can't control their fertility through contraception alone, even when they are using the most effective methods, she added. "Family planning is contraception and abortion. Abortion is birth control that women need when their regular method lets them down.”
The sexual health charity FPA said it's crucial that people have high-quality information about contraception and emergency contraception as there are "many myths and misconceptions" surrounding it. Natika Halil, the charity's chief executive, said some of the most effective methods, such as the the IUD (copper coil), IUS (hormonal coil) and the implant, aren't always made as available as they should be.
"Many general practices are unable to offer them, due to lack of training and funding. A survey by FPA last year found that only 2% of GPs questioned offer the full range of contraceptive methods."
She advised anyone using contraception who believes they might be pregnant to see a healthcare professional as soon as possible.
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"The bacteria that cause gonorrhoea are particularly smart," says Dr. Teodora Wi, the medical officer for Human Reproduction at WHO. "Every time we use a new class of antibiotics to treat the infection, the bacteria evolve to resist them."
If your (no doubt lacklustre) sexual education from school is failing you right now, here's a little reminder of what gonorrhoea is.
It is an infection that is caused by a bacteria which is passed from person to person via unprotected vaginal, oral or anal sex. According to the NHS, it can also be transmitted by sharing vibrators that haven't been washed (gross).
Symptoms include "thick green or yellow discharge from the vagina or penis, pain when urinating and bleeding between periods". If left untreated, it can cause pelvic inflammatory disease, ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage and infertility.
Sounds less than ideal, right?
According to WHO, an estimated 78 million people a year contract the infection – a growing number they attribute to fewer people using condoms, increased travel and urbanisation and, increasingly, failing treatments.
Over the years 2009-2014, most of the 77 monitored countries reported resistance to the main treatments for gonorrhoea.
"We urgently need to seize the opportunities we have with existing drugs and candidates in the pipeline," says Dr. Manica Balasegaram, the director of the Global Antibiotic Research and Development Partnership. "Any new treatment developed should be accessible to everyone who needs it, while ensuring it's used appropriately, so that drug resistance is slowed as much as possible."
So don't be mugs, kids – remember to get checked, and practise safe sex.
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Artist Lakwena Maciver makes hopeful art. Her large-scale, vibrant colours and sign-writing-inspired positive slogans can be seen plastered on buildings and pavements across the world, allowing you to interact with her work in a way you simply can’t with gallery-hung art. Her aesthetic is inspired by her formative years in Nairobi, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and her hometown of London – all graphic lines, electric colours and geometric shapes.
Ahead of her current exhibition at KK Outlet, we spoke with the artist about her new body of work, The Future’s Gold. In unstable and often harrowing times, we all look for joyful and optimistic affirmations. What with austerity widening the gap between rich and poor, Islamophobic acid attacks being reported every few days, and a government merging with an anti-abortion and anti-LGBT party, it’s safe to say we’re in need of a little positive thinking. Having "created a series of paintings that give hope for a better future," the exhibition declares "allegiance to a future government; one that is higher, deeper, fuller, sweeter, older, newer, bolder, brighter, and more glorious than the current chaotic power structures". Sounds good to us. Here, we chat to Lakwena about the democracy of public art, the influence of Afrofuturism on her work, and how to stay positive in dark times.
Hey Lakwena! What do you make of British politics today? I think it’s a really interesting time right now. I’ve never been super clued-up on the ins and outs of politics, but I think what interests me is what I can see from where I’m standing; and that’s what I feel my role as an artist is. Things are shaking up – both for good and for bad – but what concerns me is I feel like there’s this big divide, and things are becoming very polarised. We seem to be in this situation where you’re demonised if you disagree with the status quo, and I don’t think that’s helpful. On the positive side, the fact that more and more young people are engaging with politics is brilliant. But the whole Leave/Remain debate in the Brexit argument was a clear example of this polarisation. Not that people shouldn’t have strong opinions – I have very strong opinions – but that somehow, there seems to be this very clear disconnect between different camps right now, and I’ve never felt that before in the UK. I feel like people are being a lot less reasonable and a lot more black and white. And life just isn’t black and white.
Do you think the future is gold for British politics? I’m not sure. You really never know what’s going to happen. Crazy things happen! My faith is not in the British political system. Although I think it works a lot better than a lot of other places, which I’m grateful for, and as much as I’m engaged in politics, I’m also disillusioned by it. I don’t believe anyone can deliver the utopia we’re all seeking. And this is what these paintings are pointing to: a future otherworldly government.
What does that future otherworldly government look like to you? One without corruption, greed, inequality. With justice. Real freedom. And truth. And driven by love, above all else.
Your work is so interactive – we can walk over it, walk past it, look up at it – why do you make art this way? Walking through galleries with paintings on walls doesn’t excite me. What excites me more is stuff that is immersive. Creating a space. I think especially in an image-saturated society, where you have a mini gallery pretty much on your phone, the physicality of things is really important for me. I think that’s why I love working on such a large scale. There’s a physical impact on me as I make the work, and then as I step back and look at it.
How do you think your work changes when it's in private spaces (galleries) and public spaces (wall murals)? Very interesting. Private spaces can be a lot more curated. I can control the space more. It’s hard work, and it never goes exactly as you have in your head, as with anything creative. You make, and as you make it takes its own shape. But you have more control over the whole environment. The immersion. The ceiling, the floor – an enclosed space. There’s a freedom and a physicality to working outdoors. Also, there’s a vulnerability. The fact people are walking through, as what you’re making is in a vulnerable place. It’s half-done, it’s not the finished article. That’s quite difficult.
What is the importance of having art like yours publicly available to everyone? Democracy. I really don’t think art should be just for middle- and upper-class people. From a political perspective, I love the fact that there’s a levelling that happens when you make work outdoors. Anyone can see it. A homeless person on the street can see it; someone who would maybe be politely asked to leave a gallery. And that’s important to me. Other people who might not be asked to leave, but who go into galleries and find it an inaccessible environment, culturally, don’t have a problem relating to my paintings on big walls outside. So I really am grateful for that. Because those are people I want my work to speak to as much as traditional art lovers.
What inspires the font choice and colour schemes in your work? The rainbow is about mercy. It’s also just so, so, so beautiful. Insanely beautiful. Magical. The metallics. Gold is such an incredible symbol. In so many cultures it represents value, importance, purity, divinity. These are all themes that I’m touching on. The gold is an interesting one. For this project I was considering using 23 carat gold leaf, for instance, and I have worked with this before. But I realised that it’s all about symbolism. So I’m actually more excited about using gold vinyl than using real gold leaf, as it’s more ‘democratic’ but is still referencing these themes.
You posted an inspiration mood board on your Instagram – what were your influences for The Future’s Gold? I’ve realised, particularly with the title of this show, that my work correlates well with Afrofuturism. This concept of looking back to an idealised past, and looking forward to an idealised future. The musician Sun Ra has been really interesting to read about. My beliefs are different from his, but this concept of being in this world but dressing for a more glorious future is something that resonates within me. And with this body of work, you could say I have dressed the gallery space in garments for a more glorious future.
Would you ever make political art for a particular party? I would, but I would think very carefully. I don’t feel any of the major political parties right now represent me and I doubt they ever will, so whether it will happen… who knows?
How can we make political art ourselves? The personal is political, right? So I think a lot of stuff is political that might not be classified as that. All the decisions we make – the things we say – come from our different world views. So if you are trying to say something with your art (which you don’t have to be), then you are likely making political art already.
Finally, how can we stay positive in today's world? I am naturally a pessimist. Not sure why. I think because growing up, things didn’t always work out how I might have liked. As a way of dealing with life I was often told by my mum, who is an incredible woman – an incredible inspiration – to ‘not raise my hopes’. I was also told by Mum, though, about a messiah. A messiah is a deliverer, a saviour. And that’s actually the only reason I do raise my hopes.
By now, PETA is as well known for its sexist campaign stunts as it is for its advocacy of animal rights. While the organisation is against the consumption of meat, it's routinely accused of treating female bodies like cuts of the stuff in its own marketing campaigns.
Now, the animal rights charity has come under fire for enlisting bikini-clad women to promote veganism at Wimbledon. The volunteers, dressed in red, blue and white bikinis, handed out bowls of strawberries and dairy-free cream to people in the queue, in a stunt that has been compared to "'70s-style sexism".
Wimbledon officials said the brand's attention-grabbing tactic breached their marketing guidelines, Mail Online reported, and many condemned the stunt on Twitter as outdated and "pathetic". Numerous people pointed out that veganism and the animal cruelty cause don't need to be linked to female sexuality for people to understand them or pay attention.
I fail to see what benefit some seventies style sexism has for animal rights. Has this approach ever actually convinced anyone to go vegan?
But PETA defended the stunt. Replying to one of the critical tweets, the organisation said it “support[s] anyone using their bodies to make a social statement if they chose to”. Elisa Allen, the charity's director, also said that "as an organisation staffed largely by feminist women" it "believe[s] women should be free to use their minds and bodies as political instruments to bring attention to animal suffering," the EveningStandard reported.
"Our activists choose to participate in our colourful actions because they want to do something to make people stop and pay attention – which, in today's hustle and bustle, is not always an easy feat," she also told the Standard.
"This approach has proved successful, as many of the people who stop and look then go on to try vegan milks and meats for the first time, take a leaflet, or visit our website to learn more about abusive animal agriculture," Allen continued, pointing out that men have also posed shirtless for the charity's stunts.
However, she failed to highlight that the number of naked and semi-naked women has always far outweighed the number of men. Women such as Sadie Frost and Pamela Anderson have appeared completely naked in its posters, while men such as Paul McCartney have been featured fully clothed.
We're among the enormous segment of the British population that's hooked on ITV2's Love Island right now. You might have guessed.
But if there's one thing that could pique our interest – and strengthen our passion – even more, it would be hearing Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn comment on the show.
And it's our lucky day.
During a visit to an apprenticeships college in Barnet, north London, yesterday, The Tab asked if he'd been gorging on the show like the rest of us, to which the 68-year-old replied: "No I haven't, but I've been advised that Marcel needs a vote. He needs a vote.
"He needs a bit of help; he needs a bit of, shall I say..." he added, before pausing for dramatic effect, " TLC."
A sage choice, we think many will agree. Indeed, the former Blazin' Squad star (is "star" pushing it?) was crowned the most popular Islander in a recent public vote.
While The Sun was unconvinced that Corbyn's endorsement would work in Marcel's favour ("It remains to be seen whether Corbyn has backed the Love Island winner, knowing very little about victory himself" it wrote, lol), the news went down predictably well on social media.
Many people were virtually combusting with excitement and some suggested the youth vote could rally together once more.
Corbyn talking about Love Island has absolutely made my year 😭😭😭😭😭
Jeremy Corbyn wants Marcel to win Love Island and if young people stick together like we did during the election then Marcel HAS to win
— my name is george. (@george_mckillop) July 7, 2017
If Marcel's popularity continues to blossom as much as Labour's since the election, there's a good chance he'll win the £50k prize money and bolster his burgeoning status as a national treasure.
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It's Pride Month again and across the globe hundreds of thousands of LGBTQI+ folk are gathering together to celebrate our freedoms, our unity and our hard-fought rights to marry, to adopt, to dance, to parade and to be treated decently as humans without discrimination or prejudice. We also march to remember the thousands of LGBTQI+ people worldwide who do not share in the same legislative freedoms that we enjoy.
Marches, parties, after-parties, after-after-parties and picnics the next day, great swathes of people gathering in all of their resplendence in the sun, rain or snow. In the UK, often a mix of the three makes an outfit choice typically British – sexy covered by waterproof covered by sexy.
It's our time to show the world at large how at ease we are with ourselves and how we, too – like all others – laugh, love, cheer and whistle (god, do people whistle) and delight in being alive. It's also a time that shows just how far we have come in terms of visibility and community confidence. The number of sponsored, corporate banners is testament to our gains.
It's also a time in which I wonder and ponder about which Pride event I should attend, if any, and always without fail my mind wanders back over the 30-odd years I have been attending or thinking about attending Pride events.
Often I don't attend because I'm not great with crowds now, or travel woes (the Tube on Pride Saturday!) but mainly because the first Pride or the first few Pride events you attend can never truly be beaten. They represent and remain, however old you get, epic moments in your life, moments of pride, exhilaration and just a tiny bit of fear. I remember thinking, as a young queer femme, 'How do I fit in?' to what at the time was a pretty non-diverse, binary scene in which the tribes were limited to perhaps two or three and often men were in one place and women in another – for me a nightmarish scenario until I found the fantastic Rebel Dykes in the very early 1990s, when we set up the first LGBT housing cooperative.
I first attended Pride properly in the mid-to-late '80s. The spectre of AIDS loomed but still just far enough away to be disconnected from most of our lives. The landscape was incredibly different: a few clubs, a few club nights – many of us had the same social calendars revolving around the same places, some West End, some north London and just a few in south London. Towns often had a gay pub or a 'gay-friendly' night, sometimes related to drag shows, but still most places were surrounded by homophobia and 'gay bashing', as it was affectionately known. Distinctly unfriendly spaces, you never queued.
The first Pride I vividly remember was, I think, 1985. When I saw the beginnings of the gathering for the march I genuinely could not believe my eyes. Hundreds of queer folk, most dressed down, casual – jeans, vests, DMs, a uniform for all genders back then – but a few dressed up to the nines and beyond, costumed drag queens who normally came out after dark, boldly on the street in beautiful outrage, holding banners with slogans and awakened meanings: 'Lesbians and Gay Men Support the Miners', 'Gay Parents Have Rights', 'Out, Lesbian and Proud'. They were fighting words, then, as we had little equality and even less lived equality. I joined the line in my jeans (torn, of course, it was the '80s), faded salmon vest, cherry-red DMs and sweat top tied around my waist, and marched alongside comrades and would-be friends, but silently – I never uttered a sound. I was so overawed by the sheer number of people like me that I felt like I could or probably should burst into tears, of joy, of sadness, of potential. I was far from the only one.
Photo: REX/Shutterstock
At that point we didn't have networks in our workplaces and no positive media coverage at all; we had no icons we could look up to, only rumours in the exposing red-tops. On all the days that weren't these Pride days, we were still easy to dismantle as a community – we came together at night in clubs and bars but often with trepidation and fear. I had never seen so many queer people in daylight; queer people marching, singing, linking arms, kissing and not giving a flying fuck what others thought of them. It was utterly empowering. It silenced me. It fuelled my soul.
At the end of the march – my 'silent march' – we were funnelled down a set of stairs somewhere on the South Bank (I can't remember where exactly) and then, turning a corner, I saw a sea of people spread out across Jubilee Gardens, a sea of people surrounded by shimmering white tents. It was light, it was sunny and it was most definitely love. A miraculous sight, truly – these were still the beginning days of an open and liberated difference.
I had never seen so many lesbians and gay men in one place. It wasn't nearly as diverse as it is now – very white, very few trans identities proud and present – but still, for a young femme queer like me, there was a sea of difference. I remember thinking, 'I'm home'.
Madonna's "Holiday" was blasting out of what was probably quite a small disco tent full of men who called themselves clones and, on stage, Tom Robinson was singing, a beautiful moment. I remember him – I was near the back, looking out over the assembled crowd who had linked arms willingly with strangers, in great lines of kinship, and were singing at the tops of their voices the line, "Sing if you're glad to be gay, sing if you're happy that way".
Even now that feeling of belonging brings a tear.
Photo: REX/Shutterstock
I knew I didn't quite fit in – my BodyMap sweatshirt tied around my waist was slightly too femme for the men in leather, and had slightly too many holes in all the wrong places for anyone else. But I met people, lots of them, and when the day ended we strolled out of there, radiant beings zinging with life, hope and optimism, vowing to do it the next year, only better and bigger. By the next Pride, I'd found my tribe and we had a tent.
Many things have changed since then: I've transitioned, LGB has grown to include a dazzling array of difference, LGBTQI+, Pride has become much bigger and much more commercial – how could it not – and we as a collective of communities have fought hard and won many battles and rights. As a woman who is transgender and HIV, I now have freedoms and legal rights I could only ever have dreamt about.
Pride has grown and changed, as have all of us.
A very wise drag queen once said to me, "Don't think just because it's your time to leave the party that the party is over". Even from a distance Pride is a fabulous thing, and even from a distance I luxuriate in all that it is and all it ever was – a truly empowering, enlivening time when people come together like flocks of migrating birds to celebrate not being alone and being part of a much larger community.
Somewhere at this year's Pride there will be a person who feels, deep down, that they are the only one like them. My wish is that they drink it all in as fast as they can, grab a whistle and blow it loudly until the cobwebs fall away and they can truly enjoy being alive, and being part of our great big queer family.
I’m not the first person to attempt Shailene Woodley’s beauty routine. It’s batshit crazy — and people, like me, are attracted to that sort of thing. Unlike the routines of Jacqueline Kennedy Onsassis, Marie Antoinette, and Cleopatra, there’s nothing decadent about it. There’s no luxury, no gold-infused skin care, no Chanel. Instead, it’s like Emma Watson's medicine cabinet met Goop and the two had an eco-conscious hippie baby who enjoys oil-pulling.
Before starting Shailene's routine, I had high hopes. After all, it was reported that the actress' skin is so radiant, her makeup artist has to actually make her look tired — what a dream to not look as exhausted as I usually feel. There must be something to her philosophy of reconnecting to your roots, living life to the fullest, and not taking yourself too seriously. Turns out, it wasn't that simple.
First, let's start with what I could manage:
Wearing natural, powdered deodorant made from baking soda, clay, and essential oils was surprisingly easy, and when the B.O. arrived midday, I didn’t even mind it. Dare I even say, I actually enjoyed my ~natural musk~. This wasn’t the first time I passed on real deodorant and it won’t be the last.
Woodley’s choice for a lip stain can be found in your fridge's fruit and vegetable drawer, so that was easy. I have a strong aversion toward beets, so I tried Woodley’s red carpet trick with pomegranates, raspberries, and anything else red and juicy I had on hand. (Fun fact: If you drink enough red wine, you will also get a pretty stain on your lips.)
Not washing my hair wasn’t so bad, either. In fact, I tried washing my hair less last summer and the results were similar. This time, I skipped the dry shampoo most days, threw some olive oil in my ends for a DIY treatment, and pulled my hair back in such a way that made me look like a second-rate Kardashian. Regardless, I enjoy sleeping in to the last possible minute before my day must become productive, so cutting down on shower time always gets a thumbs up in my book.
Now, for the big question: Did I sun my vagina? (And did it decrease my likelihood of getting a yeast infection?) Yes and no, not really. Woodley once told Into the Gloss, “Another thing I like to do is give my vagina a little vitamin D. [Laughs] I was reading an article written by an herbalist I studied about yeast infections and other genital issues. She said there’s nothing better than vitamin D. If you’re feeling depleted, go in the sun for an hour and see how much energy you get. Or, if you live in a place that has heavy winters, when the sun finally comes out, spread your legs and get some sunshine. [Laughs]”
My gynaecologist recently told me that my oestrogen and progesterone hormones are imbalanced, which can often lead to chronic yeast infections, so sunning down there didn’t sound that crazy to me. But even though some weird shit happen in NYC, I still didn't feel like I could sit spread-eagle in Central Park. However, my bedroom gets great lighting (that’s a hot pickup line, take note), so I spread out my yoga mat every morning, lifted my legs up on the sill for about 10-20 minutes, and basked in the beams as I meditated (only because I assume Shailene loves to meditate, too). I didn't get a yeast infection this week, but I'm hesitant to connect the two.
The least out-there part of her routine includes the (little) makeup she uses. A lot of the brands are ones I own, so rocking a Tarte mascara or an 100% Pure primer wasn’t hard at all. Moving on.
Two things I couldn’t bring myself to try more than once:
Oil-pulling is the kind of punishment Satan makes sinners repeat for all of eternity in Hell. Do you know what it’s like to swish oil in your mouth for 20 minutes? It's effing exhausting. You don’t know patience until you’ve tried this task Woodley swears by.
Full disclosure: Eating clay is not recommended by most nutritionists, physicians, or even companies that make powdered clay. Shocker. But I did it anyways because a taxi driver Woodley met once recommended it. Clay tastes exactly as good as it sounds, which is to say horrible — and I eat a lot of beauty powders and elixirs in my regular life as is. The amount of time it took me to figure out how to eat a tablespoon of clay was far longer than it took me to actually swallow it, and that took a very long time.
So while I'll be holding on tightly to my Crest and limiting my clay usage to clarifying masks, natural beauty products and morning meditation are here to stay. And hey, if I don't get any infections for the rest of the year, I'll be the first to credit Woodley.
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Scottish Tour de France champion Philippa York, known previously as Robert Millar, has announced that she is transgender, PinkNews reports.
In a statement released on CyclingNews, a site to which York has been contributing for years, the former cyclist spoke candidly about her decision to come out given current widespread discussions about gender identity happening across popular culture. "There's a much better acceptance and understanding" now than when she was first transitioning, she said.
York's gender identity has been the subject of invasive speculation by tabloids in the past, prompting her to retreat from the public eye until now. She explains in her statement that she transitioned in the early 2000s. "For a considerable time now I have lived as Philippa," the statement begins. "As much as I've guarded my privacy over the years there are a few, I believe obvious, reasons to why I haven't had a public 'image' since I transitioned. Gratifyingly, times have moved on from ten years ago when my family, friends and I were subjected to the archaic views and prejudice that some people and certain sections of the tabloid media held."
She also opened up about undergoing medical transitioning procedures. "Although the end result is seen as a happier, more stable place, the emotions encountered to get there make for some very vulnerable periods," she said.
York is reportedly the first professional cyclist to publicly come out as transgender, and decided to do so in light of her next career move — she will be a reemerging as a commentator on ITV4 for this year's Tour de France, and is very excited to do so.
York's athletic history is impressive: as one of the U.K.'s most high profile and accomplished cyclists, she's certainly a sports heroine, having won the "King of the Mountains" title for her climbing skills in the 1984 Tour de France.
York cited major strides in combatting ignorance and intolerance as part of her motivation to share her true self. Although there is still much progress to be made in the world's acceptance of transgender people, her ability to feel comfortable coming out speaks volumes.
Given that professional sports tend to fall behind on both queer and women's inclusivity and safety, York's status as a professional athlete is key here. “Hopefully, the way that attitudes have progressed in general towards sexuality and gender issues, then some of that understanding and tolerance will gradually filter down into the realms of sport," she said in a comment to The Guardian. “Sport has generally lagged behind in its attitudes to anything other than the heterosexual norm, in that context cycling has been one of the sports most resistant to change."
The cycling star closed her note with a bright nod to the future. "I really am delighted to have accepted this new challenge with ITV4; I’m looking forward to the racing immensely and in terms of my personal and professional development I think this is the right time to return to a more active role in cycling too – the sport I've always loved."
In a new interview with Net-A-Porter, the HBO actress revealed to her Game Of Thrones co-star Maisie Williams the way she was told she could score parts: by flirting in her auditions.
She told Williams in their interview:
"When I was in my twenties, and doing a lot of audition tapes in the States, a casting director told me: 'The men take these tapes home and watch them and say, 'Who would you fuck?' I’ve never played the game of going in [to auditions] and flirting; I’ve never done it."
Headey said "No, thanks" to that gross industry standard — but it came at a price. She admitted that the decision to not do the flirting thing probably cost her roles, which is a sad reality too many actresses face when they don't want to play by gross, sexist rules. Fortunately, those "missed opportunities" (if you can even call them that, given the circumstances of the auditions) eventually led to the three-time Emmy nominee scoring the part of a lifetime on Game Of Thrones.
This isn't the only thing Headey had to say about struggling with her career. She revealed to Williams that she filmed season 1 of Game Of Thrones while still battling postpartum depression. As for the drama onscreen, the actress admitted to the outlet that it was Hodor's (Kristian Nairn) death that really broke her heart — especially because she found out about his death so late.
"Last season I was doing [post-production] in L.A. and watched Hodor’s death," Headey told Williams. "I was just weeping. The technician said, ‘Are you okay?’ and I went, ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t know he died.’ I was beside myself; genuinely heartbroken."
As sad as Game Of Thrones can get, it sounds like Headey is in a great place. She knows who she is and what she's not willing to do for her career — and it seems like she was ultimately rewarded for it with the part of a lifetime.
