Welcome to Bedside Manners with Ega, a weekly feature in which I’ll attempt to answer all of your– and my– sexual etiquette dilemmas. Sex is confusing. There’s an ever shifting code of etiquette and ethics at play, and making sense of it all can be completely overwhelming. Bedside Manners aims to make sex a little less messy for all of us.
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A little slap here and there can really liven up a romp in the sack. Of course, depending on when, where, and how the slap happens, things can get dicey. Luckily, I’m here with some hard and fast rules to keep sex slaps polite, consensual, and fun for everyone.
If I’m to reveal some of my magician’s tricks, butt slapping (I guess they call it spanking nowadays) is one of my favorite moves– mostly because it’s almost always received with extreme delight. When I find myself bored or wanting to speed the action along, a little slap really kicks things into high gear. It’s a rallying call, if you will, and one that I find to be super effective.
On the other hand, I know someone who was mid- O, when her partner slapped her right across the face. His explanation was, “I thought you’d like it…” She did not. Not one bit.
There’s a fine line between trying to keep things exciting and doing something that could upset and confuse your partner. Add in the fact that slapping can potentially trigger someone with a history of trauma, and you have a sticky situation brewing.
So, how do we figure this one out? My first piece of advice is to have an open, frank conversation about your desires, your partner’s desires, and where slapping falls on that spectrum. For tips on how to have that conversation, look here and here. This is, without a doubt, the best way to gauge what will fly and what won’t so that all parties can have the best experience possible.
Unfortunately, in the case of one-night stands or casual encounters, these conversations usually don’t end up happening, both because there’s rarely time in the race from the bar to the bed to tackle the subject and because it’s uncomfortable to have such a frank talk with a relative stranger. In the heat of the moment, asking “Would you mind if I slapped your butt a little right now?” kind of takes the zing out of it. The slap loses its oomph; an expected slap does not an exciting slap make.
When you find yourself wanting to slap someone (sexily, not angrily, that’s never okay– or mannerly) but unsure of how he/she will react, start small. Think about geography. To me, the butt is the most benign place to plant a slap. Do not start with the face, please. Start with somewhere a little less startling and offensive. If you listen to one thing I say, let it be that.
Think about pressure and force. Start with a light smack and gauge your partner’s reaction to see if you should continue. (Note: if you are the slap-receiver and you don’t like it when you get a light smack from your partner, speak up. Say no. It is your right and your duty to yourself and your partner.) Dirty talk is also a good way to gauge your partner’s feelings about slapping. Throw some slapping references into your dirty talk, see what reaction you get, and go from there.
The moral of the story here is that it is insanely important to be in tune with your partner’s responses during sex. You can only be truly great in bed if you pay attention to your partner’s reactions and adapt your moves accordingly. It’s equally important, if you aim to have the best sexual experience possible, to make your reactions emphatic and clear so that your partner knows explicitly what you like and do not like.
Slapping and being slapped may not be for everyone– and that’s okay. The important thing is to create a space where everyone feels comfortable saying no, saying yes, and saying “While we’re at it, let’s try this!” In that kind of sexual space, slapping can be talked about and experimented with in an exciting, non-offensive way, and everyone can have wonderful, mind-blowing sex. After all, that’s the goal, right?
Last night, on my way home from work, I waited for the Q train for what felt like an eternity. Since it’s a zillion degrees outside and the air underground is completely unbreathable, I was sweating up a storm. As I ripped my cardigan off, cursing the heat and the Q train’s slowness, I realized I was wearing the same dress I wore on my first date with Z.
Almost exactly a year ago, I was sweating all over that very same dress while walking hand and hand with him, talking about the silly things people talk about on first dates. He scolded me for wearing heels that made walking at any sort of clip completely impossible, and I laughed and leaned on him– I didn’t need to move too fast. Later, he pulled the dress over my head, called me beautiful, and kissed me.
The next day, after we said good bye, the dress lay crumpled on the floor of my room in my parents’ house while I sat in pajamas, frantically applying for jobs and desperately hoping that one of my billions of applications would grant me a life in New York. It didn’t quite work out that way, but it did work out.
Yesterday, as I ran around doing the job I somehow managed to get– and even like (most days)– the dress looked messy and unprofessional next to the dingy gray walls of my cubicle. After work, it gripped my stomach uncomfortably as I sat on a bar stool on Park Avenue laughing with my coworkers. Without the cardigan on my sweaty ride home, it revealed a little too much cleavage. I caught a few people looking and gave them a face, as if to say, I know you can see my boobs, but it’s hot– let’s all be adults here. I probably don’t have any business wearing the dress to work, cardigan or no.
It fits a little differently now– looser in some areas, tighter in others. I am a different person in it. Now, I don’t wear it with super high heels and the comfort of knowing that I’ll have someone to hold my hand. When I wear the dress now, I stick with flats and a sensible cardigan. I have to be ready to race onto a crowded train, carry bags of groceries, walk across town in the rain, and do my job. I have to move fast. I have to look out for myself.
When I got home last night, I pulled the sticky, wrinkled dress over my head, throwing it haphazardly onto the floor of my bedroom in my own apartment. There’s no one to scold me for wearing impractical shoes, now. No one’s there to help me out of the dress at the end of the night. But I find that I can do it myself.
Okay. You know what? No. What I’ve been in is a huge, epic drought, complete with shriveling grass and dying wildlife and all of the other horrific things that happen when there’s a drought. Slowly but surely, I’m withering away, just like prairie grass, becoming brittle, brown, and lifeless.
I know I sound dramatic, but seriously. It’s not good. I don’t understand people who wax poetic about the benefits of celibacy, saying that they think more clearly without sex, that sex muddles everything in their minds. This is not a line of thought that resonates with me. Sex makes me clear inside; I feel the most at peace, the most open, joyous, and relaxed in the moments right after. That probably makes me sound like some sort of deranged sex addict, but it’s a fact.
It’s not just a lack of sex that contributes to this kind of dry spell– it’s all of the little human things that happen when you find yourself in bed with another person. It’s the low, hushed way you talk and laugh, it’s feeling another person’s breath close to your face, it’s the negotiating– the offering and taking, the giving and receiving, all of those little rituals that are part of connecting to another person. It’s touching and being touched.
That’s what makes sex so complicated– not the actual sex, but all of the other stuff, the messy stuff of two humans connecting, being together in such close proximity. That’s the stuff that sometimes can make sleeping with someone on the first date dicey for me. Once I’ve seen someone in this vulnerable, close way, it’s hard for me to unsee it; it makes me like him more than I otherwise would. It gets me into trouble. Holding onto yourself while being so close to another person isn’t easily said or done (I guess that could be where the whole clarity in celibacy thing comes from).
That’s what makes sex so complicated, but it’s also part of what makes it so great. It’s part of the high. It’s part of what makes us feel human, connected, and alive. And it’s something to miss.
I’ve written before about how tough it is to figure out what to do with your life. First, there’s the not knowing. Having no idea what I wanted consumed a pretty solid chunk of my college years, and even dipped into my post-grad mental breakdowns. I tried some things, applied for some boring schools and jobs because they seemed reasonable, and wondered what my life would be like if I picked a simple job that I didn’t love and tried to make a life of it. Eventually, I faced the fact that I want to have a meaningful, directed, fulfilling life—even if it means pursuing things that aren’t exactly practical, and that certainly won’t come easily.
In the past year, I have felt myself shift from someone with little direction or drive trying to find the path of least resistance, to someone who knows (more or less) what she wants and is making strides, no matter how teeny or tiny, to get it. I have to tell you—life feels a lot better when you’re living with intention and purpose, no matter how hard it can be.
I’ve developed a system of sorts for identifying your purpose and taking steps to live the life you’re meant to be living. As you may have guessed, none of this is an exact science. In fact, it’s impossible to pin down, most of the time. What feels meaningful and inspiring one day may be utterly depressing and stagnant the next. A step forward may very well turn out to be a step in the exact wrong direction. But, if you want to live with intention and purpose, it’s your job to do the work of figuring it out.
The system I’ve developed (with endless support & inspiration from my friend F) has helped me to make sense of my dreams and desires, while orienting me towards action. The momentum generated from taking purposeful action, even and especially when you’re not quite sure it’s the right action, may very well be the most important thing in creating a life of purpose.
Let’s do it.
Step 1: Figure out what living with purpose means to you.
Try to answer these questions for yourself: What gets you excited? What makes you feel inspired? When do you find yourself completely absorbed in a project, task, or moment? When do you feel useful? Satisfied? Relaxed? On edge? Do you notice any patterns?
Follow your feelings. Whenever I feel really focused, I take a mental note—I’m doing something that feels important to me. Joyful, excited, focused, peaceful feelings are telltale signs that you’re doing something that works for you. You know that racing, dizzy, excited feeling of seeing or hearing something that thrills you? Take note of that. Take note, too, of feelings of nausea or tension or exhaustion or boredom. Activities, places, or people who cause those feelings are to be avoided at all costs.
Try new things. Figuring out what you’re supposed to be doing with your life is really just a matter of trial and error, so start experimenting! Don’t be afraid to admit that you don’t like something– that’s part of the process. Don’t waste your time pursuing things that just don’t work for you. At the same time, if something is challenging and frustrating but you find yourself interested, keep at it. Use your growth mindset. This is part of the research.
Map it all out. Make lists and charts and drawings and timelines, and really think about what you want to manifest in your life. As long as you do this work on a regular basis, you’re already living your life with intention and purpose.
Step 2: Set your Big Goals.
Take the discoveries you’ve made in Step 1 and make a list of your Big Goals. This is stuff like, “Write a book” or “Have a baby”– big, huge, stuff. Of course, it also doesn’t have to be so serious; one of my Big Goals is to learn how to sail. When you list your Big Goals, don’t worry about how you’ll get there and don’t censor yourself if your goals seem unrealistic. You will get there– the universe will help you figure out how. The point for now is just to have direction and focus.
You can have as many or as few of these as you want. The world is your oyster, kiddo.
Step 3: Amp it up!
Take a Big Goal and break it into manageable chunks. Then, think of a step you can take right now that will lead you in the direction of your Big Goal. In the case of writing a book, an Amp Up step would be something like taking a writing class or starting a blog. Make them as specific as possible. Do this for all of your Big Goals.
Some of the Amp Up steps you come up with won’t be immediately actionable, and that’s okay. Keep a list of back burner Amp Up steps to revisit in the future. Just having the list will keep your eyes and ears open for opportunities that otherwise might not have been on your radar.
Create a list of your Amp Up steps that you can work on RIGHT NOW, and then make plans do them. Add them on your calendar in pen. The idea here is to get you moving, so move!
Step 4: Incorporate your Big Goals and Amp Up steps into your daily routine.
Pick small things that you can do every damn day that will infuse your life with meaning and keep you tethered to your goals and dreams.
These daily rituals can be action-oriented items, like write for 1 hour every morning, or more reflective items, like meditating on your various goals.
The point is to make sure that your daily life is meaningful and filled to the brim with purpose and passion. Incorporating your Big Goals and Amp Up steps into your daily rituals will infuse your life with meaning and direction and keep your goals at the forefront of your mind.
Start small! Start by incorporating one or two Amp Up steps into your daily routine. See how those fit into your life and how it feels to be mindful of them. If you feel like you can take on more, go for it! If you need to scale back, don’t stress. If you find you need to re-evaluate your Big Goals, head back to Step 1. This is your process, and it’s important to do what feels best for you.
And that’s it! Once you do all of this work (and it is a lot of work), you should be well on your way to creating a purposeful and exciting life.
The internet has gifted us with some really brilliant stuff recently, y’all! Here are some of the things that have been capturing my attention as of late.
Welcome to Bedside Manners with Ega, a weekly feature in which I’ll attempt to answer all of your– and my– sexual etiquette dilemmas. Sex is confusing– there’s an ever shifting code of etiquette and ethics at play, and making sense of it all can be completely overwhelming. Bedside Manners aims to make sex a little less messy for all of us.
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One summer, while on break from college and staying with a friend in the city, I sneaked off to have sex with an ex. My friend was living way uptown, and I was supposed to meet her at her apartment after she finished work. Knowing she would disapprove of my sleeping with a man who had been a huge jerk to me, I told her I was having drinks with a friend midtown, crept onto the subway, and rode it into the depths of Brooklyn.
The train ride to Brooklyn took longer than I’d anticipated, and as my ex and I started getting down to business, I realized that my friend would be calling me to meet her on the opposite end of the world at any minute. I anxiously eyed my cell phone, resting on top of my purse on the other end of the room. He caught me looking.
“Uh. Do you mind if I just bring my phone over here…it’s just that I’m meeting someone uptown soon, and I need to know if she calls, ” I nervously stammered, while wandering nakedly over to my phone, grabbing it, and bringing it into bed with us.
He didn’t seem to mind, so we got back to the task at hand.
Things were escalating when I heard a telltale ring coming from beneath the pillow I was using as a chin rest. I looked back at him. “I really have to take this,” I apologized.
I expected some sort of backlash or, at the very least, for him to stop what he was doing. “Go ahead,” he said, and kept on keeping on. I picked up the phone, trying desperately to sound like I was just hanging out, being an upstanding citizen, doing normal, wholesome things. Somehow, I managed to get through the call without any suspicion from my friend or fallout from my ex.
I’ve told this story a few times, and most of the people who hear it are horrified. It doesn’t show me in my best light, I have to admit. In all honesty, if a man answered his phone while I was having sex with him, I’d probably walk out and never speak to him again. Generally speaking, answering a text message, e-mail, or phone call during sex is the height of rudeness and shows utter disregard for one’s partner. When I’m in bed with someone, I want to know that he is fully there with me. There’s nothing like him whipping out his cell phone to completely crush that notion.
All of that being said, I think there is a way to take a call or text message during sex without it being quite so devastatingly rude.
My main rule for answering your phone during sex is that you absolutely must have warned your partner, prior to the sex, that you have an important call coming and you may be interrupted. This conversation should take place while everyone is still clothed, and your warning should be surrounded with preemptive apologies. It’s important to ensure that both you and your partner are both comfortable with the terms of the sexual encounter you’re about to embark on, and that no one will be hurt, disappointed, or just plain freaked out.
I also think it’s important to think about who you’re sleeping with, when you think about whether it’s okay to answer a call during the act. In my case, the person in question was an ex who didn’t care much about me, and we were having a quick rendezvous out of sheer physical desire. The sex we were having had nothing to do with intimacy or closeness, and we both knew it. Neither of us had expectations or hopes for our relationship, so we weren’t at all hurt or thrown off by the interruption of a phone call. On the other hand, I’ve been in situations where I wouldn’t even consider bringing my phone into the bedroom because what my partner and I were sharing was so deep and meaningful. The idea of breaking our connection to answer my phone, in those situations, would have felt like a betrayal.
The level of comfort you have with your partner is also something to consider. If you’re in the beginning stages of sleeping with someone, answering a phone call will probably feel like a slap in the face to that person; I wouldn’t risk it. If you’re in a committed relationship, it might be easier to broach the subject of an impending phone call, and your level of familiarity might be such that your partner won’t mind.
When it comes to sexual etiquette and ethics, nothing is simple. Generally speaking, your phone does not belong in the bedroom (with the exception of phone sex, which is a conversation for another day), but there are occasions where breaking that rule isn’t so terrible, as long as you do it right. It’s my belief that almost anything that seems like bad sexual etiquette can be, in some situation or another, completely okay, so long as it is discussed openly, honestly, and with respect and consideration.
What do you guys think? Have any of you ever answered a call during sex? Would you ever be okay with a partner doing that?
You know how companies have core values? I decided I want some of my own. That’s just how I am– I want it all. Get used to it.
It’s hard enough to be a human and get through the day without falling to pieces, acting like an idiot, being mean to people, or messing things up. Somewhere down the line, as I trip and crash onto the pavement, bruising and scraping my knees and growing increasingly frazzled and confused and grumpy, I lose sight of who I want to be as a person and how I want to move through the world.
Focusing on feeling glamorous is part of my plan to live my days with intention. Another part of my attempt to stay anchored in the moment, living the way I want to live, is establishing core values to turn to whenever I feel stressed or upset or just plain mindless. It’s my hope that my core values will help me to stay present and focused on what I want to create in the world through my work, relationships, and energy.
Generosity is where I want to start.
I’m not just talking about gifts and money and time, although that stuff counts. What I’m mostly interested in is generosity of spirit— having an open, giving heart and being generous with other people. After all, giving freely without expecting anything back is really the only way to go. (Secret: that’s the only way you ever get anything worth keeping anyway.)
Part of being generous comes from cutting people a little slack: allowing them to be imperfect and not being too hard on them. I struggle with that. I hold people to ridiculous standards sometimes. My friend C has this whole generosity of spirit thing down to a science. He lets me (and others) be ridiculous and crazy and horrible and then loves us anyways. He’s understanding. He doesn’t hold grudges. It doesn’t bother him so much when other people behave badly. It’s one of my favorite things about him, and I suspect it comes from a deep-seated sense of self respect– and, of course, generosity.
Generosity means thinking about yourself a little less. It means giving a little more, even when it’s inconvenient. It means listening. It means being kind and going a little bit out of your way, even when you’re grumpy. It means not keeping score.
So mark my words, from here on out, I am going to live a life infused with generosity. I’m going to give, give, and give some more. I’m going to be more generous at work, in bed, with my friends, with my parents, with strangers I see on the subway, with the cats I always rudely kick out of my room, and even maybe with myself. After all, generosity is all about giving freely of yourself, which requires that you have enough of yourself to give. So, be generous with yourself. Be strong and secure in yourself. Then, get to giving.
I have a confession to make: I don’t know how to be friends with straight men.
This has always been a fact, but it became undeniable when my sole straight male friend (who wasn’t a past or current boyfriend of a friend, or a past flirtation of my own) turned out to be gay. That confirmed what I’d always suspected: I have no idea how to really interact with straight men unless there’s sex involved, or at least the faint possibility of sex.
I like to attribute this to the fact that I went to an all-girl catholic school until 5th grade. It’s true, I did, and the subject of boys was discussed incredulously, with lots of idol worship and dizzy confusion. But I also have a brother– one who I hung out with constantly when I wasn’t at my no-boys-allowed school. It’s not like I was never around boys; I don’t know how well that explanation holds up.
What I know is that when I switched to a coed school in 6th grade, I had no idea how to talk to boys. I remember being keenly aware that I was in alien territory and feeling completely clueless about the ways of these foreign beings. So, I stuck with the girls.
Awhile later, I found a great way to communicate with boys: sex. It translated across language barriers of all kinds. It certainly got their attention. Of course, as I dabbled more in the world of sex with boys and men, I understood that there were still more than a few things that were lost in translation. But back then, something clicked in my brain that said, this is how you talk (or don’t talk) to this kind of person. This is how you connect.
If anything, becoming a person who has sex with men has made it even more impossible to understand and be friends with them. I have a casual friend who is, for all intents and purposes, a decent guy. He’s funny and smart and good company, but he treats the women he sleeps with terribly, and I can’t help but dislike him for it. Somehow my opinion about him goes back to sex, even when the sex in question has nothing to do with me.
Awhile ago, I had a straight male coworker who was a really nice guy– not at all my type, just a kind, funny, good guy. We forged a friendship. Instantly, I could feel myself flirting with him and wondering if he was interested in me. It wasn’t because I felt any spark between us– it was because that’s my default interaction with straight men.
My friend C, a gay man, has trouble being friends with men, too. He doesn’t get them, much in the same way I don’t. Just like I attribute my bewilderment with straight men to my early education, he attributes his to being raised by a group of strong women who pushed him into more traditionally feminine roles in his family. Could be.
Maybe it’s just who we are: maybe our personalities don’t mesh with those of the men we know, unless we add the soothing tonic of sex into the mix. I’m dramatic and impulsive. Barbra Streisand is my favorite person on the planet. There isn’t a single sport that interests me, although I do like drinking outside. I’m just spewing stereotypes here, but it’s true– all traditionally masculine things baffle me.
Maybe I just haven’t met any straight men who share my interests or worldview yet. It could be as simple as that. Maybe I just wasn’t enough of a tomboy in my formative years, and all of that time spent outside the company of men has rendered me completely unable to speak their language. Or maybe I’m just awkward and strange. That’s definitely a possibility.
On one hand, it’s not such a bad thing. We all have our people– the ones who really get us and see the world from the same angle we do. So far, there haven’t been many straight men in my tribe. Who cares?
It makes me worry, though, that my inability to really understand straight men will somehow prevent me from being in a strong, healthy relationship. In my last relationship, my boyfriend would always chastise me for using sex to feel closer to him– to communicate things.
“I hope you know that’s not the only way we can feel connected,” he’d say, and I would roll my eyes and think he was being condescending and crazy– but he may have had a point. When we broke up, despite all of my insistence that we maintain a relationship and attempt to be friends, I knew it wouldn’t work because we were never friends. What we had was deep and real and loving, but it wasn’t a friendship.
Until I can figure out the puzzle of being friends with straight men, I worry that my relationships will suffer. Of course, isn’t that the whole problem? I’m thinking of friendship with men in terms of relationships and sex, again.
I have no snappy conclusion for this strange hang-up of mine. I guess the thing to do is use my growth mindset to try to forge friendships with straight men, and also, of course, to stop seeing them as being so different from me. Most of us share more similarities than we do differences; it shouldn’t be so hard to connect. And anyways, differences are wonderful ways to grow and learn, and I’m all about that.
Is anyone on the same page with me here? Please tell me I’m not alone in this!
One of my favorite things about summer is that everyone talks a lot about books and reading. (That might actually be the only thing I like about summer; I’m an autumn kind of gal.) Since I love books during all seasons, I get excited when I hear discussions about summer reading lists, beach reads, and all of that great stuff.
Unfortunately, now that I’m no longer a student and haven’t been truly relaxed in years (I’m working on it), I don’t read more during the summer m0nths than I do the rest of the year. But fear not! I’m not going to let that stop me from hopping on the summer bandwagon and giving you a list of my favorite books! The below titles are some of my absolute favorite, life-altering, inspiring books. Enjoy them. They are the perfect company for all seasons, whether you’re laying on the beach or curled up during a blizzard.
I usually cite On Beauty as my absolute favorite book. It’s beautifully and meticulously written, and it somehow manages to be about everything: race, class, gender, fidelity, relationships, family, academia, love, intelligence, and, of course, beauty. Zadie (we’re on a first name basis, you see) wrote it as a homage to E.M. Forster’s Howards End, and it features two equally crazy families enmeshed in New England university life. I can’t even begin to explain to you how wonderful this book is. I demand that you read it.
Play it as it Lays is a brilliant, deep novel. If you’ve never read Joan Didion, now is the time to start. (You might want to give Slouching Towards Bethlehem a read, while you’re at it.) Her style is exquisite. I mean, insanely gorgeous, precise, and densely packed with meaning and truth. Play it as it Lays is about California, mostly, but it’s also about this terribly tragic woman, Maria (pronounced Mariah, like Mariah Carey, so brownie points there) and her downward spiral into madness (along with her messed up marriage and failed attempt at any semblance of a career). Intrigued? You should be.
I love this book. It’s primarily about history and the past, and it uses The Fens, these crazy marshlands, to beautifully illustrate the ways in which the past reclaims us. There’s a murder mystery, there’s incest, there’s abortion, there’s mental illness– there’s all sorts of crazy stuff. It’s an emotional, confusing, intriguing read, and I can’t recommend it highly enough (if you’re into that kind of thing).
I am straight-up obsessed with this book. It’s a memoir of sorts by Audre Lorde, poet and feminist hero. This book tells the story of Lorde’s life and coming of age in the most thoughtful, gorgeous way I can imagine. Lorde’s style is all sorts of radical and queer, and it defies the conventions of memoir and biography. Zami also maps out New York City and speaks to the gender and racial politics of coming of age as a gay woman (or a woman who has sex with women, anyway). This book thoughtfully handles all of the intersections of Lorde’s identity in a way that inspires me and gets me thinking every time I pick it up.
Miranda July is wonderful. Get to know her, if you don’t already. This book of short stories is one of the most charming things I’ve ever read. The stories are quirky, sad, funny, deep, and just an absolute pleasure to read. Some of them are a bit bizarre, but even (and especially) in their bizarreness they unravel essential truths about life and human connection and dreams. And that title! Who can resist it?
If you like to write or want to write or want to like to write, you should read this book. Anne Lamott is hilarious and spits so much truth about a life of writing and thinking, it’s almost hard to take sometimes. Mostly, this book just makes me feel like I’m not alone and I’m not a total idiot. For that reason alone, you should read it.
This collection of essays, simply put, rocks. If you’re a sexual person, you should read this. If you’re a person interested in thinking differently about sex and connection and consent and loving and all of it, read this. Now. (There’s a blog that goes with it, which is also great, though nowhere near as great as the book.)
Where to begin? This book is unspeakably fabulous. This book caused me to burst into hysterical tears on the subway late one Wednesday night, inspiring concerned glances from strangers all around me— and I was on my fourth or so reading of the book. It just gets better and more moving with time. Plus, Ms. Angelou is a real hero of mine. (Did you know she’s won a Tony and traveled the country in Prince’s tour bus? This lady has done absolutely everything, and she is wonderful.)
I adore this novel. It’s a coming of age story about a young woman in New York City, and what could be closer to my heart? The Wonder Spot is thoughtful and amusing, and rings so true to life. I would also recommend The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishingby Bank, which is a collection of vignettes that are in the same vein. Both of these books are such pleasurable reads, and I go back to them over and over again.
Jill Bolte Taylor was a neuroscientist at Harvard when she suffered a massive stroke, causing her to totally lose the ability to use the left hemisphere of her brain. This memoir is the fascinating story of her stoke and subsequent recovery, which made me totally rethink the way I use my brain. I cannot recommend this highly enough. Couple this with Carol Dweck’s Mindset, and you’ll be well on your way to reforming the way you use your mind (as well as your beliefs about your ability to grow and change). Taylor also did a TED talk about her experience, which is definitely worth watching.
I have about a million more, but I’ll stop with these for now! What about you guys? What are your absolute favorite books?
One of my goals in life is to be as glamorous as humanly possible, every single moment of every single day. Surrounding myself with little luxuries and feeling like a fancy lady really excites me and makes my world a little bit more beautiful and fun. Unfortunately, when I get stressed or tired or busy, glamour is the first thing to be chucked out the window. Each morning, I try to bring a tiny bit of glamour to the office, but as the work day goes by, I rapidly devolve into a neurotic, stressed frump, who can’t be bothered with the finer things.
For me, feeling glamorous is an important part of feeling joyful and comfortable in my own skin. It’s an outer manifestation of how fabulous and shiny I strive to feel on the inside.
I am taking a solemn vow not to let the glamour dissipate from my life at the first sign of a busy schedule or stressful meeting. Like my friend H said when I was having a mini nervous breakdown a few weeks ago, if you slow down and take care of yourself, everything else will follow. I’m trying desperately to embrace that motto and to keep a feeling of glamour (and sanity) present in my everyday life.
Here are some ways to feel glamorous every single damn day, some of which I regularly practice, and some of which I am trying to incorporate in my daily rituals.
Look fabulous (and like you just don’t care).
- Wear sunglasses. Big, dark ones that make you look like a major diva even when you’re hungover and feel like vomming. Do not act like me and continue to wear a pair of old Betsey Johnson sunglasses after one of the arms has broken clean off, just because you love them and don’t want to shop for a new pair. People will notice that you are wearing busted sunglasses. Probably. I don’t know, I still wear them a lot. I may need an intervention. The point is: wear sunglasses.
-Wear bold colors. Guess what? You’re glamorous. You want people to look your way. Wear vibrant, shocking colors, and wear them with flair. Turn some heads, why don’t you? Or you can wear black. Black is pretty glamorous, too. Make bold, strong fashion choices. You are glamour personified, you don’t have time for pastels and drab clothes (unless, of course, that really gets you going, in which case, do it up).
-Walk with purpose. You have somewhere to be. Even if you don’t really have somewhere to be, walk like you do. A glamorous person never runs or scurries to meet someone. You’re in charge of your own destiny. You’re glamorous. You have swagger. People look at you and think, damn, that girl (or boy) means business.
-Wear a headscarf. Just do it. It’s so freaking fabulous, I can barely stand it. Of course, I can’t pull this off– but I would if I could. Goodness gracious, would I ever! A pashmina is another great option. Screw cardigans. A pashmina is infinitely more elegant than a cardigan and serves the same purpose. Drape one over your shoulders, and you are instant glamour.
-Wear lip gloss. I resisted this forever. I hated the way lip gloss felt on my lips, all goopy and gross. I also hated how it got onto my coffee cup and made me paranoid that it was all over my face. I opted for a balm for a long time, which is fine and functional, but is it glamorous? No. No, it is not. And then one day, in a fit of drama, I decided to live outside my means and spend far too much money at Sephora. I bought this. It feels like a balm and looks like a gloss, and I am so incredibly obsessed with it. It makes me do things like pout my lips.
-Wear pretty undies. I think this might be the single best way to feel glamorous, ever. Also, call them “undies.” Definitely.
-Wear things you feel comfortable wearing. I know I’ve been bossing you around, telling you to wear sunglasses and headscarves and lip gloss, but feeling glamorous is all about feeling good in your body. Wear what makes you feel sexy and allows you to strut your stuff. That’s how you’ll truly feel glamorous.
Take care of yourself.
- Chill the heck out. It is not glamorous to feel stressed, anxious, and worried. You need to calm down. Learn to meditate. I’m no expert, but to start, you can just set a timer for 5 minutes, close your eyes, and try not to think of anything at all. When your timer goes off, return to the world and vow to act with poise, purpose, and generosity for the rest of your day. Do this whenever you feel yourself racing around like a crazy person or obsessing over something silly.
-Moisturize. Glowing, soft skin is the epitome of glamour. Also, the act of moisturizing, if you turn it into a ritual, can be very glamorous in and of itself. There’s a great scene in Funny Lady where Barbra Streisand is moisturizing while wearing silk kimono, and her husband looks on in appreciation and gently teases her. It’s very, very chic.
-Eat whole foods. What could be less glamorous than eating a bunch of processed crap in plastic packaging? Eat real food, using real silverware, on real plates.
-Sleep. Get your eight hours so that you can function with grace and not be a groggy mess.
-Treat yourself. To indulgences like massages, fancy shoes, facials, and mani/pedis. Savor them.
Cultivate an atmosphere of luxury.
-Light candles. All the time, everywhere, when you’re doing everything. Candles really just make everything seem more beautiful and romantic.
-Listen to music that makes you feel energized and inspired. Dance a little. Or at least do some glamorous head-bopping.
-Dress yourself and your space in textures that feel luxurious and decadent. Soft, silky blankets and cool, reflective mirrors. Delicious.
-Make vision boards full of images and words that make you feel glamorous. This will help you figure out what exactly glamour means to you and how to manifest it in your life. It will also fill your space with gorgeous images that put you in a glamorous frame of mind.
Go out on the town. See and be seen.
-Drink a martini. Make it dirty. That’s even better. It’s okay if you don’t like martinis, but I’d suggest that you not get beer if you’re going for glamour. Of course, most people don’t care that much about glamour when they’re drinking, and I really can’t blame them.
-Let a stranger buy you a drink. Bat your eyelashes a little. Lap up the attention. Be a flirt.
-Say what needs to be said. It’s not glamorous to be too timid or agreeable. Glamour comes from being boldly yourself and saying what you think.
-Laugh. Loudly and joyfully. Be present and revel in the moment.
-Have manners. Keep it classy. Treat other people with respect, say please and thank you, and put your napkin on your lap.
-Charm everyone in the room. Flirt with everyone you see. Ask questions. Be interested and interesting. Make conversation. Have a little twinkle in your eye. There’s nothing more glamorous than feeling like the life of the party.
-Do things alone. It’s just you and the night. How glamorous is that? Cherish your time alone. Turn down plans with others just to revel in your own company. Be free and strong and brilliantly cool.
-Go to museums and plays and concerts and parks. Get some culture. A glamorous person is a cultured person. Soak it all up like a sponge.
-Bring a book. Entertain yourself. You don’t need anyone else to amuse you or keep you interested. You’re too glamorous for that. You bring your own entertainment for slow moments, unexpected train rides, and naps in the park. You’re prepared for anything.
Bring your glamour to work.
-Reclaim your lunch break. Leave the office. Soak up some sun. Maybe even go to the gym or get your nails done. Don’t eat hunched over your computer. Take a break, and return to your work refreshed and ready to get thing done. (Be a little mysterious about your whereabouts, while you’re at it.)
-Don’t be late. Being late makes you appear sloppy, flustered, and disorganized. None of those words describe a glamorous person. Don’t let them see you sweat. Stay on top of things. And do be on time.
-Use sleek, fancy office supplies. It’s the little things that make the difference. Using notebooks and pens that you love can transform boring work into fun. Having an aesthetically pleasing organizational system makes it more likely that you’ll stay organized and that you’ll keep your sense of glamour even when work gets really hectic.
-Buy fancy sex toys. Indulge. Beautify your sex life with awesome accessories.
-Do it outside of the bedroom. Maybe even do it outside of the house. Yeah, I said it. For example, the hood of a car in the pouring rain? That, my friends, is glamour (so long as you don’t get caught).
-Wear heels during sex. Seriously, just do it.
-Carry condoms.There is nothing less glamorous than being caught unprepared (except maybe for getting STDs). Do yourself a favor and don’t buy the cheapest kind.
-Escape with your lover to a fancy hotel for the evening. Enjoy the jacuzzi tub and expensive sheets. Go out to breakfast in the morning, then crawl back in bed until it’s time to check out.
-Have a one-night stand.Do exactly what you want to do. Have fun with it. Walk away before it gets weird.
I’m out! What do you guys do to feel glamorous? I’m always looking for new ideas!
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You know what else is just super glamorous? Following me on twitter.
