Holidaymakers could need paper Covid vaccine certificates The destinations likely to be on the travel 'green list' this summer The destinations most likely to be on the 'amber list' Sign up to the Telegraph Travel newsletter Australia will remain closed to the majority of international arrivals until at least the start of 2022, the Government has said. "We won't be seeing borders flung open at the start of next year with great ease," Finance Minister Simon Birmingham told The Australian on Thursday, citing "uncertainties that exist not just in the speed of the vaccine rollout but also the extent of its effectiveness to different variants of Covid, the duration of its longevity and effectiveness." This marks a delay in earlier plans for the country, which is behind on its vaccination drive target, to open its borders by October of this year, presenting a major blow to those who have been separated from their overseas loved ones for more than a year and counting. When international travel does restart, it is likely to begin with 'bubbles' shared with nations including Singapore, Japan, and Vietnam, Trade Minister Dan Tehan stated last week. It comes as New Zealand today stopped quarantine-free travel to Australia's state of New South Wales following the discovery of two cases announced in Sydney. Health department secretary Brendan Murphy said in January: "Even if we have a lot of the population vaccinated, we don't know whether that will prevent transmission of the virus. And it's likely that quarantine will continue for some time." Scroll down for more of the latest news
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Two years ago, I got married and took my husband’s last name, adopting my original surname as my middle name and dropping my birth-given middle name altogether. My husband seemed mostly apathetic about me doing this. He was flattered that I wanted to take his surname, but wouldn’t have been bothered if I hadn’t. But I wanted to do it. It’s what my mother had done, and what I always imagined I’d do, too. It wasn’t until a month after our wedding, though, when my driver’s license expired, that I really got the ball rolling on my name change. As I filled out the paperwork required to get a new Social Security card, I felt my first pangs of misgivings. Why was I doing this? Was it anti-feminist? The feeling my imminent name change suddenly gave me was not one of joining, but instead of shrinking. I felt like I was burying a part of my own identity — and for what? To adopt a surname that was laden with a history to which I had no connection? I talked about my shifting perspective with my new spouse, who encouraged me to forget about the process. But I didn’t. My list of reasons for changing my name seemed to overshadow my new and nebulous feelings of doubt. I wanted us — and any future kids we might have — to have the same last name. Part of me wanted to put some distance between myself and my family of origin’s surname, to symbolically step into a new stage of life, one centred around the family my partner and I were creating. Objectively, I preferred my partner’s surname to my own, and of the two of us, he felt the most connection to his last name (I’d grown up expecting to change mine, after all). I don’t think he would have taken my name, though I never seriously asked him to. But my discomfort has persisted. I like having the same last name as my husband. I just miss my original name, too. I miss strange, specific things. Even though I disliked my middle name, I had liked the roundness its first letter, B, lent to my initials — MBK, versus MKZ. I miss spelling my last name out on the phone, and ending by saying, “F F like Frank Frank,” which is how my mom always spells it and which always made me think of her. While I love my in-laws, I feel strange sharing a last name with them, tied to them in a way I hadn’t anticipated. And I wonder whether it was wrong for me to take part in an inherently patriarchal tradition, one that’s relatively easy to opt out of. That last concern didn’t occur to me in a vacuum. When I began asking people what they thought about women taking a spouse’s last name after marriage, many called out the practice’s sexist roots. Renée Warren, 39, the CEO and founder of business coaching company We Wild Women, explained her decision to keep her last name after marriage by saying, “I am a feminist and had also built up a little bit of a brand around my name. Going through the motions of changing my last name not only didn’t feel right, to me, [it] put feminism back a few more years.” Sabrina Beaumont, 40, the CMO of Passion Plans, said, “The practice of taking your spouse’s name is truly one that helps maintain the ingrown sexism we see in society. If there was any sort of reason, 50% of couples would take the woman’s last name but that’s not so. With no functional purpose, taking the man’s name is a tradition that should be stopped in its tracks.” I wonder whether it was wrong for me to take part in an inherently patriarchal tradition, one that’s relatively easy to opt out of. The modern North American tradition of marital name changes is a holdover of Anglo-American coverture laws, which dictated that in marriage, a woman’s rights were subsumed by her husband. The suffragist and abolitionist Lucy Stone is typically credited for being one of the first to publicly and vocally push back against the tradition of married women changing their names in the United States. She kept her name when she married in 1855. Even so, in 1879, she was denied the right to vote in a school election unless she added her husband’s name to her signature. Over the next 100-ish years, state governments continued to rule on the question of whether women should be forced to change their last name in order to vote, open a bank account, and even secure their own passport. By around 1975, though, every state law that had required a woman take her husband’s last name after marriage had been eliminated. This was thanks to the women’s rights movement, in which marital names became a core issue insofar as they pertained to a woman’s personal liberty. It was such a prominent issue that the number of women keeping their birth-given surnames hit an all-time high in the 1970s, according to a small 2015 Google Consumer Survey analyzed by The New York Times’ The Upshot. That figure dipped in the more conservative 1980s, before rising again each subsequent decade. That said, the significant majority of women in the U.S. still adopt their spouse’s surname after tying the knot. It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact number, since many studies analyse limited populations — one used The New York Times’ wedding announcements, Harvard University alumni records, and Massachusetts birth records, for instance — groups that tend to be composed of high-income, mostly white, straight couples. But the research I’ve seen indicates that roughly 70% to 90% of women in the U.S. adopt their spouse’s name after marriage. At the same time, more than 60% of U.S. women described themselves as feminist in 2020, the Pew Research Center reported. That means there are plenty of people who, like me, consider themselves feminist and still took part in this patriarchal tradition — by which I mean taking a spouse’s name, not just marriage in general. Considering how much it was nagging at me, I was surprised to find that many people apparently don’t think about changing their name all that much. In a small 2013 study that looked into students’ reasons for marital name change, researchers from East Carolina University found that about half of them thought the practice just wasn’t that big a deal. The majority saw changing their name as a family expectation, a tradition that was worth honouring, a way to unify their family, or just easier. Very few respondents indicated that the practice was a way of giving a husband power over their wife — but a significant number thought it was a sign of respect toward their husband, an answer that didn’t sit all that well with me. When people hesitated, it had more to do with their sense of self than with their thoughts on the patriarchy. They talked about being sad to lose their personal identity, a degree of autonomy in their career, and, significantly, their family heritage — a common thread that came up among the people to whom I spoke. Iqra Mehrin Azhar, for example, said, “As a Pakistani South Asian woman, I know that, culturally, women take on their husband’s names. But growing up, I strongly associated with my religious identity, which is that of a Muslim woman. And as a proud Muslim woman, I knew that God did not require it in Islam,” the 33-year-old digital marketer and businesswoman explained. “If I had taken on my spouse’s last name, I would have felt like I am simply leaving my family and my past behind.” Rayna Weiss, 35, on the other hand, worried it would be inappropriate or even appropriative for her to take her husband’s Colombian last name, Londoño, since she wasn’t Colombian herself. And both Weiss and her husband agreed that the Latin American tradition of adding “de” plus the husband’s last name to a married woman’s name — which would have made her Rayna Weiss de Londoño, roughly translating to Rayna Weiss of the Londoño family — felt chauvinistic and possessive, so she chose to keep her original name. For others, family heritage motivated them to shed their name. Writer Carol Gee, 71, for instance, told me that when she took her husband’s last name 48 years ago, it was “what folks did,” but then too, “there was also some question about my paternity and maiden name, so I was happy to rid myself of it.” I also heard about people who were eager to change their last names because their family of origin was abusive. One of the main reasons I wanted to change my name was because I thought it would help me feel more like my husband and I were building something together, a family of our own. I’d dated my partner for about a decade before we got married, and lived with him for half of that time. Adopting his name felt like a tangible step toward something new. But Simon Duncan, PhD, emeritus professor of Comparative Social Policy at the University of Bradford in the UK, who has studied marital name change traditions in Britain and Norway, notes that many women change their name in order not just to feel like a unified family, but to look like one. “You don’t just have to be a good family; you have to be seen to be a good family by other people,” he says. That reason is coloured by institutionalised sexism, he points out. It also made me wonder about how the pressure to appear “official” affects couples who are already often invalidated by society as a whole, like LGBTQ couples. “I don’t know if we necessarily thought about it consciously, but I do think in a lot of ways we as a couple have always tried to be just like all of our straight friends,” Ali Sousa, 31, who married her wife Carly, 34, in 2018, tells me. “We aspire to have a family, and raise our kids in a world where we are just like all the other families, and they just happen to have two moms. I think in some ways, using one of our last names, having the same last name, and being a family where the kids and all the parents have the same last names, kind of levels us up with other hetereosexual families.” “You don’t just have to be a good family; you have to be seen to be a good family by other people.”Simon Duncan, PhD Carly says their decision over which last name to take was just “a rock-paper-scissors of which of these things is worse? And honestly, there’s more room for bullying with her last name, it being a verb.” (Ali’s birth surname was Grab.) For Ali, the change took some getting used to, but was ultimately exciting. But for Carly, the decision to keep her last name came with its own anxieties. “Not getting rid of my last name was hard for me,” she says. “I really struggled with the roles and responsibilities and norms of what a homosexual relationship entails. For me, to keep my last name meant that I was quote-unquote the man of the relationship. I, for a long time, was sort of like, ‘Oh man, I’m going to be the boy, that sucks. I don’t want to wear the pants. I don’t want people to think I’m the masculine one. I want to be a beautiful, attractive, feminine girl. I want to be the mother.’” Carly was able to put those fears to rest, but only after doing a lot of work around how she thought about the roles in her relationship, even down to their division of household labour. “I also think we found ways to make sure that Carly felt like she was in the more feminine role,” Ali says. “So for example, I proposed. And even though we each walked down the aisle at our wedding, I went first and Carly came second as the final bride moment. So even though those aren’t necessarily the big-picture items, like having the same last name and choosing hers, it’s about trying to find ways to give her opportunities for her to feel like she didn’t have to necessarily carry out that role all the time.” As I talked to Carly and Ali about the ways in which they fit into and chafed against society’s heteronormativity, something clicked for me: My concerns weren’t really just about my decision to change my name. That choice had come to represent the ways in which I was meant to fit into the entire institution of marriage, one that doesn’t always treat me like an equal, or even a full individual. My husband and I are both feminists, and we try to be intentional and thoughtful about our relationship. But gender roles run deep. Can we always identify which roles we had chosen, and which we had simply slipped into? After all, sometimes, quietly accepting what’s being forced onto us can feel a lot like making the right choice. Before we got married, I felt comfortable in the roles we’d taken in our relationship, largely because I still felt completely independent from my partner — despite living together, we operated as two separate people, with robust lives that only occasionally intersected. After our wedding, despite wanting to create a more parallel existence to my new spouse, I started to question things about our relationship that had never bothered me before. I began refusing to do the dishes, a chore we’d always split. I dragged my feet when my husband asked if we could open a joint bank account. I trust him and I trust his principles and his respect for me — but I’m scared to lose my autonomy. I’m scared to become “a wife.” Lori Axler Miranda, 41, tells me that she understands that tension, and says that her discomfort around gender roles became more complicated after having her first child. She felt like the bulk of the childcare tasks fell on her shoulders, often by necessity. “Whether you intend to or not, the gender roles really shift. It forced us into these very stereotypical gender roles that we’d never been in before,” she says. Lori adds that having kids also affected how she felt about her decision to take her husband’s name — something she’d struggled with on and off ever since she had changed it, two years after they got married. “It feels strange to change your name — which is a part of your identity — just because you get married. And there is no expectation for men to do this,” she says. “And after having kids… I’m the one who carried [my kids] and I’m the one who birthed them and fed them, but they take my husband’s name.” What became obvious to me after looking through the research and speaking to dozens of people is that there’s no one right answer here. People have a million reasons for their decision to change, or not change, their name, and those reasons are all informed by everyone’s unique cultural and personal history. After taking a close look at my apprehensions, I’m actually less bothered now by my decision to change my name than I had been. I can now see that discomfort was a symptom, rather than the source, of my anxiety around what marriage means for me. That said, if someone asked me my opinion, I’d probably suggest taking a year before officially making the change to think about it: Try using the new name, or not. See what it brings up for you, and after some time has passed, you can decide if you want to make the switch for good. Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?Queer People Don't Have Marriage Equality YetWhat Is The Point Of Marriage Now, Anyway?Why Couples Want Prenups More Now
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Welcome to Beauty In A Tik, where each week we put TikTok’s viral beauty hacks and innovative trends to the test. By now you know that TikTok’s beauty hacks are game-changing. There’s the viral five-minute face lifting trick (which takes slack skin and makes it supple), heatless hairstyling (using socks to achieve curls and waves overnight) and fake tan lip liner, which does exactly what it says on the tin. This week, the hack on every beauty-obsessed TikToker’s radar is the one-minute messy bun tutorial and unlike the app’s previous hairstyling techniques, it’s incredibly easy. The buzz makes total sense. With the world yet to open up properly, most of us are still spending a lot of our time at home, where we’re ditching heated tools like straighteners and curling wands for quick and easy updos. The messy bun is the lockdown look of (no) choice but making it look less Miss Trunchbull and more selfie-worthy is no mean feat. Until now, that is. @natalieleeish Super easy messy hair bun tutorial #hairstyle #quickhairtutorial #hairtutorial #messybuntutorial #messybun ♬ Supalonely (feat. Gus Dapperton) – BENEE How do you do a messy bun for long, short and medium hair? Whether your hair is long, medium or short, TikTok has a messy bun hack for you, but the majority of the fast tutorials follow the same easy steps. If your hair is just-washed or on the fine side, start by spritzing dry shampoo through your roots and ends, or use a texturising spray. Either product will give slippery hair solid grip and help the messy bun retain its shape while styling. I opted for FEKKAI Full Blown Volume Dry Texturising Spray, £22, which breathes mega volume into limp hair without the sticky feel. Also try Batiste Instant Hair Refresh Dry Shampoo & Volume, £3.99, massaged into your roots using your fingers and brushed through, or Charles Worthington Volume and Bounce Texturising Spray, £6.99, which doesn’t dull shine. Now for the bun. Take a hairbrush and a simple hair tie, flip your head forward and proceed to brush your hair up into a high ponytail or wherever you’d like your messy bun to sit. The trick here is not to pull the ends of your hair all the way through. Instead, make a loop at the top and use your fingers to tease the loop (which will become your bun) outwards slightly. If your hair is on the long side, you might want to wrap the ends around the loop, but those with medium or short hair can get away with leaving them out for now. @alyssarayelee easy short hair messy bun! ##hairstyle ##hairyutorial ##messybun ##BoseAllOut ♬ SUNNY DAY – Matteo Rossanese Use your hand to secure the bun at the top and take a scrunchie (best for thick hair) or another hair tie of your choice, and wrap this around the bun twice. Once you’ve done that, tease the bun with your fingers to achieve more of a messy feel. Those with shorter hair might find that the hair at the back has come loose so take a hair grip or a larger clip, twist and secure. The final step is to pull out a few tendrils of hair around your face to complete the lived-in feel. A veil of hairspray will keep your bun in place for longer but that’s optional. @jacquelinekilikita This 1 minute ##messybun hack is so simple and can be adapted for all lengths. ##messybunhack ##hairstyles ##hairhack ##hair ##beautyhacks ##hairtutorial ♬ Break My Heart – Dua Lipa Does TikTok’s one-minute messy bun hack actually work? Surprisingly, yes! It’s also the easiest messy bun hack on the app, in my opinion, as others appear a little too fiddly or require lots more tools. This one consists of minimal steps and is great for all hair types and lengths. Previously, I’d avoided the messy bun (or any updo) entirely because I’d really struggled to nail it. My hair always ended up unravelling or stray flyaways would ruin the look but the loop trick is genius and my hair stayed in place all day. I think I’m finally sold on updos and I’ll absolutely use this hack to give my hair a day off from the straighteners. I have a few extra tips and tricks for getting it right. If you have layers in your hair, it might be a good idea to pin a few hair grips in place to prevent any spiky pieces of hair from popping up around the bun itself. That said, it only adds to the accidentally perfect feel and a look like this shouldn’t be too uniform, anyway. If your hair is bob-length, make like TikToker Lyss and just use a single scrunchie. You also want to ace your hair tools. I have a lot of hair so I used the ghd Paddle Brush, £21.95, which is a must for long, thick hair types. The large surface area makes light work of styling. Also try the KENT Brushes Large Natural Bristle & Nylon Paddle Brush, £11, which combines bristles and nylon pins so that it doesn’t tug at hair. Finally, I’ve noticed that TikTokers like a ’90s scrunchie but they absolutely love no-crease hair ties, such as Invisibobble, £4.99 for three. As they don’t snag or leave kinks and bends on strands, you can take them out easily and your hair will look the same as it did before you styled it, rather than crinkled or tangled, as is the case with updos. I’m sold on this hack for a low-maintenance at-home hairstyle and I bet it’ll be my go-to come summer when I prefer to wear my hair up. It’s official: beauty TikTok is the gift that keeps on giving. Refinery29’s selection is purely editorial and independently chosen – we only feature items we love! As part of our business model we do work with affiliates; if you directly purchase something from a link on this article, we may earn a small amount of commission. Transparency is important to us at Refinery29, if you have any questions please reach out to us. Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?I Tried TikTok's 5 Minute 'Face Lifting' HackTikTok Can't Get Enough Of This Affordable CreamTikTok's Fake Tan Lip Liner Hack Has Blown My Mind
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When I heard the news that Nick Kamen had died, aged just 59, having suffered from bone marrow cancer for years, I was propelled instantly back to 1985. I had moved from Dundee to London and happened to live near a launderette. Its name – Wishee Washee Splishy Splashy – was pretty wacky, but that’s not why I glanced in, hopefully, every time I walked past. It was because of a certain Levi’s ad. Up until then, the only commercial that had made any impression on me was the Smash Martians – and, safe to say, Nick Kamen sauntering into that launderette, pulling off his shades and proceeding to whip off his white T-shirt and jeans was hotter than a bowlful of reconstituted mashed potato.
The anticipated increase in demand for plastic surgery in the wake of the pandemic is a phenomenon surgeons are calling the “Zoom boom.” Experts are finding that, when we stare at our own reflections all the time through mirrored video conferencing, we become hyper-aware of how tired we look — or, rather, feel like we look — and thus consider cosmetic tweaks like Botox to address it. While Botox has its merits, before scheduling a consult with a surgeon, you may want to first think about your eyebrows. As New York City-based brow artist Joey Healy recently convinced me, when your brows have reached their full potential — shaped, tinted, and lifted to personal perfection — you might not feel the need for any needles at all. Healy clarifies that “Browtox” is not an injectable trend, but instead an emphasis on the “lifting” component of eyebrow shaping. “Regardless of what people are looking for in shape, the ‘lift’ is always a really important component,” he tells me during my consult. “As time goes on, we age and the brows lower, which is part of what makes people look tired, and why they might think about a Botox brow lift. But in my experience, brow shaping can mimic Botox. Having a great brow pulls attention upwards. It’s similar to curling your eyelashes and putting on mascara — it opens the face up.” With “Browtox” shaping, it’s helpful to think of the brow bone like your cheekbone; you’re almost contouring it through the tweezing process. So first, feel where your brow bone is. “It sounds morbid to say, but we use the skull to figure out a person’s best, most natural brow shape,” Healy says. “The brow should be firmly on brow bone, not slipping under it at all. Then, it’s about selectively removing hair to reveal the skin of the brow bone to create an arch which, for most people, floats about two-thirds of the way outside of the brow.” To refine the shape, Healy recommends using tweezers as opposed to wax or threading for precision hair removal. This method allows you to move slower, work hair by hair, and stop before going too thin. “You should first clean around the perimeter of the brow, the stray hair growing in the temple or forehead area,” he instructs. “But with lifting, most of the focus will be on removing the hair underneath the brow. You don’t want to let the tail go willy-nilly. It’s important to have a crisp, tapered tail that almost mimics the lift of your cheekbones. You can get there by tweezing a nice line under the tail of the brow to give it maximum lift.” If brow shape is your foundation, proper styling is like the arch warranty. “Everyone needs a clear brow gel,” Healy says. “Use it to comb your brows up to get that feathery, fluffy look, specifically in the front. Especially if you have thick, dark brows, if they’re combed up, instead of over, it will raise the eye up.” Then, if you need to fill in sparse areas, use a pencil or a powder, but focus the pigment on the uppermost hairs. “Sometimes, people use a pencil to fill in the bottom part of the brow, because they’re desperate to get that sharp line between hair and skin, but that actually makes the brow look heavier,” Healy says. “Instead, use your pencil to accentuate the top peak of the brow.” Finally, you want to use a cream concealer or a matte highlighter right under the arch of the brow. “Formula is important,” Healy tells me. “Eyeshadow can look powdery, highlighter can be too glittery, but a cream that’s substantially lighter than your skin tone will give you that barely-there glow to the brow bone and call attention to the arch without looking obvious.” If you’re looking for formula recommendations, Healy makes a good brow-specific highlighter that I’ve been loving. After a proper 45-minute shaping from a brow professional and a three-piece take-home toolkit (and expert instructions), my brows have never looked fuller or more lifted at the same time. I’m still tired, and don’t love my reflection on Google Meet — but I have to think I’m sleeping a little better knowing that I saved myself about $1,000 (approximately £719) this month, the average cost of a Botox brow lift in New York City. Refinery29’s selection is purely editorial and independently chosen – we only feature items we love! As part of our business model we do work with affiliates; if you directly purchase something from a link on this article, we may earn a small amount of commission. Transparency is important to us at Refinery29, if you have any questions please reach out to us. Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?I Got An Ombré Powder Brow TreatmentSpilanthol Is The Natural Equivalent To BotoxMicroshading Is The New Microblading For Brows
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