On a chain around Viscountess Cowdray’s neck hangs a tiny silver seated figure, with a pointed head, a heart and a hole in its middle. It’s called the Meditator and she designed it herself, as a reminder to live in the present moment, rather than fretting about the past or future.
Not buttons and hems and socks and stuff. Not darning. No, no, no – can’t do all the Victorian mending. But we are quite good at helping to mend people’s broken hearts, relationship rifts, crises of confidence and shattered self-esteem. It’s what we’re here for, partly. That, and smashing the patriarchy. Oh, and is anyone else getting really quite impressively excellent at mending (or at least briefly prolonging the life of) domestic appliances using YouTube? So satisfying that it’s almost sexual.
Festivals, in the noughties, were the great divider. The litmus test. Were you serious enough about your music to deal with the horror that lay beyond the gates? Could you put aside your personal hygiene, sleep and nutritional requirements for four days? Were you that determined? That hardcore? Could you survive with just 10 packs of Marlboro Lights and a few litres of Jack Daniel’s for sustenance?
When I read about the “Free the Nipple” activists protesting topless outside Facebook’s New York headquarters last week, my head lolled forward onto my keyboard to spell this: tt1232!uweirh34 !1kjaeljrk. And actually that’s a pretty accurate summation of how I feel about most of the capricious campaigns embarked on in the name of fourth-wave feminism.
Last week, Cosmo Landesman wrote about the appalling truth of dating significantly younger women in this article. Here, writer Kate Mulvey reveals the ups and downs of her experience with younger men after a year of living as a cougar
So they are modernising sex education. Finally. Making it more inclusive. FINALLY. But here are some lessons and truths that we really think should be included in the curriculum. Since sex is so confusing. For teenagers. And everyone else. Oof. Here are some bits and pieces that may help ‘frame’ the action. Because everything in life is about sex. But sex is always about something else... See? Confusing.
There's a familiar sound on the Tube that belies collective contempt for those who don't know the rules. It goes: "Eye roll, tut, tssk". The unwritten etiquette guide for the Underground ensures that every passenger can travel anonymously, without undue attention. If you break it, you are thrust front and centre stage as punishment.
Pretty pleased with yourself? Won the war with your waistline, picked the right partner, scaled the career ladder and formed some unassailable political views along the way? Bad news. You can take less credit for your life choices (and even those beliefs you hold dear) than you might like to think.
After a bank holiday weekend, it is easy to find your mind drifting towards the prospect of pastures new: training in something entirely different, perhaps, switching the office for life as an architect or engineer, gardener or restaurateur.
She’s newly divorced and enjoying life like never before. Davina McCall discusses dating, G-strings, and that killer body with Louise Gannon
Leaders from Britain’s biggest financial institutions have pledged to make the finance industry a better place for women following a revealing report on how women approach wealth.
There’s a reason why your Instagram feed is probably flooded with images of people posing with bananas, and no, it’s not because the fruit has fallen prey to an awkward fashion trend. Polish protesters have been taking to social media to share their bananaselfies after artwork featuring bananas was deemed obscene by Poland’s authorities and removed from the National Museum in Warsaw.
What would you say to your employer - current or previous - if you could? For tens of thousands of women in Britain, it would undoubtedly be something about motherhood.
The idea to marry myself came to me in January last year, when I was at work one day. Three weeks before, on Christmas Eve, I had received a text message from my boyfriend of five and a half years: “I can’t do this any more, it’s over,” it said. I was a 42-year-old with two children and I had already been divorced twice. It was devastating and left me in a funk, unable to eat, sleep or smile.