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facebook lie

I Am a Part of the Facebook Lie

I’ve been home for the last 10 days, on a trip that’s been sort of equal parts fantastic and terrible—the kind where your mom says things like, “I know this trip has been terrible” and then you both start talking about the new puppy. But let’s talk about the fantastic bit, or, to stay with the theme, the terrible part of the fantastic bit. Without a doubt, the best part about coming home is seeing people. My trips home are always so poorly both planned and executed that they end up involving a grab bag of friends I have known my entire life and friends I have known much, much less time than that. I am thinking, for the moment, of one of the very, very new friends. We had tacos (wonderful) and margaritas (delicious) at my favorite bar (convenient!) and then she started saying that she wished she, like me, lived (sort of lives) in France. (It’s pretty easy!) Now, I know—she was just being nice, and complimentary, and that’s what people do when …

Emmanuelle Alt: French Style Icon Encyclopedia

The same day I realized that half the reason I like traveling is because it’s the easiest way to get rid of clutter (this book is changing my life) I realized the other half of the reason I like living in France: It’s easier to be a lady here. I should rephrase that: It’s the other half of the reason I like being an American in France: It’s easier to be an American lady here. This is not to discount the daily challenges of being a French woman: I’m not French, so I don’t know what they are, and I have a friend here who swears that she read an article about how the percentage of women using anti-depressants is higher in Paris “than any other Western city.” (I cannot verify this.) I think in many ways it is harder to be just, like, a person in the place where you are from than elsewhere: I am completely blind to any pressures they might face here. And I am exempt from the ones I might be facing …

The L Words: Love, Marriages and Loneliness

Their hope is not to be condemned to live in loneliness. Despite the beauty of Justice Kennedy’s prose  — and it is beautiful, most of it; it reminds me, in its way, of the closing passage of Thornton Wilder’s “Bridge of San Luis Rey,” and we’ll get back to that in a minute — it does, in those words, obscure its point: No American citizen should be denied access to an institution of the government, a position we have long held here, including with the production of now-irrelevant glitter maps. I feel like Kennedy was perhaps less interested in suggesting that a life without marriage is such poor broth — and yet there it is. There is something so final and damning about the word “loneliness,” a 21st-century emotional leprosy for those who failed to heed Princeton Mom’s instruction to lock one in before the Botox. Most people marry. I expect I will, too, one day, the same way I expect to visit Bhutan, own a Saab, and never kiss a monkey because I just absolutely hate monkeys. But I am happy either way! …