Vogue catalogues the best of the new(ish, mostly U.S.-based) indie magazines.
“My walk-in closet with a rug thick as a blanket. I lie on it and stare at my clothes like they are my psychoanalysts. They are.” Arabelle Sicardi muses on what the contents of her closet taught her.
Judith Thurman’s 2005 profile of Rei Kawakubo has been recently unlocked by The New Yorker.
“A little screen played the footage of Emily Davison going under the King’s horse on loop. Her glorious ‘mistake'; did she intend death, or just distraction? We’ll never know.” Suffragettes at the Museum of London.
Before I came back to London after a summer misspent at home in Ireland, I made a Mexican dinner for fifteen friends. This Buzzfeed piece on carnitas and homesickness strikes so many chords it could be packaged into a One Direction b-side.
The women fighting ISIS, and the stopped heartbeat of the editor’s note.
Every book that Daria Morgendorffer read or mentioned – and where to get it for free.
I’ve been reading a lot of advice columns since starting my own humble fashion advice series for the Irish Times (for ‘humble’, read ‘piss-taking'; my mother calls me ‘Mrs Mills with clothes’ and I choose to take that as a compliment). Unf**k Yourself with Scaachi Koul is becoming a fast favourite.
While it’s essentially a plug for a sauce range, this piece on former Bolton footballer Fabrice Muamba and his formidable wife Shauna gives me hope for the future of WAGs.
From nothing to something and nothing again. A graphic exploration of one person and his relationship to the universe.
Featured image via.