Kelly Davio

If you’ve gone shopping for underwear recently, odds are you’ve noticed a new trend toward higher waistlines, lower leg cuts, and a great deal more fabric on the rear view. It seems that skimpy is out, and Grandma’s Fruit of the Loom value pack is in.

If you’re like me (which is to say stark white), you may find yourself looking to warm up your retina-searing paleness before hitting the beach. It’s a public service, really. Think of the children!

The bad news is that, no matter what you do, you’re unlikely to get any personal space at the gym — even when there are plenty of machines available, it is a law of the universe that some man will choose to work out no fewer than six inches from you.

If fashion bloggers are to be believed, the moment a woman turns 30, she undergoes a horrifying physical transformation that leaves her incapable of wearing most of what’s in her closet. So imagine my surprise when the clock struck midnight on my 29th year and I did not, in fact, sprout a pair of horns.

In my late 20s, a neuromuscular disease affected my ability to swallow normally, and I couldn’t eat enough to maintain a healthy weight. Every bite posed a choking hazard, and despite the fact that I would spend hours laboring to swallow meals, I continued to lose body mass. I was poorly nourished, and I looked it.

College application season is nearly upon us and it’s an exciting a time for high school seniors, as well as a nerve-wracking time for parents. You've no doubt you’ve gone through your budget, talked about majors and programs, maybe visited a few campuses with your kid.

Maybe you were feeling a little too confident this week—a little too put-together or in control of your life. It’s okay, it happens to all of us from time to time. You take a break from fashion magazines and celebrity websites, and before you know it, you begin to feel like you’re a competent, productive, adequate human being.

I’ve been on a largely fruitless quest for good hair all my life. I’ve got thin, baby-fine, straight-as-a-nail hair that’s somehow both oily and prone to frizziness at the same time. Years of abusing my hair with heat and dyes didn’t help the state of affairs, either. So when I heard that women were cutting back on or even foregoing shampoo altogether and getting dream-worthy hair, I was game to give the shampoo-free lifestyle a try.

I knew that House Hunters family of shows had been accused of being entirely staged, but still, I had hopes that the two of us would find our own plucky agent who’d supply us with wonderful apartments to choose from, then we’d calmly, collaboratively pick one while sipping ale at a local pub.

I stopped hosting the holiday at my house, and instead of inviting a barrage of people over for face-stuffing, I turned Thanksgiving into a quiet day at home—just me and my partner—and yes, plenty of pie and mashed potatoes.