This is concept art for a little book I am releasing soon. I am pretty afraid of her already (and I should be).
Credit: Milica Milić
This is concept art for a little book I am releasing soon. I am pretty afraid of her already (and I should be).
Credit: Milica Milić
This book is a summary of the recent news, research, non-fiction bestsellers and popular science relating to tech, in a political context. The author tries hard to maintain objectivity, but he ends up sitting on the fence and stating the non-offensive obvious rather than creating new insights. Perhaps, there is a certain irony in that: serious journalism doesn’t hit as hard as divisive tripe we’ve gotten used to on Facebook. Overall, it’s an entry level book for people who want to learn about tech vs politics.
On a personal note, I recently attended a conference on digital health where an IBM Watson guy described how it could make decisions that are 93% congruent with health professionals (source). That’s impressive. But just because it can, doesn’t mean it will. Ireland has decent IT in healthcare compared to most countries. Yet I still fax things a lot (welcome to the 80s). As a doctor, I often serve as a photocopying machine. I’ve seen radiology software pick some cool stuff up using algorithms, but it will be a long time before AI is on the front line of medicine, in my view anyway.
My highlights below (this is not to say I highlight things I agree with!)
…The digital technologies associated with Silicon Valley –social media platforms, big data, mobile technology and artificial intelligence –that are increasingly dominating economic, political and social life. It’s clear that these technologies have, on balance, made us more informed, wealthier and, in some ways, happier. After all, technology tends to expand human capabilities, produce new opportunities, and increase productivity. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re good for democracy.
While there are certainly contradictions in minimising tax while claiming to empower people, doing so doesn’t necessarily betray insincerity.
The machinery of democracy was built during a time of nation-states, hierarchies, deference and industrialised economies. The fundamental features of digital tech are at odds with this model: non-geographical, decentralised, data-driven, subject to network effects and exponential growth.
We won’t witness a repeat of the 1930s, everyone’s favourite analogy. Rather, I believe that democracy will fail in new and unexpected ways. The looming dystopia to fear is a shell democracy run by smart machines and a new elite of ‘progressive’ but authoritarian technocrats.
Social media platforms are the latest iteration of the behaviourist desire to manage society through scientific observation of the mind, via a complete information loop: testing products on people, getting feedback and redesigning the model.
The notion that with enough data the mysteries of the human mind can be understood and influenced is perhaps the dominant philosophy in Silicon Valley today.
Scientific theories were unnecessary, he [Chris Anderson, editor of Wired] said, now that we have big data.
Google engineers don’t speculate and theorise about why people visit one site over another –they just try things and see what works.
Our modern panopticon doesn’t have just one watchman: everyone is both watching and being watched. This kind of permanent visibility and monitoring is a way to enforce conformity and docility.
Being always under surveillance and knowing that the things you say are collected and shared creates a soft but constant self-censorship.
Diagnosis by AI will outperform professional doctors within a few years (it already does in many areas, but regulation is slower than tech).
Deny it if you want, but we already rely on the machine for moral choices.
I can imagine this kind of utilitarian thinking will take over the world, because it’s amenable to data and AI.
We are living, as McLuhan predicted, through a great re-tribalisation of politics.
Humans were perfectly good at killing each other because of politics long before the iPhone turned up. But Silicon Valley, in its optimistic quest for a global village of total information and connectivity, has inadvertently let tribalism back out of the cage that modern representative democracy built for it.
At times ‘post-truth’ has become a convenient way to explain complicated events with a simple single phrase. In some circles it has become a slightly patronising new orthodoxy to say that stupid proles have been duped by misinformation on the internet into voting for things like Brexit or Trump.
Anyone who is upset can now automatically, sometimes algorithmically, find other people that are similarly upset. Sociologists call this ‘homophily’, political theorists call it ‘identity politics’ and common wisdom says ‘birds of a feather flock together’.
The point is that every individual now has a truckload of reasons to feel legitimately aggrieved, outraged, oppressed or threatened, even if their own life is going just fine.
Note how, for example, so many people who disagree with Brexit use the language of a small child that has yet to develop a theory of mind: why should I accept the result, I didn’t vote for it and I want my country back.
The liberals’ hopeful theory about the role of debate is that coming into contact with opposing views and opinions can help resolve difference.
Several inconvenient studies have found that if two groups of people debate with each other they often consequently hold more extreme views than when they started. 15
I see opposing views to mine online all the time; they rarely change my mind, and more often simply confirm my belief that I am the only sane person in a sea of internet idiots.
But being apparently neutral is itself a kind of editorial decision. Everything on social media is still curated, usually by some mysterious algorithm rather than a human editor.
But the problem is that no one is intentionally programming it to be sensationalistic –it’s just a mathematical response to our general preference for edgy and outrageous videos. This is both a mirror and a multiplier: a giant feedback loop powered by big data. You feed data in, and you get results that replicate themselves. Newspapers have always traded on outrage and sensationalism, because they’ve long known what algorithms have recently discovered about our predilections. However, the difference is that newspapers are legally responsible for what they print, and citizens generally understand the editorial positions of various outlets. Algorithms, however, give the impression of being neutral and can’t held to account –even though the YouTube algorithm alone shapes what 1.5 billion users are likely to see, which is more than every newspaper in the world combined.
In her masterpiece The Origins of Totalitarianism Hannah Arendt warned that if citizens float around like corks in a stormy sea, unsure of what to believe or trust, they will be susceptible to the charms of demagogues.
If the medium is the message, is there a way to escape the drift toward ever more extreme ‘system one’ tribal politics? Of course. Laws, regulations or education can help.
The qualities we associate with human greatness –such as sensitivity, empathy, compassion, kindness, and honesty –are also keys to political success.
At a campaign rally in Iowa in January 2016, Trump told his supporters that he could ‘stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody and … wouldn’t lose voters’. There is a distinct and terrifying possibility that, in an era in which emotion outranks truth, bias outranks objectivity and tribe outranks compromise, he was right.
Every election now is a mini arms race.
Just like Brad [Trump’s digital campaign guy], Cummings set up Vote Leave like a Silicon Valley start-up, with physicists, data, innovation and constant testing of ads or messages. One especially smart move involved inviting people to guess the results of all 51 matches in the Euro 2016 football tournament with the chance of winning £ 50 million, in exchange for their phone number, email, home address and a score of 1–5 in respect of how likely they were to vote for staying in the EU.
I was surprised when Theresa [Trump’s digital campaign figure] told me that social media employees –and ones who shared the campaign’s political views –were working directly with the Trump team, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been.
We used to call this sort of thing propaganda. Now we call it ‘a behavioral approach to persuasive communication with quantifiable results’, and give awards to the people who are best at it.
It is important that everyone receives the same message –or at least knows what others are receiving. That’s how we are able to thrash out the issues of the day. If everyone receives personalised messages, there is no common public debate –just millions of private ones.
When I was at Alamo, Theresa told me that she wrote many of Donald Trump’s Facebook posts. That was odd. I’d always assumed Trump wrote his own posts. I’d read many of them, and they certainly sounded like him. Nope, it was Theresa, sitting in her San Antonio office. ‘I channelled Mr Trump,’ she told me, smiling. ‘How do you channel someone like Donald Trump?’ I asked. ‘A lot of believe mes, a lot of alsos, a lot of verys … he was really wonderful to write for. It was so refreshing. It was so authentic.’ She seemed unaware of the irony.
Mark Zuckerberg seems to have had a Damascene moment towards the end of 2017, when he acknowledged that the company needed to behave more like a responsible publisher that takes editorial decisions, rather than as a neutral platform that treats all information equally. This will certainly help.
Far too many otherwise-intelligent people, unable to comprehend Trump’s popularity, believe that voters were duped by Brad or Theresa, or even by Vladimir Putin, into ticking the box for Trump. Those involved are happy to propagate this myth, because it’s good for business.
I don’t recall similar levels of outrage when it was revealed in 2012 that President Obama’s team had placed voters into 30 buckets and ranked them according to persuadability, and that Google’s Eric Schmidt advised the campaign. Liberals were apparently extremely comfortable with the idea when it was their guy doing it. That was a mistake.
When AI techniques transform medical diagnosis –within the next few years –it won’t mean fewer doctors, but better patient care because our busy doctors won’t need to spend hours staring at scans.
A specialist in machine learning at Starsky Robotics or Google performs a non-routine job, since it involves a lot of intuition, creativity and independent thinking in unpredictable situations. So does a gardener, carer or Deliveroo cyclist. It’s the jobs in the middle –what you might call ‘routine cognitive’ jobs –that will be most at risk. If you are a train operator, a mortgage adviser, a stock analyst, a paralegal, a credit analyst, a loan officer, a bookkeeper, a tax accountant or a radiologist, you might consider retraining.
High levels of inequality also wear away the fabric of society. The more unequal life gets, the less we spend time with people not like ourselves, and the less we trust each other.
‘There are40 million people in the US that live in poverty,’ he [Sam Altman, Y Combinator] said. ‘If technology can eliminate human suffering, we should do that; if technology can generate more wealth and we can figure out how to distribute it better, we should do that.’ There was no hint that tech has played some role in creating the problem that tech is now supposed to fix.
Back in the 1990s many predicted that the internet would slay monopolies, not create them. The popular thinking of the time –repeated over and over by the era’s digital gurus and futurists –was that the net was decentralised and connected, and so would automatically lead to a competitive and distributed marketplace.
Market leaders in AI like Google, with the data, the geniuses, the experience and the computing power, won’t be limited to just search and information retrieval. They will also be able to leap ahead in almost anything where AI is important: logistics, driverless cars, medical research, television, factory production, city planning, agriculture, energy use, storage, clerical work, education and who knows what else.
At some terrible point, these tech giants could become so important to the health and well-being of the nation that they are, like large banks, too big to fail. Armed with the best tech and the most skilled engineers, maybe Google or Facebook could be the only ones who could solve sophisticated cybercrime (perhaps committed by a powerful AI from a hostile country?), fix computer bugs, predict and pre-empt economic shocks, run the National Grid or protect the cyber defences of the big banks –cyber security in the public sector is predictably understaffed and under-skilled.
Every politician, with only a few exceptions, values the support of business. But politicians need tech platforms to reach voters in a manner that they don’t need other businesses, and these companies own and run the platforms on which so much of our political debate occurs.
(Public key) encryption is the crypto-anarchist’s barbed wire. It allows people to communicate, browse and transact beyond the reach of government, making it significantly harder for the state to control information, and subsequently, its citizens. This is because of a simple-but-magic rule: due to some arcane properties of prime numbers, it takes far more computing power to decrypt something than to encrypt it. 3 It’s like an egg: a lot easier to crack than to put back in its shell. Julian Assange, who was an active contributor to Timothy May’s email list, puts it this way: ‘the universe believes in encryption’.
In the well-intentioned pursuit of privacy and freedom, we might risk undermining the entire edifice on which these rights are based. Most liberals have been very short-sighted about this, because they want total freedom and equality, without realising that the two are sometimes in tension. This is why the issue of encryption and privacy throws up peculiar political alliances. (The most notable of recent years is surely the idiotic social democratic love affair with crypto-anarchist Julian Assange.)
Democracy is about individual liberty of course, but that’s only half the picture. It is also a system of coercion because your liberty must sometimes be taken away too. The state must be able to force you to pay tax, remove your passport, restrict your right to assemble and back it up with the use of force if it needs to by arresting you and throwing you in prison.
A blockchain social media platform would be untouchable – no government would be able to edit or remove hate-speech, illegal images or terror propaganda, unless the whole network was somehow vaporised. Blockchain advocates hate ‘middle men’.
For reasons still not entirely clear to me, humanity is currently embarked on a quixotic quest to connect everything to everything else.
A recent survey in the Journal of Democracy found that only 30 per cent of US millennials (the demographic made up of those born since 1980) agree that ‘it’s essential to live in a democracy’, compared to 75 per cent of those born in the 1930s, and results in most other democracies demonstrate a similar pattern.
In the hands of a techno-authoritarian, all the digital tools of liberation could easily become powerful tools of subtle coercion that might make society run more smoothly but wouldn’t make us more free or hold the powerful to account.
Digital technology is behind the slow unravelling of power and control in democracies. The obvious monster is Scylla – turbo-charged inequality and social breakdown. But in trying to avoid it, democracies could end up in the thrall of Charybdis, a digitally powered techno-authoritarian, and wind up with China and Russia undermining democracy in the name of order and harmony.
There is an awful lot of talk of how social media is changing us. We’re programmed. Our brains aren’t the same. A generation has been lost into the screens of their mobile phones. Somebody, think of the children!
That’s like saying that when we invented shoes we started walking. Cop on.
This book belongs to that dying coming-of-age-in-NYC-uber-honest-personal-essay-featuring-tampons-vomit-and-DMCs genre.
It’s also sweet and embarrassingly relatable for millennials.
The best things about this book is Hannah’s startling honestly. Not even so much when it comes to her devastating eating disorder, but how she feels about men and work. You kind of wonder if some of it was made up to protect the identities of the people involved. It’s preciously revelatory and confessional. You can feel the anguish.
It’s certainly readable, but I cannot honestly say I am a fan of the style. Some of it is beautifully descriptive. Parts are repetitive. Everything shines like the moon. Hannah is preoccupied with the sensations in her toes.
The descriptions of food can be wonderful, but at times it seems like she ran out of paper and had to write her shopping list in her personal diary.
Other times, the detail seems unnecessary. For example, she cooks Irish oats. I effin love Irish oats. But frankly, they are not that different to good oats from anywhere else in the world. Why mention that they are Irish? To show your level of pickiness? Sophistication? But surely, oats are just oats – and anyone who cares about food enough to care that the oats are Irish knows that. Hannah isn’t pretentious or arrogant! (Of course, the reader is assured at this point that they know her like she is her best friend.) Maybe, it is just the glaringly obvious explanation: food is her tragic obsession and there is no rhyme or reason to it.
There are also too many
Americanisms consumerinisms. She talks about writing things in Sharpie. Dude, why can’t you just say marker?
The main theme of the book, as I see it, is Hannah’s struggle to find people who will love her and accept her. She wants to find a “home”, “her people” and feel like she belongs. Despite severe anorexia, she even feels at home when the uberthin hostesses of an superposh New York restaurant side with her in a mean girls exchange. That’s all it took: knowing she wasn’t alone. Her fear of weight gain summed up in one line: “I will be unfuckable, or even worse : unlikable, unacceptable, unlovable.”
There is probably one most telling bit in the whole book. Hannah talks about the advice that works: “Get out of yourself and your own head. Call someone else. Ask how they are doing. Ask about their day. Listen. Don’t talk about you. That advice. I’ve heard it before from Aaron and it is exactly what I don’t want to hear. It works nearly every time.”
What is it? Well, the same way that steroids get rid of inflammation, this exercise gets rid of self-obsession. A crude diagnosis, but it’s there.
The ending is a little but too much of an amalgam of post card philosophy. I don’t think she’s not honest or what she says is wrong, but it’s not nearly as refreshing and gripping as the rest of the book. Then again, this also happened to War and Peace, so I don’t judge 😉
My highlights below.
Life is big and scary. Food is constant, safe, dependable. Food blots everything out and calms everything down, draws the shades and tucks me in. Cozy. Miserable. Numb.
Sure, food is my answer to anxiety, sadness, boredom, anger, but also to excitement, possibility, and joy.
And just like starving is the answer, bingeing is the answer.
Often, postbinge, I feel a sweet relief, a stillness.
It is an instant cure to whatever ails me, save the paltry price of the morning after — waking up and needing to barf and not being able to, vowing to eat nothing for a day, a week; the self-imposed, relentless suffering.
My trusty companion has let me down. All that food has done nothing to quiet my demons. I cannot escape myself.
I am not a cool girl. I always have friends, wonderful friends, and yet my identity as an outsider feels fixed from as far back as I can remember.
But most importantly, I am not thin enough. This sums it all up. This is my curse, my refrain, true as my name.
The mirror is enemy number one.
When I go back to school for senior year, nobody notices. If they do, they are silent. I feel the devastation in my chest, my bones, their marrow. I am still me.
College means everything. If my body is one measure of my self -worth, college is the other.
I read. No matter how lonely I feel, how much an outsider,how fat, I am welcome in the world of words, stories, poems. They hold my hand. They show me that there are more ways to think and feel than I may fathom.
In my fantasy, something remarkable happens at college. I am not an outsider. I belong.
I am going to be a whole new Hannah. Like myself, but immensely better. Skinnier, of course. Skinnier is everything. Skinniness is next to godliness.
The summer holidays after getting into the college of her dreams:
My new life is full of possibility but I am stuck inside myself. My stomach feels round and big as the moon. I have big plans for my summer. I want to do unambitious things like make eight bucks an hour scooping ice cream, read a lot of trashy mags, and sleep. It sounds wild, an adventure. Also, I will diet.
It doesn’t feel like enough, not even close, but hunger seems a small price to pay for liking myself, for not dreaming of carving away the flesh below my belly button, the sides of my butt.
So much better than being cool, I feel powerful. My skin and bones are different, electric.
My stomach gurgles, struggling against its own emptiness, and I am proud.
I go long stretches of days with only Pink Lady apples, coffees with skim milk and Splenda, liters of diet soda and seltzer water. A frozen yogurt, sometimes.
It is the best drug — wanting him, him wanting me. The room spins.
He peers over, and we make eye contact… “ You’re very beautiful, like a model. ” His eyes are wider than they should be, all pupils, like he’s taken an opiate. His gaze feels like a scratch on my skin, unbearable… He doesn’t say anything this time, his eyes are hard on me. I think, This is because of my diet. Fifteen pounds ago, this would never have happened. Is this what people want? Why?
“Your face is a ten, but your body is a six,” he says, unprompted. “ I’m only grading you harshly because you have such potential. You could be a ten, even, if you lost some weight, got in great shape.” I feel as if my skin has been peeled from me. And yet, I agree.
“Do you see the way men look at you?” Corey asks. “ ike they’re hungry?”
I still hate the roundness of my belly, pull on the flesh around my hips and fantasise about its evisceration. But I have felt immense pleasure and given the same. The power of that straightens my spine.
Because I don’t believe I am likable, even for a second, attention from men surprises me, every time.
I don’t think, Hannah, yikes, walk away. I think, Thank god. I am not alone. He gets it… He drinks the way I eat—to fill something unfillable.
I think about years passing with him, decades. The thought makes me want to puke.
[There is a lot on sexism. There is also a rape.]
I wonder how miraculous my life would be in her body.
“ You know,” she says, “ being skinny is such a strange part of beauty. It’s not the most important part. It’s just the only part you can control. ”
“The point is to be fuckable. ”
I fantasize about butchering myself the way the cooks I work with so beautifully break down a side of beef, carving away the excess until I’m okay.
I want to be badass and free from the patriarchy and skinny.
No one wants me to join Ari on TV because of the roundness of my belly, I am sure. It doesn’t matter, the other stuff.
I think, This is what I wanted. I’m skinny and eighteen and about to go out with a Michelin – starred, kind – of celebrity chef. I wonder why I’m not elated.
“ You’re beautiful, ” he tells me. The claim sounds ridiculous, cruel.
I don’t particularly want him, but being wanted makes up for it.
Nobody goes home sick at The Piche. It’s the restaurant code of honor.
I close the restaurant, stumble home drunk on exhaustion at 2 AM, and get up at 5 AM to open the restaurant the next day. “ It builds character, ” they tell the three management trainees.
At first, I love the profundity of my exhaustion when I come home, the satisfaction of the ache in the arches of my feet, my lower back, proof I have worked.
The day ahead here feels like a prison.
I don’t stop talking about whether to quit or not to quit. I’m trying to decide. Both options fill me with hot dread. I feel resigned. I fear that if I stay, Josh’s prediction will come true.
My soul will be constricted and slicked down, like my hair, until, starved for breath, it deflates. Yet if I go, I will be a quitter, a failure at my first real grown-up job.
What she really wants from work:
It’s the creativity, the spirit, the heart.
The Corporate Steakhouse could never have been home. Walking out past the koi for the last time, I feel the vast freedom that comes from knowing this, from setting off to find the place that is.
On finding out that what she thought was her dream turned out to be quite different in real life:
Our vision. Our dream. The truth is, I don’t love it or even like it. I am simultaneously stressed and bored.
Anorexia is the most fatal mental illness. Deadly. Before a heart stops, way before hospital visits, furry skin, even when the anorexia is merely an idea of itself, a taste of impending famine, it starts to obliterate things.
I cry in her office. I know I am getting fatter. What was the point of all this struggle? I gain a few pounds, and nobody says anything ever again to anyone’s mom ; nobody worries about me.
I am not better. If anything, I am worse. I still go as long as I can go without eating, until everything around me breaks into little dots and begins to lose its substance. And then I binge.
No longer a secret, the food very slowly loses its tight grip on me. The shame begins to dissipate.
Surreally pretty. I catch myself staring: his sharp jaw, his cheekbones, his underwater eyes. That he likes me, loves me, seems unfathomable.
I notice that the people who love me do not love me more or less if I am thinner or heavier.
My eating disorder is all about me, me, me. A selfish beast. It tricks me into thinking that if I can shrink enough, I will be safe and loved and admired. But I am safe and loved and admired just as I am, no matter what size I wear, even if I have to tell myself this a million times over to half believe it.
“And, God forbid, do not read the Soviet newspapers before lunch.”
“Um … Why, there are no others?”
“Do not read any then. You know, I observed thirty patients in my clinic. And what do you think? Patients who did not read newspapers felt great. Those who I specifically forced to read ‘Pravda’, lost weight.”
“Hmmm,” said the bitten one, ruddy with soup and wine.
“Moreover, reduced knee reflexes, bad appetite, an oppressed state of mind…”
[Translated from Heart of a Dog by Mikhail Bulgakov]
Whenever current affairs get really divisive, my faith in humanity wanes. Like really, wanes.
I am referring to the combination of the Belfast trial, the upcoming referendum in Ireland, the Skripals, the Russian election and the tragic fire in Siberia…
Feeling overwhelmed by all the recent news coverage and watching friends engage in social media battles, I was walking down the street and I really didn’t know how to handle it… and then I realised I was near a gallery.
I went in to look at The taking of Christ by Caravaggio, the most celebrated painting available in Dublin. I sat beside it for like a half-hour, probably looking like a mad person.
I stared at it just to get my mind off the other stuff.
I vaguely remembered a lecture that discussed how the arms of the different characters are all disproportionate. Look at Judas vs Jesus vs guard in armour:
And then I thought: Jesus, there are some serious problems with this painting! Yet, this is one of the most celebrated paintings out there. And it is, in my opinion, beautiful.
Just because there is sh*t in the world, it doesn’t mean the world is sh*t.
What I learnt this month experimenting with my image:
Throwback to what the Image Experiment is. Basically, me, a pretty average-looking millennial girl, who isn’t very appearance-conscious, just enough to own a few Marc Jacobs bags and Hermes scarves, but not to wear them very often, trying to follow the cool kids’ image trends.
Null hypothesis: for a woman with no obvious image problems, there is no benefit in working on her image by using popular make up routines (I have changed this to following trends and paying more attention to how she looks in general). H1: for a woman with no obvious image problems, there is a benefit in working on her image by following trends and paying more attention to how she looks in general.
I lost 5% of my body weight without any conscious effort.
Numbers? 3 kg, or 7 pounds, in one month. No hunger. No gym. No BS, as they say. Not even a new fancy water bottle.
Historically, my appetite goes up and down, for months at a time, and there doesn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to it.
As a consequence, my weight has always fluctuated. I wish it didn’t because I end up with a proliferation of different size clothes, but fighting it is a monumental investment of energy I am not prepared to make. Thus, I go between a BMI of 22 and 26.
My self-esteem follows closely.
I wonder if doing my Image Experiment caused this latest appetite decline. One of the premises of the experiment was that “when we signal to others, we signal to ourselves, just a little bit.” I am starting to think that this is indeed true. After all, when you are aware that others are looking at you, you behave differently. Not necessarily better or worse, just differently.
Being more cognisant that I am not alone in this world, I guess I became more in tune with my belief that a certain range of weight is fundamental to looking maximally well. (Sorry I am not more #bodypositive). Since I do want to engage with people around me, I want to make it is easy as possible. And it is easier when you look well. Hence, the weight change. Or so I hypothesise.
I discovered a new rendition of beauty.
I have done the dirty deed of using the discover section of Instagram. Usually, the cat photos cheer me up. The photos of people’s lifestyles? Not so much. Yeah, yeah, don’t compare yourself. Yeah, it’s a highlight reel. Yeah, they are all edited, often professionally – and taken by photographers. But still.
This time though, I was cheered up alright. I found an ethnic girl who was really stunning. Does she look beautiful in the usual Western, Hollywood sense? I don’t think so. Her eyebrows are weird, her chin is too pointy, her lips aren’t big enough, she doesn’t try to go for the same type of sexy look that we’re used to seeing.
There was something refreshing and life-affirming about seeing this. It’s not quite beauty in all shapes and sizes, again sorry #bodypositive people, but it is something to do with diversity. (P.S. To annoy supporters of social constructionism even more: despite being indoctrinated with images of people like Charlise Theron and Michelle Pfeiffer all my life, I still think this girl is stunning. Explain?)
As for the goodies you see in the photo, all of them are 5/5.
I heard a lot of bad things about Pantene: that it makes your hair fall out, etc, but I’ve used it at various point all my life and I think it’s great. And very cheap for what it is. Hair was super silky and light after using the conditioner and the 1 minutes ampoules. The ampoules in the box are actual real plastic ampoules, you have to break the top off, as if it’s heparin or something. They would make you feel very much like “stand back, I am doing science”, if you’re a five year old, that is.
The L’Oreal clay facial wash with charcoal is actually black, which feels odd, but it’s nice and leaves your skin supple.
The Freeman clay mask with sea minerals is phenomenal. One of the best I tried. It’s violently electric blue though, so apply privately and in confidence.
The Seba Med thing came in the Birchbox, it is like paint stripper, only it didn’t cause excess dryness, to my great surprise. I would still use sparingly. Birchbox is increasingly useless, but anyway, I will keep subscribed for the time being.
I also tried the Herbal Essences Dry Shampoo. It was a lot more palatable, I should really say more tolerable, though some does inevitably make its way onto your soft palate, than the more common Batiste variety. Even though it’s not tinted, this dry shampoo wasn’t very noticeable in my hair, which is a great thing (because the tinted varieties prevent you from touching your hair, unless you’re planning to wash your hands straight after that or look like a coal miner). But you really, really have to shake it like a gin fizz. If not, you’ll end up with wet hair like I did when I first tried it.
To figure out what it is I want to look like, I made a Pinterest board. It really helped, and it’s great for making shopping lists. All these beautiful people have done the hard work of figuring out what goes well together and so all I have to do is pick and choose. Or basically, copy what they did. Handy!
The only downside is that now I am convinced I need an Yves Saint Laurent bag.