On a clear, warm weekday evening near the tail end of summer, I stood on a rooftop in the middle of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, feeling feelings.

We’ve all heard about it from our friends, seen the memes on social media, or at least read about it somewhere: Retinol is queen bee of this whole anti-aging thing.

When it comes to finding love these days, we all need a strategy. At least, that’s what Jennie Young thinks.

High Touch was not supposed to be solely about me or about cancer.

“I am the only one who plans and cooks in our house, and I want to cry sometimes.” In Milwaukee, Erica James* is fed up with the never-ending task of feeding her family.

After logging time as an editorial staffer on the Kardashian-Jenner apps, and trying her hand in beauty media, writer Jessica DeFino launched her Substack newsletter, The Unpublishable, in 2021.

I was in my apartment one morning in early spring when my phone rang. It was my brother. As always, he was the one who had phoned me. “Can you do me a favor?” he asked. “I need your help.

In 1996, after news of Tupac’s murder broke, my mother and 15-year-old me got into an argument on the way home from school.

With stress and lack of support both independently leading to anger, it’s no wonder modern Motherhood feels like a structure fire — it’s positioned at the intersection of two leaking gas lines.

I had my first DEXA scan this past June, after both my primary care physician and my gynecologist suggested I get one.

The year is 2014. Sia’s Chandelier rules Billboard’s top 10. You’ve just purchased a wide-brimmed hat and printed midi skirt from NastyGal.com.

Even if you aren’t following Paulina Porizkova on Instagram, her name likely rings a bell.

It started maybe seven years ago. I’d wake up at one o’clock, two o’clock, maybe even three. Did I startle from the house settling? An alarm?

As you enter your mid to late 30s, you embark on a new chapter of preventative healthcare.

Twenty-three women set out to get a raise. They were outperforming their male colleagues — had been for years — despite unequal working conditions, lackluster promotional efforts, and performance bonuses nothing short of pathetic.

In one of my local Facebook groups, I often see women asking anonymously if they should leave a rocky marriage.

In the months leading up to my 45th birthday, I had been feeling confident about my professional prospects for the future.

Something was wrong with Mom’s brain. Last summer, she began taking a muscle relaxant for crippling arthritis pain and started acting bizarre.

A few years ago, my boyfriend left for work during a pounding rainstorm for his half-hour commute. I texted him an hour later to make sure he’d arrived okay.

On Saturday, my younger child will graduate from high school, just like so many thousands and thousands of kids have over the last few weeks.