This year, Jennifer Lawrence became the girl that everyone loved. Guys want to get with her, girls want to be her. And if they aren’t her, then they want to be her best friend. Like me, she gives off the “I don’t give a shit what people say or think” attitude, except unlike me, people like her because of it. Maybe if I was Katniss Everdeen I’d be more liked by people who do archery and appreciate a girl with a big mouth. With the Golden Globes around the corner, I thought the time had come for me to join the JLaw bandwagon. After all, her year wouldn’t be that accomplished without a shoutout from The FYD.
Whenever I try to picture Jennifer Lawrence in my mind, I, for some odd reason, can only think of the Disney Channel star Debby Ryan (from “Suite Life on Deck” and “Jessie”) who is cute–def not as hot as JLaw though–and actually smiles for pics. Whenever this happens I get so frustrated that I google “Jennifer Lawrence” on my iPhone so that I can remember her face and let a wave of relief wash over me. I’ve seen every movie JLaw has been in (including Like Crazy, one of my fav movies of all time) and I seem to google her face ten times a day yet it still refuses to ingrain itself in my mind. I think that really says something.
It’s underrated how she got her start in The Hunger Games. I mean, she had a small career beforehand, but you didn’t really know her until you knew Katniss. The Hunger Games reminds me of my tomboy literary phase in sixth grade. I never went through a tomboy phase in terms of how I dressed, but I read “boy books” for a while. How can just a literary work of tomboy-ness bring out someone regarded as one of the most glamorous people in the world?
I do love JLaw, however. I think that she is very real and has intentions of being the role model that wasn’t out there before. I love that she fell on her way to receive her Oscar and I love that she fell because she was thinking about cake. I also love how genius it was of her to finally tell the media that she fell because she was thinking about cake so strategically right before Golden Globes, as if to say, “give me the Golden Globe for my role in American Hustle and I promise I will do something that will further prove how much of a real, down-to-earth food-lover I am!” Her fall also means that when I inevitably fall on the way to get my Oscar one day I won’t be the first one to do it. The experience will be much less scarring.
As much as I love her, I also think she’s slightly overrated. Some people say they think she’s overrated in terms of her looks, which I totally disagree with. The people that say that are just jealous. I think she’s overrated in terms of how special she is, so to speak. We decided she was amazing because of how vivid she seems through the screen of a MacBook or captured in a magazine photograph. We love her because she’s young, and she’s fresh. I never would have picked her acting skills out of a crowd. Don’t get me wrong, she mastered Katniss, but… well… it’s Katniss.
The first time I saw Silver Linings Playbook, I thought that someone had secretly done an autobiography of my life without my knowledge or approval. JLaw’s diner-freakout scene could easily have been directly taken from any time between November and April of my senior year of high school. People thought her acting in that movie, and in that scene in particular, was crazy. For me it was just like a #tbt or whatever.
Recently, I read a really interesting article about JLaw and all of the things she says about body image–how no one can ever make her diet, she loves a burger and fries, etc. The article, which I believe was on HuffPost, said that the only reason we commend JLaw for being so “real” about her secretly naughty eating habits and her curves is because she manages to portray this persona while still looking thin, beautiful, and healthy all of the time. If someone who needed to lose weight made such a statement about loving a cheeseburger almost every time she opened her mouth, we would probably be disgusted. We would think that she’s being careless and sloppy and needs to go on a diet. But when JLaw does it, we clap for her because she does it and still looks like she doesn’t. This is something I’ve thought about for a long time, but never felt resonated with enough people that I could actually say it and believe it was true. But it totally is.
So, where does that leave us with JLaw? Still love her. Still think she’ll win a shitload of awards for everything she’s done. Still think she’ll continue to talk about food like it’s nobody’s business. But also still think she should make us think about what’s really real and what isn’t.
A couple of months ago, a guy friend jokingly told me that he would sue me because The FYD is a “fallacy.” He said it was a rip off for not properly representing its title. It’s true–I mention fro-yo every once in a while, but I don’t really write about it. On the exact one year anniversary of The FYD, I figured it would be a good time to start.
Frozen yogurt is a very generational thing, which gave reason to the titling of The FYD. Fro-yo is just as millennial as we are not because of the mass amount of chain stores spreading faster than wild fire through an unkempt bikini line, but because of the nature of the product itself.
Fro-yo is quick demand and quick satisfaction. Think fast food for the anorexic. We also believe we can eat more fro-yo than we can ice cream, which is really only half true. Sometimes, I eat fro-yo for lunch or dinner and never feel half-bad about it. If I ate ice cream as often as I did fro-yo (which may or may not sometimes be twice a day) I would feel much shittier, be 10 pounds heavier, and have to go to the bathroom a lot more. We like to think fro-yo is guilt free, which is exactly what we’re supposed to think. Obviously, like all things in life, it isn’t.
Sure, it’s low fat or fat free. But it’s still full of shit, and has enough chemicals to provide a seventh grade girls’ basketball team with full keratin treatments. Fro-yo is kind of like makeup. We can pretend we’re skinny because we make the choice to eat fro-yo and we can pretend we have good skin when we’re really just wearing a lot of makeup. But at the end of the day, you have to realize that you’re just using cash from the third night of Hanukkah to cover up your acne and you’re not losing weight by eating healthier ice cream. If you were actually skinny you’d be eating kale and not cake batter. We’re caught in the vicious cycle of deceit via the deadly sins of Sephora and (insert your go-to fro-yo place here).
You never have to settle on fro-yo. 21 flavors! 50 toppings! It isn’t like a fraternity mixer where you’re stuck deciding between the unattractive Jew and the semi-attractive goy that your mom would not approve of. We should take a moment and be thankful, because back in the day, it wasn’t always like this. The options weren’t always endless. Now, of course, they pretty much are.
Fro-yo started out as Forty Carrots at Bloomingdale’s, where wealthy mothers and grandmothers would take their dressed-up daughters on Saturdays. Today, we all love a good Forty Carrots Instagram. It’s the elegance and class of frozen yogurt captured in Lo-Fi. But fro-yo really rose with Pinkberry in NYC and LA. You could choose from two flavors (maybe three? My memory gets worse with age, ugh) and have the guy behind the counter put two toppings on–more if you had a privileged childhood with money to spend on the luxury of yogurt. Yum.
The problem with trends, like fro-yo, is that they usually die out. Then, they just become another throwback Buzzfeed article to post on your best friend’s wall. Like haha! remember when we thought fro-yo would make us skinny?! Now we just eat large gulps of air!
But I don’t necessarily think fro-yo is a fad. Yes, it’s artificial, but it’s also an indulgence. It’s one of the few things that allow us not to feel constantly shitty about how we look or what we’re doing and how we’re feeling. For once, society was able to provide our generation–a generation in which “plus size” is anything above a size 6–with something good. Kale, I love you, but you don’t always do it for me.
I used to think it was very mature of people to “get coffee.” When I got my license and started “chatting over fro-yo” with friends on weeknights, I felt like an adult. Funny, because in reality, I’m really just a millennial eating fake ice cream, and that’s all.
For the past year, I’ve been trying to learn through The FYD. I want to bring up things we accept as normal into question. I wonder why we, as millennials, do the things we do. But eventually, I’ve come to realize and accept that I can write for a thousand years and still never completely understand one thing: the mind of a guy. Tons of magazines, websites, and publications with a female-targeted audience have columns written by men to try and help women figure out what really goes on behind the six packs, the sideburns, and the sex. However, I still feel like “Jared, a college student from Florida!” or “Brian, in his second year of law school!” just aren’t doing it for me. I don’t know Jared, I don’t know Brian, and what both of them (along with the hundreds of other guys who write for girls) state in their pieces is typically predictable.
Enter a new flavor of The Fro-Yo Diairies: “Douche de Leche,” a segment featuring pieces for girls to gape at and guys to laugh at written by some of my closest male friends, almost completely uncensored. I’m not telling them what to say (though I will edit for grammatical errors, obviously I’m too type-A to let that slide) and I’m not telling them how to say it.
Now, I present to you, the first installment of Douche de Leche… enjoy.
Women always think men have these “thoughts” about them. But when I take a step back, the first thing I think about women is the ridiculousness of what they think I’m thinking. Here’s a list of things I find hilarious about women and their most common misconceptions:
1. GIRLS & THEIR HAIR When girls think guys care about their hair. I’m twisted already, do you really think I’m gonna give a shit if your hair is in front of your shoulders or behind? Just don’t shave that shit and it’s all good.
2. GIRLS & DANCING When a girl thinks a guy thinks it’s all good if she doesn’t know how to dance. Guys rage with their homies and raging is fun. But then when I’m dancing, I’m trying to get with you, and it’s just a huge bust if you can’t dance. A shitty dancer and a rager is probably the worst recipe known to mankind.
3. GIRLS BEING FUNNY Girls think that they need to be hilarious for guys to want to be around them. You know, I’d love a funny girl, but you know what I hate? A not funny girl who tries to be funny. If a girl cracks a joke and it’s hilarious, then they probably are amazing. On the other hand, if she makes the joke in the center of a circle that was expecting a funny joke, all she did was let me down. My night is practically ruined. If she didn’t pay for my cab home, I’d take a dump on her doorstep.
4. GIRLS PLAYING HARD TO GET Girls always seem to run into this debate of whether they should play hard to get, or be just be slutty and get the deed done. On a serious note, life is going to put you in your place, so just be yourself. You’re going to find someone who, whatever you’re doing, can’t help but come over to you. To all the ladies that don’t think they will: just be patient. There are so many late night snacks made just for you to substitute for a shitty night. Sooner or later you’ll hit the jackpot, and if you don’t, just move out of the country. They have places like Kyrgyzstan for that.
5. GIRLS EATING Girls always seem to stuff their faces either when they’re tripping balls or they’re in a comfortable sober state. Whatever it is, food goes down your throat and to your stomach (and elsewhere). It’s not too visible to us if you overdose on dinner, but it’s definitely enough for you to feel it and then start getting self-conscious. Self-consciousness is like bacon–you smell it from all the way upstairs. Except self-consciousness is like a pure, fatty, nasty ass piece of bacon I’d never eat. Before you go out, either start feeling good about yourself (because you probably look great), or don’t go out at all if it’ll only make you feel worse.
6. GIRLS & FACEBOOK Girls and Facebook, holy mother****** shit. If there was one thing that really couldn’t matter in this world, its whether you give the kiss face or the other face that definitely doesn’t have a name. Look, if you want to know the truth, the profile pictures are where we’re looking. If guys wanna show someone this hot girl, they don’t say, “Dude, let me show you the 3,000,000 pictures this girl is tagged in.” Instead, it’s more like, “Let me see the most beautiful pictures she has,” which are usually the profile pictures. So ladies, just relax. Your night isn’t over if you take one picture where it looks like you just got punched in the face. It’s all good, don’t worry. Seriously, it’s all good.
Afterward: The author of this piece was very excited to be featured on The FYD and wanted me to share this–I love you all, everybody that reads this, I can’t explain over the internet, but just know that I really do love you all. In other news, guys are insane.
First, take note: my laptop does not spell check “Thanksgivukkah.” This holiday shan’t be red squiggly lined. It’s for real, people.
For a curvy Jewish girl/all-American like me, Thanksgivukkah is the best thing to ever happen. I get to eat until I vomit, and once I vomit all over my clothes, I’ll be gifted a new shirt to change into. How clutch is that? It’s like god is repenting me for my sins and giving me a soft cushion to land my fat ass on… do I sense a lil bit of Yom Kippur thrown in here?
If you’re still confused, Thanksgivukkah = Thankgiving +
Hanukkah Hannahkkah, both of which happen to fall on the same day this year. It’s like a more generic and Judaically acceptable Chrismukkah. All in favor of an OC reunion to shoot a Thanksgivukkah episode, say “Shalom.” SHALOM, BITCHES.
The irony of Thanksgivukkah is that we have to be thankful for things like family, Buzzfeed as a news source, tempur pedic pillows, frozen yogurt, and our waxing ladies while at the same time allowing ourselves to be spoiled by aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, and, if you’re lucky, significant others.
A lot of people are literally trying to combine Thanksgiving and Hanukkah by making latke-flavored turkey stuffing or baking gelt-bottomed pumpkin pie. Here are some creative ways I recommend for combining two of my all-time fav holidays:
- Buy a pet turkey and bobby pin a kippah to its head. Don’t worry about having a wild turkey in your home, it’s totally kosher. Just have it chill with your dog or something.
- Stuff your turkey (your dinner turkey, not your pet turkey) with Free People gift cards for the whole family to enjoy. This is also known as the low carb option.
- Only serve Manischewitz. Then again, you should always only serve Manischewitz.
- Dress code required: come as a pilgrim, a Native American, or a rabbi (with payis).
- Only cook with butter, because obvi, there’s barely any oil left.
- Serve pumpkin fro-yo. It’s the perfect combo of “Thanksgiving festive” and “Jewish girl swag.”
- I’ve mentioned this before, but wear your tallit as a scarf. I’m really into this these days.
- Use menorahs as mood lighting. It’ll be the chicest Thanksgiving ever.
- Go in a circle and have everyone say which Judaism-associated sorority or fraternity they are thankful for.
- Set a place at your table for Elijah. I know, I know, he’s the guy from Passover, but Elijah references in every day life make everything seem more Jewish.
Happy Thanksgivukkah! Don’t forget to hit up the black Friday sales, because every Jew would want you to celebrate a national holiday with a good bargain.
Before I decided I wanted to become
Carrie Bradshaw a writer, I wanted to be an artist. First, I had an infatuation with the idea of being a marine biologist photographer for NatGeo. This seed was planted in my head when I was but a decade old, and all I wanted to do with my life was hang out with manatees and take cool photos. In middle school, I shyed away from marine biology and leaned toward rock n’ roll. I wanted to photograph trendy shit, like fashion and famous people wearing weird outfits (or, rather, no outfits). My most recent obsession has been in film, not that I’m handy with a video camera whatsoever. In high school I took up acrylic painting on canvas. Now I have a sick DSLR, a beautiful easel, pallet, brushes, and paint set, and an Instagram (Insta covers the trendy photog shit). But, unfortunately, I stopped thinking like an artist and started writing like a yenta.
Since I discovered that I’m really born to write, I haven’t had as much time to paint, swim with sea animals, or to even charge my Nikon. I thought it would be great to take a trip down memory lane and reeducate myself. After all, a huge part of being trendy is remaining culturally in tact with the artistic community. I have this good friend, Juliette Hayt, who is the most talented chick I’ve ever met. She uses oil, watercolor, and arcylic paint and then inks and pens for illustration. Juliette claims that her dark/surreal subject matter doesn’t reflect her as a person and that it all comes from her subconscious. OK, Jules, that’s like me claiming I dressed up as Wednesday Addams for Halloween just “because I felt like it” and not because she’s actually my alter-ego.
What I decided to do for this week’s flavor is to take some of the coolest shit Juliette’s made and then analyze it through an FYDer’s point of view. Enjoy!
This is an example of a dystopian society in which Jewish women around the world have eaten so much fro-yo that their bodies are starting to melt. Eventually, everyone’s body will be a puddle of fro-yo. The women Juliette featured were once big fans of the mango and pistachio flavors.
This is an edgy representation of one of my favorite movie scenes of all time:
This piece represents the horrors that ensue when boys speak their opinions as well as the complex of the egotistical man. More specifically, it dives deep into what happens when you’re at a liberal arts college and on some sort of hallucinogenic drug and a boy makes a sexist comment. The braces are a strong symbol for how boys think their opinions are more important than ours, but, like braces, they are really just ugly and probably not worth what you paid for them.
This is what happens when girls waste their calories on carbs instead of fro-yo. We become green monsters and not even keratin will fix our hair once it’s turned into spaghetti. These girls were clearly once very trendy because they are wearing baggy, vintage t-shirts with slogans like “yum” and a mustache on them. They also have crazy thigh gaps. The moral being portrayed here is “don’t be spaghetti, and also get keratin.”
People are very split when it comes to opinions on Instagramming food. Many of you have read (and if you haven’t, then you should) Katherine Markovich’s “An Open Letter To People Who Take Pictures of Food With Instagram,” posted on McSweeny’s not too long ago. The column piece went absolutely viral as thousands and thousands of people who spend entirely too much time on Facebook/the internet ironically agreed with Markovich’s scornful rant on those who combine eating time with social media presence. As a food-stagramer myself, I cannot say that I am against the movement. I’d like to write an “open letter” to this thought-piece which, although humorous, just doesn’t get it right.
First of all, no matter how hard you try, you are never going to get people to stop taking photos of their food. Why? Many reasons. People like food. People really, really like food. Also, sometimes people have a hard time finding something to Instagram. And when those people haven’t Instagrammed in quite some time and are looking to turn something from dull to Lo-Fi brilliance, food is an easy place to turn.
Second of all, the title of her piece is almost as infuriating as the piece itself. You cannot take a “picture.” You can, however, take a photograph. And you (usually) don’t take photos of something “with” Instagram. The piece’s title just goes to show how little Markovich knows about Insta and it’s utilization in American syntax. “To Instagram” is a verb, and “Instagram” is a proper noun in reference to the application itself. But you cannot do or take something with Instagram. And if you don’t know that about Insta-grammar (clever, right?), then you shouldn’t be writing an article about Instagram at all.
When I went to Italy last summer, we would take photos of our meals every time we ate. Yes, I Insta’d a bunch of them. But I wasn’t Insta’ing every single plate at every single meal. Most were for the memories. You can food-stagram in moderation, and that’s OK. My mentor in life, love, and the pursuit of
being skinny happiness, Bethenny Frankel, says “Food is not your best friend or your enemy.” Food is like a one night stand–just because we’re Instagramming a photo of it doesn’t mean that we’re obsessed with it. It just means it looks yummy and delicious and would look great in Amaro.
A big point that most people make in the case against food-stagramming is that people who do it think of themselves as professional photographers or artists. No, no, no, don’t even go there girlfriend. Posting a photo of a slice of chocolate cake is just like posting a photo of you and your best friend… especially for some people. Lolz.
Now that you’re hungry, click here for some food porn.