Alright, alright, alright, let's just pump the brakes. 'Cause if I see one more direct-to-consumer brand "revolutionize" the T-shirt, or another one of those "stealth wealth" lists mention a $200+ tee from another "quite luxury" brand, I might do something drastic. Don't try to sell me a white tee that costs more than $10. Don't tell me I have to hand wash it or hang dry it. And absolutely don't tell me I can't bleach it. Honestly, if it were up to me, new interpretations of the T-shirt would be banned. No one, here or abroad, is gonna come up with anything better than the Hanes Beefy-T. Sorry everyone! Find something else to do. The Beefy-T has an impeccable fit and the price is unbeatable. This is my only blank tee, and it should be yours too. |
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Because, yes, they're back. |
| To shoot, to sip, or to mix—with a few celebrity-backed brands in there for good measure. |
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Samantha Irby has a painting of a pink porcelain toilet in her Zoom background. My assumption is that the small piece of art, sitting above my view of her face, is a nod to Irby's desire for readers to consume her books "while taking a shit," as she tells Esquire. Speaking with Irby from her home in Kalamazoo, Michigan is not unlike reading her prose. I prompt her on the varying subject matter she explores in Quietly Hostile—like creating a television pilot, the first day of lockdown, getting stoned, and receiving death threats after writing on HBO's And Just Like That. Then, Irby walks me through her list-like explanations, interspersing anecdotes that make my face hurt from giggling. Her laugh is contagious, and much like her writing, you can't help but smile when witness to it. And while Irby jests on the video call that her work is "not meant to be studied," there's much to learn from an essay writer who creates literary currency out of commiseration and coping. |
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| People over 50 represent a third of the U.S. population and they're desperate for stories and characters geared to their interests. |
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Ludacris is a rockstar and a movie star—and yes, he absolutely knows it. But the 45-year-old multihyphenate, whose real name is Chris Bridges, has stayed surprisingly low-key over the years. Think about it. He's one of the longest-tenured stars of Fast & Furious, where the only thing often bigger than the muscles are the egos, and all matter of beefs have caused cast members to remove themselves from the films. Yet it's the rapper with four number-one albums and three Grammys who's just enjoying the ride. Ludacris recognizes the irony. It only adds to his charm—which extends even to those who wouldn't necessarily call themselves a rap or Fast fan. C'mon, everyone loves Luda! I tell him that's exactly why he was at the top of Esquire's "Fast & Furious Week" wish list. Ludacris then does something he doesn't do enough of. He takes a moment. Forces himself to stay still. "I'll be honest with you," he says. "I need to hear you say shit like that in order for it to become a reality to me. That makes me feel fucking phenomenal." |
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