Everyone has their own self-imposed rules about drinking. I won’t touch alcohol when I’m sick, unless it’s high-proof bourbon, which creates an internal environment inhospitable to bacteria and viruses. (Right?) Whatever your rules are, I’d guess that the idea of a glass of wine with breakfast registers immediately as risqué. But why? Editor-in-chief Michael Sebastian fearlessly considers the question, and the answer has ramifications for all of us. —Kevin Dupzyk, features director
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Doing so may also hurt your productivity—which is maybe a good thing.
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A video popped into my feed last week showing Kevin O’Leary, one of the Shark Tank hosts, extolling the virtues of drinking wine for breakfast. “This is my biggest weakness—I love wine,” he says on Logan Paul’s vodcast, Impaulsive. “But if you drink wine three hours before you go to bed, you really screw up your sleep. You get no REM. The best thing to do is get up in the morning and drink.”
I was thinking about the clip as I rolled through Newark Airport recently. Americans are drinking less than any time on record, but you wouldn’t know it at the nation’s airports, where travelers are bellied up to the bar at 7:00 a.m., slugging wine, beer, and cocktails. Ahead of my 7:30 a.m. flight, I saw a middle-aged woman sitting by herself sipping a martini. I was impressed.
Of course, any self-imposed rules about drinking—not before 5:00 p.m., never alone, whatever—cease to exist once you pass through TSA. The plane is boarding in 30 minutes? Do whatever the hell makes you happy. But what about O’Leary’s idea that you should drink at breakfast when, you know, you don’t have a flight to catch? On, say, a regular Tuesday? Is that an idea worth pursuing? Should we be pairing our Greek yogurt with a crisp glass of Assyrtiko or sipping pink Taittinger Champagne with our scrambled eggs in the manner of James Bond?
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Dressing for warm weather can be daunting. Gone are the days of the layers, the rich fabrics, the license to pile on for the sake of aesthetics (and comfort). Now it’s all about stripping down and finding the right way to balance an outfit when every inch of excess fabric could transform you from cool and collected to sodden and surly.
It’s a challenge from which some men choose to resign. Not long ago, I happened upon a guy on the Internet writing about how to get dressed for summer. He described the overarching mandate as, simply, “damage control.” I admire his realism and understand his position. But even if you hate the heat as much as I do—and, man, do I fucking hate the heat—you can dress for the upcoming season without slumping into despair. In fact, if you really lean into it, you might find some unexpected joy in cooking up a great summer outfit.
The trick, of course, is to start with the right ingredients.
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You can leave the Backrooms, if you’re lucky, but the Backrooms may never leave you. This summer’s buzzy horror hit, Backrooms, is now playing in theaters. But while its mysteries will draw people in, it’s how it ends that might linger with audiences after the credits roll.
Based on the popular Internet folklore born on 4chan, Backrooms is shaping up to be the biggest horror blockbuster of the summer after Obsession. But what to make of Backrooms’ mystifying final image? Here’s how to decode the end of Backrooms.
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