Biker Assuming I'm Just An Old Lady Was Your First Mistake Tshirts Black
Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: https://thorshirts.com/product/wrestling-assuming-im-just-an-old-lady-was-your-first-mistake-vintage-shirt-2/ You might know Gabrielle Korn’s byline from her work for Autostraddle, Refinery29, InStyle, and a host of other digital media publications where she’s written about everything from the beauty industry to living as a lesbian with an eating disorder and the insidious cult of low-rise jeans.If not, you might remember Korn from her tenure as the youngest-ever editor in chief of Nylon Media, where she was also one of the only openly queer people on the upper echelons of a media masthead. On Tuesday, Korn—who is currently the editorial and publishing lead of Netflix’s LGBTQ+ storytelling channel, The Most—published Everybody (Else) Is Perfect, a chronicle of her time falling in and out of love with the media industry, beauty, fashion, and a few different women along the way. This week, Vogue spoke to Korn about the experience of writing so openly about her own life, the strangeness of debuting a memoir in a pandemic, and her vision of what the future of LGBTQ+ media could look like.Vogue: First of all, what has the experience of releasing your debut book into a pandemic been like? Obviously, nobody could have predicted this, but did you imagine what this time would be like while you were writing?Gabrielle Korn: I did picture the book coming out, but it was so long ago. When I got the book deal, I was still the editor in chief of Nylon, so my life was different in every single way. The vision that I had for it is in no way what is happening, on any level. And I think in a lot of ways, that’s a good thing. Having a pandemic book launch is depressing, but I’m also so grateful for all of the support. I’ve been talking to my friends about how guilty I feel about all the self-promotion, and they’re just like, “Yeah, but just do it.”Corny question: How are you making space for joy in this bizarre time?I’ve always been very routine oriented, and because I’m working on West Coast time, I have mornings to myself. So I’ve been doing my, like, stupid little Zoom workouts every morning and keeping to some semblance of a schedule because if I don’t, I’ll just move from the couch to the bed and back.Your book zeroes in on so many of the hypocrisies and inequities of digital media while also displaying real love for it as well. Is there anything you wanted readers to come away knowing about the industry?The fashion and digital media industries have been so glorified, and I think it’s really important for people to understand that work is work. Also, when you have an industry that basically runs on creating free content, it’s not going to be a sustainable working environment for the people making that content. I wanted to peel back the curtain on that—am I mixing my metaphors?No, that works.I feel like so many young people want to get into this industry as their ultimate aspiration, and what I really wanted to do was give them permission to have dreams that are larger than media. I think it’s so hard for us, especially as people who want to write, to imagine anything bigger than writing for a publication, but the truth is it can be a stop along the way.Is there anything that’s giving you hope about media now?Well, the conversations around racism in media that happened over the summer are so overdue and so important. I think those had a huge impact. And with leadership changes in a lot of places, I feel hopeful, but what needs to happen now is a hiring and retention emergency. Companies need to figure out why people of color don’t stay, and they need to fix the problems that are causing them to leave.You and I have talked about this before, but there are so few out lesbian role models in media. What does it feel like to be one of them?It’s weird! It’s funny to be old enough that people look up to me. I’ll probably never get over that. I mostly feel really proud of it. Sometimes it feels like a burden, but it’s also such a gift.What do you want for LGBTQ+ folks in media that you don’t already see out there?What I’ve seen in [LGBTQ+] representation recently is an enormous push to have queer and trans people, and especially queer and trans people of color, in front of the camera. And I think that’s great and important. But we also need those people behind the camera; we need them on staff making decisions and telling the stories of their own communities in a way where they’re not tokenized. You can’t have diversity that’s just superficial; if your idea of diversity is just what people can see, then you’re just doing it for clout.I know you got your start at Autostraddle, but I’m wondering what other queer resources you wish you had when you were younger?I wish that I had a media landscape that acknowledged that lesbians exist, which I think has only recently started to happen. Wasn’t it you who wrote the article about Shane [from The L Word]?Yes, that was me!I feel like that was when I knew Vogue had a lesbian writer on staff. Unfortunately, people who are not from marginalized communities often make the mistake of thinking that being a member of a community makes you an expert on all parts of that community. So the one lesbian at every company is often tasked with speaking for LGBTQ+ people as a whole. And that’s not how this works.As a queer person, what makes you feel like you’re taking up the kind of space that makes you genuinely proud?Passing the mic, honestly. I know that’s an ironic thing to say while I’m in the middle of promoting my own book. But there came a point where I just felt like I should not be the face that people associate with Nylon. That time is over, it should be over. So I started using my position to elevate other people—whether it was people on staff, or artists, whoever—and that felt really good to me because it was like, Okay, I am a queer person who got in the door, I have a seat at the table. Now what I need to do with that seat is make more room.You write so openly and fearlessly about your experience with disordered eating. How did you get yourself in a mental place to do that?It was really hard. I had been in a lot of treatment, including work with a therapist, a psychiatrist, a nutritionist, and a physician. I started out just writing about recovery because I didn’t really want to talk to anybody about it. So I already had all of the honest, raw writing about it when I began the book. It actually became a matter of paring it back and thinking about, What is helpful for other people? What could accidentally be harmful? What do I feel comfortable with strangers knowing? What will it feel like to have people read this?Did you want your memoir to be in conversation with anything else that’s on there?When you’re writing, I feel like you either have to read everything or nothing on the topic, but there were a couple things that really inspired me. One was Hunger by Roxane Gay—the frankness with which she writes about food was really inspiring. And then Michelle Tea came out with a book of essays right when I started mine, and I was really inspired by the way she talked about pop culture as a way to talk about what her life was like when that piece of pop culture came out. That’s when I decided to do, like, a section about my love for Bright Eyes when I was 14. It was like, Oh, you can just talk about a band you love? And use it as a way to talk about what’s happening? The first Broadway play I ever saw was a matinee performance of David Rabe’s Streamers, a shattering tale of masculinity, racism, and homophobia set during the Vietnam War that was playing at Lincoln Center in the summer of 1976. I walked out of that theater stunned and not sure what to do next, so I walked around the city for what must have been hours, trying to absorb what I had just seen.That play was directed by Mike Nichols, a fact I had forgotten until this week, when I was reading Mike Nichols: A Life (Penguin Press), Mark Harris’s fascinating, exhaustively researched, and utterly absorbing biography of the cultural polymath, someone who seemed to move effortlessly between the theater and the movies, conquering them both.It turns out that Streamers came to Nichols at a critical point in both his career and his personal life. A star in his 20s, when he teamed up with Elaine May to create their now legendary comedy team; a wunderkind on Broadway, where he won Tony Awards for the first three plays he directed (Barefoot in the Park, Luv, and The Odd Couple); and then a Hollywood phenomenon, nominated for a directing Oscar for his debut effort (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and then winning that Oscar for his second (The Graduate), Nichols suddenly seemed to have lost his magic touch around the time Streamers was sent to him to read.He had suffered the first real flops of his career—the misfire of Catch-22, followed by The Day of the Dolphin, and The Fortune—and had begun to envy the work of colleagues, like Milos Forman and Robert Altman, who were redefining American cinema. He had also ended the second of his first two marriages, a notably brief union of 11 months, and had moved on to his third. (Decades later, when Aaron Sorkin asked Nichols when he realized his brief marriage wasn’t going to work, he darkly answered, “When she pulled a knife on me.”) Throughout his life, Nichols would have a string of high-profile romances, from Gloria Steinem to the novelist and New Yorker film critic Penelope Gilliatt and a one-sided pursuit of Jackie Onassis, before finding what turned out to be the perfect match in Diane Sawyer, his fourth and final wife. (In an extended footnote, Harris swats away the conjecture, raised in a recently published book about Richard Avedon, that the director and photographer had a clandestine 10-year romantic relationship. “I remained open to any information about Nichols’s history with men that was specific and/or confirmable,” Harris writes. “I found none.”)Streamers marked a return to form for Nichols. It would bring him sold-out audiences, rave reviews, and yet another Tony nomination. It would also establish a pattern that lasted nearly a lifetime: triumph followed by setback, often accompanied by crippling depression (and occasionally substance abuse), followed by yet another successful comeback. It was a roller-coaster life that, no matter how challenging it might have been for Nichols, makes a thrilling tale for the reader.Born Michael Igor Peschkowsky (or Igor Michael Peschkowsky—the record is muddled) in Berlin, the son of a Russian-born father and a German mother, Nichols, as he would later become known, and his brother escaped to the U.S. as Jewish refugees in 1939. An intelligent but indifferent student, he was admitted to the University of Chicago (one of the few schools at the time that accepted applicants with subpar grades but sufficient test scores) and later became part of an improv group, where he met May. The two apparently despised each other on sight but ultimately formed a deep professional and personal bond that would last until Nichols’s death in 2014 at the age of 83.Nichols would start out as an actor, but once he gravitated toward directing, it was clear that he possessed almost an unrivaled gift that enabled him to move skillfully between comedies, dramas, and even musicals (as in Spamalot), making him the most successful director of his generation. In all, he would win nine Tonys (including two for producing) and two directing Emmys and garner four Oscar nominations in addition to his one win. (He and May would also win the 1961 Grammy Award for best comedy album.)Harris, the author of Pictures at a Revolution and Five Came Back (and the husband of playwright Tony Kushner, whose Pulitzer Prize–winning play Angels in America Nichols directed in an Emmy-winning adaptation), clearly has an empathy and a deep admiration for Nichols, but this is not a sugarcoated biography. The piercing cruelty Nichols could show toward performers, often pushing them to the edge of breakdown during rehearsals, is dealt with frankly. “At times, Nichols’s behavior bordered on the sadistic,” Harris writes, describing how during the filming of The Graduate he could be “tough, caustic, dismissive” of Dustin Hoffman, the young actor he had plucked out of obscurity to star as Benjamin Braddock. But so too is the adoration many of his colleagues felt toward him—particularly the women he trusted, nurtured, and closely collaborated with, among them Meryl Streep (Silkwood, Heartburn, Postcards From the Edge), Emma Thompson, Nora Ephron, Carrie Fisher, and, of course, Elaine May.The chapters covering Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate, two of Nichols’s greatest movies and indeed two of the greatest American movies of all time, are among the most engrossing. (Each chapter could have been turned into a book of its own.) Despite both films having been made six decades ago, with many of the key participants now dead, the narratives have a compelling you-are-there quality, as Harris chronicles the tricky business of directing Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Woolf and in The Graduate describes a scene where Dustin Hoffman, secretly encouraged by Nichols, unexpectedly puts his hand on Anne Bancroft’s breast while Bancroft “without breaking character for second, glances at his hand, barely curious” and cooly examines a spot on the sweater she has just taken off. The burden of Mike Nichols: A Life is that it has to retain its readers’ attention to such a degree that they can resist the urge to put the book down for a few hours and watch a Nichols film. Throughout Mike Nichols: A Life, I had to constantly fight the desire to stream Carnal Knowledge, Silkwood, Working Girl, and Primary Colors, to name just a few, until Harris’s skilled storytelling pulled me back in. But, finally, when I turned the last page, I opened my laptop, signed on to my Amazon Prime account, and began rewatching The Graduate. Sheer bliss. https://duancanhovinhomesgoldenriverbason.com/thorshirts-im-not-always-thinking-anout-golf-sometimes-its-guitars-shirt/ https://imagexshirts.com/blog/thorshirts-im-a-software-developer-of-course-crazy-do-you-think-a-sane-person-would-do-this-job-shirt/ https://teeinlife.com/news/thorshirts-if-we-get-in-trouble-its-my-granddaughters-fault-because-i-listened-to-her-shirt/ https://bestcoolshirt.com/items/thorshirts-i-will-never-ride-fast-again-never-shirt/ https://sweatshirtus.com/thorshirts-i-whisper-wtf-to-myself-at-least-20-times-a-day-shirt/ https://dichvudulich24h.com/tin/thorshirts-i-speak-in-disney-song-lyric-and-harry-potter-quotes-shirt/ https://customshirtpro.com/tin/thorshirts-i-ride-my-own-bike-and-i-do-ride-my-own-biker-dont-touch-either-of-them-shirt/ https://dichvusuachuadienlanhtainha24h.com/tin/thorshirts-i-have-two-titles-mom-and-accountant-and-i-rock-them-both-flower-shirt/ https://duanakaricitybinhtan.com/tin/thorshirts-i-am-an-archeryaholic-on-the-road-to-recovery-just-kidding-im-on-the-road-to-the-archery-range-shirt/ https://duandaokimcuong.com/tin/thorshirts-heart-american-4th-of-july-pembroke-welsh-corgi-shirt/ Biker Assuming I'm Just An Old Lady Was Your First Mistake Tshirts Black Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: https://thorshirts.com/product/wrestling-assuming-im-just-an-old-lady-was-your-first-mistake-vintage-shirt-2/ You might know Gabrielle Korn’s byline from her work for Autostraddle, Refinery29, InStyle, and a host of other digital media publications where she’s written about everything from the beauty industry to living as a lesbian with an eating disorder and the insidious cult of low-rise jeans.If not, you might remember Korn from her tenure as the youngest-ever editor in chief of Nylon Media, where she was also one of the only openly queer people on the upper echelons of a media masthead. On Tuesday, Korn—who is currently the editorial and publishing lead of Netflix’s LGBTQ+ storytelling channel, The Most—published Everybody (Else) Is Perfect, a chronicle of her time falling in and out of love with the media industry, beauty, fashion, and a few different women along the way. This week, Vogue spoke to Korn about the experience of writing so openly about her own life, the strangeness of debuting a memoir in a pandemic, and her vision of what the future of LGBTQ+ media could look like.Vogue: First of all, what has the experience of releasing your debut book into a pandemic been like? Obviously, nobody could have predicted this, but did you imagine what this time would be like while you were writing?Gabrielle Korn: I did picture the book coming out, but it was so long ago. When I got the book deal, I was still the editor in chief of Nylon, so my life was different in every single way. The vision that I had for it is in no way what is happening, on any level. And I think in a lot of ways, that’s a good thing. Having a pandemic book launch is depressing, but I’m also so grateful for all of the support. I’ve been talking to my friends about how guilty I feel about all the self-promotion, and they’re just like, “Yeah, but just do it.”Corny question: How are you making space for joy in this bizarre time?I’ve always been very routine oriented, and because I’m working on West Coast time, I have mornings to myself. So I’ve been doing my, like, stupid little Zoom workouts every morning and keeping to some semblance of a schedule because if I don’t, I’ll just move from the couch to the bed and back.Your book zeroes in on so many of the hypocrisies and inequities of digital media while also displaying real love for it as well. Is there anything you wanted readers to come away knowing about the industry?The fashion and digital media industries have been so glorified, and I think it’s really important for people to understand that work is work. Also, when you have an industry that basically runs on creating free content, it’s not going to be a sustainable working environment for the people making that content. I wanted to peel back the curtain on that—am I mixing my metaphors?No, that works.I feel like so many young people want to get into this industry as their ultimate aspiration, and what I really wanted to do was give them permission to have dreams that are larger than media. I think it’s so hard for us, especially as people who want to write, to imagine anything bigger than writing for a publication, but the truth is it can be a stop along the way.Is there anything that’s giving you hope about media now?Well, the conversations around racism in media that happened over the summer are so overdue and so important. I think those had a huge impact. And with leadership changes in a lot of places, I feel hopeful, but what needs to happen now is a hiring and retention emergency. Companies need to figure out why people of color don’t stay, and they need to fix the problems that are causing them to leave.You and I have talked about this before, but there are so few out lesbian role models in media. What does it feel like to be one of them?It’s weird! It’s funny to be old enough that people look up to me. I’ll probably never get over that. I mostly feel really proud of it. Sometimes it feels like a burden, but it’s also such a gift.What do you want for LGBTQ+ folks in media that you don’t already see out there?What I’ve seen in [LGBTQ+] representation recently is an enormous push to have queer and trans people, and especially queer and trans people of color, in front of the camera. And I think that’s great and important. But we also need those people behind the camera; we need them on staff making decisions and telling the stories of their own communities in a way where they’re not tokenized. You can’t have diversity that’s just superficial; if your idea of diversity is just what people can see, then you’re just doing it for clout.I know you got your start at Autostraddle, but I’m wondering what other queer resources you wish you had when you were younger?I wish that I had a media landscape that acknowledged that lesbians exist, which I think has only recently started to happen. Wasn’t it you who wrote the article about Shane [from The L Word]?Yes, that was me!I feel like that was when I knew Vogue had a lesbian writer on staff. Unfortunately, people who are not from marginalized communities often make the mistake of thinking that being a member of a community makes you an expert on all parts of that community. So the one lesbian at every company is often tasked with speaking for LGBTQ+ people as a whole. And that’s not how this works.As a queer person, what makes you feel like you’re taking up the kind of space that makes you genuinely proud?Passing the mic, honestly. I know that’s an ironic thing to say while I’m in the middle of promoting my own book. But there came a point where I just felt like I should not be the face that people associate with Nylon. That time is over, it should be over. So I started using my position to elevate other people—whether it was people on staff, or artists, whoever—and that felt really good to me because it was like, Okay, I am a queer person who got in the door, I have a seat at the table. Now what I need to do with that seat is make more room.You write so openly and fearlessly about your experience with disordered eating. How did you get yourself in a mental place to do that?It was really hard. I had been in a lot of treatment, including work with a therapist, a psychiatrist, a nutritionist, and a physician. I started out just writing about recovery because I didn’t really want to talk to anybody about it. So I already had all of the honest, raw writing about it when I began the book. It actually became a matter of paring it back and thinking about, What is helpful for other people? What could accidentally be harmful? What do I feel comfortable with strangers knowing? What will it feel like to have people read this?Did you want your memoir to be in conversation with anything else that’s on there?When you’re writing, I feel like you either have to read everything or nothing on the topic, but there were a couple things that really inspired me. One was Hunger by Roxane Gay—the frankness with which she writes about food was really inspiring. And then Michelle Tea came out with a book of essays right when I started mine, and I was really inspired by the way she talked about pop culture as a way to talk about what her life was like when that piece of pop culture came out. That’s when I decided to do, like, a section about my love for Bright Eyes when I was 14. It was like, Oh, you can just talk about a band you love? And use it as a way to talk about what’s happening? The first Broadway play I ever saw was a matinee performance of David Rabe’s Streamers, a shattering tale of masculinity, racism, and homophobia set during the Vietnam War that was playing at Lincoln Center in the summer of 1976. I walked out of that theater stunned and not sure what to do next, so I walked around the city for what must have been hours, trying to absorb what I had just seen.That play was directed by Mike Nichols, a fact I had forgotten until this week, when I was reading Mike Nichols: A Life (Penguin Press), Mark Harris’s fascinating, exhaustively researched, and utterly absorbing biography of the cultural polymath, someone who seemed to move effortlessly between the theater and the movies, conquering them both.It turns out that Streamers came to Nichols at a critical point in both his career and his personal life. A star in his 20s, when he teamed up with Elaine May to create their now legendary comedy team; a wunderkind on Broadway, where he won Tony Awards for the first three plays he directed (Barefoot in the Park, Luv, and The Odd Couple); and then a Hollywood phenomenon, nominated for a directing Oscar for his debut effort (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and then winning that Oscar for his second (The Graduate), Nichols suddenly seemed to have lost his magic touch around the time Streamers was sent to him to read.He had suffered the first real flops of his career—the misfire of Catch-22, followed by The Day of the Dolphin, and The Fortune—and had begun to envy the work of colleagues, like Milos Forman and Robert Altman, who were redefining American cinema. He had also ended the second of his first two marriages, a notably brief union of 11 months, and had moved on to his third. (Decades later, when Aaron Sorkin asked Nichols when he realized his brief marriage wasn’t going to work, he darkly answered, “When she pulled a knife on me.”) Throughout his life, Nichols would have a string of high-profile romances, from Gloria Steinem to the novelist and New Yorker film critic Penelope Gilliatt and a one-sided pursuit of Jackie Onassis, before finding what turned out to be the perfect match in Diane Sawyer, his fourth and final wife. (In an extended footnote, Harris swats away the conjecture, raised in a recently published book about Richard Avedon, that the director and photographer had a clandestine 10-year romantic relationship. “I remained open to any information about Nichols’s history with men that was specific and/or confirmable,” Harris writes. “I found none.”)Streamers marked a return to form for Nichols. It would bring him sold-out audiences, rave reviews, and yet another Tony nomination. It would also establish a pattern that lasted nearly a lifetime: triumph followed by setback, often accompanied by crippling depression (and occasionally substance abuse), followed by yet another successful comeback. It was a roller-coaster life that, no matter how challenging it might have been for Nichols, makes a thrilling tale for the reader.Born Michael Igor Peschkowsky (or Igor Michael Peschkowsky—the record is muddled) in Berlin, the son of a Russian-born father and a German mother, Nichols, as he would later become known, and his brother escaped to the U.S. as Jewish refugees in 1939. An intelligent but indifferent student, he was admitted to the University of Chicago (one of the few schools at the time that accepted applicants with subpar grades but sufficient test scores) and later became part of an improv group, where he met May. The two apparently despised each other on sight but ultimately formed a deep professional and personal bond that would last until Nichols’s death in 2014 at the age of 83.Nichols would start out as an actor, but once he gravitated toward directing, it was clear that he possessed almost an unrivaled gift that enabled him to move skillfully between comedies, dramas, and even musicals (as in Spamalot), making him the most successful director of his generation. In all, he would win nine Tonys (including two for producing) and two directing Emmys and garner four Oscar nominations in addition to his one win. (He and May would also win the 1961 Grammy Award for best comedy album.)Harris, the author of Pictures at a Revolution and Five Came Back (and the husband of playwright Tony Kushner, whose Pulitzer Prize–winning play Angels in America Nichols directed in an Emmy-winning adaptation), clearly has an empathy and a deep admiration for Nichols, but this is not a sugarcoated biography. The piercing cruelty Nichols could show toward performers, often pushing them to the edge of breakdown during rehearsals, is dealt with frankly. “At times, Nichols’s behavior bordered on the sadistic,” Harris writes, describing how during the filming of The Graduate he could be “tough, caustic, dismissive” of Dustin Hoffman, the young actor he had plucked out of obscurity to star as Benjamin Braddock. But so too is the adoration many of his colleagues felt toward him—particularly the women he trusted, nurtured, and closely collaborated with, among them Meryl Streep (Silkwood, Heartburn, Postcards From the Edge), Emma Thompson, Nora Ephron, Carrie Fisher, and, of course, Elaine May.The chapters covering Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate, two of Nichols’s greatest movies and indeed two of the greatest American movies of all time, are among the most engrossing. (Each chapter could have been turned into a book of its own.) Despite both films having been made six decades ago, with many of the key participants now dead, the narratives have a compelling you-are-there quality, as Harris chronicles the tricky business of directing Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Woolf and in The Graduate describes a scene where Dustin Hoffman, secretly encouraged by Nichols, unexpectedly puts his hand on Anne Bancroft’s breast while Bancroft “without breaking character for second, glances at his hand, barely curious” and cooly examines a spot on the sweater she has just taken off. The burden of Mike Nichols: A Life is that it has to retain its readers’ attention to such a degree that they can resist the urge to put the book down for a few hours and watch a Nichols film. Throughout Mike Nichols: A Life, I had to constantly fight the desire to stream Carnal Knowledge, Silkwood, Working Girl, and Primary Colors, to name just a few, until Harris’s skilled storytelling pulled me back in. But, finally, when I turned the last page, I opened my laptop, signed on to my Amazon Prime account, and began rewatching The Graduate. Sheer bliss. https://duancanhovinhomesgoldenriverbason.com/thorshirts-im-not-always-thinking-anout-golf-sometimes-its-guitars-shirt/ https://imagexshirts.com/blog/thorshirts-im-a-software-developer-of-course-crazy-do-you-think-a-sane-person-would-do-this-job-shirt/ https://teeinlife.com/news/thorshirts-if-we-get-in-trouble-its-my-granddaughters-fault-because-i-listened-to-her-shirt/ https://bestcoolshirt.com/items/thorshirts-i-will-never-ride-fast-again-never-shirt/ https://sweatshirtus.com/thorshirts-i-whisper-wtf-to-myself-at-least-20-times-a-day-shirt/ https://dichvudulich24h.com/tin/thorshirts-i-speak-in-disney-song-lyric-and-harry-potter-quotes-shirt/ https://customshirtpro.com/tin/thorshirts-i-ride-my-own-bike-and-i-do-ride-my-own-biker-dont-touch-either-of-them-shirt/ https://dichvusuachuadienlanhtainha24h.com/tin/thorshirts-i-have-two-titles-mom-and-accountant-and-i-rock-them-both-flower-shirt/ https://duanakaricitybinhtan.com/tin/thorshirts-i-am-an-archeryaholic-on-the-road-to-recovery-just-kidding-im-on-the-road-to-the-archery-range-shirt/ https://duandaokimcuong.com/tin/thorshirts-heart-american-4th-of-july-pembroke-welsh-corgi-shirt/
Not only the products are shown in the selection, but we also offer other products with this design. Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: https://thorshirts.com/product/wrestling-assuming-im-just-an-old-lady-was-your-first-mistake-vintage-shirt-2/ You might know Gabrielle Korn’s byline from her work for Autostraddle, Refinery29, InStyle, and a host of other digital media publications where she’s written about everything from the beauty industry to living as a lesbian with an eating disorder and the insidious cult of low-rise jeans.If not, you might remember Korn from her tenure as the youngest-ever editor in chief of Nylon Media, where she was also one of the only openly queer people on the upper echelons of a media masthead. On Tuesday, Korn—who is currently the editorial and publishing lead of Netflix’s LGBTQ+ storytelling channel, The Most—published Everybody (Else) Is Perfect, a chronicle of her time falling in and out of love with the media industry, beauty, fashion, and a few different women along the way. This week, Vogue spoke to Korn about the experience of writing so openly about her own life, the strangeness of debuting a memoir in a pandemic, and her vision of what the future of LGBTQ+ media could look like.Vogue: First of all, what has the experience of releasing your debut book into a pandemic been like? Obviously, nobody could have predicted this, but did you imagine what this time would be like while you were writing?Gabrielle Korn: I did picture the book coming out, but it was so long ago. When I got the book deal, I was still the editor in chief of Nylon, so my life was different in every single way. The vision that I had for it is in no way what is happening, on any level. And I think in a lot of ways, that’s a good thing. Having a pandemic book launch is depressing, but I’m also so grateful for all of the support. I’ve been talking to my friends about how guilty I feel about all the self-promotion, and they’re just like, “Yeah, but just do it.”Corny question: How are you making space for joy in this bizarre time?I’ve always been very routine oriented, and because I’m working on West Coast time, I have mornings to myself. So I’ve been doing my, like, stupid little Zoom workouts every morning and keeping to some semblance of a schedule because if I don’t, I’ll just move from the couch to the bed and back.Your book zeroes in on so many of the hypocrisies and inequities of digital media while also displaying real love for it as well. Is there anything you wanted readers to come away knowing about the industry?The fashion and digital media industries have been so glorified, and I think it’s really important for people to understand that work is work. Also, when you have an industry that basically runs on creating free content, it’s not going to be a sustainable working environment for the people making that content. I wanted to peel back the curtain on that—am I mixing my metaphors?No, that works.I feel like so many young people want to get into this industry as their ultimate aspiration, and what I really wanted to do was give them permission to have dreams that are larger than media. I think it’s so hard for us, especially as people who want to write, to imagine anything bigger than writing for a publication, but the truth is it can be a stop along the way.Is there anything that’s giving you hope about media now?Well, the conversations around racism in media that happened over the summer are so overdue and so important. I think those had a huge impact. And with leadership changes in a lot of places, I feel hopeful, but what needs to happen now is a hiring and retention emergency. Companies need to figure out why people of color don’t stay, and they need to fix the problems that are causing them to leave.You and I have talked about this before, but there are so few out lesbian role models in media. What does it feel like to be one of them?It’s weird! It’s funny to be old enough that people look up to me. I’ll probably never get over that. I mostly feel really proud of it. Sometimes it feels like a burden, but it’s also such a gift.What do you want for LGBTQ+ folks in media that you don’t already see out there?What I’ve seen in [LGBTQ+] representation recently is an enormous push to have queer and trans people, and especially queer and trans people of color, in front of the camera. And I think that’s great and important. But we also need those people behind the camera; we need them on staff making decisions and telling the stories of their own communities in a way where they’re not tokenized. You can’t have diversity that’s just superficial; if your idea of diversity is just what people can see, then you’re just doing it for clout.I know you got your start at Autostraddle, but I’m wondering what other queer resources you wish you had when you were younger?I wish that I had a media landscape that acknowledged that lesbians exist, which I think has only recently started to happen. Wasn’t it you who wrote the article about Shane [from The L Word]?Yes, that was me!I feel like that was when I knew Vogue had a lesbian writer on staff. Unfortunately, people who are not from marginalized communities often make the mistake of thinking that being a member of a community makes you an expert on all parts of that community. So the one lesbian at every company is often tasked with speaking for LGBTQ+ people as a whole. And that’s not how this works.As a queer person, what makes you feel like you’re taking up the kind of space that makes you genuinely proud?Passing the mic, honestly. I know that’s an ironic thing to say while I’m in the middle of promoting my own book. But there came a point where I just felt like I should not be the face that people associate with Nylon. That time is over, it should be over. So I started using my position to elevate other people—whether it was people on staff, or artists, whoever—and that felt really good to me because it was like, Okay, I am a queer person who got in the door, I have a seat at the table. Now what I need to do with that seat is make more room.You write so openly and fearlessly about your experience with disordered eating. How did you get yourself in a mental place to do that?It was really hard. I had been in a lot of treatment, including work with a therapist, a psychiatrist, a nutritionist, and a physician. I started out just writing about recovery because I didn’t really want to talk to anybody about it. So I already had all of the honest, raw writing about it when I began the book. It actually became a matter of paring it back and thinking about, What is helpful for other people? What could accidentally be harmful? What do I feel comfortable with strangers knowing? What will it feel like to have people read this?Did you want your memoir to be in conversation with anything else that’s on there?When you’re writing, I feel like you either have to read everything or nothing on the topic, but there were a couple things that really inspired me. One was Hunger by Roxane Gay—the frankness with which she writes about food was really inspiring. And then Michelle Tea came out with a book of essays right when I started mine, and I was really inspired by the way she talked about pop culture as a way to talk about what her life was like when that piece of pop culture came out. That’s when I decided to do, like, a section about my love for Bright Eyes when I was 14. It was like, Oh, you can just talk about a band you love? And use it as a way to talk about what’s happening? The first Broadway play I ever saw was a matinee performance of David Rabe’s Streamers, a shattering tale of masculinity, racism, and homophobia set during the Vietnam War that was playing at Lincoln Center in the summer of 1976. I walked out of that theater stunned and not sure what to do next, so I walked around the city for what must have been hours, trying to absorb what I had just seen.That play was directed by Mike Nichols, a fact I had forgotten until this week, when I was reading Mike Nichols: A Life (Penguin Press), Mark Harris’s fascinating, exhaustively researched, and utterly absorbing biography of the cultural polymath, someone who seemed to move effortlessly between the theater and the movies, conquering them both.It turns out that Streamers came to Nichols at a critical point in both his career and his personal life. A star in his 20s, when he teamed up with Elaine May to create their now legendary comedy team; a wunderkind on Broadway, where he won Tony Awards for the first three plays he directed (Barefoot in the Park, Luv, and The Odd Couple); and then a Hollywood phenomenon, nominated for a directing Oscar for his debut effort (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and then winning that Oscar for his second (The Graduate), Nichols suddenly seemed to have lost his magic touch around the time Streamers was sent to him to read.He had suffered the first real flops of his career—the misfire of Catch-22, followed by The Day of the Dolphin, and The Fortune—and had begun to envy the work of colleagues, like Milos Forman and Robert Altman, who were redefining American cinema. He had also ended the second of his first two marriages, a notably brief union of 11 months, and had moved on to his third. (Decades later, when Aaron Sorkin asked Nichols when he realized his brief marriage wasn’t going to work, he darkly answered, “When she pulled a knife on me.”) Throughout his life, Nichols would have a string of high-profile romances, from Gloria Steinem to the novelist and New Yorker film critic Penelope Gilliatt and a one-sided pursuit of Jackie Onassis, before finding what turned out to be the perfect match in Diane Sawyer, his fourth and final wife. (In an extended footnote, Harris swats away the conjecture, raised in a recently published book about Richard Avedon, that the director and photographer had a clandestine 10-year romantic relationship. “I remained open to any information about Nichols’s history with men that was specific and/or confirmable,” Harris writes. “I found none.”)Streamers marked a return to form for Nichols. It would bring him sold-out audiences, rave reviews, and yet another Tony nomination. It would also establish a pattern that lasted nearly a lifetime: triumph followed by setback, often accompanied by crippling depression (and occasionally substance abuse), followed by yet another successful comeback. It was a roller-coaster life that, no matter how challenging it might have been for Nichols, makes a thrilling tale for the reader.Born Michael Igor Peschkowsky (or Igor Michael Peschkowsky—the record is muddled) in Berlin, the son of a Russian-born father and a German mother, Nichols, as he would later become known, and his brother escaped to the U.S. as Jewish refugees in 1939. An intelligent but indifferent student, he was admitted to the University of Chicago (one of the few schools at the time that accepted applicants with subpar grades but sufficient test scores) and later became part of an improv group, where he met May. The two apparently despised each other on sight but ultimately formed a deep professional and personal bond that would last until Nichols’s death in 2014 at the age of 83.Nichols would start out as an actor, but once he gravitated toward directing, it was clear that he possessed almost an unrivaled gift that enabled him to move skillfully between comedies, dramas, and even musicals (as in Spamalot), making him the most successful director of his generation. In all, he would win nine Tonys (including two for producing) and two directing Emmys and garner four Oscar nominations in addition to his one win. (He and May would also win the 1961 Grammy Award for best comedy album.)Harris, the author of Pictures at a Revolution and Five Came Back (and the husband of playwright Tony Kushner, whose Pulitzer Prize–winning play Angels in America Nichols directed in an Emmy-winning adaptation), clearly has an empathy and a deep admiration for Nichols, but this is not a sugarcoated biography. The piercing cruelty Nichols could show toward performers, often pushing them to the edge of breakdown during rehearsals, is dealt with frankly. “At times, Nichols’s behavior bordered on the sadistic,” Harris writes, describing how during the filming of The Graduate he could be “tough, caustic, dismissive” of Dustin Hoffman, the young actor he had plucked out of obscurity to star as Benjamin Braddock. But so too is the adoration many of his colleagues felt toward him—particularly the women he trusted, nurtured, and closely collaborated with, among them Meryl Streep (Silkwood, Heartburn, Postcards From the Edge), Emma Thompson, Nora Ephron, Carrie Fisher, and, of course, Elaine May.The chapters covering Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate, two of Nichols’s greatest movies and indeed two of the greatest American movies of all time, are among the most engrossing. (Each chapter could have been turned into a book of its own.) Despite both films having been made six decades ago, with many of the key participants now dead, the narratives have a compelling you-are-there quality, as Harris chronicles the tricky business of directing Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Woolf and in The Graduate describes a scene where Dustin Hoffman, secretly encouraged by Nichols, unexpectedly puts his hand on Anne Bancroft’s breast while Bancroft “without breaking character for second, glances at his hand, barely curious” and cooly examines a spot on the sweater she has just taken off. The burden of Mike Nichols: A Life is that it has to retain its readers’ attention to such a degree that they can resist the urge to put the book down for a few hours and watch a Nichols film. Throughout Mike Nichols: A Life, I had to constantly fight the desire to stream Carnal Knowledge, Silkwood, Working Girl, and Primary Colors, to name just a few, until Harris’s skilled storytelling pulled me back in. But, finally, when I turned the last page, I opened my laptop, signed on to my Amazon Prime account, and began rewatching The Graduate. 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Below is a list of products available, Please contact us if you do not see this product in our product options. We will contact you within 12 hours And you will have the product according to your requirements, see more on the available products. Click here to buy this shirt: https://thorshirts.com/product/wrestling-assuming-im-just-an-old-lady-was-your-first-mistake-vintage-shirt-2/ You might know Gabrielle Korn’s byline from her work for Autostraddle, Refinery29, InStyle, and a host of other digital media publications where she’s written about everything from the beauty industry to living as a lesbian with an eating disorder and the insidious cult of low-rise jeans.If not, you might remember Korn from her tenure as the youngest-ever editor in chief of Nylon Media, where she was also one of the only openly queer people on the upper echelons of a media masthead. On Tuesday, Korn—who is currently the editorial and publishing lead of Netflix’s LGBTQ+ storytelling channel, The Most—published Everybody (Else) Is Perfect, a chronicle of her time falling in and out of love with the media industry, beauty, fashion, and a few different women along the way. This week, Vogue spoke to Korn about the experience of writing so openly about her own life, the strangeness of debuting a memoir in a pandemic, and her vision of what the future of LGBTQ+ media could look like.Vogue: First of all, what has the experience of releasing your debut book into a pandemic been like? Obviously, nobody could have predicted this, but did you imagine what this time would be like while you were writing?Gabrielle Korn: I did picture the book coming out, but it was so long ago. When I got the book deal, I was still the editor in chief of Nylon, so my life was different in every single way. The vision that I had for it is in no way what is happening, on any level. And I think in a lot of ways, that’s a good thing. Having a pandemic book launch is depressing, but I’m also so grateful for all of the support. I’ve been talking to my friends about how guilty I feel about all the self-promotion, and they’re just like, “Yeah, but just do it.”Corny question: How are you making space for joy in this bizarre time?I’ve always been very routine oriented, and because I’m working on West Coast time, I have mornings to myself. So I’ve been doing my, like, stupid little Zoom workouts every morning and keeping to some semblance of a schedule because if I don’t, I’ll just move from the couch to the bed and back.Your book zeroes in on so many of the hypocrisies and inequities of digital media while also displaying real love for it as well. Is there anything you wanted readers to come away knowing about the industry?The fashion and digital media industries have been so glorified, and I think it’s really important for people to understand that work is work. Also, when you have an industry that basically runs on creating free content, it’s not going to be a sustainable working environment for the people making that content. I wanted to peel back the curtain on that—am I mixing my metaphors?No, that works.I feel like so many young people want to get into this industry as their ultimate aspiration, and what I really wanted to do was give them permission to have dreams that are larger than media. I think it’s so hard for us, especially as people who want to write, to imagine anything bigger than writing for a publication, but the truth is it can be a stop along the way.Is there anything that’s giving you hope about media now?Well, the conversations around racism in media that happened over the summer are so overdue and so important. I think those had a huge impact. And with leadership changes in a lot of places, I feel hopeful, but what needs to happen now is a hiring and retention emergency. Companies need to figure out why people of color don’t stay, and they need to fix the problems that are causing them to leave.You and I have talked about this before, but there are so few out lesbian role models in media. What does it feel like to be one of them?It’s weird! It’s funny to be old enough that people look up to me. I’ll probably never get over that. I mostly feel really proud of it. Sometimes it feels like a burden, but it’s also such a gift.What do you want for LGBTQ+ folks in media that you don’t already see out there?What I’ve seen in [LGBTQ+] representation recently is an enormous push to have queer and trans people, and especially queer and trans people of color, in front of the camera. And I think that’s great and important. But we also need those people behind the camera; we need them on staff making decisions and telling the stories of their own communities in a way where they’re not tokenized. You can’t have diversity that’s just superficial; if your idea of diversity is just what people can see, then you’re just doing it for clout.I know you got your start at Autostraddle, but I’m wondering what other queer resources you wish you had when you were younger?I wish that I had a media landscape that acknowledged that lesbians exist, which I think has only recently started to happen. Wasn’t it you who wrote the article about Shane [from The L Word]?Yes, that was me!I feel like that was when I knew Vogue had a lesbian writer on staff. Unfortunately, people who are not from marginalized communities often make the mistake of thinking that being a member of a community makes you an expert on all parts of that community. So the one lesbian at every company is often tasked with speaking for LGBTQ+ people as a whole. And that’s not how this works.As a queer person, what makes you feel like you’re taking up the kind of space that makes you genuinely proud?Passing the mic, honestly. I know that’s an ironic thing to say while I’m in the middle of promoting my own book. But there came a point where I just felt like I should not be the face that people associate with Nylon. That time is over, it should be over. So I started using my position to elevate other people—whether it was people on staff, or artists, whoever—and that felt really good to me because it was like, Okay, I am a queer person who got in the door, I have a seat at the table. Now what I need to do with that seat is make more room.You write so openly and fearlessly about your experience with disordered eating. How did you get yourself in a mental place to do that?It was really hard. I had been in a lot of treatment, including work with a therapist, a psychiatrist, a nutritionist, and a physician. I started out just writing about recovery because I didn’t really want to talk to anybody about it. So I already had all of the honest, raw writing about it when I began the book. It actually became a matter of paring it back and thinking about, What is helpful for other people? What could accidentally be harmful? What do I feel comfortable with strangers knowing? What will it feel like to have people read this?Did you want your memoir to be in conversation with anything else that’s on there?When you’re writing, I feel like you either have to read everything or nothing on the topic, but there were a couple things that really inspired me. One was Hunger by Roxane Gay—the frankness with which she writes about food was really inspiring. And then Michelle Tea came out with a book of essays right when I started mine, and I was really inspired by the way she talked about pop culture as a way to talk about what her life was like when that piece of pop culture came out. That’s when I decided to do, like, a section about my love for Bright Eyes when I was 14. It was like, Oh, you can just talk about a band you love? And use it as a way to talk about what’s happening? The first Broadway play I ever saw was a matinee performance of David Rabe’s Streamers, a shattering tale of masculinity, racism, and homophobia set during the Vietnam War that was playing at Lincoln Center in the summer of 1976. I walked out of that theater stunned and not sure what to do next, so I walked around the city for what must have been hours, trying to absorb what I had just seen.That play was directed by Mike Nichols, a fact I had forgotten until this week, when I was reading Mike Nichols: A Life (Penguin Press), Mark Harris’s fascinating, exhaustively researched, and utterly absorbing biography of the cultural polymath, someone who seemed to move effortlessly between the theater and the movies, conquering them both.It turns out that Streamers came to Nichols at a critical point in both his career and his personal life. A star in his 20s, when he teamed up with Elaine May to create their now legendary comedy team; a wunderkind on Broadway, where he won Tony Awards for the first three plays he directed (Barefoot in the Park, Luv, and The Odd Couple); and then a Hollywood phenomenon, nominated for a directing Oscar for his debut effort (Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) and then winning that Oscar for his second (The Graduate), Nichols suddenly seemed to have lost his magic touch around the time Streamers was sent to him to read.He had suffered the first real flops of his career—the misfire of Catch-22, followed by The Day of the Dolphin, and The Fortune—and had begun to envy the work of colleagues, like Milos Forman and Robert Altman, who were redefining American cinema. He had also ended the second of his first two marriages, a notably brief union of 11 months, and had moved on to his third. (Decades later, when Aaron Sorkin asked Nichols when he realized his brief marriage wasn’t going to work, he darkly answered, “When she pulled a knife on me.”) Throughout his life, Nichols would have a string of high-profile romances, from Gloria Steinem to the novelist and New Yorker film critic Penelope Gilliatt and a one-sided pursuit of Jackie Onassis, before finding what turned out to be the perfect match in Diane Sawyer, his fourth and final wife. (In an extended footnote, Harris swats away the conjecture, raised in a recently published book about Richard Avedon, that the director and photographer had a clandestine 10-year romantic relationship. “I remained open to any information about Nichols’s history with men that was specific and/or confirmable,” Harris writes. “I found none.”)Streamers marked a return to form for Nichols. It would bring him sold-out audiences, rave reviews, and yet another Tony nomination. It would also establish a pattern that lasted nearly a lifetime: triumph followed by setback, often accompanied by crippling depression (and occasionally substance abuse), followed by yet another successful comeback. It was a roller-coaster life that, no matter how challenging it might have been for Nichols, makes a thrilling tale for the reader.Born Michael Igor Peschkowsky (or Igor Michael Peschkowsky—the record is muddled) in Berlin, the son of a Russian-born father and a German mother, Nichols, as he would later become known, and his brother escaped to the U.S. as Jewish refugees in 1939. An intelligent but indifferent student, he was admitted to the University of Chicago (one of the few schools at the time that accepted applicants with subpar grades but sufficient test scores) and later became part of an improv group, where he met May. The two apparently despised each other on sight but ultimately formed a deep professional and personal bond that would last until Nichols’s death in 2014 at the age of 83.Nichols would start out as an actor, but once he gravitated toward directing, it was clear that he possessed almost an unrivaled gift that enabled him to move skillfully between comedies, dramas, and even musicals (as in Spamalot), making him the most successful director of his generation. In all, he would win nine Tonys (including two for producing) and two directing Emmys and garner four Oscar nominations in addition to his one win. (He and May would also win the 1961 Grammy Award for best comedy album.)Harris, the author of Pictures at a Revolution and Five Came Back (and the husband of playwright Tony Kushner, whose Pulitzer Prize–winning play Angels in America Nichols directed in an Emmy-winning adaptation), clearly has an empathy and a deep admiration for Nichols, but this is not a sugarcoated biography. The piercing cruelty Nichols could show toward performers, often pushing them to the edge of breakdown during rehearsals, is dealt with frankly. “At times, Nichols’s behavior bordered on the sadistic,” Harris writes, describing how during the filming of The Graduate he could be “tough, caustic, dismissive” of Dustin Hoffman, the young actor he had plucked out of obscurity to star as Benjamin Braddock. But so too is the adoration many of his colleagues felt toward him—particularly the women he trusted, nurtured, and closely collaborated with, among them Meryl Streep (Silkwood, Heartburn, Postcards From the Edge), Emma Thompson, Nora Ephron, Carrie Fisher, and, of course, Elaine May.The chapters covering Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate, two of Nichols’s greatest movies and indeed two of the greatest American movies of all time, are among the most engrossing. (Each chapter could have been turned into a book of its own.) Despite both films having been made six decades ago, with many of the key participants now dead, the narratives have a compelling you-are-there quality, as Harris chronicles the tricky business of directing Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Woolf and in The Graduate describes a scene where Dustin Hoffman, secretly encouraged by Nichols, unexpectedly puts his hand on Anne Bancroft’s breast while Bancroft “without breaking character for second, glances at his hand, barely curious” and cooly examines a spot on the sweater she has just taken off. The burden of Mike Nichols: A Life is that it has to retain its readers’ attention to such a degree that they can resist the urge to put the book down for a few hours and watch a Nichols film. Throughout Mike Nichols: A Life, I had to constantly fight the desire to stream Carnal Knowledge, Silkwood, Working Girl, and Primary Colors, to name just a few, until Harris’s skilled storytelling pulled me back in. But, finally, when I turned the last page, I opened my laptop, signed on to my Amazon Prime account, and began rewatching The Graduate. 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