GettyA few weeks ago, at a lovely soirée in celebration of both a couple's new home and soon-to-be-born son, a 30-year-old woman had a few glasses of white wine, a coupla cubes of cheddar, and, to the sound of a live band playing Bon Iver's "Skinny Love," found herself crawling around the floor with a friend's baby. And though this woman thought she and her Prince George-lookalike were alone in their pursuit of the cheesiest Goldfish and shiniest objects in all the land, it seemed they had quietly amassed an audience. "Look at that," whispered a single, high school friend of the woman's husband, his eyes trained on the way the woman expertly restrained the tot from crawling into a roaring fire. "You guys are totally next." The woman's husband, the kind, yummy, soul that he is, politely nodded and smiled at the suggestion, but the woman, who had miraculously rotated her head 180-degrees like a full-blown dragon, not-so-quietly seethed.
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowThat dragon lady, dear readers, was me.
Yes, I am married. Yes, as the result of having three nephews, a niece, and a second niece on her way, I am able to properly interact with the wordless blobs also known as babies. And, yes, as I indicated in this week's roundtable on the choice to have children, I intend to be a mother. (My husband's 6'4", you think I'm gonna let those genes go to waste? In the words of Dr. Andre Nowzick, "child, please.") But jokes aside, I don't find this a laughing matter: Why, in 2015, a year in which women are dominating comedy and gearing up for a run at the oval (and men are publicly joining the gender equality movement), is it still cool to ask about—or intimate your opinion on—a woman's intentions to get pregnant?
More From ELLEWhy, even with all of our cultural strides toward a more even-keeled social order, did Mr. Baby Shamer look surprised (judgmental even) when I recoiled at the assumption that, just because I'm a married woman, I'm desperate to get knocked up? And what would have happened if, instead of me, single-as-a-string-cheese Sabrina had been the one playing nice with the cherubic attendee? Would MBS have sharply sucked in some air and been all, "bad break on that one, sweet cheeks"?
I sincerely hope not.
I don't want to get too ornery on the topic because, again, I do plan to have children some day (and the only thing the world dislikes more than a childless married woman is a fallopian flip flopper), but I refuse to accept that the incessant whisperings and Cheshire smiles that occur after you get married and/or turn down a cocktail are benefiting anyone. I can't imagine how irksome that routine will become if I happen to be one of the countless women who have difficulty conceiving—science says that 30-year-old women like me are at the precipice of a free fall into infertility—or how put-upon I will feel having to drink water out of a beer bottle for the first trimester just to ensure something terrible doesn't happen to my unborn spawn.
I have to admit it, though, when I was on the floor that day, chasing after a cutie in overalls, the idea of my child—the medium heighted, medium -verted, hopefully-more-like-her-dad progeny—started to take firmer shape in my mind. 'You could toooootally do this,' my wine-addled brain assured me. 'Look at how you Heismaned that child away from those lapping flames!' (**blatantly ignores discarded DVD case for 'Elegant Fireplace 2.'**) And when I do have that baby, be it by way of womb or altruistic stork, I'll make sure that he or she also has cute overalls, two attentive parents, and a lovely, non-gendered party to introduce our own wordless blob to the masses.
It will be a lovely affair with boatloads of white wine, a Bon Iver cover band, and cheese by the pound. Baby Shamers need not RSVP.

Getty ImagesAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowGone are Joey Potter's tomboy outfits and below-the-shoulder strands: Since her Dawson's Creek days, Katie Holmes has become a bona fide style icon, gracing the red carpet in designer sheaths—and trendsetting crop cuts. View her tress transformations for the long and short of it and vote on your favorite looks now!
More From ELLEPhoto: Left: Retna; Middle, Right: Getty Images
Which bob with bangs is your favorite?(trends)
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Which hair accessory do you prefer?(answers)
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Spotted at: Derek Lam
Hometown: Salt Lake City, Utah
More From ELLEAge: 22. "This will be my fifth Fashion Week since having my son. Prior to that, I did four."
Fashion Week Hair Saver: "Rather than spend a ridiculous amount of money on a mask or something, I'll just put olive oil in my hair at the end of Fashion Week. You can't do the treatment in between shows because it takes days for it to come out. It doesn't wash out of your hair—your hair just keeps absorbing it. After doing all the cities, I'll take a week off of work because you look like you haven't washed your hair for a month. But then after a few days, the olive oil will soak in."
Fresh-Faced Secret: "Luckily, I'm doing okay right now—I quit smoking and I feel like that really helped! But I use acne washes. I like the Neutrogena Wave. It exfoliates and gets rid of blemishes. And then I also use this product from the Japanese company Kosé that's called Addiction. I did some makeup things for them and they gave me this moisturizing face wash."
Favorite Food: "My husband had his birthday the other day and we went out to his favorite restaurant for dinner. I like every kind of food—it depends on what mood I'm in. I like American food like burgers to Japanese food like sushi to Italian pasta. There's really not much I won't put in my mouth."
Workout Secret: "The thing is, even though I like all these foods I don't get to eat them all the time because I need to eat healthy. I run every day, which is a nice therapy to get away from everything. In the winter I run in the gym, but I live in the East Village so in the summer I'll run in the East River Park. I love the smell of the water."
Favorite Part About Fashion Week: "Seeing makeup artists, models, hairdressers, and stylists that I only get to see every six months."
Least Favorite Part About Fashion Week: "The lack of sleep and the lack of seeing my family. I get to see all these other people I love, but I don't get to see my son and my husband as much."
—Emily Hebert
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HBODear E. Jean: I'm a political science undergraduate in my final year. To help pay for my education, I took part in various awkward arrangements with a string of sugar daddies. These men distracted me from accomplishing anything worthwhile. Worse, they made me feel inept. It was difficult, but I managed to end my easy-money addiction and rededicate myself to my studies.
he reason I'm writing? The political campaigns have fired my imagination like nothing else! I've been working as an intern for a senator and have now decided to make politics my career. But I'm terrified that somewhere along the line someone will find out what I spent my first two years of college doing. I have absolutely no justification for the shallow and disgusting things I did! So, my question: Am I wasting my time? Should I continue to forge a career in politics or switch now to avert a calamity later? —Possibly Paranoid
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowPossibly, My Innocent Parsnip: You want to enter politics? Here's the law: You may invade a country, hide billions in secret accounts in the Caymans, con, scam, sneak, steal, lie, and possess the brain of a pea, but, whatever you do, don't boff a sugar daddy.
Since, however, you have boffed a sugar daddy, the best advice I can give you is this: Publish an autobiography detailing your rolls in the halls of academe. If you write it well, tell the truth, and make a clean breast of it—the whole breast, and nothing but the breast—then you may have a slim chance (slimmer than Governor Chris Christie) of clearing your way into politics.
More From ELLEPresident Obama, in Dreams From My Father, described his high-school "junkie" and "pothead" days in such swashbuckling Hunter Thompson–esque terms that his opponents wished they had been stoners and written their own books.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'm reminded of a young lady who wrote to me 15 or 16 years ago. She was worried her husband would leave her when she appeared on David Letterman to talk about her new book. "How will my husband deal with my sudden fame?" she asked.
"How exciting," I wrote back. "When's your book coming out?"
"Oh," she replied. "I haven't written it yet."
Winning the internship with the senator shows you have brains—good. Now let's find out if you possess the manic drive, impertinence, and acting ability to "forge a career in politics." Take this simple aptitude test: You have one semester to persuade your student government to pass a law banning all guns within a two-mile radius of campus. (Or a law permitting all guns—whichever principle you wish to see ground beneath the boots of the special interests.) The National Rifle Association, your state legislature, and your college administration will express themselves accordingly. If you get the law passed, then write to me about entering politics.
E-mail your questions to e.jean@askejean.com
Related: Ask E. Jean: 25 Things Every Woman Should Know
Related: Ask E. Jean: Girls' Nights Out Are Bad for Your Love Life
Related: Ask E. Jean: How to Properly Suck Up

Steven KrauseAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowIn yet another example of Japan's ability to make almost everything smaller and better, the petite brush of Fiberwig's Tiny Sniper delivers the same tubing formula found in the best-selling mascara, letting you meticulously lengthen the smallest of lashes.

Courtesy of CinedigmAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Courtesy of Cinedigm
Julianne Moore dusts off her comedy chops in her latest film, The English Teacher, in which she plays a character who is a late bloomer, a spinster, and a book worm (we doubt any casting director saw that combination coming). "My favorite scene is when [my character] Linda gets money from the ATM and pepper sprays [Michael Angarano's character]. I could not stop laughing. It's my absolute favorite thing," Moore told us. "It's really silly stuff—with the pepper spray, hitting him over the head with the fake tombstone—and it was really fun to do, [but] it's all rooted in real fear and real despair."When Linda shepherds a play production for her favorite student, her world is rocked by their unexpected romance. Moore's Linda dares a path that would make Jane Austen, the Brontës, and Bridget Jones proud.With The English Teacher hitting theaters today, we sat down with Moore—known as "Julie" to her co-star Angarano—to talk spinsterhood, saying "yes," and what profession she might have sought out in another life.It's difficult to envision you as a homely spinster. Were the costume designer and makeup artist overwhelmed by that task?I wanted [my character] Linda to be someone who wasn't particularly interested in how she looked. She wasn't really concerned with her physicality at all. So, I didn't wear makeup, we pulled my hair back, and I wore those glasses.Those glasses are amazing! Where did you find them?I chose them myself at Fabulous Fanny's in NYC. They sell vintage frames. I felt like [Linda] cycled through many, many pairs and had just stopped changing her frames at one point. They were kind of late '80s, which is where I sort of had her stop.How many screenplays do you read in a year—over 100?Yes. You read a lot, very quickly. It's interesting, because when I started out, everything was a hard copy. You used to have to go pick up your scripts, which was crazy. But now everything is digital, so I think you read more now, because people can send it to you in a flash and can have a look through it very quickly. Yeah, you read a lot to find the stuff you want to do. And that's not counting your friends' scripts and other odds and ends that people want you to look at.And how many get "yeses?"I give answers very quickly. I remember with [A Single Man], Tom Ford ran into me at a party. He and I had been friends. He said, "Oh, my god. I have something I want to send you. I want to send you my script." And I thought, "Oh, no. Here's my friend with a script. What am I going to do?" He sent it to me, and I read, and thought, "Jesus. This is great." I emailed him immediately and said, "Okay. I'll do it." I had to say that three times before he understood, because I think he thought it was going to be a longer process. But I loved the script immediately. And when that happens, I'm kind of just in.What made you say "yes" to 'The English Teacher?'I found [Linda] to be incredibly easy to relate to. She's not very different from me. I loved reading as a kid. I was pretty academic. So, I feel like in another life, I could have been Linda. I love her purity within the idea of story of what literature is, and about there being a beginning, middle, and an end. Her ideology is lovely and adorable, but it's great when she opens up about how messy and unpredictable life can be.There's a line in the film—"all great art comes from pain"— is that true?I don't think it's true at all. I think it's a fallacy. Art is an expression of who we are, what we believe, and what we dream about. It doesn't mean that those things are unhappy or that you have to come from an unhappy place to create them. And I actually think the more together and sane you are, the more you are able to imagine effectively. That's been the case for me anyway.Your skin is flawless—what SPF do you use?It depends. If I'm at the beach, I use a 50 on my body. On my face, I usually use a 15, and then reapply it, because otherwise it's too stingy.Is there a specific brand?L'Oréal. Courtesy of CinedigmPhoto: Courtesy of Cinedigm

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Michael Yarish / © AMC / Courtesy: Everett CollectionDear E. Jean: I had a brief affair with a musician this year and fell so deeply in love, I now have a huge problem. I work as a journalist, and I know I have no future with him and that I must stop. Yet I keep texting him to "Come over!"
He told me that all the women he's ever been with have complained about his bad habit of smoking pot every evening (and mornings, too, I think). I believed he meant that they left him because (as I've read) most marijuana users live alone and are isolated. So I didn't want to give up on him! I wanted to show him I cared. I started dropping by for surprise visits. One night, there he was with his pot friends, clearly annoyed that I came, but I spent the night with him. Another time, I surprised him on a Monday morning. He opened the door, said he was sleeping, and turned his back on me.
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowI left him alone for about a month, and then I went to see if he was okay. I just want to break his routine, his destructive way of life. Lately, all I do is phone him, text him "Hi, Sweetie!" etc., and drop off books. He lives near my grandmother, so I look up at his windows to see if his blinds are shut—and they always are! I imagine him sitting in there, smoking. I want to burst in, force myself on him, hit him, and scream at him to stop!—Sad Girl
More From ELLEMiss Sad , you charming half-wit: Oh, please. Some of the happiest, richest, cleverest people I know start the day by toking up. Leave the chap alone!
That said, I feel a surge of tenderness for you. Why? Because it's you who are "alone and isolated," darling; it's you who feel "destructive" and long to "force (your)self on him, hit him," not Mr. Zig Zag. Listen to Auntie Eeee: Stop pestering him. We've all been young and foolish when it comes to musicians; but he doesn't want you standing outside his apartment staring up at his blinds like a zombie menace. Your overheated addiction for this man has eaten your brains. The more you want to change him, the unhappier and crazier you'll feel.
E-mail your questions to e.jean@askejean.com
Related: Ask E. Jean: Weight-Loss Rules That Are Not Deeply Full of Crap
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Related: Ask E. Jean: How Can I Cope With the Stress of Climbing the Corporate Ladder?

Photo: Everett Everett CollectionAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below"We'd like to ask you a few questions," is the line Scarlett Johansson uses to set the stage for Spike Jonze's Her. Joaquin Phoenix falls in love with Johansson's character, an intelligent computer operating system, as she gets to know him better through a series of queries that grow more intimate: "Are you social or antisocial?" "How do you share your life with someone?"
There's a similar premise behind the latest dating app Willow, out this week. Rather than swipe through images of potential mates or read curated personality profiles, Willow begins the dating experience through faceless questions. Its tag line: "Branch Out."
More From ELLE"What I realized was missing from a dating app, or an app that is meant to be social, was an actual conversational aspect," said 23-year-old Willow founder Michael Bruch. "I wanted to create an app that got people talking."
Bruch came up with the concept while attending a guest lecture at NYU on empathy. "She was basically saying, 'Reach out to other people. Human beings are more empathetic than you think,'" Bruch said. At first he imagined the idea as a service help app (with questions like, "How do I change a tire?"), but then decided the idea would better serve the dating community.
To start a conversation, you swipe through questions other users have posed and message them replies. Common questions include: "What is the first thing you would do if you won the lottery?" And Bruch's favorite: "If your hair was a type of pasta, what kind of pasta would it be? (And don't say angel hair because that's a cop out)."
Photo: Willow Everett CollectionThe app is not intrinsically sexy: It's branded bright green and the questions posed are missing the allure of Scarlett Johansson's sultry banter, or really any element of tactile human-to-human detail. There's also an odd feeling that comes with putting random questions out into the ether without a target audience. Still, if you're able to spark up a captivating conversation—based not just on how interesting you find a given question but if your own answer is charming enough to elicit a reply (as Bruch says, "You need to be more thoughtful to keep the conversation going")—you are then able to share photos and unlock more information about the person on the other end of the line.
It's no surprise that singles, especially millennials, are increasingly looking to find partnership in the digital realm: As of 2013, one in 10 serious relationship began online, and five percent of marriages are the result of a digital hookup, according to a Pew Research Center study. While there is no shortage of dating apps, Bruch hopes to make the experience less superficial and more closely aligned with the ways we form partnerships offline.
"On a daily basis, you are willing to talk to a large variety of people, depending on what they have to say," said Bruch. "Social media should reflect that. Human interaction is more complicated than just a picture."
Spike Jonze would certainly agree.
Related: The 12 Guys You Meet on Tinder
Related: The Joy of Tinder
Related: Reinventing Myself One Online Dating Profile at a Time

Everett CollectionDear E. Jean: I met a man online; he lives in NYC and I live in L.A., but he said he's moving here in March. He's a professor, author, and film critic, and I checked him out: the syllabus for his class, his professional website with photo, and his friends on Facebook, including you, E. Jean. I want to tell you his name, but I don't want to put you in an awkward position. Though I doubt you "friend" jerks, right?
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowAnyway, for over a month we developed a lovely relationship with daily e-mails and phone calls, and we made plans to visit. He then mentioned that he was having financial problems and couldn't buy me a ticket to meet him (and I didn't offer to pay). He again alluded to money problems and disappointment because a work project was canceled, and said it was "hard on his soul." Almost two weeks ago, he e-mailed me and said that he'd call, and I never heard from him again. I e-mailed him to ask what was happening, and no response. I can't believe I fell for a jackass! —Confused in LaLa Land
More From ELLEConfused, my kumquat: Alas! Why didn't you buy a ticket and fly to see him? I don't know which of my Facebook friends he is—like everyone, I have many friends losing jobs, losing 401(k)s, and losing hope (and the rest of my friends are worrying that it's only a matter of time before they lose theirs), so I don't think he's a "jackass." The poor bloke just doesn't have the luxury right now to think about love. Send him a note next month and offer to come and see him. And in the meantime, to salve your savage breast, I recommend you immediately read The No Good Dirty Rotten Low Down Book of Love by the shrewd and witty Eileen Bertelli. You will instantly feel 50 times better!
Related: Ask E. Jean: What's the Best Course of Action After Being Fired?
Related: Ask E. Jean: Turning the Tables on His Bad Internet Habit
Related: Ask E. Jean: Do You Believe in Love At First Sight?

Getty ImagesI'm late on a deadline, waiting for several work-based communications, and my phone keeps vibrating. There's a Kik message from Graham, complaining about the temperature in his office. Steve has WhatsApped me a photo of his lunch with a frowny face—apparently, he's unhappy with his sandwich selection. And over on Tinder, Colin is telling me that his mom's birthday is on Sunday, so he's planning to go home for a visit.
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowI haven't met any of these men, although, at one point—before the constant stream of messages about the minutiae of their day flooded my phone—I'd been actively looking forward to setting up dates with each of them. In most cases, we've only "known" each other for a week, ever since we swiped right on Tinder or exchanged an initial how are you e-mail on OkCupid. No one would know that if they read our pages of text exchanges—they'd assume we were in a relationship or friends from way back.
More From ELLERelated: Newest Tinder Trend: Marriage
But we're not. And while I know I have a choice to respond to these inane messages, I don't want to seem rude by preemptively shutting down the conversation. After all, their profiles sound promising. I like their photos. And some of the texts are genuinely funny or interesting: I had a fun back-and-forth exchange with Dermot about the best coffee shops in our respective neighborhoods; Steve's Golden Retriever looks nice. I also appreciate the validation, the feeling that some guy connects with me so deeply he simply can't help but send me 20 texts a day. But, from a practical point of view, the torrent of texts is distracting me from work—not to mention talking to my real friends.
Related: Why American Women Keep Falling for British Dudes
"I love meeting new people, and it's sometimes fun to have a random dude to text with during my down time, but seeing so many messages build up on my phone is stressful," says 24-year-old Tinder-user Ashley. However, "I try to respond quickly because I know how weird I feel when I write something and a guy I like doesn't respond for hours later." But it's not only the time suck that's a downside of exchanging too many texts before an in-person meeting. For me, I've found the more info I share with a guy in advance, the bigger my expectations become. And more often than not, those expectations only lead to letdown. I find the guy who is razor sharp over texts is bitter and angry over drinks; the one who seemed flirty in messages is pushy in person. And in turn, I become more sensitive from the outset: I notice if a guy seems acutely disappointed when we meet—as if he's more attracted to my avatar than me. And I hate the stilted conversations that occur when you already know everything about each other.
And worst of all is how, immediately after a less-than-ideal date, the texts stop completely. Don't get me wrong, I never liked them in the first place, but it's rough to go from 20-plus messages a day to nada. It makes the rejection, or at least the disappointment that once again, this wasn't quite the right match, hurt that much more.
I'm not the only woman who feels this way. Callie, 28, once texted with a man for two weeks leading up to their first in-person encounter. "We met on OkCupid, but he was traveling abroad and couldn't meet for a few weeks," she says. "We exchanged numbers and started texting a lot. I really looked forward to his texts and he actually helped me through a tricky work issue. But then when we met, we had nothing to say. Here was this guy right in front of me, and I wished I was back at home, texting with 'him'—his virtual self just seemed a lot easier to connect with," she says. After drinks and dinner, the two headed home in opposite directions—and Callie never heard from him again. Still, she hasn't erased the text exchange, and occasionally re-reads them. "It's so weird. He and I got along so well over text and it felt like an actual breakup when we stopped communicating, even though we only went on one date."
According to experts, that may be because a lot of guys prefer the texting to dating. Matthew Hussey, a relationship expert and author of Get the Guy: Learn Secrets of the Male Mind to Find the Man You Want and the Love You Deserve explains that, for guys, texting strangers serves a purpose that women, who tend to have a larger social network (both virtually and in person), don't require. "Texting gives men a non-committal form of validation whenever they want to feel connected," Hussey says. While an actual date can make a guy freak out about commitment and question whether he really wants a relationship, texting offers intimacy without the, 'Is this going to be a thing?' uncertainty. "Guys may want fleeting moments of connection rather than the prospect of a real thing."
But if you're not into a textlationship, Hussey says the best thing to do is let a guy know ASAP: "Tell him you're going on a texting hiatus until he proves that he is indeed a real human being and not a figment of your imagination," he suggests. And while he's figuring out his own agenda, do yourself a favor and put your phone away. You'd be amazed by how much work you get done.

Crashing at a friend or family member's house this Memorial Day weekend? Yeah, you can write them a nice note to thank them (maybe on the new J.Crew x Paperless Post note cards?) but sometimes it's better to show up with something tangible in hand. (Or send it afterwards.) Below, team ELLE.com shares their favorite ways to thank the host with creative, unexpected gifts—as in, not giving them yet another scented Diptyque candle. ZzZZzz.
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Ice cream, $60 for a selection of 6, at graeters.com
Natalie Matthews, Associate Editor
"I have some pints of fancy, artisanal ice cream from Graeter's delivered the day of my arrival. It's a favorite of Oprah and Sarah Jessica Parker, so I know it's chic, and naturally I include my favorite flavor, Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip, in there, so it's a win-win."
More From ELLEPhoto: Mr. and Mrs. Reversible Mug, $24, at jonathanadler.com
Ruthie Friedlander, Deputy Editor
"I'm a big coffee drinker, so I always bring a his and hers mug set. This one from Jonathan Adler is my personal favorite because it offers up a good dose of quirk."
Photo: McClure's Garlic Dill Pickles, $12.99, at murrayscheese.com; Assorted Cookie Tin, $12, at shopmilkbar.com
Kate Winick, Social Media Editor
"If it's a short stay, I bring a jar of artisanal pickles and a jar of bloody mary mix from Murray's Cheese, or a cookie tin from Momofuku Milk Bar, if that feels more appropriate. Then, if I'm staying more than two nights, I'll bring Champagne, too."
Photo: Kaas Glassworks
Justine Harman, Features Editor
"You can't order these online, but I love buying handmade decoupage plates at Kaas Glassworks in the West Village. The store is no bigger than a hall closet, but it's jam-packed with beautifully made dishes and trays featuring animals, vintage ad slogans, and maps. No matter where you are going, you can always find a piece that ties into your destination."
Photo: Carved Teak Footed Planter, $148, shopterrain.com
Victoria Hoff, Editorial Assistant
"A bottle of wine has been my standard in the past, but lately I've been into giving succulents—and not just because I'm personally a little obsessed. They're the perfect hostess gift: 1) Unlike flowers, they don't die; 2) Each and every plant is totally unique; 3) They go with most decor styles; and 4) You can really make it personalized by choosing a gorgeous—and chic—planter to present it in. (Terrain is great for a variety of different styles like this awesome, rustic wooden bowl.)"
Photo: Patron Silver, $37.99, at bevmo.com ; Barneys New York Studio Frame, $78, at barneys.com
Danielle Prescod, Fashion Editor
"I always bring people framed photos of us together so they can put them in the house. That way, they remember that we are friends and I'm in their home...permanently. If I am with old people, though, I bring Patrón, because I will want to drink it and they probably won't have it."
Photo: Luxury Bath Bar Collection, $60, at bloomingdales.com
Sally Holmes, Senior News Editor
"Usually I bring bagels and cream cheese from Amy's or another New York City bakery, because you just can't get bagels that good anywhere else. Or I bring fancy, pretty soaps, which make great gifts because they're something people like to get but never want to buy for themselves."
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Graeme MontgomeryFor a special section in our May issue, we asked the editors of Esquire to decode the mind and manners of the men in your life. In turn, in the pages of Esquire, you'll find a section in which we try to explain the finer points of the female condition to their readers. Here, Esquire's Ross McCammon tell us how to talk to men. For more from Esquire's guide to the land of men, pick of ELLE's May issue, available on newsstands nationwide on April 22.
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowWe—you and us—have been made to think that we are from different planets, that we communicate in different ways. This is nonsense. We are from the same planet. And we speak exactly the same language.
That language might involve some bumbling. For us especially. And it is in the bumbling—a perfectly natural result of anxiety and glee—that things get dicey. The bumbling will consist of wit and ideas and amusing observations, and it will consist of some really unfortunate lapses in decorum and tact. We will accidentally insult your home state. We will imply that your particular hair color is not one of our top-two favorite hair colors. We will inexplicably refer to the restroom as the "little boy's room," even though we have never once called it that, ever—not even when we were a little boy. But we are not to be held accountable for these things. You must be more generous than that. Please. Bear with us.
More From ELLEAnd when we are not bumbling, when we seem in control—a little haughty maybe, a bit asshole-ish, a little cold—you must also bear with us. Think of the burden we carry into the conversation. Our fathers and grandfathers fought in wars. Some of them not by choice. These were men with heavy souls. These were men who believed they earned the right to be an asshole every now and then. These were the men who taught us how to comport ourselves. We weren't coddled by these men. They didn't text us selfies on a business trip and tell us they missed us! We do not carry their burdens, but their darkness has shaped us.
Please. Bear with us.
It is worth noting that there are not two kinds of men—the blundering and the arrogant. There is one kind of man, who occasionally blunders and occasionally is a dick and occasionally is his best self. What mostly determines which version of us you will encounter during any given conversation is one crucial variable: you.
So you have a lot of responsibility here. You must be clear. You are required to mean it when you say you don't care where we have dinner. You are required to disclose that you just got out of a long-term relationship with a prisoner. You are required to let us know that you really are not into this. You are required to give us information, to be straight with us, because that more than anything helps bring out our best selves. Otherwise, we are grasping. Which is an indignity.
The point is we are listening to what you say. We are listening so intently that we will make something of the smallest thing—the thoughtless flirtation, the vague insult. This is the great tragedy: that we have been made to seem indifferent to you—not to mention selfish—always looking for an out, always looking at other women, when nothing could be further from the truth.
The way to talk to a man is to know that he is trying to make something of every signal. That he is listening. To you.
We are not players and we do not want this to be a game. And there may be a battlefield, but we will not be stepping foot on it. (We'll be over here, sitting in a comfortable chair, having a drink. Join us?) And we are not scheming. We don't want to struggle. We will always be trying to find the simpler way. And we will always be trying to have a good time.
So where were we?
Related: Esquire for ELLE: The Language of Men, Decoded
A version of this article appeared in the May 2014 issue of ELLE magazine

Getty ImagesAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowIt's almost April, which means wedding season is upon us. If you already know that not because you're a bride-to-be but because you're knee-deep in bridesmaid commitments, you also know how stressful it can be to be in a wedding party. So here, we tapped a five-time bridesmaid and author of the book The Bridesmaids: True Tales of Love, Envy, Loyalty...and Terrible Dresses for her guidelines to get you through the process.
More From ELLE1.) Always Agree With The Bride

It doesn't matter whether she has asked for your opinion on her dress, your dress, or the flowers. All she really wants is blanket approval for everything she has planned, from the equestrian-themed shower to her quirky Sophia Webster wedding shoes. "Well, I love it!" is all you ever need to say.
2.) Lean In

There's nothing worse than being trapped in an e-mail chain with a bunch of bridesmaids masking passive- aggressive suggestions with xoxos. Everyone will (eventually) thank you for taking charge when it comes to planning a drama-free shower or bachelorette party.
3.) Make Friends

Yes, interbridesmaid alliances will help you get your way in stalemates over bachelorette venue or shower gifts, but those bridesmaids and groomsmen (and wedding laypeople too, I guess) are also future friends, co-workers, or boyfriends.
4.) Sweat The Small Stuff

You read that right. Weddings are high-stress and ultra-emotional, and a blowout fight can be triggered by something as simple as a mention of the bride's eligible ex-boyfriend. Speak carefully as the wedding draws near, and keep even quieter on the day itself.
5.) Pick Up The Phone
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New Line Cinema/Courtesy Everett CollectionAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowSeriously, who thought it was a good idea to create a holiday that mixes skimpy lingerie with heart-shaped ravioli, oyster, champagne and chocolate? While we believe in indulgence (and chocolate, always chocolate) it's all too common to feel a lot more like a nap after a big, heavy meal and a lot less like getting it on. Jolene Hart, a holistic health expert and author of the upcoming book Eat Pretty, specializes in beauty-oriented eating, and swears even she's run into the pasta problem before.
More From ELLEHere's her ultimate ordering plan to enjoy your meal and still feel sexy afterwards:
Canoodling in a cozy Italian restaurant.
"Skip the garlic and cream sauce on this carb-heavy (read: sleep-inducing) menu," says Hart. If it's pasta you crave, "inquire about a gluten-free version and choose a dish with plenty of veggies and a tomato-based sauce, or pair a soup and a salad topped with the protein of your choice." Hart's philosophy is that bloat is caused by poor food combinations: When you have too much variety, your body doesn't know what to digest first. So pick either a starch-based meal or a protein, and add abundant non-starchy veggies for tons of beauty benefits. Our favorite piece of advice? "Splurge on a fabulous red wine."
Trying a fancy, multi-course prix fixe.
It's nearly impossible to think about properly combining foods from a tasting menu, since courses vary widely and you're often at the whim of the chef. Your best bet is to choose quality over quantity and take it slow.
Celebrating at a steakhouse.
Here's your chance to enjoy some high-quality proteins like wild salmon, oysters (although Hart cautions against trying them for the first time on a date), or even grass-fed meat as a splurge. "Skip starchy sides like baked potato or mac and cheese that don't pair well with proteins and choose veggies like spinach or a fresh salad instead," she says. If you want to feel sexy post-meal, hydration is key, but did you know that gulping liquids during your meal actually works against you? "They dilute your digestive juices," says Hart. "Sip water while you're perusing the menu and you'll be hydrated by the time your appetizer arrives."
Hitting up a sushi place.
This could be your best bet for waistline-friendly eats. "Start by sharing protein-packed edamame, and skip the deep-fried tempura," says Hart. Opting for sashimi, especially clean seafood picks like wild salmon and eel, or an avocado maki roll (ask for brown rice), will provides quick-burning energy and beauty-friendly fats. If you're using soy sauce, request a lower-sodium version, or a wheat-free tamari, to avoid bloating.
Indulging at a classic French restaurant.
Anything au gratin is bound to be tasty— and heavy. "The best choices here are clean seafood: again, wild salmon is a perfect choice since it's loaded with anti-inflammatory, beauty-friendly benefits you'll enjoy in the days ahead," says Hart. "Pair your meal with a fresh salad and share a plate of fine French cheeses so you'll split the selection—and the calories."
Cooking at home.
Turn up the heat in your kitchen with a dish that incorporates spices—"nature's digestive aids," as Hart calls them. "Try an Indian curry packed with fresh ginger, which eases digestion, boosts circulation and leaves you with a sexy glow. For dessert, dark chocolate (look for at least 70% cacao) increases blood flow to the skin and gives your brain a feel-good surge of endorphins."
Dessert time.
"I love fruit as an option, but if you don't eat it with enough space after your meal it can be problematic." And as for chocolate, "You know, if you can't go for 70% dark, flourless chocolate cake is full of cocoa. Don't go for the fondue that you know is half butter; you want something a little more solid." Your actual best bet? "Split a sorbet, or have a special cocktail to finish off your meal—you don't really need another course. It'll spike your blood sugar and make you want to go to bed after—and not in a good way."
Photo: New Line Cinema/Courtesy Everett Collection

Everett CollectionAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowThe final straw in my 10-year drinking career was the homely guy from the Internet. His OkCupid pictures hadn't looked especially unattractive—they were, you know, fine — but I met up with him anyway because I was lonely in a brand new city. I also had poor standards, especially when I drank.
We met up at a dive bar, sat on a crusty outdoor picnic bench and got drunk while discussing Writing and Movies and Life.
More From ELLEMark was smart, but I felt not even the tiniest twinge of attraction toward him. Still, he was a decent conversationalist, and he was a dude to pay for my drinks.
I don't remember leaving the bar, or how he ended up coming home with me. All I remember is waking up the next morning, in nearly no clothing, with a man I found physically repugnant, and bruises all over my thighs.
When I asked about the bruises, he said we'd hooked up. I'd seemed into it, he said, "Nothing crazy went down." I felt sick, and not just from my excruciating hangover. After that night, Mark tried to call me three times, but I didn't pick up. I again fought the urge to vomit when I passed him on the street six months later.
Over the years — way before Mark — three different therapists had suggested I try putting the bottle down, but it took that stomach-churning hookup for me to really listen. Joanie, my therapist at the time, drove it home even further when she told me, "Generally speaking, people who don't have drinking problems don't experience blackouts."
I was 29 when I decided to stop drinking. But I never expected that doing something so positive for my long-term sanity would be such a powerful hit on my love life. I've been sober now for the better part of eight years, and during that time, I haven't dated anyone for longer than three months, despite being smart, reasonably attractive, and gainfully employed (I'm a homeowner, for God's sake!).
I didn't think about the realities of sober dating much beforehand. I figured it might be tricky passing up the wine list on a dinner date, but I never considered the nerve-wracking nature of trying to explain why I didn't drink or, worse, the torturous awkwardness of getting naked with a new guy while stone-cold sober.
It was glaringly apparent that alcohol and I never made an attractive pair. I'd been a near-daily, frequent-blackout drinker since stomping off to college at 18. Alcohol served as an escape from my messed-up brain. I'd been diagnosed with depression at 16 and started meds at 17. Although the antidepressants helped, they didn't help enough. I still spent 90 percent of every day dogged by an ongoing inner narration of all the ways I wasn't good enough.
Alcohol also made the dude thing so much easier. I'd always been super-shy, and the guys at my high school barely looked at me. I felt monumentally insecure about my relative lack of experience. Plus, as a late-blooming American girl growing up in the '80s, I'd absorbed all those insidious cultural messages from movies and TV and magazines and distant great-aunts: A woman's nothing without a man to love her, I learned, and sex is the quickest route to earning said love.
Throughout college and beyond, I confused sex with validation. Every hookup felt like another brag I could add to my collection of conquests. It felt like my attractiveness level (which, messed up as it is, can make up a big piece of a woman's self-worth) magically shot up by each new man who wanted to sleep with me.
Drinking helped blur my senses enough to let me do things (and people) I'd never consider when sober. Sometimes I had enough wits about me to recognize that I was only hooking up with someone because I was bored or lonely. But usually I was just too wasted to care about the reasons. All that mattered was feeling, for even a few minutes, like I was the beautiful, desired center of someone's world.
First dates led into bed, which spiraled into months-long relationships with men I felt nothing for. That stout, earnest 26-year-old virgin with the black eyes and floppy hair? I flinched when he touched me, but at least I wasn't sleeping alone.
When I finally stopped drinking, it was hard, especially in the beginning, but it got easier with time. I started going to recovery meetings and swapped candy and coffee for red wine and vodka tonics. Ensconced in a new social bubble with likeminded strangers who were learning together to take care of ourselves, I rosily imagined staying single for six months, max, before being karmically rewarded for my epic sober bravery.
But ... no. Dry dating was about 6 gazillion times more difficult than I'd envisioned. I tried dating guys in recovery, but nothing panned out. They seemed fickle and immature, more interested in casual fooling around than in dating. Plus, I was way more picky about who I'd go out with, and I had no clue how or when to tell "normal" guys I didn't drink. What's a breezy way of saying "I'm a teetotaler" without giving the impression that you're either a disturbed ex-mess or a party pooper?
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Courtesy of Ruthie FriedlanderPhoto: Courtesy of Ruthie Friedlander
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowI've had three categories of breakups in my life. The "holy shit this sucks and I don't know how long this is going to suck for but I feel like my limbs are being ripped from my body" breakup, the "wow, I'm so relieved that just happened" breakup. And then there was my breakup last year.
More From ELLEExactly a year ago I had one of those earth-shattering breakups you only see in a movie, except that usually in the movie the girl ends up back with the guy, and that, I assure you, did not happen in my situation.
I'll spare you the dirty details, but I'll paint you the following scene:
Our relationship ended over the phone. I was in Miami Beach on an annual family vacation with 19 (count 'em) people, mostly women. I was the third youngest on the trip, so 17 people, save two of my cousins, had known me my entire life and upon hearing what was going on were figuring out where the nearest gun supply store was.
There were two days following the breakup where I was basically comatose. My mother bribed me with promises of trips to The Webster. My sister joked that there were "hotties at the swim-up bar" just waiting for me. I stayed in my bed. I wasn't even crying. I just was trying to breathe.
Finally I came to breakfast one morning. People looked at me like I was a piece of porcelain. I went to dinner that night, too. And I even talked a little bit.
I held my phone close to me the entire night, anxious to get some sort of news—news that this whole thing was a huge joke. Someone must be playing a huge practical joke on me. Instead, I just spent most of the night checking my Instagram.
"You should get a dog," my sister finally said. "Maggie makes me so happy every time I come home."
Maggie is my sister and her husband's 80-pound dog (not part Rottweiler, they swear!) and while she's a lovely creature, the idea of her in my 600-square foot apartment is terrifying.
"You should get a dog," my seven-year-old cousin agreed. "Puppies are so cute."
I wanted to punch my sister in the face.
Courtesy of Ruthie FriedlanderPhoto: Courtesy of Ruthie Friedlander
"Get a dog. Get a dog. Get a dog," she began chanting.
I explained that I didn't have a life for a dog. I didn't have the schedule for a dog or enough money. Maggie goes to a doggie day care, gets weekly manicures, and is walked three times a day. That mutt has a better life than I do.
I looked back down at my phone and refreshed my Instagram, praying there'd be something new to entertain me. This conversation was killing me.
"But I agree, Ru," my mother began, "Coming home to something that needs you could be really good for you."
Does someone have a small handgun, I wondered? I decided simply not to respond. Refresh, Lady Instagram, refresh! Finally, a new photo!
An editor I knew had just got a brand new kitten ("Ew" under normal circumstances, who likes cats? But in this case "Aw" because this thing was fucking adorable.) She'd just posted a new photo of creature. I stared down wondering if I had an eternally updated collage of photographs of this kitten, would my life just be easier? Better?
My sister grabbed my phone.
"ARE YOU TALKING TO HIM," she snapped. "Ew, are you looking at cats?"
My cousin, cat owner for 14 years, lit up. "Ruthie are you looking at cats! Oh my god, you should totally get a cat!"
I explained that cats go to the bathroom indoors, that they shed, that they spy on you, that you never know what they're thinking, and that in general, they're creepy. I assured her that her cat was fine, but that I grew up with a dog, and if I was ever going to get a pet, it would be a dog. Full stop.
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InstagramAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Instagram
Does the term "happy holidays" seem like an oxymoron? That's because hanging out with family can really make you nuts. You revert to immature behavior, dig up old resentments, or bottle up emotions until you lose it. Sound familiar?
Related: Ask E. Jean: How To Survive Insufferable In-Laws Over The Holidays

This holiday season, don't let your family dynamic get you down. Instead, follow these simple tips for keeping the peace.

Paramount Pictures/Courtesy Everett CollectionDEAR E. JEAN: I'm trying hard to break into broadcast journalism. How do I fulfill my dream of being an on-camera reporter in either sports or entertainment?
My problem is, I freeze in front of the camera. I'm 27 and smart and have a master's degree in journalism, but nothing helps. I lose my breath and start stuttering. My nervousness has resulted in panic attacks and constant anxiety.
When I practice in my bedroom, I'm perfect. But in front of others, I just fall apart. Some of my anxiety and insecurity may be because I'm 30 pounds overweight. I've started an exercise regimen and I'm trying to eat healthier, but how can I overcome my crippling fear? My student loans top $100,000, but this is what I want to do with the rest of my life! I fantasize about reporting from the Oscars or the Super Bowl.
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below—Dreaming of Greatness
DREAMING, MY GUMDROP: Yes! Yes! This is America! You clamor to fulfill your potential. You could lose your breath, choke half to death, and still demand to go down in legend and song. Of course!
Run—get a pen. To plan your rise as an on-camera star, here's your checklist:
• Start an entertainment blog and update it 12 times a day.
• Hire a media coach for daily hour-long on-camera instruction.
More From ELLE• Begin thrice-weekly sessions with a psychologist to help you overcome your panic.
• Hire a writing coach.
• Engage a nutritionist.
• Reserve a trainer three times a week at the gym.
• Pay a wardrobe consultant.
• Keep biweekly appointments with a hairstylist—a multitude of styles and colors must be tried, edited, and viewed on tape, in video, in high-def…
• Get your makeup done.
• Purchase new undergarments, accessories, earrings, necklaces, and three dresses that don't "buzz."
In a mere 10 months, you'll be almost ready to hire a consultant, who will then help you find an agent, who will then get your tape into the hands of an overworked intern at a television station in Akron, Ohio.
Alternatively, you could take the stuttering, choking, freezing, panicking, gaining weight, suffering "constant anxiety," and being "overcome" by a "crippling fear" as signs that it might be smarter to spend your time writing and reporting for an established entertainment or sports blog.
Everyone between the ages of 11 and 77 believes she should be famous. From sea to shining sea, poor blighters suffer bitter lives, mourning for the glamour and worshipful reverence they believe they so richly deserved. Please don't you suffer the same fate. Please don't you miss out on the wonderful life you could lead if you aren't on camera. You can "practice" the rest of your life in your bedroom, my dear, but the real life you are living now is just waaaaay more interesting.
Ask a question! E-mail E.Jean@AskEJean.com and tweet to @ejeancarroll.

Getty ImagesAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowI was 29 when I got married, and I did not expect to be happy in my marriage. Now, 11 years later, my wife and I are one of the happiest couples I know of. A lot of this has to do with witnessing friends commit adultery. Although the outward details of my life are bound to differ from every other life, my emotional life is probably not so unusual. I am ordinary in most ways. I am ordinary in my fears and ordinary in my lusts. Although I could have made other decisions, my decisions, too, are ordinary.
More From ELLEI believed I wouldn't have a happy marriage because I didn't think I would have a happy life. My mother is mentally ill, and growing up with her had left me with shame and fear and anxiety. I remember once, when I was a child, my mother slapping me repeatedly during a family wedding. As her hand landed on my ear, my nose, my lips, I was conscious of all the people watching, and I felt embarrassed for her. I felt literally like two people, one feeling my own torment and one feeling pain for her.
One result of growing up in a family like mine is you lose hope; you don't think good things will happen to you. I proposed to my wife because I thought she wanted me to. I was going away for business, and she said she wanted a ring. Several years later, she told me that I had misinterpreted her, that when she had asked me to buy her a ring, she had meant only that the city I was visiting was famous for garnet jewelry and she would've liked to have some. This part of my story is just a variation of the cliché of a man proposing because he has been given an ultimatum.
When you have a marriage that begins this way and you have a personality like mine, there are bound to be problems. Often, in the early years of my marriage, I felt indifferent toward my wife. I once told her, "I sometimes think I don't love you." We were sitting at our glass-topped dinner table. My wife looked at me over the rim of her eyeglasses. After a moment, she said, "I know you do."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I see how you light up when I come into a room." Until she told me this, I hadn't known I smiled when I saw her.
Around this time, the first of my friends confessed his adultery. We were standing in the back of a darkened hall, watching someone give a speech. Tom* had a glass of wine in his hand, and he had come from another reception and appeared pretty buzzed. As we chatted, Tom offhandedly mentioned that he was seeing a woman on the side. She was younger than he was and engaged. I asked him where exactly they had sex. He said she worked in the hotel business and so had access to rooms.
For several weeks afterward, whenever Tom and I met, we would talk about this woman. I began building a fantasy of her in which she looked like a movie star. I googled her to try to find a picture. Imagining this woman, I started to find my own wife less attractive. My wife has very light hair on her legs. She usually shaves her legs to just above her knees. Suddenly, I started being annoyed that she didn't shave all the way up her thighs.
It was a while before I saw Tom's wife, Lauren, after he disclosed his affair to me. Lauren has pale skin that she makes even whiter with makeup. It gives her a Kabuki appearance. Lauren, Tom, my wife, Christine, and I sat in a booth at a restaurant, and all through the meal Lauren was unpleasant. Among other things, she scolded Tom for going to the bathroom too many times. Usually I find Lauren annoying. That night, though, every time I looked at her, I felt sad. She was wearing a shawl, and this made her appear shrunken. She did not know that her husband was cheating, yet to me she looked like someone who was ill and suffering. When my wife and I left and were walking down a sidewalk, I put my arm around her. It is hard after you have known someone for a while to see her afresh. Sometimes when I have done something that hurts my wife so much she cries, I can suddenly see her with new eyes, suddenly see her without preconceptions. That night, having seen Lauren being harmed, I was able to look at Christine as if she were a stranger. I could see her as someone who could be hurt, someone wanting to be happy. I lifted my wife's hand to my lips and kissed it. "I love you," I said.
The image of Lauren in the booth that night, wrapped in a shawl, her face ashen, has become a touchstone. I think of her, and a rush of protective love for my wife floods into me. What happened that night was not just that the door into adultery got heavier, but that I began to understand how much I loved my wife.
One of the things women don't realize is that most married men live in a culture of adultery. We see it all around us. We have friends who have cheated on their wives. We have been on business trips where we went to strip clubs and our colleagues went into the back for hand jobs or more. We don't tell our wives, of course. A lot of husbands still operate with the idea that what gets revealed among men stays among men. Part of this is based on boyhood ideas of not snitching. Part of it, however, is based on a more cynical motive: If we were to tell our wives, they would begin watching us more closely, and as most of us married men keep in mind the possibility that one day we too will have an affair, to tell our wives would be to diminish this chance.
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White pill: Creative CropAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowMichelle David never pictured herself as a nurse. She was squeamish about needles and couldn't stand the sight of blood. When she learned, in 2005, that she was pregnant with a second child, she was a dancer for the NBA's Philadelphia 76ers. She loved the job and hoped to return to it. But by the time her son, Lyam, turned one, David had left her dancing career behind and enrolled in nursing school. As a new student, she was already familiar with some of the medical procedures being taught—such as how to insert a nasogastric feeding tube: She'd learned them to care for Lyam.
More From ELLEAt six weeks, Lyam was barely eating. One night, his breathing became severely labored. David rushed him to Philadelphia's St. Christopher's Hospital for Children, where doctors told her he was going into cardiac arrest. He'd been born with holes in his heart and would need two open-heart surgeries immediately. Before the first could be scheduled, Lyam started vomiting blood, and his organs began to shut down. Unable to breathe on his own, he was placed on a ventilator for four months. When he was finally stable, he underwent both of the surgeries in less than a month.
"After the second, it was bad, ­because he had drainage tubes," David, 31, told me. "It was just—he looked so bad. I wasn't prepared for that." David had been matter-of-fact, even upbeat, as she'd described her son's medical history, but she now was overcome by emotion. "I'm sorry," she said, covering her face with her hand. Tears rolled down her cheeks. "It just really stinks that he's going to have to go through it again." David was referring to the open-heart surgery that Lyam will need within the next three years to fix yet another anomaly—all of which were caused by the boy's in utero exposure to the ­selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) Paxil, a Philadelphia jury ruled in October 2009.
David's doctor had prescribed Paxil for the mild anxiety she suffered after the death of a close friend. When she became pregnant a year later, she asked both him and her ob-gyn about the drug. Neither doctor was concerned, which isn't surprising: Paxil was one of the most-prescribed antidepressants at the time, and a number of psychiatrists were delivering nationwide talks for their fellow physicians endorsing the safety and efficacy of the drug during pregnancy.
But in December 2005, two months after Lyam was born, the FDA asked Paxil's manufacturer, GlaxoSmithKline, to change the drug's pregnancy-use classification from Category C ("animal reproduction studies have shown an adverse effect on the fetus, and the benefits from the use of the drug in pregnant women may be acceptable despite its potential risks") to Category D ("positive evidence of human fetal risk"). The move came following the early results of two studies showing that women who took paroxetine (Paxil's generic name) during the first trimester were one and a half to two times more likely to have a baby with a heart defect—in most cases, atrial or ventricular septal defects like Lyam's. The FDA issued a public health advisory to doctors and clinics about Paxil and the danger of congenital heart defects.
The jury that ruled in David's favor also found that GlaxoSmithKline had "negligently failed to warn" her doctor about the increased risk of such problems and awarded David $2.5 million in compensation. It was the first and only SSRI case to ever reach verdict, though Glaxo has since settled more than $1 billion worth of claims out of court. David's attorney, Sean Tracey, says that there are many more cases pending against Paxil and other SSRI makers—this summer alone, 19 suits were filed against Zoloft—or awaiting settlement.
Tracey first learned about Paxil-related birth defects in 2006, when another lawyer walked into his office with a client named Lisa Collins, whose son, Chase, was born with part of his heart missing. Like David, Collins did not suffer from major depression or anxiety; she was prescribed Paxil for occasional claustrophobia. When Collins became pregnant, her family doctor assured her that it was "perfectly safe" to continue taking the drug. But just two weeks after he was delivered, Chase needed open-heart surgery. The strokes he suffered after the procedure left him with brain damage. GlaxoSmithKline reached a confidential settlement with Collins in 2008.
Despite cases like Lyam's and Chase's, the debate about the use of SSRIs during pregnancy is far from over. And the number of pregnant women taking SSRIs is as high as it's ever been.
Given the number of things women are told to avoid during pregnancy—alcohol, aspirin, unpasteurized cheese, and sushi, to name just a few—it may seem surprising that antidepressants aren't verboten too. But in recent years, doctors have become as concerned about the impact of depression on the mother and child as they are about the harm SSRIs might do to the fetus. An estimated 3 percent of pregnant women suffer from major depression, giving them a lifetime suicide risk 20 times higher than average. "The women I see say, 'Nothing gets me excited. I don't want to go out of the house, I can't get my stuff done at work, my boss has noticed,' " offers Kara Driscoll, MD, a psychiatrist at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago who specializes in treating depressed expectant mothers. "You can have a severe episode of depression without being suicidal. It's just the symptoms are really quite profound." (Those symptoms include lethargy, an inability to focus, feeling hopeless or guilt-ridden, eating or sleeping too much or not enough, and crying often.)
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Kristian Schuller/90 Days One Dream/Blaublut-Edition.com; Hanna/www.one-eins.com (model)Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowWhen we say "You smell good," here's what we mean:
You make me think of fireflies and precisely five tiny beads of sweat on her Coppertoned neck, which was mine one weekend long ago. You make me taste buttered popcorn and Junior Mints and feel the scuffed movie theater seat on my bare calves, and you inspire visions of barbecued hamburgers and pudgy strawberries, purple soap and faded blue sheets.
More From ELLEWe mean you smell pure and sweet.
When we say, poleaxed, "What's that perfume? I really like it," here's what we mean: Stealing a kiss in a cab, drinking a Manhattan, which I have never drank before, in Manhattan, where I have never been before tonight. A marbled lobby, a cavernous club, shivering at her hot breath on my cheek when she whispers something about literature on the dance floor, and then another cab, another kiss, freely given, stumbling up narrow, steep stairs in what people of this loud, pushy, wondrous city where I have been one night and want to live out my days call a "walk-up," which sounds as exotic to my midwestern ears as "prewar" or "schmear." Her hand on the back of my head, my hand exploring the small of her back, us leaning against a wall in the entryway, fumbling with keys, whispering. Closing my eyes, wondering why people here say "on line" instead of "in line," feeling drunk, being drunk, having found my future wife, wanting to breathe her in forever.
We mean you smell sophisticated, and a little dangerous, like you know things we don't but want to.
When we lean toward you and close our eyes and inhale deeply, and it looks like we're happy for no apparent good reason, here's what we mean: The crickets are making a racket outside the open windows, and we are rising and falling, rising and falling (it's the '80s and it's a water bed; don't judge) and James Taylor is singing "Sweet Baby James" and the record skips in the places I know by heart. There, a hiccup between "moonlight" and "ladies" and I swear I can see the sound waves in the clouds of marijuana smoke, and Huxley, her aged German shepherd, is twitching by the door. There's a sweet, yeasty stench of beer and bacon and fried cheese and onions from the sub shop where she works, and there is her shiny black hair, all the way down her back, and the deep, delighted voice of St. Louis Cardinals ­announcer Jack Buck coming from the tinny transistor radio in the window next door, as he bids "Adios!" when slugger Jack Clark clubs yet another tiny ball and it spins into the thick, black Missouri night.
We mean you smell like musky abandon, like surrender.
When we're shopping for a sweater at a mall or watching our nephew run at a middle school track meet and in the middle of a crowd, we suddenly stop, dazed, here's what we mean: I'm 15 and she's the nice lady who works in the candy store in town where counselors in training go on days off and she gives me free Cherry Cokes. She invites me to water-ski with her at her cabin by the lake next week, and next week comes and there's a drumming thunderstorm on the roof and when she drives me back to camp she tastes like grape, because it's the flavor of the lipstick she applies before she gives me the first kiss of what seems to me at the time to be my undeserving but abundantly blessed life.
We mean you smell like a vanilla milk shake.
When you are asking what looks good on the menu and we slump, and we're staring at something that's not there? Here's what that means: Gigantic, impossible blobs of color, purple and yellow, red and green, splotching and dripping and filling up the starry sky. Fresh-cut grass and the scent of gasoline from the pump behind the camp kitchen. Sweaty palms—mine and hers, the summer camp director's daughter—and we kiss, not knowing that 17-year-olds looking up at the aurora borealis should keep looking, should hold tight to the vision, because we'll never see it again. She wants to be a lawyer and we talk about raising children and she smells like hot milk cake and I imagine all the summers of my life unspooling in the sky, in northern Wisconsin, in the tall grass up the gentle hill from deep, green Towanda Lake, until the assistant camp director strides out to the athletic field and smacks his clipboard against his thigh and yells at us both to get back to our cabins; do we want him to get fired?
We mean you smell like the summer sky—and hot milk cake.
F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, "No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart." I submit that he had the wrong organ. Looks matter. What you say is important. Actions count most, at least to any reasonable man. But for summoning memories, for transporting us to distant times, for evoking and stirring feelings that we didn't know were still there, there is scent.
There is only scent.

Photo: iStock
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowSure, being in a long-term romantic relationship is great for your spirits, but thanks to a study published in the Wall Street Journal this week we know there are other, more scientific benefits. According to researchers, health benefits like reduced illness and longer life are linked to those who not only stay in long term relationships, but those who remain loyal in them.
More From ELLEStudies looking at loyalty and trust suggest that these qualities may be fundamental to human relationships. A study of 130 newlywed couples, found that almost all of the couples' conflict discussions were about whether or not they could count on the other person. Sound familiar?
Couples who were best at developing trust and loyalty in the relationship were those who focused on maximizing the well-being of their partner, not themselves, says John Gottman, director of the Relationship Research Institute in Seattle and an emeritus psychology professor at the University of Washington.
Another study of 4,000 men over a 22-year period found that married men in their 50s, 60s and 70s lived significantly longer than those of the same age who were never married or who were divorced or widowed, according to research by the RAND Center for the Study of Aging. And it doesn't stop there—people with strong social support or social engagement have been found to have lower risk of diabetes, hypertension and heart attacks.
What does this mean for us? Practice loving kindness with your partner, be a rock and stand by their side when things get shaken up, and reap in the greater sense of life satisfaction that research shows stems from long-term commitment in relationships. Gives more meaning to the term `love of your life', no?

Photo: David's Bridal
Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowIt's been less than twelve hours since Kate Middleton, now the Duchess of Cambridge (and Baroness of Carrickfergus), walked down the aisle in her lovely Sarah Burton-designed McQueen gown. Like, she might even still be wearing it. And despite the fact that no one knew what it would look like or who had designed it prior to this morning, press releases on how to get "Kate's signature look" started coming in as early as 7AM. (One PR was apparently in so much of a rush she spelled Burton "Brutann.")
More From ELLECurrently, "kate middleton wedding dress" is the number three most popular search on Google and "sarah burton alexander mcqueen" is number eight. So, not surprisingly, everyone wants to cash in on this hot topic, even if it means going to ridiculous lengths to do so.
Sketches of exact replicas of the dress have probably already been sent to factories for production, but in the mean time, since you all obviously need to look like Kate Middleton RIGHT NOW here are a few options via our royally flooded inboxes.
This Oleg Cassini satin ball gown is described as "the perfect gown for the modern princess bride." {David's Bridal}
The long sleeve lace jacket is a must-have accessory. {David's Bridal}
Priscilla of Boston is actually offering 20% off all purchases through May 2nd in celebration of the royal nuptials. They suggest this A-line number with 3/4 length lace sleeves to get Kate's look. {Priscilla of Boston}
Can't forget the hair!
Bumble & Bumble stylist Britney Williams offers instructions on how to get Kate's wedding day `do:
"To get Kate's long, wavy locks, start by applying a root lifting spray like Bumble and bumble Thickening Hairspray all over damp hair. Blow dry with a round brush for a smooth foundation with volume and a bit of bend. Use a 1-inch curling iron to add wave by working around the head in sections with the same width as the barrel of the curling iron. After the curls have cooled for a minute or two, use a flat brush to loosen and soften them into flowing waves.
"To enhance the definition of the waves, spray a bit of Shine On Finishing Spray ($25) on hands and gently work through the hair. Pull back the hair from the sides of the head and secure with bobby pins. Finish with a healthy spritz of Spray de Mode ($26) to give flexible hold that will last through the day without making hair crunchy."
Underwear is also very important! Seriously:
"You too can look as pulled together as a Princess with shapewear and undergarments by Wacoal!" They recommend this "Try a little slenderness" bodysuit to wear under an unforgiving gown. {Wacoal}
Are you so totally psyched?!

Gregg DelmanAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowDear E. Jean: The day after my houseguests arrived from Iowa, I fell off a scaffolding, broke my leg, and badly cut the other. So now I'm living on a foldout sofa in the living room with no privacy, taking heavy doses of painkillers, and feeling angry and frustrated—particularly about the horrible, messy state of my tiny kitchen! It's being used by three people, one with large, open wounds on her legs. What can I do to get them to clean up after themselves? —Held Hostage
More From ELLELegs, my lily stalk: What's your address? I'll come over and clean the kitchen. And after making certain you're all fluffed, sparkling, propped up, and comfortable, I'll tiptoe out of the room and beat some manners into your guests with my Swiffer.
You need peace! You need quiet! You can't grow strong again if you're stressed. Tell your friends to go to a motel. If they refuse, order in your meals and make them pay for it. My God! I never heard of such swine!
E-mail your questions to e.jean@askejean.com

So You Think You Can't Dance

Lion's GateAdvertisement - Continue Reading Below"Courtney, you've got to stop fidgeting behind Twitch," a silver-haired Englishman bellows, hands cupped around his mouth like a bullhorn. "I want smiles!" The six dancers I've been watching stomp and slide across an L.A. soundstage all morning nod obligingly at the choreographer's request and begin their routine once more, their grins so convincing that you'd never guess this wasn't the first take. This is the last day of filming for the first So You Think You Can Dance? fitness DVD, and the stars—Courtney Galiano, Stephen "Twitch" Boss, Katee Shean, Dmitry Chaplin, Lauren Gottlieb, and Travis Wall, former finalists from the Fox hit show—are running through the grand finale, which combines a medley of moves that they'll also present in step-by-step tutorials.
More From ELLE"You should dance along with us from the sidelines," suggests Dmitry, the snake-hipped Russian with a penchant for baring his chest, as he cha-chas past me during a break. I try desperately to shrink into the background. It's not just that I'm afraid that the tangle of cables and light stands and human traffic around me will trip me up, nor am I simply reluctant to shake my groove thing in a room full of professional groove-thing-shakers. I have a bigger problem: I'm absolutely convinced that I can't dance.
I've always been an avid music lover, but I tend to be moved by it only in the emotional—not physical—sense. For years, I've loitered in the corners of clubs and parties, nursing drinks and faking nonchalance while I wait for friends to return from the dance floor; at concerts I rarely do more than tap my toes, stoically enduring knocks and blows from other people's more liberated butts and elbows. I have danced at a wedding or two, once champagne has rendered me insensible to shame—and wow, it's been fun. But moments like those, when I don't care that my rhythmic expertise might be best compared to that of Seinfeld's Elaine Benes, are few and far between. Mostly, I keep my two left feet planted firmly on the ground.
So what am I doing, a few weeks after visiting the SYTYCD set, in a Manhattan dance studio, preparing to take a swing class? Well, for starters, I've become swept up in a cultural obsession: I was among the 22.5 million who tuned in to the eighth Dancing With the Stars season premiere in March; I think America's Best Dance Crew might be the best thing on MTV since Martha Quinn; and I'm far more excited than a grown woman should be about the upcoming Fame and Footloose remakes. Watching all of these effervescently bendy people has made me come to the conclusion that it's high time I got over being such a wallflower, and witnessing Dmitry et al. strutting their stuff for the fitness DVD made me wonder if perhaps dance might be a way to jazz up my exercise routine (or lack thereof).
My biggest hang-up about going to the gym is that it bores me senseless: Those treadmill TVs give me motion sickness, so I'm left with nothing to do but stare dully at the slow-moving digital distance-tracker and fantasize about cheeseburgers. Dancing, however, engages the mind as much as it does the body: The process of learning new steps involves parts of the brain that control imitation, empathy, quick decision-making, coordination, spatial judgment, and rhythm, sparking the production of fresh connections between nerve cells. And not only does this improve memory and mental agility, but a recent study published in The New England Journal of Medicine showed that people who dance frequently also reduce their risk of developing dementia by 76 percent (doing weekly crosswords will only get you 47 percent). Add this to the fact that dancing, like any aerobic exercise, unleashes a flood of feel-good endorphins and can burn just as many calories as jogging or swimming, and you've got a pretty compelling argument to get out there and bust a move. I mean, if something can make me happier, skinnier, and smarter, why wouldn't I want to try it?
However, swing doesn't go so well. There aren't enough men to go around (ah, such is life), so I end up paired with a fiftysomething woman with a severe bob and clammy hands. As the instructor bids us to "rock step, triple step, triple step," we trample all over each other's feet and avoid eye contact. The footwork is fairly simple, but it nags at my brain like a complex mathematical equation: I just can't get it. I feel better when I remember that Twitch, Courtney, and Travis told me that ballroom (which includes all the partner dances such as swing, waltz, tango, etc.) was the most difficult genre they've tackled. Even someone as preternaturally elegant as Paulina Porizkova looked utterly oafish during her first fox-trot lesson on Dancing With the Stars. Unfortunately, choreographed dance requires a combination of things I've never been good at: coordination and short-term memory. On the upside, I find that I'm so busy concentrating on the steps that I forget to be self-conscious. Thanks to my remedial ineptitude, I barely break a sweat in swing (although once you get cooking, the dance can burn about 235 calories an hour), which is a little disappointing for someone hoping to get a proper workout.
Advertisement - Continue Reading Below

Getty ImagesAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Getty Images
At 24, Beau Mirchoff is far removed from the hallowed halls of high school, but it seldom stops him from reliving those glorious days on MTV's critically-acclaimed show Awkward, where his character Matty McKibben engaged in all the gossip, hook-ups, and spicy rounds of Spin the Bottle that make those four years so awkwardly fantastic. While Matty spent the last two seasons afraid to reveal his love for the show's sweet lead Jenna Hamilton, Beau Mirchoff told us how season three will differ from the seasons before: more honesty, more dance moves, and the same amount of shirtless antics.
Name:William Beau MirchoffAge: 24Provence: Los Angeles, CARelationship status: TakenOn being featured in ELLE.com's Hot Topic column:"I want to say that I am humbled. And that it's a great honor. It's fantastic, and it makes me feel lovely. And I am going to use it as bragging rights—no, I don't want to say that! Retract my statement, I'm starting over!"On his status as a teenage beefcake: "I didn't know I was beefy! [Laughs] But Matty was hitting the gym a little bit, so thank you for observing. Does he feel like a piece of meat? Maybe he does!"How he wooed his girlfriend:"I was a goofball, and I kept pestering her all night. I was at this book launching party, and I introduced myself. Then when she'd start talking to another guy, I would creepily walk behind her and laugh my way into the conversation…after a while, it wasn't creepy and it became charming, I guess! I asked her out to lunch the very next morning. But we went to lunch at lunchtime. It wasn't weird like that."On those high-school kissing games:"I've definitely played Spin the Bottle, but the one I remember more is Suck and Blow, and I remember the girl would always drop the card on purpose. This was like, sixth grade…it was scandalous!"What are the chances of seeing Beau shirtless this season?"100 percent! It was in the fine print [on my contract]. I don't have glasses, so I didn't see that."Can he dance?"I'm not classically trained or anything, but I'll rip up a dance floor. I make up moves: I do the noodle—you act like your body has no bones in it. This topic is touched upon in the third season, and while I'm a slightly better dancer than Matty, what you see on TV is pretty much what I can offer."What's his go-to love song?"There's a My Morning Jacket song, 'Knot Comes Loose.' It's probably a little arcane, not very mainstream. But if I ever get married, that will be the song I dance to."On Matty's official relationship with Jenna."I think Matty's finally giving love…but it's not being reciprocated in the ways that he needs. That's not to say Jenna doesn't love him, but maybe she's a little blind or distracted in her own life. So that happens, and it's interesting: Jenna and Matty have their problems this season, but Matty's really honest about it, and he talks to her and he says what's on his mind. They have real adult conversations. It's nice to see that evolution in Matty."What's your most awkward Matty moment?"In the first season, there's the scene where the boys digest Viagra, and then run around the quad together. So we were all wearing little socks. I had to fall on Ashley Rickards with nothing but this sock on, and my white buttocks flying in the air! So that was awkward; to anyone that was watching, I just want to say that it was really cold in L.A. that day!"

Photo: Getty ImagesAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Getty Images
Halle Berry is pregnant with her second child, reportedly a boy. {People}
Real-life couple Rachel Weisz and Daniel Craig are doing a Broadway play together this fall. {E!}
Watch Julianne Moore and Chloë Grace Moretz get scary in the first Carrie remake trailer. {Vulture}
Nora Ephron's son is directing a documentary for HBO about his mother. {Hollywood Reporter}
Steven Alan has launched an eponymous eyewear collection. {Refinery29}
Intermix is celebrating 20 years with 20 exclusive designer pieces. {The Cut}
Three's a trend: Dianna Agron, Megan Fox, and Rachel McAdams all dyed their hair red this week. {Just Jared, Daily Mail, People}
Derek Lam's line for Kohl's is available online—and on sale for 25 percent off. {She Finds}
Jennifer Garner on having more kids with husband Ben Affleck: "I am done. My husband was keen on a fourth, but I think he has come round to my way of thinking." {People}

Photo: ChanelAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowPhoto: Chanel
Diane Kruger, who previously appeared in Chanel advertisements in 1996 and 2007, will appear in an upcoming skincare campaign for the brand this year. {WWD}
Chelsea Clinton told Today that she'd be open to running for public office if she could make a "meaningful" and "measurably greater impact." {E!}
Michael Kors and Halle Berry have teamed up to fight hunger with the UN World Food Programme. {CNN}
Courtney Love dishes on her beauty regimen: "I'm more into wearing L'Wren Scott and not being controversial these days, but when my new album comes out, we'll see." {Into the Gloss}
Adele is rumored to be back in the studio, working on her third album. {The Sun}
Melissa McCarthy performed her SNL monologue this weekend stumbling around in sky-high Brian Atwood heels. {The Huffington Post}
Marc Jacobs was spotted celebrating his 50th birthday on the beach in Rio de Janeiro with his boyfriend, Harry Louis. {The Cut}
Boardwalk Empire's Jack Huston and Victoria's Secret model Shannan Click welcomed their first child. {People}

Advertisement - Continue Reading BelowJill Serra, Associate Art Director, in vintage pumps
Photo: Kelly Stuart

RetnaAdvertisement - Continue Reading BelowAt the Time 100 Gala at New York's Time Warner Center last night, the most influential leaders, artists, entertainers, scientists, and thinkers gathered for a celebration of their accomplishments. At the fete, Kate Hudson and Liv Tyler—both influential fashion tastemakers—posed together on the red carpet to show two striking Stella McCartney looks—Hudson wore a pristine ivory suit (accessorized with Cartier jewelry), while Tyler opted for a sexy black lace frock.