Sarah Gladstone

Kids see it, we see it, the American people see it: Disney princesses perpetuate an unrealistic portrayal of the female body.

If there’s even a chance that smartphones are connected to cancer why the fuck do we keep using them?

When it comes to baby animals, oohing and ahhing and squeeeing around them (baby bunny . . . squeee!) is usually the way to go.

Hot vanilla. Sweet vanilla woman. Break me off a piece of that vanilla girl! Nope. Nobody says that.

So, you missed a few (or all) of the Oscar nominated movies this year. It's OK.

A week of Instagram-able moments centers around the booming network of the millennial population.

All I heard was “positive."

Word bombs like "hey baby" or “let me see that smile" create metaphysical clashes on the streets calling into question whether petulant catcalls are misogynistic (but harmless) or are actually societally sanctioned sexual abuse.

I know that in a lot of ways I am a cultural and ethnic enigma. But discussing my identity all the time can get old. Like, real old, real fast.

As Americans we have fallen prey to a particular "look" —namely white and thin—and suffer from an inability to shatter it. The result? A backhanded compliment of the hybrid variety: “You’re pretty . . . for a black girl.”