Everyone in fashion is channeling Nancy Meyers chic this summer - here's how you can too
As well as making some of my best-loved films, such as It's Complicated and The Holiday, she has a cult following for her meticulously styled aesthetic – aptly dubbed 'the cashmere world of Nancy Meyers' – which has influenced both interiors and fashion. It's best illustrated in – with Diane Keaton breezing around the Hamptons in white linen and a bucket hat.
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Daily Mail
28 minutes ago
- Daily Mail
Moment Sharon Osbourne beats up reality star to protect Ozzy goes viral after his death
A fiery throwback clip of Sharon Osbourne fiercely defending her late husband Ozzy is going viral following the rock icon's death on Tuesday at age 76, with fans praising Sharon's jaw-dropping loyalty. The moment, pulled from a 2008 episode of Rock of Love: Charm School, shows Sharon unleashing on contestant Megan Hauserman — who struck a nerve when she insulted Ozzy. 'The only thing you've managed to do as a celebrity is to watch your husband's brain turn into a vegetable,' Hauserman sneered. Sharon quickly turned to the audience and said, 'I feel so sorry for her,' before standing up, calmly taking a sip from her cup — and then hurling the rest of the drink in Hauserman's face. Security scrambled onto the stage as the situation escalated, but Sharon held her ground. 'They can f*** with me… I don't give a sh** — but not my family,' she told the stunned crowd with defiant flair. Hauserman later sued Sharon for battery and distress, while Sharon countersued, saying the reality star had assumed the risk and broken their agreement by suing. The case quietly settled in 2011 for an undisclosed six-figure sum. Now, with the resurfaced clip making the rounds, social media users are praising Sharon's undying devotion. 'The way she loved Ozzy is something not common,' one fan commented. 'She really, REALLY loved her husband.' 'Ozzy was so blessed to have someone as loving as she was,' one fan wrote. Another declared, 'Ozzy was the king of metal, but she was the queen. Never attack royalty.' 'GO Sharon,' one posted, while another added, 'She doesn't play when it comes to her man.' 'Yeaaass Sharon. Always stood by your man,' a fan chimed in. 'Yes Sharon! So much respect for that,' someone else wrote. 'Sharon is a boss,' said another. 'Icon, legend, moment,' read one viral comment. And one fan summed it up: 'Love Sharon for this. She's sassy and don't stand for disrespect. She's a real one!' The viral clip comes as Sharon spoke out for the first time since the death of her husband Ozzy, replying to heartfelt messages from fans. English musician Gavin Rossdale took to Instagram shortly after the news broke to pay tribute to the heavy metal icon. He posted: 'RIP OZZY - a great man -a true legend - i met ozzy through jack just a few times but he was so warm and kind and funny and i love that memory .sending much love to his family at this difficult time. Rest in power.' Sharon replied to his post: 'Bless you.' View this post on Instagram A post shared by The Archbishop of Banterbury🇬🇧 (@thearchbishopofbanterbury) The Black Sabbath legend's death was announced by his family on Tuesday night n a statement that read: 'It is with more sadness than mere words can convey that we have to report that our beloved Ozzy Osbourne has passed away this morning. 'He was with his family and surrounded by love. We ask everyone to respect our family privacy at this time. Sharon, Jack, Kelly, Aimee and Louis.' Osbourne married Sharon, the daughter of the band's manager Don Arden, on July 4, 1982. After having daughter Aimee, now 38, in 1983, the couple went on to have Kelly, 37, in 1984, and Jack, 36, in 1985.
BBC News
30 minutes ago
- BBC News
Why did our friends stop posting on social media?
After two decades of sharing more online, it looks like we've decided to share less. New polling shows that nearly a third of all social media users post less than they did a year ago. That trend is especially true for adults in Gen Z. In a recent essay for the New Yorker, writer Kyle Chayka suggested that society might be headed towards what he calls "posting zero": a point where regular people feel that it's not worth it to share their lives online. I've noticed this downward trend in my own social feeds. For every picture of a friend's vacation or of a colleague's children, there seem to be dozens (if not hundreds) of posts from brands and influencers promoting a new product or discussing the latest trend. Social media used to feel like an imperfect facsimile of my social life – but now, it feels more like "content". Some of this, I know, is because the platforms themselves have changed. TikTok and Instagram amassed endless troves of vertical videos and built eerily powerful algorithms to help guide you through them. But what happens to our digital lives when social media seemingly becomes much less social? I called Kyle to ask him more about it. He is a staff writer for the New Yorker and his latest book is Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture. You can watch – or read – more of our conversation below. Below is an excerpt from our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity. Katty Kay: When I look at my social media feeds, they're full of ads and pictures of lovely houses that I will never buy in places I'll probably never even visit. But I'm literally trying to think of the last time I actually saw a post from a friend. What does it mean for the future of these platforms if our reason for going there now is totally different from what it was even a couple of years ago? Kyle Chayka: I think social media has become less social. It's more about just consuming this kind of highly commodified content. It's more about lifestyle aspiration, not just what's going on around you and how you are relating to your friends and family. To me, that kind of removes the purpose of social media. If the platforms are losing their grip on people's normal lives and normal people don't feel the incentive to post anymore, then social media becomes just like television. What we're left with then is the brand advertising and the fast fashion and the houses and the hotel advertisements – and that's just not the same kind of organic, highly textured stuff that we were used to. KK: The people that run these social media companies have the most sophisticated algorithms to hook us in. What's their response to this? Or are they just happy that there's more advertising so they're making more advertising revenue? KC: I think their main clients are the advertisers. So, as long as we the users are still engaging, their business model still works. I think they're also betting that the human-generated content will be replaced gradually with AI-generated content. You can see Meta already kind of moving the Facebook feed and the Instagram feed toward that kind of computer-generated stuff, which is obviously infinite and cheap, but also meaningless, in my opinion. KK: Do you think there's a chance that the social media platforms are going to see a significant drop-off among people who actually went there to see things like where our friends were going on holiday or what they had for breakfast? KC: I think so. I think there is a slow decline; I know of one study recently that found fewer people are actually posting on TikTok. But what these platforms have found, I think Instagram in particular, is that our personal sharing is moving more toward direct messages and one-to-one conversations with our friends. We actually do need an online social network. The social networks that we have now don't really want to play that role. So, I think there will be new spaces and maybe even new apps that emerge to serve that need, whether that's like an expanded WhatsApp or a better management system for all your friends' group chats. I think we're just moving into a more private, more intimate way of connecting online. KK: I have kids who are in their 20s and teens. There was a whole feeling amongst my generation that kids today don't care about privacy and they're happy to put anything online. I'm wondering if we were wrong about that, that young people tasted this world where everything was put out there in public, and now they're thinking, "Actually, I'd rather my groups were more intimate and curated," as opposed to the whole world knowing what I had for breakfast. KC: I think we kind of learned the downside of broadcasting your private life online over the course of the 2010s. You could see that with public shaming or kind of viral embarrassments that happen to people. I think the social contract of social media has changed. The deal was if you put stuff out there, if you put out content, you could get this massive audience. But that becomes a vicious cycle that becomes your entire life. So, unless you're trying to become an influencer or a professional internet poster, the deal doesn't seem so good anymore. The downsides of posting are too great and the advantages are not good enough. So, you might as well just text your friends. KK: I had a super-interesting conversation with Jonathan Haidt, who's obviously done a lot of work on trying to get phones out of schools. Do you think that if the trend you are spotting – you call it posting zero – turns out to be a kind of a significant wave that we're moving towards, does it actually make it easier to break that phone and device addiction for kids? KC: It's a good question. I do think we've passed peak social media in a way, but I don't think that removes the 24/7 digital conversation that people are having. It's just that the conversation moves away from the public channels into these group chats, into DMs or a more ephemeral platform, like Snapchat. The addictive capacity of the phone is still there. The distraction is certainly still there. But I think there's less of this public nature of it. I think it is a little bit better that we've moved out of the public sphere and have removed that risk of just getting totally exposed to the entire world and going viral for the wrong reasons. But we're still texting each other all day. We're still consuming memes. We're still getting distracted by feeds. KK: Throw it forward. What are we going to be looking at on our phones in five years' time? How different will our interactions be with the social component of our phones and our devices? KC: I think it'll be even more like television. If we look at the way things are going, it's a lot of professionalised media. It's a lot of passively watching stuff. We kind of see this merging today of YouTube and TikTok and Netflix into just an unholy combination of audio and video and algorithmic feed. If I had to predict, the conversation and social aspect will be in text messages or I think it might move more into real life. I think this peak social media has created more of a desire for in-person interaction and has reminded us of the value of actually sharing things in real life. So, that makes me a little bit hopeful. KK: Do you think we'll get to a posting zero world, where people like you and I just are not posting anymore? KC: I think so. I think it's coming sooner than we expect, just because there's no incentive to post anymore. Why post your selfies or post your breakfast if you don't get attention for it, you can't reach your friends and you're just competing with all of this remote, abstracted garbage out there? Maybe social media was this aberration in a way, or a detour. And this idea that every normal person should share their life in public was kind of flawed from the beginning. And we're now waking up from that a little bit and seeing the damage that it's wrought and moving on a little bit with our habits. --
The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
Covid, social media, Black Lives Matter: Ari Aster's Eddington takes 2020 on and mostly succeeds
Eddington, writer-director Ari Aster's polarizing new black dramedy, opens with a troubling sight: an unhoused and clearly distressed man walking through the New Mexico desert, bleating an incoherent ramble of modern buzzwords. Troubling not for the man, but for the content of his ramble and the time: late May, 2020. TikTok. My immediate reaction was a derogatory 'oh no'. Aster has specialized in gut-twisting, unworldly horror, the kind of brain-searing, highly symbolic shocks that linger for weeks; I watched large stretches of his first two features, the demonic family parable Hereditary and Swedish solstice nightmare Midsommar – through my fingers. But in Eddington, he took on not one but two insidious bogeymen haunting our psyches: phones in movies and Covid. Nearly every character in Aster's black satire of Covid-era upheaval possesses a device essential to modern life but often incompatible with cinematic storytelling. People trawl Instagram for updates on their crush, sell crafts on Etsy, watch videos on the Bill Gates microchip conspiracy, receive updates via Pop Crave. Sheriff Joe Cross (Joaquin Phoenix), the walking ego bruise of a protagonist in Aster's vision of a small western town, announces his snap campaign for mayor against nemesis Ted Garcia (Pedro Pascal) on Facebook Live. In one of many blows to his tenuous dignity, he discovers message boards of pedophilia panic frequented by his wife, Louise (Emma Stone); he's awakened from a depressed, drug-tinged sleep binge by frantic iMessages from his two hapless deputies. Such verisimilitude to how most of the movie-going public live our lives – online, on screens, absorbing toxic dosages of information in our own private bubbles – usually spells disaster for a Hollywood project. Decades into the internet era, most movies and TV shows still cannot get the internet right. Second screens are inherently un-cinematic, and the tighter the internet's hyper-loops of viral attention coil, the harder it is to capture in cinematic projects that usually spans years from conception to audience. Something almost always feels off – the interface distracting, the tone askew, the liminality and speed incongruous with the story. I can probably count on two hands the films that have captured digital life in a way did not feel inaccurate, didactic or self-important, let alone seamlessly woven it into story – Eighth Grade, Sweat, Tár, Dìdi, Past Lives. I remember them because it's still so rare; it is difficult to incorporate the mundane minutiae of screen life, tie oneself to time-stamped events, or tap into the propulsion of social media and succeed. It is just as tricky to burrow into an identifiable cultural moment without coming off as horrifically smug – both the climate emergency satire Don't Look Up and billionaire-skewering Mountainhead were so politically self-satisfied as to be nearly unbearable. Much has and will be said about Eddington's portent precarious ambiguity, its mid-act tonal shift and descent into violence, about Aster's divisive transformation from horror wunderkind to high-minded auteur. (I personally found the shift dubious and the second, should-be thrilling half a tedious slog, though in the hands of cinematographer Darius Khondji, everything looks fantastic.) But on this front – the task of handling real events on a real timeline with a real sense of the vanishing boundary between online and off – Eddington is a success. Aster's film touches so many of the third rails of modern cinema – the internet, screenshots, Zoom, celebrities, political figures, bitcoin, 9/11 – and yet somehow survives. It does so by grounding this admittedly bloated satire of political and social turmoil in a hyper-specific moment in late May 2020. Whereas the winners in the digital culture film canon usually succeed by using the phone screen as a window into one character's psyche – think the surveilling Instagram Live that opens Tár, or the Instagram scroll montage in Eighth Grade – Eddington aims for a specific cultural moment; phone lock screens keep time during a week deep in US lockdown, as frustration, anger, fear and outrage fester into outright chaos. My particular brand of brain worms means that I remember, in crystal-clear chronological order, the concerned Atlantic articles, to NBA cancellation, to Tom Hanks coronavirus diagnosis death spiral, to New York completely shutting down on 11 March, as well as the beginning of the Black Lives Matter protests after the murder of George Floyd on 25 May. What I chose not to remember, at least until watching a scene in which the sheriff refuses to wear a mask in a grocery store, prompting a showdown with frazzled employees, was the lost etiquette of 2020 – standing 6ft apart, silently judging those who wore their masks on their chins and those who policed, constantly assessing others' propensity for a fight. Traversing fault lines everywhere. Eddington's characters implode and tangle and lose their minds against this chillingly familiar backdrop – half-masked high-schoolers gathering in clumps outside, mask mandates handed down from the governor, virtual town halls. Some tumble down internet rabbit holes into delusion. (A too-broad, conspiratorial wellness guru, played by a too-intense Austin Butler, makes an unfortunate IRL appearance in Eddington.) Others follow Instagram to the growing ranks of BLM protests across the nation. Neighbors doubt neighbors, and even the mention of Black lives exposes barely hidden racial tensions. Everywhere, at least for the film's superior first half, there's a feeling of trepidation – a familiar disorientation from the rapid blurring of right and wrong, a deluge of high-octane headlines and a potent confusion of sympathies that cannot be resolved. Aster is not always fair in his rendering, sometimes stacking its deck in favor of the needling center that is Sheriff Joe. But the internet is going to flatten everyone into statements and identities, and Eddington takes swipes in all directions. Tár is nimbler at skewering so-called 'social justice warriors', though at least Aster captures how some white leftist activists are primarily driven by ego, how much of the body politic is straight-up id. About a quarter of the way through the movie, Joe confronts an onslaught of national anger with his own projection; he dismisses concern from deputy Guy (a savvily cast Luke Grimes from Yellowstone) about the Black Lives Matter protesters (or 'looters') seen on TV with a blanket 'that's not a here problem'. Except, of course, it is. Five years on, we have only just reached some critical distance from the rupture that, judging by the lack of retrospectives this March, no one wants to remember. In Eddington, that upside-down, unreal reality begins to come into focus. There is no such thing as a 'here problem'. Everything is an everywhere problem. At any point, the worst parts of the internet – which is to say, the worst parts of people – can descend on your town at terrifying speed. To see that environment rendered believably on screen is, ironically, the most thrilling part of it all. Eddington is out now in US cinemas and in the UK on 22 August
