Eva Longoria shows off her jaw-dropping figure in a glamorous white cut out gown as she attends the Global Gift Gala in Marbella
The actress, 50, made sure to turn heads in the eye catching halterneck floor-length number which boasted a cut out flashing her toned abs.
Eva elevated her frame in a pair of towering heels and accessorised with a pair of chic star drop earrings.
The Desperate Housewives star flashed her gorgeous smile as she chatted with pals at the glamorous event.
In May the actress, who shares son Santiago, seven, with husband José Antonio, said she always thought she'd become a success in Hollywood.
Eva has enjoyed a hugely successful career, starring in shows such as Only Murders in the Building, and Eva has now revealed that she never doubted her own talent.
The actress told Byrdie: 'When I look at the longevity I've had in this industry, it makes sense to me'.
'Of course, I'm going to work as hard as I can at whatever I do, and it just happens to be in this industry. I knew I'd be successful because I was surrounded by successful women - my mother, sisters, and aunts were independent, strong, smart, and charitable.
'They were everything I wanted to be.'
Eva's self-belief has helped her to navigate the pitfalls of Hollywood. She explained: 'I remember the first time I was on a billboard and somebody said to me, "Oh my god, who would have thought?"
'And I said, "Me. I thought it. I dreamt it." If you don't champion yourself, who else is going to? That unwavering belief in yourself will take you so far.'
Despite this, Eva admits that her priorities have changed in recent years.
The brunette beauty shared: 'When you're young, you should say yes to every opportunity, so you can decide what you want to do in life.
'Now that I'm 50, I'm prioritizing differently,' explained the close friend of ER star George Clooney.
'I'm curating my life to be very specific to what I want the next 50 years to look like. I'm spending more time with my family, working less, and doing more of what I love.
'Being financially secure helps with those decisions, but I feel I've worked hard enough to say 'no' now.' Eva has also confessed to becoming more health-conscious in recent years.
The actress said: 'I don't mind ageing. I just want to age well. I'm grateful to be able to move my body and work out, hike up a mountain, and play with my son. I'm trying to be as mobile as possible for as long as possible.'
This comes after the mother-of-one shared her top three diet hacks last year.
Eva's three diet tips are intermittent fasting, clean eating, and moderation.
She follows a 16:8 fasting window (eating between 11 a.m. and 7 p.m.) and focuses on protein, leafy greens, healthy fats, and complex carbohydrates
The star also avoids processed carbs, sugar, and fried foods, particularly during the early postpartum stage.
She generally eats within an eight-hour window, typically between 11 a.m. and 7 p.m., according to Women's Health.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Guardian
27 minutes ago
- The Guardian
More sex please, we're bookish: the rise of the x-rated novel
When the judges awarded Yael van der Wouden's brilliant debut, The Safekeep, the Women's prize for fiction last month, they weren't just garlanding a book that happens to have a few sexy scenes in it. They were responding to a work that engages with the current levels of literary excitement around sex and marries this with sweeping historical vistas and a distinctive sensibility. It was joined on the shortlist by Miranda July's exuberant odyssey of midlife desire, All Fours, and Fundamentally by Nussaibah Younis, a smart, quickfire account of a young academic's work for a UN deradicalisation programme, which juxtaposes the world of Middle Eastern religious politics with a closeup relish for female sexuality. While younger generations, at least, have said in recent years that they want to see more platonic friendship and less sex on screen, reading appetites appear to be going in the other direction, with a huge boom in romance and 'romantasy' – the romance-fantasy hybrid driven by TikTok and the success of authors such as Rebecca Yarros and Sarah J Maas. We all have strong, mixed feelings about sex, and the cultural landscape reflects the whole spectrum of kinks and hangups. But that means that we have all the more need for writers like Van der Wouden, July and Sally Rooney, who push the boundaries of how explicit the literary novel can be while also giving us new ways of imagining how desire works within lives today. Ours is a dual age of identity politics and porn. We get our identities from sex – queer or straight, pansexual or 'incel' – but it's also the white-hot arena in which identity melts down. In the wake of the #MeToo movement, when pornography is everywhere and Gillian Anderson is collecting thousands of sexual fantasies with anthropological zeal, it seems we still need literature to tell us new things about sex. What I found, reading recent work by authors including Rooney, Van der Wouden, Jen Beagin, K Patrick and Eimear McBride, were unpredictable fusions of the two impulses. Lovers, dutifully preoccupied with questions of identity by day, find that in bed they can transcend selfhood, outstripping their identities. To surrender individuality and accept the dissolution of the self, to lose sight of who is in control – these possibilities have preoccupied erotic writers since the early 20th century, when sex first became representable in literary fiction. Back then there was DH Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, staking the redemption of humanity on sexual transformation. In Lawrence's wake came Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin and Georges Bataille – all about abjection and breaking taboos. Then the outrageously argumentative Norman Mailer and John Updike, whose frank delight in the female form called out for a feminist backlash. It came in the shape of Kate Millett's wittily polemical 1970 Sexual Politics and a new wave of sexually explicit novels by women concerned less with celebrating than with demythologising sex. Erica Jong's epochal 1973 Fear of Flying ushered in the 'zipless fuck' – sex without strings – and allowed a generation of feminists to experiment with promiscuity, but for all its brilliance on psychoanalysis and marriage, the book is pretty terrible on sex. It took another backlash – within feminism itself – to make sex great again. In 1967 Susan Sontag had written The Pornographic Imagination, an essay defending writers such as Bataille from prudery and fighting to classify pornographic writing as literature, even or especially when it exceeded realism. 'Tamed as it may be, sexuality remains one of the demonic forces in human consciousness,' she wrote – so why not make it a resource for 'breaking through the limits of consciousness'? Angela Carter took on Sontag's ideas in her 1978 study, The Sadeian Woman, arguing against feminists concerned to outlaw porn, and making the case for the 'moral pornographer' – an artist who 'uses pornographic material as part of the acceptance of the logic of a world of absolute sexual licence for all the genders'. Sontag and Carter saw that the power of sex lay in opening selfhood to otherness with extravagant force. Otherness and innovation go together, so great writing about great sex always has radical potential. The parameters they set out still define the best possibilities of what sex writing can be, though plenty of men – from Philip Roth to Michel Houellebecq – came along in the meantime to try to prove that male desire was still fascinating. Reading in our contemporary era, I find myself most riveted by writers who continue Carter's tradition. Published earlier this year, Sophie Kemp's Paradise Logic tells the satirical story of a young woman's attempt to make herself into the ideal girlfriend and, in doing so, exposes the patriarchal nature of porn culture. But precisely because it's so clever and sassy it reveals the limits of satire, whereas other contemporary novelists are bringing together the pornographic and the transcendent in a more transporting way. It's telling that these writers are more often writing gay than heterosexual sex. Garth Greenwell, who has described himself as wanting to write scenes that are '100% pornographic and 100% high art', is more trammelled by questions of identity than Alan Hollinghurst was when he wrote The Swimming-Pool Library – a book Greenwell credits as an inspiration. Greenwell is writing sex in the age of consent and dutiful identity politics, but arguably it's these constraints that power his existential quest. There's a scene in Greenwell's 2020 Cleanness where the pornographic and the transcendent explicitly entwine. The narrator has a BDSM encounter with a Bulgarian man he calls Svetcheto, 'the little saint'. The usually submissive narrator has agreed to dominate. It's a brutal scene, all the more frightening because it mirrors an earlier encounter when the narrator was dangerously violated. We're worried both that he'll reenact that violence and that he won't carry off this new role. But then it becomes clear he's enjoying himself. Suffused by mutual, unexpected transcendence, the couple's porn-inspired identities simultaneously break down and burst into flower. Laughing, Svetcheto licks away the narrator's tears. 'Do you see? You don't have to be like that,' he says. 'You can be like this.' Jen Beagin, K Patrick and Yael van der Wouden write moving, powerful portraits of lesbian desire, full of anatomical detail. Beagin's Big Swiss is a large-hearted tale of a love affair between Flavia, an absurdly beautiful gynaecologist, and Greta, the more klutzy, down-at-heel writer who's paid by Flavia's sex therapist to transcribe her sessions. 'Her pussy looked like advanced origami. A crisp pink lotus flower folded by a master. Greta briefly rearranged it with her mouth.' The sex scenes in Patrick's Mrs S are less metaphorical and more breathlessly desiring, though the prose is taut in its lyricism. It can feel like the plot – a love affair between the 22-year-old new teaching recruit and the headmaster's wife in a girls' boarding school – is an excuse for the sex scenes, but in a way that's the point. In both books, it is striking how quickly sex reveals the existential need for transformation. Even in that first sex scene, Greta feels as if she's reached a place 'she's been visiting in her dreams for years and forgetting'. Mrs S is casually historical – set in the 1980s or 90s – which means its identity politics can be implicit: the narrator wears a chest binder but the book doesn't raise questions of trans identity. Instead it is preoccupied with the loss of identity, as the narrator feels herself remade as the 'You' she becomes in her lover's mouth. 'It is as if she has always been waiting for this arrival, of me into my body. You. I don't have a name. Isn't it so much better, to not have a name, to be dropped straight from the clouds?' The sex scenes are more shocking in Van der Wouden's The Safekeep because the subject matter is so serious. This is the story of a violently sudden passion that becomes a love affair between Eva, a displaced Jew, and Isabel, a gentile woman who has unwitting power over her. The book is set in the aftermath of the second world war and, given the gravity of the material, some reviewers have wondered if the sex scenes are necessary. But this is to miss the point, which is that the book only works if the relationship throws both women entirely off-kilter – using the edges of porn to show sex derailing not only their lives but their selves, and indeed the conventional novel form itself. Isabel finds herself vulnerably, joyously powerless in an unfamiliar body: 'At Eva's mercy, trapped between the cage of her teeth, she had grown a new shape.' Van der Wouden insists that her complex sense of character development justifies sexual explicitness. But she has also been clear in interviews that no justification is needed: 'The girls deserve to have some fun. This was my mantra while writing: Let them have some fun!' So what about those writers daring to write explicit, ecstatic heterosexual sex? The most compelling are Eimear McBride, whose The Lesser Bohemians makes the reader feel as though they are almost inside the bodies of the protagonists, and Sally Rooney, who is casually magisterial at writing sex scenes that are at once radiant and minutely observed by her overthinking characters. Like Greenwell, Rooney balances a commitment to a contemporary vision of identity and consent with a willingness to explore the pull of dissolution and abjection. Sign up to Bookmarks Discover new books and learn more about your favourite authors with our expert reviews, interviews and news stories. Literary delights delivered direct to you after newsletter promotion In Intermezzo, the young chess genius Ivan checks repeatedly that his lover likes what he's doing, while his brother Peter half-exploits Naomi, a young woman who has sold pornographic images of herself and remains too willing to abase herself for men. But beneath these exterior sexual identities are their private bodily lives, and sex is the best means of growth they have. Rooney follows McBride in dizzyingly contorting her sentences: 'Deep pressing almost hurting and she felt him throbbing, wanting to, and she wanted that also, wet inside, image of silver behind her closed eyelids, jetting, emptying into her …' Rooney is surprised that people don't ask her more often about the place of sex in her novels; 'the erotic is a huge engine in the stories of all my books,' she has said. But it is in All Fours that the full possibilities of Carter's 'moral pornography' are realised. July's novel manages to be at once an ethnographic account of women's perimenopausal sexuality and a more darkly anti-realist tale of a woman living out her sexual fantasies. The narrator spends vast sums transforming a small-town hotel room into a sumptuous dreamscape, where she tests her capacities for love and lust with Davey, a beautiful, potent but determinedly chaste young dancer she meets at the gas station. The encounters with Davey are brilliantly, exuberantly realised – all the more so because July never loses sight of their comedy. In the absence of sex, they seek consummation elsewhere, and at one point Davey changes her tampon. The scene is both bathetically comic, intensely erotic, and unexpectedly moving. But it is once she and Davey part and the narrator has sex with sexagenarian Audra that the novel becomes incandescent. The narrator is home now, adjusting to her former life, but has negotiated a weekly night in the hotel. She seeks out Audra, who had a relationship with Davey years earlier, desperate to compare notes. 'Fantasies are all good and well up to a certain age,' Audra says, 'Then you have to have lived experiences or you'll go batty.' And so Audra describes her sexual past with Davey, while both women masturbate, an experience that, for the narrator, 'lit up new neural pathways, as if sex, the whole concept of it, was being freshly mapped'. As a sexual encounter, this is moving and original. As a vision of womanhood undergoing feats of change and confronting mortality, it's extraordinary. This scene takes us beyond realism. In her life at home, July's narrator is casually, matter-of-factly bound up in the sexual questions of her contemporary world: she has a nonbinary child and is anxiously aware how limited her sex life is by motherhood. But July uses the narrator's experiences in the hotel room to bend and test our sense of novelistic, psychological plausibility. It is a place where identity can be discarded and remade. Sex remains at the centre of much of the best fiction, and we need powerful fictions to show us what sex is or can become. This is where realism comes up against something stranger, and body and consciousness undo and affirm each other, because it can be at once so ordinary, and so transcendent. Lara Feigel is the author of Look! We Have Come Through! – Living with DH Lawrence (Bloomsbury).
Daily Mail
40 minutes ago
- Daily Mail
Bianca Censori debuts a new covered-up look as she and husband Kanye West fly into Seoul
She frequently leaves little to the imagination with her wardrobe but Kanye West's wife Bianca Censori surprisingly jetted into Seoul in a completely covered-up outfit. In a departure from her usual flesh-flashing attire, on Friday Bianca showed hardly any skin as she touched down into the South Korean capital alongside her husband Kanye West Bianca was in a black sweater with matching leggings and feathery leg warmers, and she added a taupe messenger cap and sunglasses. Kanye dressed similarly in all-black, and opted for a zip-down sweatshirt, leather pants, and chunky boots. The couple's outing was after Bianca recently appeared in skin-out photos, which were photographed by her rapper husband and shared on Instagram. The images showed her as she posed in white lace lingerie in a hotel room in Japan, in shots taken in October.
The Independent
an hour ago
- The Independent
Nepo babies used to get on our nerves – now they've got the upper hand
This week, Brooklyn Beckham shocked his followers when he shared a video of himself rustling up a tomato pasta dish using seawater. In the clip posted to his Instagram, the would-be chef leans off the back of a luxury yacht and dips a silver saucepan into the sea, before bringing the briny to boil and plopping in some spaghetti. 'That's disgusting,' one person commented. Others said: 'Nothing like cooking in sewage water …' and – possibly most devastating of all – 'Go get a real job PLEASE!!!!!!' Beckham, 26, has long faced criticism from nepo baby haters for using his privileged position as the eldest child of David and Victoria Beckham to his advantage in his various 'careers'. His amateurish seawater pasta is but his latest clueless foray into the world of work. He irritated established fashion photographers when, aged 16, he was hired by Burberry to shoot its latest fragrance campaign. In a juvenile collection of his photographs, published by Penguin Random House, his shot of a dimly lit elephant was accompanied by a caption: 'Elephants in Kenya. so hard to photograph but incredible to see.' In 2022, his career relaunch as an chef-influencer, with his straight-to-Instagram show Cookin' with Brooklyn, reputedly required a team of 62 professionals, including culinary producers, cameramen and several producers – and cost a staggering £74,000 an episode to make. Nothing like starting at the bottom and working your way up, is there? When Oasis return to Wembley Stadium this weekend, for the first time since 2009, as part of the brothers Liam and Noel Gallagher's reunion tour, they will be supported by Richard Ashcroft of The Verve. But eyes have no doubt rolled at Liam's daughter Molly and Ashcroft's son Sonny gracing the front of the new issue of Tatler, as cover stars for their latest Cool Britannia issue for the same reason: they are only famous because of their parents. In the cover photo, Molly, 27, a model, is standing on an elaborate gilded French stool in a blue leather mini-coat, with musician Sonny, 25, who is hoping to release music soon – wearing a tie against the backdrop of a huge Union flag. The trouble with nepo babies – a phrase coined in 2022 that shortens 'nepotism', and which Gwyneth Paltrow dismissed as an "ugly moniker" with which to beat the children of famous people – is that they are successful only because their famous parent(s) helped them get their foot in the door. Those that are talented struggle to escape the pervasive feeling that their connections and money have given them a headstart that other equally talented people won't get. The resentment is that it's grossly unfair as the rest of us have to claw our way to the top. We can't just walk into a movie role, or capitalise on being the next generation leading the Britpop revival. To win favour, nepo babies shouldn't deny or hide their privilege like Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis's daughter Lily-Rose Depp, 26, did when she once claimed in Elle magazine that 'nothing is going to get you the part except for being right for the part'. This week, Isadora Bjarkardottir Barney, 22-year-old daughter of Icelandic singer Björk, claimed that being a nepo baby 'doesn't help you much', after landing her first leading role in a feature film, The Mountain. Hailey Bieber tried to embrace the term by wearing a 'Nepo Baby' crop top in 2023, to acknowledge her Baldwin family dynasty links, but was then criticised online for 'not being enough' of a nepo baby. Stranger Things actor Maya Hawke – daughter of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman – tried a different tack, admitting what a privileged position she is in, compared with the rest of us. Since the whole debate erupted with New York Magazine's 2022 cover The Year of the Nepo Baby, things have changed. I say it's about time we stopped hating on nepo babies. Today's nepos – nepo 2.0, the next generation – are fully aware of their ridiculousness, and they're now actually playing up to it. Because they can't help who their famous parents are – and what else are they supposed to do? That's why Beckham now courts criticism and finger-pointing laughs by cooking seawater pasta, and why the Oasis nepo babies are happy to push their status as cultural icons for a new generation. The difference is the new breed of nepo babies aren't struggling with the nepo label. They are just happy to weaponise it and get up in our faces. Blue Ivy Carter, 13, the daughter of Beyoncé and Jay-Z, has been dubbed a positive example of nepotism in the music industry for her stage presence and talent after she brazenly adopted the role of chief backing dancer for her mum's Cowboy Carter tour – often stealing the limelight. Kai Gerber, 23, looks the spitting image of her supermodel mum Cindy Crawford – for a reason. She's continuing Crawford's legacy in the fashion industry. Nepo babies offer the rest of us light relief in dark times. Getting ahead because of mum and/or dad isn't going away – so we might as well enjoy it.
