Olivia Munn reveals her mum's breast cancer journey alongside her own
She shared the news via Instagram, revealing her mum Kim Munn, 72, was diagnosed with Stage 1 HER2-positive breast cancer – less than a year after Munn's own diagnosis.
In a caption alongside 11 pictures of Kim receiving treatment in hospital,
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NZ Herald
20 hours ago
- NZ Herald
Book of the day: Rejection by Tony Tulathimutte
Listening to articles is free for open-access content—explore other articles or learn more about text-to-speech. Tony Tulathimutte: Witty, courageous, often brutal. Photos / Supplied What does literary fiction have to offer the chronically online ‒ people who spend more time gaming, gooning and doomscrolling than reading? And what do the chronically online have to offer fiction writers; what plot points can be crafted from our inaction, what motivation from our compulsive sating of surface desires? There are reasons fiction hasn't kept pace with the changing ways we live. Thai-American author Tony Tulathimutte, who's 41, nevertheless plays catch-up in his book of stories, Rejection, upping the difficulty by casting powerfully self-pitying, misanthropic, misogynistic and malevolent characters, people who not only experience rejection but come to identify as rejects. In the opening story, The Feminist, we meet a 'nice guy', a gender studies major who, despite devoting all his energy to understanding women, just can't get laid. The Feminist blames his narrow shoulders, but it's socially that he's most underdeveloped; flirtation's 'subtextual cues no more perceptible to him than ultraviolet radiation'. The Feminist is comically desperate to come across as an ally, his online dating profile leading with 'Unshakeably serious about consent. Abortion's #1 fan'. Despite virtue-skywriting in public, he privately stews about the broad-shouldered guys getting the girls. 'Dragging his virginity like a body bag,' the wound of rejection turns septic and he adopts an incel's checklist of obsessions and anxieties: depo-testosterone, canthal tilt, death-grip syndrome. Given a wake-up call on the Narrow Shoulders/Open Minds (NSOM) blog, The Feminist slams the phone. Having done everything right, in his view, for the past 40-something years, he comments, calling out the 'mass abrogation of the social contract by the legions of treacherous, evasive, giggling yeastbuckets'. Villain arc completed, what he does next further ties The Feminist to Elliot Rodger, the socially impaired, slender-framed, self-described 'sophisticated polite gentleman', whose lack of the sexual and romantic attention he felt he deserved drove him to kill six people and injure more in Isla Vista, California in 2014. Several of the stories in Rejection work this way. Tulathimutte presents marginal personalities, caricatures played for laughs in TV series such as Girls and High Maintenance, and keeps adding detail, cross-hatching in the darkest recesses of their minds. In Pics, love-starved Alison spirals after having supposedly no-strings-attached sex with a pal, 'occasionally posting a cryptic song lyric, ones where if he went and looked up the line right after it, he'd see it was about him and hopefully be devastated'. She complains in her friend group chat, dates a string of men she saves to her phone as icks (Mesh Shorts, Mr Gifs, The Feminist) and buys a raven in a cuckoo attempt to stave off loneliness. All of it – pal, friend group, lovers, even the bird – gets swallowed by the validation-consuming vacuum inside her. Eminently vulnerable, Alison is love-bombed, gaslit and economically entrapped by a tech bro named Max in the story Our dope future. With all the room-reading powers of Elon Musk, Max relates the tale of their failed relationship on a site like Reddit, underscoring his rizz, generosity and drive, including the desire to have at least a dozen kids using IVF ('four per gestation cycle would strike the ideal balance between fast and reliable'.) Learning in the comments that he's not just the OP (original poster) but an op (the opposition) doesn't compute: 'If everything I did was so evil, how is it that up until now not a single person ever told me No?' The protagonist of Ahegao, or The Ballad of Sexual Repression, is a closeted gay sadist named Kant who's as blinded by self-loathing as Max is by narcissism. Deciding it's the only way he can satisfy his hideous desires, he commissions impossibly depraved pornography – the kind that can be realised only by using special effects – from an OnlyFans-esque creator. The script, which makes Sam Rockwell's sex monologue in White Lotus seem tame, is a Chekhov's gun of humiliation just waiting to go off. Where Kant excessively identifies with his kinks, his sibling Bee abandons identity altogether. They sell their gender to a kid named Sean for $22, noting, in a sublime turn of phrase, that 'before I learned gender was fluid, I'd learned it was liquid'. Refusing even to identify as non-binary, Bee infuriates well-meaning, category-obsessed classmates. Disgusted by 'bad-faith identity-cels' and confident that 'discourse is loneliness disguised as war', Bee dedicates theirselves to elaborate online trolling operations, like The Joker with a Twitter account. Tulathimutte is extremely witty, his knowledge of the digital discourse-loneliness-war way beyond Wikipedic, but oof, Rejection is brutal, the characters so mercilessly denied love, hope and redemption. They wallow in grievance, weaponising it, like Trump voters or Netanyahu apologists. It's a temptation available to us all; to enumerate your grievances and find them wanting only helps level the score. In the final tale, Re: Rejection, Tulathimutte imagines us disliking not only his characters but the book itself. It's a rejection letter written by a fictional publisher who wonders if the manuscript isn't 'trying to espouse the conventional literary virtues of insight, empathy, fun and so on' because the author is deliberately soliciting rejection. In that regard, Rejection is a failure. All the poisonous Ivy League-level black-pilled rumination will leave you with a rash, but the book is also compelling, courageous and unusually engaged with the growing portion of people who feel abandoned, left out and looked over. Rejection, by Tony Tulathimutte (HarperCollins, $24.99), is out now.
Otago Daily Times
21 hours ago
- Otago Daily Times
Rugging up for the new semester a fashionable decision
This semester, two things have stood out in stark contrast to semester 1: the cold and the coats. The Dunedin winter has long settled in, and with it comes the transformation of campus wardrobes. Clothing in this city — especially among students — isn't strictly about warmth. I've come to realise that fashion is one of the most underestimated and most potent forms of expression available to us. Clothing tells stories: of protest, heritage, identity and community. What we choose to wear reflects how we see ourselves, the values we carry and how much of this we are willing to share with the world. And for many students, university is the first time we are allowed to make that choice every day — identity formation in motion. Many students are only a few months out of the conformity of school uniforms, and it's a natural survival instinct for some to blend in. There is safety in similarity. But the closer you look, the more individuality you begin to see; tattoos, piercings, dyed hair. Fashion is deeply personal, but powerful collectively. A group wearing the same logo or colours can make you stop and wonder. Are they a sports team or a protest group? Are they making a statement? The visual clues speak louder than you'd think. On campus, groups like Thursdays in Black, which I have mentioned previously in this column, wear simple black outfits to call attention to sexual violence. It's fashion as a symbol of solidarity and resistance. Internationally, too, fashion continues to be a powerful political force. An example that stands out is Cate Blanchett's black, white and green dress at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival, which incorporated the colours of the Palestinian flag, with the festival's red carpet completing the final component. The colours of the tino rangatiratanga flag here are synonymous with Māori sovereignty and independence, exemplified in the Toitū te Tiriti T-shirts often seen being worn with pride and purpose. Students wear their pounamu, taonga and precious jewels, often gifted by important people in their lives, in recognition of milestones and achievements. Another decisive shift has been happening quietly around us: how students engage with fashion consumption. Second-hand shopping is no longer on the fringe — it's everywhere, stylish and values-driven. At Recycle Boutique on George St, a popular spot among students, the process is circular: you sell a piece you've outgrown and use the credit to find something new (to you). Many students run their curated thrift stores out of Instagram accounts or apps like Depop and Designer Wardrobe. At university market days, these students can apply for a stallholder license for free and set up in-person shops, expressing their creativity, confidence and entrepreneurship. It's collaborative, local and driven by affordability and sustainability. Another significant player in this system is the dress rental industry. University and high school students alike have numerous options for websites to rent a dress for a ball, formal occasion, birthday party or other event. Saturday mornings often mean a stream of students sending off parcels: listed, carefully packaged, addressed and lovingly reworn by someone else upon their arrival. Despite the growing consciousness, fast fashion hasn't disappeared. Online shopping remains a huge industry, and couriers remain a regular part of the system. I imagine student carbon emissions are relatively high due to the flights home and back during breaks. Buying second-hand, avoiding fast fashion, supporting small businesses and choosing quality over quantity can be effective ways to tread more lightly. Supporting local creatives is a wonderfully rewarding way to give back. I recently bought a T-shirt from Tumbleweed, a small Aotearoa-based brand that produces to order and draws inspiration from our native wildlife and landscapes. Purchases give back to conservation efforts. I sent the T-shirt to a friend living overseas, as a piece of home. Ōtepoti itself is a hub for creativity and expression through clothing. The annual iD Dunedin Fashion Week features student models and showcases designers from around the country. Local brands like NOM*d, Zambesi and Company of Strangers all emphasise sustainability, ethical production and low-waste design. These labels not only put Aotearoa on the global fashion map but also offer a deep well of creative inspiration for aspiring fashion students in Dunedin. Dunedin's Bellebird Boutique is known for employing local fashion students, providing them with valuable work experience, insights and a sense of community within the world they aspire to enter. In the August print edition of Vogue, a Guess advertisement featured a model created using AI. This has led to much online discourse about the use of AI in creative industries. Student entrepreneurs, designers and creatives must be protected and uplifted; the AI model shows what is at stake. In small moments, clothing creates connection. Compliments spark conversation, and people become uplifted. At my hall's end-of-year prizegiving, there was an award for best-dressed resident. It seemed light-hearted, but it honoured the quiet artistry and self-care that goes into getting dressed — especially on a student budget in Dunedin winter. Fashion is culture, memory, protest, climate, connection and creativity woven and stitched together in ways that reflect who we are and who we are becoming. Kind regards, Grace. • Dunedin resident Grace Togneri is a fourth-year law student.
NZ Herald
a day ago
- NZ Herald
The new ‘cool girl' is a comfortable one
The vibe fell somewhere between whipped cream bras (Katy Perry's California Gurls), high-glam power femme (Rihanna's Pour It Up), and hollow-eyed silent beauties (The Weeknd's The Hills). There were exceptions to the rule, for instance, Adele. But even then, in the image-control era of Instagram, the vision remained the same. A highly contoured aesthetic where the expensive visual narrative was everything. Still from the music video of Katy Perry's California Gurls. Some would say that there is no direct connection between the pop stars and my behaviours. Or that I shouldn't have sought out their music (I didn't, it was just out there). We all know many factors influence a person's behaviour, not just who is in the charts or who walks the red carpet. Even so, it's naïve to think the pervasive images we consume, which are still largely created from a patriarchal lens, do not shape our culture. And when we are young, we are especially impressionable. The tide is turning. Women who are rising to fame now are totally unbothered. They come in all shapes and sizes - and the attention is not on their shapes and sizes. The aesthetic is inexpensive and chaotic. Mental health is visible. Beauty is glitchy. They might wear a baggy t-shirt or a tight crop top. It doesn't matter. The point is that it looks like they are dressing for themselves. These women are autonomous over their bodies. These women are comfortable. Lola Young is one of the artists symbolising this shift. I was introduced to the 24-year-old English singer through a content creator on Instagram (@itsme_layla21), who filmed herself dancing clumsily and freely to Young's hit track Messy while driving home. One of the top comments on the post sums up Young's vibe: 'Hell yeah just a woman enjoying her moment; you go girl,' it read. Young, who has spoken openly about her mental health, revealing that she was diagnosed with a rare schizoaffective disorder at 17, also did not grow up rich. 'She is what we call 'common' in the UK - she looks and sounds like the everyday person,' an Englishman at a dinner party tells me. (Although it should be noted, her great-aunt is The Gruffalo author Julia Donaldson, and Young did attend the BRIT performing arts school, which counts Adele and Amy Winehouse among its alumni.) Megan Stalter, the star of Lena Dunham's recent Netflix series Too Much, ignites the same flame. The American comedian and actress, who overtly celebrates her aesthetic (in a recent episode on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, Stalter wore a T-shirt that read: 'Meg Stalter prettiest girl in America'), is unapologetically herself and drives the men on the show wild. The press has previously been obsessed with the weight of female stars; icons like Kate Winslet and Renee Zellweger bear battle scars. But following Too Much, Stalter's weight is barely a talking point; she is just an irresistible, talented woman. Lorde, Billie Eilish, Charli XCX and Chappell Roan are also part of this new mainstream aesthetic. The influence of 'Brat Summer', born from Charli's 2024 party pop synth album, and the #MeToo movement, which gained momentum in 2017 after Alyssa Milano tweeted it to show support for survivors of sexual assault, is significant. The former popularised a particular aesthetic of non-linear, lo-fi debauchery, while the latter made feminist issues more accessible to a wider audience. Other celebs are taking notice. 'After a decade of every pop star who blows up having to lose 3 dress sizes and then wear the same glittery f****** leotard or swimsuit on stage, with thigh high boots, we are fatigued ... Women are subconsciously aching for revolution,' wrote English actress and activist Jameela Jamil in a recent Substack article. This new blueprint is exciting. It shows that we are maturing as a society, we are more self-aware, and that the backbones of patriarchy are softer than they were even five years ago. These women project a comfortable version of themselves that nourishes their personal integrity. They are living the truth of their values, which is not only ethical, it is radical.
