🛍️ How do you do, Labubu
One word has dominated the shopping landscape in August and that word is Labubu.
If nothing else, the Labubu plush toys prove that one shopper's must-buy might be another shopper's nightmare fuel, but luckily the USA TODAY Shopping team serves all types of shoppers.
Whether you're in desperate need of Taylor Swift's viral orange lipstick, in love with Team USA's Ryder Cup uniforms, or cannot live without the newest Stanley Tumbler (it's VERY pink!), we've got you covered.
Below, I've highlighted our team's favorite deals, discounts, sales, savings and any other way we can provide your weekly dose of retail therapy while also protecting your bank account.
🛍️ I've got a fever, and the only perscription is more deals
🍩 🏈 The Summer of Crocs continues
No matter your feelings on Crocs, you have to admit they are crushing the collabs of late. Here are just a few of the recent drops
📲 USA TODAY Shopping has the deals, trends and drops. Be sure to sign up for text alerts and follow us on Instagram to stay updated!
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NBC News
an hour ago
- NBC News
Tamar Braxton says she 'almost died' after being 'found in a pool of blood'
Tamar Braxton says she experienced a medical emergency that has left her shaken and recovering from serious injuries that include the loss of her teeth and a broken nose. In an Aug. 19 post shared to her Instagram story, the 'Love and War' singer and television personality shared that she 'almost died' this week after a friend discovered her in a pool of her own blood. The 48-year-old detailed her health scare in a message written over a gradient-colored background. 'I struggled to write this but everyone keeps calling me and honestly, I can't even really talk anymore. I'm so weak,' her message begins. 'I almost died Sunday. I was found in a pool of blood from my friend with a face injury. As the days go by, the worse it is.' While the singer did not share further details regarding what caused her physical injuries, she did open up about the emotional toll it has taken. The extent of her injuries, which included a fractured nose, the loss of 'some teeth' and mobility issues, has also affected her outlook. 'The way I look at life now is totally different.' Despite the severity of the event, Braxton says her health is steadily improving. 'As my health is on the mend, my mental journey begins,' she continued. 'Pray for me for real. I don't even know what happened to me.' Braxton has been open about her health history in the past. In 2021, she shared an update after she was hospitalized after she was found unresponsive. 'In this present moment, it is my only responsibility to be real with myself and to be real with the ones who truly love me and care for my healing,' she wrote in a since-deleted Instagram. 'I have without fail, shared with you my brightest days, and I know that sharing with you what has been my darkest will be the light for any man or woman who is feeling the same defeat I felt just only a week ago.'
USA Today
an hour ago
- USA Today
Gay influencer couple Probably This broke up. The response is alarming at best.
Are we, as a society, OK when relationships ending on any sort of stage sends ripples across tens of thousands of people eager to engage in an algorithmic bloodletting? If you've spent any amount of time on the internet, you've probably heard this one before: Internet couple attracts an audience. Internet couple breaks up. Former internet couple's followers try to figure out who gets custody in the split. There's several somethings to be said about living your relationships Extremely Online in an attention economy, and they mostly boil down to this: Influencers are not your #RelationshipGoals. We were reminded of that again recently. On Aug. 16, influencers Probably This – a couple comprising Matt Armato (bald) and Beau Ciolino (not bald) – published a now-deleted video announcing they broke up after 12 years. I found their Instagram account in the depths of my 2020 pandemic doomscrolling and clicked the follow button for their design, renovation and decoration of a charming New Orleans home. Five years later, they've called it quits, but cited an enduring mutual respect and care for each other as they move on. (Armato got the Probably This TikTok account and Ciolino got the Instagram.) From one bald gay to another (though, I promise, not exclusively because of that), I empathize with Armato, whose clear discomfort was the impetus for the audience to scathingly pick Ciolino apart. Accusations of cheating, assumptions about open relationships and critiques of their differing demeanors (Ciolino seemed bubbly in a nervous way; Armato appeared quietly devastated) filled the comment sections of the now-deleted video. The discourse is discoursing, which prompted Armato to post a story highlight to his Instagram page. 'I know the video has sparked a lot of reactions,' Armato writes. 'Please know that there are no teams here. I see your compassion and I appreciate it, but if your support for me looks like tearing him down I don't want it.' People break up. The internet has changed what that looks like. People break up. Everyone does that. But the internet has changed our relationship with how relationships conclude, and it leaves us all spinning through the vacuum where there should be space, peace and processing. Because Armato and Ciolino made a living, at least on some level, by putting their relationship online and commodifying their personal lives, they felt they owed it to their audiences to explain their separation. I'm not part of their relationship, and I don't pretend to be an expert on either one of them. I've followed their content casually at best. But like Facebook rolling out legacy pages for dead users, we're still in the nascent stages of an internet that continues to redefine itself and the relationships around us. As a result, we're not thinking about what happens when a relationship publicly implodes, and our mileage in the aftermath may vary. In this case, we've gone from tablescapes to tribunals. I live for the mess. But we're not entitled to any of it. Admittedly, I live for it. I also desperately need us all to collectively march out our front doors and touch the nearest patch of grass. Perhaps it's that when gay audiences see gay people in relationships, they receive outsize attention and parasocial projections both on the relationship as a concept and also the individuals within them because of the representation the community sees from them – especially considering the historic lack of representation we've felt in spaces that were not ours to create. But, gay people set conveniently aside, the thematic thread in any kind of online relationship is that we're buying what they're selling in an economy predicated on attention. That comes with the highs and, for the more patient among us, the perceived ultimate low: the breakup that unfolds just as much online as the relationship did. Everyone loves a messy fight – at least, at my messiest, I'd water the sidewalk if it meant I could be nosy about an argument down the street – so social media is an ideal front porch to eavesdrop in real time as people and relationships unravel. Still, our parasocial relationships with these couples threaten to (and often do) shift our role as passive observers into active participants. We're not just watching and liking. We're commenting and taking sides in a void of context. Our currency becomes zingy reads and memetic reaction images and backhanded messages of support for one person or the other. That can't be healthy for any of us. Not for an audience that misunderstands our place in a relationship that has invited us in as casual observers. Not for a couple or content creator navigating a difficult space that sees their comment section revolting against the absence of a relationship that doesn't exist anymore. And not for the people somewhere in between, navigating a spew of videos by and about couples who aren't together anymore. What do influencers actually owe you? It's easy to wave this off as a piece of non-reality – it's not real and can't hurt us – but as our younger generations continue to experience higher levels of isolation, the internet grows as a bastion of community and connections, and thus the real-world impacts become more undeniable. The internet is real and it can hurt you. Perhaps there's some schadenfreude there in getting to see the walls crumble down and reality peek through. Real relationships and real people are deeply complicated, take a metric ton of work and you are not promised your idea of success. Seeing that stripped away thrills us because it's a reminder that the influencers who dupe us into buying their display of perfection are not all they pretend to be. It's fine to admire what you aspire for. It's good, even, to identify and appreciate that you have representation. But also accept that you are only getting the version of the story influencers choose for you. This is an attention economy, and they benefit from obfuscating the truth. It should not stop us from pursuing our own and living our lives defined by our own rules. The reality is that we never should've been idolizing relationships like Probably This – or the people who actually live them – to begin with. Otherwise, we're living in a digital panopticon of our own making. Did that former influencer couple ever really owe anyone the truth? And are we, as a society, OK when relationships ending on any sort of stage sends ripples across tens of thousands of people eager to engage in an algorithmic bloodletting? Probably not. Drew Atkins is an opinion digital producer for USA TODAY and the USA TODAY Network. Reach him at aatkins@
Chicago Tribune
an hour ago
- Chicago Tribune
Michael Peregrine: 60 years ago, the Beatles invaded Comiskey Park
Before Beyoncé and Taylor Swift were John, Paul, George and Ringo. The Fab Four. The spearhead of the British Invasion. Then, and probably still now, the most popular rock 'n' roll band in the world. Wednesday is the 60th anniversary of the Beatles' performance at Comiskey Park. You read that right — the Lads from Liverpool played at the Baseball Palace of the World in Bridgeport, not at the future national historical landmark at Clark and Addison streets. With the band's popularity at global proportions, the event at the time was one of the most anticipated musical performances in Chicago history. The actual performance was the rock 'n' roll equivalent of a day-night doubleheader. The band appeared in the afternoon before a crowd of 25,000 people and again in the evening before 37,000. Note that the White Sox were then averaging only about 14,000 fans per game. The Beatles had arrived in Chicago red-hot, in the middle of a wildly popular national tour that began with the famous concert in New York's Shea Stadium. They were riding the crest of popularity from multiple No. 1 hits, and the release, only a few days earlier, of their second movie, 'Help!' Their journey to the Comiskey concert was typical of the bedlam that accompanied their performances. Band members were flying into Chicago from Houston, the site of their most recent concert. According to news reports, they were not allowed to land at O'Hare airport due to the authorities' concern that their presence, and the associated fan attention, might play havoc on airport operations. They were diverted to Midway and had to make an arduous cross-town drive to their accommodations at the Sahara Inn North at 3939 Mannheim Road, next to O'Hare, where they had stayed during an initial 1964 visit to Chicago. According to news reports, band management had avoided prime downtown hotels for security purposes. Yet their plan was reportedly betrayed by leaks from the hotel staff, which quickly led to pandemonium. Throngs of young fans swarmed the hotel, forcing the band to leave through a back corridor, an ongoing occupational hazard for the Beatles. According to the Beatles' recorded history, the Comiskey Park set list was a familiar one to fans of the band's early years: a short version of 'Twist and Shout,' followed by 'She's a Woman,' 'I Feel Fine.' 'Dizzy Miss Lizzy,' 'Ticket To Ride,' 'Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby,' 'Can't Buy Me Love,' 'Baby's in Black,' 'Act Naturally,' 'A Hard Day's Night,' 'Help!' and 'I'm Down.' It's a fair bet that a large percentage of Chicago baby boomers could sing the lyrics to each of those songs on a moment's notice. In many ways, the summer of 1965 represented the height of Beatlemania and the hair-pulling, foot-stomping, stage-crashing euphoria that it typified. The band would, of course, go on to greater commercial and artistic success and acclaim. But it was changing, the times were changing and the music was changing, too. 'Rubber Soul' and 'Revolver' arrived in late 1965 and early 1966, respectively. 'Sgt. Pepper' and 'Magical Mystery Tour' followed in 1967. The Beatles stopped touring at the end of 1966 and disbanded in 1970, which makes the Comiskey Park concert a unique moment in time. Every generation is entitled to its own form of musical rapture. For the baby boomers, it was — and remains — Beatlemania. And it lives on though films such as Martin Scorsese's 'Beatles '64' and Disney's 'Let it Be'; through documentaries such as 'McCartney 3,2,1'; through two new books about Ringo Starr; and through Ringo and Paul McCartney's constant touring. And the indefatigable McCartney is expected to pack the United Center for his Nov. 24 and 25 concerts. Old Comiskey Park is of course gone now; they paved that paradise and put up a parking lot. But the location of home plate has been preserved in a faithfully created marble marker, inlaid in the surface of the lot just north of the new Rate Field, by Gate 5 in Lot B at the northeast corner of 35th Street and Shields Avenue. So the next time you're at a Sox game, go over and stand in at the home plate marker. Look to the northeast toward an imaginary second base, where the Beatles' stage was once set up and where the band stood in its classic formation. Then close your eyes for a second and believe in yesterday. When you were just 17. You know what I mean.
