Latest news with #BrandyMelville
Cosmopolitan
7 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Cosmopolitan
A Long-Distance Relationship Shaped My Sexuality as a Trans Man
Welcome to Love Transcends, a special project by Cosmopolitan that celebrates the resilience, wisdom, hope, and joy of the trans community as its members navigate romantic love. Through in-depth interviews and personal essays, trans people share what it's like to date, hook up, break up, and fall in and hold onto love in the midst of sweeping anti-trans legislation and attacks on personal safeties and freedoms of expression. Click here to see the entire collection. My freshman roommate's side of the dorm was girly and beachy and so unlike mine. I had Scotch-taped a few photos of my friends to the wall. She unpacked short skirts and dainty silver jewelry and countless beauty products I wouldn't know how to use with a gun to my head. I liked how the close quarters put us in contrast, my boyishness stark against her Brandy Melville backdrop. On our first night, she asked me if I'd had a boyfriend in high school, which was a polite way of breaking our summer-long text tension. 'Actually, I'm gay,' I told her, because calling myself a lesbian had never felt right. 'I'm bisexual,' she confessed. Our disclosures hung there like someone had thrown a ticking time bomb in the room and run down the hallway. And so the first few weeks of college were us playing footsie under the dining hall table, her FaceTiming her friends to make fun of my enormous laundry pile of hoodies, me pretending to care about her essential oils, and us finding any reason to be in the same bed. We made out for the first time watching Gone Girl on her laptop in her lofted twin XL bed. The second time in the gender-neutral bathroom at the end of our hallway. The third in the back of an Uber coming home from a frat house off campus. And before we could get to a fourth, I shut down. Because I'd been closeted in high school and opted out of dating altogether, I had no idea what kind of person I would be in a relationship. From the ways I had yearned for unattainable women over the course of my life, I imagined myself as a doting, devoted partner. Someone who'd be waiting outside her class with her favorite kind of sushi and have an ongoing text thread with her mom. But here I had this living and breathing bisexual dreamboat who wanted me, and I couldn't stand the thought of us going any further than the backseat of a Civic on a Friday night. I all but moved out, spending every night in my best friend's room and only coming back to change, fundamentally erasing the first girl I ever had a real option of dating from my life. That was only the beginning of a series of classroom crushes and mutual friends and Tinder dates where I realized over and over that to have a girlfriend also meant to be a girlfriend. My body was allergic to the concept before my brain was able to make sense of the reaction. And so, rather than the doting lover I'd imagined myself to be, I became a goofy mascot in the social scene, prone to 2 a.m. hookups. In my uniform of men's surf shop t-shirts, I walked around the Theta Chi backyard with an uncapped fifth of Tito's, talking about loving women. I was someone guys could talk to without feeling the need to perform and a gay best friend to the girls. And for those who were bi-curious and looking for a guide or crush or experiment, I was happy to be a best friend with benefits. I was a frequently visited stop on the journey of girls figuring out if they liked girls—all while I was gradually, and unbeknownst to them, realizing I wasn't one. Because the women I was seeing had previously only dated men, their interest offered a glimpse of what it'd feel like to be one of the campus bachelors. Experimenting with bisexuals was affirming to me in an almost algebraic sense. They like boys + they like me = I'm like a boy. But in reality, they were experimenting with me for the opposite reason. They craved a girl. Someone who understood them rather than a fuckboy frat guy. I loved being able to give them a taste of the emotional intelligence they'd been longing for, but why did I have to be a woman to offer that comfort? I met Lily senior year, while that sense of my shifting self was still half-baked. A drunken make-out in a bar bathroom stall led to what I sadly have no choice but to call a situationship. She was two years younger, and I was her first queer experience. She liked that I could get her into the bar before her 21st birthday, and I liked that she saw me as someone who could get invited anywhere—a power that made me feel manly. On sleepovers after a night of drinking, I was capable of being intimate and affectionate without pause or fear. Coming home after a long night in the library, though, I felt like every second we lay beside each other was an hour of playing the floor is lava but her body was the floor. More and more, I'd lean on tequila shots and mind erasers to have sex because the alternative meant being aware that I was her new, fun, experimental lesbian experience. Going to college parties with a beautiful girl and falling in love and having sex was everything I'd fantasized about as a closeted teenager. This hypothetical her was able to give me all those things. But in each of those scenes, written and imagined, I'd cast myself as her boyfriend. I imagined us sleeping together, a woman and a man. The reality was that in her bed late at night, Lily would open up to me about how she didn't know if she was attracted to men at all. She was falling for me instead. In all of the times we had sex, I never took my shirt off. She didn't ask about it until one night after we finished her hands were under my shirt and her fingertips were indecisive about where they could and couldn't touch. 'Is this a regular sports bra that's just really tight?' was how she worded it, though we both knew what she was asking. Yes, I said, lying about it being a binder. And I kept lying until I broke up with her. I was graduating, I said, I wasn't ready for a long-term girlfriend, I had things to figure out. Truth is, I broke up with her so I could delay the process of figuring it all out even longer. I broke up with her so I could enjoy the beginning bliss with another experimenting bisexual until I figured anything out at all. It had become a pattern: I'd spend three months getting to know a woman. And then I'd crank down the dial. Hours and then days elapsed between texts that I previously replied to in seconds. I booked out-of-town weekend trips to avoid the expected sleepover. To this day, I cringe thinking of how my avoidance stopped them from pursuing and finding the beautiful transcendent queer experience they ached for and me from accepting the deep discomfort I felt in my body. Though I was cutting my hair shorter and shorter, dog-earing dozens of pages in trans memoirs, and opening up to a few trusted people about my desire for top surgery, I was still too afraid to acknowledge within myself the fact that I wanted to transition. But at a certain point, my conscience knew that instead of vanishing, I had to try and communicate about this. My early attempts were disconnected and performative. The girl I dated after Lily was in my poetry workshop. I daydreamed about her constantly, in the way I always did, seeing myself as this beau who could charm her into loving me. These daydreams never had an ending, much less a happy one. I broke up with her by letter. 'I want to be able to give you what you deserve,' I wrote. 'I want to have sex with you and enjoy it and feel present without insecurities invading. I hope you can understand why my brain intercepts the chances of that for me right now.' Giving up on dating was safer, I told myself. It was increasingly impossible for me to picture love and sex in my life without seeing myself as a man, and so I was ready to find peace in a life without love and sex at all. And that's what I told the next woman I met. We matched on a dating app and quickly began to text around the clock about Survivor and Lena Dunham. When I felt myself start to care about her, I knew I needed to cut off the romantic expectation. I didn't want to trick another woman into thinking I was emotionally available. I made a disclaimer that I had zero intentions of having a serious relationship or even of hooking up, though I'm sure it was obvious that the yearner within me still had hope. 'I really don't want to overstep, but I think you would find a lot of peace in a relationship where your gender is affirmed,' she wrote back. For the first time in my life, a woman wasn't coming to me looking for an answer about her own sexuality. She wanted me to know it was safe for me to find my answer with her. Her friends made up every letter of the queer alphabet and on FaceTime sleepovers before we met in person, she'd share her screen to show me pictures of them. Being with her meant proximity to the type of people I wanted to be around, the type of person I wanted to be. The morning after our first night together, we lay in her bed and her fingers traced the waistband of my sweatpants, knowing just how far they could go. No questions asked. No answers needed. The silk of her fingertips on my lower abdomen stirred something in me far deeper than the countless drunk college hookups. After those, I'd always made sure I had an escape route the next day. I had to call my mom or go to class or do an early interview for a made-up job. I had to disappear. On the way home that morning, I texted her paragraphs. I told her I felt like a teenage boy, both because of how little it took for her to turn me all the way on and because the last time I felt the hope of being a romantic partner was when I was writing imaginary stories in high school. She replied, inviting me the next weekend. Without hesitation, I said yes, and then again, until I was her boyfriend. For an expanded list of resources specific to the trans community, click here.
New York Post
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- New York Post
NYC influencer accuses scandal-plagued Brandy Melville of ripping off her logo on new t-shirt: ‘They're so shameless'
A Big Apple fashion designer is accusing the scandal-plagued fast-fashion chain Brandy Melville — worn by pop star Ariana Grande and other celebs — of ripping off her western-themed logo. 'Brandy Melville stole my logo and put it all over a bunch of shirts, and we're doing some investigative research today to see if they're in store and, unfortunately, buy them, so I can get them to my lawyer,' influencer Emma DiMarco, the founder of the Brooklyn-based vintage and apparel brand 'Kissing Cowboys,' said in a May 31 Instagram video. The clip then shows DiMarco, 29, inside of Brandy Melville's Union Square location, pulling one of its $21 red T-shirts – which bears the words 'Kissing Cowboys' in white font and a black-colored silhouette of a cowboy – off a hanger. Advertisement 'I'm, like, actually speechless. This is so insane,' DiMarco continued in the video, which has amassed nearly 175,000 views. Brandy Melville, which launched in Italy in the 1990s before coming to the US in 2009, has repeatedly been accused of fostering a toxic environment — racial and size discrimination included — among its workers, according to reports. Advertisement Former employees blew the whistle on workplace conditions and toxic culture in a 2024 HBO film, 'Brandy Hellville & the Cult of Fast Fashion.' 3 Emma DiMarco claims Brandy Melville ripped off the design she created for this flyer, and posted on Instagram last year. Kissing Cowgirls/ Instagram 3 Brandy Melville removed the $21 t-shirt off its website this week. Helayne Seidman DiMarco claims the popular fashion brand has now victimized her as well, by stealing and profiting off of the design she created for a vintage pop-up she hosted in Brooklyn last year, which remains visible on her public Instagram profile. Advertisement 'They must have screenshotted the flyer and removed the cigarette from the cowboy's mouth … but the space between the letters, the letters, and the space between the cowboy's head — it's all the same,' DiMarco fumed. 'They're so shameless — that's the part that makes me really angry, is that they're basically like, 'What the f–k are you going to do about it?' DiMarco told The Post. 3 'They're so shameless – that's the part that makes me really angry,' DiMarco, who sells her own 'Kissing Cowboy'-brand merch, told The Post. Helayne Seidman Advertisement The fast-fashion chain removed the t-shirt from their website this week. DiMarco is still considering taking legal action against the company, she said. Brandy Melville did not respond to The Post's requests for comment.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
As a Teenage Girl, ‘SkinnyTok' Makes Me Hate My Own Body
My friend's room was pink, with dolls and flowers and a grand window overlooking Central Park. She had a poster that said 'Chanel' above her bed, and a card above her desk that said, 'Happy 13th!' We were lying on her bed on our stomachs, pink-painted toenails kicking in the air, wearing Brandy Melville tank tops and boy shorts. We'd watched the movie Thirteen the night before, and were scrolling through Pinterest photos of all the great '90s models — Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, Shalom Harlow — when she rolled over and put her phone down. 'Ugh, I wish I looked like them!' she exclaimed. 'If only I had a thigh gap.' To which I naively responded, 'What's that?' She took me to the mirror and carefully compared our legs, pointing out how hers touched and mine didn't — and since that day, I've kept careful tabs on the growing and shrinking of the negative space between my thighs. Four years later, it's only gotten worse. Ever since I've found myself swept up in 'SkinnyTok,' the stakes have become even higher: God forbid my thigh gap ever disappears. More from SheKnows TikTok's Newest Move Aims To Help Teens Get Better Sleep at Night 'SkinnyTok' and its other social media counterparts are the new faces of an age-old tradition when it comes to women and their weight. Society has had an obsession with our bodies for at least as long as there's been media. In ancient times, women were sculpted; in medieval times, they were painted; in industrial times, they were stuffed into corsets; and in modern times, they are plastered on billboards and posted on our phone feeds. Recently, social media trends like SkinnyTok and Oatzempic have been gaining immense popularity. SkinnyTok includes a wide variety of content, ranging from truly well-meaning diet and exercise tips to harmful content that preys on teen girls like me (and all the women whose bodies have been scrutinized their entire lives). On this platform, people share weight loss 'tips' and their own journeys. Meanwhile, 'Oatzempic' is a dietary hack; it means having oat-based diets, particularly blending oats with water and lime juice to promote weight loss. My FYP and algorithm know me well; I am a teen girl, and I see more than one of these videos a day. And it's impossible for them not to infiltrate the culture around my eating and my friends. Prom is coming up, and just a few weeks ago, my friend told me that she was 'prepping.' When I asked her to explain, she said that she was going on a run every day, and having only a protein bar and small dinner. I asked her how she got this idea, and she showed me a video on SkinnyTok. After watching the video that inspired my friend, I was hooked on this account. I scrolled through for an hour, looking at all this woman's tips and tricks. And when I got up to look in the mirror afterwards, I was about twenty pounds heavier than I was twenty minutes earlier — or at least, that's how it felt. Most videos have pretty much the same message: Stories and hacks, often dangerous, on how to lose weight fast. Some videos are meant to serve as motivation. Just today, I watched a woman showing off her body on the treadmill, and the text over the video said, 'Do it for the compliments. Do it for the jealous stares. Do it for the concerned looks.' Another video gives insight into how 'skinny girls' live. 'They view food as optional,' the woman explains, and then goes on to promote a type of jelly that has five calories and is as filling as a full meal — a jelly I tried for a few days before feeling like I was gonna puke. Those sorts of videos make me feel gluttonous: The woman talking to me has no problem turning down food, and yet I feel as if I'm always stuffing it in my face. Even without an eating disorder, it's difficult to look away from this content. I get up feeling the need to go to the gym or walk 20,000 steps or maybe skip dinner, and when I don't do these things, I'm left feeling like a failure. My friends and I share these videos with each other, spreading the content and falling victim to the perils. Thanks to SkinnyTok, my friends and I got the idea to count our calories in a shared notes app. Obsessively, I searched for the magic number attached to everything I ate during the course of any given day, and if my total got too high, it was time to call it quits. And yet no matter what I do, the message from the other side of the phone screen is clear: The 'skinny lifestyle' is never going to be the one I'm leading, and my body is never going to look as good as theirs. Even without social media, the idea that girls can never be skinny enough would continue to infiltrate the teenage mind. But social media is particularly adept at spreading a message, and feeding into dark rabbit holes. Social media makes it all the easier to access this message and content; you no longer need to go looking for it, it finds you. It's constantly in your face, telling you what you're doing wrong and all the imperfections those wrong actions cause. To be sure, there are some truly helpful videos floating around the internet. I learned that, when I get a sweet tooth after dinner, it's better to eat whipped cream and strawberries instead of ice cream; and I learned that portion control is always healthy, when done right. But most of what festers within trends around dieting never leads to anything good, because the line between healthy and dangerous is almost invisible — and the mind of a teenage girl is delicate, bordering on fragile, bordering on wired-like-a-booby-trap. Social media is addictive enough, but content about food and weight is even more so. It's hard to look away, and it turns into an obsession with just the slightest indulgence. What's worse, too, is that we seek it out. Once one video on the subject pops up, we're hungry for more. We want to be skinny, and we want to know exactly how to do it. Everything talked about on SkinnyTok is like a carnival game designed to make us lose; if we girls don't keep up with the diets and exercise, we surrender all of our progress. I wish I could go around eating whatever I want, whenever I want. And I know my friends do too, but society doesn't allow for it, and social media keeps us in line. As if our own twisted consciences were not enough, we now have monitors in our pockets at every moment of every day, looking over our shoulders, inspecting our plates and our thigh gaps, and reprimanding us of our lapses. We are kids; we should be allowed the sweet indulgences of childhood. But instead, we've been tortured in our relationship with candy for almost as long as we've known just how good candy tastes. Eating has always been a perilous equation for girls, but now — thanks to our phones — the equation has gotten even more lopsided against us. There is no way for us to go anywhere near the kitchen, or the refrigerator, without having to answer to our social media feeds. And as a result, our minds are as full of bad ideas as our stomachs are empty of meaningful calories. Best of SheKnows The Best Places to Buy Furniture for Teens Online The Most Striking Rare Boy Names in the U.S. Right Now — & the Reason You Haven't Heard Them (Yet) 19 Celebrity Stepparents Who Have a Tight Bond With Their Stepkids
Yahoo
7 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
'We have size Medium!' Brandy Melville opens sister store in Notting Hill for older audience
Brandy Melville is sartorial Marmite. The California inspired clothing brand has four shops in London and is loved by some for its cotton basics like vests, long sleeve tees and pyjama shorts. But there's a catch: those cutesy pointelle camisoles and baby tees come in a 'one size fits most', which is usually somewhere between an extra small or small. As such, the stores are full of waif-like girls and 14-year-olds. The shop's door in Paris is famous for being so narrow that anyone who is not stick thin has to swivel their body sideways to get in. But recently, a new older sister to Brandy Melville opened on Westbourne Grove, Notting Hill. It looks exactly the same from the outside, with beachy pale wood and whitewashed walls, but is called St George. When I came across it last week I thought there had been a rebrand until one of the shop assistants told me that St George was like Brandy Melville, but catered to an older audience. 'Does that mean you have sizes that will fit people who aren't pre-pubescent girl-sized?' I asked. 'Yes, we have size small, AND size medium,' the assistant said with a smile. Many of the items are still one size fits (sm)all, but there were a couple of dresses and jeans that went up to a medium. I was told that St George is still finding its feet and waiting on some size medium stock. Considering the average woman in the UK is a size 16, going up to a medium (typically size 10-12) hardly revolutionary. But Brandy Melville's sizing has always seemed brazen, especially in the face of the body positivity movement. The brand is relatively media shy and has never given an explanation as to why they don't cater to larger sizes. Online commentators reckon it's to create an air of exclusivity and desirability. For some, it's shameful to wear Brandy Melville – for others, it's a badge of honour. Brandy Melville was at the centre of a media storm in 2024 after a documentary was released on HBO called Brandy Hellville & the Cult of Fast Fashion. Former employees over in the US branches described a toxic workplace culture where racial discrimination and sizeist politics were rife. It also featured customers who said they lost weight to fit into the brand's clothing.
Yahoo
31-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Teen crash sparks new concerns over safety of intersections
ROGERSVILLE, Mo. — Two teens were killed in a car crash that happened at an intersection on porter crossing road in Rogersville on May 29. The accident has now sparked discussion regarding the safety of that intersection, as well as others, around Highway 60. 'It definitely needs changes if it's going to be there. We need lights on that road,' says Brandy Melville, who says she drives past porter crossing road every day. 'There's just a lot of accidents out this way that could be prevented if there were enough lights in that intersection.' She adds that many nearby intersections also have issues with lack of visibility, and states that it has been a problem for the Amish community. Deputy Chief at the Logan-Rogersville regional fire district, Travis Trent, who responded to the crash, says intersections like the ones at Porter Crossing Road can be dangerous for anyone 'If we get in a hurry, we get distracted,' states Trent. 'Something else on our minds just not working and double checking those intersections to make sure those cars, the cars not there, they're not in a blind spot. That's what makes those intersections dangerous.' Trent tells Ozarks First that more work can be done to prevent future crashes. 'The next ones that I would encourage MODOT to look at would be that border crossing and the new highway 60, the next one because again those are pretty populated especially the U and 60.' MODOT is aware of how dangerous some of the intersections are and is currently looking into ways to make them safer for drivers. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
