Dear E. Jean: I set up my boyfriend with his dream job through a friend of mine from college. He told me she “helped him a lot with advice” and was “very supportive.” Well, a few days after he started the job, he broke up with me. Listen to what happened next: Now I’m looking
Looking for a vacation in 2018? Dubai is a great place to stop over—there’s incredible shopping and all the luxury spa treatments you could want to kick start your relaxation—or to visit all on its own. And if you go on an amazing trip but don’t post amazing Instagrams to make all of your friends
I once passed the better part of a summer waiting for a spark to ignite with a guy whose feelings for me were mostly inscrutable, while mine never warmed above tepid. We got along well enough, were amply able to sustain a conversation, but ultimately, both of us understood we were taxiing down an endless
Welcome to “The Perfect,” ELLE.com’s weekly roundup where we lay out exactly what you’ll need for the perfect outfit, shopping list, Saturday night, or whatever it may be. In a shopping landscape where the options are endless, consider it a complete snapshot of must-haves. Ringing in a new year always feels special, and this go-around?
Dear E. Jean: The day after my houseguests arrived from Iowa, I fell off a scaffolding, broke my leg, and badly cut the other. So now I’m living on a foldout sofa in the living room with no privacy, taking heavy doses of painkillers, and feeling angry and frustrated—particularly about the horrible, messy state of
Dear E. Jean: My boyfriend is shocked when I don’t know a seventeenth-century historical event or an eighteenth-century philosopher. He sometimes belittles my taste in books and movies. Other times he simply outshines me. We both took standardized tests for law school, for example, and he scored far better. He also landed a more lucrative
Hello, E. Jean! I am a newspaperwoman on the West Coast—a young and very low-paid reporter. My boss is bipolar and goes back and forth between complimenting my work and screaming at me. My editor-in-chief is aloof and doesn’t interact with the reporters much. I receive minimal health insurance and don’t even get paid overtime.
In this age of unbridled braggadocio and deep anxiety, it’s easy to wonder who we really are. But that’s why Advice Not Given: A Guide to Getting Over Yourself (Penguin Press), by the psychiatrist and author Mark Epstein, MD, a longtime scholar of Buddhism and author of the best-seller Going to Pieces Without Falling Apart,
With the holiday season in full swing, it’s easy to forget one of the most important people on your list: you. Here, ELLE’s 2017 pick of the chicest, most cutting-edge spas in the world. Go ahead, treat yourself NIGHT AND DAY: FAENA HOTEL MIAMI BEACH courtesy of the venue Advertisement – Continue Reading Below In
Welcome to “The Perfect,” ELLE.com‘s weekly roundup where we lay out exactly what you’ll need for the perfect outfit, shopping list, Saturday night, or whatever it may be. In a shopping landscape where the options are endless, consider it a complete snapshot of must-haves. Oh, the holidays. The magic that this time of year evokes
Dear E. Jean: I’m 26 and building my career in New York City as a hairdresser. The owner of the salon where I work is a very successful guy and has been featured in several fashion magazines for his amazing product line. But he’s so busy promoting his line he’s never at the salon! A
Dear E. Jean: This is probably the most indelicate etiquette question you’ve ever received, but here it goes: My husband and I have been married eight years, run a business together, and are good parents. He’s my best friend, and I love him! But the dude just won’t shower. This has been a problem for…um…ever.
Dolls, while writing this column—on a soggy, dull day with my hair frizzing to its highest and my derriere falling to its lowest—a question was sent to Ask Eeee (arriving by email, but over the years, versions of the question have been tweeted, G-chatted, texted, FedExed, phoned, snailed, and probably papyrused), and the query began
Dear E. Jean: Because of career commitments, I rarely get to see my boyfriend. When we do have the chance to be together, unless we’re having sex, he plays video games instead of talking to me. It’s even worse on the phone: I have to compete with the online gamers he’s chatting with and playing
Dear E. Jean: How do I keep my head screwed on in a world that worships youth? This guy I’ve been seeing for nine months is a high-profile musician in our town and lots of women find him attractive. And tons of them are cute and young. So while I’ll continue to get older, he’ll
Dear E. Jean: I’m trapped in a maid-of-honor nightmare! I’ve spent weeks looking at wedding dresses with the bride, paid $260 for my gown, and had to throw her a shower and buy her a gift. Plus there are shoes, gloves, tiaras, and I don’t know what. I’m only 23! I recently graduated and I’m
Dear E. Jean: So. Is it true I have to play the stupid game? Do I have to follow flirting protocol to make sure a guy sticks around? I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE THIS! I’ve tried to duck the rules since high school, but you can’t—can you? You really do have to smile at the appropriate times,
Dear E. Jean: I have a wonderful two-year-old who is the absolute light of my life, and a husband I adore. I love being a mom and desperately wish to expand our family. However, I have suffered three miscarriages in the past 10 months (despite testing and treatment for a blood-clotting disorder linked to miscarriage),
Ella Dawson wrote this piece in response to the short story “Cat Person” by Kristen Roupenian, which was recently published in The New Yorker. It was originally published at elladawson.com. I want to talk about bad sex for a minute. I don’t mean “bad sex” as in sex that wasn’t pleasurable, or sex that was
Dear E. Jean: It’s hard to believe, but I think my husband is trying to poison me. Part of me worries that I’m paranoid and may be imagining it, but the facts present a different story. I suspect he’s putting something in my coffee. I notice it smells funny, and when I drink it, my
Dear E. Jean: It’s 2:30 a.m. I’m packing and moving out of my boyfriend’s house. Here’s what happened: I found a strange e-mail on his computer from a woman about “meeting up.” So I googled her funny-sounding name. I thought it was a hair salon or something. It was a prostitute at an escort service.
Dear E. Jean: You answered my plea for help years ago, and as a result, I’m still married—and gladly so. Now my husband and I have been wed nearly 11 years, with kids, jobs, anxieties, etc. We’re both in good shape, although not as lovely as we were when we were younger. The problem is
I kept swiveling my head to check the backseat of my car and, finding it empty, felt a twinge of panic. When I returned my eyes to the road, I’d press down slightly harder on the accelerator as if I were escaping something. In a way, I was. I’d just left my three-month old son
Dear E. Jean: You’ve probably received letters like this ad infinitum, but here is mine. I’ve just had my first real, true heartbreak, and I don’t know where to go from here. Everything was lovely and beautiful, and I was the happiest I’ve ever been—until one day, a girl from his past returned. I trusted