Eleanor Margolis is a freelance journalist, whose "Lez Miserable" column appears weekly on the New Statesman website.
“Nothing to see here folks. Just some gal pals drinking Baileys and chatting about Ryan Gosling’s abs.”
You make it so hard for me to love you, London.
Playing the Kim Kardashian iPhone game didn’t soothe me, but it was a surprisingly progressive experience.
“The 1 per cent aren’t the only ones getting screwed this election season.”
Because of All Saints, I bought my first pair of cargo pants and practised looking crestfallen. This entire aesthetic fit perfectly with my burgeoning lesbianism.
Popup ads, Kickstarter campaigns, marry a Kardashian, stamp on testicles for cash.
Or: why do so many people think a “smiling next to art about genocide” picture is a good idea?
Today’s teens and twentysomethings seem reluctant to get drunk, smoke cigarettes or have sex. Is abstinence the new form of youth rebellion?
Lame apology couture.
I hand her the bottle and watch her do a drug in the most Jewish mother way imaginable. That is to say – with the utmost suspicion.