Welcome to Breyerfest, a treasured summer rite for those deliriously in love with horses to indulge their obsession alongside approximately 30,000 kindred spirits. [Cover story, Sunday Styles, 7/29/18]
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Welcome to Breyerfest, a treasured summer rite for those deliriously in love with horses to indulge their obsession alongside approximately 30,000 kindred spirits. [Cover story, Sunday Styles, 7/29/18]
Four-figure price tags. Destination auctions. Yearslong wait-lists. Rare plant collectors aren’t messing around.
The $636 million industry is fueled by the greatest suckers of all: millennial dog owners, like me.
“There was a lot of pressure to bring out ‘whales,’ and talk about how you got this beer or how long you waited in line. For lack of a better term, it was a dick-measuring contest, and I wasn’t tasting anything.”
It’s a white T-shirt, a pair of sensible heels, a chambray blouse. It’s pretty hard to get wrong.
Mathematizing one’s intake can feel at odds with our modern way of talking about health and wellness. It’s the stuff of rice cakes and Olestra chips — a hallmark of a bygone era.
Terms like “detox” and “cleanse” have gained credence in a post-Goop world, but the idea of ridding ourselves of our own internal filth has been around for much longer.
Two years later, panic giving has become a coping mechanism of choice for many who feel whipsawed by breaking news alerts, tense election cycles and executive orders.
“If standing up for people whose voices are being drowned in society is ‘going too far,’ then we're very comfortable with that.”
“We spend a majority of our lives here. We’re all at our best and worst together.”
Elliott Street is a tiny blue collar stronghold, stubbornly sticking it out as all that glass and steel encroaches, as though someone cast a forcefield around it long before “mixed-use” entered our collective vernacular.
“You’d think it would be less problematic the further out you go, but now people are really into trying out the backcountry for the first time... unfortunately they show up uninformed and unprepared.”
For Avery County, the worm isn’t just an auger of a prosperous ski season to come: it’s a scrap of old mountain folklore made lucrative.
After cinching her tiny monogrammed weightlifting belt, Addy giggles and shimmies her hips before hunkering down to pick 85 pounds of iron off the floor.
Have you met your neighbors? Their names are Rattus norvegicus and Rattus rattus, and metro Atlanta is teeming with them.
Craft beer’s bro-code is still enforcing outdated typecasts on what we define as good beer, bad beer and who drinks which.
The photograph looked as though it could’ve been a modern-day reproduction—yet the original was shot in 1864 during the American Civil War, decades before the advent of color photography.
I want the Warby Parker of hearing aids: smart-looking and aesthetic and maybe tortoiseshell. I'd even settle for an ear trumpet.
In the age of the viral doggo, shelters and rescue organizations are recognizing the need to hop aboard the meme train — or risk getting left behind.