Since last Sunday Dose, I’ve got two tattoos (always a sign of trouble/reclamation), found the perfect pop album, bought a life-changing bra, and realised I’m way more fucked up than I thought, thanks to yet another self-help book.
I have much to say, but writing is a selection process. In this case, it’s not about cutting the fat from my chaotic outpouring but showing up for what is at the surface.
Let it rip!
5 good things
The Bear is back, and what a relief! Life feels meaningful again.
The best Saturday night I've had in ages. My friend Laura and I worked on our Hobonichi spreads, ate a beautiful baked fish, and then watched The Bear together.
Finding the comfiest bra I've ever owned (more on this below).
Finally, detoxing old, old feelings I've avoided feeling my whole life.
Warm, wintery, wholesome cooking — it feels good for my soul.
Watch 🔪 The Bear
Spoilers: I mention scenes from The Bear, Season 3, episodes 1-5. Skip ahead if you haven’t watched it yet.
The Bear! I want to smash all the eps in one night, but I also want to show restraint and relish the journey because this show is high art, and I feel privileged to watch every minute of it.
Why do I love The Bear so.damn.much? It has everything I value in great TV.
Complex (and damaged) characters ✔️
Human stories that connect with the culture surrounding it (see the montage of Chicago hospitality workers in episode two — wholesome AF) ✔️
Artful and unexpected (chaotic) cinematography ✔️
Clever and revealing dialogue ✔️
An emotive score and soundtrack that fits the tone perfectly ✔️
Initial thoughts on season 3
Last season, Carmy finally experienced joy and a life outside of work in his relationship with Claire.
This season, he's fallen back into familiar coping mechanisms, using the intensity of the kitchen and hyper-focus to distract from the pain of losing Claire and all the past trauma he's yet to deal with (I spot a workaholic).
The "oof" moments are back, baby! I was very moved by a flashback scene in episode 4 when Claire asked Carmy about the scar on his hand.
"Did it hurt so much that it didn't hurt at all?"
Claire tells him about a girl who came into the hospital with cuts all over her body. She had fallen onto a glass table, and the doctors couldn't tell where the blood was coming from.
After surgery, the girl couldn't stop laughing. Carmy asks why. Claire replies, "I don't think it hurt yet."
Fuck me. That's such an apt way to capture Carmy's emotional avoidance. What is the injury, and why can’t he feel the pain yet?
Rogue observations:
Flashbacks in the form of The Bear’s famous frenetic food porn is a clever way to start the season and remind us where Carmy has been and why he’s the way he is.
This show gives me a mixture of anxiety and awe. I feel uncomfortable the whole way through, but I can’t look away or stop hitting play — addictive AF.
Dear Universe, please make my future partner look like Ebon Moss-Bachrach.
Oh my, Josh Hartnett! He’s aged like a fine wine. It's great to see my high school crush again (I used to kiss a TV Hits poster of him before bed).
Carmy, go to therapy!
Listen 🔪 Charli XCX
After I admitted to an ex-music editor (and potential date) that I was obsessed with Olivia Rodriguez (“I am my father’s daughter so maybe I can fix him?”), he asked if I liked Charli XCX.
I listened and quickly vetoed her — can't recall why. But I believe we find and resonate with music when the time is right, and my time with Charli XCX is now.
I've always gotten immense pleasure from a well-made pop album — one you can play from beginning to end and never get bored.
This is a hangover from the days I would save up for an album, buy it from Sanity at Garden City, and play it on my baby blue CD player without skipping a song.
Brat is that. Every song on the album is solid, balancing bold, dirty bangers reminiscent of the sound of unknown DJs that played while I charged through festival crowds to get to the portaloos (Von Dutch) with thoughtful songs that give you insight into where Charli XCX is in her life (I think about it all the time).
I'm going to risk sounding misogynistic here by comparing two albums by female musicians. Brat is the antithesis of the predictable easy listening of Taylor Swift’s The Tortured Poet's Society. It scratches the POS (piece of shit) part of me — fucked up sounds for fucked up girls. The world needs both.
Dopamine darlings 🚬
So big-boobed millennials will know that wearing a wire-free bra was once not an option. Comfy bras were reserved for the A-cupped It girls or Bonds models (before the brand was forced to become inclusive).
Why was comfort not part of our future?
1. We were taught that our tits had to be lifted and restrained. It was unseemly otherwise.
2. If you were bigger than a C cup, you were relegated to ugly AF nanna bras. Even if you wanted to transgress society and wear a no-wire bra, there were none on offer.
Well, shit has changed. Thanks to Gen Z, boobs have been unleashed and free to roam the world! And new bralettes are available for big boobs.
Nala targeted me on TikTok with a video of a woman wearing the Support Wirefree Bralette while jogging on the spot to demonstrate its supportiveness. I was unconvinced. I even commented that the bra did not look supportive (Karen moment).
Nala, please forgive me!! My boobs have never felt so comfortable, so held, so loved. Honestly, I could cry with relief.
Fuck wires, forever! This is me now. Wireless and free.
With love & dopamine,
Nx
Quote of the week 🔪
Acceptance is usually more a matter of fatigue than anything else. - David Foster Wallace
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