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There's a Typo in Taylor Swift's New Merch, and Fans Can't Decide What It Means


If there’s one thing Taylor Swift loves, it’s an Easter egg. So when fans noticed that a new limited-edition shirt from the singer’s merch line had a typo, they had a field day. Was it an honest mistake…or a clue about her forthcoming album?

The just-released shirts appear to have a misplaced apostrophe that makes the text read, “Your’e the only one of you.” Now, you may remember how, in her latest song, “Me!,” Swift happily exclaims, “Spelling is fun!” Now, technically, this is an issue with punctuation, not spelling. Still: Could this possibly be a callback to the single? Or did the merch just skip the copyedit stage?

A fan caught the error and alerted Twitter, writing in a tweet: “EXCUSE ME! I’ve had this shirt for nearly a month and you’re telling me it’s had a typo THIS WHOLE TIME!!”

But there’s a twist: Not every shirt features the misplaced apostrophe on it, according to BuzzFeed, bolstering the hypothesis that there might be a reason for the grammar snafu.

Still, the fans ran with it.

For most people, the whole”you’re”/”your’e” thing was more funny than anything. (“So much for ‘Spelling is fun,’ am I right?” one person tweeted.) But lots of dedicated Swifities latched onto the idea that the typo’s actually meant as an Easter egg and began putting forth ideas about what the shirt could mean.

“Your’e’ on @taylorswift13 ‘s merch is because it closely resembles ‘Urie’ to reference @brendonurie??? #ConspiracyTime,” one fan guessed.

It wouldn’t be a total surprise if it was indeed an Easter egg. As Swift revealed when she appeared on the cover of Entertainment Weekly, she really likes leaving fans a trail of bread crumbs that offer insights about her music projects. And we’ll admit she’s gotten really, really good at them as well: She basically turned the entire EW cover into a secret puzzle by wearing a jacket with dozens of buttons on it that each provided some kind of hint about her upcoming seventh album (our eyes still hurt from trying to figure all of them out). She’s planted so many other clues recently that fans have come up with a seemingly endless list of theories about her latest release.

“I love that they like the cryptic hint dropping,” she said. “Because as long as they like it, I’ll keep doing it. It’s fun. It feels mischievous and playful.” We’ll just have to see if this is another example of her being playful or just a very public “whoops” moment.



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My Mother Died Before I Had the Chance to Say Goodbye. Here's What Mother's Day Means to Me.


My mom died two years ago this spring. She had complications from a stem cell transplant to rid her of lymphoma. She was only 58 years old.

The night before she died, my aunt texted me that my mother was in the ER and that I should call her. This was a common thing, her going to the ER, because of her breathing condition. I thought, “I can’t do this right now.” I had two events that night, back-to-back, and was preparing for meetings the next morning. On the car ride home, I took my time on Instagram and fell asleep on the couch watching My So Called Life. I had thought to call her all night, and then just forgot. This would haunt me for a long time. I woke up at 4am EST which would have been 1am PST (she was in Oregon), and I felt a wave of electricity wash over me. I fell back asleep and then woke up in a panic to get to work. As I was rushing to the subway, I saw a text from my aunt that said “Call me!”

I almost waited until I got out of the subway in Soho. (It’s important to understand that my mom had been sick for many years, and trips to the ER had sadly become a normal occurrence.) But I called my aunt right away and when she picked up the phone, she said, “Honey, I’m so sorry, but your mom had an episode last night and is gone.” I couldn’t believe it. The air completely left my lungs. She told me my mom was unconscious, but still had a heart beat. I FaceTimed her right then, in the middle of the street and hysterical. I was able to tell her that I loved her and what an amazing mother she was, as she left this world and crossed over to the next. I believe she heard every word I said. When I hung up the phone with her, I just collapsed into the street and cried, “I wasn’t ready” and “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

The writer with her two children.

Courtesy Sara Larson

With Mother’s Day this weekend and the recent birth of my son, whom she never got to meet, I’ve been thinking a lot about her and how hard it has been to walk through this time without her. I’ve been replaying my last conversation with her, which took place a week before she died. It was a normal afternoon lunch break chat and I remember feeling frustrated with her because she was a little blues-y. I also thought I might be pregnant (which I wasn’t—although I had been trying for almost two years at this point) and wanted to tell her, but decided not to because I didn’t want to get my hopes up. With the two-year anniversary of her memoriam, I was hit with the realization of how much I truly missed her during this pregnancy and would have loved to hear her voice even for five minutes to assure me that my delivery would go well and that I shouldn’t be afraid.

It still feels surreal that she’s not here and as I look at my children I just miss her and wish they could experience her love and light. For a long time, I beat myself up that I hadn’t called her the night before. I found out that she had wanted to call me and my brothers and even had her phone brought to her in the hospital bed but was so short of breath that she never called. I never called. What would I have said to her in that last conversation? And would it have been so different from the previous one I’d just had with her? We always ended our phone calls with “I love you.” But would it have been it different to actually feel like I was saying goodbye? Would I even have known that that’s what I was doing?



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What the 'Avengers: Endgame' Girl Power Moment Means for Marvel


I generally feel about the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) the way I feel about gender reveal parties: I get why people are into it, I’ll go if I’m invited, and I always root for a girl. So after I saw on Twitter there’s a “women got this” moment in the climactic battle of Avengers: Endgame, I decided I’d do my cultural duty and see this much-hyped project for myself.

Twenty dollars and three hours later, I can attest that, yes, the female superheroes do kick butt. Moreover, Endgame reveals a franchise—and perhaps an audience—caught between nostalgia for the status quo that built it and the interesting, diverse possibilities ahead. But before we get into that, be warned: Major spoilers for Endgame ahead.

Endgame picks up where Infinity War left off: Half of the universe’s population has turned to dust, though the original six conveniently survived (Iron Man, Black Widow, Hulk, Hawkeye, Thor, and Captain America). War Machine, Nebula, and Rocket Raccoon are also around to help, along with new recruit Captain Marvel, who saved Iron Man’s life on her way to Earth because Carol Danvers is good like that. Right away, Captain Marvel is confident that, with her help, they can all do their avenging and finally kill Thanos—and they do. The only problem: He destroyed the Infinity Stones, which means they can’t reverse his actions from Infinity War.

For five years, everyone mourns their lost loved ones. Captain America leads a support group that features the movie’s one and only openly gay character. Captain Marvel peaces out to fight crime on other planets, even though Nick Fury used his dying breath to summon her to earth. But don’t worry, because here comes…Ant-Man! Yes, they let the most powerful woman in the galaxy skip town, but good ol’ Ant-Man is crucial to the first half of the movie.

That’s not to say the first half of the movie isn’t really fun, by the way. The Avengers go back in time to collect the Infinity Stones, allowing Thor to see his mom, Iron Man to see his dad, and Captain America to fight himself. There’s a lot of sneaking around and even more anti-aging CGI. It all leans hard into the audience’s nostalgia for the earlier movies in the franchise, and that’s what we signed up for, isn’t it?

Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner), War Machine/James Rhodey (Don Cheadle), Iron Man/Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.), Captain America/Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), Nebula (Karen Gillan), Rocket (voiced by Bradley Cooper), Ant-Man/Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) and Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff (Scarlett Johansson) in Avengers: Endgame.

Marvel Studios

The only thing is, if you haven’t seen the original Avengers since it came out and have instead been watching Black Panther, Captain Marvel, and the MCU’s other more inclusive efforts, you might have forgotten that it’s a real White Guy-Palooza. Iron Man and Captain America are going ego-to-ego, Hulk is doing his best to rein in his testosterone, and Thor still has his phallic attachment to his hammer. The only girl in the group is Black Widow…except she—spoiler—sacrifices herself so Hawkeye can get the Soul Stone and dies. After that, the only women left to save the world are Nebula and Gamora (who, yes, died in Infinity Wars but has joined with her sister in the past and traveled to the present day). But they interact with the main group pretty much never.

After some twists and turns, though, Hulk is able to un-dust all the people Thanos previously dusted—right as a now-alive Thanos (who time-traveled his way from the past) arrives with his entire army. But good news: The heroes who turned to dust have returned, too. If the first half of Endgame was a long and loving tribute to the original batch of Avengers movies, the second is a rapid-fire reminder of all the characters Marvel introduced in the past five years. On your left is Doctor Strange! On your right is Spider-Man and the Scarlet Witch! Directly in front of you…Wakandans! And arriving via the sky are Valkyrie and Captain Marvel (taking down a whole ship by herself in the process, by the way). Except, wait, those last two never got the dust treatment. They could have been here helping the whole time.



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What Luxury Beauty Means to Undocumented Immigrants and Their Children


I grew up poor. Not broke, which isn’t poor, and not bohemian poor, like a gentrifier living in the ghetto but able to afford nice clothes. Undocumented-child-of-undocumented-immigrants poor, which means that even as I worked to g degrees from Harvard and Yale, delivering the American Dream at my parents’ feet, my mother and father are in a perpetual, worsening state of poverty because they are aging out of manual labor in a country that is trying to expel them. They’ve paid their taxes for decades but haven’t been able to put a penny towards their retirement. They do not qualify for public benefits. That kind of poor.

For my family poverty is like walking in a hurricane. I spend my money buying my parents umbrella after umbrella; each provides some relief, then breaks—cheap fixes, all of them. The rain has paused for now. But it will resume. In Spanish, we call that pause escampo. The rain has escampado. I have some discretionary income. Most of that goes towards my family, my reporting, or towards immigrants in my community who need it. It will not last forever.

But about a year ago, a curious thing happened. I walked into a Sephora and realized I could buy whatever I wanted.

I walked right out. That didn’t feel right. Later I went back in to Sephora with my mother and I told her I would buy her whatever she wanted. That felt better. She has studied fashion magazines since she was a kid in Ecuador and had her wishlist: Nars Blush in Orgasm. YSL Touche Éclat Radiance Awakening Foundation. A tube of Rouge Dior lipstick in deep red. A bottle of Byredo “Rose Noir” Eau de Parfum that Sephora didn’t have in stock. And on and on.

Up until that point, she had owned drugstore products. My mother was emotional and cleared her dresser bureau to organize the new makeup. The Chanel shadows never left their velvet sleeves with their trademark hot-stamped logo. I think she used her fingers to smudge on the shimmers not to maximize pigment, but because she didn’t want to stain the tiny applicators. The Byredo perfume would be spritzed twice (just twice) whenever she went to a graduation or a funeral. She never even removed the BeautyBlender from its plastic case to keep it clean. She kept purchasing drugstore bronzers so she wouldn’t have to deplete the Bare Minerals one I got her, the same one I use. It’s called “A Little Sun” and it’s golden brown with a slight red tint. I’ve never gone on a vacation, but I always liked the way white girls at Harvard looked in September after they’d spent weekends biking through the Cape.

For my mother, a top shelf is a magical cloud of luxury, a delicious feel-good fantasy.

My mother and I had disagreements about it. I could see that she rarely used her makeup, reserving it for special occasions or for church. Weeks passed, and she continued to venture into Manhattan barefaced. I panicked and pleaded with her to wear it whenever she encountered white people who determined her life or livelihood, like at work or at the doctor’s office. I asked her to wear a full face of makeup whenever I was not with her to serve as her interpreter, whenever my credit card could not communicate in a demented shorthand that we are human too. But she wouldn’t listen. For my mother, a top shelf is a magical cloud of luxury, a delicious feel-good fantasy.

But my mother doesn’t read the news in order to preserve her sanity and I have to for my job—I’m an immigration writer—so she doesn’t know about the Border Patrol agents who dump gallons of water that humanitarian groups have left in the desert for migrants. I do. For me, as a formerly undocumented young woman and the daughter of undocumented immigrants, makeup has become a talisman—an attempt to ward off evil.

PHOTO: Photo by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio

A look at my mother’s vanity

I didn’t learn to use makeup from my mother, as I know many young women do. Growing up, my Latinx immigrant family followed strict traditional gender roles where my dad worked out in the world and my mom stayed home with me and my brother. My father had expectations when he came home from work—dinner, a clean house, the usual. But he also expected my mother to look beautiful. He expected her to do the work with her hair down, makeup on, in heels. Instead, she wore sweats, sunscreen, and her hair in a bun. I admired that about her, even when it ended in a fight. My mother made it clear she’d never wear makeup for a man.

Like she had, I learned about makeup from magazines, where the beautiful models and celebrities were mostly white. It wasn’t until Jay-Z said, “Put some colored girls in the MoMa” in 2011 that I stopped wanting to look like a French gamine. Jackie Aina on YouTube came to me like a revelation. I watched her videos and learned how to address hyperpigmentation, color correction, and a status quo that doesn’t want to cater to dark skin. It took a gorgeous black makeup artist who had been through hell and back to make me understand what it could mean to talk about makeup in terms of self care. Her looks were radical acts—declarations of delight and exuberance.

My mother is beautiful. Sometimes I attempt to conjure up what a racist person might see if he looked at her at her most glamorous and regal, with her fig-brown skin and a caravan nose straight out of a Renaissance portrait. I think about the tear-gassed toddlers on the border, their parents desperate for asylum. I wonder if he processes her as human.

I can’t protect my mother from getting fired from her job, or detention, or deportation. I can’t even protect her from daily encounters with racist abuse. But I can use the master’s own tools to prepare her to step into the master’s house.

I understand this is twisted.

I think a lot about an experiment I read about in Scientific American in which black and white participants in a mall were asked to determine how much to spend on a pair of expensive headphones. Half of the black participants were first made to review a list of racist traits associated with African-Americans. Afterwards, when the participants were shown photographs of the headphones, the individuals who had been forced to read the list offered to pay a lot more money than either the white participants or the black participants who hadn’t had to confront those stereotypes.

PHOTO: Photo by Karla Cornejo Villavicencio

The author

I pay for nice makeup because I want to prove that I can—once a saleswoman at a department store asked too pointedly if I needed help and I ended up buying two Chanel lipsticks and a blush that I didn’t need—and because maybe it’ll make someone think twice before they assume who my mother and I are based on the color of our skin.

Earlier this fall, I bought the Tom Ford Shade and Illuminate. It costs $85, what my father earns for a full day of work as a salad maker. But the packaging is gorgeous. It contours and highlights, and I like to sweep it over Sonia Kashuk Undetectable Crème Bronzer to deepen my brown skin. A good dupe for it is the Wet n Wild MegaGlo Makeup Stick, which retails for $3.99. I use both. The truth is I like the Wet n Wild one even better because it’s dispensed in a stick, so I don’t need to use a brush, and the color is warmer.

But when I have to go into spaces where I know I will feel intimidated because of my race or when I have to talk to powerful white people whom I know do not see me as an equal—even if it’s on the phone, even if I’m just in a towel, right out of the shower, even if I have to drink a vodka soda to muster up the courage to voice my opinion—I wear a full face of makeup and every cream and powder that touches my skin is designer. YSL, Dior, Chanel, Tom Ford. My armor.

I feel beautiful when I am able to grit my teeth and get it done, when I can bite the inside of my cheeks and not cry, when I can show off a steely face to the world. Makeup helps me do that.

Some more enlightened women than I will tell me they feel beautiful when they are surrounded by the people they love, when they drink a lot of water, when they spend time with their children. I feel beautiful when I am able to grit my teeth and get it done, when I can bite the inside of my cheeks and not cry, when I can show off a steely face to the world. Makeup helps me do that.

I have nightmares about deportation and internment camps every night. But sometimes when I can’t fall asleep, I fantasize about meeting the President of the United States and I feel a surge of warm pleasure as I imagine step-by-step how I’d prepare. I’d line my lips in red liner then fill them in with multiple coats of MAC in Russian Red. Long, curled lashes coated in Too Faced Better Than Sex Mascara. If I needed to cry, I’d cry in the bathroom, silently. The formula is waterproof, so I’d be able to hide the evidence.

Makeup makes me feel beautiful and it makes me feel powerful, but it doesn’t make me feel like a pretty girl. Makeup makes me feel like a woman with a plan for survival. I don’t play with makeup. I unleash it.

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio is a writer living in New Haven, Connecticut. She is an Emerson Collective Fellow. You can follow her on Instagram @kcornv.

Main Photo: Getty Images





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This Is How Women Voted in the Midterms—and What It Means for Election 2020


When Hillary Clinton’s second attempt to become America’s first female president failed in 2016, a lot of women were angry—at other women.

Much of the disappointment and finger-pointing that went on after the election that put Donald Trump in the White House was specifically aimed at white women: While Trump only got about 41 percent of the women’s vote overall, a majority of white women—52 percent—sided with him over Clinton at the polls.

In the weeks leading up the 2018 midterm elections, Republicans were fighting to maintain control of both the House and the Senate in a cycle that let voters make a judgment call not just about their lawmakers, but about Trump’s presidency. He literally told Americans they should “pretend I’m on the ballot.”

Fast forward to last week: Women go to the polls again—and run for office—in droves. As a whole, 59 percent say they supported their local Democratic candidate for the House—up from 51 percent in the 2014 midterms and 48 percent in 2010. Republicans manage to hang on to the Senate, but lose the House—making it harder for Trump to deliver what he’s promised. The head of the Democratic Party gives special thanks to women for their part in changing the game.

The headlines practically write themselves, right? Blue Wave! Pink Wave! Rainbow Wave! Shove over, 1992: This is the New Year of the Woman.

But dig deeper and you get a sharper, more complicated picture. There’s no question this election was A Big Deal for women. The House will see a new record of at least 125 women in office in 2019, and women voters in specific demographics helped them get there.

Some figures aren’t surprising. Number crunching by the Center for American Women and Politics, for example, finds an overwhelming 92 percent of black women supported a Democrat for the House in Tuesday’s election, as did 73 percent of Latinas. The non-profit Voter Participation Center broadly credited a coalition of unmarried women, people of color, and millennials as key to flipping the House—something VPC’s Page Gardner forecasted in a pre-election interview with Glamour.

Among white women, however, midterm exit polling shows a full-on split: As the Pew Research Center reports, 49 percent voted Democratic; 49 percent went Republican.

And for those white female voters, education level is a bright, dividing line.

This year, about 59 percent of college-educated white women supported a Democrat for the House. As Susan Carroll, senior scholar at CAWP, pointed out in a phone interview, that’s a big jump from 2016, when not even half did the same. It was almost the reverse among white women with no college degree: Around 56 percent voted for Republican House candidates this year, according to Pew; just over 60 percent of that same group supported Trump in 2016.

Given that outcome in America’s first return to the polls since Trump took office (and stirred women’s rage by separating migrant mothers and children at the border and putting Judge Brett Kavanaugh on the Supreme Court), a fresh surge of post-election finger pointing was no surprise.

“What is wrong with white women?” demanded columnist Moira Donegan of The Guardian. “Why do half of them so consistently vote for Republicans, even as the Republican party morphs into a monstrously ugly organization that is increasingly indistinguishable from a hate group?”

Gender Watch, a non-partisan research project tracking women in elections, quoted Melanye Price, an Africana Studies professor at Rutgers, as saying that “in the last two years, progressive white women’s sense of urgency has increased but in many parts of this country they have not been able to convince their sisters,” and also that “having to continually remind white women that fighting their own racial bigotry is as important as fucking the patriarchy is tiresome.”

Women’s March co-founder Breanne Butler put out a call for progressives to use the upcoming holidays to start helping white female relatives see the light ahead of the 2020 presidential race: “Here’s where you can talk to your aunt that gave money to her church’s mission trip but fails to recognize the [South American migrant] caravan,” she tells Glamour via email. “Here’s where you can talk to your cousin who loves hip hop music, but fails to see that black lives aren’t valued.”

And Princeton scholar Dara Strolovitch says while it’s inspiring to see midterm wins by women, LGBT, and minority candidates, she has lingering concerns: “Although the last two years have been a crash-course [on] the implications of persistent and institutionalized misogyny,” she writes in a post-midterms takeaway, “many straight white Christian women” may not only accept what could be seen as anti-feminist attitudes, but embrace them.

In this or any election, naturally, there’s a big, big difference between spotting trends in how women voted and establishing why they made their choices. The decision may come down to party loyalty, feelings about a specific candidate, a national issue, or a local problem. And of course, Carroll notes, “the culture of the [voter’s] state really does matter.”

Meanwhile, even as liberal analysts and activists lament some of Tuesday’s outcomes, not only the president, but groups like Susan B. Anthony List, which promotes anti-abortion women candidates for public office, are claiming victory.

“In 2010, there was not a single pro-life woman in the U.S. Senate. Next year there will be at least four pro-life women senators, and five if pro-life Martha McSally wins in Arizona,” SBA List President Marjorie Dannenfelser said in a post-election statement that also applauded the success of anti-abortion ballot measures in Alabama and West Virginia. Additionally, Dannenfelser cheered the re-election of Iowa Gov. Kim Reynolds, a woman she praised as having “signed the most aggressive pro-life state legislation to date.”

Elsewhere, the conservative Independent Women’s Forum posted a rundown on its website of liberal candidates who lost despite their celebrity endorsements, and Republican National Committee Chairwoman Ronna McDaniel tweeted that the one-two punch of Trump’s persuasive campaigning and a good GOP ground game “turned the forecasted Democrat tsunami into a ripple.”

The political divisions laid bare in the 2018 midterms, where some close contests still remain undecided, are definitely not limited to women: While that 59 percent of female voters supported Democratic House candidates, just over half of men voted Republican. That went up to 60 percent for white men, Pew calculated—and even higher, to 66 percent, for white guys with no college degree.

The divide between men and women voters extended to other other races, CAWP finds, including 20 of 21 Senate battles and nine of 11 governor’s races as of last week.

In contests that made national news, CAWP’s tally shows, women were likelier to go with the Democrat—win or lose: More than half of women voters supported Democrat Andrew Gillum’s unsuccessful bid to become Florida’s first African-American governor and Texas Rep. Beto O’Rourke’s failed challenge to incumbent Sen. Ted Cruz. Higher percentages of women than men also sided with incumbent Democratic Senators Claire McCaskill of Missouri and Heidi Heitkamp of North Dakota, who both lost to male Republican challengers.

The Democratic nominee in one of the country’s hottest Senate contests, Nevada’s Jacky Rosen, beat Republican incumbent Dean Heller with the support of 60 percent of women voters—versus just 42 percent of men. In Tennessee, just over half of female voters helped make Marsha Blackburn the first woman to represent the state in the Senate.

On the plus side for better female representation in Congress, Carroll says, “This is going to be the largest-ever freshman class of women in the House,” but there’s a lesson to keep in mind from 1992’s “Year of the Woman,” she cautions: Some of those female candidates won in politically mixed or Republican-leaning districts and went right on to lose their seats in 1994.

The Class of 2018 may face a similar challenge: “They have to run for re-election in two years, [and] who knows what the electoral context will be? It may not be as favorable for Democrats as it was this year,” she says. “You don’t know.”

Also unknown: Whether more female voters will veer to the left in the run-up to the 2020 presidential cycle—or if white women will stay on the fence, a divided part of the electorate served by a divided government in a divided America.

Celeste Katz is senior political reporter for Glamour. Send news tips, questions, and comments to celeste_katz@condenast.com.

In a pivotal election year, Glamour is keeping track of the historic number of women running (and voting) in the midterm elections. For more on our latest midterm coverage, visit www.glamour.com/midterms.





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Chrissy Teigen Wrote a Beautiful Note About What *Crazy Rich Asians* Means for Her Daughter


After seeing Crazy Rich Asians with her daughter (Luna) and husband (John Legend) over the weekend, Chrissy Teigen took to Instagram and explained why the movie was so important for her family.

“You never know how much you miss being represented on screen until you actually see what it’s like to be represented,” she wrote in the caption, picking out specific moments of resonance, like seeing Luna call Constance Wu’s character’s mom “yāy,” or ‘grandma’ in Thai, because she looked like her own yāy. The model also wrote about how great it was to see that representation manifest with a wide range of different characters and themes, from sacrifice and hardships in the table scene to over-the-top spectacle in the party and wedding scenes, “just like any other great movie.”

Also included were cute photos of Luna and Teigen looking up at the poster, Luna and Legend watching the movie, and a video of the dad/daughter pair dancing over the closing credits at the end.

The importance of representation in Crazy Rich Asians has been pretty much woven into the movie from the start. Kevin Kwan, the author of the original novel, optioned the movie rights for $1 so that Hollywood wouldn’t whitewash it. And earlier this month, Constance Wu published a statement on Twitter about how significant it is that Crazy Rich Asians is a romantic comedy that “not only centers [on] an Asian-American story,” but fills it with a “talented, dynamic, unique all-Asian cast.” Its impact has already been felt at the box office: In just four days, it made $34 million and became the top-grossing film on its opening weekend.

You can read Teigen’s full caption below:

What can I really say about this movie that hasn’t been said byabsolutely everyone who has seen it. I’ve been excited to see thissince production was announced but I could have never imagined howwonderful it would be. I planned on seeing it, making a few jokesabout how it checked all the boxes for me (CRAZY ☑️ RICH ☑️ ASIAN ☑️)but the feeling I got during the credits, watching John dance with mylittle black asian mashup baby bear luna tunes, was a feeling Ihaven’t had at the end of any other movies.

Luna, aside from being blown away by the general movie-goingexperience (yep she’s 13 now, time flies) looked up at @constancewu’smother and yelled “yāy!” (“Grandma” in thai) because she saw someonewho looked like her yāy. Someone beautiful and aspirational. It wassomething that simple that made my heart just…warm. That made mehappy. It made me happy to see this over the top story done from somany angles, some I could totally understand because of my ownconfusing Asian American upbringing. I loved it all, from the quietermoments of talking around the table of sacrifice and past hardships tothe spectacle of the bachelor party. Finding that I could cry watchingthe most over the top aisle walk on the planet.

You never know how much you miss being represented on screen untilyou actually see what it’s like to be represented. And represented byall different types of characters with all different types ofpersonalities, just like any other great movie.

Also aside from all that, it’s just colorful, fun and big as f*ck.

God I love a rom com. God I loved it all. Thank you guys for makingthis movie.

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Women Are Living For This Photo of Chrissy Teigen Breast-Pumping on the Way to Dinner



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