That half-marathon landed me on the sofa with a deadly bout of consumption, so I spent the afternoon kicking phantom boyfriends to the curb with the help of some tough-minded, well-manicured, obscenely wealthy ladies.
Jenna Wortham on how Beyoncé and Rihanna rule the social web from opposite poles. My favorite bit, on Rihanna:
She likes to show off her lean, shapely figure, mostly through MySpace-style cam shots, scantily clad and pouting in a bathroom or full-length mirror, and she’s especially fond of uploading pictures of herself with thick curls of smoke snaking from either her nose, her mouth or a combination of both. She seems to be completely uncensored by anyone sensible in her camp — she often curses and is not above lashing out at anyone who takes a jab at her on Twitter, even MTV, which plays her videos for her fans. She once posted nothing but song lyrics from her latest album, sometimes juxtaposed with photographs, for 24 hours.
Turns out that you can in fact burst into tears randomly several times a day thanks to the unfortunate side effects of a certain asthma medication you had brazenly mocked in a public forum. Lesson learned, universe, and the dream of carefree unobstructed breathing tossed in the dumpster.