“There’s no way to write a science book well. If you write it for a general audience and you are successful, your academic colleagues will hate you, and if you write it for academics, nobody would want to read it.”
Like the over-the-top marriage proposals immortalized on hidden cameras and Good Morning America, these social media campaigns turn what should be a sincere question into an exercise in emotional extortion. Once someone has choreographed a marching band or hired a skywriter, the question is no longer “Do you want go to prom with me?” It’s “Will you choose not to publicly humiliate me?”
Hathaway has also described how she and Devil Wears Prada co-star Emily Blunt “would clutch at each other and cry because we were so hungry."
Times culture has never produced an excess of radical thinking. With the upheavals of the digital age, though, restraint has become a luxury the paper can no longer afford. “The ways to have impact are to produce exclusive news, write memorable stories, and evince a sense of daring and fun,” says Sexton. “And if that formula fails, then we’re all in fucking trouble.”
"Do shit you’re not supposed to do.” That’s how Joe Sexton, who as New York Times sports editor has been behind some of the paper’s most groundbreaking recent work, describes his guiding philosophy.
Give a grown adult a series of random prompts and cues, and odds are he or she will recall a disproportionate number of memories from adolescence. This phenomenon even has a name—the “reminiscence bump”—and it’s been found over and over in large population samples, with most studies suggesting that memories from the ages of 15 to 25 are most vividly retained.
“I do worry if being a pundit is a worthwhile thing to be,” she says. “Yeah, I’m the unlikely cable news host. But before that I was the unlikely Rhodes scholar. And before that I was the unlikely kid who got into Stanford. And then I was the unlikely lifeguard. You can always cast yourself as unlikely when you’re fundamentally alienated in your worldview. It’s a healthy approach for a commentator.”
Lauer’s talent is telegraphing a pleasing, likable gravitas, and in his Stewart interview, he strikes his signature pose: He leans on his right elbow, legs crossed and swiveled left, reading glasses in right hand, pen in left, while he poses questions with a tone of tactful skepticism, his eyebrows cocked in expectation. Then he switches the pen to the other hand, dons his glasses, and reads from notes as if from a stone tablet of inescapable truth, almost sorry he has to go there. Then glasses off, eyebrows up.
“Patriarchy” doesn’t just mean concrete systems that ensure only men have access to the upper echelons of power; it also encompasses our ingrained cultural understanding of what men should be and how they show dominance. If it looks like we’ve reached the “end of men,” that’s only because patriarchy (alive and well!) tells us the only way to be a man is to be The Man — economically, politically, and socially. If patriarchy were really over, stay-at-home dads wouldn’t be the death knell of an entire gender. They’d just be … men. They are men.