[So what’s driving sales of these garments? “It’s like this competitive thing we have with other women,” says Mary Pantier, a 40-year-old yoga instructor in Erie, Colo., who accidentally flashed her Spanx, worn under her workout ensemble, while in a downward-dog pose in class.]
Ms. Pantier’s husband, Hank, 35, doesn’t get it. “If you stuff five pounds into a two-pound container, it doesn’t make the five pounds smaller. It just makes it stranger-looking and uncomfortable,” says Mr. Pantier, who has told his wife she feels “like a tire” in Spanx.
First of all, thanks, Wall Street Journal writer Rachel Dodes for finding someone named “Ms. Pantier” to speak on the subject of Spanx. Secondly, Mary, you need to sun salute that guy out of your life maybe.
Been more than a bit interested in 29-year-old White House assistant chef Sam Kass since seeing his mug around (yes, I fell for all the pin-up bait), but this new profile in the NYT cements it.
Part chef and part policy wonk, he is reinventing the role of official gastronome in the Executive Mansion. Indeed, Obama administration officials describe him as a vital conduit to the first family. “How do I get to the first lady, how do I try to transmit ideas and messages to her? Sam Kass,” said Kathleen Merrigan, the deputy agriculture secretary. “He’s been a real ally when we talk about farm to school.”
…While he is steeped in all matters locavore and was a moving force behind the White House garden, Mr. Kass has no formal culinary training and has never run a restaurant or hotel kitchen. (He graduated with a history degree from the University of Chicago and honed his culinary skills at Avec, a Chicago restaurant, before becoming a private chef.)
In recent months, Mr. Kass has emerged as one of the most high-profile promoters of Michelle Obama’s healthy living agenda. He has baked Swiss chard frittatas for students on the White House lawn, prepared chicken salad with red onions and toasted almonds at the Department of Agriculture’s cafeteria and sprinkled crab meal and ladybugs — instead of chemical fertilizers and pesticides — on the first lady’s garden.
There are few things I like on the Internet better than Luxirare’s food/cooking/science posts, always unexpected combinations of art and culinary technique and photography. I am awed by every one and this person is a mad genius.
I know this makes me solidly entrenched in an elderly and caucasian foxhole from which there is limited escape, but I heart them. Maybe it just makes me Irish.
A new song from a new band. And on and on and on. But I do like this—it sounds like being young a long, but not too long time ago. So what I’m trying to say is, I get it.
Sometimes I like to fantasize that someone hires me to create Marisa magazine or, while we’re firmly in fantasy territory, Sassy 2.0 and I start putting together my dream team of writers and editors. (Does anyone else do this?) I think Joon would get the back page.
Um, I have that fantasy constantly. Also, if you ever start this—which you totally should, I would read the shit out of Marisa Mag—I’d kill to handle the updated version of Traumarama, involving texts and e-mails you never meant to send. That, or accessories.
