Deep Dark Secrets: Dave Matthews says I look like my dad but hotter.

Plus an embarrassing picture of my famous nostrils.

There comes a time in all of our lives when we need to grow up. That time for me happened years ago, but today I’m taking action: starting in May, Eat Your Feelings will be moving to a paid subscription model. While most of the monthly advice columns will remain free, I’ll be adding more content every other week that helps us all eat more and feel more. That means exclusive interviews with real people I have crushes on, my own deep dark secrets (like this post), and stories that are too good to give away for free. Luckily, I’m offering 10% off right now if you subscribe for a year plan, so you won’t miss the next paid Eat Your Feelings post that will reveal my bonkers story featuring a psycho chef and Lena Dunham. Trust me, it’s worth the $5 (or $4 if you sign up for a year of Eat Your Feelings right now!)

Me producing an event with Norovirus.

To kick us off here’s a free look into my Deep Dark Secrets from April, collected at ungodly hours on my phone.

• I’ll never be an actress because my nostrils are totally different shapes. It’s ok to have big nostrils or thin ones but one of each is just absurd.

• But maybe I could be known for my nostrils? Like Babs was for her nose or Wallace Shawn was for his bald head. Should I get back into acting at 37, right when all the parts dry up for women over 35?

• The euphoria and delusion that comes after a Norovirus colon cleanse is dangerous for monogamy.

• I got Botox because I was going to be in a room full of D list Reality TV stars for an event I produced. But, turns out, no one notices you are old if you are also unimportant! Upside is they’ll never know I gave them all Norovirus.

• Speaking of… I think my right eye is drooping from the weight of the Botox. Last month the right side of my face swelled up for 2 days up while I was staying at my friend’s artist studio in Bushwick and I understood The Substance like never before.

• When I was pregnant I had a rash on my right side that turned out to be something called a “margarita burn” because I ate limes and wiped them on my skin in the sun. Then, when my son was born via C-section, they had to reach way up into the right side of my body to pull him out. When I asked my dula why everything was happening on the right side of my body she said “that’s your masculine side. Maybe you have some unfinished business with your father.” And I burst into tears.

• When I was 16 Dave Matthews told me I looked like my dad, but hotter. Not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

  

  My famous nostrils with John Waters’ famous mustache.

• Sometimes when I can’t sleep I imagine my teeth swelling up in my mouth like clouds.

• Marriage is constantly having to say “you’re right” when you know they are wrong. But somehow you are also wrong.

• I wish I could be a sommelier but for sandwiches.

• I’ve been panicking about charging for my Substack. It feels gross to ask for money on a platform where real writers are trying to make a living. But today I listened to this WSJ podcast interview with the new CEO of Gap talking about reinventing a heritage brand. He thinks back to what once made a brand great and then figures out how that core value fits into the new circumstances of the world. Back before the Gap became an irrelevant mall store only good for its 50% off underwear bin, even before it was a 90s mecca for middle schoolers wearing Heaven Body Spray, Gap used to only sell jeans… and records.

  When it opened in San Francisco in 1969, it was all about accessible simplicity and the culture of music. The CEO, who made Barbie a thing again by producing the world’s pinkest movie, has been working to lean back into Gap’s heritage that was lost, bringing in music and entertainment through special celebrity collabs, music videos, and even putting Gap on the red carpet. It’s kind of working. People care about Gap again, or at least they are talking about it. And it got me thinking: why can’t the same be true for reinventing our own heritage? How can we all reinvigorate that story that once made us great. A story that we might have pushed aside to be able to sell a product or make the bottom line. How do we bring ourselves back from being the 50% off panty bin?

  My way is putting weight in my writing again. I used to hustle to write articles for online blogs while working at restaurants, making $0.10 a word (if I was lucky) to stay up late after an art opening and transcribe my unintelligible interview with Marina Abramovic or an emerging artist. Rinsing the puke out of my wide brim hat having had one too many at the Le Bain open bar, I’d sobe up enough to post before my deadline with an editor who wasn’t getting paid enough to even read it through. It was hard and thankless but I was proud of myself for making money off my writing, as small as the paycheck was.

  When I started working in advertising and writing copy for brands that would pay me by the hour, I gave up that hustle. Life became cleaner and easier. It also became all about the money – what job was worth it and what wasn’t. When you know your rate it’s hard to justify working for nothing. I hardly wrote anything that wasn’t inspired by SEO., And then during the pandemic I started this Substack just for fun and for absolutely nothing. Writing again for only my mom and a few friends felt actaully fun, and much less exhausting than the branded instagram captions I’d been hired to write about some lipstick’s stance on Black Lives Matter. Now, five years, I’m starting to remeber what it felt like to publish something you knew a handful of people may read, under my own name with my own voice. I’ve realized: in order to bring back a heritage brand, you need to start knowing your own worth.

  What happens here is better than anything else I write for “work” because it’s my voice, not a blog post about flip flops or naming a new body mist (which I really did this month, the 90’s are back baby). My writing deserves as much weight as any job, and putting a small price on it gives me permission to take this seriously. I’m reinventing that scrappy journalist on a platform that fits today, sans embarrassing hat and with a much better editor (myself + my husband).

• Had a dream about underwear soup and damn was it delicious.

• Nothing makes you love air travel like having a kid and not traveling with them. Give me a red eye, a delay, a long customs line, I’m just elated that I’m doing it without them.

• Don’t tell my husband I got bumped up to first class when he had to travel alone with the baby in coach a few days later.

• Next year is the 30th anniversary of You’ve Got Mail. Please hire me to write the Millenials-mourning-bookstores-while-cursing-AI reboot. I have ideas.

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Best thing I ate this month: Pickled habas (fava beans) at Voraz. It’s probably the cheapest thing on their menu but unexpectedly bright and satisfying. I’ll get three orders next time I go, with a Spagliato on the side.

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Best thing I cooked this month: I got served this NYTimes recipe for one pot chicken and rice and it was honestly whatever. BUT the next day I sautéed the rice and chicken leftovers and it tasted like an amazing risotto made super creamy from slow cooking in the chicken stock and fat. I won’t be making again but I will add green olives and lemon to my next risotto experiment.

Best thing I read this month: Laid Off, a Substack interviewing people who have recently been laid off, has been talking to a bunch of government employees that were sacked with all the nutso Trump changes. Highly suggest. Also makes you feel much better if you too have been laid off recently.

Best thing I saw this month: This mustachioed orchid at the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park and a raunchy ballet choreographed by Hans Van Mannen at the SF Ballet that could have been backup for a Cardi B video. He’s 92 and his choreo is all about the disguise of masculinity, like this piece that felt to me like football players all trying to show off their own lil’ ballet victory dances. More of this everywhere, please.