Society

What is the literal cut-off point for women having very long hair (and by “long” I mean where it almost goes into the toilet bowl)? Thirty? Forty? Fifty? Try 65 – the age I turned this year. If this strikes you as grossly inappropriate, in theory I’m with you. The unspoken rule is that the older you get, the shorter your hair should be. Nobody within ten or even 20 years of me has hair as long as mine. What can I say? As with wearing inappropriately colored nail polish, it is just another small act of defiance women d’un certain age can employ to remind this cruel world that

“Why doesn’t anyone ever do what you ask them to?” inquired my husband, who is something of an expert on the question, I should have thought. He was referring specifically to a plea I made three years ago to people I’ve never met to stop sending emails that begin: “I am reaching out to you.” But it has grown worse. Using the expression makes it sound as though the emailer is deranged. Reach out has for more than a century meant “to offer sympathy, support or assistance” to people. Correlatively it can mean to seek those things. British Prime Minister Keir Starmer has acquired the habit of issuing a Christmas

The year just gone has hardly been a banner year for either the Duke or Duchess of Sussex, culminating in the humiliation of yet another publicist departing from their employment at its end. However, all of us hope that 2026 will be an improvement. Last weekend brought the potentially good news for Harry – although, perhaps, less so for the rest of us – that the litigious prince might yet have succeeded in his aim of being provided with British taxpayer-funded police protection whenever he returns to the UK. If this is indeed the case, we can expect to see a lot more of him. Let joy be unconfined. Those readers with long memories and the patience to trawl

Lucky subscribers to “As Ever,” Meghan Markle’s Pravda-esque newsletter, were given an exclusive insight this festive season into how the Duchess of Sussex would be spending the Christmas period. She wrote that “Last night, I was nibbling the remnants of our Christmas Eve feast (dim sum this year), wrapping a few last-minute gifts, and tiptoeing down the stairs with my husband to make sure ‘Santa’ had enjoyed his cookies and ‘the reindeer’ had eaten their carrots. Anything to maintain the morning magic of Christmas through our children’s eyes.” She went on to offer further heartwarming domestic details, saying “I plan to spend today cuddled up with my family – maybe

Happy Holidays, friends. Think about that word for a moment. Hold it in your sacred space. Surely that’s what the Holidays are all about? Friends. Like family – only better. Friends – the family we choose. People who are respectful and loving towards us. Like Oprah. (Hi, Oprah!) Or like people who are proficient at hair and makeup and are keen to gift their gift. Friends. Let’s dissect that beautiful word. It comes so close to being fiends – but narrowly avoids it by the felicitous presence of the letter R. Note also that it contains ends –which is what must happen to the relationship, regrettably, if fiendish behavior is ever displayed by the

It was months before the difficulty with Marnie and Addison was talked about, or even alluded to. The sight of their names in emails circulated around the department was enough to cause a pall to settle on everything, like ash from fires only just put out. Besides, the nature of the difficulty (that was the word we all used) was both so opaque and so distressing we’d have had trouble talking about it, even if we’d wanted to. It fell to me to piece things together. My brief from Helen was simply to satisfy the university that nobody in the department was to blame. It fell to me because I