A little-to-well-known fact about me is that there is nothing I love to waste more time on than watching foreign soap operas. Chalk it up to being South American, but nothing makes my lil heart thrill more than a pair of sullen teenagers who hate each other so much they end up together, butlers named Braulio, or a classic evil twin reveal. And nothing makes my lil heart skip a beat more than when the setting for these dynastic dramas is Seoul, South Korea. 

I began watching Korean soap operas (or dramas, as they're called) during my senior year of high school. At the time, my sister was obsessed with Korean pop, so I picked it up in the slow, disinterested way older siblings will pretend not to like things they haven't discovered first. Five hours of rich boarding schools, extremely chic Devil Wears Prada-esque in-laws, and a class system to rival Argentinean aristocracies later, I was hooked. To this day, they are my primary sick day activity of choice, even though reading subtitles is literally the last thing you're supposed to do when your brain is operating at 5% capacity. 

Like many fans, one of my favorite part of Korean dramas is the music. But I'm not kind of person to get swept away by the grand pop numbers of the title credits. No, I'm a big fan of the filler music. You know, the slow, acoustic songs that always seemed to follow our heroine when she's aimlessly walking around Seoul, languishing the fact that she's the daughter of The World's Most Embarrassing Dry Cleaner, or staring at her crush with longing from across the front desk of a porridge restaurant. Ahhh, young love!

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The thing is, nothing soothes those quiet moments of youthful melancholia quite like the soft filler music of Korean dramas. It's like the elevator music you'd hear if you were stuck on the Goldman Sach's elevator on Valentine's Day. Still, the genre of these tunes eluded me when I tried to create my own playlists. I can't read or type Korean, and I can hardly google "Elevator Music But Korean" on the internet. Where was I going to find the perfect soundtrack to my unrequited porridge crush????????

Enter Oohyo (apparently, not pronounced "ooooooh, yoooo!" like I want to pronounce it). Like the Korean dramas I consume during my sick days, her music is equally soothing and dramatic, the perfect soundtrack for those moments where you find out you and your porridge crush can never be together, but your only response is to gaze sullenly at a river somewhere nearby. Spotify classifies Oohyo's music as "K-Indie", but I think that shortens the scope a bit. The truth is, I don't really know how to classify her music. Is it a compilation of Korean slow jams? Music to contemplate your class-driven love triangle to? Elevator music playing in a future Seoul Glossier showroom? Honestly, all of these situations fit the bill. For me, Oohyo is my companion in late night subway rides and the soundtrack to my nightly Korean skincare routine. I can hardly ask for more. 

A playlist featuring Oohyo

I mean, man! How about that Spotify algorithm? When it knows, it knows!

-M

May it guide you through your travels in the land of the Sunday Scaries. 

-M

Welcome to 2017: iPhones can read your face and nobody owns a printer anymore. When I was taking my first steps into the adult world of full-time office work, I knew I would rely on my employer for a myriad of non-work-related things like healthcare and prestige, but I never realized I would have to add "free printer" to that list.

Here is a list of perfectly necessary and appropriate things I have printed out on my office printer.
 

• My new apartment lease.
  

• This picture of young Aaron Carter.
  

• 25 copies of a 10-page story for my creative writing class.
  

• My resume for an interview with another company.
  

• My cover letter for an interview with another company.
  

• That viral "36 Questions That Make A Stranger Fall In Love With You" article from the New York Times because I only have 2 articles left to read this month and I know I will revisit this in moments of insecurity.
  

• This picture of Oscar Isaac.
  

• A 15-page New Yorker article about the economic recession in Venezuela
  

• A letter to a congressman I did not deem worthy of my laborious handwriting.
  

• This picture of Margaret Atwood

-M

I remember the exact day I realized that I had never read more than five books by a woman author. It was about two years ago, when I was studying for the GRE subject test in Literature and catching up on about five hundred years of British and American literature stats. As I sifted through the Shakespeare, the Goodwin, the Swift, and the Pynchon (god, always the Pynchon), it hit me: in over 12 years of red-blooded American public education, I had read only two books by women: "To Kill a Mockingbird" and Toni Morrison's "Beloved". Even though some of the most exciting contemporary writing is produced on a daily basis is by women, the Supreme Rulers of All Evil (the college board) had chosen to dedicate 85% of its questions to works by male writers. As far as the college board was concerned, there was no female equivalent of Shakespeare. No Shakespearetta. Or Miltonetta. There certainly has never been a Pynchionetta (and thank god for that). Other than Harriet Beecher Stove, Harper Lee, and the lady that wrote Gone With the Wind (Vivien Leigh?) writing by women has apparently yet to reach the level of seriousness required to enter a graduate institution.

Well, I think that's stupid. If ETS is somehow at a loss for women authors (I don't know, maybe they read nothing but Esquire in their free time?), I have some unconventional names to get you started. There isn't a Joyce in the mix! Here are some hip ladies of literature who, coincidentally, could also moonlight as models for Celine's next eyewear campaign.

Silvina Ocampo

"Are these glasses or sunglasses? Am I blind or just wise? Did I star in Top Gun? Did I write Top Gun?"

Silvina Ocampo is virtually unknown outside of Argentina, which is a shame because she was a great fiction writer. Fun fact: she studied art in Paris with Giorgio del Chirico, which probably explains why reading her works makes you feel like you're in a constant state of inclining precariously over a ramp somewhere. She married Alfredo Bioy Casares, fellow Borges BFF and 19th century death mask model, and they wrote one novel together, called "Where There's Love There's Hate", which is pretty juicy considering they were married. There's a very good Argentine film adaptation starring Michael Buble's wife, which discredits her talents as an actress, but I'm playing to my audience's strengths here. Watch it!

Recommended Reading: The Velvet Dress (included in her short story collection "Thus Were their Faces")

Shirley Jackson

"I love my Warby Parkers!!!!!!!!!!!!11"

There is an award named after Shirley Jackson, but unfortunately it's not for being a reclusive bitch. This is upsetting because a) she was really good at it and b) I would win it immediately. You may have heard of her famous story "The Lottery", or as it's most famously known, the Hunger Games prequel. Let me put it this way - if you're a fan of rocks (and who isn't?), you're gonna love this one. The first time I ever heard about it was at a diner when I was in high school. My friend at the time told me it was terrifying and wouldn't tell me what it was about, just urged me to read it as soon as possible. I told her I would. Then we watched a rat launch itself from the ceiling fan of the diner into the windowsill, miss, and fall straight on top of a table filled with German tourists. 

Recommended reading: "We Have Always Lived in the Castle"

Leonora Carrington

"I am not wearing sunglasses. which makes me seem not fun, but to be honest I've kind of been through a lot"

Leonora Carrington was kind of a crazy bitch, and I mean that literally. A surrealist painter of Mexican and British descent, she was institutionalized a bunch of times and even wrote a book about her experiences in the psych ward in the hugely popular memoir "Down Below". She ditched her upper class family to run away with Max Ernst, who was her art teacher, and followed him around half of Europe while he got deported from several countries (a lil thing called Nazi persecution). Unfortunately, he unceremoniously dumped her for Peggy Guggenheim. She spent the rest of her life making these amazing kooky paintings and talking about the Surrealists' propensity towards child brides to anybody who would listen, being all, "Not that it's any of my business, but it's kinda weird how you all seem to lean towards the seventeen year olds, isn't it?" before Roy Moore was even a thing. She spilled more tea than the Boston Tea Party. She became one of the most important members of the Surrealist movement, and one of the few women involved in it. I came for the paintings and stayed for the stories about murderous hyenas. 

Recommended Reading: The Complete Short Stories of Leonora Carrington. Also this great article in the Guardian by her cousin Joanna Moorhead about what it was like to grow up hearing Carrington's family gossiping about her "running off to be an artist's model" for literal years. 

Joan Didion

"My outfit says "I am a peaceful praying mantis waiting for my Prozac" but my all-pupil eyes say "Abandon all hope ye who enter here"

There's not much to say here that hasn't already been said by Vogue and the New Yorker, but I wanted to throw her in because in her Netflix documentary she says she always starts the day with a can of Coca Cola and I do that too so now everyone can stop calling me Diabeetus.

Recommended  Reading: Play It As It Lays

What books did I miss? What female authors are you into? SEND ME THE SIREN CALL PEOPLE, I AWAIT YOUR GLORIOUS ADVICE. 

-M