Life & Love

Getty ImagesJeff Gritchen Everybody, meet Sonni Nicolette. She just got engaged at the most magical place on earth: Disney World. Her fiancée, Jordan Williams, got down on one knee in front of Cinderella’s castle, and the newly engaged couple spent the rest of the day gallivanting around the park. Advertisement – Continue Reading Below Advertisement
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Dear E. Jean: Maybe I was living in la-la land, but when I stumbled across some messages my fiancé recently shared with two male friends, I was horrified! Turned off! Disgusted! Sick to my stomach! I cannot cope with this new version of him! He claims it’s “guy talk” and has apologized, and I know
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The purge. It’s not just the name of a documentary about our current democracy series of films concocted by Hollywood, it’s also what happens when someone scrubs their social media presence of an ex. Now that the relationship is officially over, it’s time to act like it never existed in the first place. Totally healthy,
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Dear E. Jean: I’m spending $5,000 for a wedding photographer. It’s my largest single expense for my big day and worth every penny: She’s incredibly talented! What worries me is when I’m on Facebook and see amateur photos that wedding guests have posted depicting fuzzy, unflattering images. Sometimes they upload whole albums of someone else’s
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Dear E. Jean: My best girlfriend says women should feel “empowered” when we hook up with guys, because it means we’ve “worked” them. But lately I don’t feel empowered. I feel guilty. Here’s what happened: My guy friend had been pursuing me, and last weekend, because of a strong cocktail, I decided to go for
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Dear E. Jean: Okay, so earlier this year I was hit by a thunderbolt. Twice. It was love at first sight and second sight (and every sight). I’m at a marketing company. He’s at an ad agency. The relationship between our two firms has not gone well, and other than seeing him at two meetings—there
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“I have come to view bachelorette parties as liminal spaces where traditional codes of conduct and behaviors do not exist,” explains Maria, a twenty-something New Yorker who has attended two—I can’t believe we’re calling it this—“last days of freedom” parties for the women in her life. “I fear the invite,” adds Ariel, a 30-year-old four-time
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