What's on your mind, Minna?

Dylan

I’m a summer crusader, a SUNSHINE CHAMPION, and finally, my time has come. Read More »

Naomi

Last week I went on “holiday” for the first time in around three years. I want to go back. Read More »

Katherine

How does one navigate school parties? Read More »

Ruby

It was a perfect day outside on Friday at my mom’s funeral. Read More »

I’ve combined this month’s theme‘s love of roses—and in this case, GIRL POWER—with my own love of brooches to create this DIY for a flowery feminist badge. It’s way more in-your-face and awesome than those puny tin buttons you see everywhere. And thanks to the satin roses that it’s covered in, it’s a lot prettier, too! (Huge thanks to Girls Get Busy for the inspiration!)

You’ll need:

• A hot glue gun
• Craft wire (24 gauge)
• Satin rosettes. You can find these in the bridal/floral section of any craft store. I found that the slightly larger ones work best for this project.
• Bar pins
• A sheet of felt
• A pen
• Scissors

To start this project off we’ll need to make a base for our badge. I’m using craft wire to make mine, but if you don’t happen to have any lying around, I think a cardboard cut-out will work fine. Since this badge is going to be in the shape of a Venus/female/whatever you wanna call it symbol, we’ll need to bend and fold our wire in that general shape.

Making the base:

1. Cut off a length of wire that is about 12 inches long. We’ll only be using one piece of wire for this entire process.

2. Start by taking one of the ends of the wire and forming a round loop with it. It doesn’t need to be perfect or anything. Mine was around one-and-a-half inches in diameter. You can make yours larger or smaller, depending on what size you want your badge to be.

3. After you make a loop on one end of the wire, take the very end of the wire (the part that I have bent downwards in the photo) and coil this around it. This will secure the loop.

4. Once you’ve done that, you should have a round loop up on top and a length of wire running from the bottom.

5. Measure about one inch from the bottom of the loop and bend the entire length of wire to the right from that point.

6. Measure about a half an inch from where you bent the wire in the last step and bend it again, but this time we’ll bend it inwards to the left.

7. Bend the wire back down so it aligns with the section that is running vertically. Now we’ve got half of the symbol done! For the other side of our base, we’ll basically just repeat what we just did.

8. Bend the loose end of the wire inwards. Be sure to keep it straight!

9. Bend the wire outwards at the middle point where that little “arm” of wire sticks out on the other side.

10. Measure about a half an inch from that middle point in the other direction and bend the wire inwards from there.

11. Lastly, you’ll need to bend the wire so it’s pointing towards the loop. Wrap any excess wire around the loop like you did in the first step.

Your finished base should look like this. Keep in mind that it doesn’t need to be perfect—slightly crooked areas won’t ruin the outcome of the badge. So now that we have a base, we’ll need to make a backing for it.

Making the backing and adding the flowers:

1. Place the wire base on top of your felt square and trace the outside of it with a pen.

2. Cut the traced shape out using your scissors. Set this piece aside for later.

3. Now for the fun part: adding the flowers! All you really need to do is place a glob of hot glue on the back of a rosette and stick it on the base. Continue doing this until the entire wire base is filled with the rosettes.

4. To make the underside of our badge a teensy bit more attractive, we’re going to put the felt piece that we just cut out to use. Spread some hot glue on the back of the badge using the wire base as a guide, then quickly (because hot glue sets really fast) place the felt piece on top of the glue and press it down. This will make everything smooth and neat.

5. Finally, you’ll want to affix a blank bar pin or whatever fastener you wish to use on the back of the badge with a little glue.

And that’s it! You’re done. Now all that’s left to do is wear it out and spread the girl-power vibes everywhere you go. ♦

Something really bad happened to me when I was eight or nine. I’m 17 today, and I don’t know what to do. Nobody around me knows that this thing happened. I know it would destroy my parents if I told them. A doctor told me I have PTSD, but I’m not officially diagnosed with anything. I hate everything about myself. I hurt myself so I can cope a little better. I know talking to someone would be the answer to my pain, but I just can’t tell my parents that I need to see a therapist again. Please, what can I do to feel good again? —A.

Hey, A. First of all, thanks so much for sending this. I’m so, so sorry for what you’re going through right now. But I’m also really glad to be talking to you, and—is it weird for a stranger to say this?—I’m proud of you. Because just by putting this information together and asking somebody what to do, you’re proving that you’re really brave.

Here is the thing: I also think that it would be a really good idea for you to talk to a therapist. You’ve already got a doctor saying that you have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and from your letter, it seems to me that the doctor was probably right—or close enough. It’s clear that you are in tremendous pain right now, and believe it or not, this kind of pain tends to get much worse when you keep it a secret. Right now, you’re hurting yourself in two ways: physically, when the stress and pain get to be too much, which is the first thing we need to stop, by the way. I’m not judging, but it causes so many more problems and solves none, and it could eventually ramp up to hurting yourself in a major, permanent, very bad way. There is absolutely no need to punish yourself for being sad or scared, and a therapist will be able to help you find much better ways to relieve this stress.

You’re also hurting yourself by making yourself handle all this pain alone. Again, not judging: this is something lots of people do. Isolating yourself feels very natural and like a good form of self-protection. But actually, it tends to make your pain and stress much worse, because you can’t get any support. I would bet that, no matter how huge your secret feels, there are people in your life who would respond to it with love and care.

But I would recommend starting with a therapist. They hear painful secrets for a living, and their job is to help you figure out new, safe ways to deal with and relieve that pain. You absolutely do not need to tell your parents everything about why you need to see a therapist! Just tell them you need one. Lots of people do, for lots of reasons. If necessary, tell them what feels like a safe part of the truth: say that you’re feeling really bad about yourself, and you want professional help. Say that you’re extremely stressed out and depressed. Say whatever conveys (a) you need to get to a therapist’s office, and (b) you have good reasons. Most therapists who work with young people do want to help their patients share their lives with their parents, aside from being required to notify people if their patients are in ongoing danger, and maybe yours will eventually encourage you to talk about what happened. But a good therapist will work with you to figure out exactly what is comfortable to share, and how to share it, and when. And they’re likely to be especially sensitive about that with you given that trust is a huge part of your problems. That can be the first thing you discuss.

The fact that you’re reaching out, right now, shows that your instincts are good. There is a huge part of you that really, really wants to get better. So right now, you need to follow that part of you to safety. Telling your parents that you need therapy is that first, small step toward getting better. —Sady

My boyfriend is doing terribly in school. He puts things off until the last minute and ends up getting so stressed out that he often skips class. I try to help him get work done, but really, that’s not fair—it’s his work! I really want to help him out, though, because it sucks seeing him so behind! What can I do? —Emily, Boston

Hi Emily! Lifelong procrastinator here to answer your question! So committed am I to procrastinating that I’ve done nothing but procrastinate all weekend on answering your question. I actually woke up in the middle of the night thinking, CRAP, why am I STILL procrastinating on that? So everything I’m about to say comes with a caveat. That said, it is possible to change! I can change, I can change, I can change, I can change is the procrastinator’s mantra, and we have to say it and mean it.

On to your boyfriend. First, it might be useful to gain some insight into the psychological profile of a hardcore procrastinator. Some psychologists believe that people who have a tendency to procrastinate aren’t lazy at all, but are, in fact, perfectionists. The higher the expectations we put on ourselves, the more we’ll want to run away from them. The more we put things off until the last minute, the more paralyzed we become. The more paralyzed we become, the more discouraged we are from trying to do anything at all. The less we try to do anything at all, the more we have to do to catch up, which leads to more procrastination, which brings on more feelings of guilt and stress and anxiety. The cycle is vicious, and unfortunately, your boyfriend is clearly in it. But the cycle can be broken.

So, for example, let’s say your boyfriend is several weeks behind in Spanish class. Well, if he can commit 20 minutes every single day to doing his homework, eventually he will start to catch up, and it’s OK if he’s still somewhat lost in class for the next couple of weeks. But if he skips class because he can’t learn a whole semester’s worth of Spanish in one night, it’ll only make the next night even more of a nightmare. This is no way to live. He knows this, you know this, we all know this.

Another thing that might be helpful is, instead of helping him study, you could set aside some “getting shit done” time with him where you are both quietly working on your own stuff. You could invite him over, decide that from four to six PM you are going to unplug the internet, television, whatever, and just FOCUS. I’ma get REAL and tell you, Le Tigre-style, to GET OFF THE INTERNET. Download the program Freedom, which will block your internet connection for up to eight hours, or Self-Control, which allows you to select which sites you can and cannot access.

This ain’t gonna be easy, but I gotta tell you that having a cool girlfriend who isn’t afraid to be ON HIS ASS, metaphorically speaking, is really gonna help him. Maybe he needs to talk with his teachers about his chronic procrastination, promise to change his ways, and see if he can get an extension to catch up (this will probably come with some penalties). He might need a tutor. Hell, he might need to repeat a class. But the cool thing about getting shit done is how amazingly you sleep at night.

One last classic procrastination story from yours truly: on the day before I was supposed to graduate from college, I basically lost my mind trying to finish THREE 15-page research papers, and my boyfriend at the time was like, “Listen, I’m going to sit here quietly while you work on your papers, and when you start complaining or getting distracted, you have to grant me full authority to say, GET A GRIP AND JUST KEEP GOING, and you aren’t allowed to do any more research. JUST GET STARTED.” So the poor dude sat there while I tore my hair out and powered through, which I did. He was and is an amazing human being for sticking with me through my procrastinating madness, and so are you, Emily. Good luck to you and your boyfriend. —Jenny

I’ve found myself falling out with my old friends, and I’ve realized it’s for the best. Now I need some new ones. There are some girls I’d really like to be friends with, but I’m so shy. Any good friend-making tips? —Cleo

OK, so first: are you sure about renovating your entire friend list? You don’t have any keepers in the bunch? I just ask because sometimes it’s tempting to wipe the slate clean and meet new people, even when the old ones are still worthwhile. But maybe your friends are suddenly getting into hard drugs or kicking puppies. I don’t know.

So what do these new girls like to do? Is it stuff that you like to do? Maybe they like to go to coffee shops and hang out, or maybe they like to go to concerts? If you guys are interested in the same things, and you’re pretty sure you could be friends, it should be pretty easy to find some common ground.

A good way to start making friends without coming off as overeager is just to smile—in the general direction of the girls you want to be friends with. I know, DUH, but I’m not kidding. If you want to let them know that you’re approachable, your default expression should not be bitchface. Look like the friendly person that I’m sure you are.

Next, separate one from the herd. Which girl in the group do you have the most contact with? Does one of them happen to be in a lot of your classes? Who seems the nicest or the most at ease with everyone? She is probably your target: she’s good at making friends, and is probably open to talking to new people.

It’s OK to be shy. You can work up to talking. Start by saying, “Hi!” in the hallway to the girl in the group you see most. Does she, um, know who you are? If she doesn’t, and she looks surprised, just say, “I’m Cleo, we have [FILL IN CLASS OR ACTIVITY] together.” One of these days, work in a “How was your weekend?” And then LISTEN to the answer, so that you get a sense of what you two might have in common. She might ask you what you did in return. If not, you can always offer it: “I went and saw/did this AH-MAY-ZING band/play/sports thing/whatever. Do you like poetry/hip-hop/theater/modern dance/horror movies?” People who love to do a particular thing also looooove to find someone else who feels the same way. BOOM! Something in common.

Eventually, you’ll probably have to be brave. Tight-knit friends often stick together, figuring they already have their dynamic sorted out. But that’s only before they get to know you. Keep up the friendliness. Talk to your favorite prospective friend when you see her in class, or when you pass her. Maybe in a few weeks, tell her you’re going to go hiking/to the beach/to walk your neighbor’s Great Dane/to a cute cafe on Saturday, and does she want to come? If she does, great! If she doesn’t, or is busy, it’s fine—you just put the idea in her head that you like to do things, and maybe she will ask you out the next time she does something.

Remember: new friends don’t happen overnight. It takes a while to build up a core group of good friends. Keep doing the cool shit that makes you happy, keep being friendly, and people will be drawn to you, I promise. —Krista

I’ve recently started seeing this guy who already has a girlfriend. I like him a lot, and as far as I can tell, he feels the same way. He says that they’re only staying together because they made a “promise” to finish out the school year before he goes to college. From what I gather, he expects me to keep sneaking around with him until June. I want to be with him, but I also respect myself more than this. I don’t know if I should give him an ultimatum—me or her—and call it off if he can’t make a decision, or if I should just continue until it works itself out?

Let’s get a couple of things out of the way: complicated situations do not magically smooth themselves out. Also, when you deliver an ultimatum, you’re placing the power in the hands of one person, and it’s not you.

But you know that already, so let’s suppose we give this guy the benefit of the doubt and accept the premise that he didn’t plan any of this and is in over his head. Feelings are messy and overwhelming and sometimes spring up out of nowhere to muck everything up. But he’s sort of beside the point. The point here is you.

Feelings swimming around in your head and your guts and your quivering knees can make it hard to see straight, but it’s essential for you to recognize that remaining in a situation that (rightfully) makes you uncomfortable will take a toll on your self-respect. And the relationship you have with your self-respect is a lot more profound than what you might have with this guy.

When faced with confusing situations, we often feel tempted to impose an ultimatum—me or her or else—or we waffle, thinking, This is better than nothing. Let me lobby for option C: you decide what you want and/or are willing to put up with and communicate it clearly to him. Find your boundaries and enforce them. You could say: “I really like you. I think you like me. I understand that the situation with your girlfriend is complicated, and I respect that. However, until you’ve resolved things with her, I’m not comfortable kissing you/holding hands/sleeping together/buying you ice cream/hanging out/whatever.”

Maybe you guys keep getting to know each other as friends. Keep in mind: it’s May, the school year is over in June, and even though this timeline seems arbitrary, it might be best to have some patience. Or maybe he’s lying about everything and two-timing both of you. The only way you will know any of this is to clearly articulate what you need and ask him to respond in kind. If his response is insufficient, move on. This way, no matter what the outcome, your self-respect will remain intact, and that’s worth so much more than any guy. And if he’s worthwhile, it’ll make him respect you more, too. —Emily C.

I have been reading this website for quite some time, and I am starting to feel comfortable with being myself, a woman. I was wondering what books you recommend about feminism. —Mallory, Louisiana

Well, Mallory, now that you ask! Our staffers are happy to share some of their favorites:

• Woman: An Intimate Geography by Natalie Angier
  Angier is an award-winning science writer for the New York Times. For months after I read this, it was all I could talk about: why we are how we are, why dudes don’t have boobs that can feed babies, why women hear better than men. Just fascinating (scientific) proof about the awesome abilities of women’s bodies. —Jessica

• Bitchfest edited by Lisa Jervis and Andi Zeisler
  This is 10 years’ worth of essays culled from the excellent Bitch magazine, and it’s good practice for employing feminist theory on the media and pop culture we consume daily. —Anna

• Woman Hating by Andrea Dworkin
  The first book from our greatest militant feminist (RIP). This book gets the pain of living in a patriarchal culture so right that it’s almost hard to read. It is written from a place of rage, but it’s a kind of liberating realness about culture and history. Dworkin was brave and misunderstood, scholarly and passionate. Calling her a man-hater is pretty apt, but she was ferocious because she loved women and wanted them to be free to live. —Jessica

• A Jury of Her Peers: Celebrating American Women Writers from Anne Bradstreet to Annie Proulx by Elaine Showalter
  I have been reading this book in spurts for two years—I keep getting derailed to dive into another book I read about in its pages. It’s a history of female authors, from the first books published by women in America until now. It’s incredibly inspiring to see what so many women went through to get their work published. A must read! Exclamation points! —Jessica

• Women of Color and the Reproductive Rights Movement by Jennifer Nelson
  This taught me a lot about the history of abortion and sterilization and the feminist activism that surrounds the issue on both sides of the debate—and how it is really as much of a class and race struggle as it is a gendered one. This books makes me feel really passionately about activism and feminist politics, and it taught me SO MUCH. —Arabelle

• The Will To Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love by bell hooks
  Of all bell hooks’s books, this is the one that changed the way I thought rather than re-enforced my beliefs. My frequent complaint about feminism is that we can be un-empathetic to a fault, making bad assumptions about the fundamental nature of men rather than seeing how our brothers are impacted by patriarchy, too. This book softened my heart and opened my eyes, and reminded me that feminism is the struggle for liberation for all people, and it is rooted in love. —Jessica

• Feminism Is for Everybody by bell hooks
  bell hooks is pretty much essential reading if you want to learn more about race, gender, class, and how they intersect. She’s a wonderful and prolific writer, and this book is a great introduction to both her work and the feminist movement because it’s easy to understand. I really recommend this and every one of hooks’s work to, well…everybody. —Arabelle

• This Bridge Called My Back edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria E. Anzaldúa
  There ain’t nothing that hurts more than feeling like your own people don’t understand you, and I have to admit that I went through long stretches of time as a self-identified feminist who felt very alienated and hurt by a feminist community that I saw as largely comprised of privileged white women. These two amazing feminist scholars/artists/activists put together an anthology of feminist essays written by women of color to address the stuff that doesn’t always get addressed in feminist discourse, like how women who are not white and who were not born in America experience oppression. For many feminists, this book is very much a “finally, something that does not completely ignore my experience!” kind of moment. —Jenny

• My Gender Workbook by Kate Bornstein and Diane DiMasa
  I LOVE KATE! This book is so fun and helpful when discussing the difference between gender and sex. This is in a workbook format, and Kate guides you through discovering the gender spectrum. It is a wonderful exploration of what makes you you. —Arabelle

• The Bust Guide to the New Girl Order by Marcelle Karp and Debbie Stoller
  This was essential reading for me—it’s not overtly political and overwhelming, just plain grrrl power. Read it over and over in the bathtub and you will feel 75% more badass within the week. —Emma S.

It wasn’t just the flattering cut of the clothes that I loved, with the bell-shaped sleeves and the high, small waists. It was the entire philosophy, which was something along the lines of “Girls Are Fun and Awesome and Let’s Dress Up Every Single Day.” All the women who worked at Betsey were cool—black hair, tattoos, high heels, corseted waists, and hourglass bodies spilling out all over the place, which was in stark contrast to the neutral tones and boxy garments the other women in the neighborhood favored. The salesgirls enthusiastically encouraged my every outfit, and we would twirl around together, the bright cabbage roses on the wallpaper our backdrop.

Me in my Betsey top.

I took my Betsey Johnson dresses to summer camp. I wore them to Central Park to ride the seesaw. I wore them to birthday parties, to dances—everywhere I could. I hung the tags (with large black-and-white photos of Betsey and her daughter, Lulu) on my bedroom walls. When I went to the 13th birthday party of an older friend who went to another school, I wore a choker that said “Betsey” on it. Everyone thought it was my name. I’ve rarely felt that cool or mysterious since.

When I was young, nine or 10, Betsey’s clothes made me feel sassy, or as one friend’s father described me, “spunky.” This is a gross word, but I knew what he meant—it was a little wild, a little brash, and unapologetic. Those parts of me had always existed, but Betsey brought them out even more. Her designs were the opposite of my conservative school uniform—a white polo shirt or turtleneck, navy pants or skirt, and, if you were feeling particularly kooky, some khaki. They were brightly colored, with a soupçon of sex. They were poufy and bright and snug and lacy and absolutely shot through with an electric current, at least for me. I had a jacket with skulls on it that I would KILL for today, as well as half a dozen dresses that Donna or Brenda or Kelly wore on Beverly Hills, 90210.

Not that I was interested in having sex at that age, mind you, but I was very interested in kissing, which felt like pretty much the same thing. Once, when I was about 11 or 12, in need of a new party dress and already a size six, one of the salesgirls told me that Cindy Crawford was a size six too, and instead of feeling like an ogre compared to my friends, the way I usually did, I felt instantly beautiful. That day I bought a forest-green lace dress that clung to my hips. I wore it at home, wrapped with a feather boa, to watch the Academy Awards with my parents. My friends wore plainer things from the Gap or Express, as did I most days of the week. Some of them dabbled a bit in Betsey, a flowered party dress here and there, but none were as full-throttle obsessed as I was. Betsey Johnson made me feel like not only was it OK for me to have curves, but that those curves gave me an edge on the competition. Hell, I was the same size as a supermodel!

I wore Betsey Johnson to my eighth-grade graduation, and on my last night of summer camp, when I was 14. I wore Betsey Johnson to bat mitzvahs and birthday parties. When she started making underwear with little bows and bright colors, I wore Betsey under my clothes too, so that I felt feminine and flirty even in a pair of jeans.

As I got older and bigger, the dresses (and skirts, and tops, and one ill-advised shorts-and-peekaboo-tank set) were a way for me to feel better, like a shot of adrenaline. One dress in particular (a white spandex number in a rosebud pattern with a lace-up front, like the St. Pauli Girl) was my go-to outfit during my college years. Whenever I was feeling low about romance, or friendships, or school, or anything at all, I would put the dress and some bright lipstick on, and I knew I would be OK. I was still larger than most of my girlfriends, if not all, but whenever I felt sad that I couldn’t share jeans with my roommate, I slinked around in the spandex, knowing that there were ways that I could fill it out that she couldn’t. Betsey didn’t care if I had big hips—she liked me that way, and her approval meant that I liked me that way, too.

When I got married, I wanted a fun dress to wear to the reception, which we held the day after the actual ceremony. I bought dress after dress, returning each one. This one was too boring, this one was too fussy. I was totally at a loss. When my husband-to-be and I went to visit his mother in Florida a couple of months before the wedding, we were walking through the mall near her house when the Betsey Johnson appeared, like an oasis in the desert. I tried on six or seven dresses, all of which made me feel like the homecoming queen. (That’s a good thing.) I bought a pale-blue-and-white one, on sale, because it reminded me of a wedding cake. As always, it was a dress made for twirling and for fun.

Here’s the sad part: I didn’t wear it. I was freaking out so much on the day of the party (late relatives, terrible hair-do, panic attack) that I chose the wrong dress. Is it strange to put it that way? I had a grown-up dress on standby in case I chickened out, a lovely Phillip Lim in the shape of a lightbulb, with a wide body that narrowed around my upper thighs. A lightbulb! It was gray—silver on a good day. I liked the fact that it was sort of white, because it was sort of my wedding, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun. I suppose I thought the Betsey dress was too young, too frivolous. I drank too much at the party and felt like I didn’t get to have a proper conversation with anyone. I looked evilly at the one friend who had dared to wear a feather in her hair as I had. I think that I was trying to be an adult, because I was 28 and had just gotten married. Really, I should have been trying to be myself. I was surrounded by everyone I loved, and they all would have taken one look at me and said, Of course. There are so few moments in life when one can walk into a room dressed like a wedding cake, and know that everyone will turn around and applaud. I can’t help thinking that I would have enjoyed myself more if I’d worn Betsey Johnson.

The wedding dress that wasn't.

A few days ago, I read that Betsey Johnson (the company) was bankrupt, and closing most of their 40 stores in the U.S. Betsey Johnson (the person) had sold the brand years before, maybe to spend more time at Betseyville, her compound in Mexico where I lobbied hard to honeymoon. (Really—at the time, you could rent Betsey Johnson’s house in Mexico. It was a thing.) It makes me really sad to think that young girls won’t have the same experience I did, prancing around in their sock feet while older, wiser girls cheer them on. Betsey was really special to me, as a place to go and feel powerful and sexy and gorgeous. I’m sure there are other places for teenagers to go for that today—Tumblr, say, or right here at Rookie. For me, it will always be Betsey. Someday, I’m going to do cartwheels with her on the beach in Mexico, both of us wearing lipstick and spandex and laughing our heads off. Just you wait. ♦

Collage by Megan, who sent us this on a crafting whim.

Every day Megan and Aisling (pronounced Ash-ling), both 18, drive an hour and a half from Perth to the University of Western Australia together, often listening to this song, and never tiring of each other’s company. In order to understand what makes their friendship work, it reeeaaally helps to be conversant in Harry Potter.

TO: anaheed@rookiemag.com
FROM: Megan
SUBJECT: FRIEND CRUSH

The reasons I love Aisling are endless. We went to high school together and basically became friends in the final couple of years, bonding mainly through fighting with our religion teacher about how archaic and sexist the Catholic Church is, a love of reading, and just generally feeling passionate about the same things. We drive an hour and a half to uni every day, and she never fails to make the trek great, usually by playing our favourite music over and over and over: “Scar” by Missy Higgins, “Hey Mamma” by Kanye West, “Caught in the Crowd” by Kate Miller-Hiedke, and everything by Washington.

Aisling has lots of other good friends, and I do too, but she’s truly one in a gazillion, I promise. The BEST. She is incredibly intelligent in this way that is somehow self-assured yet not at all arrogant. She’s 100% HILARIOUS (maybe just to me, but whatever). She’s really beautiful and has absolutely no idea! Her hair colour is literally called Hypnotic Red and is literally hypnotic. She’s unfailingly honest and absolutely true to what she believes in. She’s independent and strong and manages to see the good in every situation. She has a way of making you super, super excited about anything and everything. She is the kind of friend who leads you to things like Rookie.

WHERE DO YOU EVEN FIND PEOPLE LIKE THIS? I could go on. This is almost dangerous. I’m really glad I got the chance to tell you about her and also channel my midnight craft-urge into a handy collage that artistically compliments my friend-lovin’ rant.

Love from Megan
(Australia)

ROOKIE: What was your first impression of Aisling?

MEGAN [crusher]: I always thought she was pretty cool. We knew each other for the first three years of high school. She was in the cool group of girls, and I was quite self-conscious. I was a bit overweight, and I wasn’t at a stage where I was confident in my abilities and knowledge to have that not be a concern.

How did you end up becoming inseparable?

It’s hard to pinpoint. We were always friends, but we became really good friends at the end of year 11 because we had every single class together, and we both loved arguing with our religion teacher.

What did you argue with him about?

We used to fight mainly about the way women were treated in the Catholic Church. We would always ask, “What if I wanted to be a priest?” That wasn’t either of our ambitions, but we’re like, “We’re educated, we’re getting really good marks, why couldn’t we be priests?”

From your collage, I’m guessing that you are both big fans of Harry Potter?

We unashamedly love Harry Potter. I once told Aisling that she was like Dobby the House-Elf, which she really hated, but I stand by it. Because Dobby always says, like, “Oh, I’m not that great,” but at the end he will be the one that saves your life—like a secret, really-great-at-everything character.

That sounds like a compliment!

But he’s also a really shriveled dwarf.

Oh. So how did she make you love books more than you did before?

The whole thing about reading books is that you realize that these characters have feelings and experiences similar to your own. It’s kind of like realizing that you’re not alone. And reading them with Aisling means I’m doubly not alone. Whenever I read the books that she already read, I always fold the pages of my favorite quotes, and then she goes back through and reads the page and tries to guess what it was. She started a book club for me and my friends recently. We read Tuesdays With Morrie, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, and The Fault in Our Stars. Next we’re reading A Visit From the Goon Squad.

What’s the best piece of advice she’s given you?

Her advice usually means realizing things that I already knew myself. I have a boyfriend now, but before that, I had a few questionable crushes. She told me that Adam was an idiot, and she was right. Adam was an idiot.

What’s the weirdest thing about her?

She’s borderline obsessive-compulsive about certain things, like having her books and her DVDs all in the right place and having her posters lined up on the wall perfectly. Also, she’s a bit of a crazy cat lady.

Megan and Aisling at a festival, waiting for Washington.

What makes her different from and better than other friends?

She’s very fierce and not in an aggressive way, but she stands up for what she believes in, and she won’t be swayed by what other people think. And it doesn’t matter what we’re doing. Whenever I’m bored, I drive over to Aisling’s and lie on her bed and watch My So-Called Life or paint our nails. And she is definitely the type to lead me to things. She discovered Rookie.

Nice! So I have no idea who Missy Higgins is. Should I?

Missy Higgins is definitely Australian. She’s a little bit daggy.

Did you say daggy?

It’s like dorky. Like non-stylish, non-cool.

When did you realize you’d gone from being friends to being best friends?

There was this one time about a year ago where I’d been talking to Aisling about our older sisters during one of our giant, repetitive conversations, and I just remember that I dropped her off at home, and I drove out of her driveway and thought: I am so lucky to have a friend like Aisling. I realized I didn’t know what I would do without her.

When I talk to Aisling, what should I ask her?

Ask her about latest crush.

ROOKIE: How did you react when Megan told you that she had nominated you for Friend Crush?

AISLING [crushee]: I basically freaked out and spent the whole day being excited about it. I still can’t believe it.

So how many cats do you have?

I actually don’t have any cats. I just really like them. Did she call me a crazy cat lady?!

She did. She also told me to ask you about your latest crush?

Oh my god. What a bitch! [Laughs.] It’s not a good situation. It’s a boy that I work with who has a girlfriend. Nothing’s happened, but we admitted that we liked each other.

What was your first impression of Megan?

In our first year of high school, I had a best friend who was in all of Megan’s classes. And I remember my friend telling me that she was this totally smart, studious person, and my friend copied all of her work. So my first impression was that she was a super genius and all the teachers loved her. But Megan is just an incredible person. It’s so ironic that she nominated me for this because everyone we know idolizes her. She is revered among our friends.

Why do they idolize her?

She’s Megan! She’s just, like, so nice to everybody. She’s so ridiculously good at everything. In high school, she made these pencil cases for all of our friends, and you could tell she picked out a fabric that was right for each of them. And she and her boyfriend painted the Ravenclaw symbol from Harry Potter on my wall for me. And she used to do this thing where she gave all of her friends a spirit animal.

What was your spirit animal?

Well, that’s the thing, I never got one! It’s bullshit. Apparently it’s this long process where she ponders it for weeks and weeks and weeks, and it was too difficult for her to pick one for me. [Editor's note: Megan has since decided that Aisling would be "a little bit cat, a little bit owl, and a little bit some sort of tiny, cute primate."]

Do you recall when you went from being just friends to being inseparable?

That’s really hard. I remember the summer before year 12, it was the week before Australia Day, and she was like, “Hey, Aisling, I really miss you, and I want you to come camping with us.” I am not an outdoorsy person, but I remember thinking, “Oh my god, Megan Ansell wants to hang out with me.”

What’s the weirdest thing about her?

Do I have to pick just one thing?

She had a few for you.

I don’t know, we’re weird in similar ways. She’s the kind of person that I can leave a club with and go to a board game café, which is a true thing that actually happened. We were at this dirty, bogan, horrible club—do you know what bogan means?

No! But I do know what daggy means.

It’s basically, like, trashy. So we left and went to this board-game café, where people come over and recommend board games and teach you how to play them. There’s this one called Backwards that I love because I’m really, really good at it. I just gloat the entire time. I’m a highly competitive person.

I did not know such a place existed! So Megan told me you do NOT like to be compared to Dobby?

Apparently, it’s a compliment. I mean, I love Dobby as much as the next person, but really, do you want to be him? I think we said Megan was Dumbledore, which gives you an idea of how we think of her.

Actually, it doesn’t. I’ve never read Harry Potter.

You don’t know who Dumbledore is? Even if you haven’t read Harry Potter, that’s an outrage. He’s Harry’s mentor! He’s like the only man who Voldemort ever feared.

That doesn’t help! So what’s the best advice that Megan’s ever given you?

If I’m ever getting really worked up about something, she’ll look me dead in the eye and say, “Aisling, remember: you are a child of the universe.” I think it’s from a poem. And then I stop freaking out and just start laughing. ♦

(Interviews conducted by Phoebe.)

To nominate your buddy for a future Friend Crush, please send ONE email with your names, ages, and pictures, and a paragraph or two explaining what’s so freaking great about her, to anaheed@rookiemag.com, and write Friend Crush in the subject line.

RuPaul photographed by Chantal Regnault via Scab

In the late ’80s and early ’90s, the ballroom scene was one of New York’s most vibrant subcultures. Balls were extravagantly creative pageants where predominantly black and Latino LGBTQ men and women competed, catwalking and voguing their way to trophies and underground fame—what they called “legendary child” status. The book Voguing by photographer Chantal Regnault and Jennie Livingston’s 1990 documentary, Paris Is Burning (totally worth the Netflix subscription), capture the fierce competition at the balls as well as the behind-the-scenes lives of the performers and their makeshift families, aka “houses.”

Photos by Chantal Regnault via Vogue

At these balls, contestants from different houses dressed up according to a theme and walked a runway, with judges scoring them based on the fierceness of their attitudes, outfits, and catwalk stomps. The categories were incredibly specific. In the Butch Queen Realness competition, contestants were judged on their ability to blend in as a heterosexual thug, pretty boy, school boy, or business executive. The ability to pass was summed up in one word, which you hear thrown in the ball world a lot: REALNESS.

L-R: Photos by Chantal Regnault via Vogue and Scab

The funny thing about the use of the word “realness” in ball culture is that it means the exact opposite of what you think. When people talk about realness now, it means staying true to your roots and refusing to soften or change yourself for the dominant culture. But at a ball, realness means: how well can you pass as or pretend to be somebody else? Contestants were expected to embody their chosen look as naturally as possible, and judges gave harsh penalties for neglecting minute details that might give away an impostor. For instance, if you showed up in the Eveningwear Realness category without your purse, or the Executive Realness category without a clean shave and a copy of the Wall Street Journal under your arm? Child, prepare yourself for a demerit—and some derisive catcalls from the crowd, too.

Cover image from Chantal Regnault's Voguing

L-R: Octavia Saint Laurent via Scab; House of Dupree Ball (1989) via the Guardian

The importance of “realness” in the ball world is fascinating to me, because it highlights “passing” as a survival skill. In a world that was (and still is) openly hostile towards anyone who doesn’t present as heterosexual, LBGTQ people had to learn to walk, talk, and dress straight if they want to survive. The balls honor the careful observation, skill, attention to detail, and fashion sense that this demands, while at the same time subverting the heterosexual mandate. Ball participants got to try on not just the clothes, but also the power that comes with being a part of the dominant culture—if only for the night.

House of Chanel via Scab and the Guardian

There’s a subversive thrill in dressing head-to-toe in Chanel, or in portraying yourself as a successful businessman when you’re actually a broke hustler, like many of the people in Paris Is Burning are. The men in the Executive Realness category look damn good in their three-piece suits, and there’s a poignancy to these faux-businessmen when you realize that if not for being born poor, black, and gay in a culture that’s hostile towards all three, they might have had a better chance of being an actual executive. Dorian Corey, the matriarch of the ballroom scene, explains it beautifully:

In the drag and the ballroom scene, LGBTQ people created an amazing thing: a community that loved and celebrated them for all the same reasons the rest of the world rejected them. Creativity, love of fashion, performance, and the refusal to conform to gender norms made you a star, not an outcast. The ballroom is about the refusal to be marginalized based on your identity or circumstances. It’s about creating a world where you’re free to play with your identity and where a person can, through the sheer force of their own fierceness, survive and thrive. The legendary children of the ballroom scene knew that performing could be powerful and that the ultimate freedom was self-invention, and that’s even more beautiful than Dorian’s spangly dresses.

Dorian Corey by Michael James O’Brien

OK, here’s the thing about Her Madgesty, and I’m going to be straight with you: I don’t love the Madonna of today. I tolerate her the way I might tolerate a beloved friend from kindergarten who became someone unrecognizable in high school. The Madonna of 2012 is too big, too powerful, too inscrutable to identify with in any real way. At 53, she’s been a household name for nearly 30 years, ever since her self-titled debut album dropped in 1983. She’s sold an estimated 300 million records worldwide and toured almost every inch of the globe. She owns multiple gargantuan houses in multiple cosmopolitan cities. She has married and divorced more than one hot famous guy. She’s become a mother to four adorable kids. And she has a superhuman physique. Honestly, can anyone who’s not, like, Gwyneth Paltrow relate to her?

But I’m 35 (going on 16), and growing up in the ’80s, I was her most ardent supporter and fan. (No, I was.) To me, Madonna was everything. I first heard the Material Girl on the radio when I was six and riding in the backseat of my grandmother’s car—it was the amazeballs classic “Borderline.” I was instantly smitten with her voice and the bubblegum-goodness of the song. My fixation deepened when I saw the video for “Lucky Star” on MTV. (She was one of the first artists to embrace the then-new medium. Watch the plucky upstart defend its legitimacy, putting the smackdown on a dismissive John Oates in this clip.) She was cool-looking, cool-sounding, smart, ballsy, brave, and utterly unlike any other woman I’d ever encountered. I immediately began wearing black lace gloves, neon accents, and a hair rag. (Yes, that’s me.)

For me, vintage Madonna is, in some ways, the only version of Madge that truly matters. Not because she didn’t go on to have an incredibly influential career, but because the Madonna of that era reminds me most of my childhood, when I was still slowly piecing together my identity and actively looking for female role models to help fill in the gaps. The Madonna of those years encapsulated everything I wanted and hoped womanhood would be—exciting, spunky, bold, colorful, brave, and rebellious. Here are five reasons why she is literally the best thing ever—in her own (youthful) words, as the madly egotistical Queen of Pop would surely want it.

1. “I’M STRONG, AMBITIOUS, AND I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. NOW, IF THAT MAKES ME A BITCH, OK.” (Smash Hits, 1987)

To me, the absolute coolest thing about Madonna is the fact that she achieved the goal she set out to accomplish. And this wasn’t, like, an easy-peasy, write-some-music, make-some-money-type goal we’re talking about. Before America’s mass-market New Age minions began talking about setting intentions, the law of attraction, or The Secret, Madonna was laying her dreams on the table in no uncertain terms. Interviewed on the TV show American Bandstand in 1984, host Dick Clark asked the then-25-year-old star her ultimate ambition. Her response? To rule the world. And she pretty much went on to do just that.

2. “POWER THREATENS POWER.” (First For Women , 1991)

When Madonna barreled into the pop music scene, I was a timid kid, the kind who had to be forced (no, seriously, forced) to say hello to family friends or (gasp) peck an aunt on the cheek. Where I was painfully self-conscious and afraid of the world, Madonna was the opposite: brash, outspoken, and refreshingly unapologetic about who she was. (In an infamous 1994 interview on the Late Show with David Letterman, she uttered the word “fuck” 13 times in 20 minutes. Yes, she was playing the provocateur, but also challenging the PR-whiffery of the talk show format, and it was probably one of the most memorable guest appearances in history.) She never worried about winning people’s approval, which was a radical notion for me, especially when I was younger. In 1982, she finagled her way in to the hospital room of Sire Records’ head honcho, Seymour Stein, who was recovering from a heart complication, and wowed him enough that he signed her on the spot. Ballsy! I couldn’t even convince my mom to let me stay over at my friend Annie’s house! (Though, to be fair, her resistance was largely my fault: I had a bizarre, extreme fear of getting sick at someone else’s house and subsequently being trapped there, unable to get home to the safety of my own bed, an anxiety that Madonna probably didn’t share.)

3. “DON’T TELL ME I CAN’T BE SEXUAL AND INTELLIGENT AT THE SAME TIME.” (People, 2000)

Madonna is most famous for her music, but she’s notorious for her sexual brazeness. Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, she tried on a zillion different naughty costumes and sung about various kinds of left-of-center sexual play, suggestively licking milk out of a saucer on the floor in “Express Yourself” and wielding a riding crop in “Erotica.” She bragged about her undiscerning sexual appetite, and bragging about it seemed to be half the fun. (In her 1992 book Sex, she wrote, “One of the best experiences I ever had was with a teenage boy. I think he was a virgin.”) For this reason, some critics dismissed her as a disposable pop star exploiting her sex appeal to climb to the top. Others thought she was a great example of sexual empowerment—in 1990, feminist writer/critic Camille Paglia called her “the future of feminism.” Madonna herself was adamant that her dramatic sexual whims and offerings were 100% authentic. In a 1990 Nightline interview with Forrest Sawyer, she said, “I may be dressing like the typical bimbo, whatever, but I’m in charge. I’m in charge of my fantasies…Isn’t that what feminism is all about?” It was precisely this controversy that drew me to her. Despite her tendency toward lewdness, I admired her dedication to openly exploring her sexual urges at any cost, even when they weren’t socially acceptable. I wasn’t necessarily getting pro-sexuality messages from my mother or my friends or my teachers, so “express yourself, don’t repress yourself” and rolling around the stage and pretending to masturbate in a floofy white wedding gown while singing about being “like a virgin” made an impression.

One of the biggest brouhahas started when she kissed a statue of a black saint in the 1989 video for “Like a Prayer.” Of course, what most surprised me about this debacle wasn’t the video, which was powerful, or the kiss, which was poignant—it was the intensity of the furor surrounding the act. Really? Had our society changed so little as to be shocked by the suggestion of interracial relationships?

But sometimes Madonna managed to shock even me. Sex was one of the boldest moves of her career—to me, as an angsty 15-year-old, it was pretty much porn, and I couldn’t flip through its pages without feeling almost a little embarrassed. Despite my adolescent longings and attempts to gain carnal knowledge, um, firsthand, I wasn’t super-comfortable with talking about pleasure or masturbation or any of that fun stuff, so watching my idol fiercely grab her own crotch while wearing an all-black power suit was, well, complex. And revolutionary.

4. “I’M YOUNG, I’M NOT TOO PLAIN, AND IF IT AMUSES ME TO PLAY THE VAMP BY EXAGGERATING THINGS, THEN THAT’S NO PROBLEM.” (Smash Hits, 1987)

Madge’s massive fashion influence is irrefutable. Think of the looks we associate with the ’80s: neon, lace, gummy bracelets, leggings. She made these iconic. One of the first things I loved about Madonna when I saw her videos on MTV was her style. She was gorgeous, obviously, but she also looked like the coolest girl you could possibly imagine, the kind of woman you’d see at a record store and want to stealthily follow around, gaping in awe, wondering how she managed to put it all together. She vaguely resembled a Lower East Side street punk who’d busted into her best friend’s stash of cheap cosmetics: pretty, but unrefined. Edgy. Vaguely grubby. She didn’t shave her armpits. Her bleached tangle of hair had roots nearly down to her nose. She had a body that looked healthy (which she advertised in this HEALTHY half-shirt). Of course, she went on to change her image so dramatically and frequently that it could give a person whiplash, and I mean that in the best possible way. Part of her deal included borrowing the looks of other iconic women, which in some cases meant introducing me to them for the first time (see her Marilyn Monroe getup in the “Material Girl” video, or her Marlene Dietrich ensemble for the Girlie Show tour). She could rock something as impractical as the Gaultier cone bra or just switch to being a brunette (the “Like a Prayer” video), and it felt like a statement. She taught me to be fearless when it came to fashion, to play around with my style, to not take it too seriously, and to always dress for myself—not for anyone else. To this day, I have a penchant for colorful, quirky looks with a dash of punk appeal (though I still prefer cotton bras).

5. “MUSIC IS THE MAIN VECTOR OF CELEBRITY.” (Smash Hits, 1987)

How do I begin to tackle Madonna’s crazy-diverse and crazy-awesome discography? She’s released 12 studio albums over the years, as well as a host of soundtracks and remixes. She has managed to stay relevant, if not ahead of the curve—and as a result, she was sometimes accused of exploiting subcultures for her own gain. (Her 1990 hit single “Vogue” was entirely inspired by the underground Harlem ball culture of the time.) It’s impossible for me to narrow down my list of favorite Madge songs. There was 1985’s sad, sweet ballad “Crazy for You,” a tune that helped shape my ideas about what young love looked like and how fervent, passionate, and over-the-top amazing it would surely be. I imagined slow-dancing, faces touching, gazing into each other’s eyes. (Of course, I had no clue about what it would truly entail: bumping eyeglasses while kissing was definitely not part of my plan, and our eventual breakup was as excruciating as getting my fingernails methodically ripped out.) And what about her controversial 1986 hit “Papa Don’t Preach”? OMG. Too good for words, and I later appreciated how it sensitively covered timely issues (teen pregnancy, abortion) without, well, preaching about them (at the time, I thought the “baby” in question was her BF). But if I absolutely had to choose one favorite, I’d opt for the under-appreciated single “Causing a Commotion” (from the Who’s That Girl? soundtrack). It’s spunky and addictive, with a hint of darkness.

I can’t recall an era of my life that didn’t feature a Madonna song as part of the unofficial soundtrack, regardless of whether I still considered myself a “fan” at the time. For instance, by the time I got to college I didn’t love her so intensely anymore, but my mind was blown by “Ray of Light,” which was so vital and exuberant and freeing and incredibly fun to sing along to in a car. And after college, I ate up nearly every song on Music. I even went to see her, for the first and only time (so far), at Madison Square Garden.

Madonna completely changed my world. She’s always been there, at the forefront or the periphery of my consciousness, keeping me company and offering a vision of a life somehow both more free and more rigorous. She got me thinking about what it feels like for a girl (long before she wrote a song of the same name), and in some ways, I think the feminism I’d grow to embrace later in life can be traced back to her. No matter what odd incarnation she pops up in today, tomorrow, or next year, the cheeky ragamuffin I first fell in love with is still in there somewhere. I just know it. ♦

Laura Barcella is a San Francisco-based writer. She’s the editor of the anthology Madonna & Me: Women Writers on the Queen of Pop. Her second book, The End: 50 Apocalyptic Visions From Pop Culture That You Should Know About…Before It’s Too Late comes out in July.

Illustration by Hattie

Growing up, my mom gave me so much advice. Some of it was usable: always wash your face before going to bed, no matter how tired you are. Never buy a coat without checking the buttons and zipper. Flowers will stay alive longer if you put a teaspoon of sugar in the water. Don’t pick at zits on your chin, because the chin never forgets, and it stays red for a really long time. Never run over a bag on the highway, because it might be filled with kittens. (Yes, this is a true story. Someone had dumped a garbage bag of kittens by the side of the road in Arizona when she was growing up. I’m scarred for life.)

Some of it was deeply questionable/bullshit: you’ll need to learn to cook, because your husband isn’t going to. Pleated, tapered jeans flatter everyone. Keep your skirt down and your panties up until you’re married. If a dog is wagging its tail, it wants you to pet it. (HOLY SHIT IS THIS EVER UNTRUE, AND I HAVE THE SCARS TO PROVE IT.)

But, like most moms, she meant well, and wanted me to have a happy life. She doled out advice all over the place and hoped I’d use her experience to avoid awkwardness, dismay, and years of pointless blundering. And she succeeded! Because there is one piece of advice she gave me over and over again. It has helped me immensely, and here it is: fake it till you make it.

Lemme explain. “Fake it till you make it” is not about faking happiness until you trick yourself into being happy. It’s not about acting like you’re too cool for school until other people also believe you are, and then basing your life around a made-up personality. It’s about confidence. It’s about meeting situations that you feel intimidated by head-on, telling yourself that you’re ready for them, and putting I-can-DO-this intentions out there, until you’ve done such a good job convincing yourself that you suddenly can handle the challenge before you.

When I was nervous about going to an audition (I used to love musical theater), or worried everything would be different on my first day of high school, or terrified of going to a party where I didn’t really know anyone, my mom would say: “Krissie Raye. You have as much right as anyone else to be in that room. Fake it till ya make it, honey. Pick your head up and show ’em what you’ve got.”

In other words, you know you’re a cool person! You know you’ve got something to add! You just have give yourself a chance! And people who radiate confidence don’t usually spend the whole night hiding in the bathroom at a party (this used to be me), petting the cat in the corner of the living room all night because without the cat-as-prop you might have to talk to people (um, also me), or avoiding potentially frightening social situations by just not going to them (tiny cough). I found out that if you adopt the actions—the physical actions—of being a confident person and pretend you’re playing the role of Someone Who Doesn’t Feel Awkward, it works wonders!

But how do you do it? Here’s how.

1. Stand tall.

Not in a philosophical sense: physically stand up straight, you guys! Head up. Shoulders back. The act of standing up straight, with your shoulders back, exposes your heart. You fear no attack! It shows people that you’re in the room. You are a force to be reckoned with, and you’re not shrinking or cowering from the way others make you feel. Here you are. All 5'1" (or whatever) of you.

Here’s an example: A few years ago, one of my close friends was having a birthday party. A huge birthday party. At a recording studio downtown that was going to be shut down for the event. It was going to be epic. The problem? My friend had casually Facebook-invited everyone she knew, and that included a girl (let’s call her Sally) I had, um, a history with. Once upon a time, Sally and I had shyly admitted we liked each other, gone on two dates, and made out, rather extensively.

WELL. I realized I wasn’t as interested in Sally as I thought, so I kind of…tapered off with the cute, flirty texts. And then told her I wanted to be friends instead of date. So what did Sally do? Sally went around and told lots of people that we’d fucked, that I was “boring” in bed, that I was “obsessed” with her, and “wouldn’t stop texting” her. Let me reiterate: WE NEVER HAD SEX. And Sally was a person with a lot of friends, and they were also coming to my close friend’s super-mega-fun birthday party. (Thanks, Facebook!)

So if I wanted to go to my friend’s epic party (I did, badly), I would be walking into a room full of queer girls who thought I was insane, bad in bed, and obsessed with their friend. Fun! I went anyway. I was very nervous, but I threw my shoulders back at the door and lifted my head and and walked into that party. Yes, I was there. You couldn’t miss me. And I had a great time that night, dancing with my real friends, and guess who tried to come drunkenly dance with me, with everyone watching? Yeaaahhhhh.

2. Talk to people.

Does this feel like an obvious point? It might seem obvious, but if everyone who felt nervous in a social situation did this, then situations wouldn’t feel so scary, period. Are you a little shy? Don’t know anyone in the room? It’s OK! Everyone is new at some point. Look for the first person who looks nice and introduce yourself. Say something super simple, like “Hi, I don’t know anyone here, my name’s Mia,” and smile, and I’m telling you, suddenly you will feel better. You’re taking action against feeling awkward! Pretending you’re confident turns into feeling confident. It works, Mom! You’re a genius!

My first few weeks at college were very scary. I felt like all these little groups were forming (smokers, partiers, pre-med kids, etc.) and I didn’t have a group. I stayed in my dorm every night and cried a lot and wrote a lot in my journal and worried about why I didn’t feel like I had any friends, and everyone else seemed to have lots. No one was hunting me down in my dorm room and demanding to be friends with me. Weird. Eventually I realized that everyone else was as new as I was, and I might have to put myself through some uncomfortable-for-me social situations—e.g., introduce myself to strangers—in order to actually meet people. About a month into college, I…TALKED TO A GIRL IN MY LOGIC CLASS. I turned to her while the professor was demonstrating a complicated problem and said (ready for it?): “Hi. I’m Krista. Do you, um…get this?” The girl’s name was Jess, and it turned out she didn’t understand our assignment, either. Jess and I formed a logic study group together, and three similarly illogical people from class joined us. My first college friends! We eventually had so much fun in our study group that I ended up with a C-minus!

3. Get authoritative.

“Fake it till you make it” can work in lots of different situations, not just social ones. You can use it help you sneak into places you don’t belong, like research libraries where you don’t have a pass and hospitals after visiting hours and building floors you’re not supposed to be on. Don’t hide from people who actually belong there—stride past them with purpose, pretend you know exactly where you’re going, and act like you belong there, too. Other people will believe it, and rarely will you be stopped or questioned. Look like you’ve been doing what you’re doing for ages! (This can sometimes cross the line into doing things you really shouldn’t be doing, but for the most part, a little chutzpah never hurt anyone.)

Is there something you want that would help you immensely? Ask for it with an air of authority, as if you’re expecting to get it and you get it all the time! My friend Kelly is awesome at this. Just like Herminone Granger, who confidently asks for (and gets) access to spellbooks in the Restricted section of the Hogwarts library, I’ve seen Kelly get first-class upgrades on planes rides when there is no call whatsoever to give them to her. It’s unreal. Where most people might, at most, tentatively ask the airline check-in person, “Are there any upgrades on this flight?” Kelly saunters up to the counter and says with a smile and with this amazing authority, “I’d love to be in first class on this flight. What seats are open?” as if she’s certain of getting an upgrade because she always gets an upgrade. AND SOMETIMES SHE GETS AN UPGRADE. Because she’s so believable!

My friend Jen is also very, very good at this. She gets into shows around Chicago for free all the time, just because she locks eyes with the guy at the door and says, “I’m with the band.” I’ve even seen her just walk in. As in, everyone sees her go in, but she seems like she’s already paid, or she belongs there. It’s crazy. She breezes by the door, and everyone else pays $12!

4. Realize that other people are faking it till they make it, too.

A while back, I was in a room full of 20-somethings who had all just been hired to do the same job I had: travel around the country setting up educational seminars. In our first meeting together, we had to get up and talk about ourselves, and our previous experience with traveling, in front of everyone. And I was last. Everyone who went before me seemed so together. Witty! Funny! Smart! Sophisticated! My god, their past experiences! Their years spent abroad in China, Spain, India, Turkey! Their hilarious anecdotes about trips gone wrong! I was freaking out: how could I compete with these stories? Until I suddenly remembered: I had been hired, just like them. I, too, must have something to offer. Something that’s as cool as what the other kids have to offer. That thought helped immensely, and I was able to just be my (still pretty nervous but OK) self in front of that room.

Afterwards, I told one of the girls, Lisa, that I had been nervous to talk in front of everyone, and she laughed and said, “Oh my god, me too! And I went right after that guy Mike who lived in Mexico for so long! Did you see my hands shaking, it was awful!” She had been intimidated and nervous? ’Cause she had pulled it together in front of everyone. Wow.

Here’s the thing, you guys: LOTS OF PEOPLE FEEL LIKE YOU DO. Almost everyone gets shy, or tongue-tied, or feels freaked when you step into a room of people who you might perceive as cooler than you, or more talented then you, or more stylish than you, or smarter than you. But all those extra-cool, smart, stylish, talented people are looking at you the same way, thinking you’re so cool, stylish, smart, etc. Nobody knows anything about anyone, deep down, so pretend to be a confident person until your real, inner confidence can come charging out for all to see!

5. Consider your assets.

Take stock of what you’ve got. All right, not everyone is brilliant or gorgeous or makes perfect style choices every day or is good at thinking up pithy, quotable statements. But—this is my mom talking again—everyone is good at something! For real! You may be entering a situation that intimidates you, but you have a reason to be there, and you have something that no one else does. Maybe it’s your sense of humor. Maybe it’s your ability to include people. Maybe it’s your sensitivity to the feelings of others around you, or your ability to recount entire plot lines of movies in terrifying detail.

When you realize what you’ve got going for you, cue the eureka moment: YOU’RE NOT REALLY FAKING IT AT ALL. ♦