CARA SCHACTER is a writer living in New York.
In the New York author’s new novel, the media-core melodrama Little Pink Book, abuse of language comes as a so very sweet surprise.
In another year eclipsed by right-wing politics and apathetic art, nine Spike trustees separate global culture’s wheat from its chaff.
When is a modeling agency more than a modeling agency? When “it’s a feeling.” Cara Schacter meta-texts a first-anniversary newsletter anthology from NYC’s cloutiest new logo.
In: heaven, pastures, Anya Taylor Joy. This month, Cara hypothesizes big data’s gossamer predictions for 2023 and why Katherine Heigl’s stylist might want to explore aura-soul harmony.
At Joan Didion’s estate sale, Cara felt ... nothing. She did, however, think about dehydrated accessories, neonatal artisans, chic hospitals, and the subtext of a missing comma.
This month, Cara takes notes at NYFW: on moonlit ponytails, compulsive masking tape behavior, wearable ice packs, and being softcore cerebral.
This month, Cara synthesizes jiggle physics, Billie Eilish, and a theory that global warming is making boobs sag.
In the first installment of her new column, “Worn Out,” Cara Schacter reviews Jesus’s outfit alongside the latest European fashion shows. Is mortality hot for spring?
What’s hot for 2022? Clinical – institutional, terminal, quasi-medical – horniness. Libido with surgical precision. Cara Schacter reports on the sexed-up techwear pervading the daily grind.
