The story of Heated Rivalry, the gay hockey romance that went from a small-budget Canadian production to a streaming hit and global phenomenon, feels like a fairy tale in many ways. The show, which is based on Rachel Reid's Game Changers novels, has reportedly drawn an average of 9 million viewers per episode on HBO Max in the United States since it debuted last November, making it one of the streamer's top scripted shows of the year.
Paris Hilton here presents us with an unbearable act of docu-self-love, avowedly a behind-the-scenes study of her second studio album, Infinite Icon, and where she's at as a musician, survivor and mom. But maybe there is, in fact, nothing behind the scenes; judging by this, the scenes are all there is: Insta-exhibitionism, empty phrases and show. Hilton's second album no doubt has its admirers and detractors, and her fans are perfectly happy with it.
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
After attempting to make his mark as a footballer, photographer and chef, at last Brooklyn Peltz Beckham appears to have secured his legacy. He will no longer be remembered as simply the nepo-baby son of David and Victoria; he'll also go down in history as a somewhat unlikely/possibly accidental feminist activist. It was when Brooklyn married Nicola Peltz in 2022 that he became Brooklyn Peltz Beckham, an ally who turbo-boosted a quietly growing trend.
President Biden hosted a little get-together to give out Congressional Medals of Freedom to a bunch of fancy people like Bono, Jane Goodall, Magic Johnson, and others. These medals are basically handed out to whoever the President thinks is cool and wants to meet, so I imagine he was like, "Shit, I gotta move out of this place in like two weeks and I haven't even had Denzel Washington and Bill Nye over yet to see my stuff!"
Raya is a members-only dating app. Daters must submit an application to get behind the app's golden gates, which includes linking your Instagram profile. Getting a recommendation from a current Raya member can be helpful. I had all of that: the public Instagram, the referral from a friend, and a willingness to pay Raya's $24.99 monthly fee (or $49.99 for premium features). It still took me months to get accepted.
As a mark of pure intent, going Instagram official has become a firmly entrenched dating marker. To post a picture of you and your new partner on Instagram on the grid, mind you, not hiding behind the cowardice of a story is to not only declare that you are in love, but also that you are confident enough in your future to share it with the world.
It's usually true that putting your phone down and walking away to touch grass is an effective way to weather an internet shitstorm. Unfortunately for Tallulah, it's also true that if you're even quasi-famous in Los Angeles, it's never quite that simple. Paulena's scathing TikTok about Tallulah being a fugly slut thief is an earthquake that shakes Tallulah and Maia to their cores; "Girl's Girl" traces the ripple effect of the aftershocks. For Maia, this is a make-or-break professional crisis.
The beauty writer Jessica DeFino refers often to the "mirror world" inside our phone, the uncanny, glistening selfieverse that's also become more real for many of its devotees than the lumpy, blotchy meatspace where the rest of us live. I thought about the mirror world while watching All's Fair, Ryan Murphy's new creative product-I can't call it a television show, because it isn't one.
Amy Griffin is the founder of G9 Ventures, an investment firm that has backed a slew of cool, woman-centric brands and startups including Goop, Spanx, and Bumble. She's a mother of four; the devoted wife of a strapping blond billionaire ex-hedgefunder; and a fixture in the Instagram tributes of the rich and famous ( Reese, Gwyneth, Mariska: they all sing Griffin's praises).
Alan Carr's days on The Celebrity Traitors looked perilous from the start. Just 32 minutes into the first episode, after the comedian had been selected as a "traitor", his body started to betray him. Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead, making his face shiny. "I thought I wanted to be a traitor but I have a sweating problem," he admitted to cameras. "And I can't keep a secret."
You know how I have much more swag than you? You do? Oh, come on. My half of the conversation is long and elegant and stylish and funny, but yours is always gruff and short and lazy. Hmm. See? What we have is a swag gap. I'm the cool one, and you aren't. It's an ill fit, and frankly I think we're doomed.
As well as being agreeable, I'm very authentic! Look at this body! All made to measure. Almond-shaped eyes: 80,000 pesetas[$566 or 480]. Nose: 200,000 [$1418 or 1200]. A waste of money. Another beating the following year left it looking like this. It gives me character, but if I'd known I wouldn't have touched it. She continues: Tits two, because I'm no monster 70,000 [$495 or 420] each. But I've more than earned that back.
The internet is frothing. This time, over Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce's engagement, a spectacle reminding us how celebrities function as wish machines. Us normies ride shotgun, living vicariously through the highest peaks and, at times, the lowest valleys, making up for our own grayscale lives. But, while Taylor and Travis are about as mainstream as you can get, in the 1990s there was a celebrity couple who catered for the eccentrics, misfits, and outsiders.
There is nothing more obvious than Ryan Boyajian - "entrepreneur," friend of money launderers, terrible jacket enthusiast, and connoisseur of "tits on a stick" (according to Tamra) - owning a Cybertruck. Of course, this man owns a Cybertruck. Of course. You can tell just by looking at him, just like you can tell by looking at Heather Dubrow, that she would probably order an ugly, logo-emblazoned Fendi bucket hat to wear to Coachella,
