Sarah Gladstone

News flash from France: Exercise is good for the boobs!

As Americans we have fallen prey to a particular "look" —namely white and thin—and suffer from an inability to shatter it. The result? A backhanded compliment of the hybrid variety: “You’re pretty . . . for a black girl.”

Beneath the ear-worming melodies and undeniable pop-froth of the '90s was a latent feminist agenda that's still informing the woman I am today.

The success of the Oscars relies on the efforts of many key people.

Olympians are the closest thing that humanity has to divine and holy athleticism.

Lupita Nyong'o is “challenging” traditional ideas of beauty—but it's not because she's brown.

Word bombs like "hey baby" or “let me see that smile" create metaphysical clashes on the streets calling into question whether petulant catcalls are misogynistic (but harmless) or are actually societally sanctioned sexual abuse.

For the sake of all that is sacred, I will henceforth become a dependable person. Or at least I will try.

I’m always a little baffled when I hear people say, “I don’t like to read.” To me, it’s on par with saying “I don’t like music,” or “I ju

Being an "Angry Black Woman" is a catch-22: the more you fight the label, the more people want to stamp you with an ABW crimson mark