22-year-old Christina Grimmie was shot by an unnamed gunman late Friday night, after a concert at Orlando’s Plaza Live theater. The singer had just finished performing with the band Before You Exit and was signing autographs in the lobby.
Sad Dancing With the Stars Diaries is a series in which we imagine the innermost feelings of Dancing With the Stars contestants, as written in their “journals.”
Amanda Lauren’s tagline on her website reads “I write things that become a thing,” and boy does she! This week two pieces of hers received an influx of attention and response—a Your Tango essay called “Staying Hot For My Husband Is ESSENTIAL To A Successful Marriage” and a now-deleted xoJane essay titled “My Former…
As Hollywood continues to impress upon us even today, the most beautiful and glamorous thing a woman can do is drop dead—and never was this more true than in the Victorian age, when tuberculosis (then known as consumption) raged.
Animal livestreams are so relaxing. You get to look at animals, and also at your computer.
On Tuesday, Prince’s sister Tyka Nelson filed a bunch of papers at the Minnesota probate court that indicated Prince died without executing a will. This is having expensive consequences.
I will start by explaining: I drank too much last Wednesday.
Bodies that received graveside services at Galilee Memorial Gardens near Memphis, Tennessee have been missing for years. And now the relatives of the deceased are suing its former owner.
Adult film actress Amber Rayne died in her sleep over the weekend, AVN reports. Rayne, 31, was one of several high profile adult actresses who accused James Deen of sexual assault over the winter. Rayne spent over a decade in the adult industry.
I’ve heard that Margaret Shilling was deaf. I’ve heard that she was unable to speak, to call for help. I’ve heard that she was playing hide-and-go-seek, and I’ve heard that she just wanted to die. She has been called Ohio’s most notorious ghost, the lost lady. Teenagers have prayed to her, broken into a building for…
Amanda Peet went on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert last night to promote the second season of her very good HBO show, Togetherness. Somewhere along the way, things got Real.
Though Wednesday evening’s reports of her death were premature, Angela “Big Ang” Raiola’s family and friends have confirmed that she passed away early Thursday morning while “surrounded by family members.” Ang, who shot to fame in 2012 after landing a role on the second season of VH1's Mob Wives, had been battling…
In England, Celebrity Big Brother fans are upset with the show’s producers for depicting David Bowie’s ex-wife Angela Bowie as she learned about the news of the star’s death on Monday. The couple was married for ten years and has one son together, Zowie, who later changed his named to Duncan.
Are you guys so excited for New Year’s Eve?!? Wow. Honestly that’s very messed up of you—number one, because it’s terrible, and number two because it ushers in the day on which we are all most likely to meet our respective makers.
This week’s issue of The New Yorker features a lengthy profile by Rebecca Mead on the rise of female morticians, with a special focus on Ask a Mortician’s Caitlin Doughty (whose work has been featured on Jezebel several times). The article—like much of Doughty’s work—got me thinking a lot about what I want to have…
San Francisco celebrity and legendary stripper Carol Doda has died from complications of kidney failure at the age of 78. Doda was one of the first dancers in San Francisco to dance topless, sparking a trend that would ultimately change the city.
Dear White People Of A Certain Age, we have some bad news. You’re dying more rapidly than every other age, racial, and ethnic group. In fact, while death rates in America are otherwise declining, researchers have detected a rise in middle-aged white American deaths.
The clock turned back an hour early on Sunday morning as I happened to be checking my phone: I was tottering home in the East Village, miserable in my Halloween heels, wishing desperately for nothing other than my soft bed and the warm glow of my laptop. Great, I thought. An extra 60 minutes to berate myself for…