My Feminist Work Diary

Illustration for article titled My Feminist Work Diary
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In addition to blogging at Jezebel, Hazel Cills, the website’s pop culture reporter and in-resident haunted doll, oversees the following: rude Slack messages, memes, watching hours of The Big Bang Theory for blogs, evaluating Carly Rae Jepsen’s new singles, and regularly telling men to dress themselves, among others.

It is, in her words, “a lot.”

Complicating things are Cills’s travel schedule, which includes commuting to and from work and sometimes loitering near New York City dog parks to get a look at what she calls “good boys.” Since starting at Jezebel she has defied just about every blogging convention, in ways which we’re too lazy to list here.


3:00 a.m.: I wake up. It’s the witching hour and as is customary in my culture I walk around my apartment in circles for an hour and wail at the moon, still visible in the sky. I also complete my 34-step Korean skincare routine and make a kale smoothie, which I feed to my plant. I briefly wonder if that’s cannibalism, but then I go back to sleep.

7:45 a.m.: I wake up for real this time and check my text messages, which include wonderful notes from my close friends Björk, the Russian doctor who keeps trying to perform the first head transplant, and the yodeling cowboy meme child Mason Ramsey. I make a note to make a note to have a deskside with Ramsey to chat about his career.

8:30 a.m.: I do a little meditating and munch on some glass I ordered through this organic meal delivery service my best friend Jessica Chastain told me about. Because I’m so busy these days it’s much easier for me to order my meals this way and I love knowing exactly where my food comes from. In this case, it’s the littered beaches of the Jersey Shore in the off season. I text Chastain to thank her for the rec!


10:00 a.m.: I check my emails and then sign on to do some blogging for Jezebel. I schedule an hour-long meeting at 4:00 p.m. to ask my Feral Bitches (that’s what we Jezebel bloggers call ourselves to foster a greater sense of community) if I should buy a pair of clogs.

12:00 p.m.: After some blogging I get up and get ready for work, grabbing a bodega coffee on the way. I Slack message our editor-in-chief Julianne Escobedo Shepherd to see if she’ll let me buy $500 worth of candles on the corporate expense card. She doesn’t answer but I do it anyway.


1:oo p.m.: I have a call with the Royal Baby Archie. Our conversation is part business—talking about ways our companies could work together — and part friend catch-up. We go way back. I circle back on a few emails to people who’ve never heard from me in their entire lives.

2:00 p.m.: I work on a few longer stories that need attending to. I totally spaced on eating lunch, but luckily I have a Dean & Deluca pastry tucked away in my tote bag and a plastic carton full of nails to suck on. It’s crazy how the day gets away from you sometimes!


3:00 p.m.: Get an email to be on a panel about the state of women’s media. Get an email to be on a panel about the state of women in rock. Get an email to be on a panel about the state of millennials in journalism. Get an email to be on a panel about the state of Tim Riggins’s beautiful long locks in Friday Night Lights. I say yes to all of them!

4:00 p.m.: Clog meeting in session. The meeting ends up running long after I draw an illustration of an old woman on the white board that sort of looks like a young woman if you keep staring at it. Afterwards, I decide to catch up with a bunch of people over text, including: Lupita Nyong’o for potential drinks, this abandoned Ms. Pac-Man costume I saw outside my apartment to see if she wants to do a girls weekend in Nashville, Ariana Grande for not returning my calls, and Amal Clooney to see if she wants to go mini-golfing. That bitch is so good at mini-golfing.


6:00 p.m.: After work I head to Equinox, where I run into my friend Jake Gyllenhaal. I lift more than him.

7:30 p.m.: After my workout, I head home and order Chinese takeout for dinner. I still have a lot of work to do, so I hunker down and type lines of “aldhgkjhgdfhgdhgjldgjfdg” into an open Word document while I listen to a podcast about a missing white woman.


8:00 p.m.: I draw myself a hot bath and sip on a glass of rosé. I make a mental reminder to set up a meeting with my interior decorator to remodel the bathroom to look like the belly of a whale.

10:00 p.m.: Refreshed from my bath that was somehow two hours, I meditate briefly before bed, and get ready for another day of blogging in the morning.

Pop Culture Reporter, Jezebel

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After Aidy Bryant wore a pair of bright green clogs in Shrill, I became a little obsessed with them. Luckily, they don’t exist in any way (Rachel Comey made them, they were $435, they are sold out, long gone, nothing remotely like them is available for purchase) or I might have made an expensive mistake. Unfortunately during my obsessive searching, I found that the NY “clogerati” is sort of a thing, mainly white ladies over forty who enjoy spending $30o+ on whatever clogs are the newest and rarest this season, so they can be superior to their friends. Blech.