👀 Summer’s hottest “It” bag isn’t a raffia clutch or a silky drawstring pouch. It’s a humongous tote that comes on wheels. We didn’t believe it either — until we saw people dragging it by the straps everywhere.
💇♀️ The “Rachel” has finally met its match. Another ’90s-inspired haircut is taking over — and it’s just as understated, just as low-maintenance, and just as flattering as the dress it's named after.
🧘♀️ The very specific, very divisive pants that united Laguna Beach stars, yoga teachers, and your middle school best friend? They’re back. Excuse us while we process.
🥖 Excusez-moi for dropping the f-bomb in August, but Parisian women have already figured out fall fashion — and these are the impossibly chic, easy-to-wear trends that'll be everywhere.
🛍️ Grab your mom and an Auntie Anne’s pretzel. The place where you had your prom makeup done is having a revival. In the words of a wise woman, get in, loser — we’re going shopping.
As millennials who spent 96% of our childhood staring at Tiger Beat Usher posters taped to our bedroom walls, we’d know that face anywhere. Or so we thought. On Friday, Our Boo took to the stage at MetLife Stadium to do the usual Yeahing and air-grinding. Approximately fifty-leven seconds later, the internet lit up with two equally preposterous theories: Either Usher Raymond IV had hired a body double to do his job or he’d been replaced by a clone. The “evidence”? Many pointed to his sunglasses and the hat obstructing his face (fine, he does look a bit different here), others became amateur video editors zooming in on his tattoos (or lack thereof), and one armchair body-language expert bluntly put it like this: “This man is stiff as bricks” (to be fair, this man is almost 50). Not to mention the subset of conspiracy theorists who argued Fake Usher was only on stage briefly — but Real Usher removed his hat, his glasses, and most importantly, his shirt, which obviously convinced fans it was, in fact, him. The chatter quickly grew so unhinged that the singer himself responded, insisting “they can’t clone this” (fair) and “AI ain’t that advanced” (Usher, don’t jinx it).
If you feel like you’re seeing double, it’s not just you. Celebrity clone or body-double theories are basically their own internet subgenre at this point. Long ago, in February, Jim Carrey made headlines at the Césars — not for winning the French equivalent of a lifetime achievement Oscar, not for delivering his acceptance speech in French, but instead because of his “unrecognizable” face (welcome to being a woman in Hollywood). Then there’s Selena Gomez, who’s dealt with her own clone rumors ever since her 2017 kidney transplant (kudos to her for the cheeky way she got in on the joke), and Avril Lavigne, who’s somehow still responding to baseless claims that she died in the early 2000s and was replaced by a look-alike named Melissa (“Complicated,” indeed). And don’t even get us started on Anne Hathaway’s alleged fake baby bump. Because who wouldn’t want to wear a massive silicone stomach at 200 red carpets in 1,000-degree heat? (Her response was Princess of Genovia-worthy.) But then there’s one that’s actually true: Matt Damon, who set the record straight to confirm the biceps in that Odyssey fight scene belonged to his female stunt double. Do you think she’s available for future Usher tours?
Another August, another flood of (mostly) blond ladies in matching outfits backflipping across our feeds. That’s right, #RushTok has returned — in all its spray-tanned, Shein-clad glory. Across the country, Kappa Somethings and Chi Whatevers are outdoing each other with the most niche themes, from this Willy Wonka fever dream (Lil Timmy Tim, we need your thoughts) to a look that made us ask, “Is this f*cking play about us?” Some chapters are pulling off routines that would put the Rancho Carne Toros to shame, while others are breaking out some, shall we say, highly caffeinated-looking choreography. And PNMs are posting Elle Woods-approved OOTD videos (our J.Crew statement necklaces could never) all in the hopes of becoming part of PC’26. And while “the Pants Store” and “jewelry is normal” forever rewired something in our brains, it must be said: RushTok has RushToked too close to the sun. Sororities are getting brand deals, “top houses” are upping the ante with celebrity cameos, and there’s now a whole rush-coach industrial complex. Plus, as one writer bravely pointed out, “much like the third season of a reality TV show, RushTok has lost its novelty.” The obvious question: Why, in 2026, are we still doing this? Who knows, but Godspeed, sisters — may the best #SponCon win.
QVC personality Toni Brattin, we tip our hat (sorry, wig) to your viral on-air blunder. TV infomercials will never be the same.
Summer’s winding down and the mental load is ramping up. Enter Grow Therapy: the platform that connects you to top-rated, licensed therapists with insurance accepted in all 50 states. Sessions average $21 with insurance (some pay as little as $0, depending on your plan), and 81% of clients report meaningful clinical improvement. Book a therapist in minutes and start in as little as two days, with availability on nights, weekends, and early mornings. Book your first session now.*
Jo girls, rise up. The Headstrong Literary Heroine Canon has a new addition, and this time, it’s taking us down under. Netflix’s period drama My Brilliant Career (based on Miles Franklin’s 1901 novel) follows Sybylla Melvyn (Philippa Northeast), a free-spirited Australian farm girl who dreams of becoming a writer — much to the horror of her parents, who’d prefer she simply marry well. So she’s sent off to Caddagat, the sprawling estate of her aptly named grandmother Mrs. Bossier (Anna Chancellor), to be properly presented in society. Fans are already dubbing the six-episode series the “Australian Bridgerton,” which gives a sense of where this is going: not-so-ladylike behavior at elegant parties, a delightfully anachronistic soundtrack, and a main character who — despite her best efforts — finds herself falling in love with the ton’s local hottie. Are our corsets too tight, or are we already swooning?
Trending products and brands our shopping team has been loving recently.
Mejuri's tiered sale is the perfect opportunity to treat yourself to something sparkly. The sale ends tomorrow, so don't wait.
Our favorite baby-care brand just launched a product line for big(ger) kids. Expect problem-solvers like an electric flosser and pump-top body wash they can use themselves.
Curious about the NAD+ skincare movement? Now's the time to check it out: Until August 18, Aramore is taking 25% off sitewide with code SIZZLE25.
These are our favorite at-home nail-care products, from an illuminating nail concealer to the ultimate luxury hand cream.
Unleash your competitive side with today's games and puzzles. Go wild.
👀 Summer’s hottest “It” bag isn’t a raffia clutch or a silky drawstring pouch. It’s a humongous tote that comes on wheels. We didn’t believe it either — until we saw people dragging it by the straps everywhere.
💇♀️ The “Rachel” has finally met its match. Another ’90s-inspired haircut is taking over — and it’s just as understated, just as low-maintenance, and just as flattering as the dress it's named after.
🧘♀️ The very specific, very divisive pants that united Laguna Beach stars, yoga teachers, and your middle school best friend? They’re back. Excuse us while we process.
🥖 Excusez-moi for dropping the f-bomb in August, but Parisian women have already figured out fall fashion — and these are the impossibly chic, easy-to-wear trends that'll be everywhere.
🛍️ Grab your mom and an Auntie Anne’s pretzel. The place where you had your prom makeup done is having a revival. In the words of a wise woman, get in, loser — we’re going shopping.
As millennials who spent 96% of our childhood staring at Tiger Beat Usher posters taped to our bedroom walls, we’d know that face anywhere. Or so we thought. On Friday, Our Boo took to the stage at MetLife Stadium to do the usual Yeahing and air-grinding. Approximately fifty-leven seconds later, the internet lit up with two equally preposterous theories: Either Usher Raymond IV had hired a body double to do his job or he’d been replaced by a clone. The “evidence”? Many pointed to his sunglasses and the hat obstructing his face (fine, he does look a bit different here), others became amateur video editors zooming in on his tattoos (or lack thereof), and one armchair body-language expert bluntly put it like this: “This man is stiff as bricks” (to be fair, this man is almost 50). Not to mention the subset of conspiracy theorists who argued Fake Usher was only on stage briefly — but Real Usher removed his hat, his glasses, and most importantly, his shirt, which obviously convinced fans it was, in fact, him. The chatter quickly grew so unhinged that the singer himself responded, insisting “they can’t clone this” (fair) and “AI ain’t that advanced” (Usher, don’t jinx it).
If you feel like you’re seeing double, it’s not just you. Celebrity clone or body-double theories are basically their own internet subgenre at this point. Long ago, in February, Jim Carrey made headlines at the Césars — not for winning the French equivalent of a lifetime achievement Oscar, not for delivering his acceptance speech in French, but instead because of his “unrecognizable” face (welcome to being a woman in Hollywood). Then there’s Selena Gomez, who’s dealt with her own clone rumors ever since her 2017 kidney transplant (kudos to her for the cheeky way she got in on the joke), and Avril Lavigne, who’s somehow still responding to baseless claims that she died in the early 2000s and was replaced by a look-alike named Melissa (“Complicated,” indeed). And don’t even get us started on Anne Hathaway’s alleged fake baby bump. Because who wouldn’t want to wear a massive silicone stomach at 200 red carpets in 1,000-degree heat? (Her response was Princess of Genovia-worthy.) But then there’s one that’s actually true: Matt Damon, who set the record straight to confirm the biceps in that Odyssey fight scene belonged to his female stunt double. Do you think she’s available for future Usher tours?
Another August, another flood of (mostly) blond ladies in matching outfits backflipping across our feeds. That’s right, #RushTok has returned — in all its spray-tanned, Shein-clad glory. Across the country, Kappa Somethings and Chi Whatevers are outdoing each other with the most niche themes, from this Willy Wonka fever dream (Lil Timmy Tim, we need your thoughts) to a look that made us ask, “Is this f*cking play about us?” Some chapters are pulling off routines that would put the Rancho Carne Toros to shame, while others are breaking out some, shall we say, highly caffeinated-looking choreography. And PNMs are posting Elle Woods-approved OOTD videos (our J.Crew statement necklaces could never) all in the hopes of becoming part of PC’26. And while “the Pants Store” and “jewelry is normal” forever rewired something in our brains, it must be said: RushTok has RushToked too close to the sun. Sororities are getting brand deals, “top houses” are upping the ante with celebrity cameos, and there’s now a whole rush-coach industrial complex. Plus, as one writer bravely pointed out, “much like the third season of a reality TV show, RushTok has lost its novelty.” The obvious question: Why, in 2026, are we still doing this? Who knows, but Godspeed, sisters — may the best #SponCon win.
QVC personality Toni Brattin, we tip our hat (sorry, wig) to your viral on-air blunder. TV infomercials will never be the same.
Jo girls, rise up. The Headstrong Literary Heroine Canon has a new addition, and this time, it’s taking us down under. Netflix’s period drama My Brilliant Career (based on Miles Franklin’s 1901 novel) follows Sybylla Melvyn (Philippa Northeast), a free-spirited Australian farm girl who dreams of becoming a writer — much to the horror of her parents, who’d prefer she simply marry well. So she’s sent off to Caddagat, the sprawling estate of her aptly named grandmother Mrs. Bossier (Anna Chancellor), to be properly presented in society. Fans are already dubbing the six-episode series the “Australian Bridgerton,” which gives a sense of where this is going: not-so-ladylike behavior at elegant parties, a delightfully anachronistic soundtrack, and a main character who — despite her best efforts — finds herself falling in love with the ton’s local hottie. Are our corsets too tight, or are we already swooning?
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