There’s a moment in an early episode of Shrill season three that will resonate with fat viewers. It’s when Annie (Aidy Bryant), newly single and feeling better than ever, is set up on a blind date by her coworker Amadi (Ian Owens). She enters the restaurant confidently—and looking gorgeous—but is instantly thrown off when she sees her date, Will, is also fat. 

She’s hit with a million emotions at once—anger, confusion, embarrassment—and they’re all palpable on her face. Did Amadi set them up only because of their bodies? She can’t shake this thought and ends up torpedoing the date, looking really bad in the process. 

It’s a humanizing moment for Annie. She’s spent the last two and half years working on herself, on her own body acceptance, and rebuking culture’s notion that fat is bad. But when faced with the idea of dating another fat person, she recoils. Maybe, perhaps, she’s not as enlightened as she thought. “To me, it was the most emotional thing to perform,” Bryant tells me on Zoom in late April. 

Spoiler alert: Annie and Will do end up dating by episode six but only after she shows him her cards. She comes clean about why their first encounter went so horribly: her own self-loathing, as Bryant astutely puts it. 

“She meets [Will] in the second episode. That could be the season, but she stops herself from trying,” she says. “I think it’s because there’s something embarrassing about it or something self-loathing about it. When they do eventually connect, it’s because she’s really been vulnerable with him and faces the fact there was self-hatred that she put on to him.” 

In a way, this moment is a thesis for Shrill‘s third and final season: Progress, especially toward one’s self-image, isn’t linear. Annie’s obviously grown leaps and bounds since season one, when she was willfully sneaking out of her ex-boyfriend Ryan’s house after secret hookups. She’s no longer taking shit from coworkers and strangers and isn’t afraid of the word fat. But that doesn’t mean she’s immune to the very real and damaging beauty standards that still permeate our daily lives. 

“I think there’s a practicality about our show and a realism that isn’t all, ‘You go girl! Love yourself!’ That oversimplification,” Bryant says. “There’s a way our show has gotten under some of that nitty-gritty of [body acceptance]. Let’s get under the hood and talk about the pressure and the pain and the shame.” 

Being an ESPN SportsCenter anchor and having my face seen by millions means I’ve had to fortify my mask to stay hidden. Once, I was late for work after having a miscarriage that morning. I’d made up an irresponsible excuse and was subsequently reprimanded. But they had no idea and the excuse was easier than the truth. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. There have been countless times I’ve had to wipe my tears, fix my makeup and push aside the pain of actually feeling my body reject my baby. I focused on doing my job while keeping those close to me at a distance with the thought that I’m protecting them from my pain. Although they supported me, I knew they couldn’t relate.

After my most recent miscarriage, which was my final one because it was my last egg, I’ve decided to publicly share my struggles. After this last attempt and failure, I was devastated and have never felt more alone. So, I’m not just speaking up for solidarity, but for the changes that need to happen within this unique community. If you haven’t lived it, you don’t know what it’s like.

The average cost for fertility treatments (called IVF cycles) in the U.S. are between $10,000-$15,000, with an additional $1,500-$3,000 for medications per cycle. This alone keeps a large percent of the infertile population from moving forward with certain procedures because it would become a financial burden. And there’s still no guarantee it will work by the end of the cycle. Some who have sacrificed their life savings or accrued a second mortgage may not be able to afford trying again. These reproductive rights issues shouldn’t exist.

In addition to the costs, fertility clinics are not set up as a nurturing environment. They are supposed to be a place where families can find compassion and most of all hope, but are basically a cattle call. Number, egg, sperm. Zero emotional care. And with COVID, and having to go to doctor’s appointments alone, there is an extra layer of isolation added to the experience.

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW), a movement that encourages storytelling to empower and support one another by ensuring all voices of the infertility community are heard and understood. To help amplify the conversation, I’m partnering with Pregnantish and First Response Pregnancy, for a campaign called “This is What Infertility Looks Like,”, addressing the misconceptions people have about the medical issue of infertility, including who it affects. The campaign captures the important fact that infertility does not discriminate when it comes to race, religion, sexual orientation, socio-economic status, age, lifestyle, or other factors.

During these challenging years, I’ve learned that there is no right or wrong answer for how to process this journey and no one can put a timeline on personal grief. I don’t have to be the strongest in the room because it’s ok to cry and it’s ok to not be ok.

I am truly in awe every time I look at our two girls. My family is my home, and simply my everything. Looking at me, no one would know how much loss my husband and I have experienced to get here. But the moments of loss, guilt and failure don’t have to be a solo journey if we would all connect. We can remove some of the questions and learn from each other, and possibly take some of the stress away while sharing the pain.

A year ago our world completely changed. As our health and wellness became a priority during the pandemic, our routines shifted, and the comforts that were once small luxuries took on an increasingly important role in our lives. 

It’s something Glamour‘s editors-in-chief around the globe know well. Collectively, they’ve seen the ways in which their readers—who span four continents—have navigated the past 12 months, whether that be working from home while also managing childcare or finding an escape in a luxurious face cream or warm shower. With limits on in-person beauty services, social distancing, and mask-wearing requirements, we’ve had to try our hands at being our own hairstylists, manicurists, and facialists. But we’ve also had fun experimenting—buying new skin care tools we saw on TikTok or rediscovering a love of hairstyling—which is what annual Glamour Beauty Awards are all about.

So on that note, we asked Glamour editors-in-chief across the world to share what beauty looks like in their neck of the woods now, and what their personal winners are. Here’s what’s brought each of them comfort and joy over the past year. 

Samantha Barry, editor-in-chief of Glamour US

What are the biggest beauty trends in your country right now? 

There’s a renewed focus on purpose over profits. Shoppers are now asking what beauty brands stand for, how inclusive their teams and product ranges are, and their stances concerning climate change, social justice, politics, and more. We’ve recently seen big beauty retailers like Sephora sign on for the 15 Percent Pledge spearheaded by Aurora James to devote more shelf space to Black-owned businesses. 

How did the pandemic change your beauty routine? 

Pre-pandemic, I spent more time, effort, and money on makeup than skin care. That all changed in 2020. There’s no need for a signature red lip under a mask. Instead, I’ve become a skin care connoisseur with extensive night and morning routines and weekend facials with my favorite facial freeze tools. Yet, I still haven’t managed to get my manicures right, despite panic buying a gel nail lamp in the early days of the pandemic.

What products are your personal award-winners? 

I use Drunk Elephant Virgin Marula Luxury Facial Oil at the end of my nighttime skin-care routine to seal all the goodness in and extra hydration. And since scalp care is as essential as skin care in my books, I use Act and Acre Scalp Detox. Your scalp ages seven times faster than your face. This Reader’s Choice winner not only nourishes your scalp but is a great way to promote hair growth.

Nontando Mposo, editor-in-chief of Glamour South Africa 

What are the biggest beauty trends in your country right now? 

Let me give you an example.

When I served as the executive director of the African-American Art & Culture Complex—a community-based organization that serves the young people of the Fillmore neighborhood in San Francisco, where I grew up—drugs, poverty, and violence were all too common. 

One day, around the corner from the Complex, in a gym crowded with mostly kids and some adults, someone walked in and shot someone in the head in front of everyone. The act was unspeakable and traumatic, and I was so scared for what it would do to the community. At that time Kamala Harris was the district attorney of San Francisco, and when we spoke, her response was immediate: “How can I help?” She didn’t just help by pursuing a criminal case; she showed up and met with the community. She sat with us. She listened. She shared. She tried to help us heal those kids. 

That is who Kamala is. Will she do the work? Of course. But the work means nothing if you aren’t thinking about who the work is about. So I know that while her title has changed, she’s still that same Kamala who walked into that gym in the Fillmore and put her heart into helping a community heal. And that gives me hope, and makes me proud. 

San Francisco mayor London Breed won a special election after San Francisco mayor Ed Lee died in office in December 2017. She was elected to serve a full term—becoming the city’s first Black, female mayor—in 2019.

“She knew she had power to do something.” 

My first time meeting Kamala Harris was unforgettable. I was interviewing for a legal-adviser role on her executive team in the California attorney general’s office, and I was nervous. She started with standard questions about my work in law and politics; I asked about the most challenging part of the job. (Getting out of the day-to-day mini emergencies to focus on the big-picture agenda, she said.) Then she threw a curveball: “What’s the extent of the right to education under the California constitution?”

I hesitated, so she continued: “For example, if you have four walls, a roof, and a sign that says ‘school,’ have you provided a child with an education as required by the constitution?” 

“Surely not,” I said. “It must mean more than that.” 

She agreed, and after we dug a bit deeper, she ended the interview apparently satisfied (thankfully).

Little did I realize this was the beginning of a multiyear conversation I’d have with Kamala about children’s legal rights, what our government owes children, and why so many—especially poor, Black, and brown children—weren’t getting what they deserved. She was determined to use the power of the California Department of Justice to change that. No one asked her about it at press conferences, the office had never done this work, and she wasn’t getting pressure on it. But she saw a gap in the state’s child welfare, education, and juvenile justice systems—and she knew she had power to do something—so we created a specialized unit to enforce children’s civil rights that would outlast her tenure as A.G.

I learned countless lessons during my years working for Kamala. But this experience taught me what makes a good public servant. She has what I call “sustained impatience”—the refusal to become complacent in the face of bureaucracy, inertia, or inattention. We often think progress in government requires heroic efforts to overcome resistance. What she understood was that far more often progress stalls not because anyone is against it, but because no one is its champion. She knew there weren’t easy headlines to be had in that work, but the work itself was motivation enough. And perhaps most important, she refused to be led off track and wouldn’t give up until we were done. America is fortunate to have that kind of woman as vice president, and I’m honored to have learned about service from her.

Jill Habig is the founder and president of Public Rights Project, a legal nonprofit that works with state and local governments to enforce civil rights and economic justice laws. She served as special counsel to then attorney general Harris, deputy campaign manager on her U.S. Senate campaign, and policy lead on her Senate transition team. She teaches state and local impact litigation at Berkeley Law School.

You are the most curious and the most dedicated person I have ever met. In the last few years, you’ve continued to work relentlessly on your own recovery; dedicated yourself to the work of making the world a safer place; and been a loving and present wife, stepmother, sister, daughter and friend. You’re even taking Spanish lessons and playing your French horn again. I’ve come to see that learning new things and pushing yourself to be open to new experiences isn’t something you do out of a sense of obligation. It’s clear to me that this attitude is a powerful source of joy, motivation, and energy for you.

I think part of the wonder and joy of a partnership like ours is that nothing is ever static. Our lives have changed in ways we never could have imagined but what hasn’t changed is how you inspire me. I couldn’t have run for office if I didn’t have the example of your service and leadership to guide me. And then the pandemic hit. But just like you always do, you looked a challenge in the face and decided to keep moving—to find joy, to embrace your purpose, to keep working. You confronted the unknown, as you’ve done before, and reached into that vast reservoir of determination and generosity once again.

Watching other people value that determination and inspiration has become a lovely, if unexpected, part of our life together. I’ve watched you accept the John F. Kennedy Profile in Courage Award and Glamour’s Woman of the Year Award. I’ve even seen a Navy combat ship, the USS Gabrielle Giffords, be christened in your honor. Every year EMILY’s List, a group that helped you run for office, gives an award called the Gabrielle Giffords Rising Star award to a woman in local office—someone whose smarts, dedication, and accomplishment recall yours. The first recipient was Stacey Abrams. When they call your name from the stage, Gabby, I’m telling you, it’s like the world tilts on its axis. Every time, the room rises to its feet and roars “Gabby! Gabby!”

It fills me with pride to know that the person who shapes my life is such an important part of so many other lives. It is a reminder that you’re making history. I admire your commitment to service, before and after a tragedy changed your life, your humanity and empathy—the way you connect with everyone in the room. And your determination: your relentless pursuit of new adventures, progress, a better world. Your beauty and your joyfulness.

Gabby, I still remember the first time you took me to Bisbee, AZ, an old mining town south of Tucson near the Mexican border and one of your favorite places. We got south of Tombstone and the sky just opened up in front of us. It felt as big and vast as what I’d seen out the window of the space shuttle. In Bisbee, you had friends to see—like your friend who roasts his own beans at Bisbee Roasters, and the other who runs Café Roka. Making that drive together to Bisbee, with your favorite band Calexico’s song “Bisbee Blue” playing in the car, is one of my favorite things to do together. The road ahead, the sky limitless in front of us, Calexico singing “days with you, Bisbee Blue, shining like Bisbee blue, bring me back Bisbee blue.”

With you, Gabby, there’s always adventure to be had, beauty to be seen, change to be made, and joy to be found.

United States Senator Mark Kelly (D-AZ) is a Navy combat veteran and a retired NASA astronaut. He and Gabby Giffords were married in 2007. 

The answer: “‘If she had just sat down and listened instead of trying to be so bloody opinionated all the time, we wouldn’t be in this situation.’” 

“I think that really sums up the problem here,” Scobie says. “She is not submissive; she is not the subservient royal wife that perhaps we’re used to or more comfortable with seeing. She challenged the norms of what a female royal role is—and I’m very aware of the fact that the Queen is very much a feminist herself and a woman of power in a very strong role. But I’m talking about the newcomers that marry into the royal family who, for their differences, are often turned into the enemy.”

In addition to being American, Meghan came in with a work ethic very far from what Buckingham Palace is used to seeing, Scobie says. “I think it scared some people. Change is scary, especially within the institution.”

But even in her brief tenure as a working royal, Meghan made an undeniably huge impact. For one, she drew a “much more diverse crowd of well-wishers,” Scobie says. “For the first time for many, Meghan was someone within the House of Windsor people could connect with and relate to. She changed the connotation of what it means to be regal or royal—which, up until then, had always been white. It’s such a shame that is no longer a part of the royal family, because I don’t know how we move forward from here. I don’t know how it modernizes, having missed out on a golden opportunity to do so.”

***

In the year between Harry and Meghan’s step back and the final decision about their future as working royals, Scobie had hoped it’d be a moment of reflection for everyone. But, he says, “It seems a year on we are pretty much in the same place.”

And then, reports surfaced this week claiming that Meghan bullied royal staffers, in what feels like a preemptive strike before the CBS tell-all airs. The panic feels much like that of the dread preceding the release of Finding Freedom in August, Scobie says. “It ultimately was a waste of everyone’s time and energy, because when the book came out people saw a fair portrayal of the situation. I don’t think anyone came out of that book from the royal family looking bad.” 

He expects the same of Sunday’s interview. While the special will be a chance for Harry and Meghan to share their story, he predicts it won’t be the smear campaign so many seem to be feverishly anticipating. “I wish everyone would just take a deep breath and have a little faith,” Scobie says.

Maybe the problem really isn’t a couple speaking their truth in a sit-down interview with Oprah. Maybe the problem is the truth itself, about both the institution the pair once worked for and the treatment from the press that covers it so vociferously.

“It could have been so different,” Scobie says.

Rachel Burchfield is a freelance writer whose primary interests are fashion and beauty, society and culture, and, most especially, the British royal family.

“I don’t know what I want,” Muriel tells him. “What do you want? Do you want to do this?”

Nick says, “Yeah, let’s have a baby.”

“But it doesn’t feel intentionally enthusiastic,” Muriel says. “It’s wishy-washy. I’m pretty intentional when I want to make something happen. Right now, I’m more about, I like my apartment. I’m not going to move to Burbank.”

Because she feels so guilty about her uncertainty, she leans toward it meaning she shouldn’t have kids. If she doesn’t know by now if she wants them, she doesn’t deserve them and wouldn’t be a good mom anyway.

---

I wondered too: How could I know for sure that I wanted to raise a child?

I thought about how I was afraid having a child would slow down my career, and about how as a freelancer with unsteady earnings, I wasn’t sure I could afford childcare.

But I was also starting to feel a tug that I wanted to be a mom, that it would be nice to help guide a small person through life.

So, as I got older and closer to an age when I assumed I’d no longer be able to have a biological child, I accepted my uncertainty. I couldn’t know for sure how it would go, but I wanted to try to get pregnant. My fear was still there, but so was my instinct that having a child was something I wanted to do with my life.

I’d always told myself that I’d be comfortable being a single parent. I took care of my life myself. I should be able to do this on my own too.

But, when I knew I wanted to try to have a child, I also realized, after a string of sleepless nights, that I wanted to have a child with a partner.

I knew who I wanted that partner to be. That I missed my ex-boyfriend made sense. We dated for a long time when we were in our twenties, in a period that made us both better, and I felt so many ways about him: he was delightful, charming, magnetic, gorgeous, but also infuriating and crazy-​making.

He was comfortable one minute, unpredictable the next, and had a million other traits that made me both unable to get enough of him and terrified that his big personality might dominate mine.

Even though we weren’t in a romantic relationship, and lived in different cities, we had remained close, texting and visiting each other when we could. We had mutual friends we hung out with too. It was a complicated friendship, and one where I often cringed at how opinionated he was and how unwilling he was to try to make nice with everyone. But, just as often, it felt easy—I liked doing everything with him, even once marveling how much I enjoyed a trip we took to the store to stock the Airbnb I was staying at with toilet paper and laundry detergent. He let me use his Amazon Prime account; he encouraged me to set up an LLC for my freelance business. I called him when my pet fish died. He called me the morning he thought he was going to get laid off.

I thought he might want to come to New York. Maybe he’d be open to getting back together, to living with me, but I didn’t want him to if he wasn’t interested in also trying to have a child.

I decided to call him to ask him.

I was nervous beforehand. I was about to ask him if he wanted to move to New York and try to have a child with me. It was a lot to bring up on a phone call.

Before Trump, we might have wanted to believe that our democratic institutions could survive a threat like him, that our Constitution and elected officials would provide checks and balances. Instead, his administration unleashed misogyny and racism across the country, even in pockets of it that we might have considered “safe.” We learned that everything can fall apart; I learned that too.

On the night of the election in 2016, I paid to have my hair done because Eric always wanted me to wear my hair up or blown straight. Otherwise, he often said my hair looked too wild. Perhaps he meant it looked too ethnic. My hair is wavy, bordering on frizzy when it’s humid. The bigger it gets, the more I like it. I thought, “What is wrong with my natural hair?” But Eric made me feel insecure about it. If I didn’t conform, I wouldn’t be pretty in his eyes. After attending a few election parties, including one hosted by Harvey Weinstein, Eric and I went to the Javits Center, where it felt as though everyone was on a sinking ship.

The past four years have sunk many of us. And not all of us have emerged unscathed. Now, as a survivor of an abusive relationship, I can offer advice that I hope helps our country. A victim-centered approach allows us to turn away from the former president. It allows us to focus on our needs, our healing, our future. I tell other survivors of abuse the following, which can apply to the American people as the victim and the former president as the partner:

Know that you are not alone and you are not crazy.

It’s okay to feel traumatized, but please don’t feel ashamed.

If your partner is not willing to acknowledge the problem and get professional help, get away. Your partner is probably not going to change.

Don’t worry about your abuser. Focus on yourself.

You are the most important part of this equation.

Jennifer Friedman, the director of Bronx and Manhattan Legal Project and Policy of Sanctuary for Families, has spoken with me about the mix of emotions—trauma and relief—that victims feel when an emotionally gaslighting abuser is removed from the picture. She also said, “The abuser has sought to silence your voice and diminish your self-worth, preventing you from feeling your own power. But you do have power, and seeking help (including speaking with an expert) may bring you more power. Taking back your power is an important step toward healing and reclaiming your life.”

My hope for 2021 is that we will say the name of the former president, our abuser, less, and say the names of those who suffered because of him more. We have the chance to chip away at the cycle of violence that we are conditioned to normalize from the time we are born and that was encouraged from the highest office in the land. We don’t have to think the same way; we just have to open our hearts and minds and listen to each other. Love, compassion, and our shared humanity will guide us, as inaugural poet Amanda Gorman said, up that hill we climb.

Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez has spoken powerfully about her experience with sexual assault and the trauma triggered by the Capitol siege. She was disturbed by the congressmen who told her to “move on”—a tactic of abusers so that they can abuse again.

Collectively, we’re getting out of an abusive relationship. Our recovery, like my personal recovery from abuse, won’t be overnight. We have a long road ahead, but on January 20, 2021, and during the subsequent weeks, the stage was set.

Tanya Selvaratnam is the author of Assume Nothing: A Story of Intimate Violence.

If you, or someone you know, is a victim of intimate partner violence, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline toll-free at 800-799-SAFE or connect online at thehotline.org.

I wouldn’t be the smart, sassy, and super ambitious woman I am without my mother, Mary Ann Wilson. That trifecta of qualities was then recognized and uplifted by a handful of Black women in the media industry, including the incomparable Jacklyn Monk, who is currently the managing editor at the Wall Street Journal Magazine. Her impact on my career is immeasurable, but she has also been a guiding light in my personal life. For that, and so much more, I’m grateful. —Julee Wilson, beauty director at Cosmopolitan Magazine

The first woman outside of my family who I remember admiring for her beauty, grace, and authenticity is Alicia Keys. Her piano talents moved me, her genuine personality inspired me, and her simply being a Black woman who looked like me made me realize that I too had a lot to love about myself as a Black girl. —Amber Stevens West, actress, who will star in Run the World on Starz this spring

The heroine that I am spotlighting is Mrs. Opal Lee, who is a civil rights icon from Texas. At 94 years young, she has spent her life in service of others. She has been the lifeblood of creating awareness about Juneteenth, which commemorates the day that enslaved people in Texas finally found out that they were free—two and a half long years after the Emancipation Proclamation. Opal Lee was a part of the fabric of my childhood, and she always felt larger than life when I would see her proudly walking at the head of the annual Juneteenth parade, leading it through the streets of Fort Worth. She is the reason that I was able to attend the Miss Juneteenth pageant, a scholastic beauty pageant for young Black women that my film is based on. It created an opportunity for the community to invest in these young women’s futures and inspired me by celebrating young women that looked like me with hope and optimism for their futures on their faces. Juneteenth is American history, and Opal Lee continues to work tirelessly in her mission to make Juneteenth a national holiday. —Channing Godfrey Peoples, writer, director, and producer of her feature film directorial debut, Miss Juneteenth

Billie Holiday is one of the women who helped me to step into my potential. Hearing “Sugar” for the first time changed my very limited idea of what a great singer is and allowed me to eventually own my own voice and style. Hearing “Strange Fruit” for the first time stopped me in my tracks and helped me realize the power I’ve been endowed with as a black woman. —Andra Day, singer, songwriter, and actress starring in the lead role in The United States vs. Billie Holiday

My big sister, Chinyere, has always been an inspiration to me. Growing up in the same Nigerian American household, she made bold and unique choices that showed me just how endless my options truly were. An M.D. with an MBA and an MFA, she is a brave, brilliant woman who empowers those around her to walk in their own truth and pursue their passions unapologetically. —Ego Nwodim, actress and comedian on the cast of Saturday Night Live