I put time and effort into my airport outfits. I always have. The night before my flight, I lay it out down to the socks and underwear at the foot of my bed like I did on nights before field trips in elementary school.
Cranberry sauce, air-fried potatoes and soup — here's three fall foods on our editors' minds.
Slow and steady, the old me died out like Juicy tracksuits from 2003.
I miss sitting next to total strangers, a pal or even a hot date, and watching scenes unfold on the big screen as I slurp down a large Diet Coke and, on special occasions, a pack of Red Vines.
Yes, my name is Rebecca, but friends call me Bex, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a hex, but I’m also not alone.
Are 20-year-olds allowed to call people old friends yet? If so, Tommy is an old friend. It was 2014, my freshman year of high school. Pink braces, plaid flats, side bangs and an unreasonable amount of confidence were the most notable things about me during this time. Skinny jeans, too much cologne, black vans and weed were the things most notable about Tommy during the same time.
Don’t let all of your beautiful going out clothes waste away in your closet. Quarantine sucks, but eating chicken with your family is way less annoying when you look fly. Give yourself any excuse to look dope during this time, because it made me feel a whole lot better than I did when I was chilling in my sweatpants all day.
This is “Thoughts from Quarantine,” a weekly series in which three of our editors will answer a variation of this simple question: “How are you feeling?” This week’s prompt is, “How are you feeling about being apart from your Oxford friends/significant others during self-quarantine?"
I am not a baker. I am not a cook. What I am is a lover of treats.