text: Rookie is an online magazine and book series for teenagers. Each month, a different editorial theme drives the writing, photography, and artwork that we publish. Learn more about us here , and find out how to submit your work here ! 
   
   “Whoa, impressive taste for a teen-girl mag!” 
   
   This comment, in one form or another, often gets directed at us on Twitter, especially on Friday nights, right after we post our weekly playlists. It’s also something I hear a lot in real life when I tell people—especially grown men—who I write for. “Wow!” they’ll say. “Good work, ladies!” Their surprise might be based on our staff’s working knowledge of punk rock history (yes, we know who the Wipers are) or on the fact that Rookie’s articles are actually thoughtful and well written, but it’s always condescending and insulting, and never itself much of a surprise. 
   
   I know I’m coming dangerously close to generalizing about ALL men in the exact same way I’m complaining that SOME men generalize about young women. There are, of course, many male critics who celebrate teen-girl fandom and our voices as cultural consumers and analysts and don’t roll their eyes when we gush about 1D or whatever. Thank you for that, dudes. But because men have more power across the board than women in our culture, they get the message, from birth, that their opinions about things are the Most Important Opinions. Whether they choose to believe this is up to them, but rejecting it is a lot harder than sitting back and enjoying it. 
   
   So I can hardly blame the many, many adult males who seem to have this cute assumption that all girls are dying for their approval of our cultural tastes, though we never actually asked for it. And I guess it’s kind of understandable that they might assume we have shitty taste—but I still don’t totally understand their need to vocally criticize us for liking the things we like. When Tavi posted a link to an excerpt of her Taylor Swift piece for The Believer, a highly detailed and laborious work of pure love for Swift’s music, a male cartoonist called her out for liking what sounded to him like “the soundtrack to getting a froyo and then stopping at Target for a new pair of Crocs.” Not that she asked him! 
   
   When I wrote a long piece for Buzzfeed about discovering Animal Collective and falling in love with them as a 12-year-old girl, dudes in the comments section made fun of my musical taste! Apparently my enthusiasm and knowledge meant nothing, because this band’s music wasn’t on the sacred list of Music Men Approve Of. And that’s just one example in a long history of criticisms lobbed against me and my apparent TEEN TASTES! Once, I was talking to an older male friend about the brilliance of Mean Girls, and he kept dismissing it as an airheaded comedy “for teens.” Obviously, he hadn’t seen it, because I think we all know that Mean Girls is a classic for people of any age. It wasn’t until I told him that the movie was written by Tina Fey that he seemed willing to reconsider his first reaction. Because 30 Rock is cool, but young women are NOT. 
   
   When you applaud or critique a young girl’s taste based on how well or badly it aligns with yours, you are suggesting that your taste = THE RIGHT TASTE, because you are the one IN THE KNOW. I sometimes rate movies on the website Mubi, and I can’t count the number of times an older male cinephile has urged me to rewatch a film I’ve given a low score to, because obviously I “didn’t understand it” the first time around. “How do you even know about this?” they sometimes ask. “You weren’t even born when this movie came out.” Dude: I have the internet. 
   
   This kind of cultural superiority complex extends to the makers of culture as well. For evidence, look at almost any piece written by a grown man about a young female artist. Here’s one: When Jody Rosen wrote about T. Swift for New York magazine, rather than ask this funny, smart, world-famous young pop star anything interesting about her work or her views on the world, he pitted her G-rated pop against Beyoncé’s and Rihanna’s more risqué work and let us know that Swift has never “writhed across a stage wearing a negligee, or less.” Rosen found Swift “witty,” “despite her public persona.” Because, what, cute girls can’t be funny? He marveled at the mostly female crowd at her concert for a full paragraph, but was careful to point out that there were “creepy dudes from Oklahoma” among the screaming young females, to illustrate…what? That Swift is so versatile that she appeals to both (a) females and (b) male creeps? The whole piece came across as the work of someone deeply out of their element. I mean, he described the male gaze as an “old feminist bugbear.” Why is this the person who was assigned to the Taylor Swift story? 
   
   Following the U.S. premiere of Chris Lilley’s television show Ja’mie: Private School Girl, which has Lilley playing a highly exaggerated mean-girl archetype, several think pieces popped up to criticize not the show itself (even though there was plenty to legitimately criticize, as a few smart writers did), but rather…the sorry state of REAL YOUNG WOMEN in the world. In one such article on The Atlantic’s website, Jake Flanagin took a look at a work of over-the-top campy fiction and posed, in all apparent sincerity, this question (about real people!): “Why are young women turning into monsters?” I repeat: monsters. Ooh, scary! I’m sure we’re a big threat to straight white men who write for magazines like The Atlantic, what with all our dangerous selfies and Snapchats and sexts. Flanagin went on to wonder whether the average viewer was smart enough to tell that the show is satire: “Presumably, Lilley poses this array of amusing insecurities and prejudices as a critical device, not face-value comedy,” he sniffed. “But it’s difficult to say whether the audience can discern the difference.” 
   
   As a member of that audience and a teenage girl (aka future monster), I’d like to ease his fears, at least on that last point: Teenage girls know that Ja’mie: Private School Girl is satire; it’s by Chris Lilley, for god’s sake. Have you ever met a teenage girl, Jake? We don’t act like Ja’mie. Just like how you, a guy in his 20s, don’t act like Van Wilder. Or so I assume (insert a thousand winks here). 
   
   I know I have a vested interest in this whole thing because I’m an aspiring cultural critic and a current young woman, but I think I speak for all girls and women between the ages of 13 and 19 when I say that grown-up male journalists are probably not the best choice to assign stories about teen-girl culture to (keeping in mind those aforementioned exceptions). What they come up with, too much of the time, is a lot of off-base and frankly clueless speculation about what girls think, what we do, what we want, and what we need. 
   
   It’s not these dudes’ fault that they believe they know everything. They were raised that way. But they really don’t know much about us at all. Here’s a tip for them: Next time you’re musing as to what girls are all about, try to shut up and listen. ♦ ||||| High schooler and creator of online magazine Rookie, Tavi Gevinson is busy fashioning a DIY media empire that speaks to teens. 
   
   Column One Tavi Gevinson rockets from Rookie to teen pop-culture heights High schooler and creator of online magazine Rookie, Tavi Gevinson is busy fashioning a DIY media empire that speaks to teens. 
   
   In her Beatlemania schoolgirl outfit — gray miniskirt, knee-highs and electric-blue suede shoes — Tavi Gevinson looks like any other fashion-obsessed teen as she wanders the crowded aisles of Los Angeles' American Rag Cie. 
   
   "I can't afford, like, anything here on my allowance," the 17-year-old says, scanning the store's horizon for any gems she might have missed. 
   
   She pulls out her iPhone and responds to a text. 
   
   Advertisement 
   
   "My dad, he'll be here in about half an hour to pick me up," she says, heading toward a carousel rack of vintage-image postcards — "the one thing I actually can afford!" 
   
   Gevinson is decisive as she plucks out certain moody postcards and quickly discards others. When the wobbly rack catches on the carpet and fails to turn, the petite Gevinson lifts the metal display and firmly plants it a few inches away, where it swirls freely. 
   
   "There" she says sweetly. "I'll take these four." After paying, Gevinson tucks the cards away in her floral backpack. "Now, what were we talking about again?" 
   
   One can forgive the high school senior for being a bit distracted. After flying in from Chicago, she was up late the night before finishing an essay. But the assignment wasn't for school. It was the editor's letter for Rookie, the online pop-culture magazine she started when she was 15; now she oversees a staff of about 80. There was also a photo shoot this morning, followed by a meeting with her agent and then another whirlwind shopping trip in Hollywood. 
   
   She will appear at Skylight Books later to sign copies of "Rookie Yearbook Two," an annual print anthology of Rookie's best online writing paired with original content from the likes of Lena Dunham, Mindy Kaling, Judy Blume and singer-songwriter Grimes. The store expects an adoring mob of teenage fans for Gevinson, called "the future of journalism" by no less than Lady Gaga. 
   
   Part Tina Brown, part Dorothy Parker, the quick-witted Gevinson has the ear — and Tumblr accounts — of a new generation of young women. Not to mention the eye of the media, the fashion world and, lately, Hollywood filmmakers. 
   
   She was just 11 when she started the Style Rookie fashion blog out of her Oak Park, Ill., bedroom. Soon she was sitting on the front lines of New York's Fashion Week. Fast-forward to 2013: appearances on "Late Night With Jimmy Fallon" and "The Colbert Report," international speaking engagements and a role in the film "Enough Said" opposite Julia Louis-Dreyfus. 
   
   With more than 4 million page views a month, Rookie is emerging as a DIY multiplatform media empire of sorts for Girl America. 
   
   The goal has become to make people feel included, that they're cool enough or smart enough.” — Tavi Gevinson Share this quote 
   
   "I'd felt like there wasn't a publication for teenagers that was respected. Or that I, myself, or my friends could really relate to," Gevinson says, settling into a booth at the cafe next door to American Rag, her creamy skin, crimson lipstick and blond bob giving her something of a "Ghost World"-era Scarlett Johansson quality. She slurps her lemonade. 
   
   "One thing I'm very proud of is that Rookie has a lot of legitimacy in publishing and music journalism and fashion. As it's grown, the goal has become more to make people feel included, that they're cool enough or smart enough." 
   
   Rookie beginnings 
   
   The original Style Rookie blog impressed journalist Anaheed Alani so much she offered unsolicited help. 
   
   "She emailed me and said: 'I work at the New York Times, and I will quit my job to help you,'" Gevinson says. "It was clear we were on the same wavelength. She's now second in command and my partner in a lot of ways." 
   
   Alani, 43, now Rookie's editorial director, has no issues working for a teenage boss. 
   
   "Tavi's one of the best bosses I've had," Alani says. "My rule for bosses and therapists is they have to be smarter than I am — and Tavi completely fits that bill." 
   
   An instant success when it launched in late 2011, Rookie now boasts jewelry and makeup ads and hosts in-person Rookie events in cities across the country, such as an Urban Outfitters-sponsored road trip last year that included crown-making workshops — Gevinson feels her now-signature floral crowns show "a pride in one's girliness." 
   
   In addition to material from the site, the Rookie yearbooks feature exclusive interviews with major pop cultural figures such as Morrissey, Chris Ware and Emma Watson; they're juxtaposed against personal essays by teens on universal issues such as sex, racism, friendship and feminism. 
   
   Boiled down, Gevinson's message might be "embrace yourself" — and it seems to be resonating. 
   
   "She's really, really popular with L.A. girls," says 16-year-old Xulani Akel, a sophomore at Los Angeles Center for Enriched Studies. "It's so amazing that she's so young and so successful. I'm worried about getting, like, one B, and she has this whole company thing that she's doing and that she really enjoys. That sets the bar really high!" 
   
   Fans at a bookstore 
   
   Skylight Books is filling up. The teen girls filter in, some wearing brightly colored floral headbands, others in swingy skirts and glittering prom crowns. Most carry a certain dog-eared book tucked under their arms as they swing between intensely focused and bubbling over with excitement. 
   
   Like a religious pilgrimage, many come bearing gifts cradled in their arms for Gevinson, who at the moment sits in the store's office loft, overlooking the main floor. Chitchatting with the two Rookie contributors who will be reading with her tonight, Gevinson looks very much her age. 
   
   "This'll be fun. Who wants to go first?" she asks them, as if the event were an impromptu school talent show. 
   
   Moments later, however, when Gevinson takes the podium before a now settled-in crowd of about 150 rapt girls, she is preternaturally poised as she faces the crowd. She holds her iPhone out in front of her with two hands, as if it were stiff essay paper, and reads off the screen in an adult, measured tone. 
   
   How is she able to ingest so much pop culture daily, interview her heroes, blog prolifically, write essays for Rookie and oversee her staff — all while attending high school? It's simple time management, she says earlier in the day, at the cafe on La Brea Avenue. 
   
   Gevinson spends nearly every sliver of downtime listening to podcasts or music — most recently Lorde, Taylor Swift and Kanye West — while walking to school, for example, or watching old episodes of "Freaks and Geeks" and "My So-Called Life" at night. Study hall, she says, is a perfect time to read other books she finds more relevant in the long run, like "Girl Power" by Marisa Meltzer. 
   
   Such efficiency, however, is not without sacrifice. 
   
   "There are compromises," Gevinson says. "Like there have been times when my grades have suffered or I can't visit my boyfriend when I'd like to because I have a number of interviews that day. But it's worth it." 
   
   Still, Gevinson's parents have made sure to keep her life "full of normal teenage stuff," says her father, Steve. She attends the local public high school and recently got an allowance increase. She doesn't yet earn a salary from Rookie — though that may change soon, he says, as the site becomes more profitable — and speaking engagement fees go into her savings. The total sum of her liquid assets from day to day is her allowance: $25 a week. 
   
   She left the room and I said, 'I want her.'” — "Enough Said" director Nicole Holofcener Share this quote 
   
   "It's a nice little fiction that we're living out because she has this bank account," he says. "But she likes living that way. We like her living that way." 
   
   Like many proud "pop culture nerds," Gevinson has a not-so-subtle obsessive streak. She might get up at 3 a.m. to rearrange all her books, she says, and not only journals her life's every happening, from monumental to mundane, but also "curates" her peripheral pop culture experiences to match her moods. 
   
   "Sophomore year I had my heart broken by a boy. I loved the feeling of heartbreak with dressing in nightgowns from the '70s, lighting candles and listening to Heart and Carole King," she says. "I documented it all. It's like making a bunch of little movies. It makes me feel like I'm in control and everything has a place in the world." 
   
   These days, Gevinson's mood is often a mix of excitement and trepidation. She's awaiting graduation in May and has applied to New York University, Barnard, Brown and Wesleyan — though she'd like to take a year off first to live in New York and focus on Rookie as well as other creative ventures, such as acting. 
   
   "Enough Said" director Nicole Holofcener has no trouble envisioning Gevinson as a movie star. 
   
   "Tavi walked in [to auditions], this little lovely thing, an angel with red lips and pink cheeks," Holofcener says. "She was maybe more nervous than someone who's been in a million films, but that nervousness was so natural and vulnerable and sweet. She left the room and I said, 'I want her.'" 
   
   How does all this high-profile success translate in the halls, on an everyday basis, at school in suburban Illinois? 
   
   Stirring the straw in her lemonade, Gevinson plays down her success, insisting that most kids at her school are either unaware of her growing fame or they don't particularly care. 
   
   Suddenly, three eager heads poke out of a nearby booth, their hands waving furiously at Gevinson. "Hi, Tavi!" they squeal in unison. "We love you." 
   
   Gevinson shrugs and breaks into a little-girl smile herself, giggling at the absurdity. "Oh, I guess they recognize me," she says. 
   
   On her way out of the cafe, Gevinson pauses at the door. 
   
   "I just hate 'voice of a generation' stuff," she says, balking at the suggestion. "You put someone on a pedestal and of course they can't represent all of feminism or all people their age or whatever." 
   
   And with that, Gevinson scurries out to the parking lot to meet her dad, her books and notes for the evening's reading bundled in her arms. 
   
   Contact the reporter 
   
   Follow Deborah Vankin(@debvankin) on Twitter 
   
   Follow @latgreatreads on Twitter ||||| Rookie is an online magazine and book series for teenagers. Each month, a different editorial theme drives the writing, photography, and artwork that we publish. Learn more about us here , and find out how to submit your work here ! 
   
   When the movie Shallow Hal came out in theaters, I didn’t know how to articulate why I didn’t find it as funny as my friends did. Why I, 11 years old in a baggy T-shirt and squeezed into my cinema seat, wanted to hide, while everyone around me guffawed at the onscreen hijinks. But now I know: That was the first time I looked at a movie screen and saw an image that looked like me. And that image fucking sucked. 
   
   For those of you who haven’t seen it, let me save you the pain: Shallow Hal is about a guy called Hal who falls in love with Rosemary, a fat woman played by Gwyneth Paltrow in a fat suit. The “joke” is that Hal has been hypnotized to see Rosemary as thin, but everyone else knows her true size. She breaks every chair she sits on and her cannonballs empty a swimming pool (LOLOLOL fat people, amirite? Why do they even bother leaving the house!), but he thinks she’s hot. When Hal finally sees her as she really is, he becomes a better man and learns not to judge people on appearances—because he fell in love with a fat girl he thought was thin and therefore learned that fat people actually have brains and hearts and feelings and personalities! What a hero! 
   
   The reactions Gwyneth’s character got from people (aside from Hal) were very familiar to me. I’ve gotten the same reactions all my life: at the pool or at the food court or in the school gym or on a plane when I, too, had the gall to be FIP (fat in public). This movie, though not deep or heartfelt, also touches on something that is very real for a lot of fat girls: the idea that a thin, pretty version of yourself exists underneath your fat, and if you only bothered to excavate her, you might be happy/loved/successful. I call this the “but you’ve got such a pretty face” syndrome, based on comments I’ve heard my entire life—from relatives, from movies, from TV—that say in no uncertain terms, “You’re not good enough now, but with a little work, you could be.” 
   
   We (people, women, Rookie) talk a lot about media representations of women and how they affect the lives of real, nonfamous women and girls. We celebrate Beyoncé’s power and her unapologetic, take-no-prisoners attitude (in her life and her art) and the messages these things send to young girls. We talk about the pressure that unrealistic beauty ideals in magazines and other mass media puts on girls, and how that affects their self-esteem. But it’s harder to talk about the way fat women are represented on TV and in film, and how these representations affect fat women (like me) IRL, because there are so few examples of our being seen as anything besides walking, talking truffle-shuffle jokes. It’s hard to work out how to do something properly when it’s so rarely been done at all. And it’s really, really hard to be OK with your body when you’re constantly being reminded that it’s something for other people to laugh at. 
   
   The “pretty face” message was stunningly, heartbreakingly brought to the screen in episode two of the British TV series My Mad Fat Diary, one of very few shows on the air ever that have featured an authentic and multidimensional fat female character. In this episode, that character, Rae Earl, a 16-year-old girl, has just been released from a psychiatric hospital following a suicide attempt. We see her get into an argument with her best friend Chloe (who is thin, conventionally beautiful, and outgoing), then we see her weigh herself and hear bits from her diary in voiceover: “I am a body dysmorphic, without the dysmorphic. I am bulimic without the sick. I am fat.” What follows is a dream sequence in which Rae lowers a zipper that runs down her back and sheds her “fat self,” revealing a curvy lingerie model underneath. She drags her flabby shell down the stairs, takes it into the backyard, and sets it on fire. 
   
   I followed Rae’s story obsessively throughout the show’s first season, because I saw so many memories in it of my own teenage years. When Rae lies down on the grass near the boy she likes, tugs at her T-shirt, and positions her hands across her stomach in a subtle attempt to hide its size, I replay in my mind scenes of myself doing those exact same things. When Rae struggles to find a swimsuit to wear to a pool party, I’m transported back to tear-filled changing rooms, where I relive my terror at the thought of anyone from school seeing me without my clothes on. 
   
   But Rae is more than her insecurities and issues. She loves music and tells jokes. She’s a supportive friend and occasionally acts out as a bratty teenager. To me, Rae is a wonderful fat female character because her weight is important to her back story, but it’s never more important than her obsessive love of Madchester bands or her kind, sensitive personality. She makes us laugh by telling jokes, not by eating, struggling to walk, falling over, breaking chairs, or doing other Fat Person Things. She is Rae first, fat later. 
   
   In this, Rae is kind of the inverse of the roles Rebel Wilson has been playing lately. After appearing briefly (but memorably) in Bridesmaids (more on that movie later), Wilson went on to star in the a cappella comedy Pitch Perfect, in the dark comedy Bachelorette, and on her own TV series, Super Fun Night, which is on the air now. In those three roles, Wilson’s weight informs her character. Pitch Perfect’s Fat Amy hates exercise and, in the movie’s uplifting climax, tells the thin girls on her singing team that she loves them because they have “fat hearts.” Becky, Wilson’s character in Bachelorette, is a mope whose friends tread all over her and tear her wedding dress in half when two of them get inside it and express their jealous disbelief that she’s about to marry a handsome guy. Kimmie Boubier, Wilson’s character in Super Fun Night, is the butt of almost every joke (many of them about Spanx—I counted five in the first episode alone). 
   
   I wanted to love this show, just like I wanted to love Pitch Perfect (I did love Bachelorette, despite its characters’ awful treatment of Becky, because I find Adam Scott singing “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” irresistible, and I love seeing Kirsten Dunst being a hot mess), but they both just left me feeling shortchanged—especially Super Fun Night. After all the years of crappy role models, I was so psyched to see an actress—who, like me, is a fat Australian girl obsessed with Salt-N-Pepa and improv comedy—make it to the top of the comedy world, where she could’ve pitched any show she wanted to. Imagine my disappointment when I saw her, Super Fun Night’s star and one of its writers and executive producers, telling the world to keep laughing at the miserable fat girl who loses the handsome love interest to her skinny rival. ||||| Rookie is an online magazine and book series for teenagers. Each month, a different editorial theme drives the writing, photography, and artwork that we publish. Learn more about us here , and find out how to submit your work here ! 
   
   Rookie is no longer publishing new content , but we hope you'll continue to enjoy the archives , or books , and the community you've helped to create. Thank you for seven very special years! ✴ 
   
   Although she had no music out at this time last year, by now Lorde requires no introduction. Seventeen years old, from New Zealand, with a richly hushed voice that she lays over minimal beats—you’ve heard all this. You’ve probably also heard her portrayed as some kind of alpha-Daria. According to one YouTube commenter (I SWEAR I WASN’T READING YOUTUBE COMMENTS, THIS ONE WAS ALREADY AT THE TOP OF THE PAGE), “She’s like that awkward-ass girl in the back of your class lol.” According to many of the writers who have profiled her, she’s the patron saint of Weird Girls Everywhere. 
   
   What these people don’t realize is that her reach goes far beyond a very hip sect on Tumblr. In fact, Lorde’s song “Royals” was #1 on the radio for nine weeks straight. Her debut album, Pure Heroine, got her four Grammy nominations. She is not niche. She is huge. But despite the commercial and critical success of her music, and the fact that she was signed to Universal at the age of 13, Lorde is continually portrayed as an underdog. Adult journalists tend to see only “edgy”-looking outsiders in the backs of classrooms identifying with her music, and totally miss the fact that hordes of snapchatting normies understand her, too, and vice versa. This is not only because they tend to underestimate Lorde’s ability to appeal to the masses. They also underestimate the capacity of “normal” teenagers to appreciate thoughtful, unflashy music. 
   
   Sure, Lorde dresses like a witch and drips with sarcasm in interviews. Her best-known song denounces the materialism that other artists show off, and other ones say things like, “I’ll let you in on something big: I’m not a white-teeth teen.” But they also declare, “I’m little, but I’m coming for the crown. I’m little, but I’m coming for the title held by everyone who’s up.” And “We’re bigger than we ever dreamed, and I’m in love with being queen.” And “I’m doing this for the thrill of it, killing it, never not chasing the million things I want. And I am only as young as the minute is, full of it, getting pumped up on the little bright things I bought.” Do not for one second mistake her stoicism for self-deprecation, or think it’s only goth girls who relate. 
   
   The album is a delightful cluster of such contradictions: Lorde is content with the world she’s created for herself but eager to make waves in the one outside. Bored by the suburbs but endlessly in love with them. Critical of the other songs on the radio but wondering if she’s any better (follow up a listen to “Royals” with “Still Sane”: “Only bad people live to see their likeness set in stone—what does that make me?”). 
   
   It’s also insanely beautiful. A thorough listen feels like driving with shadows shifting across your face, quiet and thoughtful, in a car full of rowdier friends. Lorde elevates her suburban experiences to the level of mythology, becoming an empress surrounded by hounds, marking underpasses as her territory. She fixates on blood and veins as well as on the simple wonder of connecting with someone and wanting to experience everything with them. You can tell by the sound of her haunting voice that she means every word, and that she knows she’s on the edge of erupting, as if to say: I’ve been taking notes and keeping secrets, and I want to share them with you now. 
   
   I met Ella (her given name) in October, after we’d both discovered via online interviews and social media that we shared a mutual admiration (she’s a Rookie!), so this interview got pretty conversational, but I liked that we could talk to each other as peers. We gave it a try on the night we met, but we were on a noisy restaurant rooftop and my recorder wasn’t working. (I was also nervous about meeting her and embarrassed when she called me out for humming “Royals” under my breath subconsciously.) (She was nice about it.) (It is a really catchy song.) She was generous enough to agree to a do-over last month, and we talked for over two hours on Skype. She addressed, among other things, the pervasive line that journalists dole out about her: “While I dress and talk somewhat differently from other people whose songs are in the Top 40, I feel like more people dress like me than the media makes out.” Instead of letting a few random sartorial choices narrow our expectations of music and music listeners, let us appreciate what Lorde’s popularity says about all sorts of people, which is the only way to describe her demographic. And let us see what she has to say for herself, right here. 
   
   TAVI: How does it feel to be home right now? 
   
   LORDE: It feels really good. I’m definitely not on holiday yet—I’ve been writing outlines for what I want to happen onstage for the tour and the next music video and this, like, big TV performance I’ve got coming up. It’s not work, per se, but—yeah, work. 
   
   I’m curious, because I love what I do, but it is also a job, and everyone at times doesn’t like their job. What do you do when it starts to feel too much like work? 
   
   Often I’m able to work on my own timeline—I’ll give myself enough time that if I don’t feel like doing something, I can wait and do it a few days later or whatever. 
   
   That’s good. I want to start out by saying that what I want to do with this is…I’m in a unique position in interviewing you because we’re the same age– 
   
   Holla. 
   
   And I feel like everything I read about you is like grown men writing— 
   
   Oh my god, that tweet you made where you were like, “She laces her Converse…” I was like, “This is so accurate!” There’s a definite viewpoint of the think piece by an adult writing about kids. 
   
   "She giggles, lacing her Chuck Taylors. She may be famous, but she's still just a kid." -end of every profile of a well-known young person — Tavi Gevinson (@tavitulle) November 4, 2013 
   
   It’s true! The end is always like, “She does [this childlike thing] but she also does [this adultlike thing]. Whoa!” 
   
   Mine is “She squeals…” 
   
   Yeah! That’s what I’d just read when I wrote that! Or, no, it was a profile of Saoirse Ronan where they were like, “Then she’s just a kid in her Keds…” 
   
   [Laughs] Yeah, so terrible. 
   
   So I just want this to be, like…a lot of our readers really relate to you, and I want this to be for them. Not music-journalism-y or about “the pop music landscape.” 
   
   Aw, yeah, yuck. Well, this is fun! ||||| The Wonder Years (1988–1993, ABC) 
   
   This series was set in the 1960s and aired in the 1980s, but I first watched it as reruns in the late ’90s, which I think proves that it is truly timeless. It follows Kevin Arnold, played by Fred Savage, as he navigates the transition from sixth grade to high school. Unlike shows that actually aired in the 1960s, The Wonder Years shows growing up in the suburbs for what it really is: underwhelming, haunting, and hilarious all at the same time. Kevin is obsessed with this girl named Winnie Cooper, who is the ultimate girl-next-door (and is played by the real-life math whiz Danica McKellar). Winnie is friendly and beautiful, yet smart and kinda elusive. Honestly, I wish this the show would have been about Winnie. She is my ultimate style icon (you can catch her sporting short bangs, cat-eye glasses, and overalls in the pilot episode alone). My parents both grew up in the ’60s and would always say really nostalgic stuff when we’d watch this together, and I’d be all, “Ugh, guys, shut up!” But now just thinking about the opening credits to this show makes me want to cry wistful tears. —Gabby 
   
   Seven Minutes in Heaven (1985) 
   
   In my experience, a lot of the movies you adored as a kid don’t really hold up when you revisit them five or 10 years later. But having recently watched this for the first time since the ’90s, I can say with utmost confidence that Seven Minutes in Heaven is ONE OF THE BEST TEEN MOVIES EVER. It’s a quiet, realistic depiction of the murky entanglements between best friends and first loves. A 15-year-old Jennifer Connelly plays the quiet, studious Natalie, who is smart but is still trying to figure people out. When her dad goes away to a conference, she immediately allows her best male friend, Jeff, to crash at her parentless place after he fights with his own stepdad. Their cohabitation is terribly innocent, though it’s clear that Jeff is hopelessly in love with Natalie. Many mortifying things happen—like when she accidentally walks in on him in the bathroom and realizes what shacking up truly means. Meanwhile, Natalie’s best friend Polly (played by the awesome Maddie Corman) is less interested in love and devotion than good old-fashioned s-e-x, especially after a random encounter with a pro baseball player (and underwear model). The dialogue is so sweet and realistic, with Jennifer Connelly constantly dropping jewels like, “Parents and kids always fight. It’s the way of the world.” I could live inside this movie. —Julianne 
   
   This Christmas (2007) 
   
   Named after Donny Hathaway’s classic song, This Christmas follows the Whitfield family as they reunite for the holidays for the first time in four years. Ma’Dere’s children return to her quiet home with a whole lot of skeletons jingling noisily in their closets—with the exception of Baby (played by a still sweet-faced Chris Brown). Quentin’s on the run, Claude has two major secrets, Melanie’s got a new boo, and there’s some turbulence between career-driven, single Kelli and married Lisa, whose husband, Malcolm, is rather shady. The Whitfield kids work through the difficulties within and among themselves, and the warm-fuzzies-inducing moral of the story is that the bonds of family, trust, and love are the most important things of all. A part of me watches this movie every year for the epic baby-oil, belt, and shower scene (it’s not what you think!) with Lisa and Malcolm. Another part of me watches for all the eye candy, including Lauren London, who plays Melanie. But mostly, each year I look forward to watching Baby’s golden rendition of Otis Redding’s “Try A Little Tenderness,” which is easily one of the most memorable moments in the film. —Nova 
   
   Angel (1999–2004, the WB) 
   
   Angel was born out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy fans know Angel as the vampire with a soul, which was the result of a gypsy curse. He feels crushing guilt for his days as Angelus, one of the most ruthless vampires in Europe, and to help alleviate it, he works with Buffy to fight the big BAD. They also fall in love, and when that relationship ends somewhat disastrously, he heads to demon-filled L.A. and opens Angel Investigations to continue fighting evil. I came to both Buffy and Angel late, checking them both out for the first time just last year. On the advice of my brother, I watched them in tandem, and while you’d probably get the most out of Angel that way because of the character crossover, it totally stands on its own. Two of my favorite characters are wholly original to Angel: Lorne, the demon lounge singer, and Fred, a physicist who was trapped in a demon dimension for five years (played by Amy Acker, one of my favorite actresses ever). All of the characters are multi-faceted—they’re dark and dramatic, as well as comedic. And that’s what I love most about Angel: Its premise, about finding redemption, is serious, but there are a lot of downright hilarious moments. It’s Joss Whedon doing what he does best! I really wish this show could have lasted forever, but at least it has eternal life on Netflix. —Stephanie 
   
   Jeux d’enfants (2003) 
   
   Jeux d’enfants aka Love Me If You Dare tells the tale of Julien (Guillaume Canet) and Sophie (Marion Cotillard), friends who begin a mischievous game of dares as children (Julien pees in the principal’s office!) that follows them into high school (Sophie wears a bra over a T-shirt during a class presentation!). As they become adults, it finally escalates into a sadistic competition that also is an excuse for them to stay connected to each other—possibly forever. If you’re a fan of unconventional love stories and the whimsy of movies like Amélie, put Jeux d’enfants in your queue immediately! You will either be charmed, irritated, or, hopefully, a little bit of both. Fun fact: Canet and Cotillard actually fell in love while making this movie and are still together today. —Marie 
   
   A Christmas Story (1983) 
   
   A Christmas Story will always be synonymous with the holidays for me because it’s been a favorite of my parents since they were young. I’ve watched it almost every winter for as far back as I can remember, and because its protagonist, a grade-schooler named Ralphie, is so hilarious, it never gets old. I’d watch as he groans about his father’s questionable taste in home decor (e.g. the iconic fishnet-clad lamp leg that is the center of one the movie’s plot lines), grimly dons a bunny suit gifted to him by a relative that thinks it’s just soooo cute, and, most crucially, pines for a BB gun (the gift he most wishes will appear beneath the tree) regardless of the season—although, of course, it’s best around this time of year. This movie is a perfect portrait of exactly what’s most exasperating AND most wonderful about being part of a family, which is why I love to watch it with my folks so much. See it with someone close to you, and “You’ll shoot your eye out!” will become a phrase that’s much warmer-feeling than it sounds. —Amy Rose 
   
   Torchwood (2006–2011, BBC; 2011, Starz) 
   
   I first found out about Torchwood while listening to a discussion panel about the show at San Diego Comic-Con. I had never seen an episode of this Doctor Who spin-off (Torchwood is an anagram of Doctor Who), so I didn’t understand what the hell anyone was talking about as storylines and character motives were being dissected by diehard fans and the show’s crew. All I knew was that John Barrowman, the only actor from the cast on the panel, was the most charismatic person I’d ever been in the same room with. Based entirely on this guy’s candor and amazing smile, I bought the two seasons of the show that were available at the time. The gamble paid off because Barrowman’s charm comes across in every scene he’s in. But it’s not just him: This whole sci-fi drama, about a group of people tracking down aliens on Earth, is just incredible. The Torchwood team, including the immortal Captain Jack Harkness (Barrowman) and new recruit Gwen (Eve Myles—who is just as captivating as Barrowman), deal with things like underground alien fight clubs, otherworldly technology that resurrects the dead, and cannibals. You get all of the mystery and adventure that make this genre so much fun, but the show is just as much about humanity and mortality as it is about extraterrestrials and the supernatural. In Torchwood: Miracle Day, the show’s fourth season, human death in the world stops, which causes all kinds of practical and philosophical problems. It’s pretty common these days for sci-fi shows and movies to have some sort of existential theme (you know, like using aliens to make a point about what it means to be human). But when characters on Torchwood confront things like death, which of course can be dramatic and entertaining, it’s done in a way that inspires genuine sympathy and introspection. —Amber 
   
   The NeverEnding Story (1984) 
   
   Sorry, I can’t see. My eyes are filling with tears…like every time I even think about this goddamn movie! The NeverEnding Story starts with a little boy, Bastian, who is being bullied at school. One day, he’s drawn to a mysterious book in a dark little shop; he swipes it behind the owner’s back, and then his adventure BEGINS. Squirrelled away in his school’s attic, he spends the day reading about a world called Fantasia where the borders are disappearing into a malevolent force called The Nothing. Fantasia’s ruler, the Childlike Empress, is ill because of The Nothing, and she summons the child warrior Atreyu to discover and banish the source of this danger. From the scenes of Bastian skipping school to read a book (MY FANTASY) to the wondrous characters—the beautiful and wise Childlike Empress, Falkor the flying dragon, and a giant bat that continually falls asleep—this film entranced me as a child. Throw in a magical amulet, the idea that every child (and their imagination) is important, and an amazing theme song (Limahl’s ’80s classic “The Neverending Story”), and you’ve got a film that will stick with me for life. —Estelle 
   
   Nirvana: MTV Unplugged in New York (1993, MTV; 2007, DVD release) 
   
   Most bands in the ’90s that went on MTV’s acoustic performance series, MTV Unplugged, did versions of their greatest hits, but not Nirvana. Aside from “Come As You Are” and “All Apologies,” the band went with their lesser known-material (they opened with “About a Girl,” which Kurt introduced by saying, “This is off our first record, most people don’t own it”) and an incredible selection of largely unknown cover songs (like the Meat Puppets’ “Lake of Fire”). The episode initially aired right around this time of year, and to me, a 14-year-old Nirvana fan, it was like a Christmas present from the band. It proved they could be just as powerful with all the distortion stripped away—and Krist Novoselic playing an accordion! Four months later, when Kurt Cobain committed suicide, MTV played the episode nonstop, and it became the performance that immortalized him. It feels strangely prescient, and the song choices (“Jesus Doesn’t Want Me for a Sunbeam” by the Vaselines, “The Man Who Sold the World” by David Bowie) and white stargazer lilies and black candles decorating the set are all eerie to take in now. But there are so many moments that are pure, beautiful Kurt, like when he forces a smile, chastises himself for screwing up a song, and jokes with his bandmates (“What are they tuning back there? A harp?”). My favorite songs are his solo version of the band’s “Pennyroyal Tea” and the cover of Lead Belly’s “Where Did You Sleep Last Night.” The moment during the last chorus, around 4:46 in this video, when he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes wide is EVERYTHING to me. —Stephanie 
   
   Home for the Holidays (1995) 
   
   Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, so it makes sense that my favorite holiday movie is a Thanksgiving movie—one of a genre that clearly needs more love. Home for the Holidays, directed by Jodie Foster, stars Holly Hunter as a big-city art restorer who, yep, goes home to her parents’ house to eat some turkey just as her own life is falling apart: She gets fired from her job, her love life is nonexistent, and her teenage daughter (Claire Danes in full-on My So-Called Life mode) is planning to lose her virginity. Anne Bancroft, one of modern cinema’s sexiest women, plays Hunter’s mother in a chain-smoking, wig-wearing, decidedly unglamorous part. Robert Downey, Jr. is Hunter’s brother, and even though RDJ has said he barely remembers making the movie because he was so high during its filming, I still find his goofiness totally charming. The reason this movie is so good is because it feels wonderfully true to life. Are any of us ever really adults when we’re at our parents’ house? I don’t think so. There’s a romance in there, too, but that part doesn’t even matter—it’s all about being in the kitchen with your siblings at midnight, talking about how crazy your parents are, and gorging on leftovers. —Emma S 
   
   The Family Stone (2005) 
   
   This is one of my favorite holiday movies and maybe one of my favorite movies, period. It’s Christmas, and the grown Stone children are converging on their parents’ cozily decorated New England home, which you’ll probably wish you could live in or at least snoop around. Some of my favorite actors play the Stones: Diane Keaton is the matriarch, Craig T. Nelson is the dad, Luke Wilson is the slacker brother, Rachel McAdams is the cynical sis, and Dermot Mulroney is Everett, the Good-Looking One. Everett brings his new fiancée Meredith (played by Sarah Jessica Parker) home for the holidays, and let’s just say the Stones aren’t warming up to her. What follows is a story of awkward encounters, clashing ‘tudes, and general mayhem. The Family Stone is better than other films about crazy, family-oriented Christmas antics, though, because of the performances. The snark-levels are high with Wilson, McAdams, and Keaton’s characters, and they make great foils to Parker’s uptight Meredith. Not to mention the family dynamics in the movie are just straight-up real. Those weird political conversations that happen at every fucking holiday gathering? This movie hits that nail right on the head in a particularly cringe-worthy scene in which Meredith explains her feelings regarding homosexuality and what’s “normal” to the family’s gay son Thad and his partner, Patrick. In The Family Stone, Christmas isn’t sugarplums and fairies: it’s children getting older and the strain of family politics. Oh, and Claire Danes makes an appearance as Meredith’s charming younger sister! Just watch it, folks. —Hazel ♦
target: – Tavi Gevinson became a fixture in the fashion world at age 11, thanks to her blog Style Rookie. Today, she's 17 and running Rookie, an online magazine delving into everything from pop culture to feminist issues to love to body image to celebrity interviews. Tavi and Rookie have come a long way since the magazine launched in 2011. Tavi now oversees an 80-person staff; the magazine's 43-year-old editorial director quit her job at the New York Times to come work for the teen. "My rule for bosses and therapists is they have to be smarter than I am—and Tavi completely fits that bill," Anaheed Alani tells the Los Angeles Times. Tavi also does book signings (Rookie puts out a print anthology of its best work, plus new content, each year), speaking engagements, and photo shoots; she's been interviewed by Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Fallon; she even had a role in the film Enough Said. But she's also a senior at a public high school in suburban Illinois who has to get by on a $25-a-week allowance. (She's not yet drawing a salary from Rookie, though it gets more than 4 million page views a month and features jewelry and makeup ads; her dad says she may start getting paid soon.) Of the magazine, she says, "The goal has become more to make people feel included, that they're cool enough or smart enough." The Times' full profile is worth a read.