| | Lenny is Hiring! | Lenny is looking to hire an editorial assistant, social-media lover, and cultural omnivore to join our small team in Brooklyn; in particular, we are looking for someone who has an interest in politics. This individual should thrive in a fast-paced environment and should take any task that comes their way with a positive, can-do attitude; they should be a self-starter and motivated to learn and grow. We're looking for someone who considers organization and time-management to be strong skillsets. Duties will include producing stories on lennyletter.com, managing our Lit Thursday column, overseeing some of our social media accounts, including Facebook and Twitter, contributing fresh story ideas, and generally supporting the edit team in the day-to-day operation of running a newsletter. This person will have the opportunity to grow into more of a writing and editing role as other responsibilities become more seamless. Qualifications include one to two years of relevant editorial experience, including internships. This is a paid position. Please send your resumes to jobs@lennyletter.com with the subject line EDITORIAL ASSISTANT. | | | | |  Illustration by Anna Pipes | When I was seventeen, I begged and pleaded with my mom to let me get a spray tan before my senior prom. My mother didn’t understand why I, a black girl, needed a spray tan, but I knew if I was going to be remembered for one thing in high school, it was going to be that I was radiant as fuck. Every single year (even now), there’s a period in and after winter where my skin looks dull, dry, and ghostly and I’m counting down the days until summer. It was very important for me to look like late-summertime me all year round. I aspired to glow like Nia Long, J.Lo, Gabrielle Union … literally any black woman whose skin glistened from the months of June to August. I did end up achieving my radiant prom look, though, at seventeen, I realized the high-maintenance tan life wasn’t for me: Spray-tanning took much longer than I thought, and the whole time I was shivering. My “tan” also came out uneven (which, thankfully, my dress mostly covered). Did people really do this on a regular basis? I was not interested. I left spray-tanning behind, but I still have the same luminescent aspirations every summer. I want my skin to glow with the postcoital dewiness that we’ve all been conditioned to believe is real. I want my cheeks to be as flushed as if I’ve just run a marathon (which I don’t have any plans to do). I want my shoulders and legs to beam IRL and in photographs like I’m a heavenly being whose sole purpose on Earth is to shine. And I want to get it with as little effort as possible. I’m the kind of person who cancels plans if they feel too far from my house. Making tanning appointments, trying to apply lotion evenly, trying not to stain my sheets — it’s not gonna happen. So I’ve made it my mission to find the right routine to get that dewy glow that will make all my ex-boyfriends send me “Hey, stranger” texts. Here’s my lazy, anyone-can-do-it guide to looking radiant as fuck this summer. Yes, Exfoliate: Getting rid of your dead skin and deep-cleaning your pores isn’t just for the winter. Exfoliating is a year-round commitment — and you’ll be rewarded with silky, smooth skin, an even complexion, and unclogged pores (anyone who tells you that you can make your pores smaller is a scammer). Think of summertime exfoliation as the essential prep for your dewy new look. Start with the face. I’m in a very serious relationship with chemical exfoliators, but do what’s best for you. Currently, I’m using BioGen Gauze Peeling Lemon Pads, Son & Park Beauty Water, and Tarte’s Knockout. For physical exfoliants, one of my good girlfriends with covetable skin raves about Tatcha Rice Enzyme Powder, and I’ve always been a fan of Kate Somerville’s Intensive Exfoliating Treatment. Then, onto the body. Dry-brushing is tedious, but the results (after consistent use) are so worth it. I use one by Organic Pharmacy before I shower. Also, MAKE YOUR OWN SCRUB; after doing so myself (OK, it was only once, but still), I realized how easy it is: just add coconut oil, some Epsom salts or brown sugar, and essential oils, and voilà — you saved $40. Stay Hydrated: One thing I hate is reading beauty stories where women with seemingly perfect skin say that all they do is “Drink lots and lots of water.” That’s a lie. There’s no way to get intensely hydrated skin by just drinking water (though it is important for your body to be properly hydrated, especially as the weather warms up). So, yes, drink water. (And if you want an extra boost, maybe add a collagen-boosting supplement, like this one from Beauty Chef that helps to increase your skin’s elasticity and brightness.) But also, make sure what you’re putting on your skin is hydrating too. Hyaluronic acid (HA) is the most important ingredient to add to your routine — it’s like a sponge, penetrating the skin’s surface and retaining tons of water. For the face, try a serum like Noid’s Multi-Molecular Hyaluronic Complex or Paula’s Choice Hyaluronic Acid Booster. For the body, the Chemistry Brand sells a tub of hyaluronic acid to use before you moisturize. Look for water-based products, as most of them contain HA. Ceramides are another important ingredient to add to your skin-care routine. They are lipids that are already found in our skin but over time decrease from sun damage and aging; adding them back into the skin helps us retain moisture and protects our skin cells. I am a huge fan of Dr. Jart’s Ceramide cream and liquid. Moisturize: It doesn’t matter how much I exfoliate or hydrate my skin, if I walk out of the house ashy, all that work was basically for nothing. lt would be a disgrace to both Nia Long and my mom. I always moisturize at night because I can get as greasy as I want and let it all sink in while I sleep. I have super-dry skin, so I like to double up: First, I moisturize with a body oil right after I shower. I’ve been using Everyday Oil for three months, and I get compliments on the scent at least once a week. (You can also use it in your hair and as a facial cleanser.) Oils don’t moisturize the skin on their own, but combined with a lotion or cream, it’s the perfect hydration-moisture cocktail. I like to put on African shea butter (I recently made my own mixture and added a hint of coconut oil) or a body lotion — my go-to is Nivea. For my face, I do the same routine morning and night. I like a light face oil like the Ordinary’s Marula Oil and a peptide-heavy cream like Jordan Samuel’s Performance Cream. Protect Your Skin: I know, I know: sunscreen is important for many reasons. But I only really started wearing it after I learned that it helps to prevent wrinkles. It’s also the most important step in getting that summer glow, because it’s actually protecting your skin from UV rays (which is especially important if you’re exfoliating, because your skin is practically brand new). I apply SPF to my face every morning. I’ve been using La Roche-Posay Dry Touch Sunscreen for the past two years. It’s lightweight (and doesn’t leave white residue) and waterproof. I admit I don’t wear SPF on my body every day, but if I know I’m going to be in the sun for extended hours, I’ll use Palmer’s Cocoa Butter SPF, which is both protective and moisturizing. Cheat (Well, Only a Little): Now that you’ve got all the boring skin-care necessities down, it’s time to have a little fun — I’m talking shimmer, highlight, repeat all over. Since I am wayyy too lazy to apply any kind of sunless tanner and I tan easily in the summer (if you don’t: Dr. Dennis Gross has some great tanning towelettes that also exfoliate — I use these in the winter), I play with makeup to add a little more shine. The most important body parts to focus on are the cheekbones, legs, eyelids, clavicle, and shoulders. I forego foundation most of the summer (because, again, I’m lazy), but an illuminating tinted moisturizer like Bare Minerals or Laura Mercier is the perfect solution. Apply some Nuxe Dry Oil With Golden Shimmer or, for even more glow, NARS Mono Body Glow to the legs, shoulders, and clavicle. I haven’t tried Fenty Beauty’s Body Lava, but Rihanna did make a song with the lyric “Shine bright like a diamond,” and have you ever seen her look dull? Girl knows how to shine. For the daytime, I want a more dewy face — glossy lids, flushed cheeks, angelic subtle highlight. If I want to blind my haters, I up the gold factor — a bronzer, a golden highlight like Fenty Beauty’s Killawatt (it can also be applied to the eyes), some punchy blush, a colorful eyeliner. Also, do not leave the house without these two things: some type of misting spray (Supergoop has one with SPF, which is perfect for the beach, and Jordan Samuel has one with hyaluronic acid) and a shiny lip gloss like Glossier’s. Tahirah Hairston is a beauty enthusiast who just shaved her head — so is trying to get more into eye makeup. | | | | |  Illustration by Alice Mollon | Seventh grade was the most traumatic year of my life. My best friends suddenly turned on me in favor of the “cool group,” and I was left eating lunch alone in the band room. My body was morphing into a weird mixture of woman and teddy bear, and I felt like I belonged on a shtetl. And at my Bat Mitzvah, the moment I was meant to be “coming out” as a “woman,” I stalked around like a skittish rat in a sparkly tube top from Bebe. Seeing how desperate I was, my parents let me attend a new school the following year: one that was less stressful, more creative, and had a kick-ass theater program. I was the kid who earnestly wore a comedy/tragedy necklace, who dreamed of starring on Broadway, who listened only to original-cast recordings of Rent, Gypsy, and Kiss of the Spider Woman, and who forced my parents to let me get headshots when I was fourteen (mainly to hand out to family and friends). I knew I would fit in at this new school. On the first day of eighth grade, I met Freddy. Freddy was mysterious and cool. He had sweeping bangs that masked soulful, green eyes, which he defined in black eyeliner. Girls practically lined up to be his best friend. The first day of drama class, Freddy and I sat next to each other, and it was love at first sight. I was frizzy-haired, fiery, and funny — just what Freddy was looking for. The other girls were tossed aside like garnish. I had never felt so accepted in my life. Freddy and I would hold hands walking down the hallways, sit in classroom corners laughing until we cried, write each other notes and pass them across a room. We would make eyes at each other, and it was the first time I had felt seen by someone other than my mom. Freddy was extremely selective with whom he gave his friendship to. When he chose me, it was like cocaine. I was an addict. And I was high, baby. As if spending every minute together in school wasn’t enough, I also followed him to sleepaway camp. Theater sleepaway camp. Celebrities from around the world had gone there. Mandy Moore had gone there. I knew with every fiber of my being that I needed to join the ranks of these serious thespians. This camp, Stagedoor Manor, was the stuff that dreams are made of. Sure, I had willingly traded in the cute boys in basketball jerseys at my Jewish camp for sassy boys in deep V’s, but I didn’t care. Unlike at regular camp, the more obsessed with theater you were, the higher you ranked. Unlike at regular school, where it was shameful to know every word of the Witch’s rap from Into the Woods, at Stagedoor Manor, it was revered. I had finally found my people. AND IT. WAS. HEAVEN. After three weeks of bliss, something changed. Freddy confided in me that there was a boy, a popular, older boy, who had been coming onto him, and it made him feel uncomfortable. Up until this point, Freddy and I had never discussed his sexual preference. I always understood that we’d never be together — our conversations were exclusively about Bernadette Peters — but I felt it was my duty to protect his heart. Freddy and I were a duo. Two halves of one whole. When I heard a rumor the next morning that Freddy and this boy had been having a secret affair all summer, I sobbed like my husband had just died in the war. I felt stupid, ashamed. How could he not have told me this? Why wasn’t he comfortable sharing this part of himself with me? Why did he lie? Looking back, it’s clear his selective truth was an attempt at reaching out, but at the time I felt deeply betrayed. I thought I had known every inch of him, every crevice of his soul. We agreed over Nokia text to meet behind the water heater before dinner. We sat there, cross-legged, Freddy’s hand in mine, and I cried. I told him that I loved him more than anyone in the world, that he was my best friend. He told me the same. I said I was hurt that he wasn’t honest with me, but that I understood. I didn’t want anything to ever come between us again. He was shaky, confused. “What are you saying?” I threw out my arms and exclaimed, “I KNOW YOU’RE GAY, FREDDY! I KNOW! AND IT’S OK!” It was clear to me that the only wall between us — his sexuality — could finally be knocked down. But Freddy let go of my hand. He looked down. He denied it all. And, right there, at the water heater behind the Merman Theater, around 6:30 p.m. sometime in July of 2002, our friendship ended. Freddy left the following week, and I stayed on for another session. The boy he had been hooking up with taunted me with the letters they had been writing, the texts they were exchanging. Meanwhile, my letters went unanswered, my texts went cold. The boy told me that they were planning a trip to DC for the Sondheim Celebration. That they were in love. That Freddy never, ever talked about me. I felt like someone had grabbed my heart from my chest, wrung it out, and tossed it in a canal. I was humiliated, confused, and completely heartbroken. When I got back home after the second session, I called Freddy daily. I wrote apology letter after apology letter, pleaded with him like a desperate and jilted lover. One time he answered, but then hung up before saying anything. I sobbed myself to sleep every night, replaying the conversation over and over in my head, wondering how those two minutes could ruin the best two years of my life. Freddy switched schools the next year, so we had no reason to ever see each other. We never spoke again, except for one time, years later, at a funeral. We said it was good to see each other, that we had both wondered how the other had been. I felt the ache of lost friendship, the absent years between us. It was nice, and it was sad. I see his posts on Instagram every so often. He goes by a different name now. I always wished that Freddy and I might reconnect, that I could apologize for being callous and assumptive, that he might recognize the impact of cutting me out of his life cold turkey. When I look back, it’s clear to me that I was in love with Freddy, and that the kind of intimacy we shared was new and confusing to my fourteen-year-old self. Now that I’ve had serious, adult relationships, I can reflect on how my friendship with Freddy impacted my understanding of intimacy: He helped me find myself and showed me that I’m lovable. He gave me the opportunity to love deeply, without condition. He taught me joy, companionship, and complexity. I am grateful to Freddy for being my first soirée with intimacy, my first love, my first heartbreak. Jenny Rachel Weiner is a Brooklyn based playwright, screenwriter, and yenta. You can read more about her work and see embarrassing photos from her childhood here. | | | | |  Illustration by Carol Jiménez | Shirin Ebadi — a commanding figure with muscular, decisive movements — first became interested in human rights during the 1979 Iranian revolution. Now 70, the 2003 Nobel Peace Prize winner was a judge at the time and also raising two young daughters. “I loved my profession, but in short time not only did I lose my job for being a woman,” she explained when we were traveling together in October 2017, “I also saw how many discriminatory laws against women were passed.” She wanted to be able to answer her children if they asked, “Mother, considering your profession and your knowledge of the law, what have you done for women’s rights?” And that is how she became a human-rights activist. This February, I reflected on Ebadi’s life from Yangon, Myanmar, where I was working on an article for Longreads about press freedom. A few weeks earlier, two Reuters journalists in Myanmar had been charged with breaking the Official Secrets Act, a little-used colonial law, and were facing 14 years in prison. When I was planning my trip there, almost everyone I spoke to told me not to go because, for example, Pulitzer Prize–winning Myanmar journalist Esther Htusan had recently been forced to leave the country due to death threats. (During that trip, I traveled out of the country to interview Htusan, and she reiterated that the real danger in Myanmar was directed at local journalists, especially those who worked for international media outlets — not international journalists, like me.) Over the course of her life, Ebadi, like many women, has been told a litany of places she should not go and things she should not do as a woman. I had an ongoing conversation with Ebadi over the two weeks in October when we both traveled with the Nobel Women’s Initiative in Guatemala and Honduras to visit and learn from indigenous women human-rights activists. When I asked Ebadi about how she responded to receiving death threats for her work, she said, “Life is more beautiful lived dangerously.” These are words I will never forget. As a journalist traveling with Ebadi and Nobel laureates Rigoberta Menchú, Jody Williams, and Tawakkol Karman, I witnessed the work of powerful, outspoken women, women who had persisted and thrived despite often working on issues or in areas where they were encouraged to stay silent and stay at home. Ever since I was a child, I have wanted to go where people told me not to go — both because I am interested in telling difficult stories and because I want to prove people wrong. I want to show them that I am equal and prepared for any task, that being a girl or a woman is no impediment. That, in fact, it could be an asset, especially when reporting on women’s rights. Even though I have reported everywhere from Culiacán, Mexico, to San Pedro Sula, Honduras, and have completed both RISC and HEFAT safety trainings for journalists, editors still sometimes ask me, even as recently as last week, if I am willing to go to a place because it is “too dangerous.” I doubt they would ask male journalists the same question. In response to such questions, I usually list my hostile-environment-training certifications and discuss my work in Juárez, Mexico, which I undertook when it was the most violent city in the world. I want people to understand that I am not crazily rushing to dangerous places — I am prepared, there are stories that must be told, and I want to be treated as an equal to my male colleagues who dominate war reporting and most other assignments in places with high levels of violence. Despite others’ judgments, I have spent my entire career going places where people tell me not to go, places that are labeled “too dangerous” or “too risky” for women. Last year, I reported on the 7.1 magnitude earthquake in Mexico City while trapped in an airplane on the airport’s tarmac. That year, I also began an 18-month project on migration with Longreads that would take me from the US-Mexico border through Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador. And when I reported on strict anti-abortion laws in El Salvador, San Salvador was newly minted as the most dangerous city in the world. In these dangerous places, women’s stories are often forgotten. The only news that is reported is by and about men and often focuses on gangs and cartels. Rather than feeling afraid, I prepare. I hire a local female journalist as a fixer, use my skills as a translator, find a female or nonbinary photographer from Women Photograph, and put together a team that will tell an important story. What I have learned from reporting in these areas is that with planning, safety training, contacts, and language skills, I can go anywhere. In the past year, I have reported on girls and women in Honduras, Guatemala, and Mexico who have been mutilated or disappeared on the migrant trail; I have profiled the mother of the trans-rights movement in El Salvador, and I have written about rethinking the dangers that women journalists face. The world needs to see news reported and photographed by and about women, because risky and dangerous places, unfortunately for women, are everywhere. Sometimes, as was the case of journalist Kim Wall in Copenhagen, the most mundane and safe-seeming places prove to be the most dangerous. Back with Ebadi last October, we visited Laura Zúñiga Cáceres, 25, one of the three daughters of murdered environmental activist Berta Cáceres, who fought to protect indigenous Lenca lands from hydroelectric projects. “My mom’s leadership helped us imagine what powerful women leaders look like,” she told me. While visiting these indigenous lands, I spoke to young Lenca girls in the community. “I want to be brave like Berta,” said one young girl in a blue-jean skirt and a purple top. “I want to be strong like her,” shouted another, who ran by. “I want to protect my land,” yelled another, laughing. Zúñiga Cáceres, who is also an environmental activist, added, “My mom taught us what she tried to teach the whole world — what it looks like to commit your conscience to fighting for an ethical way of life.” Just like the fearless young girls who had been inspired by Cáceres, I feel that it is best to move through life motivated by love, not fear, because what is dangerous for women is not a particular place — it is silence. Alice Driver is a freelance journalist based in Mexico City who covers migration, human rights, and gender equality. | | | | |  Illustration by Maria Luque | That ol’ expression “Heart of a lion, skin of a rhino, soul of an angel” — it’s the kind of thing that’s scrawled in cursive, pinned to a million Pinterest boards, immortalized in needlepoint. It seems banal until it’s applied to this collective of women, and then it’s a revelation, prophetic. Meet the Black Mambas, the all-women conservation unit that’s turned the bon mot into a mandate. Metaphorically, of course. Founded in 2013, the Mambas have patrolled South Africa’s Kruger National Park to thwart poachers, not with rifles or violence but through constant surveillance, an emphasis on education, and civic outreach. Posted on the Balule Reserve, the 36 members traverse the almost 100,000-acre landmass for three weeks each month to find and eliminate snares, trace poachers’ tracks, listen for gunshots, and report on even a whiff of suspicious activities. While the women are unarmed, poachers underestimate them at their own risk. Clad in camo-patterned uniforms, badges visible, the Mambas aren’t some PR stunt or a sweet cause; they’re effective. Incidents have decreased by over 70 percent since the Mambas were founded, according to their website. And the women believe the number will continue to fall, thanks to both their skill in the field and their deliberate investment in education. The women who’ve been recruited into the Black Mambas tend to come from the local communities — the same ones where poachers look to draw villagers into the trade. It’s not that the joiners hate animals; the fact is, opportunities to generate a real income in their neighborhoods are slim. To stress the value of conservation and to push back against the idea that poachers make fast cash, the Mambas introduced “Bush Babies” lessons to reach kids in schools. “If the Mambas patrol the fence, but their message is not getting into the communities, then they’re fighting a losing battle,” says Lewyn Maefala, who helps run the initiative. “We have to tackle both sides — in the reserve and in the classroom.” Over Skype last year, Maefala schooled me in the Mambas’ environmental efforts, changing perceptions in South Africa, and what makes women better at this work than men. Mattie Kahn: At what point in your life did you realize you were interested in nature? Lewyn Maefala: When I was growing up, I wanted to be a lawyer, but I didn’t have enough money to go to school. So I thought, If I can’t protect people, I’ll protect nature. I’ve loved nature since I was young, and I wished that one day I would come and help save wildlife. After he founded Black Mambas, Craig [Spencer] went to villages to recruit new members. I was recruited, I came, and now that’s what I do. MK: I know this is an obvious question, but what do animals need protection from? LM: It’s poachers. Lately, we’re focused on rhinos, since the rate of killing them is so high. People come inside our reserve, looking for rhinos to kill for their horns, which they sell for money. We protect the animals, and we are there to remind the poachers that we are here, and we are watching. MK: When you first decided to join the Black Mambas, what did people think? How supportive are local communities of this work? LM: At first, they thought it was dangerous for me to do this kind of job. “It’s a man’s job!” I just laughed. Now they’re used to it, and they love it, especially because I’m doing it as a woman. I think mostly communities are supportive because they know that what we do is important. MK: Were you scared when you started? LM: At first, I was scared of the animals. The lions are just so, so big. But now we know how they move, what they do, when they will respond, and I’m not scared. It’s our job. We have to be seen as examples — not only in our communities, but the poachers have to know we’re not afraid. We lead by example. MK: The Black Mambas have gotten serious results since 2013, and the numbers just seem to improve. Do you think women are just better at this work than men are? LM: Yes, especially because most of us — we are mothers. And as mothers, we have that instinct to protect our children. Now the animals are our babies, too, and we look after them. It’s a maternal job, I think, and it requires maternal instincts. Women are top-notch, the best, better at this than men. I think it’s because mothers don’t abandon their children, and women don’t abandon these animals. But also, we want our children and grandchildren to be able to come see the animals. I do think women think about the future, maybe more than men. MK: You work specifically on Bush Babies. Why are the Black Mambas so invested in education? LM: If the Mambas patrol the fence every day, but their message is not getting to the communities, then they’re fighting a losing battle. If the Mambas protect the animals, but people in the villages don’t know that we need to keep the wildlife safe, then it’s a losing battle. So we tackle both sides of the [conservation] problem — the protection and the education about what needs to be protected. That’s why we started the Bush Babies. That way, we can tell kids, “We do not go into the reserve because of this, this, and this.” We offer information back into the communities so that people know what it is the Mambas do on the reserve. MK: Do you find that kids are interested? LM: They’re very much fascinated by the uniform, for one. And they can’t believe the Mambas don’t take rifles into the field. That’s a very new concept for them. They see us as role models and it’s a challenge for them: “Oh, I want to do that as well.” We are people for them to look up to. One of them said to me, “I want to be a beautiful model, but now I’m going to be a teacher too.” [Laughs.] So, that was a success! MK: You mentioned that the Mambas’ message needs to reach local communities. Has it? LM: Environmental education is a long-term investment. We can’t say now, “Yes, it’s working,” or “No, it’s not working.” We’ll need to see what the attitudes are to the environment when these children are grown up. But since the Mambas have started, the number of poaching incidents has dropped. That, we know. The reserve lost nineteen rhinos the year before the Mambas started, and since the Mambas started, we’ve only lost six. You can see the drop. MK: You’re optimistic about the work the Black Mambas do, but how worried are you about the environment and the future of conservation in general? LM: I am worried. I’m worried about the future generations; when they look at nature, what will they see? I’m heartbroken to see pictures of the dodo bird, you know? I would have loved to see one in the wild, but it’s impossible because the species has gone extinct. We can only see those birds now through pictures. I don’t want that for the kids. I want children to see the actual animals. The reason I do conservation is because I want to bring change myself; I don’t want to think that other people will just do it. With Bush Babies, I meet people all the time who don’t know the role of a lion or an impala. They don’t know the roles of these animals, so they don’t understand why we think they are so special. What we can do is teach them that, and that gives me hope. MK: Finally, do you have a favorite animal? LM: I do have a favorite! The porcupine. It fits with me. Just like the porcupine, I’m very relaxed when I’m on my own, but the moment I’m bothered, I take out my quills, and they’re going to hurt. A porcupine tells people, “Don’t mess with me.” We have that in common. This interview has been edited and condensed. Mattie Kahn is a writer at elle.com. | | | | | | | | |
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