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Philly Dancing on My Own Philadelphia T-Shirt B0BKVKDRY6 . “It made me feel like I could push the in contrast I will get this boulder up the mountain and it wasn’t going to roll back on me,” Johansson says, adding that the slow but incremental success women have recently had in shifting the industry’s male-dominated power dynamics made it “a good time to push the boulder over the mountain.” Part of her impetus for the lawsuit, which was settled in September, was to speak for other people facing similar circumstances, she says. “Now, it will be different for everybody.” As the “do not disturb” time window we have both negotiated begins to close on our conversation, Johansson tells me that she is actively waiting for her dining room table to be picked up from storage and delivered to The Outset’s new office in the Flatiron District, where she and Foster Lengyel have assembled an eight-person team. “It’s getting very real,” she says of the brand’s impending launch and what it means for her personal growth, harnessing what appears to be all the feels—excitement, gratitude, and anxiety. “I mean, I’m the same person I’ve always been. But I think I’m more comfortable now with the idea that with every gain there’s a loss.” That’s a philosophy she has applied to her product development as well: New formulas are being consistently tweaked, scrapped, and tweaked again. But Johansson has held firm in her specificities for the lip treatment. “That was my passion project. Because I have a lot of surface area, obviously,” she says with a laugh while elaborating on the salve’s surprising lotion-like texture. Its consistency might be polarizing, she admits, but that’s just another risk she’s willing to take. Don’t fuck with Scarlett Johansson—or her lip balm.

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Body Language is an essay series that speaks to the in contrast I will get this ongoing conversation about beauty standards around the world—an exploration of where we came from and where we’re headed Philly Dancing on My Own Philadelphia T-Shirt B0BKVKDRY6 . It’s unclear when I started to hate my body. As a first generation Ugandan-Canadian immigrant, growing up in white suburbia, I always felt like I stuck out. I hated taking up space, I hated friends pointing out my “weird and fuzzy” hair, I hated the width and girth of my hips and butt. I was horrified by my body. As an awkward teenager, I begged my mom to buy the outfits that would help me fit in. I desperately wanted low-rise jeans and crop tops. Because I was rounder than the celebrity icons of the moment ( think Christina or Lindsay), my few attempts at dressing like them failed miserably. I was resigned to a hodgepodge of branded sale hoodies and discounted board short, and distinctly not-low-rise jeans. In my head, I spun it as a tribute to O.C. California style. In reality, it felt like I would always have to compromise my style to accommodate my body—a deeply lonely feeling at an awkward time. Eventually, I discovered an online community of similarly fashion obsessed companions. I started blogging under the moniker Style is Style on Blogspot and a now-defunct website called Chictopia. I frequented the Flickr comment sections and felt a kinship with other fashion loving folks. It was an unpaid hobby at the time, not the multimillion dollar creator economy it is now. I wasn’t alone! We were learning how to insert ourselves into a fantasy, into an industry that ignored fat folks.
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