Hello Dear *Readers*

In this case, I really do mean READERS. I love that Substack is a place I can commune with people who really, truly love books- they love to read them, shop for them, talk about the gossip behind them, discuss the design of them. People love to refer to themselves as “book nerds” but let’s be real: there is a direct correlation between loving books and being a cool girl. Like, if the friendless Lena who was sitting in 6th grade math hiding a Barbra Streisand bio behind her textbook had known that someday Dua Lipa would wear full Demna gucci to an event for her BOOK CLUB, I could have felt much prouder about the fact that I found community on L.M. Montgomery web pages created with an early iteration of Angelfire ( Angelfire - IYKNY! And speaking of Lucy Maud, this is where I want to go on my next trip with @pokeacupuncture ...)

I’ve been remiss in making book lists because I’ve been so deep in making a book. It’s copy edit phase, and I often fall asleep trying to wipe an endless word jumble from my mind computer. At the same time I finish Famesick, I’m editing the romantic comedy I shot with established book baddie Natalie Portman, working on some pieces for Vanity Fair (shout out to my editor Daniela- I can’t believe I’ve reached the age where my editor is so much younger and more culturally enmeshed but it has to happen) and continuing to build the contours of a pig sanctuary, cuz life comes at ya fast. Lots of love from Lila and Leslie.

This is all to say, I haven’t had the time or hunger to hold a book in my hands this fall, but I continue to fall asleep most nights to the sweet strains of an audiobook. And while I may not have a Spotify unwrapped worth sharing, here are my 2025 stats.

So there you have it.

34 books, down from a high of 56 last year.

But last year I wasn’t mucking stalls and rolling tubs of feed, I still owed my final draft of the book, and - notably, importantly- I was feeling much more frail, much less alert and alive. Over the past almost-decade since my hysterectomy, I’ve often wondered when I would start to feel “like me” again. But as the “me” I was comparing myself to receded further into the distance, I just prayed to have a sense of vitality, a hunger to greet the day. My fatigue traveled with me wherever I went, and was only ever overpowered by pure adrenaline.

But this past year something shifted. I can’t put it down to just one thing, although the gift of being truly believed and supported by my doctors can’t be discounted. Then there’s the pleasures of doing a job I love, with partners in work who understand me, a sweet, funny husband who is bemused by my problem areas, friends who make me cackle and tear up, family who are my co-pilots, surrounded by animals like some kind of grunge Snow White. In general, healing always takes longer than we’re told it will, and after huge transitions we may need years to learn to live with our new conditions. I sure did. I don’t know when it happened, but one day this year I woke up, looked around and realized I wasn’t straining to be okay. It was very “look ma, no hands!”

So as I head into 2026 and zoom toward 40, I move with a sense of my own strength rather than the fear of my own weakness. Whatever comes next, it’s a gift just to be able to say that.

The above is a picture of what I see when I look in the mirror. I’m not trying to fight it anymore. If Jennifer Lawrence is mainstreaming Miss Piggy, all us Piggycore girls don’t have to walk in shame. 🐷🐽🐖

Instead, we can proudly dress like the Piggylytes we are. And I really used Black Friday as a chance to embrace the fact that I am NOT, fashion wise, any of these adjectives:

• classy

• sophisticated

• restrained

• low key

Perhaps I occasionally hit one of those behaviorally, but not sartorially.

I always love an excuse to support female and queer owned independent brands including:

• Gil Rodriguez for separates that evoke the height of indie sleaze but with a Los Feliz almond mom reinterpretation (these don’t sound like compliments but they ARE.)

• Apparis because of course Dalmatian faux-fur separates are going to come in handy some day!

• Araks for candy colored slip dresses and perfect t-shirts that look just like the ones Jemima used to find me at the flea-market when we were tweens 🥹

• Rue Sophie describes itself as “Elegant, understated minimalist women’s clothing.” We’ve established that I am none of these things. But sometimes a bitch needs a pencil skirt, she needs separates that don’t have, you know, a neon crotch saddle or a fur anklet involved.

Y’all, ya know how I said I feel better and it’s unclear why? It’s actually quite clear: I quit vaping.

My nicotine addiction has been a real source of shame for me because I was dumb enough to pick the habit up at age 33- while living in Wales to direct the Industry pilot, a year sober and hungering for a vice, I was introduced to the Juul as a sort of adorable consequence free head rush. By summer’s end, I was going through two pods a day. Ever since, I’ve been in a dance with the devil- Juul to cigs, cigs to Flum, Flum to Elf Bar, Elf Bar to Lost Mary, Lost Mary to Nicorette 4mg gum, Nicorette to Zyn, Zyn to Jones mints back to Nicorette back to any fucking clear flavored 5% disposable I could get my hands on. I wanted very, very much to be done. But then something would happen- a bad day, a good day, a stressful episode, a massive work stretch. I am not proud to say that I’ve vaped in theaters, hospitals, on boats in the Carribbean. That footage of Doja Cat vaping at the Met Gala? I’ve never related to anything more!

And then I got a text from my friend Matt Rogers, who told me about his boyfriend Fraser’s vape induced lung infection. It felt like a true intervention (and I’m so so glad Fraser is safe- we need him above deck! Send healing plz.) I looked at the vape in my hands- I’d held many vapes over the last six years, but they all seemed to blend together into one constant companion, one adult pacifier, one dear heart- and suddenly it looked evil, like when you take mushrooms with your college boyfriend and realize you won’t be together til you die. I dropped it directly into a glass of water (don’t recommend, this was 10/10 dramatic) and I’ve been vape free for nearly a month.

Before I always tried to replace the nicotine source, not feel the pain. I’ve been through withdrawal before, and there’s never a good time to feel... insane? But I happened to be without husband or family for a week, a perfect time to hunker down and suffer. My father said the physical part lasts five days. Lu said three. My friend Yosef said it takes 40 days to MAKE a habit, so he was guessing it took the same amount to break one. As I sweat it out, fiending and bargaining with myself, feeling irritable in a way I didn’t know a post menopausal AFAB still could, I was amazed to discover how much the vape had actually been contributing to my anxiety rather than assuaging it (It was also clear to me just how evil the fact that they market these like ring pops really is.)

How did I stay the course, not succumb to the voice telling me one American Spirit never killed somebody? I’d like to tell you that I immediately began psychoanalysis, or booked a week at a yoga retreat, went full K-Pop Demon Hunters on my own demons. But no- I just got really into Olipop.

You know Olipop- the soda that may or may not be good for you but is certainly better for you than what soda used to be! I was in the UK for the rise of “prebiotic” soda (not to mention the new gal on the scene Agua de Kefir, who is making aging starlet Kombucha feel like shit) so I know I’m late to the party, but this shit is fucking delicious. If anyone can explain to me how it has 5 grams of fiber and doesn’t feel like mud in my mouth I’ll be so grateful. It’s okay if the answer is “black magic.”

Anyway, in order to ride out the nicotine farewell I decided I would try all 19 flavors of Olipop on the market, from the basics (Orange Squeeze, Classic Grape) to the old school (Dr. Goodwin is a play on Dr. Pepper, while RidgeRush has a Mountain Dew essence) to the vaguely obscene (Banana Cream.) I drank them all so that you don’t have to, and I am here to list the TOP 5.

I rated not just on deliciousness, but for general drinkability- for instance. Peaches and Cream is a great concept and the first sip is kind of dazzling, but I quickly grew nauseous, as if I was downing a Bath and Body Works lotion. A full can of Tropical Punch is too much of a good thing.

Without further ado, the winners are:

5. Cherry Cola

4. Cream Soda

3. Strawberry Vanilla

2. Classic Grape

1. Crisp Apple

And if I have to drink one of each during the course of a day until my vape is a distant memory, so help me God!

Ya know what’s the best part of quitting (besides decreased anxiety, deeper breaths, feeling more hydrated and healthy and happy!) I already DID my New Year’s resolution. So instead of making a list of new attributes that I’ll never actually acquire, I can just laze around in my Cou Cou Intimates pointelle slip skirt, brushing my hair hundreds of times a day with my Belle Brush, flipping through the copy of Birds of Britain I inherited from my mother (recommending all three of the above as Christmas Gifts for the discerning woman...)