by Julie McClement
Looking at my sister’s Instagram makes me feel hollow inside, but I can never stop returning to it—the same way I ran my tongue over the spot from a missing tooth as a kid. I tell myself I should cut back, but it’s a harmless vice, no worse than my occasional late-night drink.
Esther worships Audre Lorde, provides commentary on Beyoncé that verges on the Talmudic. These “yas queen” posts are interspersed with self-portraits of joyful resistance, always capturing her good side. The crimson of her Handmaid’s Tale costume matches the words drawn on her sign: “Keep Your Rosaries Off My Ovaries.”
In most of Esther’s pictures, the backdrop goes unnamed: McGill.
“Esther shows what can happen when you work hard,” Mom said while frying eggs the other day, her casual tone not fooling me for a second. The oven’s burner light glowed […]