Of all the things Heidi Klum, Kate Moss and I have in common, the least surprising is our taste for younger men. Having just got engaged to a man six years my junior, I’m delighted to find that not only have I signed up for six months of people asking, “So when are you having children?” but also I am on trend. Having a toyboy is in.
The 45-year-old supermodel Klum has just got engaged to a 29-year-old rocker called Tom Kaulitz. They announced their nuptials, as is now traditional, by posting a picture on Instagram with the caption “I said yes”. (As if anyone would be cruel enough to post about a proposal they had rejected.)
Klum’s news follows the blow-out wedding of the Bollywood star Priyanka Chopra, 36, and her decade-younger pop-star husband, Nick Jonas, 26. Moss recently celebrated her 45th birthday in Paris with her 30-year-old boyfriend Nikolai von Bismarck, and Sienna Miller, 37, was snapped in New York kissing Lucas Zwirner, 27 — who, headlines helpfully explained, is her “much younger” boyfriend.
All my favourite women — Madonna, Moss, Joan Collins, the Wife of Bath — know the fun of having a younger beau. They feed you great music, take you to cool parties and explain how TicToc works.
I’ve nearly always dated younger partners. I don’t seek them out, but on dating websites I was shocked by the number of younger men who messaged me saying, “I like older women” — pretty painful for this thirtysomething. They trotted out the cliché that women reach their sexual peak later and told me they were looking for someone more mature than them. “Ha-ha-ha!” I’d cackle. “As if!” Indeed the main reason my current relationship works is that my younger partner is more mature than I am.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/katie-glass-sings-the-praises-of-toyboys-5clvm3qq2
I wanted to escape Christmas, and my celebrity best friend wanted to ride the Trans-Siberian railway, which is how, on December 21, I came to be landing in Moscow to spend a fortnight travelling across Russia by train with the television presenter, barrister and one-time Strictly Come Dancing contestant “Judge” Rob Rinder.
The Trans-Mongolian train we caught runs 4,863 miles from Moscow across Russia, through Mongolia, to Beijing. In summer it is the stuff of backpacker wish lists, but in winter, when temperatures plummet to the –30Cs, sensible tourists disappear. Even Muscovites looked stunned to hear about our trip, as we ran around their city buying supplies: caviar, vodka . . . Well, it was Christmas.
When we stepped inside our cupboard-sized cabin for the first time, we wondered if we’d made a huge mistake. We opened the vodka and we rolled out of Yaroslavsky station.
As we travelled, I snapped photographs on my iPhone of Dr Zhivago landscapes and snowy station platforms, where men stood smoking wearing shorts, despite it being –26C. I photographed ourprovodnitsa, the conductress in charge of our carriage, as well as the pretty silver mugs of tea she brought us, and the plates of pickled herring in the restaurant car. I tweeted a few of my holiday snaps, thinking maybe a few bored friends back in London might see them and begrudgingly click “like”.
In fact, as the train rocked me to sleep, my tweets travelled further than I ever would have imagined. Hundreds of Russians, somehow and for some reason, started coming across my posts, reading them, liking them, commenting and retweeting them onto the timelines of a few more hundred Russians, who did the same thing. By the time I woke up, I’d gone viral in Russia, which was not how I expected my 2018 to end.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/katie-glass-my-trans-mongolian-train-ride-with-judge-rinder-tzgjsdfrp
It was the kind of terrible idea you only have in January, overenthusiastic about a new year. Some readers will recall that as 2017 ended, I underwent a 12-week transformation from fat to … slightly less fat by doing a weightlifting-based fitness course. Much to my amazement, I enjoyed it. I got fit! Even more surprisingly, I discovered an exercise I was actually OK at. “You should enter a weightlifting competition,” someone suggested one day, as I managed the rare feat of looking competent while doing a deadlift. Obviously, I should have ignored them. Instead, I resolved on a new challenge — I really would enter a weightlifting competition.
Later, crying in an Epsom salt bath, feeling like I’d been punched in the head, hit by a bus, run a marathon and then been KO’d by Conor McGregor, I realised how stupid this was. As if I could compete against actual athletes. But then, what are new years for if not to find new ways to humiliate yourself?
Gymbox is a cross between Pacha in Ibiza and London Zoo: a dark basement with a DJ booth, flashing neon lights and wire walls dividing the space into cages, each housing a different sporting species. In one menagerie, runners pound treadmills; in others, rowers pant back and forth; in another, aerial yoga bunnies twirl through the air. Amid them is the weightlifting area, with its intimidating steel frames and giant coloured weights.
On the first trip I meet Chloe, my coach. She is 28, beautiful, deadly serious and equipped with muscles of steel. She asks if I’m good at mornings. I say “No”. She says she’ll see me tomorrow at 8am.
The first thing I learn is that I will not be entering a weightlifting competition; I will be entering a powerlifting competition. If you think this distinction is irrelevant, you have never met a competitor for either. The differences are multiple, but, basically, while weightlifting involves heaving the weights overhead (in two lifts called the snatch and the clean and jerk), powerlifting involves three lifts: the squat, the bench press and the deadlift.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/grab-2019-by-the-barbells-and-try-powerlifting-to-get-fit-vp3qdknp6
When did I realise I was bisexual? I suppose the obvious answer is when I fell for a woman but still fancied men. I was 15 years old. Perhaps it should have been obvious earlier, given my mixed bag of teenage crushes: Courtney Love, Kurt Cobain, Germaine Greer and Leonard Cohen. If my first love was a girl, my first relationship was with a boy. Since then, my affections have haphazardly swung between genders with little fuss. As the presenter Courtney Act sweetly says in the new TV dating show The Bi Life (think Love Island with twice the chance of sex): “When I fall in love I don’t think about gender.” Or as I might more superficially put it: “I just kiss people based on whether I fancy them or not.” If my relationships haven’t fallen 50/50, that’s not down to desire, but laziness — going out with women takes so much more effort.
For some, coming out as bisexual is fraught with difficulty. Not for me. I suppose I was lucky growing up. My parents were divorced, so I rarely spoke to my dad about dating. My Ab Fab mother was desperate for a gay child, so I rather enjoyed not telling her when I started kissing a girl from school. If I’d hoped being bi might elicit some shock from my friends, it’s barely registered a flicker as I’ve come out to different friendship groups over the years. The more cynical ones just accuse me of finding something new to write about (as if!). The more annoying straight women see it as a chance to experiment. Someone asked me the other day if my female friends worry I fancy them. I hope not. If anything, being bi has clarified the distinctions between lovers and friends.
As I’ve got older, bisexuality has become less controversial, more fashion statement. As new generations reject traditional labels of gender, race and relationships, so the same thing has happened with sexuality. A YouGov survey in 2015 found that 23% of the population didn’t feel they were totally heterosexual. Among young people, that number jumped to 49% — almost enough for a sexual Brexit. The most recent Office for National Statistics survey into sexuality in 2016 found the number of people who identified as bisexual had increased by 45% in three years. It’s fair to suppose that percentage has only increased since.
I’ve always assumed we all exist somewhere in the middle of this Kinsey scale of attraction. Who doesn’t fancy Brad Pitt? Or wouldn’t experiment with Kate Moss if she tried it on? It rather amazes me anyone still finds bisexuality shocking when Tracey Emin has married a rock. Ritch C Savin-Williams, a psychologist specialising in gender studies at Cornell University in America, believes completely straight people don’t exist and that sexuality lies on a spectrum. He conducted a study of men and women watching porn, measuring pupil dilation, an indicator of arousal, and found even those claiming to be totally straight were turned on by same-sex fumbling. Porn channels regularly report their most popular category among women is “lesbian” (as it is for men).
I’ve often wondered if I’m bisexual for the same reason I became a journalist: I’m nosy. I never want to let an experience pass. Something suits me about “queerness” that stands outside boundaries. There’s an appeal in not having to limit yourself.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/having-it-all-what-is-it-like-to-be-bisexual-in-2018-zvxr759mj
We are in a sexual recession. We’re better protected — against sexually transmitted diseases and pregnancies — than ever. Pornography is ubiquitous. And we’re so frantically swiping right, we’re getting Tinder thumb. And yet, statistics suggest, young people today are not getting laid.
This month a long article in The Atlantic magazine by Kate Julian laid bare, in occasionally eye-watering detail, America’s sexual habits. One of Julian’s findings was that the average young adult in 2018 is having less sex than his or her counterparts of decades past. The under-25s are the first generation getting less action than their parents. And it’s not because they’re snowflakes too busy eating avocado toast.
Julian labels this phenomenon the “sexual recession”. Let’s get the awful economics jokes out of the way now. Has a failure to stimulate our assets led to flaccid markets? Have limp-wristed layoffs caused widespread shrinkage? Or has the economy become backed up, deflating our endowments and leading to a lack of liquidity?
Grim as a sexual recession sounds, it’s certainly intriguing — and counterintuitive, when, according to many sources, we appear to live in a sexually fluid Sodom and Gomorrah.
Julian considers various reasons for this sexual drought: economic uncertainty, mental health problems, an obsession with technology, #MeToo having left people reluctant to flirt. Hook-up culture, dating apps and inhibitions caused by social-media beauty ideals also play their part. Porn is a frequently cited factor: first for replacing the effort of real-life encounters with lazy solo relief, and second for teaching men a sort of sex that women don’t want.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/smartphone-generation-give-sex-the-kissoff-7875vcqhf
Was there a more iconic music video in 2018 than the Carters’ Apeshit? Shot in the Louvre, with the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo as part of the backdrop, it — literally — positioned Beyoncé and Jay-Z among the art establishment.
Apeshit was choreographed by the Flemish-Moroccan dancer Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui. Born in Antwerp, he’s often asked if he feels more Moroccan than Belgian. “I feel both,” he says. “You can be many things.” He brings the same approach to dance, combining classical technique with hip-hop moves, belly-dancing, even spoken word.
It was pop music, however, that drew him to dance. “I’m from the MTV generation,” he says when we meet in his dressing room, where he sips green tea as he talks. “Fame, Michael Jackson and Madonna. Kate Bush was very important to me.” He recalls watching Jackson and Bush perform, amazed and thinking, “I wish I could do that.” At 17 he worked as a go-go dancer in nightclubs to make extra money.
Yet he saw pop’s limits. “It’s fun, but it doesn’t speak about what I want to speak about. This is going to come across as arrogant — sorry — but I felt contemporary art was so many steps beyond that.”
He studied traditional music from Italy, Corsica, Japan and Korea, making his first work for Les Ballets C de la B and then becoming artist-in-residence at Antwerp’s Toneelhuis. He collaborated with the performance artist Marina Abramovic, and also with the artist Antony Gormley — for Icon and Noetic, but most notably on Sutra, featuring Shaolin monks, and Babel (Words), which won an Olivier award. (He won a second for Puz/zle.) Now he manages more jobs than George Osborne, as artistic director at the Royal Ballet of Flanders, artistic director of his own company, Eastman, and associate artist at Sadler’s Wells.
READ THE FULL ARTICLE IN THE SUNDAY TIMES: https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/sidi-larbi-cherkaoui-on-his-new-sadlers-wells-performace-icon-3dkncjscg