“Can’t See the Line, Can You, Russ?”

The Margo and Todd of newsletters has questions about body talk, a literary lioness, and Demi’s, uh, positioning. Plus: Should we ship all of our exes to Greece?

We’re here to reclaim the “women’s magazine.” Every week, two veteran editors read it ALL to bring you everything we believe women’s media should be: juicy yarns, big ideas, deeply personal essays, hot goss, and the odd shopping tip—aka, the full Spread. Plus: original interviews, podcasts, and more. Come hungry!

---

---

Timothée Hal Chalamet (b. 1995) keeping America on its toes. Photo from his new Rolling Stone cover story, written by Brian Hyatt and shot by Aidan Zamiri.

Holly Jolly Spreadfolk,

Sending up a flare to Club Chalamet HQ this week: hey girl, how’s it going over there? Your Spreaditors could write an whole movie treatment about Timothée’s recent field trip to ESPN, where he touched down in a hot air balloon straight from Choupette Lagerfeld’s 90th birthday party wearing a fuchsia puffer and ’70s porno stache, to be the “guest picker” on College GameDay—a television show that is apparently about choosing football teams?—and proceeded to blow everyone in the room and the nation away with an utterly convincing (and, to us, deeply confounding) performance of stats-spewing, hot-wing-loving, King of Beers American masculinity. We could not have been more shocked if someone leaked footage of Anna Wintour shotgunning a Bud Light outside of an SMU game (T is a Mustangs guy), though it did help drop that random Kylie Jenner piece into our map of his astrological puzzle. In one fell swoop, Chalamet seems to have won over the American male voting bloc (don’t say manosphere, that’s different) who, it would seem, are an essential part of the rollout of his Bob Dylan biopic. Your Spreaditors, who have been waiting for the day when he is announced as the lead in the film adaptation of All Fours—and who, let’s be honest, do find ourselves obsessing over some pretty random shit in this post-election intellectual purgatory we can’t seem to climb out of¹—are, needless to say, reeling. But we’re also scheming. Perhaps lil Timmy C. is the Trojan Horse we need. Could the next move for this newfound fanbase be screening his entire oeuvre? Dream with us for a minute: If every ESPN watcher was to settle in for a peachy-keen viewing of Call Me By Your Name, just imagine the tidal wave of enlightenment (and cinematic joy) that could wash over this country?

Unleash the (sugarplum) fairies!

Rachel & Maggie

P.S. You can take us hot to go: Look for us bright and early Friday, when we release a fresh podcast episode for Print is Dead (Long Live Print!) starring one of our most beloved editors in chief.

P.P.S. Why not show us a little love and bang that ole’ heart button up top?

---

“All that is needed is for her to turn herself into a different sort of woman.”

If you’ve got the time and, like Maggie, still have not recovered from watching your literary idol’s legacy explode in midair this past summer, get thee to Giles Harvey’s in-depth autopsy of Alice Munro in the New York Times Magazine. The story weaves together interviews with Munro’s daughters, a detailed account of her home life, and the work itself—telling the story of her daughter’s accusation of sexual abuse, and Munro’s maternal failings, with a completeness that is, in the end, all the more damning. On the page², Munro seems to clearly plunder (process? ugh) her growing suspicions that her husband is a pedophile… even as she continued, in real life, to leave her own young daughters vulnerable to him. Throbbing in our heads: How could she? Read it here.

---

The Skinny On That

Among the most-discussed moral dilemmas at the Spread roundtable is how to talk about women’s bodies now that we feel bad about talking about women’s bodies—but also can’t not talk about women’s bodies. We hate ourselves for noticing who’s up, who’s down, but we do notice, and we do care. It’s validating to know that the Cut’s editors wrestle with it too, and that they (like us, you, and everybody else) have been worriedly gawping at Ariana Grande’s cut-glass sternum on the press tour that never ends. Read Chantal Fernandez’s piece here.

---

Moore Chairs!

We promised you a Very Demi Fall, and ta-dah! To celebrate the actor’s Golden Globe nom for The Substance—congrats to all the nominees, despite Josh O’Connor’s glaring Challengers snub!—we bring you a carousel of portraits she sat for in 2024. At first we thought the chairs might be a Ghost reference, then we realized girl just needed to take a load off after hustling to that drug-refill alleyway. From left, Elle, Variety, Interview, System, J.Crew, Larroudé x Altuzarra. (Extra credit read, and headline of the week: “How Demi Moore Gave Birth Through Her Spine.”)

---