unsolicited recs for winter 2025
a book, a gadget, two albums, two concepts, and two things to click on if you're feeling weird rn
Last week’s post was kind of a lot, and seasonal depression is kicking in, so we’re kicking off our shoes and changing into our sweatpants for a minute. Here are some things that have brightened my life recently. Trying to remind myself that things are allowed to be easy sometimes — hope you can do the same.
1) You Have A New Memory, Aidan Arata
There was a two-week period over the fall when I read — well, listened to — two influencer memoirs back-to-back, though both writers might be offended by that designation.
The first, “If You Don’t Like This, I Will Die,” by Lee Tilghman, started as a hate-listen. For those who were mentally healthy in the mid-2010s and therefore unaware of Tilghman, she was a mainstay of the era’s Instagram-centric wellness blogger scene, known for her carrot-glow skin and remarkable smoothies. Around 2019, she stepped away from influencer life in favor of a private equity boyfriend, a Brooklyn Heights brownstone and an ill-defined Substack (the American dream, really), and wrote this book to interrogate the archetype she helped create. She tries really hard to be the Chanel Miller of chia-seed pudding here, and while her efforts are valiant, the subject matter itself seems so lightweight that even her most serious statements read like satire: much ink is spilled about how she “invented the smoothie bowl,” for example, and her conclusions around getting offline and divesting from the influencer economy fall flat as a result. It was a quick, aggravating listen, and I moved on to Aidan Arata’s “You Have A New Memory” expecting a similar experience.
Arata is kind of an influencer, though more of the 2018 generation than Lee’s 2015ish pedigree (I hope this delineation makes sense to someone) — her online platform was built on the kind of babygirl memes that feature overexposed photos of chewing bunnies with captions like “to manifest creativity you must worship at the altar of boredom.” She’s still writing about an attention economy from the inside, but it’s a bit more self-aware and niche than Tilghman’s.
Arata is the kind of dead-eyed e-girl that I find myself disgustingly jealous of, and I was hoping to find some gratification in learning that her writing sucks. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Many of the sentences and structural choices only increased my jealousy. She seems to train her gaze not at the discourse objects that float through the internet (a trap that a lot of recent “woman on the internet” essay collections have fallen into — I’m thinking of Lauren Oyler’s “No Judgement” and Alice Bolin’s “Culture Creep,” and honestly the Olivia Nuzzi book might fit in here, too) but at the rushing river itself: the id and obsession and misplaced attentional allegiances that have left us so painfully trapped in whatever we’re calling this historical moment. Arata punctuates a gifting suite at The Grove with a sociological exploration of gifting economies; she starts one searing essay with a rape and ends it at a bowling alley, with detours into the history of nature documentaries and the migration patterns of the Western Monarch butterfly. Her essay about accidentally moving into a Carthusian cloister does stretch believability, but her strange, slightly mystical descriptions of the experience (“The forest swallows it like a snake swallows an egg—peacefully”) make up for the writerly contrivances. I tore through the audiobook even faster than Tilghman’s (when a love-listen is faster than a hate-listen, that’s a high compliment). I surprised myself by returning to the book three months later for a re-read; this time, rolling the essays around slowly like sour candy.
These are also both influencer books, and they’re also both Los Angeles books (Tilghman was based in Venice Beach at the height of her career, and Arata is a west side native who, based on her references, now seems to live somewhere east of the 110). So I’ll put my final thoughts in Southern California terms: Tilghman’s prose is as sterile and self-consciously crunchy as the Erewhon hot bar; Arata’s is nasty and mysterious and perfect like the sputtering sign of a North Hollywood roadside psychic. I hope that makes sense to someone.
2) Holy Beat! A Collection of ’60s Italian Christian Beat From the Vaults of Ariel Records
I buy records quite rarely because, honestly, living with roommates makes me too embarrassed to play anything out loud. When I’m down bad enough to go to the record store, I try to focus on albums that I wouldn’t listen to otherwise, and emphasize ones that would add a strange-but-pleasant vibe to the hypothetical dinner parties I’ll throw when I turn 30 or something. This one fits right into the pocket: a reissued live recording of an Italian-language “beat mass” from 1966 — basically, a partial Catholic mass performed by two-bit Beatles impersonators, complete with mop top haircuts and three way harmonies. You can smell the weird combo of incense and patchouli coming off of this thing. There’s a version on YouTube if you’d like to sample. Thank you Vatican II!
3) A harmless gym enemy
There’s one guy at my gym whose vibe I so profoundly dislike that I’ve made it into a private joke with myself. He’s always doing too much in the weight room, making little fortresses of dumbbells that seem too heavy for him and pulling faces that only lovers and close family members should have access to. I know nothing about him and I’m sure he’s very nice, but I’ve decided to make him my enemy. I recommend this. It’s fun to roll your eyes and have a “this fucking guy” character you check in with every once in a while, and it’s less likely to lead to poor choices than a gym crush.
4) This hour-long vlog where a guy almost dies in the Los Padres National Forest
Look, I’ve seen One Battle After Another. I’ve seen Marty Supreme. I’ll see Hamnet soon, but I don’t think it’s going to dethrone this hour-long mountain biking vlog as the most engaging piece of audiovisual entertainment I’ve seen all year. Houston Wilson sets off to ride the Tour De Los Padres with a GoPro clipped to his helmet, but quickly succumbs to unexpected routing issues and heat exhaustion. He makes it out, thankfully, but seems to lose a bit of his mind along the way. By the end, he has sunscreen caked to his lips, sunburns peeling on his neck, and is hysterically crying about seeing a horse. It’s a remarkable video, truly. You’ll never hear “Scott Street” by Phoebe Bridgers in the same way.
5) Prunes
I have a standard-issue bad stomach, and have tried a lot to address it, to varying effect. Citrucel. Miralax. Benefiber. I won’t go on. A few months ago, I got tired of paying $35 for a tub of powder once a month, and experimented with keeping it simple. I eat five prunes before I go to bed, like a cartoon grandmother, and suck on crystallized ginger after most meals, and guess what? My intestines are running like champs. Sometimes cartoons get it right.
6) A Welcome Kind of Weakness, Runnner
This album had 3 of my 5 top songs from 2025 (the other was A.G. Cook, and the fifth was Eurovision-related — I’ve done worse!), and could be described as “Kylie bait”: slightly twangy indie rock that barely conceals its pop structure under guitar fuzz, featuring wordy lyrics that focus on emails, sleep problems and an Achilles injury. Is this methadone for Pinegrove fans? Maybe — but Noah Weinman’s lyrics are funnier and more conversational than Evan Stephens Hall’s (miss you bro wish you weren’t #MeTooed), and this project’s turn toward shinier, more spacious production indicates some pop aspirations that feel exciting. It’s a breakup album that indulges its emo-boy pain and still lands on hope, which might add to the Kylie bait allegations, come to think of it. “Split” and “Get Real Sleep” are my favorites.
7) Amber nightlight
A big theme of 2025 has been trying (usually failing) to accept my body’s needs and actually try to enjoy sleep. Yes, at age 28, I’m working on my bedtime skills and buying new jammies. I’ll spare you the lecture on sleep hygiene (I try to keep myself as ignorant as possible around it, because every “tip” I read just makes me more stressed out — my first major bout of insomnia came after reading “Why We Sleep” by Matthew Walker, and I get scared for people when I see them reading it in public), but we all know that bright ugly lights before bed are objectively bad and reading before bed is objectively good. Problem, because one of those things tends to require the other. No more. Enter the Hooga Amber Clip-On Book Light, a horribly-named and perfectly-designed device. It’s $14, rechargeable and FSA-eligible. Changed my life I’m being so real.
8) Just Tat Em
This is the Instagram page of a man who can’t sing but also must sing. He’s been posting an average of 1-2 cover songs per day for the last three years and has never hit a correct note, but the passion in the delivery has never wavered. I don’t know if he’s just incredibly un-selfaware or incredibly dedicated to the bit, but either way, he’s a rare talent. I bought a ticket to his New York live show the moment they dropped.
Thanks for reading, mostly wanted to show people that I am of sound (and silly) mind and body after being a little over-the-top with the pained literary stylings. As a parting gift, I give you this photo of George Russell that’s been haunting me for 33 days. Unfortunately, you do need to pass it along, It Follows-style, or he’ll start biting:
And here’s me, midway through One Battle After Another at the DGA Theater. If anyone wants to talk about the Lynchian vibes of that place, please put some time on my cal:
Thanks for exposing me to some 21st century music. Love your stuff!
This list has been the best remedy for a cloudy (and grumpy) Sunday afternoon! My mood is lifting! 🤩🙏🏼