Tisdale and French with their dog Ziggy Stardust, who has more Instagram followers than most people.
Ashley Tisdale has disobeyed her own erstwhile advice and shaken up the status quo: the “High School Musical” star, 35, is pregnant with her first child.
Tisdale broke the news through the humble medium that scores of celebrities have been forced to adopt since the onset of the coronavirus pandemic: a simple Instagram post staged in her palm tree-filled backyard. In the snapshot, which Tisdale posted Thursday morning, the actress poses in a nap dress while cradling the kind of barely-there bump that would indicate a large meal for a normal person but, in the case of a celebrity, signifies an advanced pregnancy.
Most famous for her role as “High School Musical’s” trauma-inducing drama queen Sharpay, Tisdale is currently rebranding herself as a wellness guru (because who isn’t?) and recently launched Frenshe, a blog that interviews influencers about their work-life balance and teaches you how to remove toxins from your home by buying expensive shampoos.
But who’s the baby daddy? Tisdale has been married to her husband, musician and composer Christopher French, for six years. French used to be the frontman for the now-defunct band Annie Automatic, and he used to have side bangs. Now, the Schmooze is happy to report, he sports the gently tousled crew cut of a JCrew model and seems to spend most of his time composing sweet Instagram posts about his wife.
By the looks of it, Tisdale and French are approaching parenthood with the enthusiastic support of friends — and former flames. Former “High School Musical” co-star Vanessa Hudgens gushed that the pregnancy reveal was “just the freaking cutest,” and even actress Haley Cuoco, who dated French for a year, chimed in with congratulations in the comments section.
‘High School Musical’ star Ashley Tisdale is pregnant
Irene Katz Connelly is an editorial fellow at the Forward. You can contact her at connelly@forward.com. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.
‘High School Musical’ star Ashley Tisdale is pregnant
Jewish model and actress Emily Ratajkowski accused fashion photographer Jonathan Leder of sexual assault in an searing essay for The Cut.
Ratajkowski wrote that in 2012, she traveled to the photographer’s Catskills home as an unknown 20-year-old model to participate in a photoshoot for which “exposure,” not money, would be the compensation. After plying her with wine before the shoot, she said, Leder told her to pose nude and took advantage of the fact that she was drunk to digitally assault her.
It was a night she tried to forget — until, years later, she discovered that Leder had turned dozens of the photos into a book, to which the Schmooze will not link, titled “Emily Ratajkowski” (and in its second run, even more grossly, “Two Nights With Emily”) which he published without consulting or compensating her.
Reflecting on the difficulty of controlling her own image, Ratajkowski recounts that experience as part of a litany of incidents in which her photographs enriched not her, but more powerful men around her. In 2014, for example, she discovered that she was a subject in artist Richard Prince’s “Instagram Paintings,” a much-lauded series in which the artist created paintings out of real celebrity Instagram posts. One was a nude photo from Ratajkowski’s feed which dated from her first Sports Illustrated shoot, for which she was paid $150. Now it was selling for $80,000 — none of which would go to her.
The Emily Ratajkowski piece is truly courageous. It’s brought home to me how wrongly dismissive I’ve sometimes felt about her and other women who appear to benefit from the ‘privilege’ of staggering beauty.I shouldn’t have needed reminding that all bodies can be hard to live in.— Daisy Buchanan (@NotRollergirl) September 15, 2020
Leder used Ratajkowski’s reputation as a sex symbol — to which he has inarguably contributed — to question her credibility. In a statement to The Cut, he derided Ratajkowski for appearing in Thicke’s music video and posing naked elsewhere — actions that, to him, apparently renders women forever unworthy of seeking redress for any grievance. “You really want someone to believe she was a victim?” he said.
Ratajkowski hasn’t published much, but she occasionally posts on Instagram about the authors that get her thinking, an eclectic bunch that includes bell hooks, Martin Hagglund, and Hilton Als. In May, she told British GQ that she’s spent her time in isolation working on a collection of essays that explores questions similar to the ones this piece addresses, like the paradox of being “someone who has capitalised on their image and also someone who has been maybe a victim of their image.”
If the end product is anything like this piece, we’ll be linking to that.
Irene Katz Connelly is an editorial fellow at the Forward. You can contact her at connelly@forward.com. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.
Model Emily Ratajkowski says photographer assaulted her
Ato Essandoh plays botanist Kwesi Weisberg-Abban in “Away.”
America is launching its first mission to Mars — and there’s a chumash on the spaceship.
This may sound like a Space Force PR stunt. In fact, it’s an extremely Jewish subplot of Netflix’s space soap opera “Away.” And that chumash (the Torah in printed, portable form) is the prized possession of one of its main characters, Black Jewish botanist Kwesi Weisberg-Annan.
An astronaut drama with more emotional baggage and crises per episode than “Grey’s Anatomy,” “Away” revolves around a multi-national crew of astronauts led by (of course) glass ceiling-shattering American commander Emma Green, played by (of course) Hilary Swank. Between solving the astonishing number of mechanical problems that plague their supposedly state-of-the-art space craft, the crew spends its time playing chess, dispensing insults that spiral into international incidents, and recalling their origins in lengthy flashbacks, all of which take place in homes that are either Crate and Barrel showrooms or a venture capitalist’s misguided approximation of middle-class life.
That’s how we find out about Kwesi’s Jewish journey, a genuinely touching tale of displacement and renewal. Kwesi, born in Ghana and then orphaned, is adopted by a British couple: Miriam, a Jewish woman, and Sisi, a Ghanaian immigrant who came to Judaism through his wife. Initially distrustful of his adoptive parents, Kwesi rejects their stories of a loving God, astutely wondering why no deity swooped in to help his biological family. Sisi, a gardener, wins him over by explaining that Judaism taught him that it’s humans and their faith in each other that make God possible, not the other way around. To illustrate the point, he brings Kwesi a papaya flower tree, native to Ghana: though it’s not meant for the chilly English climate, father and son slowly convince it to thrive.
Is the deployment of capital-M Metaphors like this kind of clunky? Absolutely. But it’s worth it to see nuanced Jewish narratives delivered by non-Ashkenazi Jews by choice, a rarity in mass-market TV. In “Away,” conversion is never questioned or treated as a sideshow; instead, it’s at the center of Jewish storytelling. And Judaism itself is central to the show’s exploration of faith: when the crew request a prayer during a tense moment in the final episode, it’s Kwesi who comes through with the Traveler’s Prayer (Essandoh joked to the Jewish Telegraphic Agency that he’s going to include his ability to recite it on his resume).
Unfortunately, “Away” bolsters as many boundaries as it breaks, and to arrive at Kwesi’s touching backstory you will have to wade through six episodes of stereotypes about the show’s anti-hero astronauts, Chinese Wang Lu (Vivian Wu) and Russian Misha Popov (Mark Ivanir). A consummate conniver with his eye on Emma’s job, Misha spends much of the show acting out stale Cold War propaganda. Meanwhile, Lu’s scenes seem like they were written by someone who thinks it’s OK to call the coronavirus the “Wuhan flu:” there is literally a scene where she stands by while her husband chastises their son for getting a 98 on his math test.
As the spaceship draws nearer to Mars, both characters deepen and become more sympathetic. But they do so by becoming warmer and more team-spirited — traits that Emma and her stock-photo family embody from the start and that the show implicitly characterizes as inherently American. Case in point: in the show’s final episode, Lu proves her “growth” by telling her son to do what makes him happy, which is both a laudable sentiment and, in “Away’s” cinematic universe, an indicator that she’s unlearning the values assigned to her based on stereotypes about her nationality.
The Schmooze is very much here for Kwesi. But we hope that if “Away” comes back for a second season, it can stop insinuating America invented good parenting and human feeling.
Irene Katz Connelly is an editorial fellow at the Forward. You can contact her at connelly@forward.com. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.
Netflix’s new space opera stars a Black Jewish botanist
In 2013, a millennial Jewish nightmare came true for Jeffrey Kaplan: he discovered his mother was posing as his younger brother on JDate in hopes of setting him up with a nice Jewish girl.
That’s called catfishing, and it’s a fundamental no-no of the online dating world. But to Kaplan, an entrepreneur based in Asheville, N.C., it was also an example of an “unarticulated need,” an economic term that describes a consumer’s desire for a product that doesn’t yet exist. What his mother needed was a forum in which she could act the yenta without having to literally masquerade as her son.
A few years later, like a nice Jewish boy should, he’s about to fulfil that wish with the launch of JustKibbitz, a dating app, set to launch later this fall, that lets Jewish moms make matches for their kids.
“We’re putting your mom in the driver’s seat,” said Jeffrey Kaplan. What could go wrong?
Here’s how JustKibbitz will work. Moms (or dads) eager to fast-track the arrival of grandchildren will subscribe to the app in order to create profiles, message with other parents, and eventually choose a time and place for their consenting offspring to meet.
It’s easy to see JustKibbitz’s appeal to moms, less so to envision a widespread availability of consenting offspring. (The app’s landing page features a blog post entitled “How to persuade your kid that this dating site is a good idea.”) Kaplan and his team thought of that: when they surveyed 100 millennials about their willingness to embark on a mom-arranged date, only half agreed. But when asked how they felt about a mom-bankrolled date, 92% were interested.
So Kaplan made prepaid dates one of JustKibbitz’s core features. Through the app, parents can provide potential couples with gift cards to Starbucks, local bars, or even movie theaters. But to unlock the funds, they’ll have to complete an icebreaker activity, whether it’s answering trivia questions about each other or playing a quick game of tic tac toe.
“I see [the redeemable date] as something that almost reduces the inhibitions,” Kaplan said, which is a tactful way of pointing out that we as a generation will do anything for a free venti frappe.
‘High School Musical’ star Ashley Tisdale is pregnant
Just Kibbitz is not the first app to unleash Jewish moms on the matchmaking world, or to mix online dating with offline relationships. A dating website called JMom, which operated from 2010 to 2015, allowed moms to schmooze on behalf of their kids. More recently, on dating groups that formed on Facebook during the pandemic, millennial and Gen Z Jews circulated informal dating “resumes” on behalf of single friends. And, of course, the app borrows from a practice even older: the shidduch system, common in Haredi communities, in which professional matchmakers introduce single Jews.
Kaplan hopes that capturing a niche market of Jewish moms will help distinguish JustKibbitz from the crowd. But he also sees its structure as a way to counter the less savory aspects of online dating, like the fact that over 50% of female dating app users receive unsolicited nude pictures.
Some apps are taking steps to address harassment: in 2019, Bumble introduced an algorithm that recognizes and blurs explicit images. But Kaplan has a simpler solution. “By introducing the oldest form of accountability — your parents — we can eliminate [nude photos],” he said.
About 500 parents have joined JustKibbitz’s waiting list so far, and Kaplan said the app will launch once it meets a “critical mass” of interested subscribers.
It’s easy to be skeptical of the idea that a traditionalist approach will remove all stumbling blocks in the path from single status to holy matrimony: After all, young people stopped letting their parents set them up because it doesn’t always work out so well. But the whole worldwide pandemic thing is compelling us to try new things and ask ourselves new questions, like Who is better equipped to decide whether a stranger is worthy of mixing their genes with mine, me or my mom? or Do I want free Starbucks this weekend? If those are the dilemmas that have been puzzling you, there’s no better time to solve them than now.
‘High School Musical’ star Ashley Tisdale is pregnant
Irene Katz Connelly is an editorial fellow at the Forward. You can contact her at connelly@forward.com. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.
Summer is over, which means most of us can congratulate ourselves on slogging through the season without succumbing to the temptation of attending maskless Hamptons soirees.
Not so for Jewish influencer Danielle Bernstein, who made headlines this week by testing positive for COVID-19 after a social spree in our modern-day East Egg. Here’s what you need to know about the ongoing saga.
Who is Danielle Bernstein?
The designer and personality behind clothing brand We Wore What, Bernstein is on the vanguard of influencer culture. Insofar as influencing is a respectable raison d’etre, her origin story is an impressive one: Bernstein launched We Wore What as a street photography blog while at college in 2011, eventually turning it into a chronicle of her personal style and a vehicle for advertising her own designs. The success of those designs landed her on the 2017 Forbes “30 Under 30” list.
Now, Bernstein has 2.5 million Instagram followers who flock to her account for details of her daily routine, which includes such relatable activities as lounging on concrete in a leather bustier and submerging her diamond-encrusted arm in crystal clear water.
What has she been up to this summer?
A lot! Besides allegedly pirating a mask design from a small business, Bernstein managed, despite the pandemic, to show off her collection of incredibly uncomfortable-looking crop tops in multiple vacation locales. In the past few months she posted snapshots of kosher-for-COVID social activities, like dining alfresco, but saved the racier stuff — like videos of herself dancing maskless at crowded parties — for her more ephemeral Instagram stories.
After receiving backlash for that behavior, Bernstein deleted the posts in question (they’ve been preserved and posted by the influencer watchdog account @influencerstruth), saying she didn’t want to “set a bad example” for followers and clarified that at least one event she attended was not a “party” but a “get together.” (The Schmooze cannot confirm whether coronavirus discriminates between the two).
Since then, an entire Instagram account, @wedonttakecovidseriouslywhat, has sprung up to chronicle what it calls “Danielle’s complete disregard for a global pandemic.”
“There are 2.4 million people seeing her invite people into her home (very high risk) and attend parties and then people will think it’s OK to do,” the account’s anonymous operator told Mashable.
When did she test positive for COVID?
Last weekend, Bernstein revealed that she and her boyfriend had tested positive for COVID-19. In a now-expired Instagram story reported by Insider, she wrote, “Woke up without my sense of taste and smell. My body is extremely sore, particularly my hips and legs … trying to stay hydrated and just take Tylenol.”
Page Six reported that just days before her diagnosis, Bernstein had attended a maskless Hamptons party with 35 to 40 guests, including former Kylie Jenner flame Blake Griffin. An anonymous source told the outlet that other guests were “rushing to get tests.” On her Instagram stories, Bernstein has said that no one who had contact with her has tested positive.
How is she doing now?
Not to worry — she’s fine. Earlier this week, Bernstein said on her stories that she was feeling achy and weak and posted a “cozy couch appreciation post” that included five extremely styled snapshots of her lounging on an impeccable white sofa. She’s now returned to posting pictures of We Wore What’s fall collection.
Why does anyone care if Danielle Bernstein has coronavirus?
An excellent question. It might seem mind-boggling that anyone would devote any portion of their one wild and precious life to tracking an influencer’s summer-long prowl through the Hamptons. But it’s part of a larger phenomenon: Even more than celebrities, influencers have borne the brunt of public corona-shaming during the pandemic. (Bernstein could have taken a cue from fellow influencer Ariel Charnas, who had to apologize for traveling outside New York City after her coronavirus diagnosis.)
That might be due to the liminal position influencers occupy between the truly famous and the rest of us mere mortals. It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no matter how much the economy tanks, Madonna will continue to refer to the virus as “the great equalizer” while sitting in her marble bathtub surrounded by rose petals. But influencers market themselves as being just like us, so it’s extra easy to be infuriated when they don’t follow the rules that many (although certainly not all) of their fellow citizens have accepted.
Danielle Bernstein having Covid is just the icing on the cake of influencers being the absolute worst— paige (@impaigelevy) September 5, 2020
not danielle bernstein being out and about ALL summer in the hamptons going back and forth to the city and her apartment only to now have covid?? this is why I hate influencers— Kalyia (@kaalyia) September 5, 2020
But the fact is, influencers are not like us at all. They enjoy privileges inaccessible to most Americans, and their entire value proposition stems from the assumption that they live lives that are better, and thus more worthy of attention, than those of their followers.
The pandemic has rendered economic inequality in America — of which influencers, and the pristine sofas on which they recover from coronavirus, are one stark embodiment — both more visible and less palatable. It’s hard to judge what the impact of that revelation will be. But one test is whether influencer culture can survive the virus.
‘High School Musical’ star Ashley Tisdale is pregnant
Irene Katz Connelly is an editorial fellow at the Forward. You can contact her at connelly@forward.com. Follow her on Twitter at @katz_conn.
Influencer Danielle Bernstein tests positive for COVID
