The third in line to the United Kingdom throne, Prince Harry of Wales, got photographed nude in a Las Vegas hotel room with an unnamed young woman. It's a pretty straightforward royals scandal: behavior just transgressive enough to merit wall-to-wall media coverage, yet harmless enough that we can enjoy it guilt-free. But British readers won't be enjoying the photos in their country's famously raucous newspapers, every single one of which has bowed to the royal palace's request to not publish the pictures.
But this sort of story is such catnip for the British tabloid media, the red-haired personification of its very raîson d'être -- "the media has been enthralled by the love life of the single prince," Reuters explained -- that one of them just couldn't resist. The Sun asked two of its staffers to pose nude, recreating the naked-prince image for the tabloid's cover, which is seen by an estimated 7.6 million daily readers and countless newsstand passers-by.
Standing in for Prince Harry is Sun photo editor Harry Miller -- the tabloid cover cheerily advertises "BANNED PHOTO POSED BY SUN'S OWN HARRY" -- and, as the anonymous young woman, a 21-year-old staffer named Sophie Henderson, whom the paper says is there "on work experience." In case it's not clear what that means, Henderson's LinkedIn page lists her as a Sun fashion intern.
A print-only article in The Sun explains, according to the Guardian, that Miller and Henderson "dropped everything to recreate the Prince's pose -- after the Palace asked us not to print the real Vegas snaps," and were "happy to strip." The paper later issued a statement, signed by Miller and Henderson, stating, "For anyone worried about whether we were forced against our will to strip off, we are pleased to be able to set the record straight. Please be assured, there is no cover-up at Wapping. It was a bit of harmless fun and we were delighted to have played our part in making the readers laugh."
Putting aside the ethical and potentially legal questions about having an intern pose semi-nude for publication, it's hard not to ask why. If The Sun was willing to go to such great trouble, and expose itself to such risk, why not just go ahead and publish the actual photos?
The answer, assuming the stunt itself wasn't the point, may have to do with both the U.K.'s somewhat tighter media restrictions and this particular moment in the British media industry. The royal palace, in asking outlets not to print the photos, firmly suggested doing so could be considered an infringement on Harry's privacy. According to U.K. media law, a photo taken of someone in private without their consent requires a "public interest" justification to run. And the paper has to actively demonstrate as much: "Editors will be expected to justify intrusions into any individual's private life without consent," the law reads.
That "public interest" definition can be broad -- Peter Barron, the editor of a small British paper, explained that the 2005 photos of Harry dressed in a Nazi costume could be justified as evidence of "misjudgment" by a public official -- but probably not broad enough for this one. And the U.K. media appears to be a bit more cautious these days, some say due to the ongoing "Leveson Inquiry" into media ethics and standards, which the government launched in response to the News of the World phone hacking scandal. The Huffington Postcalls this evidence of "a dangerous new climate of fear in the U.K. media." This seems a little strong, but others seem to agree the Leveson Inquiry, along with the public backlash against the News of the World's abuses, has had a "chilling effect" on the typically brash U.K. media.
"With national newspapers reeling from the News International phone-hacking scandal, the implications of the Leveson Inquiry, and a warning from the Palace that there would be a complaint to the [Press Complaints Commission], no one was prepared to take a chance," Barron wrote. "The public mood, fuelled by what the News of the World did, has acted as a deterrent."
It's almost enough to give you hope that maybe, just maybe, the British media has finally learned some restraint, has heard what the A.P. calls the "celebrities, politicians, and crime victims who said their lives had been turned upside down by press intrusion." Until, that is, you see that, for at least this one mega-tabloid, exercising restraint means having an editor and a college-aged intern pose nude together for the cover.
When President Obama left, I stayed on at the National Security Council in order to serve my country. I lasted eight days.
In 2011, I was hired, straight out of college, to work at the White House and eventually the National Security Council. My job there was to promote and protect the best of what my country stands for. I am a hijab-wearing Muslim woman––I was the only hijabi in the West Wing––and the Obama administration always made me feel welcome and included.
Like most of my fellow American Muslims, I spent much of 2016 watching with consternation as Donald Trump vilified our community. Despite this––or because of it––I thought I should try to stay on the NSC staff during the Trump Administration, in order to give the new president and his aides a more nuanced view of Islam, and of America's Muslim citizens.
Meet the protesters who tricked conference attendees into waving Russian flags.
Two men made trouble—and stirred up a social-media frenzy—on the third day of the Conservative Political Action Conference by conducting a literal false-flag operation.
Jason Charter, 22, and Ryan Clayton, 36, passed out roughly 1,000 red, white, and blue flags, each bearing a gold-emblazoned “TRUMP” in the center, to an auditorium full of attendees waiting for President Trump to address the conference. Audience members waved the pennants—and took pictures with them—until CPAC staffers realized the trick: They were Russian flags.
The stunt made waves on social media, as journalists covering CPAC noticed the scramble to confiscate the insignia.
Long after research contradicts common medical practices, patients continue to demand them and physicians continue to deliver. The result is an epidemic of unnecessary and unhelpful treatments.
First, listen to the story with the happy ending: At 61, the executive was in excellent health. His blood pressure was a bit high, but everything else looked good, and he exercised regularly. Then he had a scare. He went for a brisk post-lunch walk on a cool winter day, and his chest began to hurt. Back inside his office, he sat down, and the pain disappeared as quickly as it had come.
That night, he thought more about it: middle-aged man, high blood pressure, stressful job, chest discomfort. The next day, he went to a local emergency department. Doctors determined that the man had not suffered a heart attack and that the electrical activity of his heart was completely normal. All signs suggested that the executive had stable angina—chest pain that occurs when the heart muscle is getting less blood-borne oxygen than it needs, often because an artery is partially blocked.
Yet another failed drug trial has prompted soul-searching about the “amyloid hypothesis.”
Last week, the pharmaceutical company Merck pulled the plug on a closely watched Alzheimer’s drug trial. The drug verubecestat, an outside committee concluded, had “virtually no chance” of benefit for patients with the disease.
The failure of one drugis of course disappointing, but verubecestat is only the latest in a string of failed trials all attempting the same strategy to battle Alzheimer’s. That pattern of failure has provoked some rather public soul-searching about the basic hypothesis that has guided Alzheimer’s research for the past quarter century.
The “amyloid hypothesis” began with a simple observation: Alzheimer’s patients have an unusual buildup of the protein amyloid in their brains. Thus, drugs that prevent or remove the amyloid should slow the onset of dementia. Yet all drugs targeting amyloid—including solanezumab from Eli Lilly and bapineuzumab from Pfizer and Johnson & Johnson, to add a few more high-profile flameouts to the fail pile—have not worked so far.
You can tell a lot about a person from how they react to something.
That’s why Facebook’s various “Like” buttons are so powerful. Clicking a reaction icon isn’t just a way to register an emotional response, it’s also a way for Facebook to refine its sense of who you are. So when you “Love” a photo of a friend’s baby, and click “Angry” on an article about the New England Patriots winning the Super Bowl, you’re training Facebook to see you a certain way: You are a person who seems to love babies and hate Tom Brady.
The more you click, the more sophisticated Facebook’s idea of who you are becomes. (Remember: Although the reaction choices seem limited now—Like, Love, Haha, Wow, Sad, or Angry—up until around this time last year, there was only a “Like” button.)
Since the middle of last year, a group of Filipino reporters, photographers, and cameramen have been at the frontline of Philippine President Rodrigo Duterte’s war on drugs. They are a different type of war correspondent, and the drug war, a different type of war.
The correspondents work what they call the “night shift,” the unholy hours between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m., when the dead bodies are found. They wait at Manila’s main police station and rush from there to the site of the most recent kill. They keep count of the corpses, talk to witnesses and families, interview the police, attend wakes and funerals. A lot of what the world learned about the carnage, especially in the early months, is due largely to the night shift reporters.
Ambitious young Republicans at CPAC are torn over embracing the new nationalism of the president.
OXON HILL, Maryland — If you want to take the temperature of the conservative movement at CPAC, you need to know where to stick the thermometer. It’s not in the onstage speeches, or the myriad policy panels, or the boozy after-parties—it’s inside Exhibit Hall D on the ground floor of the Gaylord National Resort and Convention Center.
Here, in what conference organizers have dubbed “The Hub,” hundreds of blue-blazered and high-heeled young conservatives roam the cavernous hall—crammed with booths set up by right-wing think tanks, media outfits, pressure groups, and publishers—shopping for future careers. The general vibe is that of a trade show, with attendees perusing pamphlets about D.C. internships, swapping Twitter follows, and taking selfies with minor cable news celebrities. They buy t-shirts with cheeky messages on them (“God is great, beer is good & liberals are crazy”), and the lucky ones make off with a satchel full of swag (the Sheriff David Clarke bobblehead was a particularly hot item this year).
Thomas Perez has defeated Representative Keith Ellison in a battle to lead the party in the age of Trump.
Former Labor Secretary Thomas Perez—the candidate backed by the Democratic Party’s establishment—was elected chairman of the Democratic National Committee on Sunday, as its members chose a close ally of both Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton to lead the out-of-power party in the era of Donald Trump.
Perez defeated Representative Keith Ellison of Minnesota, the favorite of many progressives, and a collection of lesser-known candidates in a vote of the 435 committee members who participated in the balloting in Atlanta. Perez won on the second ballot after coming a single vote shy of capturing the simple majority needed in the first round of balloting. The final two-way vote was 235-200. In a bid to head off a revolt from Ellison backers, Perez immediately moved to name his rival as deputy chairman, which the party members ratified by acclamation.
18-30 grams of protein and a lot of internalized ideas about masculinity per serving
Starting around the time I was 10, my brother took me with him on runs I could barely complete—off our street, across the Brooklyn Bridge, and back. I hated every minute of it. Each time my chest filled with a cold-metal ache that reinforced that this was not for me—to this day I run on treadmills, never outside. After one of the first times I remember eating a slice of bread with cheese—“Really?” he said, “We just went for a run, and you’re going to eat that?” If this is what it was to exercise, I would not, I promised myself, exercise again.
That was easy enough for a while—I went to a math and science high school full of kids taught to treat our bodies as meat casings for our brains. But then I found myself at a private university where some of the meat casings were taller, stronger, and belonged to people who sprinted up hills, did yoga, and rowed boats down rivers. A girl I met bemoaned how she only got to the gym three days a week now, and it left her feeling stressed. Having only ever associated the gym with stress, I was confused.
“No… it’s a magic potty,” my daughter used to lament, age 3 or so, before refusing to use a public restroom stall with an automatic-flush toilet. As a small person, she was accustomed to the infrared sensor detecting erratic motion at the top of her head and violently flushing beneath her. Better, in her mind, just to delay relief than to subject herself to the magic potty’s dark dealings.
It’s hardly just a problem for small people. What adult hasn’t suffered the pneumatic public toilet’s whirlwind underneath them? Or again when attempting to exit the stall? So many ordinary objects and experiences have become technologized—made dependent on computers, sensors, and other apparatuses meant to improve them—that they have also ceased to work in their usual manner. It’s common to think of such defects as matters of bad design. That’s true, in part. But technology is also more precarious than it once was. Unstable, and unpredictable. At least from the perspective of human users. From the vantage point of technology, if it can be said to have a vantage point, it's evolving separately from human use.