Well, nothing like oppressive heatwaves and end-of-days conditions to keep us indoors this summer — and bring Gen X and elder millennials together for a collaboration with prolific culture writer, Friend of Whatever Nevermind, and my work wife across the pond, Emma Fraser.
We’ve rounded up the best ways we’ve kept ourselves happy and entertained lately, while also bringing back fond, comforting memories — from Gen X and elder millennial women bonding (and keeping secrets) in The Five-Star Weekend, to a Madonna takeover, to what Emma is reading (because I spend my entire existence watching TV).
What’s been making you happy this summer? Share in the comments! And, at the risk of sounding like a bad middle school yearbook entry, stay cool and safe out there.
xo Fawnia
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I think the first time I heard about this show was when D’Arcy Carden posted on Instagram about The Five-Star Weekend cast going to see One Battle After Another at the Nantucket movie theater to support co-star Regina Hall. Or at least this was the first time I saw how stacked with faves this show is. I was going to tune in — whether it was good or not — based on the line-up alone of Jennifer Garner, Chloë Sevigny, Hall, Carden, Gemma Chan, Judy Greer, and Timothy Olyphant. That is a five-star cast, and I would never have expected to see Sevigny in a beach read adaptation, making this choice even more inspired. She is the ultimate ’90s cool girl; Garner is the girl-next-door turned brilliant spy on Alias. Yes, yes, yes! And to see them all riff off each other is a testament to the series, which doesn’t even feature a murder (as you might expect from this genre).
It is also delightful to see some reunions, such as IRL besties Garner and Greer having a frenemy dynamic, a League of Their Own pairing that has made me want to rewatch the canceled-too-soon TV adaptation, and Garner and Olyphant reconnecting 20 years after the lesser-known rom-com Catch and Release. I saw the latter when it came out, and I need to revisit this as well. Their chemistry is just as crackling as it was back then, and this pair has never been hotter. Fingers crossed, this group of actors will be back for another weekend away to entertain us over the summer. -EF
Yes to everything Emma just said! But this series, featuring all my faves, unleashed one beloved, nostalgic needle drop after another through every single episode. (And you know how much I love ’80s and ’90s soundtracks.) In the premiere, they had me at my ’90s club staple, “Be My Lover” by La Bouche at Hollis’ pajama dance party. (That bop was on my Club Nicole/Europa/M-80 mixtape — #iykyk ’90s Bostonites — along with Corona’s “Rhythm of the Night,” most recently resurrected on Widow’s Bay by DJ Jeff Hiller.) Music supervisor Jen Ross hits the ball out of the park in every episode, from “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina and the Waves, before old resentments and new secrets arise within the group, to Depeche Mode’s “Just Can’t Get Enough” for sloppy shots during ’80s night at the local Nantucket dive bar. Come for the drama and stay for the soundtrack, and Timothy Olyphant has never been hotter than when he utters the words, “pre-Hagar Van Halen.” -FSH
The only time I saw Hole play live was at my very first music festival: Glastonbury 1999. By the fall of that year, bassist Melissa Auf der Maur’s time with the band fronted by Courtney Love had come to an end. I was gutted to hear this news. Earlier that summer, I was 16, and having the time of my life. During the Hole set, during which I vowed to buy some fairy wings just like Love’s, my friend ended up on stage along with 20 or so others. At the end, Courtney Love — sans wings but still in pink sequins, fishnets, and glitter — handed her guitar to my dazed friend, saying she looked like she really wanted it. She was told backstage that the surf-green Fender Venus would be kept safe. It was no fairy-tale illusion; the guitar was still there on Monday morning, and I am so glad I had enough film in my disposable camera to capture me holding it. Otherwise, it would’ve felt like a dream I had conjured. More than 25 years later, it still feels like an out-of-body experience, and I wasn’t even the one on stage.
In her spellbinding memoir, Even the Good Girls Cry: a ’90s Rock Memoir, Auf der Maur briefly mentions this show. She recalls the sunset timeslot and that they were “at top-notch ability.” So much has happened to Auf der Maur by this point in a memoir charting the ’90s that it is understandable why a drama-free evening would only warrant a few paragraphs. Another more chaotic festival experience opens the memoir when Auf der Maur played her first festival show with Hole at Reading (near London) in 1994. She mentions snapping a self-portrait (before the word “selfie” existed) that would become her ritual before going on stage. Photography is intrinsic to who Auf der Maur is as an artist, and it is in those opening paragraphs that I immediately fell in love with a book that doubles as a time machine to an era when I was coming of age.
My music taste is one area where my Gen X-Millennial cusp-ness shifts into focus. I loved Nirvana in my tweens (and still do now) and would play my Gen X sister’s cassette single of “Lithium” on repeat at the tender age of 11. To me, Auf der Maur’s book captures an era that I wish I had been a few years older to experience moments like Reading Festival in 1994 (instead, my first Reading wasn’t until 2001, when The Strokes were making waves — okay, that was also great). But Even the Good Girls Cry gives me that AAA experience through Auf der Maur’s stunning prose. Everything from the browny-mauve matte MAC lipstick she describes to the vintage ’70s outfits sets the backstage scene. The former Hole bassist offers an equally evocative insight and vision of this decade through her words and photographs. (I will be purchasing the forthcoming book of accompanying pics.)
Auf der Maur guides us through her move from the Montreal music scene to everything that came with Hole: tricky contract negotiations, the media frenzy surrounding Love, the overt and subtle sexism, living on the road, fashion, being surrounded by class-A drugs, a haunted stay in New Orleans, and the swirling rumors about everything in between. I wondered while reading whether Auf der Maur still talks to Love, given that she is up front about the challenges this band faced with such a well-known frontwoman. I won’t spoil that here, but this is not a tawdry tell-all, yet it still leaves room for tea. It is quite the balancing act. As a Gen X artist, Auf der Maur gets into the whole selling-out aspect of this era and how difficult “Celebrity Skin” was to record, given the amount of money the label had pumped into the project. I love that album (the title track is my go-to karaoke song), but this certainly gave me a new perspective.
I didn’t know anything about Auf der Maur going into this, other than I always thought she was the coolest member of Hole. Even if you weren’t into Hole (though I implore you to watch this music video), this memoir is so much more. It is a celebration of tangible, analog things: keeping records, taking photographs, having dreams, and listening to those dreams that happen while you sleep. Beautiful and dynamic, it is the best book I have read all year. -EF
On her podcast, “Good Hang,” Amy Poehler refers to guest (and good friend) Will Ferrell as “the face of their five favorite comedy movies” for millennials and “maybe some Gen X.” I mean, I understand that it’s like the Boomer icons we grew up with — Catherine O’Hara in Beetlejuice and Eddie Murphy in Beverly Hills Cop. But I’m still claiming Ferrell because he is Gen X and in his new Netflix comedy, The Hawk, he plays former-golf champ Lonny Hawkins, a Gen X man going THROUGH IT, if I’ve ever seen one. And I’ve seen quite a few, like another sad former golf champ in the throes of a midlife crisis in Owen Wilson’s Stick. But Ferrell brings his irresistible (OK, maybe to me because he’s not always Emma’s cup of tea) eternally optimistic man-child/frat-boy energy that I watch on loop every year in Elf.
Lonnie tries to reclaim his former title with the help of his new caddy Sam (Fortune Feimster, also a fave), whom he discovers in a Walmart parking lot. She shares his unearned confidence, flair for athletic fashion by costume designer Christine Wittenborn, and penchant for a curly mullet (which, obviously, he clocks). Lonnie also tries to reconnect — and compete — with his actual golf-champion son, Lance, who, in a stellar casting choice, is played by Jimmy Tatro: forever the guy “who drew the dicks” to me and Ike Barinholtz’s heir apparent. (Someone cast them together immediately!) Molly Shannon plays Lonnie’s sort-of estranged wife, a regular presence on the golf course as she hawks — haha — her canned alcoholic beverage and gives us plenty of Saturday Night Live nostalgia via their unhinged marital banter. Oh, and Owen’s brother Luke Wilson plays The Hawk’s douche-y equivalent of Timothy Olyphant’s antagonist Stick pro-golfer, thus breaking my brain.
Co-creators and writers on the show also bring some serious Gen X bona fides: Brooke Shields’ husband Chris Henchy and Ferrell’s longtime best friend and collaborator Harper Steele. (Side note: If you want a really good cry about the beauty of friendship and a renewed faith in humanity, watch their road-trip documentary, Will & Harper.) It’s Christmas in July! -FSH
The Hawk is now streaming on Netflix.
There are a few Emmy wins that have long lingered in my brain. One of those is Tatiana Maslany taking home Best Actress in a Drama in 2016 for Orphan Black. It is not because Kiefer Sutherland butchered her name when he presented the award (even though he does), but how genuinely thrilling it was to see Maslany being recognized for the impressive feat of playing an array of clones that had entered double digits by that point. Adding to my delight was how out-of-the-blue it was that a show on BBC America had won. Maslany’s shock was genuine, as you can see as she tries to read her thank-yous from her iPhone but hadn’t factored in the barrage of messages she was getting while on stage (I think this was before “do not disturb” was a feature). It was the first time I had seen a speech read off a notes app, and it felt like a very millennial move.
Maslany’s performance on Orphan Black in scenes where she is often playing against herself is one I continue to marvel over. I am clearly in a rewatching phase, as I revisited the BBC America sci-fi series before I dove back into The Americans. It still holds up (as does Maslany). Maslany has done various projects since (including a brilliant supporting turn in Perry Mason’s first season alongside Matthew Rhys). Still, Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed is the first time I have experienced the same level of excitement at seeing her as the lead in a TV show that lets Maslany flex her skill at conveying multiple states of mind. No, she is not playing an array of characters, but the hoops her character, Paula, has to jump through in this thriller with dollops of dark humor are astounding.
Paula is dealing with a custody battle, trying to provide a stable home for her daughter, and attempting to find some pleasure of her own. She is also working as a fact-checker (a shrinking profession) with a pair of Gen Z co-workers, one of whom is vying for the promotion Paula is seeking. Matters quickly escalate when a blackmail plot spirals out of control, forcing Paula to adapt to her new normal and use her fact-checking investigative skills in the process. Maslany navigates the terrifying situation with a mix of fear and tenacity as she tries to keep everything from spiraling out of control. The supporting cast is equally terrific at landing tonal shifts: Gen X is well represented through the always wonderful Jake Johnson, Murray Bartlett, and Dolly de Leon (the latter pair were the best part of the second season of Nine Perfect Strangers).
Another highlight in this era of streaming shows dragging at times is that the episodes hover around the 30-minute mark and never lose momentum (Apple TV is crushing it with options of this length recently, with Margo’s Got Money Troubles and Widow’s Bay ticking these boxes). The propulsive pacing is supported by a soundtrack full of bangers, including Fischerspooner’s 2001 hit “Emerge,” which sends me spiraling back to getting ready for a night out at university. Maslany is constantly on the move in Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, and this playlist is ideal for working out or dancing around your home (I’m choosing the second option) without the added peril Paula faces on screen. -EF
Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed is streaming on Apple TV.
In May, my friend Katrina invited me as her plus-one to the Miami Grand Prix for the best work trip ever. (Me: “What do you do exactly again? Marketing for tech something?” Katrina: “I’m the CMO.”) Aside from a few crammed episodes of Netflix’s Drive to Survive, we were both total newbies, like I knew of Formula 1's all-time wins leader Lewis Hamilton because of his social justice and charity work, Met Gala appearances, and romantic life. Granted, the experience in the Atlassian Williams F1 Team Paddock Club suite was such a privilege and absolutely magical (like free-flowing Moët and surf and turf at the ready). And there is nothing more exhilarating than watching a car glide in for a two-second tire change from right above the garage (and being in the garage!). Now I cannot stop watching F1 races on TV and listening to all the podcasts.
Obviously, dreamy drivers are a draw and the races are incredibly thrilling. Depending on the location, the courses are within the city — like Monaco’s super glam To Catch a Thief vibes, but like with cars crashing into barriers, or Las Vegas’ nighttime battle on the Strip (can’t wait). But I’ve also been so invigorated by the constant learning about the ultra-data and math-driven (sorry again with the puns) sport. I’ve never been so intrigued by tires, which the movie F1 attempted to make sound exciting but went overboard with exposition. (Olyphant, who’s apparently this week’s MVP, Colin Farrell, or E1 racing team co-owner Idris Elba should have played Brad Pitt’s role in that movie, but anyway.) I’m telling you, tire strategy is fascinating! But I’m still getting up to speed — I did not mean to do that — on the whole pitstop strategy.
I’m also watching Drive to Survive, but backward, for context on all the personalities, the beefs, and the gossip — also essential parts of being an F1 fan. I call the Netflix F1 reality series the “Real Housewives of the Grid,” because the team principals — a mash-up of CEO, general manager, head coach, and team owner — are the messiest bitches of them all. Plus, former Red Bull team principal Christian Horner, the Jen Shah of the bunch, is married to Ginger Spice Geri Halliwell, and I yelled, “Naomi Campbell’s ’90s boyfriend!” when Alpine’s Flavio Briatore popped onto the screen.
But seriously, watching Hamilton win the Spanish Grand Prix — his triumphant first win for Ferrari since joining in 2025 — in June made me tear up. At 41, he’s a millennial, but this milestone as F1’s champion elder statesman really spoke to the Gen X in me — as did Hamilton’s post-race interview when he good-naturedly pointed out that he’s older than the combined ages of bb podium finishers, Kimi Antonelli and Isaac Hadjar. The drivers speaking so openly about their insecurities and vulnerabilities (well, some of them, ahem, Verstappen) — and sometimes overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds, Friday Night Lights but with cars style — has also felt incredibly inspiring during my Hot Summer of Gen X Midlife-Induced Stress that will one day be fodder for my Substack.
The three-day races have kept me at rapt attention while luxuriating in air-con, but they’ve also brought me closer to Gen X friends. I’m constantly blowing up the DMs of Katrina and my cousin (and WNVM subscriber) Arlene, plus Sophie Brookover, a.k.a. Dame Sophie, and OG Ferrari and Williams fan Jen Baden Howard on Substack. My obsession (and Instagram algo) has also led me to smart, cool women upending the extremely male-dominated sport, like Toni Cowan-Brown, founder of Esses Magazine, and Esme Buxton’s The Paddock Journal. There’s also Denise Yeung, the 50-year-old mom who competed at Le Mans, and former professional racing driver Susie Wolff, who’s creating opportunities for young women in the sport as the managing director of the female-only championship, F1 Academy. I like sports now! -FSH
F1 streams in the U.S. on Apple TV.
Whatever Nevermind celebrates Gen X-ers doing cool things, explores stories and trends that define our generation, and dives into pop culture, fashion, and beauty from our perspective. Read more stories like this here.
I have always had a fascination with the Cold War, and I put this down to being born in what would become the death rattle of this conflict. Plus, who doesn’t love spies? The first season of The Americans opens in 1981 — the year before I was born — and much of the series takes place during a time I can barely remember. Still, I am very much a kid of the ’80s, and so some nostalgia seeps in. Even more than that, Whatever Nevermind Gen X favorites Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys are at the top of their game, navigating the layers of deep cover KGB agents posing as an all-American family living in suburbia.
Having fallen in love with the show when it debuted in 2013, I recently revisited all six seasons for the first time since it concluded in 2018. I wrote a lot about this show when it aired, and it helped shape me as a writer. The one-two combo of a Rhys-Russell Netflix line-up with The Beast in Me and The Diplomat airing so close together finally led to revisiting this defining show of the ‘10s. Now, Widow’s Bay is having an even bigger impact on The Americans reentering the conversation — if my socials are anything to go by. To me, it never went away, which I got to tell Rhys a couple of months ago when I spoke to him for L.A .Times’ The Envelope. [Note from Fawnia: mic drop.] Regardless of whether you have or haven’t already watched the FX spy drama, there is no better time to take a trip down TV memory lane or dip your toe in these waters (to mix metaphors).
Because of Friends, I thought that if an on-screen couple was sleeping together in real life, the chemistry would suffer. The Americans would like to have a word, as it puts that myth to bed. Somehow, IRL couple Rhys and Russell make a tooth-pulling scene into the most intimate sequence I have seen since Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland’s legendary sex scene in Don’t Look Now. The mediation on marriage remains the sun around which the entire solar system of this series revolves, and it is extraordinary. That Russell did not win an Emmy for this performance is something I will continue to be mad about.
And I can’t recommend The Americans without mentioning the stunning array of ’80s clothes that tick so many boxes from Elizabeth’s sexy silk shirts in her day-to-day role as a travel agent to the many different disguises they both wore. I have had the pleasure of interviewing costume designers Jenny Gering (who designed seasons one to three and has since reunited with Russell on The Diplomat) and Katie Irish (who was promoted from assistant to costume designer in season four until the end). They have heard me wax lyrical about retro sportswear like Philip’s Dunlop tee, which I still dream of owning, and Elizabeth’s incredible outerwear. If you are ever in need of sartorial inspo, then look no further. I am also the proud owner of several items from the series (costume and prop auctions are fun places to shop), including a necklace I wear to pretty much every wedding, like the one I recently attended.
The soundtrack is equally grabby, and while I might gravitate toward my dad’s fave artists like Leonard Cohen that pop up during tense sequences, I am equally head over heels for “Tusk” by Fleetwood Mac, Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love,” Roxy Music’s “More Than This,” and “Under Pressure” by Queen and Americans superfan David Bowie. The Americans will scratch those last Cold War itches, and you will thank me for going on this journey. -EF
It’s a Hot Madonna Summer™ — 40 years since she kicked off her culture-changing The Virgin Tour, spreading the gospel of lace leggings under miniskirts and underwear as outerwear. Fittingly, the queen of reinvention has returned to the top of the Billboard 200 with her latest album, Confessions II, by revisiting her ‘80s New York City dance club roots. (Her 10th number one album!) She also sent me back to my own Madonna eras: awkwardly attempting a giant floppy hair bow as a kid, then pounding lemon drops and dancing until sunrise to “Ray of Light” in my twenties. (”Bring Your Love,” featuring anointed successor Sabrina Carpenter, gives me similar vibes — albeit now as the soundtrack to pre-gaming for a 6 p.m. dinner because life is very different these days.)
Of course, this is Madonna we’re talking about, so her impact isn’t just an album. First, she surprised the world by hitting the stage with Carpenter, her anointed successor, at Coachella to tease their duet, plus Vogue and a euphoric rendition of “Like a Prayer” that gave me chills. Then she broke the Internet with the 13-minute Confessions II - The Film, with nods to her iconic moments, like drying her armpits in a filthy Port Authority bathroom in Desperately Seeking Susan (also seen in the “Into the Groove” video).
Madonna also brings generations of icons together in guest spots, like the aforementioned Carpenter, a very game Kate Moss appearing to the lyrics “hide the cocaine,” and usually-so-serious Benedict Cumberbatch having the time of his life. Madonna pays homage to her ’80s club kid days with “Danceteria,” the downtown spot where she met her longtime friend Debi Mazar, who went on to appear in seven Madonna videos. The New York City icon is immortalized in the short film and the song’s lyrics “get on the elevator, I run into Debi Mazar” — thus introducing her to an entire new generation who I guess didn’t watch Younger? (I interviewed her for Fashionista back in 2021 and she’s just SO cool and casually talked about shopping with a pre-fame Madonna.)
As always, Madonna controls her narrative: Julia Garner, who was tapped to portray her in the now-scrapped biopic, appears in a version of her iconic Jean Paul Gaultier cone bra. (I also cannot wait to see The Studio spoofing biopic that we all want for season two.) Also — breaking! — I just had to update this post because Madonna just headlined the first-ever FIFA World Cup Final half-time show by uniting the globe through “Music” and her signature stellar dance moves.
Turns out the ultimate Madonna move isn’t reinventing herself — it’s making the rest of us rediscover the eras she helped create.
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