Author Archives: Lexi

What people find attractive often feels natural, obvious, even universal.

But beauty has always been shaped by culture.

What one society admires, another may barely notice. Features considered beautiful in one part of the world may carry completely different meanings somewhere else, and those standards continue to shift over time.

In ancient societies, fuller figures were often associated with beauty because they represented wealth, health, and access to food during times where resources were limited. Today, entirely different features may be emphasized depending on where you are in the world and what a culture has historically valued.

Even skin tone is viewed differently across cultures. In some countries, darker skin with more melanin is admired and celebrated, while in places like Japan, lighter skin has historically been associated with beauty and social status.

And some beauty standards are deeply tied to cultural identity itself.

In Japan, “yaeba” teeth, slightly crooked or overlapping teeth, are sometimes viewed as attractive because they are associated with youthfulness and charm. In some African cultures, stretched earlobes and neck rings are seen as beautiful traditions connected to heritage and identity. In Indigenous and Islander cultures, traditional tattooing for women can symbolize ancestry, spirituality, strength, and beauty all at once.

What makes these standards interesting is not whether one is “better” than another.

It’s that people often grow up believing their version of beauty is simply normal.

But much of what we find attractive is shaped long before we consciously realize it. The people around us, the features celebrated in media, the traditions we inherit, and the culture we grow up in all influence what we come to recognize as beautiful.

Even studies involving identical twins, people with nearly identical DNA, have shown that they are often attracted to completely different people. That suggests attraction is influenced by far more than biology alone.

Of course, some traits appear more consistently across cultures. Facial symmetry, for example, is often associated with attractiveness globally.

But beyond a few shared patterns, beauty is far from universal.

It is cultural, contextual, and constantly evolving.

In many Western cultures, humor is seen as a strength.

Being funny can make someone more likable, more engaging, even more creative. It’s often associated with confidence and emotional intelligence, something that helps people connect and navigate social situations.

But that idea isn’t universal.

For much of the 20th century, Western psychology framed humor as a positive trait. Thinkers like Freud described it as a way to cope with stress, and later researchers linked it to well-being, adaptability, and strong social skills. Humor became more than entertainment, it became a sign of a well-adjusted individual.

In that context, being humorous is something to develop.

But in other parts of the world, humor has not always been viewed in the same way.

In cultures influenced by Confucian philosophy, particularly in East Asia, traits like seriousness, discipline, and self-restraint have traditionally been valued more highly. Social harmony and respect for hierarchy often take priority, especially in formal settings.

Within that framework, humor doesn’t hold the same status.

It may not be seen as a marker of intelligence or creativity, and in some situations, it can even be viewed as a distraction from more important qualities like focus or responsibility. Where Western cultures might reward humor, these cultures may place greater value on composure and thoughtfulness.

This doesn’t mean humor is absent.

It simply operates differently.

Rather than being a defining personal trait, humor may be more situational, shaped by context, relationships, and setting. It may show up more in informal environments and less in places where structure and hierarchy matter.

That shift changes how people interpret it.

In one culture, humor can elevate someone socially. In another, it may not carry the same weight, or may even be used more carefully depending on the situation.

And that difference reveals something deeper.

Humor isn’t just about making people laugh. It reflects what a culture values, how people present themselves, and what signals credibility or respect.

Moms are doing a lot.
And somehow, they’re doing it all at once.

They’re answering questions, solving problems, remembering everything, keeping track of everyone, and still noticing the small things no one else catches. They know when something’s off before it’s said out loud, and they know what you need before you even know how to ask for it.

It starts early, too. Before we can even speak, they already understand. A cry isn’t just a cry. It means something. Hunger. Discomfort. The need to be held. And somehow, that instinct never really leaves them.

And they don’t clock out.

Even when they’re tired. Even when they’ve already done enough for one day. Even when no one is saying thank you in the moment.

They’re still showing up.

Still caring. Still checking in. Still making sure everything, and everyone, is okay.

Somehow managing conversations, responsibilities, and everything else life throws at them, often all at once, without missing a beat.

And somehow, they make it feel easy. Like it’s just what they do. Like it’s no big deal.

But it is.

It’s a big deal to be that steady. That thoughtful. That consistent.

They carry more than we see. And the way they love creates a sense of safety unlike any other.

It’s the kind of presence you return to. The one that reminds you you’re okay, even when things feel uncertain. The one that makes everything feel just a little more manageable, just by being there.

And through all of it, they’re still rooting for you. Still believing in you, even on the days you don’t believe in yourself.

That kind of love doesn’t have an off switch.

It stays with you.

So if there’s someone you think of when you read this, tell her.

And if you are that person, the one holding everything together more than anyone realizes…

We see you.

Thank you.

Walk into almost any bar in the United States on May 5th, and the scene is familiar.

Music is loud. Drinks are flowing. Tacos and margaritas fill the menu. The phrase “Cinco de Mayo” gets repeated all night.

It feels like a celebration.

But what is being celebrated?

Cinco de Mayo marks the Battle of Puebla in 1862, when a smaller Mexican army defeated French forces. It’s a historical moment tied to resilience, resistance, and national pride.

And in Mexico it’s honored, but it’s not celebrated on the same scale as in the states.

So how did it become such a big party in the U.S.?

The holiday first gained traction in the states in 1863, when Mexican-Americans celebrated it as a show of solidarity with Mexico. Though over time, as it spread, that meaning shifted. Businesses leaned into it and marketing amplified it.

What remained was the celebration. What faded was the historical context.

Don’t be mistaken, it’s entirely possible to enjoy the food, the music, and the energy of Cinco de Mayo without knowing the history behind them. That’s not unusual, as it happens with traditions all over the world.

But at its core, Cinco de Mayo is not purely about margaritas, tacos and parties. It’s about honoring Mexican’s strength, resilience and meaningful history.

Easter arrives in many forms.

At its core, it marks renewal. In Christian tradition, it commemorates the resurrection of Christ. More broadly, it has long been tied to themes of new life, reflection, and the transition from winter into spring.

But how that meaning shows up can look completely different depending on where you are.

In the United States, Easter often leans bright and celebratory. Chocolate bunnies, pastel baskets, and egg hunts fill the day. It’s playful, familiar, and centered around gathering.

In Spain, the mood shifts. Semana Santa processions move slowly through the streets, accompanied by drums and candlelight. The focus turns inward, toward remembrance and tradition.

In Guatemala, entire streets are transformed with colorful carpets made from sawdust and flowers. They are carefully designed, then walked over hours later by processions. The beauty is temporary, but the act of creating it is part of the meaning.

In Greece, Easter begins in darkness and turns to light. At midnight, candles are passed from person to person as fireworks fill the sky. The moment feels less quiet and more electric, marking a shared sense of renewal.

In France, the story takes a lighter turn. Church bells are said to “fly to Rome” and return on Easter morning, bringing chocolate with them. Children search for sweets scattered through gardens.

In parts of Eastern Europe, eggs are dyed and carefully decorated by hand, sometimes becoming small works of art. They’re shared, tapped together, and turned into a simple game to see whose egg remains uncracked.

As traditions move across cultures, they don’t stay the same. They adapt to the people and places that carry them.

In some places, Easter is quiet and reflective. In others, it’s loud, bright, and communal. In many, it’s both at once.

Underneath it all, though, the meaning holds steady.

A celebration of renewal. Of connection. Of new life.