Lifestyle
A slime museum is coming to L.A. — and it’s bringing the healing power of play
When it comes to healing from grief, there’s often not a simple answer, but there are some recommended standbys. Therapy, of course, is essential, and maintaining close contact with a community also is often recommended.
And maybe, perhaps, a bit of slime?
Such was the case for Karen Robinovitz, one of the co-founders of the Sloomoo Institute, a playful palace dedicated to all things gooey and goopy, where guests can toss slime, mold it, walk on it, get drenched by it and even experience the ASMR benefits of it. Los Angeles soon will be home to the fifth Sloomoo Institute in the U.S. — an outpost on Fairfax Avenue across from the Original Farmers Market opens this summer.
Kids play with slime at Sloomoo Institute’s Atlanta location.
(Sloomoo Institute)
Before the interactive, make-a-mess emporiums became a reality, Robinovitz was struggling to simply get through the day. A survivor of multiple tragedies, Robinovitz seven years ago lost her husband. Months later, a cousin was killed in the 2018 high school shooting in Parkland, Fla. She was living, she says, with “a very deep and dark depression,” talking to someone — a therapist or various support groups — five days a week.
“I was really struggling,” Robinovitz says. “You’re talking about it all the time. In my home, I’m reminded of it in every corner of my house. In my neighborhood, everything reminds you of the person that you lost.”
Healing came in an unexpected place — and a surprising substance. A friend visited with her then-10-year-old daughter, who brought some slime with her for solo playtime while the adults talked. Robinovitz, however, found herself transfixed by the ooze.
Sloomoo Institute guests in Chicago get drenched with slime.
(Grace Pisula)
“I sat on the floor with her, and four hours later I realized I was in a complete state of joy,” Robinovitz says. “I had unleashed a part of myself that I never thought I’d see again, which was the inner child. I was happy playing. When they were leaving, I said that this did more for me than all the therapy, all the experts and all the support groups I had been seeing. I said I need to keep this. I became what is known affectionately as an ‘adult slimer.’”
Robinovitz and her longtime friend Sara Schiller created the Sloomoo Institute. The first location launched in late 2019 in New York, and Sloomoo Institutes in Atlanta, Chicago and Houston followed.
This is no mere immersive “pop-up,” says Robinovitz, as the two have signed a long-term lease with the intention of being in L.A. to stay — perhaps even tapping into the city’s creative class to expand their slimy mascots and creatures into other media. But for now, their mission is to merge silly with a bit of science, and to explore the importance of play for play’s sake.
A visit to a Sloomoo Institute takes guests through various slime stations, some that are very hands-on and others that resemble a light obstacle course. Some are just goofy, such as a slime slingshot, which allows participants to catapult slime at someone else. (Don’t worry, they’re tucked safely behind plexiglass.) Stations may focus on touch, such as a blindfolded journey through various gloppy textures, while others are directed toward more aural sensations. New for Los Angeles is a sound bath, with art from Randy Polumbo — think reflective surfaces, amorphic shapes and synchronized sound.
Karen Robinovitz, left, and Sara Schiller founded the Sloomoo Institute to celebrate the power of play.
(Lanna Apisukh)
Built into the room will be bowls and meditation-ready balls, which guests will be able to strike to create their own personal symphonies. One can imagine a cacophony of noise on a crowded day, but Robinovitz and Schiller also speak of it as an event space, a potential home for yoga or more relaxing, psychedelic-inspired sound baths. It taps into the Sloomoo Institute’s underlying mission, as the firm collaborates with psychiatrists such as Dr. Judith Joseph to better understand the importance of sensory play.
“Adults, we need this,” says Robinovitz. “I started to talk to a psychiatrist friend of mine because I wanted to understand what was happening. At once, you’re tapping into three or four of your five senses. It’s tactile. It makes sounds when you touch it. All the slimes we make are scented, so they smell really yummy, and scent is the sense that’s most closely tied to memory.”
L.A. ticket prices haven’t been announced yet, but based on admission in other cities, expect to spend around $40 for a general admission Sloomoo Institute ticket. Those who want to get rained on by slime — an experienced dubbed Sloomoo Falls — will need to pay for an “enhanced experience,” which can double the ticket price. Important to note: One shouldn’t come wearing a favorite outfit to the Sloomoo Institute, even though ponchos will be provided for the slime showers.
A shop inside Sloomoo Institute.
(Sloomoo Institute)
Schiller had her own personal connection to slime, noticing that play allows participants to get out of their head. Vulnerability, for instance, can come naturally in a state of play. Schiller’s eldest daughter has Angelman syndrome, a genetic disorder that can leave children unable to communicate via speech or writing, and her husband has survived multiple bilateral strokes. Slime, she says, has helped foster connections, helping her family better deal with disabilities and stressful moments.
“The great thing that I say about slime is that when you’re playing with slime, you can have difficult conversations or meaningful conversations without them being awkward,” Schiller says, theorizing that when we are in a relaxed, playful state — and focused on a group activity — we feel more at ease. “But you’re not on your device. You’re not distracted. You’re connected to yourself and you’re connected to the other person.”
The two founders are eager to talk about their history, noting they don’t want their personal stories divorced from the Sloomoo Institute. Longtime friends, Robinovitz and Schiller have entrepreneurial backgrounds. Robinovitz, for instance, launched a talent firm dedicated to digital influencers, while Schiller has an extensive history in the hospitality and art worlds. Together, they’re proud to note that the Sloomoo Institute workforce is about 10% neurodivergent, as they wanted the spaces to be inclusive and accessible (there are scent blockers available, for instance, for those sensitive to Sloomoo Institute’s smell-heavy focus).
While they are still places full of picture-friendly moments ripe for social media — one area is filled with gargantuan-sized slime-inspired chairs — the two clearly are wary of their slime boutiques going the way of so many so-called “Instagram museums,” spaces that used “immersive” as a buzzword for little more than photo opportunities. The centerpiece of the Sloomoo Institute, perhaps, is a do-it-yourself “slime bar,” where guests can explore 40 colors of slime, 60 fragrances and dozens of textures to build their own take-home creation.
“I know when I was going through my own personal grief, talking to other women who lost their husbands at young ages was really powerful to me,” Robinovitz says. “I had people going through the same kind of grief, and I could see there was potentially a way to live a life when you’re not in pain 24/7. It makes our brand important. This brand wouldn’t mean anything without the hardship. It’s not just a fun candy-colored universe with cute things.”
Sensory play is at the heart of the museum.
(Sloomoo Institute)
That’s not to say Sloomoo Institutes are purely mindful places for serious play, though there are references to the science of slime and what chemical mixtures may result in a substance that’s more sticky or more bubbly. With a contemporary, space-age sheen — Robinovitz and Schiller stress they designed the spaces to be inviting to adults — Sloomoo Institutes allow for unexpected moments to occur: the sensation, for instance, of walking barefoot on slime, or ASMR-focused installations that allow guests to experience the pleasing, tingling sound sensations of slime.
Well, mostly pleasing. One of the ASMR sounds asks guests to imagine what it sounds like when slime farts.
“It’s a whole fart soundtrack,” says Schiller. “It’s loved by kids and adults.”
Play may have rejuvenating powers, but no one said it need always be sophisticated. Sometimes the best healing prescription may be to simply giggle like an 8-year-old.
Singer Joe McDonald sings during the concert marking the 40th anniversary of the Woodstock music festival on Aug. 15, 2009 in Bethel, New York. McDonald has died at age 84.
Mario Tama/Getty Images
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Mario Tama/Getty Images
Country Joe McDonald, the singer-songwriter whose Vietnam War protest song became a signature anthem of the 1960s counterculture, has died at 84.
McDonald died on Saturday in Berkeley, Calif., according to a statement released by a publicist. His health had recently declined due to Parkinson’s disease.
Born in 1942, in Washington, D.C., he grew up in El Monte, Calif., outside Los Angeles, according to a biography on his website. As a young man he served in the U.S. Navy before turning to writing and music during the early 1960s, eventually becoming involved in the political and cultural ferment of the Bay Area.
In 1965 he helped form the band Country Joe and the Fish in Berkeley. The group became part of the emerging San Francisco psychedelic music scene, blending folk traditions with electric rock and pointed political commentary.
The band’s best-known song, “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag,” captured the growing anti-war sentiment of the Vietnam era. With its ragtime-influenced rhythm and sharply satirical lyrics about war and political leadership, the song quickly became associated with protests against the conflict.
McDonald delivered the song to some half a million people at the 1969 Woodstock festival in upstate New York. Performing solo, he led the crowd in a form of call-and-response before launching into the anti-war anthem, turning the performance into one of the defining scenes of the festival.
Country Joe and the Fish released several recordings during the late 1960s and toured widely, becoming closely identified with that era’s West Coast rock and protest movements.
McDonald later continued performing and recording as a solo artist, recording numerous albums across a career that spanned more than half a century. His work drew variously from folk, rock and blues traditions and often reflected his long-standing interest in political and social issues.
Although he became widely known for his opposition to the Vietnam War, McDonald frequently emphasized respect for those who served in the U.S. military. After his own service in the Navy, he remained engaged with veterans’ issues and occasionally performed at events connected to veterans and their experiences, according to his website biography.
Maren Morris to Trump Voters
You Got Bamboozled!!!
Published
Country music star Maren Morris is speaking her mind about what she sees as the failures of the Trump administration, and she doesn’t care if she loses fans over it.
According to Maren Morris, if you supported Donald Trump in his presidential elections, you voted for a “dementia ridden, diaper clad, cornball” and “you got bamboozled.”
Not only that … she doesn’t feel bad for the MAGA faithful who may feel disillusioned by their leader.
In a TikTok posted Friday, she said, “The is literally the result of ploying and voting for losers.”
Morris has expressed her dismay at music becoming so political since she’s jumped onto the scene — something she’s benefitted from due to songs like “My Church” — but she’s clearly not shy about her views.
“If you don’t agree with me … you can’t enjoy my music because of my viewpoints? You’re absolutely allowed to do that,” she said. “But I am only here for an iteration of revolutions around the sun, a couple, and so I do feel like I have sacrificed a lot of my mental health, my financial standing, my family, just because I am so deeply concerned and uncomfortable with the weird status quo of country music.”
Jean, 72, a Chinese opera performer, poses for a portrait before performing in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
Annice Lyn/Everyday Asia
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Annice Lyn/Everyday Asia
March 8 is International Women’s Day — a date picked in honor of a remarkable Russian protest.
During World War I, women in Russia went on strike. They demanded “bread and peace.” Among the results of their four-day protest: the Czar abdicated and women gained the right to vote.
This bold strike began on Feb. 23, 1917, according to the Julian calendar then used in Russia. That date translated to March 8 in the Gregorian calendar that much of the world uses. So that’s the day chosen for this celebratory event.
True to the spirit of those Russian women, the world pauses on this day to celebrate the achievements of women. This year to mark International Women’s Day, the United Nations is calling for “Rights. Justice. Action. For all women and girls.”
Sometimes, the true achievements are the ones that we barely see. The photographers at The Everyday Projects, a global photography and storytelling network, have shared portraits of women who in ways large and small are determined, like those Russian women over 100 years ago, to improve the lives of women and to build a better world.
Singing with strength
Kuala Lumpur-based photographer Annice Lyn likes to highlight the strength, resilience and the stories of women who are often overlooked.
That’s the inspiration for her portrait of Jean, 72, as she prepares for a performance of Chinese opera at Kwai Chai Hong, a restored heritage alley in Kuala Lumpur’s Chinatown in August 2024.
Such performances, typically staged during festivals and temple celebrations, combine singing, acting, martial arts, elaborate costumes and symbolic makeup to tell classical stories from Chinese folklore, history, and literature.
“Performers like Jean often dedicate decades of their lives to mastering this art form, preserving techniques and stories that are centuries old,” says Lyn. They told her that they may encounter negative reactions — questions like “are you wasting your time” or simply indifference.
“Sustaining a centuries-old practice in a modern urban setting requires both resilience and passion,” says Lyn, who made this picture minutes before the performance. “I wanted to give Jean the dignity she deserves through this portrait, a strong, intimate image that acknowledges her beauty, her discipline and the life she has dedicated to Chinese opera. I hoped to make her feel seen and heard, capturing not just a performance but a living cultural legacy.”
Dreaming of a toilet
Nkgono Selina Mosima, a resident of Thaba Nchu, Free State, South Africa, has hoped for years that she could afford to dig a pit toilet in her yard.
Tshepiso Mabula/The Everyday Projects
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Tshepiso Mabula/The Everyday Projects
The subject is Nkgono Selina Mosima, a resident of Thaba Nchu, Free State, South Africa, a region where poverty is rampant, Mosima is one of many residents who lack proper sanitation, says Tshepiso Mabula, a photographer and writer based in Johannesburg. Her wish was to hire someone to dig a pit toilet in her yard – in which human waste is collected in a pit and allowed to break down naturally over time – but she couldn’t afford the cost. The alternative is open defecation – finding a secluded place despite the personal risks and the potential health consequences of untreated human excrement.
“I was drawn to Nkgono by her unrelenting faith and positive outlook; despite her difficult circumstances, she constantly reiterated her hope that things would improve,” says Mabula. “This inspired the framing of the portrait: the bright colors, her headscarf and the belt around her waist all serve to highlight her strength, optimism and faith.”
The picture was taken in 2020. Today, Mabula says, many women still lack safe and effective sanitation options. Nkgono was a powerful voice for action and change as she eventually could afford to dig a pit toilet on her property.
Russian footballers
These women from Voronezh, Russia, participated in the country’s short-lived but intense American-style football league. They’re hanging out in the locker room.
Kristina Brazhnikova/Everyday Russia
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Kristina Brazhnikova/Everyday Russia
It seems improbable — starting an American football league for women in Russia. Not soccer but football. That’s what Portugal-based photographer Kristina Brazhnikova is documenting in her project “Mighty Girls,” which she shot between 2018 and 2021.
Any Russian woman could join, regardless of age, body type or level of training, she says. Coaches from the U.S. women’s national football team participated.
In the photo, the girls from the Voronezh team “Mighty Ducks” (Gabi, Katya, and Olesia) are in the locker room of a training camp preparing for practice. Team members came up with the name, she says.
“Everything was built on enthusiasm, so the players had to study the rules and playbooks on their own. Some women were invited by friends, others were drawn to the unusual nature of the sport, and some simply wanted to improve their physical fitness,” says Brazhnikova, who is Russian herself.
After the first practice, many women decided the game wasn’t for them, she says. It requires not only strength and endurance but the ability to memorize complex plays. Players had to buy their own protective gear, pay for field rentals and cover their travel expenses to competitions in other cities.
“Those who stayed, however, found a new family,” says Brazhnikova — and a new form of expressing emotions, including aggression. The women told her that playing American football made them braver and more decisive. They allowed themselves to step outside their comfort zones and push beyond the limits of their usual lives. They changed jobs and left relationships that had run their course. And the sound of pads colliding on the field became their favorite,” she says.
The league ceased to operate in 2022.
Hunting for missing loved ones
Hilaria Arzaba Medran of Mexico stands with tools she’ll use as she searches a clandestine burial site for the grave of her son, Oscar Contreras Arzaba, who disappeared in 2011 at age 19.
James Rodríguez/Everyday Latin America
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James Rodríguez/Everyday Latin America
Hilaria Arzaba Medran, 57, is no stranger to loss. Her son Oscar Contreras Arzaba disappeared on May 22, 2011, at the age of 19. A resident of the Mexican state of Veracruz, she’s a member of Solecito, an organization whose 250 members go out and look for their missing relatives on a regular basis. Holding tools in this photograph taken in Feb. 20, 2018, she searches for her missing son and other victims in a location known to have served as a clandestine grave.
“This collective is primarily led by women, and I was awe-struck by their determination to find their loved ones despite horrific violence and real-life threat to their own well-being,” says photographer James Rodríguez.
On this occasion in 2018, Rodriguez and others in the group had received an anonymous tip of a possible clandestine cemetery on the outskirts of Cordoba. She went searching with several other collective members, digging tools in hand. “We went into an isolated rural field that felt macabre in itself and [we] had no sort of security personnel with us. I was truly astounded by their conviction and courage,” he says.
A demand for housing
Janaina Xavier, a community leader, holds her son in a building in São Paulo, Brazil, that was occupied by people without housing in 2024.
Luca Meola/Everyday Brasil
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Luca Meola/Everyday Brasil
Janaina Xavier, a community leader, holds her son while looking out the window of the building where she lives with six of her 10 children near the Cracolândia district in São Paulo, Brazil, on April 23, 2024.
She currently serves as a council member for the Coordination of Policies for the Homeless Population and advocates for the rights of people living in and around Cracolândia.
“I’ve known Janaina Xavier for many years, since I began my long-term work documenting Cracolândia in São Paulo. She has long been involved in struggles for housing rights for people living in this highly stigmatized region of the city,” says photographer Luca Meola.
This photograph was taken inside a building being illegally occupied by Xavier and dozens of other families – a way for them to secure housing in the city center.
“For many low-income families, occupying empty buildings is one of the only ways to remain in the central area and access essential services and work opportunities,” Meola says.
In 2025, the city evicted Xavier, her family and the other residents.
The mother leaders of Madagascar take charge
In the Grand South of Madagascar, women known as “reny mahomby,” or mother leaders, perform a welcoming dance before starting a session to teach women in the community how to improve their lives.
Aina Zo Raberanto/The Everyday Projects
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Aina Zo Raberanto/The Everyday Projects
In this photo from the Grand South of Madagascar, in Amboasary Sud, women known as “Reny Mahomby,” or “mother leaders” perform a welcoming dance.
The “mother leaders” inspire other mothers in the community to make changes in their lives – to improve hygiene, to educate their children, to start small businesses, says photojournalist Aina Zo Raberanto, who lives in this African island nation but had never before visited the Grand South.
The dance took place at the start of a training session, says Raberanto. In this photo from November 2021, she says. “These mother leaders welcome us with a traditional dance from the region. I was deeply moved by their commitment to their community.”
The mothers of Madagascar “are the pillars of the household while sometimes facing difficult realities such as violence or early marriage,” she says. “I took this photograph to show both their strength, their dignity, their joy for life and the warmth of their welcome despite the hardships. Behind their smiles and movements lies a great determination to continue supporting their families and to build a better future for their children.”
Marching for their rights
Members of Puta Davida, a feminist collective advocating for the labor and human rights of sex workers, take part in a march during Carnival in downtown Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, on Feb. 14, 2026.
Luca Meola
/Everyday Brasil
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Luca Meola
/Everyday Brasil
This photograph was taken during Carnival in Rio de Janeiro this February.
“I have been accompanying the collective Puta Davida for about three years. [It] works to create public debate around sex work, advocating for the recognition of sex work as legitimate labor and for the protection of sex workers’ human and labor rights,” says photographer Luca Meola.
The Puta Davida is a feminist collective from Rio de Janeiro created in the early 1990s by the sex worker and activist Gabriela Leite, a historic figure in Brazil’s movement for sex workers’ rights.
“I have been accompanying the collective for about three years. [It] works to create public debate around sex work, advocating for the recognition of sex work as legitimate labor and for the protection of sex workers’ human and labor rights,” says photographer Luca Meola.
In 2026, one of the community organizations that prepares music, dance, and large performances for Carnival parades chose to dedicate its parade to sex workers
Meola, who photographed the members of this group as they marched, says: “For me, what is powerful about this moment is how these women reclaim visibility in public space. Through political organization, performance and collective presence, they challenge stigma and assert their rights — which I believe strongly resonates with this year’s theme [for International Women’s Day] of justice and action,” says Meola.
Kamala Thiagarajan is a freelance journalist based in Madurai, Southern India. She reports on global health, science and development and has been published in The New York Times, The British Medical Journal, the BBC, The Guardian and other outlets. You can find her on X @kamal_t
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