Connect with us

Lifestyle

Leigh Magar, High-End Milliner Turned Indigo Artist, Dies at 57

Published

on

Leigh Magar, High-End Milliner Turned Indigo Artist, Dies at 57

Leigh Magar, a milliner turned textile artist, slow-fashion designer and indigo grower who created handmade garments and artworks, died on April 16 at her home on Kauai, in Hawaii. She was 57.

The cause of death was breast cancer, her husband, Johnny Tucker, said. Last summer, the couple moved to Kauai from Johns Island, S.C., to give Ms. Magar a tropical respite.

Before she grew her own indigo, fermenting the leaves to create the deep blue dye prized by ancient Mesopotamians and using it to embellish her fabric designs and artwork — a practice known as “seed-to-stitch” that mimics the ethos of the farm-to-table food movement — Ms. Magar was a high-end milliner.

For decades, she made singular hats from her studio in Charleston, S.C., selling them at a storefront boutique, Magar Hatworks, and at Barneys New York and other high-end outlets.

Her creations were fanciful and bold. She made sculptural millinery that defied description: confections of feathers, fabric and felt, as well as more conventional, if elevated, fare — bespoke trilbies, pork pies and Panamas that were sought after by artists and performers, including Eartha Kitt, Nick Cave and Michael Stipe, for whom she made a deconstructed felt fedora.

Advertisement

She and Mr. Tucker, an architect and artist, were an integral part of Charleston’s creative community, said Mark Sloan, a former director and chief curator of the Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art there.

For a time, the couple lived in a vine-covered former candy shop at the back of a property in the historic district. During their tenure, it was all bohemian funk and decay — a Southern gothic artist’s atelier — with plaster flaking off the walls and exposed lath, battered antiques and statuary, vintage appliances and found artwork.

“They had the air of people not of this time,” Mr. Sloan said, recalling an early visit during which Ms. Magar was hard at work steaming her creations on antique hat blocks. “There was a certain drama to their lives.”

Of her hats, he added: “The shapes were outrageous, and so beautiful. Some looked like underwater sea creatures, or single-celled organisms.”

Mr. Sloan included a few in his 2005 group exhibition “Alive Inside: The Lure and Lore of the Sideshow,” which spread out over four locations in Charleston, including Ms. Magar’s King Street storefront. For the show, she designed hats for imaginary sideshow performers — including a tiara for a human pincushion, a spiky crown made from knitting needles.

Advertisement

By 2013, however, Ms. Magar had closed her store and started working with textiles, hand-dyeing fabric with various botanicals and other materials and selling them under the name Madame Magar. During one artist’s residency in a former mill town, she began experimenting with dyes made from rusty railroad ties.

Also in 2013, she and Mr. Tucker moved to Johns Island, where they rented a modernist house on nearly 400 acres. Ms. Magar began to research the site of their new home, where a cotton and indigo plantation had once stood. She learned that in the 18th century, plantations on the island began growing indigo with the labor of enslaved Africans, many of whom brought with them from their home countries methods for cultivating the plants and extracting the dye.

Indigo was a boom crop throughout the Lowcountry. Eliza Lucas Pinckney, the daughter of a Charleston-area plantation owner, is often credited (though perhaps not quite accurately) with starting the boom in 1738, the year she turned 16 and took over the management of her first plantation.

When Ms. Magar decided to grow indigo herself, and to use it in her work, she had to reckon with the plant’s tainted history. “I had to go through the light and dark of it,” she told The New York Times in 2024. “It was ‘open your eyes, white girl.’”

Seeds were not easy to come by. Through South Carolina’s indigo community, a zesty cohort of makers and growers, she met Father John, an Eastern Orthodox monk who had been growing indigo for decades and using it in his artwork. (Why indigo? “As a monk, one often develops a heightened focus,” he said in an interview, “and learns how to sublimate.”)

Advertisement

He shared seeds and tips with her, as did Arianne King Comer, a Charleston-based indigo artist and grower. Thus armed, Ms. Magar planted her own patch and began to experiment with techniques for extracting the dye from the plant and for dyeing fabric.

“She really ran with it,” said Father John, whose order traditionally forgoes surnames. “She tried it all.”

One day while bushwhacking at home, she followed a blue dragonfly through the brush and discovered a patch of wild indigo, likely descended from a crop that had been grown on Johns Island three centuries earlier. She felt it was a sign, and began to tend that patch, too.

At that point, she was well and truly hooked, captivated by all things indigo — not an unusual trajectory for artists who come in contact with the stuff.

“We’re like cigarette smokers,” Ms. King Comer said. “We can’t help ourselves.”

Advertisement

Ms. Magar made shift dresses dipped in indigo, and baskets and rag dolls woven from fabric scraps. She followed the Japanese practice of shibori, which involves folding fabric before placing it in the dye — essentially, an extremely precise version of tie-dye. She made collages from indigo squares; housewares like napkins and coasters; and epic quilts and portraits that she called scrap silhouettes. Among her subjects were Nina Simone and Eliza Lucas Pinckney.

“Indigo is the never-ending story of the Lowcountry,” Virginia Theerman, the curator of historic textiles at the Charleston Museum, said in an interview. “Today, there’s a community of artisans and farmers involved in a growing cottage industry.”

Ms. Magar “was coming at it from an artist’s perspective,” she added. “It was personal, yet tied into the history of indigo here, and to women’s history. Hers was a single-minded vision, and she was both passionate and exacting about her work.”

Jennifer Leigh Magar was born on June 30, 1968, in Spartanburg, S.C., and raised by her mother, Jennifer (Edwards) Fly, and her stepfather, John Fly, a textile executive.

Spartanburg is a former mill town, and Leigh’s maternal grandmother and great-aunt worked in the mills. She remembered them coming home flecked with lint from their labors.

Advertisement

Still, textiles were not her first love. She briefly studied culinary arts at Johnson & Wales University in Charleston, and worked for a time as a chef there, when she met Mr. Tucker, an architecture student at Clemson University.

They moved to New York City together in the early 1990s, and Ms. Magar studied millinery techniques at the Fashion Institute of Technology, graduating in 1995. Soon after, she and Mr. Tucker returned to Charleston; they married in 1997.

In addition to Mr. Tucker, she is survived by her mother and stepfather; a brother, Brian Magar; two stepsisters, Caroline and Katherine Fly; and a stepbrother, Ashley Fly.

Ms. Magar’s cancer was diagnosed in 2023. A year later, she began to work on a piece for “Reimagined Fashion: Creations of the Future Past,” an exhibition that opened at the Charleston Museum in 2025.

One of 18 local designers invited to make something inspired by the museum’s collections, she was drawn to the 19th-century quilt squares and to a collection of late 19th-century hair wreaths. (The wreaths are Victorian memento mori, made from twisting and braiding a loved one’s hair into flowers and leaves; they are beautiful and deeply weird.)

Advertisement

For the exhibit, she made what she called a Healing Gown. It had a Victorian feeling, with a nipped waist and trailing skirt. The bodice she fashioned from scraps of indigo-dyed fabric, a ruffle of feathers and her own waist-length hair, which she had cut off before starting chemotherapy; the skirt was made from hospital sheets.

At her death, Ms. Magar had moved on from indigo. She was working with Kauai’s iron-rich volcanic soil, practicing a technique called dirt dyeing. She was excited about orange.

Lifestyle

NPR staffers share their favorite fiction reads of 2026 so far

Published

on

NPR staffers share their favorite fiction reads of 2026 so far

Facts by day, fiction by night! At the end of a long day in the newsroom, many of our journalists head home and escape into novels of all types. We asked our NPR colleagues what fiction they’ve enjoyed reading so far this year, and these are the titles they shared. (You can also check out their nonfiction picks here; and sign up for our Books newsletter for weekly recommendations.)

A Bad, Bad Place by Frances Crawford

A Bad, Bad Place by Frances Crawford

The opening chapter of A Bad, Bad Place is delivered in a short burst. We are presented with three characters — Janey, her nana, Sid Vicious (the rescue dog) — and one heck of a predicament. As 12-year-old Janey states: “It’s Sid’s fault that I found the dead body.” It becomes her job to unwind the mystery of her discovery in her rough neighborhood in 1979 Glasgow, Scotland. Recalling what she saw (and admitting what she didn’t tell police) is key. Frances Crawford shapes this world with such care and love, even in tough circumstances. Read this book. — Shannon Rhoades, supervising senior editor, Weekend Edition

Advertisement

A Perfect Hand by Ayelet Waldman

A Perfect Hand by Ayelet Waldman

The hero of A Perfect Hand is Miss Alice Lockey, lady’s maid to Lady Jemima Alderwick. Alice falls in love with Charlie Wells, who is the valet to the eccentric Lord Wynstowe, but for the two to be together, they must devise a plot to bring about an unlikely romantic union between their employers, who, naturally, hate each other. What starts as a classic marriage plot, though, evolves into a very different, more complex story. Alice, you see, has been reading about the burgeoning women’s rights movement in her 19th-century England. And maybe, just maybe, she has begun to imagine a future for herself that — gasp! — might not involve marriage after all. — Samantha Balaban, senior producer, Weekend Edition

Advertisement

Cherry Baby: A Novel by Rainbow Rowell

Cherry Baby by Rainbow Rowell

This is the first novel I’ve read that asks: How do you navigate being fat in a GLP-1-crazed world? And on top of unwanted fame and changing marital expectations? Fortunately, Cherry, Rainbow Rowell’s hero, is proudly fat and fierce, which helps when her husband, Tom, creates a semi-autobiographical comic with a character who looks so much like Cherry (double chin and all) that strangers recognize her. It becomes a hit, and Tom goes to Hollywood, leaving Cherry behind with the dog. But she refuses to stay downtrodden — I found Cherry’s spirit irresistible. — Emiko Tamagawa, senior producer, Here & Now

Advertisement
Cry Havoc: A Novel by Rebecca Wait

Cry Havoc by Rebecca Wait

There’s a whole genre of books set in quaint British boarding schools (the Harry Potter series, Tom Brown’s School Days, etc.). Cry Havoc is nothing like any of them. Set in a dilapidated, fifth-rate girls school in the 1980s, this dark and hilarious novel follows a teenage student, Ida Campbell, as she eats inedible school dinners, rooms with a hostile and self-destructive roommate and grapples with a bizarre epidemic that causes members of the student body to jerk their arms and legs uncontrollably. The book also contains one of the most brilliant, side-splitting scenes set at a school play ever written. — Chloe Veltman, correspondent, Society & Culture Desk

Dear Monica Lewinsky: A Novel

Dear Monica Lewinsky by Julia Langbein

Advertisement

This is the only novel of the hundreds I have read where I reread the ending three times: It was that satisfying! Julia Langbein’s comic romp takes us through the summer of 1998, when a college student is out of her depth in a study abroad program surveying the iconography of minor medieval French churches. She’s also out of her head with desire for one of her teachers, mirroring a certain political scandal erupting in the U.S. Who’s she gonna call on decades later when the teacher’s retirement sends her into a middle-aged tailspin? Saint Monica Lewinsky, of course! Insightful, hilarious and, in the end, everybody gets exactly what they deserve. — Melissa Gray, senior producer, Weekend Edition

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Lifestyle

What’s the deal with … microdosing Ozempic?

Published

on

What’s the deal with … microdosing Ozempic?

It doesn’t take much these days to fall down a GLP-1 rabbit hole on the internet. TikTok, Instagram, Facebook and Reddit all feature streams of testimonials from people touting the miracle — and warning of the risks — of GLP-1 drugs like Ozempic and Wegovy.

In recent years, microdosing — taking smaller doses than what’s generally prescribed for obesity and diabetes — has also cultivated a cult-like following online. Microdosing advocates claim it can help with weight loss by reducing cravings, better metabolic health, reduce inflammation, enhance mood and cognitive function, and even potentially improve longevity, all while coming with less side effects and being more affordable than larger doses.

Microdosing GLP-1s began emerging as a trend after Wegovy, an Ozempic competitor, was approved by the FDA for obesity in 2021. (Previously, Ozempic was being used for weight loss, but had only been approved for diabetes.) In the years following approval, a growing number of household names from Oprah to Elon Musk spoke publicly about their positive experiences using GLP-1s for weight loss. This fueled an exponential growth in interest among the public, but not everyone qualifies for GLP-1s through their insurance or can afford them, even if they do.

All of the major brand-name medications people currently use for weight loss are based on one of two molecules: semaglutide or tirzepatide, and most are self-injected weekly. Ozempic and Wegovy contain semaglutide, which works by mimicking a hormone called GLP-1 that helps regulate appetite and blood sugar. Mounjaro and Zepbound contain tirzepatide, which targets that hormone plus another one involved in metabolism.

Advertisement

The price of weight loss

Brand name GLP-1s cost around $10,000 per year or more if paid for out of pocket, and around $300 to $1,200 per year if covered by insurance. Many insurance plans, however, will only pay for GLP-1s if a person has a diagnosis of diabetes, not obesity. On top of that, one of the biggest complaints about GLP-1s, when taken according to the standard doses approved by the FDA — is that they cause side effects such as nausea, diarrhea and fatigue. Influencers, everyday people and even some medical professionals online now recommend microdosing as a potential solution.

“In three weeks, I have lost 7 pounds and [have] very few side effects. Before now I was terrified of them. They put my husband on [a] standard dose for diabetes and he was just so sick,” reads a Reddit post by MenloShark25, who says they’re receiving their prescription through telehealth provider Midi.

“I’m microdosing. I’m on week 4 of [semaglutide] and my mind is blown,” reads another Reddit post by palenesslitethesky. “I feel so much better than I expected to. The microdosing is great for me because I was super scared about getting constipated. I am down 9 pounds and my tastes changed. I was addicted to sugar!! Addicted. Now I hardly want sugar.”

The DIY injections boom

In 2025, following the surge of anecdotal reports online about microdosing, a number of telehealth companies such as Fridays, Noom and Found Health started offering GLP-1 protocols at lower doses and lower costs. Previously, people who were taking smaller doses of GLP-1s were either getting them “off label” from a physician — which means they were prescribed, but not based on the protocols approved by the FDA — or getting them illegally online and figuring out how to take them on their own. One controversial aspect of microdosing GLP-1s is that, when they’re taken in smaller doses, they often come from compounding pharmacies that make their own versions of FDA-approved drugs. This allows for dose customization but isn’t subject to the same reviews for safety, efficacy or consistency, and may carry added risks related to quality control, potency variation or contamination.

For people like Monika Awadalla, however, they feel they have no choice but to find GLP-1s on their own, unable to afford the cost of treatment through a physician. Awadalla, a 31-year-old caretaker living in Huntington Beach, has been buying a compounded tirzepatide from an illegal manufacturer in China that she connected with through a Facebook group about a year and a half ago. In that time, she’s gone from 245 pounds to 140 pounds.

Advertisement

“I’m extremely happy now,” she says. “I don’t need to stay home, I’m not embarrassed, I’m already looking forward to summer. Everything is just in its right place.” The manufacturer, who communicates on encrypted messaging boards such as Telegram and Signal, charges $290 for 10 vials of compounded tirzepatide, which will last Awadalla about a year.

Based on stories like Awadalla’s, it’s no wonder so many people are curious about microdosing GLP-1s through their doctor, telehealth companies and illegal suppliers. But do we have enough information yet on the benefits and risks? Here’s the deal.

A doctor’s take

For now, there’s no scientific studies looking at the efficacy and safety of microdosing GLP-1s. Dr. Shauna Levy, medical director for the Tulane Weight Loss Center, says that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work, but that the medical community just doesn’t know. Even if it does cause weight loss or a reduction in inflammation, she says, it’s unclear whether those results will persist long-term or whether the practice causes harm.

One of the biggest problems with the term “microdosing,” as it pertains to GLP-1s, Levy says, is that it’s “vague,” and there’s no consensus on what it’s referring to. “Microdosing GLP-1s is almost becoming this buzz word that carries inconsistent meaning. I think there are many people who are using it as a marketing tool because they want people to think you’re not on a full dose of a GLP-1,” she says. “But if we’re really talking about treating obesity, those microdosing doses are not going to be effective for most people, and so I worry people are going to pay for it cause it’s cheaper and then it’s not going to work for them and they’re going to think ‘here’s one more thing that’s not working for me.’”

Levy says GLP-1s, when prescribed correctly, are “fantastic” for treating obesity. In her patients, gastrointestinal effects are common but generally tolerable. She also believes that it’s important to expand the criteria for obesity so that more people qualify for these drugs through the proper channels, but says it’s crucial that patients receive ongoing care from a medical professional who has been licensed by the American Board of Obesity Medicine. “A lot of GLP-1s are being prescribed by untrained in obesity professionals,” Levy says. “My No. 1 issue is who is prescribing it.”

Advertisement

Dr. Sara Siavoshi, a board-certified obesity, neurology and headache specialist, treats about 5,000 patients in her practice. She estimates 30 to 40% of them are microdosing either tirzepatide or semaglutide. Siavoshi defines a microdose as “the lowest dose of a GLP-1 that lowers food noise without causing any significant weight loss.” Food noise, a term used in obesity medicine, refers to chronic unwanted thoughts that make healthful choices (both about how much to eat and what to eat) difficult. If the GLP-1 dosage leads to more weight loss than 3 or 4 pounds, she says, then she doesn’t define it as a microdose. She says most people seem to think a microdose means an amount that’s lower than what’s commercially available, but in her practice, she hasn’t seen it benefit most of her patients when doing that. Generally, she’s found success in putting people on the lowest commercially available dose of a GLP-1. “I’ll tell you the patient satisfaction rate is extremely high and patients are very, very happy on these meds,” Siavoshi says. In addition to reducing food noise, her primary goal is to lower inflammation in patients with autoimmune conditions.

Siavoshi emphasizes the importance of working with someone who has been trained in obesity medicine, pointing to the American Board of Obesity Medicine’s website, where patients can look up their providers and make sure that they’re certified. She’s not opposed, she said, to all online platforms providing care, but says it’s essential to be getting consistent support from someone who can put together a treatment plan and be there throughout the process.

Continue Reading

Lifestyle

Did you know? Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand were close friends

Published

on

Did you know? Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand were close friends

Alan Greenspan and Ayn Rand are pictured in the Oval Office on Sept. 4, 1974, after Greenspan’s swearing in as Chairman of the Council of Economic Advisors.

David Hume Kennerly/Getty Images/Hulton Archive


hide caption

toggle caption

Advertisement

David Hume Kennerly/Getty Images/Hulton Archive

One of the most important intellectual relationships in the life of Alan Greenspan, the prominent former central banker who died Monday, was with author Ayn Rand, whose 1957 novel Atlas Shrugged has become a perennial favorite among conservatives and which the Library of Congress named as one of the books that has shaped America.

The two first met when he was in his mid-twenties and she was in her forties, and already well-established via her 1943 novel The Fountainhead, which had been a best-seller. They were introduced through Greenspan’s then-wife, the Canadian art historian Joan Mitchell. Mitchell was a close friend of the wife of Nathaniel Branden. Branden was Rand’s protege and longtime lover.

Greenspan and Mitchell wed in 1952, but divorced within a year. By contrast, Greenspan’s relationship with Rand was far more lasting: they remained friends until her death in 1982.

Advertisement

Through the Branden connection, Greenspan joined Rand’s “Collective,” a small group of friends and thinkers who would gather regularly at Rand’s midtown Manhattan apartment to discuss politics, world events and ideas. He became a Collective regular.

According to Greenspan’s 2007 memoir, The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World, Rand nicknamed Greenspan “the undertaker” early on in their friendship, thanks to his penchant for dark suits and his sober demeanor.

His dour reputation was at odds with his early artistic pursuits. He was a talented musician. Before pursuing an economics degree at New York University, he enrolled at Juilliard to study clarinet, and as a teenager played in a swing band alongside jazz legend-to-be Stan Getz. His musical tastes were just as conservative as his politics, however: in his memoir, he dismissed almost every form of post-big band popular music as “on the edge of noise.”

Greenspan wrote for Rand’s magazine, The Objectivist, including contributing an influential essay on the gold standard in 1966 that was later reprinted in her book Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal. When he was sworn in as chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers during the Ford administration, it was Rand who stood with him, along with Rand’s husband, Frank O’Connor, and Greenspan’s mother Rose Goldsmith.

“Ayn Rand became a stabilizing force in my life,” he wrote in his memoir. “She was a wholly original thinker, sharply analytical, strong-willed, highly principled, and very insistent on rationality as the highest value. In that regard, our values were congruent – we agreed on the importance of mathematics and intellectual rigor.”

Advertisement
Continue Reading
Advertisement

Trending