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Toxic Confidence Has Taken Over

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Toxic Confidence Has Taken Over

Toxic

Confidence

Make way for a new attitude

Everywhere you look these days, the landscape is clogged with confidence men: People with limited experience landing high-ranking government roles. Networks helmed by leaders with scant broadcasting experience. Wellness empires built by entrepreneurs without medical training. An arrogant acquaintance whose presence you find thrilling, maybe.

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Perhaps you, too, have noticed the decline in humble brags and performative apologies on social media? A concurrent rise in unshakable self-assurance, unsolicited advice and provocative hot takes? The overqualified don’t hesitate to remind you of their résumé; the underqualified declare themselves authorities; the appropriately qualified claim that their email job is “saving lives.”

If ChatGPT can replace us while insisting that there are only two Rs in the word “strawberry,” it’s no wonder some see the time for a spiky new affect.

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“Everyone’s trying influencing; everyone’s paywalling their Substacks,” said Gutes Guterman, 29, a founder of the magazine Byline. “You have to seem like an expert for people to believe in you.”

Amelia Dimoldenberg, a comedian who has made a career out of charming celebrities in her YouTube video series “Chicken Shop Date,” was an early adopter. Deploying the attitude — perhaps the natural register of flirtation — to great effect, she reliably convinces her A-list guests that they are probably a little bit in love with her.

And it has a natural progenitor in drag and hip-hop culture, where reads, diss tracks and storied beefs are founded on inflated egos. It’s the inner voice that drives someone to put out a song titled “I Am a God” and set out to conquer other industries.

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Still, it used to be that “impostor syndrome” dominated conversations, the anxious stance of millennials with adult responsibilities and women leading corporate workplaces trying not to rankle. Even if you felt deserving of accolades, the social graces of the time required the expression of modesty.

Now, in an era of aggressively handsome incels and macho political posturing, cultivated humility feels trite. A younger generation, coming out of high school and college in Covid lockdown, feels less beholden to dampening their light. Who has time for affected meekness when playing the braggart not only tickles the soul, but has the potential to convince others of one’s own greatness?

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“You’re standing on the ledge, wondering, ‘Should I dive in?’” said the actor and comedian Ivy Wolk on an episode of the popular TikTok show “Subway Takes,” summing up the potential pitfalls of self-doubt. At the same time, she added, other people are coming up behind you “ready to jump.”

Maybe It’s Fun?

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It’s partly a product of a new media environment. On platforms like Substack and TikTok, where success relies on convincing others to invest in your singular personality, showing vulnerability or doubt can be risky. Whether it’s posting about a reading series at your local bar or achieving internet notoriety by instructing young men on how to become “gigachads,” these ventures require being bullish on one’s own value.

At its least offensive, toxic confidence is low stakes and entertaining. It’s newsletter writers filling your inbox with unsolicited gift guides and dishy, unedited diary entries. It’s that mediocre actor you barely dated starting a podcast with a paywall and calling herself a political pundit. It is the author Lisa Taddeo directing a post on Instagram to the winners of a fellowship she had been not been granted: “I’ll be watching what you do. I hope it’s better than what I do. But I don’t think it will be. Because what I’m doing is going to be EXCEPTIONAL.”

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It’s whatever drives the chaos agents in your orbit to become life coaches.

Perhaps a simple truth is that toxic confidence is charming if you like the person and intolerable if you don’t.

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Consider Amanda Frances, a new cast member of “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” who has embraced the moniker of “Money Queen” and says she made her fortune selling money manifestation courses.

“I had no formal business experience,” she told her castmate Bozoma Saint John, the first Black C-suite executive at Netflix, over lunch. “I found out I had a gift around, like, the energetic part of money.”

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Later, Ms. Saint John gossiped to another castmate, Rachel Zoe, about the interaction: “You’ve never had a job before, so how are you telling people how to get money?”

All of this bravado probably owes something to President Trump, who is known for — among other swaggering displays — using superlatives to boast of his intelligence.

“Nobody knows more about taxes than me, maybe in the history of the world,” he once claimed, for example.

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Rarely does Mr. Trump shy from holding forth in speeches and free-associative monologues beyond those typical of presidents. It has become a modus operandi for his administration. Last September, for example, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth summoned hundreds of the U.S. military’s top officials to the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Va., for a widely broadcast, in-person meeting.

Highly decorated admirals and generals sat stone-faced as Mr. Hegseth delivered a nearly hourlong speech. He concluded the address by warning enemies abroad with the acronym “FAFO” — language more commonly found in online circles than in formal military settings, roughly translating to “mess around and find out.”

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The proclamation was met with minimal audience response — a lonely woo from the crowd — and the assembly was later described as a “waste of time” by former Secretary of Defense Leon Panetta. Senate Democrats estimated the event’s cost at roughly $6 million in taxpayer funds.

Borrowed Ego

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If we occasionally find ourselves in the thrall to confidence men, it may be because we desire a bit of what they have.

Looking up to someone bold and brash can give one “that feeling of borrowing ego strength,” said Rachel Easterly, a psychotherapist based in Brooklyn. She referred to narcissism in children, an otherwise normal phase of childhood development.

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“It’s very frightening to be a small, helpless person — you’re in a world where you don’t have a lot of power, so you compensate with this defense,” Ms. Easterly said. “It can happen on a societal level.” When Freud, Donald Winnicott and others were developing their theories on why people were drawn to cults of personality, she said, it was “in the context of societal collapse and war.”

“We are feeling similar sorts of existential dread as adults now,” she added, “in terms of nihilism in our culture, climate change, income inequality.”

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That may be why so many were drawn to “Marty Supreme,” last year’s blockbuster about a striving table tennis wunderkind, and captivated by Timothée Chalamet’s brashness in promoting it.

“This is probably my best performance, you know, and it’s been like seven, eight years that I feel like I’ve been handing in really, really committed, top-of-the-line performances,” Mr. Chalamet, the film’s lead, said in an interview last year.

“This is really some top-level stuff,” he added, using an expletive.

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Mr. Chalamet collected a Golden Globe and a Critics Choice Award for his portrayal of Marty. But by the time the Academy Awards rolled around, he had gotten a bit too comfortable in the culture’s embrace of his toxic confidence, and it quickly turned Icarian.

In a sit-down with the actor Matthew McConaughey, Mr. Chalamet claimed that “no one cares about” opera and ballet. It didn’t seem to occur to him to backtrack or to try to reassure members of those communities of his admiration. Instead, he doubled down, taking aim at artists’ lack of income: “I just lost 14 cents in viewership.”

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Punching down is one way to make these high levels of confidence less charming. Those who manage to pull it off tend to be those who are not enjoying their success at another’s expense. Light ribbing is passable.

At the Winter Olympics in Milan, the Chinese freestyle skier Eileen Gu exhibited a bubblier version of toxic confidence as she described what it was like to be inside her own head (“not a bad place to be”) and what she would tell her younger self (“I would love me, and that’s the biggest flex of all time”). She was also honest about the intensive routines she maintains so that she can compete in the Olympics, study quantum physics at Stanford and model with IMG — and the enormous pressure she puts on herself to keep it all up.

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That makes it difficult to argue that moments like this are unearned: After winning gold in the women’s halfpipe and two additional silver medals this winter, a reporter asked if she considered her achievements “two silvers gained” or “two golds lost.”

She broke into laughter: “I am the most decorated female free skier in history.”

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Don’t Be Coy

For those who aren’t multihyphenate Olympians, it’s possible that beneath the slick veneer of seemingly absolute assurance remains the same anxious, uncertain person merely following the new social dictates of the moment.

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“I genuinely don’t know if everyone believes in themselves as much as they say they do, but I think it’s sort of the only option,” said Ms. Guterman, the magazine founder, who described herself as “appropriately” confident. “Because if you don’t really believe in yourself right now, you don’t really have anything going for you.”

The mentality seems to have helped Ms. Wolk. After being forced to delete her social media by a cable network as a teenager, she kept posting anyway, quickly gaining half a million followers. Last year, after a turn in the film “Anora,” Ms. Wolk, now 21, portrayed a brutally assertive, pigtailed motel clerk in the A24 mommy-horror flick “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You,” working alongside ASAP Rocky and Rose Byrne.

If you have a goal, it doesn’t serve you to be coy about it, Ms. Wolk said over the phone. “You can’t lie down and hope that opportunities just come up,” she said. “You have to go out and grab it and say yes.”

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We’re having a main character summer. Are you? : It’s Been a Minute

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We’re having a main character summer. Are you? : It’s Been a Minute
Are you ready for a whirlwind summer romance?Making plans to capitalize on summer can get overwhelming – from finding the right spot to hang or feeling comfortable in your clothes in the sweltering summer heat. So what does it mean to approach summer with a romantic joie de vivre?  Brittany is joined by Carly Olson, freelance journalist covering architecture and business, and Garrett Schlichte, writer and chef, to walk us through how to have a rom-com summer where you’re the star.Want more on how to be the best version of yourself? Check out these episodes:How to make friends & get good gossipIt only takes 30 minutes to be a good momSupport Public Media. Join NPR Plus.Follow Brittany on Instagram: @bmluseFor handpicked podcast recommendations every week, subscribe to NPR’s Pod Club newsletter at npr.org/podclub.
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Vintage-obsessed millennial parents are driving L.A.’s booming kids’ clothing resale market

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Vintage-obsessed millennial parents are driving L.A.’s booming kids’ clothing resale market

Kids’ vintage clothing sales are experiencing a remarkable boom at in-person markets and online, where prices for clothes for little ones have shot up on websites including Depop and Poshmark. Millennial parents are looking to outfit their kids in the clothes and TV and film characters they loved (or coveted) when they were kids.

The result? There’s a new generation of kiddos hitting the playground looking incredibly cool. Take Amari Case, a SoCal toddler who spent a Sunday afternoon this spring ambling around a vintage market in a West Hollywood warehouse clad in baggy jeans and a ’90s-era tee emblazoned with the “Dragon Ball Z” character Son Goku.

When she wasn’t scribbling on a Lorax coloring sheet, she’d been cruising around the market with her dad, Aaron Munoz Case, snapping up new pieces destined to make her the flyest kid at the preschool playground.

Neil Wright, from left, Kristine Nite Scalzo and Brandon Rosenblatt, co-founders of Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.

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Showing off Amari’s new vintage satin L.A. Raiders jacket and tiny teal Grant Hill Detroit Pistons jersey, Munoz Case, who was also impeccably dressed, noted that while Amari went through a phase at about 18 months where she wanted to dress herself, eventually she gave up and went back to letting her dripped-out dad dictate her wardrobe.

Munoz Case found Amari’s first vintage piece at the Rose Bowl Flea Market and got the bug, going back every month to pick up something to add to his little’s wardrobe.

Trendspotters and researchers say Munoz Case isn’t alone in his quest. The market for kids’ vintage clothing has heated up precipitously over the last few years, perhaps hitting a boiling point in January when an Eeyore romper from the ’90s sold for over $3,000 on EBay. (It was new with tags, but one without tags still went for almost a grand about a month later.)

The thirst for tiny throwbacks is so popular that first-ever, all-kids market Elemeno — named after the “L-M-N-O” bit of “The Alphabet Song” and where Amari was toddling and shopping — drew 17 vendors and over 2,000 attendees over a single weekend in March. (There are plans for another Elemeno Kids Vintage Market pop-up later this year in New York, as well as plans to bring the event back to L.A. sometime next year.)

1

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A child and mom seated.

2 A child wearing an Avirex jacket from the ’90s.

1. Cameron Scalzo, wearing a vintage McDonald’s T-shirt from the ‘90s, and mom Kristine Nite Scalzo. 2. Cameron Scalzo rocks an Avirex jacket from the ‘90s.

Eye Speak Vintage’s Kristine Nite Scalzo, who co-organized the event and is opening an all-kids vintage store in Pasadena this month, says she fell under the kids vintage spell in 2020 when she was pregnant with her son. She’d always been a vintage shopper for herself, so she knew she wanted to pass the passion down to the next generation. She started filling up her son’s closet, and soon enough, she found herself selling her other finds out of a bodega in her garage.

She has a by-appointment space in Pasadena now, where she draws everyone from Rihanna’s stylist to out-of-town moms who make a point to stop by on their way to Disneyland. “The community around kids vintage has really skyrocketed on Instagram over the past six years,” Scalzo says. “We want to know who we’re buying from. We want to know that we’re doing good with buying secondhand. And it’s a hobby for people that can turn into a possible business on the side. Because knowing there’s a big group that’s interested in vintage kids clothes, you can always pass an item [your kid outgrows] to someone else or resell it.”

Scalzo says some parents are out digging through bins at the Goodwill Outlet looking for the perfect piece, while others are content to pay up for, say, a ’90s Simpsons T-shirt or a mini-size Harley-Davidson jacket. Scouring the racks at the Elemeno market, most pieces cost $15 to $40, though there were special pieces pulled to the side in some booths with price tags that could make a parent’s eyes pop. (Think $275 for a set of well-worn Spider-Man overalls from the ’00s or $150 for a pair of Cross Colours denim shorts from the ’90s.)

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In kids and adult vintage alike, mint condition is highly valued. No matter the era in which they were raised, kids tend to be messy. They get strawberry juice on their shirts or scuff up the knees on their Bugle Boy jeans. Vintage kids clothes that look pristine are more expensive, and while plain kids clothes do sell, items with characters on them or cool prints tend to draw more attention and dollars.

Brandon Rosenblatt, another of the Elemeno organizers, says he’s had his eye on a specific kids “Back to the Future” shirt for some time, but notes that it typically sells for about $1,000. He’s partial to McKids clothes for his daughter, from McDonald’s short-lived kids clothing brand, noting that he’s even snagged her a vintage official McDonald’s-themed aloha shirt from Hawaii, something he says he’s never seen anywhere else.

1 Siblings Amora and Milo Castilo wear vintage cowboy hats, jackets and chaps.

2 Thalia Castilo and her kids Amora and Milo.

1. Siblings Amora and Milo Castilo wear vintage cowboy hats, jackets and chaps. 2. Thalia Castilo and her kids Amora and Milo.

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Other collectors, he says, might be a little less obscure, leaning into mainstream characters such as Strawberry Shortcake or from ’80s and ’90s properties including “The Land Before Time” and “Rugrats.”

“A lot of millennials are having kids — like everyone who’s in their 30s and 40s — and they all want to put their kids in the same IP they grew up in,” Rosenblatt says.

“It’s the thrill of the hunt that gets everyone so excited,” Scalzo says. “Once you find that perfect nostalgic piece, you’re like ‘Holy s—,’ and you just want to chase that feeling again and again.”

Mia De La Rosa, a reseller who was at the Elemeno market, says that like Scalzo, she started buying kids vintage clothes when she was pregnant with her daughter, Liv, who’s 6 now, very into everything on PBS Kids and has a closet full of thrifted vintage garb covered in characters such as D.W., the annoying little sister from the ’90s show “Arthur.”

Everything Liv wears is “completely her style,” De La Rosa says. “She dresses herself every day and she gets compliments on what she’s wearing at school all the time.”

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Other vintage-wearing kids — and in particular younger ones — might simply be sporting what their parents like or might just like the look of the shirt even if they don’t know what it’s advertising. (An 8-year-old boy at the Elemeno market, for instance, chose to wear a pristine T-shirt highlighting the ’90s Jim Carrey movie “The Mask” because it featured his favorite color: green.)

Derrick Broaster, a vintage enthusiast turned full-time reseller, says that while he chooses to put himself in clothes from the ’60s and ’70s, he outfits his two sons in clothes from the 2000s. (“How Bow Wow used to dress when he was a kid,” he says.)

Although his younger son tends to rebel against Broaster’s vintage picks, opting for whatever Spider-Man shoes happen to be in his eyeline, his older son has leaned in, letting his dad advise him on what vintage pieces could work and what would be the most stylish.

1 Brothers pose for a portrait wearing vintage clothing.

2 A family poses for a portrait wearing vintage clothing.

1. Julian, left, and Javier Gutierrez show off their vintage clothing. Javier says his mom always tells him to keep his vintage outfits clean. 2. Mom Priscilla Guzman, clockwise, Dad Javier Gutierrez and sons Julian and Javier Gutierrez enjoy the vibe of vintage clothing. Guzman says she’s been buying and selling kids’ vintage since her oldest son was born eight years ago.

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Rosenblatt says a good portion of what vintage finds he sees in the market now has returned to the U.S. from places in Central America and South America or Asia where those pieces were likely sent decades ago after they were donated or given away.

“There’s a real underbelly of this vintage game with rag houses getting access to bulk product overseas and letting people sort through it,” he says. “There are companies now that rip through 20, 30 or 40,000 pieces of vintage clothing a week. It’s a really interesting ecosystem.”

For many kids vintage sellers, finding their stock is just as fun and interesting as getting it back into consumers’ hands. “Anywhere we can find clothes, we’re there,” says Matthew Carlos, owner of Long Gone Youth. He started selling vintage clothes 11 years ago, when he was 15, switched to kids vintage at 20 and has spent the last six years scouring flea markets, websites and swap meets.

“The kids market is definitely growing,” he says, “but I still feel like we haven’t even gotten close to where we can go. It’s just getting popular now, but the more events [like Elemeno] we can do, the more it’ll go mainstream.” Even now, some major brands like Gap and OshKosh B’gosh have recognized the interest in some of their styles from the ’80s and ’90s, moving to re-release the looks in limited runs.

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Jackie and Frank Oropeza with daughter Rumi Mae shop at Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.

Jackie and Frank Oropeza with daughter Rumi Mae shop at Elemeno Kids Vintage Market.

Kids resale is also leaning into streetwear culture. Rosenblatt, who worked in the streetwear industry, says that he’s noticed that a good portion of those interested in kids vintage — particularly, male shoppers — tend to be fans of streetwear brands like Supreme, Fear of God Essentials and Bape. At Elemeno, for instance, a good portion of the parents we saw pushing strollers were well-dressed dads seemingly on solo missions, something you don’t always see at kid-centric events.

“I just want my son to feel like I did as a kid,” said Justin Nguyen, while watching his toddler, Jayden, play with bubbles. “I want him to be happy, carefree and joyful, and I want to be able to spend time with him. My mom and dad were always working, even on the weekends. Now that I’m a dad, taking my son out on weekends to do stuff like this just seems like a blessing.”

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‘Hellions’ author Julia Elliott wins $150K fiction prize

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‘Hellions’ author Julia Elliott wins 0K fiction prize

Author Julia Elliott won for her short story collection Hellions.

Forrest Clonts/Tin House


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Forrest Clonts/Tin House

Writer Julia Elliott has won this year’s Carol Shields Prize for Fiction for her short story collection Hellions. The award honors work by women and nonbinary authors in the U.S. and Canada.

Elliott, who also authored the novel The New and Improved Romie Futch and the short story collection The Wilds, is known for blending elements of Southern gothic horror, surrealism and fairy tale. Hellions, published in 2025, includes stories set against backdrops like a plague-stricken medieval convent, a feminist art colony, and small Southern towns.

“This eerie, eclectic, genre-leaping collection takes no half-measures; every sentence of Hellions crackles or crawls,” wrote the prize jury in a statement. “Here, human folly moves against a backdrop of horror and magic … But for all its wildness, there is tremendous control.”

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The prize, named after a Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, awards $150,000 to one winner each year. Novels, short story collections, and graphic novels by women and nonbinary authors are eligible.

This year’s finalists included Quiara Alegría Hudes (The White Hot), Lee Lai (Cannon), Megha Majumdar (A Guardian and a Thief), and Sonya Walger (Lion). They will each receive $12,500.

The Carol Shields Prize went to writer Canisia Lubrin in 2025.

You can listen to actor Donna Lynne Champlin read Elliott’s story “Hellion” on the Death, Sex & Money podcast here.

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