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What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

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What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. They also happen to be a couple. Zana wears Zana Bayne corset, Black Suede Studio boots, Calzedonia tights, Pinsy bodysuit. Mariano wears BustedBrand shirt and pants, Ugo Cacciatori bracelet, Other People’s Property rings.

In a lofty space streaming with hot light on Los Angeles Street, there is a dressing room with heavy red curtains and a door in the shape of a butt plug. A mirror inside captures your reflection in its familiar curvature, and, of course, you pull out your phone to take a picture — because when have you ever seen a butt plug-shaped dressing room before? Across the room, a Wassily-style chair sunbathes in the corner, with a handmade burgundy leather base and back, studs running along the seams. The chair has straps on its armchairs — made for wrists to slip into — with custom silver buckles in the shape of an outstretched woman’s physique. Vintage fetish magazines line the glass table in the center of the room, which smells of fresh paint, leather and latex. On a warm afternoon in August, this space is still under construction, but soon it will be a store: the shared world of Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez, a physical manifestation of their creative partnership and personal relationship.

Bayne and Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. What people come to Bayne for is her specific style, where all details are meticulously done by hand, and where hardware reigns supreme. (She made the aforementioned chair.) A Zana Bayne piece feels structural to the point of sculptural — a leather crystal-studded corset flaring with hip ruffles that unfold like an accordion; a lace-up corset eyelet skirt that creates a soft, voluptuous curve line away from the body. The pieces are instantly recognizable as hers: hand-laced rivets holding together a bustier in the shape of a broken heart, the way one of her spiked choker handbags seems to defy gravity. Cortez is the Latex King of Los Angeles, known for developing new techniques with the material, or imagining it in completely new contexts. In Cortez’s hands, latex becomes printed as leopard and cowhide, it becomes evening wear, sportswear or business casual — from a football tank to a floor-length dress to a blazer.

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez of Bustedbrand for Image Issue 29

And they happen to be in a relationship. Sitting in the room with Cortez and Bayne, there is a gravitational pull that can be felt when in the presence of opposites who speak the same language. Leather and latex being their shared dialect. Fashion is a small world, fashion inspired by fetish wear is even smaller. There is a mutual understanding between the two designers, both about the practical things — like impossible schedules or the kind of obsessive nature you must have to be successful — and the big things, like living a life in dedication to your practice, or what it means to blend the realms of subculture, art and fashion. “What we do is so blood, sweat and tears — every iota of your being at times — and if you aren’t in it, it’s really hard to understand for certain people,” Bayne says.

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In February, Bayne posted an image of a photo strip of her and Cortez and captioned it: “Leather mama & latex daddy.” The store, called FETISH and launching in October, is somehow the culmination of this exact description. Which takes us back to the beginning: What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

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Walking into Cortez’s studio in the fashion district, you are first hit by the distinct smell of rubber, filling your nostrils, washing over your brain in a haze of strangely intimate comfort. Cortez and Bayne are wearing all black in 90-degree heat while sipping on green juices. She is in a Nine Inch Nails 2008 tour T-shirt, thrown over a slip dress with fishnets on, and Cortez is in a T-shirt, cargo shorts and boots. They tell me that earlier that day, Chappell Roan wore a custom Bustedbrand X Zana Bayne look on stage at Lollapalooza for what was said to be the festival’s biggest audience ever. Roan jumped around in a hot pink and electric blue lucha libre wrestler’s outfit made of latex, with iridescent leather accessories including a belt, mask, shin guards and wrist and upper arm cuffs. Bayne started with accessories early in her career — first creating a single harness — back when she was an obsessive fashion documentarian with the blog Garbage Dress, and was enamored by the transformative qualities a small piece could have on an outfit, an aura. “There’s something about a strap of leather and a buckle that can really make people go wild,” she says. “I’m still not sick of exploring that.”

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez of Bustedbrand for Image Issue 29

Cortez and Bayne started their brands at different times, both literally and culturally speaking. In 2011, when Zana Bayne was formed, there were fewer people making harnesses intended to wear at a concert or party, or in broad daylight. Bayne was one of the designers to open that world up for designers like Cortez, who would officially start his brand in 2018. Back then, anything that was made of leather with some rivets would be pigeonholed as strictly fetish wear, Bayne remembers, and there was little focus on the actual quality or design of the garment, which is what her brand was driven by. The term “post-fetish” was something her brand created to describe the kind of clothing she was making (mostly as a diversion for press, which in the 2010s loved to throw “BDSM” in a headline when covering the brand). Her work was rooted in and inspired by bondage, but she decidedly did not position itself as a bondage brand. “That term didn’t exist,” Bayne says. “The term post-fetish was, like, apres ski, like, postmodernism. It was a word play thing, and it worked. Now, there’s hundreds of brands. There isn’t a void to be filled anymore, because it’s its own monster.”

Cortez likes to think of his work as a bridge between fetish and ready-to-wear. “It still comes from a fashion standpoint — my interest was in latex material and what it could be,” says Cortez. “Respecting the roots of what people created this for, and then turning it into a more practical [garment].” One of the many iterations of designer Vivienne Westwood’s iconic boutique, Worlds End which she opened with then-partner Malcom McLaren in the ’70s, was famously dubbed “SEX,” with a huge sign in pink squeaky letters at the top. The store sold fetish wear and had whips and chains on display. Their slogan was: “rubberwear for the office.”

For both Cortez’s and Bayne’s designs, something special happens when they are seen, when they are out in the world. This is when they come to life, when the natural tension of wearing fetish-inspired wear — like one of Bayne’s spiked triangle bras, or Cortez’s latex cat suits — in a new context rises to the surface and you can see it in action. For the wearer, there is also an obvious dedication necessary to wear the pieces — both leather and latex, specifically latex, require a particular care process, and getting a piece by Bayne or Cortez on is an entire process on its own. There’s an intensity to the materials that, no matter the context, remains. There is a satisfaction to seeing Beyoncé wearing a full latex outfit on the cover of “Cowboy Carter,” which Cortez designed, or Ariana Grande wearing a full custom lavender leather look in the video for “Rain on Me,” which Bayne made. While on some level it feels as if they are positioning themselves towards the subversive through the code of fabric, it is also a straightforward appreciation of the designs themselves.

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Bayne is mostly self-taught. She grew up in San Francisco, where she attended the San Francisco Art Institute and got a degree in conceptual art. “The first corsets I made came out of nightlife and subculture,” she says. “In San Francisco at that time, everyone was doing everything all at once. You go from a leather bar to a drag show to a punk show to a noise show. We’d go to soul night and then some rave off the train tracks. It was just this mix of subcultures and fashion.” Then she moved to New York, which is when her brand got its legs. Slowly and organically, stylists were pulling pieces for their clients, custom celebrity requests started coming in and eventually she became a highlight at New York Fashion Week. “All of a sudden I was making things out of my bedroom for Lady Gaga,” Bayne says.

Cortez is from Temecula, where he grew up in punk scenes, going to the desert, skating and doing BMX — which people still recognize him from, Bayne adds. He got injured at one point from BMX, and wasn’t able to walk for a year, which is when he put all his energy into learning about fashion on Tumblr. He moved to L.A. as a teenager, where he got an internship-turned-job at L.A. Roxx, a custom design house specializing in leather. They’d get calls from people constantly, inquiring if they worked with latex, which piqued Cortez’s interest. “It was curiosity,” he says. “People not knowing, also me not knowing, just made me dive deeper.” He’d go on to learn the craft under an L.A. fetish latex designer before starting Bustedbrand on his own terms.

Cortez knew of Bayne’s brand long before he started his own, and says that a lot of her designs were a big inspiration when he started out, and still are. Bayne quips in response: “I thought that some things looked slightly familiar. However, I always maintained the opinion that Busted had the coolest latex designs, the most relevant designs, and that their branding was better than anyone else’s who was in the game. I was both somewhat annoyed and appreciative. I couldn’t help but be like, ‘Yeah, you’re doing a great job.’”

Bayne is a Virgo, Cortez is a Pisces — sister signs that, in theory, are on opposite sides of the spectrum, but, in practice, serve as each other’s balance. It checks: Cortez is quiet and stoic, with a subtle warmth that reveals itself as he gets comfortable, while Bayne’s dark humor, sharp intellect and charisma serve as a magnet. Cortez regularly giggles at her dry jokes. It’s clear they share a shorthand, inside things that they don’t care to explain. They seem to complement each other in ways beyond just a shared aesthetic. “I think we’re both very stubborn people,” Bayne says. “An interesting thing to learn was how we’re saying the same thing, but in totally different ways.”

Zana and Mariano standing.

Zana wears Zana Bayne dress, Bustedbrand bra and underwear, Givenchy shoes, The Great Frog and Other People’s Property rings. Mariano wears BustedBrand T-shirt and jeans, Other People’s Property bracelet and rings.

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Their work kept being featured in the same editorials, on the same artists for years — Beyoncé, being one. People would come into Bayne’s studio carrying a Bustedbrand bag. And she’d think: “There it is again.” They’d physically been in the same room many times as well, and were cordial to each other, but hadn’t communicated beyond a head nod. “I’m mean,” Bayne jokes.

“She made a personal [Instagram] account and I had followed [it],” Cortez remembers. “Then I saw she started hanging out with my friend, Britton [Litow], and I asked, ‘What’s up with Zana?’ I told her I was interested.” Litow texted Cortez a couple days later and said that Bayne was interested. “I was like, ‘He can ask me out,’” Bayne says. No moves were made until Litow’s birthday dinner a couple months later at Mr. Chow, when she sat Cortez and Bayne next to each other. “He was wearing sunglasses,” Bayne remembers. “At night.” Their first date was at a bar where Bayne wore a “really intense outfit,” which was one of her own pieces.

Being in a relationship with another designer has been a comfort for Cortez. He’d never been able to share the highs and lows of the business with anyone else like this. “Zana definitely helps me be a little less one-track mind and enjoy what just happened,” he says. “That’s been pretty leveling, grounding. It’s been really nice that we share these experiences.”

“It’s really cliche for people to say, ‘I want to be with someone who challenges me.’ And I’ve never felt that way before. That’s never something I’ve looked for, but I think we definitely challenge each other,” Bayne says. “You remind me of what I love about what we do and where it can possibly go.”

Bayne says Cortez is constantly curious, with a brain full of “a million question marks at all times.” “I think curiosity has brought me to a lot of really interesting new techniques,” he responds. There is a spaceship-looking machine behind him that takes up an entire corner of the massive studio space, a laser cutter that he uses for his latex work. This is part of a production system Cortez developed for himself, which has further allowed him to think of latex in new ways, including using traditional garment techniques like sewing — something you usually don’t do with latex — which makes it possible to create some of his silhouettes, like a voluminous bomber jacket or a boxer short.

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Zana on black gown.

Zana wears Rick Owens gown, JW PEI shoes, Other People’s Property rings, The Great Frog rings, Alighieri earrings.

Mariano in suit.

Mariano wears Entire Studios suit and tank top, Akila sunglasses, Other People’s Property bracelet and rings.

(Natalia Mantini / For The Times)

It’s a moment of expansion for Bayne as well, who is in the process of releasing a run of non-leather items for the first time inspired by the visual language she’s built over the last 13 years.

Charli XCX starts bumping on the speaker that is connected to Cortez’s phone — “maybe we go like one notch down?” Bayne asks, laughing. Charli wore one of Bayne’s skirts for a recent spread in British GQ. A non-exhaustive list of Bayne’s clients — mostly custom — include Rei Kawakubo, Kim Petras, Eartheater, Kim Kardashian, Brooke Candy, Doja Cat, Debbie Harry and she’s in the process of making some pieces for L.A. billboard icon Angelyne. For Cortez, that list includes 2 Chainz, Rico Nasty, Hailey Bieber, Ye, among others. They’ve collaborated on custom looks for artists, including Roan. And earlier this year, they collaborated on an exclusive collection, featuring micro triangle bras and belts in classic Bayne construction with a Bustedbrand flair through the leopard print and star appliques. “We have brands that work seamlessly together,” Bayne says. “It’s a no brainer.”

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The ultimate collaboration will be the new store opening. Cortez’s father built the butt plug cut-out for the fitting room. “I told him it was a spike,” Cortez says, laughing. “The next day after I sent him the photo and the dimensions he was like, ‘That’s a butt plug.’”

Cortez and Bayne want the space to feel “clean and sexy.” “We’re building our universe,” Bayne says, which means the store will feature their pieces and exclusive collaborations, but it will also be a home to their musical inspirations, beloved objects and design references. They want the experience to be one of discovery. “There’s beauty, there’s severity with what we do, but there’s going to be playful elements,” Bayne says. The store is also an opportunity to continue presenting leather and latex in the contexts in which Cortez and Bayne imagine them in. Spending time in the space itself feels like sitting in on a conversation between Bayne and Cortez, which is a rarity, given the intentional mysteriousness around them as a couple.

“It’s really special what we get to do, and what we do [is] really f—ing hard,” Bayne says. “It takes a chunk of your soul constantly, but there’s got to be a part of us that loves what we do.”

“I told myself that the other day,” Cortez says. “I love what I do. And I’m glad I get to share it with Zana.”

Zana wears black gown and Mariano wears black suit.
Zana Bayne Bustedbrand

Makeup Selena Ruiz
Hair Adrian Arredondo
Lighting Nick Shamblott

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Lifestyle

Make Way for the Investment Bank Influencers

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Make Way for the Investment Bank Influencers

It’s 5:30 a.m. Allison Sheehan switches on the light in the bathroom of her New York City apartment and stretches in front of the mirror. “Welcome back to another morning in the life of an ‘investment baker,’ which means someone who works at an investment bank but also makes cakes,” she says at the beginning of the video, which she uploaded to TikTok in early 2025.

Tying an apron over her pajamas, Ms. Sheehan, now 26, proceeds to pipe lilac buttercream ruffles on a heart-shaped funfetti cake she had baked the night before.

At 6:50, she heads to the gym, filming herself doing crunches before heading home to shower, put on makeup and pick out an outfit. By 8:20, Ms. Sheehan heads to her wealth management job, at Goldman Sachs (she didn’t reveal the name of the bank in her videos while employed there).

In 2023, Ms. Sheehan, who has since made cakes for brands including Goop and LoveShackFancy as well as the model Gigi Hadid, was posting on social media as “The Investment Baker,” a persona she created for her custom-cake business, Alleycat.

On her Investment Baker Instagram and TikTok pages, Ms. Sheehan posted familiar influencer content like “What I eat in a week” and day-in-the-life videos, along with breakdowns of her corporate wardrobe. At the time, her DMs were inundated both with cake orders and with young women seeking advice on how to break into finance.

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The finance industry remains one of the most sought-after sectors for college graduates. In 2025, Goldman Sachs saw 360,000 students competing for just 2,600 internships — up 15 percent from the previous year. It has also historically insisted that employees maintain a low profile on the internet. Ms. Sheehan was careful never to disclose the bank at which she worked in her videos, and she never filmed herself in the office, per her employer’s rules. In fact, she never discussed finance much at all. Still, the tension between the “two worlds of baking and being a financier was the whole allure,” Ms. Sheehan said.

Yet Ms. Sheehan was informed that her baking content was seen as a “reputational risk” for the firm. She was instructed to delete every post on her TikTok and Instagram and to change her handle so that it made no reference to the word “investment.” When Ms. Sheehan drew comparisons to the firm’s chief executive, David Solomon, who moonlights as a D.J., she was told she could not compare herself to him. She pushed back, saying that the firm’s policy should apply to everyone. “It doesn’t work like that,” she said she was told.

Like Ms. Sheehan, Sahilee Waitman, 28, used the fact of her employment at an investment bank as a hook for her TikTok videos. Ms. Waitman moved to New York City from Amsterdam to work in compliance at an investment bank in 2023. She soon started posting day-in-the-life content, detailing everything from her workouts to what she ate for lunch, with the goal of building financial autonomy outside her corporate role. Both women were clear that while they worked at investment banks, they were not investment bankers, often a point of contention or confusion in the comments section.

The New York Times reached out to many of the investment bank employees on TikTok, but they declined to comment for this article, fearing the risk to their reputation. The New York Times also reached out to 14 different banks, among them Goldman Sachs, but none responded to requests for comment regarding the matter of social media use among employees.

Despite these fears, investment banking content is going viral across social media. Nearly 60,400 videos tagged #investmentbanking have appeared on TikTok in recent years. Time-stamped 100-hour work weeks and late-night keyboard A.S.M.R. regularly draw hundreds of thousands of views on TikTok. Part of the appeal is that influencers offer a more realistic depiction of the world of work than can be gleaned from shows like “Industry” on HBO or from actual recruitment events.

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Ms. Sheehan was determined to show that even bankers could have a life outside work. In October 2024, a year after posting her first video, a meeting with her manager appeared unexpectedly on Ms. Sheehan’s calendar. At first, she thought it might be good news. But the excitement was short-lived when she was greeted by three compliance officers. “We see you have an online persona called ‘The Investment Baker,’” she recalled them saying.

At present, there is no widely agreed-upon policy regarding employees’ personal social media use. The Financial Industry Regulatory Authority, the largest independent regulator for brokerage firms in the United States, and the Securities and Exchange Commission, a government agency that regulates the entire U.S. securities industry, have rules and guidance dictating that employees cannot share any information that is deemed confidential or in any way sensitive. But how firms apply their own internal policy is at their discretion.

Hannah Awonuga, the former head of colleague engagement at Barclays U.K. and a cultural transformation and inclusion consultant, sees both parties as at risk. Employees might find themselves on the wrong side of human resources. For employers, “once you allow staff to post freely,” she said, “you run the risk that they might express an opinion on a Saturday that goes against your values.”

For decades, “workism” — the belief that work is central to one’s identity — has infiltrated the American ethos, particularly for many city dwellers, whose hobbies and leisure activities can fall by the wayside. Increasingly, younger workers are pushing back, demanding a healthier work-life balance and actively working to decouple their identity from their careers.

The world of high finance is one of the last sectors to catch up. “Once you work in these industries,” Ms. Waitman said, “you’re essentially taught to choose one lane.” You are either a “serious professional,” she said, or a “creative.” “I just don’t believe those things are mutually exclusive,” she added.

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Ms. Waitman, who is Black, hoped that by posting on TikTok, she would be promoting diversity in the industry. She received the occasional negative comment, insisting she must be a “secretary,” but a majority of her messages were positive, she said, and came from other women seeking her advice about pursuing careers in finance.

At the time, Ms. Waitman did not receive pushback from her employer on her videos, though she made sure to declare any outside business activity to compliance and her director. “I think firms are just now catching on to this,” Ms. Waitman said. “Once they find out, you have compliance on your neck.”

A recent glossy fashion spread in Interview Magazine entitled “Meet the Finest Boys in Finance” highlighted what can happen when young finance professionals attract the wrong kind of publicity. The designer-heavy photo shoot was mocked and meme-ified online for violating Wall Street’s sacrosanct rule against flashiness.

Across social media, some women were quick to point out the double standard at play. “But women get fired from Goldman for being influencers …” read one comment left on a TikTok video about the spread.

In fact, many of the people posting influencer-like content are young women, which is at odds with the traditionally male-dominated world of high finance.

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A spokesperson for Goldman Sachs told Bloomberg that the interviews in Interview Magazine were not approved by the firm.

After the compliance meeting, Ms. Sheehan did as she was instructed and archived all her social media posts. Three months later, though, she put them back up. “I didn’t see my posts as a violation of the bylaws,” she said. Immediately, another meeting with compliance landed on her calendar. This time, her cake business was taking off, and Ms. Sheehan decided to hand in her resignation. (Goldman Sachs did not respond to requests for comment.)

As banks are forced to iron out their policies in an ever more online world, workers sharing the minutiae of their days is likely to become an increasing headache for compliance. “If you have five followers, there’s no need to make anyone aware,” Ms. Awonuga said. But, she added, “as more Gen Z’s come into the workplace and grow in their roles, I just don’t know how feasible it becomes to say you’re not allowed a social media presence.”

Ms. Sheehan, meanwhile, has no regrets. “I cannot believe,” she said, “that they were concerned about me making pink cakes when people are insider trading.”

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She’s the so-called Womb Witch of L.A. Here’s why her clients keep returning

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She’s the so-called Womb Witch of L.A. Here’s why her clients keep returning

Leigh McDaniel always knew she was destined to become a witch. Growing up in Hawaii, she came from a long line of “kitchen witches,” she explains — women who intuited measurements, spices and when a cake was done from the next room. “There was always a part of me that was like: Yeah, I’m a witch,” says McDaniel from her California sun-soaked studio.

Today, McDaniel — who calls herself a “womb witch”— practices a different kind of magic: pelvic care bodywork. Based in a bright studio in Glendale, McDaniel serves clients of all genders. Before each session, McDaniel invites clients to share their personal histories, and then McDaniel performs bodywork through touch as sage smoke curls in the air.

“A person who left today had their first session and was like, ‘I’m so much lighter in my body,’” McDaniel says.

McDaniel’s work is rooted in holistic pelvic health and touch therapy, which she discovered after giving birth to her second child at age 46. Before her daughter was born, McDaniel says she met her in a dream. The child introduced herself as “Luna.” The name stuck. After her birth, McDaniel theorized that her daughter had “reorganized her pelvic bowl.” When she sought out answers from her midwife and OB-GYN, they were dismissive; the experience prompted her to explore alternative care.

“It sent me down a few rabbit holes,” McDaniel says. “Previously, I had studied naturopathy with the intention of going to a naturopathic school — herbalism, Reiki and light touch therapy.”

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Leigh McDaniel says that after one session her clients often feel an immediate shift in their bodies.

(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)

While body wisdom and alternative healing are framed as part of the Goop-conscious modern wellness movement, McDaniel explains that these practices are not new. She cites Ubuntu, a South African philosophy that informs her healing approach. “Indigenous practices knew how to hold people in trauma,” she says. “We’re only just beginning to figure it out.”

After an explanation of the nervous system, consent and the pelvic floor, her sessions begin with McDaniel burning sage or mugwort while the client is on the table. She asks for consent before touching the client and offers a prayer or blessing. McDaniel explains she’s feeling for energy before moving on to the abdomen, where she applies various levels of pressure. She compares it to a guided meditation as she incorporates breathwork while asking clients to breathe into her fingers. She emphasizes that the client controls the pace and asks for consent at each step.

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“I think consent and boundaries are so critical to taking care of your body,” she says.

The intimate nature of McDaniel’s practice has garnered attention — and occasional skepticism. Comedian Ali Macofsky, for example, says with a smile, “I go in person to this womb witch,” on “The Endless Honeymoon” podcast. The hosts are baffled and intrigued. Macofsky adds, “It feels very old school the way women have to go through things.”

Macofsky discovered Leigh through actor and comedian Syd Steinberg who highly recommended her work. “I went to help with some CPTSD [complex post-traumatic stress disorder] and TMJ [temporomandibular joint] pain and she helped,” says Steinberg. “She really is a miracle worker.”

Macofsky was intrigued by the whimsical title of “Womb Witch.” “I was like, I’ll make an appointment and see what happens.” After a phone call, McDaniel explained that she helped clients with physical intimacy and sexual trauma through bodywork. The comedian was hooked.

Macofsky notes that in a culture where female pleasure is not prioritized, it’s hard to know where to seek advice. After a session with Leigh where she discussed advocating for oneself sexually, Macofsky began to see the results take hold in surprising ways. “It’s helping me in other areas where normally I’d be uncomfortable to advocate for myself or speak up about what I want.”

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Clients seek out the womb witch for a variety of reasons. Some report physical discomfort during sexual encounters, while others come after experiencing sexual assault, abuse or consent violation. At other times, clients may experience stiffness or pain that McDaniel believes may be a reaction to trauma.

Her session also focuses on sexual health. McDaniel gives her clients a tutorial on pleasure anatomy and consent, most recently teaching sexual health lessons to a gathering in Silver Lake. “I like to show a lot about the pleasure anatomy, the mobility of the uterus, and where the cervix is at different times of the month,” she explains.

McDaniel argues that pleasure is an important part of daily life. “Female pleasure is finally being noticed,” she says. “Pleasure is a birthright. There’s pleasure and there’s grief. To be full-spectrum humans, we need to be feeling pleasure.” McDaniel cites that recent studies claim the clitoris has 10,000 nerve endings.

Leigh McDaniel holds a bowl of coconut and castor oil that she often uses with clients.

Leigh McDaniel holds a bowl of coconut and castor oil that she often uses with clients.

(Dania Maxwell / For The Times)

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McDaniel says that everyday stress — including sexual harassment and misogyny — manifests in the body, often leading to chronic pain. “In patriarchy, the comments land in your body, and you find yourself bracing every time you pass them,” she says. “They can seem so small and harmless, but even those little things add up. They’re felt. It’s part of feeling unsafe in the world.”

Though many people struggle to navigate the American healthcare system, more Americans are turning to a spiritual wellness approach. The National Institutes of Health reports that holistic care methods such as meditation, acupuncture and yoga have grown significantly in recent years. Ancient Chinese medicine techniques have gone viral on TikTok, capturing the attention of Gen Z. “People are more willing to look outside the Western medicine model,” McDaniel explains. “I have people that come here to see me because of medical trauma too.”

Dr. Tanaz R. Ferzandi, director of urogynecology and reconstructive pelvic surgery at Keck Medicine of USC, believes that holistic medicine can be a potent adjunct to more traditional remedies. She has recommended acupuncture to her patients who have experienced sexual trauma. “The whole idea of acupuncture is you’re lying there, and coming to peace with yourself and your body,” she explains. “It’s a forced therapy where you can be alone with yourself and shut out the rest of the world.”

Simultaneously, Ferzandi believes a healthy amount of skepticism is good. “We have to stay scientific — what’s the evidence behind it? As long as women understand that we don’t know if there’s data to support some of the things they’re doing,” she says. “I’m very cautious about touting certain things that are somehow going to be a panacea.”

McDaniel’s explains its rare she encounters skeptics at her practice. “I never try to convince anyone to come in for a session,” she says. “There are scientific studies on the efficacy of different types of work that are adjacent to, or similar to what I do, but nothing exact.”

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She acknowledges elements of her work are difficult to quantify. “There is also a mysterious space between bodies, the client and myself, where something happens that I cannot really explain, but it feels magical,” she says. “I don’t think any of this would convince anyone who is inherently skeptical though.”

McDaniel views her daughter Luna’s birth as the inciting incident into her true calling — becoming the “Womb Witch.” “Everything that happened to my own body after her birth, it was a calling to do this,” she says. “I’ve done so many things, and this is the first time I really feel settled in what I do.”

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N.F.L. Style Will Never Beat N.B.A. Style

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N.F.L. Style Will Never Beat N.B.A. Style

You want to see some real fashion ingenuity? Watch the N.F.L. draft.

I’m not saying it’s all good, but where else are you going to see someone in a double-breasted suit made by a company better known for making yoga pants? Or an Abercrombie & Fitch suit jacket so short that it exposes the belt loops on the pants beneath?

On the whole, the style on display at the N.F.L. draft last night was very overeager senior formal: a lot of suits in colors beyond basic blue. The quarterback Ty Simpson wore a custom suit by the athleisure label Alo, which, I have to say, looked better than I would have envisioned had you said the words “Alo Yoga suit” to me.

I thought it might have been from Suitsupply, but the conspicuous “Alo” pin on his right lapel put that idea to rest. Simpson, smartly, unfastened that beacon before appearing onstage as the 13th pick to the Los Angeles Rams. He had, perhaps, satisfied his contractual obligations by that point.

Earlier in the evening, as the wide receiver Carnell Tate threw up his arms in exaltation after being picked fourth by the Tennessee Titans, his cropped Abercrombie & Fitch jacket revealed a swatch of rib cage. He looked like a mâitre d’ who had just hit the Mega Millions.

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During the N.B.A.’s extended fashion awakening, its draft has become a sandbox for luxury brands to cozy up to would-be endorsers. The Frenchman Victor Wembanyama broke a kind of cashmere ceiling when he wore Louis Vuitton to go first overall in the 2023 N.B.A. draft.

The N.F.L. draft has none of that. The brands you see are often not brands at all, but custom tailors that reach the league’s neophytes through a whisper network among players. The draft is also a platform to raise the curtain on longer-term brand deals that better suit these rookies. We may, for instance, never see Simpson in a suit again. Nearly every photo from his time at Alabama shows him in a T-shirt or hoodie. It makes sense for him to sign with Alo.

Football is the most mainstream of American cultural entities. And it’s one that still hasn’t, in spite of the league’s best efforts, taken off overseas. Few players, save some quarterbacks and a tight end who happens to be engaged to a pop star, feel bigger than the game itself. If you’re a new-to-the-league linebacker, you’ll most likely never harness the star power to grab the attention of Armani, but you might have just the right pull for Abercrombie.

The N.F.L. draft is therefore one of the few red carpets where the brands worn by the athletes may also be worn by those watching at home. How many people watching the Oscars will ever own clothes from Louis Vuitton or Chanel? People may comment online about Lady Gaga wearing Matières Fécales to the Grammys, but how many of those fans and viewers could afford to buy clothes from it?



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Yesterday, I published a deep dive into how a newish crop of Japanese designers are soaking up all the attention in men’s fashion right now. This was a piece I was writing in my head long before I sat down and finally started typing. I remember sitting at a fashion show in Paris over a year ago — I believe it was Dior — and being asked by my seatmate if I’d made it over to a showroom in the Marais to check out A.Presse. That Tokyo-based brand is now part of a vanguard of Japanese labels that, on many days, seems to be all anyone in fashion wants to talk about. I spent months talking with designers, store owners and big-time shoppers to make sense of why these brands have kicked up so much buzz and, more than that, what makes their clothes so great. You can read the story here.


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