Lifestyle

What Makes a Good Red-Carpet Host?

Published

4 months ago

February 24, 2025

Being a red-carpet host doesn’t sound so bad: just wear something spangly and chat with celebrities on their way into an awards show. Ask a few questions, ideally ones that let actors plug the brands that dressed them, and send them off to collect their trophies.

If only it were that easy.

On the red carpet before the Screen Actors Guild Awards on Sunday night, the YouTube star and former late-night host Lilly Singh dutifully performed the role for Netflix’s preshow. She asked Jane Fonda for advice for young actresses, and Pamela Anderson about craft services on her projects. She probed a baffled-looking Harrison Ford for “tea” about Ms. Fonda and Jason Segel.

Some armchair critics on social media were harsh, calling Ms. Singh’s interviews stilted and cringey, her approach overenthusiastic or underinformed. (Her co-host, the actress and comedian Sasheer Zamata, was mostly spared such criticism.)

These moments highlight just how challenging it is to be a good red-carpet host, a slippery role that demands fluency in dozens of films (and sometimes television shows, too), as well as an ability to generate instant chemistry with any actor who sweeps by. Those tapped for the job — a mix of comedians, actors, influencers and reality stars — must squeeze out 60-second, mildly elucidating interviews amid a throng of journalists, publicists and photographers. The exposure is great. The potential for gaffes is high.

It’s a role that has undergone serious transformation since the 1990s, when Joan Rivers, the first host of “Live From the Red Carpet” on E!, began to riff amusingly but savagely about the celebrity procession. She made brutal jabs about peoples’ bodies. She insulted Oprah, Lady Gaga and Rihanna. To hear her tell it, nearly everyone was a tacky disaster.

“Being publicly told that my dress is hideous will never feel quite as awesome,” the actress Anna Kendrick posted on social media after Ms. Rivers’s death in 2014. “You will be truly missed.”

In the post-Rivers era, some wanted to see red-carpet hosts take a different approach to the role. In 2015, a campaign called #AskHerMore from the Representation Project urged red-carpet interviewers including Ryan Seacrest and Giuliana Rancic to ask women in Hollywood questions that went beyond their choice of attire.

Laverne Cox, who became the red-carpet host of “Live From E!” in December 2021, updated Ms. Rivers’s typical “Who are you wearing tonight?” with a question she hoped would give interviewees more room for expression: “What story are you telling us with this look tonight?”

If she made the job look easy, it might have been because her preparation was so rigorous. In 2023, she told The New York Times about her process, which involved five-hour study sessions readying questions for every nominee who might walk by, and even the ones who probably would not. She reviewed the pronunciations of surnames and film titles. She aimed to start conversations about clothing, but also about the preparation and physicality that actors brought to their roles.

Ms. Cox approached the carpet as a “fan girl,” she said. “It’s been a different way for me, hopefully, to highlight people’s humanity. As an artist, we’re arbiters of empathy and humanity. And I think it’s possible as a red-carpet host to also do that.” (She announced last month that she was leaving the role.)

The current cadre of red-carpet hosts have each brought their own flavor to the job. Amelia Dimoldenberg, the host of the video series “Chicken Shop Date,” preferred to shamelessly flirt with attendees at the Golden Globes, where Andrew Garfield appeared no match for her charm. Keke Palmer’s effusive enthusiasm on the Met Gala carpet resulted in a viral mini theme song for the rapper Meghan Thee Stallion in 2021. Last March, Vanessa Hudgens said she had “a lot of fun” as a host for ABC’s Oscars preshow, which she has done for the last three years.

All have avoided major dust-ups, whereas other red-carpet interviewers have stumbled. This month, The Associated Press apologized to the singer and producer Babyface after one of its journalists shouted over him during an interview on the Grammys carpet. (She had been trying to grab the attention of another singer, Chappell Roan.) The model Ashley Graham muddled through a terse exchange with Hugh Grant when she was a host on the Oscars red carpet in 2023.

“What are you wearing tonight, then?” Ms. Graham asked the actor.

“Just my suit,” he responded.

She recovered and asked if he’d had fun filming the mystery “Glass Onion.”

“Uh, almost,” he said.

ABC has not yet announced who will host its red carpet before the Academy Awards on Sunday, though Ms. Dimoldenberg will return as a red-carpet correspondent.

She seems to be aware that her work is cut out for her: A representative for Ms. Dimoldenberg said she was not available for an interview on Monday, because she had writing to do.

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Lifestyle

Money buys love or something like it in 'Materialists' : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Published

12 hours ago

June 16, 2025

Press Room

Money buys love or something like it in 'Materialists' : Pop Culture Happy Hour

Dakota Johnson in Materialists.

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Dakota Johnson in Materialists.

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Should you date for love or financial security? That’s the central premise of the new movie Materialists. It stars Dakota Johnson at the center of a love triangle with Pedro Pascal and Chris Evans, and is directed by Celine Song (Past Lives).

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Lifestyle

What is a 'flexologist' — and do you need to see one?

Published

13 hours ago

June 16, 2025

Press Room

What is a 'flexologist' — and do you need to see one?

The signs seemed to be proliferating around Los Angeles — along Sunset Boulevard in Echo Park, in mini-malls on Pacific Coast Highway, on side streets in Glendale and Venice: StretchLab, Stretch Zone, StretchSPOT, StretchMed.

Deborah Vankin’s 50-minute stretch session included 13 stretches on either side of her body.

(Luke Johnson / Los Angeles Times)

I’d been curious about assisted stretching for a while. But I never thought to visit a studio. Sure, “recovery” is a growing trend in fitness — meaning rejuvenating muscles, tendons and the central nervous system between exercise sessions by focusing on hydration, proper nutrition, sleep and, yes, active stretching so as to maximize athletic performance. But I own three foam rollers — one smooth, one spiky, one padded — and even use them at home. I’m also far from an extreme athlete, preferring instead brisk hikes for cardio and basic strength training.

Why would I drive to a mini-mall and pay someone to stretch me? What would that even look like — and was it worth it?

The questions rumbled in my head as I drove past yet another StretchLab recently — this one on Beverly Boulevard near Hollywood. So I called them up.

Turns out StretchLab, which opened its first studio in Venice in 2015, now has more than 500 studios nationwide, 15 of them in the L.A. area. Its clientele are generally either serious athletes, older adults and desk workers who struggle with stiffness and want to work on their mobility, or those healing injuries and other conditions. They come to be stretched out more deeply, in positions they couldn’t possibly get into, physically, on their own. Many of them appreciate the intimacy and accountability of working with a practitioner, one-on-one. And it can be helpful to have a professional, with a trained eye, isolate asymmetries in their bodies and guide their stretching, especially for those who suffer from chronic pain or are healing an injury, says StretchLab‘s director of marketing, Gabi Khowploum.

“We see a lot of people who say, ‘Hey, I’m having back pain,’” Khowploum says. “And they come to stretch it, but it might be they’re having issues with hip mobility — they just don’t realize it.”

Stretch therapists — or “flexologists,” as they’re sometimes called — are not doctors. Chiropractors, physical therapists and some massage therapists are trained in assisted stretching — but stretch therapists can’t do what they do. Stretch therapists don’t diagnose and treat injuries; they don’t provide spinal or joint manipulation, imaging such as X-rays or CT scans or massage. They focus, instead, on stretching muscles and fascia to increase flexibility and mobility. There also isn’t a national certification for stretch therapists, as there is for physical therapists and chiropractors, though most stretch therapists are certified in-house by their respective employers.

Dr. Jeremy Swisher, a sports medicine physician at UCLA Health, says assisted stretching can help increase range of motion and flexibility, stimulate blood flow, which aids healing, and help with posture, particularly for sedentary populations, as well as alleviate stress. Done consistently, long term, it can help with pain relief and stiffness and — possibly — prevent injuries. But it’s “not a cure-all,” he warns.

“It’s just a piece of the puzzle,” he says. “Strength training and other forms of exercise are equally as important, long term.” Swisher also warns that assisted stretching could exacerbate existing injuries “like an acute sprain or tear without being cleared by a doctor first.” And for those with hypermobility syndromes, meaning overly flexible joints, “it’s important to be mindful that increased stretching could lead to dislocations of the joints.”

On a recent Friday afternoon, StretchLab in Echo Park was busier than I would have expected. Several clients laid on their backs on what looked like massage tables as their flexologists rolled or twisted or pressed on their body parts — a limb over the shoulder here, a spinal twist there.

A man and woman shown from behind looking at assessment scores on an iPad.

My practitioner, Joel Badilla, walked me through the assessment before my 50-minute session (as a “drop in,” it cost me $125, but prices differ depending on the package and location). StretchLab uses a 3-D body scanning tool called MAPS, which TRX Training developed for them. It assesses mobility (range of motion), activation (quality of movement), posture and symmetry so as to isolate areas that are tight or imbalanced and customize a stretch program for the client. I did three overhead squats in front of an iPad before MAPS gave me a score in each area. (Scores far lower than I would have liked, the culprits being tight hips and “tech neck,” but such is the case with desk workers, I was told.)

Then I laid down on the table and Badilla lifted my legs and gently pulled them forward, toward him. It felt wonderful, as if my spine were elongating, all the stress draining from my back. He then put me through 26 stretches, 13 on each side of my body.

A woman lays on a massage table as a man tugs on her legs.

StretchLab uses PNF stretching (proprioceptive neuromuscular facilitation), Badilla explained, which is a “push and release” technique. The recipient holds the stretch for a set period of time, then pushes into resistance provided by the practitioner for a shorter period of time, then goes back into a deeper version of the stretch. We did this repeatedly for different body parts.

Afterward, I felt loose and limber heading back to my car — though the sensation didn’t last for very long after my car ride home. That’s because the benefits of stretching come from consistency, says Amber Donaldson, vice president of Sports Medicine Clinics for the United States Olympic & Paralympic Committee.

“Just stretching once isn’t beneficial,” she says. “You need two weeks, minimum, of consistency to see a benefit. These [assisted stretching] places — paying for a series of treatments may keep you consistent with going.”

That said, there are questions around the benefits of stretching, overall, in the sports medicine community, Donaldson adds. “It’s controversial. When should you do it — before or after a workout — and to what extent is it beneficial at all? The jury is still out.”

A man stretches a woman's leg as she lays on a massage table.

StretchLab is far from an anomaly in L.A. There are more than half a dozen dedicated assisted stretching businesses in the area — and the trend, which began to swell nationwide in 2017-18, only seems to be growing. In addition to franchises like StretchLab and Stretch Zone, many personal trainers offer assisted stretching, as do most physical therapists. Gyms such as Life Time in Orange County and the Los Angeles Athletic Club offer one-on-one assisted stretching now. Even certain massage outlets, such as Massage Envy, offer 30 and 60-minute assisted stretching sessions.

The basic concept of assisted stretching is the same, no matter where you go, but different studios take slightly different approaches.

Stretch Zone in Redondo Beach and Rancho Palos Verdes doesn’t use the PNF technique. Instead, the studio (which has almost 400 outlets nationwide) uses a graduated stretch modality that moves the client along an intensity scale of one-10. It starts at a three “right when you first start to feel the stretch,” owner Deborah Ashley says, “and seven is where you want us to stop.” They also use a patented system of belts and straps on a stretch table “to secure and mobilize one side of your body while we stretch the other,” Ashley says. “It acts like a second set of hands for our practitioners.”

StretchMed in Glendale has only one location in the L.A. area (there are about 30 in the U.S.). It prides itself on not being part of an especially big franchise, says owner Carlos Rivera, adding that the studio takes a personal and data-driven approach to stretch therapy. It does use the PNF stretching technique but puts a good deal of emphasis on warming up before one-on-one stretch sessions. Toward that end, clients do 15-minute warm-up routines on so-called “stretch trainers,” which have tilted seats, leg pads and safety straps for stability. A video walks them through the routine, which includes gentle movement and is meant to stimulate circulation. “You want to warm up before you stretch,” Rivera says, “to get a much better benefit.”

Would I do assisted stretching again?

Absolutely — it was gentler than I imagined and I felt immediate relief afterward, particularly in my lower back.

Would I do it regularly?

Not for StretchLab’s membership rate of $320 a month, their cheapest monthly package of four 50-minute sessions (prices vary slightly by location). At Stretch Zone, the roughly comparable package of four 60-minute sessions is $400. At StretchMed, four 55-minute sessions is $216.

But on this particular Friday, at least, I headed into the weekend feeling looser and, if nothing else, an inch or so taller. I’ll take it.

Lifestyle

Norma Swenson, ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves’ Co-Author, Dies at 93

Published

1 day ago

June 15, 2025

Press Room

Norma Swenson, ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves’ Co-Author, Dies at 93

Norma Swenson was working to educate women about childbirth, championing their right to have a say about how they delivered their babies, when she met the members of the collective that had put out the first rough version of what would become the feminist health classic “Our Bodies, Ourselves.” It was around 1970, and she recalled a few of the women attending a meeting she was holding in Newton, Mass., where she lived.

It did not go well. One of them shouted at her, “You are not a feminist, you’ll never be a feminist and you need to go to school!”

“I was stricken,” Ms. Swenson remembered in a StoryCorps interview in 2018. “But also feeling that maybe she was right. I needed to know more things.”

She did, however, know quite a bit about the medical establishment, the paternalistic and condescending behavior of male doctors — in 1960, only 6 percent of incoming medical students were female — and the harmful effect that behavior had on women’s health. She had lived it, during the birth of her daughter in 1958.

Despite the initial tension — the woman who had berated Ms. Swenson felt her activism was too polite, too old-school — the members of the Boston Women’s Health Book Collective, as they called themselves, invited Ms. Swenson to join their group. She would go on to help make “Our Bodies, Ourselves” a global best seller. It was a relationship that lasted for the next half-century.

Ms. Swenson died on May 11 at her home in Newton. She was 93.

The cause was cancer, her daughter, Sarah Swenson, said.

It was during a women’s liberation conference in Boston in 1969 that a small group began sharing stories of their fraught experiences with doctors. They told of their frustration with the sexism of the medical establishment and of how confounded they were by the lack of knowledge they had about their own bodies. So they set out to learn for themselves, and in so doing they began to assemble a candid and humane encyclopedia of women’s health — by women, for women.

In 1970, the New England Free Press published their first rough version. It was an immediate underground success, with some 225,000 copies eventually sold. The publisher couldn’t keep up with the demand.

Ms. Swenson joined the group in 1971, when commercial publishers were courting the group’s members. After Simon & Schuster published the book in 1973, much gussied up and expanded, it became a juggernaut.

It covered topics that were then considered unmentionable and, in the case of abortion, illegal: sexuality, masturbation, abortion and birth control. There were chapters on body image, rape and self-defense; on heterosexual and lesbian relationships; on childbirth and its aftermath; and, in later editions, on menopause. There were detailed illustrations — including six variations of hymens — and photographs, including a helpful how-to for viewing one’s own vagina with a mirror.

When The New York Times’s chief book critic, Christopher Lehmann-Haupt — a man! — reviewed it, he explained his rationale for giving himself the assignment.

“I learned a great deal from this book that I did not know before, or had somehow forgotten,” he wrote. “And if the authors are correct in their belief that one of the major reasons why men oppress women is because ‘of the male fear and envy of the generative and sexual powers of women’ — and I think they are — why, then, it will do no harm at all for men to read ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves’ and expend a little rational thought on these powers.”

The book revolutionized how women’s health was discussed, and it quickly became a cultural touchstone. Reading it — often under the covers — was a rite of passage for many young women, who nicked it from their mothers’ bedside tables. More progressive moms gave it to their daughters in lieu of “the talk.”

Barbara Ehrenreich called it a manifesto of medical populism. The Moral Majority deemed it obscene. It even had a cameo in “Heartburn,” Nora Ephron’s 1983 revenge novel about the breakup of her marriage.

But the book was always a labor of love. And as the royalties poured in, the Obos, as they called themselves, used the money not to pay themselves but to create a nonprofit that made small grants to women’s health groups.

In 1977, Ms. Swenson and Judy Norsigian, another core member of the collective, teamed up for a tour of 10 European countries to meet with women’s groups who were putting together their own versions of “Our Bodies, Ourselves.” Ms. Swenson would later help to oversee the international editions and adaptations, and would lecture around the world, particularly in developing countries.

“Norma was always committed to an intersectional approach,” Ms. Norsigian said. “She made sure the activism could fit people’s lifestyles. How they could do things with limited resources. How to tailor the work to specific communities in less industrialized countries. She helped breastfeeding support groups in the Philippines, for example, and met with a doctor in Bangladesh who was advocating for indigenous production of essential drugs.”

“Feminism,” Ms. Swenson once told a group of doctors, “is just another name for self-respect.”

Norma Lucille Meras was born on Feb. 2, 1932, in Exeter, N.H., the only child of Halford Meras, who owned the town’s furniture store, and Nellie (Kenick) Meras, who worked as the store’s bookkeeper.

When she was 9, the family moved to Boston. She attended the prestigious Girls’ Latin School (now Boston Latin Academy), graduating in 1949 and studied sociology at Tufts University. She graduated in 1953 and, three years later, married John Swenson, a decorated World War II pilot — he was a member of the 100th Bomb Group of the Eighth Air Force, also known as the Bloody Hundredth — who worked in insurance and for the Post Office.

It was her daughter’s birth that had made Ms. Swenson an activist. She wanted to deliver the baby naturally, without medication. Her decision was such an anomaly that residents at the Boston Lying-In Hospital gathered to watch her labor. It went swimmingly.

But Ms. Swenson, who was in a 12-bed ward, was surrounded by women who were suffering. They were giving birth according to the practices of the era: with a dose of Scopolamine, a drug that induced so-called twilight sleep and hallucinations, followed by a shot of Demerol, an opioid.

She remembered the women screaming, trying to climb out of their beds, calling for their mothers and cursing their husbands before being knocked out by the Demerol, their babies delivered by forceps.

It was barbaric, she thought. “These women weren’t being helped,” she said in 2018, “they were being controlled.”

She became president of the Boston Association for Childbirth Education, which focused on natural childbirth, in 1964, and later served as president of the International Childbirth Education Association. She earned a master’s degree in public health from Harvard in 1973.

Mr. Swenson died in 2002. Ms. Swenson’s partner for the next decade and a half, Leonard van Gaasbeek, died in 2019. Her daughter is her only immediate survivor.

For most of her life, Ms. Swenson traveled the world as an expert on reproductive rights and women’s and children’s health, advising women’s health groups and helping to connect them with policy and grant makers. She taught at the Harvard School of Public Health and served as a consultant to the World Health Organization and other groups.

“Our Bodies, Ourselves,” last updated in 2011, has sold more than four million copies and been translated into 34 languages. The nonprofit behind the book, which provides health resources to women, is now based at Suffolk University in Boston.

“It’s not that things have so dramatically improved for women,” Ms. Swenson told The Times in 1985. “But they’d be much worse if it were not for the pressure of the women’s health movement. We are a presence now that cannot be made to disappear.”

She continued: “Women’s voices are being heard, speaking about their needs and their experiences, and they are not going along with having decisions based simply on what the medical profession needs or what the drug industry needs. I find that enormously exciting.”