
Articles
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1 week ago |
loveandotherrugs.substack.com | Lily Sullivan
In April, I wrapped up a 12-week grief group for people who had lost parents to suicide or complications from addiction. I had decided, even after almost 8 years without my mother, I needed a weekly time to grieve—this would be the start. Throughout session, I went back to things I had written about her and continued to return to the words Leah Faye Cooper, Digital Director at Vogue said to me this time last year.
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1 week ago |
evrimagaci.org | Lily Sullivan
The search for two young children missing from their home in rural northeastern Nova Scotia has entered its fifth day. Four-year-old Jack Sullivan and six-year-old Lily Sullivan were last seen Friday morning in the community of Lansdowne Station. As of May 6, 2025, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) have announced they are scaling back the search efforts for the siblings, who disappeared from their home around 10 a.m. on May 2.
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1 month ago |
whyisthisinteresting.substack.com | Lily Sullivan
Lily Sullivan is a strategist and publisher. Happy to have her with us on this later afternoon LA send. Tell us about yourself. My name is Lily Sullivan and I’m a writer based in Brooklyn. I have a newsletter called Love and Other Rugs, which compares dating men in New York to furnishing an apartment. Once a year, L&OR has a print issue—50+ pages that are sold online and at stores across the country.
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2 months ago |
loveandotherrugs.substack.com | Lily Sullivan
Today, today right now, the second print volume of Love and Other Rugs is available for purchase. 52-pages of essays from this season, travel guides, and shopping recs with a double-sided poster as the centerfold. Two of the essays—On Floors, which is all about my love for fraternity basements, and Drinking & Other Drugs, a guest essay by Eliza Dumais—have not yet been published on the internet. You can buy the issueHERE and starting next week, IRL at stores in NYC, LA and Austin.
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2 months ago |
loveandotherrugs.substack.com | Lily Sullivan
I remember the day when my mother told me I should never marry a man from St. Louis. There was an undercurrent of look how it turned out for me in her warnings. She had phenomenal taste. Except perhaps in men. She had the chopped up wedding albums to prove it. But what was it about her warning that drew me even closer to Midwesterners? What was it about my upbringing—split between Los Angeles and St. Louis—that made me crave something that felt like home?
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