Many adults seem to be reconnecting with their inner child — so much so that their purchases accounted for 28% of global toy sales in 2024. From Pokémon cards to community theater, the journey of embracing one’s inner kid is both enlightening and heartwarming.

Kidults are adults who engage with interests or media typically deemed suitable for children. Whether it’s collecting toys, watching animated shows, or participating in playful activities, being a kidult allows individuals to escape the stress of adulthood. The term originated in the 1950s, coined by TV execs to describe adults who watched children’s programming.

This week, Zhen and I celebrate the nostalgia and joy of childhood by chatting about the ways we allow ourselves to engage in activities that make us happy — striving to create the (ever-elusive) ideal work/life balance.

As a self-proclaimed “chaotic good” type of human, I tend to lean into the chaotic half of my personality.

That’s why, without batting a single eyelash, I am popping back online to talk about curly hair almost two full weeks after my last update.

Tee-hee.

The past 12 days have been full of travel, college football watch parties, dress fittings, more travel, planning, doing, working, etc., which means my hair has been hanging out in buns and ponies, for the most part.

But – I’m happy to report – despite the changes in air pressure and temperature, my curls have stayed strong and defined ... And dammit if that isn’t a metaphor.

Something I’ve learned about my hair in the time it’s taken to restore its texture is how delicate it actually is. I used to pull it and pin it and slick it and brush it — abuse it, really — when all it needed was patience, curl cream, and a silk scrunchie or two.

I’ve graduated to bonnets and pillowcases now, thankfully.

I will likely have more robust observations about hair texture and maintenance soon but in the meantime, I hope all who are following along are safe and well.

xx -eg

I’ve never known what to do with my hair.

I grew up in Miami so I remember the first time I straightened my whole head of hair with a flimsy pink flatiron like it was yesterday … It felt like pure joy, bliss, freedom, a whole new world. Or so I’d thought.

I spent the next decade or so chasing sleek-straight hair. Each week, I’d wash and flatiron it and pray to God there wouldn’t be a huge hurricane or something to ruin all my hard work.

But the older I got and the longer I spent living in a place with winter weather, the more I missed my cute little ringlets.

I watched people embracing their texture with a frustrated jealousy thinking, “my hair could do that too if I tried.”

So I decided to try. And three years ago I stopped straightening my hair.

I went from blowouts once or twice a week to practically quitting cold-turkey. Surprisingly, it wasn’t very difficult to stop doing the actual straightening (in fact, I loved taking that chore off my list) but I did have a hard time making my hair look good without heat.

I worried my curls were gone forever, that I’d never see them again, I threw many a tantrum over a slicked-back pony that wouldn’t stay smooth and still I persevered.

Until a fateful wash day when diffusing … worked. I’m not sure if it was the weather, or luck, or if I’d just simply gotten the hang of it but after about a year I could confidently say I had curls my curls back. Yay!

… And it took about two more years after that before I actually liked them again but that’s a story for another time.

Which leads us to where we are now: 100 days (99 actually but who’s counting?) out from my wedding and I finally understand my natural texture.

I know I don’t want it straight on my wedding day. I’ve worked so hard to get it back to its glory that it would be offensive to tame it for a traditional bridal look. Blegh.

The issue is there is little to no inspo out there. And if I don’t know how to troubleshoot the stuff that’ll make me second-guess the “no straightening” rule, no one else will.

I’m excited but apprehensive. Those of us with curls are pretty much left to our own devices when it comes to dealing with our hair. No product works the same on two people and the thing that worked yesterday may not work again today or tomorrow or the next day.

It’s our job to figure out our curl pattern, texture, porosity, etc. And when those things seemingly “don’t work,” every salon you walk into will try to sell you anti-frizz treatments or relaxers. I’ve tried those too, by the way, and they made my hair look dull and dead.

The answer, I found out, is to power through. Let your hair look odd, embrace bad hair days, frizz, inconsistent curls, you name it. Eventually, you will figure out the formula with the right order of operations, I promise.

But here’s the thing — no matter how expertly you handle them, curls are unpredictable.

So right now I’m auditing my routine (for lack of a better term) and documenting what my hair looks like on any given day. I’m keeping an eye out for things to improve, ways to troubleshoot, and insights on what factors make my hair behave this way or that. And in the next few weeks, I’ll be testing out a bunch of styles to see how they hold up throughout the day.

Before you ask, I have a stylist booked for my wedding and I trust her with my life but I’m a tactile learner so I gotta do the experiment and figure it out for myself or else I won’t feel ready.

This process, hopefully, will prep me to show up for myself as myself on a very important day.

I want to reject the idea that curls are “messy” or “undone” or “informal.” My hair does not need to be sleek straight for a work meeting or important life event and I will be 33 years old before I get to fully embrace that freedom. It’s time.

I’ll be documenting it all … the wins, the disasters, and the learning curves … and sharing it here for all who want to follow along.

And if there are any other current or former curly-haired brides out there, say hi! What did you do? How did you feel? What do you wish you’d known three months before the big day? Let a girl know.

i say “big girl pants” then present you with my crafty little notebook cover. i’m really very proud of it. i’ve been enjoying the excuses to scribble and doodle — even if the requisite three morning pages initially felt like annoying, boring, early-morning workouts.

… speaking of, do 2am scrapbooking sessions count as one of the weekly artist dates? if so, i’ve met my quota for the month i fear.

my thoughts so far …

• my right hand hurts from all the writing

• i (sort of) accidentally amassed what may be the largest recorded collection of colorful stickers and washi tape

• apparently i’m feeling deeply nostalgic for AP Language Arts class

i love winter in new york. i love my rotting nook. i love my morning pages (notebook).

But a ~*~ 32 year old lady ~*~ must, at some point, part ways with childhood crushes. This is not to say, “goodbye” forever, mind you — it’s merely about letting some things go in order to make room for all things new. For the plot and character development and personal evolution, if you will.

I whine about being bad at math (which is not not true) but I love memorizing random dates and codes.

Give me a combination of numbers that signal an important location, a significant moment, or historical event and I will find a way to carve it directly onto my brain so as to never, ever, forget it. For that reason — and that reason alone — I will always remember the fact that Nick Jonas was born on September 16, 1992.

I know this the same way I know Aaron Samuels asked what day it was on October 3rd, that April 25th is the perfect date, and little Nemo can be seen hanging out with P. Sherman at 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

On this Tuesday 9-16-25, a typical busy work day, I found myself overwhelmingly thinking about things other than Nick Jonas … This feels like something I shouldn’t have to make clear but as I am writing a whole essay about my teen celeb crush, I figured better safe than sorry.

But during my post-dinner scroll I came across a cover of Demi Lovato’s Don’t Forget, which prompted me to queue up a Spotify radio and oops! We’re listening to 16-y/o NJ cry SOS ‘cause his girlfriend brought her annoying friends to dinner! He said, “you and me and no one else,” STACY! (Idk what her name is).

It was a fitting tribute, I thought, after a day of largely ignoring an event that would have prompted a celebration akin to a personal bank holiday 15 or so years ago.

SOS is a friggin’ great song which always gets me thinking of its iconic music video, which then reminds me of the time Joe literally fell on broken glass at the American Music Awards … say what you want about the JoBros but one thing’s for sure: They’re dedicated to their craft and the show will go on!

A few songs later I heard the opening chords of Miley’s tween breakup anthem and stilled. When 7 Things was first released it broke. my. internet. (and brain).

Specifically because of this photograph, which, due to my aforementioned Myspace presence, I knew was of Miley & Nick despite the doodles over his face. We were sleuths, I tell you!

Miley co-wrote 7 Things and released it as the lead single of her second studio album, Breakout, in June 2008. It was the first song she put out with no ties to her Disney Channel character, Hannah Montana.

I remember the moment I first heard those “shas” and wondered how, a random sound I’d never been exposed to, could make so much sense and mean so much. Not a single dude I cared about had texted me in any significant way at that point in life but boy did I wish he had just so I could "delete it.”

7 Things was Miley’s song about these more grown up, angry feelings towards her dumb ex. She was turning the page on a new chapter as a performer and songwriter while providing tween girlies of the aughts with some sick bars to scream-sing at future sleepovers. <3and we’ll be forever grateful 2 u 4 that, diva<3

I’ve dubbed 32 my “Lorelai Gilmore” year (more on that later) and fittingly there have been a lot of “grown-up,” “coming-of-age” things happening. I’m prioritizing health and exercise, I’m in the middle of wedding planning, and I have a full time, very demanding job. I may not have a teenage daughter but ya girl is definitely booked and busy!

As I was listening to Miley sing about all the things she hated (but really loved) about Nick, I thought about all the “Jonas Brothers things” I’ve missed this year. I think JonasCon was on my actual birthday? And they’re celebrating the band’s 20th anniversary with a tour so big Demi Lovato made a surprise appearance at MetLife for their opening performance (huge!).

And I was … somewhere else … genuinely not even giving it a second thought. There was no familiar pang or pull of FOMO, no alarm set for pre-sales, no calendar reminders about tour dates, no must-have limited edition merch.

I don’t feel badly, now a grown woman with a fulfilling life and career, for missing those events but I do feel wistful for 15, 16, 17-year-old Erika, who would have cut off multiple limbs and/or made any number of terrible deals with all kinds of storybook villains to be there.

I wonder what she would have to say if someone told her there were now people in her life whose birthdays are much more deeply etched along the grooves of her brain and in the folds of her heart. People who make every day brighter and mundane experiences richer.

I wonder if she would be stubborn and maintain that she and those three guitar-wielding boys from Wyckoff, New Jersey (and their baby brother Frankie) were meant to collaborate both personally and musically … Because as far as she was concerned it was written in the stars.

I think though, secretly, she would have been thrilled to hear she found people to love for real.

Because for all she dreamt of hopping aboard a tour bus with a merry band of brothers to go off on an adventure, what she really wanted was to grow up and find herself, her confidence, her voice, and never look back.

Which, reader, I did.

Still no matter how old I get I vow to take time (maybe every September 16th?) to revisit some of those “first loves.”

It is impossible and a little unfair to be expected to completely let go of the magnificent dreams that become our greatest motivators. Sometimes (measured, deliberate, within reason) delulu is the solulu. And we should try to hang onto that energy as best we can.

To summarize, I will leave you with the following quote from prolific millennial poet Destiny Hope (Miley) Cyrus:

“And the seventh thing I like the most that you do
Is you make me love you.”

Despite being my own worst critic, I’m proud of the weird little things I’ve made. They are a result of my chaotic and forever unfocussed creative energy.

I have many hobbies and still will never hesitate to pick up a new one because I love finding ways to let that little art freak inside of me out.

Finally, a very important note: I’m calling all of this art because 1) I don’t really know what else to call it and 2) art doesn’t have to be good to be art!

I do some ~arting~ in my junk journal. I’m still getting the hang of it, mostly because I forget to save cool napkins or cute receipts but these spreads are fun and chaotic and I love that for me. Also I loved my lil sheer NYE top and my high-pony/post-party bathroom selfie also deserves its day in the sun.

Sometimes, I get invited to random crafty things like porcelain plate painting parties and I’m reminded I’ve never been able to draw a straight line—so my plan to cover this plate in perfectly aligned rows of tulips should have been nipped in the bud. I like the pop of blue, though, and the wide stripes are cool in a wonky kinda way, so at the very least it’s one of a kind.

And when I’m asked to decorate a wine glass for an after work craft event, I default to Harry Styles lyrics because I’m a millennial! The bubble letters are cute and the big star reminds me of the doodles I used to draw all over my folders. Nostalgia!

Other things I’ve made from scratch. Like this spoon rest, which is made of air dry clay and took me about eight months to finish because I couldn’t commit to a paint color. It turned out pretty sturdy in the end, probably because of the 15 coats (approx.) of resin I sealed it with. I also made it “food safe” with some varnish, which seems to be doing its job.

There are other projects I can’t call “bad” or take credit for because they’re almost foolproof. Almost. Like this cute needlepoint canvas and tote made out of scrap fabrics. I’ve always loved the idea of sewing and embroidering but haven’t taken the time to develop those skills. And while my greatest enemy—the straight line—tortured me once again, both are pretty good for a first-timer. There is no way to make room for a sewing machine in our apartment but I think maybe I need one.

Picture, if you will, two people having a casual conversation:

“Have you heard of EG?”

“e.g.? … like the latin acronym for ‘exempli gratia,’ meaning ‘for example?’”

“Dude, what? No … I’m talking about Erika Glass.”

“Oh, you meant like that EG!”

Other acceptable usage cases:

“I like that EG!”

“Like this or like that, EG?”

“Like this e.g.? Or like that EG?”

“I like that! e.g. …”

I reserve the right to use e.g. and ‘for example’ interchangeably. Additionally, I will be exploiting any pun opportunities should they arise. tysm <3

Tl;dr, there’s a lot of stuff out there so I made a plan based on accessibility and affordability … like is it in stock and will it bankrupt me? If the answers are yes and no, the products ended up at my doorstep.

I was introduced to Wicked via CD sample. In 2004, I was eleven years old and had finally bothered my parents enough that they agreed to let me take acting classes with a group called Miami Children’s Theatre. My mom and I had just finished my registration for that summer’s production of Footloose when Lisa (the director) handed me a green and black square. On it were a selection of songs from Wicked: Popular, I’m Not That Girl, Dancing Through Life.

She told me about this special new musical starring Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth. She told me it was about the Wizard of Oz (kinda) and she said if I listened to it on the way home it would change my life. And it did.

One more Wicked Stan was born that day. And today, she gets to watch the (first) feature film.

A journalist by trade, I could not let this pass by without being part of the coverage. So I did what I do best. I roped in a friend to play dress up.

I am nothing if not committed to the bit, so I will be dressing up just to sit at my local AMC this evening. I’m aiming for Elphaba x Christmas tree. You’ll get it when you see it.