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Your insider edit of what’s truly worth it—and what’s simply good enough.

This week: a word you'll start noticing everywhere, a cast iron skillet your grandmother would approve, and an artist bending highway guardrails into something worth seeing.

Falsenice: The Politeness That Keeps Us Small

I've been thinking about a new word I recently came across: falsenice. Say it fast—false-nice. It means exactly what it sounds like: politeness divorced from truth.

If you grew up around Southern women, you already understand. "Bless your heart." Delivered like a hymn, but it’s by no means a compliment. They might as well have said something far less printable, but Southern women are polite.

Falsenice is the coding women use when they want to say something less than nice but were taught that girls need to be polite. Now, I'm doing a quick audit of my own go-to phrases. The "That's interesting…" when I mean "That's incorrect." The "No worries!" when there are, in fact, several. The smile emoji I add to a text so my boundary doesn't feel aggressive.

Women were trained in this. I learned it from my mother, who learned it from hers—passed down like a recipe. As oldest daughters, sisters, mothers, we were taught from birth to keep the peace, make it easier for everyone else to stay comfortable. It keeps dinners civil. It also flattens us.

But midlife shifts your tolerance for that flattening.

I'm not interested in torching relationships, but I am done with the automatic smoothing. Falsenice kept me safe when I needed it. I just don't need it the same way anymore.

Good enough, at this stage, might mean being honest. No smile emoji required.

—Susan

Grandma Was Right

Before it was a trend, it was just Tuesday.

"The cure for anything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea." — Isak Dinesen, 1934.

Grandma-core isn't nostalgia. It’s not mothballs or a big knit cardigan, though this one is pretty nice. Somewhere along the way Grandma’s expertise got edged out by convenience culture. Thankfully it's finding its way back, and the women reaching for it are remembering why it mattered.

Start with the Lancaster cast iron skillet: lightweight, heirloom-quality, older than most trends. Season it once and it becomes the pan your daughter will want someday. Then read Nourishing Broth by Sally Fallon Morell, which is the book your grandmother would’ve written if she'd been a food scientist. It explains why the old ways worked, and why the $18 paper cup version at the juice bar never does.

The Masontops fermentation kit turns a Mason jar into a sauerkraut operation in about a week. Your gut will thank you. The Crock-Pot 6-quart—$40, no Wi-Fi, no firmware update—makes your favorite Sunday stew while you get on with your life, which was always the point. And on the windowsill: an African violet that blooms for years with almost no attention and deep forgiveness. It’s the plant equivalent of a woman who has survived everything. Turns out the original hacks were simply called living.

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What’s worth your attention this week

✍️ Writers rejoice! Anne Lamott, at 71, returns to form with her new book, Good Writing, a collaboration with her husband of 10 years. In this LA Times profile, they discuss the enduring legacy of Bird by Bird and the unexpected joy of their joint effort. A good reminder that even if you've written the book on it, there's often still more to say.

🎭 Mary Todd Lincoln isn't a tragic footnote in Oh, Mary!—she's a miserable, hard-drinking woman desperate to become a cabaret star in the weeks before her husband's assassination. John Cameron Mitchell plays Mary through April 26, Maya Rudolph takes over April 28 for her Broadway debut, and critics are calling it the funniest play on Broadway. It gives a complicated, historically sidelined woman the lead role in her own messy, fully human story.

🍽️ Ruth Reichl has lived about six food careers in one—L.A. Times critic, New York Times critic, bestselling author, last editor of Gourmet—and her Substack, La Briffe, is where she lets them all collide. It reads like a mini-magazine, and along with history, there are practical tips: what to cook, where to eat, and which tools and ingredients earn a place in your kitchen. It’s for people who think “food writing” should mean more than the next viral Reel on Instagram.

New York detour—or your next dinner party.

There's an artist you should know.

Bettina Pousttchi is 55, German-Iranian, based in Berlin. For eight years she traveled the world photographing public clocks—24 clocks, 24 time zones—always at exactly 1:55 p.m. to capture what she calls an "imaginary global synchronism." The whole planet, frozen at the same moment. It's one of the most quietly radical art projects of the last decade.

Now she's bending highway guardrails—the ones you've driven past 10,000 times without a second glance—into monumental sculpture. One of them is standing in the Channel Gardens at Rockefeller Center right now, through April 17. Free. Public. Worth the detour if you're in New York.

And if you're not visiting NYC anytime soon, go down the rabbit hole anyway. Her clock project alone will cost you a very satisfying hour. Either way, drop her name at dinner this week.

More from PROVOKED

​My Own Bedroom Was Just the Start: Selfhood and Autonomy Inside Marriage By Linda Wattier

​Polite Women Finish Last: Tough Questions I Wish I’d Asked My Financial Advisor Sooner By Joanne Helperin

​Refriending a Midlife Friendship: Can You Go Back? By Nina Malkin

For the curious

🍸 Julia Child—queen of French technique—regularly opened dinner parties with Goldfish crackers and an upside-down martini. Turns out even culinary legends know when to stop performing. If it was good enough for Julia, it’s good enough for us.

Middle-aged women are supposedly "invisible," yet my inbox suggests everyone can see us well enough to sell us supplements and shapewear.

—Abby Heugel

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⌨️ This newsletter was written by Susan Dabbar, Abby Heugel, and Cat Green.

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