Author: Jennifer Vogel

This was the first interview I’d ever conducted with my shirt off. Standing before me in the mirrored pink closet was my subject: Lonnie Eiden, a nattily clad woman of supreme confidence, a professional bra fitter for forty years. “I think I’m a 34C,” I offered, playing right into her hands. “Let’s see what you’ve…

A year ago, I made a trip to Copenhagen, which is arguably one of the most walkable cities on the planet. Despite the presence of real winter—it was snowy and around twenty-five degrees while I was there—the streets were full of people walking, to shops and parks and jobs, as well as to and from…

Back a long time ago, in the olden days of the last century, we all knew how to respond to a set of enormous fake breasts. We stared. We muttered, “Oh my Lordy.” It was new then, and comical in a grotesque, medically questionable kind of way. Pamela Anderson was nothing if not an absurdity,…

The room was smaller than I would have liked. And there were no tables to stand behind and very few chairs. I was on an upper floor of the Cosmopolitan Club in Manhattan, celebrating the eightieth birthday of my husband’s father, the lights of the surrounding buildings twinkling through the windows as the bow-tied and…

Square in the middle of North Dakota is a town called Heaton. At this point, though, it may be an exaggeration to call it a town. It’s more of a boneyard with town-like aspects. The main street has an abandoned bank and gift shop, both with broken-out windows. A piece of a “B” rests on…

If there is a single structure in Northeast Minneapolis that captures the neighborhood’s long history and rotating cast of immigrants, it’s the flesh-colored ARCANA building at the corner of Lowry and Central. Home to several chapters of the mysterious Masonic Lodge, including the “Order of DeMolay,” the “Order of Eastern Star,” and the “Cryptic Masons,”…