List of All Articles with Tag 'fa'

A woman has credited Kim Kardashian’s shapewear line Skims for saving her life during a shooting. The 42-year-old Skims founder took to her Instagram Story on Friday 14 July to share a TikTok from Angelina Wiley, a 22-year-old Kansas City resident who survived a mass shooting in Kansas City, Missouri, earlier this year. The TikTok, which was posted on 18 May, went viral this week with more than 1.4m views as fellow TikTokers tagged Kardashian in the hopes that she would see the video. “Kim Kardashian saved my life,” Wiley began the clip. She explained that she was shot “four times” during an incident that occurred on New Year’s Day, according to CBS affiliate KCTV5. “The night that I got shot, under my dress I was wearing a Skims shaping bodysuit,” she said. “It was so tight on me that it literally kept me from bleeding out.” “I recommend it,” Wiley jokingly added. “I’m definitely going to buy some more, I mean I should wear it everyday. It’s like body armour for women.” As she threw her hand up in the air, she said: “Call it fate, or Jesus, but I’mma call it Kim.” In the comments, many people applauded Wiley for telling her story and praised Kardashian’s shapewear line for allegedly saving her life. “If this doesn’t land you a @Skims sponsorship I don’t know what will,” one user wrote. “Now THIS is good advertising,” another said. “Now I’m gonna go buy some Skims.” @honeygxd no but fr, thanks kim ???? #fyp #foryou #gunviolence #kimkardashian #kim #skims #skimsbodysuit #gunviolenceawareness ♬ dream - ? In her Instagram Story, the Keeping Up with the Kardashians star wrote underneath the re-posted video: “Wowwww” Wiley revealed in a follow-up video that she was wearing the Skims Sculpt Thong Bodysuit ($68) when she was shot four times. In addition to the gunshot wounds, the incident also left her with a ruptured bladder, a cracked pelvis, and a bullet still lodged in her abdomen. The 22-year-old revealed in a series of videos posted last March that she was waiting for a Lyft around 1.30am when she decided to grab a bite from a nearby food truck. As she crossed the street with her friend, Wiley heard “people fighting” before a man “in a ski mask” began shooting. She has since started a GoFundMe page to raise money towards her medical bills. In an update shared on 8 July, after her video went viral, Wiley said she is in physical therapy but she continues to struggle with her hip and “severe PTSD” ever since the shooting. The Independent has contacted Angelina Wiley for comment. Kim Kardashian founded the shapewear brand Skims in September 2019. Since then, it has become one of the fastest-growing companies and launched Kardashian into billionaire status. This month, Skims was reportedly valued at close to $4bn, according to Women’s Wear Daily. Read More Fans amused at Kim Kardashian discovering ‘new snack obsession’: hummus and veggies Kim Kardashian responds to Kourtney’s claims she copied her wedding: ‘You stole my wedding country’ Kourtney Kardashian says she finds speaking to Kim Kardashian ‘intolerable’ amid ongoing feud Schoolboy almost dies from swallowing magnets for TikTok challenge Woman shares honest review of New York City apartment TikTok mom slammed after making 5-year-old son run in 104 degree heat

Did Ron DeSantis really say, "mmm, hungwy?" No.

Who is the best quarterback in each division? These NFL Power Rankings work that out with new battles featuring Josh Allen, Aaron Rodgers and more to come.In the NFL, quarterback is king. Having a good one is usually the difference between winning and wallowing. Having a great one doesn't g...

Traffic on the road-and-rail bridge linking Russia and the Crimean peninsula was stopped early on Monday due to

People from Inishbofin say they're relieved as remains taken 133 years ago come back to the island.

It’s just after 9pm and lilac hues have spread across Dorset skies, shadows extending over a panorama of marquee tops. Perfect conditions for the first night of End of the Road, whose Friday headliners – Black Midi, Battles and Fleet Foxes among them – are minutes away from stepping on stage. Yet, rather than slipping through the masses to grab a good spot, I’ve been back at my tent for an hour already. Having unfolded a stool in the last of the sun, simmering lentils and a mug full of boxed cab-sav for company, my one-year-old daughter, Nancy, has finally nodded off in the tent, unaware of earlier negotiations between her parents. After an afternoon watching bands from a lower-decibel distance as a family, it’s my wife who’s out tonight, enjoying her child-free break for freedom. Although, with the Pixies – a band beloved since teen years but never seen live – top billing on Saturday night, I felt confident in my call as “White Winter Hymnal” carried on the breeze. We’re a day into our first festival as a family of three, an experience already proving quite a journey. As a sometimes music journalist, I’d covered events across Europe over the past decade, adept at negotiating stage splits, balancing reporting duties and life-affirming experiences with willing accomplices. Of these, End of the Road has remained a regular fixture, an informal end-of-summer meet-up with industry colleagues and friends – as well as my chosen stag-do destination. With a one-year-old in tow, this year would mark a stark contrast. From the freshly purchased family-sized tent – the subject of substantial research and investment, and an attempt to win over a camping-averse wife – to the travel cot, buggy, strings of fairy lighting, endless layers, toys and first-aid trappings for every eventuality, the baggage was endless. Shoulders ablaze, I’d carried it all in as my wife kept our daughter entertained. Stepping into my role as responsible dad, I’d practised the tent’s set-up at home prior to arrival and, with a tangible sense of optimism about the weekend ahead, started separating pegs from poles. Yet, with the tent almost up, something unsettled me. What was that smell? Unzipping the bedroom it hit me. My earlier garden practice run had provided the perfect sheltered toilet for a visiting fox –  evidence of which no amount of wet-wipe scrubbing could remove, resulting in a showdown with the reluctant camper and a smell that would accent a weekend in which expectations were continuously lowered. After my wife crashed back in on Friday night, earlier than anticipated and hamstrung by a fast-developing cold, we wondered if we were up to the challenge. Nancy was having a nice time, happy tracking insects in the long grass or studiously inspecting the contents of her snack bag. But could this equally have been any other field? Had we been too exhausted and distracted to embrace the experience? By contrast, our camping companions had brought their five-year-old, who enthusiastically shared stories about favourite bands and the wicker dragonfly he’d crafted, as his dad talked about the surprise sets he’d happened upon the previous night. Perhaps we’d just taken all of this on too soon. The next morning, I nudged Nancy’s buggy around the site, stopping at the kids’ area, where a neckerchiefed uke player offered up nursery rhymes with instruments for children, which were seized upon with pleasure. Various childless friends were never far away, entertaining our daughter in bursts. Later, after reuniting with my wife, a highlight was bobbing to Los Bitchos’ buoyant afternoon performance with Nancy held aloft, as was a brief glimpse of Jockstrap packing out a small stage in the woods. Yet other moments – flailing nappy changes amid aghast onlookers, straying too close to the stage with a buggy as the light faded and the crowd surged – presented a sharp learning curve. Still feeling under the weather, my wife headed back to the tent with Nancy as the Pixies arrived, Frank Black’s substantial presence now underscored by a pang of guilt. After checking in and being signed off to stay out, I’d joined an excitable crowd for an unannounced late-night set at the Tipi stage, which, after turning out to be one of the tiny handful of bands I’d already seen that day – again sounded another minor chord on my tiny violin. As the skies cleared, we’d discovered corners along the way we’d otherwise never have seen and met a similarly dazed yet determined community of parents With my wife’s health deteriorating further overnight – diminishing her perception of fox piss, at least – we made the call to leave on Sunday morning and I hauled everything back to the car. On the long drive home, and hours before Covid would be confirmed, it had to be asked: had this been fun for anyone concerned? Was this festival too aptly named for a new dad trying to reconcile past and present lives? This all happened in the summer of 2022 and, unfazed, we tried again this year – albeit at the even smaller scale and decidedly family-friendly Kite Festival in Oxfordshire. While Nancy’s advanced age presented new challenges – tentative first steps now a confident swagger – her inquisitiveness also marked her out as the perfect festival companion. Expectations now firmly in check, we let ourselves be led by circumstance and proximity, stopping for whatever drew the eye rather than dashing from act to act, allowing us to slow down and see the world through her eyes. Occasionally we tag-teamed the lineup, each picking a couple of acts to witness unhindered by short attention spans (my wife took former PM John Major’s packed-out talk in the big top, I took Suede). Under the hot sun, our meeting point at the shaded children’s area also helped keep Nancy from turning pink in the sun. Clapping furiously at the end of shadow chancellor Rachel Reeves’s morning debate, her grasp on Labour’s manifesto pledges seems better than most – although this mimicry of crowd behaviour proves an endearing feature at later events, too. An uncontrollable tantrum during Michael Gove’s appearance at a panel discussion saw us quickly extract ourselves from the tent, drawing smiles from an audience impressed by the effectiveness of her heckle. Further priceless memories included dancing together at Candi Staton’s sundown set, Nancy with a brioche in each hand – ear defenders askew – visibly finding her feet. The following day the skies suddenly broke, with an electrical storm closing all stages, sending Birkenstock-clad families sprinting for cover. The one attendee thrilled by it all was Nancy, who careered around cackling as security attempted to keep punters from the marquee’s lightning-conducting metal poles. As the skies cleared, we’d discovered corners along the way we’d otherwise never have seen and met a similarly dazed yet determined community of parents. We still hadn’t nailed the performative kids-at-festivals thing – there was no trolley adorned with decoration or whimsical outfits – but felt comfortable that we’d struck the right balance, fulfilled by a shared experience led by the spontaneity of a child’s impulses. It marked a shift from any naive attempt to carry on with our lives as normal. An alternative, of course, is to leave your family at home. A couple of weeks ago I joined 250,000 others at Glastonbury, my own spontaneity given breathing space once more. Thrilling, yes, but also a weekend that at times left me seeking my small festival companion among the other attendees. I was temporarily overcome watching a daughter on the shoulders of her father as he introduced her to a favourite band, excitedly explaining each musician’s role. “How old? I’ve got one a similar age,” was shared with various others. Yet it was also at Glastonbury, as the temperature nudged into the thirties, that I spotted another dad – fixed grin but dead behind the eyes – pushing three irritable kids in a trolley up a shadeless slope. I nod my solidarity, before skipping off to the bar – relieved, this time, that’s not me. Bumping into Joe Goddard from Hot Chip, whose bandmates collectively call their kids the Micro Chips, he says that of all the children he knows, it’s those who have always been dragged to festivals who have proved the most rounded. Something that resonates with me as the Glastonbury hangover subsides and – reunited with my family – I start looking forward to carving out new shared experiences in crowded fields once more. Read More The earthy magic and lawless energy of being a child at Glastonbury festival Too cool to love these acts 10 years ago? This year’s Glastonbury is for you Music festivals have saved me so many times Demi Lovato says she still struggles with vision, hearing impairment after overdose Marina Diamandis says she has been diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome Should I keep my windows closed or open during a heatwave?

If Bijan Robinson and the Atlanta Falcons get some lift from their defense, this up-and-coming team could really take flight this fall.While there are plenty of positive things to say about Bijan Robinson and the Atlanta Falcons' ground-centric offense, the defense could be sneaky-good this...

Brent Venables is building his Oklahoma football team way differently than how Deion Sanders is rebuilding his Colorado football program.It is a shame that Brent Venables' Oklahoma Sooners and Deion Sanders' Colorado Buffaloes aren't conference rivals.Venables is entering year...

UEFA have deemed that Barcelona and Real Madrid must count sales of future revenue streams as debt in their financial records.

Liverpool have granted Fabinho permission to travel to Saudi Arabia to undergo a medical with Al Ittihad as an agreement over a £40m nears.

UEFA have confirmed that ten players that clocked the fastest sprint speeds during the 2022/23 Champions League. The likes of Alphonso Davies and Ousmane Dembele feature, but Kylian Mbappe and Lionel Messi miss out.

A Fargo police officer was killed in a Friday afternoon shooting that left two other officers in critical condition and one civilian injured, according to police.