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Sydney Sweeney’s new American Eagle ad makes a sly reference to last year’s ‘Great Jeans’ controversy

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Sydney Sweeney has unveiled her second American Eagle campaign using her now-signature move: a sly wink at the camera.

Nearly nine months after the brand’s “Great Jeans” campaign sparked online outrage, Sweeney reunited with American Eagle to promote its new denim shorts collection. The campaign, dubbed “Syd for Short,” hit socials and newsstands on Wednesday with a short video starring Sweeney in her element, looking as beautiful and inscrutable as ever.

“What brand am I wearing?” Sweeney asks the camera, positioned mid-frame against a blue-sky backdrop. With a shrug and a cheeky smile, she gives a non-answer to her own question: “Yeah, that one.”

The line only makes sense as a reference to Sweeney’s existing association with American Eagle. Their 2025 collaboration drew intense backlash for a pun that conflated Sweeney’s white, blue-eyed beauty with preferable genetics. Critics described the ad campaign as a “eugenics dog whistle,” while fans suggested it was a cheeky double entendre with little deeper meaning. Amid the discourse, American Eagle’s stock price soared, and Sweeney’s public profile along with it.

Whatever headaches the “Great Jeans” campaign may have caused Sweeney’s PR team, the headline-dominating discourse made her more of a household name — as did her refusal to apologize for being at the center of it.

As PR experts told me at the time, Sweeney’s reputation for stirring up controversy is likely intentional. Whether she’s talking about her “great jeans” or hawking a soap that purports to be made with her actual bathwater, Sweeney has garnered a fan base not just for her acting work, but for her polite refusal to explain the reasoning behind her more controversial choices.

Her responses in a now-infamous November 2025 GQ interview where she addressed the “Great Jeans” campaign were either provocative or oblivious, depending on how you read her delivery.

“I’ve always believed that I’m not here to tell people what to think. I’m just here to kind of open their eyes to different ideas,” she told the magazine.

Two months later, Sweeney told Cosmopolitan that as a person “in the arts,” she shouldn’t be expected to comment on politics. Instead, she offered a platitude: “I believe we should all love each other and have respect and understanding for one another.”

With “Syd for Short,” Sweeney takes a page from the same playbook: gesture toward the mess, but don’t wade in. Let the fans and critics speculate on your intent.

Those following Sweeney’s moves have had plenty to dissect lately. The American Eagle campaign comes days after the season three premiere of “Euphoria,” in which Sweeney plays Cassie Howard, a young woman whose humiliating desperation for male attention has made her a lightning rod for thinkpieces since the series debuted in 2019.

The first episode of the new season sees Sweeney’s Cassie pursuing a career on OnlyFans dressed as a sexy puppy, complete with floppy ears, a heart-shaped nose, and a cleavage-baring brown corset.

While the internet lit up with debates over everything from the scene’s morality to what it says about Cassie’s increasingly shallow and fetishized characterization, Sweeney stayed silent.

Or perhaps she’d once again let the brands do the talking: the corset she wears in Cassie’s sexy puppy scene is reportedly from her own lingerie line.




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I’m an American who moved to the UK 5 years ago. Here are 9 things I wish I’d known before living abroad.

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  • After spending most of my life in the US, I moved to the English countryside five years ago.
  • I expected a culture shift, but I didn’t realize that even small talk would look different here.
  • I wish I’d known that many groceries here tend to expire faster and that I’d be walking much more.

Having grown up watching the “Harry Potter” movies and “The Parent Trap” on repeat, part of me always dreamed of moving to England — but the reality of living here has been full of ups and downs.

I was born and raised in Portland, Oregon, and went to college in Orange County, California. I lived abroad for a couple of years before meeting my British husband and settling down in the UK countryside.

Even though the lack of a language barrier made this an easier adjustment than some of my other moves, there have still been more moments of culture shock than I expected.

Groceries seem to expire faster, but they taste fresher.

In my experience, groceries in the UK taste much fresher.

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I’ve found that some perishables can go stale very quickly here. Part of the reason is that a lot of the preservatives we add to produce in the US aren’t allowed in the UK.

Though a chicken breast or parsley would have lasted me at least a week in the US, these same goods expire within three to four days in the UK.

This has made grocery shopping a new kind of challenge, but my meals taste a lot fresher.

Non-gel, roll-on deodorant feels practically nonexistent.


A drugstore aisle in the UK.

Since moving to the UK, I’ve had a difficult time finding my favorite type of deodorant.

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One thing that was nearly impossible to find for my first three years living in the UK? A non-aerosol deodorant.

I came across a couple of sticks (also called roll-ons) in stores here, but the formulas were all gel-based. Now, whenever I’m back in the US, I stock up on my favorite non-gel, roll-on deodorants.

Conversational language is very different.


The writer poses in front of the doorway to a garden in the UK.

I was surprised to learn that casual communication is pretty different in the UK.

Nishaa Sharma

I came to the UK knowing that some words would take on new meanings: Underwear would become “pants,” for instance, and pants would become “trousers.”

Still, I didn’t expect casual small talk to look so different. It’s not uncommon to hear “You all right?” or “You OK?” while patronizing a supermarket or café.

As I quickly learned, people asking these questions usually aren’t worried about me having a bad day. They’re basically asking, “What’s up?”

The humor is much drier.


A close-up of people's hands holding pints of beer and cheersing.

I’ve had a few uncomfortable moments adjusting to British humor.

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I don’t have the strongest sarcasm detector, which made adjusting to the British sense of humor a challenge.

It took me a solid two years to get used to the self-deprecating, dry jokes here. As a sensitive soul used to America’s brand of straightforward humor, I even had to ask those around me to dial down the jabs.

Almost everything closes early — especially on Sundays.


A town center in the UK.

Even fast-food restaurants tend to close at about 10 or 11 p.m. in my UK town.

Pete Stuart/Shutterstock

Outside major cities such as London, Birmingham, and Manchester, it’s unusual to find shops open after 5 p.m. — or 6 p.m., if you’re lucky. Even grocery stores typically close by 8 p.m. on weekdays.

On Sundays, most local shops and eateries shut down even earlier. Pubs typically serve Sunday roast dinner between 12 and 4 p.m., and the average town center is fully quiet by 4 p.m.

This was an adjustment for me. Growing up in Oregon, grocery stores were typically open until 9 p.m., and some near my college in Southern California didn’t even close until 1 a.m.

I find myself walking much more often.


A nature trail in the UK.

There’s no shortage of nature trails throughout the UK.

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In most of the US, having a car is a necessity.

In the UK, meanwhile, many of the town centers I’ve lived around — and explored — are designed to be more walkable, with roads limited to pedestrian, bus, and cyclist access only.

The UK’s walking culture has also affected my social life and leisure activities. Though I lived near some beautiful greenery in the US, I often had to drive to visit a walkable nature trail.

Here in Southwest England, though, I’ve found many nature pathways in both bigger cities and smaller towns. Now, walks are a major part of our weekends and social lives.

The average salary is lower here — but the PTO allowances are higher.


A town street in Somerset, UK.

I was surprised and disappointed by UK salaries.

Helen Hotson/Shutterstock

One of the biggest drawbacks of living and working in the UK is that the pay is generally lower.

For example, according to data from the Office for National Statistics, the median household income in the UK in 2024 was £36,700.

The same year, census data showed that the median household income in the US was just over $83,000 — a salary that would’ve been worth at least £60,000 at the time.

On the plus side, full-time employees receive a minimum of 28 paid days off a year here in the UK, whereas US workers aren’t guaranteed any.

We also have a universal healthcare system in the UK, which helps bridge the pay gap in some ways.

The country feels pretty well-connected by public transportation.


Tower Bridge in London on a cloudy day.

Whenever I travel to London, I have an easy time getting around.

Nishaa Sharma

Even though I live in a remote town in the countryside, accessing the major cities is still easy. Many of the UK’s buses and trains run almost every hour.

Whenever I’m in London, I find the nation’s capital easier to navigate than many US cities. The city’s tube system is intuitive and fast, with tubes departing roughly every five minutes.

On the other hand, many trains I’d used to travel between US cities felt slower and more outdated. When I was in college, even getting around a major city such as Los Angeles felt next to impossible without a car.

Still, trains within the UK cost more than flights to mainland Europe.


A train on an autumn day in the UK.

Train prices in the UK can vary.

David Hughes/Shutterstock

Though trains to London are frequent and fast, they can also be really expensive.

A weekday round-trip ticket can cost up to £150 from where I live, nearly triple the price of a budget flight to Spain, Croatia, or Greece.

On the flip side, though, the accessibility of mainland Europe is one of the best parts of living here — and makes planning those extra PTO days I’ve banked much more fun.

This story was originally published on June 2, 2025, and most recently updated on March 9, 2026.




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I’m an American married to a French man. We have a lot in common, but there are a few cultural divides we can’t bridge.

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I moved from New York to Berlin as a single woman in 2017.

Finding love wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, but I was open to the possibility — and aware that the odds of making a dating-app match with someone of another nationality were much higher than if I had stayed stateside.

So I wasn’t exactly surprised when a dashing Frenchman, who’d eventually become my husband, whisked me off my feet.

We managed to ignore the cultural divide during those first six months of honeymoon-phase bliss. It was easy since he was fluent in English and I had a basic knowledge of French, but the longer we went on, the harder it became to pretend we hadn’t had upbringings in countries thousands of miles apart.

We’re lucky to have a lot of common interests and have agreed on our major values since day one — but we’ve come to accept that there are some ways I’ll always be a little too American for him and he a little too French for me.

We have opposite approaches to self-medication


The writer and her husband posing in the bleachers at a sporting event.

The first time my husband saw how much ibuprofen I owned, he was shocked.

Audrey Bruno



Reliable health insurance was never a sure thing for my family when I was growing up.

That meant that we’d often treat illnesses on our own when possible, keeping the medicine cabinet stocked at all times with Costco-sized bottles of every over-the-counter painkiller you can imagine.

I didn’t think twice when I packed my suitcase with several bottles of ibuprofen, but they were a shock to my husband the first time I took one out in front of him.

In France, painkillers like ibuprofen and acetaminophen aren’t easy to buy in bulk or get at the grocery store — and even at pharmacies, you can’t grab them off the shelf yourself.

Instead, you have to get them straight from the pharmacist, who will then typically debrief you on proper usage and dosage.

From his point of view, I take way too much ibuprofen … but on the other hand, the natural remedies he has always used often don’t cut it for me.

Just this week, I came down with a cold, and he brought me a homeopathic essential-oil treatment when I asked him to pick up medicine. I’ve been using it to appease him, but you better believe I also sent him back to get the ibuprofen I really needed.

My husband’s French dining habits are different from my laid-back, American approach

My husband and I often have trouble aligning when and what we eat because of our different appetites and cultural approaches to dining.

In France, eating routines tend to be pretty rigid. Lunch happens at noon sharp, breakfast is always sweet, and the only time of day most people snack is at 4 p.m. for their “goûter” — the childhood habit of taking a sugary, late-afternoon treat that many French folks, including my husband, carry with them long after they’ve left the schoolyard.

My approach, meanwhile, mirrors the free-form way I ate in the US. Snacks are always on hand, breakfast is often skipped, and dinnertime could easily take place early one night and late the next.

Neither of us has been able to fully adapt to the other’s eating style, but we try to make time to enjoy at least one meal together a day — usually dinner. That way, we can find something we agree on, and a time to eat it, and get what we both want the rest of the time.

We often don’t agree on how or when to share our personal space


The writer and her husband kissing on a pathway, with a green landscape in the background.

We’ve been able to bridge the cultural differences we have.

Audrey Bruno



I’ve always had an open-door policy for friends and family, and welcomed the opportunity to hire a housesitter or leave my apartment to a friend to watch my cats when I’m out of town.

I don’t mind if they make themselves at home while they’re at it — whether that means sleeping in my bed or using my shampoo and conditioner — possibly because I grew up watching my own parents always offer the same.

This, however, is out of the realm of possibility for my husband. The first time I proposed such an idea before a long vacation, he shut it down.

“In France, people don’t do that,” he said. “We want to sleep in our own beds at the end of the day.” Friends will swing by to feed the cats and change the litter, but that’s it.

There’s also a limit to how long he feels comfortable hosting guests when we are on the premises — but he’s learned to adapt to longer stays in order to accommodate my loved ones who have to travel from afar.

When we first met, the longest stretch he could tolerate was a long weekend, but we’ve since hosted my California-based siblings for several weeks with no complaints on his end (OK, maybe just a few).

So, although we may both never be totally on board with each other’s cultural quirks, at least we know that we’ll always try to meet in the middle.




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I’m a British mom in the US who only connected with other Brits. Now, in my 50s, my closest friends are American.

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My move to San Diego came at the end of a long, restless journey around the world.

I left London for Australia at 22, not long after my mom died. I’d spent the final year of her life as her full-time caregiver as she battled with cancer.

When she was gone, I needed to escape my hometown.

I’ll never forget my friend seeing me off, excitedly saying, “You’re so lucky to move to Australia!” I forced a smile because I felt the complete opposite. I was literally running away from my grief.

For the next 15 years, I moved countries every few years, filling my life with adventure while trying to find purpose. Distraction is powerful, and it worked to some degree.

Melbourne came first, then Los Angeles, back to Sydney, and eventually Dubai in the Middle East. I chased my dream of becoming an actor, built a journalism career, and went on overland camping trips through India and Africa.

Deep down, though, I knew I was seeking a “big life” to avoid the sadness of losing my mom.


Mother and daughter on the beach together.

Collins left London at 22, after her mom died.

Provided by Madeleine Collins



Building bonds far from home

Wherever I lived as an expat, I formed close friendships with local women — apart from Dubai, where friendships with Emirati women were either discouraged or impossible.

Often, my closest friends were the women I lived with. Some of my roommates had family nearby and folded me into their lives. I spent Christmases with them and found comfort in borrowed families.

None of them were British, and I never sought that out. As a result, some of my dearest friends are now scattered across the globe.

Motherhood changed everything

I met my husband during a vacation to his native South Africa, and we bonded over our shared experiences of travel and adventure.

However, when we moved to San Diego with our baby daughter in 2009, everything — including, apparently, me — changed.

Suddenly, the unknown scared me. Adventure was replaced by Target and Trader Joe’s runs, and surviving sleep deprivation.

I joined local moms’ groups but felt out of sync. The language was different — “dummy” became “pacifier,” “pram” became “stroller” — but the deeper disconnect came from conversations I couldn’t join. Many women had grandparents nearby who helped with childcare or stepped in on weekends. I had no one, and constantly felt like an outsider.

It was hard to tell whether we had anything in common beyond motherhood, and I often wondered whether people assumed I’d eventually move back to England.

Luckily, I found a nearby British mom’s group. One friendship led to another, and soon I discovered a whole network of us in San Diego.

It felt comforting: the shared humor, the homesickness, the feeling of being outsiders together. The kinship was powerful, but it also marked a shift in me that I didn’t like.

The expat bubble I didn’t recognize

At some point, I noticed I’d become someone I didn’t recognize. I often joked that I only wanted English friends — and I meant it. It turned into a casual “them and us” mentality, even though we all felt lucky to live in California.

For someone who had moved country so many times and embraced all the challenges that come with it, I became cocooned in an expat bubble of my own making.

It felt wrong — embarrassing, even — to live in a country while avoiding the people from here. I worried that this smaller, more fearful version of myself was permanent.


A group of four women in their 50s.

In her 50s, she made friends with American women in her book club.

Provided by Madeleine Collins



Turning 50, and opening up again

Then I hit my 50s, and things changed again.

Because I had children in my early 40s, most of my English friends were about a decade younger than me, and they couldn’t relate to my new midlife woes. Mentioning HRT over dinner was met with silence and a sympathetic smile. I found myself prefacing everything with, “Well, because I’m older…”

Around that time, I joined my neighborhood book club, which was made up entirely of American women in their late 40s, 50s, and 60s. They were funny, warm, and deeply interesting. The group included women from all walks of life, from a nanny to a scientist.

After discussing the book each month, conversations quickly turned personal. We bonded over menopause, parenting teenagers, and aging parents. These women became my people.

Finding a sense of belonging

I still value my English friends in San Diego, but my American friendships have instilled in me a sense of belonging.

They laugh at my English-isms, which I love, but I’ve learned that belonging isn’t about shared accents or passports. It’s about shared seasons of life.

While I would still move home to be near my extended family, my husband doesn’t want to, and our children are in the education system here now. This season isn’t changing any time soon, and I’m finally happy about that.

Do you have a story to share about living abroad? Contact the editor at akarplus@businessinsider.com.




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