When the news came about Dolly, I sat down on the floor, took my shoes off, and let it come. I’m not embarrassed by that. Some people you never shake hands with still hold a piece of your heart, and she held a big one. I’ve been trying to work out what it was about her. It wasn’t the rhinestones, though I loved them. It wasn’t the wigs, though Lord knows I’ve admired them. It was that she gave more than she ever kept. A little girl from a cabin in the hills grew up and sent books to millions of children who might never have owned one. When her home county burned, she quietly put money in the hands of families who’d lost everything, month after month, until they were back on their feet. She built a place where her people could work. She helped fund a vaccine and waved off the thanks. And she did all of it with a laugh and a wink, so nobody had to feel small about needing help. That’s the Dolly I’m grieving. Not the star. The giver. Because giving is the part of me I’m most sure about. I’ve never been wealthy, never been in a hurry, never been late either. I’m a back road kind of gal who’d rather fish with a string and a homemade hook than own the fanciest rod on the water. I like real music, played by real hands, loud enough to feel and quiet enough to still hear you laugh. And I’ve always had a soft spot for strays. I don’t just mean the lost dog or the hungry feral kitten, though I’ve fed more of those than I can count. I mean the bird with the broken wing. The child standing at the edge of the playground, hoping somebody notices. The boy nobody believed in, the man who’d given up on himself, the ones people told me weren’t worth my time. I’ve never been able to walk past any of them. I don’t think it’s a choice. I think it’s just what my heart is for. Dolly had that same heart, only she had the reach to feed a whole mountain with it. She taught us that kindness isn’t soft. It’s the strongest thing a person can be. She showed us you can come from nothing and still choose to be generous, and that generosity is how you stay rich in the ways that matter. I keep thinking about her feet aching in those heels and her head hot under that hair, smiling through it hour after hour so the rest of us could have a good time. That’s selflessness too. The kind nobody claps for. I’ve done a small version of it myself and I know what it costs. I’m 53 now. The people who built the scaffolding of my childhood are coming down one piece at a time, and every one of them leaves a little more wind. Dolly was a load bearing piece. Tennessee back roads, Pigeon Forge in the summer, the long way home with the windows down. She was all of that to me, and now she’s a memory I’ll carry on my journey. So here’s what I’m going to do with the grief. I’m going to give a little more than I’m comfortable with. I’m going to keep stopping for the strays, the four legged ones and the two legged ones, especially the ones who think they don’t deserve it. I’m going to laugh too loud and take the long way home. And I’m going to get myself to Dollywood, soon, if and say thank you in person to the mountains that made her. That’s who I am, or who I’m still becoming. A backwoods Barbie with a loud laugh and a heart that gives.  Rest easy, Dolly. You taught a whole lot of us how to live, and love out loud. 🦋

There’s something peculiar about October 31st that transforms even the most conservative closets into repositories of leather, lace and latex 🖤 Women who might clutch their pearls at a lower neckline in July suddenly feel entirely justified zipping into something barely held together by hope. But these same women might scroll past my Instagram photo on November 1st and think she’s trying too hard. That she’s desperate, inappropriate. The dress is the same. The body is the same. What changed? The answer isn’t about clothing. It’s about permission structures. Halloween operates as a “sanctioned transgression.” It’s a night where the usual rules of female presentation are suspended. You’re given explicit, culturally reinforced permission to step outside your lane. And critically, you have a built in excuse, the costume. You’re not really dressing that way. You’re playing a character. For many women, this distinction gives makes it OK. There’s a world of difference between choosing to look a certain way and being allowed to look that way because it’s sanctioned by our society. But maybe the real permission we should be giving ourselves is the permission to stop waiting for October 31st. That doesn’t mean everyone wants to dress provocatively all the time. It means having the freedom to choose it without needing an excuse. It means recognizing that when we judge other women for their choices, we’re often just defending the cage we’ve locked ourselves into. Halloween shows us what’s possible, if we stopped caring what others think…. And I promise, once you’ve entered a room in latex… you WILL be changed forever. 🐈‍⬛

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Can’t decide which “cat lady” to be this Halloween 🎃 * I see a theme here 🐈‍⬛

Hey! Check Jacqui Childs's profile! playboyclub.com/jacquichilds

Jacqui Childs just posted on @joinplayboyclub. Take a look here: tinylf.com/jDUi6yGPVSrJSxy

Jacqui Childs just posted on @joinplayboyclub. Take a look here: tinylf.com/3jmoHueXtDDSENr 🤭😳🔥

I write differently when I’m turned on and still thinking. The sentences get slower. The details get better. Nothing feels like it has to prove it’s clever. Playboy is just the place where I don’t have to turn that off before I hit post. playboyclub.com/profile

Tell me all the creative ways you’re paying for gas? I’ll go first 🤭😉

Over 2 million followers deep on Facebook, and still the same me, bold, unapologetic, and so over shrinking myself to fit someone else’s rules. I’ve spent years building a brand on authenticity: spicy reels, viral hooks, raw lifestyle content that people actually stop scrolling for. I know what makes an audience lean in. I know how to turn attention into connection. And now I’ve been invited to bringing all of it here…. Why Playboy Club is the perfect home for me …. 🖤 The brand does the heavy lifting. Decades of cultural cachet. When fans land on my page, they already know what they’re getting, confidence, style, and a little trouble. 🖤 Curation over chaos. This isn’t an open platform where anyone posts anything. Every creator here is vetted. That exclusivity is exactly what my audience expects from me. 🖤 I own my content, I set my terms, and I build a real business, not just a feed. 🖤 Writing and visuals, together. My words and my images have always been one voice. Here, I can publish both editorials, captions, photoshoots, in a space that treats them as art, not just content. 🖤 A global audience that gets it. Millions of monthly visits from fans who came for the Playboy name and stay for the creators. That’s the room I want to be in. The bunny 🐰 has evolved. So have I. Welcome to my world. 🖤 @JoinPlayboyClub tinylf.com/JlmdX3bYylTUqVS

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