02.05.20

TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

February 5, 2020 3 WORD ON THE STREET

Tamsyn Brann, Editor–in–Chief Sam Mitchell, Campus Editor Beatrice Forman, Culture Editor Eliana Doft, Assignments Editor

Group Therapy

Karin Hananel, Special Issues Editor Chelsey Zhu, Features Editor Mehek Boparai & Hannah Yusuf, Word on the Street Editors Katie Farrell, Ego Editor Melannie Jay, Music Editor Alice Goulding, Style Editor Sam Kesler, Film & TV Editor Alice Heyeh, Arts Editor

4 EGO

EOTW: Tony Rinaldi, Austin Maguire

Ego Beats: Julia Davies, Julia Esposito, Fernanda Brizuela Music Beats: Keely Douglas, Ananya Muthukrishnan, Amy Xiang

6 MUSIC

Outdoor Concert, Taylor Swift

LOL

Features Staff: Denali Sagner, Jessica Bao, Sofia Heller, Jen Cullen

Style Beats: Diya Sethi, Tara O'Brien, Jordan Wachsman, Hannah Lonser Film & TV Beats: Anna Collins, Harshita Gupta Arts Beats: Amanpreet Singh, Rema Hort Design Editor: Ava Cruz Street Design Editor: Isabel Liang Street Audience Engagement Editor: Ryan McLaughlin Street Photo Editor: Sophia Dai Street Video Editor: Morgan Jones

Illustrators: Isabel Liang, Felicity Yick Staff Photographers: Sudeep Bhargava, Sally Chen Audience Engagment Associates: Maya Berardi, Rachel Markowitz, Kat Ulich, Stephanie Nam

Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Tamsyn Brann, Editor–in–Chief, at brann@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com

Staff Writers: Sophie Burkholder, Avery Johnston, Layla Murphy, Peyton Toups, Samantha Sanders

©2019 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.)

All rights reserved. 34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Wednesday.

Cover by Ava Cruz, Alec Druggan, Sage Levine

"Cunnilingus at Stommons"

Copy Associates: Nadia Goldman, Kira Horowitz, Alice Goulding

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

10 FEATURE

Wharton Behavorial Labs

LOL 15 FILM & TV

What F&TV is Watching, Awkwafina

20 ARTS

Frankenthaler, Sophie Shen

LOL 23 OVERHEARDS 2

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

I

used to write in diaries.

I traded dark under-eye circles for tiny tirades and forays into self-discovery.

There were always prettier notebooks to use, but I waited until the first was filled to start the next, always more intricate, always more satisfying journal.

Upon realizing that such private catharsis could lift me out of limbo—neither child nor adult, ball and chain rooted in a house identical to those next to it—I wrote more and more, and waited to see if I would produce anything of note. But in waiting to grow up, I realized that I had. My diaries became drudgery, and self-awareness stopped the self-centered ranting.

Urban legend tells me that I will spend two weeks of my life waiting at traffic lights, and, since I’m no longer feeding diaries with restless nights, up to thirty years asleep.

Now, there is no time for journaling at night, and the treasured minutes between

Ethan Wu sleep and consciousness grow shorter as the workload increases. I couldn’t drive for most of high school, but I had friends who did, and sometimes (straining their necks over steering wheels, glancing left, right, up, forward, backward, down, away) they drove straight through red lights: we didn’t wait at all.

I don’t want instant gratification, though it has become the order of the 21st century.

Give me the in-betweens, the pauses between one extreme and another: let me wait, let me readjust, and then I will walk purposefully forwards.

WORD ON THE STREET

Felicity Yick

When Times Get Rough, Find Common Ground With Others

How our two different experiences with CAPS group therapy intertwined Michel Liu and Kathleen Givan

O

n a normal Friday afternoon last semester, Michel walked into the Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) waiting room, got a paper cone of cold water, and sat down near a door labeled the Community Room. There, a sheet of printer paper read: "RETURNING STUDENTS GROUP." Minutes later, her roommate Katey emerged from the room; while she was talking to the other students and therapists exiting, her eyes were scanning the space until they found Michel.

They briefly hugged before Michel and four others in the waiting area entered the Community Room. One of the therapists replaced the sign on the door: "IGG," it now read.

That spring, Michel was meeting with the Interpersonal Growth Group (IGG) at CAPS once a week. At the same time, Katey was trying out the Returning Students Group with others who had recently taken leaves of absence from school.

As first years, Michel and Katey agreed to become roommates for the next year; they were only acquaintances at the time, but the girl who Michel had originally planned to live with decided to room with others. That was the bud of a painful estrangement between Michel and that friend—but this isn’t that story.

In the fall of sophomore year, Katey’s twin sisters got very sick.

This isn’t their story. Katey began living in a constant whiplash between caretaking at home and studying at Penn, while Michel felt tangled in her leftover broken connections from her first year.

This isn’t that story either. In the fall that should have been Katey’s junior year, with her sisters still

alive, she finally had the chance to fold in upon herself like one of the thousand origami cranes she folded to ward off their death.

That’s not the story. This is our story of co-healing.

CAPS currently offers over a dozen different therapy groups, but its website states that they fall under two basic categories: One type is issue-specific, like Returning Students Group.

These groups focus on topics such as eating disorders, sexual assault, or graduate women’s issues. The other category is IGG, which “provide an opportunity to learn about how others experience your own style of relating, and to learn how that style may interfere with developing satisfying relationships.” Group therapy was offered to both Michel and Katey by their personal CAPS clinicians. As they explained, although each group has clinicians to guide discussion, they can’t “force” participants to share anything—in fact, research into therapy groups shows that participants can benefit through listening alone, even if they shy away from contributing.

IGG seemed like a good fit for Michel, her therapist said to her, because of her specific stressors: empty promises of catching up soon, hookup culture, the read receipts from peers chasing after lofty GPAs, and jobs. Maintaining a social life at Penn—or feeling like others Michel cared about weren’t reciprocating her effort—crushed her more than her pre–med requirements or any midterm. Her therapist said the most interesting moment of group therapy is when members’ real–life social habits emerge within the group, replicating a microcosm of concerns that the group can recognize, validate,

and experiment with. For Katey, and for students returning to Penn in general, the premise is more specific: The jarring life experience of taking a leave and then diving back into school is understood best by other returning students. In an uncanny way, Katey’s and Michel’s combined experience with CAPS became a representative slice of what a therapy group can offer to a Penn student.

It is ironic to write about group therapy when, by contract, describing the most critical component of group therapy—the people themselves—is prohibited outside of that room. We can’t share their stories, but we can share the striking ways they healed us.

Katey was surprised to find herself signing up for group therapy at the end of her leave, blinking at how little time it took between registration and the first day she walked into the airless room with a circle of chairs. Then suddenly, jarringly, there she was with eight strangers. Walking through trauma was the single most isolating event of Katey’s life—but after late– night group chat texts, and lunch dates, and tearful conversations, she was no longer alone. The group shared med tips and survivor walkathons, class scheduling advice, and graduation woes. On dark days, being forced to understand other's stories reminds one what it means to be human; in believing that her group members could survive, suddenly it seemed more possible that she could, too.

While the Returning Students Group provided a support system outside of group, IGG’s interactions are contained within the walls of CAPS, as the group facil-

itators explained during the first IGG meeting.

“We want the group to follow each others’ stories and grow together,” one said to the solemn circle of strangers.

“That’s harder if members are socializing outside of sessions at different places and times, when not everyone can make it. So it is important that we keep our interactions in this building.” "It’s like a controlled lab experiment of real-life friendships," Michel thought as she and the other group members pruned in awkward silence under the room’s harsh fluorescent lights. Michel’s group was a quiet bunch who hesitated to share with each other at first. Still, Michel enjoyed giving encouragement and advice when someone disclosed information about their families, exes, or strained friendships.

But after weeks and weeks of group therapy, in which everyone had freely flowered and opened up about some personal issue except Michel, she had to confront her silence—she had to confront her neuroses that were holding her back not only in group, but in real life, too. She had to admit that after some disappointing relationships, she had grown jaded and afraid of being vulnerable.

She was touched by her group’s concern and support when she eventually shared. Being in group therapy is a good reminder that, even in a group of strangers, one is still deserving of basic human empathy: Even though members of IGG were not permitted to socialize outside of meetings, they still cared about each other and felt close as a group.

Before seriously pursuing CAPS, we couldn’t even imagine a therapy group for “typical” col-

lege students. In the media, people who attend group therapy are always ill or seeking support for drug addiction. But what does “typical” even mean? You don’t need to go through trauma like Katey’s to need support. And you definitely don’t need to go through trauma to feel alone.

In reality, every Penn student struggles, and every Penn student needs and deserves support. The only prerequisite for group is being human.

The story behind cute Instagram posts may be one of grieving sick sisters; before fun Friday nights there may be people sitting in far–off CAPS waiting rooms. This is the story of two roommates attending group therapy together, albeit in different groups. This is the story of pain and resilience, heartbreak and care.

Last year, when the actor Terry Crews visited Penn, he discussed attending group therapy and at first feeling repulsed, thinking: “This isn’t me.” But as he found more similarities in his fellow group members, he slowly began to realize: “This is me.” This encapsulates the struggle and ultimate reward of group therapy: finding common ground with others and thereby finding the strength to identify problems in yourself. To look into another’s soul is to look even deeper into oneself. No matter what pains you, we recommend the solace that other Penn students will grace you with, and we recommend the perspective and power of hearing other stories. A strong consideration of group therapy is a good place to start.

FEBRUARY 5, 2020 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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EGO

h o m e t ow n :

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

major:

Architecture and Art History in the College

ac t i v i t i e s :

Penn Glee Club, Chair of Carriage Senior Society

m e e t t h e s e n i o r w i t h a lov e f o r m u s i c a n d a rc h i t e c t u r e | by j u l i a e s p o s i t o

You mentioned you’re from Gettysburg, what is it like? tony rinaldi: Both my parents are immigrants to the U.S, so, I’m first generation American. They’re both from large cities. My dad’s from Naples, Italy and my mom’s from Mexico City. They both immigrated to the U.S., and were looking for a more laidback small-town lifestyle in which to raise their children.

They chose Gettysburg. It’s really small. Everyone knows each other. It’s also a really homogenous population.

While it’s nice, I think, in theory, there are a lot of factors, being half-Mexican or being immigrants to the community, that sometimes got in the way of fully appreciating it. It was kind of, like, assimilate or be on the outside. That was a major conflict of my youth. But it’s a really small, small town. street: Was it difficult to adjust to a city after that environment? tr: I think that when I was looking for schools to go to, I was really only thinking about schools that interested me in major cities. I knew that I’d seen how small-town living was, and I’d seen what it was like to live in the country.

And now I was really interested in exploring myself and my surroundings in a more urban environment. Like I said, a 34th street:

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lot of the factors of my own identity were sometimes conflicting with the small-town lifestyle. I am Mexican and I am also gay, so that was not the norm when I was living in Gettysburg. I knew that by coming to Penn or by coming to a more diverse community, that I would find more of a place here. street: Why did you end up choosing Penn? tr: It was a combination of factors. Obviously, it was a great school. It also was the closest of the schools I got into, closest to my family, because it really is just my parents, my younger sister, and me here in the U.S. We wanted to stay at least geographically nearby. I can go down to 30th Street, hop on the train, and within two hours I’m in Harrisburg.

One of my parents can come pick me up really easily from there. It’s nice. It’s been really navigable between home and here, which is one of the main reasons Penn ended up being the decision. I am a FGLI student so the financial aid award that I was able to work out with Penn was a really significant decision-making factor. My parents own a small pizza shop, it’s a familyowned business, and I grew up working with them in the pizza shop with my little sister as well. They were pretty stressed about me being the first one to go out to college

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

and having to pay for all of it, especially with tuition at some of these universities that I was interested in. It made sense. street:You mentioned you were in the Penn Glee Club.

What got you into music? tr: Both my parents are fans of music, but they’re both completely tone-deaf and have no musical talent whatsoever. Like, I love them for it. I actually wrote my Common App essay on this. I wrote about finding a passion for singing. My dad used to have this cassette tape of Luciano Pavarotti, the opera singer, and my mom used to play Celine Dion on repeat.

So, anytime we were in the car, they were always fighting about whether it was going to be Celine Dion or Pavarotti cassettes. They would play both, and I started to just sing along. Then, I was like, I want to do this in a more real way. So, as soon as I was able to, I was probably eight, I joined a choir. It stayed with me forever. I was in every possible choir or singing outlet that I could find when I was younger. I did musical theater. I was so into music that I played the trumpet for ten years, I started taking cello lessons. My sister followed along and she sings. She’s an amazing saxophone, piano, guitarist. She does the whole thing. Both of us were very

interested in exploring every avenue that music had to offer.

That’s why when I came to Penn, I knew I needed to be in a choir because that’s where I feel the most at home, singing in this group setting. That’s where I found the Penn Glee Club. It hasn’t been stagnant since then. It’s not like I was like, “I need to find a choir, I need to be happy,” and that’s it. The Glee club, the people and our director, Daniel Carsello, they’re absolutely amazing and really motivated me and pushed me to find ways to step out of my comfort zone. I took solos with the choir, but I also auditioned for the Penn Glee Club Band, which is a smaller subsection of our group. It’s one of the main components of our group. We’re a cover band, so

we do pop, funk, R&B, and ska covers.

Street: Do you enjoy performing? tr: Despite having been on stage singing for people for the majority of my life, I still have immense stage fright. I get really really nervous. It’s the whole thing – my palms get sweaty, my chest gets tight, and I think of all the ways it could go wrong. What I like about the choir is that there’s always people around you to help you calm down.

By now, everyone knows how I get before a performance, so they are well-equipped to help me come down from it, focus on breathing, and remind me that we’ve been rehearsing for hours and hours and hours, so nothing’s going to go wrong.

But they’re always there to help me out.

l i g h t n i n g ro u n d street: Favorite music genre? tr: Pop. street: Celebrity doppelganger? tr: Whoever played Nevel Papperman in iCarly. That’s

me.

street: Favorite Penn Class? tr: ARCH 302 with Eric Bellin. Architecture is such a

tight-knit community; all my studio mates are my second set of best friends. They’re like my family. And Eric was absolutely astounding as an instructor and as a design inspiration. He really knew how to guide us to be astounding. So, I love him. street: Starbucks coffee order? tr: Venti iced coffee with room for milk. street: There are two types of people at Penn… tr: Complex and complicated.

EGO

T h e s h o r t , sat i r i c a l v i d e o s f ro m t h i s college junior are going viral

J u l i a D av i e s

“My Tiktok is," Austin Maguire (C '21) pauses, "interesting. The whole thing really started out of nowhere.”

Austin is modest about his TikTok presence. Although this Penn junior didn’t set out to be a viral sensation, since starting his account last June, Austin has amassed nearly half a million followers and 21.5 million likes on TikTok, the new, widely popular video– sharing app.

Austin’s popularity on the app was rather unintentional.

“Over this summer, someone I follow on Instagram posted a link and said, ‘I just made a partnership with TikTok. I need people to download it from my link,’” he explains.

Feeling curious and willing to offer some help, Austin downloaded the app as it was just beginning to gain traction.

He wasn't a big fan at first.

“I didn’t really like it," Austin says. "I wasn’t entertained by it.”

Despite his initial lack of enthusiasm for the app in its infancy, Austin saw the potential to create unique and entertaining content for himself.

“I was kind of overwhelmed at home because my home life is pretty chaotic and I just needed a space. Especially because I’m from middle–of–nowhere Ohio and they’re not super accepting there, and I identify as gender–fluid and queer and queer–sexually, so I don’t necessarily feel like I can be myself when I’m there. I needed a space where I could do, and say, and be whatever I wanted with no one’s influence put on to that with no expectations. It’s a way to entertain myself with my creative energy.

So I just created the content

that I would have wanted to see when I downloaded the app and other people liked it.”

Within just three days of downloading the app, Austin received over fifty thousand likes on the few videos that he had posted. Austin attributes this success to his timing in creating videos on the app.

“At this point it was like the end of June and it was super easy for anyone to grow really quickly on the app. It’s not easy anymore. But it sort of just started going. I would just scroll through the homepage and see all these trends and ironically imitate them or put my own spin on them and people immediately started liking it because I was making fun of TikTok culture on TikTok.” Through the app, it’s easy for just about anyone to participate in the internet’s latest trends, challenges, and meme formats. Despite the app’s seemingly uniform nature, Austin has decided to do something different. Austin used the video’s 15–second standard format to act out short, often satirical character sketches.

"I play that Ivy League student who doesn’t actually know what they’re talking about, a lot. Or your English teacher going off on a tangent that no one really understands but sounds really philosophical," he explains. "Much of the time I’m just making fun of myself.”

Many young adults on the app have been able to relate to Austin’s renditions of the absurdities of his everyday experiences. One of his first videos to go viral was titled, “Theater

Kid at a Birthday Party.”

“It’s like when everyone is starting to sing 'Happy Birthday,' and they’re singing off– key and they’re mimicking where they are. Just sort of directing people how to sing 'Happy Birthday.' Everyone in the comments is like going off on theater kids when the reality is with my family I will play middle C on my phone and make everyone [match] pitch before we’re singing happy birthday because I don’t like being out of key," he says. "But I made a joke out of it and people really liked that.”

When Austin went abroad to Barcelona in the fall, his TikTok pursuits followed. Although he did not plan for his TikTok to be involved with his abroad experience, it allowed him to form new connections that he never could have anticipated. While posting videos nearly daily, the app promoted his videos by geographic region.

“If I would speak in Spanish in the video, then it would only go to Spanish followers.

So I had videos that my Spanish following knew, but followers who spoke English wouldn’t know. So I had like two different bases of people who knew different videos of mine and knew me for different reasons.

I had Spanish people come up to me and we could connect

over the videos.

While being there, the other people who would see my videos were other Americans studying abroad in Spain," Austin says. "It was a cool sense of connection I didn’t know could happen.”

Now that Austin is back on campus this semester, his daily inspirations remain fresh.

“Classrooms are just a wonderful source of inspiration. People just say the weirdest, craziest, funniest of things,” he notes.

He often finds himself jotting down the humorous words or lines that he hears in the classroom in his notebook so that he can use them as inspiration for his videos.

Whether he’s joking about himself or the people he interacts with, Austin emphasizes that he creates content for humor, rather than to criticize or hurt others' feelings. He always asks permission from others if he intends to reference them.

“It’s not supposed to be making fun in a pessimistic or malicious way. It’s a joke about common human behaviors that we all do ourselves or interact with and I think it’s funny to comment on those,” he explains.

As Austin continues to find humor and light–heartedness in everyday life, he notes that, at times, his fame on the app is overwhelming.

He’s recently had strangers come up to him because they know him from his videos.

“You lose a lot of privacy and there’s this crazy expectation on you that you always have to be performing," he

says. “It’s dehumanizing in a sense when people only see you as the content that you create. They think they know you, but they only know [the] you that is online and there can be weird boundaries that people cross.”

He’s even received many obsessive messages from people wanting to be his friend. For these less glamorous trade–offs associated with being a well–known internet figure, Austin admits that he’s considered deleting the app at times in the past.

These complexities have also led Austin to consider his career goals more critically.

“I always wanted to go into entertainment when I was a kid, but when I went through high school I kind of suppressed those to be conventional because that’s what I thought everyone wanted from me. Then I came here and I realized that I wanted to do what I wanted to do: communications, creative writing, and music. I always wanted to be a musician and comedian," he explains.

"Now this experience has complicated that. I’ve dipped my toes into what fame is like and I don’t like it. At the same time, I can’t think of another way to make a living.

If I must make a living I want to do it artistically.”

Despite these drawbacks, he continues to draw satisfaction from the creative process of making TikTok videos.

“I never intended for people to watch. I was just trying to entertain myself, but I’m always really happy that other people are entertained.”

FEBRUARY 5, 2020 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

5

MUSIC

{

outdoor concert venues are vital to a city's scen

by keely douglas

6

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

Unsurprisingly, I am a diehard fan of outdoor concert venues. Though typically the kind of person who would rather stay inside at all costs, outdoor concerts are one of the few exceptions I make. Unfortunately, however, more and more outdoor venues keep getting shut down each year. Case in point: even Philadelphia lost Festival Pier in Summer 2019, and no more appear to be taking its place.

And that’s kind of heartbreaking. Existing in some kind of liminal space between the world of music and the world of everyone else, outdoor concert venues offer a unique way to experience music in a greater context. For me, this space was Echo Beach—an outdoor venue filled with my teenage memories.

Located on the shore of Lake Ontario and only minutes away from the heart of Downtown Toronto, Echo Beach is a small outdoor concert venue that somehow manages to attract a consistent influx of big names. Over the past few years alone, I’ve been lucky enough to see everyone from Lorde to Billie Eilish to Halsey at Echo Beach, and I have an endless list of incredible memories from those nights.

On the night I saw Stromae, a group of high–school– aged girls nearby counted up their money for merch while a group of twenty–somethings, still in business casual, laughed as their friend tried to subtly shotgun a Molson.

Some people had sprinted for the barricade as soon as the doors opened; others set up camp on one of the small hills at the property's edges. Only a few meters behind me was a middle–aged mother setting up beach chairs and corralling her young children. Nearby, a couple, dressed like they were going to a rave, made out behind a nearby tree.

It was a weird vibe, as were all Echo Beach concerts, but it was also undeniably a cool vibe.

I’ve been to Echo Beach with my friends, my cousins, my sister, and my mom. Regardless of who you are or who you go with, nobody seems to look twice. It’s as if the open air or the lack of the age limits makes concerts, which already welcome people from all walks of life, even more inviting.

This trend of inclusivity extends outside of the group of ticket holders. No Echo Beach show is complete without the silhouettes of the runners on the jogging trails slowing down to see what’s going on as they pass or the lights of the boats that pull up to the shoreline to join in on the experience. People line up along the rail of the nearby marina to check out the scene, while the cars driving by roll down their windows. And why shouldn’t they? The music’s free for everyone.

Let me be clear. I’m not trying to present outdoor concert venues as egalitarian utopias because, frankly, that's not true. Many outdoor venues have VIP sections and tiered prices just like anywhere else. Also, the one complaint most people have with outdoor venues—the weather—is not groundless. For every ten gorgeous evenings at Echo Beach, there is one less than fabulous night.

However, while Jack Ü played in the intense heat, the Echo Beach employees brought out sprinklers for people to run through. And while the rain ponchos employees handed out right before Marina's concert were admittedly flimsy, they kept us dry enough to still have a good time in the near freezing rain.

Would these concerts have been a bit less stressful without weather issues? Of course.

Did I enjoy them any less because of said weather issues? No. In Philadelphia, the number of outdoor concert ven-

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Photo by Kelly Chen

s ne memories made at summer and skyline stages are more important than the potential for rain. ues is always decreasing, and the ones that still exist, such as Skyline Stage at the Mann and The Dell Music Center, are all outside the city center. An outdoor venue in the middle of a park is still great in its own way, but there's just something so unique about a night with good acoustics and the twinkling lights of countless skyscrapers viewable on all sides.

For fourteen–year–old me, there was something so special about those lights. At the time I don’t think I would have been able to name it, but now I know that they made me feel like I was a part of something. That my world was not confined to my rigid schedule of classes, extracurriculars, and reblogging angsty Tumblr posts. Surrounded by all those tiny lights, I was both my own person and a member of my city. I was able to forge my own path and know that I was part of something bigger than my tiny world.

Of course, I was 14, and my mom was only a few minutes of a walk away at the other side of the venue. But the feeling still mattered.

Echo Beach formed, and still forms, the nexus of music and the rest of my world, and from Toronto to Philadelphia to anywhere, music is and should always be part of a city’s culture. With an already long list of concert venues and a plenitude of buskers on countless city corners, Philadelphia of all cities deserves some form of outdoor music venue that is both centrally accessible and able to host mainstream artists. Obviously, such a feat is made difficult by the fact that much of downtown Philadelphia is filled with historical buildings, and consequently complicated zoning laws, but, nevertheless, I really do believe that outdoor venues can set the tone of a city’s music scene and make it more accessible for all.

e t a r b e l e C ur special event you

at Fuji Karaoke Enjoy a night of singing with full bar & menu options in any of our large private rooms.

(Accommodates up to 40 people) Please contact us for special pricing.

215.751.0939 fujimt2030@gmail.com 2030 Chestnut St. FEBRUARY 5, 2020 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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Lana Wilson's Netflix documentary reveals glimpses into Swift's private life.

Peyton Toups

T

he Taylor Swift of Lana Wilson's new Netflix documentary, Miss Americana is alone—a surprising qualifier for someone whose reputation is at least partially built on her friends and ex–lovers. Wilson documents Swift as the hero of own life story, leaving everyone else around the star to the periphery. Nearly every frame of footage is filled with Taylor Swift.

In its brief 85 minutes, Miss Americana manages to provide a rare glimpse into Swift's inner life—something fans have pined for with each album release, and has fueled tabloids for years. Miss Americana is a self–scrutinizing yet compelling portrait of the artist, woman, and activist Swift has become over her long career.

Swift admits fairly early in the film that her happiness used to hinge "on the approval of total strangers." This mindset of trying to live up to the "good girl" everyone expected her to be has clearly affected her career's trajectory—not to mention her psyche and wellbeing. Swift's successes are colored by isolation just as much as they are joy. Narrating over her second Album of the Year win at the Grammy's, an award she didn't believe she would win again, Swift says "got to the mountain top and wondered 'What now?'"

"Shouldn't I have someone that I could call right now?" she asks the wind.

When Swift accepted the 2009 VMA for Best Music Video she was infamously interrupted by Kanye West. The 19 year–old Swift thought the crowd was booing her instead of West. The debacle sent her down "psychological paths" that weren't "beneficial" in the

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

y c it

Yick

Fe li

Taylor Swift is Lonely at The Top in 'Miss Americana'

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long run. Later, the specter of Kanye appears in her life again in 2015.

That year, West's wife Kim Kardashian West leaked a phone call between her husband and Swift on social media. In the call, he asks if he could include the line "I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex" in his song, "Famous." As Swift maintained in interviews at the time, she did not know about the following lyric calling her a "bitch."

Quickly, the internet turned against her, accusing her of playing the victim once again and then criticizing her for being too skinny, too successful, too annoying, too good. #TaylorSwiftisOverParty soon became the number one trend on Twitter as millions of strangers wanted her canceled.

Swift receded away from the public eye and into herself to record her 2017 studio effort, Reputation. The documentary shows Swift hunched over in a hoodie—embodying the prey imagery from "The Archer"— while she records her album.

"I had to dismantle an entire belief system," she said. From the footage Wilson chooses of that time, the camera seems especially focused on Swift, mimicking her hibernation from the world.

In concert, Swift is lonely on stage. In footage from the Reputation tour—when she sang for hysterically screaming fans in sold–out stadiums—all cameras and lights focused on her. When she discusses her relationship with Joe Alwyn during that era, he is just a hand on the screen for a split second, or a figure understood to be behind the camera—never fully in view like she is.

In a particularly arresting

scene, Swift heaves in tears as she unloads the burden of living for other's satisfaction, saying she was up on stage because of an "intrinsic insecurity," hearing people clapping made her forget she felt like she wasn't "good enough." It's hard not to sympathize with someone who has worked her whole career to be the best she possibly can, pleasing everyone she can, only to have the comfort of the public's satisfaction ripped from under her.

The documentary also reveals Swift's struggle with an eating disorder. Swift shows the camera a photo that she thought made her look "fat," and caused her to "starve herself." To try and recover, Swift has stopped looking at her paparazzi photos. In this deeply private matter, she does not say she asked for help with her disorder. She stopped by her own will. Interestingly, however, in discussing her eating disorder on camera, Swift uses the first person plural.

Swift also opens up about her decision to discard the "shut up and sing" attitude towards politics that characterized most of her career. Near the end of the film—shot during the 2018 midterms—we see Swift argue with her father and management team about her Instagram post renouncing Marsha Blackburn, the Republican candidate for Tennessee governor. Passionately and convincingly, Swift defends her stance, laying down her stance on gay marriage and the Equality Act as an issue of "right or wrong."

By the end of Miss Americana, Swift is a complex, articulate, outspoken and singular artist making the most of her place in the world.

ST YLE

Eat a Celebrity–Chef Approved Lunch at Top–Chef Quickfire

Hannah Lonser

Hannah Lonser

COME FOR THE NOVELTY, STAY FOR THE FOOD Hannah Lonser

F

or the past 14 years, Top Chef has entertained audiences with intense food competitions and mouth–watering results. Now, fans of the show have the opportunity to try out their favorite chef 's creations. Top–Chef Quickfire, which opened last week in The Concourse at Comcast Center, is serving up delicious meals inspired by contestants' dishes, curated from the last 16 seasons of the hit Bravo show. I stopped by this week to see if it lived up to the hype.

The fast–casual eatery has a sleek, modern look to it and while there is a register, customers in a rush can opt to use one of two kiosks to place their order. What first caught my eye when I ate at Quickfire was the open kitchen, complete with with a sit– down counter. Here, guests can catch a glimpse into the preparation that goes on behind the scenes and interact with the chefs. Die–hard fans can also watch re–runs of old episodes on the televisions hanging on the walls in the hopes of seeing their meal make its Top–Chef debut.

Looking at the menu, I was surprised by how upscale yet affordable the offerings

were. Visitors can sample starters like the goat cheese, feta, and fig tart, a dish inspired by chef Sara Mair in season three, before digging into hearty entrees like the grilled cheese with portobello mushroom. And make sure to save room for dessert: Top–Chef Quickfire is serving up a variety of sweets like lemon yogurt cheesecake— all for under five dollars.

I ordered Quickfire’s truffle–cognac mac and cheese, inspired by season one’s Dave Martin and priced at $9.99, with a side of house–made sriracha ranch chips. My meal was prepared in a timely fashion and was served in a container that could be taken to–go, making Quickfire a great option for someone in a hurry. And while I could have gone for a bit more cheesy–ness on the mac, I was overall pleased with my selection. Quickfire successfully put an elegant spin on the traditional fast–food mac and cheese, which I will admit made me feel a little bit boujee while eating it.

Top–Chef Quickfire is more than just a novelty.

With both high quality and efficiency, Quickfire has the potential to become a staple of Philly’s fast–casual scene.

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ST YLE

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Attend one of the 300 discounted events during the ten-day celebration Jordan Wachsman

10 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

W

hen you think of Philadelphia, cheesesteaks and crazy football fans may come to mind. But Philly has a thriving arts and culture scene that often doesn’t get the recognition it deserves. Philly’s theater community is flourishing, and Philly Theatre Week is the perfect opportunity to experience it.

“We were looking for another event that would really shine a light on the great theatre community here,” explains Executive Director of Theatre Philadelphia Leigh Goldenberg. “And Philadelphia loves their weeks. We have restaurant week and tech week, and I thought why doesn’t theater have a week?”

The third annual Philly Theatre Week, put on by the nonprofit Theatre Philadelphia, is set to take place from Feb. 6 to Feb. 16, and will feature over 300 events—from performances to panels and workshops—all at discounted prices. It gives attendees the chance to explore Philly’s theater scene in new ways—and Theatre Philadelphia is making sure to include everyone in the

Dive Into Philadelphia's Arts & Culture Scene With Philly Theatre Week fun.

“So really we wanted to have a way to show the vibrant and diverse theatre community here and do it in a really inclusive and non-competitive way," Goldenberg explains.

"Knowing that there are things happening in all neighborhoods at reduced price points means that people who are interested in theater might find something to do and try something out at a time when they might not otherwise."

Diversity and inclusivity are certainly showcased in this ten–day celebration. There will be events in Center City, Bucks County, North Philly, South Philly, West Philly, and more. Plus, there are a plethora of free events, and those that aren’t free are either $15 or $30.

The diversity in types of artistic expression is also noteworthy. The program includes LGBTQ+ productions, Black History Month–related events, family–friendly events, and more.

“There is truly something for everyone, from every walk of life, and from every corner of the region," Goldenberg

says.

Goldenberg has been active in the Philly theater scene since childhood, and she makes it clear that performance is a necessary medium of expression, especially in an era when personal connections between people are lacking.

“In this day and age when so much of our interactions happen on screens … the fact that theater has to exist, like people coming together in space, I think is really necessary," she says. "There’s just something about that energy exchange happening in a room that can’t be replaced.”

Philly Theatre Week is a great chance to get out of the house and be part of artistic exchange in the Philadelphia community. You can explore the city through its art and culture and get acquainted with it in a new way.

“Don’t be intimidated," Goldenberg advises. "This is for anybody."

"Just go, and you are welcome in these spaces! Use this as an opportunity to go discover something new that you might not have done otherwise.”

ST YLE

Take a Tour of Philly's City-Wide Art Gallery This February Hannah Lonser

Hannah Lonser

O

Get your art fix—and a history lesson.

ver the years, Philadelphia has acquired a number of affectionate nicknames— Philly, the City of Brotherly Love, and the Birthplace of America, to name a few. But in recent years, the city has earned itself a new moniker: the City of Murals. With over 3,500 pieces of art adorning walls and buildings around Philadelphia, these murals provide a unique showcase of the area’s rich culture and history.

For the past 35 years, Mural Arts Philadelphia—the nation’s largest public art program—has taken charge of connecting the Philly community to these works of art.

Aside from commissioning

between 50 and 100 projects every year and maintaining existing pieces, Mural Arts puts on a variety of tours meant to engage the public with the city’s outdoor art gallery.

Throughout February, Mural Arts is offering two public tours on a weekly basis, both of which help patrons celebrate significant events this month.

The first is the African American Iconic Murals Trolley Tour. Offered in honor of Black History Month, this route explores murals around the city that were inspired by the ideas of freedom, civil rights, and racial equality.

Experienced tour guides will discuss the background of each mural while highlighting how each piece of art ignited

change in its community.

The second is the Love Letter Train Tour, an experience that—as its name suggests—is a perfect way to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Visitors will ride along Philadelphia’s Market– Frankford elevated train line and be taken through A Love Letter for You, a series of 50 murals created by street artist Steve ESPO Powers in collaboration with the West Philadelphia community. Each work is an open–ended love letter written in homage to various people, places, and things.

Tickets for the African American Iconic Murals Trolley Tour and the Love Letter Train Tour are available online for $28 and $23 respectively.

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F E AT U R E

NOW HIRING

1 2 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

Students turn to medical and behavioral studies for Sophie Burkholder extra income—and sometimes fun

Sophia Dai

pus jobs.

The in–person studies also offer immediate compensation in cash and occasionally have opportunities for bonus prize money.

Before signing up for the medical study, Claire participated in WBL experiments, and she still does today.

“I wanted some source of income,” she says. “So I started doing as many Wharton Behavioral Labs as humanly possible.”

Sara Chopra (C ‘22) started going to the WBL as part of a marketing class assignment for her minor in consumer psychology. But even after the class ended, Sara continued participating in the studies.

“I realized it was a really easy, non–intrusive way to make money and to learn about marketing research,” she says.

But WBL Faculty Director Maurice Schweitzer doesn’t think students could fully support themselves on this form of income alone. Even though the pay rate is higher for the WBL than it may be for some of the jobs available to students, Schweitzer points out that the turnover for new study opportunities isn’t enough for students to spend a full 15 to 20 hours per week making money at the lab.

“The Wharton Behavioral Labs aren’t a substitute for a real job,” he says. “They’re simply not designed for that.”

Students like Phuong Vu (E ‘21) know that the WBL only offers a limited income. When she stayed on campus during the summer following her sophomore year, Phuong continued to participate in the WBL as she had during the school year. But with more time on her hands and a desire to make more money on the side, she also started looking into clinical trial participation, knowing medical studies tend to offer

MAX GROVE

C

laire Epstein (C’ 23) needed money.

She’d applied to several on–campus jobs before arriving at Penn, but never heard anything back from employers. A low–income student with a work-study grant as part of her financial aid package, Claire began to worry that she wouldn’t be able to support herself.

“I was trying to find any way on campus to make money,” she says.

Last November, she noticed a flyer in the bathroom advertising a medical study for depression treatments. The paper promised compensation for participation in magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) and transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS). Intrigued and looking to make money, Claire pulled off a tag with the contact information. Two months later, she sat in the waiting room of a Penn Medicine office for an initial interview. The next day, she came back for her first scan.

Claire is one of many Penn students who turn to behavioral, psychological, or medical research studies as a form of additional income. One motivation for participation in these studies is the compensation, which reaches a level as great as $500 for full participation in trials like the one Claire joined.

But for the studies that provide payment at a lower rate, like the Wharton Behavioral Laboratory (WBL), some students participate in part for the entertainment of the experiments or the feeling of contributing to institutional research.

With the much-needed income from these studies, though, comes pressure to participate in experiments that push students outside their comfort zone, or even cause adverse effects. Also, the high volumes of student data can skew how representative study results are for the general population, the prevalence of student participation risks introducing bias to research. This is especially true in behavioral or psychological studies, where the barriers for entry into a study tend to be lower.

The New Student Orientation and Academic Initiatives website lists the WBL on the Earning Money Resources page as an income option for new students. Popular among students for its reputation as a quick and easy source of money, WBL studies pay a rate of ten dollars per hour of participation—a higher hourly rate than is offered by some of Penn’s on-cam-

F E AT U R E

greater compensation.

She started filling out applications for studies that needed healthy volunteers, as well as ones that required their participants to have depression or anxiety. Since Phuong has been diagnosed with both, she says the treatment aspect of the studies for participants with depression was part of the appeal for her.

“To me, it was a win-win situation,” she says. “I liked the potential of getting treatment with the added financial benefit.”

Though Phuong admits she does her own background reading about clinical trials before choosing to sign up for them, she also says that most of the ones she’s seen offered by Penn aren’t serious enough to keep her from participating. Students like Max Grove (W ‘20), on the other hand, are more hesitant to participate in studies that are too invasive.

Max, who takes part in both behavioral studies and clinical trials, says that he was accepted to be a participant in a trial that required him to undergo an MRI scan. But after going through the scan, he decided studies like that weren’t for him.

“I didn’t like the way the tube made me feel claustrophobic, and I’ve never really understood the risks of MRIs either,” he says. Though most patients undergoing MRI scans incur little risk, those with metal implants or other attachments have to be careful of the strong magnetic field created during scans.

Unlike Phuong, Max says that he applies to clinical trials and other studies for both the research impact of those studies and the financial compensation from them. Once selected to participate in a clinical trial for a HIV medication, Max decided not to move forward in participation when he realized the trial was only testing for the drug’s safety instead of its treatment efficacy. Often, only early stage or preliminary clinical trials will test for safety, while more advanced stages test for whether or not a given treatment actually works and can soon be used by the public.

“There comes a point for me when the participation isn’t worth the risk,” he says. “I didn’t want to feel like a lab rat.”

Although students have both monetary and personal considerations, research studies on campus continue to attract a large volume of participants. Launched in 2005, the founders

of the WBL initially predicted that the studies would yield approximately 5,000 to 14,000 participant hours of research data annually. But the lab’s 2016 annual report showed that the research volume reached over 24,000 participant hours, with an additional 280,000 surveys or experiments completed online.

Dr. Desmond Oathes, an assistant professor of psychiatry in Penn’s Perelman School of Medicine, is the principal investigator of a lab that conducts clinical studies involving MRI scans and TMS. Oathes says that he sees a lot of Penn students apply for studies that ask for healthy participants, which are often preliminary trials.

“We always have a very eager waitlist of Penn students for our healthy control groups,” says Oathes.

Oathes says he does his best to limit the amount of Penn students he allows to participate in his clinical studies because he doesn’t want to skew the results towards a certain population. Especially for his lab’s healthy control studies, Oathes says he and his fellow researchers try to establish a cutoff percentage for students.

“We might choose to limit the amount of Penn students as participants to about 30 percent for a healthy study,” he says.

“We want to prioritize people from the community beyond Penn that are more diverse...We often try to think about how the patients in our studies might be different from the typical patient.”

AccordSophia Dai ing to Dr. Oathes, because participants self–select themselves for clinical studies by applying to them, they might already be seeking help for de-

DR. DESMOND OATHES

FEBRUARY 5, 2020 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 13

Sophia Dai pression, for example. The conclusions drawn from these studies cannot necessarily be applied to the general population, as the sample was comprised of people actively seeking treatment through a clinical trial.

Preventing and addressing selection bias is important to Oathes’ lab, but similar measures aren’t taken at the WBL, where an overwhelming percentage of the participant pool is Penn students. This is a common critique of behavioral research, especially research conducted on college campuses: the results are only reflective of a population that is typically Western, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic, referred to by the acronym W.E.I.R.D. Even though WBL studies that take place on campus attract Penn students more than Penn staff, faculty, or local community members, Schweitzer says that the lab collects research from broader populations through their online surveys. Using these results allows the researchers behind WBL to consider how Penn undergrads compare to the United States population at large, at least in terms of their decision-making patterns.

Schweitzer says there are obvious discrepancies in how quickly Penn students can complete a complicated math puzzle or comprehend long instructions for a writing task, as most would expect a college–educated participant

14 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 5, 2020

SARA CHOPRA

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to perform better on these experiments than a non–college–educated one.

“But when it comes to a lot of common decision–making patterns, the greater population and Penn students both seem to operate in the same way,” he says. “There are some very classic features of our memory and perception systems that have let us see a cooperation between data from Penn students, general samples, and even robots.”

While the overall data collected by the WBL and similar university-operated behavioral research centers might fall into the category of W.E.I.R.D., some researchers argue that low–income populations might be more motivated to participate in studies with a monetary reward, especially for high–paying clinical studies. The WBL doesn’t collect income data from their participants, and Schweitzer also acknowledges that how students may choose to spend or save their compensation afterwards is almost impossible to track.

Though he notices slight upticks in the self–reported participant satisfaction rates with the receipt of bonus prize money, Schweitzer feels that compensation isn’t the only reason the WBL is so popular on campus. He notes that researchers frequently notice high levels of participant engagement with the studies.

FILM & TV

ANNA COLLINS

CAMPUS APARTMENTS

FILM: The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) GENRE: Psychological Thriller This film was just put back onto Netflix and is still amazing the second time through. Jude Law is a charismatic, rich jerk; Gwyneth Paltrow is his sweet and unsuspecting girlfriend; Matt Damon is the deceitful, clever, utterly intriguing Mr. Ripley.

Tom (Damon) entangles himself with Dickie (Law) and his extravagant life, but things quickly go awry. Best for those nights when you’re dreaming of an idyllic summer in Italy crossed with a suspenseful murder drama.

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RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: American Psycho, Strangers on a Train, Nocturnal Animals

HARSHITA GUPTA FILM: Maurice (1987) GENRE: Period Drama Maurice is a lovely film with an equally lovely cast, and one of the few queer films with a happy ending. Set in the early 20th century, the film revels in its lush, British aesthetic, following the protagonist from his college years at Cambridge all the way to the English countryside. A philosophical reflection on romance and queer love in an oppressive society, the film is littered with amazing actors and performances. If nothing else, watch this film for young Hugh Grant, who is almost absurdly beautiful in one of his early roles.

RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: Call Me By Your Name,

A Room With a View

SAM KESLER TV SHOW: Medical Police (2020) GENRE: Alternative Comedy Medical Police is probably the dumbest show you'll ever love.

A spin–off of the comedy series Childrens Hospital (although you don't need any prior knowledge going in) , Medical Police follows two doctors (Erinn Hayes and Rob Huebel) thrust into an international terrorist plot. Sounds fairly straightforward, but this duo take ten episodes to solve the case, during which they recruit a strange cast of characters (including Lake Bell and Jason Schwartzman) and fill each moment with non sequiturs and cheap one–liners, following every nonsense thread to its illogical conclusion, and maybe finding love along the way?

RECOMMENDED IF YOU LIKE: Parks and Recreation, Tuca & Bertie, Brooklyn Nine–Nine

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FILM & TV

c.

T

he Turning could have been a perfectly fine movie. Perhaps it was destined to be a B–list horror flick with nothing new to say, a silly plot with a vaguely interesting premise, a promising setting (you can never go wrong with a haunted Victorian mansion), a pair of creepy kids, and some ominous spiders appearing out of nowhere. Yet, despite its decidedly okay production, it fumbles its way from alright into actively bad, leaving its audience with little more than angry grumbles.

To give credit where credit is due, it would be hard for The Turning to have a completely gripping plot. It's based off of Henry James’ Gothic novella, The Turn of the Screw, which was written in 1898. The Turning director Floria Sigismondi, though not the first to adapt James’ text to the big screen, is the first who attempts to bring it up to twenty–first century sensibilities.

The film opens on a television screen discussing Kurt Cobain’s death—evidently placing the film in 1994—yet fails to actually make its newly updated timeframe a reflection of the text.

See, The Turning is about a young governess who moves into the home of two orphans, a boy named Miles (Finn Wolfhard) and a girl named Flora (Brooklynn Prince), in order to educate them. She soon uncovers a darker history hidden in the mansion. While this premise itself is outdated, the writers fail at modernization— Kate Mandell’s (Mackenzie Davis) move into the magnificent, luxurious home of the Fairchild family feels particularly strange because the very concept is so outdated that it’s incomprehensible.

The movie, however, is aware of this confusion.

When the housekeeper, Mrs. Grose (Barbara

Marten), asks Kate when she was last a live–in governess, she jokes that she hasn’t “since the 1800s.” Kate’s job position, her demeanor with Miles, and her peculiar style of dress—who still wears lacey white nightgowns in the 1990s?—are all marvelously outdated, despite the movie’s lopsided attempt to renew the source material.

The movie also fails to actually make the old text exciting anew. Perhaps when James wrote The Turn of the Screw, its scares weren’t overdone, but by this point in horror film history, almost everything felt trite. The large, frightening house with scary paintings no longer seems very interesting. The spooky dolls which come to life, the creepy kids, the hushed whispers around the house—all of these things have been seen time and time again, yet lose their edge in this adaption. In fact, not a single scare of The Turning felt novel. It was very easy to not be frightened at all, despite a lovely plethora of cheap jump–scares.

It wouldn't be hard to think of another movie that did it all and did it better, which would likely be a more enjoyable experience than sitting through The Turning.

But what is so bad about all of this? All of these aspects, while irritating, aren't particularly heinous. Unfortunately, The Turning goes off the rails in the final ten minutes, forgetting its source text. Here, the movie goes from bad to actively terrible, which prompted scoffing from

those exiting the theater, and likely resulted in a 13% on Rotten Tomatoes.

In the background of The Turning is the main character’s mother, Darla (Joely Richardson), who is in a mental institution. She keeps on making charcoal drawings and sending them to Kate. This aspect, of course, was not present in James’ text, and it stands out like a sore thumb in an otherwise fairly contained plot. See, while Kate’s backstory remains entirely irrelevant for the majority of the film, in the final ten minutes, the movie turns itself on its head. (Spoilers ahead.)

We watch Kate, Miles, and Flora escape the house and the ghosts, driving out through the vaguely haunted gateway before it fades to black.

A few seconds later, we see that this entire sequence was really just Kate imagining the future while looking into her mother’s painting.

Turns out, Kate actually is crazy. She goes to the children, telling them to admit that they see the ghosts, before the scene abruptly shifts to Kate in the mental institution, visiting her mother.

She approaches the figure, tries to speak to her, and then gets a glimpse of her face—unseen to the audience. She screams. Then, the credits roll.

It feels particularly cheap for the main character to have been hallucinating the entire time, and it’s a rudely abrupt ending to a movie that wasn’t good enough to warrant a smug cliffhanger. Perhaps if The Turning had been better, it could’ve earned such a self–satisfied ending, but because of its sluggish plot, confusing setting, and boring scares, it earns its title as a movie that's not just bad, but actively horrible.

F E B R U A R Y 5 , 2 0 2 0 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17

FILM & TV

Isab el L i an

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Awkwafina Is Nora from Queens, and Not Much Else Harshita Gupta

A

wkwafina and her comedic acting are some of the best parts of Awkwafina Is Nora from Queens, though the rest of the cast is equally talented, such as her grandma, played by Lori Tan Chinn (Orange is the New Black’s Mei Chang). She steals the show during all of her scenes as a clever and funny matriarch. In the second episode, she gives a big, dramatic speech to convince Nora to come to Atlantic City, crying about her friend's broken hip to eventually guilt Nora into going. "Okay, see you downstairs!" she says. "Don't embarrass me."

Awkwafina Is Nora from Queens is a sweet show when it focuses on Nora’s family, which clearly loves and supports her.

That said, the first two episodes don’t really provide evidence that it’s anything special in the television landscape. It's simply another show about someone in their twenties who hasn’t figured out what they’re doing with their life. In this day and age, there isn’t even anything that pathetic about the fact that Nora lives with her dad and grandma, though the show insists there is.

During the pilot, Nora feels pressured to move out from her family’s home. The episode sees

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her involved in a series of hijinks, ending with her sleeping in her car until her dad swoops in to pick her up. Her father gives a sweet speech about letting go, emphasizing that there’s nothing wrong with living with your family, especially not when it loves you as much as Nora’s.

Nora also runs into friends from high school who were supposedly more successful than her—one went to law school and another got a full ride to Emerson—only to realize both of them are in the same desperate circumstances as her. The alleged lawyer failed the bar exam and is working as

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a c a m girl, while the Emerson alum got a BFA and ended up working on the Atlantic City boardwalk.

It’s a harrowing, deeply pessimistic display of our generation’s job prospects. But it’s also somewhat comforting to know that if we’re all in Nora’s shoes, our seemingly successful friends are probably no better off. The show emphasizes camaraderie, or the notion that we're all trying to find purpose in our lives and coping with failure.

Nora finishes the episode by cleaning her deeply cluttered room, which her grandmother had asked her to do in the beginning of the pilot. It was a narratively satisfying end for the character. She's making steps to improve her circumstances without doing something she isn’t ready for—only to reveal that Nora had shoved all of her junk in her closet.

Sometimes the character’s incompetency is funny, but her ineptitude can also be frustrating. It would be more powerful for Nora to reclaim her life from rock–bottom, instead of simply jumping from disaster to disaster, which appears to be the show's structure.

There are only so many ways

you c a n separate the protagonist of the show from Awkwafina herself. The character has her name (Nora), her background (a half–Chinese half–Korean woman in Queens), and, one can assume, her trajectory. The viewer can't help but hope Nora will eventually find fame and success, too. In a meta way, Awkwafina literally is Nora from Queens, both in and out of the show itself. Knowing she will prosper just makes her current circumstances all the more frustrating.

That being said, this isn’t really a show about the Asian American struggle, and it doesn’t have to be. It can just be another show starring Asian American people, a revolutionary concept in and of itself.

Maybe there’s something special about making a raunchy sitcom focused on an Asian American woman in the big city for once. But when considering Awkwafina’s recent career success as a film star, there’s nothing groundbreaking about Awkwafina Is Nora from Queens, especially when compared to the exploration of Asian American culture and identity in her critically acclaimed film The Farewell.

FILM & TV

Isabel Liang

'Shrill' Season 2 Finds More Room for Discovery Hulu's narrative comedy breaks out of season one's narrow focus.

Sam Kessler

M

any may recognize Aidy Bryant from her role as a cast member on Saturday Night Live, but in Shrill, a Hulu original series, her talents are put to use, navigating between difficult topics and outrageous comedy.

Shrill began as Hulu adaptation of Lindy West's autobiography of the same name, with Aidy Bryant taking on the lead role of Annie. In season one, Annie primarily deals with issues surrounding her own confidence related to her weight and conflicts with her fat–shaming boss (John Cameron Mitchell) at the weekly journal she writes for. Despite his claims of pro–feminism ("I love the whole female empowerment bullshit. I kind of invented it in the '90s. I was the original bass player in Bikini Kill."), he shuts down Annie's more transgressive articles and belittles her. Bryant's character also struggles to get her on– again–off–again boyfriend Ryan (Luka Jones) to commit and has to deal with trolls on the internet making fun of her for her articles.

In the season finale (spoilers ahead) she confronts her boss and quits her job to freelance instead, finally gets her boyfriend to communicate his feelings properly, and confronts her biggest troll (Beck Bennett) at his house, smashing his car window on her way out. Season two continues on from there, but breaks

out of the narrow mold with which it was fitted.

Although initially unburdened by her new lease on life, Annie begins to realize the reality of her situation, now self–employed and floundering as a writer with rising family issues to boot. While slightly more dour than the first season, the opportunities for comedy are more ripe, such as in the season opener when she and Ryan are caught by a troop of Boy Scouts while he performs oral on her in a field.

Likewise, instead of many of the jokes going to Bryant, several of the better lines are given to auxiliary characters, delivered by stand–out comedians like Gary Richardson and Jo Firestone ("I remember when my mom met my boyfriend, and now he's my stepdad. It's not so bad. I took his last name.").

But despite the hilarity of the new season, some things fall by the wayside. Lolly Adefope in the role of Fran, Annie's gay, British, and sexually promiscuous best friend, gets some time apart to explore her own journey, but unfortunately fails to deliver any real meaning with her time on screen. Annie's job search, likewise, failed to resonate as sympathetic. There are nuggets of actual ingenuity at times, however. Coming back from a conference of WAHAM (Women Are Having A Moment), Annie reflects on her experience of popular

feminism, which she comes to realize is more focused on selling products than actually furthering equality, unless you're an upper–class white woman. In talking it out with her editor, they both further their understanding of the topic, a genuine moment of compassion emerging at the end.

The season also sees more actualization for Ryan, who previously had been in a more antagonistic position as the deadbeat boyfriend. Luckily,

he's shaped up and settled into a similar trope to that of Chris Pratt in Parks and Recreation, now the goofy and supportive boyfriend.

At times, Shrill season one came across as preachy with some actual heart, but season two finds its rhythm.

It gives more agency to the majority of the cast, exploring stories besides that of the main character. While some

have been blind alleys, others have honed in on what makes this comedy so fascinating to watch, walking the tightrope of important topics in modern–day America and giving just enough room for effective comedic writing. As a relative newcomer and unknown in the canon of streaming sitcoms, it's sure to make its mark next to hits like Bojack Horseman and Fleabag.

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ARTS

'Frankenthaler on Paper': Small Works, Infinite Meaning The Arthur Ross Gallery sheds light on rarely seen works of Helen Frankenthaler.

Sophie Burkholder Color Field painting was most likely doomed to fall out of favor from the day of its inception.

It’s the sort of blobbish abstract expressionism that those who lack an appetite for non–representational art despise most. The post–war emptiness of thought that inspired the style doesn’t translate well into our modern tendencies to anxiously overthink all we encounter. Unlike the work of famed Abstract Expressionist painters Jackson Pollock or Willem de Kooning, Color Field painting leaves little for the eye to zero in on, and fewer paths of paint for the mind to follow.

Instead, Color Field is meant for the sort of deep introspection that is always pretentious and often performative. Just think of all the confusion caused in that one Mad Men episode by the appearance of a Mark Rothko painting in Bert Cooper’s office.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to be explained,” remarks one character. “I’m an artist, okay, it must mean something,” scoffs another.

This is the sort of conversation that the work of twentieth–century Color Field painter Helen Frankenthaler provokes. Now on view at the Arthur Ross Gallery of Fisher Fine Arts Library in the exhibition Frankenthaler on Paper, the artist’s lesser–known prints and little–seen paintings on paper reveal the foundations of her own efforts to create art that requires no explanation.

Markedly different in technique from Frankenthaler’s large–scale canvas paintings, the prints in this new exhibition betray the thoughtfulness in all of the artist’s work by emphasizing the laborious construction of her printmaking processes. Her more famous paintings like Mountains and Sea are emblems of both

depth and spontaneity, as they were created in part by pouring paint from buckets onto the canvas and moving it around with a variety of brushes and sponges.

But some of the prints in Frankenthaler on Paper don’t have this same sense of easy impermanence (fans of Color Field will argue that none of her work does). Cedar Hill, a print of grainy veils of warm pinks and teals, is a ten–color woodcut made from twelve woodblocks, requiring several rounds of printmaking before completion. Such an involved process suggests that the thinking behind the piece’s formal qualities was involved as well, defying that spontaneity often ascribed to the abstractions of Frankenthaler and her contemporaries.

The highlight of the exhibition—especially in the eyes of the curators—is Fiesta, a 1973 work of acrylic on paper that most closely mirrors the grander trademarks of Frankenthaler’s style.

With constrained yet free–flowing sections of paint mixing together in gentle blossoms and smudges of pink, orange, and green, the work appears both opaque and soft, colors layered as if they were overlapping tissue paper.

None of these prints or other works on paper displayed at Arthur Ross are studies for larger paintings to follow. In fact, Frankenthaler never conducted smaller preliminary studies for any of her work. Instead, the undeniable similarities between these comparatively minor works and those that brought her fame are a testament to the consistency with which Frankenthaler applied her themes to a canvas, or in this case, paper.

Prints like Bay Area Monday IV or works on paper like Pink Palace evoke the sense of place, simultaneously specific and non–specific, that resonate throughout nearly every piece of Frankenthaler’s career. And

despite the immense amount of craft that goes into the variety of printmaking methods employed

by Frankenthaler in these works, there is a perpetual sense of unfinished rawness that both engages and challenges its viewers.

Frankenthaler on Paper also includes a derivative of one of Frankenthaler’s most famous woodcuts in East and Beyond with Orange. The original, East and Beyond, is considered a breakthrough in contemporary woodcut technique due to Frankenthaler’s masterful ability to mimic the same fluid and organic shapes of color that are the hallmarks of her painted works. Here, the open space that dominates the painting is refreshed with a hue of golden orange, radiating like a sunset through a deep valley, as the sharper forms on the outer edges of the woodcut imply.

The language of Frankenthaler’s work is one of somewhat self–involved poetry, a sort of emotional rapture that may be too saccharine for her critics. But there is reward in the release from the sort of meaning that stricter art historians require in artistic analysis. Her prints and paper works in this exhibition challenge the sort of immersion that is afforded by her fa-

mous large–scale works. Yet in the intimacy of Arthur Ross Gallery, the layers of paint and ink come to a vibrant new life on the softly crinkled paper beneath them.

Here, Frankenthaler can be noticed in detail rather than immersion, these smaller pieces offering their own investigation into the alluring mixture of amorphous spontaneity and finished form.

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ARTS

Shen, the Wharton Sophomore Who Will Paint on Anything.

Artist Spotlight | Drawing on shoes and jackets, Sophie infuses creativity into nearly everything she does.

Sophie Shen (W ’22), a creative from Maryland, sits on her bed in her Harnwell apartment. The room bursts with color and character—there’s artwork hung on most walls, a black tapestry with green leaves, and three frames filled with photographs. On her desk sits a small watercolor set and a corkboard full of lettering. Each frame captures small yet vivid moments.

“I’ve been doing art for as long as I can remember. Even as a child going to restaurants, I would get the kids menus with the pack of crayons. I would just doodle and draw in my free time. My passion for art only grew as I got older,” Sophie explains.

Sophie started taking art in grade school but also developed technical skills by taking lessons on the side.

She began with drawing and painting, using colored pencils, gouache (an opaque watercolor), and oil paints. But as her strengths grew,

so did her curiosity. Wanting to explore new techniques on her own, she learned how to use watercolors through Youtube tutorials, inspiration from Instagram artists, and tips from friends.

“When I was in middle school I went through a big DIY phase where I did thrifting and crafting,” she adds. In addition to paper and ink, Sophie worked with 3D materials. She flipped clothes, worked on beading, and made jewelry.

“One of the coolest projects I did was last year when I lived in Hill. One day I left a pair of shoes out to dry, and the next morning I got a note on a napkin that was from one of the cleaning staff members who said, ‘Hey I saw these shoes, could you do a pair for me?’ He wanted me to paint shoes for his and his wife's wedding,” Sophie says, “He wanted me to do a pair of wedding bands with their names [and] the date, customized

with their colors, so that was really cool.”

In addition to providing a purpose, art also gives Sophie a tangible sense of belonging. “I really appreciate my art education, but I think part of the beauty of art is finding a community of people,” she says. “In high school, there was only a small group of kids who did art for four years. These are two of my best friends,” she adds, pointing to a portrait hanging to the left of her bed.

At Penn, Sophie studies business analytics and marketing, mostly because she wanted to work with people and with data. Initially, it was difficult for Sophie to find a creative outlet.

“What I struggled with freshman year was feeling pretty constrained within Wharton. I didn't really find people who were studying the same thing as me but also had this side interest,” Sophie says.

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Amanpreet Singh Photo courtesy of Sophie Shen

Meet Sophie

“A lot of people, when they get to college, they think they don't have time for hobbies anymore because they get caught up in pre–professionalism. I really struggled to find that kind of creative community.”

Her struggle is one many creative students at Penn can relate to, given the intense academic environment.

“A lot of my past with art has been very perfectionist. I'm very meticulous. Freshman year, it was a lot more stressful whenever I did it. I felt like I had to make it perfect because I didn't do it much,” Sophie says.

One way that Sophie has found an art community at Penn is through her fine arts minor. “Taking art classes was really awesome for me because the[y] are a lot smaller than lectures— there are only 10 to 15 people in them,” she says. “You do a lot of critiques and you really get to know your classmates well.”

Yet the art community Sophie has since found on campus looks very different from the community she had in high school. She explains, “It's challenged and pushed me a lot because it's something that was outside of my comfort zone ... what’s exciting about art is that there’s so much more to explore.”

On the same note, Sophie has also used arts to explore something deeper than new textiles: her familial roots. For the concentration section of her AP Studio Art portfolio, which focuses on and explores a central theme, she “portrays the juxtaposition of Chinese and American culture, not in the ways that they contrast, but in the

way that they complement each other because each piece is very cohesive." In her concentration, she seamlessly blends elements of food, history, and pride together in the twelve pieces: tea flows easily into a Starbucks cup, a Chinese ornament looks right at home on a Christmas tree.

“My parents are both from China and I grew up in the US,” Sophie says, “A lot of my child was begging my parents to let me quit Chinese school or saying that I didn't want to eat this for dinner tonight. But I think one thing about art is that it's also connected me to the Asian American art community. A lot of the artists that inspire me are Asian American.”

Last semester, these pieces were hung in PAACH for the “inVISIBLE Art Gallery” during Asian Pacific-Islander American Heritage Week, which was hosted by the Asian Pacific Student Coalition and akDPhi. Now, the 12 pieces are arranged carefully on the right wall of Sophie’s bedroom. They form a cohesive rectangle, one that looks so precise they feel connected. For Sophie, art and life work in tandem. Each moment Sophie mentions corresponds to a piece of artwork in her room.

“A lot of people come up to me, and tell me that they think it's really cool I still do art in college. I think that what happens to a lot of people is that they get to college and they stop doing the things they love because they feel like it's not going to help them in their career,” Sophie says. “Loving something is enough of a reason to do it.”

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