02.11.21 by 34th Street Magazine

February 11, 2021 | 34st.com

LOVE ISSUE 2021:

FINDING LOVE UNDER THE LOCKDOWN

TABLE OF CONTENTS EG O

Letter from the Love Issue Editor

3 WORD ON THE STREET Essay Contest Winner

4 WORD ON THE STREET Tinder + Tarot Cards

7 MUSIC

Remembering SOPHIE

LOL 10 FILM & TV

Diversity in Love Stories

LOL

12 FEATURE

n the era of COVID–19, love is complicated. Social distancing guidelines and mask mandates have brought a new meaning to star–crossed lovers, while spending months holed away at home has left many of us desperate for off–screen connection. No matter how well Netflix originals might fill lonely lockdown days, they can’t keep you warm at night. Facing health scares and all–consuming ennui, it’s easy to get caught up in the apparent hopelessness of it all. Yet in the midst of what every university–wide email never fails to remind us is an "unprecedented time," we still manage to find glimmers of hope. For some, the love that got them through the 'Q' took the form of an epic romance—one that spanned miles and conquered technical difficulties. For others, it was the comfort of kicking back with a classic in hand and man’s best friend by your side. Love under lockdown comes in all shapes and sizes; it looks like ditching your dating apps and hitting send on a text message that reads: This song made me think of you. It looks like a 336–day crossword streak between old friends and can be as quotidian as a walk around the neighborhood to clear your head. In the era of COVID–19, love is complicated. But, then again, when isn't love complicated? Whether it was self–love, love at first swipe, a fondness for home–cooked food, or quarantine companion-

ship that made the past year a little more bearable for you, it’s all worth celebrating. So as you prepare to thumb (or scroll) through the pages of our beloved Love Issue, let's raise a hypothetical glass—or a quarantini, more appropriately—to the love we found under lockdown.

Illustration by Mia Kim SSSF,

Hannah

Dating & COVID-19 Beatrice Forman, Editor–in–Chief Hannah Lonser, Special Issues Editor Chelsey Zhu, Campus Editor Mehek Boparai, Culture Editor Karin Hananel, Assignments Editor

18 ARTS

Photo Gallery: Redefining Love in Lockdown

LOL 22 UNDER THE BUTTON

Lily Stein, Features Editor Denali Sagner, Features Editor Julia Esposito, Word on the Street Editor Kyle Whiting, Music Editor Peyton Toups, Deputy Music Editor Kaliyah Dorsey, Focus Editor Emily White, Style Editor Eva Ingber, Ego Editor Aakruti Ganeshan, Arts Editor Harshita Gupta, Film & TV Editor Isabel Liang, Design Editor Alice Heyeh, Street Design Editor Mia Kim, Deputy Design Editor Jesse Zhang, Street Multimedia Editor Caylen David, Street Audience Engagement Editor

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Music Beats: Emily Moon, Allison Stillman, Nora Youn Film & TV Beat: Arielle Stanger Arts Beat: Jessa Glassman Style Beats: Tara O'Brien, Naomi Kim Features Staff: Sejal Sangani, Angela Shen, Lindsey Perlman, Mira Sydow, Amy Xiang Staff Writers: Meg Gladieux, Aidah Qureshi, Jillian Lombardi, Kathryn Xu Multimedia Associates: Dhivya Arasappan, Sage Levine, Sophie Dai, Sophie Huang, Samantha Turner, Sudeep Bhargava Design Associates: Gillian Diebold, Felicity Yick, Sudeep Bhargava, Quinn Robinson Audience Engagement Associates: Kira Wang, Samara Kleiman, Shana Ahemode, Stephanie Nam, Yamila Frej Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow

Cover Design by Isabel Liang Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Bea Forman, Editor-In-Chief, at forman@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com

©2021 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. happy anniversary, ben! - Bea (cheesy i know but it’s true)

ESSAY CONTEST E G O WINNER

Songs I Carry for My Dad When my own words were gone, I sang for him.

ummaging through our attic in early August, a heat trap coated in a decade’s worth of dust, I picked through abandoned floppy disks, daily planners from the '80s, and two grocery bags stuffed with empty CD cases. Amid the scraps of my parents’ memories, I found the album Blue by Joni Mitchell. The cover was scratched, but the disc was still inside. My dad was in hospice, which is a gentler way of saying that he was dying. Stage Four pancreatic cancer. He was no longer given IV fluids, only a steadily increasing cocktail of painkillers and sedatives. He wanted death to come fast, he said, but his heart had a mind of its own. It kept up a slow and steady pace for weeks, even as the rest of him quietly gave up. I carry songs for the people I love. For my dad, it’s the catalog of ballads that we would play together in the evening, mostly drawn from his coming–of–age in the sixties and early seventies and reminiscent of Woodstock. Clutching the album, I thought, 'Hadn’t he mentioned Joni’s name when I was a kid, and hadn’t I pushed it aside as an out–of–date version of my own?' Still, as a college first–year, her music kept me afloat when I fell in love for the first time. Hearing her effortlessly soulful voice seemed to make my problems weigh less. “Part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time.” Music was how my dad showed me that I was loved. He would sing me “Surfer Girl” by the Beach Boys as a lullaby. Growing up, we had an old Honda Element that got us to school and took us on missions to get pizza. The walls were covered in crayons and spilled soda, and the floor was littered with CDs, beat up from being left outside their cases. On our copy of The Beatles’ The Singles Collection, only half of the songs would play. “Get Back” always got jammed somewhere in the middle.

| JULIA MITCHELL

ever song might pierce my skin. I had become a broken record, scratched up in random places. Watching a movie, I sobbed when “Your Song” by Elton John played on the soundtrack. At the gym, I broke down while doing sit–ups when “Oh! Darling” by The Beatles streamed on Spotify. It made me think of summer car rides, where we would belt it out together on road trips to visit my brother. A few weeks before he collapsed while trying to get into an Uber and went to the ER, I shared a song with him. After the day’s work, we were surrounded by June Illustration by Alice Heyeh twilight. We sat outside his office building, a little blue house with a floral couch on the front porch. I passed him a cup of Last year over Thanksgiving break, me exhaustchocolate–vanilla swirl and played “Lucha de Gied from being in college, my dad from being a gantes” by Nacha Pop from my phone’s speakers. workaholic, we sat side by side on the piano bench “En un mundo descomunal siento tu fragiliplaying “The Boxer” by Simon & Garfunkel. I sang the lyrics pulled up on my phone screen as dad.” The sky was orange and purple. I begged the he played the melody. song to speak for me. Finally, when I told him “I am leaving, I am leaving but the fighter still after it played that I felt depressed, unsure of my remains.” place in the world, he looked shockingly helpless. When the song was over, he broke down in Growing up doesn’t make it easier to see your partears. I froze. I almost never saw my dad cry and ents vulnerable, I thought. He’s a psychologist, felt unready to bear witness. He told me how those but he has never heard those words from his own words always made him think of his own father, who daughter before. “I didn’t realize you felt that ran away from home at 17 to join the Navy. My grandway,” he said. By the end of July, it was clear that father was a strong–backed man, but I only knew him his prognosis was to give up the fight. My brother in crippling old age, paralyzed by a stroke a few years and I packed up the furniture from his office, six before I was born. months into a two–year lease. Last summer, when my dad lay in a hospice bed, too His final days awake were filled with fumbled weak to play the guitar, I sang him those shared songs from childhood—anything that I could think of. Our attempts at conversation. Knowing that there isn’t songs from the piano bench. When he was too far much time left with someone you love doesn’t make communicating any easier. Fear clouded my gone to hear my voice, I played him Blue. brain, and sickness his. In our last hours together, “I wish I had a river I could skate away on.” Facing a world without my dad, numbness we mostly stuck to familiar topics. My mom and I comes more readily than grief. After his heart gave helped him get his billing sorted out. My brother out, I felt hollow. Eventually, with small steps, I talked politics. We joked about the hospital food. When my own words were gone, I sang for him. tried testing the waters of sadness. I played what-

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WORD ONETHE G O STREET

On Tinder and Tarot Cards How I learned what it means to love during quarantine

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Illustration by Sudeep Bhargava

've spent most of my life desperately crushing on someone. It’s a fatal flaw of mine. I can’t seem to help it. In middle school, I combed through countless young adult novels where the witty, reckless female protagonist would get saved by the heroic, muscular love interest. Every single time, I wished I was her. I wished someone would swoop into my life and drag me on an adventure through other realms of existence. I always thought that that was what love was: being with someone who cared for you so deeply that they'd go to war just to have your hand in marriage, or something equally ridiculous. I thought that love would take my breath away, and that once I found it, everything would be easy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my vision of love made me blind to the flaws of my many crushes. The first boy I crushed on in high school brutally broke my heart after five years of pining by telling my friends that he was not only uninterested in me—he actually thought lowly of me. Then there was the frat boy I flirted with on Tinder until he slowly ghosted me. And I can’t forget to mention the handful of women I've crushed on who I didn’t realize were straight. Despite my countless failures when it comes to romance, I’m still in love with the concept of falling in love. I still find myself daydreaming about potential meet–cutes ripped straight from rom–com storylines. Once quarantine hit, my quest to find epic love became more complicated. In those first few months stuck at home, all thoughts of romance fled my brain. It was difficult to worry about anything other than the health of my family and friends. But as life in the midst of a pandemic became more routine, memories of my stagnant love life started to creep back in. I’ve never been a fan of dating apps. As a hopeless romantic, I've always been obsessed with the idea of meeting somebody out in the real world. Talking with a prospective partner online felt dull in comparison. But after spending months bored at home, I soon found myself downloading not just one dating app, but three: Tinder, Hinge, and Bumble. Tinder was easily my least favorite. Once I was back in Philly for the fall semester, I started swiping through potential options. Too old. Too far away. Definitely a creep. The people I matched with would often hit my line with a sexual innuendo that inevitably pushed me away within seconds. I had a bit more luck on Bumble and Hinge. Bumble was a step up from Tinder because at least I didn’t have to scroll through a barrage of inappropriate texts unless I consented first. And Hinge was the easiest platform to

| JULIA ESPOSITO

really connect with people on. With Hinge, you know when someone's liked your profile, so you can limit your search to people who have already liked you and decide if you want to connect. That’s how I met my first real quarantine match. For the first time in a long time, I wondered if I’d finally found someone. We talked over FaceTime and played video games. I showed all of my friends what he looked like and told them the details of our conversations. Still, I had the other dating apps installed on my phone. I had a few awkward encounters with accidental matches. Unsatisfied with the state of my love life and tired of the dating–app scene, I turned to the internet in search of new hope. I ran into what would become one of my most visited sites in the following months: Evatarot.net. Intrigued by what the site claimed would be an "exceptional fortune telling experience," I first turned to Evatarot as a joke. As a physics and astronomy major, I’ve never been a super spiritual person. But clicking through the cards and getting a long answer about my romantic prospects gave me something that I had been lacking in my love life—a sense of control. As long as I kept checking in on my tarot reading, I told myself, I’d know exactly what was in store for me. Even if her divinations weren’t totally true, I could at least pretend there was a possibility that life would go exactly as Miss Eva Delattre had predicted. Meanwhile, I kept seeing my Hinge boy virtually, wondering if there would ever come a day when I’d meet him in person. My friends asked me if I was actually into him. I said yes, but I knew I was lying. The more I got involved with dating apps, the more I wondered if I was really on there to meet someone, or if I was just trying to

fulfill my desire to have a love life. Things went downhill with my Hinge guy. All it took was one awkward FaceTime call, and that was it. I kept talking to other people on dating apps after our romance went sour, but I never felt drawn to any of them. I tried to force myself to have feelings for my suitors, but when it came down to it, I couldn't. The last tarot reading I did wasn’t through Evatarot. After months of consuming her inaccurate predictions, I turned to a different fortune–telling source: my best friend from my first year at Penn. She’d recently gotten into tarot and wanted to do a practice reading about my love life. Her reading informed me that my greatest issue was self–sabotage, and that if I managed to get past my problems, I would finally reach a perfect union. My first interpretation was that I needed to try harder. That I needed to ask somebody out. That I wasn't putting enough effort in. My entire life, I had obsessed over finding the perfect love story. I had convinced myself that I needed to somehow 'fix' my romantic life. Now, I know that I was wrong. I don’t have control over whom and when I love. I don’t have control over who loves me back. Even if I try suppressing my feelings, they’re still going to be there. Even if I pray to every god in existence, there's no guarantee that my crush will ever take notice of me. As daunting as those realities seem, I've found peace in the fact that there’s absolutely nothing that can be done about it. My real self–sabotage was assuming that I had control over love in the first place. After years of carrying this mental burden, I feel like I can see things clearly. There’s no real way for me to know what the future holds—despite what online tarot cards may say. And in a way, that's reassuring.

WORD ON ETHE G OSTREET

A Love Letter To My Quarantine Coping Mechanism Illustration by Alice Choi

Thank you, 'sanity walks.' You've helped make this year suck a little less. | EVA INGBER

ometimes love sneaks up on you. Suddenly, everything shifts. You start to rethink everything you’ve thought or known. This kind of love recently snuck up on me, too. In the throes of a pandemic, I fell in love—with walking. This may seem like a bizarre declaration, yet it’s true nonetheless. This past year has been rife with infection and insurrection. But amid the chaos, I’ve managed to find glimmers of hope. Stuck at home, I’ve tried to find comfort in the little things: the way the light shines softly through my window in the morning, the distinct percussion of my 16–year–old brother stomping down the stairs, the acute heartache that comes with missing friends, the warmth of my parents’ hands, and the feeling of snuggling under the covers after a long day. It’s not that I haven’t noticed these things before. The uncertainty of the past year has made me more grateful for everything in my life, particularly the simple things. I’ve spent so much— perhaps even too much—time with myself. The seemingly never–ending global turmoil, coupled with my introspection–induced existential dread, has made me antsy.

I’ve turned to walking as an escape of sorts. “Sanity walks," as I call them. I wander around my neighborhood, discovering roads, routes, trees, houses that I’ve never seen before or maybe just never really noticed. Before quarantine hit, I never viewed walking as a leisurely activity; it’s been a chore, a means to an end. Why walk if you don’t know where you’re going? Why bother if you don’t have a destination? It also doesn’t help that I’m 5–foot–3, which means that walking can be comically stressful. I trail behind my long–legged friends and family members, often breaking into a light jog in order to keep up. Ironically, it was my 5–foot–8 mom who got me into these “sanity walks.” She started going on them last March. In the morning, she’d come downstairs dressed head to toe in workout gear, plug in her headphones, smile at me, and say, “Alright, I’ll be back in about an hour.” I admired how devoted she was—and still is—to this ritual, and how comfortable she felt spending time alone. When she’d get home, her face would be flushed and her eyes, bright. Eventually, she convinced me to join her. And when we couldn’t go together, I started to walk alone.

I noticed I have this unconscious habit of looking down as I walk, watching my feet or the road underneath me. I’m usually lost in my thoughts in those moments—and those thoughts can be cyclical and overwhelming. I hate it when that happens—when I go for a walk to clear my mind yet end up spending the entire time trapped in it. In those moments, I remind myself to look up at the sky in its endless and expansive glory. Looking out into the universe makes me feel small and insignificant. But that is humbling, refreshing, and grounding. I’m not the only one who has taken up walking as a coping mechanism over the course of the pandemic. For many, the experience of quarantine has been suffocating, with life right now devoid of the spontaneity or freedom that we enjoyed in the past. In a way, walking allows us to taste what we’ve been missing: possibility. Where will I go? What will I see? Who will I meet? We may not be able to go to concerts, sporting events, birthday celebrations, or frat parties— but we can still wander, and let our minds do the same. This past year has sucked. Walking has made it suck a little less.

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WORD ONETHE G O STREET

My Friend, Will Shortz, and I A friendship traced through a New York Times Crossword streak In the year before life became real—that is, adult: exhilarating, pivotal, awful—I finished a crossword. I bought a book for myself and my older sister: Best of The New York Times Crossword, edited by Will Shortz, with puzzles selected from 2010–11. At school, I used The Wall Street Journal crosswords site, which, unlike the New York Times, was free. My partners rotated between my sister and a few of my friends. I mostly did crosswords with my best friend, turned boyfriend, turned ex–boyfriend, turned best friend again. I would ask a few other friends for answers on particular clues—football (before I started watching football), The Bachelor (I still don’t watch The Bachelor)— and occasionally, I would leave class to ask my freshman year English teacher for any answer I needed, though going to him was honestly more of a cheat than going to Google. It took my best friend and me an hour to finish a Wall Street Journal Saturday crossword for the first time. When we finished, I emailed my former teacher, who was now teaching at a private school in New York, and received his congratulations. And so ended my junior year of high school. ••• if i sign up for a nytimes crossword subscription and give you account name/password would you venmo me $10, I texted, an hour and 50 minutes before going on a spring break that would last a semester and a half. My friend—an old high school friend, but not the ex–boyfriend/best friend—texted back, Yes?? N I would love u forever. We weren’t expecting more than completing the early–in–the–week crosswords. I did the Monday. She did the Tuesday. I did the Wednesday. Current Streak: 3. She managed to finish the Thursday. Current Streak: 4. On Friday, the last night before she returned home from Princeton for a spring break that would last a semester and a half, we FaceTimed and extended our streak to five. It was different from the junior year crosswords I offered in an attempt to repair a friendship broken by romance. After my friend and I discovered that we could do Fridays, then Saturdays, then Sundays, it became a routine. We alternate Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. On Thursday nights, we FaceTime to do the Thursday and Friday. On Saturday nights, we FaceTime to do the Saturday and Sunday. Our times on those days are loosely doubled because we do them simultaneously on different devices rather than screen sharing, a carry–over

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| KATHRYN XU

Illustration by Sylvia Zhao from before Zoom’s ubiquity. The twice–a–week calls keep us in contact through the demands of time and growing up. “How are you doing?” “How are you feeling?” “What happened this week?” “Here are 20 minutes to three hours of my time that I have carved out for a crossword puzzle that never takes that long, which means that I have mostly carved it out for you.” At Current Streak: 100, after the last finals of first year of college and the start of summer, my friend said, “You know, we can never lose this streak.” In the brilliant fall that didn't come the way it was supposed to, I call my friend from a Harnwell apartment, and she calls me from a Princeton dorm. The fact that the fall was actually the worst in my life has little to do with the pandemic—or at least, little to do with the fact that I was stuck at home. I have a mid–life crisis, and I am not yet half–40. Being in Philadelphia would not have stopped the increasingly omnipresent burden of tomorrow. Things get worse, as they often do. My Tuesdays are rough—my Wednesdays are worse. I text my friend an expression of frustration that mostly doesn’t make any sense, and she texts back. We call on Thursday. We call on Saturday. I text her a litany of fears or failures, and more where the two cross awkwardly: I think that it will be like this for at least the next three years. I think that the wrong things will stay the same and that the wrong

things will change. I think that I will never be happy with what I have or ever will accomplish. I think that ultimately, the number will reset back to zero because that is how things go. I think that I just have to make it to Thursday, and then I will feel better. My friend came to visit me once when I was a first– year, two months before spring break. We stood on the second floor of Shakespeare & Co., flipping through expensive poetry books with deckled edges, and my friend told me that her favorite poem was Mary Oliver’s “Wild Geese.” The first line is “You do not have to be good.” Which is pretty much all you have to know. ••• Here is something I can count on: for our 300–day streak, we decided to do the crossword in person, as a celebration. I went to my friend’s house—specifically, her backyard. We wore masks and gloves. It was cold, and the wind was strong enough to blow out the faux fire log we lit in her fire pit. When I got home, I shook for 30 minutes despite crawling into bed and wrapping myself in blankets. For the next week, even after a negative test, I worried that my scratchy throat meant I had COVID–19. (It did not.). But we hit 300, on the day after the new year began. Current streak: 336

EGO MUSIC

Remembering SOPHIE

In the wake of SOPHIE's death, the artist left a chasm of untapped potential the size of the moon. | PEYTON TOUPS

h e w o rld lost a revolutionary last Saturday morning. SOPHIE, Scottish producer and trans icon, passed away at the age of 34 in Athens, Greece. One of the most influential and innovative artists working today, SOPHIE left an indelible mark on the sound of current pop. SOPHIE frequently collaborated with PC Music mastermind A.G. Cook and hyperpop superstar Charli XCX, in addition to rapper Vince Staples, pop legend Madonna, and fellow avant–garde diva Arca. The diversity of SOPHIE's resume is a testament to the artist's sheer talent. A peerless visionary, SOPHIE created spaces for queer joy and rebellion with textures unheard of before. With the release of the 2013 single "BIPP," SOPHIE quickly gained a reputation for melding avant–garde sound design and pop sensibilities into a unique concoction characterized by latex squeaks, metallic pings, high–pitched voices, and deep bass. Back then, SOPHIE presented anonymously. Press was scarce, but when photos did appear, they were of brightly colored slides or the name "SOPHIE" stylized in an alien font. No one had any idea what SOPHIE looked like, much less how the artist created

such otherworldly sounds. The allure around the person behind this strange, uncanny music pushed the artist from underground acclaim to genuine stardom. After releasing the polarizing compilation album Product in 2015, SOPHIE appeared fully formed in the cover art of the boundary–breaking debut, 2017's OIL OF EVERY PEARL'S UN–INSIDES. Notable not only for its unconventional pop production, the album introduced SOPHIE as a tour– de–force of larger–than–life proportions. Indeed, it solidified the artist's reputation as one of the most visible trans artists in the industry. As the years went on, everyone waited to see what SOPHIE would do next. In a shocking turn of events, leaving millions of fans aghast, SOPHIE fell from a three–story apartment building at 4 AM on Jan. 30 while photographing the moon. In an instant, the story became as mythic as Elvis Presley's passing. Social media lit up with pictures of the full moon from that night, gently illuminating a cragged Parthenon. Fans dubbed it SOPHIE's moon. When I heard the news early that morning while getting ready for work, I sat in disbelief. An over-

Call us home.

whelming sense of grief flooded me. SOPHIE was an artist who I had looked up to as a queer role model since my high school days in the closet. Now, the artist is gone, with just two albums released. And, it appeared, given SOPHIE's recent spew of remixes, that the artist was gearing up for a new era. All I could think about on the way to work was SOPHIE's legacy, and how unfinished it was. The sophomore album I had dreamed up in my head would never be, especially given SOPHIE's public reticence. SOPHIE once said something along the lines of preferring to communicate through music and music alone. While I was at my job, SOPHIE's death consumed my thoughts, hindering my interactions with customers and my co–workers. I needed a space to cry and I knew the bathroom, with its limited space, would not provide it. So I held in the tears for a few more hours until I came back home and listened to SOPHIE's final release in tribute. The opening song nearly broke me, like a message from the afterlife. I still cannot accept the fact that an artist who dreamed so much of the future will now be without it. SOPHIE gave us a whole new world. Now it is our duty to bring it to fruition.

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EGO MUSIC

Remembering SOPHIE

In the wake of SOPHIE's death, the artist left a chasm of untapped potential the size of the moon. | PEYTON TOUPS

Call us home.

Reserve your spot for Fall 2021

G E T $5 0 O F F EACH I N S TA L L M E N T APPLY FREE Limited time | Select floorplans | Contact us for details

215-222-4212 theradian.com

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MUSIC EGO

Love Triangles Take the Wheel in Olivia Rodrigo's "drivers license" Rodrigo's hit single puts a new spin on a tale as old as time | EMILY MOON Illustration by Alice Heyeh

e've all heard "drivers license," Olivia Rodrigo's record–shattering single, and we've all probably heard at least a little bit about its accompanying love triangle. After its release earlier this year, fans became detectives, trying to decipher all the clues Rodrigo included regarding her former relationship with co–star Joshua Bassett and his new girlfriend, actress and singer Sabrina Carpenter. Written about the end of Rodrigo's relationship, "drivers license" features a dramatic bridge and an even more alluring backstory. Bassett reportedly taught Rodrigo how to drive on the set of Disney Channel's High School Musical spin– off series, sparking inspiration for Rodrigo’s driving– centered single and its opening lyrics “I got my driver’s license last week / Just like we always talked about.” Unfortunately, their relationship didn't even make it out of the DMV, with fans noticing an abrupt halt to their cutesy social media interactions soon before they began to speculate about Bassett’s involvement with Carpenter. Paparazzi shots of Bassett with Carpenter and their joint TikTok videos with couples' Halloween costumes implied that Rodrigo was out of the picture ... until she started writing a song about it. Carpenter, who is both blonde and older than Rodrigo, fits the lyrical description in “drivers license," where Rodrigo laments about a blonde girl who’s “so much older than me” and “everything I’m insecure about.” As if these clues weren’t glaring enough, Carpenter hit back at Rodrigo just a few weeks later with her own song, “Skin,” which confirmed rumors that she was the girl in question. Within the first few lines, Carpenter addresses Rodrigo’s "blonde" reference with “Maybe you didn’t mean it / Maybe 'blonde' was the only rhyme.” Popular reception has not been quite as warm for “Skin” as it was for “drivers license,” perhaps because of the former’s prickly lyrics (or maybe because Rodrigo never actually rhymed "blonde" with

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anything). Carpenter’s quick timing is either impressive or suspicious, and there are theories of collusion among all three of the young celebrities. The tension between Rodrigo, Bassett, and Carpenter could simply stem from an artificial bid for publicity. If so, it's definitely paid off for Rodrigo: Her single has sat comfortably at No. 1 on the Billboard Top 100 for 3 weeks straight. The drama surrounding “drivers license” undoubtedly helped propel it to dominance, and it’s hardly the first track to address a public relationship and its explosive end. One of Rodrigo’s idols, Taylor Swift, is well known for her previously high profile love life: Swift is no stranger to the love triangle, either. Her 2008 song “Forever and Always” confronts the breakdown of her relationship with former boyband heartthrob, Joe Jonas. Jonas then hit back with a 2009 Jonas Brothers song, “Much Better,” not mincing words with “Now I'm done with superstars / And all the tears on her guitar” as a dig referencing Swift’s song, “Teardrops on My Guitar.” Jonas also goes on to flex his new relationship, bragging that his new girl is “much better” than Swift. Of course, Swift got the last word with her slightly misogynistic but guiltily catchy song, “Better Than Revenge.” She sarcastically bites at Jonas’ new girlfriend, “Let's hear the applause / Come on show me how much better you are / See you deserve some applause / because you're so much better.” Knowing who a song is about adds another layer of intrigue, for better or for worse. It also gives insight into a musician’s life, one that’s already open for public consumption but is further ripped apart for our listening pleasure. Some artists even go as far as to name their partner or ex in the title of the song itself; while Swift’s "Dear John" leaves off ex–boyfriend John Mayer’s full name, Ariana Grande dedicated a whole song

on her 2018 album Sweetener to then–fiancé Pete Davidson. Her loving tribute sadly didn't age well after they announced their split five months later. Following the end of her engagement, Grande released a treasure trove of music with her next studio album, thank u, next, focusing heavily on themes of love and self–growth. It's arguably her most compelling work to date, with the emotionally mature title track and apologetically real “needy." Among the pop goldmine, though, "ghostin" quietly shines. Raw and muted compared to self–assured bangers like "7 rings," Grande's song hints at the untimely death of rapper Mac Miller, whom she dated for two years. She sings about the effect Miller's death had on her relationship with Davidson through heartbreaking lines like "Though I wish he were here instead / Don't want that living in your head / He just comes to visit me / When I'm dreaming every now and then." It's a painful and heavy realization, one that stands in sharp contrast to their romantic collaboration song from 2016, "My Favorite Part." Break–ups can get ridiculously messy. For popular musicians, it probably doesn't help to face intense scrutiny over very public relationships, especially if they are dating another celebrity. Even so, these musicians have the power to cope with their own relationship struggles while speaking to the emotions of millions of others who may be going through similar problems. The viral nature of "drivers license" and the enduring relevance of Taylor Swift's discography speak to how universally relatable these emotions can be. Whether you're cursing some celebrity you've never met for their infidelity (think Jay–Z following Elevator Gate and Beyonce's 2016 Lemonade) or working through your own heartbreak while belting "thank u, next," there's something reassuring about knowing that even your favorite artist has felt this way before.

MUSIC EGO

For the Love of the Cover

In quarantine, covering songs has become the ultimate act of love. | MEG GLADIEUX

f one productive thing has come out of the angst and isolation of the pandemic, it’s good music. Our favorite artists are going just as stir– crazy as us, and the result is surprise albums, quarantine live stream concerts and, of course, amazing covers. The value of the cover in the past year has been the comfort they provide—the familiar balm of favorite songs, reimagined as a distraction from our otherwise uncertain reality. No one knows the labor of love that goes into putting together a cover better than Penn’s a cappella groups. “Everyone has this unique style when they arrange. You can always tell whose arrangement you’re singing,” says Sabrina Elson (C '22), Off the Beat’s music director. It’s a deeply personal and unique practice in intimacy with the song’s artistry. “I get to spend four or five hours with myself listening to music and transcribing it in the way that I want to, which is definitely cathartic,” says Sara Kate Silva (C '22), music director for Counterparts. Personal, imperfect, and often acoustic covers offer a deep look into an artists’ music taste outside of their own work. Now in quarantine, artists have used Instagram videos as a window into their personal lives, as they sit on their bedroom floors messing around on their guitars. It shows a certain affection for their audience—like saying, "Here is a sneak peak at the songs that makes my heart sing." Take Cristin Milioti’s emotional interpretation of Bon Iver’s “715 Creeks.” Or Phoebe Bridgers’ and Maggie Rogers’ Bandcamp–exclusive duet of the Goo Goo Dolls’ “Iris.” Or the viral “Mad World” cover by the lead singer of Tears for Fears and his daughter. And of course, Miley Cyrus’s electric cover of “Heart of Glass.” Death Cab for Cutie even released The Georgia EP, a mosaic of covers of songs from Georgia–based artists, from which their rendition of TLC’s “Waterfalls” is a particular standout. All of these prove that to record a cover is to confess love for the art, the artist, and for the practice of musical interpretation itself. The reflective isolation of quarantine is the perfect space for that. But while intimate covers have thrived in quarantine, the a cappella cover has been fundamentally interrupted in the virtual space. When campus shut down, so did in–person rehearsals and shows. Once a space of joy and collaboration, the pandemic has rendered the a cappella landscape lonely and isolating. “We can’t sing together. We can’t rehearse over Zoom,” says Sara Kate. Between lag and variations in individual audio levels and microphone quality, virtual rehearsals just aren’t feasible. Under normal circumstances, the process of putting together a cover is intense, listening to songs over and over, getting to know every detail. “It’s really just about

Illustration by Alice Heyeh

sitting with the music.” says Landry Krebs, (C '21), Off the Beat’s outgoing music director. Before the pandemic, all of that work would come together in rehearsals. But now, they don’t get that feeling of togetherness. In Zoom rehearsal, everyone is muted; there’s no way to tell how everyone sounds together. “All of my favorite things about singing really do come from being with other people,” says Sabrina. “That’s gone now.” The limited ability to perform as a group is taking a major toll on musicians’ core relationship with music. “Recording a cover in my room and getting likes for it—that has none of what music actually means to me,” says Landry. She’s served as music director for Off the Beat since the spring of her sophomore year and has just passed the baton to Sabrina. For her, her last year in Off the Beat has been tainted by the loneliness of quarantine. “To be completely honest with you, I don’t really feel like a musician anymore,” says Landry. “The biggest toll [of the pandemic] has been taken on my creativity and artistry.” Then again, maybe that loneliness has also created potential for a new sort of relationship with music. Sara Kate has grown to appreciate the process of arranging covers a lot more and finds warmth in the Counterparts group chat, which is alive with song recommendations. “It’s kind of a light in an otherwise damp circumstance,” she says. Landry too is trying to rekindle her dwindling passion for music. She’s learning guitar, and it’s reigniting some of the love that the pandemic has taken from her. She’s learning to put together songs for herself, apart from Off the Beat. The virtual format is also redefining how a cappella groups perform. While covers like the infamous “Imagine” felt empty, the love that goes into a cappella groups’ virtual covers is joyful and triumphant. For Off the Beat, their recent cover of “Fix You” was

a glimmer of the energy lost without the ability to perform in person. They brought alumni back from Off the Beat’s founding. Sabrina was charged with putting the 60 separate videos together to make the finished cover, spending hours editing, mixing, and perfecting the video. She laughs, “The file was so big I couldn’t watch it until it was done. I had no idea what it was going to be.” But the result was powerful. “It reminded us of this community we had,” says Landry. “‘Fix You’ proved that, even though it’s virtual, it can still be really incredible.” So, what are some of the music directors’ favorite covers from their respective groups? Sara Kate’s favorites from Counterparts include “Love So Soft,” “Standards,” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” which they recorded over spring break just before campus shut down last March. Landry and Sabrina’s Off the Beat favorites—apart from "Fix You"—include their renditions of “Keep Lyin,” “Sign of the Times,” and “Blow Me Away.” “Those just, like, hit—just unforgettable,” says Landry. In terms of other covers to add to your quarantine playlist, Landry suggests Tori Kelly’s acoustic cover of Drake’s “Time Flies” as well as Ariana Grande’s rendition of “I Won’t Say I’m in Love” from Hercules. Sara Kate recommends a cover of Billie Eillish’s “when the party’s over” by Lewis Capaldi, and anything by Postmodern Jukebox, particularly “Love Fool” and “Habits, ” both featuring Haley Reinhart. For now, there is a certain silent sadness on Locust Walk without the spontaneous riffing covers, as a cappella groups work to promote their spring shows. One day soon, Counterparts and Off the Beat will again be able to perform in person, to hear each other, to be together, to revel in the joy and energy of each other’s love for music. In the meantime, we can find joy in the unique art of the cover and all of the love that goes into it. F E B RUA RY 11 , 2 0 21 3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E

FILM &O TV EG

Why Do Rom–Coms Think Only White People Fall in Love? Hollywood systematically underrepresents BIPOC. | REMA BHAT

Going on 30. Clueless. Brokeback Mountain. Love, Actually. 10 Things I Hate About You. Bridget’s Jones Diary. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. The Notebook. Call Me by Your Name. What does every classic and iconic romance film have in common—You guessed it! All of them feature two white leads—and most of the time, two white, cishet leads. Hollywood churns out hundreds of these types of romance movies that continuously focus on white characters and their problems with dating. Hollywood has always systemically underrepresented BIPOC and—even more so—queer BIPOC people. With tactics like whitewashing and a lack of initiative to hire more BIPOC actors in general, Hollywood is still far behind in adequate representation. The United States is an extremely ethnically diverse country, and Hollywood needs to be producing films that reflect this reality. It's clear that representation is an issue, but to make matters worse, the relatively recent popular romance films in Hollywood propped up racism, rather than just simply leaving out BIPOC. Some of the rom–com faves are rife with racist stereotypes. Take a look at Sixteen Candles, an iconic romance—it features a character named Long Duk Dong, an Asian foreign exchange student. Dong is introduced when he hits on Samantha at the party, and she gives him a disgusted look. She essentially rejects him, and the sound of a gong rings off. Dong is a perfect example of how white Hollywood used to cast BIPOC: in this case, underscoring the very specific and racist stereotype that Asian men are perverted and socially inept. For Asian men and Asian women, seeing this type of imaging when you grow up constantly forces you to internalize

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Illustration by Alice Heyeh these stereotypes. The stereotypes say that Asian men are not desirable and that they are creeps who bother white girls. Another look at a classic is Maid in Manhattan. Jennifer Lopez stars as Marisa Venture, a Latina maid who works in a fancy hotel. She's a single mother in New York, providing for her child and her mother. Not only is she cast with a stereotypical occupation, but she is also presented as a single mother—yet another trope. Even further, the movie basically asserts that she needs to marry a rich, white man in order to lift herself out of poverty. More recently, when you have popular films that actually feature BIPOC leads such as To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, BIPOC characters still end up with white characters, and the films always seem to skirt around acknowledging the character’s race. Lara Jean’s Korean mother is completely written out of the story because the writers lazily picked the “dead mother” trope. Lara Jean’s ethnicity is barely explored at all, and it most definitely is not explored in the context of dating as a young Asian woman. Maybe you’re thinking that all of this isn’t that deep, but it is. BIPOC people deserve to see themselves on the screen in ways that portray them as desirable, lovable, and beautiful. So many children of color struggle to see themselves as worthy of romantic love because of the constant focus on Eurocentric beauty standards. The lack of BIPOC representation in all movies is bad, but the lack of representation in the romance genre is even worse. Members of minority communities are constantly bombarded with “racial dating preferences” and plain racism. There needs to be films that feature BIPOC love and queer BIPOC love. Representation is the key to uplifting

BIPOC communities to love their culture, how they look, and, really, who they are. Despite all of these problems with Hollywood, the film Lovebirds is an example of hope. Lovebirds is about an interracial couple, Leilani and Jilbran, who get caught up in a crime that they didn’t commit and need to prove their innocence. The film starts out with how the couple fell in love, cuts to their constant fighting, and then, ultimately, shows their decision to break up. Although it’s up to you to watch to see if that actually does happen, the film presents such a refreshing, raw, and real view into a relationship. The beauty of the film, although it doesn't choose to focus on this aspect, is the race of the characters. In contrast to Lara Jean and Peter's relationship, where an Asian girl falls in love with a white boy, this movie doesn't feel the need to include whiteness to maintain comfort. And, although the film is directed by Michael Showalter (a white man), the movie doesn’t attempt to herald the fact that it is a diverse film—it just is one. The relationship is an interracial one, but it is allowed to be nuanced outside of diversity as its defining quality. Hollywood has always had a problematic past representing race in all of its movies—especially romance ones. Directors need to cast more BIPOC characters. Hollywood needs to produce more films about queer, BIPOC love. There needs to be more BIPOC directors and producers. As more and more films like Lovebirds pop up, we’re on track to that future. Every person deserves to see themselves as the object of another’s affection. Hollywood needs to do its job to uplift BIPOC and showcase their extraordinary love.

EGO ARTS

Are We There? KYLE WHITING

Illustration by Tyler Kliem

can see you out of the corner of my eye. The car window is down, and your head is sticking out, leaning into the open air. Your lips are slightly open, as if to drink the shimmering, orange–hued rays of light. I reach over with my right hand to coax some music out of my Jeep’s old stereo system, and Sharon Van Etten’s “Tarifa” starts playing. You retreat from the Texas sun’s intoxicating warmth, turn your head to look at me, and smile with all the radiance of the light you just inhaled. Hit the ground The yard, I found something I could taste your mouth Shut the door Now in the sun tanning The sun beats on our bodies as we melt into the sand. The waves erase the evidence of moments ago, and seconds quickly wash into hours. A gentle breeze caresses my half–naked body— or was that your fingers? My eyes are closed and so are yours; neither of us say anything. A month ago, that silence would smother us, and we would choke out a half–formed joke just to try and breathe again. Now, we’re content to bask in each other’s presence; we’re happy to just exist at the same time, in the same place.

My eyes are still closed but yours aren’t, and all of a sudden, I can taste your mouth. The hours turn back to seconds as we kiss— I fade into you; two impressions in the sand become one. You were so just Looking across the sky I’m lying down on the picnic blanket, staring up at you. Your head blocks the sunlight, and you’re turned slightly away from me, gazing at something in the distance. Rays of light outline the silhouette of your face. I’m close enough to see every minute imperfection, if you had any. Can't remember I can't recall, no I can't remember anything at all The night air is warm and sticky, and the city streets smell like gasoline and anticipation. I add another scent to the mix, bringing a joint to my mouth and cupping my hands to shield my lighter’s meager flame. A provocative thudding emanates from a nearby house, and I ask you if you want to find its source. I’m hoping you’ll say no—selfishly, I want you to myself. I don’t want to be surrounded by a multitude of bodies that aren’t yours. Shaking your head, you take a long, last drag of the dying joint before stamping out the embers,

extinguishing the final light of the alley we’re walking down. We find a rogue streetlight—an oasis on this dark street—and pause. My hands are on your waist, and yours are around my neck. Looking in your eyes, my mind starts whirling. Maybe I smoked too much. I can’t remember where we are, or why we’re here, but I find myself thinking about how pretty you look under the artificial glow. We skipped the sunrise Looking across the grass Said he wanted And not that I'm every It's the same, I could mean you were right I left my window open last night, and the morning light gently shakes me awake. You’re still sleeping, every soft exhalation a precious thing. I run my fingers through the streams of hair cascading down your shoulders. Eyes fluttering, you stretch your arms. “I was in a dream,” you mutter offhandedly. I apologize for bringing you back to real life. “No,” you correct me, “it’s the same.” Everyone else Hasn't a chance, don't Fail me now Open arms, rest “Do you love me?” you whisper into my ear, not needing a

reply but wanting one anyway. I tighten my open embrace; in that moment, I want you to be a part of me. I whisper back, “You know I love you, darling,” and you sigh before curling into my arms and drifting off to sleep. Let's run under Cursing myself at night Slow it was 7 I wish it was 7 all night You tell me to meet you at the pregame “around 7pm!:)”. I’m nervous—I’ve never met you before—and I’m not sure what “around 7pm” means. I decide to be fashionably late, and opt for an arrival time of 7:08 p.m. I was fashionably late, but you’re even cooler than I am; I chat with friends as my butterflies turn into ravenous wolves. I take two more shots to calm down, and you walk through the door. You’re wearing a red dress, and we unconsciously step toward each other; the music is suddenly drowned out by the beat of my own pulse. Tell me when Tell me when is this over? Chewed you out Chew me out when I'm stupid I don't wanna Everyone else pales Send in the owl Tell me I'm not a child

You call me and I ignore it; I’m too busy freaking out. My doorbell buzzes once, then twice, then three times, before my phone rings again. I’m too scared to face you, I’m too scared that you’ll be upset. I swallow my fear and open my door. You immediately pull me into a loving embrace. Later, I’m curled up in your arms. Your chin rests on my head, and my head rests on your chest. In one ear, I can hear your voice. In the other, I can hear your heart. I was scared for nothing; I feel so childish next to you now. Maybe one day, one of us will say it’s over, but our mutual devotion renders that possibility too distant to fixate on. You summon Forget about everyone else Fall away somehow To figure it out You give me a quick kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye and hopping out of my Jeep. The setting Texas sun bathes your building in an orange–pink glow, and I can’t tell if this is a dream or not. “Tarifa” plays again, and I decide that I don’t care what’s imaginary—you’re real enough for me.

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LO V E I S S U E

It’s Not

You It’s

COVID-19:

Illustration by Alice Heyeh Photos by Sophia Dai

PENN COUPLES AND PROFESSORS ON THE CHALLENGES OF KEEPING LOVE ALIVE DURING THE PANDEMIC | ANGELA SHEN

On her first real date with her high school semi–sweetheart, Jo Howard (C '24) already knew their relationship’s expiration date. The pandemic provided the perfect opportunity to finally find closure from the drawn–out, will–they–won’t–they high school relationship that existed between Jo and her now–ex. It was a crisp, calm night in early December; they had just seen a drive–in Christmas light show and now sat on the beach talking and hugging. But on Jan. 10, their perfect love oasis was scheduled to end, as each would soon leave their quarantine pod of hometown friends to move to college for the first time. “We wasted basically the last four years wanting to date each other, and then always missing each other— never quite matching up,” Jo confesses. “I just really wanted the time to be together, finally, and have it be real.” In the span of their one–month relationship, Jo spent many spontaneous Wawa trips and long movie nights getting to know a gentler, sweeter side of her ex–boyfriend, for whom she very much still has feelings. In fact, their mutual breakup occurred solely for rational reasons: They wouldn't be able to visit each other at college due to the confines of the pandemic, and Jo knew she couldn’t commit to a fully virtual relationship. As a result, both partners savored their single month together carefully, appreciating each other’s company solely for its value in the moment. Like many couples, Jo and her ex–boyfriend faced the unique challenges of dating during the COVID–19 pandemic. A host of health and logistical problems have forced us all to confront whom we interact with in close quarters. For people in relationships, their significant other often becomes the primary source of this social interaction. During quarantine, some relationships grew stronger over creative combinations of long FaceTime calls, walks, meet–ups, and shared apartment space. Others struggled with the challenges of vast physical distance or premature move–ins together. More than anything, the pandemic highlighted the factors that make any relationship successful: purposeful communication, complementary personalities and behaviors, and a genuine appreciation for each other’s company. Celine Okcu (W '22), an international student from Turkey, started dating her girlfriend in February of 2020. When the University closed its campus a month later, she had nowhere to go except her new girlfriend’s family’s house, where she stayed until June. Within a few weeks of Celine moving out of her girlfriend’s house and into her new apartment in Philly, they broke up. Because of the rapid acceleration of their relationship, the couple never got the chance to develop familiarity and a routine with one another—the basis of a strong relationship. “The transition being so fast caused us to isolate from some parts of each others’ lives,” Celine says. “She didn’t know any of my friends because she couldn’t meet them. She didn’t know where I like to go out or what I like to do when I go out.” Instead of gradually entering into the world of her

girlfriend’s friends and acquaintances, Celine was thrown into an intimate first–hand experience of her girlfriend’s family life. “Getting to know your relationship with your family members within a month of knowing each other is a lot,” she says. And when forced to live in the same space 24/7, the pressure to avoid conflict led both women to make sacrifices, putting strain on the preexisting weaknesses in their relationship. “I just feel like those problems could’ve been

YONI PERLA (C '24) talked about and overcome, if we weren’t living together,” she says. For Celine and her ex–girlfriend, the intimacy of navigating a budding romance while at home strained their relationship. For Yoni Perla (C '24) and Amalya Charytan, it only deepened their connection. Like Celine, much of Yoni’s interactions with his girlfriend were in the company of her family. Having briefly crossed paths on gap year programs in Israel, the two reconnected when Amalya moved to Yoni’s hometown of Riverdale, N.Y. Over the quarantine spring and summer months, the lovebirds would spend countless picturesque socially distanced walks and hikes together. Now that they’re apart, they keep up virtual dates, and Amalya even sends Yoni handwritten letters. Part of what attracted Amalya—a first year at New York University—to Yoni were his interactions with her family during the spring. “He's just always able to connect with people. Right away, my family loved him. They love when he's around, so I love watching that,” she says. There may be a psychological explanation for why seeing your significant other in a new context can have such a consequential effect on your relationship. “When we get to know someone, it’s not just a relationship between two people. It’s our habits, connections, assumptions—a whole relational world,” says positive psychology professor James Pawelski, who co–authored the book Happy Together: Using the Science of Positive Psychology to Build Love That

Lasts with his wife, Suzann Pileggi Pawelski. Like when your childhood friend visits you in college, your significant other meeting your family and visiting your home—a completely different relational world—can feel strange and uncomfortable. But it also creates potential. Pawelski poses important questions that each partner should think about. “‘If I’m feeling odd, or strange, or lonely, even though I’m in this relationship because it’s socially distanced—does that mean we’re not right for each other?’” he says. “Or does it mean, ‘Wow, what a great opportunity. We get to know each other in a new context!’” Tracy Zhang (C, W ‘24) and her boyfriend didn’t have the opportunity to be together in person during the pandemic, and eight months of increasingly sparse video calls proved too weak to maintain a spark across the 2,000–mile distance between Wisconsin and California. The couple, who first started dating during their gap year in South Korea, spent the last few blissful pre–pandemic months exploring the vibrant sights, sounds, and flavors of Seoul. As both were forced to end their gap years early and return home, the monotony of quarantine couldn’t compare to the novelty and excitement of a blossoming romance in a foreign city. “We couldn't find any good ways to spend quality time together. Even though we sometimes liked to play games or watch shows together, it just never really felt the same. The longer it went on, even calling each other wasn't really that engaging anymore. We started feeling like it just wasn’t a good use of time,” Tracy says. Jaden Stevens (C '23) and Nick Christoffersen (W '23) also spent eight months of 2020 physically apart, but they found that the long distance ultimately made their relationship stronger. After meeting through a mutual friend during their first–year spring, the two spent six weeks glued at the hip before campus shut down and they were forced to leave—Jaden to New York, and Nick to Toronto. The couple watched with frustration as months passed and the United States–Canada border remained closed. With no possibility of in–person interaction in the near future, the couple made the most of their time by connecting virtually. In Jaden’s three–year long–distance high school relationship, time spent apart meant time spent waiting. “When we couldn't see each other, we were killing time, so we wouldn't have many really good conversations,” she says. “It would be a lot of ‘What did you do today?’ and ‘I can't wait to see you in three weeks.’” Unlike her previous romance, Jaden felt that every minute spent on a video call with Nick meant time to appreciate each other’s company, rather than just time in limbo until they next saw each other. They had successfully moved beyond the standard catch–

up phone calls that often mark other long–distance relationships—“How are you? What did you do today? Still experiencing life in a global pandemic?”—and into engaging conversations meant to get to know each other on a deeper level. “She liked me for who I was,'' Nick says. “She liked talking to me. Even if I was on a screen 300 miles away, she still loved spending time with me. And that means the world. Someone like that, you don't find that often.” He adds, “If you can make it through the pandemic, you can make it through almost anything in life together.” A survey of 5,000 single people across America from dating platform Match found that 58% of daters have shifted towards more “intentional dating,” or dating with a stronger sense of purpose and conscious choice, rather than just for fun. Even higher percentages are choosing to be more honest with potential partners and have more meaningful conversations before meeting up in person. On video–call dates, like the ones shared between Nick and Jaden, 56% of people felt romantic chemistry, and 50% said they'd fallen in love while on a call. One technique that couples can use to maintain the romance of a relationship virtually is what Suzann Pileggi Pawelski, lead author of Happy Together, calls “prioritizing positivity.” “Prioritizing positivity is using activities, hobbies, and interests and scheduling them into your day,” she says. “Most people just focus on the feeling—‘I want to be happy. I don't feel good’—and they’re so

SABRINA OCHOA AND JAHNIK KURUKULASURIYA Photo Credit Sophia Dai

caught up in seeking that emotion.” In the context of the pandemic, prioritizing positivity means focusing less on negative emotions produced by external limitations in a relationship, and focusing more on finding activities that suit both partners’ personalities and enliven their emotional states when they’re together. Rather than spending their calls commiserating about the stress of not knowing when they could next see each other, Nick and Jaden played “Hot Seat,” a game where the couple prevented conversations from dying by taking turns asking each other 11

Finding and Losing Love in Quarantine

LO V E I S S U E

12 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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F FILM E AT U E &R TV

TRACY ZHANG (C, W ‘24) JAHNIK KURUKULASURIYA (C '21) & SABRINA OCHOA (C '21)

JADEN STEVENS (C '23)

challenging and personal questions late into the night. They set times to call each other and slowly made their way through the show New Girl, one episode a night. A relationship can do more than just survive the pandemic—it can provide you with a support system to help weather increased isolation. Worry and stress over COVID–19 has taken a toll on the mental health of a majority of Americans. Forced physical quarantine leaves more people vulnerable to loneliness, which has long been linked to poor health outcomes. Having a significant other you can trust and share your anxieties with provides stability during these uncertain months. “All of March and April were such a blur, and I would just look forward to talking to [Nick] so much,” Jaden says. “He's always so smart—I would feel lazy and lethargic, and he was always so witty, so energetic.” “Being able to have a deep connection over the phone, it actually didn't always feel like I was alone in the pandemic, as much as I wasn't physically with somebody.” But relying too much on a relationship to provide stability and comfort can be a negative force for others. In a Monmouth University Poll from May 2020, 26% of people said that their relationship added to the stress of dealing with the pandemic, while only 14% of people said that their relationship decreased their stress levels. Speaking from personal experiences and observations of her friends, Celine cautions people against latching onto a relationship in quarantine. “There’s a fear of being alone. Before the pandemic, I was always with my friends going out … After the

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breakup, I finally learned how to be by myself during the pandemic," she says. Sabrina Ochoa (C '21) is frank about the complicated mess of positive and negative effects the pandemic had on her relationship with Jahnik Kurukulasuriya (C '21). “It had two sides. We were both really starved for social connection, like a lot of people, so talking to someone kind of satisfies that," she says. "But the virtual aspect of it really caps its efficacy in fulfilling your social needs.” Even though Jahnik remained steadfast in supporting Sabrina virtually, their conversations over FaceTime could never be a substitute for the simple comfort of being physically together—her sidling up to him as she tells a funny story or laying her head on his shoulder and crying after a rough midterm. Sabrina and Jahnik met on their first day of their first year at Penn. Jahnik seems to remember it best. “[The University] took us all out to Penn Park and had us stand in the shape of ‘2021.’ On the way to that, I saw her walking, recognized her as someone from my hall, and talked to her,” he says. Two weeks into their first year, Jahnik asked Sabrina on a date. A little more than three years later, the lovebirds were forced to face the COVID–19 pandemic, moving in together in the spring, going long–distance in the summer, and returning to Philadelphia in the fall. Sabrina had a harder time dealing with the pandemic, something Jahnik recognized and tried to alleviate. “I deep–cleaned out our bath—which was a little gross—and I drew her a bath, and from then on she

took baths to relax and unwind when she was stressed," he says. "I started lighting incense. I started waking up early and making her food in the morning. Anything to make her day a little better.” The two seniors have had success with finding activities that “prioritize positivity.” Jahnik bought Sabrina a video game that he watched her play, something both partners found thoroughly entertaining. Sabrina persuaded Jahnik that driving around a graveyard was a fun date night activity, which he was surprised to find was true. They took their first road trip alone together to Niagara Falls, where they pranked their friends with pictures of fake honeymoon certificates. “That’ll be interesting to confuse any of our future children,” Jahnik laughs. Even in video calls, they were fairly innovative— brushing their teeth together in the morning or riding along in each other's cupholders as they each went to get lunch. Dating during quarantine is a lot like looking through an old viewfinder: It brings everything about relationships—the good and the bad—into focus. Sabrina and Jahnik were forced to adjust the patterns of their long–term relationship, finding new ways to care for one another. Jaden and Nick contended with 300 miles of distance and deepened their emotional bond via video–chat. Celine and Tracy, whose relationships did not make it through the pandemic, now have a greater understanding of what works and what doesn’t in a budding romance. Finding love in quarantine is messy. It’s full of false starts and misunderstandings, challenging us to look inward to love outside ourselves.

FOCUS EGO

Photo Courtesy of Angelina Moles

Angelina Moles on

Content warning: The following text describes eating disorders, medical fatphobia, body shaming, and bariatric surgery, which can be disturbing and/ or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.

ince the COVID–19 pandemic shut down most colleges back in March, Angelina Moles has been teaching classes from a vintage orange rocker in her San Francisco apartment. It might be a bit of an unusual piece of furniture to teach from, but it’s a welcome relief from the chairs at San Francisco State University. “One of the best things about being a virtual teacher now is I get to sit in a chair that fits my body, and that feels good,” Angelina says. “Whereas in my classroom, there were some rooms where I couldn't even sit in a desk to grade my students’ speeches. I’d have to stand in the back of the class because I couldn't actually fit into a desk.” If you aren’t fat, this problem might never have crossed your mind—the way a right–handed person might not think about how a left–handed person gets ink smudges on their palm from writing. The world was designed and built for thin bodies, so that people in thin bodies wouldn’t even notice it was that way. For Angelina, it’s impossible not to notice. “Accessibility starts to get smaller and smaller as your body becomes larger and larger,” they explain. “Not necessarily that your body can't do things, whatever that might be, but that the stores, and airplanes, and chairs, and desks no longer fit you.” She describes her body as being in the “mid–fat

(@fiercefatfemme)

the Journey to Fat Liberation

Angelina discusses her experiences with medical fatphobia, eating disorders, and self– acceptance. | EMILY WHITE

to fat range” and has spent her entire life unlearning and fighting against fatphobia in all its forms. She also has blue hair and a killer sense of style, both of which are regularly featured on her Instagram @fiercefatfemme, which boasts over 35,000 followers. Angelina teaches classes about fat studies in the Communications Departments at three universities—San Francisco State University, College of San Mateo, and City College of San Francisco—from an apartment that feels like a haven of acceptance. In addition to the thrifted orange chair, a col-

lection of “delicious fat art” adorns their wall and brightens up the space. They keep a tote bag with a screen–printed phrase on it—“Fatties Against Fascism”—hung on a nearby coat tree as a reminder of what they care about. There is a large assortment of funky earrings hung in an adjacent corner, reflective of a mild addiction to accessories that Angelina developed during childhood. “As a fat kid, the one thing you could purchase at stores was accessories,” she says. Oh, and there’s a donut purse. Because why not? ••• F E B RUA RY 11 , 2 0 21 3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E 1 5

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A big part of Angelina’s impact is made through her Instagram, @fiercefatfemme. She regularly posts images of her body, shares resources for learning about and coping with fatphobia, and amplifies the voices of other fat people—especially fat people of color. Her account is an example of fat people existing unapologetically, which is a crucial thing to represent. But the biggest takeaway from Angelina’s social media is much deeper than just learning to accept how our bodies look. It’s about understanding how systemic fatphobia affects bigger bodies differently and more materially than smaller bodies. Even among the most "woke" audiences, fatphobia is often considered an internal thought pattern, not a form of systemic discrimination and oppression. And given the current face of the body positivity movement on social media, it makes sense that this is the assumption. Despite having been created by fat Black women to blog about fashion for bigger bodies, #bodypositivity's top posts are almost all of thin white women. The quintessential formula for a post under this hashtag is the half–and–half, where one side of the image depicts a thin woman posing and looking perfectly like the beauty standard, while the other side shows her hunched over trying to create rolls. Of course everyone can feel insecure about their body—including thin people. And these insecurities have very real effects on the mental health of people of all sizes. But fat people also experience a litany of other things that thin people don’t: a lack of clothing options in larger sizes, inaccessible structures (like transit seating or desks), workplace and pay discrimination, and lower quality medical care. Flattening discussions of fatphobia to just the aspects of it that also affect thin people obscures the many systemic barriers that fat people face. “You can be as positive about your body as you want to be,” Angelina says. “But that doesn't actually get at the changes that we need to have in order to have fat bodies take up space, and take up space with care and protection.” This, Angelina explains, is a key difference between fat liberation and body positivity. Rather than focusing exclusively on how fatphobia and diet culture affect the way people perceive their own bodies, “[fat liberation] is about getting rid of systems like diet culture—getting rid of systems that say that the hegemonic body standard is the body you should have. It's also about disability studies. It's also about race. It's also about all of these intricacies.” Throughout every aspect of their life—social media, interpersonal relationships, and their work as a professor—Angelina tries to incorporate this broad vision of a world without fatphobia and all the other –isms that overlap with it. Growing up, Angelina saw food play an important role in her family dynamic. Her parents are Portuguese immigrants, and food was a major aspect of their culture that they brought with them to the 16 3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E F E B RUA RY 11 , 2 0 21

United States. “Coming to the table together was an activity that we always did,” she says. Most of her family was also fat. “I saw other bodies that looked like mine within my own family,” she remembers. Sure, there was still the occasional discussion about saturated fats or needing to eat more vegetables, but Angelina never felt like her body was something to be fixed or that the foods she ate were bad. That all changed when her mother decided to undergo gastric bypass surgery. Gastric bypass surgery is a process in which a surgeon divides the stomach into sections and rearranges the intestines, ultimately forming a pouch with a much smaller volume than a normal stomach would have. As one might expect, this surgery drastically changes how the digestive system responds to food and often results in rapid weight loss. Despite it being an elective surgery, Angelina’s family presented it to her as if it was mandatory. “It was told to me that it was a life–saving thing, and she might die while going under the knife.” Suddenly, the person Angelina looked up to most was risking her life to have a body less like theirs. Their mother had decided that having a fat body, which looked an awful lot like Angelina’s, was so bad that it was worth anything to lose weight. “I constantly witnessed my mom at a battle with what food she could and could not eat,” they recall. “And it would affect the way we would come together for dinner because I would never be able to sit and eat with my family without my mom having to excuse herself to go throw up.” For someone who used to go to her grandmother's house every weekend and make cookies, who used to see her family gather happily around a table to eat dinner, who used to look lovingly upon her parents' big bellies that mirrored hers, watching her mother struggle so much with food was upsetting. “Whether or not I was realizing it at that age, I've definitely realized now … I understood my own body in relation to my mom's." ••• It wasn’t really until the seventh grade that Angelina began to process her feelings about her mother’s surgery. By that point, her sister had moved out and lost weight, and Angelina was old enough that her extended family thought it was appropriate to comment on her weight. “I think before that, [my family] just thought, ‘Oh, you know, Angelina's a kid, you know. Their body's gonna do whatever a kid's body is gonna do,’” they recall. “But I think in high school, they were like, ‘Now this is the time where you can change your trajectory on how your body's going to look.’” The new expectations placed upon her teenage body in combination with witnessing the aftermath of her mom’s surgery drove Angelina toward disordered eating. “I forced myself into having an eating disorder to be thinner and to change my body because the bullying was at its highest at that point,”

she says. Unfortunately, Angelina never sought help, in large part because of a long history of negative interactions with doctors. They already knew what the doctor would say—the same thing doctors say to so many fat patients every day, the same thing Angelina had heard their whole life: "Just lose weight." “It makes me trust my doctor a whole lot less,” they say. “You're going to tell me I should be watching what I eat, and you don't actually know that every single waking moment of my life, I'm thinking about everything I eat—from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to sleep.” A 2014 article by the American Psychological Association emphasizes that this is not an uncommon phenomenon: “Eating disorder diagnoses are delayed an average of nine months among patients who were once [classified as] overweight or obese when compared with patients who were never [classified as] overweight.” (It's important to note that terms such as “overweight” or “obese,” although common descriptors used by medical professionals, are not preferred by many fat people—Angelina included.) The most common reason that fat people are not diagnosed with eating disorders, if they seek help at all, is that most people actually encourage them to keep losing weight. Reflecting on the reaction to her mom’s weight loss after the surgery, Angelina says, “It was watching her become smaller and seeing how much more people treated her with decency. That really confused me.” She cites seeing this reaction as part of the reason she began restricting her food intake. But it isn’t only friends and family that contribute to this; doctors can also inadvertently contribute to disordered eating by blindly encouraging any instance of weight loss. Oftentimes, a doctor will praise a fat person for losing weight by restricting calories and over–exercising, when if a thin person did exactly the same things, it would be labelled an eating disorder. “When I originally had my eating disorder, I never sought medical help for it because I felt like I failed at having an eating disorder,” Angelina says. “I was still fat. And I thought that the whole point of doing what I was doing was to not be fat. And I think that’s how a lot of medical providers see it, too.” ••• The first time Angelina experienced medical fatphobia was far earlier than most kids even start thinking about how much they weigh. “I was eight years old,” she says, “and the doctor told me I needed to stop eating Happy Meals because this was the moment that I would be able to control how fat I would get in the future.” To some people, this might sound like benign nutritional advice from a health professional. We all know that the deep–fried meat and bland iceberg lettuce served by McDonald’s isn't the best source of vitamins and nutrients for kids’ developing bodies.

FOCUS EGO

But Angelia points out that when these messages come constantly from all directions, when they are tied to appearance rather than well–being, and when they are presented as the solution to any and all health problems that fat people have, they can cause far more damage than they remedy. “I think what a lot of fat people are asking for when they go to the doctor is to be listened to," she says. "When I come into [the doctor’s] office and say I'm having stomach pains, and I'm not sure what's going on, and it hurts when I do this,” she continues, bending over as if to pick up an object from the ground, “rather than looking at my body and seeing where the problem might be coming from, [the doctors refer to] this outdated, inaccurate BMI scale that we still use, look at me, and say, ‘Okay, I'm hearing you saying that you're having this pain. Okay, let's understand. Have you lifted something heavy? Maybe strained a muscle?’” Medical student training often reaffirms, rather than deconstructs, anti–fat bias. A 2013 study of third–year medical students at the Wake Forest School of Medicine found that over one–third had “a significant implicit anti–fat bias,” but two–thirds of the students with such biases were unaware that they had them. This can have disastrous consequences for fat patients. “Fat people are tired of going to the doctor and being so panicked at what weight loss surgery ad they're going to be handed,” Angelina says. “Instead of looking at me and putting me into an equation that you've learned, treat me as you want to be treated.” There are some organizations working to change the way weight is talked about in the medical field. One notable initiative is the Health at Every Size (HAES) certification program, which seeks to create an “alternative to the weight–centered approach to treating clients and patients of all sizes,” while acknowledging the health needs of patients from a variety of backgrounds. Despite these advancements, not enough medical professionals participate in such programs, and they

continue to give worse care to fat patients. Research presented at the American Psychological Association’s conference in 2016 found that “doctors repeatedly advise weight loss for fat patients while recommending CAT scans, blood work, or physical therapy for other, average weight patients,” ultimately leading to worse health outcomes and longer waiting periods before diagnosis or treatment. So what’s the solution? Angelina thinks the key is learning to see the patient as a whole person and not just as their weight or body size. “If healthcare providers can just take a second to put down the science textbooks and put down the articles that are quantitative rather than qualitative and try to actually look at each person's individual unique circumstances, I think we could have a much better healthcare system that focuses on actually giving care,” she says. ••• Since the first wave of lockdowns swept the country, there has been a lot of pressure on people to "use quarantine productively." You might have seen a listicle in your favorite news publication about all the new things you could learn, all the at–home exercises you could do, and all the Netflix shows you could binge. You probably also heard about the 'Quarantine 15.' A play on the infamous 'Freshman 15,' the 'Quarantine 15' refers to the phenomenon where, when you’re trapped in your house for days on end being anxious about the literal pandemic happening around you, you might gain a little weight. Who’d have thought that stress eating and a more sedentary lifestyle might come with a couple extra pounds? Talking about this very normal weight gain like it’s a problem can exacerbate the struggles people have with body image and diet culture. In fact, a recent Scientific American article reported that the stress of lockdowns has actually contributed to higher rates of relapse or worsening restrictive behaviors for people who are in recovery from anorexia and bulimia. The fear of the "Quarantine 15" also exposes how fatphobia is deeply embedded into our culture.

“You would think that during a global pandemic, when other things come to light, and when you start thinking about how drastically our world has to shift in order to take care of people, the fear of becoming fat would maybe take a backseat for a while,” Angelina says. “That's the opposite of what it did, actually. And I think that shows us that we as a society have a really big problem.” Instead of fixating on weight gain, Angelina wants us all to take a big deep breath and remind ourselves to put things in perspective. “You're already dealing with processing how the world feels,” she says. “And isn't it amazing that [your body is] still getting up in the morning, that it's still telling you to eat, that it still feels soft and squishy and is holding your organs together, and is doing the best it can? Just like we're all doing the best we can. Why worry about if you went up one pant size, ten pants sizes, whatever it might be? That seems so arbitrary in the grand scheme of it all.” Campus Resources The HELP Line: 215-898-HELP: A 24– hour–a–day phone number for members of the Penn community who seek help in navigating Penn's resources for health and wellness. Counseling and Psychological Services: 215-898-7021 (active 24/7): The counseling center for the University of Pennsylvania. Student Health Service: 215-746-3535: Student Health Service can provide medical evaluations and treatment to victims/ survivors of eating disorders, regardless of whether they make a report or seek additional resources. Reach–A–Peer Hotline: 215-573-2727 (every day from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., texting available 24/7): A peer hotline to provide peer support, information, and referrals to Penn students.

Photo Courtesy of Angelina Moles

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EARTS GO

Redefining Love In Lockdown Photo Gallery | From puppies to coffee cups, here's how Street survived life under lockdown.

hile none of us could have anticipated the effects that the advent of COVID–19 would have on our society, the hardships and grief of life under lockdown have certainly been felt by all of us. Separated from our loved ones and facing a future full of uncertainty, quarantine has pushed us to find new ways to cope with our so–called "new normal." Street welcomed staffers to submit photos of the things that brought them a sense of peace in an era marked by quiet choas. From snuggling with pets to exploring a new hobby, here are a few tidbits of positivity that helped our staff survive the past year.

"Here’s a picture of a focaccia bread I made over quarantine!" — Jessa Glassman (C '24)

"During quarantine, I started baking a lot more and got really into baking homemade bread." — Maddie Muldoon (C '23)

"A coffee a day has been keeping my troubles away." — Jesse Zhang (C '24)

"I love going to drive through light shows in my city!" — Sejal Sangani (C '24)

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ARTS EGO

"I found love through sharing my paintings with friends." — Sukhmani Kaur (C '22)

"My roommates and I have taken up painting together since returning to Penn as a fun way to relax." — Hannah Lonser (C '23)

"I worked on an organic farm called Granor Farm during the summer quarantine ... Doing manual labor, being in nature, and eating the fresh food that I grew made all the difference." — Lily Stein (C '22)

"Love in the time of COVID–19 means sitting all afternoon in the warm West–Coast weather, curled up with a puppy and a classic." — Mehek Boparai (C '22)

"My dog, Dolce, has been my constant companion in quarantine, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s nothing better than having him snuggle up next to me on the couch while I’m watching online lectures." — Chelsey Zhu (C '22) F E B R UA RY 1 1 , 2 0 2 1 3 4 T H S T R E E T MAG A Z I N E

EGO STYLE

The COVID–19 Talk: Dating Edition Two students and a CAPS clinician talk about setting boundaries and facilitating open communication. | EMILY WHITE Illustration by Tyler Kliem

eople in budding relationships frequently field personal questions from new love interests. Getting to know someone requires an informal game of 20 questions—you spend so much time learning what things they care about. But the pandemic has given rise to a new first–date question that’s even more important: What precautions are you taking to limit your exposure to COVID–19? Because everyone has a different threshold for risk, it’s important to have these conversations early on. Street spoke with two students about how these talks went and asked a therapist at Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) for advice on having what could be a tough discussion. Lilah Katz (C '24) spent last fall in her hometown, experiencing her first semester of college through a computer screen. In early October, she was able to reconnect with a friend from high school who was also doing school virtually, and she eventually began dating her. But the path to that relationship wasn’t easy. They FaceTimed and texted for two months before seeing each other in person for the first time, and even then, they were only able to meet outdoors while wearing masks. It wasn’t until December that they had their first in–person meeting after self–isolating for two weeks. While Lilah wanted to see her girlfriend sooner, her girlfriend’s parents weren’t comfortable welcoming Lilah into their bubble at a time when case numbers in their community were at an all–time high. There was a long series of conversations—some with just the couple, others with their parents included—trying to find a solution that everyone could agree on. But there was nothing aside from a full quarantine that would quell their parents’ anxieties about spreading the virus. Lilah feels like the inability to see each other in 20 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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person for so long slowed the pace of their relationship. “Can you call someone your girlfriend if you haven’t kissed?” she asks. But at the end of the day, their biggest concern was making sure that everyone was safe—even if it meant waiting longer to finally have that first kiss. Derek Nheiu (W '23) also had a conversation about COVID–19 safety with his girlfriend, whom he began dating last fall, but he says the process went rather smoothly. He was living off–campus last semester while his girlfriend was at home in Virginia with her family. They were able to work out a system of testing and isolating so they could see each other about once a month. “I was testing a week before every time I came,” Derek says. “I'm pretty afraid of COVID–19, so I was essentially social distancing and quarantining and isolating myself for the most part unless I needed to go out and run errands.” This made it easier for his girlfriend and her parents—who needed to be especially careful because of their jobs in the military—to welcome him into their home once a month. Even with precautions, Derek got sick in November. He realized far enough in advance to cancel his plans to visit his girlfriend that week, but it was a big scare. The system they had devised was able to catch an issue before it arose, which meant it was working like they had hoped. As far as the conversation itself, Derek says that the whole thing was surprisingly normal. “I know some people may feel awkward or weird talking about something like that, but for us, it was very much a given,” he says. “We had to be safe.” If hearing these students’ stories made you realize that you want to have a conversation with your partner about COVID–19 safety, especially given the recent uptick in cases on Penn’s campus, here’s some advice from CAPS clinician Eddie Burks, who spe-

cializes in relationship conflict. “When you're having conversations about COVID–19 and relationships, the first thing you have to do is be very honest and open,” Burks explains. “You really want to make sure that you're being understood, and you're also understanding the other person.” This can be especially important if you have different risk tolerances or definitions of responsibility. It’s crucial to be aware that you might not agree coming into the conversation, but that you’ll need to come to a mutual understanding that respects the needs and boundaries of everyone involved. Burks likes to categorize these needs and boundaries into “compromisables” and “non–compromisables”—meaning that there are certain things that you might be open to, but others that you aren’t. For example, you might be willing to see your partner unmasked once a week if you both get tested and self– isolate for a couple of days, but not if they’re seeing several other people right before they meet up with you. You might be okay with an outdoor picnic but not an indoor dinner. There’s no right answer to any of this. It’s a difficult conversation that hinges upon two people’s risk tolerances, which might be different depending on a number of circumstances—case numbers in your community, immunocompromised roommates, and your general willingness to expand your bubble. Ultimately, the decision is as much about your mental well–being as it is about your physical health. As Burks says, “Part of the compromisables is how much more stress are you willing to take on?” Whether you decide on an elaborate testing and quarantining system like Derek and Lilah, a Zoom– only relationship, or something entirely different, we hope these stories and tips will help you navigate an unusual dating scene.

EGO STYLE

The Dark Side of Dating Apps Dating apps: fun, convenient, problematic | AIDAH QURESHI

id you know that around a third of all relationships that started between 2015 and 2019 began online? Historically, your dating network would be limited to whoever you, your friends, and family know. Perhaps you could have met the love of life in class or at a party. But today, the most viable way to meet people is through the internet. Alongside baking and fitness challenges, online dating seems to be one of the staple pastimes of lockdown life. In fact, Match Group’s second–quarter 2020 earnings report proves its popularity, revealing a sharp increase in subscribers and downloads since lockdowns began in March. All in all, dating apps are clearly more ubiquitous than ever. When the concept of online dating was new, the idea of meeting someone through the big, bad internet was considered weird or creepy. Obviously, perspectives have changed and online dating has been normalized. Most people don’t give it a second thought and even if they’re not actively looking for something, a lot of people will still create accounts just to see who or what is out there. Although using dating apps isn’t inherently bad and couples who meet via dating apps are completely valid, it's important to acknowledge the issues with dating apps, especially since during pandemic life, they’re one of the few ways to meet people. One of the major issues with dating apps like Tinder is that they are extremely photo–centric. In only a matter of seconds, you have to decide whether or not you want to date them based solely on their appearance. Some people don’t even bother to read bios while they’re swiping, while others don’t bother to write a bio. With a format like Tinder, it’s hard to get a glimpse of someone’s personality, and thus, you’re left to swipe based on superficial and inadequate information. These apps focus on only one aspect of ourselves, which is how we look— or rather how we look after some photoshopping. In an ideal world, people would pick the best but most accurate photos of themselves—instead, dating profiles are riddled with Snapchat dog filter selfies and airbrushed thirst traps. Secondly, the act of swiping is both satisfying and ex-

Illustration by Sudeep Bhargava tremely dehumanizing. Swiping reduces users to objects, as it truly feels like you are shopping for humans. Swiping right has become synonymous with thinking that someone is attractive, and admittedly there is something super addicting about being able to make those quick judgements. But ultimately, this plays into the extremely appearance–centric nature of these apps. You would think that using apps like this would be an egoboost. After all, you’re getting lots of matches, messages, and compliments. But research suggests that this isn't the case. In fact, Tinder users generally report lower levels of satisfaction in terms of body image than their Tinder–less counterparts. Using apps like Tinder as a source of validation and basing your self–esteem on how well you’re performing on it is an extremely unhealthy yet common pitfall. Dating apps provide lots of options to choose from as well as the opportunity to vet someone prior to going out with or even meeting them, but sometimes too many options overcomplicate things. It’s easy to match with someone and start up a conversation, but it’s even easier to keep swiping in search of a better option instead.

The lack of incentive for building a meaningful connection leads to one of the absolute worst aspects of online dating: ghosting. It’s easy and detached: simply unmatch or block the person on the other side of the screen with no notice. No need to have a deep in–person conversation or feel any remorse—it’s so common that it feels like no should care. It’s not just Tinder that poses these problems. Apps like Hinge and Bumble are often even more disappointing than Tinder even though they’re viewed as more serious and higher quality. When users fall into the same pitfalls as they did before, it can be even more difficult to get back up given the higher expectations. However, a notable and more positive aspect of Bumble is that only women are able to message first, which decreases the risk of sexual harassment, an issue that runs rampant on dating apps. In normal times, there’s no right way to date. But, given the fact, that we’re in the middle of a pandemic, dating apps are one of the most convenient methods of getting to know new people safely. But it’s on us to not get sucked into the hole of negativity and rejection they can induce.

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E G OBUTTON UNDER THE

under the button

Sorry

Hey Babe. It’s me again. r/WallStreetBets' top post today was to short you. They called you overvalued. A bubble like the Dutch Sea or Turkish Tulips Growing in Holland (where Augustus took Hazel) Reddit says the hedge funds

r/WallStreetBets Says I Should Short This Relationship By JAMES BLUME

should be investigated for stock manipulation, but the only manipulation is the way you make me feel when I hear your voice. Like GME, I don’t buy you, just to throw away. I grab you just to hold on tight. I need no Minsky moment to tell you I love you.

Good for Her! Stephanie Dating

Actual Homosexual Man

tephanie was S excited to introduce her new

boyfriend to her besties. She sat them down for brunch and told them, “He’s a total hunk, you guys. Hot, smart, and gay — the full package.” One of her friends said, “What was that? He’s gay?” but before Stephanie could answer, Danny approached the table, wearing head-totoe Urban Outfitters clearance rack. “What’s up, girlies?” Danny said.

BY SAMMY GORDON

22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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Stephanie was excited for her gal pals to get to know Danny.

They don’t have sex, but that’s not really important. The closest they get is giving each other facials. Stephanie’s decision to date a real-life gay man comes with a recent trend of women dating gay men. They find the twinkiest, most stereotypically gay men, then parade them around as unproblematic life partners. “Men who are attracted to women can be acceptable, but they’re just not worth the risk” says Stephanie. “I love logging onto Grindr and just seeing what I can dig my teeth into.”

“What’s up, girlies?” Danny said.

E G OBUTTON UNDER THE

under the button NEWS!

Instagram to add warning before any happy couple By J A M E S B LU M E

Trigger warnings can be helpful when you just don’t want to deal with the shittiness of reality. From disturbing news videos to naked women, warnings protect young children and adults approaching their wits' end. Finally Instagram has decided to warn us about the horrors of that 19-year-old Catholic high school couple that got engaged by adding trigger warnings before the post. The warning text reads “Happy couple alert! They might be kissing, holding hands, or proposing. Are you sure you’re mentally stable enough to feel the weight of your own loneliness?” Now instead of facing the reality that you haven’t felt another human touch since

Sup dudes,

Valentine’s

Why Celebrating Love Makes You a Sissy B y PA M E L A D E L A C R U Z

Valentine's Day is coming up and as always, it's important that you stay cool and straight. On the 14th, your girl is going to ask for flowers, chocolate, and stuffed animals. All the beta males are going to be bending over backwards in hopes of a quick "slip 'n slide" if you know what I mean ;). It takes a true Chad to realize that Valentine's day is in fact gay and therefore bad. Oh sure your standard soy boys will gush over the "holiday," claiming it's a cute way to spend some quality time with their boyfriends, but real men who date cock-loving, mommy-milker

post 2018, you can simply bottle your emotions! It’s a trick that white, WASP-y families have mastered centuries ago. With Valentine's Day around the corner, this time of year can be a challenge on the ugly and subsequently lonely motherfuckers. Instagram has decided now is the time to take a stand against pretty people being happily in love just in the nick of time. Couples are sure to see the likes on their posts drop and wonder, what just happened? Maybe it’ll even make them worry that they lost their hotness or that all their friends hate them. Sure, some may think that this seems unnecessarily petty, but certainly isn’t being bitter better than being happy anyway?

gfs, know that beyond the sickening Hallmark movies, Valentine's Day was created by and for homosexuals. Beyond the gays, love is for elderly to middleaged women. If you like celebrating love chances are good that you enjoy knitting and baking cookies, too. Are you an elderly to middleaged woman? I didn't think so. So get your ass in gear and snap out of this love trance you fucking sissy. The final group that gets all excited about Valentine's Day is the incels. I know that you're wondering how this is possible. But it's just that incels get so upset that they aren't getting any coochie during the days

and weeks leading up to Valentine's Day that they are associated with the holiday like strippers are associated with Christmas or candy is associated with Halloween. Want to get excited about Valentine's Day? You might as well write "incel" on your forehead. In conclusion, Valentine's Day means your reputation is on the line. Do you want to be caught holding a stuffed animal you bought for your very attractive and real girlfriend? Of course not. Your macho appearance would be forever shattered. Unless you're a homo, a woman, or an incel move on, Valentine's Day isn't for you.

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