09.07.21

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

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

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WORD ON THE STREET Confessions from a Girl Who Can't go Home

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On parasocial relationships, Taylor Swift, and the durability of obsession

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Meet Namrita Narula

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MUSIC

Female Artists Lead Billboard Top 200

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FEATURE

From Harvest to Healing

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FOCUS

Billionaires Aren’t Philanthropists

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UNDER THE BUTTON Five Guys Replacing Beijing Is Just Modern Day Colonialism

he only lesson I remember from any of my communications classes is the one about parasocial relationships. An academic term, it really boils down to one thing: being a stan. Parasocial relationships are one sided, intense affairs, where you love a character or celebrity so much you project onto it. Two parts escapism and one part obsession, parasocial entanglements feel normal, mostly because they are—to an extent.

Everyone loves something a little too much.

Funnily enough, my healthiest relationships are my parasocial ones. When I was six and lacked the vocabulary to describe the acute loneliness that would follow me into adulthood, I latched onto Taylor Swift. Over the past 14 years, she’s been a stand–in for a friend and a sister, but also a yardstick to measure my coming of age. How kismet it was that she released Lover during my first real relationship, and how apt it was that I had evermore to soundtrack my first real heartbreak.

Swift’s oeuvre holds the weight of unmet expectations for me, each song a reminder of moments that don’t feel the way “Enchanted” sounds or people who discarded me like the girl from “august.” Though silly, it’s nice to have something almost tangible to hold my problems. It means they don’t have to follow me forever.

All that to say, if a parasocial relationship is little more than a survival mechanism for today’s depressed Gen–Zer, then we can also have them with ideas. I think my generation has the tendency to become the things it likes, to use fluctuating aesthetics as a placeholder for personalities we haven’t yet formed. Today I am “that girl” and militantly organized, armed with a pastel planner and some productivity software an influencer told me to buy. Tomorrow, I am gorpcore, obsessed with functionality, puffer jackets, and looking like someone who loves nature without ever having gone on a hike.

Yet, underneath these categories is a hollowness and uncertainty, a personality half–defined by what the clothes in their closets and the music in their playlists confer. There’s nothing wrong with a penchant for labels. But I often wonder what happens when those labels don’t live up to the expectations we place on them.

This week’s issue explores what happens when you go through a parasocial breakup—or when the abstract has failed you. We examine faulty power dynamics of Kanye West’s Donda and what happens when the wellness industry topples under the weight of colonized consumerism. We criticize billionaire worship and look at what being a cowboy means in 2021. But mostly, we’re asking, “Is obsession durable?”

Illustration by Alice Heyeh SSSF,

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Cover Illustration by Isabel Liang Brittany Darrow, Copy Editor

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elizabeth holmes is scari

WORD ON THE STREET

Confessions From a Girl Who Can’t Go Home A reflection on what it means to 'belong' somewhere in a pandemic—both here and abroad | AAKRUTI GANESHAN

Illustration by Lilian Liu

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’ve spent a total of five weeks in mandated hotel quarantine while traveling to my home in Hong Kong: two weeks last December and three weeks this past spring. I’ve been deplaned twice—both times due to COVID–19 test–related issues but never because of a positive test result. The first time, I needed a negative COVID–19 test within 72 hours of leaving the United States—my test was dated 72 hours and 20 minutes. On the second occasion, it was because the COVID–19 Testing Center at Jefferson Airport failed to provide me with a “Certificate of Accreditation," a piece of paper that said the testing lab had government approval. It didn’t matter that I was tested at the airport center that was exclusively intended for travelers. It was also of little consequence that I was fully vaccinated.

I conceptualized my experience in numbers. The number of days I had left on my quarantine sentence, for instance. I would wave to my parents from the window of my hotel room. To me, they resembled little matchstick figures frantically throwing their arms up and down to maximize visibility. I watched life move past me from the eerie solitude of a five–by–five room. Ships sailed nearby, miniature props leaving behind trails of white foam as they zipped to and from ports. I conceived of everything outside my window as “props,” because nothing outside my door seemed real. Last fall, my dog died on my seventh day in quarantine, proving that as much as my world had stopped, life—or the lack thereof—kept going without me.

Six. That’s how many hours I spent at the Hong Kong airport this past spring, being shepherded through arbitrary rows and makeshift dividers, waiting for my onsite test results. All of the passengers had to wear lanyards around their neck—an identification card of which group they belonged to. Each station had a designated function. One would check my documents, while the

next would slap me with a plastic wristband designed to monitor my location in quarantine. I moved through eight different queues and answered the same ten questions. To a random bystander, we must’ve seemed like cattle being lined up for transport. “Kafkaesque,” a term used to define a bizarre, nightmarish, and illogical situa-

been given " I’ve permanent outsider

status in both of the countries I live in. The bounds of sovereignty extend far enough to exclude me, but fall short of letting me in.

tion, soon became my go–to word of choice to describe the experience.

I thought a lot about what it meant to be a person, what it meant to be a citizen, what it meant to really belong somewhere. I’m not an American citizen, but to the Hong Kong authorities, I was—for all intents and purposes—American, branded a Class C traveler subject to the maximum quarantine penalties. Whenever I’m in Philadelphia for college, I’m reminded of how often that isn’t true: My “un–American” insurance is rejected from health care clinics and goes unrecognized at CVS. Twelve. That’s the number of months my Hong Kong visa is valid for. By my own estimation, unless things get better, I will not be granted another visa to visit this December. In a way, I’ve been given permanent outsider status in both of the countries I live in. The bounds of

sovereignty extend far enough to exclude me, but fall short of letting me in.

More than anything, I want to be able to go home. I want, as so many other people do, for things to get better, for the last year and a half to finally come to an end. My experiences pale in comparison to the horrors that others have had to endure, but my plea remains the same. I can’t control what anyone else does, but what everyone else does inadvertently affects me anyway. It’s odd to have a complete lack of control over the things that seem so intensely personal. I sit on the border between one culture that prioritizes the collective at the cost of the individual and another that does the exact opposite.

Every day, I read more news articles about the “unprecedented” times we’re in. And every day, that gets a little more cumbersome to digest. I think we all want things to return to “precedented,” but that won’t happen unless there’s a concerted effort to do so.

I’m thankful because most of the people I know are vaccinated and encourage others to do the same. At the same time, I know that there are a lot of people who refuse to get the vaccine and act irresponsibly. I’m not exactly qualified to address all of the concerns around the vaccine, but there are a plethora of resources that do. I don't expect my own (privileged) experiences to completely change someone’s worldview.

All I can hope for is that people continue to share their stories, and that, along the way, we develop compassion for circumstances we can’t understand. Beyond knowledge and education, I hope for empathy. I anticipate that things will have to get a lot worse for our sense of solidarity to get a lot better, but every day, I pray that I’m wrong.

I hope that the phrase “misery loves company” becomes an outdated aphorism. I hope for a softer worldview that extends far beyond ourselves, one that prioritizes empathy and care above all else.

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Yet?, which came out this past Saturday. The tracklist is a collection of songs that encapsulate a generation. The artists covered on the new album range from recent up–and–comers like Joji to stone–cold classics like Paramore, whose song “That’s What You Get” finds new life in a special arrangement.

This album is also a tribute to the 15 singers who invested their time, dedication, and passion under challenging circumstances. "The beauty of having a 15–person group, as we did this year, is that we have a very wide range of voices, and everyone’s voice complements a different kind of style,” says Jack. For The Pennchants’ graduating seniors, Are We There Yet? is a culmination of the styles that singers have developed since they were first–year students.

Ostensibly, Are We There Yet? is also in conversation with The Pennchants' legacy as an organization—its title is a cheeky riposte to one previous full–length release, 2014’s Close Enough. However, this album was always going to be unlike anything the group had put out before, as it was conceived and produced entirely during the COVID–19 pandemic. What resulted were new constraints on the recording and rehearsal process, but also new innovations.

Evan estimates that “it’s been untold hundreds of hours, if not close to a thousand or more hours, put into this project over the course of the summer.” That includes all the steps from song selection to arrange-

son component, those aspects were more difficult to maintain.

JACK VERNON LEE (C ’23) "It’s going to be hard for any member to want to put in six hours a week on a song, [let] alone in their room," says Evan.

But as much as this was a year of challenges, Jack says it was also a year of finding silver linings.

One of these was adopting the mantras of “unlimited takes” and “unlimited parts.” The latter meant “[we were] able to add more to the soundscape then we usually do ... different elements of sound that are really hard to achieve in a live performance,” according to Evan. This is emblematic of the shifting approach to

out You” by Kelly Clarkson, which I had the privilege of listening to before release day.

The group's YouTube series was consistently entertaining, but those videos were "a bit all over the place sometimes," Evan admits, "even though that's the way we like it." In contrast, the album is designed to be a cohesive listening experience from start to finish.

As business manager, Jack came prepared with a three–part pitch for listeners, whether they’re long– time fans or former a cappella detractors. In addition to centering the aforementioned standard of musical excellence and diversity of genres and styles, he says this project has been first and foremost about “trying to stay true to the spirit of having fun as a group that The Pennchants has always embodied. The camaraderie that we have ... the brotherhood that we have.”

It’s that brotherhood that Bauti, Evan, and Jack all hope to see carried beyond this experience, even as The Pennchants move along the ambiguous, ever–changing path back to in–person rehearsals and live performances.

Jack wants to celebrate “the resilience that the individual members had throughout the whole process."

"They really proved to us that they are very serious about making music,” he says.

SPIRIT OF THE " THE PENNCHANTS WAS

STILL ALIVE AND WELL THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE THING. EVAN BEAN

BAUTI GALLINO (C ’23) ment, audio and video recording, and multimedia editing.

The biggest hurdles during production were more of the social variety. “I really miss being able to hang out with The Pennchants,” says Bauti. The group is so much more than an extracurricular commitment—it’s a support system, a circle of close friends, and a respite from the Penn grind. Without an in–per-

audio production that marks this album as a turning point for The Pennchants.

What makes Are We There Yet? a unique listening experience compared to Pennchants performances, or even previous albums, is that these arrangements often wouldn’t be feasible in a live setting. You would be hard–pressed to find a prior recording as pristine and full–bodied as their cover of “My Life Wo u l d Suck With-

EVAN BEAN (E ’23) Evan makes it clear, though, that the group was far from faltering. “We’ve always been a creative group, and we’ve always been a passionate group. The spirit of The Pennchants was still alive and well throughout this entire thing," he says.

That spirit is embodied on Are We There Yet?, an album that will serve for years to come as a testament to being tested and coming out stronger on the other end.

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Are We There Yet? : THE PENNCHANTS ON PUSHING THROUGH THE PANDEMIC

Evan Bean, Bauti Gallino, and Jack Vernon Lee take us behind the scenes of the a cappella group’s new studio album. | WALDEN GREEN

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rom afar, the members of The Pennchants might come off as unapproachable. With their sunglasses, Members Only jackets, and supple voices, they could easily pass for a gang of teenage heartthrobs. But when they join me one afternoon for our Zoom interview, Evan Bean (E '23), Bauti Gallino (W '23), and Jack Vernon Lee (C '23) just look like normal guys (although Bauti is sporting his Pennchants baseball cap). They serve as The Pennchants' president, business manager, and marketing director, respectively—they also spearheaded the release of the group's 4

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new studio album, Are We There Yet?, on September 4.

Evan, Bauti, and Jack each joined the club in their first year at Penn, and all say their choice of The Pennchants out of Penn’s 17 a cappella groups was anything but arbitrary. For one, the club is Penn's premier all–male group, which appeals to members like Evan, who sang previously at his all–boys high school.

There’s something else that makes The Pennchants unique: their repertoire. In previous interviews, members have talked about how their selections focus on the "songs of their childhood." Bauti adds that their

"niche is also broad,” since it can mean something different to every soloist. For example, Bauti grew up in Argentina listening to music in Spanish, which he says isn't typical Pennchants material. But last winter, he was able to perform a Spanish–language song—“Azul”

by Cristian Castro—as part of the group's Bedroom Bops Online Concert Series. Evan says members have also performed songs by Frank Sinatra, Barry Manilow, Elvis, Prince, and Counting Crows, five artists that account for half a century of music.

That diversity is present in spades on Are We There

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NAMRITA NARULA HOMETOWN: MAJOR:

ACTIVITES:

Highland Park, Ill. Finance and business analytics concentrations in Wharton, minor in urban studies Wharton Women, Penn Social Entrepreneurship Movement (PennSEM), Penn Civic Scholars, Penn Sikh Organization, Adam Grant's Impact Lab, Oracle Senior Society, 2020 UN Millennium Fellow

This Wharton senior is also a female founder, community activist, and shameless foodie. | MADDIE MULDOON 34th STREET: Urban studies and business is a unique mix. How did you decide to pursue that?

NAMRITA NARULA: I declared it relatively late for a minor—it wasn't until my junior spring. I was feeling a bit lost and looking for a purpose. I realized I was using my extracurriculars to fill this hole of wanting to pursue social impact, but also study business. I didn't really know any of the root causes of the problems I was seeing in Philadelphia and trying to solve through business. I realized that the best way to understand the root causes and to make myself better at doing the service I am doing is to study it through URBS. The URBS Department at Penn is so wonderful. I've been filling up my senior year taking a bunch of URBS classes.

STREET: Which activity at Penn are you most passionate about?

NN: I would say that there's two: Wharton Women and PennSEM. I'm currently the president of both.

Wharton Women was something I wanted to join before I came to Penn. I was excited about it because gender equity was something I was really involved with in high school and throughout my whole life. Coming to campus, I got involved in Wharton Women immediately in the fall

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of my [first] year. I found a home and a family, and fell in love with what the organization stood for. My [first year] spring, I had a chance to serve on the board as VP of membership development. In 2020, I had a chance to come back on board and serve as the VP of philanthropy. I was really excited by this role, as service has been the core of my Penn experience and is something that's really important to me. I love that Wharton Women stands for using our toolkit to give back.

Now I am president of Wharton Women. I'm focusing on a bunch of different things, including trying to make Wharton Women more of an accessible community, and focusing on intersectionality and inclusivity. It's all about figuring out how we can leverage the resources we have to not only help students, but to help West Philly and beyond. Wharton Women has given me the opportunity to combine my interest in business with my passion for social justice, female empowerment, and diversity.

PennSEM is the other club I’m president of. We have two primary branches: consulting and an impact startup accelerator, Spire. This year, I’m working to spearhead an initiative to teach students in West Philly how to start their own social en-

terprises and empower them to help their community while being entrepreneurs.

STREET: Can you tell me more about your nonprofit, Seeds of Knowledge?

NN: I started Seeds of Knowledge when I was 14. My mission is to help children learn the importance of healthy eating through a year–round gardening experience, and to combat the food insecurity that exists in the Chicagoland. I worked with the city of Highland Park, which is where I'm from, to launch a campaign called “Feed the Meters, Feed Your Neighbors.” I took three old parking meters that the city had and shaped them to look like giant vegetables with the help of some local artists. If you go to my city, you'll see a five–foot–tall carrot, pea pod, and a meter with fruits and vegetables painted on it just sitting on the sidewalk. The goal is for pedestrians to walk by and put their change in. Every month in high school and during my first couple years at Penn when I went home for breaks, I used the change to purchase fresh produce for the food pantry.

During that time frame, I was able to purchase over 3,000 pounds of fresh produce.

My junior year at Penn, I handed over the keys to the food pantry so they could enter the meters more frequently, since I was at school.

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My goal was to install one in Philly, but when the pandemic happened, I realized it probably wasn't a good idea to install a meter where everything was based on contact—people shouldn't really be touching each other's change and emptying the meters. That said, food insecurity is still an issue I'm super passionate about. The work with my own nonprofit inspired me to work with other nonprofits in Philly. It's always going to be something that is a really big part of me, but I've kind of shifted gears and started finding other topics that I'm really passionate about and want to tackle in my final year at Penn.

STREET: You're pursuing so many admirable initiatives. What would you say drives the ambition you have to make change in the world around you?

NN: I think what drives this is that I'm a practicing Sikh. A core tenet of Sikhism is something called Seva, which means “selfless service." My parents always instilled this in me growing up— this drive to take part in acts of kindness without thinking of getting anything in return. Service has always been rooted in me. At Penn, my desire to keep doing good has continued not only because of Seva, but also because, as Penn students, we have so many opportunities at our fingertips. We can do pretty much anything, and we're met with Penn funding and resources. It only feels right to take advantage of some of Penn's resources and give them back to the community that Penn occupies.

STREET: Do you have any unique quirks or interests?

NN: I'm a really big foodie. I have a foodstagram, @nomnomnomz_, and I love baking. When I was little, instead of going to normal summer camps, I went to baking and cooking camps. I love spending time in the kitchen and exploring restaurants—my favorite thing to do is eat. Last year I learned how to make chocolate, so now I can make any kind of chocolate you want.

STREET: What's next for you after Penn?

NN: I’m heading to New York City to work in finance in the consumer retail industry. In a few years, I hope to launch my own consumer retail company focused on sustainable fashion. It's also a dream of mine to start a fashion line focused on body positivity or something like that, so hopefully we'll get there. I've also always wanted to start a food truck, but I don't have my license.

That'll hopefully be a good motivator to get one.

I just know down the line I want to do something to make positive change, and to make people smile.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND STREET: Last song you listened to?

NN: “The Night Is Still Young” by Nicki Minaj. I'm kind of an insomniac; I don't really sleep much. My roommates and I always play that at 1 a.m.

STREET: What's something people wouldn't guess about you?

NN: I love dancing, but I especially love hip hop. I feel like when people first meet me, they think I'd like more of a calm genre of dance, but I love hip hop.

STREET: If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

NN: It would be flying because I'm really clumsy. My [first] year, when I was running around on campus and had a bunch of back–to–back classes, I would honestly trip on Locust once every two weeks. Flying would be super helpful.

STREET: There are two types of people at Penn …

NN: People who throw their overripe bananas away and people who use them to make banana bread.

STREET: Which are you?

NN: Definitely the latter—with chocolate chips. I can't trust the first.

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YE’S DONDA: Unpolished, Masterful, and a Study in Morality Plays.

The rapper's latest album has moments of greatness, but are they overshadowed by whom it features? | VARUN SARASWATHULA

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t last, Donda is here.

One of the most (if not the most) anticipated albums this year, Donda arrived on Aug. 29 after a series of unrealized release dates. Kanye West—who is purportedly changing his name to the mononym “Ye"—initially announced a July 24, 2020 release date, which came and went. Then, he made the album a real possibility by hosting a “listening party” earlier this summer, then a second, then a third, before actually releasing the album.

While certainly unconventional, the listening parties allowed us to see the album’s metamorphosis in real time; with each successive event, Donda became a little longer, a little more collaborative, and a little more fleshed out. The events themselves became more surreal: the first event had a masked Ye simply running around a stadium playing tracks while the final one involved Ye self–immolating and perhaps remarrying his ex–wife, Kim Kardashian.

The album itself finally dropped on Sunday morning (apparently, against Ye’s consent), and it’s long. Clocking in at one hour and 48 minutes, the album is longer than his previous three releases combined.

It's also deeply collaborative; almost every song features extended vocals from other artists, creating a sonic diversity as the genre shifts from track to track. In these respects, Donda is exceptionally reminiscent of 2016’s The Life of Pablo.

Pablo was actually unfinished when it dropped— Ye famously made alterations to the album for months after its release, claiming that the record was a “living, breathing, changing creative expression.”

Upon first listen, Donda is similarly raw, with some tracks needing further mixing and others lacking cogent endings. And then, of course, there are the censored profanities that distractingly remind us that Ye hasn’t escaped his commitment to making clean music. Can we expect new versions of Donda over the coming weeks 8

and months? Will a review written mere days after the record’s release become painfully outdated?

It’s unclear. Yet, even at this point in time, there are moments on Donda worthy of praise. On ‘Jail,’ a powerful opening to the album, the harsh guitars provide a minimalist rhythm that complements a sharp verse from Jay-Z, suggesting a possible ending to their years–long feud. ‘Hurricane’ features a beautiful chorus from The Weeknd, and a very catchy hook from Ye, where he begins his verse with a sassy “Mm mm mmm mmm mmm.”

While Jay-Z and The Weeknd are long –time collaborators of Ye, he also enlists the help of newer sensations, like Roddy Ricch on ‘Pure Souls,’ who laments how fame and money can allow someone to reinvent themselves fundamentally—for better or for worse. Ricch pointedly asks, “The truth is only what you get away with, huh?”

‘Jonah’ and ‘Moon’ are the true emotional highlights on the record, beginning with melodic choruses that provide a depth that the other cuts on the album simply cannot. On ‘Jonah,’ singer Vory opens with a beautifully sung chorus, asking, “Who's here when I need a shoulder to lean on? / I hope you're here when I need the demons to be gone / And it's not fair that I had to fight 'em all on my own.” Don Toliver opens ‘Moon’ with a similarly vibey chorus sung over an electric guitar that accompanies Kid Cudi’s yearning hums.

The best moments on the album, however, are when Ye is able to do what he is known for—flipping samples and reimagining established sounds. Despite its awkward ending, ‘Off the Grid’ is easily the album's best, showcasing the fact that Ye can keep up, despite the fact that he’s been at this for more than two decades. A hard–hitting banger over a drill beat, ‘Off the Grid’ manages to make Playboi Carti sound good—which isn’t an easy feat— and features a lengthy verse from Fivio

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Foreign, whose tight flow is the highlight of the track. Another absolute gem is ‘Believe What I Say,’ a track that Ye teased almost a year ago. Constructed around a Lauryn Hill sample, the track has a groovy bassline and a beat that forces you to tap your foot along. The track also features Ye’s best verse on the album, a series of well–delivered bars without any cringy lyrics (something we’ve all unfortunately learned to expect from him).

The final highlight is the nine–minute long ‘Jesus Lord,’ the thematic center of the album, and one of the few tracks that Ye carries almost entirely by himself, save for a Jay Electronica feature. Anchored around the repetitive titular refrain, “Jesus, Lord,” Ye raps about his mother, his youth, and the justice system in America.

In fact, the track ends with a monologue from gang leader Larry Hoover Jr. about America’s broken criminal justice system, and how it can disrupt families.

But apart from these moments, Donda is filled with mediocre and unfinished fillers that detract from the true golden moments. Tracks like ‘Junya,’ ‘God Breathed,’ and ‘Tell the Vision’ are unnecessary and contribute nothing thematically or sonically to Donda. Other tracks are utterly unimaginative, lacking the single quality that makes a Kanye West album so groundbreaking. ‘New Again’ could simply be a cut off of 2007’s Graduation, ‘God Breathed’ sounds like something that wasn’t good enough for Yeezus, and ‘Praise God’ seems like ‘Wash Us in the Blood’ with a longer Travis Scott verse.

In general, Donda is good—and at moments, is excellent—but lacks the sense of completeness and thematic cohesiveness that defined Ye’s older work. It also lacks the brevity that made albums like Yeezus and Kids See Ghosts so powerful and innovative. Furthermore, the elephant in the room is some of the collaborators that Ye recruited. At his third listening party, he brought out DaBaby, who recently delivered, then doubled–down on, homo-

Photo by Kevin Mazur/Getty Images for Universal Music Group.

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phobic remarks, and Marilyn Manson, who has been accused of sexual assault by several different women, making headlines for such flagrant support of some of the worst that the music industry has to offer. Though Manson and DaBaby only feature on a remix, the media frenzy surrounding them distracted from perhaps an even bigger affront: Ye’s collaboration with Chris Brown, a cyclical abuser who somehow seems to hover just above cancel culture.

Ye featuring these individuals is indefensible and alienates large swaths of listeners. After all, it’s hard to enjoy an album when it reminds you of and profits off trauma. That said, the deluge of negative reviews for Donda are perplexing, often using the social weight of the album to ignore commenting on the music. The Independent, for example, gave Donda zero stars, saying that “Marilyn Manson’s inexcusable presence leaves a sour taste that no amount of gospel can cleanse.”

Sure, such a review misses Ye’s history of being intentionally provocative and attention–seeking ahead of his album releases, but where does the line between publicity stunt and platforming an abuser lie? Does collaborating with an abuser carry the same moral weight of being one? I’d argue probably not, but it brings into sharp relief the responsibility music industry power brokers have. A quick Google search reveals dozens of artists Ye could’ve featured ahead of Manson, all of which capture that same grating sound quality. And while we could chalk Manson’s feature up to a ploy for attention, we can also ask a bigger question: Can the music we listen to exist separately from the inequalities that reinforce homophobia and misogyny?

I don’t know, but Donda has certainly made me ask.

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O Solo Female Artists Lead Billboard Top 200 For the First Time in Over a Decade Billie Eilish, Doja Cat, and Olivia Rodrigo accomplish an impressive feat in an environment that often works against them. | FERNANDA BRIZUELA

Illustration by Tyler Kliem

n Aug. 23, 2021 Billboard reported that Billie Eilish’s Happier Than Ever led their Top 200 chart, which tracks the most popular albums in the country per week based on “multimetric consumption.” Doja Cat’s Planet Her and Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album SOUR followed Eilish on the Aug. 28–dated chart. This ranking garnered attention, as it was the first time solo female artists dominated in over a decade.

The last time the top three albums were fully credited to solo women was in December 2010, when Susan Boyle, Taylor Swift, and Jackie Evancho stood at the top.

Even though an all–female Billboard Top 200 had previously happened, the 2021 albums stand in stark contrast to those of 2010: The Gift, Speak Now, and O Holy Night.

This is not to discredit Boyle, Swift, and Evancho of their achievement.

However, it’s important to look at the broader context that allowed these six albums to rise to the top at their given times.

Primarily, two of the December 2010 leaders—The Gift and O Holy Night—were Christmas albums, which naturally tend to rise in popularity during the holiday season each year. Reviews of The Gift show that its success can mostly be attributed to the season; BBC described it as a “predictably comforting affair” with “seasonal standards” and “classic covers,” acknowledging that it “is not as touching or grabbing as it could be.”

This context behind these artists’ success in 2010 makes the 2021 charts all the more impressive. Rolling Stone recently reported that a Columbia Business School study suggests that women artists—and women engaged in creative fields overall—tend to be “generally more creative than men.” They determined that women produce more novel songs that are more “musically fresh and unusual.”

Despite this finding, there continues to be a troubling gender gap in popular music. Just in 2018, there were three times as many male acts in the Official Chart Company’s top 100 songs than female artists.

In addition to research data, female artists have publicly spoken out about their need to work harder to be recognized in the industry. Taylor Swift has famously said that “female artists have reinvented themselves 20 times more than the male artist.” This is evident in the way her music has changed over time—the 2010 chart leader Speak Now differs significantly in sound from her most recent release, evermore. More than anything, in addition to continuously working on their sound, female artists often have to pay more attention to their looks and public behavior.

Although this issue is being discussed more publicly, it continues to be difficult for female artists to achieve success without features or collaborations. For this reason, Eilish, Doja Cat, and Rodrigo’s success in the recent charts is notable—and hopefully a trend that continues.

In addition to rising in the charts as solo artists, they were able to do this with albums that explored themes of empowerment and individuality. In Happier Than Ever, Eilish displays her mature sound, using her songs to “assert her agency and self–worth.”

Just the title of Doja Cat’s Planet Her gives us an insight into its content—it’s all about her and her “exquisitely strange and spectacularly camp world.” For Rodrigo, her debut album was a successful introduction to her melancholic songwriting, using a devastating breakup to explore relatable feelings of insecurity.

Even though this all–female ranking is significant at the moment, it shouldn't have to be. As young female artists continue to amass recognition, statistics similar to the Aug. 28 chart will hopefully become more common.

SEPTEMBER 7, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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MUSIC

REMEMBERING AALIYAH: Illustration by Isabel Liang

R&B ICON AND PIONEER

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here are only a few artists that can transcend genres, styles, and languages with their influence, and Aaliyah is undoubtedly one of them. From Rihanna and Monica to HAIM and Jessie Ware, Aaliyah has inspired some of the biggest names in the music industry today, whether they make indie pop or alternative R&B. Her distinguished reputation has been well–established, yet her legacy has been threatened due to tight control over her discography. After a 20–year legal battle between Aaliyah’s former label Blackground Records and her estate that is still not completely resolved, her diverse catalog is finally on its way to old and new listeners.

At a young age, Aaliyah was already heavily involved in the entertainment industry; she was born into a musical family. Her aunt, Gladys Knight, was a Grammy–winning singer known for her chart–topping hit “Midnight Train to Georgia”—and Aaliyah was expected by her uncle to follow suit. Singing in local groups and choirs turned into auditioning for national TV shows and performing with her aunt in concerts.

After Aaliyah’s promising performance on the talent competition show Star Search wasn’t enough to win the show, her uncle, Barry Hankerson, decided to create his own label to jump start her career. Blackground Records was founded in 1993, and Hankerson employed R. Kelly to work with Aaliyah.

Aaliyah’s music is finally streaming 20 years after her death, but it isn’t without controversy. | EVAN QIANG These two unknown artists at the time would soon take the world by storm.

Aaliyah’s debut album Age Ain’t Nothing But a Number was the product of her joint effort with Kelly. Even though she was still a teenager enrolled in school, that didn’t prevent the duo from treating the album as any other work from a major label. Aaliyah described the writing and producing process as “vibing off of one another” after Kelly would “write the songs” that detailed Aaliyah’s adolescent life. Critics lauded the album, praising Aaliyah for her mature tone and memorable hooks on tracks such as “At Your Best (You Are Love),” which helped the album sell over 6 million copies globally.

The pair grew so close that some accused Kelly of illegally marrying Aaliyah, who was only 15 at the time. Although Aaliyah and her family denied the allegations, rumors of the affair resurfaced during Kelly’s ongoing sex trafficking trial.

According to court documents, Kelly sought out a fake ID to get a valid marriage license. As a result of the controversy, Aaliyah switched labels and collaborators for her next album. On One in a Million, Aaliyah worked mainly with Timbaland and Missy Elliot, two artists who would later become legendary figures in the music industry. Aaliyah’s sophomore album would be one of their major works that highlighted their instrumental prowess, allowing them to connect with people like Jay–Z and Brandy on the way to producer stardom.

10 34TH STREET MAGAZINE SEPTEMBER 7, 2021

Aaliyah continued to shine in the spotlight with Aaliyah—which would be her final album. She further refined and developed her style, seamlessly combining pop, soul, and R&B, which has defined some of the greatest hits today.

Building off of the success of her previous albums, Aaliyah broke a slew of records, including the single “Try Again” that reached No. 1 on Billboard based only on airplay.

After filming a music video set in the Bahamas for “Rock The Boat,” Aaliyah passed away in a plane crash. The death came as a shock to many, especially since she was just 22 years old, and fans were saddened to see Aaliyah’s untapped potential disappear. Aaliyah became a worldwide icon for her short–lived yet impressive career, and her family wanted to preserve that legacy. Many family members did not want Aaliyah’s music to be available following her death, and after Blackground Records lost its distribution rights, Aaliyah’s discography disappeared from stores. When physical albums disappeared in favor of digital sales and streaming services, her albums became even rarer.

All of this made Blackground Records’ announcement in August that Aaliyah’s discography would be gradually uploaded to streaming services even more surprising. To fans, it was amazing news after resorting to low– quality YouTube videos or fan websites.

However, Aaliyah’s estate objected, stat-

ing that they were not informed beforehand of Blackground Records’ sudden decision. To add even more fuel to the fire, Blackground Records also released the discographies of their other clientele.

This includes JoJo, who re–recorded her catalog due to disputes with Blackground Records. Similar to Taylor Swift and her high–profile masters battle with her label, JoJo turned to re–recordings to regain control of her music. She also felt betrayed by Blackground Records’ decision, expressing her frustrations on Twitter since she would not gain any money from the original versions.

Releasing Aaliyah’s albums is still a promising start in celebrating the artist’s accomplishments in multiple genres. Her influence is still very much felt today, evidenced by Normani and Cardi B’s “Wild Side” which samples the title track on One in a Million. Aaliyah’s estate is still hesitant with its control of her music—Hankerson and Blackground Records say that no such sample was approved but were honored to see “young women pursuing their musical and entertainment careers”—but her music is slowly being introduced to a new generation. Regardless of the current tension, Aaliyah will forever remain an icon, establishing the R&B scene we know today and influencing the music of the future. In the upcoming weeks, the world can momentarily travel back to the 1990s to revisit Aaliyah’s dominance as the “Princess of R&B.”

FILM & TV

PARADISE LOST: The Fall From Grace in HBO's The White Lotus Editor's Note: This article contains spoilers for Season 1 of The White Lotus.

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here’s trouble in paradise, and it’s starting to show. HBO’s series The White Lotus took the summer by storm, but it’s time to examine the case study it presents about white privilege, wealth inequality, and colonization.

The title itself is an allusion to the lotus–eaters of Greek mythology, who live their lives in a state of ignorant bliss induced by the lotus fruits on which they indulge. In the show, the lotus– eaters in question are the wealthy white tourists at an exclusive Hawaiian resort, oblivious to the world around them and only tuned in to their own problems.

The White Lotus features a slew of stereotypical vacationers: First there’s the Mossbacher family, with a #girlboss tech CEO mom, Nicole (Connie Britton), who's blind to her family’s needs; a confused father, Mark (Steve Zahn), who's experiencing a superficial midlife crisis; a snarky teenage daughter, Olivia (Sydney Sweeney), who's accompanied by her equally snarky but less wealthy BFF, Paula (Brittany O’Grady), and an awkward son, Quinn (Fred Hechinger), who’s an easy target for his sister’s antics. Then, you have your classic honeymooners, the Pattons; Rachel (Alexandra Daddario) is a struggling journalist from a poor family, and Shane (Jake Lacy) is ready to provide luxury, sex, and nothing of substance.

Finally, wacky solo traveler Tanya (Jennifer Coolidge) spoils herself in an attempt to cope with her mother’s passing, as she comes to Hawaii to spread her ashes.

While these characters have

the entire island on which to play, the hotel employees exist only to serve the guests and are directly affected by their actions.

Armond (Murray Bartlett) is the eccentric hotel manager, bearing the (eventually physical) brunt of Shane’s frequent tantrums. Spa director Belinda (Natasha Rothwell) ends up managing Tanya’s grief and bonding with her, only to be ultimately let down

by Tanya’s flakiness. Kai (Kekoa Kekumano), a Hawaiian native, gets romantically involved with Paula, the only non–white visitor. Ironically, in an attempt to help him, it is Paula who permanently screws him over.

Paula and Kai’s interactions are the only moments in the series that truly showcase the truth behind Hawaiian tourism: Kai expresses to Paula that his family’s life was uprooted when the resort was built, but in order to provide for them, he must work there.

He spends his evenings performing traditional dances at lavish dinners, exploited and fetishized by the very people who stole the land from his family. This cruel irony is true beyond the confines of The White Lotus fantasy.

Paula feels immense sympathy for Kai and proposes a risky solution. While she and the Mossbachers are out for the afternoon, he will enter their room, unlock the safe, and steal Nicole’s jewelry. This way, he can sell the pieces and use the money to quit his job at the hotel and help his family. However, the plan is a major failure, and Kai gets caught. He is taken into custody and fired from his job, left with nothing but a legal record of his actions.

Kai doesn’t rat Paula out, but Olivia figures out the puzzle. Only the three of them know what really happened.

As each character embarks on a rapid downward spiral, their trajectories intertwine. This is truly where the privilege comes into play: No matter how emotionally discontent, the tourists return home unscathed, leaving the hotel employees and natives to suffer in the wake of their selfish decisions. Shane—who fatally stabs Armond in an ambiguous act of self–defense— somehow gets to leave with a clean record after minimal investigation. Rachel, after an internal debate that morphs into a major fight, decides to stay with Shane and sacrifices her independence for a life of comfort.

Tanya gives Belinda hope that she might amount to more than her current status, but she leaves

The show unfolds and the fun unravels, revealing layers of irony about white privilege and Hawaiian tourism. | ARIELLE STANGER her stranded in the end, after she proposes a life–changing business partnership and then backs out of it. She continues to travel with a man she met at the hotel, bidding farewell to the spa director with an insulting envelope of cash. The Mossbachers board their flight home, with relationships tarnished beyond fixing, yet Paula’s secret is still safe with Olivia. Though she isn’t white, she is secure beneath the umbrella of white privilege provided by her vacation family, and the only consequences she will face are her own guilt and Olivia’s potential torment.

But it doesn’t stop there—the show succumbs to the very same concepts it attempts to critique.

Hawaiian Mitchell Kuga writes

in Vox that the show “uses its few Native Hawaiian characters as hollow plot devices in service of illuminating the inner lives of the series’s mostly white protagonists.” Similarly, “excessively Black” Brooke Obie writes that creator, writer, and director Mike White “ate his own lotus,” making money off of a show that “takes place on stolen land, using [marginalized] characters and [colonization] as props.” As she puts it, The White Lotus is “a satire of a satire within a satire.”

The White Lotus has been renewed for a second season, and perhaps Mike White will be receptive to his critics and highlight oppressed voices, rather than exploit them, in the next installment.

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F E AT U R E

From Harvest to Healing

“I want a student to walk away from their time at the farm and think, ‘I could grow basil. I could do this.’”

How three of Philly’s urban farms turn plots of okra and kale into community resilience and growth | ANGELA SHEN

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specially amid the trauma and isolation of the COVID–19 pandemic, many of us have gravitated toward simpler, more agrarian lifestyles, as epitomized by the rise of cottagecore. We yearn to be more connected with nature, to feel a sense of inner peace, to plant our own gardens and bake our own bread—but how many of us actually know how to grow, harvest, and prepare food?

Nestled on city blocks all across Philadelphia, urban farms provide visitors with the unique opportunity to learn how to grow their own gardens: how to sow seeds, how to weed, how to choose and care for plants. Free to the public, overflowing with flora and fauna, and open to people of all races, ages, and skill levels, these farms are a green oasis in the urban landscape.

Despite some challenges with land ownership and financing, these urban farms do so much more than just grow food.

Through their volunteer programs and community events, they connect people to the land, to their heritage, and to each other.

I visited three such farms to learn more about their visions for the future of farming.

The Farm at Awbury The Farm at Awbury, previously known as the Agricultural Village, is a 16–acre section of Awbury Arboretum in Northwest Philadelphia. Lush with trees and vegetation, the physical site’s different features reflect the arboretum’s diverse array of partnerships. The farm’s weekly “Sunday Fun Days” offer a rotating list of interactive family–friendly activities, like butterfly demonstrations, tea tasting, and live music. The Sunday I visited, I was greeted by members of Philadelphia’s Beekeepers Guild, who enthusiastically demonstrated their process of extracting fresh, sticky honey from the beehives they brought from their backyards.

From there, I wandered to the disability–friendly “please– touch–me” garden, picking a few stalks of lavender and lemongrass to inhale their fresh fragrance. Turning left, I discovered

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a small garden dotted with bright orange marigolds, pale blue delphiniums, and deep maroon hollyhock that members of the Philadelphia Guild of Handweavers harvest to naturally dye their textiles. I met Awbury’s non–human residents too—12 chickens and 13 goats, courtesy of the Awbury Cluck Patrol and the Philly Goat Project. At the heart of the Farm at Awbury, I found what I came for: Mort Brooks Memorial Farm.

Mort Brooks Memorial is an urban farm operated by the Weavers Way Co–op, a member–owned cooperative grocery with stores across Philadelphia. Weavers Way practices community–supported agriculture, a system in which people can pay upfront for a “share” in the farm in return for its later harvest.

Non–members can benefit too: Through a partnership with the nonprofit Food Moxie, the co–op provides experiential learning opportunities around farming, nutrition, and culinary skills.

“I think food is a really great connector. Everybody eats. And so, we want to expand your enthusiasm for eating a vegetable to learning to grow that vegetable,” says Nina Berryman, a farm manager for Weavers Way. “I want a student to walk away from their time at the farm and think, ‘I could grow basil. I could do this.’”

Indeed, at a time of increasing urbanization and declining numbers of farmers, many people are less knowledgeable and more isolated from the process of how their favorite produce ends up at their dinner tables.

“If there's no relationship to [food], there is no desire to care for it … It's viewed as a practice outside of living that someone else does,” says Jessica McAtamney, a lecturer at Penn’s School of Social Policy & Practice and a representative of the Philadelphia Food Policy Advisory Council. By offering opportunities to learn about farming, gardening, and nutrition, urban farms like Mort Brooks Memorial encourage more people to engage with their food systems.

LOCATION: Ardleigh Street and East Washington Lane, Awbury Arboretum, Philadelphia

Sankofa Community Farm A 20–minute bike ride or quick trip on the 36 trolley will get you from Penn’s campus to Sankofa Community Farm—a sanctuary away from the bustle of university life. Walk through Bartram’s Garden, the 50–acre park in Southwest Philadelphia where Sankofa is located, and you can enjoy historic buildings, flower and medicinal gardens, a fish pond, and a boardwalk by the Schuylkill. The farm’s four acres are nestled in the southern part of the park.

I signed up for a volunteer day, which the farm hosts on the second and fourth Saturday of each month. On a sweltering July morning, I met up with volunteers from all over South and West Philadelphia: newcomers, hardy farm veterans, shy high schoolers, friendly grandpas, and everyone in between, all ready to work in the dirt.

At this point, we met Ty Holmberg, the co–director of the farm alongside Chris Bolden–Newsome. Running out to greet us in a baseball cap and jeans caked with mud from the knees down, Ty pulled all 30–some volunteers into a large circle and explained the story of Sankofa.

“We're a spiritually rooted farm, we're an intergenerational farm, we are African diaspora–centric. We are a multiracial space, but we center Black leadership and the experience of Black people.”

From growing foods specific to people of African descent, like okra, to holding educational workshops that combine cooking, culture, and history, the farm is a space for people to heal and rebuild their relationships with food, the land, and one another.

“Sankofa is this idea: to go back and fetch what you left behind,” Holmberg elaborated. “It's a West African term from King Adinkera of the Akan people of West Africa, which is where Ghana is today. It’s about under-

NINA BERRYMAN

Illustrations by Isabel Liang

F E AT U R E

standing your history, your relationship to the land, and your ancestors, in order to move forward.” Sankofa, in other words, is part of a growing movement within urban agriculture to reckon with the United States’ long history of depriving Black farmers of land and power. The movement uncovers the power of agriculture to reclaim cultural heritage and move toward collective liberation, after decades of dealing with sharecropping and redlining.

That day, our healing process began as we pulled on our gloves, walked into the farm, got on our knees, and began to weed. Energized, despite the sweltering touch of the sun, I painstakingly made my way through the twisted vines and tall grasses stubbornly stationed around my assigned row of purple kale. I got to know my fellow volunteers: Brett is a college student finishing up his community service hours; Sarah has no gardening experience, but a passion for sustainability and a desire to learn; Josephine has her own private lots in two separate community gardens in the city and still somehow finds the time to volunteer. As I heard each of their stories, I felt more connected than ever to the community—not just as a student at the University of Pennsylvania, but as an active resident of Philadelphia.

Single–day volunteers only scratch the surface of the wide variety of people that Sankofa serves. Through an extensive youth internship program called the Big Incredible Gardeners, 20 to 25 youth work year–round on the farm and learn about the history and culture of the African Diaspora. Visiting school groups, community gardeners, senior staff, and Southwest neighbors all come together to work on the land.

“I sometimes use the metaphor of how in the mushroom world, the mycelium is this network that connects plants to plants,” Holmberg says. “It's a connector and a communicator, and I really feel like that’s the role played by the farm.”

LOCATION: 5400 Lindbergh Blvd., Bartram’s Garden, Philadelphia SEPTEMBER 7, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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F E AT U R E

Life Do Grow Farm Located north of Temple University, Life Do Grow Farm is easy to spot. It’s not only an urban farm but also a public park, outdoor classroom, community marketplace, and a venue for artistic expression. The farm is adorned with colorful murals, mosaics, and sculptures. Life Do Grow is operated by Urban Creators, a grassroots organization supporting equity, community resilience, and collective liberation.

At the start of my visit, I received an enthusiastic and detailed tour from one of the regulars at the farm—who, to my surprise, also studied at Penn.

The farm fits an impressive array of features into its limited two acres: rooftop solar panels and rain catchment systems; hammocks and lawn chairs and a fire pit; storage buildings and a compost pile; an herb garden and a greenhouse; and most impressively, a massive geodesic dome containing tables, chairs, and air conditioning.

I was surprised to find that the volunteers and staff were a balanced mix of students from Temple University and residents from North Philadelphia. Similar to Penn, Temple has a complicated and often challenging relationship with its surrounding neighborhoods. It’s estimated that between 1965 and 1975 alone, 7,000 Black families were displaced from what we call Templetown, and the trend still continues, as Temple leadership looks to build a football stadium in a residential area. Urban Creators has made progress in dissolving some of the tension by empowering students and community members to work together toward a common good.

Life Do Grow carries out a number of projects to serve the community. During the COVID–19 pandemic, the farm operated a Mobile Market that distributed “approximately 61,000 [pounds] of produce, 32,310 fresh meals, 21,300 diapers, 94,872 feminine hygiene products, 350 books, and hundreds of PPE items.” Through various partnerships, Urban Creators provides employment opportunities, political and workforce training, and mentorship through programs like the Urban Innovation Pro-

gram and Don’t Fall Down in the Hood. In 2015, the organization collaborated with the Mural Arts Guild to train young adults who were formerly incarcerated, resulting in reduced rates of recidivism among participants.

And in 2021, Urban Creators partnered with the Philadelphia Opioid Response Unit to train young people as “peacemakers” to promote harm reduction through overdose prevention education.

Despite over ten years of relationship–building in the neighborhood, Life Do Grow faces legal and bureaucratic barriers to permanent land ownership. With its rent–free lease set to expire in February of 2022, the farm is fighting to keep its land through the Philadelphia Land Bank.

Due in part to city policy that views urban farms as placeholders before more valuable re–development takes place, most urban farms do not have full ownership of their land. Land availability is less of a challenge—at least 6,000 vacant lots in Philadelphia are publicly owned and ready for disposition—but complicated bureaucratic requirements and threats of new development make it difficult for farms to access this land. Nevertheless, organizations like the Philadelphia Land Bank and the Campaign to Take Back Vacant Land are making progress to establish urban farms as a permanent fixture of the city.

“This neighborhood is steeped in history, every generation who has lived in North Philadelphia can recall where their favorite childhood memory took place in this neighborhood,” said Tyler A. Ray in a government testimonial.

Ray is a lifelong North Philadelphia resident and community organizer who views Life Do Grow as his grounding place. He explained that the urban farm acts as a “middle man” in a food desert by providing fresh produce to a community with scant access to healthy options.

“Many urban gardens and farms are also at risk of their land being stripped away by private development regardless of their community impact,” he said. “I ask that when the notion of food insecurity is discussed, the conversation of land sovereignty and the recognition of communal ownership is also included.”

LOCATION: 2315 North 11th St., Philadelphia

“If there's no relationship to [food], there is no desire to care for it … It's viewed as a practice outside of living that someone else does."

JESSICA MCATAMNEY

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SEPTEMBER 7, 2021

With organizations like the Farm at Awbury, Sankofa Community Farm, and Life Do Grow Farm leading the way, urban farming represents hope for the city on a number of fronts—food access, sustainability, mental and physical health, and social and civic engagement. Despite a plethora of challenges with land ownership and funding, urban agriculture has persisted in Philadelphia for over a century. Such survival is the direct result of dedicated work and advocacy by many of the organizations and people highlighted here, as well as countless others.

With the appointment of Ash Richards,

the city’s first–ever director of urban agriculture, and the initiation of planning for the city’s first–ever long–term urban agriculture strategy in 2019, the next few years may be the most exciting for the growth and establishment of urban agriculture in the city.

In the meantime, Philadelphians should make time in their busy schedules to volunteer at a nearby urban farm, care for a tomato plant, or learn an old family recipe. The advantages of these activities go far beyond basic nourishment—they are powerful ways to connect to your community, your culture, and yourself.

I felt more connected than ever to the community—not just as a student at the University of Pennsylvania, but as an active resident of the city of Philadelphia.

ST YLE

THE PROBLEM WITH "WHITE GIRL WELLNESS"

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rom expensive yoga classes to acupuncture, health and self–care practices have taken mainstream culture by storm. Globally valued at around $4.2 trillion, the wellness industry has become our obsession, and it seems like it's here to stay.

Dipping your toes into activities like reiki and oil pulling can be a great way to de–stress from time to time. However, we haven't paid nearly enough attention to where these exercises really come from— as well as how their commodification by a primarily white wellness industry disrespects the cultures that created them.

Take yoga for example. Movie–star– turned–goop–founder Gwyneth Paltrow once told a yoga instructor, “You have this job because I've done yoga before," suggesting that she—a white woman—was the reason behind the popularization of yoga in wellness circles.

Live music • Film Dance • Theater Art Education Community

Yet this statement couldn’t be further from the truth. Yoga originated in Indian culture, and there's historical evidence that it was practiced over 2000 years ago.

Practitioners use it to bring together the mind and the body, allowing them to align themselves with the universe. It's not only a beneficial health practice, but it also carries great cultural weight for Indian people around the globe.

But as yoga has become more mainstream, non–Indian practitioners have begun to focus on the fitness and “trendy” aspects of yoga rather than its original reflective purpose. Instead of being centered on self–awareness and self–love, yoga is commonly seen as a stylish way to get fit.

With the "trendiness" of yoga on the rise, classes have become extremely popular—and thus expensive. With the cost of mats, classes, and gear adding up, yoga has become increasingly exclusive to whiter,

The wellness industry is dominated by white women—here’s why we need to fix it. | KIRA WANG

more affluent spaces, which creates barriers for communities of color to access it and ignores the cultures that created it.

But yoga isn't the only traditional exercise that has been appropriated by the wellness industry and rebranded as a way for white people to participate in self–care.

Traditional Chinese practices like gua sha and cupping were once written off as strange and foreign in the United States.

Now, lifestyle outlets market gua sha as “clean beauty,” while athletes everywhere use cupping.

Brands like Anthropologie and Urban Outfitters sell smudge kits, advertising them as “cleansing” without acknowledging how the practice of burning herbs is a ceremonial purifying ritual in many Indigenous cultures. While Indigenous religious and cultural activities like smudging were once outlawed and per-

secuted by various governments, burning sage is now seen as fashionable when aesthetically packaged and removed from its origins.

Merely consuming a culture for its aesthetic value and what it could add to your self–care routine is ignorant at best and, at worst, downright harmful to the communities that these wellness practices come from. The colonization of ethnic wellness is a form of cultural appropriation that labels non–Western cultures as mere trends.

With white women like Paltrow taking credit for new wellness “trends” and serving as the faces of the self–care movement, it's clear that the wellness industry excludes people of color through cultural disrespect and commodification. In order to appreciate the diversity of the new wellness wave, we need to pay homage to the cultures that created it.

The Rotunda, located at 4014 Walnut Street is a community-gathering place that is fueled by the belief that art is a catalyst for social change and that the arts can lead to the formation of meaningful partnerships between the University of Pennsylvania and surrounding neighborhoods.

Check out our fall events calendar at www.therotunda.org Events are virtual for now, in-person events coming soon!

As an alcohol-free/smoke-free venue, The Rotunda provides an invaluable social alternative for all ages.

4014 Walnut • TheRotunda.org SEPTEMBER 7, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 15

ST YLE

The Cowboy Aesthetic's Subversive Return A bygone era’s resurgence manifests itself in trendy modern fashion. | EMILY MOON

Illu stra tion by

Alice C ho i

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uring the COVID–19 lockdown in 2020, glittery pink cowboy hats silently but suddenly cropped up as the latest party accessory. Pinterest fashionistas may already be familiar with the cutesy cowboy aesthetic since Lily–Rose Depp donned one back in 2017, but the Western trend has more recently been adopted by the masses. Even though the pink cowboy hat’s rapid rise and fall feels normal considering the nature of ephemeral modern trends, the glamorization of a traditionally–rugged aesthetic poses the questions: Why cowboys, and why now?

While Depp may have popularized pink cowboy hats as an “it girl” accessory, the fashion industry wasn’t the one to kick off the resurgence of a bygone era in earnest—it was the music industry, and it’s been a long time coming. We’re all familiar with the modernized Western aesthetic in megahit “Old Town Road” by Lil Nas X, but even more avant–garde artists like Solange paid homage to the Black cowboys of Almeda, Texas in her art film When I Get Home.

Cowboys were even front and center during the 2019 Grammy Awards, when Kacey Musgraves’ pop–country marvel, Golden Hour, became the first country ‘Album of the Year’ winner since Taylor Swift’s Fearless in 2010. She also swept the country category, and her hit song “Space Cowboy” became fashion inspiration for countless Halloween costumes in the following years.

Beyond smaller references and nods to Western culture, artists also conjured the iconic image of cowboys when titling their albums, one being Mac DeMarco’s Here Comes The Cowboy. In Mitski’s critically–acclaimed 2018 album, Be the Cowboy, the Japanese–American indie art-

ist sharply navigates insecurity and adult romance on her own terms.

Explaining that the title comes from an “inside joke” with herself, Mitski fights imposter syndrome on the album by asking herself, “What would a white guy say? What would a swaggering cowboy riding into town do in this situation?” Be the Cowboy, even while inspired by a self–referential rhetorical question, resulted in a stunningly vulnerable album featuring the deceptively upbeat and now– TikTok famous track “Nobody.”

Perhaps after months of isolation and lockdown for many of TikTok’s Gen Z users, it’s no surprise that the vulnerability of “Nobody” or the individuality that Be the Cowboy commands speaks to those tired of being just another square on Zoom.

Especially considering the bold brightness of recent fashion trends, it makes sense that modern fashion is dusting off its cowboy boots and refining rugged individuality.

There’s something uniquely appealing about being the cowboy, especially in our current climate.

Popular depictions of the classic historical figure invoke images of a white “all–American,” an outcast unafraid to go his own way in the unforgiving Western plains. But now, the cowboy can be a Japanese– American woman like Mitski, or a gay Black artist like Lil Nas X—it can even be you, with the purchase of some trendy cowboy paraphernalia.

Unfortunately, like all fashion trends, the cowboy aesthetic has become increasingly commonplace— meaning it’s almost out of style. But that doesn’t mean it’s too late to buy a sparkly pink cowboy hat or hop on the colorful cowboy boots wave, even if you might stick out. After all, isn’t that the way of the cowboy?

ARTS

Billionaires Aren’t the Philanthropists They Think They Are The rich’s charity work doesn’t address social inequality—it reinforces it. | JEAN PAIK

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hat is a “generous billionaire"?

The term itself appears to be an oxymoron—generosity implies an element of self–sacrifice, while the very existence of a billionaire entails ownership of obscene amounts of wealth and the enforcement of stark wealth inequality.

Despite this, the image of billionaires as altruistic and charitable remains strong in the public consciousness. This isn’t surprising, as news outlets often report on the high–level philanthropy of household names. In 2010, Warren Buffet and Bill Gates initiated a campaign known as the Giving Pledge, which encouraged billionaires around the world to give away the majority of their wealth towards the public good. In 2017, Mark Zuckerberg and his wife, Priscilla Chan, founded the Chan Zuckerberg Initiative that aims to give three billion dollars to aid the housing crisis in Silicon Valley. Just this year, Jeff Bezos’s ex–wife MacKenzie Scott donated billions of dollars to non–profit organizations and even requested that media outlets center the recipients in their news coverage, rather than herself.

These individuals follow a larger trend in what has been called the “golden age of philanthropy,” where in the last three decades, the donations from the ultra–rich have escalated to hundreds of billions of dollars. But the very scholars who coined the phrase, Iain Hay and Samantha

Muller, emphasize that this is not a phenomenon of billionaires simply giving away their money to charitable causes, but rather, one that “divert[s] attention and resources away from the failings of contemporary manifestations of capitalism.”

In this growing age of philanthrocapitalism, billionaires are idolized for "fixing" social problems that they helped create in the first place.

For example, Mark Zuckerberg’s monetary attempts to alleviate the Silicon Valley housing crisis do not alter the fact that major tech companies like Apple, Amazon, Facebook, and Google continue to be major contributors to gentrification in their headquarters' surrounding communities. The Bay Area currently has the third largest population of people experiencing homelessness in the United States, and the lack of affordable housing has spilled over to different cities as these tech companies expand.

Billionaire philanthropy has also been criticized for operating as a “moral cover” to detract from exploitative labor conditions and corporate malpractice. This tac-

In this growing age of philanthrocapitalism, billionaires are idolized for ‘fixing’ social problems that they helped create in the first place.

Illustrations by Alice Heyeh tic has allowed powerful individuals like Jeff Bezos to announce ten billion dollars in donations to combat climate change, while simultaneously having Amazon expand its business deals with fossil fuel companies, threaten to fire employees who criticize their environmental policies, and stall on their clean energy promises.

Bezos’s billions of dollars in “charitable giving” has also not changed the exploitative, grueling, and unsafe labor conditions that resulted in thousands of Amazon workers worldwide going on strike earlier this year.

In many cases, philanthropy is seen as more "economically efficient" than companies having to fundamentally change operational practices. As professor Carl Rhodes and senior lecturer Peter Bloom argue, “Giving to charity is a prime opportunity for CEOs to be seen [doing good] without having to sacrifice their commitment to making profit at any social cost." It permits them to be merely philanthropic, rather than

actually "economically progressive or politically democratic."

In fact, billionaires who vowed to donate half of their wealth have actually seen their fortunes skyrocket in the past decade.

The 62 people who signed the Giving Pledge in 2010 have collectively seen their wealth increase by 95%, and nine of those billionaires have increased their wealth by 200% or more. Even during the COVID–19 pandemic and economic recession where millions of people lost their jobs, Pledgers had their combined wealth grow by nearly $214 billion—effectively ending the first year of the pandemic much richer than when they started.

Philanthrocapitalism and depoliticized donations aren't solutions to social problems, but rather blunt enforcers of it. It’s time to stop celebrating the rich’s charity work, and instead actively reject the narrative that the "generosity" of billionaires is any type of replacement for social safety nets. It's time to support on–the–ground organizers whose work is rooted in solidarity and meeting the needs of their community—like mutual aid organizations in the Philly area.

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FOCUS

The Unwarranted Controversy Surrounding Lizzo's "Rumors" Behind the backlash against Lizzo and Cardi B's new single. | EMILY MOON

M

elissa Jefferson, known more commonly as Lizzo, is a 3–time Grammy award–winning artist, a talented singer/ songwriter, a skilled flutist, and outspoken advocate for body neutrality. Given all of her accomplishments—her body is the least interesting thing about her. So why can’t people stop talking about it?

With the release of her latest single “Rumors” featuring rapper Cardi B, Lizzo yet again faced a wave of hateful comments about not only her weight, but also her supposed perpetuation of the “Mammy” stereotype. “Rumors” sports a defiant message of confidence alongside a funky beat and Hercules–inspired video, but ultimately became a self–fulfilling prophecy with lyrics like, “Sick of rumors / But haters do what they do / Haters do what they do.”

Inundated by waves of unwarranted criticism about her figure, sexuality, and race, Lizzo called out the negative comments on Instagram Live, stating “What I won’t accept is y’all doing this to Black women...especially us big Black girls.

When we don’t fit into the box that you want to put us in, you just unleash hatred onto us.”

Lizzo’s observation is upsettingly supported by her public reception over the past few years. When Lizzo wears revealing outfits similar to those of other pop stars like Ariana Grande and Taylor Swift, she’s met uniquely with scathing criticism. She puts it best herself in “Rumors” with, “They say I should watch the shit I post, oh, goddamn / Say I’m turning big girls into hoes, oh, goddamn.” When Lizzo writes songs bursting with self–love and confidence, people on the Internet suddenly become dietitians worried for 18 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

her health, or just skip the guise altogether to critique her body. With the level of hatred and faux concern many show Lizzo, it almost seems as if they are personally offended that a plus– sized woman could love—or at least not hate—herself.

While both Cardi B and Lizzo have endured a sizable amount of pushback from the beginning of their impressive careers, “Rumors” and its unabashed confidence has since sparked a wave of empowering Tik Toks to the song’s opening lines. Plus–sized women lip sync along to Lizzo while embracing their bodies, which Lizzo has boosted on her account. “Rumors,” despite all of the negativity surrounding its release, has found a way to become an anthem for self–love.

Lizzo has been no stranger to the body positivity and body neutrality movements since her rapid rise to stardom.

However, she’s also noted that her role in these movements has almost been chosen for her—she didn’t set out to “make a statement." She just writes songs about sexuality and confidence and also happens to be a plus–size woman. In an interview from 2019 with Trevor Noah, Lizzo candidly spoke about her experience in the public eye.

She remarked that others would label her “brave” just because she loved herself and her body, and said that, “At this point, I realize that my mere existence is a form of activism.”

Most of Lizzo’s discography is marked by an unmistakable understanding of her own self–worth. In fact, the introductory verse of “Rumors” is reminiscent of breakup smash hit “Truth Hurts,” both in spunk and composition—there’s nothing to distract lis-

SEPTEMBER 7, 2021

Photo by Andy Moran | Design by Jesse Zhang | CC BY 2.0

teners except for a piano melody while Lizzo lyrically rolls her eyes. But as “Rumors” progresses, it deviates from Lizzo’s previous work, morphing more into a confused mixture of many elements that have come to define some of Lizzo’s most popular work. Electric guitar solos, clapping, horns, and synth feel jumbled together, making the track feel like a far cry from the cohesive funky restraint of “Boys.”

Cardi B and Lizzo drip gold in the “Rumors” music video as they address common criticisms they’ve fielded. Both powerhouses haven’t been shy about setting the record straight with some past controversies, but in “Rumors,” they almost accept the nature of life in a public eye with lyrics like, “Sick of rumors / But haters do what they do.” While this theme of indifference runs throughout the track, the lyrics also include references to Black culture as she opens with, “They don’t know I do it for the culture.”

When considering the wave of hatred that has attempted to drown Lizzo, it’s clear that the intersectionality of her gender and race play a part in negative narratives about the artist. In fact, the connec-

tion drawn between her weight, gender, and race has even sparked criticism from those who believe Lizzo is embodying the harmful “Mammy” stereotype in the “Rumors” music video. The Mammy caricature portrays “an obese ... maternal figure,” a stereotype that Lizzo herself addressed as being completed desexualized, a sharp contradiction when considering that many attack her for being hypersexual and showing off her body.

“Rumors” and the negative reaction staining the lighthearted nature of Lizzo and Cardi B’s pop song have continued to shed light on an often ignored conversation about gender, body image, and even race. Lizzo didn’t choose to become the figurehead for body positivity, but still bears the brunt of body–based hate in modern pop culture. Lizzo—or anyone, for that matter—feeling comfortable in her own body shouldn’t spark the amount of controversy it currently does. But in light of all the negativity, the positive impact “Rumors” has had for plus–sized women on Tik Tok offers an overwhelmingly optimistic view forward for the body neutrality and positivity movements.

ARTS

Photo by Alfredo Practicò

The Philadelphia Art Museum You Know and Love, Now with Frank Gehry Flair Here’s an excuse to take a day off and enjoy the refurbished museum. | JESSA GLASSMAN

J

ust days after move–in, bright–eyed sophomores took buses up to Fairmount Hill to enjoy art, refreshments, and each other’s company. In the historic Philadelphia Museum of Art, second– year Penn students schmoozed and chit chatted, ushering in what will hopefully be a more community–driven year at Penn.

It was a celebration of togetherness for the Class of 2024, marking the first time all of us have been together in one place. The Philadelphia Museum of Art, which Penn rented out in its entirety, made for a special and memorable gala venue because of its scale and landmark status.

After four years of construction spearheaded by Frank Gehry, the museum fully reopened in May—making it an even more apt location for the sophomore class to gather at the start of the year. The space’s grand ceilings and Greek revival architecture elicited oohhs and aahhs from the guests. Plus, it proved a great conversation starter for sophomores as we finally started to get acquainted with one another.

“I think it’s really special that Penn was able to do this for us because it’s a really unique and unusual place,” says Hudson Vance (C '24). “We appreciate that Penn went to extraorinary lengths to get such a grand and spectacular venue to introduce us into our sophomore year.”

Much like how the gala honors a long–standing tradition at Penn, the $233 million renovation and extension of the Beaux– Artes style museum was intended to honor and highlight the building’s historic originality. Frank Gehry’s boundary–pushing architectural designs are likely what earned him awards like the

Pritzker Prize; yet for this undertaking, called the Core Project, he focused more on improving the existing structure and design rather than redoing it. "The goal in all of our work at the Philadelphia Museum of Art has been to let the museum guide our hand," says Gehry.

As for the museum’s transformation, the stone walls throughout the building were deep cleaned and new LED lights were installed into the vaulted ceilings. Both were intended to guide visitors as they weave through the museum halls, and to give the space a sparkling, uplifting glow. Returning to a small town in southern Minnesota, just like the original architects Horace Trumbauer and Julian Abele did in the early 20th century, Gehry sourced a rare type of golden limestone called Kasota stone for the design.

Furthermore, after nearly 50 years of closure, the 640–foot– long Vaulted Walkway was restored and updated—allowing visitors to view the museum from a new angle by wandering around its perimeter. The reopening was part of Gehry’s effort to highlight the history of the space, creatively bringing the past back into the present and reviving a centuries–old experience for museum–goers. The corridor also has new Guastavino tiles decorating its vaults as well as improved infrastructure including pipes and cables. It leads to a recently updated area called the South Hall which now houses a variety of sculptures.

Perhaps the most monumental change by Gehry was the Williams Forum, which is a brand new, grand–scale installation area that took the place of the old auditorium. During the gala,

mask–clad students danced to the Top 40 hits booming out of the DJ’s speakers, which echoed around the massive space. Theatrically curved, pristine limestone staircases with bronze railings lead visitors down to the 40– foot–high space, connecting the primary entrance and central staircases—thereby improving the museum’s flow. “He knows the way buildings work and how to organize sequences of spaces,” says museum director Timothy Rub. “That’s exactly what we needed in a building as big and as complicated as ours.”

Gehry ultimately added 90,000 square feet to the building, and redesignated 20,000 square feet to include offices, a restaurant, and storage. This ex-

pansion gave more room “for art and for people,” just as Gehry said was his goal. The Daniel W. Dietrich II Galleries give more room for modern and contemporary art at the museum. The new Robert L. McNeil, Jr. Galleries are now centered around Early American Art with a Philadelphia focus, paying close attention to the contributions of Black, Latin American, and Indigenous artists at the time.

The gallery hopes to offer a refreshing perspective on the past that confronts the erasure of non–white individuals in American art history.

The museum created an aura of sophistication and grandeur for the students, emanating from its historic and impressive architecture. "It’s really fun to just wander around the gallery and see what art speaks to you,” says Erin Schott (C '24). While the highbrow gala experience may be once in a lifetime, the museum is there to stay. It beckons visitors from the sophomore class and far beyond to not only view the art it holds, but to appreciate its old and new architecture. The newest iteration of the museum is almost as much of a masterpiece as the art inside it.

JOIN THE MOVEMENT to prioritize people over profits, help local businesses and

FIGHT

income inequality and climate change When you sign up get $100 added to your account to use at local merchants. A portion of the $100 goes toward your purchase.

Every student you sign up gets you an additional $100 in your account. Be the first student to sign up 200 students and get $20,000 added to your account.

Learn more at: www.positions.college/?R=MichelleHarrison or call 267-974-3121

SEPTEMBER 7, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 19

STYLE

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OVERHEARDS

OVERHEARDS Girl Who Calls Saxbys Cheugy: "I'm like pistachio milk—I'm high maintenance, expensive, and hard to find."

This week: a Dave Portnoy stan, Solar Power apologist, and someone with a breakfast kink.

Solar Power Apologist (We Hope): "This is not the girl who made the Catching Fire soundtrack."

The Reason Acme is Out of Quaker Oats: "Oatmeal is an aphrodisiac."

Someone Who Should Be in Therapy: "I think Dave Portnoy is really hot."

Socially Conservative, Fiscally Conservative: "There is actually a way to place a dollar value on a human life."

Aspiring Larry David: "I'm not angry. I'm just Jewish."

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UNDER THE BUT TON

FIVE GUYS REPLACING BEIJING IS JUST MODERN DAY COLONIALISM | CLAIRE CAO

A

fter an unprecedented 32-year-long reign in the Spruce Street region, the kingdom of Beijing Restaurant has fallen to a quintet of fair-skinned barbarians. The conquistadores, allegedly called “Five Guys,” just overthrew the Asian establishment in a culinary coup d’état, leaving the cultured folk of University City seeking refuge.

Guy #5, the spokesperson of the Five Guys, recently announced several policies to be enforced by martial law in the coming weeks. “We saw an economic opportunity and some free land, so we took it,” he explained. “Currently we’re looking at a blockade on Beijing’s bean sprout exports. Long term, our philosophy is ‘Out with the chao fan

and in with the cheeseburgers.’” A red and white checkered flag now flies atop the ruins of Beijing.

When asked how Five Guys would mitigate growing unrest among loyal Beijing customers, and if they anticipated a Boxer Rebellion-esque insurrection, Guy #5 shrugged and said, “I don’t know, bro. We’ll probably throw in some extra fries at the bottom of the bag as a peace offering.” The other Guys have declined to respond.

It seems that one of the last Asian food strongholds has, yet again, fallen to a Western restaurant chain. For people who actually have taste, only Bonchon still stands to defend the remnants of culture in the University City region.

Photo by Claire Cao / The Daily Pennsylvanian

OP-ED: HOW THE FUCK IS ACME ALREADY OUT OF GARLIC POWDER? | BECKY WEISBERG

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Photo by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Public Domain

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ou know what I want? I want to be able to walk to my local supermarket; find that there are no more cute lil double-decker carts, but only the big thicc boy carts; debate whether I can carry my groceries in my arms, so I won’t get a reputation as a thicc-boy-cart girl; then browse the aisles for some random overpriced vegetable or starch or protein; and then I want to absolutely smother it in garlic powder. I want to suffocate it.

I want anyone who ingests my food to forget any other spice has ever existed and just be absolutely drowned in garlicypowderyness.

Acme Markets on the corner of 40th and Locust streets provides its customers with all these opportunities aside from the very last one — and I won’t stand for it any longer. Please. Fucking. Stock. The. Garlic. Powder. I don’t understand what is so difficult about this. According to the first result of my Google search, I found that I, Becky Weisberg, can just fucking order 1,200 pounds of garlic powder at $1.72/pound, and it will arrive in three days. Acme Markets Inc. probably has a better network for procuring garlic powder than I do, so I can’t quite imagine what’s going on here.

Honestly, if you guys want, I could just order the 1,200 pounds of garlic powder? And we could all just split it? If you’re interested, just Venmo me @ Becky-Weisberg, and I promise I’ll follow through.

Or, alternatively, we could start an entire garlic powder black market? All we need are some volunteers to smuggle it inside their asses on an international flight. Just kidding. Or am I? I’m not honestly sure what I’m saying right now — I think a bag of garlic powder may have just exploded inside my ass.

If you just read this whole article and you’re wondering, “What drug is this girl on? I can always find garlic powder at Acme when I need it," then I want you to consider that maybe you are the problem.

As a collegiate society, we all need to be more aware of our garlic powder consumption, and we need to realize that more garlic powder for me means less garlic powder for others, especially during this great garlic powder drought. Also, the answer is copious caffeine and weed.

If you are also equally as passionate about this issue as I am, don’t hesitate to reach out (via my Venmo, @Becky-Weisberg, in case you missed it).

UNDER THE BUT TON

1920 COMMONS TO BE RENAMED 1620 LORDS | MIKAYLA GOLUB

W

elcome all ye peasants to the University of Pennsylvania, whether thou art a young freshman or wretched wench.

Upon thy return to campus, thou may hast noticed some changes, such as professors on horseback, turkey legs and mead in Houston Hall, and a jousting ring where ye ole Franklin Field used to be.

While conducting refinancing amidst the plague, the royal court administrators hath decided to sell the majority of the institution to Charles I, King of England and, now, His Lordship of the University of Pennsylvania.

As the first act, His Lordship hath renamed 1920 Commons to 1620 Lords and announced plans to remodel this public tavern into his new lavish estate.

Charles I, King of England and His Lordship of the University of Pennsylvania, hath many goals for his reign, such as to improve the status of the University against competing kingdoms, expel the monastic order of Temple University, hold public trials of sorority witches at the Button, put alligators in the Schuylkill to secure the perimeter of the village, mandate biweekly bleedings and symptom checks, discourage literacy amongst students, lead missions through the Newman Center, bestow upon the Office of Student Conduct the right to hold beheadings imminently, and monopolize the Renaissance Fair circuit on the East Coast.

Photo by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Public Domain

DEAR PENN: STOP GIVING US TOTE BAGS AND START GIVING US USB TYPE-A TO MINI-B CABLES | IAN ONG

D

ear Penn, if you really care about the student population, then you should stop giving us tote bags, and give us USB Type-A to Mini-B cables instead.

Think logically about it: What do you even use a tote bag for? Holding groceries? Carrying heavy books? See, it’s practically useless — not to mention mundane as all hell.

Now behold, the USB Type-A to MiniB cable! It can be used to charge any TI-84 Plus series graphing calculator. God knows how much I need that cable, and as a Penn student, I should be entitled to at least one or two of them.

You see, there was a time when I wasn’t really a big cable advocate. That all changed when I lost mine and kept getting told by the CVS guy that they would restock, and guess what? I showed up at 3 P.M. every day only to be met with a barren USB cable section and disgusted looks from the cashier.

Okay, I know you can get them off of Amazon for cheap, but hear me out. That would require me to walk all of the way to Amazon@Penn and scan a barcode on my phone, effectively ruining my chill morning and good vibes. Oh yeah, and something about workers being exploited, too.

Photo by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Public Domain

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