April 12, 2022 by 34th Street Magazine

April 12, 2022 | 34st.com

THE COME COME BACK KID Michael Cogbill’s Philly-focused politics landed him a spot on the ballot for Pennsylvania’s 3rd Congressional District—until a legal challenge nearly crushed his campaign.

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

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR On spring cleaning, isolation, and 'glow–up energy'

EOTW: Niko Simpkins

9 The art of tarot

very year when the weather starts to get warm, it seems like everyone feels an intense need for change. We make vows, sincere or otherwise, about entering and exiting hoe phases, binge productivity YouTube videos, and begin our spring cleaning—all in service of our obsession with wanting something new. Perhaps my personal need for change is amplified this year because I’m also just coming out of COVID isolation. After being sick at home for weeks, it’s easy to feel like you’ve been reborn. A temporary pause on everything followed by an abrupt re–entry

The race for PA-03

18 "The slap" and anti-Blackness

20 Diversity in Hollywood

34TH STREET EXECUTIVE BOARD Emily White, Editor–in–Chief: white@34st.com Eva Ingber, Campus Editor: ingber@34st.com Walden Green, Culture Editor: green@34st.com Arielle Stanger, Assignments Editor: stanger@34st. com

34TH STREET STAFF Features Staff Writers: Sejal Sangani, Jiahui (Emilee) Gu, Avalon Hinchman

34TH STREET EDITORS Mira Sydow, Features Editor Meg Gladieux, Features Editor Julia Esposito, Word on the Street Editor Jean Paik, Focus Editor Kira Wang, Style Editor Alana Bess, Ego Editor Evan Qiang, Music Editor Irma Kiss–Barath, Arts Editor Cindy Zhang, Film & TV Editor Andrew Yang, Multimedia Editor Kira Wang, Audience Engagement Editor

Style Beat Writers: Anna Hochman, Shelby Abayie, Naima Small

Focus Beat Writers: Sheil Desai, Connor Nakamura, Sruthi Srinivas

Music Beat Writers: Derek Wong, Grayson Catlett, Kate Ratner, Samara Himmelfarb Arts Beat Writers: Jessa Glassman, Emily Maiorano Film & TV Beat Writers: Jacob A. Pollack, Kayla Cotter, Julia Polster

into the real world induces what I call “glow up energy”—that inescapable feeling of wanting to kickstart a fundamental alteration in your internal and external self. But if I’ve realized anything since returning to in–person life, it’s that big changes rarely happen all at once. If anything, I feel like I’m in a constant state of glowing up—never quite reaching the elusive endpoint because every new experience causes another small change. We often don’t realize that the “new” we’re waiting for is already happening, and we’re just not stepping back to see it. It’s infinitely easier to focus on all the memorable lows and ignore the gradual upward climb. I make this mistake a lot—most of my letters focus on the bad parts of each week or the feelings of burnout I experience, and I rarely pause to think about what I’m gaining from the time I spend here. In short, it’s hard to crank out 400 words about being happy, but that’s

Staff Writers: Natalia Castillo, Emma Marks, Shahana Banerjee Multimedia Associates: Roger Ge, Max Mester, Derek Wong, Andrea Barajas, Rachel Zhang Audience Engagement Associates: Kayla Cotter, Yamila Frej, Vidur Saigal, Caleb Crain, Katherine Han, Emily Xiong, Gemma Hong, Walden Green THIS ISSUE Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Tyler Kliem Photo Courtesy of Emily White Cover Design by Lilian Liu

what this week is. I’m finally taking the time to step out of my weekly tiredness and recognize the gradual change that occurred in the interim. Street will be experiencing a glow up of its own pretty soon, although I unfortunately can’t announce more than that yet. You’ll just have to stick around—and pick up our last regular issue of the semester on April 26—to find out what it is. In the meantime, this week’s issue tackles the concept of growth and change in other ways. Our feature explores Pennsylvania’s 3rd Congressional District race—and how candidate Michael Cogbill wants to shake up politics, despite facing obstacles on a variety of fronts. Our articles about Bridgerton season two and diversity in Hollywood unpack the importance of representation, both on the screen and in writers’ rooms, and how to push the industry forward. SSSF,

Emily

CONTACTING 34TH STREET MAGAZINE If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Emily White, Editor– in–Chief, at white@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com © 2021 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved. 34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Tuesday.

Ego Beat Writers: Anjali Kishore, Vidur Saigal, Grace Busser glossy mag! nostagia k-hole

34TH STREET MAGAZINE APRIL 12, 2022

WORD ON THE STREET

Reaching for

Repose

On cookies, comfort, and small pleasures that we don't let ourselves have | ANJALI KISHORE Illustration by Kilahra Lott

undays, I’ve come to realize, are a polarizing day. Some might say it’s the scariest day of the week, when all the impending responsibilities you’ve spent the past 48 hours tastefully dodging to make room for the pursuit of the finer things in life come back like ghosts of weekdays past to haunt you. Especially here, on a college campus that's essentially a petri dish for the ubiquitous Sunday scaries, Sundays are regarded with a certain kind of wary disdain. But I love Sundays—my buffer day, the day when time pauses for just long enough to allow me to actually think. Thinking, I’ve discovered, is best done strolling under the early Sunday afternoon sky, the weightless day that hangs in the balance between the hedonistic weekend and the rhythmic clockwork of the school week. One particular week, I gave a thought or two to what lay behind my relatively subversive love for Sundays. It all comes back to something elemental: a love of comfort. It’s the day of the week that I most let myself do things that are simply comfortable. Long walks and Sweetgreen visits and hours slipping away unnoticed, filled with self–indulgent conversation and lounging around aimlessly. Comfort, I'd guess, hasn't been a particularly high priority for most of us for a very, very long time. I’ve spent ages in quietly uncomfortable situations, as I imagine most people who position themselves to go

to Penn do. Striving, exerting energy, hustling, whatever you want to call it—hard classes, constant practices and rehearsals, early mornings. I hardly realized how much I was doing in the moment because I loved it, and I still love being busy to a certain degree, but I was doing it without giving a single critical thought to why I felt the need to be in the constant pursuit of something. Even now, comfort is not something you can have without feeling a stab of shame; you’re not supposed to take classes that you’re comfortable in material–wise, and free time is a suspicious commodity and double–edged sword. This isn't to say that I think that striving in itself is bad, but being comfortable is such a uniquely excellent thing. I’ve found myself using the term “pursuit of comfort” a few times in this article, and my computer autocorrect is practically tugging me in the direction of writing “pur-

suit of happiness” instead. But maybe they’re not so different. Comfort is a happiness within itself—maybe not a bombastic explosion of serotonin, which we’ve come to associate with happiness, but its low–grade satisfaction that can hardly be replaced or matched. Earlier in the year, I got in the habit of buying myself cookies, after my discovery of Magic Carpet oatmeal cookies reignited a long–dormant, dare I say childishly regressive, affinity for cookies. They’re not particularly cheap, and neither are the addictive chai chocolate chip cookies from Houston Hall; this reasoning, for long enough, kept me off the cookie train. If I have swipes, I reasoned, why spend real money on something I can get at the dining hall? Plus, my Dining Dollars go so fast—I should save them for the semester. But eventually, I decided to just stop making things so hard on myself. If I wanted some-

thing, I decided, I got it. Now, I spend money at Magic Carpet and my Dining Dollars have dwindled quickly, but I can confidently say that the utility I gained from those cookies in the moment is well worth whatever penny–pinching I may have to take part in at the end of the semester. In terms of cost–benefit analysis of exerting my energy in a particular way, the much—needed sense of comfort each cookie provided me is a particular benefit in and of itself. Not that the pursuit of comfort is a novel thing—self–care days are the new black, in all their TV–filled, face–masked glory. But all too often, we forget that we need them until it’s almost too late, and try to cram weeks worth of destressing into a single day. My modest proposal is that small comforts on a regular basis are more beneficial than even the most luxurious self–care days; incorporating self–care into a

daily or weekly routine allows the satisfaction it brings you to better your daily life. Obviously, this isn’t something that everyone's able to do—to be self–indulgent is a privilege, and to be able to shrug responsibility off once in a while to luxuriate in small comforts is a lucky thing. But if you have that privilege and the ability to do so, why not enjoy it? I’m good with things being easy, if that’s how they can be. So lounge around in sweatpants, buy yourself a cookie if you feel like it, walk along the river when you’re “on a run” if you want to—the fact of the matter is, you don’t get a prize for trying the hardest, for putting in the most work. Comfort zones are underrated; let yourself be comfortable once in a while, and don’t begrudge yourself that opportunity because you feel the need to always be productive, practical, or striving. We get in our own ways a lot, and sometimes a tiny thing like a cookie or a sunset stroll is needed much more than you think, especially here and now. If you were lucky enough, as I was, to grow up in the same place all your life, coming to college might be the first time that you realized how valuable comfort is. It’s something I took for granted at home, and now, being away in a new environment, I have to deliberately make myself comfortable. This is how I do that. Find a space between work hard and play hard, and occupy it every once in a while—you won’t regret it.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

EGO

NIKO SIMPKINS HOMETOWN: Chattanooga, Tenn. MAJOR:

Mechanical engineering with a concentration in engineering entrepreneurship

ACTIVITIES:

The Underrepresented Student Advisory Board in Engineering (USABE), Weingarten Ambassador, Peer Mentor at the Africana Studies Summer Institute, National Society of Black Engineers

Meet the “bad–at–math” mechanical engineer who just dropped your new favorite album. | GRACE BUSSER 34th STREET: How did you decide on your major? NIKO SIMPKINS: Believe it or not, I decided on mechanical engineering because I was not good at math. When I was younger, I was terrible at math. I almost failed out of my math class in school. I had to relearn how to multiply and everything. I knew you could do STEM as well as business through engineering, which were both cool, but mainly I had talked to a lot of people who said that what you’re doing in college doesn’t really matter after college. Although the humanities interested me, [I chose engineering] to prove a point to myself. I was trying to grow and challenge myself. And I absolutely question that choice. Every time I

wake up after spending hours in the lab working on a circuit diagram, I question that choice. But I don’t regret it, because I’m very happy with where I am. It’s like the butterfly effect: If you change one thing about the past, you never know where you'd end up now. Through mechanical engineering, I have met some super awesome people. All the people there—especially compared to other engineering fields—are very passionate about what they do, and that’s really enriched my experience at Penn. STREET: Tell us about your involvement with USABE. NS: I was the first president of USABE. It was an awesome experience. It helped

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me find a place and learn how I could make an impact at Penn. I looked at different organizations at Penn and I was just trying to find a community, as a lot of people do. The main thing that drives me in life is that at the end of it all: I want to do something that people look at—it doesn’t matter if it’s a lot of people or only a couple—and think, “That’s a role only [Niko] could have played.” I want to leave a very “me” type of mark wherever I go. USABE is something that had been thrown around in years prior, but when the opportunity came along when I was a sophomore, I saw a chance to create something and work with a lot of issues that I really care about, name-

ly underrepresented students. It’s interesting work. How do you resolve people not feeling supported? How do you create opportunities for people? How do you communicate to people that they have people who are creating opportunities for them? There are a lot of cool questions I get to tackle, and I felt like I had the resources around me to actually make an impact. Overall, it was super awesome to lead that effort. It also enabled me to meet a lot of really cool people who are very passionate about that stuff. Lifelong friends, for sure. STREET: What about your Weingarten Ambassadorship? NS: I attended the Africana Studies Summer Institute pre–freshman program

and they had an event where they brought in different campus resource people. One of them was Ryan Miller from Weingarten. He started talking, and he was super cool! Lo and behold, I go into the semester, boom, get my ass kicked. I was barely younger than the grade I got back on my first chem exam, so I went to Weingarten and it carried me through. There were so many people who didn’t know about those resources or didn’t really believe in their power. A lot of the work I did as an ambassador centered around recreating opportunities for people to interact with these resources outside of actually going in [to Weingarten], and also facilitating the process.

EGO

That was a really cool thing to tackle, because I gravitate toward people who are cool to work with and issues that I can relate to. The people at Weingarten are super awesome. It felt relevant. Giving people exposure to a resource is one of the biggest factors in getting them to actually use it. At Weingarten, we’re not adding anything to anybody. We’re just helping people clear their space to do what they can already do. STREET: Favorite thing you’ve done in the last four years? NS: I created an album during COVID–19. I had an internship with a medical device company that got canceled because of all the restrictions. No one expected me to have a job, so I took that summer to teach myself how to audio engineer. I could already produce music, I could already write songs, and I had recording equipment. Those are the Infinity Stones of music. If you can do those things, you got it. So I had all of that and I was like, “Lemme try to snap those fingers!” It was really cool because I got to bring my friends in on it: from the cover art, to the market-

ing plan, to the instrumental backing. My favorite part of that whole thing was being able to perform it. I was gone the whole COVID–19 year, so when I came back to campus this fall, seeing people I hadn’t seen in a while reciting my lyrics just hit so different. It made me realize how much I'd missed this community. The album is basically about getting your bag in the way of doing your thing. There was definitely a COVID–19 influence because a lot of people were doing self–help stuff, whether it was cooking, working out, or whatever; it was finding time to get your bag. I was working on a lot of things during COVID–19. In that year, I had met and done interpersonal work, in some capacity, with every single dean. I was waking up at six, doing meetings with trustees and all sorts of stuff. On top of that, though, having the album going was a reflection of getting your bag. Meeting with trustees is not the bag. The bag is the things that you like to do. If you want to make the best zucchini bread ever, do that shit! Get in your bag. STREET: Looking back on

your four years at Penn, what are you most proud of? NS: [I’m proud of ] carving out my own path at Penn and the people who enabled me to do that. Carving out that path means being an engineer. When I first came in and told people I was a mechanical engineer, they were like, “No really, what’s your major?” I think [I’m most proud of ] doing that and still being able to have fun, do music, have the preprofessional stuff going, and make an impact in the community. I didn’t sign up for a consulting club; I did the things I cared about doing. That’s what I mean by carving my own path. I let the things I care the most about guide me, and I got those things. I cared about making change for underrepresented students, so I did just that. I cared about talking directly to people who can make change, so I did that. I cared about having career opportunities, so I got that. Carving that path out and not letting it be contorted by people saying you can’t do stuff. The majority of what I’m doing is not seen. A lot of people said, “Doing music at the same time, that’s a lot.”

And yeah, but do what you love. I take a lot of pride in the fact that I did what I loved. It’s given me so many awesome opportunities and taught me so much about myself. More importantly, beyond the opportunity, I care about the people: the people who enabled me and empowered me to do that. STREET: What have we forgotten to ask about? NS: I’ll try to throw something in there that people might find helpful to themselves so it’s not just me talking about myself. I’m very happy where I am right now because I followed the things I cared about and let those things guide me. More specifically, when I didn’t know what those things were, I let the people I care about and trust guide me. What matters to me most is belief. Belief that you can find your own way. If you believe in the outcome before it happens, that'll make it happen. If you don’t try, it won’t. Somebody has to go out and do the stuff that people are saying can’t be done. If more people implement that belief into their lives, they'll be surprised by how many of their goals fit

neatly into their bubble. STREET: What’s next for you after Penn? NS: I’m going into consulting. I know, but John Legend did it and he’s EGOT now, so maybe there’s something to it. As of right now, I’m gonna do the whole management consulting thing and see if I like it. I’m not gonna be one of those people who does it even if I hate it. If I hate it, then I’m out. What I would like to do is take two years after being there and then explore the music, kinda like what John Legend did. Then you have the money and resources, so you know how to navigate a little bit. I think, as long as I can keep my relationship with music on my own terms, then I'd do it. I’m fine just doing it not as my main job, or making enough money so that I don’t need to work and can just go and make music. But I don’t want to have to commercialize it. I’d rather sell my skill set than my passion.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND STREET: Favorite movie of all time? NS: I’ll say Shaolin Soccer. STREET: Last song you listened to? NS: “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” by Michael Jackson. STREET: Your no–skip album? NS: Playboi Carti’s self–titled album. That thing changed my life. STREET: There are two types of people at Penn … NS: People who asked you what you did this summer to know about your internships and people who asked you what you did this summer to know what you did this summer. STREET: And you are? NS: The latter. I absolutely do not want to hear about anybody’s internship.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

MUSIC

Illustration by Erin Ma

Surprisingly, the 2022 Grammys Weren’t Bad The Grammys kept what worked in 2021 and applied it to a post–pandemic awards ceremony. | DEREK WONG

he award show that everyone loves to hate tried a new tactic this year: not sucking. The Grammys are infamous for being out of touch, especially with their predominantly–white secret nominating and voting committees. While the Recording Academy, the group that runs the awards, asserts that they award artists based on artistic value, they often tend to gravitate toward works that generate the most buzz or are something completely out of left field. In response to recent criticisms, the Grammys threw a few curveballs this year. 2022 was the first year they nominated artists and bodies of 6

work without the committees. The most nominated artist, Jon Batiste, is a relatively niche musician who had the unusual benefit of having nominations both for his recent album, We Are, and for his contribution to the soundtrack of the movie Soul. Then we have the debacle of ten nominations rather than eight in the four all–genre categories, where two nominees were supposedly added to each of the categories 24 hours before the scheduled announcement. There’s also the argument about interpolated songs and whether or not the interpolated artist should be included as a nominee. And out of the blue, Drake announced that he was withdrawing his

34TH STREET MAGAZINE APRIL 12, 2022

nominations, an unprecedented move. But amid the chaos, the Grammys didn’t award many unusual choices this year. While many of the options are still considered safe, the Grammys kept the ceremony simple and controversy–free—a low bar to clear given the drama at the Oscars just one week prior. They also kept the streamlined time frame from the 2021 Grammys, making the show’s usually three–hour drawl less painfully slow. Here’s a breakdown of the year's most notable winners and some other moments worth mentioning.

Silk Sonic takes home all four of their nominations, including Re-

cord of the Year and Song of the Year. Silk Sonic recently released their debut album An Evening with Silk Sonic, but the only project eligible for this year’s Grammys was “Leave The Door Open,” which bagged four nominations (Record of the Year, Song of the Year, Best R&B Performance, and Best R&B Song). Fortune was on their side this year as the duo of Bruno Mars and Anderson .Paak managed to win all four awards. Granted, awarding the breakout hit of the super duo certainly makes sense—the song was well–received by critics and the public—but one cannot help but feel that this is

just another instance of Mars/. Paak favoritism, especially when Olivia Rodrigo’s “drivers license” felt like a bigger song than “Leave The Door Open.” Nevertheless, it’s not a bad choice at all in a year with very strong contenders.

Almost no one expected Jon Batiste to win with Album of the Year. People who’ve been following the Grammys, however, are not surprised.

When the final award of the night was announced, Twitter exploded, wondering why a supposedly no–name artist won the biggest prize of the night. But Twitter isn't the

MUSIC

Grammys voting committee, and longtime followers of the Grammys weren’t surprised that the Academy chose to award Jon Batiste’s We Are. Batiste garnered 11 nominations this year, winning five of them. The Academy Award– winner, frontman of the band for The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, and racial equality activist was just too good for the Grammys to pass up. While We Are is certainly a left–field choice, it's both celebratory and disappointing that Batiste is the first Black musician to win the coveted prize in 14 years.

Rodrigo, despite winning three out of her six nominations, seemed like she was snubbed. Billie Eilish saw worse.

Rodrigo took home Best New Artist and Best Pop Solo Performance for “drivers license,” as well as Best Pop Vocal Album for SOUR, the latter two of which were stacked with strong competitors. Yet because she lost in three of the four all–genre categories, Rodrigo’s awards felt like a snub, at least when compared to Eilish’s debut era when she swept all four of the most prestigious awards. SOUR was Rodrigo’s breakout era, arguably bigger than Eilish’s debut album, but perhaps three for Rodrigo was fair enough to level the playing field. Plus, Eilish herself got none of her nominations this year despite winning Record of the Year last year for a technical one–off single.

Lady Gaga was surprisingly snubbed— yet won a bigger accolade for her side project than for her latest movie.

Going into the Grammys, Love For Sale felt like a solid contender in the six categories the project was nominated for, including Album of the Year. Yes, this ten–track jazz covers album wasn't anything

groundbreaking, but it was Tony Bennett’s last album before he announced his retirement due to Alzheimer's disease. One might think the Grammys would go unconventional and show Bennett love on his last project for not the the first time, as his 1995 Album of the Year win shows. However, the Grammys only gave the 95–year–old musician Best Traditional Pop Vocal Album, a category he was expected to win anyway. Funnily enough, while Gaga saw no major acting awards for her role in House of Gucci, she managed to snag another Grammy for what’s considered her side project. And while she won only one award that night, she won over the internet after helping SZA with her dress and having other celebrities line up to meet the pop icon. Speaking of SZA …

The Grammys narrowly avoided awarding a producer with sexual abuse allegations, but quietly awarded another person with confirmed allegations.

Doja Cat and SZA snagged their first Grammy ever, which was well–deserved after leaving empty–handed multiple times prior. “Kiss Me More” winning Best Pop Duo/Group Performance, however, was still a surprise because the song contains a songwriting credit courtesy of Dr. Luke, who is still facing sexual abuse allegations in an ongoing legal battle with Kesha. Dr. Luke isn’t awarded because the award is only given to the performers of the song, so the Grammys dodged a bullet there. However, if one watched the Grammys premiere ceremony, they would know that the moral fiber of the Grammys is still in muddled waters as they nominated and awarded comedian Louis C.K., who admitted to sexual misconduct back in 2017, for Best Comedy Album.

Despite being banned from performing, Kanye West proves he still has influence, but not enough to win Best Rap Album. West may have defaced his Grammy in an unconventional manner and the Grammys might have banned him from performing, but they had no qualms in giving him two awards in the rap categories Best Melodic Rap Performance and Best Rap Song. Yet Tyler, the Creator bested him in the Best Rap Album category, allowing Tyler to snag his second Best Rap Album Grammy after IGOR won in 2020.

Kacey Musgraves was shut out.

Even without the debacle behind the categorization of star–crossed—which made it ineligible for Best Country Album—Musgraves was completely shut out of her two nominations of the night. Instead, those two awards went to a safe option in Chris

Stapleton, who has been carving more and more of a mainstream name for himself after working with the likes of Justin Timberlake and Taylor Swift. That’s not to say Stapleton didn’t deserve his awards, but it certainly felt odd that the Grammys gave Musgraves the cold shoulder after giving her Album of the Year in 2019 for Golden Hour.

St. Vincent remains a Grammy darling, winning Best Alternative Album in a stacked year.

This year’s Best Alternative Album category was surprisingly competitive, with Halsey’s most sonically consistent album to date, Japanese Breakfast’s most critically acclaimed project, Arlo Parks’ U.K. Breakout album, and Fleet Foxes’ best project in recent memory. All these artists had a reason to be on the list, but alas, it was St. Vincent’s Daddy’s Home that took home the prize, her second after her

self–titled 2014 album. It’s hard to be mad at St. Vincent for taking home the Grammy for Daddy’s Home, as the artist has consistently put out solid albums for the past few years, this one included.

And lastly, Philly native Jazmine Sullivan had a great night, finally winning not one but two Grammys.

Jazmine Sullivan has been nominated for the Grammys 15 times since 2009, but finally, in 2022, the Philadelphia– born–and–raised R&B artist took home two Grammys, one for Best R&B Song for “Pick Up Your Feelings” (tied with Silk Sonic) and another for Best R&B Album for Heaux Tales. In her acceptance speech for the latter, Sullivan said her album “ended up being a safe space for Black women to tell their stories,” and it was satisfying to see her hold her first Grammys for such a solid project.

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ARTS

Meet Kaiser Ke...

...Whose Work Makes You Look at the Art Before the Artist

Illustrated by Amy Krimm

In 'Non Sequitur,' his premiere exhibit at the Philomathean Society, Kaiser reincarnates not only art, but history. | EMILY MAIORANO

n Western art, we tend to look for the artist before the art, curious about the personal secrets hidden in their work. In Kaiser Ke’s (C '24) premier exhibit, Non Sequitur, collage is the medium for art that doesn’t need meaning to vibrate with historical, cultural, and compositional resonance. “A non sequitur means a statement that does not logically follow from the previous statement … that is the essence and beauty of collage,” Kaiser says. One piece in Non Sequitur was created in 24 hours. When you enter the Philomathean Society’s Gallery through the Gothic stairwells of College Hall, you will notice a Parisian cafe suspended in a galaxy. Created during an art relay, Kaiser’s Space Odyssey: 2019 is a cosmic exploration of the bourgeois fashion industry and youth culture, featuring an astronaut in a 8

Thom Browne suit and a regal woman holding a Juul. References to fashion are in other works along with the display, such as Tessellation of Orange and Green (featured in the exhibition's poster), whose color pairing comes from a Gucci design. But the most recognizable effect of this piece is its shape made of tiling hexagons and rhombuses. Studying architecture with a minor in art history, Kaiser channels geometry and cultural reflections. He enjoys, as he puts it, “China through the looking glass of the West.” Through repeating patterns or landscape paintings reminiscent of Chinese art, Kaiser is fascinated by the way it was "reduced" by the West during the early industrial period of consumerism. He explains, “Chinese artistic principles are guided by philosophies, such as Taoism or Buddhism,

34TH STREET MAGAZINE APRIL 12, 2022

but in the West, it's purely extracting what is aesthetically pleasing to their Western palate.” To Kaiser, this concept applies to the medium of collage itself. When Kaiser was two or three years old, his first exposure to art came from his obsession with cars. From telling his mom how to arrange cut– out pictures of them, collage is now a “meditative process” for him. “We tend to associate collage as a kindergarten activity,” but for Kaiser, this only makes it more accessible. Kaiser says that “even a child can digest images and interpret them. … They are not meant to be studies: They’re practices.” Kaiser’s process of collage tends to come from already existing pieces of his, such as Yosemite Dadaesque. Here, the chair turned on its side was initially only charcoal on paper, but in seeing its nega-

tive space, Kaiser textured the background with a mountain range of solid, cut–out colors (typically from National Geographic). He described his almost synesthetic relationship to subjects, saying, “Certain color palettes remind me of a certain culture,” whether it be the cherry blossom pink in Slumber #2 reminding him of Japan or the golden oranges and seafoam greens of Tessellation of Orange and Green feeling Thai. He explains, “Only when you get closer, it’s not just a color gradient, it’s a chaotic background.” In a beach scene in the exhibit, at first, the eye will see its sandy yellows and metallic blues, but when you step forward, these solid backgrounds are full of villages or civil wars. Kaiser sees collage as a “secondary form of art production,” in which he can reincarnate already existing commentary from photography into “the

paint [he applies] to the canvas.” Kaiser believes that “the Penn administration has not yet found a way to commodify visual art.” Penn’s art sphere certainly favors the performing arts, whether it be a cappella groups invited to sing at Convocation or comedy troupes with generations of alumni donors. In a place as business–oriented as Penn, “fine arts [are] inherently decentralized.” But this independence is exactly what Kaiser strives for: to be abstracted from industry and the expectation of being “groundbreaking,” and to keep finding spaces in the world where our forgotten fragments can find a new life to become something whole. Non Sequitur is open at the Philomathean Society (College Hall Suite 400) during school hours. Access to the Gallery can be found at www. philomathean.org/doorbell.

ARTS

n the rug of my dorm room, I set down a crystal of jagged purple amethyst and an opaque tower of selenite—a deck of tarot cards facing down in between them. When I conduct readings, I keep these two crystals on either side of the spread like guards: the amethyst, which is meant to bring one’s vibrations onto the attraction of life change, and the selenite, which is for clearing and neutralizing energy. With both present, the reading should both invite change while ensuring that it's safe. After circling my deck with some jasmine incense smoke, I hand the cards to the person I'm reading and ask them to shuffle. I've been studying tarot for almost a year now. After finding cards in my household as a kid, either buried underneath photo albums or piled next to Ganesha elephants on a windowsill, I finally began practicing with a Rider–Waite tarot deck—the first illustrated edition to become mainstream for readers to buy in 1909. To me, and according to Advanced Tarot by Paul Fenton–Smith, tarot

Illustration by Colin Wang

Tarot Card Art Is a Visual Timeline of Cultural Mysticism

isn't about predicting the future; it's about a higher understanding of the present to inform the future. This awareness of the present is reflected in the art of the cards. In the rush to TikTok as refuge from the COVID–19 pandemic, tarot readings fit perfectly into our collective need for guidance. The hashtags “#tarotreading” and “#tarot” have accumulated over one billion views combined on TikTok. Whether it be pulling the first letter of your soulmate from a jar or the classic “use this sound” to get a text back, tarot is a meaningful element of the app. Because of the app’s algorithm for curating For You pages, many people interpret the arrival of a tarot reading on their feed as intended for them regardless of its impersonal nature. From this, new decks and designs have flourished in the past two years. In tarot, interpretation derives from the visual symbolism, from the number of yellow drops underneath The Moon card in the 18th century to the fishnet and sneakers in The Hanged One of Lisa Sterel’s 2020 deck, The

Modern Witch. Surprisingly, this intricate artistic system of analysis didn't originate with mystical intention, but with simply the drawings on playing cards. In the way that spades, hearts, diamonds, and clubs are the groups we associate with playing cards, in 15th century Italy, cups, swords, batons, and coins were their own categories that are now known as the Minor Arcana. Alongside these subsets were the “trump cards,” ones that would become bedroom tapestries of The Lovers or phone cases of The Fool, which are the Major Arcana. Quickly, the game of “tarocchi appropriati” migrated from Italian aristocracy into other regions of Europe— a timeline that can be told through the characters and stories on the cards themselves. From medieval scepters and stained–glass backgrounds in the 1500s, tarot imagery gradually evolved into wooden wands and abstract nature scenes. Tarot’s increasing use in religious contexts inspired more diverse, yet more specific designs. When tarot arrived in

From Renaissance Italy to TarotTok, today’s tarot card designs bring modern flair to ancient wisdom. | EMILY MAIORANO

France, numerous French teachers and occultists published their theories of tarot holding ancient Egyptian meaning. They saw the cards as a form of hieroglyphics and claimed that their language came from Thoth, the god of wisdom. Since then, tarot went from a game of themed images meant for stories and poems to a mystical voice of guidance through art. One of the most unusual trends in tarot cards is how they welcome different cultures and styles of representation. In my own search for decks, I’ve encountered comedic ones from The Philly Phanatic as The Fool in the Philly Tarot Deck by James Boyle to more inclusive themes, like two men holding one another in The Lovers in the Star Spinner Deck (Trung Le Nguyen). In all spiritualism, the only way to channel full belief is to put our whole selves into it. Biblical references to Adam and Eve or European royalty are not relevant to generations experimenting with tarot now. Through the landscape of art, tarot is an untethered practice that anyone can use to call upon the divine forces

of the world. When I came to college, I liked to joke that my tarot cards were showing “Penn face.” All of the readings I'd done over the summer with friends were visibly emotional, full of The Cups, which refer to internal feelings. However, during orientation, I noticed an influx of pentacles and swords, both of which represent more intellectual and money–oriented subjects. Because of this, tarot has been a transformative partner to me in trying to shed the tendency to ignore what we are feeling— it's a voice that reminds me of all the things I know to be true but won’t tell myself. At the end of a reading, I return all of the cards to their families, meaning they go back in numerical and symbolic order. I put them in a cloth bag and let them wait on my altar for the next reading. Whether it be your own process or the TarotTok account you follow, each has their own ritual and relationship to the tiny colors and sketches on a card. And just like the art, it'll be different each time one falls out of the deck.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

FILM & TV

The ‘American Song Contest’ Attempts to Bring ‘Eurovision’ to the U.S. of A The new television show is an adaptation of one of Europe’s most popular musical traditions. | JULIA POLSTER

amster wheels. Yodeling. A gaggle of grandmothers. You never quite know what to expect in the Eurovision Song Contest, Europe’s annual competition in which roughly 40 countries send an artist to represent their nation with an original song. The contest, which started with just seven countries after World War II as an attempt, has grown into an annual celebration of music, fun, kitsch, and glamor. It’s launched the careers of ABBA, Celine Dion, and Måneskin. It’s created viral moments. It’s even been lovingly satirized by Will Ferrell. And now, it’s America’s turn. The producers behind The Voice and Eurovision have worked together to create the new NBC music competition show American Song Contest (ASC), modeled after Eurovision, and featuring entries from the 50 states, Washington, D.C., and the five territories. Similarly to Eurovision, both a large national jury and viewer voting system will combine to see who progresses through the competition. There are even built–in algorithms within the scoring process to ensure states with larger populations aren’t overrepresented. Three weeks into the qualifying rounds, there've already been some exciting songs released, and Kelly Clarkson and Snoop Dogg have been praised for their hosting. However, the critical reception to the show has been consistently negative. Near– constant comparisons to Eurovision don’t help as the new format attempts to stand on its own two feet. The format, which is more often reality

Illustration by Tyler Kliem show than true “song contest,” fails to capture the spontaneity of Eurovision. The music has been labeled as generic and uninspired in comparison to the wacky and unique performances that define its sister contest. The pacing of the show has been criticized, as well as the strange blend of already–famous competitors with unknowns. But it really isn’t all bad. When considering together the progress that Eurovision has made over its 66–year history and the ingredients for success that are already present in the ASC, it’s hard not to see the potential that exists for the United States to create an equally iconic tradition. Exhibit A: The diverse set of songs that've been performed in the first three weeks already offer some unique, amusing, and even weird ways for the artists to stand out. The artistic teams

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that send entries to Eurovision quickly figured out the benefit of making an act noticeable. While this has led to some of Eurovision’s more gimmicky moments, it's also led to many brilliant, memorable live performances. Much of the ASC’s music is too boring to be distinguishable, but some teams have already stumbled upon this concept; the most played tune on Spotify from the competition is “Wonderland” by AleXa—a K–Pop artist from Oklahoma. And the semi–viral Wyoming entry “New Boot Goofin” by Ryan Charles puts a distinctly American edge on the eccentric, funky fun of unforgettable song contest shenanigans. We may not be quite on the same level of bizarre as Eurovision’s Latvian entry for this year, “Eat Your Salad” (“Instead of meat, I eat veggies and pussy / I like them both fresh, like them both

juicy”). But one day, we might get there! Furthermore, some genuinely great tunes have emerged from the competition thus far. As is the case with my Eurovision viewing, some of my favorites have been tragically eliminated in the preliminary rounds (RIP “Feel Your Love” by Wisconsin’s Jake’O). And as is the case with Eurovision, for which I loosely root for Israel, I’m distracted from my own home state’s entry (my apologies to Ohio and Macy Gray) because I've become such a fan of other songs. North Dakota’s Chloe Fredericks is wildly powerful on “Can’t Make You Love Me” and Broderick Jones’ entry for Kansas, “Tell Me,” offers a vibey feel that definitely explores a new aesthetic from Eurovision’s occasionally over– the–top nature. Ultimately, however, the thing that has me the most excited about the ASC is the news coverage from

local and state media outlets. There's enthusiasm ready to be rallied behind each state’s entry, and if the contest can engage the states more directly, there’s potential for lots of fun and rallying. Clearly, Americans love to root for the home team—when we consider the excitement our nation puts into just football, it’s amazing that we haven’t gotten an interstate music contest before now. Right now, there’s a lack of connection between each state’s citizens and what's happening on screen. In comparison to Europe, where most countries have a preliminary contest to determine their Eurovision entry, Americans have very little power to influence how they want their state represented. The beauty of something so wacky and artistic as a song competition is in its ability to charge up a cheering section without fostering hatred for the other competitors. A true love of the music that makes up all parts of our country can flourish. But without citizens’ ability to participate in the whole process of the contest, the ASC is less real and more reality TV. Executive producer Ben Silverman states his hopes for the show: “When America is more fractionalised than ever and we are dealing with so many issues that divide us, the one [thing] that truly unites us is our culture … It can unite it by celebrating its diversity, its distinctions and in pulling everyone around its love of music and its love of song.” If the producers maintain this faith enough to let the American Song Contest evolve, and let the American people truly participate, it will do just that.

FILM & TV

In Memory of Philadelphia's Forgotten Movie Theaters Movie theaters have never been exempt from the changing entertainment industry. | KAYLA COTTER longer than it was open due to operating expenses. On the heels of the Great Depression and the dawn of television, it couldn't survive.

Illustration by Amy Krimm

ith the COVID–19 pandemic exacerbating difficulties faced by the movie theater industry, conversations about the death of the movie theater experience have come to the forefront. But for many, movie theaters as they knew them died a long time ago. Many of the historic movie theaters in Philadelphia have been lost to time, technological advancement, and evolving entertainment trends, despite a universal love for these extravagant locations. In tribute to what made theaters what they are today, here’s a look at the ghosts of Philadelphia’s movie theater scene. Stanley/Stanton/Milgram Theatre More recently known as the Milgram Theatre, Stanton Theatre was not this theater’s only name, but it was the one it held the longest. Opened in 1914, it had a steep auditorium combated by what advertisements called "Philadelphia's Only Theatre Escalator," and boasted a full orchestra during the silent film era. A popular venue for action films, low–budget westerns, horror films, and double features, it had a B–movie policy, showing cheesy, cliché movies made quickly and cheaply. In 1958, it strayed from this approach, beginning to screen

Oscar–winning and critically acclaimed films such as The Defiant Ones. Throughout its 66–year lifespan, the theater saw many big names venture into its doors, such as Bob Mathias, Jesse Owens, and James Darren, to name a few. After it closed in 1980, the theater's slice of Market Street became the PNC Bank Building, culminating in the loss of a guilty pleasure for many who reveled in the comfort of low–budget films. Mastbaum Theatre Demolished in 1958, the Mastbaum Theater was Philadelphia’s largest and most impressive cinematic feat despite its short– lived career. Not only was it grand within the confines of Center City, but its 4,717 seat auditorium made it one of the greatest in the United States. With marble, murals, glass windows, and gold leaf, it had a striking interior that contributed to its exorbitant price: It cost $5.5 million to create. Unfortunately, the theater's extravagance might've undermined its purpose; built in the early 1920s, it became too expensive to run even though it put Philadelphia on the movie theater map. Now Commerce Square, a trophy–office complex, the theater faced a multitude of financial difficulties due to its size during its 30–year tenure. Despite its relative success, it was closed for far

Boyd Theater Center City lost a loud, vibrant staple of its movie theater history when the Boyd Theater was dismantled in 2015 despite popular support for its preservation. Built in the 1920s, it was constructed during an intoxicating era of growth and social change—that it survived for over 80 years is all the more impressive. A simple yet ornate design that featured Art Deco style motifs and glass mirrors, Philadelphia’s last Art Deco movie palace offered a sense of wonder and magic to its movie-

goers. The 2,450 seat auditorium and extravagant lobby were a distant dream come to life. In 2015, a 13–year–long effort that banded a community together to fight its demolition was struck down. Downtown Philadelphia lost what remained of its historic movie palaces, defaulting decades of laughter and tears to memory. Its current owners, Pearl Properties, replaced it with a 24–story residential tower, The Harper. While the company preserved its iconic lobby, it will remain a regretful reminder of a once–glorious experience lost to time and the changing entertainment industry. As panic grows over the state of the movie theater industry today, it’s important to remember

that entertainment and how we consume it has always been something that evolves. While the end of things we’ve come to consider essential to the human experience is an unfortunate reminder that nothing is permanent, perhaps the end isn't as life–changing as we expect it to be. While small, artier titles have struggled for years now, action–packed comic book movies continue to have mass appeal with movie theater audiences. Similarly, movie theaters are an essential part of our social lives and have been for the last century; this is unlikely to change regardless of what these theaters show. No matter what the future holds, we should appreciate what we have before it becomes a distant memory.

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APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 11

F E AT U R E

THE COMEBACK KID Michael Cogbill’s Philly–focused politics landed him a spot on the ballot for Pennsylvania’s 3rd Congressional District—until a legal challenge nearly crushed his campaign. | MIRA SYDOW and IMRAN SIDDIQUI

When we meet at the Starbucks at 34th and Walnut, Cogbill explains that it’s been a long week. A few days prior, he successfully defended his spot on the ballot—but his work had just begun. As we take a seat under a speaker blasting elevator music, Cogbill gingerly unwraps his pastry and launches into his story. It’s not “his story,” in a political sense—it’s his life, a series of events that happened to him from his upbringing to his campaign and how he worked to change his circumstances. Cogbill grew up in North Philly, raised by a single mother (whom he still calls every day). She had a union job driving a bus for SEPTA and made $25 an hour, which

ger voters kept Cogbill hopeful. While most well–funded campaigns rely on a network of volunteers to find names for their petitions, Cogbill took up the task himself—splitting some forms with his Committee Chair Hasan Tippett, who is also his barber. Over the next month, the pair collected about 2,000 signatures to establish Cogbill’s candidacy, more than enough to put him in the running. The campaign soon swelled

was enough to put Cogbill through “decent schools and summer camps.” Although his experience may be foreign to the average Penn student, it’s not uncommon in neighborhoods like his, some of which are only a few blocks from campus. “I don’t think I have a sad story,” he says matter–of–factly. “I grew up in a single–parent household, but so many kids in North Philly grew up in zero– parent households.” While his mother raised him, Cogbill’s aunt, Philadelphia City Councilmember Cindy Bass, nurtured his love for community service and social impact. He recalls the first movie she showed him: the 1990 documentary Paris Is Burning, which chronicles New York’s

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to a loyal cohort of volunteers, including an intern and some of Cogbill’s former classmates. They officially opened an office on the first day they qualified for the primary and began hosting events at A King’s Cafe, a local eatery owned by old friends. Despite his efforts, in late March, Cogbill found himself going toe–to–toe against a formidable election lawyer in the Office of the Philadelphia

bustling ballroom subculture. “She sat me down and told me, ‘You’ll never have it harder than a woman,’” Cogbill says. Bass played an instrumental role in exposing Cogbill to Philly politics, but he insists that he’s never used her position for his personal gain. “I've wanted to be on my own so that I'm not indebted to a system or to a machine in which I'll compromise my policymaking,” Cogbill explains. He doesn’t take any favors so that he doesn’t have to repay them later in a way that would betray his community. However, no lesson in Bass’ advocacy playbook could have prepared Cogbill for running for congressional office—or the ballot challenge he would face in the process.

City Commissioners. A rival campaign had challenged hundreds of the signatures on his petition, and Cogbill, representing himself, spent two days refuting each claim to maintain his position on the ballot. The opposing campaign ultimately withdrew their challenge a few days after facing defeat—but Cogbill’s legal triumph is just a small piece of the arduous journey to getting his name on the ballot.

“I don’t think I have a sad story. I grew up in a single parent household, but so many kids in North Philly grew up in zero parent households.” — Michael Cogbill

Representatives since congressional redistricting in 2018. Evans has held political office for the past 40 years— first as a Pennsylvania State Representative, then as a Congressman. He is a member of the Congressional Progressive Caucus, but his critics, and some primary opponents, say that the moderate Democrat is not doing enough to deliver for Philadelphians. Cogbill and other congressional hopefuls are pushing for sweeping environmental, housing, and labor reform. The process of running for office, according to Penn Political Science professor Marc Meredith, begins with potential candidates collecting signatures from registered voters in the district they hope to represent. Candidates aspiring for a seat in the U.S. House of

Representatives in the 2022 midterms needed to have collected at least 1,000 signatures by March 15. Meredith explains that this year is unique because it took longer than anticipated for officials to finalize the congressional redistricting maps. As a result, the timeline to collect signatures was significantly shorter than usual, which made it “harder for everyone, but specifically harder for candidates with less resources.” Collecting signatures is a mechanism used to determine if there is enough interest around a candidate before they are officially listed on the ballot, according to Meredith. But, he says, there is also a question about whether or not this is a barrier to having more open elections. “There is this trade–off between wanting to give equitable access to everyone who wants to run for office and letting them be on the ballot,” says Meredith. “If you get too many candidates, the process of trying to select which candidate to vote for can become really challeng-

ing.” By March 15, 2022, four candidates turned in their necessary paperwork: incumbent Dwight Evans, Alexandra Hunt, Melvin Prince Johnakin, and Michael Cogbill. With no Republican candidates filing to run for the election this year, the primary on May 17 will determine who will represent nearly 800,000 people for the next two years and wield a key voice for working–class Philadelphians. Cogbill’s path to the primary wasn’t an easy one—he lacks the finances, education, and campaign infrastructure that his competitors have. Nonetheless, Cogbill’s lived experiences with working– class issues inform his policy positions and discerning eye for advocacy. After high school, Cogbill attended Lincoln University, a public college in southern Pennsylvania and the first degree–granting HBCU in the country. Cogbill had intended to study astronomy, but he was restrained by his admitted lack of physics knowledge and the university’s deteriorating facilities—another mark on the history of underfunded HBCUs. Its high–powered telescope was not functioning, so instead, he studied political science. Throughout college, Cogbill took up odd jobs. His first was at the Philly nightclub and gay bar 12th Air Command, where he sipped soda and played on his Game Boy while he worked the door. Part– time gigs at Bloomingdale's, Macy’s, Whole Foods, Target, and as a lawn–keeper for former 3rd district Congressmember Chaka Fattah

followed. “It’s normalized to work, like, 1,000 jobs,” he says. “I’ve never been known to not be working.” Cogbill never graduated from Lincoln. After taking a gap semester that became permanent, he joined the workforce full time and continued his education when he had the time and means. “I tried to study at every school in Philadelphia,” Cogbill tells me. He took classes at Penn, Temple, and the Community College of Philadelphia, but never toward a degree. “I wanted to take whatever course I was interested in,” Cogbill says. “Create my own curriculum.” His hodgepodge college experience allowed him to observe educational inequities up close—the differences manifested in every corner of the classroom. Cogbill remarks that kids at Penn take notes with their laptops and iPads, while students at his HBCU still use notebooks and notepads. “The education apartheid in our communities, the asbestos and lead in the schools, is really a microaggression against Black and brown people,” Cogbill says. Over the decade after leaving Lincoln, Cogbill held an impressive arsenal of progressive organizing positions. He served on a handful of statewide and local Democratic campaigns, served as an intern for community service projects like Mural Arts Philadelphia, and worked at advocacy organizations like CeaseFirePA. Most recently, Cogbill served simultaneously as the Pennsylvania state coordinator for Civic Engagement of the NAACP and as the first Black Political Director of the Philadelphia Council AFL–CIO, a coalition of over 100 local labor unions. This proved a delicate balance.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 13

n a brisk morning in February 2022, Michael Cogbill was mounting a campaign. The 32–year–old union organizer knocked on hundreds of doors in North Philly to collect signatures that would secure his spot on the ballot for Pennsylvania’s 3rd Congressional District in the May primary. In Philly’s unpredictable winter weather, the task proved easier said than done, but conversations with ea-

Pennsylvania’s 3rd District—which includes West Philly, Center City, and parts of North Philly—is the most Democratic district in the country, according to its Partisan Voting Index, and most of its residents are Black. Rep. Dwight Evans (D–Philadelphia) has represented the district in the U.S. House of

F E AT U R E

In February 2022, Cogbill left the AFL–CIO to forge a new path: running to represent Pennsylvania’s 3rd District in Washington. The departure had been on his mind for some time. He worked unpaid for the AFL– CIO for a year during the 2020 presidential election—relying on unemployment to pay his bills— and developed sciatica in his back after long days driving around Philadelphia to turn out voters ("I didn't have an office—my car became my office," Cogbill says). While he’s grateful for the impact he’s had in Philly’s organizing scene, Cogbill explains that he frequently faced blatant racism in white–dominated political environments. “That’s white politics and Black politics in one city,” Cogbill says, referring to the disconnect between his work at the white–dominated AFL– CIO and the Black political refuge of the NAACP. That’s why he chose to run for Congress in the first place— Cogbill wants to upend the structural inequities that impact his community. But his place in the race was almost taken before it had even begun. When one of his primary opponents, Alexandra Hunt, filed an objection to hundreds of Cogbill’s petition signatures, he had to fight to keep his spot on the ballot. Hunt is a public health re-

searcher and unabashed progressive who has gained a following from her campaign’s robust social media presence. Although Hunt hails from upstate New York, she holds degrees from both Drexel and Temple universities and has resided in Philly for a few years. She champions progressive policies and aims to provoke—her slogan “Elect Hoes” references her stint as a stripper in college and appeals to a new wave of leftists, most of whom are white and degree–holding, like her. Her tagged photos on Instagram are dominated by white individuals posing in her merch in far– off locations: Denver, Chicago, Washington. They reflect her campaign’s focus on nationwide progressive issues as opposed to the 3rd District’s community– specific concerns. The challenge capitalizes on a discrepancy of financial resources between the candidates. Hunt's and Evans’ campaigns, which have both raised hundreds of thousands of dollars, can pay staff to collect signatures and afford lawyers to challenge petitions. Cogbill, who has raised a few thousand dollars since declaring his campaign in February of this year, was left to defend himself against Hunt's lawyer in elections court. In the process of reporting this story, Street spoke with Cogbill himself, a member of his campaign, and elections lawyer

“That, as they say in the trade, is none of your effin’ business.” —Lawrence M. Otter, Esquire, Counsel for the Hunt Campaign

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Larry Otter, who also functions as Alexandra Hunt’s campaign counsel. We obtained statements from Hunt and a representative of Dwight Evans’ campaign. Street also reached out to Melvin Prince Johnakin, who has since withdrawn from the race. Finally, we analyzed public records such as candidates’ affidavits, signature lists, and court documents to verify their statements. Larry Otter replies to our email in a few sentences littered with haphazard capitalization. He’s the lawyer who argued against Cogbill’s petition in Pennsylvania’s election court, a microcelebrity among Philadelphia–based elections attorneys. Otter answers each question about the process of filing an objection to a candidate’s petition in great detail, interspersing anecdotes from his years of experience running for office and representing candidates. “The main thing I tell candidates is please come in [with] at least double or triple the number [of signatures] you are required,” Otter says. “Otherwise, especially in a Philadelphia State Representatives race, you're guaranteed to be challenged.” Otter has been involved with election law for over 30 years. He remarks that he is “considered one of the best guys in the state.” In a post–call voicemail, he emphasizes that while he is a registered Democrat, he has represented Republicans, Independents, members of the Socialists Workers Party, and Green Party candidates in the past. He explains that it is common for candidates to file objections when their opponents are close to the minimum signature cutoff— with the goal of knocking them out and limiting the number of competitors in the primary. Otter describes the process of filing an objection, first noting that the most common method is a line–by–line challenge of specific signatures on a candidate’s petition. He also makes it clear that these challenges are not part

of a larger conspiracy. “A lot of people ask, ‘Oh! Is this fraud?’” Otter says. “No. They are just simple mistakes.” Some of the most common errors in a petition, he explains, are signers not being registered voters, moving to a new address but not changing their voter registration information, or filling out their personal information incorrectly. In a classic Otter aside, he reminisces about the MLB star signatures of old, when Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig perfectly

Hunt’s petition—and they live just a few blocks from her listed home address. Despite the potential misspelling on the court document of Whitely's name, it’s certainly plausible Hunt would ask two of her volunteers to challenge Cogbill’s candidacy on her behalf. Many candidates may hire an election lawyer at this point to do the “tedious” work of analyzing an opponent’s petition closely. When asked who hired him to challenge Cogbill, Otter quips, “That, as they say in the trade, is

Otter and Cogbill after their petition meeting. penned their names on a spherical surface. Now, he says, baseball players just don’t sign their names like they used to, and neither do congressional district residents adding their names to a candidate’s petition. “Scribbles happen with a clipboard in the middle of February when it's freezing outside the Wawa,” Otter says. Individuals must submit their objections to Pennsylvania courts by March 25. Both Cogbill and Johnakin received challenges filed under the names Michael E. Kennedy and Samuel S. Whitely—names that almost perfectly match those of two individuals who collected signatures for Hunt’s campaign. Those individuals, Michael E. Kennedy and Samuel Whiteley, provided their addresses on

none of your effin' business.” Emails to Hunt’s campaign mailing list suggest otherwise. In two separate emails sent this spring, the latter of the two entitled “Don’t mess with the Otter,” Otter is identified as “Lawrence M. Otter, Esquire,” and “counsel for the Hunt campaign.” Hunt provided context to her challenge of Cogbill’s petition in an emailed statement, saying, “There are some people who wake up one morning and spontaneously decide to jump into races or are planted there to undermine a competitive challenger. We were concerned that Michael didn't actually have the signatures he needed to make the ballot and didn't want our campaign's hard work to be undermined.” A quick Google search reveals

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16 hours analyzing the challenged lines in Cogbill’s petition. After two days of back and forth, they reached a point where there were not enough unresolved challenged signatures to continue the process. Otter says that while Cobgill was annoyed at times—as all candidates are when they see their work disputed—he makes it clear that “it never got that contentious.” Otter recounts an instance in 2006 when representing a Green Party candidate, a fistfight broke out in Harrisburg over the U.S. Senate petition—compared to this, he calls his time with Cogbill “cordial.” Hunt’s emailed statement exMichael Cogbill and Representative John Lewis. that Cogbill has a long history of labor and racial justice organizing within the city, suggesting that his campaign is a legitimate endeavor. Johnakin, on the other hand, sought the GOP nomination to run against Evans in 2020, but he was unable to collect enough signatures— blaming complications with the COVID–19 pandemic. He previously told Philly Leader that he has “always been a Republican.” Johnakin did not respond to a request for comment, but he withdrew his candidacy after being removed from the ballot earlier this month. Hunt’s challenge to Cogbill comes out of left field—she speaks extensively on social media about defending her own campaign from legal attacks. In a tweet on March 12, she writes, “We know our opponent will continue to fight the legitimacy of our campaign. Their legal team will comb through our list, looking for technicalities to throw out!” In a handful of posts and emails from the past few months, Hunt paints a picture of her campaign under attack, referencing an unnamed “opponent” out to undermine her candidacy. In her emailed statement, she references that her campaign has re-

“He’s a breath of fresh air—just something that you hope to have in the U.S. Congress.” —Adam Leghzaouni, intern for the Cogbill campaign ceived “multiple threats that they would be kept off the ballot,” but she never received a challenge to her petition. A statement from Evans’ campaign asserted that “This campaign has made no legal challenges of the 3 primary opponents and has instead focused on communicating to the voters about the Congressman’s record and the resources he has brought back to the 3rd Congressional District.” Prior to the court date, Otter explains that the challenger must meet with the candidate’s committee to talk through each challenged signature and come to an agreement. Cogbill and Otter met on March 26 and 27, spending over

plains that after her team found no evidence that “election law [was undermined], we withdrew our challenge." On March 29, Cogbill secured his place on the ballot for the May primary next month. With 49 days left until the primary, Cogbill, the comeback kid, was back on track. Cogbill's upbringing and organizing career underscore every inch of his policy agenda. He doesn’t quite have “top issues,” because there are so many improvements that Philadelphians need, but he speaks at length about firearms and labor rights. Midway through the conversation, Cogbill launches into an

analysis of Pennsylvania’s gun legislation, policies with which he’s intimately familiar from his work with CeaseFirePA. He is also a gun violence survivor– "I have been robbed, shot at, and lost a friend in the same year," Cogbill says. He explains loopholes for domestic abusers, the most dangerous and accessible types of firearms, and ways people equip their weapons to maximize harm. At the time of this article’s publication, Cogbill is the only Gun Sense candidate supported by Moms Demand Action in the state. He’s especially invested in the intersection of education and labor movements. Cogbill champions a $25 minimum wage, the golden number that allowed his mother to provide for him as a child. He also approaches student debt with a pragmatic, working–class mindset. He thinks the government should cancel student debt, but “a lot of people in the 3rd [District] don’t have student debt because they haven’t even fathomed the thought of higher education, let alone finishing high school.” If elected, he would work to cancel not only student loans, but also utility debt or financial burdens that impact low–income individuals. Cogbill recognizes that education is not always an equalizer, especially where he’s from. While he was able to snag a coveted job at the AFL–CIO, he’s seen his friends with college degrees rejected from the building trades. “A lot of his policies are statistically backed, but are also rooted in thinking of humanity and the greater good,” says Adam Leghzaouni, an intern on Cogbill’s campaign and first–year student at Drexel University. Cogbill knocked on the door of Adam’s family business, a meat market near Cheltenham, when he was collecting signatures in February. Adam joined the campaign to help with so-

cial media and build a base of youth volunteers. He admires Cogbill’s community–centered policies and his “charismatic, genuinely kind” personality. “He’s a breath of fresh air,” Adam says, “just something that you hope to have in the U.S. Congress.” Even so, Cogbill continues to face challenges when going against the status quo. He says that Bass, the aunt who inspired his commitment to social impact, does not support his campaign for Congress— endorsing the more established candidate Evans. This doesn’t phase Cogbill; he's fine charting his own path. “I'm gonna count on my community and not the establishment to get me over the hump,” Cogbill promises. “If the establishment wants to support me, I'll take [it] and I'll be grateful for it, but I think everybody has to know and everybody has to be aware that I'm going to side with my neighborhood every single time.” Shrugging on his coat, Cogbill says he's excited for a publication run by young people to be the first to tell his story. Crossing Starbucks’ threshold onto Walnut Street, he continues onto Penn’s campus. He’s going to take a quick photo, he says. Two days later, Cogbill posts on Instagram. It's an image of him posed in front of Brick House, Simone Leigh’s tribute to Black beauty. Snow dots his curious winter coat–camo pants–sneakers combo, and a smile spans the width of his face. “Made by a Black woman, raised by Black women…” the caption reads. It’s all of the authenticity, tenacity, desperation, and love of his campaign wrapped into one photo. And it’s extraordinary. All Photos Courtesy of Michael Cogbill

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 15

FILM & TV

'Bridgerton' Season 2 Drags the Period Piece Out of the Past

The show once known for its sexploits now provides a novel approach to South Asian representation in media. | SHAHANA BANERJEE

fter years of yielding to the stereotypical roles of Ravi from Jessie and Baljeet from Phineas and Ferb, the unstoppable Hollywood force who is Shonda Rhimes has provided South Asians—specifically South Asian women—with a breath of fresh air. Her casting choices for Netflix's Bridgerton season two in selecting two dark skin Tamilian actresses for the show’s leads, paired with the subtlety of cul tural hints throughout the show, is exactly what this community has been longing for. Simone Ashley’s Kate Sharma and Charithra Chandran’s Edwina Sharma are the Parvati and Padma Patil redemption that was so desperately needed after decades. The central focus generated from this diverse cast is how the show’s sophomore season has deconstructed colorism and Eurocentric beauty standards. Throughout film and media, there’s been a tending towards casting lighter skin actors who are perceived as more desirable than darker skin counterparts. Evidently, South Asian women don’t get enough representation in Western media, but, shockingly enough, they’re oppressed in their own cultural media— Bollywood—as well, where the fetishization for actresses with lighter skin tones runs rampant. This culture propagates how skin–lightening products like Fair and Lovely, now called Glow and Lovely after years of criticism, have managed to remain popular. It’s a blatant exemplification of colorism, which both mentally and physically harms women. This issue doesn’t exist just on–screen, though. Indian girls have been accosted for looking “too tan” after a summer season,

Illustration by Brian Lee or for just their natural skin color, too. Concurrently, the skin bleaching industry makes millions off this societal insecurity, which increases the risk of cancer and chemical burns for many. In opposition to that, it’s been delightful to see how the Sharma sisters have humanized those who have darker skin. Besides battling the issue of colorism, something that struck a lot of the South Asian community was the slight Indian accent Ashley and Chandran incorporated into their dialogue. The actresses normalized the accent without exaggerating it, contrasting the stereotypical accents heard in Hollywood previously, which perpetuate a mocking and awkward perception of Indian people. The implications of the actresses’ pronunciations felt evocative of how two cultures can be simultaneously balanced and respected. Bridgerton’s newest season isn't the first representation of South Asian women in Hollywood, though. Mindy Kaling should obviously ring a bell: She’s repeatedly broken the glass ceiling by spotlighting South Asian women as leads

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for multiple of her admired productions. And while the Indian–American comedian’s projects have been novel and historic, there are still some drawbacks to the representation that is perpetuated in her shows. Kaling’s shows like The Mindy Project and Never Have I Ever, though amusing, sometimes see an overlap in plot— where a traditionally hot, white male character comes to the shocking revelation of finding the South Asian lead attractive. This type of South Asian representation comes off as problematic in the shows' ultra–white spheres when minority women characters have been perceived as too nerdy, too awkward, too ugly, or even too hairy or smelly. After years of being the butt of male comedian jokes— see Russell Peters—there was a pressure to uplift Kaling’s and other similar representations because, frankly, it was the only South Asian representation we really ever got, even though it was sometimes, understatedly, an object of derision. Contrastingly, race wasn’t a factor at all in Kate and Anthony’s (or even Edwina and

Anthony’s) relationship and the Sharma sisters were not perceived as any less attainable or beautiful. In fact, Edwina was named the “diamond of the season," transcending past these years of layered jokes of South Asian women being unappealing. I deeply appreciated how Anthony adored Kate's perfume, as it combated the prolonged jokes Indians have ensured about smelling like spices. Aside from how this season has battled the past suppression of South Asian women and colorism in media, the unique details paying homage to the Sharmas' Indian heritage were particularly touching. From the cardamom in Kate’s tea to the hair oiling, and the Haldi ceremony to the marigold garlands and flowers in the Sharmas’ hair, we see practices that are regularly performed in Indian culture, carried out in English noble society. In addition to the inclusion of popular Hindi movie songs in the show’s musical score, Bridgerton emphasized the importance of integrating Indian customs through the costumes, as well. Designer Sophie Canale indicated how

her team implemented jewel tones and traditional embroidery into the Indian textiles used to fashion the Sharmas’ ensemble, complemented with bangles and jhumkas, to deliver a signature Indian–influenced look. And while Bridgerton is an English show, it was heartwarming to me—as a girl who speaks and understands a few Indian languages—to hear how the dialogue incorporated Indian words I recognize, like Amma and Appa, terms used to call one’s mother and father respectively in South India. I remember immediately texting my parents in awe when I heard words I’ve said myself in the show like “Bapre," a common word for showcasing shock, and “Bon," which refers to younger sisters in the Bengali language. Of course, “Didi” is a nationally–recognized word for calling one’s older sister. These minute details of Bridgerton may not seem like much, but they’re truly a microcosm of how different cultures and identities can be balanced in not just media, but real life, too. As Charithra Chandran expresses herself, Bridgerton digs deep into illustrating a magical sense of representation while battling overarching societal issues like colorism. Seeing someone finally representing what your identity truly means to you, not tainted by insensitive, stereotypical jokes, is something that a lot of others who look like me have finally seen for the first time in Western media. This newly–tread realm of television is celebrating multiculturalism while dismantling discrimination, and I hope that this is just the start.

OVERHEARDS

Overheards 04.12.22

This week: celebrating Passover, Iranian horror films, and April showers

S O –L

THI

NEVER HEARD OF A HOT DOG

"One is edible and one is a dog."

ITTLE MONSTER

"You're a lot of a bit of a bitch. You've got several quotients of bitch, as they say."

TO THE EGYPTIANS

"Jinx! You owe me your firstborn child."

EEK'S FORECAST … HOE PHASE

"I have, like, pre– summer feral whore energy."

AG IR

–

NO T

bringing May flowers

O LB

SS WALKS HOME ALONE AT NIGHT

"I have 'I–don't–care– about–my–life privilege' when I'm walking around at night."

Fuel for finals with kegstands we deliver

2206 Washington Ave. | (215) 546-7301 A P R I L 1 2 , 2 0 2 2 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17

Illustration by Brian Lee

ST YLE

Why Is Will Smith’s Oscars Slap

Such a Big Deal?

The root of the backlash against Will Smith's slap lies in anti–Blackness. | NAIMA SMALL

hen Will Smith slapped Chris Rock at the 2022 Oscars, after Rock made a joke about Jada Pinkett Smith’s alopecia, reactions to the incident ranged from shock to laughter. This mixed reaction soon led to discourse on how Smith's slap poorly reflects not only on him, but also on the Black community at large. Smith has faced harsh consequences just weeks after the slap, resigning from the Academy after a formal investigation was launched against him. Production of his upcoming movies Bad Boys 4 and Fast and Loose have been stalled, with BBC reporting that his career is now “mortally wounded.” The reactions and conversations around the slap are bigger than just this one incident. Part of the reason the backlash has been so harsh for Smith is the fact that when you’re a person of color, you're seen as a representation of your entire race. To the public, white people can act inappropriately and commit crimes, and it doesn’t mean all white people are bad. But Smith acting inappropriately is

reflected on every other Black performer. Washington Post columnist Jonathan Capehart, for example, called the slap “a blow to all Black people who have worked for our dignity and acceptance—and especially to the legacy of those Black performers who made Smith's presence at the Oscars possible in the first place.” Not to mention, Black people are simply not allowed to slip up in general because they risk confirming offensive stereotypes of Black people. Amy Schumer, who had been one of the hosts at the Oscars, remarked that the slap left her “triggered and traumatized.” In a now–deleted tweet, director and writer Judd Apatow called the slap “pure out of control rage and violence” and deemed the slap as evidence that Smith had “lost his mind.” Their characterizations of Smith as a violent, scary person—even though all he did was slap someone who insulted his wife—are very reminiscent of the stereotype that Black men are naturally hyperaggressive. White people have done and said much worse at award

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shows and in the industry yet have not faced half the public uproar Smith has. Remember when comedian Jim Carrey forcibly kissed Alicia Silverstone at the MTV Movie Awards in June 1997? Or when Roman Polanski, who was already a convicted rapist and fugitive from the United States government, won the Oscar for Best Director even after his conviction? Yes, the lack of repercussions against these celebrities could be attributed to the fact that these incidents happened in a pre–#MeToo era, but these events nevertheless highlight that the actions of white men that have been brushed under the rug for far too long. In 1973, Apache and Yaqui activist Sacheen Littlefeather accepted the Academy Award for Best Actor at the behest of Marlon Brando as a protest of the treatment of Indigenous people. In response to this protest, white actor John Wayne, who legitimately self–identified as a white supremacist yet remained a prolific actor, had to be physically restrained because he tried to attack her on stage. Outside of widely televised

moments, several other award winners and prolific performers have done much more deplorable actions out of the public eye. Actor Mark Wahlberg was imprisoned in 1988 for attacking two Vietnamese men in a racially charged assault. Two years earlier, he and his friends threw rocks at Black elementary school–aged children and called them slurs. But despite these racially motivated crimes, Wahlberg has had an extraordinarily successful career in Hollywood, starring in Oscar– nominated films and remaining a major box office draw. The Smith slap incident is not the first time a Black performer has been heavily penalized for a mistake that a white performer could've rebounded from. Another incident that comes to mind is Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson’s 2004 Super Bowl Halftime Show, where Timberlake ripped Jackson’s shirt in a wardrobe malfunction, revealing her nipple for less than a second. It was seen as so scandalous that she was disinvited from the Grammys, mocked by news publications, and her music saw drastic drops

in sales. Her career has never really recovered, while Timberlake’s has continued to grow. Not to mention, The Cut writer B.A. Parker has argued that awards shows have a tradition of humbling Black women that Smith stood against. By using Jada Pinkett Smith’s alopecia, an autoimmune disorder, as a punchline to a predominately white audience, this year's Oscars demonstrated “one more instance of a Black woman being othered and belittled and expected to grin and bear it,” Parker says. “The only difference is that this time, someone stood up for her.” At the core of this all is respectability politics—as a person of color, you must present yourself correctly at all times and defy the stereotypes surrounding your race in order to receive quasi–equal treatment to white people. While Smith’s slap was unnecessary and shouldn’t have happened, the extreme backlash he’s facing is undeniably a product of anti–Blackness that the entertainment industry must reckon with.

ST YLE

Pamela Anderson and the Cigarette Mom:

TikTok's Causal Classism

The newest TikTok trend shows a pattern of classism on Gen Z's favorite app. | ANNA HOCHMAN

t’s 2022, but on TikTok, it could be the '90s. Ever since the Hulu release of the limited miniseries Pam & Tommy, the iconic looks of Pamela Anderson have been making a resurgence. Across social media, it feels like Gen Z is trying to look like Gen X in their youth. A TikTok filter, called “90s Pam Makeup,” gives users the signature Pamela Anderson look: thin eyebrows, plump lips, long lashes, and a smokey eye. With over 217,000 videos made as of April 2022, the filter is officially viral. While some TikTokers simply try out the filter to see how they look with '90s style makeup, a much more harmful trend is also starting to take place. People are comparing their use of the filter to the look of “cigarette moms" or "trailer park chicks," terms that invoke negative stereotypes of mothers in the lower or middle class who smoke cigarettes, and have been notoriously painted as incompetent mothers. “I look like I’m dropping off my five kids with all different baby daddies at my mom’s then going to the bar but not before I pick up a pack of Marlboro menthols,” writes one user on her video with the "90s Pam Makeup" filter on her face. Many on the app are using the filter alongside the term “cigarette mom” to insinuate “trailer trash” or “white trash,” a derogatory term to describe poor white people in the United States, especially those who live in rural and southern parts of the country. As The Washington Post reports, poor Americans are “vilified, shunned, targeted and kept apart, both physi-

Illustration by Tyler Kliem

cally … and in the nation’s cultural imagination, where they have inspired mockery, kitsch and unceasing grimaces.” However, while this mocking and othering continues on TikTok due to the linkage of the Pamela Anderson filter and the cigarette mom stereotype, some users are pointing out the classist undertones of this trend. “From a current cigarette mom who was raised by one,” writes one user on her own video with the filter, “y’all are acting like brats with your comments using this filter but I’ll still feed you, give you a ride to Walmart, fight your ex/[baby daddy], and you can crash at my mini home anytime. Real life will humble you quick, but we’ll still be here for you.”

“Take your Pam filter slander elsewhere,” another user chimes in. “My cigarette mom looked just like this and she brought me [McDonald's] after school every day and cornered my teenage cheer coach in the bathroom for bullying me.” The video was flooded with comments in defense of “cigarette moms,” stories about how these moms have supported their children and their friends, and call– outs of the trend as classist. The Pamela Anderson and “cigarette mom” trend is not the first time that classist ideas have spread on TikTok. In the summer of 2020, the biggest trend on the app was the “chav check,” which made fun of the heavy makeup and cloth-

ing worn by “chavs,” a British slang term for young people typically of the working class who are characterized by brash behavior. Despite Americans believing that the trend was a harmless joke, the videos made under this trend actually fueled damaging stereotypes by making light of an aesthetic predominantly associated with people with lower incomes. TikTok itself perpetuates classism as well. After a document given to TikTok employees was leaked, it revealed that the app’s main goals are bringing in new daily users and keeping them on the app for as long as possible through any means possible. The app goes to extremes to do so—a 2020 report of intercepted docu-

ments from TikTok found that moderators were instructed to suppress videos made by users that came across as “too ugly, poor, or disabled for the platform.” Because of this, not only do trends on TikTok often reek of classism, but the app itself has an underlying exclusive agenda: to shut poor people out from internet success. While the cigarette mom stereotype is just one instance of classism on TikTok, the viral nature of this trend is indicative of a larger problem on the app. On TikTok, it’s not just trends that make light of class inequalities—the app's direct suppression of content from poor creators further continues the perpetuation of classism across the platform.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 19

FOCUS

‘Flipping the Script’ Speaker Series Learns From Existing Diversity in Hollywood This two–week event on Penn’s campus celebrates the unique backgrounds of underrepresented creatives in the film and television industry. | SRUTHI SRINIVAS

he separation of screen and viewer—a separation rooted in unfamiliarity toward characters I’ve seen on screen for as long as I can remember, of plots and writing styles that are intended for a “general audience” that I don’t belong to. To be a part of the screen, to reach out and mix what’s being shown t o y o u

with your own experience, is often a rarity for those beyond the Eurocentric norm. The world of television and cinema is a universe I compartmentalized as wholly different from my own reality, and when comparisons were struck between the two, it be-

came harder to find emotional value in either. This isn’t a new concept, and it's no secret that representation in Hollywood has a long way to go. Awards shows and trailers of actors are still filled with the industry's long legacy of whiteness and wealthy connections. The frequently sidelined and stereotypical roles reserved for minorities, if any roles are re-

tion are now found in nearly all magazines and news outlets that discuss film and television. These demands are valid—a product of continued frustration at an industry that seems to always take one step forward and two steps back. Yet what these calls to action tend to ignore is the true importance of that one step forward. Just last week, history was made at the 2022 Oscars when Ariana DeBose won Best Supporting Actress for her role in

Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story, making it the first time an openly queer woman of color has won an Academy Award. Her voice and role brought crucial Afro–Latina recognition to the Illustration by Collin Wang big screen. While complacency in these served at all, trace back to moments of success won’t a lack of marginalized individ- generate necessary sysuals in the writers’ rooms and temic change, the steps producers’ rooms. With years and experiences imparted of little to no change, increas- by those who have broken ing demands for representa- down walls and barriers are

20 34TH STREET MAGAZINE APRIL 12, 2022

things that deserve their own focus and celebration. For the past few weeks, a member of Penn’s Cinema & Media Studies Program sought to do just that. Street sat down with Paola Camacho (C '24), a co–organizer of the "Flipping the Script: Diversity in Hollywood" speaker series on campus. She’s extremely candid about not always feeling a real "in" with the film industry despite yearning for a place in it. “I didn’t have any access to the industry … and my parents [didn’t] know

anything [since] they immigrated from Colombia. I’m an immigrant myself,” says Paola, who moved to the United States at age two. Paola envisioned that arriving at a place like Penn would be a turning point for her career ambitions, and it was. She emphasizes her love for her fellow majors, her professors, and the Cinema & Media Studies Program overall. But in some ways, Penn wasn’t the instant click she thought it would be. “There was an overwhelming sense of a culture that I just [didn’t] belong to, whether that’s by wealth or background,” Paola says. The "Flipping the Script" speaker series was Paola’s way of utilizing the resources that she did have: Professionals in the industry

in similar circumstances. There’s no resignation in Paola’s voice as she talks about the event; on the contrary, there’s fiery determi-

FOCUS

nation in her descriptions of her sources of inspiration for the series. “I’m reacting to that feeling, that really deep, pure, raw feeling [of doubt and] deciding to do something about it. There are people of color, people of different marginalized backgrounds, and LGBTQ people in the industry working, [so] I know it’s possible,” Paola explains. “I wanted to know how they surpass this feeling.” What Paola is referring to is something that many workers in film and television have also been outspoken about. For instance, a 2016 New York Times article pulled and compiled quotes from the experiences of 27 professionals who have been shunned by the industry due to their backgrounds. The article starts with examples of exclusion that are unfortunately common for minorities in the industry, such as Amer-

ica Ferrera being told that she couldn’t hope for better acting roles than the chubby Latina sidekick. Yet it also chooses to focus on the triumphs that these creatives have experienced, ending with optimism for the future of Hollywood. That optimism is essential: It gives hope to aspiring readers that things can and are changing. "Flipping the Script"’s compilation of speakers and talks achieves the same. Paola goes into detail on how she was able to organize this series in the first place with her friend, Lauren Davidson (C '23), via a snowball effect of connections ranging from Nicola Gentili, the associate director of the Penn Cinema & Media Studies office and program, to the Ghetto Film School, to various members of the Penn alumni network. But there were challenges faced in planning, particularly when

it came to Penn and external groups they reached out to for collaboration. Despite being very supportive of Paola and Lauren's efforts and promoting the events to all their members, the student groups weren't prepared to assist them in the way they needed—specifically with finding the speakers they were looking for. “We as women of color are going to student groups and asking for help … finding creatives or creative executives [in marginalized or underrepresented groups], and it genuinely came down to them not knowing any,” Paola says. This inability to help is what prompted and reaffirmed Paola's efforts to expand the series and find more individuals that she could learn from and hear speak— more individuals that came from similar backgrounds as her and still cemented themselves in the industry.

Paola and Lauren’s hard work paid off. I remember attending the "Making Documentaries" talk on March 16 where documentarian Bedatri Datta Choudhury aimed to ask and answer two questions: How do we manage the production of a documentary effectively enough to tell the stories that we want to tell, and how do we distribute that documentary to a wider audience that wants to listen to those stories? Choudhury’s personality and approach to her craft is uniquely influenced by her background. She emphasizes the importance of intersectionality in film during her talk, especially in documentaries where multiple perspectives exist for any given situation. “My takeaway was that who I am and the way I think and what I have to say is not only valid but necessary … in the industry,” Paola asserts.

As a voracious consumer of media, especially of film and television that speaks to me, bridging the gap between consumer and producer is extremely valued. As Paola succinctly puts it, “When we’re talking about storytelling and … feeling authentically represented, a lot of that is rooted in the behind– the–scenes and who is telling those stories,” she says. “There’s definitely a change going on … I’m falling in the footsteps of great, powerful people that are activating this change, and it will probably be upon me to continue that change.” "Flipping the Script: Diversity in Hollywood" celebrates abundance, underdogs, and the hard–working players fighting uphill battles. It reminds us that it’s high time to stop forgetting that massive change in such an industry not only has the potential to occur, but is currently moving and transforming lives.

April 18 — April 24

Scan for more info & calendar of events Friday April 22, 12pm

Monday April 18, 12pm

Tuesday April 19, 10am

Earth Week Teach-In @ College Green

Yoga @ Penn Campus Ecology Tour @ Park Farm Benjamin Franklin Statue

Green Fest @ Governing Net College Green Zero Speaker Event @ Kleinman Center

Host: University Architect

Host: Kleinman Center

Host: EII and Penn IUR

Wednesday April 20, 4pm

Host: Campus Rec and PFWC

Thursday April 21, 12pm

Host: Penn Env. Group

For more info, visit bit.ly/PennEarthWeekCal22

Saturday April 23 Wissahickon Creek Cleanup, 9am Host: SEAS

Tree Planting, 12pm-4pm Host: UC Green

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 21

UNDER THE BUTTON

Bold! Girl Online Shopping in Front Row Buying Ugly Clothes MARY GRACE MEREDITH

hroughout history, the darkest of times have created the greatest of heroes. When they were needed most, warriors of unbridled courage have risen to the occasion and served as sources of inspiration for us all. Today, as we face the unprecedentedness of these unprecedented times, the world has been in search of such a champion. And just this past week, one of these paragons of courage materialized in the front row of an ECON 001 lecture. Like most heroes, she was not born, but made: Shein was having an hourlong flash sale, and this queen

answered the call. Some cowards may experience self-doubt or insecurity knowing that their 16-inch MacBook Pro, brightness level 100, is advertising their every online click to their peers behind them. And to them, this girl says, ‘Grow up you pussy ass losers!’ That half-zebra print, halfcheetah print bodysuit with ‘Vegan Babe’ emblazoned in lime green? Absolutely hideous! And yet this fearless pioneer added that to her cart within seconds, in full view by the lecture hall of students behind her. Those platform flip-flops with

built-in socks? That didn’t even match? I’ve truly never been more horrified by an article of clothing in my life. Someone in the room audibly gasped. But this audacious queen, this Spartan of in-class online shopping, hit ‘Add to Bag’ and never looked back. Truly an inspiration. To know thyself is the beginning of wisdom. Some Greek guy said that once. If that same Greek guy was alive today to witness the rise of our fashion hero, he would probably say something like, “τι στο διάολο είναι ένας υπολογιστής; γιατί διάολο μπορεί μια γυναίκα να διαβάζει;?” But then he would

Photos, with edits, from iStock and Shein say, “You all could learn something from this visionary force of nature. There's nothing I love more than someone who doesn't care what anyone thinks!"

Which sounds like a backhanded compliment to us, but still. We all admire the tenacity and boldness of this It Girl, even if her style is trash.

BREAKING: Penn to Convert Smokes Into Indian Restaurant JOSH MUKHERJEE

22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE APRIL 12, 2022

n their most recent diversity stint, the University of Pennsylvania has decided to make alterations to beloved campus bar Smokey Joe’s. The bar has been a haven for college students for years, but it will now be transformed into an Indian restaurant serving the Penn community. As a result, Smokes' will now officially be recognized as a cultural center. Begin-

ning in early April, construction will begin to make both the exterior and interior of Smokes' resemble a giant Hindu temple. On Wednesday nights, Sink or Swim will be discontinued and replaced with CIS 160 tutoring. To accompany these changes, Penn has also decided to switch from the use of Dining Dollars to rupees. Unfortunately, these cannot be used at any dining loca-

tion on campus or beyond, as rupees are not a valid form of currency within the United States. But the University doesn’t mind—it stands with its South Asian community! “I love butter chicken,” Interim Provost Beth Winkelstein said on the matter. She then turned to Under the Button’s diversity hire (Josh Mukherjee: tall, beautiful Thindian) and gave him a long, wet kiss.

UNDER THE BUTTON

OP-ED: Penn Should Replace the Living World Sector With the FitnessGram PACER Test CLAIRE HAYES

s a Penn student who did not place out of any of the college requirements, I am constantly sent into a downward spiral when I wonder how I will have time to take all of my classes. Must I take summer courses? Must I take seven classes a semester? I’m not an M&T student. I shouldn’t need to do that. Naturally, the sector requirements make me mad. Sectors were just established to make us take tenured professors’ unpopular classes. I honestly couldn’t even tell you how many sectors there are. And why are there also foundational approaches? And why can’t everything double count??? I am in despair! One sector in particular makes me mad: The living world sector. You’re telling me I need to take a course on Dar-

win's legacy, paleontology, or sex and human nature? Here’s my take on the Living World Sector. We are living. We are in the world. If we wanna live longer in the world, let's do some running! And like I always say, liberal arts isn’t liberal arts without physical education. That’s why I think Penn should replace the living world sector with the fitnessgram PACER test! Yea, the PACER test. The one you did in elementary school. For those of you who did not participate in the pacer test, this is what it entails: Students run back and forth as many times as they can, each lap is signaled by a beeping noise, and the beeps progressively get closer together. Although the PACER test was recently banned for child cruelty, I admire the PACER test

because it drives the competitive spirit of the University of Pennsylvania and humbles the unathletic. Furthermore, maybe the PACER test will encourage students to end their nicotine addictions. Maybe it can increase the average lung strength of the entire undergraduate population. Maybe it can reverse the effects of climate change. We’ll never know until we try. I know what you’re thinking: if the College does the PACER test what will Wharton students have to do? To compensate for their easy course load, I propose that they all must participate in a more high-stakes competition. Like the Hunger Games or the Family Wizard Competition in Wizards of Waverly Place: The Movie. The possibilities are endless.

OP-ED: Penn Should Provide Greek Life Members With Security Blankie, Mommy’s Milk MARY GRACE MEREDITH

nce upon a time, things made sense and the world was fair. No one suggested that rich people somehow ‘exploited’ the working class, I got to go on vacations to Hawaii without someone on TikTok calling me a colonizer, and, most importantly, sophomores at Penn were not required to live on campus. But now, everything is upside down. In an unexpected and unprecedented twist of events, an insanely wealthy institution has turned on the interests of its students in order to bolster its own profits, something no one saw coming. Now, sophomores are required to live in on-campus housing, a decision that has hurt Greek life chapter houses. The wealthy white kids that dominate Greek life are used to getting their way, and this

is not what they want. Therefore this policy is discrimination and, dare I say, bordering on a hate crime. Undergraduate students are not landlords. Yet. While they may have gotten some experience from witnessing their parents manage the multiple properties that they own, this has not equipped them to handle this huge burden. Penn administration, I ask you this: If Greek chapter houses cannot be filled, who will eat the meals prepared by the live-in professional chef? Who will make the messes to be cleaned by the full time maid? Who will stand at the door and ask lame freshmen to name five brothers? In fact, I believe that having Penn subsidize rent for Greek chapter houses does not go far enough. The University can and should be doing so

much more for their students that have been thrown to the wolves of the real world after having been so coddled their entire lives. I mean really, what IS the administration doing to help out frats and sororities? Besides allowing them to occupy the nicest buildings on campus, looking the other way when their members commit physical and sexual assault, prioritizing them over cultural centers, and letting them get away with basically any violation of University policy imaginable because of the donations from their alums? That’s right: nothing. Penn’s new policy regarding sophomore housing has placed a financial burden and tangible monetary stress on Greek life members and executive boards, something they have never once had to worry about in their lives.

Photo, with edits, by Jintong Wuv As a form of reparation, the University should provide every member of Greek life on campus with a comfort security blankie, as well as a monthly subscription to warm milk from Mommy. This won’t make their booboos feel all better, but it will provide an ounce of comfort in this cruel, cruel world, a world so notoriously inhospitable to the wealthy, waspy children of elites. And besides, what else does Penn need to be spending money on? Subsidizing cost

of living for FGLI students? Expanding financial aid packages? Protecting affordable housing for University City residents? Finally paying PILOTs to the city of Philadelphia? Perhaps providing a scholarship for Mackenzie Fierceton after drastically fucking her over and dragging her through the mud? Don’t be ridiculous. Those cry baby bitches don’t deserve handouts—Penn should be taking care of the people who really matter on this campus: me and my rich friends.

APRIL 12, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 23

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