March 15, 2022

March 15, 2022 | 34st.com

Living with Long COVID

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

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

7 Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

8 The racism of "baby mamas"

12 Living with long COVID

18

On redecorating my childhood bedroom, reinventing myself, and unpredictability

A

t approximately midnight the night before I was supposed to leave for spring break, I decided to rearrange all the furniture in my room. Instead of packing my bags, I pulled out my measuring tape and got to work deciding which new layout would look best.

I learned a lot of things that night: that it’s exceedingly difficult for one person to move a full–size storage bed with drawers full of clothes by themself, that the little window alcove in the far side of my room can function as a nightstand if I build a shelf into it, and that the wooden base of my beloved clothing rack that I built myself will crack and splinter if I hang too much on it.

Most importantly, I was reminded that I have a tendency to crave a change in environment just as I start to get comfortable.

As all irrational habits do, this likely started in my childhood; for most of elementary and middle school, moving to a new house or apartment was a yearly occurrence. I grew accustomed to the rhythm of starting each year in a new place, reinventing myself as I decided how to decorate another bedroom. When

Meet Indigo de Souza

SSSF,

20 Booktok brings back reading

we moved for the last time, rearranging furniture supplanted relocating as the method I’d use to simulate a fresh start.

Now, in an apartment I’ve lived in for nine months and have slowly begun to call home, I feel the same staleness that permeated each one I lived in as a child. Only this time, I know it isn’t the space—it’s my own feeling of stagnancy.

Building a space for a version of myself that I want to be and hoping that it’ll propel me there will never work—it’s impossible to predict who I’ll be in a year, let alone force myself to grow in a certain direction. Filling a bookshelf with aspirational reads won’t make me a bookworm, and decorating my room with the right feng shui won’t make me less of an anxious person. Ultimately, we all are shaped by our environments as much as we are by our own aspirations—and there’s no point in trying to predict the unpredictable.

That’s what this week’s issue attempts to tackle. Our feature explores students’ experiences with long COVID, including the many twists and turns of symptoms that remain or evolve past acute infection. We approach season two of Euphoria with a critical eye, questioning what exactly Sam Levinson intended from such an ill–planned plot. Finally, we discuss the evolution of music as a form of protest in Ukraine amid a rollercoaster of geopolitical unrest and conflict.

Emily

Illustration by Collin Wang

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

Staff Writers: Mame Balde, Natalia Castillo, Xinyi (Cindy) Jiang, 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 THIS ISSUE Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Tyler Kliem Cover Design by Lilian Liu

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, Ariella Linhart glossy mag! week zero

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34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

WORD ON THE STREET

Down the Digital Rabbit Hole

Social media, pseudo–identities, and saying goodbye to things in small doses | NATALIA CASTILLO

I

used to think that decisions were made in big leaps. Introductions meant braving the emotional deep end, and goodbye was a raw severing.

I now understand decision– making through shades of grey, dictated by our desire to belong—wherever that may be.

In sixth grade, I discovered Freelee the Banana Girl on YouTube—a lifestyle vlogger, who promoted an extreme, unsustainable vegan diet. I was young, malleable, and had just been thrust into the worldwide web. This woman’s YouTube channel, in all its chaotic evil, seemed to be the answer to achieving happiness by way of an unattainable diet and body. I was 12 years old.

Social media and the internet offered this “perfect” gateway to a million different per-

Illustration by Collin Wang sonas, and I wanted them all.

I wanted to be funny enough, well–liked enough, good– looking enough, but in my own distinct way. I yearned for these intangible characteristics, but I didn’t want people to see my insatiable need to fit in.

When TikTok came along and a friend raved about the app to me, it was still in its infancy—another attempt to replace Vine. It was not until months later when the app became all the rage that I, along with adolescents worldwide, became hooked.

No longer were 20–minute YouTube videos the source of unspoken rules dictating my likes and dislikes. TikTok provided thousands of lifestyles and personality quirks to try on for size, right at my fingertips. Before I knew it, my

expressions, my music taste, my clothing style, and even my hobbies were reflected all around me and through me. I was at once a mirror and a window to the world beyond the black screen.

One might characterize my actions as those of an insecure teenager lost in a flurry of uncertainty and lacking in affirmation, to which I would say, touché. Simultaneously, the state of young people in the digital age is one of hypervisibility and hyper invisibility.

We put our identities up for judgment but keep them curated to our liking. We shrink into ourselves when our off– screen identities don’t live up to our digital selves. In an age of excess, it is easy to become lost in the binary of ones and zeros. My identity flattened

to what I showed on my feed, and my experiences were lost to instant gratification.

I have deleted apps out of dissatisfaction and have felt the urge to throw my phone across the room and forcibly break the trance. I’ve done the scroll of shame on the app store, downloading TikTok from the cloud, hoping that all of my saved videos awaited me.

At 20 years old, I have some convoluted notion of the transition from one’s formative years to adulthood.

Somehow, stepping into my identity means disentangling myself from my decade–old digital footprint. I feel apathy towards social media, a world that once dictated my behavior. How can I feel animosity towards something I so willingly embraced? How can I

denounce the same thing that builds bridges and breaks barriers? I can both appreciate the beauty of the digital world while recognizing the toll it has taken on my existence.

Knowing this, I’ve begun the untethering of my identity from my digital presence.

I once tried to cut my ties with social media entirely, but I am now more reflective about how my relationship with it can evolve with time. While TikTok has been gone from my phone for approximately four months and Instagram is at times a lingering memory, I slowly find ways to plant seeds of authenticity in my feeds.

Where one door closes, another opens to a new world for you to make your own. Perhaps it’s true that some decisions are best made in short strides.

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

3

EGO

EMMA BOLLINGER HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, Calif.

MAJOR:

Health and societies, concentration in public health

ACTIVITIES:

Strictly Funk, Service Link, Sigma Delta Tau

Meet the HSOC major passionate about public health, Strictly Funk and pasta. | GRACE BUSSER 34th STREET: Tell us about your major. How did you decide on health and societies?

EMMA BOLLINGER: When I got to Penn, I literally had no idea what I wanted to do at all. I took [classes in] communications, sociology, and history. My second semester, I took a health and societies class and found it so interesting. I was like, that’s exactly what I want to do. So I started taking more classes and decided I wanted to be an HSOC major my sophomore year.

I’m concentrating in public health, so I’m really focused on the social determinants of health and helping minority communities get better access to healthcare. I’m most interested in the issues that currently exist and ways that we can try to fix them. Right now, the majority of people who participate in clinical trials are white. I interned at a hospital in Los Angeles doing research and clinical trials and learning about why other communities don’t want to participate—why there’s such a lack of access.

That’s really what I want to focus on in my career.

STREET: How did you get 4

involved with Strictly Funk?

EB: I auditioned my [first– year] fall. I was on a competitive dance team in middle and high school, so I knew [that] when I got to Penn I wanted to join a dance group, but I didn’t really know anything about any of them. I wanted to do something completely different than anything I’d ever done, so I talked to a couple people who were in dance groups here and someone told me to try out for Funk. My roommate and I tried out together and we both got in. I don’t think I would have done it by myself because I was too scared.

STREET: What’s your favorite part about being in Funk?

EB: The community, for sure. They’re some of my best friends and they’ve become my family—we spend way too much time together. It was really nice [my first] year because everyone’s still trying to figure it out and I had a community that I knew would always be there. That’s definitely something I love about Funk: We’re a family.

STREET: Is there any overlap between your sorority and Funk?

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

EB: Not at all.

STREET: How has it been to have those distinct communities?

EB: I love it. I’m way less involved in Greek life at this point. It’s really nice to have two completely separate communities because I had a lot more things to do. If I ever didn’t want to do something with my sorority, I always had Funk and vice versa.

STREET: What’s your favorite part about performing?

EB: I’m a little bit shy when I first meet people and so they don’t expect me to get on stage and do intense hip hop. The first time my friends came to my show, they were shocked that I was doing what I was doing. Being on stage is a different personality for me and it’s one of my favorite feelings in the world.

STREET: Do you have a favorite song or performance that you’ve done?

EB: That’s hard. Last semester felt like the best performance we’ve ever done, but my sophomore year we had a Halloween show and that was really, really fun. It was a little bit spooky and it was based on horror movies. That was so

much fun.

STREET: What has been the most meaningful experience that you’ve had at Penn?

EB: During COVID–19, a lot got taken away. Halfway through rehearsals, one of our shows got canceled. Later, we had two virtual performances, and so the first show we performed back in person last semester was a huge moment for us. There are ten seniors and it was a huge deal for all of us. It was an amazing moment that we thought was never going to happen. We weren’t even sure if we were going to be able to do an in–person show last semester. Being back on stage after a year and a half of not being able to do anything like that, that was one of the most meaningful moments for me.

STREET: Tell us a little bit about your work with Service Link.

EB: I’m a little overwhelmed with being chair of Funk, so I’m not doing Service Link this semester. I joined when they had moved virtually, so I worked shifts where we called Philadelphia residents who needed help accessing medical services and helped them get access. There were people in wheelchairs who

needed ramps at their houses and didn’t know how to get [them], so we would help figure out those services for them.

There were people who needed help scheduling doctor’s appointments or getting heaters for their homes in the winter.

We would call and check up on people every week, or every couple of weeks, just to see how they were doing. I found it to be a really meaningful experience but it was a little disconnected over the phone. I think it’s probably more meaningful in person because you get to actually work with the people.

Unfortunately, I just don’t have the time this semester.

STREET: What's next for you after Penn?

EB: I’m not really sure yet.

There are so many options.

There are so many different directions I can go in, which is a little bit overwhelming but also good. It’s hard to find a job that focuses specifically on my interests. I could do traditional consulting or something like that, which I don’t necessarily want to do. I’m looking at smaller companies that are focused on outreach to lower income minority communities to increase health care access.

EGO

LIGHTNING ROUND

STREET: Favorite Dua Lipa song?

EB: Let’s just say "Future Nostalgia." That was really good at her concert a couple weeks ago.

STREET: Best concert you’ve ever been to?

EB: That one. I hadn’t been to a concert in so long!

STREET: Best podcast for beginners?

EB: Oh gosh, I have so many. Armchair Expert and To Live and Die in LA. STREET: For pros?

EB: Smartless.

STREET: What’s your favorite thing to cook?

EB: My easiest thing is always pasta. I recently bought the super squiggly ones. It’s now gone viral on TikTok so I bought extra because I’m afraid it’s going to sell out. Those are my favorite. The most complicated thing I’ve ever made was Pop Tarts. My roommates and I made the dough from scratch and everything. It was the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but also the hardest thing I’ve ever made.

STREET: Death row meal?

EB: A huge bowl of pasta with vodka sauce, mint chip ice cream, and a cheeseburger and fries.

STREET: Cup or cone?

EB: Cone all the way.

STREET: There are two types of people at Penn …

EB: Those who cook and those who dine out.

STREET: And you are?

EB: Cook, for sure.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Jon M. Chu and the Power of Representation DIRECTOR OF THE WORLDWIDE PHENOMENON CRAZY RICH ASIANS

IN CONVERSATION WITH DAVID L. ENG Richard L. Fisher Professor of English and Asian American Studies

MARCH 17 • 4:30–6 PM • PENN MUSEUM SAS.UPENN.EDU for tickets and information MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

5

E G& O TV FILM

Bent Button Vice President Kota Yamamoto Talks Turning His Hobbies Into Tangible Results How this Wharton sophomore is developing his creativity at Penn's premier filmmaking club | KAYLA COTTER

W

hen Wharton sophomore Kota Yamamoto started Penn in 2020, the traditional red and blue balloon arches, scattered move–in carts, and awkward first meetings took a back seat to Zoom links and surgical masks. At the height of the COVID–19 pandemic, he sought camaraderie, comfort, and a creative outlet, and soon began to search for a community outside of Penn’s pre–professional sphere.

At Penn, Kota aimed to take advantage of the opportunity to explore his creative ambitions without academic pressure. Feeling that many of Penn’s clubs were business– oriented and overly competitive, he instead looked for “something more creative and different—a ‘nobody does it’ kind of thing.” Shortly after his first days of college life, he found it in a small, but “unique,” club: Penn’s premier film production group Bent Button Productions.

Now the vice president, Kota quickly came up through the ranks. Despite the limitations of a virtual film set, he’s worked on numerous films such as D_STANCED, What’s Underneath, and Brendan Ash: The Rise to Stardom. The latter is a TikTok mockumentary that Bent Button shot last semester, which Kota cites as his favorite piece thus far. The film explores an oblivious TikTok user's career as an "influencer," subtly ridiculing the obnoxious teenager. As the first film he worked on in–person following Penn’s strict health and safety guidelines, it holds a special place in his heart, and there's a gleam in his eye as he describes 6

the strenuous but rewarding process. “We did try to make films over Zoom so that's fun, but also, it didn't feel like filmmaking. This film we actually did in person and went to different locations, so it was a fun and memorable experience,” he explains.

Though he “acted in an amateur film over the summer," the

ate a storyboard that is not only feasible, but coherent, he describes the camera angles, background music, and action in a scene.

As a long–time movie fan—which is what at first drew him to Bent Button— Kota noticed a shift in his viewing habits after working on film projects with the club.

passion project of his, he isn't quite sure how it fits into his career aspirations yet. That said, he considers his time at Bent Button to be invaluable and tells me that it’s a hobby that he’ll carry with him no matter what career path he follows. “It’s a tangible thing,” he says, “you get something that’s going to last forever.”

In particular, he expressed an interest in horror films and the decisions that go into creating their signature effects.

“I really focus on the camera work and how the film is made. I look at the movie differently. So horror movies are interesting in that aspect because there's a lot of camera movements that try to make it look more scary and try to make uncomfortable vibes,” he explains.

When asked about his future in filmmaking, Kota hesitates. While filmmaking is a

Filmmaking “requires very holistic skills," Kota explains, "and I love how what you can learn varies from different aspects." As a Wharton student, he finds that filmmaking combines the best of the two worlds. "It requires business skills like producing the film, scheduling, and then you require all the artistic skills.

How do you film it?" he says.

Kota's future may be uncertain, but his excitement for the present is contagious. The VP shows no sign of slowing down anytime soon as he

Photo courtesy of Kota Yamamoto majority of Kota’s film experience comes from Bent Button.

The club allows its members to explore a variety of pre–production and post–production roles such as camera–operating, story–boarding, script–writing, and video–editing, making two five–to–ten–minute short films throughout the semester. As the Director of Photography for projects such as D_STANCED and Brendan Ash: The Rise to Stardom, he “visualizes the script.” Communicating with the director and camera operator to cre-

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

tells me about Bent Button's current project: one–pager scripts. He flashes a smile as he animatedly elaborates: “We usually do one script for a project but this time we're trying to do multiple one–pager scripts … so that more people can try different roles and [we can] get more people included or engaged."

Though he's dipped his toes in camera–operating, storyboarding, and acting, he notes that he would love to write a script and direct a film in the future.

To students struggling to reconcile career and passion, Kota suggests ignoring the peer and academic pressures that come with a university that so heavily emphasizes pre–professionalism.

“If you're at Penn, you kind of [feel like you] have the obligation to join a business club but I feel like... you can have the business experience outside of school and through your classes,” he explains. “I just think a lot of people have an interest in exploring the arts and creative side of themselves, but don't do it … Try to decide based on your passion, not what others are doing.”

Kota most certainly recognizes that there's value in a hobby, and he knows how to distill its potential. Regardless of his future endeavors, it’s clear that what he's learned from Bent Button will follow him beyond Penn.

As he well knows, filmmaking skills are not one–size fits all, and Bent Button gives students the opportunity to figure out who they are outside of work.

FILM & TV

In Which I Get Verklempt Over ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’

I

By a woman who likes her television like she likes her men: Jewish, funny, and touching her in places she didn’t even know existed. | JULIA POLSTER

’m absolutely plotzing.

To those who don’t know this esoteric term, I will explain it to you: Plotzing is the continuous form of plotz.

Plotz is a Yiddish word, meaning to become physically overcome with feeling, positive or negative, in some sort of emotional outburst, explosion, or collapse. Like many Yiddish words, the definition is somewhat flexible: One can nearly faint of anguish—this is plotzing. But one can also erupt in tears of joy at a wedding, and we’ll call that plotzing too.

My physical body stays fairly in touch with my emotions— many of my calories are actually burned through anxiety sweats.

But right now, I am above and beyond. I’m super–plotzing.

How am I plotzing? Let me count the ways.

I enter my plotzing through a tense, hyper–alert state as I type from my childhood bedroom at 3:00 a.m.. I’m home for spring break and listening for the footsteps of my slightly overbearing Jewish parents. They worry if I don’t get enough sleep and I need to be able to quickly turn off my lamp and computer if I hear them in the hall.

But I had to stay up. This article is my review of season four of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I wanted to fit in the newly released final two episodes before writing. I’ve loved the show since its first season, in which the titular character, a perfect Jewish housewife in 1958, leaves her husband and becomes a feisty stand–up comic. Over the episodes since, Mrs. Maisel, or Midge, has performed everywhere from resorts in the Catskills to the Apollo. She’s interacted with real–life figures, like Lenny Bruce, but also her

Illustration by Alice Choi large fictional family, who has to come to terms with her unexpected career.

So the plotzing begins: My nerves translate to some nervous glances and grimaces around the room as I picture my editor reading this piece in the morning. I continue to mutter “oy” to myself and drum my fingers on my nightstand as I consider the idea that I’m not even following the angle that I was supposed to be working towards. I'd planned to write about the pattern of non– Jewish women being cast as Jewish characters. Maisel is a classic example of this frustrating, often ignored issue; Non–Jewish actresses portray the title character and her mother, both of whom are flawed but empowered heroines making their ways through a man’s world with elegance and aplomb. Meanwhile, the show's Jewish actresses often lose all of their femininity in the caricatures they portray. The woman-

hood of Alex Borstein’s Susie is often rejected under the repressive gender norms of the 1950s, and Caroline Aaron’s Shirley Maisel is usually completely smothered in the stereotype of the pushy Jewish mother.

I half–heartedly shake a fist in the air—I recognize that I don’t have all, or any, of the answers when it comes to the casting debate. I love the show enough that often I can ignore its problems, but this is the one about which I feel I should have some opinion. Many other Jewish people are unhappy about it. When my grandfather started watching the show, I didn’t understand his frustration over the portrayals of the Maisels. Yes, they were brash, unassimilated, and even cheap, but they still felt rooted in the reality of someone’s Jewish in–laws somewhere.

I went into this season determined to watch with a critical eye. Keeping in mind the dan-

gerous power of stereotypes, I found myself cringing (almost to a full plotz) when Moishe and Shirley Maisel would go to lengths to find a new girlfriend for their son or save a few bucks.

But now, after finishing the season, I’m plotzing. I’m sitting here, mouth agape, hands tossed up to my face, with tears welling up in my eyes as I reflect on how perfectly the last story arc of the season captured the love that exists within a Jewish family.

When placed in a tough situation, Moishe and Shirley Maisel turned around and showed the flip side of the overbearing, over– protective, and overinvolved Jewish parents. Those qualities, often portrayed as flaws, were given their full credit as acts of love. They were acts performed by those who can fully appreciate the precarious and lucky position of being a Jew in America, and who want to ensure the stability and prosperity of their family’s

legacy in this fortuitous country.

In short, the Maisels were finally humanized.

When Abe Weissman, Midge's father and Moishe’s more assimilated foil, acknowledges that Moishe has been successful in these aims, it’s a moment of validation. The Maisels’ eccentricities finally get credit for being a force of steadiness that generously kept not just the immediate family, but even the mishpucha (extended, not–quite related relatives, like the Maisels and Weissmans, whose children are divorced from each other) afloat while others floundered.

I’m getting verklempt just writing about it.

Ultimately, Maisel's fourth season makes clear that the show’s writing team, led by Amy Sherman–Palladino, is still surpassing itself. In addition to constantly cracking up at their amazing humor, I plotzed my way through powerful moments across the eight jam–packed episodes, and I recommend you do too. If you’ve never plotzed before, now is a great time to learn.

Drool at the mouth over the visceral image of a 1960s Broadway musical–comedy opening.

Cheer along to the still–relevant realizations of the value of women in this world. Get a bit misty– eyed at the season’s thematic exploration of mortality, and full–out weep at the touching tribute to actor Brian Tarantina, who passed away in 2019.

And translate the affection of the family on–screen into a call to your mother. Maybe I’ve stretched the definition of plotzing too far, but she’s worried sick because you’ve been staying up late writing for that magazine and aren’t sleeping enough.

(Mom, I love you, and I’ll take a nap tomorrow to catch up.)

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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FILM & TV

'Euphoria’s' Glitz and Glamor Can't Hide its Flawed Storyline

Illustration by Erin Ma

S

In a writer’s room of one, Sam Levinson’s Euphoria season two triumphs in its creative and visual decisions, but leaves behind fragmented and unresolved storylines. | JACOB A. POLLACK

eason two of Euphoria, Sam Levinson’s American teen drama series that follows modern–day high schoolers navigating adolescence, has it all. There’s Zendaya, fancy costumes, stunning makeup, drugs, sex scenes, long takes, lots of music, choreographed dances, and incredible acting. Yet Euphoria still lacks the most fundamental aspect of a compelling show: a thoughtful storyline. In many cases, this season of Euphoria felt more like a compilation of music videos stacked onto each other rather than hour–long episodes.

As the sole writer of Euphoria, Sam Levinson let fans of the show down by failing to create a fleshed– out storyline for season two. Not every show or movie needs a clear storyline to be considered 8

great—think of David Lynch, who thrives on confusing plots, as seen in projects like Twin Peaks or Mulholland Drive. But for an ensemble–heavy show like Euphoria, which boasts beloved characters with intense and dramatic arcs, a cohesive story is the key component that weaves together all of the characters’ motivations and actions.

The biggest problem with Euphoria’s storyline is that, well, there isn’t one. Or at least not a well planned–out one. After the New Year's Eve premiere episode, Euphoria split up its ensemble into three main storylines: Rue’s issues, Cassie/Nate’s issues, and Fezco’s issues.

And, for most of the season, these storylines remained separate from each other, with Lexi probably being the only character who was deeply involved in each one. It’s not until the

34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

final episodes that the stories are haphazardly thrown together, as the autobiographical play of Lexi’s life, ‘Our Life,’ recaps what's been happening in most of the main characters’ lives.

Even then, most of the story arcs don’t wrap up or have any resolution.

Season one excelled because of its character–driven narrative; each episode centered on one character’s story and always began with a stellar cold open delving into their backstory. In season two, Levinson is driven by artistic and creative choices rather than character development, creating a mesh of episodes that are visually stunning but have nothing much to say. Sequences like Jules and Rue’s “Lover’s Montage” with reenactments of Brokeback Mountain or Frida Kahlo's Self–Portrait as a Tehuana seem calculat-

ed to evoke deep emotions from the audience, only for them to make no thematic sense whatsoever and instead come off as cringey.

Levinson also seems a little too dependent on his music score. For example, episode four ("You Who Cannot See, Think of Those Who Can") contains four separate dance sequences and 24 songs. Music can powerfully convey characters’ emotions, but using music and dancing so extensively makes the show lose its gravitas.

There’s also countless flaws in Levinson’s script— like Rue’s missing consequences for not paying back her drug dealer Laurie, or Kat’s complete absence—but one of its major issues this season has to be Cassie Howard, played by Sydney Sweeney.

After breaking up with her boyfriend McKay and

feeling single and free for the first time in high school at the end of season one, Cassie pulls a complete 180 in season two and winds up hooking up with the vile Nate Jacobs, her closest friend Maddy’s on– and–off boyfriend. From there, Cassie’s off to the races, being hopelessly devoted to Nate, cutting off her friends, being a spoiled brat to her family, and making a complete scene at Lexi’s play, leaving the season with no boyfriend or friends. Cassie’s at her low point in the series (at least I hope), which Levinson makes abundantly obvious, but she ends the season with no growth. Why would Cassie ever be with Nate in the first place after seeing the abuse Maddy received for years with him?

Cassie ended season one as someone who had the potential to develop on her

FILM & TV

own, without a controlling boyfriend. Yet Levinson decides to have her character morph into an awful, self–centered person, someone who I can’t understand why anyone would root for.

Cassie’s actual storyline aside, Levinson’s insistence on her nudity scenes adds to the disturbing treatment of this fan favorite.

Sweeney has also weighed in on Cassie’s abundant nude scenes. She tells The Independent that “there are moments where Cassie was supposed to be shirtless and I would tell Sam, ‘I don’t really think that’s necessary here.”’ The incessant nude scenes on Euphoria are graphic and often pointless. Frankly, if Euphoria gave up screen time for all of the nude shots, there might've been more time to actually focus on

characters’ issues.

The lack of a planned storyline is most evident in the season finale, where most of the characters’ issues are still left unaddressed. Instead of resolving Cassie or Maddy’s storylines, we are all treated to Elliot’s forty– hour–long song for Rue, which he’s “still working on.” The finale episode of season one was very fastpaced, triumphantly ending with a musical number complete with a band, dancers, and Zendaya singing “All for Us.” Yet in season two, the pacing of the finale is extremely slow, as the episode culminates in never–ending monologues and quiet conversations with Rue, ending with Zendaya softly singing “I’m Tired.” Not all finales need to end with a bang, but Euphoria season two left all of

its conflicts to be resolved in its final episode, which thus required a dramatic and gripping ending.

To its credit, Euphoria does portray Rue’s addiction and recovery very thoughtfully up till the final scene where she announces she was sober for the rest of the school year.

But the screen time dedicated to Rue’s addiction comes at the cost of the development of the remaining characters, who have also gone through trauma but face no resolution.

Euphoria season two also decides to axe any storyline centered on Jules. Virtually the co–lead in season one who had her own individual episode between seasons, Jules is given nothing to do in season two. It’s nearly impossible to recall a plot line she had that didn’t re-

volve around Rue’s addiction or problems. Considering that Jules is one of the most interesting and troubled characters, it’s a bloody shame that Levinson decided to put her on the sidelines this season.

Euphoria is known for tackling serious issues like drug addiction, abuse, and death; Levinson has also said that Euphoria is a “deeply, deeply personal story,” with some storylines coming directly from his own experience as a former drug addict. While it’s admirable to have a show that discusses sensitive topics like addiction and recovery, their meaning is lost when the show is rooted in such an unrealistic world.

In many ways, Sam Levinson’s Euphoria is more of a fantasy than George Lucas’ Star Wars franchise.

East Highland is the most unrealistic depiction possible of a high school: highly over–budgeted student–produced plays, no classes, no school books, and basically a place to just deal drugs at 8 a.m.

Currently, Euphoria is so focused on the superficial, visual spectacles that it’s neglected to address its characters’ problems.

Ultimately, it’s tough to call this show great when the story is so trash. Like millions of others, I do find the show entertaining. But instead of watching it with praise and astonishment for Levinson’s craft as a filmmaker and screenwriter, it’s become more of a hate–watch to see how awful and contradictory Levinson can make his characters become.

START YOUR MASTER'S DEGREE IN EDUCATION AS AN UNDERGRAD

SUBMATRICULATION INFO SESSION March 15 | 12 p.m. www.gse.upenn.edu/Submatriculation

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

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Baby Mamas, Kylie Jenner, and the Racialized Perception of Single Motherhood Kylie Jenner is trying to reclaim the label 'baby mama.' But is that term even hers to reclaim? | NAIMA SMALL

“B

aby mama,” a term used to describe the mother of a child whose father she is not with, was popularized through African American Vernacular English. But throughout recent years, the designation of “baby mama” has become more common in the general American lexicon, making its way into music and movies.

The term has some negative connotations—namely that the “mama” in question only has a purely sexual relationship with the baby’s father and that she is not the chosen partner of the man she shares a child with. Though it has been recontextualized with a more positive bend in recent years, “baby mama” continues to be considered a dismissive or even offensive label, especially for Black women.

Baby mama is a controversial term due to the fact that it plays with two all–too–familiar anti–Black stereotypes: the absent father and the welfare queen. Through the absent father stereotype, Black men are deemed too irresponsible or criminal to remain with their families, leaving behind their baby mamas to raise their kids.

Despite the fact that 72% of Black children are born to unmarried mothers, another sta-

tistic is frequently ignored— the majority of Black men do remain with their children.

The welfare queen label is pushed onto Black single mothers and

erhood—or baby mamas. Despite increased usage of the term, it is still heavily associated w i t h

Kylie Jenner—a member of the Kardashian clan of reality TV stars and beauty mogul— welcomed her second child with Travis Scott last month. Both Kylie and h e r

Illus tratio d e n by C ollin Wang monizes them for asking for government assistance. This generalization goes back to the Black women.

1960s, when politicians sought Professor Dr. Maia Hoskin, to portray those in poverty as who is married, recalled a mofreeloaders. Combined with ment in her office when she the stereotype of Black female was flippantly called a “baby promiscuity, Black “welfare mama” by one of her white colqueens” are painted as women leagues in a MadameNoire artiwho irresponsibly get pregnant cle. A 2008 Fox News segment in order to gain more money referred to Michelle Obama as from the state or do so to get “Obama’s baby mama.” Twitrich off of the father’s child ter user @indiaroyaletv says it support. best: “Y’all notice when people The myths of the welfare talk about Black women, we’re queen and the absent father always the 'baby mama.' But intersect to tell a disparaging when they talk about other story about Black single moth- races, it’s 'girlfriend' or 'ex'?”

older s i s t e r Khloe Kardashian fit the definition of a baby mama—neither of them are in a current relationship with the father of their child. Yet they have escaped the negative notions attributed to being an unmarried mother.

All it took was for Kylie Jenner to wear a “baby mama” necklace to Coachella for her to be praised by Bustle for “reclaiming” the title. A planned W magazine cover story featuring Kylie and Travis (that was scrapped due to the Astroworld Tragedy) described how their unmarried status is a

10 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

powerful example of a “family operating on their own terms.”

It could be argued that the visibility and praise of Kylie's single motherhood is a win for all baby mamas, but the reality is that this newfound love for the baby mama lifestyle still leaves Black women behind.

Kylie is a wealthy white woman who can afford to give her children everything they need, as well as afford full–time help.

Her version of single motherhood is glamorous because of her wealth—not because she and Travis have mastered the art of co–parenting.

Kylie’s whiteness also allows her to bypass any of the racial implications the baby mama label has. For Kylie, being a baby mama is just another aspect of her trendy or unconventional lifestyle. But for Black women, being seen as a baby mama comes with a long history of racist and classist assumptions about single motherhood.

The disparity in how white and Black baby mamas are perceived is yet another example of the way white women get to benefit from the same stereotypes that demean Black women. Kylie may be able to reclaim the baby mama label with pride, but ultimately, it’s her privilege that allows her to do so.

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Stop by Tambayan for Flavorful Filipino Eats After 21 years of working in Reading Terminal Market, Kathy Mirano has opened up a breathtaking restaurant of her own. | ANNA HOCHMAN

R

eading Terminal Market can be quite overwhelming, with the steady flow of foot traffic approaching from all directions and the noisy hum of work and chatter coming from the stalls.

But sitting down at the counter of Tambayan feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air amidst the chaos.

After opening up in Reading Terminal last August, Tambayan offers authentic Filipino food with a few fun twists. I arrived at the restaurant late on a Wednesday afternoon, tired after a long day of classes. But after sitting down at this welcoming eatery, I left full of energy, rejuvenated after a delicious meal with friendly service. My eating companion and I ordered the fried lumpia, an order of ube fries, a sampling of the Filipino barbecue skewers, a slice of ube cake, and ube macarons.

The lumpia—fried pork spring rolls dipped in a sweet and tangy sauce—were hot and crisp, with a well–flavored filling. The barbecue skewers were perfectly cooked, with juicy and flavorful meat coated in a sweet and sticky sauce.

The fries, topped with an almost peppery cheese, were the perfect balance of sweet and savory.

Aside from the savory starters, both desserts were exquisite. The cake, a roll of two beautiful shades of purple, was light and not too sweet, while the macarons were impeccably baked and had melt– in–your–mouth flavors.

Kathy Mirano, the restaurant’s owner and chef, has worked in Reading for 21 years, but Tambayan is her first venture working on her own. After the pandemic swept the nation, Mirano’s vision for Tambayan blossomed. At the time, she had

been working at Olympia—a gyro stall—as a manager and server. But when COVID–19 hit, Mirano, like many workers, had her hours cut. As a mother of four who was also sending money home to the Philippines, she needed to find a way to generate new income.

Mirano’s boyfriend (and now business partner) John Karmanski was the first to suggest that she start selling her own food. Mirano initially started online, selling Filipino–inspired baked goods to friends. As an active runner, Mirano had connections across the city in the running community, who were incredibly supportive of the business. “It [made] me realize, ‘Oh my god, I have a lot of friends,’” Mirano says.

One of these friends, a doctor in Jefferson Hospital, suggested that Mirano bring some food for doctors and nurses to try. Mirano, walking to the hospital with massive bags of her baking in tow, soon found out her food was a hit.

“The next [thing] I know, I have 40 orders,” Mirano says. Her food took off soon after that, and it became too busy to handle as a purely online business. After working in the market for 21 years, Mirano filed a proposal to start her own restaurant in Reading Terminal.

According to Mirano, the dishes that she's proudest to serve are her ube products. Growing up without much money in the Philippines— where she and her family would sometimes have to skip meals— ube (a Filipino purple yam) was a common and cheap food. Back then, she would often prepare it very simply—boiling it and dipping it in salt for dinner. But what was once her family’s saving grace has become “the key to [her success],” as ube is now prominently featured as the centerpiece in Mirano’s roll cakes,

French macarons, and fries—all of which have a gorgeously deep purple color.

Mirano couldn’t be happier now that she runs her own restaurant. “It’s hard to work

for someone else,” she says. “I worked for [someone else for] 21 years. It doesn’t feel complete.”

Now, even as she has to work incredibly hard to learn about the complexities of running

Photo by Kira Wang a business, she finds her life more fulfilling. Serving as a culmination of her life's hard work, running Tambayan is what Mirano has long been waiting for.

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 11

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Living With LONG C

Two years after the COVID–19 pandemic’s onset, restrictions are being lifted. But for many, symptoms still linger. | SEJAL SANGANI tested positive for COVID–19, and many of them experience ongoing symptoms. Student Health Service (SHS) Medical Director Vanessa Stoloff says that although there isn’t a distinct set of diagnostic criteria for long COVID, SHS likely has encountered these patients at Penn.

Now, two years after the first wave of lockdown orders, mask mandates and other restrictions are being lifted nationwide, and weekly case counts in the United States decreased by 28.8% in early March. Philadelphia recently lifted indoor masking requirements, moving the city’s COVID–19 status to All Clear.

But even as the masks come off, students continue to suffer from long COVID—chest tightness, brain fog, migraines, loss of taste and smell, shortness of breath, fatigue—months after recovering from their acute infections.

Though the threat of COVID–19 seems to be fading, the remnants of the disease still linger for many— including members of the Penn community. These are their stories.

Illustration by Lilian Liu

COVID

Akash Chauhan (E '24) is another Penn student who’s experienced long COVID after testing positive in November 2020. Akash is from Maryland, but he spent his gap year in Nevada doing an internship, where he contracted COVID–19.

His roommate worked in a nursing home and had to get tested weekly, but didn’t believe in COVID–19. After testing positive, she lied to Akash, telling him that she had tested negative.

During his acute infection, Akash lost his sense of taste and smell very quickly. It was different from other illnesses—he wasn’t congested, but he still had difficulties tasting and smelling. His symptoms mimicked those of the common cold, but were slightly more severe.

“I had no ability to discern [tastes]. I could drink vinegar. I had really spicy food,” he says. “It’s like the connection between my tongue and my mind just broke.”

Though his main symptoms cleared up in about a week, Akash struggled with decreased lung capacity, shortness of breath, fatigue, and increased heart rate—especially while exercising—for about three months after contracting COVID–19. These symptoms have since resolved.

His sense of taste and smell returned at around 60–70% shortly after recovering from the acute infection. Now, almost 16 months later, Akash estimates his senses to be 80% normal. He adds that even though it may not seem like a lot, losing 20–30% of your senses is “a pretty substantial difference.”

“Now, nothing is horrible. Nothing tastes horrible, nothing smells that bad. But nothing is also that good or amazing anymore,” he says, noting that it’s frustrating not being able to enjoy food as much, especially when he goes out to eat.

Simultaneously, Akash feels that his diminished sense of taste and smell has brought some benefits.

“I can just eat whatever I want, and only care about its nutrition content and how many calories it has and how much protein it has,” he says. His breakfast usually con-

sists of a smoothie of multiple protein powders, bananas, blueberries, broccoli, peanut butter, and a raw egg.

“I can very much optimize my diet and my lifestyle,” Akash concludes.

In addition to loss of taste and smell, other long COVID symptoms include fatigue, migraines, and shortness of breath.

This is the case for Emma Bollinger (C '22), who got COVID–19 in April 2021, around the beginning of the Delta variant surge. She had been fully vaccinated for a month at the time.

When Emma first developed symptoms, she thought she had a sinus infection. Though an unvaccinated member of her dance group had tested positive, Emma didn’t expect to also be COVID–19–positive because she was vaccinated. At the time, many medical experts believed that it was highly unlikely for vaccinated individuals to contract COVID–19.

At midnight after the day she was tested, Emma got a text that she had received a red PennOpen Pass.

She wasn’t sure if it was because she was being contact traced, or if she had tested positive, since she hadn’t received her results yet. She ultimately ended up testing positive.

Since her symptoms had already been present for three days, her quarantine lasted seven days, during which she stayed in her room in her off–campus apartment, and her roommates brought her food.

None of Emma’s roommates tested positive, despite the fact that they all “live on top of each other.”

With final exams approaching, Emma planned to complete all her assignments in isolation, then relax after they were over. However, she was so fatigued that she slept for most of her time in isolation. Her other symptoms included chest tightness and diminished taste, both of which cleared up within a few days.

Penn called Emma every day to monitor her symptoms. Her case was particularly novel, as not many

vaccinated individuals had contracted COVID–19 at that point.

After recovering from the acute infection, Emma’s symptoms persisted. A sufferer of chronic migraines, she expected them to occur during her isolation, but they never did. Afterward, however, her migraines increased from three to four per month to every other day.

Almost a year later, they are still occurring at this frequency.

Emma also experienced memory problems and difficulty concentrating, which fall under the umbrella of “brain fog.”

For these symptoms, Emma has seen a primary care doctor and a neurologist at Penn Medicine’s neurology long COVID clinic. Most of her medical care has consisted of symptom monitoring, though she did recently receive nerve block injections in her head to help with migraine pains. Emma is just one of many patients who have sought care for lasting symptoms of COVID–19—a virus whose long term impacts in the human body are still only beginning to be understood.

Emma also experienced memory problems and difficulty concentrating, which fall under the umbrella of “brain fog.”

For these symptoms, Emma has seen a primary care doctor and a neurologist at Penn Medicine’s neurology long COVID clinic. Most of her medical care has consisted of symptom monitoring, though she did recently receive nerve block injections in her head to help with migraine pains. Emma is just one of many patients who have sought care for lasting symptoms of COVID–19—a virus whose long term impacts in the human body are still only beginning to be understood.

Dr. Matthew Schindler, assistant professor in Penn Med’s Neurology department, is one of the physicians that runs the neuro– focused long COVID clinic that Emma visited for her symptoms.

Noticing a trend in persistent neurological symptoms after an acute COVID–19 infection, Dr. Schindler and colleagues Dr. Den-

nis Kolson, Dr. Danielle Sandsmark, and Dr. Sara Manning Peskin started the long COVID neurology clinic to specifically address this issue.

Schindler says that Manning Peskin spearheaded the program, as many of the patients were initially referred to her, particularly through Penn Med’s Post–COVID Assessment and Recovery Clinic.

When the clinic began in April 2021, there was initially a large backlog of those who had contracted COVID–19 since early 2020. Almost a year later, the clinic has seen over 300 people, receiving around eight to ten new patients each week.

The clinic serves patients who are experiencing either new or worsened neurological symptoms following an acute COVID–19 infection. Schindler says that symptoms persisting for two months after the acute infection can generally be considered long–haul COVID symptoms.

Emma says her long–term symptoms were the worst for the first three months after her acute infection: May to July 2021. She usually enjoys dancing and working out, but had trouble participating in these activities because of post–COVID–19 fatigue and chest tightness. She was also taking a lot of migraine medicine, which can cause drowsiness.

Now, Emma is fortunately able to dance and work out, having no difficulty at her weekly four–hour dance rehearsal. However, she still struggles with brain fog and says she has approximately 14 migraines a month.

Schindler says that symptoms of brain fog and migraines are some of the most common seen in the clinic, along with dizziness.

Some of the symptoms that can be categorized as brain fog, which Schindler says is a “nebulous term” in the medical field, include overwhelming fatigue, memory problems, or difficulty paying attention.

“We really don’t have very good treatments for brain fog pharma-

10

OVID–19 stole a lifelong dream of Nicholas Anane (C '24), who has dreamt of attending college at West Point since middle school. But after contracting COVID–19 in March 2020, he has suffered from long–term symptoms that made enlisting no longer an option. Instead, he came to Penn.

“You can’t be a good soldier if your lungs are busted,” he says. Nicholas emphasizes that joining the military despite his long COVID symptoms would endanger himself and others, which he didn’t want to risk.

In the two years after his first infection, Nicholas became infected with COVID–19 twice more—in July 2021 and December 2021. Each time, he’s experienced a fever, cough, congestion, sore throat, nausea, and ear pain. And ever since his 2020 acute infection, he’s also struggled with brain fog and extreme fatigue, sometimes even falling asleep briefly when he doesn’t intend to.

His fatigue is severe, especially when sitting for long periods— he once even fell asleep during an exam. “I’ll just all of a sudden, maybe ten to 15 minutes in, I’ll be unable to stay awake,” he says.

Of the 236 million people worldwide diagnosed with acute COVID–19, more than half will experience long–term symptoms like Nicholas, a phenomenon known as “long COVID.” The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that only one in four COVID–19 cases have been reported, meaning the true number of infections—and long COVID patients—is unknown.

At Penn, 5,249 members of the University community have

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ceutically. It’s not like we have something that can make people smarter or make their memory better,” Schindler adds. “We do sometimes try medicines to help out with fatigue.”

In terms of dizziness, patients most commonly report “vestibular symptoms,” which encompass feelings of imbalance, disequilibrium, or vertigo. Other neurologic symptoms Schindler has seen include numbness or weakness, as well as anxiety and depression.

While some patients present with only one symptom, Schindler estimates that over 50% of patients have multiple, and most experience all three of the main symptoms—brain fog, headache, and dizziness. Because long COVID is extremely novel, it’s difficult to pinpoint the physiological cause of the symptoms, as well as comorbidities that could be exacerbating them.

“We’re kind of working on limited knowledge, and we all have different backgrounds, but we're all in it together,” Schindler says.

Schindler and his colleagues meet weekly or biweekly to ensure they are updated on the literature and are adapting to the ever–changing science of long COVID. While the symptoms and recovery are different for each patient, he observes that improvement occurs more quickly in long COVID patients than in other cases requiring neurologic rehabilitation, such as stroke or traumatic brain injury. Still, challenges persist.

“What’s really hard is quantifying the impact on somebody's day–to–day function. A lot of people describe waxing and waning symptoms, some days are better than others,” Schindler adds.

When a patient visits the neuro–focused long COVID clinic, they are first asked about their medical history, then their acute COVID–19 infection. The majority of the appointment fo-

cuses on their post–COVID­–19 symptoms. Staff members perform various tests, including a neurologic exam that tests cognitive function.

From this information, the physician decides what tests or scans need to be run in order to devise the best treatment plan. There is no standardized treatment for long COVID, so Schindler and colleagues are using a combination of physical and cognitive therapies.

“We’re targeting therapies depending on what the primary symptoms are,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of my patients really, really enjoy it, particularly the cognitive therapy. They felt like they got a lot out of that. I think our therapists do an excellent job.”

Schindler explains that the clinic sees a diverse range of patients. While some contracted COVID–19 before the availability of vaccines, others were infected more recently.

For those who contracted COVID–19 early in the pandemic, he wonders if they had severe symptoms but were not hospitalized due to the overwhelming patient loads faced in 2020. Others with mild acute infections also have come to the clinic with long–term symptoms. For some, the persisting symptoms began during their acute infections, while others did not report such symptoms until a few weeks later.

Although the clinic has not seen many patients who were hospitalized in the intensive care unit (ICU), Schindler hypothesizes that patients who were in the ICU have presented with more severe neurologic dysfunction.

“If somebody was in the ICU—in our clinic, that’s been the minority of patients that we’ve seen—I think they have more severe neurologic dysfunction post–COVID,” he says.

“That’s not surprising either, as anyone who stays in the ICU is generally at higher risk for more cognitive dysfunction following it.”

14 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

He also notices that older patients are taking longer to recover than younger patients, though this is also not surprising that age brings about other comorbidities that affect cognitive function.

Cognitive dysfunction can also be difficult to quantify, because the level of mental strength needed on a daily basis varies between a college student and retired individual, for instance.

Academically, long COVID has certainly affected Emma and Nicholas.

When fall semester rolled around, Emma spoke with her professors about her long–term post–COVID symptoms. Since many of her classes were small discussion–based seminars, she let them know that she may zone out or need additional time to process content. She says that her professors were all understanding.

Nicholas also spoke with his professors, who he says were “very kind.” He experiences fatigue and sleepiness, especially when a task requires a lot of concentration or effort. “Sometimes I’ll even forget what I’m saying [mid–]sentence,” Nicholas says.

Neither Emma nor Nicholas ended up using any accommodations such as extended time on exams, though Nicholas changed his major from economics to philosophy and Emma dropped her senior thesis.

In addition to Penn’s academic accommodations, Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) offers a chronic illness support group. Nicholas has also sought support from CAPS to discuss his fatigue and develop coping mechanisms, which he maintains was helpful—even though wait times were long.

“It definitely was frustrating last semester because of how slow the process was, but I also figured there were kids in far worse situations than I was,” he adds.

Nicholas urges others to consider the COVID–19 pandemic on a larger scale, and also ex-

presses his frustration regarding pandemic–related politics.

“Even if it’s not about yourself, there are still others you have to consider,” he says. “This is a matter of life and death for a lot of people.”

Talking to Emma about how long COVID has changed her perspective on the pandemic, the word “frustrated” also comes up a lot. While she understands that many people are perfectly fine after having COVID–19, she’s seen a completely different side of contracting the virus.

“Last semester sometimes I literally couldn’t go out because I felt so ill, and it’s hard for people to understand that I’m not lying when I say I don’t feel well.

It’s not that I don’t want to go out. I actually physically can’t,” says Emma. “Because they were fine after having [COVID–19], it doesn’t make sense to them.

That’s really frustrating to me.”

It was difficult to see people take the pandemic lightly after it had impacted her life so much. “[Having long COVID] did make me more scared, and it made me frustrated when people didn’t care,” says Emma.

Akash, however, has a different take. He also contracted COVID–19 once more after his November 2020 infection.

“I’m glad I’m on the other side. I’ve had it twice. I don’t have to be afraid of anything,” he says.

“I’m pretty over living in fear and acting like we’re going to have to do this for the rest of our lives.”

Though Akash’s second acute infection occurred after he was vaccinated, he feels protected by the shots. He emphasizes his belief that the risk of complications from a COVID–19 is minimal for fully vaccinated individuals.

While data show that vaccination can decrease chances of severe cases, hospitalizations, and long COVID, the exact decrease in risk is difficult to quantify.

Vaccinated individuals continue to contract breakthrough infections, which have resulted in some hospitalizations or long–

term COVID–19 symptoms for vaccinated patients, such as Emma, particularly with new variants of the virus. Though Akash’s pandemic fatigue is a common sentiment, particularly among “college students [who just] want to party and have fun,” COVID–19 precautions are still vital for protecting those vulnerable to the virus.

Emma implores her peers to challenge the perception that young people come away from COVID–19 infections with no long–term effects.

“Everyone thinks it’s going to happen to old people or people with pre–existing health conditions, which I have neither of.

I’m a young healthy person who exercises, and it affected my life a lot,” she explains. “It’s hard for people to understand, which has been the most frustrating thing.”

Nicholas simply hopes that a lesson will be learned from the pandemic.

“I think we’ll get through this,” Nicholas says. “Perhaps this generation will understand a little more that every second they have is something to be grateful about.”

Although Nicholas, Akash, and Emma have seen their long– term symptoms get better with time, they’re not completely gone. Schindler underscores that it’s reassuring to see improvement in patients’ long COVID symptoms.

“We are seeing people recover.

We are seeing people get better.

It’s slow, it’s at their own pace, it’s not the same for every individual, but we are seeing people recover,” he says. “There is some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.”

FOCUS

Philadelphia’s Addiction Crisis Calls For a Human– Centered Approach The city’s novel approaches to a worsening drug epidemic may be missing a key element | SHEIL DESAI

O

ne line in a $30 million federal aid package for addiction treatment centers has wreaked havoc on conservative mass media. The outrage stems from a Fox News article that alleges the $30 million package approved by the Biden administration is funding distributions of glass pipes used to smoke crack cocaine. In reality, the package includes funding for rehabilitation centers and various treatment programs across the country. The specific line the article refers to includes funding for safe smoking kits that minimize the risk of disease transmission for drug users, which often contain sterile drug paraphernalia like glass pipes.

This uptick in media attention has refocused the country’s long–standing debate over drug use and substance abuse treatment, a debate that's been especially relevant in Philadelphia.

Philadelphia has been dealing with a drug addiction crisis for decades, compounded by the rise of the national opioid epidemic.

In 2016, Philadelphia had the second highest overdose rate in the country, mostly caused by cases of opioid abuse. In response to growing complaints regarding public safety and a lack of drug treatment resources, the city has responded with novel approaches to curb the addiction crisis.

In February of this year, Philadelphia health officials announced a new pilot program to install public vending machines that would dispense naloxone, a lifesaving medication that can reverse the effects of an overdose, for free. The program is known as Narcan Near Me, named after the brand name of the generic drug naloxone. The

machine—the first of its kind in the United States—is located in Lucien Blackwell Library, a public library in West Philadelphia.

The city is also experimenting with the innovative approach of Supervised Injection Sites (SIS).

These sites offer drug users a safe space to administer narcotics in the presence of medical professionals using sterile equipment, aiming to prevent the spread of diseases like HIV and avoid lethal drug doses. Philly organizations have been leading the charge to pilot an SIS facility in the city for some time, but have faced significant pushback from city residents and officials. In 2021, a court ruled against the opening of an SIS facility in Philadelphia, claiming the potential benefits of the facility did not give it the right to administer illegal substances as defined by federal law.

As the city grows desperate and looks for solutions to a devastating crisis, individuals like Chekesha Ellis are using the power of their personal experiences to help others who also struggle with addiction.

Ellis, a Philadelphia social worker, was injured on the job after falling down some stairs. She was subsequently diagnosed with a torn meniscus, an injury that would require surgery. To deal with the aftermath, Ellis was prescribed Lorcet, an opioid drug that is known to be highly addictive. At 27 years old, Ellis developed an addiction to her prescription medication.

After her original prescription expired, Ellis searched for new doctors to get prescriptions. If a pharmacy denied her, she tried another. The addiction grew to be a central part of her daily routine until it became impossible

Illustration by Lilian Liu to maintain a functional lifestyle.

Following a few near–death encounters, Ellis committed to detox for good, nine years after her original prescription had been filled.

“I had suffered silently for almost a decade. So I realized when I got clean, I had to do something to reinforce the voices of people in similar situations,” Ellis says. Since entering long–term recovery, she has been published a book detailing her experiences, and appeared on numerous television programs and podcasts to share how difficult it was to seek help and admit she had developed an addiction.

She also gives her time to several substance abuse organizations like Mobilize Recovery, which educates people on drug policy and supports recovering addicts. Not long after her recovery started, Ellis started her own organization, Chase No More, which connects those struggling with addiction to treatment options and resources.

Despite having the same goal as the city—to reduce drug overdoses and support those in recovery—Ellis doesn’t always see eye to eye with

Philly officials. She believes the solutions should center on kindness and patience, and she particularly takes issue with the recently established Narcan vending machines.

“Some people don’t read directions when they warm up frozen pizza,” she says, “How do we expect them to read and understand the directions for lifesaving medicine?”

While she isn't completely against the machines, she'd like to see a more direct, human–centered approach. This could look like conducting door–to–door outreach in the city to educate people on how to administer Narcan and recognize the signs of addiction, treating those struggling with substance abuse and their families with time and patience, and making sure that people seeking recovery have access to addiction treatment. At its core, a human–centered approach for Ellis means providing communities with a friendly face to go to when they are struggling or know someone who is.

Ellis herself sets up tables at grocery stores across Philadelphia and offers free Narcan to anyone

who needs it with an explanation on how and when to use it. To date, she has saved over 100 lives with these Narcan giveaways. For many residents, there can be serious mistrust of medical and government institutions, stemming from a history of abuse and violence toward Black communities by the American medical field.

With a familiar face, Ellis hopes to bridge the gap between medicine and community to save lives.

Drug addiction is deeply stigmatized in American society. When the media runs headlines disparaging harm reduction measures and potential safe injection sites, the coverage is emblematic of how society devalues the lives of drug users and those facing addiction. If Philadelphia wants to end the addiction crisis, it will take more than throwing money at the problem.

The city’s most powerful resources are people like Ellis, who have overcome their own addiction and work to help others to do the same, utilizing the power of peer support, community knowledge, and mutual networks that the city has to offer.

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 15

EGO

The Secret Lives of Penn Club Athletes Campus’ hottest social scene that you’ve yet to explore | NATALIA CASTILLO

A

sweltering early– September morning found me weakly trailing a dozen first years along the Schuylkill River. The undertaking: a run to the Philadelphia Art Museum with Penn club swim (though, at my pace, I’m not entirely sure I was even running). While the strides of my tired legs and the sweat on my brow linger in my mind like a fever dream, the camaraderie I found that day continues to follow me down Locust, to the pool, and across state lines to competitions.

For some, joining Club sports means the opportunity to maintain a past relationship with a sport from their formative years. It can also be a chance to try your hand at a new sport. One thing is for certain—club sports are alive and well at Penn, and students have taken charge of these micro–communities.

Across the university, participation hovers around 1,400, comprised of both undergraduate and graduate students.

Diverse demographics allow for cross–pollination among individuals that may never have met otherwise. Membership varies from 12 to 100+ students for respective sports, some teams small and mighty, others vast in size. Regardless, they all foster a kinship among teammates that extends far beyond their sports themselves.

I set out, determined to unearth the stories of others who, like myself, found a home in Penn club sports.

For Chris Elliott (W '23), tennis has been second nature since long before college.

Despite grueling hours on

the court, Chris recalls fond memories of the sport. While he chose not to pursue tennis at the collegiate Division I level, he found community in the Club tennis team. Chris says, “[Club tennis] is definitely one of my favorite parts of my Penn experience, and I hope it’s rewarding for others as well.” With practices four to five times a week and two to three tournaments each semester, it’s no surprise that a shared love for the sport has woven a tight– k n i t community amongst t h e around 100 members of club tennis.

Reminiscing with others like Ngozi Agoh ( C '25) proves club sports can be the best way to redefine your love for a sport, citing her own experience on women’s club basketball.

Ngozi pinned wise words to the feeling many young, competitive athletes know too well: “You might feel like you’re burnt out or tired of it, but you would probably find more joy in [your sport] here than you might have in the past.” As our conversation develops, she shares that for women’s Club basketball, “we want to win, we want to be good, but [now] there’s a lot

16 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

less pressure, [leaving] more time to enjoy the sport.”

One of the appeals of club sports is the non–judgmental landscape, beckoning students to learn and be unafraid of the unfamiliar. Gabby Culbreath (C ’23) knew little about rugby prior to her time at Penn

Illustration by Alice Choi

b u t dedicated herself to learning the sport and giving it the old college try. Now a junior, Gabby represents club rugby on the Sport Clubs Council Executive Board, advising administrative staff and collaborating with other student ambassadors. Gabby has a deep appreciation for the Penn women’s club rugby community, but expresses, “the most rewarding part … has [also] been the community [among] other collegiate teams [they] play,

and the rugby community more broadly.”

It is through incredible initiative and dedication that college students themselves organize competitions and tournaments across cities and even state lines. The sheer volume of competitions occurring within each sport, anywhere between three to seven times per semester, demonstrates how committed students are to fostering community within their sports at Penn and beyond.

Ju l i a Lasater (E ’22) a n d Shann o n Lin (W, E ’22), current captains of Penn club ultimate frisbee (Venus), also had no knowledge of their sport prior to Penn.

For Julia and Shannon, their pre–Penn days without ultimate frisbee are a distant memory, expressing “the fact that such a large group of energetic, fun, weird people come together at night to toss a disc keeps us at Penn.” Despite their late–hour meetings, three times a week, 9–11 p.m., the club pulls 30 regulars at practices. Like many other club sport lovers, for them “Venus is more than a club sport team, [they] are a family. [They] live together, study together, and hang out—all the time.”

Their micro–community has

grown beyond what they ever anticipated when they joined freshmen year.

I began my own fall semester anticipating the hours I would commit to Club swimming.

I didn’t expect to throw myself into club water polo after meeting my partner–in–water– sport–crime on that fateful Art Museum run. Now, my Google Calendar is littered with events emphasizing “WAPO Practice!!,” “WAPO Tournament #1,” “…#2,” “…#3,” and so on.

The ever–present scent of chlorine lingers on my skin, but it’s a meager sacrifice I happily make.

I am lucky beyond belief to have met the teammates I now call family. Knowing the accounts of others, my experience is not uncommon.

What makes club sports at Penn unique is the autonomy students have as leaders and athletes alike. The world of club sports is what you choose to make of it. It’s an escape from the academic bubble and a network of support—it’s a community with which you can celebrate your wins and commiserate your losses. In a school that can at times feel isolating by size or by culture, club sports are a haven for unadulterated love for one’s sport and shared dedication to others.

Students of any or no ability are encouraged to show out for any club sport of interest. With every club athlete I spoke to, each one enthusiastically encouraged me to try my own hand or observe their practice.

So, maybe soon, you might catch me on the court, the pitch, or even tossing a frisbee at night under the glimmering lights of Penn Park.

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Indigo De Souza is the Indie–Rock Icon We Should All Be Listening To

MUSIC

Illustration by Amy Krimm

The North Carolina–bred artist reclaims the thoughts and feelings we're afraid to confront. | KATE RATNER

W

hen I meet Indigo De Souza for the first time through the lens of a brief but meaningful Zoom session, she lounges in a desk chair in her drummer’s house. In the room behind her sit piles of cardboard boxes, presumably filled with essentials for her upcoming tour.

A week away from the start of a string of dates with indie rock princess Lucy Dacus, De Souza reflects on her childhood, the music that raised her, and the anxious excitement of life on the road.

De Souza isn't a novice when it comes to expressing her feelings through music. The artist was raised in Spruce Pine, N.C., a small conservative town with a population of just over 2,000 people. At the age of nine, she began making music, often traveling with her mother to nearby Asheville to busk on the streets and perform in coffee shops. As the only biracial kid in school, De Souza often bore the brunt of stares and snarky remarks from her classmates. “[Spruce Pine] was really limited in all the ways that a small country town can be,” says De Souza.

At 16 years old, De Souza moved to Asheville with her

older sister. In Asheville, De Souza was no longer isolated by her differences; instead, she was celebrated for her creativity, talent, and hippie upbringing. It was in Asheville where De Souza began to truly experiment with music and launch her career without conforming for the sake of others. She met a songwriter with whom she was in a relationship for four years. This person “changed [De Souza’s] landscape musically” and introduced her to songwriting techniques, melody, and her favorite artist of all time, Arthur Russell.

“Hold U,” De Souza’s closest thing to a pure pop smash, is a celebration of queer love and the more accepting community she found during her teenage years in Asheville. De Souza recognizes self–love and love for another person through simple yet powerful lyrics: “I am a good thing and I promise you got me / And I would go anywhere with you.” The song's music video conveys the deep connections transmitted through intimacy in touching limbs, hair, and hands.

De Souza and her friends honor their love in an electric club scene, dramatically lip–syncing the heartfelt bridge, “I’m not the only body / I’m not the only

1 8 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

one,” while emitting contagious joy.

There's no limit to De Souza’s musical artistry. Her indie psychedelic–rock sound is one of a kind, and her lyricism embraces uncomfortable feelings with open arms. De Souza’s first album, I Love My Mom, which was re–released by Saddle Creek Records in 2021, explores themes of heartbreak, mortality, and platonic love. Her sophomore album, Any Shape You Take, released the same year, is De Souza’s musical journal, a tribute to love’s strengths and weaknesses, desperation, and raw pain. De Souza extracted the album title from the heartfelt lyrics of “Way Out:” “No matter what shape you might take / I’ll love you anyway.”

Any Shape You Take is an album filled with emotional twists and turns. “Real Pain,” De Souza's favorite song from the album, is a testament to leaning into pain despite how difficult it feels. When asked why she values this song so deeply, De Souza says, “I wanted to say that if you are feeling pain, and you don't let [it] in … then it will not go away.” For the midsection of the song, De Souza collected voice recordings from her fans scream-

ing and yelling—confronting emotion in its truest form.

An especially interesting element of Any Shape You Take is De Souza’s repetition of lyrics, a common songwriting technique throughout the album. Sometimes, it seems that De Souza repeats certain phrases to assure herself that they’re true. Opener “17” emulates the experience of grieving and accepting the end of a relationship. “This is the way I’m going to bend / Now that the baby’s gone,” she repeats, seemingly convincing herself that she can bend through these feelings until they pass.

De Souza’s music stands out not only through her powerful vocals and vulnerable lyricism but also by the distinctive album art created by her mother.

On the cover of Any Shape You Take, a mother pulls her child in a shopping cart through a kaleidoscopic scene of colors and patterns. Both the mother and child are fantastical creatures with human bodies and skeleton–like faces. The cover of this album and I Love My Mom were De Souza’s visions that her mother transformed into art. De Souza gripes about the lack of exposure to her mother’s artistic talent, as she's always “manically creating

art,” but nobody ever sees it.

De Souza began touring with Dacus on Feb. 9, 2022, for her North American tour. Due to COVID–19 restrictions, this will be De Souza’s strictest tour yet. Besides sleeping and performing, De Souza and her crew will have little time to explore the cities they're visiting. “At first I was really nervous about [the restrictions], but now it seems like we've all come to terms with it,” De Souza says. “And we're like, ‘This is just gonna be a weird experimental life where we're just stuck with only us and Lucy's bands and Lucy's touring party,’ and we'll just get to know them really well and play together.”

De Souza’s optimism about her untraditional tour perfectly reflects her calm and inviting presence. Her emotional transparency is crucial to her creative process, and her music invites listeners to relate and connect with her experiences. De Souza’s two records are products of years of dramatic change, searching for acceptance, and allowing herself to feel along the way.

Indigo De Souza is performing with Horse Jumper of Love and Friendship at Union Transfer on May 2, 2022, at 8 p.m. Doors open at 7 p.m.

MUSIC

Reclaiming a Nation’s History Through Song A look at the artists blending Ukraine’s past and present in protest of Russia’s actions | SAMARA HIMMELFARB

U

krainian culture, specifically its music, has been a target of Soviet oppression for practically a century. As early as the 1930s, Stalin attempted to eradicate any semblance of state–building aspirations or a Ukrainian national culture. This included a massacre of the kobzari, the itinerant, bandura–playing musicians who were mainstays of Ukraine’s unique and vibrant folk tradition.

The Soviet Union went so far as to mandate the registration of musical instruments and ban nomadic musical performances.

Despite having a legacy of ideological and cultural extermination dating back generations, many Ukrainians are determined to preserve their distinct cultural legacy. A musical revival of Ukrainian folklore and the current cultural boycott of Russia demonstrates the power of music and the resiliency of the Ukrainian people. The resurgence of Ukrainian folk music and its integration into modern society is a living testament to the existence of an unmistakable Ukrainian culture, discrediting the very foundation of Putin’s justifications for the invasion.

Since the Maidan revolution and annexation of Crimea in 2014, folk music and the Ukrainian language itself have been experiencing a major revival, transforming decades–old art into a modern statement. These events prompted many Ukrainian musicians to reach into their history and combine modern styles with lyrics and instruments inspired by the past independence from Russia. Groups such

as DakhaBrakha, ONUKA, and KAZKA use ancient folk instruments unique to Ukraine such as the bandura. They source them from local artisans who have learned their trade from generations before them, ensuring their music is constructed from Ukrainian legacy and memory.

Their music often incorporates the style of a variety of Ukrainian ethnic groups in order to “raise Ukranians’ self–identification and self–esteem,” according to one of the members of DakhaBrakha, who have been ending their shows with chants of “Free Ukraine!” and “No War!” since 2014. They hope their music will inspire and evoke action in other Ukrainian citizens to attain freedom from Russian interference.

Ukraine’s 2016 entry for the Eurovision Song Contest, an international songwriting competition broadcast throughout Europe, highlighted the country's history. Jamala’s “1944” detailed the abuses suffered under Stalin in Crimea, 70 years before the peninsula was annexed by Putin, and was the first Eurovision song to contain lyrics in the Crimean language. This was the same year Ukraine passed a law mandating that at least 35% of music on the radio must be in the Ukrainian language, committing itself to reviving a waning national identity and never again suffering abuses at the hands of Russia in silence.

Though the foundations of their music may be archaic, modern Ukrainian musicians are also making a concerted effort to bring folk into the modern age through integrating styles

Illustration by Erin Ma

such as electropop, rap, and hip–hop. Ukrainian rapper and former kindergarten teacher Alyona Savranenko, who goes

by Alyona Alyona, promotes agency and self–esteem for both Ukraine’s women and the country as a whole. The video for her breakthrough hit “Rybki,” meaning “little fish” in Ukrainian, went viral in 2018. Although she took inspiration from Western influences like Eminem while her friends “were talking in Russian” when she began her career, Savranenko made sure to claim the music for her culture by being unafraid to write in her native language. Her music speaks of “normal Ukrainian people and young people,” encapsulating the country’s distinct culture in each song and encouraging its citizens to consume media and utilize language representative of their identity.

Today, Ukrainian musicians are

advancing the efforts to reclaim their culture by coming together in a cultural boycott of Russia.

One of Putin’s major justifications for the invasion into Ukraine is his claim that “modern Ukraine was entirely created by Russia.”

Though history itself is enough to prove this claim false, Ukrainian musicians are determined to show they can exist, or rather thrive, without any association with the Russian identity. They are coming together to boycott performing in Russia, promote writing songs in Ukrainian rather than Russian, and reject using Russian national symbols in favor of promoting their own heritage. By eliminating the Russian cultural influence, they prove that Ukraine does not rely on Russia for its foundations.

Outside of Ukraine, the world is following suit in the cultural boycott of Russia. The Cannes Film Festival and BBC are among the latest to employ culture as a

way of condemning Russia for its actions. They are joined by a host of artists, including Imagine Dragons, Louis Tomlinson, Green Day, YUNGBLUD, and AJR, who have canceled tour stops in Russia.

Regardless of what is happening in the trenches, Ukraine consistently projects strength through its efforts to claim the country’s national identity and display it proudly to the world. While the government and military are protecting the country against violence, Ukrainian musicians are taking up the equally important work of ideologically undermining Putin’s justifications for war. Rejecting the Russian influence in favor of blending their folk history with modern influences in music is tangible proof that Ukraine has a solid, independent character that no amount of violence or intimidation can erase.

MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 19

ARTS

BookTok Is Making Books Cool Again Bookworms are revolutionizing reading, one recommendation at a time. | SHELBY ABAYIE

R

eading is for nerds.

Or is it? Recently, it seems like reading is for comfy sweater– wearing trendsetters who love spilling spicy details about their favorite must– read books. On TikTok, enjoying books has gained a massive cult following as users around the world build a community over their shared interest in reading.

BookTok is a community within TikTok where creators review, recommend, and discuss books. As of March 2022, the BookTok hashtag has 42 billion views, and these views only seem to be growing as readers rush to join this thriving community.

BookTok creators react to a host of different genres including young adult, romance, fantasy, and more.

Popular creators include @caitsbooks, who has amassed over 277,000 followers, and

Illustration by Devdyuti Paul @abbysbooks, with over 428,000 followers. These creators embrace books to the fullest by recommending personally impactful books and encouraging readers to enjoy the reading experience to the fullest, even if that involves dimming the lights and lighting a candle for ambiance.

Overall, the BookTok community acts as a safe space for readers of all levels to embrace their favorite tropes and aesthetics, voice their opinions, and even gain a mass audience for themselves. BookTok content can vary from memes to live reactions to book suggestions.

The scope of BookTok is immense, sparking even popular fashion and lifestyle trends. For instance, the popular dark academia aesthetic trend emerged from a spectacular collision of BookTok and FashionTok. Dark academia books usually feature the hijinks

20 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

of attractive and intelligent main characters traversing higher academic spaces such as boarding schools and elite universities. To keep it simple, the literary traits of dark academia can be best described as if Harry Potter went to Oxford University.

With respect to fashion, dark academia features muted color palettes of beige, brown, black, rustic oranges, and lots of tweed. Creators embraced the trend in various ways. Some made memes and skits about the aesthetic, while others posted outfits and book suggestions.

BookTok also allows for any reader to express their opinions and emotions on books. Crying over a main character's death doesn’t have to be done privately in a dark corner. Instead, you can cry to millions of users that simultaneously validate your feelings and empathize with your emotions. This

was the case for Adam Silvera’s stunning novel They Both Die At The End. Readers were shocked by the ending and took to BookTok to express their heartache.

As Silvera's work blew up on TikTok, he was pleasantly surprised by the unexplained uptick in book sales. Unbeknownst to Silvera, BookTok was set ablaze by reactions and reviews of his book.

Currently, the Adam Silvera hashtag has over 33 million views, with fans discussing and reacting to his work.

If an author uses BookTok intentionally, they can grow a mass following and propel their book to the New York Times Best Seller list and beyond. Former Penn student Chloe Gong (C '21), grew a massive fanbase on BookTok through expressing her love of literary works and her own authorial aspirations.

Eventually, Gong released the novel These Violent De-

lights to mass support from her own BookTok fans. Her novel was propelled to the top of The New York Times' Bestselling list, and it seems clear that Gong’s bright future as an author will be aided by her commercial success and internet following.

Mass retailers are also taking notice of the incredibly engaged and enthusiastic BookTok community. Barnes & Nobles now proudly touts online and in-store sections displaying “The Most Popular TikTok Books” from a variety of genres. While BookTok may just seem like an internet niche or popular fad, it serves as a leading community amongst book readers.

Whether you love to read or just dabble in the occasional novel, BookTok is an inviting community that welcomes all readers to explore new book series and engage with other likeminded users.

ARTS

Getting to Know '100 People'

T

he morning of Feb. 25, after a restless night for the world, a pencil portrait of Fyodor Dostoevsky leans against the brick wall of the Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts lobby. Dostoevsky was exiled in a Russian prison for being a force of liberal thought and social freedom.

Although a century before Vladimir Putin came to power, Dostoevsky's fate, captured in a portrait, is one that's still haunting today. In a similar act of chronological compression, Mark Stockton’s exhibition, 100 People, brings subjects that are generations apart only inches away from one another.

Upon entering the Annenberg lobby, the low, almost extraterrestrial voice of Alice Coltrane is singing through a record player underneath an aged, wooden drawing table. Sketching from an enlarged printed photograph of Coltrane as a reference is Mark Stockton.

Stockton is a current professor at Drexel’s College of Media and Arts and the resident artist in the Arts Lounge at the Annenberg Center. I sat with him as he penciled in the lines of Coltrane’s hair in a homey corner with a bookshelf and oriental rug beneath him.

Stockton’s body of work contemplates the invention of portraiture, which has evolved from paintings that were reserved for those highest in society to the ability to capture a face and make it mass media instantaneously.

Stockton asks, “What’s the difference between oneportrait versus a lot of portraits?” In America, where society is celebrity–centric and in-

Mark Stockton’s exhibition turns the portrait into a non–hierarchical medium | EMILY MAIORANO

Illustration by Collin Wang dividualistic, our interaction with but it’s more about people endurportraits is almost idolatrous, from ing and pushing themselves in a hanging them in museums to be- longer capacity,” which creates a ing on a dollar bill in our wallet. different type of admiration and For Stockton, providing the me- investment from its audience.

Stockton believes that the most dium of portrait that would have only been available for the resenta- important role of art should be its tion across demographics equalizes capacity to “open it up to commuthem. By using a simple pencil, he's nities,” and one of the best effects humbling the portrait mode into a of his 100 People is its immediate relatable and accessible format, and interaction with viewers. When hanging them at the same height one person recognizes Abraham furthers their “non–hierarchical Lincoln, another may notice Prinpublication.” Many people ques- cess Diana instead, then Langstion why Stockton doesn't choose ton Hughes, Audre Lorde, and to cover his canvases in glass, but so on. Stockton’s artistic language the vulnerability and fragility of them, he feels, is what stimulates their humanistic presence.

While looking at an image of the Mona Lisa, perhaps the world's most famous portrait, in an art class, Stockton wondered what made it so timeless, eventually settling on its ability to make eye contact with the viewer. When you see Stockton’s portraits, many parts of his subject’s surrounding body, like their shirt or neck, are only outlined. Their detail becomes more and more concentrated as it centers on their eyes.

For Stockton, eye contact with these historical figures offers the most intimate access to them.

After 100 People is complete, Stockton explained how its constituent portraits will be inseparable—no one portrait is on its own, meaning they must travel together. Because of its vast nature, Stockton refers to the project as a “marathon.” He says, “a marathon is not exciting to watch,

has always consisted of reimagining popular figures, which came from a childhood spent drawing Marvel characters and idealizing athletes on baseball cards.

Since then, Stockton's style has evolved towards working from images—a marriage between his studies in photography, printmaking, and drawing. Shaking off the shavings off his pencil sharpener, he describes the process in a question: “How do you turn an image into a drawing? How do you turn pixel and value into line and shade?” One goal of Stockton’s

collection is to reverse the massmedia digitality of people and return them to a “singular fine art.”

As the record finishes, the needle clicking up and the lobby returning to quiet, Stockton, talking about the digitization of most images today says, “I question its permanence.” Tomorrow, when some new icons appear on the main wall as Stockton swaps them out, they may well outlast their photographic inspiration.

Stockton’s work will be rotating on display until June of 2022.

Catering · Delivery · Takeout 4040 Locust St. pattayarestaurant.com MARCH 15, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 21

UNDER THE BUTTON

Rerouting The Tri Delta Spring Break Trip: The Girls are Now Going To Rural India!

JOSH MUKHERJEE

T

ravel Update! The sisters of renowned sorority Delta Delta Delta have canceled their Miami plans, opting to visit the town of Kharagpur, West Bengal, this March. They hope to spread sisterhood, love, and their strong Christian morals upon their arrival.

The decision was made in an effort to add more content to the Philanthropy and Diversity highlights of the UPenn Tri Delta Instagram. The or-

ganization has hired a photographer to accompany them, using funds initially allocated toward home construction projects. The sisters plan to take pictures with lots of Indian children, and even take one home with them if they really like their vibe.

Delta Delta Delta Communications Liaison Social Public Affairs Chair Head offered her thoughts on the matter, saying that she “draws inspiration from 19th century Britain.”

She hopes that “the immigrants” (the term she exclusively uses to refer to people who live in India) will “welcome her and her sisters with open arms.” If met with resistance, who knows what the ladies of Tri Delt might do—they’re just so crazy and wild like that!

Regardless, the University of Pennsylvania wishes them the best of luck and all the support, love, and armed forces they may need on their journey. Best wishes, sisters!

Penn to Open Branch Campus in Cancun for Spring Break Classes CLAIRE HAYES

L

ife is full of surprises. But one constant in my life has been seeing sorority sisters and fraternity brothers

make their annual migration to the tropics for spring break.

Details of their trip are documented on the critically ac-

22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE MARCH 15, 2022

claimed social media app Instagram.

In an effort to make spring break profitable and incorporate their new physical education requirement, Penn has opened a branch campus in Cancun, Mexico.

Penn Cancun will be open annually for the entire month of March so that Penn can acquire tuition from students of all universities. In order to make sure they are supporting

arts and culture on campus, each dining experience will include free reusable cups for Penn acapella groups to practice singing the cup song. With the pop-up poolside Pret, Penn students will have yet another place to spend their dining dollars. And with the new LOVE sign, parents of prospective students can force their children to smile for a picture! With all of these amenities, it’ll be like you never left West Philly!

Penn Cancun will offer new and unique courses like "The Physics of Sandcastles" and "Crypto for Dummies." The curriculum will even include "Drumming 101" and "Math 170," classes where students can show up intoxicated and still understand the content!

Penn Cancun has adopted Capital One’s infamous slogan.

So I will leave you with one final thought … What’s in your wallet?

UNDER THE BUTTON

Dining Halls Go Self-Serve, Thousands Flock to Fill Pockets With Grapes MAYA KREGER Photo (with edits) by Maya Kreger

A

s I enter the space that is Hill Dining Hall for the early bird special, I am aghast with the sheer multitude of people present. Behold: young adults swarming! But,

why, on an ordinary day like today, is there an increased interest in the vast offerings available?

What’s this I see? Everyone has some sort of strange con-

tainer. Is that a shoebox? Or could it be … no, it can’t? A hollowed out watermelon? Are they carrying an empty terrarium?

I stand stoically as I watch

the sight that is a young man filling his backpack with fresh mixed greens from the salad bar. To my right, a member of the women’s track and field team ladles clam chowder into tupperware of various sizes. On the far side of the room, a small girl gently places 84 corn muffins into a duffel bag.

I rush to the nearest kind face to beg for answers. “What is this madness?!?” I cry. “Self serve, baby,” they reply calmly.

After months of being an observer in the culinary arts, I

am now chef! Gone are the days where I have to awkwardly ask for my strange and awkward food combinations. Now I can put tzatziki on my pineapple without shame. I urge you to do the same!

After this deep epiphany, I direct myself to the fruit station and reach deep into the green grapes with my freshly unwashed fingers. Manhandling the grapes, I open my pockets and proceed to fill.

Dear reader, is this my money’s worth?

Penn Promises Pizza At Recess To The Class That Uploads The Photo by Roxilier with edits // cc by 2.0 Most Vaccine Cards LILA SHERMETA

A Message to the Penn Undergraduates from Associate Provost and Chief Wellness Officer We are glad that you are having such a thrilling start to the semester, it is wonderful to see students having so much fun. As you are aware, you are supposed to wear masks at all times while inside and at indoor events. These seem like fun enough conditions. What is not fun, though, are the rising COVID-19 rates on campus. We’re not too sure how this has happened, especially because of the aforementioned guidelines we have laid out. Yet, we believe it is becoming clear that fun comes with a cost, and you all are paying it.

However, in the spirit of looking ahead, we want to offer an incentive for you to help us lower the rates! We are introducing a friendly competition between our undergraduate classes.

The university will throw a pizza party during recess for the class with the greatest percentage of uploads of COVID–19 booster shot information. It will be held during lunchtime in Sammy’s backlot, courtesy of Sigma Alpha Mu. Pizza will be provided by Allegro. Pizza slices will be limited to one per person and will be a generous two inches in width. Upload your vaccine information before March 5 at 11:59pm, and we will announce the winner the next day. We will keep you updated as you continue to follow our guidelines. We know you must be looking forward to this exciting event. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!

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