November 2024 by 34th Street Magazine

Taste the World

Shop Penn has brought foods from around the globe here to your doorstep in University City! Fill that culinary passport with stamps as you enjoy cuisine from Mexico, Asia, Europe, and the Middle East right here at home.

Souvlaki Salsa + Sushi

Shop Local. Shop Penn.

Boba Bento + Burritos

10 5 Give Nurses Pens and Syringes Rx: Nurse Voices, ASAP. Not PRN.

WOTS: Personal Is Political

Not 'knowing where you stand' is a privilege.

7 1 3

Ego of the Week: Sarah Oburu

This senior with a passion for public service makes it a mission to spread kindness across campus.

Extended Day Without Extended Pay?

The 'Extended Day, Extended Year' plan could be a dream for working families, but what does it mean in a city of underpaid, overworked educators?

44 A Love Letter to the Underground

The rave space is not just a means of escapism, but rather a site of radical openness, ecological interconnection, and collective joy.

GEN Z GETS OUT THE VOTE

Here's how grassroots organizations are engaging the youth of Philadelphia for this election, and why they think it matters.

Shove It: Is Concert Etiquette at

High–profile incidents at recent concerts provoke criticism of audience conduct, but

ON THE COVER Politics is messy. Politics is a headache. This cover encapsulates how we're all feeling right now, as well as the breadth of political content this month's issue features.

By Insia Haque

Philosophizing on voting and taking action beyond the booth.

The first time I voted was in a home for elders five minutes from my childhood home. I was wearing blue jeans and an orange graphic tee that sported a drawing of a sun. My mom walked me to the polls.

I traced my way down familiar hallways towards the polling room, but this time, I wouldn’t be filling out the kiddie ballots they used to give me while my mom would vote. The “I Voted” sticker I’d collect would actually mean something this time.

When I left the polling station, my mom took the obligatory photos of me with my sticker—photos that would never see the light of day past my mom’s camera roll.

But, in the four years since the last presidential election, I’ve contemplated how much weight my “I Voted” sticker actually carries. I feel the despair of my peers whose formative years were lived under a Trump presidency—peers who’ve been disillusioned by grandiose promises from politicians. I won’t delineate the laundry list of crises we’re facing—they feel like they’re tattooed on the inside of my mind. But their omnipresence and the lack of imminent change is disheartening to young voters—even to the extent that some wonder: “Why am I even voting?”

It’s impossible to quiet the doubts: “How can my vote change the fact that my friend has to work himself to the bone to pay for tuition?” and “Will my vote contribute to the perpetuation of violence abroad?” and “Are my city councilmembers even listening to our community’s perspectives, or are they selling out to corporations and developers?” Once we vote representatives into office, how do we know they’ll even listen to what I need? These questions are beyond justified, and far too often, conversations about voting dismiss these concerns too easily.

On the flip side of my cynicism, I feel an incredible responsibility to fulfill civic duty by voting. As the daughter of a Korean immigrant mother and a Puerto Rican father, the ability to vote is indeed an incredible privilege. It is a right that my mother waited a decade for while waiting for citizenship. It is a right that is still not afforded to Puerto Ricans residing on the island; that is, Puerto Rican residents are not afforded the civic right to vote in presidential elections past the primaries. Each time I vote, it is not just a fulfillment

of my civic duty but a responsibility I feel is due to my family’s legacy.

Like most dilemmas in life, both realities can coexist. I can feel a sense of civic duty to vote in elections, big and small, and I can continue to question whether my vote is having the impact I desire. But the remedy lies beyond the voting booth. As we see in our politics issue feature article, “Gen Z Gets Out the Vote,” voting in your presidential election is just the entry point to enacting change. Constituents, whether plagued by concerns about the climate crisis, gun violence, or healthcare, can take action by voting in local and midterm elections, engaging with grassroots organizations, and simply spreading awareness in their communities.

Just like voting is only the first step to fruitful civic action, I hope our politics issue articles are just the starting point for conversation around political engagement.

This election day you’ll find me in the voting booth and sporting my “I Voted” sticker, or if perhaps I’m feeling jazzy, a “Yo Voté” sticker. But I promise that by stepping out of the booth I’ll be stepping into a reinvigorated commitment to community organizing and local progress on the issues I care about the most.

I hope you too will vote this election day and take your action beyond the booth.

EXECUTIVE BOARD

Natalia Castillo, Editor–in–Chief castillo@34st.com

EXECUTIVE BOARD

Catherine Sorrentino, Print Managing Editor

sorrentino@34st.com

Walden Green, Editor–in–Chief green@34st.com

Norah Rami, Digital Managing Editor rami@34st.com

Arielle Stanger, Print Managing Editor stanger@34st.com

Kate Ratner, Assignments Editor ratner@34st.com

Alana Bess, Digital Managing Editor bess@34st.com

Wei-An Jin, Design Editor jin@thedp.com

Collin Wang, Design Editor wangc@34st.com

EDITORS

Jules Lingenfelter, Features Editor

Avalon Hinchman, Features Editor

Hannah Sung, Features Editor

Jean Paik, Features Editor

Sophia Rosser, Focus Editor

Stella Lee, Style Editor

Natalia Castillo, Assignments Editor

Naima Small, Ego Editor

Kate Ratner, Assignments Editor

Nishanth Bhargava, Music Editor

Anna O'Neill–Dietel, Focus Editor

Fiona Herzog, Arts Editor

Naima Small, Style Editor

Isaac Pollock, Film & TV Editor

Norah Rami, Ego Editor

Insia Haque, Street Social Media Editor

Hannah Sung, Music Editor

Jean Park, Street Photo Editor

Irma Kiss, Arts Editor

Sophia Liu, Design Editor

Weike Li, Film & TV Editor

Abhiram Juvvadi, Photo Editor

Rachel Zhang, Multimedia Editor

Jada Eible Hargro, Social Media Editor

Kayla Cotter, Social Media Editor

THIS ISSUE

Charlotte Bott, Copy Editor

THIS ISSUE

Asha Chawla, Copy Editor

Julia Fischer, Copy Editor

Deputy Design Editors

Emmi Wu, Insia Haque

Wei–An Jin, Ani Nguyen Le, Sophia Liu

Design Associates

Colin Cham, Danielle Jason, Elizabeth Yuan, Erin Ma, Isabel Portner, Kate Ahn, Makayla Wu, T Fong

Insia Haque, Katrina Itona, Erin Ma, Janine Navalta

STAFF

Features Staff Writers

Katie Bartlett, Delaney Parks, Sejal Sangani

Avalon Hinchman, Charlie Jenner, Isaiah Littlejohn, Lily Howard, Eleanor Grauke, Anna O'Neill-Dietel, Caleb Crain, Luiza Sulea

Focus Beat Writers

Leo Biehl, Dedeepya Guthikonda, Sara Heim, Sophia Rosser, Rahul Variar

Gia Gupta, Mariam Ali, Saanvi Agarwal, Sarah Leonard, Charissa Howard, Charlotte Comstock,

Style Beat Writers

Bobby McCann

Style Beat Writers

Layla Brooks, Emma Halper, Alexandra Kanan, Claire Kim, Felicitas Tananibe

Music Beat Writers

Kelly Cho, Halla Elkhwad, Ryanne Mills, Olivia Reynolds, Mehreen Syed

Ellie Clark, Erin Li, Juliana Li, Marcus Meshechok, Nysa Dharan, Rebecca Lim, Valeri Guevarra, Trapetas C. McGill, Zaara Shafi, Maia Saks, Andrew Lu

Arts Beat Writers

Music Beat Writers

Jojo Buccini, Jessa Glassman, Eyana Lao

Film & TV Beat Writers

Mollie Benn, Kayla Cotter, Emma Marks, Isaac Pollock, Catherine Sorrentino

Amber Urena, Camron Baldwin, Danielle Jason, Hannah Kohn, Jett Bolker, Jo Kelly, Maren Cohen, Will Cai, Sophia Mirabal, Cole Knight, Ananya Varshneya

Arts Beat Writers

Ego Beat Writers

Sophie Barkan, Noah Goldfischer, Ella Sohn, Vikki Xu

Staff Writers

Alex Gomez, Griffin Pitt, Kas Bernays, Kayla Karmanos, Lynn Yi, Richard Paget, Dylan Grossmann, Maya Grunschlag, Samantha Hsiung, Kyunghwan Lim, Katrina Itona

Film & TV Beat Writers

Morgan Crawford, Heaven Cross, Angele Diamacoune, Rayan Jawa, Enne Kim, Jules Lingenfelter, Luiza Louback, Dianna Trujillo Magdalena, Yeeun Yoo

Audience Engagement Associates

Jackson Zuercher, Kate Cho, Kyle Grgecic, Ria Rege, Sophia Leong, Aden Berger, Bea Hammam, Amy Luo, Jake Falconer, Erin Jeon Ego Beat Writers

Annie Bingle, Ivanna Dudych, Yamila Frej, Lauren Pantzer, Felicitas Tananibe, Liv Yun

Alana Talbert, Anissa T. Ly, Christine Oh, Daniya Siddiqui, Talia Shapiro, Gemma Levy, Sophie Barkan, Parin Keerthi

Staff Writers

LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Diemmy Dang, Eva Lititskaia, Jack Lamey, Jasminda Madrid, Kate Hiewon Ahn, Kayley Kang, Lila DuBois, Logan Yuhas, Priyanka Agarwal, Sadie Daniel, Sameera Singh, Will Kelly, Maddy Brunson, Caitlyn Iaccino

LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The Land on which the office of The Daily Pennsylvanian stands is a part of the homeland and territory of the Lenni-Lenape people. We affirm Indigenous sovereignty and will work to hold the DP and the University of Pennsylvania more accountable to the needs of Indigenous people.

CONTACTING 34 th STREET MAGAZINE

If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Walden Green, Editor–in–Chief, at green@34st.com You can also call us at (215) 422–4640.

CONTACTING 34 th STREET MAGAZINE

If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Natalia Castillo, Editor–in–Chief, at castillo@34st.com You can also call us at (215) 422–4640.

“

Personal Is Political

Not "knowing where you stand" is a privilege

BY AISHA NJIE

Iam large. I contain multitudes.” These are the famous lines of Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” I find them remarkably true. Indeed, in no particular order, I am: Gambian, Senegalese, African, American, and Muslim—yet these days, I consider myself more of a religious pluralist. I am also a woman—and though not without grueling effort—a sister to three, and the first daughter to once hopeful immigrants. I am a child descended from a lineage of enslavement, subjugation, and generational abuse. I am an artist and a thinker and a student, yet when people look at me, they cannot parse out these specificities of my identi -

ty. They are blinded, forever and always, by my Blackness, for it is stark and blatant and gluttonous.

I learned my fate for the first time at six years old in the halls of Madison Elementary in Madison, Miss. Reflecting back on my years in elementary school, it is incredibly painful to think of those moments in my life when I learned for the first time that there was something truly wrong with me. I cannot articulate the trauma of what it meant to be a dark–skinned child in a predominantly white school, nor can I cannot articulate the frustration I felt when months of bleaching my skin failed, and I remained Black.

Photo by Max Mester

Illustration by Isabel Portner

Yet, by the time I was six, I had spent four years of my life in Gambia. My first language was Mandinka, and I ate rice and durango nearly every day of my life. In fact, I was in an English–language learning program for all of elementary school. I had no concept of Blackness because no such thing existed in Gambia, but this would all change once I arrived in Mississippi. Having an identity imposed on me that I did not understand was jarring and disorienting.

In class, I learned oversimplified, centrist narratives of the slave trade and the history of the Black struggle in the United States. We read textbooks that glorified white–supremacist ideals and glossed over atrocities committed, but I was lucky because my parents knew better and wished better for their children. At home, my dad gave

"I am large. I contain multitudes."

me books and watched with me documentaries and films that detailed the truth. It was traumatizing. Learning of Kunta Kinte at nine years old, a man who shared the surname of my family, was traumatizing. At nine years old, I wondered if I was the descendant of enslaved peoples.

I learned very young that the personal is political. The rhetoric of “staying out of politics” is a privilege in all its entirety, because those who have been politicized and have had biased ideologies imposed upon them have been stripped of the luxury of imagining a world in which they can exist simply as themselves. Everywhere I go, I carry with me all of the assumptions of what Black people and Black women should be. It is deeply embedded in my psyche, in my behavior, mannerisms, and, most importantly, my insecurities. Questioning

my sense of worth and my character at such a fundamental time of my life was debilitating.

"I learned very young that the personal is political. The rhetroic of 'staying out of politics' is a privilege in all of its entirety."

At a young age, I knew what it meant to be Senegambian, but learning what

Blackness entailed is something that I struggle with to this day. I have never had the privilege of constructing my identity on my own. I have never had the luxury of believing that the way I relate and connect with people is not in some way informed by my race.

“Staying out of politics” is a privilege that has only been afforded to those that reign supreme. It is a right only of those who’ve never questioned their worth and their humanity on account of the color of their skin, and, if I’m honest with myself, I have wished on numerous occasions that I had that privilege. k

Hometown

Acworth, Ga.

Major

Philosophy, Politics, and Economics with a concentration in Public Policy and Governance with minors in Legal Studies and History, submatriculating in a Masters in Public Administration

Activities

Director of Penn Band, Engagement Ambassador for Penn Traditions, Residential Advisor in Du Bois College House, and the Spring Fling Director of the Social Planning and Events Committee.

Ball of energy” doesn’t even begin to describe Sarah Oburu (C ’25). From the second you meet her, it is clear that she lights up every environment she enters. No matter what she’s doing or where she is, she spreads empathy. Through her passion for public service, and her many different club involvements and extracurricular activities, she aims to make Penn a better place one step at a time, serving not just those at Penn, but those all over Philadelphia as well.

Can you tell me a little bit more about where you’re from?

I am the daughter of two Kenyan immigrants who immigrated to the United States to pursue higher education a few years before I was born. Almost all of my extended family still lives in Kenya, so we try to visit as much as we can. I have one younger brother. I am from the suburbs, but absolutely love the city of Atlanta. I come from a really small suburb where everyone knows each other, and my best friends are the people I met in kindergarten. I also love college football and am a huge Dogs fan!

What would you first think to share

EOTM

Sarah Oburu

This senior with a passion for public service makes it a mission to spread kindness across campus.

BY TALIA SHAPIRO

Photos Courtesy of Sarah Oburu

about yourself when asked—tell me about yourself?

I am probably the loudest, most boisterous ball of energy that you will ever meet. My motto in life is “kindness is free,” and I carry that with me everywhere. It takes just as much effort to be mean as it does to be kind, so we should all choose kindness, and I try to spread warmth and light. I also am Christian, and I always try to spread my own beliefs and remember the Lord through my actions. Kindness has such a big impact, and it is so easy to practice. I am also a proud southern belle and Georgia fan. Oh, also, I absolutely love Beyoncé and am maybe her biggest fan.

On a more professional level, my aspiration is to serve as the United States attorney general. I love public service and always aim to lift others up. People can only be as strong as their foundation, so I always try to see how I help others pursue their goals and missions. I want to provide a voice for all people and be a leader. I attempt to do this in all areas of my life; for example, in band, I love to help people have their own goals, and I always try to help them get there. Through leadership, I am able to provide a gap between those who may not have a voice and those who do.

What is your favorite extracurricular activity that you are a part of?

I don’t think I can choose one! They are all so special to me and I love them all, but if I had to choose, it would probably be band. I have been in a band since sixth grade, and I played the trumpet. I am now a drum major in the band, which has been an amazing experience. During my first year, my pre–major advisor happened to be the director of Penn Band and recruited me. I immediately fell in love with this club. We are, what I like to say, “the faces of the University.” We are at every single athletic event, and the

athletic community relies on us to show up to games. We are a part of the community not just at Penn, but also in the larger Philly area. The Philly community really relies on us, which is really special. We perform at Phillies games, Eagles games, and much more. We also partner with local high schools and organizations. I am the vice president of the Fanfare Honor Society, the service organization of the band. We donate drum sets to schools and try to increase the number of students who can access the ability to play

We need to destigmatize the feeling that you need to have everything in control. We must promote emotional transparency. It’s okay if you have a bad day! I try to make the spaces I am in more authentic and open so that people can rely on each other

music. Band is a very holistic opportunity for people to get involved, and it has really become my whole community at this school. I love that we can give back.

Why did you choose to be an RA?

My reason for being an RA stems from my passion for service and leadership. I have lived in Du Bois for the last four years, and it is a place that is really about a four–year community. Some of my best

friends are ones that I met my first year year on the fourth floor where I lived. My RAs freshman year were my inspirations for wanting to be an RA as well. They cultivated an amazing community and emphasized that as a minority member on campus, you may go through a lot, but this place will always be a safe haven and inclusive space for all. I wanted to be the next person to provide a safe place for new students and foster that sense of community.

At the end of the day, the place you live should be your home. We all have our own lives and responsibilities, but we all come together at the end of the day to that community. In addition, being an RA and living in Du Bois has been an amazing resource and networking opportunity for me. I have met really great people through this experience.

I know you went abroad twice last year. Can you tell me a little bit about that experience?

Yes! In fact, one year ago today I moved into my flat in London! In the fall, I went to London and absolutely fell in love. The London lore is so real; the culture is amazing, there are so many different communities, and it has the best vibe around the holiday season. The food scene in London is so good because the United Kingdom has colonized so many places, which in turn has created a wide variety of cuisines there. It was a fever dream. I also grew so much and learned how to be truly independent. I went on different day trips and got to meet so many different students from Penn and other schools as well! Of course, I had FOMO from the Penn community, but it was such a joyous time.

Second semester, I did Penn in Washington. Through this program, you intern during the day and take Penn classes at night at our satellite campus, the Penn Biden Center. I interned for Sen. Rapha -

el Warnock (D-Ga.), the senator for my home state. I was a legislative intern and served on three different portfolios: the judiciary portfolio, foreign policy port -

People can only be as strong as their foundation, so I always try to see how I help others pursue their goals and missions. I want to provide a voice for all people and be a leader I attempt to do this in all areas of my life; for example, in band, I love to help people have their own goals, and I always try to help them get there.

folio, and transportation and infrastructure portfolio. I absolutely loved working on the Hill and even decided to stay there over the summer and continue interning for two more offices. It is exciting and fast–paced. I also had amazing mentors and loved the Black community there. There were so many different identity groups that I could be a part of, and I got to meet so many different types of people. I felt a part of different communities and groups, which helped break barriers for me. Anyone who is interested in governmental work should definitely do

this program. The whole experience solidified my lifelong dream of wanting to live in D.C. and my drive for public service. There are amazing Penn professors, networking opportunities, connections, and resources. It is a really unique experience.

What do you feel you have learned from being involved with many different clubs and communities at Penn?

I am still learning to this day, but I would say I learned how to be my authentic self. Who are you when you walk into a room and how can you honor that? When I walk into my SPEC meetings, everyone knows I am the one who brings the energy, spunk, and attitude. I have also learned how to be driven and assertive. I have learned how to be my authentic self. As a leader, I always think about how I should operate something; how do I op -

erate in a group setting and in a one–on–one setting? In addition, I have learned a lot about balance. Sometimes people are having a hard day, and we do not need to put on Penn face and pretend everything is okay when it isn’t. We need to destigmatize the feeling that you need to have everything in control. We must promote emotional transparency. It’s okay if you have a bad day! I try to make the spaces I am in more authentic and open so that people can rely on each other.

Where do you see yourself ten years from now?

Ten years from now, I hope to be done with law school and working as either an attorney for the U.S. Department of Justice or pursuing my dream job, which is working as an in–house counsel for a congressional member. I hope to be working towards being U.S. attorney general. k

Favorite song currently: "Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself" by Jess Glynne

Favorite thing to do in Philly: Grab coffee at new coffee shops

If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go? Italy

Favorite food: Lasagna

Favorite class at Penn: "History of American Law" with professor Sarah Gronningsater

There are two types of people at Penn… Those who do investment banking and consulting, and those who do not.

And you are?

Someone who definitely does not.

Give Nurses Pens and Syringes

Rx: Nurse Voices, ASAP. Not PRN.

BY MADDY BRUNSON

Photos by Sukhmani Kaur

Nurses rank as the No.1–most–trusted profession consistently from year to year—above doctors, grade school teachers, and even members of the clergy. The work they do is multifaceted. It’s more than just delivering medications and performing assessments—it’s wholeheartedly devoting themselves to the care of their patients and the advancement of the profession. The job title of a nurse is hard to define because nurses are never just a nurse; they are therapists, friends, leaders, experts, and voices. Despite being a complex profession with a wealth of clinical knowledge and experience, nurses’ representation in the public space is limited.

“We recognize that gender bias exists in the media and that power hierarchy exists in healthcare institutions,” Barbara Glickstein says. Glickstein is a nursing media strategist with an extensive background in reporting and writing. She produces for health and healthcare policy media group HealthCetera, hosting blogs and podcasts. Additionally, Glickstein is an adjunct lecturer at the Hunter–Bellevue School of Nursing at the City University of New York and the founder of Barbara Glickstein Strategies, a media training company for healthcare professionals. Alongside Glickstein, Diana Mason is a nursing media expert who is passionate

about the training and amplification of nurse voices. Diana Mason is the senior policy service professor for the Center of Health Policy and Media Engagement at the George Washington University School of Nursing. She is the former editor–in–chief of the American Journal of Nursing and co–producer of a weekly healthcare radio program that has aired since 1985. In 2018, Glickstein and Mason led the revision of the Woodhull study; the original Woodhull study, which was conducted 20 years ago, analyzed thousands of articles published in United States media. The study found that less than 1% of the news magazines and industry publica -

tions examined mentioned nurses. Specifically in health news articles, nurses were referenced in under 4% of articles.

The 2018 revisit of the Woodhull study led to several critical findings about barriers, biases, and poor representation of nurses in the media. From 1997 to 2017, the use of nurses as sources in health news dropped from 4% to 2%. “Our study showed that communication departments in academic medical centers will refer to a physician as an expert source even when a reporter asks for a nurse expert,” Glickstein says. This is an astonishing takeaway, as registered nurses are currently the largest group of healthcare workers, making up one out of every five healthcare workers. There is a continued invisibility of nurses in health news media.

Mason and Glickstein cite specific examples of experiences during the Woodhull study that caused them to continue to push for nursing representation in the media. When speaking to journalists about interviewing nurses, a healthcare reporter says to Mason: “I don’t cover nursing. I cover the business of healthcare. So why would I interview a nurse?” Mason replies, “You interview the nurse because the chief nurse of the hospital probably oversees 70% of that hospital’s budget.”

Glickstein recalls a similar story from her time working on the study. She was interviewing a reporter who covered cardiac research and used a senior cardiac nurse to explain new studies to her. When the reporter cited her sources, she wasn’t allowed to cite the nurse. “The nurse does not have permission from the chairman of the department to be quoted, he is the only one in the department allowed to be quoted,” the reporter tells Glickstein. The chairman was a male physician.

“When you ask a mother who brought her child to the clinic late you find out that it takes two hours by bus to get there and the bus only runs on a limited schedule,” Glickstein says. Nurses are trained to think about the big picture—they consider all the social determinants of health affecting a patient’s life. When a patient is not adhering to their care plan, nurses ask why. “Nurses see the world through a

lens that is different from some others; that connection between the patient's story and policy is powerful,” Mason says. Nurses aren’t writing for themselves. They are writing for their patients, their profession, and for the progress of healthcare policy.

With Penn’s School of Nursing being the number one nursing school in the world nine years in a row, there is no doubt the students and faculty have distinct voices and experiences that should be heard. “It’s about nurses being able to control the narrative of what they do,” Marion Leary, the director of innovation at the Nursing School, says. She writes for mul -

Nurses are in so many different spaces. We’re at the bedside, we’re in the community, we’re in schools, we’re in boardrooms and startups, in the military, Congress, all these places, which gives us a breadth and depth of knowledge that is unparalleled.

tiple publications, has two podcasts, and consistently works with nurses eager to share their stories. “There’s a lot of things that nurses do that are misrepresented or not portrayed at all when you're watching television shows or when there is a health care crisis, and nurses aren't even considered for interviews or as experts in certain areas,” Leary says.

In the Philadelphia community and on Penn’s campus, nurses are taking steps toward the forefront of health media stories. Ali Gorman, a former U.S. Navy nurse and 6abc News health and medical reporter, is an advocate for nurse voices

in health news. Currently, Gorman works for BiotechTV, reporting on the biotech scene in the Philly area. “There is an inherent trust people feel when they see a nurse in the news. Nurses are genuine and truly want the best for everyone.” Gorman says. “You’re not putting the politics into it. You’re not an influencer. You’re not getting paid to promote something. You’re just giving people what they need in an unbiased fashion, in an accurate way.”

For Gorman, the COVID–19 pandemic brought some silver linings for nurses. Philadelphians stood on their streets at 5 p.m., clapping and cheering for healthcare workers as their 12–hour shifts ended. Gorman and the nursing community were grateful for the public’s newfound appreciation for what they do every day. “The general public was more understanding of public health and how these things matter and why they matter,” Gorman says. However, despite the influx of articles and social media posts supporting our frontline healthcare workers during the pandemic, nurses remained silenced in the media.

Since 2020, nurses’ voices are needed more than ever. “Nurses are in so many different spaces,” Leary says. “We’re at the bedside, we’re in the community, we’re in schools, we’re in boardrooms and startups, in the military, Congress, all these places, which gives us a breadth and depth of knowledge that is unparalleled.” A nurse’s diverse perspective can encourage innovative approaches to health policy change, public health improvements, and even the fine arts.

”Two years ago, I actually partnered with a theater company and we created two original plays based on frontline health workers’ experiences,” Leary says. This idea not only shows the impactful stories of nurses through a unique art medium, but it also positively contributes to the performing arts space. This wouldn’t have been made possible without the courage and creativity of nurses who were determined to tell their stories through theater. Leary believes that all nurses deserve spaces to share their experiences on the floor—even if it feels untraditional.

Disrupting bias and misinformation about the nursing profession starts with nurses themselves speaking up about what they do. According to a 2023 holistic review, 40% of examined studies saw an overwhelming amount of negative media portrayals of nurses. 20% found the images to be more negative than positive. Leary blames nursing education for failing to teach nurses how to be active with their voices. Additionally, nursing programs fail to bring nurses into the spotlight. “We need to prepare nurses when going through nursing school, with the confidence, ability, skills, and resources to be prepared to speak to the media,” Leary says. Currently, there are no courses in the plan of study for the Nursing School’s bachelor’s of science in nursing program that educate nurses on how they can use their voice in the media.

Gorman similarly believes there are barriers to representation created by hospital administration. She says, “So many times I would walk in somewhere and I would be like, ‘Can I talk to the nurse or the nurse practitioner?’ And they—the administration—would say, ‘No, no, no, no. You can talk to the doctor.’” Gorman encounters this commonly in her work as a journalist. “Hospitals don’t realize that nurses are the ones that are imparting information every single day,” she says. “Maybe it’s one–on–one and not to a bigger audience. But they’re doing it.”

For years, nurses have tried to harness the power of the media to create change at the bedside and in practice. This is difficult to achieve, as nurses have faced significant obstacles to seeing equitable, correct, and steady nurse voices in the public media space. Addressing bias and misunderstanding of the nursing profession starts with educating nurses to step up and use their voices. We must not forget to uplift nurses in clinical environments and the paths they pursue to advance public health. It’s time the media challenges their perception of nurses by embracing them— not pushing them away. ”Let’s advance the conversation from why should nurses be sources in the media to focusing on the fact that our voices matter,” Glickstein says.k

Extended Day Without Extended Pay?

The ‘Extended Day, Extended Year’ plan could be a dream for working families, but what does it mean in a city of underpaid, overworked educators?

BY SARAH LEONARD

by Benjamin McAvoy-Bickford & Derek Wong

There are 197,115 enrolled students in the School District of Philadelphia. 28% of their schools—63 buildings in total—currently don’t have adequate air conditioning.

Reading and math proficiency scores vary greatly based on race and socioeconomic status, and teachers are bearing the brunt of these issues. Most of them are doing work far beyond the initial expectations of the job, and they’re overwhelmed.

Teacher shortages have always been an issue, especially in perpetually under-

Photos

funded Philadelphia schools, but the pandemic exacerbated the issue. It impacted young people in a multitude of ways, and now their educators are on the front lines of dealing with the fallout.

“I’ve actually talked to quite a few teachers who are like, it’s not even the money. If you gave me 30k more a year, I still would not be able to do this job, because I am managing so many socio–emotional issues among my students that I just didn’t have

leaves thousands of students without permanent, properly certified instructors.

Kids are behind after online schooling, reading and math proficiency scores need improvement, and it seems like something drastic needs to be done.

From the desk of Philadelphia Mayor Cherelle Parker, there comes the “Extended Day, Extended Year” plan, which the City of Philadelphia’s website describes as “a high–priority initiative that is based on

of the summer for willing students and families. Many schools already offer before–and after–school care, which is relied on by many working families.

“It seems to be more about standardizing or establishing those wraparound services more consistently to more students, rather than necessarily the same type of learning happening,” says Stacy Carlough, a former teacher now at Penn’s Graduate School of Education, specializing in strategies to pre-

pre–COVID,” says Julia McWilliams, an urban education anthropologist and co–director of Penn’s Urban Studies program.

Even though Philly teachers make up 20% of Pennsylvania’s educator population, they account for 30% of the state’s teacher attrition. And this is costly—it’s an estimated $27,000 to replace every teacher lost. As of last spring, there were more than 400 teaching vacancies in the city, a concerning amount of them in special education. This

the needs of working parents, closing the opportunity gap, and expanding access to enrichment programs.” This academic year, the pilot program is running in 20 public and five charter K–8 schools.

However, it’s not a plan to extend the school to be year–round and have ten–hour school days. Rather, schools would maintain regular school hours, but their doors would remain open between the hours of 7:30 a.m. and 6 p.m. and during six weeks

vent teacher burnout.

In a country with a childcare system as broken as ours, these extended hours could be essential for working parents. The more time kids are at school, the less time they’re paying others to take care of them.

And the hope is also that kids are gaining something from this extra time. Rather than just keeping them out of parents’ hair, they, in theory, would be engaging in fun and educational activities. Cities like

Boston and Los Angeles have successfully implemented after–school and summer programs, giving kids access to a plethora of activities from sports like wrestling and cycling to environmental education.

Penn students involved at the Netter Center for Community Partnerships might have firsthand experience working with West Philly students at after–school clubs, teaching dance, gardening, or facilitating learning about business and nutrition through fruit stands.

An issue arises, however, with who is staffing these programs. There aren’t enough student volunteers to staff before– and after–school care at every Philadelphia school.

The City of Philadelphia’s website explains that enrichment programs will be staffed by “trusted community partners with existing relationships with the 25 pilot schools,” and claims the initiative “will not require any changes to any collective bargaining agreements.”

But, presumably, teachers’ schedules would be affected if schools are open six more weeks into the summer, and potentially during breaks. And this would probably mean, at the very least, that new agreements regarding work hours would have to be reached.

Though Parker expressed intentions for year–round schooling during her campaign, it seems communication of the implementation of the pilot program was lagging. Indeed, schools involved were notified by an email from the school district on June 24 after they had closed down for the summer. Parents still hadn’t been emailed by the Board of Education action meeting on June 27, and many teachers were finding out through newspaper headlines.

“Educators are finding out this info from the news, same as everyone else,” says an experienced district teacher. The Philadelphia Federation of Teachers said to the Philadelphia Inquirer that they were “caught off guard” by the announcement of the program.

Lack of communication isn’t the only issue teachers are currently dealing with: According to Carlough, the three big issues teachers are facing right now are “the power dynam-

ics, the lack of agency, and the overwhelm.”

“Teachers often feel that they are being asked to do too many things, or too different of a set of things than they started out wanting to do when they became a teacher,” she explains. Especially as their numbers dwindle, they’re asked to take on more and more responsibilities. Experienced teachers—who are increasingly hard to come by—who’ve taught a certain way for years are suddenly asked to teach dif-

There’s a saying in the school district: 'The first time you hear about a new initiative, ignore it. The second time, ignore it. And only start paying attention the third time,. This still feels like one of those situations.

There’s a lot to get outraged about, but there’s still so little clarity it’s hard to know what to think, and so much could change.

ferently or to do many more jobs than they originally signed up for. She also points out that much of the conversation surrounding these responsibilities and how jobs are done are getting cut off, leaving teachers in the dark or misunderstood.

It’s a school– and district–wide dilemma: “We as individuals cannot shoulder the burden of everything, right? We have to be working within a context that is supportive of our success. And that goes from

the superintendent down to the kindergarten aid and to the students, too,” Carlough says.

So where do things go from here? It’s a definite possibility that the plan won’t go past a pilot program.

“There’s a saying in the school district: ‘The first time you hear about a new initiative, ignore it. The second time, ignore it. And only start paying attention the third time,’” says the district teacher. “This still feels like one of those situations. There’s a lot to get outraged about, but there’s still so little clarity it’s hard to know what to think, and so much could change.”

There are real potential benefits to a schedule amendment: Studies show that students, especially in low–income families, experience a “summer slide,” or a marked decline in academic and socio–emotional skills during summer break. SDP Superintendent Tony Watlington pointed to other year–round schooling models, like the Harlem Children’s Zone as inspiration.

In the meantime, though, critics point to the multitude of problems they think the school district should address before expecting schools to be open more. Even with Jalen Hurts’ recent $200,000 donation to outfit eight schools with air conditioners, there are so many more issues that need money and time to be addressed. Penn has also made recent contributions, but still refuses to make payments in lieu of the property taxes it’s exempt from due to its nonprofit status. Since Philly’s public schools are largely funded through property taxes, this lack of funding is critical.

“You’re going to have to invest a lot of money in paying [teachers] really well. … You’re gonna have to have really good curriculum and a lot of resources. … I think you’re gonna need buildings that are not gonna bake children and the teachers that teach them,” says McWilliams. “How do you invest in a teaching force and really acknowledge their lived experience and don’t put a Band–Aid on it? There’s so many interlocking systems here that we need to consider before we say, ‘Yeah, let’s send the kids to school all year.’” k

Shove It: Is Concert Etiquette at a New Low?

High-profile incidents at recent concerts provoke criticism of audience conduct, but this

is not a new phenomenon.

BY JETT BOLKER

Photo by Kylie Cooper

On Sept. 11, crowds swarmed to the SummerStage in Central Park to watch beabadoobee perform her “This Is How Tomorrow Moves” tour. Fans entered the pit area expecting a night they would never remember, eagerly waiting to sing along to “Death Bed (coffee for your head)” and “the perfect pair.” Fans also bridled with excitement to hear tracks from her headlining album This Is How Tomorrow Moves, an indie rock/ pop project featuring co–founder of Def Jam Records and Grammy–award winning producer Rick Rubin. As fans began to settle in and beabadoobee hit the stage, however, the atmosphere quickly became negative.

Fans quickly took to TikTok with complaints about poor concert etiquette: Concertgoers laughed during the moment of silence on 9/11, screamed in between songs, and became aggressive with others. Bea took to Instagram Live following these complaints and told fans to be aware of the people around them. She also admitted that she cried during one show because people were chanting “fein” in the middle of her performance. She ended the livestream explaining how she was frustrated about the number of TikToks she saw complaining about the conduct of other people.

This is not just a problem with her fans, either. Last year, I attended the Death Grips North American tour in Philadel -

phia. While the show itself was incredible, the most noteworthy thing to happen was a grotesque example of poor concert etiquette: Someone was in the pit at Franklin Music Hall and … peed all over the floor. With Bea’s tour fiasco and the man now known as the Philly Pisser, it can seem like most concerts nowadays are toxic environments. However, is there really an uptick in bad manners at shows, or has there just been an increase in surveillance about poor etiquette?

So, what is poor concert etiquette? There are many unspoken rules about being a polite concert attendee: Don’t rush the stage, don’t record videos during the concert, don’t stand in front of people who are sitting or are shorter than you, et cetera. In short, if it could potentially bother the performer or other concertgoers, don’t do it.

Fans have always been obnoxious at concerts, even in the 19th century. People who attended opera houses considered those who went to music halls noisy and crude. Fans would also throw objects onto the stage: Franz Liszt, a German pianist and composer, was the victim of a phenomenon known as “Lisztomania,” which involved audiences tossing flowers and other souvenirs at musicians. This marked the start of harmful behavior during performances.

As music evolved, so did the fans who went to these concerts; it should come as

no shock that audiences became rowdier. At first, this was mostly contained to certain genres: The Punk scene created mosh pits as an outlet for angst and friendly aggression. One would think mosh pits would go against every piece of concert etiquette imaginable. However, as a group activity that encapsulates the ideology and energy of the punk (and later rap) scene with its own unspoken rules, mosh pits do follow concert etiquette. The flip side to this, however, was the increasing depravity of actions across live shows of all genres. Fans became more intense at shows that weren’t punk, and items thrown on stage became more distracting and dangerous. The most infamous example of this was at an Ozzy Os -

threw a live bat at him. Osbourne was known at the time for biting rubber animals on stage, so he picked up the bat and bit its head off, thinking that it was rubber. Osbourne went to the hospital afterwards for rabies shots and later made a public statement saying that he would refrain from such intense theatrics in future shows.

Today, with TikTok, YouTube, X (the platform formerly known as Twitter), and other social media, it becomes apparent that some issues are blown up by multiple people posting about the same incident. The Philly Pisser incident, for instance, was further blown up when music critic Anthony Fantano explained his expe -

Needle Drop" YouTube channel. While the video is humorous, Fantano uses his platform to share his very negative experience of an otherwise fun show, and others in the comments contribute as well. With degenerate incidents such as these, social media can often frame these concerts as overly negative when in reality, the majority of the audience had a fun experience.

So are beabadoobee fans the most inconsiderate people ever? Do they show that concert etiquette is the worst it has ever been? No, the same conduct that happens at modern concerts has been happening since the 1840s; people didn’t become jerks overnight. The New York

solitary incident; spectators experienced similar levels of distasteful behavior at other performances on the tour. Many individuals filmed and posted complaints to TikTok, causing more tension and ultimately leading to beabadoobee apologizing on a livestream.

People and music are constantly evolving, and it is important to not lose sight of the main point of concerts: enjoying live music with like–minded people. One is going to experience poor concert etiquette anywhere they go. It’s annoying, but artists like beabadoobee calling out toxic behavior is a step toward better etiquette. We learn from the past, and this is how tomorrow moves. k

34TH STREET PRESENTS:

THE POLITICS ISSUE, 2024.

BUILDING BREAKUPS

20 How 'The Bachelor' franchise misrepresents the reality of

CAMO & CAMP

32 Is the Harris–Walz camo hat really suberting political stereotypes or is it just disingenuous dress–up?

BUILDING BREAKUPS:

HHow 'The Bachelor' franchise misrepresents the reality of romantic relationships by avoiding politics.

BY SAMANTHA HSIUNG

Graphic by Wei-An Jin

Ihave been single all 19 years of my life, and tuning into The Bachelorette every Tuesday night this summer only reminded me of that fact. Several times, I found myself thinking about how lucky Jenn Tran must feel to have a sea of men vying for her affection and how excited she must be knowing that she’ll walk away with a life partner. But after doing my own research on the show and learning that most couples from the show fail to stay together in the real world, I slowly realized that the show portrays an idealized, unrealistic image of love by avoiding one topic: politics.

Much like politicians, contestants on The Bachelorette are constantly competing for attention and affection. Cameras cling close to them like dark shadows, swarming their faces every ticking second of the day. Grand romantic gestures are carried out with poise, precision, and calculation, similar to how politicians carefully curate their public persona and plan out every movement and interaction. We see these characters grow (or fall from grace) on the screen, either “keeping the main thing the main thing” (as featured prominently on TikTok) or engaging in ego–boosting altercations with other men on the show. We, in this political analogy, are the voters who deliberate the contestants’ every intention, deciding whether to love them, idolize them, or despise them.

Yet as much as The Bachelorette and its companion shows—The Bachelor, The Golden Bach-

elor, The Golden Bachelorette, and Bachelor in Paradise—mirror the current political landscape, one thing that contestants never seem to discuss on the show is politics itself. Questions like “Who did you vote for?” or “What did you think of the overturning of Roe v. Wade?” are never brought up—or, even if they are, never emphasized in the production of the show. Contestants pour their souls out to the show lead over everything from past loves and future dreams to deep passions and jaw–dropping experiences, yet they consistently skirt around one of the most defining conversations of them all: politics.

This avoidance of real–world issues isn’t unintentional. The show is meant to be an impenetrable bubble. Contestants aren’t allowed to have access to phones, computers, or TV, as access to the outside world diverts their attention away from what they supposedly came on the show for—the opportunity to find love. “You’re completely and fully immersed and focused on connecting and your relationship,” Bibiana Julian, a contestant on the Season 22 of The Bachelor, said in an interview with People. But while this bubble does give contestants an opportunity to focus on relationships, it also fosters an idyllic environment that detaches them from worldly events and real–life considerations. Take the most recent Bachelor, Joey Graziadei, as an example: He was so trapped in the bubble that he forgot to pay off his credit.

This detachment becomes a critical fault line when the lead and her final pick enter back into the real world as an engaged couple. Romantic escapades—helicopter dates and exhilarating kisses in the rain—are all a part of the constructed world of this show that acts as a scaffold to sustain an idealized narrative of love. According to several contestants, the show doesn’t explicitly prohibit the discussion of politics but does prefer to maintain an apolitical stance; conversations surrounding politics are certainly never encouraged. The final three picks of the show have the opportunity to go to the Fantasy Suites— an overnight date where they are able to be alone with the lead for the first time—and both the lead and the contestant often dialogue in free expression because of the absence of cameras. Jenn Tran, the most recent Bachelorette, used the space as an opportunity to “talk about things that you can’t talk about on camera—like politics, religion, money, financial–wise, job,” asking ques-

eaten by immigrants.

tions like “are you going to be an influencer, or are you going to continue a regular day job?” Yet, this begs the question: Shouldn’t these important conversations, both surrounding politics and other pivotal aspects of life, be held in the beginning stages of a relationship rather than right before an engagement?

Unlike Jenn Tran, other Bachelorettes didn’t fully take advantage of the Fantasy Suites to the same extent. Becca Kufrin, the lead of Season 14 of The Bachelorette, told Business Insider that if she could redo the show, the first thing she would’ve asked contestants is who they voted for in the presidential election. This revelation came after the winner of her season, Garrett Yrigoyen, was exposed for liking Instagram posts that mocked transgender people, immigrant children, and a school shooting victim. Yrigoyen apologized for liking the posts, and he and Kufrin continued dating for a couple of years. But it wasn’t until the summer of 2020, when George Floyd was murdered, and Black Lives Matter protests dominated the nation, that he and Kufrin began having deeper conversations about their political views.

“I was like … what’s important to me? What’s important to him?” she told Business Insider. “Are we going to be able to make a lasting relationship for a lifetime off of our differences?”

They weren’t able to. Kufrin and Yrigoyen broke up in September 2020, with Kufrin hinting at the reason for their breakup being their political differences. Yet, these differences were never hinted at on national TV. What we saw was a picture–perfect world in which contestants never discussed politics, which can create unhealthy narratives of what relationships should look like. It’s no surprise that only nine of 47 cou-

The Bachelor and The Bachelorette franchises have stayed together after the show’s end; perhaps the lack of conversations about personal differences contributes to it.

Clearly, diverging political views can have dangerous implications. After all, politics isn’t merely about ticking off a box but aligning with ideologies that reflect your core values. This raises several questions: is it possible to love someone who is indifferent about the issues that you’re passionate about? Can you love someone who disagrees with you on fundamental human rights issues? And even if you and your partner are willing to accept your political differences, will their family accept your beliefs? How can you determine long–term compatibility without the answers to these questions?

The nuances of dating and politics extends beyond just the confines of reality TV. Dating apps like Tinder, OkCupid, Hinge, and Bumble let users filter profiles by political affiliations. There are even apps that are targeted towards people of specific political parties—like Lefty, which aims to garner a progressive consumer base. Politics have become an increasing indicator of compatibility; shared values are the cornerstone of lasting relationships, and surveys have shown that the majority of people feel that differing political views are a dealbreaker in a relationship. With the United States becoming increasingly polarized in recent years, especially due to Donald Trump’s presidency, the rise of the #MeToo movement, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, and racial turmoil, politics have become more ingrained in everyone’s daily lives.

This isn’t to say that people shouldn’t be dating other people just because of differing political views. However, it is to say that that the U.S. political landscape is changing, and this effect is unavoidable in everyone’s personal lives. If there’s anything The Bachelor franchise has shown us, it’s that saving tough conversations for later lays a precarious foundation, building relationships up for their own potential downfall. By sidestepping politics, The Bachelor franchise constructs a false narrative of love that fractures in reality. It’s a lesson for all to learn that real love is not just about chemistry—it’s about confronting hard conversations and persevering through them. Without that, no romance is destined to last.k

THE POLITICS ISSUE

GEN Z GETS OUT THE VOTE

Here's how grassroots organizations are engaging the youth of Philadelphia for this election, and why they think it matters.

BY BOBBY MCCANN

Graphic by Emmi Wu

Now at the age of (relative) maturity, mid–2000s babies have only glimpsed a political world of scandal and the bitter vicissitudes of changing regimes. Through the meteoric rise of Donald Trump, the mixed bag of Joe Biden, and now a tenuous future under either Trump or Kamala Harris, today's youth can’t be blamed for feeling estranged from the political process, as if watching a bad television show with the same sorry cast of actors every year. The response of some to this political circus has been to harbor a sense of doubt about the system, and not participate; others feel the uneasiness and want to do something about it. Most, however, have a certain presentiment about this election: It is pivotal for the

direction of the country.

This quality stems from the perception that issues important to either the Republican, Democrat, or independent are on the ballot and for the first time, those born in the mid–2000s can have a say in these issues. For organizations in Philadelphia, this means canvassing on college campuses and in high schools. It also means fighting a sense of voter apathy that has arisen not only in youth but across all ages. However, for many Philadelphia youth, especially those in low–income communities, apathy is not the problem, but rather a lack of civic education stemming from underfunding. These students care greatly about different issues, but a lack of the right tools makes political engagement a challenge.

The issues most people care about are economic ones that affect their ev -

eryday lives: domestic prices of goods, wages, debt, and the rising cost of living. These manifest themselves through worries about putting food on the table and getting the kids to school. For the youth, the concerns of social issues hold more relative importance, like gun control, abortion care, student debt, and climate change. Some, like those in the Uncommitted Movement, care greatly about international issues, like the war in Gaza, and how international struggles intersect with domestic concerns.

In 2020, 54% of Pennsylvanians aged 18–29 voted in the Trump–Biden face–off; according to recent polling data, 59% of Pennsylvanians aged 18–30 plan to vote for Harris in November. Since Biden’s July 21 dropout, organizers saw a drastic increase in registration across the board. Some organizers, like Kadida Kenner

from the New Pennsylvania Project, say that there was around a 60% increase in voter registration by her organization. Before Biden dropped out, “We were experiencing lots of voter apathy, disgust, disinterest,” says Kenner.

Pennsylvania, as a swing state, is a battleground: Both candidates want to win the support of divided areas. While Philadelphia is usually a Democratic haven, and rural areas are usually Republican, and smaller cities and suburbs like Allentown–Bethlehem, Harrisburg, Erie, and Scranton are split. But this does not at all mean that Philadelphia proper is irrelevant: In 2020, Philadelphia trailed behind the rest of Pennsylvania in terms of voter turnout by more than 10%. Losing its share of statewide Democratic votes in 2022, Philadelphia has some major catch–up work to do this time around. And it all starts with registering potential voters.

Organize!

Philadelphia has numerous organizations that register people to vote, many of which cater to young people. Through outreach on college campuses and events in the city, organizers have been able to interact with the youth who have just turned 18. “They're excited they made the cutoff. If they didn't make the cutoff, they're disappointed about it,” says Melissa Wright from the League of Women Voters of Philadelphia. Beyond registering, many organizations engage in civic education. Wright says that one thing her organization has been trying to do is to show people the election is not only for the President: there are other positions at stake, including a Senate race and a congressional seat. Beyond this election, organizers are trying to show that registering to vote also means taking part in local elections as well, not only presidential ones.

Organizations also want to show that voting matters. This is especially hard in West Philadelphia high schools, where the level of political engagement is low. Unlike well–endowed college campuses, which haven’t faced the same disinvestment and disregard from elected officials, high schools are struggling to civically educate students and get them excited about politics. “They generally do not think that anything will change, and they don't think that the people who are in charge…either have the desire to or the capacity to bring about the change that they want to see,” says Nina Wang, co–leader of the High School Voter Project.

Fighting this sense of cynicism has been a goal of HSVP for years, and through educational programs and voter registration, they hope to get the students engaged with politics. One way to stimulate interest is to bring back the conversation to local problems: SEPTA inconsistency, clean streets, and school conditions. Above all, students care about the proliferation of gun violence: “Every student knew of someone, or was related to someone, or was maybe even involved in an incident themselves,” says Wang, speaking about students in West Philadelphia high schools.

The Impact of Social Media

Through bringing in local legislators and running creative projects, HSVP hopes to revitalize interest in local politics for students. This task has become increasingly difficult in the age of social media. Wang says that for students in the summer program, “Instagram was their main source of news,” and she heard “so many students say things that were not accurate or true at all, and it was because they saw it on social media.” This overdependence on social media leads predictably to polarizing opinions and a lack of understanding of the political process. According to HSVP’s Mahala Garcia–Bartch, “A lot of them actually didn't know that Biden dropped out.” They emphasized that this problem cannot be

blamed on the students, and has to do with a wider failure in the surrounding infrastructure of learning. Further, this is not an isolated issue: In 2022, a study found that over half of teens used social media to get news.

Beyond contributing to misinformation, social media also has another unintended effect: the trivialization of politics. A political plea is just another post in the feed, and when juxtaposed so abruptly with memes, posts from friends, and engaging content, politics becomes theater, comedy even. Garcia–Bartch also says that AI has been “dangerous” because students have been taking fake vid -

eos for reality. In some cases, AI videos and social media posts about the legitimacy of the election have caused skepticism about voting.

The New Pennsylvania Project has run into the problem of misinformation about the electoral process as well, which, according to Kenner, amounts to a form of voter suppression. “Spreading disinformation and misinformation is a form of voter suppression, because you are absolutely going to suppress the votes of those who could possibly agree with you when you say that we're not having free and fair elections.” This spreading of disinformation has become prevalent on

social media, and those who are on apps like X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram are fed

“Okay — shots, then midterm.”

Spreading disinformation and misinformation is a form of voter suppression, because you are absolutely going to suppress the votes of those who could possibly agree with you when you say that we're not having free and fair elections

KADIDA KENNER

the same content through their algorithms, creating echo chambers.

However, social media has positive engagement impacts, especially given the recent change of candidacy in the race with Harris. “I think that's probably combated some voter apathy … it's not the same thing that happened four years ago,” says Alyssa Antonian from Penn Leads the Vote. For younger voters, Harris and her campaign strategy have been more relevant. Whether through rallies including rap artists, or engaging

with TikTok–ers, Harris’s campaign has leaned into what the youth care about, using cultural touchstones as a means to communicate across age barriers.

The Importance of Education

A recent study found that 43% of Pennsylvanians count politics as a major source of stress in their lives. When politics becomes not only stressful, but distant, it disincentivizes electoral participation, which already can be a confusing system in terms of who should be held accountable for lack of follow through. This leads to one of the main problems to be faced by organizations engaging youth voters: skepticism. But this sense of skepticism can be quelled by civic education, the amount of which depends on where one goes to school. This predicament has uniquely economic roots. “I think the youth engagement depends on where you are, and if you're fortunate and privileged enough to be in a school district that is funded well, like Lower Merion, Radnor, Methacton,” the level of engagement will be high, says Angelique Hinton from PA Youth Vote.

Hinton also points out the historical problem of the Pennsylvania school district funding system, which in 2023 was found to be unconstitutional due to its uneven support given to schools. “They put so little investment at the state level, and the way they fund the difference is through property taxes, which inherently creates this racist impact.” This impact is felt disproportionally due to redlining and the disparity in property values between black and brown communities and white ones. The effect is that underfunded schools are “not getting any access to voter education” and civics. When civic education nationally is “grossly underfunded,” there is a correlative decline in a “lack of governmental understanding,” something being experienced in most American K–12 schools.

To address these problems, PA Youth Vote adopts a strategy of youth creating events for other youth. They believe that “You can't create [an engaging event] for

young people if you don't have young people telling you what should be included in the event.” Some of the events PA Youth Vote has put on, working with local students, are civic–themed field days, voting at City Hall, and youth panels. In all of these events, which pull in low–income communities and other grassroots organizations like #VoteThatJawn, the goal is to make civic engagement fun, relevant, and impactful.

PA Youth Vote and its affiliates stress local engagement and accountability. In

When you vote, elected leaders play very close attention to who votes and when you vote.

VICKI MILLER

the context of the school district inequity, Hinton says, “We're going to make sure [elected officials] hear about it, and we're going to send young people, and then we're going to write op–eds, and then we're going to do digital testimonies on our social media about how these things are affecting young people.” What organizations like PA Youth Vote and HSVP want to do is to empower youth.

“When you let them in, they are innovative, they are determined, they are passionate, and they will do amazing things, but we have to make space for them to actually get out here.”

Without education, it is hard for students and community members in general to place blame on the right people.

Hinton and PA Youth Vote have dubbed it something the youth can relate to. “We really just try to let them tell us the issues and connect it for them to what we call it: Who gets the smoke?” In the case of schooling, which is an issue on the top of most kids' minds, Hinton wants to prepare students to “testify to the school board on public record at council meetings,” connecting the problem to the constituents.

Get Involved!

“If you were 10 years old in 2015, the only political conversation you've seen, once you've been aware of politics, has been really nasty fighting, and how much would that turn you off to politics? It is completely understandable that younger people will be turned off, which is such a sad thing,” says Vicki Miller from Indivisible Philadelphia.

To fight this disengagement, Miller emphasizes political involvement. “There are many ways to work on this

election if you're anxious about what could happen to our country if we don't get the outcome we want in this election.” She mentions Indivisible’s 35 Doors Project, which involves canvassing in one’s own neighborhood. Indivisible provides all the training and resources required, and they have been able to reach thousands of people through this project. Miller also notes that young people have become involved in politics through this project.

In the end, it comes down to making elected officials listen to young people and the issues they care about. An upcoming youth press conference called “Trend that Jawn” crystallizes these themes: flooding social media, talking to elected officials, and voting. “When you vote, elected leaders play very close attention to who votes and when you vote. You are a threat to them staying in power, and so they will have to be more responsive to you, because they know you might vote for somebody else,” Hinton says. k

THE UNSUNG POWER of PHOTOGRAPHERS

PHOTO ESSAY BY JEAN PARK

As a photographer, you dream of getting “that shot.” The shot that will make up for all of the times you took a bad iPhone photo for your friend’s Instagram. All of those hours of practicing composition will be worthwhile for that one photo. The frantic pursuit of “the shot” was on full display in the spin room following the 2024 presidential debate. Fighting through a mob of photographers to photograph former president Donald Trump, a photographer’s hairy arm grazed my mouth and a camera the size of a baby knocked my chin out of view. I stopped to look at the enormous crowd of photographers and journalists around me.

My phone started to light up with messages from friends asking me if I had seen J.D. Vance or Josh Shapiro. What I saw was maybe the head of the politician and instead the swarm of photographers double wielding two cameras and a mic all trying to obtain “that shot.” At one point I was shoved aggressively so much so that a photographer next to me crashed into a pole and broke his filter lens (notably from THE New York Times).

But, figuratively speaking, this experience of shoving and pushing to get to the front is a very common practice in any work field. But what I love about photography is that no one can have the EXACT same photo as you. At the end of the day, your photo is yours—composed by your eyes and clicked from your fingers—

and no one can take that away from you.

And while maybe you saw ten photos from the debate, I guarantee you that hundreds of thousands of photos were taken, if not more. My own SD card had 2,000 photos at the end, and I am grateful that eight made it in this photo essay.

But this is why I love photojournalism. As I sat in the Uber on the way back, I could still feel my heart racing from the excitement, hoping that at least one photo made it. I woke up the next morning with a bloody nose, which happens a lot when I get stressed, but also an indicator that I did everything physically possible to be a good photojournalist.

Amidst all of the running and mobbing, I spoke with another photojournalist who flew all the way from London, buying the cheapest hotel and flight possible just to

cover this historic moment. He told me that he was a recent graduate just trying to stand out at his company, and like me, was not focused on the news coverage, but rather framing a creative outlook on the historic event.

The light–speed live update coverage, the in–action photos, and the hopefully creative photo essays people got to see of the debate were from the work of photographers running around in circles and clicking their cameras every millisecond. And though all you saw were the politicians, the real stars are the photographers, videographers, and journalists behind it all. k

CAMO & CAMP

BY NORAH RAMI

Graphics by Insia Haque

Camo seems to be the new color of the Democratic Party.

Not long after Tim Walz was recorded reacting to his vice presidential nomination in a camo hat, the Harris–Walz campaign released its own camouflage merch, which sold out within 30 minutes of its release. At Tim Walz’s first rally in Philadelphia, he proudly donned the now iconic camo Harris–Walz hat. Banking on Walz’s brand as a Midwesterner, the hats were intended to be symbolic of the rural contingent typified by deer hunting and fishing, a contingent the Democratic Party has been hoping to bring into their fold. But at the same time, they have been embraced by indie stars like Remi Wolf and Chappell Roan who wear their gear to concerts, not campsites. Even Chappell Roan herself has noted the parallels between her Midwest Princess merch and the camo Harris–Walz hat.

Camo is imbued with a very particular regional and political meaning. For a wearer of camo army fatigues and hunting gear, the print has a particular functional value beyond pure aesthetics. It is thus distinct from cheetah print or chevron, which exist only for their own sake. Instead, camo has a specific purpose in purportedly allowing the wearer to blend into the natural environment around them. Camo, as an aesthetic, is tied to the great outdoors. In the political world, because a conservative contingent is associated with hunting and military service from which the aesthetic gains its meaning, one might associate camo more with a Republican bent.

When worn in an urban environment, camo becomes ironic purely because it rejects its original function. Rather than allowing the wearer to disappear, it makes them stand out. The irony played out perfectly at the Democratic National Convention, when Democratic presidential nominee Kamala Harris’ stepdaughter Ella Emhoff paired the piece with pleated Helmut Lang trousers, a quintessential hallmark of a distinctly New York quiet luxury, achieving an ironic aesthetic contrast. If her headwear was intended to em-

ulate rural America, her pants reasserted her identity as one of the New York elite. While the hat drew the most attention, set against a monochromatic canvas, ultimately Helmut Lang (and her New York identity) functioned as the core of her outfit. The hat was merely a removable accessory.

By adopting camo, the Democratic Party seems to be deliberating subverting the political messaging associated with the pattern. It can easily be read as a call to rural American voters. By utilizing Tim Walz as a intermediary to lay claim to the camo aesthetic, the hat seems to attempt to subsume rural aesthetics into the canon of the Democratic Party as a means of pulling in the voters themselves. It’s a play for rural America. It’s a play for middle America.

But at the same time, when worn by the Ella Emhoffs of New York who represent an antithesis to the sensibilities of rural Amer ica, a certain irony underlies the gesture. Rather than symbolize rural America, it seems to invoke a Generation Z, urban aes thetic that prides itself on ironies. Think the GORP–core aesthetic of the early 2020s that claimed multi–pocket fishing vests as an urban staple. By elevating camo into the world of urban fashion, it pokes fun at its functionality. It is almost anti–rural.

A maneuver of such aesthetic political messaging doesn’t necessarily need to oc cur on one level of rational. It can be both and none. It can be intentional and unin tentional. It can be effective and ironic. There are two meanings. There are infinite meanings. There is no meaning at all.

“Camp sees everything in quotation marks,” says Susan Sontag in "Notes on 'Camp.'" “It's not a lamp, but a 'lamp'; not a woman, but a 'woman.'"

Here, the Harris–Walz hat is not camo, but “camo."

And in this space between quotation marks, camp is weaponized for the sake of political power.

“Camo” is a triumph of an epicene style. It is both rural and urban. It contradicts itself and laughs at its own paradoxes, de nying any attempt at critique. It cannot be claimed as one thing or another. It resists

definition.

Here, the amorphous nature of camp allows the Democratic Party to posture without taking a stance. As Sontag contends, “To camp is a mode of seduction—one which employs flamboyant mannerisms susceptible of a double interpretation; gestures full of duplicity, with a witty meaning for cognoscenti and another, more impersonal, for outsiders.”

Rural America is both seen and obscured by the camo. On the outside, even if the hat presents itself as catering to rural America, it is all tongue–in–cheek. Go for it, says the urbanite wearing the camo hat, with a distinct sense that they are on the inside of the joke. Both parties have an inkling that the party is made for them, when in reality it exists only for the sake of power itself. k

A Beginner’s Guide to Philadelphia’s Movie Theaters

Five essential theaters to explore cinema in Philly

BY KYLE GRGECIC

Photo by Jean Park

Before coming to Penn, I would take a trip to the movie theater nearly every week. My sister, who worked for our local theater, always got me free tickets, so I spent every second I could staring at the silver screen. I felt like Nicole Kidman! Experiencing movies on a massive screen with a medium popcorn (extra butter) and some cookie dough bites is truly an “indescribable feeling.”

I was horrified to think that once I got to Penn, I would be resigned to watching any new releases on my 15–inch laptop and lose the magic of cinematic transportation. So, I used my first year to explore the myriad movie theaters of Philadelphia and catch all the new releases I could. To any first years, transfers, and movie lovers who just haven’t had a chance to explore all that Philly’s film scene has to give, I offer up this guide.

Cinemark University City Penn 6: You know her, you love her!

The University City Cinemark may not be the best theater, but it’s certainly the easiest to get to for any Penn student living on or near campus. Located right across the street from Acme and directly next to Panera Bread, the Cinemark is a staple of the University City area. Though Cinemark features a somewhat limited selection of four to eight films

at a time, you’ll find an eclectic mix of blockbuster hits and some of the most random movies you’ve ever heard of. Though close to home, Cinemark is the perfect theater for an adventure: a night out with friends, a prelude to a night of debauchery, or just a quick study break. Most recently, I saw the 3D 15th–anniversary screening of Coraline and had a phenomenal time! The Cinemark should be your go–to theater if you want a calm, simple cinematic experience.

Philadelphia Film Society Bourse: a hidden gem!

The cream of the crop. The bee’s knees. The cat’s pajamas, even! I could spout off several more old–fashioned idioms relating to my feelings toward the PFS Bourse Theater, but I digress. The Bourse Theater is found in Old City, easily accessible via the MFL (Market–Frankford Line). Every time I visit the theater, I leave feeling like a new man. Maybe it’s the comfy seats, maybe it’s the scenic walk from the theater back to Fifth Street station, or maybe it’s the consistently stellar lineup of critically acclaimed and independent cinema. Either way, the Bourse Theater is the pinnacle of Philadelphia movie–theater experiences. My most recent visit to the Bourse Theater was to see the absurd new horror film

it. The film was easily my favorite horror flick of the year, and my viewing experience was nothing short of extraordinary. The Bourse Theater is the place to be for true movie lovers.

Philadelphia Film Society East: another hidden gem … literally!

Picture this: First–year me was in Center City for the second time ever to see a screening of my favorite film, Portrait of a Lady on Fire , with two of my new friends. I let Jesus take the wheel that day, and by “Jesus,” I mean Apple Maps, and by “the wheel,” I mean me. I spent 30 minutes trying to find the PFS East Theater before receiving a text message saying the screening was sold out and just took the

East Theater: Sansom Street, not Second Street! I’ve also discovered that Apple Maps is way off. Once you arrive, you’ll encounter a similar film selection and viewing experience to the PFS Bourse Theater.

Regal UA King Of Prussia: a bit of a journey … but still worthwhile!

The Regal Cinema at the King of Prussia Mall is gargantuan. If the film you want to see wasn’t produced in a basement, there’s a 95% chance you’ll be able to see it here. As I write this guide, there are currently 12 films being screened at this theater. There’s a remarkable blend of indie flicks and big pictures, and the films here last quite a while in compar -

public transit to get to the King of Prussia Mall where the theater is housed. If there’s a movie you’re dying to see, but none of the other theaters listed here are screening it, gather a group of friends for a fun Saturday mall–and–movie trip!

AMC DINE-IN Fashion District 8: oh boy … another theater in Philadelphia!

In full honesty, I have not been to Fashion District AMC—sorry, Nicole Kidman. All I can say about the AMC is that any film there will almost certainly be played at the aforementioned theaters. Though I cannot comment too much on the theater since I’ve never been, the anecdotes I’ve heard from friends are … grim. It’s always great to have options!

on a massive screen with a medium popcorn (extra butter) and some cookie dough bites is truly an “indescribable feeling."

And that’s it! Of course, there are plenty of theaters in Philadelphia outside of this list—like Landmark Ritz Five and AMC Broadstreet 7, just to name a few. I hope this list can act as a gateway into the world of Philadelphia’s live cinema. k

Take It to the

Streets What to Do in ThisPhillyMonth

This month: arts and crafts, marathons, and your very own civic duty.

Going to college in Philly, we’re so often bombarded—on social media and IRL—with seemingly endless options for how to spend our free time. So I’m delighted to announce that Street has done the hard part for you: We’ve rounded up what we think are the can’t–miss events for the month. If I’ve done my job right, there’ll be something in here for every one of our readers, no matter what you like to do with your weekends.

Catherine Sorrentino, Print Editor

do your civic duty and vote!

Your civic duty is free, 7 a.m., polling locations may vary

Nov. 7: Coco & Clair Clair @ Theatre of the Living Arts

This so–christened “lobotomy–pop” and contemporary–R&B duo is touring their new album Girl, and as one might guess, they both know how to put on a show for the girlies. Nobody makes brainless more sexy, more vapid, and more hilarious than this witty and hilarious pair. What more could a girl want from a concert?

Tickets start at $31, 8 p.m., 334 South St.

Nov. 7: Leon Bridges @ The Met Baby, baby, baby, he’s coming hommeeee to Philly. The Texas–based crooner is taking his act to Philly, and as the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, a ticket to his concert might be the perfect way to get cozy this fall. Tickets start at $77, 7:30 p.m., 858 N Broad St.

Nov. 7–17: Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival @ Multiple Locations

Oct. 29–Nov. 23: Hamilton @ Academy of Music

Come watch Hamilton, the cultural phenomenon that has taken the world by storm and cemented its place as one of Broadway’s most legendary productions. This groundbreaking musical blends hip–hop, jazz, R&B, and more to tell the epic historical tale of honor, love, and legacy. Boasting an unprecedented run of awards— including 11 Tonys, a Pulitzer Prize, and a Grammy—this masterpiece, written by Lin–Manuel Miranda, continues to leave audiences in awe. Don’t miss your chance to experience the musical that has become a global sensation!

Tickets start at $29, 1 p.m., 1:30 p.m., or 7:30 p.m., 240 S. Broad St.

Nov. 1–9: We Have Gone As Far As We

Can Together @ Fringe Arts

Probably the most out–there opera you’ll ever see or even hear of, We Have Gone As Far As We Can is a boundary–pushing piece of participatory art and opera. Maybe you're a fan of opera, or live music, or avant–garde performance, but if you find yourself attracted to the weird and the exciting, this is the event for you.

$25, 7:30 p.m., 140 N Christopher Columbus Boulevard

Nov. 5: Election Day @ A Polling Location Near You

Well, well, well. The day is finally here. Do you know where your polling place is? You can find it online at pavoterservices.pa.gov. Do you have classes 8:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. straight? No stress, polls are open 7 a.m. to 8 p.m. Any way you slice it, today’s the day to

For all film lovers, PAAFF is hosting a hybrid film festival celebrating AAPI storytelling with in–person film screenings, online film rentals, and more. Along the way, discover Philadelphia theaters among fellow film enthusiasts.

Screening tickets start at $20, 6 p.m., multiple locations

Nov. 14–17: Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show @ Pennsylvania Convention Center

A collector of trinkets or appreciator of fine crafts? Philadelphia Museum of Art is hosting its 48th annual craft show featuring over 195 creators. Browse through an eclectic collection of crafts and support artists from basket weavers and potters to jewelry makers.

Free entry, 4 p.m. on Thursday, 11 a.m. on Friday, 10 a.m. on Saturday and Sunday, 1101 Arch St.

Nov. 21: Sarah Silverman @ The Met Philadelphia

Attend comedy icon Sarah Silverman’s

Postmortem tour at The Met Philadelphia. Known for her sharp wit and bold humor, Silverman delivers a no–holds–barred stand–up performance, tackling everything from personal stories to social commentary with her signature edge. Don’t miss your chance to see this Emmy–winning comedian live on stage for a night of laughter and unforgettable moments!

Tickets start at $64, 7 p.m., 858 N. Broad St.

Nov. 22-24: Philadelphia Marathon Weekend @ Benjamin Franklin Parkway

If you’re the type of person who can casually run a marathon, you probably already know all about the Philadelphia Marathon Weekend. But for all of us normcore non–athletes who skipped gym class to listen to music on the bleachers and gossip, there’s still something this weekend for you. Maybe you’ll finally run that 5k you’ve been telling everyone you will, or you’ll want to make big sparkly signs to cheer on runners.

Free, 7 a.m., 2600 Benjamin Franklin Parkway

Nov. 28: 6abc Thanksgiving Day Parade @ Benjamin Franklin Parkway

Celebrate Thanksgiving with the masses along North 20th Street, LOVE Park, City Hall, and down Benjamin Franklin Parkway to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. This is the oldest Thanksgiving parade in the country, featuring floats, balloon characters, celebrities, marching bands, music, and more!

Free, 8:30 a.m., 20th Street and JFK Boulevard

Nov. 29–30: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Concert @ Marian Anderson Hall

Get ready to be enchanted by the Philadelphia Orchestra bringing John William’s Harry Potter score to life. While the orchestra performs live, you’ll relive the unforgettable story of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Wizarding World. Don’t miss this unique opportunity to witness the music and magic come together in an unforgettable performance!

7 p.m. on Nov. 29 and 2 p.m. on Nov. 30, 300 S Broad St.

Streams, Screens, and the 15–Second Earworm

In the age of constant refresh, focus is fleeting— so is the music.

BY SOPHIA MIRABAL

Illustration by Natalie Cheng

If there’s one casualty of the digital age that millennials will never let us forget, it's Blockbuster. Its infamous fall, now a cultural touchstone, has become something of a cautionary tale for the dangers of convenience–driven consumption. The steady rise of streaming services took what was once a tactile experience—browsing the DVD aisles and letting the cover art or a familiar face sway your decision—and transformed it into something frictionless. The world sat back at home, enjoyed their instant video, and the days of physical browsing and serendipitous discovery faded into oblivion. But, as much as it tugs at our collective nostalgia, this shift was inevitable. Blockbuster was a victim of progress, but its legacy as a relic of physical media reveals a greater trend in contemporary consumption, where we prefer easy, uncomplicated entertainment as opposed to quality content.

Streaming didn’t just change the way we watch movies—it also changed the way we listen to music. It feels less like progress and more like the erosion of something far more valuable: the deep, immersive engagement that music, at its best, has always required. The unraveling of long–form artistry—the slow but steady drift away from the album as a cohesive unit—was less a casualty and more a deliberate killing.

The intricate design of vinyl records limited the user to two options: allowing the album to play in its entirety or replacing the vinyl in between songs. The more convenient option is obvious, and the reality for music lovers was simple: there was no option but to experience the album as a cohesive, uninterrupted work, just as the artist intended.

With cassette tapes, we could manipulate the sequence of our favorite songs, and the Walkman allowed us to transport them. CDs followed, and the MP3 and iPod shortly thereafter. Although music listening drastically improved in convenience and quality, these forms still required a pick–and–choose aspect to music consumption—we selected specific songs to download and whole albums to purchase, every selection a direct, concrete, often monetary exchange. The music was there—always in whole, digestible form. By purchasing it, the user entered into a contract, committing to engage with the work as a complete unit, a carefully crafted body of art. This exchange creates a responsibility to listen deeply.

What separates the convenience and “digestibility” of streaming services from such a phenomenon is lack of intent, and if there’s anything that the rise of short–form content has shown us, it’s that sustained focus isn’t exactly our strong suit. In today’s culture of fleeting music experiences (or experiences, period) we intake our music as background noise. We swipe, scroll, and drift from reel to reel, apathetic in our efforts to actually occupy ourselves with the content, hardly remembering why we’d decided to open the app in the first place. Our methods of

music consumption have evolved, and so have our means of promoting it. In other words, our desire to consume passively marries perfectly with our desire to profit passively. Streaming provided the means. Social media delivered the exposure—the doom scroll was the final nail in the coffin.

To thrive in the attention economy is to strike a Faustian bargain, trading substance for engagement metrics and kneeling before the inferno of Subway Surfer clips and soap–cutting videos. The latter half of the 2010s only fanned the flames as we saw a rise in platforms that prioritized user engagement above all else, which in turn motivated a rise in competition—not to produce the best music, but to capture consumer attention. And some might rejoice at the tradeoff: surely filming reel after reel is preferable

(and more affordable) when the alternative is producing a $25,000 YouTube video. Others will cite short–form content as democratized promo—a tool for artist discovery and collaboration. This “advantage” is, in reality, a double–edged sword. On one hand, smaller artists are able to build a fanbase independently, with no need for a label. But underwhelming royalty payouts, combined with the massive influx of creators, means that true talent can still be lost in a sea of Spotify’s other 11 million music makers (and we can’t all be artists). Most “positives” gleaned from short–form music marketing are already dystopian in theory, but the consequences are even more dire when it comes to music form.

The digitization of music pushed the industry to prioritize streams above all else. The social–mediafication of mu -

sic is just a quicker way of getting there. Views rise, streams multiply, and industry giants catch on. Many artists have recognized the trend of casual listening amongst users and amended their production strategy to churn out quick singles—they’re easy to listen to, and therefore conducive to chart success. Voila, the medium dictates the means.

Beyonce knew this in 2013, making the poignant observation, “People don’t make albums anymore. … People don’t even listen to a body of work anymore.”

Singles have grown exponentially in popularity since the 2010s, and now the songs themselves are getting shorter—it's just the hook and bridge that many artists are gunning for. Cohesive works like albums, which were once the standard for artists to express complex themes, are being replaced by songs tailored for plat -

forms like TikTok, recognizable by chorus alone, failing to grasp that not every song is meant to go viral. Not every song is meant to lodge itself in the brain like a jingle, only to be cycled out by the next hit.

Ultimately, a culture of disposable media consumption leads to disposable music consumption. We can only cycle through so many seven–second clips before a four–minute ballad seems impossible. Gone is the slow burn of a concept album, the way it can pull you in, track by track, weaving a theme that rewards patience and reflection. Instead, music is chopped up, fashioned for the quick fix, designed to hit, stick, and vanish. As long as momentary popularity is preferred to lasting artistic impact, we forfeit the emotional, immersive experience that music once offered. k

Off of Pinterest, Into Print

J.Crew's catalogue is your newest way to escape the doomscroll.

BY ZAARA SHAFI

Photo by Janine Navalta

‘The Apprentice’ Isn’t What You Expect

From biopics to fictionalized political dramas, the ethics of politics–as–entertainment are murky waters—and this Trump picture’s politics are far from clear.

BY ISAAC POLLOCK

Illustration by Kate Ahn

We’re living in a serial killer biopic renaissance. The ethics of true crime are always a hot–button topic online, and debates reign eternally on the ethics of having a hot guy play a serial killer.

There’s a similar argument to be made for politicians. Casting Sebastian Stan as Donald Trump in The Apprentice , directed by Ali Abbasi and released on Oct. 11, is a choice that capitalizes on Stan’s star power and fanbase; It’ll certainly get more eyeballs on it from more than the political wonk crowd. The same goes, of course, for the casting of actors like Robert Redford in All The President’s Men . I’m sure Dennis Quaid wants it to be true about himself in Reagan .

The most recent of these is The Apprentice , a movie that follows Donald Trump’s rise to … well, it doesn’t really say. The Apprentice is a movie that wants to be about Donald Trump the man, avoiding at all costs, Donald Trump the politician. While watching, one can’t help but be mystified at best about the missing pieces in the story.

If nothing else, The Apprentice is fantastically acted. Sebastian Stan plays against his type as a hot guy, as an unhot guy in this film. But the performance of the movie is Jeremy Strong’s glass–clos -

eted Roy Cohn, whose mannerisms are skin crawling, and whose steady deterioration is equal parts difficult and satisfying to watch play out. The two are electric on screen together, immensely watchable and compellingly, convolutedly involved, eternally playing at a weird pseudosexual game of power and one–up–manship.

That is, of course, until you remember that the person at the center of that dynamic is Donald Trump.

It’s impossible to watch The Apprentice without feeling one way or another about its very, very overt avoidance of politicization. It feels oxymoronic for a film about a figure who is currently one of the biggest names in global politics, but this apolitical eye is at the core of The Apprentice . It’s not a story of empire or of decline; it’s just the story of a man with some daddy issues, making the lives of New Yorkers worse.

The film’s avoidance of any sort of political stance slowly corrodes the watching experience, eating slowly but steadily away at any hope of commentary, or nuance, or some sort of statement. It’s not Reagan’s self–aggrandizing Great Man story, and it’s not All The President’s Men ’s valorous depiction of hardworking journalists and unfavorable at

best (and largely offscreen) depiction of Nixon. Instead, The Apprentice lives in a bizarre world where Donald Trump can be separated from politics and his influence on it.

That jarring discomfort aches behind the teeth for a while, but jumps straight to the forefront during a scene depicting Ivana Trump’s reported—then recanted—rape accusation against her husband. It’s a moment that comes and goes without much ceremony, and while it could be read as some sort of metacommentary about the real–world bevy of sexual assault allegations leveled at Trump, it instead exists more as a plot beat—something that happens to the character of Ivana and that never gets touched on again. It’s a floating story element, and if the viewer wasn’t already aware of how hard the film goes out of its way to have an opinion on Trump’s politics and his impact on the country’s culture, they certainly are after that scene.

The thing about a film that doesn’t say much of anything is that there’s a plethora of ways that it can be interpreted— or, less charitably, a plethora of ways that people can co–opt it for their own political gain. There will be people who find moments in The Apprentice that they can use to lionize Trump; there will be people who find moments in it that they can use to call him an evil man. There will even be people whose takeaway will be that Trump was a victim of Cohn’s machinations.

The entertainment media people engage with affects the way they see the world, and the way they see the world reframes the way they engage with entertainment media. Hollywood et al. have faced pressure throughout cinema’s long history to bend to moral demands or political movements But despite all that, there’s an insistence among so many uncritical viewers of film and TV that fiction is apolitical, that art and artist are two entirely different beasts and never the twain shall meet—or that entertainment is a form

of escapism that can dance entirely outside the realm of real–world implications.

This is fair, to a certain extent. There are many a fictional murderer I enjoy, and many a fictional cheating storyline I eagerly drink up. One doesn’t take a

pro–murder or adultery stance by watching those things play out on screen; most people know that outside the four walls of the TV screen, killing people is bad. However, it’s hard to see that in the same way when we’re talking about real people. And while art is, and always

should be, up for interpretation, it feels pretty odd that a film about a present–day politician tries so hard to just be about a man. Audiences might just wonder why Abbasi wanted to make a movie about such a very big figure with so very little to say. k

A Love Letter to the Underground

Decades after the peak of rave culture, the continuing significance of the rave space is not as a means of escapism, but rather as a site of radical openness, ecological interconnection, and collective joy.

BY KAS BERNAYS

by Kate Ahn

We arrive through the woods, following the anemic light of glowsticks scattered along an unmarked trail, vaguely referring to a map we received a few hours ago. As the distant rumbling grows more intense, we begin to feel a pulse in the earth, a change in the air; all trepidation and inhibition dissipate as we are

drawn to that thudding siren song.

Others join us along the way, and tentative footsteps become a flow of bodies, directed through a channel carved by countless waves of ravers through the trees and brush. Strobes flicker like shuddering phantoms piercing through the foliage; we catch glimpses of silhouettes caught in motion. We arrive at the

clearing and the world opens. Amidst the sudden expanse of space, a few hundred people crowd around a makeshift stage, writhing in an eruption of red light, some twirling kaleidoscopic electric whips, some leaping as though gravity had loosened, some still and overcome, bathing in sound.

They are here to reenact an old ritual that

Illustration

many thought was lost to history. Since the rave culture of the 1990s became the target of state crackdowns amidst moral panic and reaction, the electronic dance music that was once distinct to these clandestine gatherings has been largely dragged indoors into licensed clubs, which have shed the rave’s purported radical orientation and utopian ethos in favor of a commercial, carnivalesque space of highly controlled, officially sanctioned excess.

What was once the sound of autonomy, of a space beyond and opposed to a crushing dominant culture, has been folded into the logic of our time, a release valve for the stresses and sensuality–starved frustration of contemporary life. Whole genres of music, like the sample–heavy, distorted, elegiac, electronic "hauntology" of the early 2000s, exemplified by the artist Burial, emerged from mourning for the decaying memory of the rave space, articulating the long comedown from that ecstatic, prelapsarian ideal. The culture of EDM, like so many countercultures before it, was hollowed out, privatized, and sold back to the generation it was stolen from, shorn of its radical edges.

Now, however, the underground seems to be reawakening. What are we to make of today’s rave renaissance? What draws people in Philadelphia to follow the hints of a cryptic flyer taped to a lamppost and wander under a crumbling bridge or through moonlit woods in search of some spark of that original light? And does any residue of the radical, communal project of the rave remain in today’s unofficial dance parties?

One attendee, who gave his name as "Thirteen," succinctly summarized the drive which had brought them into the woods that night: “to reach altered states.” While we might narrowly interpret this to refer to substance–induced insights, Thirteen seemed more enamored of the other features of the space.

Unlike in a cramped basement, everyone in the clearing chose closeness. The physical proximity of body to body, Thirteen pointed out, was an active decision rather than a necessity. His enthusiasm also was derived from the rave’s autonomy from the profitable, alcohol–fueled logic of nightclubs: Everyone from the organizers to the participants was invested in the creation of a shared experience—the

event did not exist to line the pockets of some distant landlord.

Thirteen had just moved to Philly from a smaller city in the South, and spoke to the spirit of adventure they had already found here: “There’s a friendliness, and also there’s like, a 'fuck around and find out' … when you're willing to look around and risk it and come out here and rave in the park, I don't know, then you can have great rewards. There's a whole world.”

Keagan, one of Thirteen’s friends who had earlier made the same move from their shared hometown, spoke to the dissolution of some of the social barriers they had experienced. The rave space has always been one in which some of the ordinary structures and barriers of individual identity are temporality shed, and Keagan suggested that in the context of the

The culture of

EDM– like so many countercultures before it– was hollowed out, privatized, and sold back to the generation.

rave, the sudden openness attendees experience had allowed him to interact with people from a much wider array of backgrounds than had been possible before.

Although many of the people I talked to had an extensive knowledge of EDM, Adam deemphasized the significance of the music itself compared to the heightened possibilities of social connection. “I can dance to almost anything as long as other people are having a good time.” A self–described “introvert,” they suggested that the smooth, accessible sociality of the rave space afforded them possibilities of interaction that they normally found challenging.

Another raver, Lex, was emphatic about the significance of these spontaneous, ephemeral connections—and the fact that you can strike

up a conversation with a stranger, “be best friends for the whole night, and never see them again.” What Lex spoke to was the possibility of immediate, momentary, instinctual relationships of trust and care, an inversion of our suspicion of other people, achieved through a sense of common purpose: “Everyone’s here for the same reason. They came to listen to the music.”

It has become typical among some to paint these events as a kind of cheap escapism that, in its catharsis, serves as an easier alternative to challenging any of the repressive social structures that bear upon the participants’ lives. But, as the London critic Charlie Mills argues in "Rave as Ecology: Plugging In" in Berfrois magazine, the experience of the rave reveals it as not a site of escape but rather the realization of a “drive to be accessed by reality.”

The sociality that my interviewees rhapsodized about is one part of a more profound kind of openness. Following Mills’ analysis, we can understand the rave space as a complex ecology of interconnections which generate a potent, tangible collectivity. This description speaks to the psychedelic dimension of rave, which is not just a feature of the ego–dissolving drugs people take but woven into the entire sensory and experiential fabric of the space.

I feel it in the palpable tactility with which the oscillation of the speaker connects with my raised hand, in the way my body moves to complement the motion of others without my conscious mediation, in the way we each instinctively rise to express the ripples that run across the crowd and batter us out of ourselves.

As Mills suggests, the narrative–less repetition of the music creates a sense of timelessness that any raver will attest to, as they are carried through a succession of singular, unlinearized events with the cyclicality of a perpetual crescendo. What we are allowed to tap into is a pleasure that accesses and reaches beyond our own suffocating personhood, and which, beneath the open sky, seems to build ever upward, in moments of continual becoming.

The rave is not a purging of frustrations, but a practice of absolute connection that we leave still radiant in the afterglow, still grasping at a unity that we already know we will struggle to explain, still gasping for that breath of air we found in the twilight. k

What's the Deal with Movie Musicals?

The current formula for Broadway adaptations may be missing the spectacle and magic of live theater.

BY JACKSON ZUERCHER

Graphic by Insia Haque

Everyone hates movie musicals, right?

Well, this list of critically acclaimed musicals that have won big at the Oscars—think Chicago, or The Sound of Music, or even La La Land, which lost Best Picture but still took home half a dozen Academy Awards—seems to tell a different story.

So, of course, musicals are not inherently worse than other films, or even inherently disliked by the mainstream. But movie musicals in the past decade—at least, the ones that haven’t been successfully converted into proshots—have been struggling significantly to reach this same historical level of audience and critical acclaim. Is the genre dying off, or is there a tangible solution to save it?

The desire to turn musicals into movies is an understandable one. Broadway is inaccessible, especially to the young artists who, while they live in New York and dream of making it onto the big stage, can’t afford the luxurious tickets to the heart of their own industry. Adapting these musicals for the screen makes a lot of sense, then: They’re easier to churn out when screenwriters are working from a play script; producers can hike up box office numbers with big–time Hollywood names; and fans of the Broadway show, who before would only have had access to the album or grainy bootlegs, are able to pay less than 20 bucks to go see the movie with their friends.

In theory, this formula is fantastic, but it clearly has not been working in practice. The

producers of these adaptations often don’t understand the soul of the show they’re translating to the big screen, nor what they should adjust so that the story can thrive within a cinematic context.

It’s important to note that musicals that were written for the screen don’t face as much public vitriol. Examples here include the majority of animated Disney content, the theater kid’s understated darling that is tick, tick… BOOM!, and, once again, Damian Chazelle’s La La Land. A director like Chazelle ultimately understands how to enclose crucial elements of the genre—the sweeping musical numbers, the intricate interaction of camera movement and choreography, and the suspension of disbelief where dialogue becomes lyrics—inside of a film, and that is what separates an original movie musical from a lazy adaptation.

Because I’ll tell you a secret: A good movie musical can melt the heart of even the most jaded film bro. A good musical is pure campy joy, set in a world where everything is just a little more whimsical and bright simply because people break into song at a moment’s notice. (Besides, it’s hard to take a film connoisseur seriously if they express a strong disdain for musical theater. Cinema is theater, it just happens to be better funded.)

Three recent musicals stand out as examples of failed attempts at movie adaptations of musicals. The Prom tells the story of a lesbian teenager in Indiana who gains atten-

tion from a troupe of washed up Broadway actors when she’s prohibited by her school from taking her girlfriend to the prom. The film had a brief theatrical run in 2020 before heading straiwght to Netflix streaming. With musical–comedy powerhouse Ryan Murphy at the helm, it was disappointing that the film felt muted, lackluster, and morally hypocritical. The mocking, disingenuous performances of beloved characters felt like an annoying slap in the face to LGBTQ viewers and distorted the original show’s strong message of acceptance and humility. The Prom left critics and fans alike wishing that the creative team had prioritized preserving the authentic soul of the original … and begging casting directors across Los Angeles to delete James Corden from their contact lists.

Dear Evan Hansen is about an anxious teenager who, under false pretenses, becomes close to the family of a former classmate who has recently died by suicide. The film adaptation, directed by Stephen Chbosky, premiered in theaters in 2021, and the unpopular, nepotistic choice of casting Ben Platt as the title character instantly raised eyebrows.

Platt’s stage performance should have stayed separately immortalized, because up close and personal with the camera, the 27 year old was jarringly out of place in a high school setting. By not choosing a younger actor, Chbosky faced an uphill battle against delicately portraying the complicated beats of the story itself, which, borderline glorification of suicide entirely aside, relies heavily on Evan’s childish naivety and sympathetic relatability to ultimately redeem his months of lying and deception. The story in Dear Evan Hansen is less theatrical spectacle and more dark emotion, and therefore could have done very well as a film, but ended up as a cautionary tale about poor creative judgment.

The third recent musical adaptation is, of course, the impossible–to–escape 2024 winter phenomenon that was Mean Girls, which, if you live under a rock, is a classic teen comedy about a formerly homeschooled girl who falls in with the most popular crowd in her new high school. The confusing promotion leading up to the release banked on accruing nostalgia for Tina Fey’s 2004 flick, while being intentionally vague about the film’s mu-

sical content. Fans of the show felt like everything other than Renee Rapp’s reprise of her Regina George role was a pale imitation of the show’s ridiculously endearing Broadway glory, and everyone else landed somewhere on the spectrum of confused to annoyed when characters started singing out of nowhere.

The pattern is clear. Beloved musicals end up hurtling down the well–trodden path of film adaptation, where the teams behind them blow money on marketing, tarnish the reputation of the show, and anger both fans of the original and the greater mainstream audience as a whole.

So, what to do? While it’s not impossible to adapt a musical well (for example, I, among others, find myself cautiously optimistic about the upcoming Wicked movie), the future of this genre seems to lie in proshots.

A proshot is a professional and multicameral production of a live performance, which can then be distributed online or sold to a streaming service. This is what happened when Disney+ bought Hamilton in 2020. There was no concern of the Hamilton proshot relinquishing any of the magic of the

original show, because it displays a higher–quality, more easily accessible version of exactly what one would see in the theater, despite not actually being there. The success of Hamilton has inspired a slew of other proshots of beloved musicals, including Waitress and Kinky Boots. Proshots have no obligation to adjust the original Broadway cast in regard to age, willingness, or optics, and, while not cheap to produce, are overall far less of a financial undertaking than films. This will only become more true the more creative resources are allocated away from movie adaptations and into this community–endorsed, authentically theatrical proshot world.

One theater blogger astutely states, “For anyone who grew up watching proshots, we know they can’t limit the audience theater has. They expand it.” When stage musicals are locked up in a kitschy New York sphere, theater fans have to seek the content out on their own. But the emergence of widespread proshots might be able to make new musical–theater lovers out of former movie musical haters … and they won’t need a buzzy CGI trailer or an A–list celebrity cast to do it.k