November 30, 2021

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

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR 4 Quaker Girls Off The Sidelines

9 Student Filmmaker Eli Ricanti

12 Navigating Student Intervention Services

18 On Digital Blackface

20 The Meaning Behind Your Canada Goose

34TH STREET EXECUTIVE BOARD Beatrice Forman, Editor–in–Chief: forman@34st.com Chelsey Zhu, Campus Editor: zhu@34st.com Mehek Boparai, Culture Editor: boparai@34st.com Karin Hananel, Assignments Editor: hananel@34st.com 34TH STREET EDITORS Eva Ingber, Features Editor Angela Shen, Features Editor Julia Esposito, Word on the Street Editor Aakruti Ganeshan, Focus Editor Emily White, Focus Editor Hannah Lonser, Style Editor Maddie Muldoon, Ego Editor Peyton Toups, Music Editor Walden Green, Arts Editor Arielle Stanger, Film & TV Editor Denali Sagner, Special Issues Editor Jesse Zhang, Multimedia Editor Kira Wang, Audience Engagement Editor 2

L

On Street—and not much else.

ast week, I passed the torch. After approximately 20 hours of dogged deliberations in a windowless room and many lukewarm Zestos pizza slices, The Daily Pennsylvanian elected this tiny but mighty magazine’s next crop of leaders—and a whole bunch of other people, too. And while I’m sure I’ll wax poetic about the changes this next board has in store in letters and Tweets to come, I want to take a moment to get the anxiety of change out of my system. For the last three years and a half years, this magazine has been the center of my identity. It’s how I relate to this university and often the prism through which I like myself. To quote the letter of intent I wrote when I ran for this very position: “My college career is defined in proximity to Street, in articles written and sections started, in production nights and Stroffice meltdowns.” For better or worse, Street has been a stand–in for so many things. As lunches spent with friends dwindled, interviews began to pile on, and I’d spend hours having winding conversations with special effects makeup artists, campus rappers, and budding influencers. And when I didn’t quite measure up to academic standards I’d set for myself, I had an easy excuse: I am a journalist. I put out a 24–page magazine each week, and I do it on time. I am responsible for ensuring a staff of 78 reporters, photographers, and social media associates love journalism and this campus, even on the days when I have a chilly–at–best relationship with both. TL;DR: Street became—and still is—an excuse and replacement for the things I lack. I don’t have good friends, but I have Street. I don’t have the ability to form non–anxious relationships, but I have Street. I don’t have time to take care of myself or a good sleep schedule or any meaningful hobbies, but I have Street. Until I won’t. I’m not really sure what comes next. Applying for jobs, obviously, and maybe a really long nap. But beyond that, I’m 34TH STREET STAFF Features Staff Writers: Sejal Sangani, Angela Shen, Mira Sydow, Amy Xiang, Meg Gladieux, Emilee Gu, Tara Anand, Avalon Hinchman Focus Beat Writers: Rema Bhat, Jean Paik, Gabrielle Galchen, Naima Small, Leandra Archibald Style Beat Writers: Kira Wang, W. Anthony Perez, Anna Hochman, Rachel Ker, Joanna Shan Music Beat Writers: Evan Qiang, Fernanda Brizuela, Derek Wong, Grayson Catlett, Treasure Brown Arts Beat Writers: Jessa Glassman, Roger Ge, Irma Kiss Barath Film & TV Beat Writers: Harshita Gupta, Jacob A. Pollack, Sneha Parthasarathy, Heather Shieh, Cindy Zhang Ego Beat Writers: Anjali Kishore, Alana Bess, Saya Desai, Sheil Desai Staff Writers: Kathryn Xu, Emily Moon, John Nycz, Kate Ratner, Kayla Cotter, Mame Balde, Shelby Abayie, Vidur Saigal

34TH STREET MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 30, 2021

unsure who post–Street Beatrice is supposed to be or if I’m going to like her. I don’t know what her place at Penn is or if she’ll be one of those people who likes walking down Locust, face upward and always making small talk. I don’t know anything about her, and maybe that’s the scariest thing of all: I spent all this time figuring out how to define this magazine that I spent no time defining myself. A person can’t be made of things they aren’t or things they used to be. And if there’s one lesson this place has taught me, it’s that all identities exist in the affirmative. I hope mine reveals itself soon. But in the meantime, any hobby recommendations?

Illustration by Isabel Liang SSSF,

Bea

Multimedia Associates: Dhivya Arasappan, Sage Levine, Sophie Huang, Samantha Turner, Sudeep Bhargava, Sukhmani Kaur, Roger Ge, Andrew Yang, Mason Dao, Sheil Desai, Derek Wong, Evie Eisenstein, Andrea Barajas, Rachel Zhang, Sofika Janak, Sneha Parthasarathy Audience Engagement Associates: Sneha Parthasarathy, Adrien Wilson–Thompson, Kayla Cotter, Vidur Saigal, Heather Shieh, Caleb Crain, Saya Desai MULTIMEDIA Multimedia Associates: Dhivya Arasappan, Sage Levine, Sophie Dai, Sophie Huang, Samantha Turner, Sudeep Bhargava, Liwa Sun, Sukhmani Kaur, Alexandra Morgan–Lindo Audience Engagement Associates: Yamila Frej, Saya Desai, Sneha Parthasarathy, Adrien Wilson-Thompson, Kayla Cotter, Vidur Saigal, Heather Shieh, Caleb Crain

Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Isabel Liang Cover Design by Rebekah Lee Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Bea Forman, Editor-In-Chief, at forman@34stcom. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com ©2021 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved. 34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Tuesday. to the 138!


WORD ON THE STREET

Searching for

School Spirit My journey to connect with Penn's community | JOHN NYCZ

Illustration by Tyler Kliem

A

s a sophomore, coming back to campus this fall after one semester of on–campus lockdown introduced me to a Penn I had never seen before. As I walked down Locust and saw fliers for comedy show performances, debates, and recitals, it felt like I was experiencing college for the first time. What I was really looking forward to came at the end of September—the start of football season. Coming from a small high school with no football program, I was excited to finally be able to experience the buzz under the Saturday night lights. I'd never really

"

BUT AFTER I ATTENDED MY FIRST COLLEGE FOOTBALL GAME, ONE THING BECAME OBVIOUS: PENN HAS A SERIOUS LACK OF SCHOOL SPIRIT.

felt like my high school had a real sense of community, so I couldn't wait come to Penn and support my own school’s football team alongside my peers. But after I attended my first college football game, one thing became obvious: Penn has a serious lack of school spirit. Walking into Franklin Field for the first time, I was greeted by rows and rows of barren bleachers. After finding my place in the stands, I was surprised to see that all the students there were sitting. The spectator stands could be best described as unenthused—a huge contrast to the bustling, lively atmosphere I had hoped for. Most people didn’t even know when to

throw the toast during the school song. Although I knew that Penn’s football culture was no rival to that of Penn State’s, I was still struck by the severe lack of community at the game. I returned to the field to celebrate Sophomore Day, hoping that the white–out theme would bolster game day spirit. It couldn’t have been worse than last week, right? I was wrong. Looking around the stands (which were even emptier than last time), I barely saw anyone following the theme. Some students even came to the game just to grab their free merch and leave. A lack of school spirit could be expected after a year and a half of virtual learning; it's also understandably hard for some students to feel passionate about Penn after the mishandling of the pandemic last year. For me, last semester was a time of stress and isolation with no help from Penn; now, I find it difficult to celebrate a school that has caused me so much distress. Still, Penn doesn’t seem to be doing anything to reignite enthusiasm. While many students find community through social clubs such as consulting clubs, cultural organizations, and Greek life, there is very little that unites us all beyond attending the same school. When I walk into Franklin Field, I’m still searching for that sense of belonging that I missed out on during my time in high school. Establishing a real football culture at Penn could be the opportunity students are looking for to come together as a community. In my experience, schools that have the most school spirit are typically the ones with the biggest football culture. Having something like that for Penn’s students and faculty to unite behind could serve as a surefire way to bolster camaraderie. Although we are a long way away from any sort of cultural shift in regard to football, a good step in the right direction would be to throw our toast as “a toast to dear old Penn.”

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EGO

SAM KAUFMANN HOMETOWN: Bethlehem, Pa. MAJOR:

Biology

ACTIVITES:

Perry World House, Social Deduction Club (SDC), geoengineering research

Meet the senior who spends his free time tackling environmental issues and playing Friday night Mafia games.. | ALANA BESS 34th STREET: Can you tell us about your involvement in the environmental field? SAM KAUFMANN: I’m interested in trying to present information to policymakers, and in building that information base— thinking about how the world is going to be very different from how it is today. One of the things that was always a given to me was the whole rapid decarbonization thing. You know, the “revolutionary, rapid, everything goes green all at once”—it'll never happen. I'm interested in geoengineering because geoengineering is basically “break glass in case of emergency,” and, well, there's an emergency. I was also one of many, many people who get pressured by their parents to go to medical school or something similar. The way to break out of that, I have learned, is to come up with an alternative and get them to buy into it. You put in the work to actually establish some kind of career path that isn't that, and then you rope–a–dope them while they're on your butt about it. I saw a Wharton Risk Center call for essay submissions, and I wrote an essay about geoengineering. It won this little contest they had, 4

and I was like, “Oh, that's cool.” I was lucky to have a gap year over COVID–19 to develop my interest in environmental stuff. Now two years later, I've gotten involved in research and learned to be a geospatial software guy a little bit. You know those New York Times

is what " This motivates

me around environmental policy. I just want to help people communicate information and help the world understand and really prepare.

maps that have cool visualizations? There's a GIS [geographic information system] guy behind every one of those, so I learned to use that kind of mapping software. It took a long time to develop this from, “I know that we're

34TH STREET MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 30, 2021

going to be in a very, very climate– changed future, and I wish I could do something about it,” to, “Here are some topics within that that I could maybe help work on and understand,” to, “Here are some transferable skills that will get me jobs right in that field.” STREET: Geoengineering is such a niche area that most people probably didn’t even know existed. SK: Yeah, I'm a very liberal arts, jack of all trades person, so that has led me to do extremely niche things. I think a lot of the issue with the climate field—and the reason that we can't really admit to ourselves that we're on the medium emissions pathway and that we should plan accordingly—is because the science people know the science, and therefore they conclude, “Well, I guess we've just got to reduce carbon emissions really fast.” The social sciences people say, “There's no way that that's going to happen.” But they don't spend too much time really focusing on the details of the science. Having had the fortune to do both, I'm like, “Okay, let's take this fucking seriously. This is what we’re actually dealing with.” I'm not a revolutionary, but can we

admit the basic facts from all these fields? This is what motivates me around environmental policy. I just want to help people communicate information and help the world understand and really prepare. STREET: So more specifically, what do you do within geoengineering? SK: My research has not focused mainly on geoengineering. The geoengineering field is miserably small compared to the size of the problem. No one can make money off of geoengineering, and no one is quite ready to accept that we're going to need some kind of geoengineering. Geoengineering means like ten different harebrained strategies for how to modify the Earth's climate. It's going to turn out that like four of them will work if we do them right. It's not that I'm wedded to any particular strategy, whether it's sulfate aerosols or cloud seeding—it's just that it's an approach to be willing to take that step. I started my climate research by doing a report for Michael Weisberg at Perry World House through something that he called the "Perry World House Geoengineering Project," which basically [consisted


EGO

of ] briefing him and some collaborators on the actual state of the hard science on geoengineering. That report’s not published, and for now it's sort of dormant research. What I have been doing is a climate security mapping project. Within Perry World House, Anna Cabre, a former postdoc with Irina Marinov in the Earth and Environmental Science Department, and I have learned how to use GIS software from scratch and then collected every conceivable data set that

don’t " People like you for the

things that you do for them; they like you for the things that they do for you.

could be relevant to climate change. We don't have enough, but it's also a giant freaking amount. We crossed lightly processed data sets from effects on agriculture to social vulnerability to currently existing conflicts. Right now, we have it all on the cloud, and we're trying to build a website so that policymakers can see some very basic visualization of how these factors might interact. Hopefully there will be a prototype of that website by the time I graduate and/or more funding for it. STREET: Switching gears, tell us about Social Deduction Club. SK: At Social Deduction Club, I'm “OG Sam.” The reason I'm OG Sam is because there are numerous Sams at Social Deduction Club, and I'm very proud of the nickname because I think I'm the only remaining founding member. I was in the founding group of people who showed up at the first meetings. I’ve been an active member throughout. Social Deduction Club plays Mafia on Friday nights. The crowd of people you get is the sort of person

who would want to play Mafia on a Friday night, which basically means all the social people who don't really party that much, which is definitely an interesting demographic. It's shockingly wholesome for a club that is devoted to everyone lying and murdering each other. Also, I would say that their Nerf wars in Skirkanich Hall are the most fun activity on campus hands down. They also do secret events. I'd tell you what that is, but then I'd have to kill you. It's just a really successful, semi–underground club. The average attendance for a meeting is 35 people coming in and out throughout the night. STREET: Tell us about your Shabbat dinner tradition. SK: I quickly figured out through my interactions with others and experiences with Riepe Pasta Nights that good food makes people build relationships. It makes people put down their phones and their stress and live in the moment with the human beings around them. It's shockingly consistent. It works on everyone. I made friends with Xander Gottfried (C '21), who knew how to cook really well. We started hosting meals. We found funding from dorms and Hillel. It's been a defining part of my college experience. It's made my little place a sort of social hub. There’s no student group associated with it, and it's not any particular clique. It's maybe theater–adjacent, fairly SDC–adjacent, and pretty Jewish, but not very Hillel. I always make sure there's a rotating cast of characters who are getting invited. The social dynamic is always shifting—it's a skill I've built. What I've gotten out of it is I've built so many more relationships, and I've also become much better at dealing with people as a person. That was really one of the defining struggles of my childhood, and hosting Shabbat dinners taught me how to be a person who has good relationships by giving. That said, people don't like you for the things that you do for them; they like you

for the things that they do for you. That's a psych hack. So I get people to help me cook. I honestly couldn't cook all this food if I didn't. I get so much free labor from random people. STREET: What’s your most meaningful experience at Penn? SK: I wrote a Haggadah [text recited at the Passover Seder] that condensed my own feelings about Judaism and my own take on my religion. Passover is really important to me. I’m a capitalist, but also a critic of capitalism, and Passover is a very socialist holiday. Because I host people, of course I'm going to be hosting Passover, and I'm going to have this crew of people who are partially Jewish and partially non– Jewish. I'm a traditionalist regarding Passover, but I also wanted it to be

accessible to non–Jews. I felt like a Haggadah that was supposed to be very accessible might not be as classic and nitty–gritty regarding the biblical story. So I wrote one and did a little bit of cute graphic design with it. I wrote it, and I hosted a Passover Seder. Of course the food was super fancy because Xander designed the menu. STREET: What’s next for you after Penn? SK: Short term, I want to work in GIS and become a better GIS technician. Long term, I want to terraform this planet one way or another. This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND STREET: Last song you listened to? SK: A cover of "Grace Kelly" by Pomplamoose because I have terrible taste in music. STREET: Last thing you cooked? SK: Homemade spiced applesauce. STREET: If you were building on campus, which would you be and why? SK: I'd be one of the food trucks, more specifically Magic Carpet, because I feed people. STREET: What’s your death row meal? SK: Smoked salmon sandwiches with the bread and salmon from scratch. Cooked with Xander. STREET: There are two types of people at Penn ... SK: Those who think that their life would be easier if they had sold their soul to capitalism and those who have done it and found out that their soul was cheap. STREET: And you are … SK: Which do you think?

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The Quaker Girls Keep the Spirit Alive at Penn Sports Games

EGO

Courtesy of Melina Muthuswamy

This dance team tears up the turf at Franklin Field and heats up the hardwood at the Palestra. | ANJALI KISHORE

T

he sun has set on Penn football’s 2021 season. With our team's last game behind us, we have to bid adieu to the electrifying highs (like the Halloweekend romping of Brown) and demoralizing lows (like us handing Cornell their first Ivy League win of the season on Homecoming weekend) that have kept us on our toes throughout the fall. Now we're trading in Franklin Field’s soaring arches for the statuesque Palestra as the student body transitions to basketball. Things are sure to look different for Quaker sports this winter season, but one thing will stay the same: the Quaker Girls’ performance at every game. The dance group has been putting on a student–choreographed show chock–full of sequins, pom poms, and high kicks for fans all year, lighting up the third–quarter break of Quaker football games. Luckily for fans, they’ve got plenty of energy left for basketball season at the Palestra, the Quaker Girls’ original stomping ground. Since the group’s founding in 2005, the Quaker Girls have performed during halftime at men’s and women’s basketball games. The dancers also put on a 30–minute performance at a Philadelphia 76ers game each year, which captain Melina Muthuswamy (E '22) says is one 6

of the most exciting parts of leading the group. “It’s super fun when it’s really packed, with a big audience," she says. "Everyone’s family and friends come, and it’s always a really great experience.” But what initially drew Melina to Quaker Girls wasn’t the flashy performances or peppy routines. The New Jersey native wanted to join for the community, which includes students from all four schools and many different backgrounds, all united by their love for dance. “I heard about the Quaker Girls and was very interested in joining my [first] year, and by joining the team, I was definitely able to make a lot of friends who I otherwise wouldn’t have met,” Melina says. “My co– captain and I would never have known each other without Quaker Girls, and now we’re really close. Every week, we see each other for at least four hours, and I’m really grateful for it.” Sophomore Tiffany Acosta (N '24) echoes this sentiment. For her, coming to Penn during the unconventional COVID–19 year heightened the typical first–year disorientation. “The older girls have been really good at introducing the sophomores [to the group] because we had a very different [first–year] experience and didn’t come in knowing everything that normal sophomores would

34TH STREET MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 30, 2021

have," she says. "They’ve been really good at helping us navigate not only Quaker Girls, but school and life in general.” Part of what’s so fun about Quaker Girls for Tiffany is being able to pass along the favor. “It’s been really cute with the [first years], like having a little sister. They look to us for advice, and it’s nice to know that they feel like they’ve established that trust from being on the team.” As a lifelong member of a competitive dance team, staying involved in the discipline was important to Tiffany upon coming to Penn. But being on the team isn't just about keeping in touch with the familiar; it's also about expanding her experience with dance. “I’m glad that I found a team where I could continue doing what I love but also know that I’m growing,” she explains. “It’s not a sport like soccer or baseball or football, but it’s a team in itself and a lot of it is about learning from others.” And learn they do: Since they began performing at football games in 2019, the Quaker Girls have consistently learned a new 45–second–to–one–minute–long dance every two weeks. The longer performance season has been equal parts challenging and exciting for Melina, who has experienced both iterations of the Quaker Girls.

“Because of the football season starting earlier, we’ve had to learn dances a lot faster,” she says. “It’s also given us the opportunity to learn a lot more dances and allow more of our team members to show off all the different things that we can do. It’s been a challenge, but it’s been really fun.” In many ways, the Quaker Girls’ experience is representative of Penn students as whole: working to keep up with a fast–paced schedule but loving every minute of it. Members' strenuous practice schedules, choreography, and meticulous coordination with Penn Athletics and outside organizations result in a dazzling performance at every game, encapsulating the work hard, play hard energy that people love about the University. What’s more, uniting with people of all backgrounds over a common passion is a hallmark of the college experience. So maybe it’s an appreciation for Penn that gets the crowd on its feet when the Quaker Girls take the floor, or maybe it’s just a good old– fashioned love of pom poms and music. Either way, the show is not to be missed. See the Quaker Girls at the Palestra at 7 p.m. on Nov. 30 during the Penn women’s basketball game against La Salle University, and catch a glimpse of the magic for yourself.


MUSIC

Why You Hear

'All I Want For Christmas Is You' Weeks Before Dec. 25 November and December are now officially “Mariah Carey Season.” | DEREK WONG

L

et me set the scene: It’s a November morning, and after a candy high, you get out of bed and head towards class. You stop by a coffee shop, in need of caffeine, and patiently wait in line for a peppermint mocha latte when you hear the speaker playing that oh–so–familiar song, with its diva vocals, jingling instrumental, and never–ending sense of Christmas joy. Unsurprisingly, the song at hand is the Christmas standard, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” by Mariah Carey. Released in 1994, this classic is younger than many of its Christmas contemporaries like “Jingle Bell Rock” or “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree,” but still older than newer jingles “Santa Tell Me” and “Underneath The Tree.” Yet “All I Want For Christmas” transcends all, and is not only the best–selling Christmas song by a female artist, but also one of the best–selling songs of all time—with 16 million copies. Despite the omnipotence of the song today, one might find it surprising that the idea of Carey doing a Christmas album, much less a Christmas song, was met with hesitance and even fear. The pop diva herself actually didn’t want to record a Christmas record, and Walter Afanasieff, the song’s co–writer, was afraid that it would prematurely end

the singer’s career given that few contemporaries recorded Christmas albums. Plus, Carey had just ridden off the success wave from her last album Music Box, her best–selling album to date, so her next move had to be a strategic one to continue the trajectory of her career. Perhaps it was because of her star power that the song was met with critical acclaim and success upon release. Described as “everything you would expect from a Mariah Carey record” in a 1994 review from Music Week, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” peaked at No. 6 on the Billboard Hot Adult Contemporary Chart in the Christmas of the same year—signifying that the song resonated with the general public. Yet the same review comments: “The industry may give it only grudging respect...” The song was, indeed, ineligible to chart on the Billboard Hot 100, the industry–standard, as it was not released in a physical CD format. Through some rules changes with the Billboard charts, it seems that the song is getting bigger every year. First comes its official chart debut in 2000 at No. 83 following the removal of the “physical singles” rule. Then comes Billboard allowing recurrent songs, or previously departed entries, to re–enter the chart if it places above position 50. “All I Want For Christ-

by tion a r t s Illu

mas Is You” landed at a comfortable No. 29 and reached a new peak of No. 21 in 2013. ​​With a little help from Carey herself, the song reached higher peaks every subsequent year and charted earlier and earlier in the holiday season. In 2018, Carey broke the record for single–day Spotify streams with 10.82 million, proving that the song adapted to the modern market. And finally, in 2019, “All I Want For Christmas Is You” was Carey’s 19th No. 1 single, a crowning achievement for an artist this far in her career. After nearly three decades of industry side–eye, the charts finally caught up to the Christmas staple. At the end of the day, however, the staying power of the song is unprecedented. A simple song about wanting someone else for Christmas isn’t unique per se, and the lyrics aren’t Shakespearean. But the universality of the track, the idea that all Carey wants for Christmas is you, the audience, may be the reason why the song is so popular. When at times our world can be so financially driven, maybe we all could learn a little from the Christmas queen herself: “Don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.” She is appealing to the canonical function of Christmas: spending time with the people you love. Carey sings with

im Kr y Am

m

sincerity, joy, exhilaration, and “a hint of longing,” effectively tapping into our emotions during the holiday season. Maybe it’s the desire to feel this joy from the holiday season that leads us to keep hearing the song earlier and earlier, especially given the rise of political and social conflicts we’ve seen in the past few years. Ten years ago it was hard to imagine hearing this song in November, but today, as soon as the Thanksgiving decor comes down, Carey comes out of her yearly hibernation to bring us into several weeks worth of festive joy, away from all the troubles of the previous months. The pop icon herself has poked fun at the idea over the last two years, when on Nov. 1, Carey casts away Halloween and announces “It’s time!” for Christmas joy in festive Instagram videos. Not only has Carey adopted the prestigious role of Christmas queen, but she is fully aware of the positive impact this simple holiday song has and the lives it touches year after year. Carey and co., in a bit of a marketing genius, continue to promote the song annually through memes, merch, and holiday specials—only making the song more omnipresent during the winter months. So this holiday season, when this song comes on during a holiday party, on the radio, or in a random store, don’t be afraid to sing along—even if it’s still November.

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MUSIC

The War on Drugs Reveres The Rock of Old on

I Don't Live Here Anymore

The Philly band’s fifth album is an anthemic tribute to past icons. | GRAYSON CATLETT

M

ost artists might not be compelled to change their approach to music right after earning a Grammy. Adam Granduciel, the frontman of the band The War on Drugs, didn’t follow this notion—opting to depart sonically from the band’s last project, the award–winning A Deeper Understanding. Instead of moving their style forward into new territory, however, he decided to scale it back, shedding modern and neo–psychedelic elements and further embracing the sounds of heartland rock. While the aged genre has always been on the periphery of the group’s direction, it comes into clear view on I Don’t Live Here Anymore. The result is an album that, despite its cold and snowy cover, is warm and uplifting. Granduciel makes his influences clear right at the album's outset. His vocals channel Bob Dylan over somber pianos and guitars in the opening track “Living Proof,” while the peppy single “Change” sees him veer closer to Tom Petty or Bruce Springsteen. The nocturnal “I Don’t Wanna Wait” calls back to Phil Collins' “In the Air Tonight.” New–wave music seeps through the synths and drum beats all throughout the album. While a bit derivative at times, the sound is a stunning recreation of 8

the rock music that blasted in the radios of old Thunderbirds and pickup trucks in the '70s and '80s— a fantastic exercise in nostalgia. Granduciel’s writing, while perfectly encapsulating the album’s universe, is full of folksy clichés. He portrays the stone–faced nomad telling his lover a story of his days trudging through unrecognizable lands with only his instruments. “I went down to the corner / They're building at my block / Maybe I've been gone too long / I can’t go back,” he laments on the opener, setting the lyrical tone for the rest of the album. He’s in a constant state of motion from song to song, each one a destination that he inhabits for only minutes before moving on again. The idea of change permea tes Granduciel’s musings. In a world that is altering more and more, he feels the need to change, too, which leads him to pick up his stuff and move. All the while, he admits that he doesn’t want to leave, only doing so because he saw it as necessary. He yearns for a past romance on “Harmonia’s Dream” and “I Don’t Wanna Wait,” but by the time he finally returns, the change wasn’t enough (or was too much) for the two of them to bear. “Victim” recalls the two falling apart, neither seeming to care

3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E N OV E M B E R 3 0 , 2 0 21

Illustration by Joanna Xiang

when they need to. Eventually, with an electric guitar blaring underneath his voice, he has nothing left to wail but “Who are you?” He’s back to his old ways, which he further cements on the title track. The song is a dramatic acceptance of his mission, to keep moving forward in search for the change that he needs. “We’re all just walkin’ through this darkness on our own,” he concludes in the chorus; indie pop band Lucius, the only collaborators on the album, echo that line over and over as the track fades away. A couple of emotional ballads, separated by the misplaced and energetic tune “Wasted,” provide the record with vulnerable moments. “Old Skin” sees Granduciel soaring over a

droning organ about the fear of returning to the old life, where he saw his dreams and family “fade away”; he fears the loss of love or hope, so he constantly moves to avoid attachment. He follows this sentiment on the nature–focused “Rings Around My Father’s Eyes,” a tribute to his father. In the storms of his life, his father was a sunrise over the sea; without him, turbulence only threw his life into further turmoil. Granduciel, while writing the song, began to find a new meaning in it when he became a father. “As time went on with this record, I became a dad, and I started seeing it from the other side. It’s not so much a reflection on my relationship with my own dad, but start-

ing to think about being a dad, being a protector,” he said to Apple Music. The band wraps the album’s themes up with the closer, “Occasional Rain.” He returns to his past home, embracing the turmoil that might come with staying in place. “Oh, if loving you is the same / It’s only some occasional rain.” He’s at peace with the changes he may need to make at home, because the love that he experiences there outweighs it. The band smartly uses the nostalgic sounds of the past to encourage a return to home. You might be able to drive away from any storm that rolls in, but the love of family and friends can always help you weather it, no matter how much it rains.


FILM & TV

Award–Winning Penn Filmmaker

Eli Ricanati

on his Gripping Short Film:

Illustration by Isabel Liang

The Frontiers Are My Prison

Eli Ricanati’s new short film is an impressive and mature story on consciousness and creativity. | JACOB A. POLLACK

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walk towards Houston Hall on a windy, brisk fall day in November. College senior Eli Ricanati calmly waits for me on a bench, in a confident manner. His confidence is warranted, given the success of his first short film released in October: The Frontiers Are My Prison. The Frontiers Are My Prison tells the story of a schizophrenic author named Oscar as he grapples with his sanity, and the violent story he writes after he stops taking his prescribed medications. Through the film, Eli exposes people’s consciousness and how their creativity can permeate into their real lives if left unchecked. There is also a recurring theme about being a “frontiersman” in the 21st century, a concept that goes farther than being settled in uncharted territory. When asked, he expands on the idea: “For the average person, our worlds are pretty much mapped. I was interested in where the frontier lay if there was still a frontier. And I figured that the final frontier for most of us was our own minds.” Eli was inspired to display the idea of the frontier after hearing a song from Leonard Cohen, the writer of "Hallelujah." “The song was called 'The Partisan,' and it was about a frontiersman. There’s a line in there, which is the frontiers are my prison. I thought that was incredibly captivating because

we spend our whole lives chasing the frontier, chasing understanding. We never stop to consider what happens if we get there and then we can’t leave,” he says. The film is divided into two sections: the imaginary literary world Oscar crafts and the real world. The two slowly merge as Oscar becomes more lost in his work. The literary world is shot in black and white in a 4:3 aspect ratio, contrasting the color sequences of Oscar in real life. Eli elaborates on his choice behind filming in black and white, saying, “If you look at any book, what you are looking at essentially is just black text on a white page. You’re responsible for creating the color in your mind.” Eli shot the film in California with Felix Merback, who plays Oscar, Oz, and Mr. Fikro. Oz and Mr. Fikro are the two characters in Oscar’s story; in the literary world, Mr. Fikro has been kidnapped by Oz for unknown reasons. Eli described the filming process as "grueling in a great way," with himself and Merback "acting as everything from the producers to the production assistant." The shoot was not without its complications. Right before getting on location, Eli's primary filming lens shattered. The two filming locations, the motel room and the house seen in

black and white, were finalized just hours before shooting. All of the scenes shot in color also had to be re–shot five weeks after shooting ended because the onboard audio was “dogshit,” according to Eli. The film has some wonderful cinematography choices that help the audience feel more immersed in Oscar’s schizophrenic world. One notable scene is when Oscar can’t differentiate his written life from his real-

ity, prompting him to get into a refrigerator to enter his literary world. The blue light from the refrigerator creates a disturbing yet magical experience into Oscar’s deranged and free mind. Eli's talents are not going unnoticed. The Frontiers Are My Prison has been selected to multiple festivals, winning at five so far, including the Gladiator Film Festival and Kosice International Film Festival. The film will also be screening

at the 2021 Culver City Film Festival in Los Angeles in December. While Eli has yet to begin filming his next project, he has aspirations to film a full feature post–college. “My goal is to shoot a feature. I don’t really have any goals beyond that. If I can get myself to the point where I’m getting funding to do a feature, then I can afford to consider the rest of my life,” Eli says.

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FILM & TV

‘Eternals’

Falls Victim to the Marvel Formula

Marvel’s latest effort shows why it’s time to redefine the superhero genre. | KAYLA COTTER

W

hen Oscar–winning Nomadland director Chloé Zhao was chosen to direct Marvel’s latest attempt at reinvigorating the Marvel Cinematic Universe post–Endgame, fans were quick to express their excitement at the implications of such an incredible talent. However, when Eternals was released on Nov. 5, 2021, Zhao’s blockbuster quickly became one of the most divisive films that the franchise has ever seen, receiving the worst CinemaScore grade in the MCU’s history. Now, for all of its cinematic charm, Zhao’s ambitious entry into the MCU may falter in its attempt to deliver the witty, action–packed narrative that longtime fans are accustomed to; but does the film really deserve worse reviews than any of its recent counterparts? Eternals follows ten humanoids—Ajak, Ikaris, Sersi, Thena, Gilgamesh, Kingo, Druig, Makkari, Phastos, and Sprite—who are sent by the Celestial Arishem to protect humanity from the Deviants under false pretenses. After the last Deviant dies around the year 1500, the group splits up and largely lives their own lives among the human population. Now, five centuries later, they must reunite to stop the Emergence, an apocalyptic event that threatens to wipe out humanity, in order to save the planet. The film itself is an ambitious venture. Zhao takes on the strenuous task of introducing ten dynamic characters,

and to her credit, the character work isn’t quite where the film falters—in fact, it’s one of its most impressive attributes. The star–studded cast, which includes Gemma Chan, Richard Madden, Salma Hayek, Angelina Jolie, Lauren Ridloff, Brian Tyree Henry, Kit Harington, and Kumail Nanjiani, are brilliant in their roles. The subtext of each of their performances provides a new layer to their respective characters in the limited time they have to shine. That isn’t to say it’s perfect. Each character is complex; however, it’s exceedingly difficult to build a world of the magnitude that Zhao is attempting to convey in two and a half hours. Eternals boasts one of Marvel’s most inclusive casts to date. Ridloff’s Makkari, for example, is the franchise’s first deaf superhero. Additionally, the film features the first gay relationship in the MCU, between Phastos and his partner Ben. However, these groundbreaking characters receive far too little screen time. It's easy to say that the film may have worked better as a Disney+ show where each of its characters could truly be explored. As is, it relies heavily on necessary exposition that complicates its pacing. Likewise, Zhao’s signature cinematography is stellar—the film’s location shots are gorgeous and only work to enhance it. Each shot inspires a sense of realism that is distinct to this film. Despite its creative swing, however, Marvel’s

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Illustration by Isabel Liang CGI requirement still manages to worm its way into the storyline, and the movie’s otherwise gorgeous composition is cheapened by cookie–cutter action sequences that, though visually stunning, feel out of place. Thematically, it’s brilliant; but its ambition to rebuke the Marvel gambit falls short because it largely sticks to the expected formula. For 13 years, Marvel has relied on a foolproof blueprint that consists of groundbreaking CGI, sharp wit, Easter eggs, and grandiose setups. Its record of 25 consecutive “Fresh” scores on Rotten Tomatoes is unprecedented. But, how long until this recipe starts to leave a sour taste in our mouths? Eternals may highlight the flaws of the MCU formula more boldly than prior Phase Four (Black Widow to present) efforts; however, the flaws of Black Widow and Shang–Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings can also easily be attributed to the franchise’s expectations, even if they’re marginally better projects. All of these films particularly struggle in one area: constructing a satisfying villain. Each of their emotional stakes are frustratingly devalued for the

sake of the storytelling structure that requires half–baked CGI monsters and takedowns. It’s flashy, it’s grand, but is it worth it if it strips a story of its emotional setup? Zhao’s film is full of potential and its creative slant offers great hope for Marvel’s future; but is it enough under the backdrop of recycled plotlines that ax its originality? Now the MCU formula isn’t particularly a problem within itself—these flashy battles and post–credit scenes are signature and addictive. In fact, Phase Three (Captain America: Civil War to Spider–Man: Far From Home) of the franchise managed to vary tone and genre in a way that made each take feel fresh. However, Phase Four’s films have largely failed to do the same; they desperately cling to a blueprint that they should feel free to subvert. It can be hard to escape the Hero’s Journey trope, but it’s easy to argue that the final showdown doesn’t always have to be a CGI–fest. Eternals proves that natural visuals can be just as stunning, so why slash them? Marvel’s money–making method is the most tried and true, but it may be time to change the narrative. Overall, Eternals is a concep-

tual masterpiece that buckles under the weight of its own ambition. MCU movies are inherently predictable, and for all of its originality, Eternals falters in that it largely still follows the same format of every Phase Four film. Projects such as Black Widow and Shang–Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings have fallen victim to plot fatigue. These projects are exceptional in their own right, particularly the latter, but Marvel’s fear of character–driven narratives has hindered them in more ways than one. Eternals is a step in the right direction, but the franchise has to commit to the risks it takes. Eternals most certainly isn’t as “rotten” as critics claim (after all, Thor: The Dark World still exists), but it isn’t its best effort. For all of Zhao’s gusto, Eternals’ biggest problem is that it still follows the same structure beneath its surface. It’s standard. Every perspective that Eternals plays with is unique, but its overarching narrative is convoluted—it isn’t too artistic to be a Marvel movie, but it’s too artistic to hinge on the same format. It begs the question: How much does a winning idea matter when you rehash the same plotline time and time again?


ARTS

WTF is an NFT?

Illustration by Lilian Liu

Here’s everything you need to know about these crypto collectibles. | JESSA GLASSMAN

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n March 11 of this year, Christie’s sold a piece of artwork for $69 million. But something about this sale was special, aside from the funny number on the price tag. Botticellis, Rembrandts, and Matisses have been emptying even the fattest of wallets since the genesis of the modern art market, selling for even higher prices. These paintings differ greatly across movements and styles, yet they still have something in common that's often overlooked—they are all tangible works made from brushes, paint, and a canvas and that can hang on a wall. That’s what makes Christie’s March sale stand out. Created by digital artist Beeple, “EVERYDAYS: THE FIRST 5000 DAYS,” is a mere JPG file, and it is just one of the many forms of digital art going for millions as the NFT, or non–fungible

token, market skyrockets. The demand for digital works of art is puzzling, especially at the upper echelon of the market that sees wealthy elites dropping billions on a virtual asset. NFTs are far more than pixels, however—stored on a blockchain, a non–fungible token is a unique digital certificate that provides ownership rights for the asset that can be traded or sold. In non crypto–bro terms, an NFT is a distinctive piece of digital property. A buyer will have rights (although they may be limited) to display the digital artwork, but the purchases mostly just give bragging rights and potential resale value. What can be called an NFT is wide reaching, including videos, tweets, and as explained earlier, artwork. By making and selling their works digitally, NFT creators

can capitalize on our increasingly technology–oriented society while shaking up the global art market. “I do view this as the next chapter of art history,” said Mike Winkelmann, the man behind the artistic persona Beeple, “now there is a way to collect digital art.” NFTs have many attributes that make them the cool younger cousins of tangible art which, in the opinion of some like Beeple, is becoming passé. The first of these benefits is knowledge of scarcity: The publicly available NFT code allows buyers to see how many copies of the digital work of art exist. Stored on a blockchain, or digital database, information about the ownership history, number of editions, minting address, and more is publicly available for all NFTs. While a physical work of art may have to be

authenticated, the creator of an NFT can be found with a quick internet search, saving time and money in the transaction process. Acquiring an NFT is nothing more than a click of a few buttons. So long as you have a laptop, an NFT can provide you with a much more transparent, speedy, and accessible way to own art. While NFTs seem like the bright and shiny future of art, they are not without detractors or downsides. Auctions may be driven by hype rather than stable market forces, leading pieces to have shaky valuations. What’s more, NFTs (and other products related to crypto-currencies) contribute to carbon dioxide emissions that are responsible for climate change. One artist even called NFTs an “ecological nightmare pyramid scheme.” One could make the argument that they're only

scams that value clout over the planet. While some NFT creators, like Beeple, plan to offset emissions from their work by reinvesting a portion of profits back into protecting the earth through renewables, CO2 removal technologies, and more, it is unclear whether this will be enough to mitigate their harmful effects. We can spend all day weighing the pros and cons of NFTs, but one thing is for certain: auction-houses, galleries, and museums alike, after selling material art for as long as they’ve existed, must now react to the growing crypto art industry. “NFT collecting has the potential to be really big,” according to Evan Beard, who runs Bank of America Private Bank's art services group. “It also has the potential to be ... a fun folly, and we’ll look back and say, ‘Can you believe we bought these digital tokens?’”

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hospitalization, his voice shakes. He is “very traumatized” by the experience, and he harbors shame and frustration about his interactions with SIS leading up to that night. He understands that SIS takes precautions to protect students, but he felt dehumanized by their bureaucratic process. “I was already very anxious,” Evan says. “But that made me much more anxious.”

A COMPLICATED ALLY:

Navigating Crises with Student Intervention Services

SIS is designed to help students with immediate needs. But for some students, does the organization's fast action cause more harm than good? | MIRA SYDOW Illustrations by Rebekah Lee CONTENT WARNING: The following feature includes mentions of suicide and sexual assault, which may be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.

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n the eve of his 21st birthday, Evan* (C '18) woke to the sound of Penn Police knocking on his door. After a flurry of terse words and frantic texts, he was escorted into an ambulance bound for the Penn Emergency Evaluation Clinic. He was hospitalized by Student Intervention Services (SIS). On paper, the decision was voluntary. But in reality, it was a lot more complicated. In December 2016, Evan sat in his West Philadelphia apartment, face illuminated by the glow of a computer. Recruiting had been difficult that semester, but he had a case due that night and an interview the next day. It was the only final round interview he’d been offered so far, and, on his birthday, it felt like fate. As the hours flew by, the pressure mounted. Evan toggled back and forth between the

case and Facebook, where he messaged a friend at Columbia University about his stressful situation. “I have no desire to live. It’s over.” he typed. Then he went back to work. Evan checked his phone later that night and saw a handful of messages and a missed call from the friend, who said they were going to call counseling services if Evan didn’t pick up. His friend was concerned about the severity of Evan’s message. Evan messaged back, assuring his friend that he was fine, and that he was going to bed. Later that night, Evan received a call from Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS). He told them that he was okay—just stressed, not seriously unwell. Besides, he still had to submit the case, and he didn’t have time to speak with them. Annoyed after the call, Evan messaged his friend

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and Wharton advisor to stop notifying CAPS. He felt the University “didn’t really care if I lived or died.” After his conversation with CAPS, Penn Police arrived at his door. They asked him about the messages to his friend and advisor. Evan reiterated that he was fine, just on the cusp of an important day, and he thought getting Penn Police involved was a bit extreme. They countered that the CAPS psychologist he briefly spoke with earlier that evening recommended that he be hospitalized that night. Exhausted from the back and forth, and clinging to the hope of being discharged in the morning, he agreed. In the ambulance, he messaged his CAPS therapist and academic advisor the names and numbers of family. In the hospital, Evan informed the doctors that he wasn’t a threat to

himself. His CAPS notes, which he obtained in 2019, say that “suicidal ideation was not active,” that he “was future–oriented,” and that the University intended to “place him in a cab to CAPS at 9 a.m.” This didn’t happen. Instead, a representative from SIS called Evan’s parents, who live halfway around the world, in the early hours of the morning. SIS relayed that their son was in the hospital, and they had to come pick him up when he was discharged the next day. Stunned, his parents told SIS that they didn’t have the means or time to be in the United States with such short notice. Instead, a family friend in Connecticut drove a few hours to pick Evan up the next morning. Tired and disheveled, he missed his interview that day. When Evan speaks to me about his

space SIS was founded in 2002 by current Associate Vice Provost of University Life Sharon Smith to provide immediate care to students following extenuating circumstances. The department addresses personal and academic student crises, from providing students with laptops during the virtual semester, to counseling students through sudden, traumatic experiences. They also manage an emergency fund for undergraduate and graduate students. SIS is separate from CAPS, but the two departments operate in similar ways. Both are confidential and use a case management system to organize student interactions. Many of SIS' encounters are brief, while CAPS generally works with students for a few months to address mental health crises. The work of both organizations frequently intersects; students may speak with representatives from both departments, and the pair may coordinate logistics behind the scenes. Over the years, SIS has garnered commendation from the university and ire from some students and parents. In 2005, the office was recognized by the Division of Human Resources as a “Model of Excellence” for “develop[ing] an extremely effective approach for providing immediate support to Penn students in crisis,” and their website is peppered with voluntary, glowing reviews. Comments include high praise: “I don’t know what I would have done without your support.” “You have saved my life.” However, SIS, like CAPS, is fighting an uphill battle against mental health issues at Penn. The University has lost more than a dozen students to suicide in the past decade, along with a former director of CAPS. Despite an expansion of mental health services following the suicide cluster, SIS has its limits. When instruction went

virtual in the spring of 2020, SIS’s caseload increased by 25%. Moreover, they denied 56% of students who applied for on–campus housing, and denied 13% of students who applied for emergency grants. Though their website is littered with positive testimonies, criticism of SIS is hardly as public as its praise. Many students shoulder the weight of stressful interactions with the organization alone, from jarring phone calls and recommended leaves of absence to a maze of bureaucracy that can complicate reporting sexual assault. Street spoke with five students

came into contact with the department in the spring of 2016—before his overwhelming recruitment season and subsequent hospitalization—following the suicide of junior Olivia Kong (W '17). Evan was distressed by Olivia’s death. They were close in age and, at the time, both studying in Wharton. He spoke to a Wharton academic advisor, who referred him to CAPS, and he received an unsolicited but appreciated call from SIS the next day. His mental health at an all–time low, Evan met with Van Ostenbridge, a SIS case manager at the time, to

“I was already very anxious. But that made me much more anxious.” JOHN*

about their experiences navigating extenuating circumstances alongside interventions from SIS and CAPS. In the reporting process, Street repeatedly reached out for comment to current SIS Director Lauren Rudick, Associate Director for Crisis Intervention and Case Management Lindsey Adams Van Ostenbridge, former CAPS Director of Outreach Meeta Kumar, and Associate Vice Provost for University Life Sharon Smith. However, it is SIS’s policy to not comment directly on student cases to preserve confidentiality; the office can only talk broadly about its mission. Thus, outside of some comments from Smith, the aforementioned administrators did not respond. space Evan recognizes that SIS is helpful to many students, but he feels they fell short in his situation. He first

talk about his situation. He became frustrated during the meeting, upset by the caseworker’s “cold, cruel, and bureaucratic” attitude. The conversation’s tone was unexpected, especially given the sensitive subject matter. Evan wondered if caseworkers for SIS interacted like this with all of their students, and if friends in more serious situations received similar treatment. “Was this how Olivia’s conversations with administrators went?” he thought. “You people are awful,” he told Van Ostenbridge. She responded sarcastically: “Yeah, we’re awful.” In 2019, three years after this interaction, Van Ostenbridge was promoted to become the associate director for crisis intervention and case management within SIS. Evan spoke with SIS a few more times before the end of the semester, unsure of how to proceed with

schoolwork given his mental state. Dr. Meeta Kumar, the CAPS director of outreach who worked adjacent to SIS, helped Evan work out a reduced course load for the fall of 2016, as opposed to taking the leave of absence SIS administrators suggested. For a while, things went relatively smoothly. Evan worked as a teacher’s assistant and maintained a high GPA, on track to graduate despite his reduced course load. A few months passed before Evan met with SIS again—the day after his hospitalization. When his family friend picked him up the morning after, he was ushered into a meeting with Sharon Smith, the then–current SIS director. He expressed his frustration and confusion in an outburst, and Smith recommended that he stay away from campus for the weekend and be placed in the care of “someone good.” After the weekend, Evan’s parents arrived on campus from abroad to meet with administrators. The three of them sat down with Kumar, who Evan thought would be the best person to interface with his parents. A few moments into the meeting, Kumar began to read information from Evan’s CAPS notes to his parents, which alarmed him. They had never discussed sharing these private sentiments with his parents, and this disclosure came out of left field. Kumar concluded the discussion of Evan’s CAPS notes by saying that he should be a “positive, contributing member to the Penn community.” Was he not already? The comment made him feel like a burden. Before leaving the United States., Evan’s parents met with Van Ostenbridge, his original case manager. The interaction was tense: Van Ostenbridge invited and expected Evan’s parents to come back after winter break, despite travel expenses and time. Evan spoke with Kumar once more in the spring of his senior year. He sunk back into a bad mental state, and his mother visited to support him. They scheduled a meeting with Kumar to discuss options, but quickly canceled when Evan’s information vanished from PenninTouch one night. Although he was reinstated in the platform the next day, he doesn’t know what caused the glitch, and he’s steered clear of SIS since. Reflecting on his experience, Evan

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recognizes that Penn’s mental health services can be very helpful, but that looks different for everyone. The way his case was managed negatively impacted his mental and academic well being in the long run. Evan isn’t the only student who has had a tense relationship with SIS. Talia Coopersmith (C '24) was sexually assaulted by a friend in early October of this year. When we spoke in a corner of the Starbucks under the 1920 Commons, Talia was calm and direct. She says the assault upended her life, but she’s had time to process the incident and reflect on Penn’s resources for survivors. Talia stumbled upon SIS in a frenzy of panicked emails and internet searches. Reeling from the assault and drowning under a growing mountain of schoolwork, she asked a friend to compile a list of on–campus resources. After assessing her options, Talia filed a report with the Title IX office, which referred her to SIS. She describes her path to SIS as a “non–replicable route,” because Penn’s resources were difficult to navigate without significant assistance. Her interactions with the office—a few Zoom calls the week after her assault— were mostly helpful. SIS put a hold on her classes when she expressed she couldn’t concentrate on coursework following the incident, pushed up her meeting with a CAPS counselor when the appointments were backlogged, and offered an array of resources for managing her interactions with the perpetrator. Still, Talia was often confused by the office’s communication style. Administrators were “adamant about the semantics'' of the incident. Did he pin her down? For how long? Their inquiries dredged up memories of the assault, and Talia didn’t quite understand their relevance. Each time she spoke with a new department, she found herself having to recount her entire situation again. “I remember having double conversations with [CAPS and SIS, professors and administrators],” she says. “I didn’t know if [my information] was cross communicated, or if I just needed to tell everyone everything every single time.” Retelling her trauma may have only made matters worse. Clinical psychologist Peter Levine writes, “Just exposing a client to his or her traumatic memories and having the person relive them [is], at best, unnecessary … and at worst retraumatizing.” Throughout her interactions with SIS,

Talia asked about the possibility of bringing her situation to the police or elsewhere outside of the Penn ecosystem, but she always got the same response: “You’ll lose.” She understands that SIS was most likely just being honest, but she was put off by their bluntness. She would have liked to have been offered the option in earnest. Still, Talia is grateful that SIS provided her with a baseline of support: “They taught me how to breathe,” but she walked away “with the feeling that, even within Penn, the system is always going to benefit [her assailant] and always going to be so bureaucratic that it dissuades anyone from pursuing real action.”

At second glance, SIS bears the unique burden of offering students private support while managing crises that could impact

As he skates home on Locust Walk, Derek Nhieu (W '23) tells me over the phone about his experience with SIS’s community concerns. Derek describes his campus presence as “public” and “well–known.” He’s not wrong. Derek is the junior Class Board president, a Joseph Wharton Scholar, a SNF Paideia Fellow, on the board of more clubs than I have fingers, and a mentor to first–generation, low–income students, which he views as his most important work. His activities are all people–oriented: “I have to be very sensitive to people's needs and wants, whether that's academically, socially, or extracurricularly.” Despite his happy–go–lucky front, the past few months have been hard. Derek reached a low point in October and turned to his private Snapchat story to speak freely about his mental health. Soon after posting, he got a call from SIS administrator

I appreciate that people were reporting me. But maybe there’s a better system. For other people, it could make things worse if they feel like their privacy is being betrayed.” DEREK NHIEU

Penn’s reputation. SIS’ recent public record is precarious. In 2018, Olivia’s parents sued the University for negligence, implicating agencies like CAPS and SIS for brushing off their daughter’s cries for help. Her death, and those that followed, received coverage in the Wall Street Journal, the Philadelphia Inquirer, and NBC News. In 2019, former Daily Pennsylvanian executive editor Rebecca Tan (C '19) wrote a longform profile of Paul Clarke (C '20), a Penn graduate with whom SIS failed to keep close contact as he struggled with addiction throughout his undergraduate years.

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Van Ostenbridge—a few students reported concerns about his mental health. Derek spoke with her briefly, assuring her that he was “going through a lot,” but “trying to do [his] best.” The two discussed the potential for a reduced course load, then hung up the phone. Derek felt like the random phone call “caught him off guard,” and that another student may have not answered, or been turned off from speaking to Penn counseling services at all. However, he understood the potential urgency of the situation and was grateful that his friends worried about

him enough to involve a professional. “I appreciate that people were reporting me,” he says, “But maybe there’s a better system. For other people, it could make things worse if they feel like their privacy is being betrayed.” The next week, he received an email from SIS. More students had reported Derek, this time because they felt his content about mental health was triggering. The office asked to meet with him over Zoom later that day. This was surprising. None of Derek’s peers had told him that his content was harmful to them, which he would have preferred before getting administration involved. On the call, he was met by SIS administrators Rudick and Van Ostenbridge and one representative from the Office of Student Affairs (OSA), whom he recognized from his role in student government. Derek found their presence odd. OSA’s website describes the organization as “a primary source of information and advice about co–curricular opportunities and resources,” which Derek struggled to connect to his personal mental health journey. In the meeting, Derek opened up about how difficult the past few months had been, and why he talked about his depression on social media. He says that he shares his feelings so openly because it’s cathartic and destigmatizes mental health among his peers. He thought SIS would understand. But the second half of the conversation shifted to University–wide concerns; Derek felt that OSA and SIS “[didn’t] want a negative impact on the Penn community.” He reassured them that his posts were on a private story that hardly topped 100 views, and he would monitor his content closely if he was triggering his peers. Although the conversation was polite, he logged off wondering if the administrators were mitigating a “community–wide incident,” which would “look horrible on the school.” In an unrecorded conversation with Sharon Smith, the Associate Vice Provost for University Life and former SIS director, she mentions how much pride she holds in the office she built. Smith still receives emails and thank–you letters from students and parents she met 10 years ago. Indeed, not all student interactions with SIS are charged with tension. Gerardo Ramirez (C’ 23) contacted SIS after experiencing housing difficulties at the start of the semester. He was searching for someone to cut through layers of


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bureaucracy at Penn. Gerardo wants details of his situation to remain private, but he does feel comfortable speaking to his overall experience with SIS. For the past few months, he’s been meeting every other week with his case manager, Takahide Watanabe, who connects him with other departments like Weingarten or CAPS and “keeps him in check” with his goals, like attending tutoring sessions and submitting assignments on time. Gerardo is still not clear what SIS’s responsibilities are on campus, but he knows that they’ve helped him maintain his living arrangement, and for that he is grateful. He notes that overall his experience with SIS has been a positive one, though he emphasizes that for many he knows this isn’t the case. Like Gerardo, Adrien Wilson (C '24) has worked with a SIS caseworker on a weekly or biweekly basis and has had an overall positive experience. Early in the fall semester, Adrien began skipping classes. The transition to in–person learning was more difficult than she had expected, and a lapse in her insurance meant that she wasn’t

receiving her medication. She reached out to a TA, explaining her situation and asking for leeway. The next morning, there was an email from SIS in her inbox. From that point on, she worked with a SIS caseworker on a regular basis. The two immediately connected— Adrien’s case manager was “relatively young, and very kind” and studied the same major as Adrien when she was in college. Originally, SIS recommended a leave of absence for Adrien, but she wanted to stay on campus, so she worked with her case manager to make that feasible. The caseworker managed interactions with Student Health Services, determining how long Adrien could go without her insurance. When Adrien needed to drop a class, causing her to go from three to two credit units, her case manager negotiated with the university to ensure that she wouldn’t lose her financial aid, which is only given to full time students. Adrien’s case manager stayed invested throughout the process. When Adrien didn’t respond to her

messages for a few days, the Harnwell faculty director pounded on her door and physically walked her to SIS. She wasn’t in need of immediate assistance, but she appreciated that SIS was looking out for her. Reflecting on the experience, Adrien doesn’t think she’d be on campus without her case manager. “It was nice having her lay out all of the options,” she says. “They’re very accommodating.” Sharon Smith welcomes criticism of her work, as long as it enables her to better serve the Penn community. University Life offices are constantly evolving to suit the needs of the student body. This year, CAPS hired four new clinicians to expand their services, but counselors still struggle to keep up with the demands of a high–pressure campus and a range of traumatic experiences, from Evan’s anxiety to Talia’s assault. The experience is taxing on all individuals involved. To students who report negative experiences with SIS, “That’s their truth,” Smith says. She’s not going to tell me, or anyone, that those events didn’t happen, and that those feel-

ings of frustration aren’t valid. In the weeks following my conversations with students impacted by SIS, I see their experiences reflected across the student body. A classmate struggles to make it through the week until their CAPS appointment, the agency still backlogged. Another student spends hours navigating a maze of university resources after she is sexually harassed. A close friend tells me she can’t speak to anyone else about her thoughts. She’s afraid they’ll report her, and that’s not what she needs. While there’s no doubting the invaluable aid that SIS provides students, every member of the Penn community can reconsider their approach to taking care of their peers. How do we communicate effectively, support friends while maintaining their autonomy, and center victims? “There are definitely people at Penn who can enhance wellness,” Evan says, thinking of his academic advisor. “But we need empathy and trust.” *Names have been changed to preserve anonymity.

CAMPUS RESOURCES: The HELP Line: 215-898-HELP: A 24–hour–a–day phone number for members of the Penn community who seek help in navigating Penn's resources for health and wellness. Counseling and Psychological Services: 215-898-7021 (active 24/7): The counseling center for the University of Pennsylvania. Student Health Service: 215-746-3535: Student Health Service can provide medical evaluations and treatment to survivors of sexual and relationship violence regardless of whether they make a report or seek additional resources. Both male and female providers can perform examinations, discuss testing and treatment of sexually transmissible infections, provide emergency contraception if necessary, and arrange for referrals and follow up. Reach–A–Peer Hotline: 215-573-2727 (every day from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m., texting available 24/7): A peer hotline to provide peer support, information, and referrals to Penn students. Penn Violence Prevention: PVP provides confidential support and resources to students affected by sexual violence, relationship violence, and stalking. Sexual Trauma Treatment Outreach and Prevention Team: A multidisciplinary team at CAPS dedicated to supporting students who have experienced sexual trauma. Public Safety Special Services: 215-898-6600 (active 24/7): Trained personnel offer crisis intervention, accompaniment to legal and medical proceedings, options counseling and advocacy, and linkages to other community resources. Penn Women's Center: 215-898-8611 (Monday–Thursday 9:30 a.m.–6:30 p.m., Friday 9:30 a.m.–5 p.m.): PWC provides confidential crisis and options counseling.

NOVEMBER 30, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 15


ARTS

Meet

Emma Blum:

Illustration by Isabel Liang

From Writing on the Playground to Winning Awards

Artist Spotlight | How this English student imbues emotion in every sentence | JESSA GLASSMAN

“I

like how you can transcend the bounds of your own consciousness by stepping into someone else's perspective,” Emma Blum* (C '23) says, her eyes sparkling with passion as she explains her love for writing. She describes her young self as a “nerdy kid,” always reading and writing while her friends played handball during recess. While her creative inspirations have evolved from J.K. Rowling and John Green to George Saunders and Hanya Yanagihara with age, Emma’s love for prose hasn’t wavered. Nowadays, an English major with an impressive list of awards and accolades in her back pocket, she has clearly matured as a writer, but it's obvious she's still the same nerdy kid at heart. “I think if I had a goal for my writing, it would just be to really get the reader to feel something or have some emotional reaction,” Emma says. “I want every single one of my stories to have a moment at the climax where things just kind of crystallize.” Working to improve herself as a writer is important to Emma, who is currently focusing on improving her use of plot to further a story. As a result, she always makes time to workshop her ideas, even though leaving a room full of

chatty friends to sit down alone and write can sometimes be a challenge. She views the process of writing like unspooling a thread, often surprising herself with the outcome of her own imagination and letting a single thought, image, or imaginary character lead the way without an outline. One could describe Emma as a poster child for on–campus involvement; she participates in activities including (but not limited to) Equilibria magazine, the Philomathean society, and Sigma Delta Tau. She credits the Kelly Writers House in particular for supporting both her and her work, as well as giving her a strong community of fellow creatives who motivate and inspire one another. Emma is the type of student who throws herself wholeheartedly into her classes each semester. As of now, she plans to complete a creative writing concentration within her English major, perhaps also minoring in consumer psychology. She claims she’s never taken a course she didn’t love in the English Department. “'Representations of the Holocaust,' taught by Al Filreis changed my entire outlook on life,” Emma says. She shares equally glowing reviews about many other courses she’s taken, including “Literature as a Market-

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place” with James English and “Advanced Fiction Writing: Autofiction” with PEN/ Hemingway winner Weike Wang. While Emma has an innate knack for writing, she still takes extra steps to hone her craft. She’s participated in multiple writing programs outside of Penn, including the Fiction Writing program through the California State Summer School for the Arts, as well as the Iowa Young Writers’ Studio, where she workshopped a story titled “Pastoral” that ended up winning second place in the Phi Kappa Sigma Fiction prize. This piece, inspired by an image of a girl standing in a clearing with an ax, toys with gender norms by using a young woman growing up on a family farm to propose and contemplate nuanced social critiques. Its opening line captivates the reader's attention and urges us to read on to decipher its meaning, stating: "The girl takes a breath, and listens." Weike Wang, one of the judges, was dazzled by the submission, claiming “Blum writes with simple elegance and takes on character ambiguities in a refreshing and smart way.” In this short story, Emma exhibits her strong grasp on imagery, utilizing compelling phras-

es like "the moon hung full and heavy overhead" and "she stumbles through dreams" to infuse it with a sense of suspense and intrigue. While Emma’s future is uncertain, she knows writing will always be an integral part of her life, whether professionally or personally. She plans to study abroad at the University of Oxford, and will be maintaining her writing outside of her work at a hedge fund over the summer. The entertainment industry interests her, but as of now she’s mostly focused on writing for herself. Emma prioritizes having fun with her compositions, and is learning to be less judgmental of the words she puts on the page. When asked to give advice to fellow student writers, she blushes bashfully, eventually proposing the following: “Go for what gets you excited. Write with your feelings and don’t overthink it.” Emma’s words have certainly guided my own retelling of her life story. Her characteristically cheerful approach to writing should inspire anyone with a pen, a piece of paper, and something to say. *Emma was a former copy staffer for The Daily Pennsylvanian.


FOCUS

The 'Sassy Black Woman' Shouldn’t Be Your Online Persona The normalized mimicry of Black women on TikTok has real consequences for Black women and girls offline. | NAIMA SMALL

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f you haven’t heard it already, the viral TikTok sound of influencer Ari Fletcher saying “When it comes to a drink, I’mma have it” has become a staple of many users’ For You pages. Ari Fletcher is a Black woman, but many of the people who have used the audio are white—using the audio as a way to mimic stereotypically Black expressions. In an Oct. 7 video, TikTok user @tylamadeit called attention to the imitation of Black women through this TikTok audio by creating her own version of the sound—but this time, without the emphatic pronunciation that prompted non–Black people’s exaggerated imitations. “Let’s just stay in our lanes from here on out,” her caption reads. “You’re welcome.” Online, Black women are seen as non–Black people’s alter– egos—these personas can be loud, they can be sassy, and most often, they are exaggeratedly funny. Stereotypical Black female expressions—the neck roll, snapping fingers, teeth sucking—are portrayed as part of a comedic performance, as a caricature. In order to be funny online, you can just be Black—or at least what the stereotyped image of Blackness is. Popular representations of Black women paint them as aggressive, loud, and audacious— think of Tyler Perry’s Madea or even widely–quoted and memed reality TV star Tiffany “New York” Pollard. It’s fair to note that some Black women are genuinely like these stereotyped representations, and that’s okay. But nevertheless, this facet of Black womanhood shouldn’t be an act imitated by and profited off of by others who aren’t Black women. When Black feminist writer and scholar Lauren Michelle Jackson

Illustration by Joanna Xiang

first popularized the term “digital blackface” in 2017, she discussed the concept in the context of reaction gifs and memes of Black women. According to Jackson, digital blackface allows non–Black people to replicate and imitate Blackness without engaging in the more explicit forms of minstrelsy, such as literal Blackface. Digitally, non–Black people can employ AAVE (African–American Vernacular English) and Black profile pictures to take on a sassy Black woman as their second personality. The emergence of TikTok and other video platforms adds another dimension to the conversation on digital Blackface—sound. Now, instead of simply typing AAVE, non–Black people can use sounds made by Black women to mimic them on TikTok. Some of the most popular sounds at the moment are audios of Black women, from those created by rapper Nicki Minaj to those made by controversial internet sensation Peaches. The problem isn’t necessarily with the usage of the audio itself. It’s with the way non–Black people act while using an audio made by a Black woman. If you don’t use those mannerisms when you normally speak, why use them now? Cienna Davis, a second–year doctoral student at The Annenberg School for Communication studying the role of the internet in processes of racial identity formation and racial justice activism, believes that digital platforms play an especially important role in facilitating this mimicry. “TikTok has a rhetoric that anyone can become viral—this promise of an egalitarian digital space,” Davis says. “The use of the voice, the mimicry of Black female affective gestures and movement can be extracted and there’s new kinds of values that come with that when

it’s placed on a white body. The platform facilitates and rewards that in a way that’s very tangible, in views and follows.” Though these digital platforms are new, the mimicry of Black women as a form of entertainment has a very long history. Davis notes that Blackface minstrelsy was one of the earliest forms of performance that was created in the United States. People online might not be painting their faces Black to make their intentions explicit, but mimicking Black women serves the same purpose as these early minstrel performances—to capitalize off of stereotypes of Black people and their expressions. TikTok’s highest paid and most visible creators are overwhelmingly white, even though Black people’s voices and dance challenges

create a lot of the content on the platform. Though non–Black people can profit off performing Blackness online, Black women themselves are being criticized for the emotions, expressions, and behaviors that make others viral. “Even if it’s not financial profit, [white creators] still benefit from the social capital of Black coolness,” Davis says. The normalized mimicry of Black women also has real–life consequences. These stereotypes—for example, the over– sexualized Jezebel—inform how people think of Black women as a whole. The adultification and over–sexualization of Black women through the Jezebel trope contributes to the fact that Black women face higher rates of sexual violence. Racialized stereotypes portray Black wom-

en as sexual objects instead of as people, and problematic TikTok audios and trends play a role in that objectification. Stereotypes of Black women are not harmless jokes—they have been used as justification to harm Black women for centuries. When you post online, think of the person you’re portraying. Is it your authentic self, or are you using a Black woman’s emotions or expressions for comedic effect? Instead of contributing to the not–so–subtle misogynoir on TikTok, take the time to listen to the Black women who are explaining how this mimicry harms them. The next time you scroll through TikTok and hear the many popular audios of Black women, don’t forget the racial and gendered politics embedded into the fabric of social media.

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Call or text: 215-768-5051 N O V E M B E R 3 0 , 2 0 2 1 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17


FOCUS

Are Therapeutic Robotic Pets Replacing Live Pets? In the digital age, robotic pets have begun to replace live pets as a form of therapy and companionship. | GABRIELLE GALCHEN

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ore than sports, coffee, or even TikTok, Americans share one collective obsession: pets. In 2020 alone, ​​about 68% of American households owned at least one pet. Pets bring so much joy to households that they have even been used as a form of emotional support and therapy for mood disorders. But the recent use of robotic pets as a form of therapy has raised a few fundamental questions: Are robotic pets preferable to live pets? By interacting with inanimate objects, are we losing authentic experiences and connections? And if we do genuinely feel connected to a robotic pet, is this simply a product of confirmation bias? After all, life is subjective, and we often see what we expect or want. From a technical standpoint, just interacting with animals— live or inanimate—has innumerable mental health benefits. Interacting with animals decreases levels of cortisol (a stress– causing hormone), which lowers blood pressure and increases cardiovascular health. Playing with pets also elevates levels of serotonin (a mood–stabilizing hormone) and dopamine (a pleasure–inducing hormone), which reduces symptoms of anxiety, depression, and loneliness. In a 2016 survey by the Human Animal Bond Research Institute, 74% of pet owners reported mental health improvements. These mental health benefits are reflected in the physical health of pet owners. In the same HABRI survey, 54% of pet owners reported physical health improvements. A study con-

ducted by the United States National Institutes of Health also found that pet owners visit doctors less often for simple conditions, experienced faster physical recovery rates from surgeries and serious illnesses, and have lower levels of triglycerides and cholesterol. This isn’t surprising. Pets provide a direct source of companionship, catalyze friendship formation and social support networks, and some even increase physical activity. By serving as a source of routine, pets also instill a sense of stability, responsibility, and self–esteem in their owners. Due to their immense mental health benefits, pet therapy (also known as animal–assisted therapy) has been recognized by the National Institute of Mental Health as a type of psychotherapy for treating mood disorders. A recent survey found that about 84 percent of post–traumatic stress disorder patients when paired with a service dog reported a significant reduction in symptoms, and 40 percent were able to decrease their medications. Pet therapy is especially beneficial for individuals who experience depressive symptoms. In major depression, individuals witness a chemical imbalance in the brain, leading to feelings of hopelessness, self–doubt, and emptiness, among others. Pets offer a direct counter to this. Simply stroking or hugging a pet has immediate psychological benefits by inundating the brain with oxytocin (a stress– reducing hormone) and reducing the stress–related activity in the hypothalamus region (part

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of the brain’s emotional center). This boosts serotonin and dopamine levels, having the net effect of an increased sense of happiness and tranquility. However, it’s not always practical to have live pets. Maintaining pets consumes time, space, money, and enormous amounts of energy. The demand for therapy dogs in particular has now outpaced the supply. And in a sort–of–post–pandemic world, the fabric of our everyday lives is coated in technological advancement and social distancing measures—meaning that robotic pets may just be the next replacement for live pets. The advent of robotic pet therapy began with PARO, an interactive robot that looks like a baby harp seal. PARO was invented in Japan by research scientist Takanori Shibata, and is equipped with 32–bit processors, microphones, and tactile sensors. These gadgets enable PARO to recognize voices, track behaviors, make cute squeaks and whistles, have touch–sensitive whiskers, and wiggle. Upon its first use, PARO was found to correlate with decreased stress and anxiety, and reduce the prescription of psychoactive medication in patients with dementia. They were also less prone to depressive symptoms like loneliness and hopelessness. The success of PARO spearheaded a new mental health campaign nationwide. In a study by Florida Atlantic University, researchers tested the effectiveness of robotic pet cats to improve symptoms of mood disorders in older adults with Alzheimer’s or dementia. Re-

searchers found that nine categories of pleasant moods and behavior significantly increased on the Mini Mental State Examination score—meaning that therapeutic robotic pets improved the overall emotional state of individuals with Alzheimer's and dementia. Robotic pets have also been shown to reduce loneliness in the elderly. Due to social distancing measures and restrictions on recreational events, the pandemic exacerbated rates of loneliness and social isolation for older residents in hospitals and nursing homes. This is why hospitals introduced the widespread use of robotic pets as companions for their patients—all of which were funded by Medicare, since the Food and Drug Administration explicitly classifies robotic pets as a biofeedback device. Another study found that robotic pets had calming effects on the anxious behaviors of 60% of residents in nursing homes, increased social behavior by 97% among isolated adults, and resulted in overall improved moods and appetite. But the question remains: Can robotic pets genuinely substitute live pets? On the one hand, robotic pets are convenient: They do not need to be monitored, fed, walked outside, or kept up–to–date with their vaccines. Robotic pets are also much cheaper: For instance, Chinese firm Unitree Robotics has invented a robo–dog that only costs $2,700, whereas the average cost of maintain-

Illustration by Joanna Xiang ing a live dog is about $700 to $1,100 annually. And to top it off, robotic pets are theoretically programmed to have all the psychological benefits of a live pet. On the other hand, it is a natural reaction for pet owners to dislike the very idea of robotic pets. There are growing concerns about the digital age tainting authentic human connections, and the same goes for animal– human relations. There's an undeniable sentiment in nurturing and forming a connection to a live animal that grows to love its owner. This is the very core of all interpersonal relations that has withstood the test of time and technology—and can arguably never be replaced by robots. At the end of the day, the choice between robotic or live pets is overwhelmingly individual. Elderly people typically prefer robotic pets because they have the reduced stress of caring for their pet, but retain the benefits of companionship. Meanwhile, children prefer live pets because they enjoy the interactive dynamic behavior of live pets, which is limited in the programmed behavior of robotic pets. Famed psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud is rumored to have said, “Time spent with cats is never wasted.” And now, if you simply add the adjective “robotic,” the statement might still ring true. In the digital age, robotic pets have begun to replace live pets as a form of therapy and companionship.


ST YLE

Harry Styles Finds His Pleasing, But At What Cost?

Has Styles entered the beauty industry with pure intentions? | MAME BALDE

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ressed in a custom– made, lace–trimmed Gucci ball gown, Harry Styles made history as the first solo male cover star of American Vogue. However, the dress was just the tip of the iceberg, as Styles is now entering the beauty industry with the launch of his skincare and nail polish line, Pleasing, which further cements his place as one of the most public faces of gender neutral fashion. On Nov. 15, Styles officially launched his gender–neutral beauty brand: Pleasing. The products offered in the launch include nail polish, eye serum, and lip oil, and they range in price from $20 to $65. Styles isn't the first male celebrity to launch his own nail polish line. Machine Gun Kelly announced his plans to launch his own nail polish line, UN/ DN, in April 2021. TikToker Lil Huddy recently released a line of press–on nails in a col-

laboration with Glamnetic. Styles isn't the first man to wear a dress either—Prince, Kurt Cobain, David Bowie, and Billy Porter are all male artists who have donned dresses as forms of self–expression. Not being the first does not mean Styles’ venture into the beauty industry is any less important; it’s clear that he represents the growing acceptance of gender–neutral clothing and self expression. In a press release, the brand stated that Pleasing’s mission is "to bring joyful experiences and products that excite the senses and blur the boundaries," with the aim of "dispel[ling] the myth of a binary existence.” This feels authentic to Styles' personal brand, and makes the hype feel warranted in many ways—Styles has and continues to wear nail polish, dresses, and makeup at shows and press events.

However, despite the move being popular among Styles' fans, there are vocal critics of the brand who raise questions as to whether or not Styles deserves to capitalize on queer identity when he's never confirmed how he identifies. Moreover, as a man who has only ever publicly dated women, some accuse him of queerbaiting, and thus, exploiting the LGBTQ community. If Styles is indeed straight, cisgender, and willingly misleading his audience, the critiques are warranted. With the launch of Pleasing, Styles is monetizing off of a movement that he may not actually identify with. After gracing the cover of Vogue in a dress, Styles was lauded as a brave risktaker. However, openly queer artists like Billy Porter, who has worn dresses to multiple award ceremonies including the Oscars, has not received the same

Illustration by Sriya Choppara

clout for his actions as Styles. While Styles' accomplishments in helping to shift public opinion are laudable, it is important to note that his path to 'nonbinary icon' status has been relatively easy in comparison to those who came before him. As Billy Porter told The Los Angeles Times, “This is politics for me, this is my life. I had to fight my entire life to get to the place where I could wear a dress to the Oscars and not be gunned now. All [Styles] has to do is be white and straight.” Styles has not publicly commented on his sexuality. Porter has since recanted his statements during his appearance on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, “Harry Styles, I apologize to you for having your name in my mouth, It’s not about you. The conversation is not about you. The conversa-

tion is actually deeper than that. It is about the systems of oppression and erasure of people of color who contribute to the culture.” While Styles should not be credited with spearheading gender neutral fashion in the mainstream, forcing someone to publicly define their sexuality or gender identity is extremely questionable. We may never know how Styles truly identifies, leaving the public to assume that he's both cisgender and straight based off of his highly publicized private life (an assumption that is influenced heavily by heteronormativity). Hopefully with the launch of Pleasing, Styles will take a bigger and more vocal stand in support of LGBTQ rights so fans and critics alike can understand where he's coming from and where his values lie.

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ST YLE

The Golden Egg That Is the Canada Goose

Illustration by Alice Choi

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ou’ve seen them before on campus. Those absurdly expensive parkas adorned with a red, white, and blue logo that proudly displays two words: Canada Goose. Valued at around $995, these jackets are an all–too–obvious indicator of wealth. But how did this jacket, warm enough for journeys to the Arctic, become a status symbol? Founded in 1957 as Metro Sportswear Ltd., Canada Goose originally started out as a humble company that specialized in woolen vests, raincoats, and snowmobile suits. After the invention of a volume–based down filling machine, Metro Sportswear created a new label called Snow Goose—a precursor to the company's current name. In 1982, Laurie Skreslet be-

came the first Canadian to summit Mount Everest, all while wearing a custom parka designed by Metro Sportswear, paving the way for what would soon become Canada Goose’s rise to success. Although Canada Goose coats are known for their durability, warmth, and quality, the protection they offer from extreme cold isn't exactly necessary in places like Philadelphia and New York City. Because of that, the reason behind Canada Goose’s allure here is clear: branding and clout.​ One of the reasons behind Canada Goose’s reputation as a status symbol could be its association with film crews and the high–brow film community. After serving as the “unofficial jacket” of film crews in cold settings, Can-

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To be honest, they’re not even that cute. | KIRA WANG ada Goose quickly aligned itself with the Hollywood elite by partnering with the Sundance Film Festival in 2013. In the same year, supermodel Kate Upton wore a Canada Goose jacket on the cover of Sports Illustrated, highlighting the company's association with stardom. Besides the brightly contrasting logo, everything about Canada Goose jackets is seemingly lowkey—from the coats' muted coloring to their practical styles. This gives the brand an air of functionality and quality while also drawing the eye to its infamous logo. Because these clever branding tactics made consumers associate Canada Goose with the rich and famous, wealthy college students began to consider these parkas a winter

necessity. The exorbitant cost was justified by the jackets' so– called practicality—after all, it makes sense to splurge on a high–quality basic, right? But not everyone agrees with that sentiment. What’s the point of buying an expensive coat for 'practical' reasons when temperatures hardly ever drop below 20 degrees Fahrenheit—if not to flex on your peers? Critics see Canada Goose jackets and luxury Supreme hoodies in a similar light: as a gaudy means to flaunt your wealth. Despite Supreme being considered a “flashier” brand than Canada Goose, both serve the same purpose: to sell incredibly expensive clothes with a recognizable logo that provides for an air of exclusivity. Just like Supreme, the ubiquitous yet

exclusive nature of Canada Goose has made it a prime target for counterfeits and knockoffs. Not only this, but Canada Goose wearers have also increasingly become targets of theft—again highlighting the equation of these jackets with wealth. Bearing this in mind, we have to ask ourselves a question: Why do we place so much emphasis on looking rich in the name of practicality? Why do we idolize a jacket just for its logo? The value of owning a Canada Goose coat comes not from its functionality but the social clout we perceive that it offers. In our society, we've come to define ourselves in relation to others based on our consumption; our obsession with Canada Goose jackets is a prime example.


OVERHEARDS

OVERHEARDS 11.28.2021 P

PH ITA

"Hater of god, lover of therapy: all the bad things."

NEV E

MO N

MY E

This week: therapy, Viggo Mortensen, and a cheater's guide to love and romance

R

LE F

O

GA

MISTS FEAR HER

"The key to having two boyfriends is that one of them is not your boyfriend."

T THEIR HAMILTON PHASE

"The ego, the id, and the superego: I refer to mine as the Schuyler sisters."

GET

S

R TU

NED ON BY GREEN BOOK

"If Viggo Mortensen came up to me and said, 'Hey baby, let's get it on,' I'd say yes."

MA NI

STATION TIKTOK DEVOTEE FE

"I'm approachable but untouchable. Oversharing adds to my mystique."

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UNDER THE BUTTON

OP-ED: Let’s Not Cancel Mansplaining Because I Actually Don’t Understand Anything

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ife as a white, straight, cisgender woman at an elite private university is hard. My fragile female mind can’t handle the stress of learning concepts in this progressive world that are so obviously meant for a man. No, I don’t understand why we can’t just print more money to solve the national debt. No, I don’t know how to change a car tire. No, I don’t understand what the fuck a supply shortage is and why it is causing the Starbucks on 39th and Walnut to be out of stock of the breakfast sandwich I eat every single day. Why are we canceling mans-

plaining when this is literally the only way I am going to learn such things? I don’t understand why I constantly see in the news that mansplaining is “derogatory towards women” and “sexist” and “condescending" … it’s helpful! Mansplaining helps us girls to learn about silly things in life that only a guy can understand. I find it so helpful when a random fraternity brother will come up to me at a party and say “someone is in the bathroom right now” when I have been waiting in line for the past ten minutes — I would’ve never known! And I love when a

guy in my Economics class explains to me a basic knowledge of the rules of basketball even though I watched the game he’s talking about and he didn’t! It’s such a helpful reminder and really puts me in my place. Therefore, I officially declare mansplaining to be UNcanceled. Let’s reinstate the patriarchy! Women should go back to the kitchen where they belong! I don’t have time for stupid things like economics or sports or heck, even literacy! I am perfectly happy cooking, cleaning, and acting as the homemaker I was destined to be. Who’s with me?

Photo from Creative Commons

Well-Written! This Study Shows, But Doesn't Tell MEGAN STRIFF-CAVE

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+! This new study out of Penn Medicine is being hailed by the English Department for its wielding of a popular writing technique entitled “show not tell.” The study, which focuses on the effects of binge drinking on college students, excludes a closing paragraph with deductions from the study. While some say it “blatantly disregards the tenets of the scientific method,” its author, Dr. Yushinki, Ph.D., defends her writing, explaining that she wants readers to draw their own conclusions from the findings. “It’s like, that’s for you to decide. We’re not gonna sit here and say ‘binge drinking unequivocally has a negative impact on your health.’ Nope, that’s just

not our style. We’ll show you the scans of the liver, and then it's up to you, the reader, to find meaning. Isn’t that life? The endless search for meaning, the quest for truth?” Director of the Creative Writing program Dr. Huang loves that these medical paper uses the ‘show not tell’ writing technique. “No one wants a paper to be spelled out for them! Readers should experience the study through senses and feeling, rather than exposition and summarization. Does the main participant of the study eventually slip into a coma due to a dangerously high blood alcohol level? I don’t know, do they?” she said with a coy smile and a wiggle of her eyebrows.


UNDER THE BUTTON

A Cappella Show Review: They Just Sang the "Cup Song" Over and Over Again MARY GRACE MEREDITH ased on the number of tables full of rowdy former theater kids that have been pitched on Locust Walk for the past few weeks, it is officially performance season at Penn. This means that all 34 ½ of Penn’s various premier a cappella groups have crammed into any room on campus that could feasibly be considered a performance venue in order to show off their semester’s work to an adoring audience of family, extended family, and extremely supportive friends. While the a cappella scene on campus continues to annoyingly reject the use of instruments as well as any semblance of meaning for the word ‘premier’, we at Under the Button as the arbiters of all that is cool and/or socially valuable still felt it was our duty to attend one of these shows and provide a review. The results were surprising, to say the least. The audience was immediately put on edge when the group's members entered the auditorium by doing the Camp

B

Rock March up the center aisle to the stage, chanting and clapping in unison as Demi Lovato and the Jonas Brothers did in Camp Rock 2: The Final Jam (2010). Things only got stranger from there. It appears that, in an attempt to connect with their audience’s only prior experience with a cappella, one group went a little too far. The set started out with the famed "Cup Song" from the first Pitch Perfect movie. At first, this seemed as if it could be a fun little crowd pleaser before the real show began, a tongue-in-cheek nod to the movie that all college a cappella groups are now forever associated with. One soloist sang, while one member of the group played the titular cup and the rest of the group stood silently. When the song ended, the soloist was switched out with another member. Instead of singing a different song, however, the "Cup Song" began again. The only difference was that another cup was added in the background. The rest of the show

went on this way, with each new version of the song adding a new cup in the background, as well as occasional harmonizing. By the end of the first act, all polite applause had ceased. The audience was visibly uncomfortable and some questioned whether to stick around after intermission. The most disconcerting part of the performance came in the second act, when the 11th person to solo the song somehow forgot the words. Additionally, there were many moments throughout the show when the background cupplaying was out of sync and, defying all logic, out of tune. Still, after the show was over most of the audience congratulated their child on a job well done. While the experience is something no one wants to ever live through again, we at UTB have to at least applaud the group for their bold experimentation (even though a cup still does not qualify as an instrument, which is disappointing to say the least).

Photo, with edits, by The Daily Pennsylvanian

OP-ED: All Lectures Should Be Asynchronous and Our Eyes Should Be Replaced with Cybernetic Implants IAN ONG

Photo (with edits) by Héctor García

T

hanks to the marvels of modern technology, here at Penn we have had the esteemed privilege to learn remotely. According to many, the greatest success of remote learning has been the introduction of asynchronous

lectures, which has been said to have increased the amount of knowledge retained by students by twenty-fold. The freedom to choose when you want to watch each lecture gives students flexibility in their schedules and ensures they always

keep up with course material in a timely fashion. There’s no doubt about it: all lectures must immediately switch to an asynchronous format in order to maximize our overall productivity and bolster our mental well-being. That much is clear. But I’m also going to go a step further here and suggest that our eyes be removed and replaced with cybernetic implants. Students at Penn have a long and storied tradition of watching lectures at 1.5x speed. But what if we could go faster? With bionic retinas that can automatically scan and compile information, we would be able to put all of our lecture recordings on 150x speed, freeing up valuable time to do homework, take exams,

and complain about how the sleek, cool metal of the eyeball prosthetic irritates our tender sockets. Do we want to be left in the dust when the colossal machine that is globalization sweeps by? Or do we want to gouge out our eyeballs, excavate all of the vitreous humor, and insert spherical seeing devices designed by our top scientists and engineers into the gaps? What would our children think of us? What would they think of us if they found out that we said “no” to substituting our own organic oculi for their vastly superior counterparts? Would you be able to look your children in the eyes (without facial recognition technology and real-time

motion tracking, I might add) and admit that you were nothing but an obtuse Luddite, hopelessly clinging onto the remnants of what once was? I hope I’m not going against the grain here. I mean, the evidence speaks for itself. Even my opponents have to concede that, invariably, technology is good, and so we are just doing the right thing when we install miniature cameras into our skulls that can light up, make little whirring noises, and display our latest iMessages. Cybernetic eyeballs have so much to offer to the modern college student; it simply boggles the mind that we haven’t done this sooner. Penn, make all lectures asynchronous. And please, pull our eyes out by force.

N OV E M B E R 3 0 , 2 0 21 3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E 2 3

Photo, with edits, by The Daily Pennsylvanian


THE RADIAN EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE Now leasing for Fall 2022 (215) 222-4212 | theradian.com 24 34TH STREET MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 30, 2021


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