October 19, 2021 by 34th Street Magazine

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

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

5 Onda Latina Makes Waves

8 New Fall Music

12 What Did Penn Cost Mike Blackwell?

19 Meet Jaqueline City, Philly Designer

21 Figo Opens in Northern Liberties

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 2

On conversations, canceled coffee chats, and craving attention

ast ssemester, I felt conversation–starved. This doesn’t mean I wasn’t talking to people. On the contrary I was talking to everyone: my mother (about The Bachelorette), my roommate (about who would do the dishes), and my co– workers (about deliverables, obviously). Every exchange hovered just above transactional, but slightly below actual small talk. We’d chat about the weekend and the weather and what vaccine we’d got, but nothing more. It was always about what we were doing. Never why we were doing it, or if we should be. At one point, I could not recall the last time someone earnestly asked how I was feeling. The first time someone did, I burst, crying about things I didn’t even know bothered me—mostly because I never got the chance to enunciate them. Unloading felt therapeutic in a bad way, like I would never again earn a conversation because I wasted it whining. I suspect a lot of people feel this way, unheard yet constantly communicating. Penn is a cauldron of pleasantries, of pre–professionalized familiarity and coffee dates that don’t materialize. As much as Penn Face is about faking okayness, it’s equally about faking friendliness, with most conversations fizzling out once they stop holding utility. It’s useful to know where our classmates are working and if they like their economics professor. Everything else? Dead air. Perhaps we don’t keep lunch plans because we don’t know what to say during them, our interest dwindling once we push past internship talk and complaints about our course load. Talking is hard. Chatting, on the other hand, is too easy.

Kira Wang, Audience Engagement Editor 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

34TH STREET MAGAZINE OC TOBER 19, 2021

This issue is about the art of conversation and how listening can drive impact. Our Word on the Street essay is about what happens when your friends listen to your assaulter over you, while our feature focuses on a student who struggled to get Penn to hear him. And while our lighter fare is full of plenty of interviews, the bottom line is this: Conversations count, so we ought to stop avoiding the hard ones.

SSSF,

Bea

Nycz, Kate Ratner, Kayla Cotter, Mame Balde, Shelby Abayie, Vidur Saigal 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 WilsonThompson, Kayla Cotter, Vidur Saigal, Heather

Shieh, Caleb Crain Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Isabel Liang Cover Design by Joanna Xiang Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Bea Forman, Editor-InChief, 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. congrats denali!

WORD ON THE STREET

What They Don’t Tell You About Reporting an Assault at Penn The system did not fail me, but the community did. | JESSICA BAO

Illustration by Alice Heyeh

Content warning: The following text describes an instance of assault, which can be disturbing or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.

t 4 a.m. on Sept. 2, 2019, my then best friend assaulted me. He struck me twice that night. Once across my shoulder, the sound echoing across Harnwell College House's elevator hall. Once on my right arm, just above my elbow, before punching the wall in front of me—his face inches from mine—as he screamed about what a huge fucking bitch I was. We had gone to a frat party with a few friends earlier that night. All of us were drinking and dancing, but he got so drunk that the fraternity cut him off. When we tried to move him away from the bar, he flailed his arms around and shoved us off. When the night was winding down, only he insisted on staying. Not wanting to leave him behind, we half–dragged, half– persuaded him out. As we walked down Locust, a commotion erupted. For reasons unknown, he had gotten into an argument with the students walking behind him. He stumbled and screamed, “Fuck freshmen! Fuck freshmen!” We didn't know if that group really was first years, but they weren't happy. As we walked into Harnwell, where he and I shared a suite, one of the maybe–first–years yelled at us, “Fuck you, man!” He slouched across from me in the elevator, and my mind wandered back to the many times before when he had become so angry about leaving a party that he took it out on others. I then remembered a concert that we were planning to attend together, and I suddenly realized that I wouldn't be able to stop him from drinking too much there or from fighting strangers. “H, I don’t want to go to the concert with you anymore," I said. His head popped up, and he shouted, “You don’t? Well,

fuck you!” His vitriol shocked me out of a reply. Earlier that night, he had been aggressive, like he often was when he was drunk. He'd given me a "friendly" but hard slap on the shoulder. He'd grabbed me by my face, which burnt from the force of his slap. That night, as we left the elevator, I was fed up and annoyed. I said, “H, don’t fucking hit me again.” He struck me casually, as if my words required him to assert his dominance. He didn’t even look at me. But he hit me so purposefully, so violently, that the pain increased even as he walked away. The whack of his palm echoed. I froze, stunned, and could not stop myself from crying. “He can’t just hit me,” I said. “Did he just hit me? He can’t do that. He can’t just hit people.” He went to lay down on the ground in front of our suite. He closed his eyes, his face slack. One of our friends came to comfort me, patting my arm. Exhausted and angry, I said, “Fuck you, H. I’m going to bed.” That was when he jumped up, blocked my way, and began to scream, “Fuck me? FUCK YOU! Why are you such a huge fucking bitch?” He struck my arm. “I’m so fucking nice to you!" He began punching the wall right next to my stomach. A substitute, perhaps. He was still flailing and screaming when our friends dragged him away. Someone else led me to a different floor. When I woke up the next morning, my shoulder was throbbing, and the previous night felt like a nightmare. He had already left—gone to one of the many community events that he had helped plan. Later, I heard that he was telling people there, “Man, last night was wild.”

OC TOBER 19, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

The day after it happened, the thought of covering for H never actually crossed my mind. When I called my mother on the phone that morning, I tried to downplay it, but I broke down. “他不可以打人啊,” I cried, the familiarity of our language enveloping me. “他再怎么样也不可以打人啊!” He can’t hit people. No matter what happens, he can’t just hit people. He had shouted so loudly that people woke up throughout our hallway, including our residential advisor (RA), who at first thought she was in the midst of a nightmare and then immediately called security. There was never any hiding what he did, but not everyone saw it that way. That afternoon, minutes before I was due to meet with the RA, our suitemate called me. He consoled me at first. Then he said, “You absolutely have the right to do what you want. You do. But I just wanted to let you know what the consequences could be if you tell them what he did. He probably can’t live with us anymore. He might get suspended. This could go on his record forever.” A few days later, a mutual friend told me to talk to H. “There is a second side to the story,” she said. “Every story has two sides. You need to know his side of the story."

CAMPUS

RESOURCES:

In the only conversation I had with H since the assault, he claimed that he remembered nothing from that night—that he had blacked out at the party. I asked him, "Why? Why me? Why did you hate me so much? And if you did, why couldn’t you have just told me instead of using such a painful method?" He couldn’t answer. All he said was that he didn’t know, and he didn’t remember. He had issues. That was all. Instead of owning up, he promised that he would go to Penn’s Counseling and Psychological Services, that he would alert his work, and that he would quit drinking entirely. “Actually, well,” he said, “I’m going to stay sober for at least this semester, and then maybe just like a beer or two at a party or something next year.” Harnwell House Dean Viraj Patel, Student Intervention Services, and the Division of Public Safety (DPS) all reached out to me about what happened that night. DPS asked me if I wanted to file an official police report then, and I said no. I don’t know if H kept his other promises, but three weeks later, I saw him at another party. Drunk. When we made eye contact, he ducked and hid under the bar until I walked away. It would've been a funny scene if it hadn’t been so sad.

"ALL HE SAID WAS THAT HE DIDN’T KNOW, AND HE DIDN’T REMEMBER." When our then–mutual friend told me to listen to his side, I asked her, “If he had hit you, would you forgive him?” She said yes. Turns out, all of our friends could forgive him, but they couldn’t forgive me. It wasn’t long before I noticed him surrounded by our old friends at events that we had once planned to attend together. Friends who, since the assault, avoided me. Friends who stopped inviting me to places and answering my texts. Meanwhile, his face appeared over and over again. As if nothing had ever happened. When I reached out to a couple of people, their responses were surprisingly uniform. They wanted to give me space after the assault. They didn’t have time to hang out—with me at least. There was plenty of time for him. Most of all, they emphasized the same sentiment: We have just drifted apart, and you can’t blame us

for not hanging out with you. That was their way of saying it—not hanging out with you—as if they had simply left me alone on the playground. But there was a before and an after. Before the assault, I saw these people every day, every week. We went out together, did homework together, ate together. After the assault, I saw many of them once, and then never again. Today, H has sat on the boards of some of the biggest cultural organizations at Penn, many of which are aimed toward our shared Asian American identity. Now, these are organizations and events that I cannot attend unless I want to face my assaulter. Our formerly mutual friends—today, just his—have since told me to think about his feelings instead of just my own. They've told me to stop antagonizing everybody by bringing this up, and to stop viewing all men through a negative lens. They told me to believe that everyone has goodness in them. Yes, the man who hit me has goodness in him. Even today, I want to believe that’s true. H is the man who sat with me in the emergency room when I had the flu our first year. He’s also the man who hit me so hard that my shoulder was sore for days after. He can be kind and funny. But when I close

my eyes, I can still hear the sound of his hand connecting with my skin. He’s loved by our community, and in reporting him and refusing to forgive him, I am rejected by it. The case of Brock Turner infuriated the world five years ago, but people often forget that his family and friends wrote letters defending him, blaming his actions on alcohol or the school’s party culture. Before my assault, I never thought that something like this could happen at Penn. But I also never realized that sometimes, the same people infuriated by Brock Turner might be the ones writing letters for someone else. When I first reported my assault, I was worried about navigating the system, but I never thought that I would face backlash from my own friends. These are the same people who campaign for feminist issues, who champion minority causes, and who would never have forgiven Brock Turner. These are the people who watched my assaulter hit me, who pulled him away as he thrashed and screamed. If these people can prioritize and forgive H—a man who cited intoxication for his actions yet continued to drink—then what chance did I have? What chances do any of us have?

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.

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.

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. 4

34TH STREET MAGAZINE OC TOBER 19, 2021

EGO

Onda Latina is Making Waves on and off Campus Photo courtesy of Isabela Viswanath

Penn's premier Latinx dance group has an impact that extends beyond the stage. | ANJALI KISHORE

t the beginning of the year, it wasn’t uncommon to see people standing still on Locust, marveling at dipping, twirling figures dancing to vibrant salsa music at all times of the day. To passersby, the performance was a gravity–defying whirlwind. For Jazmín Estevez–Rosas (C '22) and Jadel Contreras (C '22), it was just another day as part of Penn's premier Latinx dance group: the student–run, internationally recognized Onda Latina. In Spanish, "Onda Latina" translates to "Latin Wave." It's hard to deny the momentum that the group has picked up since its inception in 1996. Starting as a small group of students seeking to entertain and educate the Penn community through dance, Onda has grown into a fixture in the Penn Latin community and the greater salsa scene. It's the only college group invited to the New York International Salsa Congress, a competition featuring groups from over 40 different countries. At Penn, Onda regularly puts on performances in styles like salsa, bachata, merengue, tango, and more, representing the wealth of Latinx cultures. Though the group's goal is to educate the greater Philadelphia community, Jazmín, the president, finds herself learning with each new dance. “I’m Mexican, and many of the dances we do are more rooted in Caribbean culture, particularly dances like salsa and bachata from Puerto Rico and the Do-

minican Republic," she says. "It’s been interesting for me because we’re not necessarily dancing to music in styles that I grew up with, but it has kept me grounded and rooted in my culture in that I’ve been able to explore other Latinx cultures.” The club's accomplishments speak for themselves, but to Jadel, Jazmín, and the rest of Onda’s over 40 members, it’s so much more than a dance troupe. The sense of closeness fostered by the group is, by all accounts, incomparable. “Whether it’s been a good day or a day I struggle a bit, the second I walk into a space with Onda people, it feels like none of it matters,” says Jadel. “The second we all dance together, that’s the only thing that gets my attention. For one, because I love doing it, but also because of the people. We’re all friends first, and then we also happen to come together to create beautiful shows.” The alumni regularly come back for performances, sometimes even choreographing pieces for shows. “Onda alumni are all over the world,” explains Jadel. “The friendships you make here make it so you’re always part of Onda, no matter where you go after. You can always come back to Philly and have a home.” The club’s activities go beyond campus borders. Before the pandemic, Onda began hosting dance socials, which invited members of the Philadelphia Latinx community to come to campus to take lessons, watch Onda

performances, and—most importantly—just dance. Jadel and Jazmín named these socials as one of their favorite experiences with the club. They both loved the energy and enthusiasm from the crowd, and reminisced on the joy of watching older people who had come from across the city join in on the fun. The socials reflect the spirit of Onda: a place where people of Latin American identity are united by their love of dance. While COVID–19 guidelines have put socials on hold for the foreseeable future, they will without a doubt be back. As president, Jazmín hopes to build a more substantial presence in Philly by increasing accessibility to dance lessons. Like the majority of the club’s members, Jazmín never had formal dance training before coming to Penn. Because of the prevalence of dancing in Latinx culture, she grew up dancing at parties and family events. Jadel and Andrew also joined the club based on their love of dancing in casual settings within their Latinx community at home, but both initially lacked a technical dance background. At Onda, lack of training is not a barrier to entry. Members are selected with an approach that emphasizes commitment to the group and passion for dance as much as pure skill. However, that’s not always the case with dance groups. “A lot of people within Black and brown communities aren’t often formally trained in dance, so when

people come to auditions, obviously the people who have access to formal training will be more comfortable," says Jazmín. "Opening that opportunity up to the community to learn from us and professional instructors was really important.” The pandemic gave Jazmín and the rest of the board the opportunity to make progress on this mission. The ease of Zoom allowed Onda to host two hours of professionally taught salsa lessons a week. The group invited Philadelphia residents and Latinx schoolchildren to take part in the learning experience alongside troupe members. As much as Onda is a space for fun, learning, and friendship, its impact on its members is also deeply personal. “[Joining Onda] helped me get in touch with my Latinx background, which is something that I never really did growing up,” explains Jadel. “I went to a pretty heavily white suburban high school, and this was a chance to make my family proud and connect with them a little more, in a way that I wasn’t really doing.” Both Jazmín and Jadel are excited about the group's future. Onda's first in–person show since the pandemic is fast approaching: "Alicia in Ondaland" will take place on Oct. 29 and Oct. 30 at the Iron Gate Theatre. Whether it’s through community engagement, individual impact on members, or professional accomplishments, the Latin Wave has made quite a splash at Penn.

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EGO

NIKHIL GUPTA HOMETOWN: Naperville, Ill. and Shanghai MAJOR:

International studies, business analytics, and marketing in the Huntsman Program

ACTIVITES:

Penn Undergraduate Assembly (UA), Penn Dhamaka, Oracle Senior Honor Society, Penn Microfinance, Wharton Asia Exchange, RIPPLE Lab

Worldly. Driven. Curious. Meet the senior whose actions speak louder than words. | ALANA BESS 34th STREET: Can you tell us about your involvement in social justice on campus? NIKHIL GUPTA: I’ve been involved in advocacy work in two major ways: through the UA and my summers while at Penn. In the UA, my most meaningful role was as treasurer, where my main responsibility was to allocate $2.7 million to all the student groups on campus and serve as an elected board member. I also had a mentorship role developing the project work of younger members and helping them connect with the right administrators. But my most major [role] within the advocacy angle was establishing the $150,000 Social Life and Inclusion Fund. With COVID–19, a lot of student groups ceased operations, and the already distributed UA budgets weren’t able to be fully spent. The excess funds usually go to the Student Activities Council (SAC) reserve fund. But the executive board really tried to prioritize finding a way to use

that money to advance equity and inclusion on campus, so I worked to secure more funding towards that advancement, create guidelines for what the fund would look like, and decide who makes those funding decisions. We wanted there to be a fund dedicated towards social life and to make sure different student groups have community on campus. Traditionally, funding goes towards predominantly white organizations or Greek life, so this was a way to address that gap. This will actually be rolled out this year under the current UA executive board. Another way I was involved in advocacy was during my [first year] summer when I worked with the National Urban League, a historic civil rights organization headquartered in New York through Penn’s Fox Fellowship Program. I worked at their Office of the General Counsel and did research on a telecom merger for their negotiations to improve equity and inclusion at their

34TH STREET MAGAZINE OC TOBER 19, 2021

company. I also led a pro bono legal clinic in Indiana at the National League’s annual legal conference consisting of free legal advice for whatever situation the attendees were facing. During sophomore year, I was supposed to go to Argentina through Penn to work with a social impact consulting organization. Because of COVID–19, I couldn't go, and I ended up doing it from my bedroom. I created models to gauge the economic value that was generated by some poverty alleviation mechanisms in Chile. I also made some criteria for the CEO to evaluate different investment projects in South America, so that was a really good time, too. I just found a way to do inclusion work in different spaces I've been a part of. STREET: Can you talk about your experience with SAC? NG: Once [I was] appointed UA treasurer, I began working with SAC. I worked as an executive board member, worked to secure funding for student

groups, and was a liaison for 20 to 30 groups on campus. STREET: What can you tell us about being part of the board to expand menstrual products on campus? NG: [First year] and sophomore year, I was involved in an initiative with the Penn Association for Gender Equity (PAGE), Period at Penn, and the Graduate and Professional Student Assembly (GAPSA). Together we had a lot of meetings with different administrators to lobby for free products on campus. We faced pushback based on funding and different concerns over who would actually distribute these products, so the other student leaders and I took it into our own hands to conduct some surveys and get an understanding of whether or not there was a need for this on campus. We received almost 1000 signatures [on our petition]. Because it was an important issue to the Penn community, the administration was finally willing

to listen, and the vice provost for University life gave us 50% of the funding for a pilot program and GAPSA funded the other half. We kicked off that program in the fall of 2019, but, unfortunately due to COVID–19, it was shut down. PAGE and Period at Penn are now actively working on restarting that pilot program, and the UA will also take that on. I will be working as a mentor on that as well. The new goal for the project is to change it from a pilot program to advocating for the university to fully take it on. I don’t want to take full credit for this at all, because PAGE and Period at Penn were super monumental in that success.

STREET: What community at Penn has shaped your experience the most? NG: Definitely the Huntsman community. When I came in as a [first year], I had 50 friends right

up in " Growing China really shaped

my perspective to prioritize learning about other people and finding connections with people who are different from me.

off the bat. I’ve learned so much from them about so many distinct cultures from around the world while outside of the classroom. I formed meaningful friendships with upperclassmen who led me to join a lot of the groups I did, like the Wharton Asia Exchange, Penn Microfinance, and the UA. All of those involvements were inspired by the work of upperclassmen. STREET: Tell us about yourself outside of Penn and school. What makes you unique? NG: I have a really strong curiosity for learning about different cultures. I have advanced proficiency in the four most widely spoken languages in the world: English, Chinese,

Spanish, and Hindi. Growing up in China really shaped my perspective to prioritize learning about other people and finding connections with people who are different from me. I wouldn’t have that feeling had I not lived internationally during my younger years. STREET: What’s next for you after Penn? NG: Next year, I’ll be working in management consulting in Miami. I interned there this past summer and I really liked my time there, so I'm going back. After that, we’ll see what the future holds! This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND STREET: Last song you listened to? NG: “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals. STREET: What’s something people wouldn’t know about you? NG: I’m really interested in learning about world religions. I grew up in a family that is Hindu and Jain, but I went to a Christian school in China. I think that experience at the crossroads of my identity at home and what I was learning at school really made me interested in learning about other world religions. I carried that with me to college. STREET: Who do you look up to? NG: My parents. They carved out a life here after emigrating from India and have shown unconditional love for our family and our communities we've lived in. They taught me to be open–minded and supportive of everyone around me. STREET: What’s your most uncharacteristic characteristic? NG: People tend to view me as extroverted and high spirited, but I often prioritize nights in to just recharge from how chaotic life is. STREET: There’s two types of people at Penn ... NG: Those who study at Huntsman Hall and those who study at Fisher Fine Arts. STREET: And you are? NG: Both! When I want to feel productive, I go to Fisher, but when I want to have fun under the guise of studying, I’ll book a GSR at Huntsman with my friends.

OC TOBER 19, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

MUSIC

Street’s Highly Anticipated Fall Music Releases Newsflash: Adele and ABBA are back. | EMILY MOON

usic fans have been thoroughly spoiled this year. Lorde broke her four year silence since her last critically–acclaimed album, Melodrama, which inflated our excitement with fast–paced

tracks like “Green Light” and brought us crashing down to earth with piercing ballads like “Liability.” Her latest album Solar Power, released August 2021, took a different approach from her past repertoire—and while not all

Adele, “Easy on Me” Mysterious billboards for her upcoming album with blazing ‘30’s ap- 30. Adele, biographed by peared in cities like New her previous albums 19, York, London, and Paris, 21, and 25, has never been leading fans to speculate shy about love and all of that Adele might be re- the barbs that come along turning after five years with it. Following her with a new album. Adele divorce, listeners can be then confirmed the ru- sure to feel the emotional mors, uploading a clip of weight of her experiences a decidedly Adele–esque after more maturation in piano intro on Twitter. 30. After lots of speculaHer lead single “Easy on tion, it was confirmed that Me” is dropping on Oct. the album will be released 15 and will set the tone on Nov. 19.

Remi Wolf, Juno Impossibly fun artist Remi Wolf dropped her debut album, Juno, Oct. 5. After a string of funky EPs featuring groovy songs like “Disco Man,” Wolf released “Anthony Kiedis” and “Front Tooth” as the lead singles to her upcoming album. Wolf has already compiled a 15–track remix album in 2021 fea-

turing “Photo ID (with Dominic Fike),” so she’s been keeping busy. If her colorful and chaotic album covers aren’t enough proof, her singles have set the tone for her latest drop. Full of spunk and life, Wolf’s discography is bursting with refreshing beats and personality—it’ll be a surprise if Juno doesn’t follow suit.

3 4 T H S T R E E T M AG A Z I N E O C TO B E R 19 , 2 0 21

Illustration by Amy Krimm Lorde fans enjoyed the shift, many indulged in the excitement of new releases. Other notable releases from 2021 have included Kacey Musgraves’ star–crossed, Olivia Rodrigo’s highly anticipated debut album SOUR,

and Japanese Breakfast’s Jubilee. We’ve already listened to some hits and a lot of misses, but the music industry isn’t slowing down yet. Here are some upcoming releases to (hopefully) end the year on a great note.

ABBA, Voyage If Adele’s five–year break from music felt long, try not to think about ABBA’s 40– year break. Even though the iconic Swedish band split up back in 1982, they’re reuniting to release Voyage on Nov. 5, before putting on a virtual tour. Not many artists can say they’ve had multiple movies created around their discography, so

expectations are sky high for the group. They’ve already released two singles, the loving ballad, “I Still Have Faith in You,” and dramatic mini saga, “Don’t Shut Me Down,” but ABBA fans across the world are excited (and a little worried) to see whether or not the group will still impress, forty years later.

Holly Humberstone, The Walls Are Way Too Thin Indie artist Holly Humberstone is set to release her second EP on Nov. 5. The young British rising star received widespread acclaim for her debut EP, Falling Asleep at the Wheel, with high praise for her versatility covering heavy topics like toxic relationships and mental health issues. An emblem of true vulnerability, Falling Asleep at the Wheel garnered attention from outlets like The New

York Times and landed her an opportunity to perform on Jimmy Kimmel Live. For the fledgling artist, a successful second EP could cement her as one of the biggest newcomers on the indie scene. After being named a top five artist for BBC Music Sound of 2021 and partnering with Apple Music’s Up Next program for elevating rising talent, expectations are high for Humberstone.

Taylor Swift, Red (Taylor’s Version) In true Taylor Swift fashion, the pop star sent fans into a tailspin after a surprise announcement that she’d be releasing her rerecording of her 2012 album Red a week early. Now coming out Nov. 12, Swift is including some new tracks she labels as “from the vault,” including a whopping ten–minute long version of a classic sad girl anthem, “All Too Well.” The hype surrounding her second installment of re– recorded albums has fans excited to pick apart the differences and hear her new take on old tracks (plus, who wouldn’t get excited for more Jake Gyllenhaal memes?).

We'll only know if these new albums meet their expectations when they come out, but meanwhile, music lovers everywhere can share their excitement while waiting in anticipation.

MUSIC

Meek Mill Balances Affluence and Agony in the Inconsistent

Expensive Pain

The Philly rapper continues to provide a solid voice for underdogs in the city on his latest album | GRAYSON CATLETT

hen it comes to current music in Philadelphia, no artist comes close to the iconic status of Meek Mill. Mill’s underdog story turned him into a champion for Philly, most notably with the city’s ubiquitous embrace of his 2012 anthem “Dreams and Nightmares.” Despite establishing himself as one of Philly's largest artistic figures, his hardships didn’t disappear. Behind multiple high–selling albums and mixtapes, the rapper has been caught up in a whirlwind of legal issues and personal drama. This mixture of fame and troubles has consistently been a compelling theme in Mill’s music, and that theme continues in his newest album, Expensive Pain; however, the album is uneven in emboldening that message. The album follows 2018’s Championships, which was Mill’s first full–length effort since his release from a prison in Chester, Pa. The record featured an even balance of celebrations and struggles, with the majority of the lyrics focusing on Mill’s incarceration. While a bit overlong, Championships was a statement that showed that the rapper was still his old self, giving the same energy and personality but with more to say. Three years later, Mill still sticks to his roots. Expensive Pain gives a blend of vibrant bangers and slower, more emotional tracks, all portraying a life of triumphs that’s still weighed down by the same problems. Tracks like the album opener “Intro (Hate on Me)” and the single “Sharing Locations” show Mill taking a victory lap in a Rolls Royce over flashy and hard–hit-

ting production. In contrast, moments like the title track and “On My Soul” are more serious, as Mill reflects on his family and friends, and the issues that they faced then and now. But despite multiple standouts on the album, there are some instances where things could’ve been fleshed out further or cut. The intro is an energetic start to the album as Mill raps about riches and success while giving back to his family and friends. “Rockin’ Dior / I still remember me poor, I’m tryna get more,” he raps. While he mentions getting jewelry for his friends and even a black credit card for his mother, he also talks about bulletproofing their cars; violence never seems to escape them. These moments of excess on this album serve as prideful displays of success. “Northside Southside” and “Outside (100 MPH)” are gritty tracks with sinister beats, both of which see Mill mixing flexes with threats. The single “Sharing Locations” is a highlight in this vein despite its plain production. Mill trades lines seamlessly with Lil Baby and Lil Durk. They have great chemistry on the track, serving an exciting mix of some of the biggest rappers in each of their respective cities. “Tweaking” highlights Mill's impressive efforts to boast about his luxuries over an elegant boom bap beat, while “Blue Notes 2” is a dramatic and memorable collaboration with fellow Philly artist Lil Uzi Vert. However, some of the bangers don’t bring much to the table. “Me (FWM)” is built over a crude beat with an unpleasant piano melody. It has one of the weakest hooks from Mill on the album, and A$AP Ferg's verse

doesn’t help either. “Hot” sounds more pleasant by comparison, but it doesn’t really make itself unique in any way, other than a middling Moneybagg Yo performance. “Flamerz Flow,” which is listed as a bonus track to end the album, has an exciting start but suddenly ends after only 90 seconds. While these songs aren’t necessarily bad, they just aren’t as captivating as other tracks. Meanwhile, the slower songs offer some of the most captivating content on the album. Mill offers impassioned auto–tuned singing on the track “On My Soul,” reflecting on violence and drugs from his upbringing— from friends dying in the streets to his aunt dying from a heroin overdose. It’s one of the most

powerful and emotional tracks on the album. The glamorous production and passionate delivery on the title track synthesize the album's themes: a tour of Mill’s wealth that doesn’t forget the downsides that still affect him. “Love Train” shows Mill conflicted between his love life and his money–driven ego, often progressing to toxic relationships. The final three tracks on the album are an amazing finish. “Angels (RIP Lil Snupe)” directly pays tribute to a friend and labelmate who passed away in 2013. “Cold Hearted III” gives some of Mill’s most impactful bars about his childhood trauma. While Mill delivers deeply vulnerable verses about his current outlook on social media, his home, and his calling on the final track, “Halo,” Brent Faiyaz, he provides a scene stealing chorus: “Should I just wear a halo? / ‘Cause I already know too many angels.” Unfortunately, there are some misses on the slower side of Expensive Pain as well. The love song

“Ride For You” doesn’t really fit Mill’s style at all, and neither him nor guest artist Kehlani sound excited on the track. While “We Slide” has an animated performance from Young Thug, the production isn’t unique or notable at all, and Mill’s autotune makes him sound an awful lot like Thug. “Love Money” just fails to make a notable identity for itself. At the end of it, Mill comes away with a mostly good album. Despite a handful of tedious songs, there are many highlights that boast great production, compelling lyrics, or electric energy from him and his fellow artists. Through the shortcomings and all, Mill continues to pave his own lane, providing a solid voice for underdogs in Philly and around the world. His displays of suffering and success, no matter how flawed, are bound to inspire millions.

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Alessia Cara Explores Her Inner Fishbowl on In The Meantime

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Every challenge is an additional exhibit within Cara’s self– contained bubble. | EVAN QIANG

hen “Scars To Your Beautiful” blew up overnight in 2016, Alessia Cara faced a dilemma that had plagued many in her path: develop a strong fanbase and cruise to constant success, or fade into irrelevance once the next one– hit wonder appears. But unlike artists such as Meghan Trainor, Carly Rae Jepsen, or Iggy Azalea who chased more hits, Cara was content with making music that was personal to her. The music video for her early single “I’m Yours” perfectly showcases her humble personality. Instead of choreographed dance sequences or high–budget CGI effects, the video is taken with a selfie stick and includes only Cara and her brother strolling through a suburban neighborhood. Cara has always made it clear that she’s not your typical pop star, and she continues to illustrate that on her new album In The Meantime. By offering a glimpse of her previously untold emotional obstacles, Cara is a glass tank for others to observe and appreciate.

“Fishbowl” best introduces Cara’s crises and lays out the issues the pop star faces as she refines her character. She can’t recognize if she’s “swimming in a fishbowl” or actually “in the deep end,” and this loss of depth perception coincides with other issues that clog her mind. What starts as a cozy and sensual R&B–pop track temporarily transitions into disarray when Cara’s voice is drowned out by the havoc of saxophones. They allude to the sudden panic attacks Cara sometimes faces, which was the main inspiration for the track. Feeling trapped by her anxiety, she expresses how an uncontrolled buildup sometimes manifests into a battle, her “against [her] body.” The album’s cover features Cara shut inside one of these fishbowls, but she’s not afraid to share her vulnerability in isolation when she begs for somebody to “talk [her] down.” Rather, she finds this process to be beneficial in her own journey and helpful in expanding on “more mundane things, more nuanced things” in her life.

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Although “Fishbowl” highlights an introverted Cara, “Shapeshifter” brings out her bolder and more impassioned side. She views a past relationship with regret for not viewing the red flags. Even in the times when they’re “dancing in a dream,” her partner betrays her by “break[ing his] promise” and acting like a shapeshifter. A harp and other string instruments are interspersed with the soothing guitar, subtly adding drama. The soft “kaboom” at the end theatrically signifies the end of this toxicity. Similarly on “Drama Queen,” Cara retroactively analyzes a relationship laced with turmoil. She calls her partner a “drama queen” when she wants a steadfast “knight in shining armor,” not someone who is uncommitted and will “break [promises].” Her life eerily mimics a movie to the point where Cara wants to “call the Academy.” She’s still fittingly confined in her transparent habitat, but she has grown comfortable in her new environment. Even if everyone can see her mistakes, Cara finds solace

in candidness. Sometimes, Cara feels exhausted by these failures, which leads her to the temptations of introversion. On “Middle Ground,” she wonders what it's like to thrive by herself. But she’s not completely alone; she still “got [her] dog” who’s “enough” for her. While the bed may be “a little cold on the left side,” "it’s warm enough sometimes." These new experiences lead her to a “middle ground,” which drives her crazy. Like the album cover, she’s stuck between two contrasting worlds: Does she relive the heartbreak that caused her so much pain, or find the joys in individuality? Collaborator CHIKA helps Cara figure out this predicament. She advocates for self– care and self–love, letting Cara know that if “love is really meant for [her],” then that person will “meet [her] in the middle.” Cara embraces her identity, and despite the pressure to succumb to outside influences, she knows that it’ll take time for her to fully appre-

ciate the “butterflies and starry eyes” of a potential love interest. “Sweet Dream” extends the listener’s peek at Cara’s hyperactive, uncertain thought process. As a sufferer of insomnia, she can’t “catch” where her “running mind” goes, even if it’s 4:55 in the morning. Much like her spatial struggle on “Fishbowl,” Cara faces temporal disorientation as she asks if it’s the night or the morning. These restless moments are ridden with “[hidden monsters]” or “scary thoughts” when all Cara wants is the stability of “sweet dream[s].” Ironically, the thoughts can “wear [her] out” as she expresses in “Voice In My Head,” but sleep still isn’t an option. The result is “an evil figurine” that breaks her “own heart” and makes her walk “with [her] head down.” These voices act as motivation when she’s alone in her own world, but they are just as likely to turn against her at the worst times. After Cara won Best New Artist at the Grammys, she became susceptible to the Best New Artist curse, a decades– long superstition that predicted an imminent downfall. Even if Cara isn’t the go–to feel–good radio powerhouse anymore, In The Meantime is one of the most realized, mature, and confessional albums from an artist who has been in the musical spotlight since early adulthood. She further develops the story she told on “Scars To Your Beautiful” after the chaotic times of her teenage years, letting these scars age and heal over time. It’s disrespectful to label Cara as a generic indie–pop artist when the struggles she relays are her own. In the big, empty space of an aquarium, she is still finding the best way to approach her challenges in her small yet independent fishbowl. Permanence doesn’t suit her, but neither does turbulence. She’s still trying to find the perfect balance, and her songs are proof that she’s on the right track.

FILM & TV

In The Garden of Words,

Less is More

This slow–paced movie deserves your patience. | CINDY ZHANG

EDITOR'S NOTE: This article contains spoilers for The Garden of Words.

all is upon us, and we all know what that means: pumpkin spice lattes, color–changing leaves and Instagram posts of pumpkin spice lattes and color–changing leaves. What it means for college students, however, is midterms, stress, and all– nighters. It wouldn't be uncommon to find a student sinking into melancholic reflection and lamenting their existence around this time of the year. If you’re looking to romanticize your life amid the chaos of college, here is an anime movie that epitomizes the adage "less is more" and illustrates all the main character moments you could adopt in your own life. Makoto Shinkai’s 2013 anime– drama–romance The Garden of Words is set in a Japanese garden in Shinjuku. It depicts a blossoming relationship between a high school student and a teacher from the same school, which was the first of many taboos explored in the movie. Takao, a 15–year–old aspiring shoemaker, skips school on rainy mornings and goes to an idyllic garden to sketch and design shoes, where he meets a 27–year– old woman with a peculiar taste for chocolate and beer pairings. We later learn that she experiences work–related anxiety, after having been ostracized by the school community. She goes to the azumaya, the term used to denote summer pavilions in archetypal Japanese gardens, to escape the noise and pressures of society. Her and Takao's first meeting is characterized by an inexplicable, immediate sense of connection and they continue to rendezvous on rainy days. The male protagonist lives a life devoid of parental figures and derives comfort from spending time in a space where nonconformity is

embraced, from day drinking to skipping obligations to sharing secrets with complete strangers. The azumaya becomes a literal and metaphorical haven for the two, protecting them from an intense thunderstorm as well as the judgement of society. But the symbolism of shoes is not lost: Through these candid interactions, they are able to find the will and courage to “walk” again, to make progress in life, to no longer be stationary and passive. The plot culminates in a heartfelt confession, but the heavy weight of taboos obstructs the "happily ever after" that the audience inevitably hopes for. Nevertheless, both fictional characters and viewers walk away feeling restored and with a fresh perspective on vulnerability. In an environment dominated by "Penn Face"—the act of adopting and maintaining a pretense of perfection—the film's central message of embracing vulnerability rings louder than ever. Featuring an omurice dish that is bound to stir midnight cravings, droplets of rain that take on a life of their own, and dazzling skylines—which are the necessary staple of anime—the film explores the opposing forces of distance and intimacy, nature and society, and solitude and solidarity through an aesthetic lens. Its reliance on visual metaphors and cues is very characteristic of Shinkai, who excels at portraying how objects capture light. The minimal use of dialogue forces the audience to pay close attention to minuscule changes in facial expressions and gestures. The elegant piano music that underscores most of the scenes complements the seamless transitions from the public sphere (school) to the private sphere (their homes

and the azumaya). Paired with the harmonious pitter patter of rain and classic anime food preparation scenes, these elements combine to produce a calming effect on the viewer. They immerse the viewer in a state of serenity and provide the

perfect escape from reality on a Friday night—or any weekday, for that matter, as the film is only 46 minutes. The pressure to thrive in a pandemic has unequivocally exacerbated feelings of negativity and anxiety among Penn stu-

Photo courtesy of Netflix dents, but The Garden of Words is an excellent reminder that as long as you're willing to share, there is someone out there willing to listen. The story is uncomplicated, yet poignant, and the bittersweet ending will only leave you wanting more.

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Mike’s decades of learning culminated in his acceptance to Penn’s MLA program. But now he says the University isn’t willing to support nontraditional students like him. | MIRA SYDOW

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uate degree at Texas A&M University's Kingsville campus, near where he grew up, then transferred to the University of Texas at Austin, and finished his Bachelor’s at Abilene Christian University in Abilene, Texas. His studies spanned the humanities, from speech and the Bible to psychology and sociology. He eventually graduated with a degree in Biblical Studies—which Mike jokes is “like getting a degree from Clown College, as far as employability goes.” The whole process took him about eight years, simply because Mike wanted it to. He frowns, thinking about the modern–day rat race to attend competitive colleges and get out quick to climb the corporate ladder. “Back then, they didn’t care. You could go [to college] as long as you wanted.” In undergrad, Mike claims that he was an average student–he didn’t flunk, but “just sort of passed the time.” However, after the nearly–decade–long process, Mike developed a newfound “love [of ] learning for learning’s sake.” So, after finally graduating and getting married, he went back to school. Mike split his time between work, his family, and correspondence classes at the University of Wisconsin at Madison studying Hebrew, Syriac, Aramaic, and other Semitic languages. Before the birth of the internet, Mike took courses on the other side of the country by mailing materials back and forth with the university. After studying at Wisconsin, 30 years passed before Mike was a student again. In the interim, Mike filled his time with an odd array of careers that kept him in the orbit of educational institutions. First, Mike served as a minister at a fundamentalist church, but the group’s philosophy often conflicted with his educational background. Mike clashed with the church’s discouragement of higher education and interpretations of the Bible, which he could read directly because of his work with Semitic languages. He parted ways with the church, clinging to his faith but recognizing that he “didn’t believe like [he] used to.” His next unconventional gig came from the University of Texas at Rio

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Mike Blackwell Dreamed of Penn. But Dreams Come at a Heavy Cost.

ike Blackwell (MLA ‘23) tries so hard to fit in, but he sticks out like a sore thumb. When I first met him on the benches in front of Van Pelt library in September, where he’d been sleeping for the past few weeks, he was decked out in Penn gear from his hat, to his shirt, to his laptop stickers. He fumbled with his phone to input a classmate’s contact information—his screensaver was a big blue–and–red P. The only indicators that he wasn’t an undergraduate student—or a well–meaning tourist— were his unshaven scruff and the four mismatched bags he carried with him everywhere. They contain all of his belongings. In late August 2021, 67–year–old Mike arrived in Philadelphia from McAllen, Texas, a city that his wife describes as “10 minutes from Mexico,” with nothing but his bags and an acceptance to Penn’s Masters of Liberal Arts program. An Ivy League education was a lifelong dream of Mike’s, but after nearly a decade of undergraduate education and an eccentric career as a minister, writer, and martial artist, it took him a while to get around to it. Arriving on campus 1,500 miles away from his wife and two kids, with his funds dwindling dangerously low, Mike was homeless from late August to late September. Because he couldn’t afford graduate student housing on top of tuition, he slept in odd outdoor spots around campus. After a run–in with Student Intervention Services (SIS) early this fall, the graduate student got off of the streets but sunk into thousands of dollars of debt. Mike spent most of his life in South Texas chasing knowledge wherever he could. He started his undergrad-

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ea Ba raj as Grande Valley. Mike received a call from the kinesiology department, which was searching for a karate instructor. He accepted the job teaching martial arts at the university and earned certifications as a physical trainer, strength trainer, and yoga instructor, among others. That’s how he met Kathrin Dodds, a friend who works in the Office of Institutional Accreditation at the University of Texas, Rio Grande Valley. During daily trips to the weight room with her husband and other members of the staff, Dodds got to know Mike, who worked at the gym part–time. Dodds recalls that Mike was a fascinating conversationalist–his wealth of knowledge spanned beyond the small world of South Texas. A former librarian, she fostered his love for writing, and she has been an avid supporter of his published and unpublished works. Mike describes himself as a “late bloomer” when it comes to his written work. He didn’t start writing until he was in his 40s, but now he has published a novel that delivers the first– person account of a young

evil," he says. With a slight smile, Dodds tells me that Mike’s work is “not for everyone,” but “fascinating” nonetheless. Mike and Dodds contend that writing is his real passion. The decision to apply to Penn for an MLA with a concentration in creative writing was easy. Amid the atmosphere of elitism and exclusivity that characterizes institutions of higher education, Mike saw Penn as a breath of fresh air. He remembers hearing that the university was “the Ivy League without the ivory tower,” and the MLA program offered him the opportunity to be a normal student, unlike other elite graduate programs, where the students aren’t integrated with the rest of the university because “the poor little Harvard elites feel threatened.” But after Mike applied and was accepted, the pandemic made in–person learning in Philadelphia impossible. MLA students were given the option to defer enrollment, so rather than begin in the fall, Mike started online classes in spring of 2021. He finally started attending classes in person this fall, a decision he tells me was motivated by his dreams of the Ivy

League and his next literary endeavor. Mike’s next book, in contrast with his serial killer debut, chronicles the relationship between a Penn student and a Drexel student, so he wanted to get a feel for life on both campuses. As a nontraditional graduate student without sufficient funds, Mike couldn’t have the experience of living in the dorms, or attending parties where the groups may interact, but he could live adjacent to them, a fly on the wall of their campus lives. Despite his unresolved living situation, he was content. Mike described homelessness matter–of–factly, even dryly glamorizing the ability to live in his academic environment, to split his nights between the steps of Van Pelt and Fisher Fine Arts libraries. He anticipated cold Philly winters with nonchalance and aplomb, assured that he would have figured something out by then. Shirla Blackwell, Mike’s wife who still lives in their Texas home, recognizes that the situation wasn’t ideal, but she’s not surprised that he packed up his bags and moved across the country with little–to–no plans. After almost 40 years of marriage, she’s grown accustomed to his adventures. In March of 2019, Mike hatched his plan to pursue further education after Shirla told him, “If you can dream it, do it.” He repeated nearly the same line to me during our conversation. Talking to Mike, it’s easy to view his life with rose–colored glasses. Until I speak to Kathryn Watterson, a professor in the English department at Penn, I fail to grasp the gravity of Mike’s situation. Mike is a student in Watterson’s graduate course “Writing and Remembering: A Memoir Workshop,” and the two quickly became friends. After the first day of class, Watterson casually asked Mike where he lived. When Mike told her that he slept around campus, she was shocked. She’d noticed him lugging his 40–pound bags around (which

he says felt like “running a marathon” walking from one side of campus to the other), but thought nothing of it. There was no shortage of characters in her creative writing classes. When classes were cancelled after the record–setting flooding from Hurricane

Where did he shower? In the library bathrooms, with sink water, early in the morning. Where did he spend most of the day? Studying at Starbucks or in the libraries. Where did he store his belongings? With him, all of the time. Ida, Mike emailed Watterson telling her that he was sad to miss her lesson. She realized he must have spent the night outside, facing the floodwaters, and began to consider the details of his stay. Where did he shower? In the library bathrooms, with sink water, early in the morning. Where did he spend most of the day? Studying at Starbucks or in the libraries. Where did he store his belongings? With him, all of the time. Having nowhere to turn when he arrived on campus this semester, Mike reached out to members of his new community for help. He contacted a support organization for first–generation, low– income students in search of affordable housing options and a food pantry. In September, the group redirected his concerns to Student Intervention Services, a branch of the Vice Provost for University Life that supports the Penn community through crisis intervention and prevention.

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When Mike received the call from Lauren Rudick, the director of SIS, he thought maybe the organization could alleviate his situation. SIS manages an emergency fund for graduate students, which offers temporary housing for displaced individuals, but they do not cover costs of attendance, including long–term graduate student housing. Applications for funds take at least two weeks to process. Still, Mike had hope. But by the end of the conversation, he was sorely disappointed. “How about we buy you a plane ticket back to Texas?” Mike recalls Rudick saying over the phone. The response was a slap in the face. After 50 years of dreaming and a semester of studying for his degree, Mike would have to transition from in–person classes back to online classes, as the University has no protocols in place for graduate students experiencing long– term homelessness. Mike refused that option, insisting that there must be a way for the University to support him—maybe by connecting him with students looking for roommates or directing him to community organizations that combat food insecurity. SIS pressed on. The only possible solutions were to take out loans to fork over thousands of dollars for overpriced graduate student housing, or leave campus entirely. The financial aid resources for nontraditional graduate students who had already begun their degrees were few and far

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between. The final blow: “Maybe you would be happier at a Texas university.” Mike recalls Rudick saying this exactly over the phone. After studying at three Texas universities and working at another, the words are particularly cruel. “Everything this Student Intervention Services said to me involved me going back to Texas, which I found incredibly offensive,” Mike says. “Instead of saying, ‘We’re glad you’re here at Penn, and we know what you’re even willing to sacrifice to come here. Let’s see if we can help you out.’ No, [SIS] wanted to ship me out of the damn place.” Street repeatedly reached out to Rudick directly and SIS at large for comment, but have yet to receive a reply. Mike’s options were dwindling, and the weather was getting cold. He recalls his last nights sleeping on the benches outside of Fisher Fine Arts library. He was often woken by students drunkenly stumbling through the bushes to take a leak inches from his face, or by couples audibly making out on the bench across from where he slept. He reckoned with his future on a wintery campus and decided to take out loans to pay $1500 per month in rent at Chestnut Square Apartments on Drexel’s campus. The total amount of the loans was more than the mortgage on his home in Texas. Even though he moved in during the last week of September, he had to pay for the

whole month, Watterson tells me. She’s sympathetic to his financial burden but notes that he seems happy in his new home. “I think he can be himself now, more fully,” she says. Shirla says they’ll probably have to sell their house to pay off the loans. She sounds so cheerful that she may be joking, but there’s a truth to her words. The Blackwells may not pay off

Shirla says they’ll probably have to sell their house to pay off the loans. She sounds so cheerful that she may be joking, but there’s truth to her words. The Blackwells may not pay off the debt in their lifetime.

the debt in their lifetime. Mike is soured by the costs, but they don’t trigger any kind of revelation. I spoke with Mike again in early October, after he settled into his new apartment. He launches into an impassioned tangent about the ways universities disenfranchise their

students and cherry–pick from a basket of elites, and I realize that this “Caucasian guy from deep South Texas,” as Dodds describes him, is more self–aware than most Penn students I know. He recognizes that universities are businesses masquerading as nonprofits, and that investing in “diversity” often doesn’t mean investing in low–income students of color—or supporting 67–year–old graduate students who’ve barely ventured outside of Texas. Dodds first reached out to Street about covering Mike’s story. At the time, she was focused on finding him a safe place to live and giving him the ability to put food on the table. Now that that’s been forcibly covered, she hopes he finds friends in his new community. “If people would just converse with him, he would love that,” Dodds says. “If they [read this article] and see him on campus, they should just go up to him and start a conversation.” And she’s right. At the end of our conversation, he asks about my own life. What am I studying, and how do I like the campus? We chat about culture shock from moving to Philly from the Deep South, our places in a complex, vast institution, and writing (he’s currently reading Kathy Acker’s “Great Expectations”). He invites me to find him any time to solicit advice or chat about my day. When I leave the bench, reeling from our discourse, I look at everyone I pass a bit differently.

ARTS

FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE FOR THE FUTURE ... AND THE PAST The effects of global warming on the monuments and archeological triumphs of our history cannot be underestimated. | JESSA GLASSMAN

elting glaciers, rising sea levels, and intense heat waves: The list of perils brought on by climate change go on and on, all well–documented by researchers. Global climate change plagues the future of our world, but it also has begun to threaten our record of the past. The Acropolis is one of the most visited archeological sites in the world, racking up millions of sightseers every single year. It is also one of the best preserved, with an expertly trained task force dedicated to its maintenance. Recently, however, the effects of global climate change have begun to endanger the legacy of this architectural wonder, whose symmetrical appearance, grand columns, and ornate friezes offer us a window into Greece’s history and ancient values. Acid rain and air pollution continue to erode the monument’s marble columns and foundations, causing the structural integrity of the temples, sanctuaries, and other buildings throughout the Acropolis to weaken. Extreme weather conditions, including droughts and torrential rains, have also increased the amount of erosion, forcing the Greek Culture Ministry to spend money and resources in an effort to protect the country’s history and outpace these devastating environmental catastrophes. On top of all that, a heatwave in Greece produced wildfires around the country (one of which threateningly approached Olympia), caus-

ing the Acropolis to close earlier than expected for a period this past summer. “It’s hard to breathe outdoors ... The sky was grey and red, ash was falling on us. It was apocalyptic,” Eleni Myrivili, the former deputy mayor of Athens, told BBC Radio. “This is an issue of health. We don’t want people exposed to the sun and heat for long periods of time.” Since tourism represents a significant chunk of Greece's GDP, deteriorating monuments and limited visitation hours could have a significant economic impact on the nation. While partying in Mykonos or fulfilling a Mamma Mia fantasy makes Greece an attractive destination for some, witnessing ancient history still drives the majority of tourism. The prospect of standing on the same hallowed ground as Plato, exploring a theater where citizens may have cried through tragedies, and taking in the history–imbued architecture are fantasies for so many international visitors. We must not allow the climate crisis to take these experiences away. Sitting atop a limestone hill, the Acropolis has watched over Athens since the construction was completed in the second half of the 5th century B.C. It has housed kings, acted as a mythical home to gods, hosted religious ceremonies, and functioned as a military fortress. It has been invaded, bombarded, and even shaken by earthquakes. Despite these challenges, it still stands centuries later as a compelling

historical record of Greek heritage and a visual embodiment of strength and power. But global warming may be the monument’s most determined challenger yet, and the Acropolis isn’t the only archeological site it is putting at risk. Rising sea levels are heightening flooding risks and shoreline erosion for Jamestown, Virginia, the first English settlement in North America, as well as Easter Island in Polynesia, a UNESCO World Heritage site. The city of Venice is predicted to be flooded for most of the year by the end

of the century without rapid intervention. Other monuments have already been lost; the Bronze Age Megalith Temples of Malta are now covered as a result of unnaturally high levels of rain, sun, and pollution. These examples are just a few of the historical sites threatened by the climate crisis. To save these monuments, we must all be aware of the seriousness of the issue. The laundry list of global warming’s impacts continues to grow longer, and the stakes get higher and higher. While the preservation of historical

treasures should certainly not be the primary motivator for action against climate change, it exemplifies the diverse and far reaching impacts of the crisis. The loss of an archaeological wonder like the Acropolis would be devastating for both Greece's tourism industry and cultural heritage, dissolving a link with the ancient past and erasing the foundations of so many aspects of modern society and art. It is vital we all commit to changing the status quo to stop global warming, not just for the sake of the future—but also for the past.

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ARTS

Hawaii and the Harm of “Coronacations” How vacation trips during the pandemic threaten the safety of Native Hawaiians | JEAN PAIK

s COVID–19 traveling guidelines are increasingly being relaxed or lifted, “coronacations” seem to have returned in full swing. Especially with the upcoming holiday season, many are in the midst of planning their travel itineraries. While vacations during the ongoing pandemic have become more normalized, it is crucial to acknowledge that the effects of unfettered traveling have been devastating for populations that reside in visitor hotspotss. Hawaii in particular has long been characterized as the quintessential 'exotic' and 'tropical' traveling destination, perfect for family trips or summer vacations. This mainstream perception of the island hasn’t changed, even during the height of the pandemic. In fact, many viewed this time period as prime opportunity to take advantage of cheap flight prices and fantasize about the possibility of "isolating" in paradise. Consequently, Hawaiian tourism continued despite increases in COVID–19 cases in May 2020, as well as requests from Gov. David Ige to postpone vacations. Today, trips to Hawaii may no longer be motivated by a desire to escape the pandemic, but rather, a yearning for life to “go back to normal.” With the introduction of the COVID–19 vaccine in Dec. 2020 and the subsequent relaxing of travel and quarantine guidelines, tourism to Hawaii surged this past summer, as people flocked to the island for their

Illustration by Isabel Liang first “post–pandemic” vacation. Over 791,000 tourists traveled to Hawaii this past June, and these tourism numbers are expected to remain high throughout the coming year. This has had severe consequences for the residents of the island. Multiple studies, including one from the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, found that in Hawaii, the highest rates of COVID–19 cases were among the Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander (NHPI) population. As of March 2021, the NHPI community represented more than 40% of COVID–19– positive cases on the islands, despite composing only 25% of the state’s population. The lack of adequate health care services for Indigenous communities has only compounded these statistics. Further, not only are Indigenous residents

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disproportionately affected in COVID–19 cases, they are increasingly being denied basic necessities that are often delegated to out–of–state tourists. For instance, due to the spread of the COVID–19 Delta variant, which is driving heightened cases in Oahu and Hawaiʻi island, hospitals currently do not have enough isolation facilities for positive patients. Last year, state counties were able to use hotel rooms for designated quarantine facilities, but are now struggling to meet demand, as rooms are increasingly being reserved for visitors and tourists. Just this August, the Queen's Health Systems in Honolulu declared that they had no rooms available for residents that needed to isolate due to COVID–19, spurring an “internal state of emergency.” Overtourism has also quick-

ly amplified the state’s water shortage. Officials in Maui County recently declared that residents could be fined up to $500 for “using water for irrigation, watering lawns, washing vehicles, or other nonessential activities.” Locals have argued that this punitive system exists at the expense of residents, while resorts and hotels have been allowed to fill their pools for tourist leisure with little consequence. These harrowing events ultimately reaffirm that the Hawaiian tourism industry cannot be removed from its colonialist roots. The first efforts to create Hawaii’s tourism industry were in 1892 by a group of business owners, some of whom would later be involved in the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy and forced annexation of Hawaii as a United

States territory. These business owners eventually formed the “Hawaii Promotion Committee,” which received funding from the territorial government to pay for offices and magazine advertisements abroad– an endeavour that proved to be extremely profitable. Now, Hawaii's tourism industry is often exalted for its ability to rake in billions of dollars in state revenue, but many activists and organizers have explained that these profits don’t “trickle down” to local residents, and are in many ways severely harmful to Hawaii’s people, environment, and culture. Hawaii currently has the highest cost of living in the entire country, while 48% of families with children cannot afford the minimum household budget necessary for housing, transportation, child care, food, and healthcare. Accordingly, nearly two–thirds of residents struggle financially. Heightened tourism has also eroded many of the island’s hiking trails; motivated proposals for real estate development on Native Hawaiian sacred sites in Pololu Valley, a popular tourist destination; and commodified and appropriated Indigenous culture. At this time, it is crucial to not only acknowledge the harmful impacts of the tourism industry—especially as non–Native Hawaiians—but also to actively divest from it. Hawaii is not an “exotic getaway” or “weekend escape”—it is a home to Indigenous people, who will continue to live on the land long after tourists visit as their latest destination for pandemic escapism.

OVERHEARDS

This week: Gaslighting, Frontera, and Instagram infographics

Attracting, Not Chasing: "I don't need you to validate my attractiveness. That's what I have mirrors for."

A therapist's worst nightmare: "The only thing Penn has taught me is to gaslight or be gaslit."

Closeted Mummer: "You've got to explore the Columbus Day side of Philly more."

Boss–level SABS–er: "Everything went downhill after Frontera closed."

Learned CRT from @soyouwanttotalkabout: "No amount of infographics could've prepared me for the sociology midterm I just took."

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Properties available at 40th & Locust, 39th & Delancey, 39th & Pine, and 40th & Irving Renovated kitchens and bathrooms, laundry facilities, decks! (215) 222-5500 university 4019 Locust St. enterprises info@uerealestate.net & Townhouses www.uerealestate.net ServingApartments the Penn community for OVER 50 YEARS!

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Family-run business for over 54+ years in student housing! “Your mother will be happy!” O C T O B E R 1 9 , 2 0 2 1 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17

FOCUS

Unveiling Instagram's Toxic Algorithm

Why Instagram's promotion of diet culture is a reflection of a larger, insidious epidemic | GABRIELLE GALCHEN

n Sept. 14, The Washington Post uncovered “The Facebook Files”: hidden internal studies conducted by Facebook about the toxic mental health effects of Instagram on its users, specifically regarding teenage girls’ body image and eating disorders. The studies, which surveyed tens of thousands of people, have provoked national outrage—not only did Instagram keep these findings hidden from the public, it maintained key features that promoted body negativity and disordered eating. But is it that simple? After all, Instagram is a reflection of our culture. On the one hand, Instagram’s core structure is indicative of pro–ED culture. Since Instagram is the primary graphic–based social media platform, its images often feature toxic content. For instance, graphics about eating habits do not promote healthy diets; rather, they encourage diet culture by listing rigid food categories, unhealthy daily calorie counts, and other culinary “hacks” for weight loss. Similarly, exercise reels on Instagram do not focus on building strength and fitness; instead, they encourage users to change their natural body types to have a slimmer waist, thinner legs, and other “ideal” traits. “For young girls who are very susceptible to social media, this can be harmful by making them want to look or eat a certain way,” says Sophia Glinsky (C '23), co–founder of Be Body Positive UPenn. But the main issue lies within

Instagram’s Explore Page, which uses an algorithm that recommends similar content to what its users have already viewed— meaning that if one user views a post or reel that promotes disordered eating, future recommendations will feature similar content. This leads users down a rabbit hole that validates self– destructive mindsets about eating, exercise, and body image. Social comparison is also worse on Instagram than other social media platforms because its marketing focuses on the ideal body and lifestyle. Instagram’s entire culture is tailored towards perfectionism, with “beautifying” filters, likes, and comments that quantify attractiveness. After just five minutes on Instagram, it becomes difficult to discern between social media and reality; it’s even harder to refrain from comparing ourselves to these unrealistic standards. “My explore page was usually filled with reels like ‘What I eat in a day,’ ‘workouts to lose weight,’ or ‘how to get a tiny waist’ ... The exposure to influencers and celebrities whose posts are so curated or highly– edited definitely gives a distorted sense of what people’s bodies actually look like,” says Audrey Singer (C '23), cofounder of Be Body Positive UPenn. Instagram is also the primary platform for photo–based marketing. Instagram creates economic incentive for influencers to promote toxic products: laxatives, zero–calorie substitutes, and “diet” teas. Though these products are often not FDA– approved, Instagram has re-

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frained from giving its users any sort of health warning. “Influencers and bloggers attract advertiser money, brand partnerships, and legacy media outlets, so that there’s an unchecked commercial motivation on Instagram … coupled with top female bloggers who adhere to traditional beauty standards of being thin and white skinned,” says Emily Hund, research affiliate with the Annenberg Center of Digital Culture and Society. There’s a lot to critique about Instagram’s key features. But only focusing on one platform ignores the larger culprits of diet culture. The reality is that eating disorders are complex illnesses that arise from a variety of biological, psychological, and environmental causes. This can be co–occurring mental illness, weight–related bullying, gastrointestinal problems, body insecurities, trauma, genetic factors, and diet marketing. Most of these factors share one thing: They’re cultural. The famous Shakespeare quote comes to mind: "The fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings." These words, published in 1599, still ring true: We sow the seeds of our own destiny and our own culture. And while Instagram might be one of the main platforms to perpetuate negative body image and eating disorders, we are to blame for the existence of this toxic culture in the first place. In fact, when Instagram finally took the initiative to ban the use of hashtags such as #proanorexia or #probu-

limia, content creators overcame this by intentionally misspelling banned hashtags and creating alternate accounts. If the social media industry is to blame for promoting unrealistic ideals of thinness and the “ideal” female body type, then so are the fashion, advertising, entertainment, and modeling industries. Audrey discusses the larger problem at hand: “I see articles in newsletters about hacks for weight loss, magazines criticizing celebrities' bodies, TV shows that mainly cast thin white girls as the lead characters, online clothing shops that present clothing in a way that’s specific to one size … It all definitely creates a sentiment that something is wrong with your body.” And of course, the federal government’s consistent refusal to fund affordable and universal mental health care programs is beyond problematic. Eating disorder treatment is notoriously expensive, even if it is covered by health insurance. The main question lies in the future. As for Instagram, it could change its Explore Page to offer users a variety of content—for example, recommending body–positive and self–love posts rather than a bombardment of dieting and exercise tips. “I think there’s a big misconception that to be anti–diet culture means that you don’t lead a healthy lifestyle ... I think it would be great to direct people to content that promotes intuitive eating and leading a lifestyle that’s less restricted, to show people that it’s possible to be healthy without

constant dieting,” says Audrey. Instagram could also ban certain keywords, abbreviations, and content related to restrictions, fasting, purging, and dieting—or at least provide a mental health warning with resources, just as Instagram already has for coronavirus–related content. All influencers who pose as nutritionists should also provide their credentials before recommending certain foods or diets. And on a larger scale, Instagram should have a specialized division of clinicians, eating disorder specialists, and social science researchers, who can better identify problematic content that evades the app's filters. As for the federal government: Until public officials start to take mental health seriously, there will be limited affordable mental health services for people of all socioeconomic backgrounds. Similarly, until the fashion, modeling, and entertainment industry include all sorts of healthy body types, there will be many teenage girls who internalize harmful messages. The Washington Post’s discovery provoked a renewed discussion of mental health awareness campaigns in mass media content. Amidst the context of burgeoning women’s rights movements and a global pandemic, this discussion is clearly more relevant than ever. And as for its long–term implications, only time will tell—but it’s certain that the chance to cause real, sustainable change is now.

FOCUS

Illustration by Isabel Liang

Jacqueline City Went From Northeast Philly to New York Fashion Week Meet the fashion designer and disability advocate championing diversity and inclusion. | JOANNA SHAN

acqueline City has an instantly calming presence. We giggle over how we both tend to forget questions we're asked in the middle of answering them and how much we loved True Jackson VP. She chats with me about junk food and fashion and the meaning of life as if she hasn’t just finished showing her second New York Fashion Week collection. City is successful and grounded all at the same time—and it seems like she’s always known that she’d end up where she is today. She's only 25—“I’m old,” she says cheekily—but she’s already lived a lifetime's worth of experiences. She’s the CEO of her own clothing line, Jacqueline City Apparel, which has been featured on British Vogue, Glamour, and more. A native of Northeast Philadelphia, City is also an outspoken disability and

invisible illness advocate. After suffering a brain injury at a concert during her senior year of high school, City began to experience an array of debilitating symptoms. “I was fainting up to 20 times a day, and they were just telling me that they were panic attacks, that this was all in my head and I was just having anxiety," she says. "But I knew that there was something there, there was something wrong, and I kept pursuing it.” City was diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, a form of dysautonomia—a disorder of the autonomic nervous system, which controls involuntary body functions. When symptoms forced her to withdraw from her studies at Drexel University, City poured her energy into making her own clothing designs and sharing them online as a hobby.

From Jacqueline City Apparel's New York Fashion Week Collection. Photo courtesy of Veronica Zin

Artistic and entrepreneurial since birth, City taught herself how to sew at age six. “I would cut out my drawings on paper and Elmer’s Glue them to my T– shirts, ruining my T–shirts,” City laughs. “I heard on TV that you could make jean shorts from jeans, so I cut them to where you could not wear them because I cut them right through the pocket.” She always dreamed of being a fashion designer. “For second grade, I went into my career day as a fashion designer, like the tape around my neck and everything," she says. Soon after she started posting her work on social media, her Instagram boutique blew up. A year later, her collection was selected to be featured in New York Fashion Week. For City, inclusivity has always been her guiding light. Offering plus–size options that are both trendy and affordable is a key component of her brand's mission. Customers can shop a variety of bright and bold women’s, men’s, unisex, children's, and plus–size options up to a 5X. “Fashion is for everyone. We all wear clothes unless you’re in a nudist colony, right?” City jokes. “And you still probably wear clothes sometimes. So we all wear clothes, we’re all equal. I just want there to be options for everyone.” Jacqueline City Apparel's commitment to fashion for all is reflected in all of its promotions and public–facing events. The brand's photoshoots feature healthcare workers, moms, and veterans rather than solely supermodels. Meanwhile, spotlighting people with disabili-

ties in the company's advertisements and runway shows remains central to City's cause—ensuring that the voices and experiences of people with disabilities don't go unnoticed. “These were all huge problems I felt. I never saw a disabled person on the runway as a kid," City says. All of her pieces are vegan and made– to–order as well, highlighting her commitment to sustainability. Clothing inclusivity and disability awareness aside, City emphasizes that she's incredibly passionate about her identity as a vegan Philadelphia foodie. “I always miss Philly, especially the food,” she says. The designer recently fulfilled her lifelong dream of moving to New York, but her hot take is that the New York vegan food scene pales in comparison to Philly’s. Her favorite restaurant? “Triangle Tavern, but don’t tell too many people because if I go and can’t get a table, I will be upset," she says. City’s also looking forward to checking out the newly opened American Vegan Center in Old City next time she's in town. After all of her adventures, City knows that there's no place quite like the City of Brotherly Love. “There’s a closeness in Philly that you don’t get in New York," she notes. “There’s more of a family sort of mentality, like we’re all looking out for each other.” City's energy radiates throughout the entire interview: She’s funny, sharp, and above all, ambitious. She’s only just gotten started in the fashion world, and she's bringing a wave of change with her.

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How To Thrift Trendy Fashion, From a Thriftfluencer Ditch fast fashion and thrift your favorite trends instead. | KATE RATNER

hrifting has long been seen as a timeless way to stay fashionable while on a budget. Now, it's being used to create a new niche of the Internet: TikTok thrift– centric fashion influencers, aka thriftfluencers. These creators make up a community of stylish and overwhelmingly patient people who document their best fashion finds, thrifting tips and tricks, and ever–expanding wardrobes on TikTok. During the transition to fall, we’re all looking for fashion upgrades for struts down Locust Walk and weekend outings. Thrifting is an affordable and sustainable alternative to mainstream retail, and can help you find unique pieces to build outfits around. Not only is thrifting friendly to a student wallet, but it's also especially easy for Penn students. Philly is a thrifting hotspot with dozens of thrift stores in West Philly and its surrounding areas. In the last few years, the fashion community has confronted the stigma surrounding purchasing clothes from thrift stores. If you’re an avid thrifter, you may have heard the classic, "Don’t you want to wear new clothes?" or, "Why would you want to wear clothes that belonged to somebody else?" These people don’t seem to understand that there’s nothing better than finding a staple in your wardrobe that only costs a fifth of its original retail value. In the age of mass production, microtrends are the foundation of fast fashion. Thrift stores are inundated with barely worn Shein tops that are now out of style, much to the dismay of conscious shoppers. However, there’s a rising tide

of thrift–savvy influencers who are pushing against microtrends and encouraging their audiences to find their own styles. One such influencer is Maddie Ranagan, also known as @lucidbees on Instagram and TikTok, where she has amassed a small but mighty following of over 2000. Her passion for thrifting stems back to her childhood in Sacramento, Calif. Growing up, Maddie’s family bought many of their clothes at thrift stores, and as a kid, she often felt embarrassed to admit to her friends that her clothes belonged to somebody else before her. As she grew older and developed her sense of style, Maddie realized that thrift stores are filled with one–of–a–kind pieces that are both more stylish and higher quality than the fast fashion on the racks of Urban Outfitters or Brandy Melville. After all, her most prized items include a white Dior corset and an authentic Louis Vuitton purse— both of which were found by thrifting. After discovering her talent for finding chic pieces, Maddie made a business of it on Depop—eventually transitioning to selling on Instagram and at in–person markets. “As I started to thrift more, I figured out which kinds of pieces I really liked and was into and wanted to sell, which are mostly Y2K 2000s and '90s style pieces,” Maddie said. As her reselling business gained more attention, Maddie started her TikTok account. Her most popular videos are 10– to 15– second clips of items she finds during specific thrift store excursions, providing an inlet for thrifting novices to find inspiration.

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DURING OUR CONVERSATION, MADDIE SHARED HER FIVE–STEP FOOLPROOF THRIFTING ROUTINE:

Dedicate an hour or two to the thrifting trip. You won’t have as much success if you’re shopping under a time crunch.

Think about what you’re buying, and don’t buy for the sake of buying. Even though you’re buying second–hand, you don’t want to over–consume if you can help it.

Grab a cart with the intention of filling it! Grab everything you feel has potential, even if you don’t end up purchasing it.

Choose between browsing the bags, shoes, or lingerie sections first. Often, the thrift store employees misplace lace tops in the lingerie section that can be an elegant touch to any outfit. The shoe section is a quick step because you can scan all of your options at once.

The rest of the thrifting process is up to you! Choose to browse any section with items you’re lacking or looking for.

The next time you plan a thrift store excursion, consult TikTok. Whether it’s Maddie’s account, or other favorites like Emma DiMarco (@emmajdimarco on TikTok and @emmadimarco on Instagram), Anna Hale (@bratzwh0re77 on TikTok and @brattrashvtg on Instagram), and Melissa Fraistat (@meliss.com on TikTok and @melissafraistat on Instagram). These creators are revolutionizing thrift–based fashion on social media and the importance of style individuality in the face of fast fashion.

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Figo:

Figo: A Homestyle Italian Gem Hits Northern Liberties’ Restaurant Row The pizzeria–slash–restaurant is replete with Sopranos–style offerings and plenty of heart. | BEATRICE FORMAN

verything I’ve learned about good Italian food comes from guilty pleasure media. There are the tense meals of The Sopranos, where family traumas are framed by oversized plates of gravy, gabagool, and baked zitis, and The Jersey Shore’s famous Sunday dinners, where Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino would hold court over plates of sausage and peppers and chicken parmesan. For me, Italian cooking has always coalesced into a fuzzy image of big portions, well– seasoned meats, and family–style eating, whatever you take that to mean. The three come together effortlessly at Figo, a catch–all Italian concept located on a crowded segment of North Second Street in Northern Liberties. Owned by Glu Hospitality, Figo is the growing restaurant group’s latest eatery in a bid to own 40% of NoLib’s restaurant row, per a press release. The front of the space functions like any other Instagram–chic restaurant. It has an open–concept kitchen, industrial fairy lights, and a dreamy patio, while the back end is a no–frills pizzeria serving white clam pies, thick focaccias, and unpretentious hoagies. When Philadelphia Magazines’s Food Editor Alex Twefik waxed poetic in our Fall Dining guide about the "revival of the middle class restaurant,” it was easy to imagine he was thinking about Figo. In the best way possible, it’s a city–savvy version of the

suburban Italian restaurant. You know, the kind of place where you could pick up a pie after soccer practice or celebrate a birthday—special, but indiscriminately so. The meal begins with a basket of complimentary bread and olive oil sprinkled with flakes of red pepper, which I’ve been told is correlated with authentic Italian cuisine. Then, the appetizers arrive: small plates of baked meatballs topped with marinara and garlicky ricotta, and a burrata “salad” with arugula, onions, and tomatoes. Both smack of something an enterprising grandmother would make, the ingredients simple and the flavors delightfully homey. The meatballs have the correct texture—breadcrummy, yet softened by the sauce—with the ricotta balancing out what would otherwise be a dense plate. Meanwhile, the burrata isn’t what you'd expect from social media feeds inundated with VIP List–style money shots. It’s creamy instead of runny, meant to be eaten with the salad instead of on top of it. Next, the main courses—a shrimp gemelli plated with a pesto cream sauce, sundried tomatoes, and more arugula, as well as the star of the show, the pork milanese (which is just menu–speak for a big ‘ole fried pork chop). Each bite transports me back to my decidedly un–Italian childhood, where I’d watch Lida Bastianach cook from a fake home

Photo by Hunter Gaudio kitchen on PBS, transfixed by the delicate way she’d mold pasta dough and season fresh pork shanks. The food is comforting, without the heavy feeling of comfort food. That’s the thing about Figo: It’s regular Italian cooking, something that often gets lost when white–coat chefs try to

Photo by Hunter Gaudio

elevate ethnic cuisine. The traits that make homestyle meals so captivating—a penchant for leftovers, ingredients you can buy at the grocery store, lots of spice—shouldn’t be diluted for the sake of fine dining. They should be highlighted, since these are the traits that made most of us enjoy eating in the first place. Case in point: the pork milanese. The meat is succulent, with a medium cook that leaves the pork chewy but not tough. All the flavor rests in the bone marrow, inviting diners to politely suck on the scraps while they wait for the check. It tastes like a Sunday feast. Ultimately, Figo is classic Italian food designed for the millennial finance couple that craves a home–cooked meal.

Photo by Hunter Gaudio Each dish is familiar, yet just out of reach, done with enough refinement to justify a night out. Come for a small– scale celebration the first time, but return for dinners that remind you of sitting at your dinner table—wherever that may be.

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UNDER THE BUTTON

New Waste Reduction Initiative Requires Students to Eat Out of Dining Hall Workers’ Cupped Hands CHAILY DERECSKEY

enn’s sustainability team recently unveiled a new waste reduction plan that will require all students to eat their meals directly out of the hands of the dining hall staff. “After the implementation of the reusable Green2Go containers in 2014, Penn saw a significant decrease in dining hall waste,” explained Sustainability Director Natalie Morris. “But still, hundreds of paper plates and plastic utensils are being discarded at every meal, leading to excessive amounts of trash being sent to

landfills.” To combat this wastefulness once and for all, the team will remove all plates, cups, and silverware from every dining hall, effective immediately. Morris went on to say that this initiative applies to all types of food and drink, including soups, salads, coffee, and ice cream. “Even the 1920 Commons Starbucks baristas will be making all drinks directly into their cupped hands; sizes of drinks will now be determined by the hand sizes of the available staff.” Since pouring hot liquid onto skin

would be a safety hazard, all hot drinks will now be served at a lukewarm temperature. Students are encouraged to try out a variety of techniques in order to make the transition as smooth as possible. With soups and drinks, for example, Morris recommends leaning over and slurping through pursed lips. She also permits sucking the staff member’s fingers clean in order to get every last tasty drop. “Hands are nature’s silverware. We hope that other universities will be quick to follow Photo by The Daily Pennsylvanian our example.”

Oh Wow! Question Somehow Manages to Fall Below “No Stupid Questions” Threshold MATTHEW FRANK

Photo by wavebreakmediamicro // CC by 2.0 22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE OC TOBER 19, 2021

t appeared to be impossible, but a recent economics course proved that even the lowest of feats can be within reach. After the professor clearly stated at the start of the class that “there are no stupid questions” and “every comment has a place in our discussion,” a student managed to ask a question so blatantly stupid, so appallingly obvious, that it fell below both standards, shocking everyone in its presence. “When I heard him ask

the question, I thought there was no way I’d heard what I’d heard,” sophomore Jack Griffin said. “The answer to their question was in all caps on the first page of the syllabus. It’s been mentioned every ten minutes of every lecture. It’s literally tattooed on the professor’s forehead. I don’t get how someone can be so dumb.” The “no stupid questions” declaration is meant to decrease students’ fear of speaking up in class — a seemingly noble aspiration

— but the question that this professor heard is making him reconsider his entire philosophy. “I thought I wanted students to not be afraid to ask questions and to be inquisitive. Maybe I was wrong,” professor Alex Prescott said. “If I’d known that I had such dipshits in my class, I would’ve blocked off questioning entirely.” While it may just be an individual occurrence, whether or not this braindead student is going around to all his classes asking shockingly dumb questions remains to be seen.

UNDER THE BUTTON

'Good Work, Team' Says Guy in Your Recitation Who Ignored All Your Suggestions MARY GRACE MEREDITH

ne of the most beloved parts of any recitation is, of course, the breakout group. As Penn students, we are uniquely blessed with the presence of such brilliant classmates, and breakout groups offer us the opportunity to really pick their brains. After all, why discuss the readings from class with the TA, a Ph.D. student who has studied the subject for the past six years, when you could discuss it with Josh (C '24), the hungover guy sitting next to you who hasn’t opened the course Canvas page since syllabus week? What he lacks in experience, competence, and general knowledge from the reading and/or lecture, Josh more than

makes up for in confidence. Every recitation breakout group needs a strong leader who will use plenty of buzzwords, repeat what the girl in the group just said as if it was his idea, and write the group’s answer on the board. And as someone whose mother has always told him he has great leadership skills, Josh is more than willing to step up to the plate to be that man (because yes, it does have to be a man). Working in a group with Josh is a treat for all involved, particularly the token member of the group who actually did the readings for the week that will be talked over and ignored the whole time. Don’t worry — Josh is not one person; he

is a genre, an archetype, a PPE major industry standard. Therefore, there is at least one exact replica of Josh in every humanities recitation, so if you’re lucky, this could be you! There is no intellectual experience more stimulating than attempting to answer a question, just for your own version of Josh to hit you with a “Well, actually …” and then rephrase whatever it is you just said. The benefits of Penn! Like any good leader, every Josh knows how to support and uplift his inferio- I mean, fellow classmates. That’s why, after steamrolling and rephrasing his way through recitation, he closes every breakout session with his classic line: “Good work, Photo with edits from Pixabay / CC0 team.”

SHOCKING: Students Question Reality as Campus Wi-Fi Functions for 5 Consecutive Minutes LUKE BURKE

Photo by MJ Kang

arly this morning, Penn’s community was shaken to its core by a truly shocking event: the campus Wi-Fi functioned for five consecutive minutes. And not five minutes of 240p buffering, but five minutes of blisteringly fast, high-quality, uninterrupted internet. Needless

to say, some were left utterly shattered by this unthinkable occurrence. Students, faculty, and administration alike had come to accept Penn’s unstable WiFi as one of life’s fundamental truths. And though all were shocked by this morning’s events, none were so dis-

turbed as the students, who have since been seen running around campus like headless chickens, shouting obscenities, prayers, and making calls to loved ones, fearing the coming Singularity. For others, the shock was simply too much; they lie motionless on Locust Walk. Penn’s Reddit, likewise, was flooded by posts such as this one: “Is Penn’s internet not down for anyone else? Has been working for over 2 minutes 49 seconds as I type this message. WTF!?!?!??” As our investigative team made its way down Locust Walk, carefully stepping over the myriad bodies of students who had collapsed from shock, we managed to interview some of the few students who remained conscious: Joe Salamanca, a junior in

the College, gave us an eyewitness account of this morning’s harrowing events: “Flabbergasted, I immediately called my mom, who, upon hearing the news, promptly called the campus police, thinking I had been drugged or kidnapped by none other than Amy Gutmann herself. Fortunately for me, the campus police did not respond to my mom’s misguided emergency call, since they were all busy streaming Netflix in crisp, clear 1080p.” Luisa Paulson, a wise senior who has seen much during her time at Penn, explained the gravity of the situation: “Yesterday, if you had asked me what I was absolutely certain of, I would have only answered two things in response. First, that the sun will rise in the morning, and

second, that the campus WiFi will not work for over a couple minutes at a time. Today, we have seen that our understanding of the world — our perception of reality — is deeply and irrevocably flawed. As I sit here, next to what is supposedly a statue of Ben Franklin, I can’t help but feel as though life is nothing more than meaningless suffering, and that we are but pawns in the universe’s machinations.” Incredibly, the Wi-Fi continued to function for a total of five consecutive minutes before finally relenting. We recognize that this may be the last UTB article you ever read, and we ever write; in that spirit, remember, as you are consumed by the void, that life was always meaningless.

OC TOBER 19, 2021 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 23

THE RADIAN EXPERIENCE

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