post- 11/9/2023

In This Issue 5

malena colon

4

dorrit corwin

3

Sarah Frank

ana vissicchio

Samira Lakhiani

2

The Girlhood Renaissance

The Bucket List Curse

Love Letter to New England

Breaking Bread Whispered Memories of Home 6

Gabrielle Yuan

Reinventing 7

Daphne Cao 8

Top 5 Ways to Live

postCover by Lucid Clairvoyant @l.u.cid

NOV 9

VOL 32

— ISSUE 7

FEATURE

Breaking Bread lessons from the dining table and beyond By samira lakhiani illustrated by emilie guaN Insta: @emilieguan42 Upon returning home from a family reunion trip

instantly catalyzed a Google search for a new TV show

tragedy and attempting to recover his family restaurant

two summers ago, I was welcomed back by the presence

to watch. I was expecting a How I Met Your Mother-

with the help of its tight-knit staff. The show is a recipe

of two very conspicuous solid lines on the white plastic

esque sitcom to pique my interest, but nothing in my

for success—a perfectly crafted cocktail of elbow

Covid-19 test in my hand. I had not (to my knowledge)

usual genre seemed appealing. Instead, I clicked on a

grease, laughter, chaos, tragedy, and fulfillment. I had

had Covid since the pandemic had started. It was bound

Rolling Stone article entitled “‘The Bear’ Is the Most

never seen a show quite like this one, in which food

to happen at some point, I thought to myself, reflecting

Stressful Thing on TV Right Now. It’s Also Great.”

is a catalyst for love, frustration, and everything in

on how I managed to make it through unscathed after

I was an instant fan of the show, tearing through

a full year of living in my EmWool triple, eating with

the first season more quickly than I’d like to admit. It

~~~

groups of 12 or more people in the Ratty, and dancing

somehow captured the pace, exhilaration, and pressure

“Hands! I need hands!”

shoulder-to-shoulder in stuffy basements on the

of working in a restaurant, while simultaneously

weekends, forfeiting any morsel of personal space in

invoking the always-adored “found family” trope

the process.

among the bBeef kitchen crew. In short, it follows

transports me back to a beautiful Friday night at

protagonist Carmy, a renowned chef who is navigating

Benjamin’s. It’s the middle of June; every seat from

Dear Readers,

of several hours of alone time sounds mentally and emo-

confine our experiences. Another A&C writer discusses

tionally draining—which I must admit, dear Readers, it often

the nuances of girlhood in popular canon. In Lifestyle, our

It recently dawned on me that I, much like our beloved

is—there is something comforting to me about falling into

writers touch on the boundless possibilities of the human

routines. The red and gold leaves adorning the trees on my

experience as one shares ways to feel alive, while the other

walk to the Rock, the rotation of songs on my study playlist,

talks about reinventing herself.

The upcoming week of confinement to my room

between.

The constant restaurant vernacular in the show

Letter from the Editor school mascot, hibernate. I don’t mean this in a lie-cozilyin-bed-all-day-and-stuff-myself-with-sweet-treats kind of way, but in a block-out-my-entire-GCal-and-lock-myselfup-in-various-study-spaces kind of way. Once a month, the stars align and my professors meet up for coffee (I imagine) to answer the age-old question: How do we schedule every exam, paper, and presentation to be due within the same 72-hour span? I’ve heard most people refer to this as their “hell week,” but I choose to reframe that into a warmer, less anxiety-inducing experience: hibernation. The week leading up to my exams, I make my coffee in the morning, pack up every device and charger in my Apple ecosystem, and stake claim over a study space for the day, a den. While the idea

2

post–

the whiteboard mural of diagrams and pathways. It’s these

As I write this from the cavern-like stacks of the Rock,

reliable details that make my den more homey, more bear-

I encourage you to read post- from your most comfortable

able (I had to, I’m sorry).

den. Maybe it’s a nook at the Ratty, paired with some hearty

Our writers this week also reflect on dens of their

French onion soup on a chilly day. Or perhaps it’s the couch

own. In Feature, our writer talks about how food brings

in your suite that catches the sunset’s glow from the Quiet

people together as she recounts her experience working

Green. Wherever it may be, I hope our pieces make you feel at home.

at a restaurant. In Narrative, both writers share love letters to the dens that make them feel most at home—one to New England, and the other to her childhood treehouse. In A&C, one writer’s pursuit of a den while studying abroad leads her to meditate on the obsession of creating lists and how they

So so eepy,

Katheryne Gonzalez

Narrative Managing Editor

NARRATIVE the bar to the patio is filled. I step back and take in the

bliss to my life. This joy that comes from eating food,

scene.

alone or with others, is universal. National Geographic

At one table is a reunion, friends exchanging fond

published a comprehensive photojournal illustrating

college memories, reliving the glory days over beers and

the several contexts in which food has fortified

burgers. At another is a first date, two teenagers, timid

individuals and communities. It places a spotlight on

but excited, discussing their favorite movies over sodas

the wonderful impact food can have in our lives—from

and sandwiches. The tables I appreciated the most were

Buddhist priests laughing in unity while eating soup,

those of celebration: elderly couples rejoicing over

to a man over the moon about a massive fish he just

decades of marriage, toasting to many more with a glass

caught, to toddlers giddily blowing out candles on a

of wine. The kids’ birthdays, too; it was a treat to gather

birthday cake.

the rest of the waitstaff to sing and watch eyes light

Growing up I often found it difficult to connect

up at the sight of an enormous ice cream sundae being

with my Indian roots—attending a Catholic school in

placed on the table.

suburban Rhode Island didn’t exactly make it easy. But

The buzz of my pager disturbs my moment

with food it was simple, a way to bring there, here. And

of observation. I race to the kitchen and take in

this feeling is not uncommon. A reporter from CNBC

its palpable collective stress. The success of the

wrote an article explaining the change in attitude she

experiences outside—the birthdays, the reunions, all

had towards her heritage as a result of connecting with

of it—hinges on each person here, whether they’re

her grandmothers through food. There exists an ABCD

chopping vegetables, washing dishes, or plating entrees.

(American-born confused Desi) internal tug-of-war

In between the servers and chefs roaring “Corner!” and

feeling, too American in some contexts and too Indian

“Behind!” I meet the runner and she meticulously fits

in others. Resonating with my Indian side through food

six beautifully-crafted plates on a large tray. I transport

has been instrumental in dissolving this battle.

Whispered Memories of Home nostalgia captured in nature

them to the dining room as fast as I possibly can, serve “Heard, chef.”

them, bus them, take orders for other tables, serve them, bus them, and get sporadically interrupted by requests for new silverware or extra dipping sauce. This

by ana vissicchio Illustrated by Icy Liang

There were a considerable number of moments

cycle repeats until closing, every Friday and Saturday

in The Bear that illustrated the stark contrast of the

night.

environments inside and outside of the kitchen. A

In the corner of the patch of land I call home there

scene of the season two finale captured this particularly

used to sit a treehouse. The funny thing about this

clientele and million-degree kitchen, it was an

well. The restaurant itself is a perfect scene: families

treehouse is that it was never in a tree at all. It was a

invigorating job. I became quicker on my feet, I could

and friends of the staff gather together to enjoy food

small wooden shed, perched atop nothing but solid

memorize a long list of specials in under a minute, I

prepared by the people they love most. The camera

ground.

could quell the frustrations of ill-mannered guests.

visits each table and it’s a heartwarming view. Then,

I was never sure why we called it a treehouse. But

But my biggest takeaway from those three summers

in a somewhat abrupt manner, we see the goings-on

we were certain it was a treehouse, just like the way the

was an understanding of the capacity of food and drink

behind the kitchen doors: a tumultuous, sweltering

sky is blue and grass is green. More often than not, the

to foster memorable moments. I gained a profound

atmosphere full of people undergoing immense stress

wooden house was covered—in mud, shards of grass,

appreciation for food by being on the side that created

and perspiration to create an enjoyable experience

pillows of moss, globs of paint. I climbed the ladder

this experience for others.

for those outside. Chits of orders coming in at an

every afternoon, sat on the top floor with nothing but

astonishing rate, everybody paying acute attention to

the company of the small spiders crawling in the cracks

each request and responding with “Yes, chef” while

of the walls and the cool breeze of an after-school

completing several other tasks in the same moment.

evening whistling in my ear. I watched the paint begin

This intense yet careful labor reminded me that

to chip.

I loved being a server; despite the often-insolent

“Family’s up!”

In the show, this phrase was used as a way to gather the restaurant staff to eat together. For me, it

preparing food, while frantic and often exhausting, was

evoked memories of nightly family dinners at home.

a meaningful way to do something for others.

I used to sit on the top floor of the treehouse and gaze out. Now, I miss being small, despite often

My parents, my sister, and I recounting our days at the

After I had finished the show, I implored my mom

yearning to grow up for the opposite. I felt a rush when

dining table, usually an outpour of the latest drama in

to teach me Indian cooking beyond the basics. While I

dipping my head forward out of the small wooden

school and funny workplace interactions of the day,

can no longer have nightly family dinners in my home

window, seeing the ground so far away for the first time.

often getting competitive over Wheel of Fortune and

dining room, I have the ability to bring a portion of the

I liked having a space I could call my own. I liked that

Jeopardy! playing on the living room TV.

warmth and comfort of that tradition to my current

there were no doors like a real house. It was nothing

Every night, I eagerly looked forward to what

life. I’ve seen firsthand how putting such effort, care,

like anything else ever. The treehouse was unique, and

my mom had prepared. After having a ham sandwich

and love into a meal can shape an event or experience.

was my own. How lucky was I!

or pasta for lunch, it was nice to come home to the

Today the aroma of chicken kheema swirls through my

more complex flavors of her malai kofta and kaali dal,

Young Orchard dorm, and the kitchen is messy and

corner of my backyard off from the rest of it. When day-

knowing she put her whole heart into every meal. And

chaotic. But friends are arriving, and I am inundated

old rain had sloshed about in looming puddles, I took

eating together with my family brought a very specific

with the coziest feeling.

my leap and reveled in feeling the mud squish between

I would jump over the small barricade blocking the

Top 10 1. Mice chewed the wires 2. Stopped to take its BeReal 3. Senior Prank 4. Couldn’t do its Shibboleth verification 5. Cracked under pressure 6. Lied on its resume 7. Midterm season burnout 8. Got shy >.< 9. Mom forgot to remind it 10. Set alarm for 12am instead of 12pm

“He literally is different. He is circumcised.”

“My biggest regret is that I’ve never been a sea urchin.”

November 9, 2023

3

NARRATIVE my toes. I sat on the hammock, rocking back and forth, back and forth, letting my wispy brown hair trail off into the grass. I was not afraid of the splinters in my fingers as I climbed into my home. I welcomed nature, all of it. It had never felt so easy to let something seep into my skin, taking space in my body like a warm, well-lit home. I don’t think I will feel this way about

Love Letter to New England to live in the South is to dream of the North by sarah frank Illustrated by Emily Saxl

anything ever again.

Doesn’t everyone want to be outside? Running and crouching beside a river, dipping their fingers and their toes and letting the sparkly, muddy water run through the gaps?

This was in the beginning, when I had time and space and patience in such abundance that I did not have to be aware of it. I was wildly, wildly oblivious. I saw anything and everything all the time, even when my eyes were closed.

I think adults only want to travel and see the world because their own homes have lost the magic they felt so strongly as a child. The sound of cicadas, the feeling of wind on your bare arms as the seasons change, the smell of flowers in the spring, and the yellow of buttercups under your chin all tend to dull as you grow inch by inch. I think we begin to crave these feelings

Florida We bake at the beach, finding refuge in the occasional breeze.

We swelter in the sun, savoring until we can’t bear it.

Under the teal awnings and whirring fans of a nearby café,

we fall back into routine.

I ask the waitress for water and tea.

“Hot, please, and unsweetened.”

The waitress nods and takes my menu back.

My friend raises an eyebrow

as sweat dribbles down my neck.

I will drink it slowly, sip by sip.

I don’t want to rush my drink or meal,

and everyone here is

in a rush to do everything

or in a hurry to do

nothing at all.

with a certain hunger no experience can satisfy ever again.

So adults venture out into the woods, on hikes across mountaintops and paths winding into the wilderness.

And they can feel so strongly there, of course, but never in the same way—with that immeasurable, whole-body feeling—that they did as that wandering child who still lives on in their memories.

Will they ever return home?

Our real house could be loud, the indoors too boring and too stuffy. In the treehouse, I would look out for hours and hours. A window with no window pane was the best way to see the leaves and the willowing oaks and the garnet ladybugs and the dragonflies buzzing in pairs.

I would drag my fingertips across the pad of my palm, feeling each magical line and faded scar and raised scrape and slightly red blemish. In my wooden home, my eyes would connect to the sky or a singular branch, guessing the shapes of clouds and tracing the continuous spirals of sycamore bark. The clock froze. I was there forever.

When something is there all the time, you can argue that it is not there at all. In my childhood, there was a constant feeling of go, go, go, not one second free; everything was booked and busy. It was those moments to myself, when I could count the stripes on an autumn leaf, blow on dandelions in the spring, sink my hands into the slush as winter melted—little actions, minute moments, when I could fill up my brain with nothing, soaking up oxygen and sunlight like a small house plant.

Seasons of transition—as fall turns to winter and spring dives into summer—fill me up with excitement and joy and glee, the anticipation of such a simple event. Mundane, ordinary, peaceful. As a being, I am nothing more, nothing less, than the counterpart of my surroundings. The greenery humbles me by reminding me that I am just like them too—growing, gleaming, existing and breathing, and one day, gone.

I have built a home within the walls of my brain,

The oppressive heat of my dad’s car is the devil’s *** breath—suffocating and impenetrable. The black interior invites the sun to stream endlessly through At my dresser, I eye the sticky note on my mirror. the windows.

• Laundry “Cranking the AC, hold on,” I tell my brother.

• Respond to emails “And the windows?”

• Pick up Mom’s birthday gift “Yep.” I roll them down and once the car is in • Send in final college applications motion, we are one with the wind. “Funny that this is winter.”

A reminder, I suppose, that there is a ticket out “What do you mean?” of this place. Out of the sweltering sun and chaos and “Dude, it’s 78 degrees outside.” I roll my eyes. The corruption to somewhere nicer, fresher, better.

Christmas lights and “ho ho ho” signs along the road My sand dollar necklace swings from my neck seem out of place. It doesn’t feel like Christmas—it as I pull my curls into a ponytail. The chill of the feels like everyone is just pretending it is. A “white air conditioning, or perhaps just the excitement of Christmas” is a foreign concept, with the same air as something new, raises goosebumps along my arms. a fairytale.

There are other places out there.

As my brother and I pull onto the five-lane highway lined with billboards and new buildings, I allow the scenery to change in my mind’s eye: snowtopped buildings, people in parkas, misty sunlight, jingle bells.

A fantasy.

Rhode Island A plane ride later, I’m sitting by a quiet radiator waiting for the waitress to come over.

“Tea, please. Thanks.”

When the mug is placed in front of me, I cup it in between my hands and take a long sip. I let the tea sit in my mouth for a moment before swallowing, savoring the perfect chai.

When people enter the restaurant, they smile at me, even though we’ve never met and probably will never talk. Faces I’ll forget, interactions that blend into a mural. On my way out, the distinct crispness in the air kisses my skin with a reminder that I made it out. Made it here.

The crunch of orange leaves echoes in my ears and I replay it between steps.

It’s remarkable. My shoes seem to be attracted to the piles of leaves.

memories as birch building blocks and fallen leaves as roof shingles and my spiraling imagination as the cirrocumulus clouds above. I step inside and focus on the gleaming, stretching my hands up to the sun when I feel like it, sinking my toes into the muddy earth, and running in the shallow waters of a freezing cold brook.

I look out my window and I am at peace, not even caring that it has panes.

4

post–

It’s interesting to me that the death of leaves is a pretty thing. It doesn’t sound pretty. And yet, as they are flushed with hues of red and orange, they are, in their final moments, perhaps the prettiest they have ever been for me.

Fall here smells like cinnamon and marshmallows and warm soup and chai.

Fall here sounds like crunching leaves and

laughter and the zipping of coats coming out of hibernation.

Fall here is gratitude, coziness, fuzzy socks, chocolate bars, and togetherness.

Fall here is the leaves dying—then falling, as the name so clearly describes—and yet something about it brings me back to life.

ARTS & CULTURE Rhode Island, Later Snow is something of a fantasy. My first snow came in the form of a blizzard, and I found myself catching snowflakes on my tongue, laughing and twirling in the falling snow; jumping in piles of fluff and sculpting snowwomen with my bare hands; trying to make snowballs and finding out there are different kinds of snow.

I notice that the cold doesn’t bite my skin the way heat does.

“You’re like a child,” my friend laughs. “I love it.”

I toss a misshapen snowball in her direction. “It’s snow!”

She laughs and tosses one back. I try to catch it and it crumbles in my hands, peppering my hair with icy specks. I’m laughing, dancing, skipping down the stairs and up the hill. Everyone around us is bundled up in colorful coats and sweaters, headed from warm room to warm room. You can see their breath in the air, a reminder of all the things happening around you, whether you notice them or not.

Everything is dead and yet everything is alive.

The soup from the dining hall is suddenly appealing and rich with flavor, accentuated by the crisp condensation on the window. Hot chocolate, toasted bread, steaming servings of vegetables, even seafood. I shovel it all down, feeling the warmth running through my veins.

Later, winding streets named after presidents and towns no one has heard of carry us home. Togo cups of hot tea slosh in the cupholders of the old car. Laughter, music, and love are alive here. Even in winter, warmth is alive here.

The Bucket List Curse

to more in-depth lists of vintage stores, speakeasies, and hidden gems if I’m traveling somewhere I’ve been before. My Barcelona map is a hodgepodge of Gaudí

list-making apps as commodification of culture

buildings I’ve yet to tour, boutiques I’ve walked by that were closed for siesta, and places I now frequent, like the hole-in-the-wall natural wine bar I stumbled upon

by dorrit corwin Illustrated by Ella Buchanan

***

“Abroad

“Which do you think feels better,” I ask, “warm drinks on a cold day, or cold drinks on a warm day?”

“Hmmmm. I don’t know.”

“What about baking in the sun then cooling off in the water, or getting cold in the water then warming in the sun?”

My friend can’t decide on an answer but to me, it’s clear. There is nothing like warmth when your body is frozen. You can feel your body thawing out and sinking into comfort. It feels like coming back to life.

There is something about the changing of the seasons that makes me feel alive. There is something beautiful about each of them, something distinct to appreciate and to savor and to remember. The snow in the winter, the fresh blossoms in the spring, the sunshine in the summer, the foliage in the fall.

In the midst of the snow, my fingers work their way up to my sand dollar necklace and twist the chain around my thumb. A piece of me will always miss home, but most of me has found a new one.

especially when I only have a weekend to explore them)

planning,”

“Barcelona

bucket

in between wash cycles at the laundromat.

Since January I have been obsessively ranking every restaurant, bar, and coffee shop I’ve ever been list,”

to on an app called Beli. The more restaurants you

“Travel to book,” “Running to-do list”: the top four

rank, the higher your ranking as a Beli user will be.

lists I see when I open my Notes app, and those are just

There is no tangible benefit to being highly ranked;

ones I have pinned. I have 1830 notes (and counting)

it’s more just a point of pride. I’ve now surpassed 800

on my phone. I used to consider this addiction a great

restaurants and am ranked in the top 300 users. My

accomplishment, but recently I’ve come to view it as a

Beli status has become a hallmark of my time abroad;

curse.

as friends of mine begin to discover and join the app,

I recently passed the halfway mark of my semester

they realize just how much time and effort I’ve put

abroad. This inflection point has me reflecting on what

into memorializing all of the meals I’ve had. And, like

I’ve learned and seen so far, and anticipating my final

with all social media, logging each meal connects me

six weeks here. I’ve concluded that one semester is too

to followers across great distances. My friends at home

short an amount of time to feel sufficiently acquainted

know that my morning croissant was mediocre, the

with any place, especially a city as large as Barcelona.

chai latte I had at a bookstore’s cafe tasted like a warm

Two and a half months in, I finally feel like I live here.

hug, and the tapas I ate for dinner were some of the best

I know which metro line to take where, how to give

I’ve ever eaten.

confused tourists directions to the Sagrada Familia,

Beli is the newest app in a recent trend that

and which bars are for locals (and which are for study

commodifies

abroad students). Now, as I’m settled at last, my

Goodreads (which I use to keep track of books I read,

departure is on the horizon.

despite the app’s ancient interface), then Letterboxd

engagement

with

art.

First

came

My time here has felt like an endless series of to-

(if you’re not on it yet you probably should be—Martin

do lists—usually a positive, as I’ve always been an avid

Scorsese just made an account), and now Beli. These

list-maker. I arrived with pages of recommendations

apps have appealed to my obsession with list-making

from friends and family who are familiar with the city. I

and documentation. I think Letterboxd almost single-

researched restaurants on Instagram, TikTok, and The

handedly got me through the COVID-19 pandemic; I

Infatuation. I added every place I wanted to try to an

spent hours adding 500+ movies I’ve never seen to a

Apple Maps guide that now has over 200 pins. I’ve been

watchlist and logged 100 movies in 2021, mostly for the

to about a third of them so far.

sake of seeing the number on my profile rise, somewhat

Like many American study abroad students, I am also taking advantage of the short and affordable

to participate in whatever discourse surrounds each film, and, of course, for personal enjoyment, too.

flights from Barcelona to elsewhere in Europe,

It's only recently that I’ve begun to ask myself,

meaning I travel most weekends. I want to be checking

Is this healthy? Am I watching movies, reading

tons of places off my travel to-do list, but that means

books, and eating at new restaurants because I value

I have less time to devote to my Barcelona bucket list.

these experiences, or just to say that I had them and

I am experiencing a constant trade-off of wanting to

memorialize them in an app? If everything becomes a

immerse myself here in the time that I have left, yet

mental or physical to-do list, what am I gaining from

also take advantage of opportunities to explore other

the moments and media I consume themselves, and

cities and countries.

how much of the satisfaction is derived from checking

The itineraries I make for each place I visit range

them off a list?

from surface-level tourist attractions and world-famous

This phenomenon is a somewhat inevitable

restaurants (for places I’m seeing for the first time,

outgrowth of social media. Productivity apps disguised

November 9, 2023

3

ARTS & CULTURE as arts communities enable users to feel like they

burdened with the majority of labor in the household. Turning

old-timey princesses, would argue that dreaming of true

aren’t frying their brains the way they are on TikTok or

to girlhood is embracing nostalgia. After all, girlhood is arguably

love does not necessarily inhibit the princess’s agency or

Instagram, but still allow them to experience validation

a time in a woman’s life when the threats of the patriarchy do

character. In this vein, it’s important to represent women

from other users, while simultaneously completing a

not loom so large. It’s a time when a woman, depending on

with softer life aspirations, whose dreams are founded on

task.

her circumstances, can dream of true love in a whole-hearted,

a pursuit of happiness rather than the capitalist narrative

In Spain especially, this mentality of mine clashes

naive way, unaware of the future turmoil she’ll be put through,

driven by the idealization of productivity and independence.

with the culture. Spaniards don’t make plans. On the

of what her rights are and how her autonomy over her own

This leaves the shaping of women and the future of

rare occasion that they do, they’re chronically late to

body could be threatened years down the line.

girlhood at a crossroads. If women don’t want to be portrayed

them. They’d rather have nowhere to be, so they can

This reclamation can be seen through one of the most

in the girl-boss, Zegler-type manner, then is the damsel in

stumble upon local wine festivals and random flea

basic of insults: “you throw like a girl.” Those within the TikTok

distress dreaming of true love really the answer? Were Disney

markets. Maybe that’s why they eat dinner so late: they

trends seem eager to agree—and more. They eat, sleep, shop,

Princesses ever truly a good model for us? Why can’t there

procrastinated making a plan and realized that they

dress, cry, feel, love, walk, talk, work, dream, think, and throw

be something newer and fresher to break apart from these

didn’t need one anyway. My brain refuses to rewire this

like a girl. If you can look past the infantilizing aspects of using

mutually problematic narratives?

way.

the term “girl” to describe absolutely everything, you can see

While Disney may still be working to get the deep

through to the core of those women who are just maturing and

nuances of girlhood “right,” it is important to recognize that

quickly realizing they want to turn back.

sometimes we don’t succeed either. For example, I can’t help

I already have a senior spring bucket list to tackle when I return to Providence in January. I am constantly telling myself I need to live in the moment,

And yet it seems that despite all of these attempts to

but question the recent shaming of “pick me” girls or girls

but if I am not always planning my next meal, my next

reclaim girlhood at an individual level, countless movies, TV

who “aren’t like other girls” I’ve seen plastered all over the

book, and my next trip, I fear the control I might lose

shows, and books get it wrong when they attempt to portray

internet. What seems to have started off as a well-intentioned

and the opportunities I might relinquish.

girlhood for wider audiences. For many people, the experience

attempt to find a language for critiquing the everyday,

Knowing myself, it is ultimately unlikely that I

of girlhood is closely tied to the female role models they were

internalized misogyny in our fellow women has instead

will stop using any of these apps I love so dearly. I’m

raised with—often in whatever form of media they consumed.

transformed into a language which excludes those who do not

learning that it’s good to leave a list with a few boxes

Disney is one particularly timely example, as it has long been

belong. Ironically, it’s become a sort of witch hunt to single out

unchecked; it’s best to never actually finish a to-do

the subject of feminist critiques for playing into negative

all those who do not fit the internet’s narrow and particular

list, but to always come close. That way, there is always

stereotypes and limited beauty standards, yet has initiated

definitions of femininity and girlhood. It’s important to

something on the horizon—a new experience when I

noticeable changes to counteract these claims in recent years.

remember that, at the end of the day, femininity is a construct

return to a city or sit down to watch a movie but don’t

For decades, Disney Princess movies have given

of the patriarchy and consequently a performance. As such,

know what to choose.

audiences a diverse array of female protagonists, shaping the

there is nothing inherently righteous about being girly, nor is

I’ve experienced a jarring scarcity complex while

way girls perceive themselves and the world around them from

there anything inherently righteous about looking down on

traveling; I walk tens of thousands of steps a day while

a tender age. From Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in 1937

those who choose to be girly.

exploring a new city, desperately seeking to touch

to its upcoming 2024 remake, princesses have brought their

It's often lonely to be a girl, but there’s comfort in the

every corner of its terrain, convinced I may never be

unique qualities and challenges to the screen. However, the

feeling that you can finally belong to a community of other

there again. But like rewatching a favorite movie or

debate rages on about the correct way—if one exists—to create

girls. And yet that’s just it: our idea of femininity is so narrow

eating over and over again at a favorite restaurant,

the perfectly nuanced yet nostalgic female protagonist.

that we’re all begging to be let into the girl’s club. Alienation

travel is an experience that demands to be repeated. A

There’s been a recent effort to retell older Disney stories

within our own gender perpetuates the fear of never being

city I’ve seen before will feel different each time I visit

in a more feminist light, which many on the internet have

feminine or girly or pretty or thin or palatable enough, an idea

it. It’s best to always have a few items on the bucket list

attributed to the somewhat unwanted influence of the “girl-

complicated by the desire to be a girl who empowers all her

left to check off.

boss” movement. Rachel Zegler, the lead in the 2024 remake,

girls beyond this limited definition. I don’t mean to say that

has received criticism for her apparent lack of enthusiasm and,

our adoption of certain styles of language to define ourselves,

at times, distaste for the role. In a video which has been recently

including the term “girl’s girl” and countless others, can’t

circulating, Zegler controversially tells an interviewer that “it’s

be silly, harmless sources of fun. At the same time, however,

no longer 1937” and her version of Snow White is going to be

we should still maintain an awareness of the exclusions

“dreaming about becoming the leader she knows she can be.”

these terms ultimately entail. Much of the conversation

The Girlhood Renaissance from TikTok to tiaras

by malena colon Illustrated by Ella Buchanan

In fairness to Zegler, the princess archetype does indeed

surrounding girlhood enforces a strict gender binary which

have its criticisms, particularly regarding its traditional

serves to divide us, excluding those who do not belong in the

representations of femininity and encouragement of women

incredibly limited, two ways of seeing the world.

to dream about love rather than personal ambition. Many early

And yet, as a woman, it’s almost impossible for me to say

Disney princesses, such as Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty,

that there isn’t something completely freeing about logging

For anyone with access to the internet, especially any

were passive and reliant on male characters to save them,

onto TikTok and being able to find a video of a woman doing

woman-identifying person in her teens, twenties, or thirties,

thus reinforcing gender roles and the repetition of the damsel-

something stupid and absurd and messy and altogether non-

2023 will go down as an unforgettable amalgamation of

in-distress narrative. As a result, Disney has taken steps to

conventionally girl-like with the caption: “This is girlhood.”

transient “girl” TikTok trends: girl dinner, girl’s girls, for the

modernize its princesses by introducing more independent

It’s times like these when I can finally let out a long,

girls, the girls who get it, girl math, even Gwen Stefani’s voice

and self-reliant characters in recent years. Yet those who

cathartic laugh at the revolutionary idea that a girl can

echoing “I’m Just a Girl” on an empty loop.

criticize Zegler, along with others who possess nostalgia for

just be.

Many might see the turn to girlhood as a choice of political agency, an act of feminist rebellion—like holding a middle finger to the patriarchy and the hellish landscape of latestage capitalism, both of which demand so much domestic, emotional, and workforce labor of “womanhood” in the modern era. Today, it often feels like if women want to do more in society, then they must simply do it all.

To accompany the embrace of girlhood, however, a few more problematic sentiments have arisen. Take certain creators from the recent trend of bimbo feminism for example.

A particularly egregious example of this trend surfaced in a recent TikTok video by a creator who attempts to break down complex subjects “for the girls,” using simplified language and bright pink outfits to attract her audience. Recently she explained the Israel and Palestine conflict as if it were some trivial high school drama between “Izzy” and “Patty”—an offensive, bewilderingly tone-deaf approach.

Of course, many of these trends begin in the right place.

Women are tired of hyper-femininity being associated with stupidity, of being shamed for choices they were pressured to make by society’s rigid standards of beauty, and of being

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LIFEST YLE

Reinventing

turning delusions into reality

by Gabrielle Yuan Illustrated by Kimberly Liu If given the chance to reinvent yourself, would you

The second version of myself would be incredibly

do it? The opportunity for self-reinvention is one of

mysterious, dark academia, and always-lipsticked.

Firstly, I do (finally) own a pair of platform Holly

the many perks that come with starting college. What

Think of the incredibly alluring celebrities who you

Doc Martens that I have yet to break in. Every day that

always followed “Why Brown?”, which I was asked

have burning questions for.

I tremble and trip through campus is a day closer to

imagination.

numerous times when I committed, was: “You’re sooo

I would be unknown and sought out. People would

being able to strut through the Main Green with ease.

lucky. You’re definitely going to reinvent yourself. Who

try to piece together which dining halls I frequented,

I have yet to find the right occasion to wear a miniskirt

do you want to become?”

or where I went after class with only a burgundy

with tights, but with my new shoes, I’m unstoppable.

–

Longchamp tote bag instead of a backpack. With my

I’m still working up the courage to speak in my

The first version of myself I curated would satisfy

chunky midnight blue headphones, I would walk

intimidating Principles of Economics lecture. But in my

the narcissistic and attention-seeking self I had first

through campus with a slightly off-red lipstick painted

beloved writing workshops, I’ve found a haven among

embodied during middle school. The addiction to

on, the tops of my essays peeking out from my bag.

people who enjoy creative writing as much as I do, and

being desired for once, to being someone’s top choice,

In reality, I would be tucked away in an

I’m no longer burdened with having to take classes in

guided the version of myself that would be invited

undiscovered nook of a local coffee shop, reading

subjects that have never resonated with me. With the

to every good frat party, that would raise my hand in

for hours. I would finish (and enjoy) my schoolwork,

abundance of concentrations and opportunities at

every class to the point where my professors would

genuinely appreciating the slides from the lecture. I

Brown, I am incredibly happy to say that I have never

say: “Let’s have someone else answer the question.” I

would not only write my essays in a timely fashion, but I

been more confused about my future, but never more

was painfully shy as a child, and obtaining the ability

would have the time to chase after my newly-developed

confident in my chances to fulfill my dreams of writing.

to speak among hundreds with ease seemed like the

passions, like crocheting.

Thanks to the clubs I’ve joined, I can also confirm

greatest accomplishment I could aspire to.

In the midst of writing my business pitch for Shark

that I won’t be asking the Sharks for an investment—I

I would also be trailed by friends that I wasn’t close

Tank, a strawberry matcha latte would appear in front

with—by those who only liked to go out or wanted to

of me. I’d shyly look up and the barista would point to a

When spotting a familiar face on campus, instead

grab a quick meal together. During my angsty teen era,

beautiful person on my left, radiating with mysterious

of being intentionally mysterious, I find myself

I never had a large friend group and always envied—

energy, and we would exchange a couple of words

unconsciously beginning to smile. I walk to Andrews

often from across the cafeteria—the large bundles of

before they’d ask me to dance later in the evening

to find my friends, who complete parts of me I never

students bursting with laughter and inside jokes.

at a mysterious nightclub, beyond Brown, beyond

knew weren’t content, and understand me without

discovered business isn’t for me.

I would have bangs that covered my too-round

Providence, where no one would know me. I would

explanation. We eat lunch and debrief our minute

face, wear mini skirts with tights and colorful sweaters,

finally return home and sleep at 3:00 in the morning,

moments with campus crushes. I have never laughed as

and people would ask if my outfit inspiration came

rise again at 9:00, and repeat, replacing my outfit with

fully as I do now with my friends, who also teach me

from Pinterest. Growing up, my mother often stuffed

a nice plum-purple cardigan and chunky Doc Martens.

to be optimistic, compassionate, and patient. In my

me in monochromatic clothing that made me look like

–

short time here, I know that every one of my delusions,

a child working a nine-to-five job.

I would finally not be the one to envy others: I would be envied.

–

However, to be completely truthful, reality doesn’t

desires, and dreams in every world, universe, and

always prevail over delusions. After just two months

multiverse all connect to create the truest version of

in college, I see that bits and pieces of my dreams have

myself.

come true—that they were not just a figment of my

November 9, 2023

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LIFESTLYE

Top Five Ways to Live moments when the world is in your hands

by Daphne Cao Illustrated by Lena Insta:@liquidbutterflies What does it mean to truly live? Each one of the eight

the sky with your fingertips.

When the coaster tumbles down, whipping your hair

Look at someone who has more than you—more

and sending your stomach tumbling, you’ll remember the

friends, more wealth, more achievements. Feel the ugly,

feeling. Hold onto it even as the wind tries to snatch it

raw desire for what they have lash around in your head.

from between your fingers.

And oh, the guilt that accompanies it, too. The recipient

To live is to fear but reach for the sky anyway.

has done no wrong and yet… there is no helping it.

2. Say “I love you” for the first time.

You will never have what they have, so why bother thinking about it? It is meant to be a comfort, but it’ll

Remember what I said about fear? This kind will feel

haunt you.

even worse than that from the roller coaster. It will curl up around your throat, squeezing it like a snake.

billion lives in this world are distinct, making it hard

Look at the person in front of you. They’re smiling,

to consider any experience universal. But I know I can

and you know from the floating feeling building in your

pinpoint moments in my life when I thought “this is why

chest just how you feel.

I’m alive.”

of this feeling that quite nearly crosses into resentment

You’ll stare at your hands, unable to expel this feeling, and you’ll wonder if you were created this way, fated to have—to be—less.

You aren’t.

When you say it, it’ll come out shaky. Don’t beat

That nasty jealousy that burns through your mind—

Don’t take this as a literal bucket list of things to do

yourself up over it; it’s the first time, after all. And you

repressing it will only make it worse. Take it into your

to live fulfillingly—simply consider them as events that I

know they’ll say it back, that the “I love you too” is

hands, mold it, and you’ll feel a spurring ambition in its

believe everyone can relate to, no matter how small that

inevitable. So who cares if you were shaky at first?

place.

3. Say it again.

5. Admire yourself in the mirror.

connection may be.

1. Ride a roller coaster.

“I love you.”

For those of you who have a fear of roller coasters,

When you take a final look at yourself before going

It’ll still be shaky, trust me. But not as much.

out for the night, pause. Notice the shape of your eyes, the

don’t be so quick to shy away. As someone whose first

Maybe you’re saying it to the same person, maybe

slope of your nose, the curve of your posture. Brush your

experience with roller coasters ended with seven-year-

someone different. In the end, all that matters is that you

gaze over each part of the outfit that you picked out, from

old me in a puddle of tears in the middle of Hershey

mean it. Soon the “I love you’s” will roll off your tongue.

the bottom of your shoes to the top of your styled hair.

Park, I understand your dread more than anyone. But

Don’t fear; it won’t lose its meaning the way a word

For once, don’t let yourself wonder how other people

this is one of the few times I endorse peer pressure: let

repeated over and over does. Each “I love you” is different.

will receive and react to your appearance. Just look at

your friends push you into that hour-long line. Don’t let

Love changes with time in the same way people do. This

yourself.

the fear churning deep in your stomach control you, no

is why whenever you say “I love you,” it doesn’t mean the

matter how tempting the exit looks. When the safety bar

same thing as the last.

When you rise in the morning, dragging yourself out of the tempting warmth of your bed, stand in front

clicks into place and the coaster is slowly chugging to its

As long as the stars brighten the sky and the sun

of the mirror for a moment, just one. Not to scrutinize

peak, remember that you’re not headed towards certain

rises, you know you’ll have plenty of more opportunities

over your eyebags or the way your baggy clothes slouch

death.

to say it.

off your body—no, just to capture this moment where you

When you reach the top, ease your grip from the bar and let your hands fly up. For a moment, you can brush

8

post–

are glowing under the morning sun.

4. Be jealous.

Admire yourself and everything else.

LIFEST YLE

Don't Forget! post- mini crossword 18

by Lily Coffman

1

2

4

3

5

7

6

8

9

10

Down

Across

1 Something you might forget when saying hello 5 Wild, as an animal or obsessive fan 6 CA city for influencers and avacado toast lovers 7 Early time that you should never forget, 8 Something especially in Texas 10

1 Zora _____ Hurston bordered by TX, OK, MO, TN, 2 State MS, & LA

3 Southern woman red monster who often refers 4 Furry to himself in third person

Something that if forgotten, may cause an embarrassing walk to Grad Center for a replacement

5 When taken, strong criticism 9 All-purpose exclamation

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Kimberly Liu

“I can recall the way my life began only through stories I’ve been told. I have the facts, but have to infer the emotions. Where does a story reside when its physical proof and its memory are separated and can never coexist?”

—Marin Warshay, “Woven into the Seams” 11.04.22

“Waveless, windless, starless night. The loon shatters that dark-nothing, adding more breath until its yodel falls into vast looping echoes, painting textures and distances on the black canvas before me. "

—Isaac Eng, “On Loon Time” 11.05.21

Section Editors Emily Tom Anaya Mukerji

FEATURE Managing Editor Klara Davidson-Schmich

LIFESTYLE Managing Editor Tabitha Lynn

Section Editors Addie Marin Lilliana Greyf

Section Editors Jack Cobey Daniella Coyle

ARTS & CULTURE Managing Editor Joe Maffa

HEAD ILLUSTRATORS Emily Saxl Ella Buchanan

Section Editors Elijah Puente Rachel Metzger

COPY CHIEF Eleanor Peters

NARRATIVE Managing Editor Katheryne Gonzalez

Copy Editors Indigo Mudhbary Emilie Guan Christine Tsu

SOCIAL MEDIA HEAD EDITORS Kelsey Cooper Tabitha Grandolfo Kaitlyn Lucas LAYOUT CHIEF Gray Martens Layout Designers Amber Zhao Alexa Gay STAFF WRITERS Dorrit Corwin Lily Seltz Alexandra Herrera Liza Kolbasov Marin Warshay Gabrielle Yuan Elena Jiang

Aalia Jagwani AJ Wu Nélari Figueroa Torres Daniel Hu Mack Ford Olivia Cohen Ellie Jurmann Sean Toomey Sarah Frank Emily Tom Ingrid Ren Evan Gardner Lauren Cho Laura Tomayo Sylvia Atwood Audrey Wijono Jeanine Kim Ellyse Givens Sydney Pearson Samira Lakhiani Cat Gao

Want to be involved?

Email: mingyue_liu@brown.edu!

November 9, 2023

9