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VISUAL ARTS
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The Twilight of the Good Ol’ Pabst Blue Ribbon Era
SIMONE BÉLANGER Arts & Culture Editor
Disclaimer: This article does not encourage alcohol consumption and serves strictly educational purposes.
If we were to rewind my storyline back to November 2021, I most likely would have laughed in the face of anyone who claimed that a year later, I would be writing an article on beer. Back then, I deemed beer as an unlikable, last resort type of alcohol, and I don’t think the term “enjoyable” could have ever been employed to render my bitter (quite literally) experiences with beer as a genre. Manifestly, I was a foolish individual. But thanks to a series of fortunate events, the hateful caterpillar I was hatched into a tender-hearted, beer-loving butterfly, eager to lead you into the fascinating craft beer rabbit hole.
I am not the only one who suffered from an early conflictual relationship with beer: among friends and acquaintances, many people’s first experience was unimpressive. As innocent, underage teenagers, me and my friends were (sadly) grateful for any manufactured good that would keep us from sobriety. Nevertheless, the fact that so many are kept from entering the beer multiverse because of the prevailing brands that demean the entire beer family infuriates me. These labels distort the collective perception of what beer is, and I can only be sorry for my younger self who believed that what all beers would ever taste like was good ol’ Pabst. Getting into decent beers is not an easy task for all, especially when considering the following question: Are craft beers an omen to a bourgeois stratum of our society? Upon reflection, it is not the case. People I’ve interviewed blatantly told me the prices were reasonable (usually anywhere between 3 and 8 dollars for a 473ml can), which echoes the consensus reached within the craft beer community. Indeed, for the price of any generic six-pack, you can opt for three top-tier brews instead. Nevertheless, the microbrewery spectrum is broad, and affordability fluctuates according to the beer’s attributes, the ingredients’ quality, as well as the given microbrewery’s prominence.
Especially today, cultivating a fondness for the genre has never been easier. Microbreweries’ beers are starting to populate grocery store shelves exponentially and specialized, beer-oriented boutiques are flourishing (where the workers are always eager to give brilliant suggestions and demystify the process of selecting the best suited beer to your taste). Furthermore, 46 of the top 100 beers in Canada are brewed in Quebec, according to BeerAdvocate. Still, why are these canned delicacies such a hit amongst the Quebec demographic? For starters, craft beers offer a wonderful amalgam of flavours that will please any conceivable preference. Through the type of beer (lager, pilsner, brown or pale ale, India pale ale - widely known as ‘IPA’, stout, Belgian-style, sour, etc.), the style, the chosen grain(s), the aromas (from chocolate or honey to sour cherry and even coconut), the IBU (international bitterness unit) and ABV (alcohol by volume), as well as an array of other parameters, microbrewers are granted the power to become the alchemists of exquisitely unique, peculiar drinks. Whether to satisfy their growing clientele or personal fantasies, the sky is pretty much the limit when it comes to concocting craft beers.
It is additionally no surprise that microbreweries’ appeal contributes to their fulgurant popularity ascension. When I asked my pal Ariane what is so bewitching about craft beers, she responded that “the originality and the light-heartedness of it all make craft beers [her] go-to.” She also expressed how the locality of such products is an obvious added value, especially when considering the ecological and ethical qualities of our effervescent microbreweries. And I couldn’t agree more; the sustainability factor should definitely be taken into account when deciding on a drink. Through discussions with beer comrades, I realized that craft beers brought a new dimension to one’s alcohol consumption. Not only do beers distilled in microbreweries incorporate an epicurean, discovery-seeking side to the experience, but they also refine the social components behind indulging in alcohol consumption. According to a fellow craft beer enthusiast, Hugh, his consumption habits took a turn when he developed an appreciation for microbreweries: “My past experiences drinking beer were not always great, to the point I felt like I needed to try something completely different.” He adds that discovering craft beers was an “eye-opener”. Others also brought up how, through craft beers, their intention shifted from “trying to get wasted” to genuinely enjoying what they were sipping. I seriously wish I could write ten more pages in order to accurately convey how fond of craft beers I became (and flood The Plant’s November issue with even more microbrewery discourse). For me, craft beers are the liquid proof that alcohol’s value does not reside in its mind-altering properties, but rather in its ability to lead our papillae on a unique journey. For the sake of your tastebuds, give craft beers a chance. And remember, there is nothing as heart-warming as cracking open a cold one with the loved ones. *Personal favourites among Quebec microbreweries* – Menaud – La Chasse-Pinte – La Forge du Malt – À la Fût – Avant-garde – Brasseurs du Monde – Le BockAle – La Souche – Isle de Garde p p
The Comeback of Low-Rise Jeans and What It Means for Women
LÉAH TATTERSALL Contributor
Low-rise jeans are trending and Y2K fashion inspirations are impossible to escape on Pinterest, Tik Tok, and Instagram. Within the last year, more women have been wearing low-rise jeans out on the streets of Montreal, and all of North America seems to be adopting the trend as well by recreating outfits from the 2000s era. Undeniably, low-rise jeans are back in fashion and so is the body standard associated with it.
Young women responded to my Instagram story where they were asked to share their thoughts on this trend. “They’re cute but I feel like they only work on specific outfits and are harder to style,” expresses Layla, 18-year-old Concordia student who owns these type of jeans, “Plus, not everyone thinks they fit them and I feel like people have a specific idea of who should and shouldn’t wear them.” The unsustainability of low-rise jeans is one of the countless reasons this trend was short-lived in the past. This specific style of jeans doesn’t bring back fond memories for some women. On May 6th, 2022, a Vogue article titled “How Low Can These Low-Rise Jeans Go?” by author Rachel Besser writes: “There’s no denying that, for millennials, the trend’s imminent return can be stress-inducing.” With its belly-baring pants and other body conscious trends, the early aughts were a time that perpetuated fatphobia and a beauty standard striving for thin, young, and white. Diet culture was at its peak during this era and was keenly reflected through women’s clothing. Some millennials have also blamed the 2000s fashion movements for inducing their eating disorders. Why is this trend back and what effect will this body mindful and restrictive style have on women in the current decade? This comeback is not surprising, according to Borys Fridman, co-owner for 48 years of Jeans Jeans Jeans, a beloved pants store situated in the Mile-end sector. “For you guys, it’ll be something on TV, something on Netflix, something on social media, that will all of a sudden click and become fashion,” Borys Fridman continues, “That’s what drives the market.” Lola Garden, a young Australian woman, addresses her observations on this trend in a TikTok she posted earlier this month. “[...] Y2K low rise styles are trending, Bella Hadid just keeps getting skinnier, the Kardashians are removing their BBLs [Brazilian butt lift]” she shares, “and you can see the pro ED [eating disorder] sentiment growing online.”
Bella Hadid, a model who rose in popularity in the past three years, is followed by fifty-six million people on Instagram and is often seen wearing low-rise jeans. This shift in popularity from 2010s high-rise jeans known to accentuate the waist, making curves appear wider, to the return of low-rise jeans that are meant to highlight a flat abdomen and minimal curves, clearly illustrates an unfolding change in body standards for women. However, clothing is becoming increasingly gender neutral and the established rules are constantly being rejected when it comes to fashion: people of all genders are seen embracing the low-rise jeans upcoming trend. With the body positivity movement, low-rise styles might not be as detrimental to women as they were for the prior generation. “There’s just something about the aesthetic of them that makes me feel confident,” says 18-year-old Dawson student, Emma. Like Molly Jong-Fast says in a Vogue article from October 19th, 2021 titled “For Goodness’ Sake, Please Let Us Not Return to Low-Rise Jeans”: “We don’t have to ride this cycle; we can just say no to this trend.” p p
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You May Know Him as Lil Baby
SOPHIE ANABELLE SOMÉ Staff Writer
To be completely honest I did not know Lil Baby’s real name until about a year ago. For the curious minds, his legal name is Dominique Armani Jones. I was listening to his music way before then, but digging into the artist’s personal life and history—which I highly recommend because it is definitely illuminating and allows you to connect more with their music—was not something I wanted to do. Fast consumerism seemed like an easy although lazy route that I took without questioning. The Covid-19 pandemic triggered an increasing interest and fascination towards Lil Baby. George Floyd’s tragic death and the Black Lives Matter movement undoubtedly changed my perception of the world. In the headlines, Lil Baby not only released “The Bigger Picture”, a protest song advocating for social and racial justice in the world, but was also actively helping George Floyd’s family. Lil Baby also paid for Gianna Floyd’s birthday party and attended the celebration. It was incredible to see him use his talent and wealth to convey an important message regarding justice for Black people. Growing up in Atlanta with a single mother and two sisters, Lil Baby dropped out of high school in grade nine. He turned to “the streets” and became a virtuous gambler and a drug dealer. In 2015, Lil Baby found himself incarcerated for two years in a maximum-security prison after multiple arrests for firearm and marijuana possession. After his release, Young Thug—another renowned rapper and Lil Baby’s close friend—encouraged him to go to the studio and record music. Fast-forward to 2022 and his first album My Turn was the number one selling album among all genres. By that time, Lil Baby had left his old lifestyle behind and was committed to a music career. The rapper has an incredibly humble spirit that is here to inspire. I remember my eyes ablaze, hypnotized by my screen as I first listened to “The Bigger Picture”. Lil baby says in the song: “It’s bigger than black and white, it’s a problem with the whole way of life, it can’t change overnight.” Those words just underline how social justice and advocating for Black lives is everyone’s concern and responsibility. In “Untrapped: The Story of Lil Baby”, a documentary about his life released by Prime Video, the rapper talks about quarantine and how it made him reflect on his life and the things that matter to him. He says that “it made [him] realize all the awards, all the numbers, it [doesn’t] mean anything.”
Lil Baby strives towards renewing people’s hope with his music and most of his songs are tied to his old neighborhood. If we take a look at his most recent songs on It’s Only Me, an album released on October 11th this year, blatant traces of Lil Baby’s past still pop up. In “Red Spill”, he says: “I moved on from slangin’ drugs and pistols, can’t be thinking simple,” and later adds on “I know I’m the motivation, they see me, they see a hero.” In “Double down”, he claims: “Watch me shake the world and wake up everyone who is sleeping on me.” In his older album My turn, Lil Baby expresses in his song “Solid” that he is a “product of the real trenches, that’s why I wear a coat”. When Lil Baby raps about his old neighborhood, he certainly doesn’t do so in order to brag about his current life situation. He is explaining the importance of the environment on one’s life choices. He is conveying how he did not have many alternatives but to turn to drug dealing and other criminal activities. He is also voicing to younger people that they should try their best to stay away from that trap and strive for something greater than “the streets”. Lil Baby’s message resides in showing the younger generation that life is not defined by their current situation: he is this philosophy’s living proof.
On September 22nd, Lil Baby was awarded the Quincy Jones Humanitarian award. The reason behind this title resides in his incredible work in advocating for racial and social justice issues. Part of Lil Baby’s contribution for his community involves an annual “Back to School Fest” where more than 3000 children from Atlanta’s West End are given school supplies, haircuts, backpacks, and have the opportunity to enjoy games, carnival rides and food. The rapper, in collaboration with Lemont Gradley, an Atlanta restaurateur, worked to offer 100 jobs to young adults. At last, Lil Baby established a 150,000$ My Turn scholarship program for students from his former high school. When it is time to give back to his community, not only does Lil Baby excel, but he is one of our time’s greatest activists for racial and social justice. p p
The Smoke Spot: How the sidewalk inadvertently became a third place for Dawson students
JOSEPHINE ROSS Editor-In-Chief
I feel that most Dawson students are familiar with the notorious and densely populated Smoke Spot, located by Dawson’s main entrance on Maisonneuve. Even those who don’t frequent the Spot themselves will have surely walked by it, heard of it, or referred to it in passing. I became familiar with the Spot before the end of my first week at Dawson in September 2021. Despite my being a second-year student, I had almost no friends at Dawson. Though I would hardly ever describe smoking as a fortunate habit to have, in this case, it was. Within my first few cigarette breaks, I had already become acquainted with more people than I had spoken to in any of my classes. Opportunities for socializing within Dawson’s walls during the heavily restricted pandemic era were difficult to come by. As a result, many students turned to the sidewalk outside instead, which is how it came to serve as an unconventional “third place.” The “third place” is a sociological term that refers to social surroundings that are separate from the “first” and “second” places of home and work. In the past, these third places took the form of places of worship, clubs, cafés, community centres, and plazas. American urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg describes these places as “anchors” of community life that should be conducive to social interaction, conversation, and general group leisure activities. In his book, The Great Good Place (1989), Oldenburg outlined eight defining characteristics of these places. He states that, unlike work and home, attendance in third places is not obligatory. Often occupied by what he calls “the regulars,” the place encourages conversation, intermingling, and interaction between friends and acquaintances. In keeping with these requirements, they must be accessible to all, regardless of class or social status, and should maintain a homelike, laidback, and playful vibe. Oldenburg stresses the importance of these places, as they are critical to civil society and engagement, democracy, and establishing a sense of belonging within a community. While these types of places were abundant in North America just a few decades ago, the 21st century marked a shift in the types of third places we frequent. With the advent of technology, social media, and virtual worlds, North Americans are more inclined to fulfill their social needs in a virtual space, favoring online interaction over in-person. We may attribute this shift to a variety of factors, notably the innumerable appealing qualities of the internet (anonymity, ability to exist through a persona, abundant resources of information and knowledge). This push towards online communities was propelled by COVID-19, quarantine mandates making online interaction the best alternative to in-person interaction.
This cultural shift was particularly damaging for Gen Z. The social restrictions of the pandemic isolated the youth from their peers at a point in their development when social interaction is critical to growth. This resulted in an uptick in the prominence of social anxiety and the popularity of online communities.
This issue predates the pandemic. Gen Z has consistently struggled to find third places that do not involve alcohol and drug consumption or spending money. The effects of this dilemma are especially tangible in Montréal. During the warmer months, outdoor spaces like parks
make perfectly suitable third places. Come winter, these cease to be an option, relegating the youth to their respective homes or to the aforementioned unsuitable third places. This brings us back to Dawson. Last year, much of the campus was strictly supervised, and the enforced rules regarding masks and social distancing made socializing with other students a feat. As a result, students flocked to the surrounding sidewalks of the college as The Spot fulfilled most of Oldenburg’s characteristics and provided a space separate from social status. The 21st century teenager’s dilemma is centered around feeling a kind of perpetual lonesomeness, yet being unable to bridge the gap between yourself and another. In kindergarten, making friends is as easy as asking “Do you want to play together?”. As teenagers, the perceived approachability of our peers dissipates. The carefree spirit of childhood is replaced by a self-conscious one by age thirteen, as we realize how unjustified interaction makes us vulnerable to rejection and judgement. Smoking dispels these fears. The “Hey, do you have a lighter?” method facilitates initiating conversation. Sharing a lighter surpasses class, status, and hierarchical divides, enabling one to meet all kinds of people.
I don’t want my analysis of smoking as a social activity to be misconstrued as pro-smoking propaganda. In fact, the opposite is true. It is unfortunate that the Smoke Spot is one of the only genuine third places I have encountered. Although centred around vice, it is free from the total intoxication encouraged by bars and the consumerist requirements of costly activities. And unlike the coffee shops or cinemas, smoking encourages mingling between strangers. Most so-called “third places” advertised to 18- to 25-yearolds do not fulfill the requirements outlined by Oldenburg. I am all for a less cancerous third place for Dawson students, but it seems that none of equal effectiveness or popularity have arisen as of yet. p p
