the
STRAND VICTORIA UNIVERSITY’S STUDENT NEWSPAPER VOLUME 64, ISSUE 2 | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
Why are we still building pipelines? OPINIONS | PAGE 5
When academics define you FEATURES | PAGE 8
On the origin of disparate doctors SCIENCE | PAGE 10
02 NEWS
EDITORS | DREW-ANNE GLENNIE AND SARAH ABERNETHY NEWS@THESTRAND.CA
What's going Ford gives in: Ontario on around mandates vaccine campus? passports Welcome yourself back What to expect from the province’s “enhanced to school with virtual and COVID-19 vaccine certificates” in-person events! DREW-ANNE GLENNIE NEWS CO-EDITOR
Queer Orientation September 20 to September 24 Mainly Zoom The University of Toronto’s Queer Orientation is once again offering the chance “to make connections, engage in activities and have discussions related to LGBTQ2S+ communities.” While there are a multitude of online events to choose from, Queer Orientation is offering two events in-person at the St. George Campus as of print: free skating at the Varsity Centre on Wednesday, September 22 from 7:30 to 9:30 pm EST and a film night on Friday September 24 at the Hart House Quad from 9 to 11 pm EST. Hart House’s Food For Thought September 13, 20, 27, and October 4 from 7 to 8 pm EDT Zoom Do you ever miss the unexpectedly deep Burwash conversations we used to have? While we cannot go back to them quite yet, Hart House is offering an opportunity to come together to eat and discuss food in relation to geography, family, future, and health. Virtual Study Hub Daily from 6 to 8 am and/or 8 to 10 pm EDT Zoom Get off to a good start on your schoolwork by attending Academic Success’ Virtual Study Hubs! At these sessions, you will use the SMART method to come up with a realistic goal for this quiet study time. You can also boost your productivity (and your Co-Curricular Record) by facilitating a virtual study hub; two-hour training sessions are being held throughout September. Outdoor Fitness Class Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays from 12 to 12:45 pm EDT in September Hart House Quad While most of UofT’s fitness offerings remain online for the time being, Hart House is offering Body Conditioning (Monday), Tabata Mashup (Wednesday), and Yoga (Thursday) in the fresh air. Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) September 9 to September 18 TIFF Bell Lightbox and Online Jessica Chastain, Andrew Garfield, the oldest high schooler in history (Ben Platt), and you—all people who might be in attendance at TIFF 2021! Tickets are priced at either $40 (premium) or $25 (regular). The Strand Virtual Open House September 13 from 5 to 6 pm EDT Zoom Is that us? Sorry, must have slipped in here… This is a chance for you to get to know more about The Strand and ways to participate as a writer, editor, artist, photographer, and more.
PHOTO | CITY OF TORONTO KATE HABERL CONTRIBUTOR
When asked about the possibility of requiring vaccine passports within the province this July, Ontario’s Premier Doug Ford said: “The answer is no, we're not going to do it.” By the end of August, he had changed his tune completely. The new vaccine passport (referred to by the province as the “enhanced COVID-19 vaccine certificate” system) comes into effect September 22. This system require people to be fully vaccinated (and provide proof of that vaccination) to access some non-essential services, such as restaurants, concerts, and gyms. Other services, like churches, barbershops, and banks, will remain accessible without vaccination or use of a vaccine passport. By late October, a QR system will be used for proof of vaccinations. Until that system is developed, people can continue to use PDF documentation of vaccination from the province as proof. While many are thrilled by Ford’s decision, others are less than pleased. Some feel that getting the vaccine should be left to personal choice, and believe that the vaccine passport is discriminatory. Mike Kench, a Gananoque town councillor who organized an anti-vaccine passport protest this week, said that he felt the passport was discriminatory because it assumed that people who chose not to receive the vaccine, like himself, would not take precautions. Other critics have claimed that vaccine passports violate people’s constitutional rights. In the recent past, Premier Ford agreed with this sentiment, calling the choice to be
vaccinated a constitutional right, while Ontario’s Solicitor General, Sylvia Jones, stated that a vaccine passport would be unnecessary, given that the majority of Ontarians are already fully vaccinated. Ford says that his drastic change in opinion on a vaccine passport was brought about by conversations with experts and a desire to prevent the economy from being shut down again. However, others have suggested that Ford may have had other motives that led to his complete turnaround; Liberal leader Justin Trudeau stated that he believes Ford only implemented the vaccine passport because of the federal government’s commitment to provide provinces with a billion-dollar fund for vaccine passport programs. Ford blamed the federal government for not implementing a federal vaccine passport system. For any incoming students looking to get vaccinated this fall, Ontario strives to make the process as easy and painless as possible. To book a vaccination appointment, visit https://covid-19. ontario.ca/book-vaccine/ and provide your postal code and other basic information. Even without an Ontario health card, you can easily book a vaccine appointment through a pharmacy or your local health unit. In Toronto, you can visit a cityrun clinic to get a vaccination—you just need some form of government-issued ID (including non-Canadian and expired documents), such as a driver’s licence or passport; a piece of mail with your name on it; a pay stub; or your University of Toronto student ID. International students concerned about vaccinations can contact the Centre for International Experience for help.
NEWS 03
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
What you need to know about the 2021 Federal Election The fall election is fast approaching and candidates across the country are reaching out to voters ROY SHI CONTRIBUTOR
On September 20, Canadians across the country will be returning to the polls to elect the 44th Canadian Parliament. University of Toronto St. George Campus (UTSG) belongs to the riding of University– Rosedale, in which incumbent Chrystia Freeland, Steven Taylor, Nicole Robicheau, and Tim Grant, among other candidates, will vie for the riding’s seat in Parliament on September 20. Liberal Party of Canada candidate Chrystia Freeland is the current Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Finance. First elected as an MP for Toronto Centre in 2013, she was re-elected to serve in University–Rosedale in 2015 and again in 2019. Along with party leader and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, Freeland supports proofof-vaccination credentials, increasing clean and renewable power, and $10-a-day childcare. Running against Freeland is Conservative candidate Steven Taylor, who worked as “a business lawyer specializing in privacy law and data protection” before entering politics, according to his biography. Taylor and party leader Erin O’Toole have pledged to “accelerate homegrown development and production of vaccines” by private corporations, increase rental housing investment, and “improve value recovery from plastics” in their party platform. New Democrat Nicole Robicheau has “a background in humanitarian work” and has been “responding to natural disasters and conflicts over the past decade,” she told The Strand in an interview. Robicheau, who uses she/they
pronouncs “identif[ies] as non-binary” and hopes to encourage diversity and “representation in the halls of power.” When asked about their biggest priorities, Robicheau said “climate is huge.” In addressing why she’s leaving humanitarian work in favour of politics, Robicheau told The Strand that “[humanitarian work] doesn’t really address the root causes of why people already living in precarious conditions [and] who are marginalized are disproportionately impacted,” and that they hope to “tackle those same issues, but at the systemic or root cause level.” Working together with party leader Jagmeet Singh, Robicheau said her main policy goals include “making it easier for refugees to come [to Canada]” and “mak[ing] equitable access to gender-affirming care across the country.” Robicheau “believe[s] in vaccine passports,” and doesn’t “have an issue with vaccines being required to do specific things.” On the subject of hate speech, Robicheau said that “there has to be a delicate balance between freedom of speech and hate,” but that they “support curbing hate speech for sure.” Green Party candidate Tim Grant “was the chair of the most active Resident’s Association in the city and [was] on the board of the Harbord Village Residents' Association for fourteen of those years,” he told The Strand in an interview, saying “it’s... not a stretch to say that I have more involvement in this riding… than all the other candidates combined.” Grant wants to “articulate to voters that... if they want climate action, [they] can’t be supporting a party that wants one or more pipelines.”
Grant is in favour of “climate action,'' “guaranteed annual income,” and “a new deal for cities,” together with party leader Annamie Paul. Grant described his new deal plan, saying he wants “cities to have power the provinces can’t take away with a stroke of a pen,” and that “cities have to have more than ten cents on the dollar in order to do that.” When asked about vaccine passports, Grant said he “support[s] vaccine passports,” adding, “I’m sympathetic to the view that it is a challenge to people’s rights… everyone has a right not to be vaccinated, but they... don’t have a right to put people at risk.” Grant called hate crime and hate speech “a serious problem that needs collective action,” adding, “you can express an opinion about somebody, but you can’t subject women or racial minorities to your degrading comments.” When asked how he would address the issue, Grant said “it’s obvious it’s not with the stick... we need education programs primarily to do that work and we need a federal government to lead provincial governments.” However, he also added, “we need stronger Criminal Code provisions against hate groups and against individuals who express hateful opinions or physical attacks on others.” Those who intend to vote on September 20 can cast their ballot in the riding associated with their home address, which may be their current or childhood residence. First-time voters may need to register to vote at elections.ca. In the past, students were permitted to vote at campus voting offices throughout the University; however, this program has been temporarily suspended due to
PHOTO | JONATHON HARRINGTON
04 EDITORIAL
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF | KHADIJA ALAM EDITOR@THESTRAND.CA
Educate your imagination
the
strand V O L U M E
6 4
A holistic approach to learning—both inside and outside the classroom
editor-in-chief
editor@thestrand.ca
khadija alam
managing editor
managing@thestrand.ca
holly johnstone
business manager
business@thestrand.ca
yasmine shelton
news
sarah abernethy drew-anne glennie
news@thestrand.ca opinions
opinions@thestrand.ca
emma paidra
features
features@thestrand.ca
anna sokolova
science
science@thestrand.ca
jess nash
arts and culture
artsandculture@thestrand.ca
janna abbas
stranded
stranded@thestrand.ca
victoria mcintyre
copyediting
copy@thestrand.ca
faith wershba
design
design@thestrand.ca
mahathi gandhamaneni
photo
photo@thestrand.ca
kelsey phung
art
art@thestrand.ca
seavey van walsum
podcast
strandcast@thestrand.ca
sidharth sachdev
video
video@thestrand.ca
golshan alaei
web
web@thestrand.ca
adam lam
social media
socialmedia@thestrand.ca
amy zhang
editorial assistants
vacant
PHOTO | CHLOE ALI KHADIJA ALAM EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
associate editors news vacant
opinions abi akinlade
features vacant
science jasmine kang
arts and culture rion levy
stranded vacant
copyediting vacant
design vacant
photo vacant
art vacant
podcast vacant
video vacant
web vacant
social media jiwoo oh copy editors shanice burton , yoon - ji kweon , angie lo ,
bronwen prince , roensa salija , tammy yu design team mahathi gandhamaneni, khadija alam cover art kim ngan phung
The Strand has been the newspaper of record for Victoria University since 1953. It is published 12 times a year with a circulation of 1200 and is distributed in Victoria University buildings and across the University of Toronto’s St. George campus. The Strand flagrantly enjoys its editorial autonomy and is committed to acting as an agent of constructive social change. As such, we will not publish material deemed to exhibit racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, or other oppressive language.
@STRANDPAPER WWW.THESTRAND.CA
If you’ve walked past the E.J. Pratt Library here at Vic, you’ve probably noticed a frequenter seated on one of the benches near the entrance. Sometimes you’ll see him sporting a pair of sunglasses that someone left for him, sometimes you’ll see squirrels trying to sit on him, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, you’ll see how people react when they mistake him for an actual person. Yes, I’m referring to the iconic statue of one of Vic’s resident celebrities, Northrop Frye. The spring before my first year at UofT, I decided to apply to one of the First-Year Foundations programs—namely, the Vic One: Frye Stream. I knew I wanted to study literature, and I knew I wanted to enrol in small, seminar-style classes; I did not know who Northrop Frye was (oops). One of the questions on the application for Vic One included a quote from his lecture-turned-book, The Educated Imagination. Intrigued by the title and wanting enough context to answer the question, I looked it up and found myself listening to recordings of Frye from 1962. Across the six half-hour lectures, Frye discusses the purpose and importance of literary studies in cultivating an “educated imagination.” Why? Because “[t]he fundamental job of the imagination in ordinary life… is to produce, out of the society we have to live in, a vision of the society we want to live in.” Now that I’m halfway through my undergraduate degree, I can safely say that my Vic One: Frye Stream classes, and the subsequent courses I’ve taken in literary studies, have helped to cultivate my
imagination. But this phenomenon isn’t specifically tied to a humanities education—or formal education in general, for that matter. Yes, your classes will provide you with the theoretical foundation that you need to imagine transformative change in society—but there are also limits to what you learn in an academic setting. Humanities programs, for example, tend to focus on Eurocentric knowledge and the small, homogeneous group that produces it. Beyond the syllabus, the hustle culture at UofT makes it easy to cram all night for an assessment and never want to think about the course material again. And, of course, it’s one thing to conceptualize a better world and another to actually work towards it. In this issue, The Strand shares stories about contributing to “the society we want to live in” from outside the classroom. Maia Roberts provides a glimpse from the frontlines of the fight for climate justice. Roy Shi speaks with the University-Rosedale MP candidates so that you can make an informed choice when voting in next week’s federal election. Janna Abbas pushes against attributing our selfworth to our academic success. And Albert Cheng advocates for diversity in the medical field. Textbooks and lectures have their place in helping us imagine the world we desire. But university also offers many other ways to learn and to put what we learn into practice. So, get involved with the amazing levies and clubs at Vic, attend the Global Climate Strike on September 24, take time to rest, and make the most of your education.
OPINIONS 05
EDITOR | EMMA PAIDRA OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA
Why are we still building pipelines? Visions of decolonization in an extractive world MAIA ROBERTS CONTRIBUTOR
It's a smoggy afternoon, and I’m listening to the wind as it blows softly through the willows and oaks that populate the forests of northern Minnesota. The noontime sun above me is blotted out by thick smoke, a symptom of the devastating wildfires raging here and across Turtle Island, more commonly known as North America. For the majority of the summer, I have been living at a pipeline resistance camp in rural Minnesota, one of many camps established by Indigenous matriarchs in response to the construction of Enbridge’s Line 3 tar sands pipeline. The reality of this resistance camp, similar to the countless other blockades across Turtle Island, is that it exists in pursuit of an often impossible-feeling goal: to stop a pipeline through direct action, fighting for Indigenous sovereignty in the face of overwhelming corporate greed. Resistance camps and blockades have always existed in one form or another, and they will continue to exist for as long as extractive industries seek to extract. The pervasiveness of resistance camps speaks to the power of Indigenous peoples and their connection to the land—a connection that Western society must rediscover if it wants to stand a chance of survival amidst a global climate disaster. Before the impact of the fight against Line 3 can be fully understood, the adversary must be addressed: Line 3’s parent company, Enbridge Inc. Founded in 1949 as the Interprovincial Pipe Line Company, Enbridge is a Canada-based, multinational pipeline corporation. They specialize in the transportation of toxic crude oil and natural gas across North America through a network of pipelines spanning over 5,000 kilometres. The company already has a tarnished history; it was responsible for the largest inland oil spill in the United States, spilling 1.7 million gallons of oil into a Mississippi River tributary in Minnesota in 1991, as well as over 800 other documented spills from their pipelines between 1999 and 2010. As environmentalists and Indigenous peoples alike have been saying for decades: all pipelines spill. Line 3 is actually both an expansion and replacement of a pre-existing pipeline: Enbridge’s leaky and decaying Line 4. The proposed route
for Line 3 adds more than 300 miles of new pipeline, illegally crossing through Anishinaabe, Ojibwe, Lakota, and Dakota treaty territories in the process. Along with Enbridge being a Canadian corporation, Canada as a nation is inextricably and fundamentally tied to the fossil fuel industry. The economies of the Canadian Prairies (Saskatchewan, Alberta, and Manitoba) are heavily reliant on the vast oil fields lying underfoot. Many Canadian politicians, Liberal and Conservative alike, argue that extracting these resources is necessary to maintain the economic endurance of these oil-dependent provinces. But when all the oil has been extracted, and all the tar sands pits run dry, and the criss-crossed network of pipelines inevitably leak into communities’ water supply, what will the politicians who are supposed to represent the working-class settlers of the Prairies say then? Will they be thankful for the brief economic prosperity that drilling, fracking, and transporting petroleum and its byproducts brought them? Or will they look at their murky tap water and fracking sinkholes and wish they had taken action sooner? It may seem impossible to envision a time where much of the world doesn’t rely heavily on fossil fuels and their derivatives. But attempting to address this issue of environmental degradation as a whole—and with a scope so broad that its individual parts are barely discernible— sometimes does more harm than good. This disconnect in ideologies is where the critical concepts of decolonization and sovereign Indigenous governance come in. Many Indigenous populations have operated in harmony with their natural surroundings for thousands of years under what is known as a watershed resource management philosophy. A watershed approach promotes the idea of resource management and governance as having an inherent sense of responsibility and accountability to the land, water, and surrounding living things. This smallscale, Indigenous-centered approach to natural resource management is integral to the concept of decolonization. In reclaiming their historical connections to land and water through sovereign resource governance, Indigenous peoples continuously demonstrate their abilities to restore watersheds to their former, pre-colonial abundance.
Adopting a decolonial ideology allows us to look away from the large and incomprehensible threat of climate change and focus our scope around the actions we ourselves have the power to perform. It teaches us to look at the ecosystems around us—both their human and nonhuman components—and imagine how they might have looked before settler colonization. The next step is to try to envision a future that looks similar to that vision, and identify what actions we can take to achieve it. Are there climate action groups we could donate to or become active participants in? Is there a nearby blockade we could go to and put our bodies on the line for the land and its inhabitants? As individual, autonomous beings, we have infinitely more power than we were taught in institutional settings. This includes, though is in no way limited to, using our physical bodies as tools in direct action to fight the state repression of Indigenous peoples and their treaty rights. Sitting under a wilting birch tree and breathing the fire-tinged air, I think about this land—land originally occupied by the Indigenous peoples who have loved it, nourished it, and treated it with respect for thousands of years. I also see the fractured reality of where I have chosen to live: a biome being crushed by capitalist greed, and the people pushing back with all their might to protect it. I whisper a plea into the wind that others will join the fight. I imagine this wish dipping through lakes and wetlands, forests and prairies, into the gleaming windows of those making the decisions we are forced to rebel against. They may try to plug their ears and go about their lives in denial of the destruction they are causing. But they will see, soon enough, the impacts of their short-sightedness. I now leave you with this piercing 1972 quote from Alanis Obomsawin, Abenaki activist and filmmaker: “Canada, the most affluent of countries, operates on a depletion economy which leaves destruction in its wake... When the last tree is cut, the last fish is caught, and the last river is polluted... you will realize, too late, that wealth is not in bank accounts and that you can’t eat money.” To learn more about the Line 3 fight and how you can get involved, visit www.stopline3.org. ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM
06 OPINIONS
EDITOR | EMMA PAIDRA OPINIONS@THESTRAND.CA
A vaccinated education On the tumult and triumphs of mandatory vaccinations at UofT
PHOTO | MAKSIM GONCHARENOK EMMA PAIDRA OPINIONS EDITOR
It’s a Friday night, but unlike the Friday nights of the last year and a half, I’m at… a social gathering (cue gasp). Of course, everyone in attendance is fully vaccinated and there are even fewer people inside than the government-regulated maximum of 25 people. But still, it’s a party—the first one I have been able to attend in a while. Standing nervously with a couple of people I barely know, I try to make rusty small talk when my greatest fear comes to light. “Is it okay that I’m here and I’m not vaccinated, like, at all?” asks one of the girls I’ve been chatting with. A nervous pause takes hold over our conversation. “Uh, yeah, yeah, that’s fine!” replies the evening’s host, Angie, already starting to inch away from the other girl. It’s in that moment that the supposed anti-vaxxer cracks a smile. “Got you! I’m double vaccinated!” she says, laughing. Angie and I exchange looks of relief and I feel my heart rate returning to normal. This short interaction is a testament to the climate University of Toronto students should anticipate entering this academic year: one in which the dichotomy between The Vaccinated and The Unvaccinated is etched into stone. With the University of Toronto requiring proof of vaccination in order to attend classes, the matter of who is willing to receive doses of Pfizer/ Moderna—and who isn’t—will be at the forefront of conversations taking place across campus. Of course, mandating vaccines in order to attend university classes is an unprecedented
policy, meaning it’s difficult to predict how things will play out this year. Regardless, when I peer into my crystal ball for the 2021–2022 academic year, I anticipate that things will go smoothly—for the most part. The most substantial factor playing into my confidence that campus life will go on relatively undisturbed is a little theory by the name of the Bandwagon Effect. Defined as “a cognitive bias that causes people to think or act a certain way if they believe that others are doing the same,” the Bandwagon Effect is often at the centre of any individual’s actions. Scary stuff, I know. The Bandwagon Effect is why everyone goes quiet in a library. The Bandwagon Effect is why all the people in a car put on their seat belts—even that friend who finds them unnecessary. Lastly, the Bandwagon Effect is why most people will put on their mask if they walk into a room in which everyone else is already wearing one. No one likes to be the odd one out. It’s the existence of the Bandwagon Effect that is lending me some peace of mind as I think about heading into the upcoming academic year. Sure, some people won’t be thrilled about the mask and vaccine requirements, but they’re likely to sit back and comply if that’s what the majority of the student population is doing. Especially given that UTSG is located in the heart of a progressive city, I am optimistic that most students will not take issue with this year’s COVID-related mandates. Though my circle of friends certainly occupies a demographic that is inclined to be vaccinated, I’ve yet to learn of a single peer who is refusing the vaccine or has raised concerns over UofT’s setup for this school year. The thing is, my friends and I are representative of Toronto’s generally progressive—and vaccine-
inclined—student population. However, we are certainly not its entirety. Though most people attending the University of Toronto are likely to comply with the COVID-19-related regulations (whether by will or thanks to the Bandwagon Effect), there is bound to be some backlash. Though many Canadian universities, including Western University and the University of British Columbia, are implementing mandatory vaccine requirements as rigid as UofT’s, McGill University presents a slightly different story. With regards to McGill, vaccinations are not required for specific on-campus activities, including the attendance of classes and use of libraries. However, a COVID-19 immunization record is mandatory in order to participate in extracurricular activities, from intramural sports to scavenger hunts. Though this approach is only slightly more lenient than that of UofT, it can nonetheless be used as leverage against UofT by those who oppose its stringent vaccine requirements. This leverage, combined with the current debate over whether mandating COVID-19 immunization threatens freedom of choice within Canadian universities, is enough to convince me that there will be some moments of tension throughout the upcoming academic year. To be perfectly frank, though, after making it through one and a half years of a pandemic, what’s a little tension? Both UofT staff and students alike should prepare for the fact that there will be extra moments of stress during this year. But if the world has navigated waves one through four of the COVID-19 pandemic, then the University of Toronto can certainly handle some more sternly worded emails than usual and above average numbers of disgruntled staff and students.
OPINIONS 07
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
Pop-ups and what-nots The fashion industry's latest trend isn't an article of clothing CORY BENSON CONTRIBUTOR
Living in Canada’s largest city certainly has its benefits—the same perks that come along with living in the midst of any metropolitan area. Being in such close proximity to a wide assortment of restaurants, cultural centres, and attractions allows everyone to find something that fits directly into their niche. And for those fashionistas out there, or those of us who are no stranger to some comfort shopping, there are endless opportunities among Toronto’s boutiques and consignment shops. From local designer shops to boujee Yorkville department stores, there are ample choices to satisfy any retail craving. There is no doubt that the pandemic has ultimately reshaped the retail industry in the past year and a half: bolstering online services, redefining supply chains, and substantially changing the way in which long-standing brick-and-mortar locations operate. It is an unfortunate reality that many stores had already been in competition with fast fashion sites, but shutting doors for months and seeing decreased foot traffic has all but sealed their doomed fates. Who can compete with steep city rent prices and unstable fashion trends? Yet some companies have managed to survive— if not thrive—through adopting a rapidly growing industry tactic that harkens a new age of retail: the pop-up. Chances are you’ve already encountered one of these temporary and often ostentatious events in some form, if you haven’t already participated in one. Couldn’t walk on the sidewalk because there was a line spanning several blocks for a limited swimsuit drop? Watched a vacant building
ILLUSTRATION | MIA CARNEVALE
transform into a colourful shoe shop for two weeks, only to be abandoned again as quickly as a Spirit Halloween? Or maybe you even witnessed the sixhour lines at Yorkdale a few weeks ago as hundreds vied for limited-time BT21 merch? Pop-ups are an increasingly popular type of event, where retailers sell limited-edition merchandise in a smaller, often meticulously designed venue. These retail occasions could be a chance for companies to introduce a new product into the market, such as the recent Valentino Beauty pop-up in NYC. Or it could be a chance to sell exclusive items, like the recent OVO x UofT drop this past summer. Logistically, pop-up shops make perfect sense and serve their purpose in profitability. The beauty of a pop-up is that companies do not have to establish a permanent location or staff, yet they still guarantee local buzz and plenty of foot traffic. In a post-COVID economy, these events logically become the best alternatives to both online sites and flagship stores. If pop-ups are the future of retail, what are some foreseeable implications? Pop-ups are certainly a phenomenon, providing exclusive merch and unique experiences that consistently capture the attention of consumers. Essentially, pop-ups bring about their own demand for a product that nobody necessarily needs, and we shoppers buy into it by quite literally buying into it. These events can be equated to airport gift shops, kitschy tourist traps, and museum exits (yes, AGO exhibitions, I’m looking at you). These places serve a purpose that an average shop or website simply cannot fully quench; it is not the quality of the item per se, but the act of buying the product that makes it so desirable. However, instead of
being a far-off destination that induces the need to throw away money on once-in-a-lifetime trinkets and merch, pop-ups appear directly in downtown Toronto. Pop-ups are like mini excursions, a break in reality that materializes within our own neighborhoods, in front of our doors. They provide an experience and satisfy an urge to be a part of something liminal, different enough from the mainstream that it somehow becomes extraordinary. And whether or not it's an average drop, or sale, or exhibition, pop-ups become experiences in themselves. The purchasing of an item not only reaffirms this experience, but is conditional upon making it authentically happen. Whether such a practice is sustainable as the industry norm raises some concern. In some ways, pop-ups are manipulative in that they compel the shopper to buy a product, despite the product not having any applicable utility or satisfying an existing want. If everyone turns into a suburban mother inside a Marshalls whenever they go shopping, consumer consciousness flies out the window. It is also important to note the impact that an increased supply of fad fashion and goods can have on the environment. How can an industry limit their carbon footprint and waste production if they are producing needless goods with a high turnover rate, trying to keep up with modern-day trends? The bottom line: pop-up retail may be temporary, but the practice’s grasp on the fashion industry and consumer habits will be permanent. It is important to stay aware of our own consumerism and not be diverted from our path towards a more sustainable, consumer-conscious future.
08 FEATURES
EDITOR | ANNA SOKOLOVA FEATURES@THESTRAND.CA
Chapter One:
When academics
define you
Section One:
The perilous journey to outgrowing the need for academic validation
JANNA ABBAS ARTS AND CULTURE EDITOR
I am Janna. Overachiever. Nerd. Perfectionist. For as long as I can remember, these are the words I have used to describe myself. Truthfully, I’m not sure if I’m the one who originally ascribed those terms to myself or if I was pushed by those around me to adopt the belief that these were my most defining character traits—but it doesn't matter, because the end result is the same: at some point in my life, I made the conscious decision to be defined by academics. From then on, almost everything I did was based on and dictated by this one choice. Growing up, I would always hear people say, “Oh, don’t worry about your grades. Academics don’t define you.” But what these people failed to understand was that while some of my peers made sports or music their main focus and defining feature, I made mine academic success. Over the years, this decision earned me the bullying, taunting, and name-calling you would expect, but it also came with good grades and a little thing called academic validation. Suddenly, all of the struggles I had to endure, like the bullying and sacrificing outings with friends, didn’t seem like high prices to pay for the cost of the sweet, intoxicating happiness of academic validation. So what if I missed out on parties, events, and a thriving social life when I received high praise from teachers and had my work used as an example in class? It was only when I got to high school that I started to think, maybe I should give myself a break and focus on enjoying my last years of school with my friends. Before this thought could fully assert itself in my mind, though, it was already time to start preparing for university, and so the idea was quickly pushed aside. Like many others, I
had always known that I wanted to attend UofT and knew the amount of work I’d have to put in to get into my desired program. Of course, I was happy to oblige because, after all, what’s a couple more semesters of hard work when I’d been striving for academic success almost my entire life? It’s not like I could’ve escaped the “nerd” label if I wanted to, because everyone, including my teachers, friends, and family, already viewed me as such and I guess it was just easier to comply. And anyway, my need for and near dependence on academic validation had grown so much by this point that I couldn’t fathom giving that up for something as frivolous as a flourishing social life. Obviously there were times when the work got too overwhelming and I wanted so badly to just give up, but I would always reassure myself that putting academics first was worth it if my reward was getting into the university of my dreams. After months of overworking myself, pulling allnighters, and having countless nervous breakdowns, I had finally done it: I had gotten into UofT. Getting into university marked the first time that I seriously considered giving up on my “academics first” policy. The way I saw it was that I had finally attained the goal I’d been working towards for most of my life. Now, I could stop. I could get a fresh start, meet new people, and have the chance to redefine myself. I realize that this may seem a very naive thought because it’s not like you get to relax or work less in university by any means—as I would later discover—but alas, I didn’t care. In my mind, I had done the work, and now, it was finally time to reap my reward. Now, obviously none of the things I expected from a first-year university experience happened because of, oh, a global pandemic, the consequences of which led to the deterioration of my mental health to an extent I hadn’t experienced before. As a socially anxious introvert who,
as previously mentioned, had dedicated her whole life to being academically successful, I saw university as my one chance to reinvent myself and “start living my life.” But instead of the typical O-week and freshman parties, I got a year of being trapped in my room—which, granted, I did enjoy at first. But a couple of months in, I started to feel like the universe was having a cruel laugh at my expense. My “reward” was not feeling like a reward at all, but more like years of working myself to complete exhaustion and maybe getting one-day breaks every two weeks. Since Toronto had been in a lockdown for most of the previous school year, I couldn’t even promise myself that if I did well on an assignment or test, I could reward myself by going out or hanging out with friends, as I had in high school. It felt like I was putting in so much energy, effort, and time while receiving virtually no reward. You might be thinking, Janna, aren’t the good grades and academic validation you receive as a result of your work reward enough? Or maybe you’re thinking, isn’t having the ability to attend post-secondary education and pursue your desired program the reward? I guess you’d be partially correct in either case, but I’m here to report that neither of these thoughts were strong enough to carry me through the effort it took to write yet another essay. I wanted new friends. I wanted adventures. I wanted memories to look back on and, most importantly, I wanted a redo of my high school years. For the first time, I seriously started to regret the way I had chosen to spend high school because truly, what memories did I have to look back on? Aside from a couple of highlights, most of my memories of high school consist of me crying and having near panic attacks from being stressed out. I felt like I missed out on the “traditional” teenage experience. Doubts snuck
FEATURES 09
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
into my head and I couldn’t for the life of me get them out: what if I had wasted my high school years? What if prioritizing school over a social life was a mistake? When I talked to my friends, they all expressed similar wishes that they had done things differently because was it really worth it if this was how our first year turned out? I’m well aware that this is a flawed and mildly stupid way to think, because clearly my work in high school did pay off and one’s high school years aren’t that important anyway, yadda yadda. Even if I don’t end up getting the university experience I wanted, I’m sure my experience will be as valuable and fulfilling as I make it—but it’s hard to see the bigger picture in the moment. While in the midst of these realizations, I still had to complete my various university assignments, which, naturally, was a lot harder to do now that my main motivating factor—academic validation—no longer, well, motivated me. Sure, doing well on an essay and being praised for it still felt nice, but it stopped having as much of an effect on the way I viewed and defined myself. I submitted assignment after assignment, not caring what grade I’d end up receiving, and not feeling as good as I used to when I saw that I did well. While I never stopped working, I stopped caring about the results. I could no longer justify defining myself based on my academic success when I felt like I was failing in other areas of my life—I honestly didn’t feel like I was living my life at all. On top of that, I was constantly going through horrible burnout periods, where the thought of having to write another essay nearly made me cry. I would submit assignments knowing that they
weren’t my best work, but I just couldn’t bring myself to put any more effort into them. Sometimes I would end up doing badly on these assignments, but other times I did better than I expected—or better than I thought my work was worth. I felt like an imposter. Not only had I given up so much to be academically successful, but my self-perception had been warped to the point where I couldn’t see the value of my own work. I couldn’t even believe others when they tried to reassure me that it had any. If anything, the low grades I got only confirmed my belief that I was an imposter. I felt unworthy of defining myself based on academics because I wasn’t even succeeding at that, and this feeling kept me in a constant cycle of self-hatred and burnout. Let me be clear: when I look back on my high school years, I’m still proud of the work I did and can look back on it with fondness. Even when I look back on my university work from last year, I can now appreciate elements of the assignments and projects that I once viewed as awful. But as much as I love academia, I was a fool for letting myself miss out on so many experiences because I thought that my only value lay in my academic work. Thankfully, quarantine has given me a lot of time to reflect and figure out that I wanted to change the way I’d been viewing myself and, subsequently, the way I’d been living my life. So I did. Slowly but surely, I started to loosen the hold that academics had on my selfperception, reassuring myself that I am so much more than the tests I take and the essays I write. I started taking
time out of my day to do things unrelated to academics. Whether it’s journaling, learning a new hobby, or working out, I figured that if I could find other things in my life that I do purely for myself and that bring me joy, then the validation I got from academics wouldn’t affect me as much. For the first time in my life, I’m learning to define myself outside of academics—and I think I’m better for it. I know that having the ability not to care about grades or rely on academic validation is a privileged position to be in, as many of us have to care about our GPAs to a certain extent due to parental pressure, reliance on scholarships, or graduate school requirements; however, I don’t think anyone should ever reach a point where they feel like their value as a human being is tied to their academic success or lack thereof. I think it’s unrealistic to believe that I—or most people—can fully separate ourselves from our academic work, but for the sake of our mental health and wellbeing, I hope we can realize that, as much as we may need to do well academically, academics do not define us as people. Sure, the skills and work habits needed to be academically successful are part of your character, but they don’t tell the whole story. I am Janna. Loving sister. Caring friend. Arts enthusiast. The next time you take a test or work on an assignment, I hope you remember to be kind to yourself, and, most importantly, that life is too short to be defined purely by academics.
ILLUSTRATION | NATALIE SONG
Fig 1.1: Life is too short to be defined purely by academics.
10 SCIENCE
EDITOR | JESS NASH SCIENCE@THESTRAND.CA
On the disparate origin of doctors ALBERT CHENG CONTRIBUTOR
In many ways, medicine represents an intersection of myriad disciplines, requiring practitioners to possess an extensive curriculum that stretches across the likes of biochemistry, pharmacology, psychology, and sociology. Altogether, a variety of knowledge ensures that physicians are able not only to treat patients for their immediate cause of visiting the clinic, but also to act as a source of support for addressing troubles adjacent to biomedical disease, such as the emotional and social distress of illness. Though curriculum updates have been implemented to reflect the constantly changing face of medicine, it remains a struggle to reflect the diverse intersectionalities from which patients are drawn in the physical faces of medical practitioners. The importance of diversity in medicine cannot be understated. Not only has diversity been reported to better educate future physicians and enhance comfort for patients of all backgrounds, but patients themselves also feel more comfortable when treated by physicians with similar lived experience. Patients may feel more at ease discussing their symptoms, or perceive a more trustworthy or intimate connection with their physician. Trust, a value espoused within the Hippocratic Oath, is something that should be cultivated—in fact, greater physician-patient trust is reflective of superior health outcomes. As diversity is something that is predicted only to swell in Canada, there are measurable benefits to ensuring that medical admissions reflect this increasing heterogeneity. The unfortunate reality is that health care in Canada does not appropriately reflect all aspects of human diversity. The median neighborhood household income of applicants to McMaster School of Medicine, for example, is $98,816—already almost $30,000 higher than the overall Canadian median— and this disparity only grows for medical school admittees. There are significant financial barriers to application, including but not limited to the $320 Medical College Admissions Test (MCAT) fee, which would deter individuals from lower socioeconomic
MEDICAL STUDENTS ARE SIGNIFICANTLY LESS LIKELY TO BE OF BLACK OR INDIGENOUS ORIGIN, POSSIBLY ATTRIBUTABLE TO LARGER STRUCTURAL ISSUES THAT OBSTRUCT EQUALITY IN ADMISSION PROCESSES. THIS DISPARATE ADMISSION OF DOCTORS CREATES A VICIOUS CYCLE THAT SUSTAINS A HISTORY OF UNDERSERVICE IN THESE COMMUNITIES.
backgrounds, without even touching on the costs often undertaken to improve exam performance. One study found that the average first-year medical student spends over $2,300 on preparation material alone for the MCAT, with a total economic loss of $6,357 when accounting for time taken from working to study. Compounded with hidden expenditures, such as the cost of travel to interviews or numerous application processing fees, it is unsurprising that the financial demographic from which physicians are drawn is not representative of their patients’ demographics. Perceptions of medicine as an elitist profession do little to persuade students from disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds to embark on the long journey to a medical degree.
The aforementioned barriers may directly cause unequal downstream effects. Medical students are significantly less likely to be of Black or Indigenous origin, possibly attributable to larger structural issues that obstruct equality in admission processes. This disparate admissions process creates a vicious cycle that sustains a history of underservice in these communities. It has been well documented that physicians are more likely to practice in locations where patients reflect their personal background, and thus there are direct public health benefits to be reaped from placing a greater emphasis on recruiting from rural backgrounds. Even among those in medical school, not all are equal. Though much has been done in recent years to promote a greater representation of women in medicine (and indeed, the overall physician population is projected to be evenly split between men and women by 2030), there remain gender gaps in pay, leadership, and specialty. Women are more likely to match into obstetrics & gynecology and family medicine, but less so for specialties such as radiology or surgery. Not only are women less represented in higher-paying specialties, but they also earn less for any given specialty, even when accounting for different working hours—for instance, up to 40 percent less in cardiology. Attention has been drawn to a “hidden curriculum” that surreptitiously guides medical students to pursue differential careers by gender, calling for policies and awareness training to end the perpetuation of implicit biases. Though progress has been made over recent decades to increase the diversity of our physicians, much work remains before justice can be achieved across race, gender, ethnicity, and income. Healthcare is a service accessed by all irrespective of background— thus, it is necessary that our healers themselves are cleansed of prejudice before we may properly begin the healing process for the structural inequalities that plague our society.
ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM
SCIENCE 11
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM
W he
n science stopped making sense
FELICIA CEBAN CONTRIBUTOR
Although modern science has become synonymous with experimentation, many historical records reflect a different narrative. Prior to the 1600s, the dominant epistemology relied on ordinary observation and common sense. Aristotelians accepted ancient authority without proof, observed nature in its pure state, and inferred general axioms from specific observations through deductive reasoning. However, as science strayed further from everyday experience, this shift created a rift between knowledge and the process of knowledge creation, stripping meaning and context from the scientific classroom. The following historical examples illustrate such rifts and their scientific consequences: Copernicus The Ptolemaic system was superseded by the Copernican model as the dominant planetary system in the mid-1600s. Contrary to Ptolemy, who suggested that the Earth is the centre of the universe, Copernicus’s heliocentric model postulated that the Sun is the centre of the universe. Copernicus suggested that the Earth exhibits three distinct motions: the annual revolution around the sun, the daily rotation on its axis, and the wobble of the Earth's axis. Although Copernicus was not the first to suggest that the Earth moves, he was the first to construct a mathematical model describing the motion of the Earth. However, a major hindrance to the initial acceptance of the Copernican system was its inconsistency with common sense: our everyday experience tells us that the Earth does not move. Accordingly, it was difficult for people to adopt unquestioning faith in scientific theory, which was founded upon complex, unfamiliar principles, over their own observations. Galileo Galileo Galilei, a vehement supporter of the Copernican system, first attempted to buttress Copernicus’s ideas by publishing a series of thought experiments concerning the relativity of motion. In Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems (1632), Galileo famously argued that if a ship was sailing smoothly at constant velocity, an observer below deck would not be able to tell whether the ship was in motion. Similarly, humans on Earth could not feel the uniform motion of the Earth. Optical sciences played a key role in the widespread adoption of the Copernican framework, as well as the reconciliation of science as fundamentally incongruent with ordinary experience. Galileo’s refracting telescope allowed him to make a series of revolutionary observations invisible to the naked eye—including the moons of Jupiter—which only made sense within the context of the Copernican
system. His discoveries ultimately led to a schism between the scientific community and the Catholic church and began a movement in science surrounding the idea that the senses could be deceptive. Hooke An interesting consequence of the reliance on ordinary experience was the belief that organisms on the threshold of human perception were fundamentally simple. Human sensations were the only true point of view—the reason that vision didn’t reveal the intricate details of small organisms is because they didn’t have a complex structure, not because of the inherent limitations of the human eye. As a consequence, small things were considered largely insignificant. This idea was turned on its head by Robert Hooke. During the Great Plague of London in the 1660s, Hooke used a compound microscope to view and recreate detailed images of various organisms at the threshold of human perception, most famously the gray drone fly and the rat flea. Hooke’s diagrams were sensational—he depicted the eye of the drone fly, composed of 1900 segments, and the armored body of the rat flea in unprecedented detail. Not only did it become clear that small organisms were in fact extremely complex, but also that they could be more sophisticated than humans. For example, unlike a human, the gray drone fly has no visual vanishing points; these organisms see the world in a completely unique way. Robert Hooke’s discoveries challenged the anthropocentric conception that human sensation was the one “true” viewpoint; much as the Earth was not at the centre of the planetary system, humans were no longer at the centre of the universe. Bacon The discovery that our senses can be misleading ultimately led to a reformation of the scientific method and its capacity to produce knowledge. Francis Bacon, the Attorney General and Lord Chancellor of England in the early 1600s, is credited as the father of modern scientific inquiry. In Novum Organum (1620), Bacon posited that the capacity of science to discover fundamental truths about nature and advance society was stymied so long as it continued to be conducted by the Aristotelian method. Bacon invalidated knowledge accrued through observation with the naked eye, along with the assumption that science was consistent with common sense. He believed instruments could be used to rectify limitations of human senses, thereby proposing the consolidation of engineering and philosophy. Bacon affirmed that knowledge should revert to a blank slate; only rigorous experimentation could generate well-founded data useful to devise conclusions through inductive reasoning. “The senses judge only of the experiment, the experiment
judges of the thing.” The “Baconian method,” as it came to be known, was widely adopted by fellow intellectuals, leading to the creation of the Royal Society, the development of the modern scientific method, and ultimately, the scientific laboratory as we know it. This brings us to the modern university science class. Students are expected to memorize information and apply equations. Participation and experiential learning is limited, and students are responsible to seek out competitive (and frequently unpaid) research opportunities on their own. Moreover, undergraduate students in research labs are often assigned menial tasks rather than experiments or other independent projects, often due to a lack of technical skills. Mandatory laboratory courses offer little opportunity for independent exploration or mistakes, and many upper-year science students forgo laboratory courses altogether because they are time-intensive. Isolating knowledge from the process of knowledge creation strips all meaning from science, for who truly has a passion for memorization? Much like the initial resistance to the Copernican system, students have a much more difficult time uncritically accepting facts as true than they do understanding their origin and evolution. The product of a Bachelor of Science program is a student who has retained a limited collection of disjointed facts. Compared to other disciplines, STEM students are overwhelmingly encouraged to take as many specialized and esoteric courses as they can manage, rather than using some of their credits towards becoming well-rounded students. Employment within the biomedical sector ultimately requires the application of knowledge, but students are largely taught retention. Universities disproportionately value the skill of memorization over qualities such as curiosity, persistence, collaboration, and problem solving. However, a high grade in a memorization-based science course is not an accurate predictor of a good scientist. Accordingly, many senior science undergraduates feel a lack of direction, not knowing whether to pursue graduate studies, and unaware of opportunities within the scientific sector other than professional school. With this in mind, it’s important for science students to take action and enrich their own scientific education, keeping in mind that science originated from the natural human tendency for curiosity and exploration. Seek out mentorship opportunities and different research and shadowing experiences. Take laboratory courses and courses outside of STEM. Most importantly, critically analyze the information you are being taught, and make connections between what you are learning in the classroom and what you experience outside of it.
10 ARTS AND CULTURE
EDITOR | JANNA ABBAS ARTSANDCULTURE@THESTRAND.CA
Is Lorde’s new album bad or are we just scared we’re growing up? The queen of coming of age music has evidently come of age
PHOTO | KIM NGAN PHUNG BROOKE COLLINS CONTRIBUTOR
When a sixteen-year-old releases a debut album that people all over the world cite as "the soundtrack to their teenage years” and follows up with another that is hailed by many as a masterpiece, the release of a pivotal third album is big news. On August 20, Lorde’s junior album, Solar Power, was released after a four-year hiatus. During that time, she had been virtually untraceable, seen only in parkas with Antarctic backdrops. Naturally, this created immense buzz from a horde of teenagers (and those who have since outgrown their teenage years) who have connected with Lorde’s signature icy pop beats and meandering lyrics about the frailty of youth. There are big questions that arise when new albums are released from such powerhouses: Is their new album better than their others? Is it worse? Do they still have that magic in them? Like many, I have long considered Lorde to be a seer into my teenage brain. But when I first heard Solar Power, I was sure the magic that had resonated so deeply within me when listening to Pure Heroine and Melodrama had been broken. It felt so far away, less like that sort of freaky "this could have been written just for me” moment and more like complete fiction. It felt superficial, which is the last word I would have used to describe Lorde’s discography. I have listened to Solar Power in its entirety around ten times now. Around the fifth listen, I thought maybe I had figured out a way to brainwash myself into enjoying the album, simply because of the name attached to it. By the tenth time, I was sure Lorde had done it again and created a masterpiece. I’ll be honest, I don’t like the title track. I think it's fun and kitschy, nice for a summer drive or a group of friends on the beach, but it’s a bit of a skip for me. I’ve called it Lorde’s “Watermelon
Sugar” (which apparently is a controversial statement). I think it took me a couple listens to get past this and into some of the real gems I believe exist on Solar Power. "Mood Ring,” for example, is beautiful and emphatic, a twenty-first century anthem for the constant uncertainty that comes with new adulthood, and ways of coping. "Secrets from a Girl (Who’s Seen it All)” is full of that iconic Lorde nostalgia, as she brings back those universal feelings of time going all too quickly to a tune that feels fitting for an early 2000s film soundtrack, complete with an otherworldly flight attendant announcement. The balmy vibrations of the album act as a curtain to this overarching calm, bordering on apathy, that lies at the root of Solar Power. Although I agree that the album as a whole is not as angsty or brooding as her previous works— which I think has a lot to do with my dislike for it—there is still a lot of reminiscence and pain in this album. There is a lot of reflection, which is fitting for an artist who is so focused on the experiences of coming of age. In songs such as "Stoned at the Nail Salon,” “Oceanic Feeling,” and "The Path,” Lorde now sings of someone who has come of age, and who is not actually sure what to do next. Here is the thing: I love Solar Power, but not all Lorde fans will. I do not think this makes it a bad album. I will never have anything that will make me feel as seen in my brooding high school years as "White Teeth Teens" or "Ribs,” but that does not mean I cannot love Solar Power as an entirely different entity. To me, Solar Power is a perfect concoction of sunshine and nostalgia to fuel mid-morning walks through busy parks or a playlist for Sunday cleaning—moments that may be hopeful and happy. A lyric from Solar Power that really struck me on my first listen was the promise in “Stoned at
the Nail Salon” that “all of the music you loved at sixteen, you’ll grow out of.” Maybe this is because Lorde is the music I loved when I was sixteen. This prompted me to think: had I outgrown the suburban boredom of Lorde’s earlier works? Was Solar Power, with its sunny disposition and admission into adulthood, who I am now? I think I’m less interested in whether or not Solar Power is worse than Lorde’s previous albums, and more about why it can be so unsettling to grow with, and even apart from, your favourite artists. Besides, if you’re looking for sad girl pop, there’s always Lana Del Rey: the reigning queen of mellow music for despairing girls. A question that has been asked again and again is “do artists need to be sad to make good art?” I am of the opinion that even if that were true, artists do not owe it to us to sacrifice their own happiness for our entertainment. Even if some of the lighter tones of Solar Power don’t strike as hard as the somberness of “Biting Down” or “Liability,” that does not mean there isn’t a different sort of beauty to the happiness that radiates from tracks off Solar Power. I am tired of the notion that things need to be sad to be beautiful. There is beauty and power in happiness. I can still go back to Pure Heroine and Melodrama and remember how it felt to be sixteen in the suburbs, listening to Lorde on the bus, feeling so wholly understood by another teenage girl half a world away. Those songs will always be there for those of us who felt that connection. Solar Power offers us a whole new stage of life, another set of feelings that come with finding happiness, being equal parts confused and mesmerized by the strangeness of finding yourself at the doors of adulthood. As Lorde changes as an artist and as a woman, I believe it is our privilege to follow along with her on an entirely new journey. PHOTO | LORDEVEVO
More Music!
Listen to "pov: You Don't Know What UofT Time Is" on Spotify:
ARTS AND CULTURE 13
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
Campbell’s noodle soup for the artist’s soul An examination of the AGO’s Andy Warhol exhibition EVA CHANG CONTRIBUTOR
The first room in the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO)’s Andy Warhol exhibition displays his Self Portrait (1967). Plastered with impossibly bright reds, yellows, and blues, his face is barely visible. His hand rests on his chin, two fingers placed over his lips as if he’s smoking an invisible cigarette. He contemplates. The 11-gallery exhibit follows Warhol’s life through his art in rough chronological order across the mediums he explored, such as screen-printing, film, music, and publishing. Works featured include Elvis I and II (1963/4), 100 Campbell’s Soup Cans (1962), and Self-Portrait (1986), along with lesserknown pieces such as the Ladies and Gentlemen collection. It’s a straightforward career retrospective at first, especially given the numerous blurbs explaining his artwork (which the AGO doesn’t always have for other individual works on display). Around the last few galleries, I realized that the curators hint that Warhol’s art doesn’t require, and maybe even discourages, extensive explanation. What makes his art so affecting is its nostalgic and emotionally reactive qualities. Growing up in the West, and especially as an American, a lot of the symbolism that Warhol features (like camouflage print, twentieth century celebrities, and Campbell’s Soup) are instantly recognizable to me. The artwork’s references and connotations surpass any need for external deciphering. Warhol establishes an instant connection between him and the American viewer by capturing the essence of their shared culture. I’ve always felt that Warhol’s art is overrated, so I didn’t go into the exhibition expecting to feel
anything special. Ultimately, however, the curation touched heavily on the fact that in spite of Warhol’s "business art" aesthetic, his works are deeply personal, always entwined with himself as the artist. Since most viewers are already aware of the immense impact of his art, the exhibit instead invites us to analyze Warhol and our own relationship to him and his works. Personally, I recognized his art to be rooted in duality: public versus private; taboo versus commercial; criticism versus veneration. These themes are exemplified in the iconic Marilyn Diptych, displaying a repeated screen-printed image of Marilyn Monroe—one side in colour, the other in black and white. I felt a certain uneasiness in the lack
of a “grey area” between the two canvases. I stared for a while. I related to Warhol’s struggle with personal identity, queer and ethnic, always stuck in some sort of middle. His interest in sensuality, not just sexuality. His fascination with beautiful people, and how they may ruin our lives. He dredged back memories of AP Art History, eating Mondrian cakes, and posing as Heraclitus in a living tableau of The School of Athens. The exhibition ends October 24, and I’d recommend visiting. Not just to look at his famous art in person, but to find the connections between Warhol’s life and your own. Especially the links that may not mean much to anyone else. PHOTO | SEAN DRISCOLL
Becoming a wimpy man Representations of masculinity in the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie KATHRYN BEUKEBOOM CONTRIBUTOR
Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2010) is rich in its examination of masculinity, which seamlessly explains Judith Butler’s theories on gender performativity using its protagonist, Greg Heffley, as its instrument. The choice to start the story when Greg begins middle school is a conscious one, as it marks a time when he is socially expected to shrug off some of the characteristics of childhood and begin his transition to adulthood. However, to Greg’s horror, several of his peers have hit puberty over the summer, and he finds himself dwarfed and comparatively hairless. Throughout the film, we see this angst at his perceived physiological inferiority remedied by a meticulous adherence to social rules, which he believes will guide him to social esteem.
Greg’s best friend Rowley is his clearest foil due to his own lack of social inhibitions, which prompts Greg to label him as “not middle school-ready.” In Rowley’s case, this missing reticence allows him to demonstrate qualities traditionally viewed as feminine; this includes his affection for his mother, the nurturing attention he pays to the kindergarteners he walks home, and his love of European pop stars. He is also in no hurry to grow up, unwittingly embarrassing Greg by asking him to “play” with him. Greg, in contrast, finds it impossible to derive joy from the mundanity of middle school life. He is constantly looking towards a future where he is rich, successful, and admired, and he views social capital as a means to attaining this dream. He measures this social capital by ranking himself and others on an imaginary social scale (with the liberated Rowley
leagues lower than him, of course). While he is a socially obsessed narcissist, Greg has not constructed this system which he so forcefully adheres to on his own—even adults rank the children thus. In a particularly revealing physed scene, Greg’s teacher divides the class into the “weak” and the “strong” (re: pubescent), sadistically forcing Greg’s ragtag crew of socially impotent beta males to play shirtless in a game called “Gladiator,” where the weaker boys are forced to run from the larger kids, or else be ruthlessly tackled by them. Greg cannot metamorphosize into a 6’5” hairy megalith to avoid his social categorization, yet he can transcend it much in the way Rowley has. His devotion to a masculine ideal, however, prevents him from doing this throughout the rising action of the film. Instead, Greg spends much of the ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUMfilm striving towards the unattainable. He joins wrestling, but is put in a weight category known as the “chihuahuas”—yet another blow to his masculine ego. To make matters worse, a girl also bests him in wrestling, further emasculating him. It is only at the end of the film that Greg shrugs off these masculine expectations in favour of his own happiness. At the movie's climax, a jeering crowd urges Greg and Rowley to fight each other, representing the toxic masculinity that Greg was attempting to emulate. Both he and Rowley are reluctant to throw punches, and are mercifully interrupted before doling out too much damage. After this scene, Greg chooses social death over losing his friendship with Rowley. After an exhausting year of social schemes to prove himself to his peers, Greg ends his quest. Rather than framing Greg as a defeat, Diary of a Wimpy Kid (2010) finally gives viewers a Greg Heffley that reigns victorious over the oppressive binary of gender that looms over us all.
12 ARTS AND CULTURE
EDITOR | JANNA ABBAS ARTSANDCULTURE@THESTRAND.CA
Interview with a Toronto Islands resident artist The Strand sits down with sculptor, Alastair Dickson rion levy associate arts and culture editor
Tell me about your studio space. not about not being able to do it, but about the A certain type of artist likes to be in their anxiety of making them perfect. studio. There is a monastic element to it—the constant working on what you enjoy which can Alastair Dickson is a sculptor working out of the create a distraction from the actual job at hand. It Do you have any advice for young, aspiring Gibraltar Centre for the Arts on the Toronto Islands. creates a paradox. So, balance in life and at work artists? He works with found objects to create mixed media becomes important in these spaces. It comes down to finding the right fit; finding sculptures that cannot help but draw spectators in. the right thing. In college, I learned that art The Strand had the pleasure of sitting down with fashion changes, so I’m surprised I’m making him in his studio in late July. How do you find objects? art today—that I found something I’m happy I don’t collect very much—it has to be special making. Really, I’m lucky. If you want to do it, for me to do so. It’s mostly people handing them you will. Sure, you can create good conditions The Strand: How has COVID-19 impacted to me, and I take them to my studio. I did buy a for yourself, but people punish themselves too your art? nice set of doll heads that were quite expensive, much, and conditions will change with age. Alastair Dickson: COVID has certainly given but they were so beautiful. Some things are too Have as much fun as possible. Try to be open. me more time to get back into the studio and difficult to work with, but sometimes you don’t Play. Experiment. Fun is so maligned. It’s not so work. Last fall, I had planned an exhibition at the want to let things go. So, I wait for things to have serious even if you’re a serious artist. Find your Riviera restaurant. My wife suggested an online their perfect companion. I even use my son’s old balance with fun. exhibit instead. That ended up quite successful. binky toys in some of my photographs. I sold more than half of the pieces in the exhibit. Describe your art in three words. Does your interest in music influence your Colourful small art. What kind of person do you envision pieces? purchasing your pieces? No, my approach is more improvisatory. I I really don’t have an ideal person in mind. did create those two pieces sitting behind you. I You can currently view Dickson’s statues at the What I’m trying to create is something that works was gifted these old guitars and used their necks Brutish Museum gallery box, located at 9 Channel on many levels. Humour does play a big part on those old metal toolboxes. I had to fasten a Avenue, Ward’s Island, Toronto, or visit his website in what I do, but I like to counteract that with rod into the bodies so they would work. The at https://www.alastairdickson.com/. the dark. I work with broken things that have a perfectionism in me made me realize not to damaged quality and try to find a balance in any attempt things that make me feel stressed. It’s number of things. Of course, I don’t like things to be too obvious, and, at times, I work with accidents. The essence of what I do is play. Shape is very important to the language of sculpture. PHOTO | ALASTAIR DICKSON My goal is to try to engage with the person trying to look and see things they may not have noticed before. I try to take my pieces as far as I can by seeing what works and what doesn’t work, by working with things that are opposites. I try to find the fun in darkness. I don’t know why and I’m not that interested in the “why.” In art college, I was deeply concerned with the “why” to the point that I stopped making stuff. I decided to try guitar building, but stopped because it was too stressful. As a perfectionist, I was always left disappointed because you can never create “perfect.” I got over this when I realized that the meaning doesn’t matter. So, I throw things together, and look at things, and move things around. I’ve cannibalised pieces, sawn them in half—things may or may not just work together. My art is strange but not repulsive. What are you working on now? Right now, I concentrate on my corkheads. I’m thinking of giving some of them a name and a short biography to go along with the exhibit. If it were to get too long, it would become a script. I don’t have the energy to pursue the stories. But because I mainly do it for me, it makes it totally different. Tell me more about the corkheads. It’s a throwaway thing, readily available, it’s great to carve, and a great thing in itself; I don’t have to invest a lot of time. I started making them for a Christmas boutique on the Island. They were originally just brooches in a batch of 25. Since then, I’ve done various batches and I try to make every one different. It’s always quite simple. I got a whole set of plastic birds coming soon. They may make them on their heads. I’ve noticed a great deal of your pieces incorporate faces. Why do you enjoy working with them? The human face is just a series of shapes. An eye is anything circular. I can put together anything and make an expression; a look for questioning or bemused.
STRANDED 15
@STRANDPAPER THE STRAND | 14 SEPTEMBER 2021
Dear TikTok remix audio creators… It is becoming increasingly difficult to watch a TikTok in the comfort of my family home ADRAINA GOARAIEB CONTRIBUTOR
TikTok’s mass appeal stems from the diversity of viewing options and “sides” to find oneself on—there’s the popular side, the artsy side, dancetok, fictional fandoms, etc. Unfortunately, I have recently begun to find myself scrolling through a feed dominated by none other than obscene audio remixes, which have begun to take a toll on my public dignity. Don’t get me wrong—I respect the effort and creativity that it takes to create an audio from scratch, but when lewd audio for a thirst trap video plays out in the living room as my brother walks in, the humiliation of having to play it off outweighs the admiration I feel for the edit itself. Forget trigger warnings—these audios need blaring sirens alerting users to a potential risk of becoming social outcasts, should they be played aloud. For reference, I listed below the *cough* discography of audios that disrupt my peaceful home life:
1. smack my a$$ like a drum *cue Britney Spears’s “Gimme More.”* 2. Bo Burnham’s maniacal laugh remixed into a moan. 3. A remix between Kiss Me More and 34+35: “can you *bleep* me more.” Always fail to see it coming. 4. Any audio layered with Gojo’s “yowai mo” or Dazai’s “Ah.” If you know, you know. 5. Any other cupcakKe remix. They are getting way out of hand, and I do not know how much longer I can pretend that the Dora x cupcakKe remix I came across at the supermarket the other day did not scar me for life. Thus, calling out to all audio creators, I ask of you one simple thing: add trigger warnings! Spare me my pride. Or at least provide me with coping mechanisms to help deal with the shame, since the end to this cycle of audio remixes does not seem to be ending anytime soon.
Sincerely, A traumatized user
PHOTO | NIMI DIFFA
My weird quarantine hobby: extreme coffee-making The Catcher in the Rye is stuck with decaf AH DAMN CONTRIBUTOR
PHOTO | NATHAN DUMLAO
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I source my coffee, and what my ratio of grounds to water is like, and how I had a drip machine before starting pour-overs, and all that James Hoffman kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want the truth. In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, the r/coffee Reddit forum would have a hemorrhage if I spilled the real beans on my coffee-making routine. They’re nice and all—I’m not saying they’re not—but they’re also touchy as hell. Besides, I’m not going to tell you my whole goddam biography or anything. I’ll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around the start of the pandemic, just before I got pretty run-down and had to switch to decaf and take it easy. Where I want to start is the day I began briping. I’m quite a heavy briper—that is, I used to be. The Bripe is a pipe you fill with coffee grounds and water. I really got a bang out of using that.
I was heating up my pipe with a blowtorch next to the phony café at Robarts when this guy at a table outside started giggling like a moron. That annoyed the hell out of me. “C’mon, what is it?” I asked him. “I can enjoy coffee however I goddam want. Every Starbucks fan is strictly a phony.” He snorted and said, “Listen. You’re wrong about hating Starbucks drinkers. Starbucks is about the seasons, the nostalgic taste of autumn in a pumpkin spice latte. It’s about taking a break with friends, writing papers at a table, and enjoying a home away from home. “Besides, the Bripe is meme af. If you really want to make extreme coffee, try nitro coffee.” And so, I spent more than $160 on a keg, a nitrogen tank with a regulator, and a stout faucet to infuse the nitrogen in a cold brew. It wasn’t all my fault that the tank exploded. Also, Robarts posted signs to ban briping. Now I’m in Toronto South, and they just serve decaf. All I want is a real cup of coffee.
A letter to mayonnaise lovers, haters, and everyone in between I will proceed to discuss some exceptional circumstances and mayo-adjacent foods. First, Russia. According to sources that I cannot Mayonnaise is not good. be bothered to cite, mayonnaise is the most highly In the interest of clarity: I do not dislike all condiments. I simply do not like mayonnaise. I think consumed condiment in Russia. Slavic Europe loves this unholy combination of egg and oil should not mayo with a passion, and that passion must be admired. I have decided that any vaguely Slavic mayonnaise exist, and, furthermore, should be banned. consumption is completely acceptable, because I respect that kind of devotion. Second, aioli. I understand that there are regional differences in aioli preparation. I do not care. In my mind, aioli is simply mayonnaise with extra steps and a fancy name. It is common practice in North America to refer to any flavoured mayo as aioli (e.g. BBQ aioli, honey mustard aioli, etc.), and I believe this to be unnecessary. Why rename the mayo when you can just stop eating it? That said, flavoured mayo can have its uses. When I say “flavoured,” I refer to mayo that has been jazzed up with the addition of some superior condiment or ingredient. Some examples of this are garlic, sriracha, or PHOTO | INTERNATIONAL ANTI-MAYONNAISE COMMITEE hot sauce mayo. These types of mayo are conditionally SOUP CONTRIBUTOR
edible, as long as the mayo knows its place and is not asserting its nonexistent flavor. However, note the requirement of a “superior” condiment: the superiority of an add-in is entirely based on my personal preference. (I make the rules here, not you.) Moving on! Mayo-based sauces categorically suck because they are mayo-based. Some such sauces are tartar sauce (adding pickles, capers, herbs), fry sauce (adding ketchup), or remoulade (look it up). Several salad dressings also use mayo, such as ranch, Thousand Island, and Russian dressing. I do not like these either. I didn’t know what salad cream was until recently, and I have not tried it. Nevertheless, I disagree with the concept of it. You may be asking yourself why I wrote this article. The answer is very simple: I dislike mayonnaise and the lovely editors at The Strand gave me a platform to spread my message. I firmly believe that this salty oilpudding has many better-tasting and better-looking replacements, and I encourage you to save your tastebuds and switch to a better option today!
16 STRANDED
EDITOR | VICTORIA MCINTYRE STRANDED@THESTRAND.CA
PHOTO | HBO AND KHADIJA ALAM
Throughout Sex and the City, Carrie Bradshaw ponders what makes the ideal lover. But what makes any lover the ideal fighter? DAVIDE SALLESE CONTRIBUTOR
If you live and love on the little island of Manhattan, you are bound to come across many, many men—after all, that’s why it’s called Man-hattan. But, as learnt from the adventures of Carrie Bradshaw and her three besties in Sex and the City, this bulk of bachelors is not all that it seems. Whether it be modelizers, cheats, impotent WASPs, or the withholding Mr. Big, these boyfriends rarely prove to be happily-everafter material. Nonetheless, the many romances of Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha prove that, for some, true love is out there (and his name is Harry). Questions like: “Can sex co-exist with a city?” “Do happy endings exist?" “Are all men evil?” and “Why do we ladies hate bisexuals so much?” see themselves addressed for six seasons, two movies, and an upcoming Samantha-less HBO Max revival; yet one question remains unanswered. That question being: If we got all the boyfriends from Sex
and the City and put ‘em in a big coliseum and had ‘em all fight each other, who would win? [It is important to note that the answer to this question is not a value judgment on these men as lovers (we already know it goes: Harry’s the best, Robert Leeds is a doctor for the Knicks, Smith has a rockin’ bod, Steve is alright but not a doctor for the Knicks, etc.) but purely a judgment of how they match up in a big sweaty man battle.] After being airlifted to the death coliseum—which would be the obvious stage for this sort of engagement— the Sex and the City boyfriends would be given the challenge of besting all the others while only making use of their fists and attributes presented in the show. Let’s single out a few of the men. Wade is a nerd—nerds are bad at fighting and that is why bullies beat them up. Ray King likes jazz in the weird, white guy way—ew. Stephan got scared by a mouse. Skipper is a “nice guy”: he’d get trampled.
Jack Berger is the worst—he is insecure, a coward, and worst of all, a writer! There are no sleep ambience machines in the death coliseum, Jack. Harry is already the best husband; you can’t be a good husband, lawyer, AND fighter—that just would not be fair. Although his baldness means it would be harder to grapple the top of his head. So who really stands a chance? Smith Jerrod. I think Smith Jerrod would win. He might have the most rocking bod of all the Sex and the City boys, and I think, for that reason, he’s one of the top contenders. His acting abilities might lend themselves to battlefield trickery as well. At the end of the day, it’s just like Carrie said:“The most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of a l l is the one you have with the other men in the death coliseum. And if you can be the one who beats all the o t h e r men in the d e a t h coliseum, well, that's just fabulous."
How to survive the apocalypse According to the young adult books I read when I was 12
ILLUSTRATION | SEAVEY VAN WALSUM VICTORIA MCINTYRE STRANDED EDITOR
Forest fires are raging, there are hurricanes and floods and earthquakes and stupid privileged people who don’t want to give up their single-use plastic takeout (I am, shamefully, stupid people)—let’s face it. This place is going to the dogs, and it’s got me thinking: What should I do when the apocalypse comes? In this time of surreal fear and underdeveloped dread, I have decided to turn to the best guide I have for making it through this mess: dystopian young adult fiction. I am going to figure out how to survive the apocalypse based on the books I read up until 2014, the time of the Dystopian Renaissance.
Let’s start with the only book on this list that anyone actually cares about: The Hunger Games. From the beginning, Katniss focused on one thing: survival. As redundant as it may sound, being locked in survival mode is probably the best way to make it to the end. I’m also going to need a signature weapon and an infuriating love triangle. I’m thinking about me, a loaded Super Soaker, my neighbor with the good hair, and the first guy I see in Yorkville who reeks of wealth and looks vaguely age appropriate. Next up: Divergent. This series taught me that I don’t actually have to worry about how I’m going to survive because we’re all in a simulation and I am special, so the programmers want me to make it. Thank god. Sorry to everyone else, though. Finally, we have The Maze Runner. Reading this series
showed me that we can’t give up, that there is a puzzle in front of all of us that we need to solve, and that we’re only going to be able to do it together. Also, that a pandemic is for sure the first sign of Big Danger, which, unfortunately, we all already knew. Most importantly, it taught me that we need an unassuming young man of average intelligence to be our leader and our hero. Oh, wait—that’s just the usual subliminal messaging kicking in. I say we all say f*ck off to the idea of singular genius, and try our hand at collaborative problem solving. But hey, if it doesn’t work out, I was wondering in advance if you’d like to meet me for a date by the dumpster fire? Not because I like you or anything. Unless you like me. Do you like me? Shut up! I hate you mOre. Did I mention that you look good under the light of the trash flames?