Vol. XIX Issue 2

The Yale Herald YALE’S MOST DARING PUBLICATION SINCE 1986 | VOL. XIX ISSUE 2

2.2.18

FROM THE EDITORS Hey friendos, Let’s face it. February is a subpar month, especially when it’s not a leap year. But the good news is that temperatures on Sunday might actually be in the 40s, which, I guess, warrants leaving your bedroom. So shake off those winter blues and take a lap around campus. It’s good to get some air, you know?

In this week’s front, Fiona Drenttel, BF ’20, takes a walk with higher stakes than your average evening stroll. The PointIn-Time count is a volunteer effort to estimate how many homeless people are on New Haven streets, and a separate Youth Count aims to do the same for more vulnerable and harder to identify populations. These numbers are critical for determining the state of homelessness in the city, but the unavoidably inaccurate process still leaves some frustrated.

Elsewhere, in Features, Marc Shkurovich, BK ’19, explores the popular Snackpass app keeping Yale students fed (and in possession of chicks). In Culture, Everest Fang, ES ’20, dives into the world of tattoo art at the New Haven Museum.

And in Opinions, Linus Lu, DC ’19, asks us to reconsider the academic regulations that give rise to gut classes.

Look, if I’m being honest, there’s a 100% chance of rain on Sunday, so maybe don’t go outside after all. There’s an upside though: it’s the perfect weather for cozying up with a wonderful issue of the Herald.

Happy Groundhog Day, Nicole Mo Managing Editor

2 THE YALE HERALD

THE HERALD MASTHEAD EDITORIAL STAFF EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Eve Sneider MANAGING EDITORS Jack Kyono, Margaret Grabar Sage, Nicole Mo

DEPUTY EDITOR Hannah Offer EXECUTIVE EDITORS Tom Cusano, Oriana Tang,

Anna Sudderth, Emma Chanen,

Marc Shkurovich, Emily Ge SENIOR EDITOR Luke Chang FEATURES EDITORS Fiona Drenttel, Brittany Menjivar CULTURE EDITORS Allison Chen, Meghana Mysore OPINION EDITORS Lydia Buonomano, Tereza Podhajska REVIEWS EDITORS Gabe Rojas, Tricia Viveros VOICES EDITOR Carly Gove INSERTS EDITOR Zoe Ervolino AUDIO EDITOR Will Reid BULLBLOG EDITOR Marc Shkurovich

DESIGN STAFF GRAPHICS EDITOR Julia Hedges DESIGN EDITORS Nika Zarazvand Lauren Quintela Audrey Huang Rasmus Schlutter

The Yale Herald is a not-for-profit, non-partisan, incorporated student publication registered with the Yale College Dean’s Office.

If you wish to subscribe to the Herald, please contact the Editorin-Chief at eve.sneider@yale.edu. Receive the Herald for one semester for 40 dollars, or for the 2016-2017 academic year for 65 dollars.

The Yale Herald is published by Yale College students, and Yale University is not responsible for its contents. All opinions expressed are those of the authors and do not reflect the views of The Yale Herald, Inc. or Yale University. Copyright 2017 The Yale Herald.

IN THIS ISSUE VOICES

Vc

Jonah Pearl, GH ’18, walks us through a multi-faceted grief.

Sit down with Juan Valencia, BF ’19, and practice some much-needed self-care.

14,16 FEATURES

Ft

Hungry? So is Marc Shkurovich, BK ’19, as he thinks through the sweet and sour of Snackpass.

Do you play a musical instrument? Ever wondered about the people who repair instruments for a living? Jonathan Weiss, JE ’20 takes you behind the scenes of this trade.

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OPINIONS

Op

Have you ever taken a gut class? Well, so has everybody else—and Linus Lu, DC ’19, has a lot to say about it.

Kiddest Sinke, SM ’20, proposes a bold challenge to kick start our meager love lives.

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CULTURE

Ctl

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COVER

Cv

Fiona Drenttel, BF ’20, volunteers for the Point in Time count, an annual recording of the homeless population that justifies funding for the services they depend on.

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REVIEWS

Rv

So you think you can dance? Sara Luzuriaga, BR ’21, discusses how the Shaping Sound performance demonstrates the changing era of contemporary dance.

Explore the peculiarities of The End of the F***cking World as Emma Keyes, PC ’19, discusses the hit Netflix show; Ian Garcia-Kennedy, JE ’18, considers the unusual romance in Phantom Thread.

Thinking of getting a tattoo? Everest Fang, ES ’20, investigates the history of New Haven’s tattoo culture and the unique relationship between tatooer and tatoo-ee.

Discover your new favorite boy band as Nicole Mo, BK ’19, explains why SATURATION III legitimizes BROCKHAMPTON’s place in the rap game; Vy Tran, BR ’21, commends I, Tonya in all of its moral ambiguity.

WEEK AHEAD FRIDAY FEB. 2 @9:00PM

JAW: THE GROUNDHOG DAY SHOW MORSE/STILES CRESCENT THEATER

SATURDAY, FEB. 3 @3:30PM LC 102

SUNDAY, FEB. 4 @3:30PM SUPER BOWL LII 3:30PM

MONDAY FEB. 5 @6:30PM MALCOLM GLADWELL AND CHARLES RANDOLPH IN

‘NIGHT FEVER’ BY THE BEE GEES

An age-old classic and an emblem of John Travolta’s glory days (pre-‘Adele Dazeem’) gains a second life as the-songyou-listen-to-while-you-walk-up-ScienceHill. Alternative listening opportunities include while in Queens, New York or doing the Hustle.

OUTGOING

INSIDE YALE’S $27,000,000,000

INCOMING

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NIGHT FEVER AKA

Remember when you said you were going to get vaccinated? Me neither. Too bad the flu is actually worse than a cold and Yale Health can’t do anything more than give you a banana.

CONVERSATION 32 EDGEWOOD AVE

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C R E D I T D F A I L

ZOE ERVOLINO, MC ’20

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Casual White Tees

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Casual Golf Tees

Casualties

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KATHERINE HONG, PC ’19 straight, white, cis an homage to rupi kaur

Lately, there’s been a lot of “buzz” around campus about something called “The Fence Club.” Although you won’t catch us on High Street, this much attention may mean we finally have some social capital. In order to take advantage of this newfound relevance, as the “democratically” “elected” “president” of this “fraternity,” I’d like to dispel some of the most common myths about Fence.

Chase Ammon, PC ’18 i see my life like a tree. roots. i was born from my mama with my daddy by her side. blue-eyed baby boy. blond curls, pink cheeks my mother fed me soy-free baby formula i came out singing because they played me mozart in the womb. they baptized me in the river. grandma and grandpa kissed my feet and whispered america. trunk. my parents hired a consultant who got me into private elementary school. my teacher told me “you can be anything when you grow up.” i wanted to be president. daddy said “aim higher.” “gringo, gringo” they yelled. my church group went to costa rica to plant pineapples with the costa ricans. it hurt to be called names based on how i looked. couldn’t they see we were helping them? bark. horace mann and horses, man and hoarse voices hissing you’re not good enough you only got a four on your bc calculus exam. and so i got double time and an adderall prescription for adhd that i didn’t have. it felt good to beat the system.

i found out i had a love for economics. it’s hard to respect the MoMA after you’ve visited the louvre. j’aime paris leaves. poor people should stop asking for so many handouts. no one has ever given me anything for free.

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EVERYONE IN FENCE IS ARTSY

Although most of Fence’s budget still goes towards cigarettes, Willoughby’s coffee, and oversized thrift store jackets, I am happy to announce through our diversity outreach programs, we now have 2.5 econ majors in our membership. Moreover, I own a Canada Goose.

FENCE HAS A REALLY HOT, REALLY COOL FRATTY DUDE PRESIDENT

Small correction: I am a woman. Otherwise––yeah, true.

FENCE IS JUST LIKE SIG EP

Yes, we play drinking games, yes, we buy kegs, and yes, we religiously check if we’ve been featured on Yale Frat Tinder, but nobody has ever written a YDN article about how bad we are at sex.

FENCE IS TRASH AT PONG

Who the fuck said this? I will personally 1v1 them, anytime, anywhere.*

ALL THE MEN IN FENCE ARE SOFTBOIS WHO ONLY TALK ABOUT LITERATURE AND INDIE BANDS

See above re: diversity outreach programs. We are now 30% fuckbois.

Last week I even learned that the “Super Bowl” has nothing to do with 4/20. Some of us are even trading in our Blundstones for Bean Boots.

Diversity of opinion is very important to our organization.

I DON’T KNOW ANYONE IN FENCE EXCEPT MY WEIRD FILM STUDIES MAJOR SUITEMATE FROM FRESHMAN YEAR.

False. He just got back from his semester abroad in Berlin and has decided that no major can really “define” him. He’s now American Studies. Also you’re forgetting about that girl who always used to cut her own hair in your shared bathroom.

FENCE IS SOCIALLY RELEVANT.

Despite my best efforts, Fence is not socially relevant. Dean Holloway still texts me every morning to remind me that a frat with women is not a frat.

FENCE IS CURRENTLY HAVING RUSH.

Hey guys does anyone have a copy of The Bell Jar I could borrow? Someone must have taken mine at the last underground poetry slam. I want to reread it because I think Sylvia Plath’s critique of the patriarchal restrictions on womanhood and the performance of feminine—ok if you’re still reading, yeah, we have a rush party on Friday but keep it low key.

ALL FENCE DOES IS ACT AS A BARRIER ENCLOSING OR BORDERING A FIELD, YARD, ETC., USUALLY MADE OF POSTS AND WIRE OR WOOD, USED TO PREVENT ENTRANCE, TO CONFINE, OR TO MARK A BOUNDARY.

We are so much more than that: we also smoke weed.

branches. college was a time to explore the things about myself that i had always repressed.

* Upon further reflection, I admit that this was an aggressive reaction. However, since Fence has no system of checks and balances, I stand by this.

Vc Feb.2.2017

Some thoughts on self-care after 2016 JUAN VALENCIA, BF ’19

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Get a potted plant water it regularly, track its growth cultivate its roots (cultivate your own) cultivate kindness cultivate care for other living things (They’re having a hard time everywhere) Learn that nurturing is difficult in this world.

(If your plant doesn’t make it go outside, find a tree hug it. smile at it. say something nice to it. repeat this at least once a day for a week) Then get a new potted plant and try again.

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Stay hydrated remember to drink water but also do more than that.

Turn this simple act into a small ceremony a reflection of gratitude remember that water is life and all life is water (remember Flint remember Standing Rock remember Palestine) Never take a clean drop for granted.

Keep reading.

Read authors with perspectives that are new to you that you might not think of, or agree with (No, this doesn’t mean white authors this doesn’t mean conservatives) This means leftists.

This means Black radicals Third-world academics Muslim feminists Latinx refugees Native trans-femmes Queers with disabilities (There are so many voices we don’t hear I could give names but this is a poem and not a syllabus) Read their truths, read their fiction read their films and their songs their museum galleries, their street art (I’m not saying don’t read the news, just balance that by reading other important things too)

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“SO EAT, AND EAT JOYFULLY.”

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Eat sustainably cut down on meat if you can cut down how much you waste (Acknowledge that not everyone has these luxuries) Eat mindfully eat for energy and eat for pleasure eat as an act of self love eat as an act against shame nourish the body and be gentle with it be grateful to it (You owe it everything) so eat, and eat joyfully.

Your mind is a gift.

Think of it like a garden and tend to it accordingly.

Gardening requires work, maintenance is a constant effort.

Keep things out of your garden if they’ll harm it.

Remember that anger is poison unless it cultivates compassion; sorrow is poison unless it cultivates healing.

Fear is a pest, but strength will drive it away and the strongest thing you can do is be gentle.

The best tools for maintaining this garden will be your hands, deliberate and forgiving.

And soon, your garden will be full brimming with radiance, and gifts to share with others.

(This is what you have earned You deserve nothing less)

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untitled JONAH PEARL, GH ’18

CW: depictions of death

The two men who came to take his body smelled like cigarettes. I remember it because it makes me angry: here was a man who had never smoked in his life, a brilliant man, a man whose indulgences were green tea and good bread, here he was lying dead on a hospital bed in the middle of our living room, and in come these two men in state-trooper jackets, jackets whose shade of muddy-blue alone was ugly enough to disturb the sanctity of the just-dead.

In come these two men and the pungent, wrinkly smell of cigarettes, a smell that says, you are just another house on our route. We have more bodies in the back of our station wagon, and after we unload them at the morgue we’ll go out back and smoke a pack to forget that we traffic in cadavers. I made sure to watch as they maneuvered his body into the long, ugly-red duffel bag. I had decided to watch this process long before I knew they would smell like smoke. First they wrapped his body in a white sheet. Then they half-rolled it into the duffel, half-lifted it. Then they carried it down our front stairs and loaded it into their station wagon. Not that I expected anything different. Not that I blame them—they were polite enough. But what I saw as my dad’s corpse, they saw as twenty minutes between them and their next break. The room smelled like cigarettes after they left.

The much discussed, all-purpose grief never struck me. (A bit of depression, perhaps, but that’s different.) Instead, I’ve found that my grief is very specific. It manifests in moments that make me indignant, and in traditions that make me nostalgic. It’s up to me to take out the anger and examine it on rainy days or quiet nights, or to incorporate the nostalgia into my daily life. I like this set-up. The grief is easy to find when I look for it.

At home we cooked bread together, dense peasant bread with rye and buckwheat. 500 grams flour, 375 grams water, 10 to 15 grams salt, to taste. Stir with wooden spoon and store in plastic container until ready to bake in Dutch oven. Cook is ideally wearing a black Patagonia fleece and has a greying, scraggly beard. Now in my apartment, I cook the same recipes with the same kitchen scale and the same Dutch oven. I miss his commentary,

Illustrated by Shelby Redman

“Slower on the water.

You can always add more.” and his beard. “Slower on the water. You can always add more.” Then when the bread comes out of the oven and the crust is crackling from the temperature shock—“listen, it’s singing!” I cherish the words of his that I have, because I will have no more.

Like a collage, the memories overlap and form a whole, yet no discernible pattern emerges from its parts. It is best described by its title: Grief. Mixed media. Anger, familial traditions, one son, one corpse. Boston, 2016.

Only a week before he died, my dad and I set out on a walk. We called them “loops,” as in “I’m taking the dog on a loop, want to come?” He took my arm, shuffled slowly along the sidewalk. This a man who had walked five miles every day for the pleasure of being

alone, a disciplined man, a fit man whose calves doctors always complimented when he was in for surgery. Here he was, constipated, feet in pain, leaning on me, bundled in coats, going for a walk, and we couldn’t make it fifty feet. He said to me, I don’t think I can go on a loop.

I’m worried I might shit my pants. Not even around the block? I’m sorry. Let’s go back, then. And the next time he left the house was in a duffel bag.

We were walking on a beach. My arm was around his shoulder. I remember how it was, the radiant sun, the cold Atlantic. We stopped and looked at the ocean instead of making eye contact. Dad, you’re never going to see me get married. I rested my head on his shoulder. No, probably not; I’m sorry. But at least you’ll get to see me graduate? If we’re lucky.

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Op Feb.2.2017

Gut. The word itself has an ugly sound. It refers to the gross, unflattering portions of the body, it serves as the first half of the word gutter—a gut class, it would seem, should not be a label to aspire to. Yet every semester, a good portion of Yale’s student body scours the Bluebook for courses like “Listening to Music,” “Ancient Ships,” “Buddhist Art and Architecture, 900-1600,” and “Plants and People,” which promise credits at a minimal cost to GPA and precious time.

Do guts simply squander real educational opportunities on checking off graduation requirements? Or are they a reasonable response to the dangers of being overburdened and a responsible way to manage time? While we can continue to debate the ethics of taking guts, there are ways that the administration and faculty can change the requirements to help students better navigate college.

Gut classes are first and foremost defined by light coursework and easy exams or papers, often coupled with low levels of intellectual stimulation. Not limited to any single department or area of study, guts can be found in every corner of campus, and Yalies enrolling in them for a myriad of reasons, whether it is for a distributional requirement, an easy fifth class, or that last credit needed to be promoted to junior status. Because of so many practical reasons to take them, students flock to these guts every semester.

This doesn’t have to be the case. More often than not, students feel pressured by graduation requirements and institutional demands to take on unmanageable course loads. Guts are one of the ways students avoid being overstressed while still completing all the necessary classes.

In these situations, slight reform to how the university structures its requirements could make all the difference in reducing the need for guts.

The option of being able to credit/D/fail one or two distributional requirements would allow students to feel more confident in tackling substantive and rigorous material that lies outside their usual interests. Distributional requirements are meant to broaden horizons and take students outside of their comfort zone; therefore, this change should encourage students to take a risk and actually enroll in courses that don’t sacrifice educational value for an easy passing grade.

A greater level of understanding and leeway on the part of the university’s administration would help resolve students’ dilemmas about having to choose between a safe class and an interesting one.

Of course, no institutional reform can change the fact that some students will always want to be in classes they don’t have to take seriously. Oftentimes, guts are more a matter of attitude rather than course material. Many students want to direct their focus on just one or two courses, or perhaps concentrate on extracurricular activities. On the other hand, some students in STEM may just have no interest in the humanities, and vice versa, so fulfilling the requirements in those areas involves finding the easiest class to just endure for a semester. In these cases, there seems to be little that can be done to discourage taking guts.

All of this, however, leans on the common assumption that guts are intrinsically bad classes that do no good for students. This can be a harmful supposition. Easy classes do not have to be boring and devoid of substance. This negative perception may discourage students from taking classes that they might genuinely find interesting, not wanting to undergo the embarrassment of taking a gut class.

8 THE YALE HERALD

Drain the Gutter: A Look at Gut Classes LINUS LU, DC ’19

Every semester, a good portion of Yale’s student body scours the Bluebook for courses like “Listening to Music,” “Ancient Ships,” “Buddhist Art and Architecture, 900-1600,” and “Plants and People,” which promise credits at a minimal cost to GPA and precious time.

Nonetheless, many at Yale have found classes that contain manageable workloads without sacrificing content. For example, “Origins & Search for Life in the Universe,” while catering to those with less background in science, has been described in student evaluations as “literally life changing,” “perfect for non-science majors,” and with “a vast amount of interesting material.” Also the fact that a student described the class as being “not the gut that it could appear to be” suggests that science classes that target nonmajors and are not conventionally “science-y” have to be either boring or lacking in intellectual rigor.

This semester’s record-breaking “Psychology and the Good Life” may be another good example of such a class. By most accounts (not withstanding a couple of YDN op-eds), Laurie Santos’ course promises to be rich but not burdensome, and other classes could aspire to it by addressing topics that students care deeply about in their everyday lives. While some of the more niche guts at Yale should definitely stay for the sake of those adventurous souls seeking a specialized topic to explore, these past two classes that I’ve mentioned tackle broad themes in a way that is relatable, profound, and reasonable.

In the end, the school administration can change their policies to put students in a better position to challenge themselves without being overworked. Faculty members, too, can work to structure their classes to be more sympathetic to students who have a strong desire to learn without wanting to compromise their physical and mental health. But ultimately, it’s still up to us and what we want to get out of our four years of college. From time to time, we have to make difficult choices, and sometimes that takes guts.

Flirting with the Enemy

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KIDDEST SINKE, SM ’20

For all the single lads and lasses out there, I propose a Valentine’s Day challenge: take someone pursuing your least favorite major out for dinner.

With Shopping Period over, we can all finally own up to participating in a particular ritual: you step into a lecture for your major, scan the room, and execute your plot to “coincidentally” slide into the seat next to the hot bro or bro-ette you’ve picked out of the crowd, hopeful that they will slide into your DMs and you two will magically fall in love. Half-way through class, you realize either that they are the lecture asshole or they did DS. Probably both.

Finding someone within your major would just be so much more convenient. You wouldn’t have to worry about incompatible interests and would never run out of things to discuss. You could help each other with problem sets and essays. And as my Math major suitemate Ella Henry, SM ’20, pointed out, you would have more classes together. Getting to spend more time together organically would be a perfect way to conquer the classic Yale pitfall of having to send G-Cal invites for every single “let’s get a meal sometime.”

But the great thing about a liberal arts education is that you don’t need to limit your dating pool to just one area of study. One of Yale’s core tenets is to encourage its students to engage with different modes of thought and pursue relationships with a diverse range of peers. When choosing a romantic partner, as when choosing your friends, interests don’t need to align perfectly. By seeking a significant other outside your major, you push yourself outside of your comfort zone— the first, most crucial step when looking to grow as a person.

While dating someone within your major, club, or residential college might be convenient, acting out of convenience does not always put you at an advantage. In this case, it could close you off from the personal growth that comes of exposing yourself to different people and experiences.

Stereotypes about certain majors seemed to be a common thread amongst my friends when weighing pros and cons of dating within a major. An ER&M major who wished to remain anonymous said she’d definitely date another ER&M major because “they are more likely to be woke,” but that she wouldn’t date a philosophy major because they were “pretentious.” “Let’s just say Aristotle can suck my dick,” she said, emphasizing that no one wants to hear Kant’s opinion mid-hookup.

Another friend who requested anonymity insisted that Math majors were the hottest and the smartest. He’s a Math major.

“What about Art majors?” I asked.

“They probably smoke a lot of weed.”

Overhearing our conversation, Caleb, a Statistics and Data Science major, chimed in: “Art majors just think they’re better than you. And don’t even get me started on neuroscience majors. It’s like, you’re already Pre-Med, why take it a step forward?”

“Yeah, neuroscience majors are too extra,” the anonymous math major agreed, adding that EP&E majors are total snakes.

While humorous, stereotypes of majors only reinforces romantic (and platonic!) barriers that prevent you from engaging with different perspectives. College, and life, should be about developing new beliefs and pursuing new experiences. After all, how can you expand your perspective if you refuse to operate within certain social circles but not others? Maybe you’ll find that opposites really do attract. If not, at least you can add dated a snake Python to your resume. On a more serious note, while the anonymous ER&M major held her ground on never dating a Philosophy major, she acknowledged that dating outside your major can give you room to expand your identity.

Great point, because—let’s be honest—who has time to double-major? A better solution: find a bae in that second major to complete the missing half of your heart, not to mention your diploma.

Some of my most treasured relationships with friends, family members, and lovers (ha, who am I kidding?) have paired me with people who are very different than me.

My best friend studies Digital Media Marketing and loves photography, two subjects I know nothing about. Others among my closest friends are destined for Goldman Sachs, a route I have no interest in, yet we can still stay up until 3 a.m. laughing and chatting about anything. Having grown up as one of the few biracial women in Eugene, OR., most of my childhood friends were white. I even have beloved family members who enjoy embarrassing me in public by starting heated debates about Donald Trump. Nonetheless, these are some of the most supportive people in my life.

Differences do not equate to incompatibility—not if you’re willing to find ways to respect, love, and relate to one another beyond the spheres that you do not occupy in common.

It is by embracing these differences, even those as inconsequential as our majors, that we can learn to appreciate, or at least understand, where others come from.

And for all you know, your friend or significant other’s passion might become your own.

“An ER&M major who wished to remain anonymous said she’d definitely date another ER&M major because ‘they are more likely to be woke.’ ”

Another Math major, also named Caleb, said he’d never date a Psychology major because they’d probably psychoanalyze him.

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Ft Feb.2.2018

Jazzing It Up: A Visit to Tim Moran Woodwinds JONATHAN WEISS, JE ’20 When I stepped off the bus in a cute neighborhood in Hamden, Connecticut, I immediately came face-to-face with a carved wooden rooster playing saxophone. This was the display window of Tim Moran Woodwinds, where Yale woodwind instruments go when they start to break down.

I play several instruments, including saxophone, but I had not considered what happened to these instruments after being shipped away. I imagined the rooster figurine playing “Careless Whisper” by George Michael, and it quickly lured me inside.

The entire shop consisted of only one room, but it had much to offer. A collection of saxophones, clarinets, and flutes sat in display cases, suspended from the left wall and stretching all the way to the shelves full of cases in the back.

On the right side of the shop were two chaotic workbenches covered in an assortment of pliers, pins, screwdrivers, tape measurers, wires, resins, and other materials I could not name. Pictures of musicians I didn’t recognize hung around the room. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn about the music world, so I went searching for a man who had devoted his life’s work to keeping the art of music performance alive: Tim Moran.

Tim swiveled around in his chair and then stood, revealing his short stature, round-framed glasses, sturdy shoulders, and hair greyed from experience. His apprentice, Julia, was quietly soldering a large saxophone on the bench behind Tim while we sat down to talk. Tim told me that he grew up during the influential careers of many jazz musicians in the 1950s and learned to play the saxophone at age 12. His inspiration came from the episodes of The Ed Sullivan Show he used to watch at his childhood home in Massachusetts.

Each episode featured either the Duke Ellington or Count Basie Orchestra. Tim vividly remembers watching each group’s five saxophones on the television screen: “The camera pans in real close,” he recounted, “and all you could see were the hands on the saxophones, on the keys, and these guys all had diamond pinky rings and shit, and their fingers were just doing this.” He proceeded to imitate a live concert, complete with air saxophone and scatting, while his eyes glowed with joy. “And I went—that’s what I want to do,” he said, letting out a nostalgic laugh. Tim’s pinkies did not have diamond rings and shit, but he did catch the bug early on.

Tim’s bug got even more intense after he graduated from the University of Massachusetts with a degree in music performance. In addition to playing gigs, he became a woodwind instrument repair technician—a “mechanic” in his words, or a “sax guru” in mine. “I brought my horn to my repair guy to do some work on it,” Tim said, “and when he finished he said, ‘Look, I’m getting real busy in my shop, and I need someone to take on as an apprentice. Do you

10 THE YALE HERALD

know anybody that might want to learn the trade?’” Tim excitedly raised his hand. “Me! Sign me up,” he said.

Out came the same nostalgic laugh, this time even more contagious. I could feel his bug in the air now.

Now I was signing up to learn the trade, so Tim led me to his workbench and began to show me the sax he had been fixing. “In the realm of saxophones,” he said, “this is the holy grail. This is the Selmer model they call the Mark VI. It is considered the epitome of saxophone design. Everybody wants to buy a Mark VI. I have a Mark VI.” A rounded tube that fit snugly into the bell of the Mark VI supported it slightly above waist level. All the keys were still intact. Now I understood the reason Tim considered himself a mechanic. Most customers simply dropped off their horns for repair and picked them up a few days later essentially brand new, but the magic happened here. “It’s a metal machine,” Tim said, “and you use tools to fix all the parts of the machine.”

As he surveyed his tools, Tim explained his process to me. “This is what we call an overhaul. We took off all the keys, and it looks like something’s missing—it’s just a bare, little skinny tube. It’s dipped in a chemical and then given a bath in hot, soapy water. We washed all the keys, stripped off all the old pads, all the old corks, everything came out, everything came apart.” He then described the meticulous reconstruction of the keys, demonstrating the use of a tube lamp that emanates from inside the saxophone, revealing leaks and imbalances of the pads that sealed the holes.

After this reseating process came the essential personalization of the instrument. No automated machine could give an instrument a certain character better than a trained pair of hands, and Tim’s were no exception. “Even with kids I spend some time getting the feel right because, I figure, if it feels terrible to a kid, he’s probably not going to want to play it,” Tim said. “They could be the next Charlie Parker, and I’m blowing his career because I made the keys too stiff, you know?”

Tim expressed this hypothetical as a joke, but it’s true that many musicians discover their passions as children.

A poor first experience with guitar for Jimi Hendrix or piano for Chopin could have altered the history of rock ’n’ roll or classical music. If, at age 11, Charlie Parker had abandoned his saxophone because he lacked guidance

from his sax guru, the brilliant Lester Young, bebopstyle jazz would not be the same. Like Lester Young, Tim Moran strongly influences the young and talented musicians who approach him. His overhauls take 10-15 hours, but he perseveres, knowing those hours could potentially change the next genre of music.

During my overhaul crash-course, Julia continued working diligently on the back workbench. As a musician, I was already familiar with music shops, but Julia was still able to surprise me with her professional knowledge.

“People don’t know that this trade exists,” she said. “If you’re not a musician, you wouldn’t know that there’s people all over the country that do this.” Tim continued, “Every little music store’s got somebody, but most of them are hacks. They really don’t know what they’re doing.” Tim guarantees that every instrument leaving Tim Moran Woodwinds will be even more comfortable, versatile, and expressive than when it arrived. After spending only a half hour in the shop speaking with Tim and observing his work, I would trust him with my broken saxophone if it meant I could continue playing music. Tim Moran Woodwinds may be tucked away in a small Hamden neighborhood, but the store is a hidden gem, its polished saxophones glistening in the window.

“There’s something about playing music that feeds your soul,” Tim said. “When you’re playing, you’re opening yourself up because music is emotion. And there are moments that feel like something is coming through you.” Moments like this motivate Tim to continue playing music and working as a mechanic. “Musicians need us,” he said. Instruments are tools for the art of music performance, and Tim wants musicians to be able to trust him with these tools. After all, he wouldn’t want to risk blowing off the next Charlie Parker.

AFTER SPENDING ONLY A HALF HOUR IN THE SHOP SPEAKING WITH TIM AND OBSERVING HIS WORK, I WOULD TRUST HIM WITH MY BROKEN SAXOPHONE.

11

12

Getting to the point FIONA DRENTTEL, BF ’20 YH STAFF

At 7:45 p.m., we park behind the Dunkin’ Donuts on Derby Avenue and begin walking east. It’s been raining all day, and though the sky is now clear, the air remains thick with moisture. I’m carrying a gallon-sized plastic bag containing a pair of socks, a hat, tissues, Chapstick, a bar of soap.

The first person we survey is a 57-year-old man named Royal Gibbs. He’s tall and dressed in a black tracksuit with blue racing stripes. He stands on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, and tells us that tonight, he plans to sleep out in a tent with some friends. He’s frustrated by the questions I’m asking him. How many separate times have you stayed in shelters or on the streets in the past three years?

Do you have any substance abuse issues? Do you have a physical disability? Do you have AIDS or an HIV related illness? He scoffs. “Look,” he says. “[The city] needs to branch out because they’re not reaching the people who are out here… There’s only three places for these people to go! I’m telling you, within this block there’s, like, 15 homeless people.” I record his answers on my phone.

Before he leaves, I offer him the bag of supplies I’ve been holding. He presses it back into my hands, instructing me to give it to someone who needs it more. Still carrying the bag, we move on down the street, looking for other people who, like Gibbs, will be sleeping on the street tonight.

*

*

*

We were surveying homeless people as part of the PointIn-Time count, an annual one-night tallying of all homeless people on the street and in shelters. As a volunteer for the count, I was assigned to the team that would cover a section of West River—a neighborhood due west of downtown, bounded by Chapel Street to the north and Ella T. Grasso Boulevard to the west. We were an eclectic group, comprised of a social worker, an outreach coordinator at the Connecticut shelter and housing service Columbus House, a contractor who had once been homeless himself, a student at Southern Connecticut State University, a middle school Spanish teacher, and myself. After Gibbs, we surveyed four others. They were less eager to talk, but the few words they volunteered to a group of strangers stopping them on the street contributed to an official report on the state of homelessness in New Haven. 14 other teams were spread throughout the city, gathering data from a sampling of different neighborhoods.

Communities have always been aware of their surrounding homeless populations—the first documentation of them surfaced in America as early as the 1640’s—but it

wasn’t until the 21st century that efforts were made to record their number. Since 2005, The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) has mandated all regional programs receiving federal funds to perform an annual count of the homeless. This marked the beginning of the Point-In-Time (PIT) count, occurring every year in the last ten days of January. It falls on local organizations to administer the count. In New Haven, the PIT count is spearheaded by the Connecticut Coalition to End Homelessness (CCEH), but overseen and coordinated more closely by local providers dealing with homelessness.

When I arrived at First Presbyterian Church on the evening of Tues., Jan. 23, the line was already out the door.

Every volunteer was given a big, fluorescent yellow name tag, followed by copious amounts of baked ziti. The volunteers came from community organizations in New Haven: agencies, schools, churches, soup kitchens, and hospitals.

Many were veterans of the count, who struggled to recall how many consecutive years they’d participated. Other volunteers, like my team member, were once homeless and had themselves been recorded by the past PIT counts.

While people were still arriving, I spoke with Keyonna Naughty, a program director at The Connection—a hu-

So, the numbers matter.

When they’re low, they’re a marker of progress; when they’re high, they’re a marker of need.

13

man service and community development agency in Connecticut—and one of the main organizers for this year’s PIT count. Naughty, wearing a down vest in preparation for the hours she would be spending in the cold winter air, kept being pulled away to greet people and answer questions. A few minutes later, Naughty and her co-organizer, Lisbette De La Cruz, the Senior Manager of Outreach and Engagement at Columbus House, held a training session for volunteers. They outlined how the count works, why it’s done, and offered some tips to identify the homeless—“somebody who is in their car, who’s kind of wavering in one space for a long time, who is carrying a lot of belongings, who may have a lot of layers on, who is dressed out of season, who may have a sleepy face, kind of pale skin, maybe looking a little lethargic, like they have been up and walking around all night long.”

Annual Homeless Assessment Report, is ultimately submitted to Congress, serving as a yearly nationwide check-in.

In order to avoid counting someone more than once, each group was given several pink and red color-coded maps of sectioned out regions of the city. “Anywhere inside the pink area is where you’ll be canvassing. Make sure that you don’t go outside of the map,” warned Naughty during the training session. For each person we would encounter who identified as homeless, we would fill out a 26-question survey on our phones, using an app called “Counting Us.” All the volunteers downloaded the app at Naughty’s instruction; older generations in the room were slightly perplexed, fumbling with their touch screens. Once they’d downloaded it, people began putting on coats and assembling their team members.

***

It was a balmy 47 degrees outside. By New England standards, that’s not very cold for a night in January, but it’s a different story when you’re spending the night in a sleeping bag underneath an overpass. HUD mandates that the PIT count be conducted in the last week of January, between 7 p.m. and 11 p.m. This is, for several reasons, strategic.

“They typically pick what’s supposed to be the coldest night of the year,” said Amy, a social worker in New Haven’s Veteran Affairs’ office, who was on my team the night of the PIT count. That may not have worked out so well this year, but it speaks to the type of population that HUD is targeting. “It’s chosen because it tends to be the hardest month to be homeless,” said Naughty. “If you’re homeless and on the street when it’s not easy, then you’re truly homeless.”

Yet the truly homeless aren’t only found on the street. As the unsheltered count is happening, every head in every shelter, warming center, transitional program, and domestic abuse center in the state is also counted. All of this data—concerning both the sheltered and unsheltered homeless—is sent directly to the CCEH, who analyzes the data and passes it up to HUD. “Then, HUD does a massive national report on the state of homelessness that will show the various headcounts,” said Alison Cunningham, the executive director of Columbus House. This report, called the

14 THE YALE HERALD

The PIT count is important for a number of reasons. “It’s like the census,” explained Kayla Knotts, an employee at Columbus House and my team leader on the night of the count. And like the census, the PIT count’s primary use is to justify funding. “If our numbers go way up then we’ve got a real problem and we need to use that data to advocate for more resources to address the problem,” said Cunningham. “It’s important for the city to know, when we apply for city funds; its important for the Connecticut Department of Housing to know, when we go to the state for funding.” The PIT count is an economic assessment as much as it is a social one. It’s a snapshot in time, an attempt to codify a characteristically amorphous population.

So, the numbers matter. When they’re low, they’re a marker of progress; when they’re high, they’re a marker of need.

But the actual accuracy of the PIT count is widely disputed. The homeless—and particularly the unsheltered homeless—are transient. Someone might spend all night walking around New Haven, and miss being counted altogether.

The day after the count, I met Juanita Y. on Broadway—a woman known unofficially to Yale students as ‘the poetry lady,’ who has struggled with homelessness in the past.

When I told her the numbers from last year’s count, she burst into laughter. “Oh, there are way more people than that. It’s not a set number. People get housing, and then they lose it.” Those familiar with the homeless community understand that an accurate count is nearly impossible.

On Jan. 12, 2017, Governor Dannel P. Malloy announced that Connecticut was able to connect every chronically homeless individual with permanent housing, effectively proclaiming an end to chronic homelessness. Yale students probably find this declaration puzzling—there are some homeless people, on York Street or Broadway, who we’ve seen every day since we arrived in New Haven. This discrepancy speaks to the mixed delivery of information being disseminated about homelessness. What we see as we move through the city conflicts with what the state claims; what the homeless know from experience differs from what the PIT count may profess to be true.

Shelter comes in many forms. Especially in the winter, people are likely to take cover wherever they can, sleeping in hallways, under bridges, in empty lots. The range of places where people seek cover during the cold months puts serious limitations on the scope of the PIT count. “How could we ever count everybody on the street at night?” asked Cunningham, when I brought up the question of accuracy. “We don’t go into abandoned buildings, we don’t

go deep into the woods. We are going to miss people. We know that.” The small sampling of locations surveyed means that data collected in the PIT count represents an estimate that is conservative—if not altogether wrong.

Even so, they have to start from somewhere. “We need the PIT count to put a line in the sand in order to start measuring somewhere,” explained Christie Stewart, the Director of Development for New Reach, the homeless services organization in New Haven that coordinated the region’s Youth Count last week. “But it’s a serious misrepresentation of the real numbers.” Yet Cunningham contended that there is somewhat of a silver lining, arising from the stock of data collected over the past 12 years. “Is it completely accurate? No. Does it give us an idea of where we are? Yes. Because if you do the same methodology year after year after year, you’re going to start to see some trends.” In Connecticut, this data has trended downward. Last year, Connecticut counted 3,387 people experiencing homelessness, with 543 of those in New Haven. This reflects a 13% statewide decrease from the year before, and a 24% statewide decrease from 2007.

Efforts to improve the accuracy of the PIT count have taken several forms. The first is a switch to a digital data collection system, via the “Counting Us” app. Prior to 2017, all the counts were done with paper surveys. Cunningham recalled, “The data—especially in the early 2000’s, when we first started doing this—was awful.” Transferring to a digital system has helped to keep better track of the numbers and streamline methods of counting between different regions.

But more importantly, HUD has made efforts in the past few years to target populations that are especially underrepresented in the general PIT count—specifically, homeless and unstably housed youth, between the ages of 13 and 24. “Youth are terribly hard to count,” said Stewart. “They’re couch surfing, or hanging at friends’ [houses]… they aren’t typically the folks you find, the chronic homeless, on the Green.” *** The first Youth Count in Connecticut was performed in 2015. Unlike the PIT count, the Youth Count is performed over more than a single point in time. In an attempt to identify struggling youth in a more diverse range of settings, the Youth Count occurs over the course of an entire week—this year, spanning from Jan. 24 to 30. “Each region has their own method for counting youth, though in Greater New Haven, this year’s tactic has included meeting youth literally where they are at in their community,” explained explained Caitlin Rose, New Reach’s Youth Program Manager and the coordinator for the New Haven regional Youth count. This includes places that offer youth services, like

Marrakech Inc. and Youth Continuum, as well as schools, stores, hospitals, motels, food pantries, and sports games.

as many homeless or unstably housed youth as possible—especially those who normally pass undetected.

The Youth Count is rooted in the idea of youth counting other youth. For a population that’s so difficult to keep track of, harnessing community knowledge is necessary— youth know where other youth are. A handful of Yale students through Yale Hunger Homelessness Action Progress (YHHAP) participated in counting this year, volunteering to staff Youth Continuum during designated hours. The majority of volunteers, however, were youth who have had personal experience with homelessness.

I asked Smalls how he can tell when someone is homeless. He responded, “[people] will have clothes… maybe they’re baggy or maybe they’ve been worn a couple days. Or someone who looks really really tired… Or some people, you see them walk back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, obviously they’re bored but they’re staying somewhere warm…

You know, you’ll find people.” As we walked through the mall, looking for potential youth to survey, he seemed only to glance at people as they walked by. I got the feeling that it was something of a sixth sense.

I met Mike Smalls on Saturday morning at the Milford Mall. He was sitting on a stool in the food court, drinking a big pink smoothie and holding a small stack of Dunkin’ Donuts gift cards—an incentive for homeless youth to fill out the Youth Count’s survey. He’s a senior at Hillhouse High School and told me that he’s been homeless more than seven times. “Right now I stay at my father’s house, but it’s unstable, so at any time I could not be there… Like, the last snowstorm in New Haven, I was actually outside.

I was outside and I slept on the porch.” I asked him if he had had a sleeping bag. “No, but I had a coat on. I had three pairs of pants on, and I had a smaller jacket, a windbreaker, and a coat. It was freezing. It’s not easy.”

Homeless youth, as such a vulnerable population, are defined more broadly than homeless adults—allowing for service organizations to provide more aggressive and targeted aid to those in need. HUD defines a homeless person as, “someone in a shelter or who is living in a place not meant for human habitation.” For youth, however, the definition is more nuanced, consisting of four categories. Category One is literal homelessness—someone staying in a place not meant for human habitation. Category Two is imminent homelessness. This is someone who is couch-surfing, but who will be homeless within the next 14 days. Category Three is homelessness under federal statutes—for example, someone who is homeless due to a natural disaster. And Category Four is homelessness as a result of domestic violence or sex trafficking. When I asked Smalls what his definition of youth homelessness was, he was more succinct. “There’s two,” he replied. “Homeless could mean unstably housed, meaning you don’t know how long you can stay. And then there’s the homeless where you’re actually on a bench.”

Over the course of the week of the Youth Count, volunteers are meant to survey homeless youth wherever they find them. Smalls worked shifts at the mall and at a soup kitchen, but he was free and encouraged to survey people at all times of day. The Youth Count promises anonymity to those it surveys. To avoid counting someone twice, surveyors ask for the youth’s initials and date of birth. The hope, with these approaches, is to reach

Smalls had surveyed three people at the Mall that day before I arrived, but we didn’t find anyone else once I got there. He was disappointed, and kept saying that he wanted to find someone to survey. “Man, I’m sad! There’s no one…” Then he backtracked. “But I mean, it’s a good thing if you don’t find someone, because they’re not—yeah.” Smalls is voicing the central conflict of both the Youth Count and the PIT count: volunteers aim to reach as many people as possible, while also hoping that less people qualify for the count than the year before.

Some even make a competition out of it—on the night of the PIT count, one of my team members remarked, “My first year, it was super competitive between all the other teams [about] who could get the most.” People went crazy, she said, over how many surveys they could complete. With each name successfully added to the count comes the discovery of another person’s suffering.

The two counts have different limitations. For the PIT count, it’s an issue of time and place; for the Youth Count, it’s an issue of visibility. But both counts must confront the same stigma surrounding the homeless. “People are embarrassed,” Smalls remarked. “Not everybody smells the nicest when they’re homeless.” For something that isn’t inherently shameful, the image of homelessness persists as something shrouded in guilt and secrecy. No one wants to admit that they’ve lost their home—especially not to a stranger. Even Gibbs, the first man we surveyed, who was so eager to talk, had initially claimed that he lived in an apartment across the street—only admitting his situation after further probing.

A few days after the PIT count, I went to Sunrise Café—a free weekday breakfast café operated by Liberty Community Services. I wanted to get a sense of how some people who had experienced homelessness felt about this standardized process of counting. The vast majority of people I spoke with had no idea that the PIT count existed. Many of them had been in shelters on the night of the count and were, indeed, counted, albeit unknowingly. But others had been on the street for years and never recalled being counted.

“I’ve been homeless about going on three years,” said Fred, aged 56. “No, I wasn’t counted this week. Right now, I’m sleeping on somebody’s couch. It’s a day to day thing. From day to day, I don’t know whose couch I’m gonna be on.”

The night before, Smalls had counted fifteen people.

Some were at the mall, but most of them had been on the bus or at the bus stop. This points to the way the Youth Count should expand in the future, he told me.

“They should go to more schools. Not during the school day, because everyone’s there. But after school... the kids will stay after school extra time just to stay warm, until they can’t.” Smalls had gone to his school to ask if he could shower there, and they referred him to the Youth Continuum, who paid him to work for the Youth Count.

Last year’s Youth Count estimated 4,396 youth across the state experiencing homelessness, with 769 of those people in the Greater New Haven area—including surrounding towns like Milford. Given the expanse of the New Haven region, Rose thinks that, compared to the statewide estimate, that number is low. “It’s safe to assume that there may be more housing unstable young people found and surveyed this year, thus leading to a higher number than we have seen before.” ***

15

Ft Feb.2.2017

Snaps for Snackpass MARC SHKUROVICH, BK ’19 YH STAFF

Sometime in the afternoon of Nov. 12, 2017, an average autumnal Sunday, on the block of Chapel Street between York and High, Beetlejuice was born. His puffed-up chest, adorned with rich yellow plumage, belies his actual height of 4.1 inches as he gazes at me through my screen with wide, jet-black eyes. Beetlejuice was conceived at Juice Box, to be specific; he is the product of my fierce Snackpass love affair with my friend Josh. After a handful of chirps, Beetlejuice mustered up his first English words, using the third person to communicate his utmost desires: “Beetlejuice... is feelin like Woads (siren emoji).”

It may surprise you to learn that Snackpass is not the new Tamagotchi. It is actually a food ordering-cum-social media app developed in New Haven. The food ordering component allows its users to place orders with local restaurants through their phones. The social media component allows its users to send a rewards point to a friend with each order—and, when a pair has accumulated enough points, to hatch a chick. ***

It’s hard to overstate the gleeful feeling of gaming the system, of realizing that what seems too good to be true is, in fact, true. That’s what Snackpass represents for its users, who number over 7,000, mostly students from Yale and other New Haven schools. The story of the app’s founding, near the end of 2016, is an instant classic: Kevin Tan, GH ’17, started working on the app as the result of two timeless dorm room tech bro traditions: procrastinating and trying to impress girls. As he told the Yale Daily News, Tan hoped to build an app through which he could send a gift to his crush. In so doing, Tan and his co-founders—Jamie Marshall, ES ’19, and Jonathan Cameron, Tan’s friend from back home in Cleveland—created a new campus staple. The best innovations are the ones that seem obvious in hindsight; Snackpass seems to fit that bill as it remains poised to expand (it just launched at Brown, and will soon reach Dartmouth.)

Snackpass is made by students, for students. In large part, its success can be attributed to this focus on a specific market. The interface is suffused with Yale-specific slang, millennial abbreviations, and emojis. Unlike the majority of food ordering apps, Snackpass focuses on takeout over delivery—95 percent of its orders are picked up at the restaurant, according to Marshall. This strategy fits the campus context: students walking to and from classes are often in need of speedy food options. If given the chance to bypass crowds at busy times, like the G-Heav sandwich line after Woads, who wouldn’t take it? (The answer is nobody: rumor has it G-Heav has had to shut down its Snackpass queue on some Wednesday nights to accommodate orders.)

The app promises a win-win scenario for all parties involved: customers get to skip the line and pay discounted prices; vendors benefit by streamlining the order process, and

16 THE YALE HERALD

bringing in some revenue they would not have otherwise seen. And the nature of the app as an ordering service means that it was seeing cash from the start—rare for campus startups. Its business model was initially predicated on monthly subscriptions that vendors would pay to use Snackpass, but now relies on commissions taken from each individual order.

Johanan Knight, TC ’19, began using the app in February of 2017, when it was still called Happy Hour. He ordered through the app more and more often over the summer, which he spent in New Haven. When he received an email announcing that the company—which was being rebranded as Snackpass—was looking for student ambassadors, he figured he’d send in his resume. Including Knight, Snackpass hired 60 ambassadors—charged with promoting the app by sharing their unique referral code for additional discounts—and 12 software development interns to continue spurring growth. *** Yesterday morning, I sat at a corner table reading in Book Trader Cafe, amid the gentle flutter of conversation. In need of caffeine, I could have stood in line and ordered the old-fashioned way. Instead I unlocked my phone and opened Snackpass. I added my usual beverage—a Red-Eye Chai—to the cart, checked out, and continued reading.

From my seat I heard the immediate peal of the Snackpass system as my order was received: a distinct, three-chimed trill that repeats a handful of times. Right after, I received a text telling me my order would be ready in ten minutes; the customers in line had priority, I figured. But after only six, I stood up and strode to the counter, where my hot beverage was ready for pickup.

Book Trader was one of the first restaurants to implement Snackpass. Manager Karissa Fraulo told me that their main goal in adopting the system was “to cut down our wait time and our line,” which “sometimes went out to the sidewalk.”

They’ve succeeded, even though Book Trader does not offer any student-specific discounts through the app.

Another way of understanding of Snackpass is as a consolidator. Think of loyalty rewards punch cards, of the sort G-Heav and the Salad Shop have; Snackpass merely puts them all together in your digital wallet. What’s more, most of the restaurants listed on Snackpass already had discounts for students before joining the app (though at “skeevy” spots, as Knight terms them, you’ll have to ask for the discount to receive it).

But no matter how effectively Snackpass may centralize discounts, certain restaurants do not have their full menu available on the app. Knight laments that one dish from Est Est Est in particular cannot be ordered through his phone: “The fried ravioli, my dude!” Not that that’s stopping anyone

from using the app. Patterns of behavior often become habit without our realizing it.

There are hidden psychological factors that come into play whenever we order food online. According to the chief marketing officer of Eats24, a delivery service Yelp owned until GrubHub acquired it in 2017, customers who place delivery orders online spend more time perusing restaurants’ menus—and eventually order more food than those who order over the phone. It seems that trend may extend to Snackpass, too. Angel Adeoye, MC ’20, was the only person I’ve spoken with who has stopped using Snackpass. She was unhappy with how easy Snackpass made it to over-order: “I was buying more than I planned to,” she said. As is the case with Venmo, we seem less conscientious of our money when its in digital form. That bodes well for Snackpass, along with the vendors it serves.

The app no doubt contributes to the increasing mediation of our lives through screens. “What happened to fucking human interaction?” Adeoye wants to know. Before she slowed down on Snackpass, “it was a lonely life. I walk in from a long day alone, and I wouldn’t interact with anyone, I would avoid human contact, I would just use my phone, only furthering my isolation.” Yet its users—myself included—have accepted the obvious benefits of savings and expedience over potential pitfalls of societal isolation.

At least ordering through Snackpass does not make us look as oblivious to the world as operating iPad menus at airport gates does. And as we prove it impossible for Yalies to stay off the app (“I’m gonna start using it now that you’ve reminded me of it,” Adeoye confessed), Snackpass joins the growing list of apps that have entered our lexicons as verbs (“I’m gonna Snackpass dinner”), deepening the idiosyncratic cleft of behavior where millennial culture can be found. *** On the one hand, Snackpass motivated a place like Book Trader to modernize, thereby improving its business: “We had never used anything like that before. We have a cash register from twenty years ago, so we’re not really up with that much technology,” Fraulo said. But on the other, it has chipped away at the face-to-face interactions with baristas that I, too, fondly associate with coffee shops—though Fraulo isn’t overly concerned. “I think the majority of the people who are using Snackpass through us are still our regular customers, so when they come in to grab their stuff they still say hi, we still get to engage with them a little bit,” she says. The one change Fraulo would like to see is imminent, according to her intel: the addition of a tip line to the app. Even if we don’t order them from them in person, it is imperative that we tip baristas: “that’s another part that the staff kind of feels is getting forgotten, because they do work off tips.”

17 Marshall believes that Snackpass still preserves the social essence of an age-old transaction: “Restaurants still see your name, they still recognize those orders coming through. We just think, if you skip the line, you might have more time to talk to them when you get the front.” If you think that might be asking a lot of my generation, the app has another remedy ready: if you’re not going to interact with baristas, you’ll at least have another way of interacting with friends.

“I think most other food delivery and pickup apps are just straight functional, utilitarian,” Marshall said. “I think the social aspect is one of our competitive edges.” She likens sending gifts to friends as building a Snapchat streak. But Snapchat doesn’t offer such wholesome spoils for loyalty and persistence—or permit those spoils to remind you to order more food. “It’s fun to poke and chirp your friend with the chickadees you’ve hatched,” Knight says. “It’s a constant reminder that I have this app that I can order…

Each app is vying for your attention, and the more attention that it gets, the more likely you are to use it.”

Back in my corner at Book Trader, with the aroma of hot spices wafting from the cup’s lid—which had a warmly customized receipt (“Already paid! Book Trader Cafe<3”) taped to it—I scanned through my recent Snackpass friends to see who would receive the reward point. I chose to send it to Peter, with whom I had needed just one more point to hatch a chick. Elated to be a dad once more, I named our new hatchling Pete Jr.—this little guy only 3.7 inches tall— in his honor.

“If given the chance to bypass crowds at busy times, like the G-Heav sandwich line after Woads, who wouldn’t take it? (The answer is nobody: rumor has it G-Heav has had to shut down its Snackpass queue on some Wednesday nights to accommodate orders.)”

17

Clt Feb.2.2018

Shaping Sound, Shaping Dance SARA LUZURIAGA BR ’21

I often struggle to define “contemporary dance” to my non-dancing friends. This new style of dance, which has emerged over the past few years with the rising popularity of television shows such as So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD), incorporates elements of showmanship and spectacle never before represented in the modern dance realm. “After the Curtain,” the touring show performed by Travis Wall’s Shaping Sound Dance Company, exemplifies this new era of dance.

I went with some friends to see the show on Jan.27 at the Shubert Theater on College Street. We were a bit starstruck—anybody interested in dance would be familiar with all the show’s dancers and choreographers; we watch them rise to fame on SYTYCD and Dancing with the Stars and devotedly follow their social media accounts.

Travis Wall, runner up on the second season of SYTYCD and a renowned choreographer within commercial dance markets, was nominated for two Emmy Awards for his choreography and won one in 2015. His choreography is frequently characterized on the show as emotional and artistic, even experimental. Though he employs various stereotypically commercial dance tropes such as multiple turns and high leg extensions, he also choreographs dramatic partnerwork, utilizing props such as jewelry or mirror frames to mediate partnering.

The company continues to tiptoe the line between commercial and artistic industries. Shaping Sound’s founding was documented on the reality show All the Right Moves. Wall worked alongside acclaimed commercial dancers Teddy Forance, Nick Lazzarini, and Kyle Robinson.

Its 14 dancers hail from commercial backgrounds, and the music, created for the show by contemporary musician and film scorer Ryan Lott, was an exciting blend of instrumental pieces and James Blake-esque songs featuring one repeated line (in one piece, “Please just take me with you when you go”) overlayed with crescendoing electronic beats. Musically, Shaping Sound combines the classical with the cutting edge.

The company employs devices such as props and costumes to their advantage. A fellow attendee, Faith Tomlin, ES ’21, noted that “highly commercial dance productions often compromise the quality of dance and technique in favor of special effects and costumes and props and such to sell tickets, but that was not the case at all with Shaping Sound.

The technique and the choreographer stood out as the focus, and the costumes, sets, and special effects just added to the show overall.”

But “After the Curtain” did struggle to represent a plot through dance. Traditionally, this problem is remedied through simplification and symbolism, but not with Wall’s choreography. This show tells the story of a performing group cast on the verge of unraveling due to a tenuous web of romantic entanglements. Much of the narration occurs with the help of a typewriter. The protagonist, Vincent Allen Whitlow (Wall), guides the audience through the show by clacking away onstage at a typewriter as written words appear on a screen lowered temporarily on the stage, words which comprise a book he is writing. At the start of the show, we are introduced to 12 different characters including Vincent’s twin, Leo, and a character named Jude, about whom he writes, “Everyone has a dark side they suppress. Jude is mine.”

18 THE YALE HERALD

The show tries to maintain a pretense of artistry with its complicated storyline and use of typewritten text, but such efforts fell short, and the overall effect was still that of a competition dance. The performance featured elaborate 1920s costumes and carefully-constructed sets including staircases, false stages, and curtains. The characters were nearly impossible to keep track of. Vincent, the director of the company, falls in love with Sebastian, the brother of his best friend Rose. Vincent has been dating Ellenore, a member of the company, with whom Luther, another company member, is in love with. When Luther discovers Vincent and Sebastian kissing, he kills Sebastian. At the end of the show, destroyed by heartbreak, Vincent dies of causes unspecified and joins his lover in some afterworld. Along the way we witness various other relationships, including another unfaithful relationship between Vincent’s sister Vera and Rose. I know. It’s dizzying. And to be honest, it only took a few minutes for me to decide to ignore the plot’s nuances completely and focus instead on what I came to watch: dancing.

The choreography and execution exceeded anything I could have imagined. The performance flowed seamlessly between meta-theatrical upbeat jazz dance pieces—in which the dancers performed on a stage within a stage, then were shown exiting onto a false “backstage”—and heart-wrenching duets between any number of starcrossed lovers. The movement was exhilarating and

THE WONDER OF THIS NEW DANCE ERA IS THAT MOST PEOPLE CAN’T DO IT athletic, constant and energetic. In the show’s most famous duet, Vincent faces his mirror, moving slightly until his reflection reveals himself to be Jude (Lex Ishimoto), Vincent’s so-called “Dark Side.” Jude crawls out of the mirror and begins manipulating Vincent’s movements until the two engage in a breathtaking wrestle for power.

In another moment, Vincent, tied to invisible wires, begins flying across the stage, flipping and turning as the rest of the dancers move below him. A quieter duet shows Lily (Chantel Aguirre) and her alcoholic boyfriend Clyde (Michael Keefe) dancing together as Lily tries to remove his flask from his hand. A bit heavy-handed, but well-executed nonetheless. The dancers, in spite—or perhaps because— of their commercial backgrounds, understood the stakes of the show, of the company performing within the company.

The characters, though sometimes ambiguous in terms of name and plot, emerged masterfully through movement.

“After the Curtain” sold out its 12 shows in Canada and the East Coast—an incredible accomplishment for a 5-yearold contemporary dance company. The company will head south, performing the last show of its tour in Fort Meyers on Valentine’s Day. The wonder of this new dance era is that most people can’t do it. We watch contemporary dance to be moved and entertained, perhaps even—like in certain moments of “After the Curtain”—exhilarated.

Watching Shaping Sound was like observing the work of a masterful painter, augmented by the immediacy of the performance, the expanse of the theater, and the swelling music. I couldn’t do what those dancers were doing, and was forced, instead, to fall in love with the spectacle.

Flashbacks and Tattoos

ALEXANDER WISOWATY

EVEREST FANG, ES ’20

The “Old School Ink” Exhibit at the New Haven Museum is almost hidden. To find it, you have to walk upstairs and through a series of hallways toward the back of the building.

Once you enter, you are immediately confronted by a large, colorful collection of pictures depicting ink on skin. “Old School Ink” only takes up one room, but delivers more than enough imagery and information to submerge you in the vibrant world and rich history of New Haven tattoo culture.

The exhibit is a provocative exploration of the significance of tattoos to their owners, their creators, and to society at large. It is both local and global in scope, simultaneously communicating the uniqueness of New Haven’s tattoo story, and evoking an appreciation for the natural human desire need to adorn one’s body.

“The ‘Old School’ as we mean it here is a dedication to excellence, to improving one’s craft, to learning from predecessors and contributing to the community at large,” reads the introductory passage at the front of the exhibit.

The images and texts present tattooing provide a detailed investigation into tattooing as a craft, presenting it as a sophisticated artform that is constantly evolving, both artistically and technologically. In the early 20th century tattoo artists would complete an outline of their design using stencils, pressing charcoal or graphite through the narrow openings in the stencil frame to create a drawing.

At the same time, a New Haven-born tattoo artist named Samuel O’Reilly first patented the electric tattoo machine, At the time, The electric tattoo machine, a key global development in the craft of tattooing, had only recently been invented. It was first patented by a New Haven-born tattoo artist named Samuel O’Reilly. Inspired by the machinery of dental pluggers and Edison’s electric pen, O’Reilly decided to bundle up tattoo needles and attach them to a motor: a strategy that allowed him to tattoo more quickly and accurately. Since then, a variety of innovations have fundamentally changed the art of tattooing, but the powerful allure of the craft has remained the same. “Once you start doing this, it tends to just take over… You’re constantly

thinking about how you’re going to do what you’re going to do next, and how to get better, and how you’re going to approach the next project,” tattoo artist Joe Capobianco says in an interview for the exhibit.

As the practice of tattooing has evolved, so have the craft’s connotations, with the art form originating as a means of classifying criminals. Tattooing has historically been used to punish outlaws. In the exhibit, an old circus advertisement displays a bearded man’s torso covered in blue and red animal tattoos, demonstrating the historical associations of tattooing with rebellion. The title reads, “the Greek Albanian tattooed from head to foot in Chinese tartary as punishment for engaging in rebellion against the king.” In the 1700s, criminals in New Haven were tattooed with a letter corresponding to their crime. As late as 1979, tattoo artists were arrested in Hartford for violating laws that stated only licensed physicians could administer tattoos. Even today, tattoos have not managed to fully shake their criminal connotations. While improvements have been made, tattoos are still stigmatizedstill carry a stigma; people often recommend hiding tattoos during job interviews or in formal situations. What is it about marking skin that is so inherently rebellious? How did this method of branding criminals evolve into an art form? Perceptions of tattooing as a form of expression and as the mark of a criminal remain intertwined today. The overlap of art and crime is a poignant reflection of the rigidity of society’s expectations and the consequences for those that deviate.

Tattoo art’s complicated history is not the only reason it remains distinct from other art forms. Perhaps the most unique aspect of tattoo art is that it depends on the relationship between artist and canvas: both the tattoo artist and the person getting tattooed are necessary for the artform to flourish. A tattoo’s image and implications are the product of a joint creative process, a dual creation from two expressives forces. “My tattoos signify relationships with my family and friends, people I care about, romantic and

interpersonal relationships, music and nerdship: that’s who I am,” Matt Fantastic, a tattoo fanatic, says in an interview for the exhibit. The meaning of a tattoo is often a profound reflection of the owner’s disposition, life story, or other qualities. Of course, today it’s fairly cliché to talk about how a tattoo reflects personal traits. It’s easy to imagine a superficial character trying to demonstrate their “artistic depth” and “rebellious nature” by “expressing what’s inside.” For most, tattoos are filled with meaning, and the history of tattoo art represents a compelling narrative of an often-overlooked human instinct, a powerful indicator of the human need for expression, and a beautiful demonstration of human creativity through the decades.

“Although we think of tattoos as permanent, we know that the human body is not. Awareness of this dichotomy fuels a certain nostalgia and concern for the passage time within the American tattoo tradition.” Statements like this in the exhibit capture the ways in which tattooing is deeply linked to fundamental tensions in the human condition.

The passage of time is a critical concern for an artist whose canvas is constantly growing and aging. In their craft, tattooers find a way to create art that is truly living and that necessarily embodies the constant change and uncertainty that permeates human life.

In spite of their stigmatised history, tattoos have nonetheless emerged as a powerful form of expression, gradually evolving as dedicated artists seek to improve their craft.

The “Old School Ink” exhibit at the New Haven Museum is a compelling illustration of that story. Widespread interest in tattoos today is a promising indication of a growing acceptance of tattoos, the freeing of human expression in our society, and the progress of our endless journey to explore the human condition.

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Rv Feb.2.2018

END OF THE F***ING WORLD EMMA KEYES YALE HERALD STAFF James (Alex Lawther) is a 17-year-old boy who also happens to be a psychopath. Or at least that’s what he believes.

Alyssa (Jessica Barden) is a 17-year-old girl with plenty of issues as well, though she hasn’t ever killed an animal for fun. James wins the maladjusted prize in this examination of the deeply unsettling inconsistencies of 21st century British life. The End of the F***ing World, a British mini-series based on an indie comic book of the same name, certainly won’t judge you for it.

Not only does James kill animals, he kicks it up a notch further by deciding to kill an actual human being, and Alyssa seems like just the right kind of target. But Alyssa hates her life (and especially her creep of a stepfather), and suggests they run away together. Just as Alyssa surprises James with her proposition, the show continually stays one step ahead of the viewers’ expectations. The End of the F***ing World sure knows how to set up a gripping black comedy-drama that keeps you glued to your seat. Much of the time you won’t know whether to laugh, cringe, or gape at the action unfolding on screen.

I watched all eight episodes of The End of the F***ing World in 24 hours with my roommates. At first, one of my roommates didn’t like the characters at all, but eventually fell headfirst into the narrative and couldn’t help but root for the two thoroughly messed-up leads, even as the show got progressively darker. My other roommate found the beginning of the show to be engagingly weird, but hated the ending.

I loved the entire show, so the apple of discord exists in my apartment, but all three of us found it morbidly compelling.

As I’ve already mentioned, the show’s sense of humor is deeply disturbed. At times, the show even teeters towards the unwatchable, but it never crosses over. The Bonnie and Clyde tropes that James and Alyssa delve into during their cross-country adventure never feels worn through. Even with a couple of plot points that often seem overdone—

20 THE YALE HERALD

most notably the search for an absent father and repression of traumatic childhood memories—the show pays homage to its American-lawlessness roots, and updates them in completely refreshing ways for its modern British setting, especially in its use of music.

The End of the F***ing World’s soundtrack makes a great show absolutely spectacular. Most of the songs come from the latter half of the 20th century, including everyone from Hank Williams to Françoise Hardy (my personal French yéyé favorite) to the Buzzcocks to Fleetwood Mac. The music feels both familiar and unsettling in its use, which perfectly mirrors the tone of the show itself. Every single song adds to the ominous atmosphere of the unpredictable road trip that these two kids stumble their way through. Bernadette Carol’s version of “Laughing on the Outside” plays over a particularly grisly murder in episode three, but the 1960s girlgroup slow-dance feel of the song lends a whimsical air to the scene as blood spurts everywhere. The scene plays out like a choreographed dance, and the result is uncomfortable, great television. A song accompanies every big moment within the show, and at first they often feel incongruous, but the discrepancy between the action on screen and the mood of song adds to the weird, captivating nature of the show.

Even if you don’t go watch all eight episodes of The End of the F***ing World, go listen to the complete soundtrack because the song choices musically reflect the meticulous direction of the show by Jonathan Entwistle and Lucy Tcherniak.

Without a doubt, the production value of The End of the F***ing World leaves little room for insult. In particular, the excellent direction by Entwistle and Tcherniak across eight episodes, brings the eerie world of Alyssa and James to life in full force.

Every instant of tension, conflict, or quiet contemplation feels expertly choreographed in tandem with the acting and with the other aspects of production. The work of cinematographers Justin Brown and Ben Fordesman skillfully conveys the mundane beauty of the British countryside and coast, as well as vibrantly

constructing the often claustrophobic situations that Alyssa and James find themselves in.

One of the most surprisingly poignant aspects of this show’s narrative is the uncertain romance that blooms between James and Alyssa, especially since (reminder) James wants to kill Alyssa for a good chunk of the show.

This may seem like the set-up for another tired story depicting violence against women, but The End of the F***ing World defies expectations left and right as they pertain to sex, love, gender, and violence. The tender and complicated relationship development between Alyssa and James keeps the romance aspect of this show compelling.

Lawther and Barden both act the hell out of their characters and in the process, make them feel like real people, which, in such an idiosyncratic narrative, is no small feat. Lawther imbues James with such an interesting mixture of cold detachment, fear, and surprising vulnerability that he nails the questionable anti-hero likability, even as he commits a number of crimes ranging from petty to very serious.

Barden expertly showcases the conflicting rage and deep desire to be loved that make Alyssa such a compelling character. None of the acting here is easy, but playing aching unlikeable teenager anti-heroes gives Lawther and Barden the perfect canvas to demonstrate their considerable acting chops.

At the end of the day, this isn’t a show for everyone. If violence, ambiguous morality, or England disturb you, then you should probably pass on The End of the F***ing World. But to everyone else: this show provides three enormously engaging hours of bloody comedic drama.

It’s also a fascinating and unique look at how wildly wrong things can go, so much so that you won’t possibly be able to foresee where you end up.

SATURATION III NICOLE MO, BK ’19 YH STAFF A few days after dropping SATURATION III, BROCKHAMPTON hosted their second annual prom, decking out an L.A. theater with a disco ball, photo booths, and absurdly glitzy chandeliers. Members of the hip-hop collective, who formed a cross-country collaboration after finding each other on an online forum, plugged the event with unflinching sincerity. Co-founder Kevin Abstract, one of the few openly gay rappers on the scene, tweeted, “For prom make sure u wear whatever u want. It’s basically a prom for the kids who never got to go to prom... if u wanna wear a hoodie do that no Rules big head​.” It’s this cool-kid brand of eclectic, slapstick inclusivity that has shot many members of the band to viral popularity. But BROCKHAMPTON isn’t relying on a cult of personality to make their living: three solid albums, released over the course of just one year, prove that there’s serious substance behind their internet-savvy charm.

The final album of their SATURATION series sees the 14-person group (counting everyone from rappers to web designers) at their most cohesive. The opening track “BOOGIE” is a certifiably weird banger: funky horns and disorienting sirens announce the return of the “best boy band since One Direction,” an early indication that III is ushering in an evolved production, composition, and vision. Jazz meets indie-psychedelia meets old school rap on tracks like “JOHNNY,” which also features sharp-witted lines like “I could have worked at McDonald’s but I like curly fries / That’s a metaphor for my life, and I like taller guys.” An inferior collective would fall victim to creating a lame patchwork of sound bites from everyone’s favorite song. And to be fair, even in SATURATION III, it sometimes feels like the exuberance, energy, and personalities are outperforming the music itself. But tracks like the lush slow jam “BLEACH” prove that the band is making smarter choices, learning what to strip back and what to turn up in order to make the album a unified work of art.

PHANTOM THREAD

SATURATION III also sees the band at their most experimental, and tracks like the two-part “SISTER/ NATION” nudge BROCKHAMPTON out of their comfort zone. “SISTER” opens with a Death Gripslike intensity and cuts up melodic flow with jarring instrumentals, the sonic equivalent of strobe lights. The second half of the track, “NATION,” keeps a steady instrumental groove but showcases the band at its lyrical prime—“In the eyes of the law, I’m a problem / In the eyes of the blogs, I’m a paycheck / In the eyes of the world, I’m an icon”—until it’s all released at the bridge with a cathartic “Power, African power!” It’d be hard to reject BROCKHAMPTON’s credibility as legitimate musicians if they continue on this path.

The last track on SATURATION III is almost startling in its beauty. An emotional acoustic intro transitions into an ethereal hysteria of guitars before veering into part two, four funk-inflected rap verses commenting on race, state, and religion. The song fades out on sentimental floating vocables. Closing out an unprecedented year for a group of guys who found their start on a Kanye West fan site, the song is appropriately called “TEAM.”

IAN GARCIA-KENNEDY, JE ’18 Paul Thomas Anderson’s films tend to be awash in excess, whether it’s a volcanically rage-filled Adam Sandler in Punch-Drunk-Love, the sex-and-drugs soaked tableaus of Boogie Nights, or the sociopathic explosions of violence in There Will Be Blood. So it’s a bit of a surprise that Phantom Thread is so restrained—a relationship drama set amidst the 1950s fashion scene, and in prim-and-proper London no less. And yet, it soon becomes apparent that in spite of the movie’s genteel surface-trappings, the emotions bubbling just beneath are equally explosive.

The relationship between the obsessive fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) and the shy waitress who captivates him, Alma Elson (Vicky Krieps), unfolds like a tango between artist and muse, at least at first.

Despite her thoroughly ordinary circumstances, something about Alma captures the imagination of the fashion genius, all as his quietly controlling sister and business partner (Lesley Manville) looks on. But Alma isn’t so sure she wants to be a muse, and is hardly the passive vessel the title implies.

A character study like this lives and dies by its performances.

It goes without saying that Daniel Day-Lewis is excellent in the main role. The character is charming and infuriating in equal measure; an asparagus-related temper tantrum is one for the ages. He is a textbook male control-freak, enraged by the presence of a woman who firmly asserts her will. But Day-Lewis’s performance is more than that. He could have simply been a petulant man-child, yet instead we see that he is also an artist at work. We come to understand how much he invests in his art, and how his controlling nature isn’t just an expression of generic toxic masculinity, but also an expression of how much his work means to him. Lesley Manville is also subtly brilliant in her performance as a woman who leads from behind the curtain. Even when she takes on the role as second-banana to her brother in public, her brittle authority hangs over every interaction, making us question who is truly the more powerful of the two.

But one naturally expects great things from these two veteran actors. The real surprise is Vicky Krieps, as the object of affection. She starts as the clichéd younger woman in the

thrall of an older lover. But she grows to assert her agency throughout the film, to the point that the courtship begins to resemble a power struggle more than a romance. A particularly impressive scene is one in which Alma actively rejects her role as passive muse, openly criticizing the works she has supposedly inspired. Krieps’s character is always thinking and always watching, resulting in a performance of enormous intelligence and depth.

Acting aside, every film frame is absolutely gorgeous, but never in an overly-sanitized-period-piece way, which is fitting, considering that there is nothing refined about the inner turmoil of the lives on display. It’s a curious movie—it takes the form of a romance, but turns it into something chilly and remote. Most love stories require some form of fantasy, but Anderson’s characters are too smart to blindly accept this illusion. Phantom Thread is a rare movie about a romance that never swoons, and never stops thinking.

And we get the sense that the participants wouldn’t have it any other way.

I, TONYA VY TRAN, BR ’21 YH STAFF

“There’s no such thing as truth. Everyone has their own truth.”

The name Tonya Harding has come to elicit two different reactions: either awe for the world-renowned figure skater, or contempt towards the disgraced celebrity who ruined her own career. I, Tonya tells Harding’s side of the story—an important account that not everyone wants to hear. Poignantly told in this phenomenal biopic, Harding’s narrative leaves you on edge from the moment she steps onto the ice, and until she steps off.

Despite, or perhaps because of, the strong cast, I frankly hated every character in this movie. I initially doubted Margot Robbie’s acting, but her performance as Harding blew me away, making me hate her yet sympathize with her pain. Allison Janney gives an eye-popping performance as Harding’s extremely abusive mother, LaVona Golden, and Sebastian Stan provides an equally jarring character in Harding’s also abusive husband,

Jeff Gillooly. Both actors gracefully switch between destruction and vulnerability, making you simultaneously despise and commiserate with the two people who played the largest roles in bringing Harding down, but who also loved her the most.

On top of its cast, I, Tonya uses music, costume, and set design to transport you through the decades of this story. The soundtrack mostly consists of classic rock anthems, including ZZ Top’s “Sleeping Bag” (which was actually used in Harding’s routines) and Heart’s “Barracuda.” The music provides a pumping heartbeat to the gracefully directed film that weaves together scenes occasionally told from Harding and Gillooly’s contradictory perspectives, with the two characters often breaking the fourth wall to tell you so. In his direction, Craig Gillespie stays faithful to the time, dressing the cast in vibrant and nostalgic costumes which, paired with the music, create a distinct aesthetic for each decade in which the story takes place: the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s.

Praise aside, I, Tonya does fall short in one regard: the movie has sparked controversy as viewers, film critics, and even those involved in Harding’s life question its narrative accuracy.

Harding plays the blameless victim in her version of the truth, claiming that her husband’s meddling ruined her career. But her perspective can sometimes be hard to believe, making the film frustrating to watch as the plot unfolds.

Regardless of whose side of the story you believe, I, Tonya sheds light on the price of fame and passion, and how this price evolved and ultimately ruined Harding—a star once adored by the nation. While I’m still uncertain if I believe Harding, the film’s themes of persistence and resilience are balanced with crass comedy that keeps you wondering what’s fact and what’s fiction. Wildly entertaining and unflinchingly brash, I, Tonya does not disappoint in telling someone’s truth.

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EMAIL EVE.SNEIDER@ YALE.EDU 22 THE YALE HERALD

THE BLACK LIST23 NEW-FOUND INTERESTS I just don’t believe you.

PEOPLE WHO SAY, “MORE PEOPLE HAVE DIED FROM VENDING MACHINES THAN FROM SHARK ATTACKS.” ...I just don’t believe you?

PEOPLE WHO PUT MIO DROPS IN GREEK YOGURT

Unless you’re color-coding your yog to a holiday THE WAY WE COLLECTIVELY DID WRONG BY BRITNEY SPEARS

LASHING OUT Reign it in.

SECTION WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS Fuck, there’s glitter all over the table.

PEOPLE WHO DEGREASE PIZZA WITH NAPKINS And then eat the napkin.

CLOROX WIPES New year, new skin care regimen.

Oops...

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