Yourmag volume 20 | issue 2 | november 2023
Recognized in Spring 2012, YOURMAG’s goal is to promote knowledge of the magazine industr y by giving students the opportunity to be responsible for all aspects of a monthly lifestyle publication. With an audience of urban college students in mind, members create content across a broad range of topics and mediums, including style, romance, music, pop culture, personal identity, and experiences. YourMag’s overarching aim is to foster a positive, inclusive community of writers, editors, and artists.
1 | YOURMAG
volume 20 | issue 2 | november 2023 ISA LUZARRAGA Managing Editor
ASHLEY FERRER Co-Editor-in-Chief
CAMRYN CIANCIA Co-Editor-in-Chief
LILY BROWN Creative Director
HAILEY KROLL Head Designer
NIRVANA RAGLAND Diversity Chair
EMMA CAHILL Editorial Director
MOLLY DEHAVEN Asst. Head Designer
JENNIfer NOVO Photo Director
TALIA VYADRO Asst. Editorial Director
ALEKS CARNEY Co-Art Director
rachel tarby Copy Chief
ISABELLE GALGANO Asst. Editorial Director
REBECCA CALVAR Co-Art Director
SOPHIE BOYCE Asst. Copy Chief
BIANCA LUND Co-Head Stylist
GRIFFIN WILLNER Romance Editor
SARA FERGANG Head Proofreader
JULIA MAGDZIAK Co-Head Stylist
Lauren smith Living Editor
gigi sipiora Style Editor
ANNA BACAL PETERSON Co-Head Stylist
SOPHIA ROSSETTI Web Editor
ARUSHI JACOB A&E Editor
FIONA MCMAHON Co-YMTV Director
CHARLOTTE BRANDMAN Asst. Web Editor
ELLIE BELCASTRO Co-Social Media Director
SOFIA VERANI Co-YMTV Director
SEBASTIAN OLIVO Co-YMTV Director
GABBY GOODE Co-Social Media Director
Copy editors: Audrey Coleman, Sabrina Lam, Gianni Laurent, Sophie Hartstein, Callie Liberatos, Eden Unger, Aylin Isik, Payton Montaina, Nolan Primavera, Lynn Vecchetti, and Lee Rice GRAPHIC designERS: LAUREN MALLETT, CHIARA MARINI, AND ALEXA LUNNEY Proofreaders: Izzie Claudio, Aylin Isik, Gianni Laurent, Maegan Marshall, Jennifer Novo, and Sofya Sobolevskaya
YOURMAG | 2
CONTENTS 5
Search history scandal
7
an elegy for a nude
9
Letters as a life vest
EDITORIAL
11
i wish you stayed
STYLE
19
the IRONY AND yassification of hunting gear
21
refurposing the fur coat
23
SOME SIMPLE STITCHES
25
street style
EDITORIAL
29
downtown girls
LIVING
37
A SPOONFUL OF HOME
39
internalized misogyny: an ongoing battle
41
dining hall struggles: HEALING MY RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD
EDITORIAL
43
a day at the beach
ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT
51
let’s talk about ‘fleabag’: THE HOT PRIEST
53
THE LIGHTNING THIEF STOLE MY HEART
55
why do i need happy endings?
57
MAKING MY WAY DOWNTOWN
59
HANNAH NGUYEN
ROMANCE
YMP3 ARTIST STATEMENT
3 | YOURMAG
Letters from the Editors
YOURMAG | 4
5 | ROMANCE
Search History Scandal WRITTEN BY RACHEL TARBY
ART BY REBECCA CALVAR
’ve been with my partner for over three years now, but every now and then I still catch myself looking up his old flings on social media. We’re each other’s first serious relationship, and yes, we’re both well aware that we both have had flings, situationships, FWBs— whatever you want to call it—in the past and it’s never been an issue in our relationship. However, for some reason I have this bad habit of searching into his sexual past online. This habit started my freshman year of college when we had only been dating for a few months and were just beginning to adapt to long-distance love. I was a freshman in the fall of 2020, an era of social distancing and spending way too much time on the internet. I would use social media apps to procrastinate doing my school work, falling down rabbit holes into the past. I’d look up my old friends, classmates, and co-workers—just for “fun.” I eventually found one of my partner’s ex-situationships, which only led me to look at the Instagram pages of everyone he’d ever been romantically involved with. This behavior had negative effects on my mental health because I was deeply insecure and would compare my physical appearance and how my life appeared on social media to the accounts that I was looking at. I wasn’t allowing myself to realize that social media is just a carefully curated highlight reel of people’s best moments or that someone else’s beauty is not an absence of my own. It wasn’t until when I studied abroad that I finally broke the habit. It was during this time that I finally felt that my life was “perfect.” This notion was complete nonsense—I was still feeling very complex emotions daily like any other human being, but I had finally crafted the perfect online presence for myself by posting in various European locations. I no longer felt the need to spiral into my partner’s past. I went almost a year without looking at his exes’ accounts. I barely even thought about them anymore. My partner made me feel so loved that when I broke from this habit, I could finally see there was no need to dwell on the past. However, if I ever did feel a slight temptation to delve into the past, I would delete Instagram immediately. This helped me to realize how toxic social media truly is. I was cured. Well, until recently. This past September my partner and I moved into an apartment together, which was a big milestone for us. Everything seemed perfect … until I had a dream that involved one of his ex-situationships. It’s
like she was almost erased from my mind but popped back into my subconscious to say: “No bitch, you can’t get rid of me!” I woke up from this dream after my partner had already left for work and thought to myself, maybe one little search won’t hurt. I clicked on her Instagram only to quickly shut my phone off. I knew better than to fall into that habit again. A few days later, my partner wanted to show me something on Instagram, but his phone was dead, so I handed him my phone. That’s when the unthinkable happened; at the top of my search history was one of his exes. His eyes went wide as he saw her username. My face immediately got red, my armpits were swamped with sweat—I was mortified. I snatched my phone away from him and averted my eyes. I didn’t know what to say, so I just thoughtlessly blurted out that I had a dream about her a few nights prior. This was something that probably seemed so minuscule, but to me, it was so utterly embarrassing. Although it was impossible to avoid my boyfriend because we live together, I asked him to go on a walk by himself while I Facetimed my best friend. She tried to convince me that it wasn’t a big deal. When he came back from his walk, I still couldn’t look at him. I felt like him seeing my search history was the equivalent of all my insecurities just being plastered on a wall for everyone to see. I felt haunted by the toxicity of social media. Although at this moment in my life I was feeling more secure and confident than ever, social media had the overwhelming power to throw me back into my old habits. I would’ve rather had this happen three years ago, when our relationship was fresh and full of nerves instead of our current state of being more trusting and comfortable with each other than with anyone else in our lives. I wanted to over-explain to him that this was a habit I had in the beginning of our relationship and I thought I broke it, but instead, I chose to drop it. I eventually talked to him again, but never about what had happened. Our relationship continuing its normal course through casual conversation was the reassurance I needed. Continuing on as normal allowed me to see that maybe this wasn’t as big of a deal as I had made it out to be. As mortifying as this moment was, I believe I needed it as a wake-up call to realize there is no reason to continue this toxic habit, and that I cannot find love or validation from Instagram in the same way I can through my partner. YM
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ROMANCE | 6
WRITTEN BY GRIFFIN WILLNER
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ART BY ALEXA LUNNEY
An Elegy For a Nude T
hese are messages so many of us have grown numb to. After a party, when one is alone in bed, or sometimes in the middle of the day while writing for a nonfiction creative writing class–– these are some of the many instances where we receive a request to send nude pictures of ourselves to a suitor or a random person over the internet. While somewhat titillating as a result of its rebellious nature, sending nudes can have consequences of epic proportions. As a freshman in high school, I remember receiving my first inquiry for pictures of my body. I was innocent, blinded by the allure of feeling desired. I was sitting on the bus in my maroon marching band uniform covered in white tassels and a large hat with a cream-colored feathery plume when he came up to me. “Hey Griffin! I know you’re lonely, so I wanted to introduce you to one of my friends!” I was the only gay man in my year. The isolation killed me, so the glittering opportunity of a friend, or even my dream lover, made my pupils widen with images of wedding bells and sustained bliss. I accepted and allowed the popular trumpet player of the marching band––quite an oxymoron!––to give me his friend’s Snapchat. The Snapchat friend was named “Johnny Ali.” Johnny apparently met the trumpeter playing on his Xbox online. The trumpeter found out he was gay and knew that Johnny was meant for me, a naive queer hidden in my own world. Johnny was shy; he told me he wouldn’t show his face much. I didn’t care. After returning from the competition, I immediately sent him a steamy mirror selfie of my face and shoulders floating out of the shower. He told me I looked good. I believed him. Johnny and I spent hours getting to know each other. And by that, I mean he asked me about my favorite sexual positions, the porn I liked, and my body count. I laughed, noticing that Johnny was so sexual and bold. I was a virgin, but he made me feel like a Greek statue, chiseled by his compliments and the need to know me, even at a surface level. He told me that my body was amazing while playing virtual truth or dare. Then he told me a truth about how hard it was to be closeted and the difficulty of being queer in a town full of straight people. I felt like he really knew me and like I knew him. I was under his spell, and I wanted him to know more about me. At night, below the canopy of my bunk bed with my door closed, he asked for my nudes. I sent them. He asked for more, then
more, and more. He told me all of the positions he wanted to see me in. He said I was perfect, then complained when I didn’t want to send any more. I felt nervous, but I wanted his approval. For weeks, his games of love bombing then asking for more pictures continued. Meanwhile, the trumpeter periodically texted and asked if I liked Johnny. I noticed a pattern. Johnny would love-bomb me, I would send nudes, and then the trumpeter would text me. Soon, I realized that the games ran deeper than skin. Johnny and the trumpeter were the same boy spinning me in circles. He, Johnny/the trumpeter, was the boy in the closet staring at pictures of my nude body. I was humiliated. I later learned that he had pictures of others stored. My body was on the internet somewhere forever. While irregular, my story is not entirely unique. People of all ages can have sexual urges, and the internet only exacerbates the problem. According to an analysis of several studies in The Journal of the American Medical Association, “More than one in four teenagers reported that they’d received a sext, defined by the study as a sexually explicit image, video, or message that is sent electronically.” While teenagers should be able to safely explore their sexuality, it is illegal in the United States at either the state or federal level to have possession of or send nude images of anyone under 18, regardless of if the photos are of oneself, and can even be deemed child pornography. Additionally, as in my situation, you never know who will see your images. While it is difficult to screenshot on apps like Snapchat, there are always ways to save pictures of anything. Parents and educators often state that when a person posts on the internet, it stays forever; this is simply a fact. When putting oneself out there in this way, know that there is a risk of losing control of any pictures or messages that are sent. That’s not to say that sending and asking for nudes has only negative attributes. It can be a way for two people to get to know each other sexually if done in the right context. I remember casually dating a guy who asked to video chat nude, and I obliged after a circle of trust was developed. Virtually, the two of us were able to get off from a distance while feeling safe. This should be the goal: trust. Revealing oneself to anyone comes with risks no matter what environment they find themselves in. Being naked is vulnerable and leaves one open to sharing their deepest insecurities. If consent is found within these interactions, it can be entirely enjoyable and aid in the self-love process. However, the risk factor remains the same. With that said, you should be wary of the “You up?” text no matter what place you find yourself in. Without that baseline of trust, it might be better to leave that person on read. YM
ROMANCE | 8
Letters as a Life Vest WRITTEN BY SOPHIA ROSSETTI
PHOTOGRAPHED BY CLARA JOHNK
s a child, I cried nearly every day. I was always “upset” about something for “no reason.” I was too empathetic for my own good; I would bawl and attempt to explain but could barely get a word out as huge waves of emotions came crashing down on me, cascading from my eyes like melancholic waterfalls. These metaphorical waves soon swelled into tsunamis as I became swallowed up by my ineptitude to express myself and what was “wrong.” In elementary school, I was the only kid who brought the notorious “cold lunch.” Many times my mom would slide my forgotten lunch box across the backseat to me as I anxiously whipped the car door open to retrieve it. I would sit for a moment, teary-eyed, as I tried to catch my breath, explaining to her that I left it behind when I jumped out of the car. She’d nod and reassure me that everything was okay, and remained parked until I vanished behind the front doors. Within the confines of this lunch box was a Ziploc bag of grapes and a turkey sandwich, but, more importantly, a handwritten Post-It note from my mom. “I love you,” she wrote. “I hope you have a wonderful day!” Reading this note, felt as though my chest was filled with warmth; her words radiated within the walls of my rib cage. Ten simple words, and never again would I forget to grab my purple lunch box. I consider my mom’s sticky notes to be letters. An invitation to understand what someone is feeling, a gift of reassurance or explanation in a permanent medium. Letters take various forms, like Post-
It Notes, birthday cards, postcards, written declarations of love (or hate) … the list goes on. To me, a letter features a written message; its complexity knowing no bounds. These Post-It Notes were my first experiences with what I consider to be letters, and I only became more familiar with this form of expression when I started facing difficult conversations. In middle school, my mom and I would get into the typical, insignificant mother-daughter fights. One night after a disagreement, I left a note at the end of her bed, hoping she’d see it in the morning before driving me to school. Thankfully, she had and later expressed she had never been able to understand me better than she had at that moment. My eyes were opened to a new means of communication, and I have not stopped writing since. If I love you more than words can verbally explain, I’ll write you a letter, my words speaking volumes on paper alone. If I were betrayed by someone and needed to communicate the hurt they’ve caused me, I’ll surely write them a letter—whether I actually build up the courage to give it to them or not. If I am barely able to decode my own scrambled, anxious thoughts, my first instinct is always to write myself a letter. In most scenarios, I will undoubtedly write a letter. I just might not always know exactly what I want to say, or how I want to say it. I once loved someone and did not know how to tell him. For someone who seemingly always knew what they wanted to say aloud but could not always vocalize it effectively, I was at a crossroads. Not
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only was I not able to tell him how I felt with my voice, but it was as if my hand had lost all coordination with my brain. I was a mess over him, my first love … well, I think he was my first love? Essentially, I would regularly spend my time at school trying to figure out what it was about him that made my stomach feel like a washing machine, the water wildly whipping around as the cycle would attempt to cleanse the contents within. I’d dissect every interaction shared between this boy and myself over and over, as if I could find the words to explain how I felt about him somewhere within the moment our shoulders brushed when he bumped into me on my way to my second period Spanish class (which he coincidentally had to drop out of). After deducing that I either loved or loathed him, I realized I had met my match; however, I do not mean my perfect match, but my metaphorical match. This was the first time my words and my writing failed me. I considered, Is this a flawed system? I mean, it couldn’t be, the pen will always be mightier than the (s)word. And it proved its reliability once more. One day, I decided I needed to figure out how I truly felt once and for all. I sat down at my desk in my bedroom, turned on my lamp, and ripped a sheet of lined paper from my spiral notebook; more specifically, from the same notebook he asked to “borrow” a piece of paper from the day prior (and the day before that, and the day before that…). Once I began writing, the words flowed onto the paper like a stream of consciousness-turned-waterfall. I collected my jumbled thoughts and etched
them into a scribbled mess across the light blue lines of the paper. Once complete, I gained a clearer picture of just how to interpret what it was that I was feeling. I would soon invite him to read this letter, and he would eventually go on to write me back, telling me he felt the same—there were many more letters after that. For a while, the letters continued on and off, as did we. Our handwritten love notes became time stamps, freezing moments and memories that cannot be seen through a camera lens. Simultaneously, with that same person, I sat at that same desk and wrote to him maniacally, telling them how furious I was with him and that we were “over.” It’s funny, isn’t it, the contrast between the two? How one can use the same medium to let anything that comes to mind pour out of them onto a sheet of paper, as if a deeper part of them has possessed their pen, the ink seeping into the paper, leaving a stain of one’s thoughts at a particular moment in time. This freedom of expression is what draws me so much toward writing. It has become my saving grace in times when I am incapable of speaking for myself, physically unable to allow these thoughts to escape from my mouth. In moments when the tides of my anxieties are whisking me away, and I am engulfed by waves of emotions, writing and reading the words others have dedicated to me has saved me. These exchanges have acted as a life vest, keeping me afloat in circumstances where I was losing the ability to tread water on my own. YM
ROMANCE | 10
DIRECTED BY LAUREN SMITH ASSISTED BY SOPHIA ROSSETTI AND ISABELLE GALGANO PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAUREN SMITH STYLED BY ANNA BACAL PETERSON MODELED BY SOFIA MISISCO
I WISH YOU STAYED
The Irony and Yassification of Camouflage Hunting Gear WRITTEN BY OLIVIA FLANZ
ART BY CHRISTINA CASPER
ou know what I’m talking about. You are walking down the street. You see a person wearing the green and brown camouflage colors classically attributed to a hunting shirt that you would think would be worn by a guy named Marvin (sorry to any Marvins) who would rather be fishing right now and is in love with his truck named Betty (sorry to any trucks named Betty). But something is … off. Along with the shirt lies the assortment of accessories, tattoos, and piercings that go with anything but hunting gear. After a bit of analyzing, you can easily identify that this person is wearing the shirt purely for fashion and not sport. AKA, you can conclude that this person is 100% not going to the shooting range but is, in fact, gay as hell. So, here is the real question: Why? Why, out of all things, to become the new queer fashion trend, is camouflaged hunting gear taking front and center? According to Ryon Alicea ‘27 (they/she), “A lot of it had to do with my access to camouflage pieces from thrifting. I never really saw it as a trend.” Thrifting, in many ways, has changed the fashion game and the traditional trend cycle. Not only does thrifting slow the damage of fast fashion by providing a more sustainable substitute, but wearing second-hand clothes has brought back past trends, making some pieces timeless. Alicea continued by saying, “It is just accessibility that made me drawn to it. I also happen to like the irony of a queer person wearing clothing for conservative males.” And what made camouflage clothing “for” conservative males? Well, to expand on how people traditionally view this clothing pattern, the military also uses the uniform of camouflage, a group historically dominated by the male population, who often strongly believe in and enforce “traditional” American ideals. When it comes to the military, camouflage represents the ideal version of masculinity; its colors and patterns symbolizing purpose, freedom, survival, and power. Camouflage is also typically seen as a uniform: a way to deindividualize and classify who you are within a larger group.
When talking about the irony of a queer person wearing camouflage clothing, it is hard not to mention the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” law: a discriminatory ban that was introduced in 1994 that prohibited out lesbian, gay, or bisexual folks from serving in the military, because being queer didn’t fit into the mold the military had for their image of power. It wasn’t until 2011 that the ban was dropped, allowing some of the LGBTQIA+ community to serve, because it wouldn’t be until 2021 (only two years ago) that transgender folks became able to serve as well. With the quick run through of a history lesson, the rough past between the queer community and camouflage clothing has been an unsteady one. The nature-filled print was often seen as a discriminatory, which is why the reclamation of this fashion piece in the LGBTQIA+ community is unexpected. The uprising of queer people making use of camouflage in their wardrobe is the posterchild example of what it means for something to be “camp.” The first English definition of the term, appearing in the 1909 edition of the Oxford English Dictionary, described the term camp as “ostentatious, exaggerated, affected, and theatrical.” Today, the definition has been summed up as being an aesthetic that is appealing because of its “bad taste and ironic value,” which pretty much encapsulates how this pattern is taking the forefront in queer fashion. The connotation of these clothing pieces within the confines of contemporary society is changing because of this fashion trend. Sure, camouflage will always have its roots in these institutions, but deep down it is meant to represent resilience, power, and purpose. While wearing camouflage may seem “purposeless” outside of military uniforms and hunting attire, many queer people have taken on the fashion choice as a way of reclamation—a way to display the progress that’s been made for queer rights. In this way, wearing camouflage clothing truly does express the taking back of power within the LGBTQIA+ community. YM
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“I also happen to like the irony of a queer person wearing clothing for conservative males.”
19 | style
STYLE | 20
ReFURpo Fur Coat WRITTEN BY LILY BROWN
C
an I tell you a secret? I own a vintage fur coat. My grandmother recently gifted me her once prized possession. This golden mink garment has so much sentimental value to me. I remember running my hands over its soft fur and trying it on while my grandmother told me about her adventures wearing the coat in the city. While I was beyond excited to finally inherit this vintage piece and channel my grandmother at school, I was scared. The evil looks and rude remarks I would receive while wearing my real fur finally got to me. Plus, I had this gut feeling that some PETA member would somehow find me and throw red paint at my coat. While some argue against using real fur due to ethical concerns tied to animal cruelty, others believe owning vintage fur, which has already been created, is a separate moral issue. They argue that wasting existing fur items is unethical since the animal was already sacrificed. I personally oppose buying new real fur but hesitate to completely reject vintage fur due to sentimental value and the desire to preserve family heirlooms. I aim to give these items a new life, but I wonder if I’m alone in feeling guilty about wearing them. Amid ethical and environmental concerns, many fashion brands are shifting to faux fur. Infiniti Research Limited predicts a 19 percent growth in the artificial fur industry by 2024, thanks to its durability, versatility, and luxurious texture. However, faux fur, while we might think of it an animal friendly alternative fabric, poses environmental issues due to its non-biodegradable plastic composition. The debate around fur in the sustainability era persists, with vintage fur items offering an environmental advantage as real fur naturally decomposes. Real fur also emerges as a more environmentally friendly choice with its longer life span and lower emissions of respiratory organics compared to faux fur. In reality, the production and life cycle of faux fur contributes to non-renewable energy consumption and environmental risks. Plus, the energy-intensive temperature and moisture control needed for faux fur production presents further environmental challenges. Beyond environmental concerns, the economic impact plays a critical factor. While storing fur can be costly, a mink fur coat can be used, worn, and recycled for up to 30 years. In contrast, a faux fur coat typically lasts only about six years before disposal. Fur clothing items have long been known to represent a status symbol. Despite the stigma, fur coats are still desired by enthusiasts who want an elevated status level. According to Vogue, a faux fur coat simply needs to be the centerpiece of your closet this winter. Heidi Kaluza, 36, a sustainable fashion activist and influencer, draws from her experience as a former Nordstrom manager to shed light on the retail industry’s unsustainable practices. On her Instagram account @the_rogue_essentials, Kaluza promotes sustainable style and urges
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osing the t Debate PHOTOGRAPHED BY COCO LAROCHELLE
her 47k followers to embrace what they already own. She says, “At the end of the day we have the business of fashion and the art of fashion, but we have to bridge those two. I believe that sustainability will be the bridge.” In regards to the influx of the faux fur fashion trend, Kaluza questions, “Is [real fur] being replaced to phase it out or is it being replaced to just make more of it?” By focusing on this status intention, it reveals the scrutiny that emerges from the discourse around fur in fashion. She states, “You’re telling people how they should live based on what you would do when you [actually] have no idea what factors you’re dealing with.” Kaluza notes the status aspect of clothing continues to reinforce hierarchical structures yet ignores the real functional and nostalgic features of fur coats. As Kaluza goes back and forth between the ethical scenarios of keeping or ditching real products, she asks, “Why don’t we recognize that you’re doing the best that you can with what you have and what’s been given to you?” Inherited fur heirlooms can be creatively repurposed. April Perrin, a 41-year-old wardrobe consultant specializing in fashion sustainability, draws from her experience as a stylist for Style for Hire and her role as a TEDxYouth@RVA speaker on fast fashion. As the owner of the ALL AWEAR website, she inspires women to curate stylish and ethical closets. She says, “I knew there had to be a better way, and fashion should be a force for good versus exploiting people and exploitative nature action often creates that divide.” Perrin recognizes sustainability as nuanced. She also sees it as being mindful and having specific intentions. Even though it is a complicated topic, Perrin regards the real fur debate in this light. She says, “I think everyone’s experience is different. Having worked in fashion and then seeing where the trend is headed, people nowadays are much more thoughtful and conscious about their clothes.” She adds that it depends on the individual person and their comfort with fur coats. “Most of the time you have to do what feels right for you,” she said. “There are always going to be people who disapprove or love it, but wear what you feel good about.” If they feel uncomfortable wearing it in public, Perrin suggests repurposing it, whether it’s turning it into a blanket or pillow. I’ll admit that I still feel a little awkward wearing the coat, but deep down, I’m confident it’s the right choice. Wearing this exquisite garment honors its history while creating new memories. Though I haven’t had many chances to showcase its opulence as I thought, I’ve grown to appreciate its warmth and elegance, as I eagerly anticipate colder months. While it’s true that some may raise eyebrows or simply criticize my choice to wear the coat, I don’t care what anyone has to say. I unapologetically love my real, golden, fur mink coat, and I cannot wait to wear it again this winter season. YM
STYLE | 22
23 | style
Some Simple Stitches WRITTEN BY LEO LUKASZEVICZ
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ISA LUZARRAGA
n the fast-paced world of fashion, trends come and go, but personalized style is timeless. If you’re looking for a creative and budget-friendly way to elevate your wardrobe, consider the art of sewing shapes onto plain T-shirts and sweaters. I saw a shirt online that I absolutely loved, but it was $300. That obviously was not in my budget, but as an Aries, I thought, “I’ll just make it myself, how hard can it be?” Turns out, it’s not hard at all! I ended up making a star shirt, which has now become one of my favorite pieces in my closet. This beginner’s DIY technique allows you to transform ordinary garments into unique, customized pieces that reflect your individuality with just a few simple shapes and stitches. Because I had never sewed before, a lot of this project was improvised and probably not the traditional way to do things. Nonetheless, it got the job done. To get started, you’ll need plain T-shirts or sweaters in your preferred colors, scissors, sewing pins or tape, and a sewing needle and thread or sewing machine. For my fabric, I used an old white tank top that I didn’t have hard feelings about cutting up. For the base shirt, I used an old black workout shirt. You can have fun with different color combinations or even types of clothing. This can work beyond just T-shirts–you can experiment with sweaters or dresses, or even different types of fabric like cotton or denim. Once you have your materials, the next step is to figure out what shape you want to sew on your clothing. The beauty of this DIY project lies in its versatility. You can opt for basic geometric shapes like circles, triangles, or squares for a minimalist look, or explore intricate designs such as flowers or stars. You can even layer shapes and make a collage, or go minimalist like I did. You can sketch your designs on paper beforehand to visualize the final outcome and ensure they harmonize with your garment’s shape and size. If I’m being honest, I just sketched my star shape directly onto the tank top with a pencil. After you sketch out your shape, carefully cut it out from your chosen fabrics using fabric scissors. For precision, consider using stencils or templates. My shape came out a little uneven, but it added to
the distressed effect, which I liked in the end. Next, lay your plain T-shirt on a flat surface and smooth out any wrinkles. I slid a piece of cardboard between the front and back of the T-shirt, aligning it with the area where the body would be to prevent my needle from threading into the back of the shirt. Once your shapes are ready, arrange them on your garment to create a visually appealing composition. Play with placement and spacing until you find the perfect arrangement that complements the overall design. A normal seamstress would pin the shapes in place, but I didn’t have pins, so I literally taped the shapes onto the shirt with Scotch tape. This was to ensure it didn’t move when sewing, but it was still a type of tape that could come off easily. Now comes the fun part–sewing your shapes onto the garment. Stitch around the edges of your shapes, ensuring they are attached to the garment. I did this by hand, using a needle and thread. I used a running stitch, where you go through the shirt, move over a little, back out the top, move over a little, and repeat. It looks almost like a dotted line. It was super easy, especially as a beginner. This part was a little meticulous, but if you put some music on or watch a show, it can be very relaxing. After completing the sewing process, you have a brand new shirt! Remember to use a gentle setting when washing, especially if you are new to sewing. Machine washing in cold water is generally recommended to preserve the shape and colors of your personalized T-shirt or sweater. Sewing shapes onto plain T-shirts is not just a craft; it’s a form of self-expression that allows you to showcase your creativity and personality! By investing a little time and effort, you can transform ordinary garments into extraordinary pieces that make a statement wherever you go. Once you do this, you can go on to sewing words or more intricate designs into your next piece! So, grab your sewing supplies, let your imagination run wild, and start elevating your wardrobe with your own personalized touch. Happy stitching! YM
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STYLE | 24
STREETSTREET styleSTREET INTERVIEWED BY FIONA MCMAHON PHOTOGRAPHED BY SOFIA VERANI
NAME:
Deborah Ode, (She/Her)
STYLE: Eclectic, caring, and creative.
deborah DEBORAH INSPO: I love being inspired by music videos. Musical artists like Doechii I really love, but also more laidback styles like SZA, and even male artists like Pharrell Williams and A$AP Rocky. I try to bounce around and see what works for the day.
FAVORITE STORE: I’m not gonna lie, I thrifted this whole outfit. I believe heavy in thrifting your outfits, especially in this day and age. Shoutout to Unique in Springfield, New Jersey. Super big thrift store, I think it’s amazing and they have really good pieces.
CELEBRITY ICON: Honestly, me. Also, I really like Prince. I just like the idea of being very bold with what you wear and not giving a care in the world about what anyone thinks.
PIECES OF WARDROBE YOU CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT: This black leather jeacket. It goes with everything, it keeps me warm, especially when it’s blowing treacherous wind in Boston. Any big coat I have is a staple in the East Coast. 25 | style
FAVORITE STORE:
NAME:
Ian Duane, (He/Him)
STYLE:
Maximalist, playful, and earthy.
There’s this one shop I used to go to all the time called Mad Cap in Australia.
CELEBRITY ICON:
INSPO:
Ian Anderson or Jim Morrison.
PIECES OF WARDROBE YOU CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT:
Growing up, I was super into ‘70s and the prog-rock scene. That’s what first got me into a more feminine approach to fashion. I like to think I just compile a lot of subconscious observations together.
nicole NICOLE
ian IAN I have a sentimental attachment to this ring that’s made out of an old cash register. It connects to different friends of mine and memories in the past. It’s not the most flashy thing, but it certainly holds a lot of value to me.
NAME:
Nicole Smith, (She/They)
STYLE:
Thrifted, my mom’s, Lorelai Gilmore.
INSPO:
Lorelai Gilmore and my mom when she was my age.
FAVORITE STORE: Goodwill.
CELEBRITY ICON: I really like Billie Eilish’s style. I feel like I don’t often emulate that, but I really like her style. She has a cool vibe going on.
PIECES OF WARDROBE YOU CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT: Low rise jeans with a little flare at the bottom.
STYLE | 26
NAME: Sophia Gennusa, (She/Her)
STYLE:
Earthy, my mother’s, and low maintenance.
INSPO:
All of my friends.
FAVORITE STORE: I used to really love Free People and Anthropologie, but I think as I’ve gotten older I’ve tried to just thrift more.
CELEBRITY ICON: Recently I’ve been really obsessed with Victoria Beckham’s looks in the ‘90s.
PIECES OF WARDROBE YOU CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT: A good old pair of cargo pants from my dad.
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sophia SOPHIA
NAME: Sofia Garcia, (She/Her)
STYLE:
‘70s, Western-esque, and vintage.
INSPO:
Mostly my older sister. This is actually her sweater that I’m wearing right now.
FAVORITE STORE:
I do frequent Free People a lot and Anthropologie.
CELEBRITY ICON:
This isn’t specific, but the NBA coaches in the ‘70s with their big lapels and their suits.
PIECES OF WARDROBE YOU CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT: My long brown leather coat.
sofia SOFIA style | 28
DOWNTOWN GIRLS
DIRECTED BY DAPHNE BRYANT PHOTOGRAPHED BY LUCIA JOHNSON STYLED BY JULIA MAGDZIAK MODELED BY NICOLE TOWNSEND, LAYLA CURLEY, AND JACQUELINE CAHILL
A SPOONFUL OF HOME
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WRITTEN BY NICOLE TOWNSEND
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“
icole, make sure you aren’t wearing a white shirt while eating that roti!” My mom exclaimed. This phrase was recited throughout my childhood—My mom was always scared that I would spill curry on my clothing, since curry is known to stain. Afterward, she would do her shopping at the supermarket with me tagging alongside her; my mom would travel the couple blocks to the Caribbean shop to buy roti for us to eat with our curry chicken. This Caribbean cuisine brings me back to my childhood in Brooklyn whenever I bite into the spicy, lip-numbing dish. I’m sitting in the back of my dad’s truck, my mom to his right. My feet are dangling off the seat as I’m dressed in brown boots with white fur on the insides, a knee-length skirt with white tights underneath, and whichever cheesy dress shirt my mom picked from The Children’s Place. Two ponytails in my hair, looking down at my mom’s homemade cheesecake as we make the 45 minute drive to Long Island. When I was younger, my dad’s side of the family would gather every year to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with each other, creating some of my favorite memories from my childhood. I remember the exact layout of my aunt and uncle’s house, which had previously been my cousin and her husband’s house—it had been in my family for over 60 years before it was sold just recently. Now, whenever I have a slice of my mom’s cheesecake, it transports me back to that rambunctious house, filled to the brim with all my extended family, the Christmas tree with the overly packed presents underneath it—one for each of my 50+ family members—bringing me back to when we used to celebrate the holidays together. Lemonade is a beverage that played a significant role in my upbringing. At every family gathering, at the same Long Island house, my cousin made her not-so-famous homemade lemonade, known for being far too sweet. I haven’t had my cousin’s homemade lemonade in years. Yet, I still remember the ridiculous amount of sugar she put in it and have witnessed her make it and dump a crazy amount of sugar in it, a memory that will forever be burned into my brain. My mom’s homemade lemonade had just the right amount of sugar. It was just the right amount of sweet—a stark compar-
ART BY ALEKS CARNEY
ison to my cousin’s. I remember my mom making her famous homemade lemonade a lot when I was younger. She would always brag that it was the best anyone would ever taste because of the secret ingredient she only shared with me and will continue to only share with me. It reminds me of when I was younger, during the uncomfortably hot New York City summers. I had a lemonade stand on the corner of my block, where I charged anyone who wanted my mom’s famous homemade lemonade $1 for a cup. I remember making over $100, sometimes even $200, because my friends and neighbors would come and buy from me. They would tell their friends, and their friends would tell their friends. It was the same every summer. Bakes were another prominent food in my childhood, particularly when I was younger, spending my summers in Saint Lucia with my uncle, aunt, cousin, and grandmother. Bakes bring me back to the excitement I felt when I landed in Saint Lucia for the summer to visit my mom’s side of the family, sitting on the patio in front of my grandmother’s house, talking and laughing with my relatives late into the warm nights while the cool island breeze rushed through my hair. Splashing around in the clear, blue Caribbean sea, watching the fish nipping at my toes. The rotten egg smell I would take in when approaching the volcano. My grandmother’s soft, sweet hugs—her calling me “my girl.” However, one memory sticks out: my grandmother made my cousin, my aunt, and I walk to what she swore was one of her favorite places that made bakes. It wasn’t that good, but we made the walk anyway. I remember walking through bushes so tall we had to push them out of our path; it was a new experience. I was used to the hustle and bustle of the city, but at the end of the day, my grandmother got her bakes. I find it surprising that I still have that memory, specifically that shop. Whether eating or being around food, I am reminded of my family, showing the power of food and memories. As I get older, and if I think about it too much, I get scared that I will forget many of my favorite memories from my childhood. So, I keep eating my favorite foods I grew up with, bringing back the memories I hold near and dear to my heart. YM
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39 | LIVING
Internalized Misogyny: An Ongoing Battle WRITTEN BY JACQUELINE DEBONIS
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adies, beware! Have you ever been praised for exhibiting masculine traits? Are you afraid of aging? Do you take pride in abstaining from “basic” activities? Internalized misogyny (used interchangeably with internalized sexism), a term that was first explored by psychologist Steve Bearman in 2009, refers to sexist behaviors and attitudes held subconsciously by women against other women. As feminism has entered mainstream media, this condition has followed in its shadow. Despite the feminist movement’s aim to provide women with the choice to do and be whatever they please, society has not improved in this department— where we were formerly confined to traditionally feminine behaviors, we are now confined to defying traditional femininity. Today, girls are praised for embracing the tomboy lifestyle. The world of Barbie dolls and Easy Bake Ovens is now often looked down upon—all the while, ironically, in the name of feminism. Growing up in the feminist frenzy of the 2010s, I quickly discovered the monstrous symptoms of internalized misogyny—first in others, and later in myself. Born with a natural affinity for the color pink, I received a never-ending array of passive aggressive commentary over my pink lifestyle. Dresses, backpacks, iPod cases, you name it. If it was pink, I was a punching bag. Throughout elementary school, few seemed to take an interest in my life as a ballerina, but many praised my macho on the soccer field. By the time I entered middle school, I learned to place my few masculine traits at the forefront of my personality: my closest friends were boys, I refused to wear makeup, and I had my heart set on becoming a woman in STEM (spoiler alert: none of these statements are accurate today). I didn’t know why, but I knew that I was better off hiding my love for rom-coms and hair tinsel. At a macroscopic level, it makes sense that this type of behavior would plague the United States. A capitalist country depends entirely on the individualistic mindset—if it’s acceptable for everyone to find common ground, where is the incentive for competition? In American society, a successful person is one who stands out from the crowd, a doctrine that’s instilled in children from a very young age. When synergized with the conventions of the patriarchy, young girls
PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMMA CAHILL
are tasked with one supreme goal: separate from femininity as much as humanly possible. As children, it may even feel like the feminist thing to do—we must prove that girls can do anything boys can, right? The most effective way to do this, we learn, is to defy all gender norms. We are taught that there is no compliment more gratifying than being told that we’re “not like other girls.” We learn to look at the typical behaviors of teenage girls with disgust. We preach that girls are too much drama to be around (and then we feel betrayed when told that we are overreacting). When young, it is easy for girls to dedicate themselves to the anti-girly cause. However, as we grow older, it becomes more and more impossible to escape the fate of every woman before us: despite any and all efforts to the contrary, women continue to be faced with condescension and inferiority. Through my introduction to fandom culture, it became impossible to ignore my own internalized misogyny. Today, I cannot imagine my life without the unbridled excitement of album releases, new season premieres, and tour announcements. At the same time, I wonder what life would be like without the disapproving glances and belittling ridicule that comes with the territory of being a fan. Why is it that fangirling over a boy band is immature and hysterical, but going crazy for your local sports team is deemed an important cultural custom? After years of not wearing makeup and pretending to despise the romantic-comedy genre, I’ve finally come to realize that the true philosophy of feminism lies within a woman’s ability to do whatever brings her joy. For some, that means playing sports and becoming an entrepreneur. For others, it means wearing bows and getting a manicure. For most, it is a unique combination of both masculine and feminine. While I love to voice my political opinions and play in the mud, I also love to braid my hair and scream along to Taylor Swift. To anyone out there who struggles with internalized misogyny: the best treatment is to unapologetically do what makes you happy. YM
I didn’t know why, but I knew that I was better off hiding my love for rom-coms and hair tinsel.
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DINING HALL STRUGGLES: HEALING MY RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD WRITTEN BY FARAH RINCON PHOTOGRAPHED BY DANA ALBALA
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y first love was food. My Venezuelan father, a skilled home cook with a truly inspirational passion for food, would feed my curious, young self extraordinarily rich dishes packed with spices that express intricate ancestral and cultural stories spanning back generations with a single bite. My mother, a hardworking role model who deserves everything she has worked for, rewarded herself on weekends by dining at the city’s trendiest, most upscale restaurants. Tagging along with her, I experienced extravagant three-course meals, superb customer service, and the joy of tasting exquisite food with the rest of my table. I formed a one-ofa-kind connection with food through my individual relationships with each of my parents; every bite was a religious experience. I eagerly anticipated the next meal and put my heart and soul into every dish I prepared. Food was my refuge, dearest friend, and personal retreat. Ironically, I do believe this would be an enchanting fairy tale if I didn’t go into detail about the conflict of food becoming my prince charming. While my childlike wonder with food was once seen to be endearing, it quickly faded as I entered adolescence. Society tends to turn against teenage girls, and as a result, leaving them hyper aware of the space they take up. As I grew older, my relatives advised me to: “Watch what I eat;” “Be careful not to gain too much weight;” “Be quiet and listen up;” “Quit crying. It’s not cute.” At the family dinner table I became increasingly insecure. The sentence “Farah loves to eat; she never gets full” became less of a fun quirk and grew a negative connotation. As I got older, I became aware of my female relatives’ complex relationship with food, as well as how they projected it onto me. In familiar households, certain “food rules” were applied: don’t eat too many carbs; in fact, don’t eat rice with potatoes. You can’t have eggs with avocado toast every day because it’s too high in fat. After dinner, you are only allowed to have
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three pieces of chocolate. The sugar content of the processed granola bars is excessive; don’t pack them in your lunch box every day. It goes on. If I was brave enough to go against even one of these dogmatic rules, I would be committing a sin. I don’t blame my female friends and relatives for projecting these habits onto me because they are also victims of societal norms. No one is genuinely to blame for this situation, yet as women, we experience great guilt just from having one slice of pizza. Why is that? These behaviors can become a toxic religion that you might come to when your life takes an unexpected turn. This is exactly what happened to me during my first year of college. I was eager to move to Boston for school alongside a massive group of first-year students with the same rush of adrenaline and naivete. Despite the fact that it was utterly surreal and everything I’d wished for, I instinctively felt stranded in this noisy city. I was in a single dorm, so I didn’t have a roommate to vent to at the end of the day like many of my peers; finding friends was much more difficult than I anticipated, and while I did manage to form a few
lasting relationships, none of them compared to those I had back home. The days were getting shorter and colder. Suddenly, in the midst of the unfamiliarity, I went to what was familiar: food. With the lack of supervision, it was easy for me to follow the strict food rules once more. However, in a dining hall setting, this easily escalated. I’d been comparing my eating habits to those around me: their food preferences, the amount hey ate, and their body types. Eating in large groups made me feel self-conscious, and in the midst of my winter loneliness, eating alone while everyone around me sat with their companions caused me to lose my appetite. The only thing I could manage was to upscale these rules, and before I knew it, I was feeling guilty for pouring almond milk in my coffee, keeping myself busy to avoid lunch, and prioritizing the treadmill above finishing my assignments. Here’s what they don’t tell you when you revert to that mindset, especially in college. They don’t tell you that your body is supposed to change in your 20s or that carbs and calories provide energy. That you are not a terrible person for not fitting into your beloved high school jeans. That skipping meals will result in you not being able to recall the slightest moment from a lecture due to nearly passing out or having the energy to get through a simple final presentation. Food will sustain you throughout your college experience, fuel you, and provide you with energy— energy to feel and to live rather than to simply survive. Perhaps I should have known that everyone’s metabolism and dietary needs are different. I’m maturing into my adult body and mature self. I want to pass all of my classes, write the
most impressive honors thesis I can, and most importantly, I don’t want to feel obligated to spend the majority of my days exercising because of the guilt I felt over eating a fast-food meal. Because my weight isn’t a reflection of who I am, and while I temporarily lost my control, I gained life, I gained knowledge, and most of all, I gained what I was trying to find my freshman year: emotional fulfillment. YM
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a day at the beach
DIRECTED BY CLAIRE DUNHAM PHOTOGRAPHED BY CLAIRE DUNHAM STYLED BY BIANCA LUND MODELED BY ARIEL COLEMAN AND SOPHIA VARLEY
Let’s Talk About Fleabag: THE HOT PRIEST WRITTEN BY VARA GIANNAKOPOULOS
ART BY ISA LUZARRAGA
hoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag has become my most beloved piece of media. With quick Brit Wit, relatable subject matter, and monologues that will make your father cry, there is not much you can’t love. Season two introduces the notorious Hot Priest, whose on-screen chemistry with Fleabag is so palpable, it has you feeling like you should look around to make sure no one sees you intruding. Their “love story” resonated with me more than Rose and Jack’s, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy’s, and Allie and Noah’s. I, like everyone else, was utterly humbled and left destroyed by their ending. “It will pass” still haunts me, following me everywhere. Being a masochist means my idea of fun is to rewatch and rewatch and rewatch the already too-short of a show, continuing the cycle of pain until I eventually take a tolerance break for a few weeks. Upon my approximate 37th rewatch, I noticed my brain forge connections it hadn’t before. Our precious Hot Priest, who “saves” our Fleabag from herself, is actually just a man who, like every man, only has one thing on his mind: sex. The brilliance of the show alludes to Fleabag (notorious user of sex as a coping mechanism) being the temptation that corrupts the Hot Priest, but if you look at their dynamic outside of the spell Andrew Scott puts you under, you’ll notice the “kneel” scene is a lot less romantic than you thought- in fact, it’s not romantic at all. But that’s jumping ahead; looking back at the introduction to the Hot Priest, one of the most valuable interactions he and Fleabag have is when she tells the audience that no one has asked her a question in 45 minutes. He immediately interrupts her and asks her what she does for a living, unaware that she was just complaining about no one paying her any mind. This moment makes us feel like the Hot Priest truly sees her, which is what we, as an audience, are rooting for her to find. We don’t know much about how Fleabag looks to everyone else when she speaks to the audience, but it can be assumed that she just dissociates. And the priest being able to pick up on such subtle changes tells us a lot about him as a character; he’s perceptive, engaged, and interested in her. Later on in the season, the Hot Priest eventually breaks the fourth wall with Fleabag and ventures into her little “void” world where we, her audience, exist. This was Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s inspiration and idea behind making a second season, exploring someone breaking that wall with Fleabag. However, all of the little heartwarming moments where we fall in love with this duo eventually become every reason why they’ll never work. After a first watch, you might think they shouldn’t be together for the obvious reason: he’s a priest, she’s a sex addict, but that’s not nearly all there is to it. The Hot Priest’s alcohol consumption is strategically portrayed to not be alarming to the casual viewer. Still, if you pay attention, you’ll notice that in almost every scene where he is not working, he’s drinking. It can be concluded that his parents being alcoholics, accompanied by his large consumption of liquor on screen, means that he is an alcoholic himself. This might not have been a problem for Fleabag
if she didn’t have an addictive personality and was easily influenced by those around her. Additionally, the Hot Priest goes out of his way to get Fleabag more involved in his life despite trying to deflect their apparent attraction. Depending on how seriously we’re taking Fleabag’s universe for our own, a real priest would have taken many, many oaths and gone through so many trials and tribulations before working at a parish of that size, so it’s doubtful that a priest of his standing would go so far out of his way to spend time with someone that tempts him. Of course, I must mention where he calls out Fleabag for her blatant attraction to him, saying “Fuck you! Calling me Father as if it doesn’t turn you on just to say it.” This line being the reason many people started watching the show also shows us that he wasn’t oblivious and innocent in their courtship; he knew, and now she knew that he knew. Finally, the “kneel” scene. The scene is set in the Hot Priest’s parish, in the confessional booth, which immediately constitutes a power play. They are on his turf, not in one of the casual back rooms but out in the center, where God is “really” watching, and she’s put on the spot. Fleabag is highly apprehensive about the entire situation but decides (after some liquid courage) to follow along with his request. We have watched Fleabag fall and grow and fall again for two seasons, leading her to finally open up to someone and be vulnerable. This isn’t Fleabag’s first or last monologue of the series, but it is the most soul-bearingly intimate. She’s not making an obvious sort of revelation about herself or talking about the many burdens women face (which is an excellent monologue given by Belinda); she openly admits to him things that reflect who she truly is: “I want someone to tell me what to believe in,” leading to her sobbing. This vulnerability is met with her confidant taking that as his opportunity to initiate power over her, telling her to “kneel” as he rips open the curtain and physically stands over her. This leads to a make-out session, which she is made to feel guilty for. This is not to say that Fleabag wouldn’t have jumped at the opportunity to kiss him but how it happened and how he went about it leaves no other conclusion than him taking advantage of her fragile, emotional state. Later, when they do eventually have sex, there’s an acceptance that they both go into it willingly and by their own choice. But still, Fleabag is a victim in her own right, regardless of the villain title we (the audience) give her and that she, herself, claims. Although Fleabag is not a saint, we still root for her and want her to win. We want her to find acceptance, self-love, and possibly real love with someone else. Anyone who loved her and the Hot Priest together fell into the same trap that Fleabag did because the most attractive quality he possesses is his unavailability. If you strip away the fact that he’s a priest who practices celibacy, suddenly, it seems a lot less exciting and enticing to pursue him. She wanted him because she couldn’t have him, and we wanted them together because they couldn’t be and, in the end, weren’t. It’ll pass. YM
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The Lightning Thief Stole My Heart WRITTEN BY KATE RISPOLI
ART BY OLIVIA FLANZ
hen I say that we need to make more original work and fewer spin-offs or adaptations, I am not talking about Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I will complain about another live-action remake of a beloved Disney animation, or the 20th book in a YA series initially published 15 years ago, but all bets are off when it comes to Percy. Rick Riordan’s middle-grade series follows middle-schooler Percy Jackson as he discovers his godly lineage, and is quickly thrusted into a world of magical quest where myths have come to life. Beginning in 2005 with the release of The Lightning Thief, the story has been adapted into a Hollywood film, a Broadway musical, and a Disney+ series releasing later this year. I made my parents rent the movie the moment it came out on Redbox as a kid, I watched musical bootlegs on YouTube as a teenager, and now, as an adult, I have already replayed the show’s trailer more than a dozen times. Between all these adaptations are my countless re-reads of the original series, as well as any of Riordan’s spin-off books that even briefly mention Percy. The Lightning Thief may not have been the first book to get me into reading, nor the first book I fell in love with, but it is certainly the book that has stuck with me the most since I first picked it up as an eight-year-old. I adored Percy’s sarcastic humor, Grover’s big heart, and Annabeth’s undeniable intelligence—I can remember the strong feeling I had of wanting to be just like the kids at Camp Half-Blood. Even more so, I remember the joy I felt upon discovering that other people around me felt the same way, from when I was an elementary school reader to the college senior I am today. Knowing someone is a Percy fan truly feels like an instant friendship because I know the series impacted them just as much as it did for me. “Percy and the gang became like friends to me, and I got to grow up with them as the series matured to Heroes of Olympus, and even more with Chalice of the Gods,” UMass Lowell student Irene McCarthy says about the newest book that arrived on shelves this
year. “Percy’s resilience and humor in the face of tough battles, and his undying loyalty for the people he cares about inspires and influences me in ways I can’t even describe, and parts of him and his story end up in everything I create.” McCarthy’s sentiments are echoed by countless fans who grew up alongside Percy and his friends. While our experiences may not have been the same as his (no one I know was fighting monsters during summer vacation), most of the series’s audience can relate to the struggles of middle school and everything that came along with those years. The interpersonal storylines, subtracting the fantastical plot points, feel so easy to connect with. The characters are authentic—they don’t simply exist as words on a page. “As a queer kid with ADHD, confidence in myself blossomed after uncovering more about characters like Nico DiAngelo, Piper McLean, Annabeth Chase,” says Eliott Svenson, a 22-year-old salon assistant who has been a fan of the series since the fourth grade. “I think what I love best about these books is how casually Rick will write in these details. Like, yes, Nico is gay, but it doesn’t become his entire personality or purpose to be included in the books. There is so much more to his character—as with any queer person–and there has never been any unnecessary or inappropriate focus on the topic.” The relatability of the series is also why so many fans, despite being grown up, are elated at the quickly approaching television adaptation. Riordan allows readers to be seen through his books, from representation of learning disabilities as godly powers in the original series, to queer youths, and diverse ethnicities in the spin-offs. The television adaptation will not only allow for the fans of the past to see themselves once again, but for future generations to be seen as well. The Lightning Thief is nearly 20-years-old, but its story and impact are still far more alive than ever. I was lucky enough to have this story steal my heart so many years ago and am amazed to see it do so for a brand new generation. YM
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why do i need happy endings? 55 | arts & entertainment
WRITTEN BY CHARLOTTE BRANDMAN
PHOTOGRAPHED BY RACHEL TARBY
have a terrible condition: I can’t watch or read anything that doesn’t have a happy ending. If the media has even a hint of a tragic resolution, I run in the other direction. Phoebe WallerBridge’s Fleabag? Haven’t seen it. Any sad dog movie? I skip past it. I refuse to watch tear-jerking films, read depressing books, or take in any form of media that might lead to inevitable heartbreak. And not just because I crave a happy ending–I need one. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) at 13-years-old. Needing everything to work out perfectly at the end of whatever I consume suddenly made sense when those words left my doctor’s mouth. My anxiety forces all the what-ifs of a situation through my head at dizzying speeds, plaguing my thoughts and never letting me take a breath without considering the consequences. Those what-ifs seep into how I consume entertainment too. How will the two characters solve the mystery? Will she escape the serial killer? My heart races, my palms sweat—I can’t ever seem to relax for however long I spend reading a story. Conflict and I are on opposite sides of the spectrum—I avoid it in my novels at all costs. But recently, I’ve found an unlikely solution: contemporary romance novels. Romances are the perfect solution for someone scared of a sad ending; they’re structured like science. As an avid romance reader with a blog of my own (shoutout Enemies to Readers), I can recite the formula by heart. It goes as follows: the meet-cute (or meet-ugly if they’re enemies), introduce the thing that forces them together, rising attraction (the do-we-don’t-we of it all), their first kiss, major regret, more kissing with less regret, dropping the L-word, a messy breakup, make-up sex, and finally, the epilogue proposal. If there are any romance writers reading, I hope your mind is properly blown that I’ve cracked the code. The approachability of the romance formula allows me to peacefully read a smutty enemies-to-lovers novel without the fear of life-ending conflict. Nobody gets permanently hurt, nobody dies (even if there’s a dramatic hospital waiting room scene), but someone will end up married by the end of it. If everything else in my life is chaotic, at least I know I can find consistency and something everlasting in the pages of my books. A common criticism of the romance genre is that if it’s so formulaic, how can there truly be new stories to tell? And why would someone be okay with knowing what happens before they even start? Well, it’s for the same reason I cried so hard after my first breakup: control. When a book leads to a familiar ending, I can finally relax, really sink into the plot, and get to know the characters without fear of their imminent deaths. The time I feel most at peace is when my Kindle is in my hands, and I’m silently flipping through the pages of a new novel. I may be unsure of how the characters resolve their
seemingly irreconcilable differences, but know deep down that by the last page, they will be okay. Plus, just because there’s a formula to the genre does in no way mean that every book is the same. Look at horror/thriller novels and movies. There is a formula there—think the “final girl” saying (coined from slasher movies for its use as a common trope). There’s a consistency in how thriller and slasher stories are told, but that doesn’t stop anyone from watching Scream or Friday the 13th. You know that the innocent, virginal girl will survive, but you keep watching to see how. Just like how I read my romance novels to see how two enemies fall deeply in love, despite their overt missions to destroy one another. Romance novels contain subgenres like most other literary fields. Whether they subscribe to popular tropes like enemies-to-lovers or grumpy/sunshine, or they create a new, creative way to force opposite personalities together, there’s always something notably unique worthy of romanticizing. From the classic workplace romance, to historical to crossings with other genres like fantasy (I’m looking at you, ACOTAR fans), or even science-fiction, there is something out there for you in the romance realm. Maybe one day I’ll branch out to a tragic ending … maybe I’ll even attempt to watch Fleabag (no spoilers please!). But for now, I’ll stick with my tropes, subgenres, fixed endings, and epilogue proposals. And, to be honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever give them up. So, if there’s one thing you learn from this, it’s that there’s nothing wrong with craving a little control, especially when that control ends in marriage and many, many kids. Pick up a book with a shirtless guy posing sensually on the cover, and join me on my mission for a happy ending. YM
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Alewife - Clairo A Sky Full of Stars - Coldplay Young Dumb & Broke - Khalid Keep Driving - Harry Styles Are You Bored Yet? - Wallows feat. Clairo There She Goes - The La’s Rich Girl - Daryl Hall & John Oates Ladies of Cambridge - Vampire Weekend LALA - Myke Towers A Thousand Miles - Vanessa Carlton So Long - ABBA Lost - Frank Ocean Heart of a Lion - Kid Cudi Them Changes - Thundercat Line by Line - Prep, Cory Wong, Paul Jackson Jr. ZIPPER - BROCKHAMPTON MCQUEEN - Yoshi T. You Make Me Feel Like Dancing - Leo Sayer You’re On Your Own, Kid - Taylor Swift Brand New City - Mitski Cigarette Daydreams - Cage The Elephant You’re Gonna Go Far - Noah Kahan
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making my way downtown: songs for exploring boston
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ARTIST STATEMENT
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HANNAH NGUYEN
Describe your work in one sentence.
I do nail art on natural nails with regular nail polish.
How and when did you get into painting nails?
I’ve been painting my nails since 4th grade, but I started exploring nail art the summer before my freshman year at Emerson after I asked my friend if I could try something out on her nails. I’ve been doing nail art for about two and a half years!
What inspires you?
I have what I like to call a “communal Pinterest board” with my friends, and we add nail art that we think I should try out. I also try designs I think my friends would like based on the type of nail art they’re interested in, so I could practice in case they ever want me to do it on their nails. I also love painting my nails for holidays. I do Halloween nail art throughout the entire month of October, and some of my favorite sets are Halloween-related.
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Why nail art?
I liked drawing when I was younger but lost interest in it over the years. Painting my nails has always been a consistent hobby of mine, but when I got into nail art, it was my way of getting back into art. Ironically, I’ve never enjoyed painting because big canvases always overwhelmed me. Nail art is just a unique medium, and I can spend hours painting my nails without getting burnt out. The longest I’ve spent painting my nails was five hours, and I loved every second of it.
Who are some of your favorite creators/artists?
I love @nailsbyameya, @honeybabysets, @kellyohstein, and @kesangthenailartist on Instagram! Some of my work is inspired by their sets, and I always give them inspiration credit in my captions.
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What is your favorite set you’ve made? What makes it special to you?
I love so many sets, it’s hard to choose! Some of my favorite sets I’ve painted include The Starry Night nails, Bob Ross-inspired nails, The Very Hungry Caterpillar nails, embroidery-inspired nails, The Nightmare Before Christmas nails and Scream nails. A lot of my nail sets are special to me because of the different techniques I used to achieve them and because I use regular nail polish. With gel polish, you can use nail polish remover to clean up the polish in between curing each layer, but you can’t really do that with regular polish because it may ruin it. I’m always proud of how many of my sets turn out, despite the limitations painting with regular polish might have.
What advice would you give other/new creators?
Nail art is for everyone and for me, it’s a form of self-expression. You can have long or short nails, acrylic, gel-x, or natural nails, and explore minimalist or maximalist designs. There are so many options for everyone. If you want to try out nail art for yourself, start with simple designs based on other creators’ work or on Pinterest posts and slowly move your way up to designs you really enjoy. I’m still growing as an artist and I have a long list of nail art and techniques I want to try out!
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
I’m a third-year journalism major at Emerson. In 10 years, I see myself working for a news outlet as a fulltime journalist. I’ll probably still be painting my nails and dragging around my nail polish bag wherever I go.
Where can readers see more of your work?
My personal Instagram is @hannahcnguyen and my nail Instagram is @hannahndoesnails. I do offer nail appointments and prices vary on the level of nail art you want me to do!
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