December 2023

DECEMBER 2023

best of 2023

Our Favorite Trends, Music, & Movies

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PGS. 20, 28, 33

The Pitfalls of Self-Diagnosis PG. 12

Editor's Yearbook PG. 24

DECEMBER 2023

Two DIFFERENT Days of Handmade Holiday Gifts

December 9th & 10th Saturday & Sunday 10-4

The Rotunda 4014 Walnut St. Indoors and Out

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WestCraftFest.com

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Saying goodbye to this year's class of editors with some of their favorite quotes of the year.

The Approval Matrix Street decides what’s in and what’s out in 2023.

Ego of the Month: Milan Chand This senior is opening the door to mental health conversations one smile at a time.

Self–Diagnosis in the Age of the Endless Scroll

street's favorite trends, albums, film & tv.

best of 2023

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Edz Yearbook

#fyp #mentalhealthawareness #neurodiversity #therapy #adhd #autism #asd #anxiety

The Past, Present, and Future of Medicine How the College of Physicians of Philadelphia promotes diverse avenues of medical exploration

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Fifteen Years of Twilight

46

The Comeback of Color

20 28 33 O N TH E COV ER From Lana Del Rey to Uniqlo men's boxers, here's a collage–style compilation of our favorite pop culture moments this year (swathed in that signature Street spunk, of course).

Reflecting on the immortal appeal of the infamous film adaptation

Color is finally being celebrated in fashion again after years of an obsession with neutrals.

By Wei–An Jin & Ani Nguyen Le

DECEMBER 2023

LET TER FROM THE EDITOR

If you’re a pop cultural obsessive like me, Christmas isn’t the most wonderful time of the year. That actually comes a few weeks earlier, usually from late November to early December, in the form of list season. You know what it is, if not by name: when every magazine, blog, and online publication throws down their takes on the best movies, music, television, trends, books, and unforgettable moments of the year. It’s a time to feel vindicated when our faves top the charts, and to discover everything we missed while boring stuff like jobs and school kept us busy.

But this list season is different, because in exactly a month, I’ll be stepping away—not just as Editor–in–Chief but almost entirely—from the magazine where I probably spent more cumulative hours than in my actual classes. I can’t possibly boil my entire Street experience down into a numbered list, but I’ll be damned if I don’t give it the ol’ college try. So without further ado, allow me to present my favorite Street / Daily Pennsylvanian moments, in roughly chronological order, from February 11th, 2021 (yes I checked) until now.

1. Getting Kyle Whiting’s edits on my first ever article (it was about delayed albums and the draft I turned in was 2,500 words).

2. Later discovering those edits, which I had been using to train editors for years by that point, actually came from Bea Forman.

3. Working at Panera in the summer of 2021, reviewing Doja Cat’s new album by recording voice notes into my phone while I mopped the floors.

4. Getting my first editor appointment in charge of the Arts section.

5. When Bea declared Arielle Stanger and me “the young talent.”

6. Teaching my writer Irma Kiss how to shoplift from Gourmet Grocer and arguably making her into the international woman of mystery she is today.

7. Scheming my way into a situationship with my former music editor.

8. Deciding to run for Editor–in–Chief as a sophomore.

9. Writing my first Letter of Intent with Arielle in the Rodin high rise lounge, blasting “Goodbye Horses” on repeat.

10. Not getting elected to Editor–in–Chief, because that would’ve been a disaster.

11. The first time I took a Zoom call from Emily White’s Pine Street apartment because my roommate was having a hookup over.

12. Cats in the office for Love Issue 2K22.

13. Publishing my radical bookstores cover story with the most gorgeous illustration courtesy of Collin Wang.

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14. Getting my first taste of power when served as lead editor on the cheap eats Dining Guide.

15. Press passes for Olivia Rodrigo, screaming along to “good 4 u” and being a 20–year–old boy teenage girl.

16. Glossy mag!!!

17. Interviewing Soccer Mommy over the phone while driving to my roommate’s house in New Jersey (but not when I lost the last ten minutes of the audio).

18. Every time Eva Ingber called us all “chickens.”

19. Running for Editor–in–Chief the second time, and getting it.

20. Helium tank prod night.

21. Interviewing Emily for their EIC Ego of the Week.

22. Penn 10 production night and the #WinstonPelosoFanClub.

23. Electing the best group of section editors I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.

24. Getting a record number of applications for new Street staffers.

25. Hazing all of the new street staffers, especially the one who made out with the Ben Franklin statue.

26. Stealing a desk from Williams and carrying it across campus to deface.

27. Every Clark Park picnic.

28. Every BYO at Ambrosia.

29. Every Street alum who I now consider a bestie—Julia Rubin, Hillary Reinsberg, Annabelle Williams, Dani Blum.

30. Every time Arielle and I were Straddy and Strommy.

31. Being in the room where it happened.

32. Champagne shots with the elections committee.

33. Electing next year’s incredible Strexec: Natalia Castillo, Catherine Sorrentino, Norah Rami, Kate Ratner, and Wei–An Jin. This issue is dedicated to you.

34. Writing this letter in The Daily Pennsylvanian office, surrounded by some of my best friends in the whole world.

Signing off bang bang kiss kiss.

EXECUTIVE BOARD Walden Green, Editor–in–Chief green@34st.com Arielle Stanger, Print Managing Editor stanger@34st.com Alana Bess, Digital Managing Editor bess@34st.com Collin Wang, Design Editor wangc@34st.com EDITORS Avalon Hinchman, Features Editor Jean Paik, Features Editor Naima Small, Assignments Editor Catherine Sorrentino, Assignments Editor Katie Bartlett, Focus Editor Sophia Rosser, Focus Editor Jules Lingenfelter, Style Editor Norah Rami, Ego Editor Hannah Sung, Music Editor Jojo Buccini, Arts Editor Weike Li, Film & TV Editor Rachel Zhang, Multimedia Editor Kayla Cotter, Social Media Editor THIS ISSUE Julia Fischer, Copy Editor Deputy Design Editors Wei–An Jin, Ani Nguyen Le, Sophia Liu Design Associates Anish Garimidi, Insia Haque, Fiona Herzog, Erin Ma, Emmi Wu STAFF Features Staff Writers Keira Feng, Meiling Mathur, Luiza Sulea Focus Beat Writers Leo Biehl, Prerna Kulkarni, Bobby McCann, Ellie Meyer, Chloe Norman Style Beat Writers Claire Kim, Anjali Kishore, Madeline Kohn, Steven Li, Anna O'Neill–Dietel, Zaara Shafi Music Beat Writers Nishanth Bharghava, Cole Knight, Derek Wong, Ananya Varshneya Arts Beat Writers Jessa Glassman, Dylan Grossmann, Kyunghwan Lim, Luiza Louback Film & TV Beat Writers Mollie Benn, Aden Berger, Emma Halper, Fiona Herzog, Amy Luo, Isaac Pollock, Aaron Visser Ego Beat Writers Sophie Barkan, Parin Keerthi, Gemmy Levy, Ella Shusterman, Ella Sohn, Leah Weinberger Staff Writers Caleb Crain, Lila Dubois, Jake Falconer, Julia Fischer, Dianna Trujillo Magdalena, Thu Pham, Kate Ratner, Maia Saks, Talia Shapiro, Natasha Yao Audience Engagement Associates Preston Chan, Weining Ding, Jackie Errera, Yamila Frej, Sophia Hall, Bilkiss Haman, Kayla Kramer, Victoria Navarrete-Ortiz, Lauren Pantzer, Cassidy Whaley LAND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT The Land on which the office of The Daily Pennsylvanian stands is a part of the homeland and territory of the Lenni-Lenape people. We affirm Indigenous sovereignty and will work to hold the DP and the University of Pennsylvania more accountable to the needs of Indigenous people.

CONTACTING 34 t h STRE E T M AG A Z IN E If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Walden Green, Editor–in–Chief, at green@34st.com You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com © 2023 34th Street Magazine, The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors. All rights reserved.

S T R A M I LY < 3

CAMPUS WORD ON THE STREET

In My Passenger Seat A picture is worth a thousand car rides.

BY NORAH RAMI Photo by Norah Rami

T

he first time I met Katie I was livid. Seventh grade, my mom decided that we needed a guard dog after our house was burglarized. I knew this was a terrible idea. But nonetheless, I came home one day to find a two–year–old rescue pitbull, tail wagging and tongue out in the closest thing to a canine grin.

In the last six years, my prophecy has long been proven true. Katie was the worst guard dog. She rolled on her back when anyone visited our house, let my little sister dress her in tutus, and only ever attacked the vacuum cleaner. And much to my chagrin, Katie would follow me everywhere; always ready for a ride, hopping into my car and smiling back at me from the passenger seat.

We’d drive for hours with the radio blasting an assortment of A Tribe Called Quest, Phoebe Bridgers, and Simon & Garfunkel. She’d lean her head out the window, and, if the road was empty, I would too. Subject to my many rants, she was probably the only being to ever sit silently through a signature Norah monologue. She was my favorite passenger.

My little sister gushed over that dumb dog; her entire camera roll was littered with pictures of Katie, from close–ups of her nose to artistic portraits. I, on the

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other hand, never took many photos.

I often joke it’s because I read Susan Sontag too literally, but really, I just never thought to take a picture of Katie in my passenger seat. She’s always been there.

When I’m singing, crying, coming home from a long day. I was so used to her just being around, I never found a need to remember her.

In the age of social media, every moment with my friends was interrupted by a photo. I relished these moments with Katie as untainted. To take a picture was to pause the moment, stop driving, and say “Look, here Katie.” It would transport this moment outside of this car, and, selfishly, I wanted to save these moments with Katie just for me.

I told myself, what use is a picture when every time I sit in my car the real thing is right beside me?

So, the only commemoration I have of those car rides is entirely unintentional. A product of a road trip to Denton, Texas, only existing because I wanted to send my friend a picture to prove I had arrived. It’s an unremarkable photo hastily executed, with no deeper intention than to send a text. My car’s a mess and you can see my uncle approaching in the side view mirror to greet me. Katie smiles ear to ear.

But now, it’s all I have left of those holy car rides. That once trivial photo represents six years of love, a catalog of memory rather than mundanity. A photo means everything, once it becomes irreplacable.

Three weeks before I left for my sophomore year of college, I drove Katie to the vet. I carried her into the back seat since she had trouble jumping in. I turned my head around at every turn to make sure she was okay, unaccustomed to her be-

hind me. Katie sat on my feet as the vet told me she only had two months left. On the car ride back, I opened all the windows and sang along to the car radio as Katie and I always have. I drove a few extra laps around the house before I pulled into the garage.

For three months, Katie held on from across the country and all I had were the pictures my family sent. It was a privilege of the digital age that she was only a click away. Those pictures were the trivial sort that I never cared for before, in my righteousness, but now I waited till the end of the day for those pictures as a reminder that she was still holding on.

Still, no matter how many photos my family sent, they weren't enough. After all, I know she was looking at the camera, not me. I knew those pictures were taken at least three times by my mom so that she looked less swollen. I know that the lesions and puke were out of frame, the fever unseen.

I know those photos were incomplete, but still, I analyzed each pixel for the details no one would spare, zooming in as far as quality allows.

There was a cynical part of me that said these photos weren’t really Katie; they were a representation of Katie filtered by mom’s camera broken up into impersonal digital pieces to be sent across the country. These photos are immortal, while Katie was painfully not. But as fragmentary as they are, I tossed aside my righteousness and held those photos close: They were the closest I could be, and the closest I will ever be again, love all blurry and askew.

I won't turn to the passenger seat again and see Katie grinning at me. All I have is this one photo, as she smiles in perpetuity. k

I was so used to her just being around,

I never found a need to remember her.

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CAMPUS EGO OF THE MONTH

Hometown

Newtown, Connecticut ————————————————————————————

Major

Neuroscience ————————————————————————————

Activities

EOTM

President of Active Minds, Phi Gamma Delta, Senior Advisor of InterCol, Sphinx Senior Society, Carriage Senior Society, The Order of Omega Senior Society, Physical Health Advisory Board, SNF Paideia Advisory Board, Jordan Porco Foundation Board of Directors, Peer Practitioner at Restorative Practices @ Penn, Research Assistant at Boundaries of Anxiety & Depression Lab

Content warning: The following text describes suicide and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.

W

e’ve all seen the TikToks on our "For You" page claiming Penn as one of the most depressed schools in the country. At the forefront of the constant student conversation around mental health is senior Milan Chand (C ‘24). Exuding joy, Milan works with passion and enthusiasm to promote mental health awareness and make those around him feel heard and loved. Juggling his social life and alter ego as a pre–med student keeps him on the go. But, despite his busy schedule, Milan always ensures that his mental health is his first priority.

You’re quite involved with mental health awareness initiatives, could you tell me how it all started?

So, it’s a little deep. Coming from Newtown, which is where the Sandy Hook shooting happened when I was a kid,

Milan Chand

This senior is opening the door to mental health conversations one smile at a time.

BY PA R I N K E E RT H I Photo courtesy of Milan Chand This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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was really impactful since my entire life went around it. It was very pivotal to my identity. Because of it, I ended up getting really involved with mental health awareness within my town. I joined a lot of different nonprofits that came about from the Sandy Hook shooting, and one of the most influential organizations in my life was the Avielle Foundation.

I ended up joining this incredible group that was trying to learn about the basis of violence and compassion in the brain. My mentor, Dr. Jeremy Richman, was the reason why I fell in love with neuroscience, the reason I want to study the brain, and the reason I want to become a psychiatrist. He truly inspired me to be so inquisitive about why humanity is the way it is.

So that’s what really pushed me to continue that mission and I ended up working at Yale for a summer because of it. Then, I came here and fell in love with the neuroscience department, and really wanted to incorporate that sort of intersectionality with Asian American people, queer people, and all the different aspects about our identities that influence that.

You’re the President of an Active Minds chapter at one of the most depressed schools in the country. Do you think that influences your experience as a mental health leader at all?

Coming from a place where there was so much sadness, so much grief, and so much tragedy, it’s not something that I’m not used to. It’s interesting, because they think attacking every problem becomes an uphill battle, but that also gives me so much inspiration and hope. I know there’s so much to change, so much stigma to work around, and that means starting from the bottom to really have the entire view of what you can do on this campus.

It starts from talking to administration and going from the top down, and really making sure we can have conversations about policy change when it comes to what resources are available to students. Then it’s also about engaging

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with students, from a smaller event like having a conversation about seasonal depression, all the way to making a larger event about suicide awareness and suicide prevention.

We had an incredible moving exhibit from our national committee called Send Silence Packing. It displays the stories of college students who have all had struggles throughout their lives and brings that to the forefront of students in their everyday lives to say: this is real, this is important, this is what you should always keep in mind. So I think it definitely has its everyday battles and trying to make people care is definitely hard. I think if you were able to have that conversation, if someone is personally affected, they’re very willing to listen to you.

As a member of the Board of Directors for the Jordan Porco Foundation, could you tell me a bit about that experience and what it entails?

When I was working with the Avielle Foundation in high school, I was connected to a bunch of nonprofits. I really wanted to move the way in which suicide prevention is talked about.

The leader of the Avielle Foundation, Jeremy Richman, ended up committing suicide in my junior year of high school.

That was very tough for me when I was going through high school. That experience was definitely tough, but it made me very aware of the problems that can afflict people as old and as wise as Jeremy, all the way to kids today.

I got invested in the Jordan Porco Foundation because they came to schools and college campuses to really help students gain the awareness and ability to know that there’s resources on campus, and there’s so many people you can talk to. Moving from being an ambassador my freshman year, to being invited onto the board, to actually having more of an impact was really exciting for me. I got something that I find and hold very deep, and it brings so much joy to my life that I can have that impact.

What would you say is your most rewarding memory from working so deeply in the mental health sector?

I think it’s been the past four years here.

Again, we are rated the number one most depressed campus, but that doesn’t mean that the small things we have been doing in the mental health community don’t have an impact.

I think the things I’ve learned from just being here on campus and doing the small work, I’ve had the ability to talk at least seven different friends away from serious harm. I think that in and of itself, it’s just so incredible that someone was at the point that they were about to take their life. I’m so grateful that they’re still here today.

I feel as though that’s what my legacy is.

I want that to continue on this campus, the idea that students have the ability to know how to deal with these situations and that they have the passion and the drive to be able to help their friends. But more than that, we can all see that we’re all just human at the end of the day, and that at this university, everything is really hard. But we can all look out for each other, because a life is a life.

Outside of advocacy, I saw you were a research assistant at the Boundaries of Anxiety & Depression Lab. Could you tell me about your work there?

On the academic side, it’s definitely a complete switch–up, but I really enjoy the research side of things. Neuroscience and psychology are my passions, and I’ve been studying those for four years now, so it’s nice that I can actually understand what’s happening.

I’ve been doing a lot of work. I’m actually going to Seattle for a conference next week to talk about the way in which we're constantly learning new things about anxiety and depression. Specifically, my work revolves around looking at comorbid anxiety and depression and observing the differences in extraversion. Also, seeing the ways in which excitement–seeking, and all these different facets of depression have different severity levels and different correlations with the ways in which anxiety and depression are distinct.

How do you plan on staying involved with mental health advocacy after you graduate?

I hope to work in a psychiatric office next year during my gap year. I really want to make sure that my life mission is not just being committed towards psychiatry and therapy. I want to be sure to keep in mind that there is always work you can do on the ground too.

So making sure the skills that I have learned from college and beyond, and the workshops I’ve been able to host, and the people I’ve been able to talk to, continue to be a part of my life outside of Penn. I think that’s going to be something that you have to constantly work towards and make time for, but self–care is always, always the best.

Could you tell me a bit about your academic interests surrounding Asian American Studies and Urban Studies here at Penn?

Coming into Penn and college in general, I was very unaffiliated with my Asian American identity. I didn’t really even see myself as Asian and I learned so much in the first year from just taking an Asian American Studies class. It is probably one of my favorite programs here at Penn. It’s the best department, hands down. By just taking one class, it pushed me to minor in it.

I also felt like I was able to discover so much of my queer identity as well through that. Taking an Asian American gender and sexuality course and coming to Penn after just coming out at the end of high school was so important. It was so important to understand the intersectionality and how my experiences are very different from other people’s experiences, but also how I can find commonalities. So overall, I think it was really, really, vital to my progression as an Asian American and I feel much more solidified.

You clearly have a very busy schedule, what do you do to get a break from it all?

My God, happy hours with my best friends, always a great way. I’m heading

to happy hour right after this. But honestly, I enjoy just taking a break and relaxing in the moment. I don’t sleep much, which is unfortunate, but I think spending time with my best friends and all the people in my life makes me feel more at peace and makes the work I do worth it.

Campus Resources: The HELP Line: 215-898-HELP: A 24–hour–a–day phone number for members of the Penn community who seek help in navigating Penn's resources for health and wellness.

Counseling and Psychological Services: 215-8987021 (active 24/7): The counseling center for the University of Pennsylvania.

Student Health Service: 215-746-3535: Student Health Service can provide medical evaluations and treatment to victims/survivors of sexual and relationship violence regardless of whether they make a report or seek additional resources. Both male and female providers can perform examinations, discuss testing and treatment of sexually transmissible infections,

provide emergency contraception if necessary, and arrange for referrals and follow up.

Reach–A–Peer Hotline: 215-573-2727 (every day from 9 pm to 1 am), A peer hotline to provide peer support, information, and referrals to Penn students.

Penn Violence Prevention: 3535 Market Street, Mezzanine Level (Office Hours: 9 am – 5 pm Monday-Friday), 12-5pm Wednesdays & 12-5pm Fridays located in Penn Women’s Center (3643 Locust Walk), Read the Penn Violence Prevention resource guide.

Sexual Trauma Treatment Outreach and Prevention Team: A multidisciplinary team at CAPS dedicated to supporting students who have experienced sexual trauma.

Public Safety Special Services: Trained personnel offer crisis intervention, accompaniment to legal and medical proceedings, options counseling and advocacy, and linkages to other community resources.

Penn Women's Center: 3643 Locust Walk (Office Hours 9:30 am – 5:30 pm Monday–Thursday, 9:30 am – 5 pm Friday), pwc@pbox.upenn.edu. PWC provides confidential crisis and options counseling.

Favorite food truck at Penn?

Lyn’s.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————— Dream vacation spot?

The Maldives.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————— Favorite study spot on campus?

The tables above Van Pelt that overlook College Green.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————— No–skip album?

Renaissance by Beyoncé.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————— There are two types of people at Penn …

Type A people and Type B people.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————— And you are?

Type A.

DECEMBER 2023

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CAMPUS // EGO

Emily Whitehead's Back at Penn With a New Story Emily is best known for overcoming cancer here on campus. Now she's returning to start a new chapter.

BY GEMMA LEVY

I

Graphic by Collin Wang Photo courtesy of Emily Whitehead

f you were to search for Emily Whitehead (C '27) on the Internet, you'd undoubtedly come across descriptions like “cancer survivor,” “first pediatric patient to receive CAR T cell therapy,” and “living miracle.” However, if you asked Emily Whitehead herself, she would tell you that those labels are just a fragment of her identity: “There's so much more to me than cancer.” Ten years ago, Emily received groundbreaking treatment at the University of Pennsylvania that garnered worldwide attention. Now, having come full circle, she returns to Penn as a first-year, prepared to embark on a new adventure.

Emily was an energetic five–year–old with a penchant for spirited Nerf gun battles with her cousin—the occasional bruise was par for the course. What concerned her mom, a researcher at Penn State University, was the sheer quantity and persistence of her bruises. Quickly, their concern escalated into alarm, and Emily was rushed to the hospital. Within

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a mere 24 hours, the doctors diagnosed her with acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). The abruptness and severity of this news sent shockwaves through the Whiteheads' world. Just two weeks prior, Emily had visited her pediatrician, who had declared her in perfect health.

Emily’s cancer was relentless. After two grueling relapses, a postponed bone marrow transplant, and ineffective rounds of chemotherapy, her medical team reached a heartbreaking decision: They were ready to discharge her for hospice care. Not ready to accept the loss of their daughter, Emily’s parents sought a second opinion at the Children's Hospital of Pennsylvania (CHOP), where an innovative CAR T cell trial had just opened.

The first pediatric patient to be enrolled in the trial, Emily received an incredibly potent dose of the drug, a dose no other pediatric patient would receive.

It would be two weeks before she would regain consciousness. On her seventh birthday, Emily woke up cancer–free.

The cause of the coma, doctors later discovered, was that the therapy had been too effective, eradicating an astounding three pounds of tumors at once.

“After enduring 22 months of unsuccessful chemotherapy, just 23 days following the T cell therapy, I was declared cancer– free,” Emily says.

Emily's medical team had a sense that her story was one worth sharing, and so they documented every aspect of it. After a short month of quiet, her family was catapulted into the spotlight. Emily's dad received a phone call from the New York Times inquiring if Emily's story could be featured on the front page. Admittedly unsure of what he was signing up for, her dad agreed, setting in motion a media whirlwind that thrust Emily into the public eye. She would become the subject of four award–winning documentaries, the subject of Praying for Emily, a book chronicling her recovery, and the co–founder of the Emily Whitehead Foundation.

The Emily Whitehead Foundation emerged from the Whitehead family's own experiences during Emily's treat-

ment, where they confronted a significant lack of resources for pediatric patients with ALL. Their mission is unequivocal: to ensure no other family has to navigate the challenges they did with-

The first pediatric patient to be enrolled in the trial, Emily received an incredibly potent dose of the drug … On her seventh birthday, Emily woke up cancer–free. out resources.

In her capacity as the co–founder of the foundation, Emily has not only nurtured a deep connection within the community of over 20,000 individuals who have undergone the now FDA–approved CAR T cell therapy, but she has also offered a support system to those who have faced similar struggles. Beyond her organizational efforts in arranging programs and fundraisers, Emily has become a vital resource for countless children globally who reach out to her via Instagram. "And these little kids,” she says, “they looked at me like I'm some kind of superhero. I'm just, like, I don't really feel like that.”

Though Emily's life is continually shaped by her work as an advocate and by her own battle with cancer, she emphasizes that “being in interview mode is just one part of who I am. There's a lot more."

While her journey often placed her in front of the camera, she found true passion behind the lens as a photographer herself. "Growing up around cameras has definitely influenced me," she reflects,

"but what I hope to express through my photography is more of who I really am— not just a cancer survivor."

In 2019, Emily was approached by Steven Spielberg’s team, who asked for access to the yearly photos Emily takes marking her cancer–free milestones. These photos, along with her inspiring narrative, were integrated into a short film showcased at the Comcast Center in Philadelphia. This experience paved the way for a personal meeting with Spielberg and an unforgettable day on the set of West Side Story, solidifying Emily's desire to pursue photog-

raphy in the world of cinema as a career.

Emily “still think[s] about that today like just how crazy it was to be there. I was just sitting there and watching a movie being made by the greatest director of all time.”

Like most first–year students, Emily is still undecided as to what major she is going to pursue. What she does know is that her interest lies at the intersection of the sciences and arts, specifically environmental studies and writing. She is particularly excited to explore academics at Penn, an institution that has taken on different meanings at every stage of her life

and where she sees herself figuring out how to fit all of the pieces of her identity together. “I can’t even process that I am a student here now,” she says.

While Emily's life has been profoundly shaped by her unique life experiences, her journey continues to unfold as she embarks on a new chapter at Penn. "Being a cancer survivor has shaped me in ways I wouldn't trade for anything. I've had so many incredible experiences, and all of these fellow survivors, myself included, wouldn't have had this journey any other way.” k

DECEMBER 2023

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CAMPUS // FOCUS

Self–Diagnosis in the Age of the Endless Scroll

#fyp #mentalhealthawareness #neurodiversity #therapy #adhd #autism #asd #anxiety #healthy #selfcare #wellness #community #putafingerdownchallenge B Y M E I L I N G M AT H U R Illustration by Emmi Wu

Put a finger down if you love eating the same foods over and over again. Put a finger down if you don’t eat. Put a finger down if you pick at your fingers a lot … and put a bonus finger down if it’s because it helps you focus. If you put more than six fingers down, you might have ADHD.

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I

f you spend time scrolling through TikTok or Instagram Reels, you’ve likely encountered a video like this: A content creator sits in their bedroom or on their couch, the camera angle capturing no more than one of their shoulders. They hold up one hand as a faceless speaker in the background audio rattles off a list of traits, fingers slowly folding down to indicate which traits they do and don’t relate to. In fact, social media posts en-

couraging viewers to measure themselves against diagnostic criteria for various mental health disorders have been on the rise since the pandemic. While these videos address a number of conditions, an increasing number center around neurodivergence, the range of distinct cognitive functioning that includes autism, ADHD, dyslexia, Tourette syndrome, and more.

In response to these social media trends, many mental health profession-

als are voicing concerns that teens are making inaccurate conclusions about themselves. Since diagnosis is a complex process that can include psychological evaluations, physical exams, and longterm monitoring, professionals generally agree that consultations with therapists and licensed mental health professionals are a more reliable way of exploring diagnostic options. However, when it comes to neurodivergence, this viewpoint doesn’t capture the whole story.

Jon Argaman, a critical writing instructor at Penn whose research focuses on neurodiversity and writing, explains that formal diagnoses and self–diagnoses have different uses. Whether a neurodivergent person chooses to pursue a formal diagnosis or not largely depends on what they’re hoping to achieve.

A formal diagnosis often provides access to specific services. For students, this could look like school accommodations, such as those provided by Penn’s Weingarten Center. On the other hand, self–diagnosis helps people make sense of their experiences and understand where to seek out support. “If you think, ‘I might be autistic, or I might have ADHD,’ then … it helps you search for the kinds of things that have been helpful to other autistic people and people with ADHD,” Argaman says.

Photo courtesy of Terhi Nurminen

According to Terhi Nurminen (C, E ‘25), a founding member of Advocates for Neurodiversity (AND), those who exhibit stereotypical signs of neurodivergence as children are often able to get tested and diagnosed at a young age. But not everyone shows their neurodivergence the same way, and many people go through the primary education system without anyone around them realizing they’re neurodivergent. This teaches them how to manage their neurodivergence without any outside help, at which point formal diagnosis may no longer be a practical or helpful option. In this case, Terhi personally sees more value in the understanding and community that comes with self–diagnosis than the “professional stamp of approval” offered by formal diagnosis.

Remaining self–diagnosed often isn’t a choice. Alasia Williams (C ‘24) is the co– president of AND and identifies as neurodivergent. She says racism and sexism make it difficult for marginalized groups to receive the care that they need from mental health professionals. Black men are routinely over–diagnosed for ADHD because their teachers in school report them for being hyperactive; in reality, they’re being unfairly held to higher standards of behavior than their white counterparts. On the flip side, Black women are often underdiagnosed for ADHD because ADHD can manifest in the form of inattentiveness and impulsivity. However, stereotypes that Black women are “lazy” and “defiant” can cause mental health professionals to not take Black women as seriously when they’re seeking diagnoses.

“The main conception of anyone getting diagnosed with a neurodiversity identity tends to be a very young white boy who is cishet and is upper middle class or higher,” says L.E. McKeown (C ‘24), co–president of AND and an autistic self–advocate, a neurodivergent person who speaks up for their experiences. They’re also a disability consultant who’s given lectures on the basics and sociology of autism at various universities. L.E. explains that people who aren’t white or male are typically

socialized to believe they’re not allowed to externalize their neurodivergence, so they turn their behaviors inward. In a vicious cycle, those who aren’t as visibly neurodivergent are diagnosed less frequently, further enforcing the belief that their demographic isn’t diagnosable, which reduces available support.

Unlike more prevalent mental health conditions like depression and anxiety, there is less research on neurodivergency, as well as fewer mental health professionals who specialize in identifying and supporting neurodivergent individuals.

Alasia notes that comorbidities between types of mental health conditions can cause mental health professionals to issue inaccurate diagnoses. For example, autism and borderline personality disorder share symptoms, which can make it hard to distinguish between the two.

Photo courtesy of L.E. McKeown

L.E. experienced firsthand the challenges associated with getting a formal diagnosis. The average cost of an autism diagnosis in the United States is between $1,000 and $2,000, but it can cost several thousand more depending on how much insurance is willing to cover. While L.E. was able to find an option that was “considered the cheaper side of [an] autism diagnosis,” it was still “incredibly expensive.” L.E. also struggled to find a place

DECEMBER 2023

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that would diagnose women and adults— the only reason they were able to receive a diagnosis was because they were 17 years and ten months old at the time. “They said if I had waited any longer, they would not have diagnosed me.”

After finding a practice that would diagnose them, L.E. had to travel from Philadelphia to New Jersey for the evaluation, where the diagnostician was “incredibly rude the entire time.” Afterward, L.E. felt uncomfortable reading the diagnostician’s report. “You are objectifying and medicalizing me in a way that does not sit right with me,” they say, “but I needed you in order to gain access to something that can give me access to equality.”

With all of the challenges and complexities that come with pursuing a formal diagnosis, many neurodivergent people are left to seek out resources and support on their own. “There’s essentially no such thing as seeking out information online that does not involve social media,” Argaman points out. He says that because social media is so pervasive, it’s the place people naturally turn to when searching for information on their own neurodivergence, which can yield both green flags and red flags.

Social media allows for the creation of communities where people can unite over shared experiences. “I don’t see a reason why it would not be okay for people to explore these things themselves and self– identify and find community based on that,” Terhi says. Argaman, too, explains that it can be freeing for neurodivergent people to find others online who can validate their experiences instead of pathologizing them.

Despite growing up in a pretty populated area, Argaman didn’t encounter many people with stories similar to his until getting an “internet account” at the age of 13. He describes the feeling of finding community online as “very normalizing … and grounding.”

Alasia agrees that open dialogue online can reassure neurodivergent people that they’re not alone in their challenges and encourage greater understanding by their

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non–neurodivergent peers. “The more neurotypical people that are exposed to neurodivergent communities … the broader understanding and bandwidth [we have] for how complicated human beings can be,” she says.

Because neurodivergence is often identified by medical professionals through the lens of assessing deficits, it can be difficult for high–achieving neurodivergent students—who may outwardly struggle less with their academics—to access the support they need.

According to Terhi, this narrative applies to many neurodivergent students at Penn who excelled in their classes growing up, causing other signs of neurodivergence to be overlooked by teachers and parents.

When these students find themselves struggling in college, they may blame themselves for their perceived shortcomings.

Where professional support fails, social media can be a valuable tool to fill in the gaps. “Social media can help you understand that … what you’re experiencing [may not be] universal,” Terhi says. Neurodivergent people are “incredibly misrepresented” in the education, healthcare, and professional systems, L.E. says, which is why social media is extremely valuable in allowing people to learn about neurodivergence from members of that community.

Still, the nature of social media lends itself to the spread of misinformation, often making it difficult to tell what is true and what isn’t. One example is the “superpower narrative,” where traits of neurodivergence are sensationalized in an overly positive light. For example, different pattern recognition styles in autistic people are seen as a positive trait, when in reality, they are neutral things that have been assigned a value.

“It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s simply because people want to see good in themselves after only being told so much bad,” L.E. says. “Social media is one of the only places where that can happen, which then makes [information] spread like wildfire, whether or not it’s true.”

L.E. also expresses that neurodivergent content creators are not immune to

spreading misinformation. The neurodiversity movement itself is relatively new as a social justice movement, with new information constantly being presented and previous information debunked.

When people are beginning their own self–discovery, they often document their experiences on social media while they continue to learn about their neurodivergence. Because they’re not yet fully informed on everything that they’re learning, their content runs the risk of presenting reductive, black–and–white information, Terhi explains. This often leads to a lack of nuance in social media content published by people who are still in the process of learning about themselves.

For example, up until 2013, it was impossible for someone to get diagnosed with both ADHD and autism, so content creators with both may attribute their experiences to ADHD only, which can skew popular perceptions of what ADHD really is. “There is a lot of content [on social media] that’s not wrong, but it’s not necessarily giving you the full picture,” Terhi says.

With many people turning to social media as a starting point for self–exploration, there’s an ongoing debate—both inside and outside the neurodivergent community—about whether people should be diagnosing themselves based on their own research.

“Whenever you have a diagnostic category, there will always be false positives and false negatives, meaning you’ll never be able to draw criteria that are so good you only get the people who should be diagnosed. It’s just not a thing,” Argaman explains. He believes that concerns about self–diagnosis are generally driven by the question of whether it’s worse to generate more of these false positives or false negatives from a set of diagnostic criteria.

“My view with neurodiversity, especially around issues of self–diagnosis, is that the harms of false negatives are worse than the harms of false positives,” he says. “I believe in drawing the lines fairly extensively because I think there’s more good in capturing a wider range of people than not.”

Argaman points out that there is a distinction between someone adopting a label for a neurodivergence and someone presuming that they’re an authority on the neurodivergence when they may not be. “The thing I caution people against isn’t about labeling,” he clarifies. “It’s about taking the enthusiasm and excitement of finally finding the thing that describes your experience and assuming it applies to other people more fully than maybe it does.”

Photo courtesy of Alasia Williams

Alasia believes that social media trends that encourage people to explore diagnosis on their own fall into a tricky area. She says that it’s important for people to have insight into their symptoms, and having an idea of why one might be experiencing certain things can assist them in seeking out guidance from mental health professionals. However, a challenge that arises with these trends is that viewers may prematurely jump to conclusions about themselves based on incorrect assumptions.

“People seeing a TikTok [might say], ‘Oh, this person with autism does this thing that I do.’ The reason that you also do that action may not be autism,” she says. However, if while doing further research on autism or checking the Diag-

nostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, someone finds themselves identifying with what they’re finding, it could be worth talking to a professional.

Alasia believes that if social media helps a person figure out something new about themselves, that may not be a bad thing.

A part of L.E. worries that misinformation on social media can make it even harder for the neurodivergent community to interface with outsiders. They’re less concerned about self–diagnosis itself, and more about medical professionals and policymakers who are in positions of power encountering misinformation on neurodivergence and using it to make decisions about the way neurodivergent people are treated.

At the same time, L.E. supports those trying on different labels and exploring their identities, since, similar to gender, neurodivergence is a partly social construct.

“So far, [autism has] been entirely defined by people who aren’t autistic,” they say. “If someone sees value in being autistic, I’m not going to say no to them because I think that at least means we’re moving in the right direction, that societal opinions [on autism] are no longer coming from such a vehement and violently opposed state, but are coming from a place of understanding and acceptance.”

Indeed, while formal diagnosis processes involve consultations with professionals and assessments according to set diagnostic criteria, Terhi emphasizes that neurodivergence is ultimately defined by the lived experiences of neurodivergent people.

“Even if some professional says, ‘Oh, you don’t fulfill this one checkbox in the diagnostic criteria,’ does that mean [someone isn’t] allowed to be part of [a] community that helps them?” Terhi asks.

“I think that it’s silly to think that a professional who observes you for only a few hours should be given the power to make the decision, when the outcome of [formal] diagnosis is most of the time just giving you the validation that you can be part of this community.”

The importance of community within neurodivergent circles cannot be overstated. AND released the following official statement: “AND is open to anyone, regardless of diagnosis. This includes people who are self–diagnosed/self–identified, people who are trying on labels and seeing what fits, and people generally moving around and appreciating the space and community of neurodiversity.”

Argaman encourages people to adopt a learner’s mindset when beginning their research into a potential diagnosis. Instead of viewing information through the lens of seeking a diagnosis, he encourages people to simply learn about the experiences of others and ask themselves, “What resonates, and what feels familiar?” There are reputable books and websites that provide self–assessment tools for various types of neurodivergence, and those with access to a psychologist can take those test results to them and ask how they can learn more.

Social media algorithms tend to trap users in an echo chamber of content that is similar to what they’ve previously already interacted with, without regard for whether or not the content is true. Argaman urges people to seek out information outside of their regular online channels to avoid falling into an “infinite loop of videos that refer to each other.”

Alasia recommends looking into academic research papers (for those who can access them) and information from accredited sources like universities, professors, and medical professionals. L.E. also encourages people to seek out the experiences of self–advocates—one of the best ways to understand how neurodivergent experiences line up with one’s own. Above all, they stress the importance of recognizing misinformation and triangulating sources whenever conducting research. “[Self–diagnosis] is a way to disrupt the system, so to speak. It’s a way to say that neurodivergence is an identity, not a diagnosis,” L.E. says, “and only we get to decide what our identities are.” k

DECEMBER 2023

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CITY // FOCUS

The Past, Present, and Future of Medicine How the College of Physicians of Philadelphia promotes diverse avenues of medical exploration

BY PRERNA KULKARNI Illustration by Ani Nguyen Le

P

hiladelphia is widely known as a city of medical firsts. Over 250 years ago, America’s first hospital, Pennsylvania Hospital, was founded in Philadelphia. Nearly a decade and a half later, the University of Pennsylvania established America’s first school of medicine. 109 years after that, the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania became America’s first teaching hospital.

Today, Philadelphia remains one of America's epicenters of medical innovation. The greater Philadelphia area is home to five medical schools, over 50 hospitals and health care companies, and around 200 medical research organizations. Undeniably, Philly’s heritage in health care is rich, and the city continues to celebrate its medical culture through many avenues.

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia seeks to bridge this medical history to the contemporary world.

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia was founded in 1787 and is America’s oldest private medical society. Since then, the College has blossomed into Philadelphia’s hub for teaching and advancing the cause of public health, vaccinations, and

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art within medicine.

One of the College’s teaching facilities, the Mütter Museum, is home to over 25,000 medical objects and specimens, displayed throughout the building and presented in the museum’s various exhibitions. One of the museum’s permanent exhibitions, the Hyrtl Skull Collection, houses 139 human skulls collected by anatomist Josef Hyrtl.

Another exhibition, named “Our Finest Clothing,” teaches its visitors about the remarkable nature of skin and how humans have long used this organ as a canvas for expression.

“We want to be able to create this place where people can not only learn about their bodies and the science of medicine, but also learn about the story behind it, the history behind it,” Amanda McCall, one of the Mütter Museum’s educators, mentions.

Throughout McCall’s time at the College of Physicians of Philadelphia, she has helped facilitate tours for various groups of people, including high schoolers, retirement

communities, undergraduate and graduate students, and more. Through storytelling, she creates art out of medicine.

“When you’re talking about science and art, a lot of times, people tend to polarize them—that they are two opposite things that don’t inhabit the same sphere," says McCall. "But I think that when we’re talking about a pure science, like medicine, it is important to the museum to involve the story side—the art and humanity of it.”

Recently, the Mütter Museum opened an exhibit called “Illustrating Medicine” that tells stories through medical artwork. The exhibit features centuries–old illustrations of the human anatomy and herbal medicines, many of which have never been revealed to the public before. McCall’s belief is that, by unveiling the humanity of medical science through stories, the museum will make medicine a more accessible topic to all generations and groups of people, especially students.

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia’s Center of Education has taken upon itself a vital responsibility to empower students through a myriad of educational programs. The center’s initiatives include the Girls One Diaspora Club, the Hinkson Holloway Mentorship Program, Teen Health Week, and many more. Each of these programs focus on educating various demographics of students who are interested in STEM and health care–based fields.

For example, the Girls One Diaspora Club is an after–school internship program for Philadelphia teen girls who are of African descent or are first–generation African-Americans with an interest in STEM–based careers. This club serves as both a safe space for its members to talk about their experiences adjusting to a new culture, and an academic hub for opportunities within STEM. The young women who participate in this program are provided with mentorships that focus on tutoring, career exploration, and preparing for a college setting.

Another of the College’s programs, the Hinkson Holloway Mentorship Program, was founded with the purpose of supporting young Black men in exploring and excelling in medical careers. As of current, this scholarship program continues to serve the Philadelphia community by encouraging young men to pursue medicine.

The College recognizes that the process of working towards a career in healthcare is a long and challenging journey, which is exactly the reason why the institute provides an abundance of support to all of its program participants.

The College’s initiatives not only focus on advising students towards careers in medicine, but they also encourage students to take charge of their physical and mental health. Every year, the College hosts Teen Health Week, an initiative that raises awareness about a variety of issues that affect teens. Throughout the program, students take part in interactive activities that promote healthy, lifelong habits. These activities include lessons about topics like sexual development and consent, looking at violence through

a mental health perspective, and investigating the impact of vaccines. Teen Health Week’s impact is not just limited to Philadelphia. The program also runs in locations outside of the United States, such as the SOS Children’s Villages in Uganda.

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia is not only known for its programs and the Mütter Museum, but for its enormous Historical Medical Library and its award–winning educational website, the History of Vaccines. The Historical Medical Library was established in 1788, serving the Philadelphia community as the city’s predominant medical library for over 150 years. The library is home to hundreds of invaluable manuscripts and texts dating back centuries. Today, the library facilitates the learning of a variety of scholars, writers, medical professionals, and students.

Another of the College’s impactful initiatives, the History of Vaccines, is a detailed chronicle of immunizations throughout history. The website includes a combination of articles, blog posts, and biographies of various scientists, most notably, Edward Jenner, the father of vaccines. The History of Vaccines has not only chronicled the development of vaccines over time, but addresses controversies surrounding vaccines, such as their hypothetical relationship to neurodevelopmental disorders. By readily providing research, data, and general information on vaccines, the College facilitates public understanding of medical concepts that may seem complicated at first glance.

In doing so, the College works towards clearing any misconceptions or biases that people hold because of a lack of understanding about subjects like vaccines.

Looking towards the future, René Najera, a Chair for Public Health and an editor for History of Vaccines, believes it’s crucial for the College to maintain its ability to adapt to society’s ever–evolving medical scene.

“The College has been around for 300 years, so it is important that it manages to keep up with advancements in technology and changes in society, in order to meet

the needs of Philadelphians,” Najera comments. He also mentions that the College holds long–standing relationships with medical institutions around Philadelphia and looks forward to continuing collaboration with these schools towards making medicine more inclusive to the public.

The College is no stranger to quickly adapting to national public health emergencies and deriving modern solutions for medical dilemmas. Dr. Najera tells the story of how “when the Yellow Fever epidemic in the late–1700s hit, physicians [from the College] came together because something needed to be done.” Due to the diligence of these physicians, the Yellow Fever epidemic was put to a halt in Philadelphia and hasn’t returned since.

During the most recent public health emergency in the United States, the COVID–19 pandemic, it was vital for the College to find ways to transform its teaching to better accommodate the public.

“COVID caused us to figure things out so quickly,” McCall recalls. “I definitely noticed that it has offered me the opportunity to teach lessons and engage with the public in parts of the world that might not have an opportunity to visit the museum because of geography. One of our other educators taught a lesson to a museum group in Latvia. While it was inconvenient figuring this out at the last minute, in the process we were able to develop something that gave us this really amazing opportunity to engage with people we might not have had before.”

Diversifying its audience and program participants has been a long–standing goal of the College. The College frequently branches out in order to bring in fellows from different fields of study. As McCall mentions, the College also strives to not just educate the Philadelphia community, but the rest of the world too. While the ways in which the College serves the public have evolved over time, the institution's main mission has stayed consistent: to uphold the values of medicine and do good for the people of Philadelphia and beyond. k

DECEMBER 2023

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EVENTS CALENDAR

Take It to the Streets

What to Do in Philly This Month This month: non–denominational holiday festivities, Lena Dunham–coded open mics, and the best movie of all time.

G

oing to college in Philadelphia, we’re so often bombarded—on social media and IRL—with seemingly endless options for how to spend our free time. So I’m delighted to announce that Street has done the hard part for you: We’ve rounded up what we think are the can’t–miss events for the month (and you can expect more of these in the months to come) in one convenient place. If I’ve done my job right, there’ll be something in here for every one of our readers, no matter what you like to do with your weekends.

Arielle Stanger, Print Editor

Dec. 1–Dec. 17: David Antonio Cruz: artisan snacks, the Christmas markets have an When the Children Come Home @ ICA abundance of goods to help you the find most Philly–based artist David Antonio Cruz and guest curator Monique Long bring Cruz’s monumental portraits, drawings, sculpture, and performance to the Institute of Contemporary Art. Cruz's work bridges together Black, brown, and queer communities, all finding a home at the ICA this season.

Free with student ID, various times, 118 S 36 St. —————————————————————————————

unique gifts for your family and friends. Be sure to get a cup of mulled wine and stroll through the park with your warmest down jacket.

Free admission, Sunday–Thursday 12 p.m.–8 p.m., Friday–Saturday 12 p.m.–9 p.m., 1 S 15th St and North 15th & Arch St. —————————————————————————————

From ice skating, to Mistletoe Marketplace, to Mrs. Claus’ Reading Room—all under twinkling lights—Tinseltown Holiday Spectacular brings the best of the holiday season to FDR Park. Weekly Gritty Claus visits and Waggin’ Wednesdays make it a true Philadelphia Christmas.

Tickets starting at $15.99 for groups, various times, 1900 Pattison Ave. —————————————————————————————

Dec. 1–Jan. 1: Holiday Markets @ Dilworth Park and LOVE Park

is hosting an open–mic storytelling competition where anyone can come up and share a five– minute true story on the night’s theme: home.

The theme is broad, encompassing everything from the literal to the conceptual interpretation of whatever home means to you. Whether you walk up to the mic or are just there to listen, it’ll definitely be a memorable night.

Tickets $17.50, doors open 6 p.m, show at 7:30 p.m., 3025 Walnut St. —————————————————————————————

Do some last–minute holiday shopping at Philly's European–inspired holiday markets all throughout the month of December. Featuring local craft vendors selling handmade jewelry, pottery, and

The Philadelphia Rare Book Fair will host 26 exhibitors from across the country for one week-

Dec. 5: The Moth StorySLAM @ World Cafe Live

Dec. 1–Jan. 1: Tinseltown @ FDR Park Have a passion for storytelling? World Cafe Live

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Dec. 7–9: The Philadelphia Rare Book Fair @ Trinity Memorial Church

end at the historic Trinity Memorial Church.

Book lovers can peruse rare books and stop by various literary and book–related events in the French Room.

Free Friday and Saturday, $50 Thursday Preview Night, Friday 11 a.m.–6 p.m. and Saturday 11 a.m.–5 p.m., 2212 Spruce St. —————————————————————————————

Dec. 9: Sky Ferreira @ Theatre of Living Arts

Sky Ferreira is freed! Indie synth–pop darling has allegedly parted ways with Capitol Records, and she’s stopping by at Philadelphia, a woman unshackled. Hearing the soundtrack of Myspace in person is a must–see event—missing it would be quite embarrassing.

General admission tickets starting at $32.50, 8 p.m., 334 South St. —————————————————————————————

Dec. 15–17: Punk Rock Flea Market @ 23rd St. Armory

Collector of trinkets, rejoice! Philly’s Punk Rock Flea Market is returning this mid–December. A thrifting experience on steroids, find yourself immersed in all things punk—band tees, art pieces, vinyls, and so much more.

Free, various times, 22 S 23rd St. —————————————————————————————

Dec. 9: 'Jeanne Dielman' Philadelphia Film Center

@

Now topping BFI’s Sight & Sound 100 list as the “best film in the history of cinema,” Chantal Akerman’s entrancing classic Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles will be shown at Philadelphia Film Center for two nights this weekend. An all–time classic in the tradition of slow cinema, Jeanne Dielman studies the extreme mundanity of a housewife and slowly unravels the disturbing current underneath. $12 with student ID, various times, 1412 Chestnut St. —————————————————————————————

ThroughJan.1:Anti–Graphic:ASurrealist EyeonPhotographs@ThePMA

Famed American art dealer Julien Levy claimed surrealism is more than a movement, it’s a way of engaging with the world. Visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art, take in a range of historical to modern–day photos, and decide for yourself— who knows what deeper meanings you’ll find. $14 with student ID, various times, 2600 Benjamin Franklin Pkwy.

OVERHEARDS

This month: super stylists, super villains, and super sloppy top.

“I’m a super sloppy hot–potter.”

­

— Banned from La Tao

"I only make out with people I hate."

­

— Keeping Their Enemies Closer

"Bobs? Like, fuckass?!?"

— Edna Mode ­ “I don't know how to be cunty on command.”

— Not Allison Williams

­

What woman says ‘ok bet?' That’s like a man saying ‘kk perf.’”

— Judith Butler ­

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NOVEMBER 2023

3

street’s favorite internet trends

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OF 2023

design by Wei-An Jin

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AS THE YEARS GO BY and we as a society have come to realize that, yes, the internet really is forever, it seems increasingly important to keep track of what we’re creating and consuming. From melting your brain with "Subway Surfers" gameplay over Family Guy clips and admiring Sabrina Brier’s on–screen adaptation of the worst person you’ve ever met, to a never– ending pool of borg–related puns, or maybe the all-encompassing, summer long event that was "Barbenheimer," 2023 was certainly a year of bizarre, albeit entertaining, internet trends. So, if you’re trying to think back on how you’ve managed an alarmingly high daily screen time, and coming up blank, Street’s got you covered.

Without further ado, our official list of the best internet trends of 2023.

– Jules Lingenfelter, Style editor

TINDER TABI THIEF V. TWITTER There’s nothing I love more than an excuse for the internet to hate on a man and his audacity, and one man’s crime of passion swept the Twitter masses this year. A TikTok user went viral after revealing the strangest Tinder date she may have ever matched with, and the loss of her beloved Tabi Mary– Janes. In the video, Lex tells her tale of how a Tinder match, Josh, stole her designer shoes—retailed at almost $1,000, may I add—after spending the night. He had deleted his number from her phone, after borrowing it under the guise of showing her a Spotify playlist, and gifted the stolen shoes to his current—yes, current—girlfriend.

As the video gained views and she gained support, Josh finally admitted to the crime, texting her, “Ight you got me.” The Tabis were safely returned to their rightful owner and Twitter stood appalled at the actions of this mysterious, nose– ringed man. The timeline flooded with condemnation of him, and warnings were issued to keep all two–toed footwear secure from lurking NYC fashion men.

– Jules Lingenfelter, Style editor

UNDERWEAR AS OUTERWEAR While wearing corsets and bustiers has been steadily climbing over the past three years, the trend of wearing undergarments as statement pieces went further this summer. The style got comfortable this summer with people wearing boxers as statement shorts. With the help of TikTok and a “viral” pair from Uniqlo, boxers made it outside of the home. Women donned cotton boxers, typically in the classic white or blue pin stripes, both on the runway and on the streets. Whether paired with a smart blazer and loafers, or dressed down with an oversized T–shirt, this style was everywhere. I’m all about the androgynous vibes of the style that prioritize comfort. And I love the (quite literally) cheeky humor of wearing these in public. Plus, with options available in almost every price range, whether $12 from Walmart or $1,200 from Miu Miu, this nonchalant style is for everyone.

– Anna O’Neill–Dietel, Style beat BARNACLE REMOVAL TIKTOKS Barnacle removal is the pimple popping of 2023. Videos of fishermen removing barnacles from lobsters and crabs have recently taken over my TikTok, and for good reason.

It provides the satisfaction of pimple popping by allowing you to sigh a deep breath with the animal. But unlike human pimples, barnacle removal assured with no blood nor pain. And you scroll knowing that you supported an animal's shell–care; barnacles can make it difficult for crabs and lobsters to shed. Through videos like barnacle removal, TikTok brings a previously elusive practice to life, giving us a glimpse into something most of us will never see. And maybe next time you eat lobster or crab, you’ll think about the effort that went into ensuring the animal’s well–being, and “farm–to–table” (or, “ocean–to–table”) may take on a different meaning.

– Claire Kim, Style beat

DECEMBER 2023

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DORM ROOM COOKING Step aside, Gordon Ramsay. TikTok star @lazypotnoodle has mastered the filet mignon... in their dorm room. Boasting 1.8 million followers and 52.9 million likes, the dorm room chef has seared, breaded, baked, and blended classic dishes around the world on a dark dorm room bed. In front of a dusty laptop, usually playing a TV show, @lazypotnoodle makes the fanciest, messiest, and greasiest food with a range of kitchen appliances. With the trusty pink plug–in pot, they inspire anyone to cook funnel cake, cheesesteak sliders, or crab rangoons. If they can make an appetizer, entree, and dessert on their bed, with plug–in appliances, you could do it too.

– Steven Li, Style beat

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GOOGLE EMOJI KITCHEN Ever seen a snoose? A snouse? A snird?

Probably not, because they’re the progeny of Google’s emoji kitchen. I cooked up a snail goose, a snail mouse, and even a snail bird, but you can combine any two emojis to create something entirely new and probably a little horrifying! Some of them are a little punny: When you crossbreed a clown and the fish, you get Nemo. Or, if you mix the bread and the pineapple, you get a Chinese pineapple bun. Other concoctions produce ethereal creatures like the whoon, a yellow moon shaped like a whale, or the stroose, a star–studded mother goose. But, a lot of the combinations generated just shove the two things together, like the scorpion wearing hotdog buns and a squiggle of mustard, or the shark wearing a fox–ear headband. The possibilities are endless—you’re welcome for this novel way to waste your time.

– Arielle Stanger, Print editor

7.

6.

AGGRESSIVE SANDWICH ASMR I’ve always been a sandwich girlie through and through, so my obsession with TikToks of people aggressively making sandwiches is no surprise. Over the past year, numerous content creators—such as @salt_hank and @owen.han—have made snippy sandwich recipe videos popular, emphasizing close–up visuals and enunciated sounds as they demonstrate the cooking process.

These enthralling videos are a gift to all of my senses whenever they pop up on my Instagram or TikTok: The satisfying chopping and sizzling of onions, the plonk of meat and cheese on bread, the sharp crunch of the bread being cut in half, and the brain– tingling chomping on the final product.

Goosebumps.

THE FNAF REVIVAL There’s a reason this is in the pop culture category and not movies. Was the Five Nights at Freddy's movie good? Absolutely not. Was this the first year that FNAF audios on TikTok, cosplays, and lore has circulated throughout the internet, permeating through even to the lives of those who don’t know who Freddy Fazbear is? Again, no. And yet for those of us who were fortunate enough to play the horror video game in the mid–2010s, listen to The Living Tombstone, and engage in the incredibly detailed, incredibly long lore Youtube video essays, FNAF entering the mainstream in this sense has been both nostalgic and terrifying. Though Mike Schmidt might not have been the security guard of my dreams, perhaps it was all worth it, as we return to our roots: Josh Hutcherson thirst traps.

– Hannah Sung, Music editor

– Zaara Shafi, Style beat

DECEMBER 2023

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street's 2023 editor's yearbook

Saying goodbye to this year's class of editors with some of their favorite quotes of the year.

walden green, editor–in–chief

“Everything I do is tragic; every boy I like is gay.”

– Olivia Rodrigo

arielle stanger, print editor

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alana bess, digital editor

collin wang, design editor

“I wish you well.”

– Gwyneth Paltrow

“After much consideration and conversation with my family, I've decided to give up smoke.”

– Snoop Dogg

“I just gave a squirle a peice of bread and it straight smashed all of it!!!! I had no idea they ate bread like that!! Haha #crazy”

katie bartlett, focus editor

sophia rosser, focus editor

avalon hinchman, features editor

“I, uh, I, I have, uh, I'm Julien.”

– Julien Baker

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“I can't remember the last time I like, saw a movie.”

– Rep. Marie Gluesenkamp Perez

– Travis Kelce

“BE HONEST, what car did your dad drive you to school in?”

– David Beckham

jean paik, features editor

jules lingenfelter, style editor “girl the strike” – @soapyhadid

“This is the year that queers my existence; actual meaning is up for interpretation.”

– man on N.J. transit

norah rami, ego editor

josephine buccini, arts editor

naima small, assignments editor

“Could the ugly, untalented gays please report to the principal's office?”

– 'Bottoms'

“You know, I sometimes struggle with the reading comprehension.”

– Vivek Ramaswamy

“He had a meeting with Nelson Mandela ... and the Spice Girls.”

– Prince Harry

catherine sorrentino,assignments assignments editor catherine sorrentino, editor “He's gay famous! It's different!”

– Bowen Yang, SNL

weike li, film & tv editor

“YOU are the visual, baby.”

– Beyoncé

hannah sung, music editor “Pass me my vape, I'm feeling sick, I need to take a puff.”

– Lana Del Rey

DECEMBER 2023

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DECEMBER 2023

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PRINT // LEGACY

HIGHB

Prince Harry dick cream

It’s Pablomatic

Bed, Bath, and Bankruptcy

Canadian wildfires

Ariana DeBose’s BA F TA s ra p

Ariana Grande fucks Spongebob

the

approval matrix

by Arielle Stanger & Walden Green design by Sophia Liu

Street decides what's in and what's out in 2023.

FLOP T w i t t e r b e c o m e s X

SKIMS climate change nipple bra

Camila Cabello says “I’m Giving Oppenheimer”

Rachel Zegler ’s southern accent

“ To x i c Gossip Tra i n” “ M o t h e r " by M e g h a n Tra i n o r 26

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LOWB

BROW

Caroline Polachek’s “Dang” PowerPoint #Gwynnocent

RiRi’s pregnant Super Bowl coronation

Ayo Edebiri’s Letterboxd reviews

Sabrina Brier

MUNAgenius at MSG

Anne Hathaway lipsyncs “Lady Marmalade”

Timmy Tim as Troye S i va n

M3GAN dance

AR by Addison Rae

SLAY

Adidas Sambas

BROW

Keith Urban hard launches Bo x Phoebe Lana Del Rey works at Waffle House

Justin Timberlake has a small penis DECEMBER 2023

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THE YEAR 2023 WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED FOR MUSIC,

at least for me. I’ve had personal stakes in many of the albums that have come out this year. The prodigal boys, i.e. boygenius, reunited after five years and put out the film, directed by none other than Kristen Stewart, and Lana saved lives and served (at Waffle House). If these past few years have proven the solid foundation of artists, 2023 is about those artists taking a sledgehammer on that base and reemerging brand new.

Artists this year have proven that they have what it takes to remain relevant in the industry, staying in our

collective cultural consciousness. To stay the same is to die, and this year’s surge in truly brilliant—dare I say, revolutionary—music is largely due to artists' reclamation of their creative work and transformation of it into something new. From Lil Yachty’s Let’s Start Here. to Mitski’s The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We to some of the strongest debuts of late, Street’s best albums of the year delve into the biblical, the grotesque, and frankly, the beautiful, all with the pop culture moments of the music videos, tours, and the drama (oh, the drama) that we’ve sorely been missing.

– Hannah Sung, Music Editor

street's favorite albums OF 2023

design by Collin Wang

Did you know that there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd Lana Del Rey There’s a place Lana Del Rey has been trying to show us for more than a decade. It has gone by many names: “The Men in Music Business Conference,” “The Mariners Apartment Complex,” “Old Paul’s.” Other aliases include just about every city in Southern California and most of the neighborhoods in Los Angeles. This place has been called Friday night, as in “I feel so alone on a…” but also “We get down every…” Many times it has been called America. Hers is a lyrical lexicon so well–traveled as to spawn entire Wiki pages and Reddit posts dedicated to mapping it.

Del Rey’s ninth studio album adds at least one new destination to the scrapbook. Only this time, she’s asking you to follow her. Did You Know That There's

a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd?

Lana Del Rey is real—a synthesis of so much allusion and allegory that somewhere along the way, she became flesh and blood. Early on it was easy to assume that she was some protective shell for the real Lizzy Grant, but Tunnel does away with that notion once and for all.

This is a family album, with all the attendant mess and profundity. It begins with “The Grants,” a song about death, and reaches its peak with a scene of birth on “Kintsugi.”

The tunnel is Lana, right?

So is the complex and the conference and the state of California. She’s not mapping a country anymore—she’s mapping herself. Maybe she always has been.

– Walden Green, editor–in–chief

Top Tracks: “A&W,” “Kintsugi,” “Grandfather please stand on the shoulders of my father while he’s deep–sea fishing,” “Let The Light In (feat. Father John Misty)” 28

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10,000 gecs 100 gecs It sickens me on some level to call 10,000 gecs one of the best albums of 2023. But to bestow that label based solely on artistic merit feels needlessly myopic. On their newest record, 100 gecs displays all the virtues of the modern era. In an age where our attention spans rarely last longer than 30 seconds, gecs hops wildly between a vast array of genres—from the ska influence in "Frog On The Floor," the pop rock of "Doritos & Fritos," and the classic hyperpop in songs like "757" and “mememe.” In a post–ironic media landscape, where it can be hard to tell what sincerity is, 10,000 gecs represents this constant semi–detachment by blending honest, emo-

tionally raw vocals with over–the–top electronic instrumentation.

The culture pull of 100 gecs simply cannot be overstated. Ever since blasting to the forefront of hyperpop with 1000 gecs in 2019, 100 gecs has been the voice of a generation.

But their cultural pull is no longer limited to just Gen Z—even the arch– conservative pundits of Fox News can’t resist such bangers as "Dumbest Girl Alive." The album 10,000 gecs foretells what the future holds for the music industry—a vast spiral of chaos and madness waiting to be explored. This is the age of the gec, and we’re just living in it.

– Nishanth Bhargava, Music beat

Top Tracks: "Dumbest Girl Alive," "Hollywood Baby," "757"

Desire, I Want To Turn Into You Caroline Polachek

Welcome to Caroline’s island. It’s bizarre and futuristically feudal, existing in a liminal space between our world and somewhere only Caroline Polachek herself knows. Grimes and Dido on the same track, bagpipes, and volcanic motifs alongside sexting only exist here. Desire, I Want To Turn Into You also exists in this limbo between the grandiose, visionary production and downright primal, mythological themes. In true Odyssean, ShWutter Island fashion, Polachek mothers themes of seduction, desperation, and intensity, enrapturing all who enter.

But Polachek doesn’t forget her roots. The ritualistic "hey"s that beckon the weary traveler

to enter the island in the first track, getting lost in the tempting spiral of desire, are none other than a sample from "Look At Me Now," from her seminal 2019 album Pang. Her tried and true otherworldly vocals only further enhance the imagery of the album. No man is an island, and neither are Polachek’s esoteric lyrics, alluding to the likes of Shakespeare and herself.

Desire, and all that it encompasses, includes death. "I Believe" pays tribute to legendary artist SOPHIE, and the first track reveals Polachek's "manic as fuck" relationship with her father. She shows the dark side of desire, as escapism and yearning are major themes of the orgiastic album. Desire is violent and grotesque, and should be the eighth deadly sin; and yet to desire is to live and love to the fullest extent.

– Hannah Sung, Music editor

Top Tracks: "Billions," "Butterfly Net," "Welcome To My Island" DECEMBER 2023

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the record, boygenius

Top Tracks: "Leonard Cohen," "$20," "Cool About It"

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Top Tracks: "I AM," "Kitsch," "섬찟 (Hypnosis),” “Blue Blood”

I think it’s funny how boygenius humbly titled this album the record, because really, it’s so much more.

The resulting tour launched a supergroup of queer women to the top of a male–dominated scene, a middle finger to those who believe only men can be rockstars. Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus prove that anyone can shred on guitar and rip their shirts off to crowds of screaming fans. Plus, three best friends on stage singing about their own friendship while kissing one another is, essentially, lesbian bootcamp.

But let’s not forget what a heartful record it is in its own right, with its callbacks to their self–titled EP that show how much one can grow in five years time. My best friend and I will halt any conversation to sing along to "Leonard Cohen."

Screaming with Phoebe to the end of "$20" is more cathartic than any therapy session. "Cool About It" stings in the way that it feels a little too real at times, but that’s the beauty of it: boygenius sings about something we’ve all felt. It’s attainable, it’s real, and it’s the human experience.

– Arielle Stanger, Print editor

I've IVE IVE K–pop once again experienced a year of female–group domination: (G)I–DLE, NewJeans, LE SSERAFIM, aespa, and many, many more helped create memorable sing–along hits. However, there's no doubt that 2023 is IVE’s year, and their full-length LP I’ve IVE may arguably be one of the best K–pop debut albums in recent memory. Title track "I AM" leads the charge with its larger– than–life chorus proudly showcasing the group’s confidence, combined with their trademark elegance. Album opener "Blue Blood" is a thumping display of self–assuredness and self–love, while pre–release single "Kitsch" juxtaposes "I AM"'s loudness with subdued individuality, proudly displaying their kitschy artistry.

In an industry filled with constant expectations to be perfect, I’ve IVE occupies a middle

ground of embodying perfection and standing up to scrutiny. If the album’s front half displays self courage, the rest of the album, then, balances that with vulnerability. Members Wonyoung and Yujin contributed songwriting to "Mine" and "Heroine," respectively, and showcased their girls’ inner desires while under the spotlight. But the emotional centerpiece of the project is album closer "Shine With Me," which was also co–penned by Wonyoung. Doubling as both an autobiographical and a fan song, the girls chronicle their journey from the beginning to the upper echelons of the K–pop world and all their struggles throughout. It’s a sweet, borderline cheesy way to close out a mission statement of an album, but IVE is driven in rewriting the rules of the game.

– Derek Wong, Music beat

The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We Mitski Let's Start Here.

Lil Yachty Is Let’s Start Here. the coolest album of the year? No. In fact, if you told me that a twilight career trap star released an album influenced by Tame Impala with an AI portrait on its cover, I probably would have thrown up in my mouth a little. But Lil Yachty successfully expands upon the increasingly bland 21st century psych template with imaginative themes, extraplanetary vocals, and tasteful incorporation of hip hop production. If only for being one of the most genuinely trippy mainstream releases of the past 50 years, Let’s Start Here. is worth a listen.

There was a time, following the breakout of her 2018 record Be the Cowboy and the release of Laurel Hell in 2022, when it seemed like Mitski might never release another album.

In a sign that we’re not in fact in the darkest timeline, she’s returned with what might be one of her best works yet, The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We. Described by Mitski as her most "American" album, it’s a pastoral and reverent guide to the wilderness, to loneliness, and finally, to looking

Top Tracks: "Star," "I'm Your Man,” “The Deal”

outward. Mitski has a gift for, well, everything, but especially finding the divine in the mundane, in bugs on the bottom of glass or the sound of cicadas. Backed by a 17–piece choir and lush, orchestral soundscapes, she transforms her own loneliness and pain into shimmering, lovely devotions to the world around her and, in turn, to herself. This is an album where Mitski discourses with angels, dogs, and the odd prophesying bird, and never loses sight of the wider landscape (pun intended). While this is not an album that immediately reveals itself to a listener, reader: It may be the best thing you hear all year.

– Catherine Sorrentino, Assignments editor

– Cole Knight, Music beat

Top Tracks: "the BLACK seminole.," "sAy sOMETHINg"

DECEMBER 2023

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Sundial Noname It’s been five years. We’ve waited through Twitter deactivations. We've waited through feuds with J. Cole. We’ve waited through teasers and performances and uncertainty.

The album was canceled and scrapped and begun anew in a seemingly never–ending cycle. But finally, we have been rewarded this year with Noname’s third album, Sundial.

The album revives Noname’s signature melodic raps and syncopated rhythms. While Telefone and Room 25 were rooted in reality and a critique of modern society, Sundial transcends this world to create its own utopia, from the cover of the album to the very song titled "afro futurism." The project imagines a world where sex and politics are inseparable and love — radical and indispensable. "boomboom (feat. Ayoni)" integrates reggaeton into

34TH STREET MAGAZINE

Top Tracks: “boomboom (feat.

Ayoni)," "namesake," "potentially the interlude"

Lucky Megan Moroney Megan Moroney’s Lucky, released early this summer, is a gem among country music debut albums. The album’s strengths are numerous, but one of the clearest is its sonic diversity. The title track is a twangy, upbeat country anthem for nights out and hookups, while the slow "Girl in the Mirror" is a melancholy ballad about heartbreak and self–worth, different still from the flippant "Sleep on My Side," written for an unfaithful ex. Though the album is able to maintain overarching cohesion, each song feels distinct and persuasive, something country radio desperately needs. Indeed, Moroney’s voice as a writer truly comes out in this project, reflecting her youth, her southern roots, and her personality. Songs like "Tennessee Orange" and "Georgia Girl" are direct references to her home, alma mater, University of Georgia, and its rivalries. "Nothin’ Crazy (feat. Mackenzie Carpenter)" off of the deluxe edition is a song about "moving too fast" and the love–sick obsession that has consumed almost every college–aged girl at some point. Despite the album’s modern themes, Lucky represents the core of country music: simple experiences and emotions painted in rich detail.

– Ananya Varshneya, Music beat

Top Tracks: “God Plays a Gibson," "Nothin' Crazy (feat. Mackenzie Carpenter)

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Noname’s repertoire, compelling any listener to swing their hips to the iconic phrase “W.E.B. stay with the boys.” A song that may start off about sex soon transitions to a societal critique, and Noname doesn’t shy away from saying “airstrikes” and “pussy” in the same track. The song "namesake" begins by calling the Itty Bitty Titty Committee to arms to fight against the normalization of violence and maybe pull up with some weed to the south of Sudan.

Sundial has been well worth the wait. Perhaps, in fact, it was timed perfectly, arriving as we, as a society, contend with what it means to be human in the midst of inhumanity. Noname offers an answer.

– Nishanth Bhargava, Music beat

street's favorite film & tv OF 2023

design by Insia Haque

2023 MARKS ANOTHER YEAR OF my affectionate relationship with the cinematic and televisual. I traveled around the globe chasing film festivals, producing more academic nonsense for my beloved Cinema & Media Studies classes, and inevitably falling in love with the many worlds behind the screen over and over again. I believe that film and television are all about worldmaking: They have an unparalleled capability to help us imagine strange people, unconventional lives, and alternative experiences that are by no means trivial to our existence on Earth. All film and television, for me, are realistic, because what is our perception of reality but the very boundary of our imagination?

This year, we're seeing the glorious return of established auteurs like

Martin Scorsese and Wes Anderson, and the emergence of new blood like Jonathan Glazer and Bas Devos. We're also saying farewells to the anime series about a perpetual war against Titans that spans over a decade, the drama of the Roy Family, and John Wilson's incisive commentary on the very nature of being human in New York. Through traversing space and temporality and mixing genre and convention, the film and televisual art of the year is an absolute ride beyond expectation. Finally, I hope to selfishly bring your attention to my personal favorite, that after all the wonders, thrills, and tears, we can always rest in our present and just be Here. But without further ado, here's Street's pick of film & TV of the year.

– Weike Li, Film & TV editor

DECEMBER 2023

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THE GILDED AGE: SEASON TWO

The Gilded Age is everything that’s

wrong about prestige television in the year 2023. It’s overproduced (with a budget as exorbitant as its main characters’ dynastic fortunes) and yet deeply underwritten (a main plot point of the first season featured Christine Baranski crossing a street). The show is also an unofficial entrant into the peak reboot era, built on the same formula as creator Julian Fellowes’ Downton Abbey with a Fortnite reskin of 1880s New York City. It’s one of the best things I’ve watched all year.

Chalk that up in part to actresses actressing: Baranski, Cynthia Nixon, and especially Carrie Coon all capture The Gilded Age’s precipitous social nuances, where a wrong word or even glance can spell doom. I’m also convinced that 90% of that budget went right to the costuming department: Our leading ladies (Coon especially) get decked out in feathers, crystals, and entire bolts of fabric, and it’s literally crack for my gay brain. The whole show is kind of like that—a comfort watch that, instead of being an “absolute money corrupts absolutely” cautionary tale à la Succession, just lets rich people be rich. And I think that’s beautiful.

– Walden Green, Editor–in–Chief

It’s been a pretty rough year for the superhero flick. While it’s not uncommon to see a headline prophesying the end of the genre any day now, one movie in 2023 still managed to capture audiences, critics, and the zeitgeist in one fell swoop—and do it all in spandex.

Spider–Man: Across the Spider– Verse is a dazzling, thrilling, and sur-

prisingly emotional sequel to the 2018 phenomenon. If the first film showed us what superhero stories could be (multi–faceted and for everybody), this sequel shows us what they should be.

In a genre that is built on “super” and “special” people but generally tells boring stories in a sea of CGI, Across the Spider–Verse dares to be visually–innovating and striking, with a well–written story about the growing pains of young adulthood, parenting, and a genre straining at the seams of its source material. In this context, Across the Spider–Verse is more than the only superhero movie of the year worth seeing—it’s also a plea for the genre to grow up.

– Catherine Sorrentino, Assignments editor

THE ZONE OF INTEREST

The Zone of Interest, Jonathan Glaz-

The first rule of Fight Club: Be gay, do crime. To cite Reece Feldman on Letterboxd, “If you thought Barbie was the best whimsical satire about feminism and the harms of the patriarchy, featuring music from Charlie XCX, with a massive choreographed fight scene between warring factions, crafted specifically for lesbians, made in the year of our lord 2023 … well guess again!”

Bottoms revives not only the classic sex–crazed teen movie genre of the '90s and early '00s, but it marks the greatest (and probably the only) campy lesbian comedy since 1999’s But I’m A Cheerleader. Basically, it’s been long awaited—and it lives up to the hype. At no point during the movie did I know what to expect next, but with Emma Seligman and Rachel Sennott at the helm, my wildest expectations were consistently exceeded for an hour and a half of laughter, shock, and ogling at Ruby Cruz.

er’s fourth feature film, is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The film, adapted from but largely ignoring many of the plot details of Martin Amis’ novel, centers on the commandant of Auschwitz, Rudolf Hoss, and his family. And right away, both the avant–garde nature of the film and its unique perspective become clear. Technically, the film is as audacious as anything released this year. Mica Levi’s borderline unmusical score and Lukasz Zal’s inventive cinematography make this film feel unique and terrifying. (The cinematographer placed ten stationary cameras within the Hoss house used for the film in order to allow the actors and Glazer 360– degree use of the location). However, it’s ultimately the narrative conceit that makes this film the best of the year: You never, ever get to see within Auschwitz itself. Instead, the audience is merely resigned to watch the Hoss family go about their daily lives on the very brink of the prison. In this sense, The Zone of Interest is also one of the best depiction of Hannah Arendt’s famous concept of the banality of evil.

– Arielle Stanger, Print editor

– Aden Berger, Film & TV beat

BOTTOMS

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SPIDER–MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

ATTACK ON TITAN: THE SERIES FINALE

After a three–year–long “Final Season” and a manga ending that divided the entire community, this series spanning over a decade culminated in an epic of a feature–length finale.

The series started with the simple premise anime fans are all too familiar with: a young protagonist with the mission of killing monsters. However, as the series progresses, further information is revealed, complicating a simple premise. The finale delivers a stunning conclusion to the multitudes of emotions and revelations revealed throughout. No previous character story is left unresolved, not even something as small as Eren’s mother’s untimely death in episode one.

Even those who felt unsatisfied with the ending could not deny the impact of the breathtaking animation.

The fluidity of movement between characters zipping in the air to Titans of unimaginable heights and the dynamic choreography of fight scenes all made expert use of seamless CGI integration. Furthermore, the use of color and lighting added depth to the storytelling, fully tying in all the lessons the author sought to teach with the series. From grayscale to blood–soaked representations of the brutalities of war, the series was gory, impactful, depressing, and left me staring blankly at the wall when the ending soundtrack played for the final time.

If this blurb convinces you to watch the series but you feel as if it is too late, it isn’t, as I know for a fact that many others and I are already planning to dedicate our hearts and rewatch the entire series to relive all the awe–inspiring moments that initially captivated us.

– Fiona Herzog, Film & TV beat

KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON

Many of history’s great filmmakers falter in their later years. Their best work is mostly behind them, and their final films never live up to the rest of their filmography. Martin Scorsese, at age 81, is proving to be the greatest exception to this rule. His new film, Killers of the Flower Moon, is a three–and–a– half–hour epic adapted from David Grann’s book of the same name. The story tracks the brutal and malicious slayings of members of the Osage tribe in Oklahoma during the 1920s. It is a powerful and painful story to watch unfold, but the craftsmanship and performances make it a thrilling experience (and one that should be seen on the big screen). Leonardo DiCaprio and Robert DeNiro are exceptional as always, but it is Lily Gladstone, in her breakout role, that is the film’s heartbeat and most compelling figure. The cinematography by Rodrigo Prieto and production design by industry legend Jack Fisk are also top–notch. It is a heavy film, and you feel the runtime, but it is a breathtaking viewing experience and a film that lingers, particularly its deeply moving final scene.

– Emma Halper, Film & TV beat

SUCCESSION: SEASON FOUR

Everyone knows Succession was good. Many a piece has been written on how masterfully it married drama, comedy, business–y bullshit, and soap opera levels of messy family drama.

It held tension and drove across four seasons, never dragged, and ended with an incredibly solid finale. But what I really love about Succession was its weekly release dates. In a media landscape where the binge format is increasingly the norm and week–by– week releases seem to be going far too gently into yesteryear’s good night, Succession was a breath of fresh air.

I will forever have fond memories of going to my friend’s house to watch the newest episode every week, the two of us clutching each other as we reacted to the show the way a pair of frightened kids might react to a slasher, cuddling their cat to relieve some of the delicious stress the show induced.

Succession was fantastic television, and being able to enjoy the final season’s drama over the course of weeks instead of as a single–night binge made it all the better.

– Isaac Pollock, Film & TV beat

D D EECCEEMMB B E RE R2 0 2 3

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HOW TO WITH JOHN WILSON: SEASON THREE

John Wilson traverses the streets of New York City with a camera, showing us what he sees, the people he talks to, and his journeys through his daily life and to places far away. He weaves these together with voiceovers to turn the mundane into the extraordinary and the strangers, many who might be dismissed as crazy or weird, into deep and compelling characters. Like all truly original works, How To lacks easy comparisons. Its documentary style, use of strangers, and comedic tone certainly follow the leads of Borat and Nathan For You (Nathan Fielder is the executive producer), but its aims are much more humanistic.

Strange people are to be understood, not mocked. The comedy comes from the absurdity of human behavior itself and the world that we create.

This final season spends more time on John Wilson’s interest in atypical communities: While in season two there’s a support group for people with post–Avatar depression, season three has a vacuum cleaner enthusiast convention, a town of electrosensitive people, and a cryogenics company selling immortality. It also has the now–expected people–watching and New York City antics that defined the first two seasons. This season has the same quality as the first two seasons, with the added sadness knowing that there won’t be any more. Thankfully, the true genius of the show is that it is all of our lives. We can choose to go through the world like John Wilson, to see the beauty and the comedy in the mundane, to talk to strangers and learn their stories, and to be more empathic to those around us.

– Aaron Visser, Film & TV beat

ASTEROID CITY

Going into Asteroid City, I was pretty much tired of Wes Anderson’s schtick. So imagine my surprise when I found myself completely moved and amused by his newest feature film.

As usual, you see a vibrant color palette (with black and white sequences sprinkled throughout), perfectly sculpted symmetrical framing, and many of his usual cast and long–time collaborators. But this time, Anderson’s world is even more existential than what he has explored before. In a film that deals with extraterrestrial forces and the grief of a family, existential crisis doesn’t seem like a totally unlikely point, but this theme is elevated more still by the film’s meta story–inside–a–story aspect. It questions cinema and general storytelling in a way that is so profound yet absurd. I have yet to see anything else like it this year and in Anderson’s entire filmography. If you watch Asteroid City for the typical Wes Anderson antics, please stay for its heart and existential exploration.

– Mollie Benn, Film & TV beat

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THE HOLDOVERS

There’s something innately human about the holidays: the spirit, the dysfunction, the ritualistic cheer. Directed

by Alexander Payne, The Holdovers is a nostalgia–driven tribute to this unique time. The film transports us to Barton Academy, a New England all– boys boarding school on Christmas break in 1970, where the sarcastic, moody classics teacher Paul Hunham (Paul Giammati) and the cafeteria lady Mary Lamb (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) have been tasked with chaperoning the kids with nowhere to go over break: the “holdovers.” We’re immersed in an exploration of human connection through a faux–grain lens, riddled with sentimentality, emotional depth, and tongue–in–cheek wit. I’d liken it to the feeling of a warm winter fire. It’s a classic holiday bildungsroman fitted in '70s fashion.

– Amy Luo, Film & TV beat

HERE

Here is a film about mosses, city

corners, and a transient relationship between two immigrants, a Chinese botanist and a Romanian construction worker, who seem to always forget about asking about each other’s name in modern Brussels. After his stunningly quiet yet powerful last film Ghost Tropic that documents a nighttime walking journey home from the bus station, Belgian director Bas Devos turns his keen eyes to even more unnoticeable corners of modernity: a delicious soup made from leftovers in a fridge, the mosses that grow on bare stones in a garden on the brink of the city, and an inconspicuous Chinese restaurant in rain. The Chinese (translated) name of the film is “Little World," and as the film really zooms in on the action of intensely watching and observing, Here is comforting us that there is always a huge world of wonder for discovery in even the most mundane moment of our life.

– Weike Li, Film & TV editor

DECEMBER 2023

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Kidz Bop : The Kernel of American Fascism?

What may first appear to be just a bit of sanitized fun reflects a sick, puritanical instinct to censor embedded deep in American culture.

BY NISHANTH BHARGHAVA

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Graphic by Anish Garimidi

here are some who complain that America has gone woke—but when has it not been? The woke mob (Puritans) have been canceling (executing) innocent Americans (“witches”) since our nation’s founding. The original colonizers of New England were among the first to promote a “politically correct” culture in the United States, rigidly enforcing Puritanical codes of morality and behavior under threat of exile or even death. This unique founding spirit has never really gone away—from the Hays Code to the Satanic Panic to Tipper Gore’s Parents Music Resource Center, the instinct to censor runs deep in American culture. But in recent years, a new outgrowth of this horrifying urge has manifested itself in an entity so cloaked in pizazz and saccharine pop sweetness that it almost defies recognition for the beast that it is. I speak, of course, of that devil Kidz Bop. 1807, London: Harriet Bowdler sits over her copy of Shakespeare’s collected plays, crossing out all that is not prim and proper.

While Harriet was growing up, her father would read her the stories of William Shakespeare as she went to bed.

When she got older and was able to read them herself, however, she was disgusted—every page was littered with bawdy, racy, and downright uncouth verbiage.

Realizing that her father had been re-

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dacting sensitive passages as he read to her, Harriet decided to do the same for all the women and children who lacked the privilege of having a sophisticated gentleman in their homes to expunge the filth from Shakespeare’s vile texts.

For years, she toiled, chipping away at the Bard’s verse and replacing it with her own sanitized version of events.

Harriet, of course, isn’t able to publish under her own name. A woman? Literate? Please.

The book flops.

1818, London: Thomas Bowdler, her brother, does the exact same thing.

It’s a hit.

The same drive to purify that once gripped the Bowdlers has now brought us into an age of Kidz Bop hegemony.

Kidz Bop is thought of by most of our generation as the thing that is played in gym class in the background of warmups.

To reduce it to this trivial role, however, denies it the honor it deserves as a titan of the children’s music industry. In 2015, sales of Kidz Bop records made up about a quarter of all sales in the children’s music space. Every year, the latest Kidz Bop album typically becomes the highest–selling children’s music record of the year. The Kidz Bop Kidz alumni list boasts such titans of the industry as Ross Lynch and Zendaya. Each year, their power grows, filling their space with more and more content, penetrating

markets across Europe and the Americas.

Like it or not, Kidz Bop is the voice of a generation—a generation too young to vote, shop, or even think for themselves— but a generation nonetheless.

But who cares? Why think about Kidz Bop at all? Like it or not, the instincts that it reflects play a deep role in shaping our society. The debate over censorship has consequences beyond the integrity of any single work of art; It speaks to a divide over what kind of conduct society is willing to permit and what kind of les-

sons we should be teaching the next generation. The censorship of the Kidz Bop style is the last gasp of a dying Puritanism in an increasingly secular America, fighting desperately against any content that dares to inject anything distasteful into the cultural milieu. The keyword, of course, is "dying."

With the advent of the digital revolution, children are speed–running their losses of innocence like never before.

While TikTok and Instagram Reels may corrode our attention spans and dull our

ability to learn, they also have the dubious honor of exposing children to a vast realm of knowledge on “profane” topics.

With Reddit story TikToks about cheating, STDs, and violence taking over the zeitgeist and with no real way for parents to stop their kids from seeing these horrors, iPad kids appear to have liberated themselves from the constraints that their parents have attempted to lock them into.

But perhaps this illusory freedom hides a deeper repression. To live is not

only to consume what you want but to act and explore the world around you. More and more young people today say they’ve never driven a car, never been in a relationship, and are leaving their room less and less. The formative experiences of generations past have fallen by the wayside in an age of digital mediation.

What will the culture of the next generation be? Does technology liberate us or confine us to a life seen but not experienced? Where do we go from here?

Also, the music isn't very good. k

DECEMBER 2023

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The Outsiders The otherizing of vulnerability in Outsider music hurts artists, listeners, and the industry, and ignores a rich history of bold creativity.

BY COLE KNIGHT Illustration by Emmi Wu

Content warning: The following text describes suicide and can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. Please find resources listed at the bottom of the article.

O

n Sept. 9, 1992, Kurt Cobain attended the MTV Video Music Awards in a cute, silly, unassuming tee shirt. It was a white shirt with a blobby alien–frog character, above which read the words “hi, how are you.” Worn by anyone else on any other day, this would be totally unremarkable, but worn by the patron saint of Gen X to Nirvana’s first major awards show, it became the subject of immediate scrutiny, and a star named Daniel Johnston was born.

Hi How Are You, based on a mural he drew on the wall of a record store, is the name of Daniel Johnston’s 1983 self–released cassette of home–recorded songs, his sixth such album.

It features the many defining characteristics of Johnston’s works up to and beyond that point— unpretentious lyricism, low fidelity production, and minimalistic arrangements. It drew comparisons to other similarly primitivistic recordings, namely The Shaggs’ Philosophy of the

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World, an album legendary for its abject technical incompetence. Though influenced by the Shaggs and other artists within a lengthy history of rough–around–the–edges indie music, Johnston’s music came to be known primarily for another influence: schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. As it would turn out, the budding star had been living in and out of mental institutions and his parents' house in West Virginia.

And with mainstream audiences’ exposure to music that sounded like Johnston’s largely being limited to his own, the genre that he was coming to be the face of became synonymous with intellectual disability and technical inability.

This genre is outsider music. Even as it cemented itself throughout the '90s, its descriptive elements became increasingly reductive.

Rather than approaching works by Johnston and similar artists as artistic equals to more accessible genres, critics relegated outsider music to novelty status. In fact, Wikipedia's current definition of outsider music states that the term is "usually applied to musicians who have little or no traditional musical expereience, who exhibit childlike qualities in their music, or who have intellectual disabilites or mental illnesses." Whether this statement is accurate at face value is a useless argument to have, because, let’s face it, most people don’t really talk about outsider music anyway. But whether the above definition and surrounding subtext are reductive to a genre as vast and inventive as outsider music is indeed a conversation very much worth having.

Although the story of outsider music as a consolidated genre with mainstream appeal begins with Johnston, its roots lie with the proto–punk movement in New York City. Bands like The Velvet Underground and Modern Lovers pioneered the idea of placing frank, inharmonious singers atop low fidelity instrumentation, and songs like the Velvet's “Heroin” and “Pale Blue Eyes” are some of the most emotionally powerful songs ever written. There is an undeniable humanness that comes from these unsophisticated recordings, an approachability that allows one to connect with music beyond its artistic form in a way that feels intensely personal. All while bands like the aforementioned were pioneering the sound of outsider music, Syd Barret and Brian Wilson were

proving that artists with mental illnesses were perfectly capable of writing pop songs. The foundational reductiveness of “outsider music” as a term was doomed from the start.

The momentum of low fidelity production and technical simplicity was prevalent in punk circles in the '70s, encountering a revival in the '80s. Artists like Ted Hawkins and Wesley Willis, alongside Johnston, wrote sparse, spectral folk music informed by their struggles with mental illness, and the burgeoning indie rock scene took notice. Dean Wareham founded Galaxie 500 and Luna, the former of whose recordings are foundational to the '90s slowcore movement. Wareham's voice—brittle, nasally, and out of tune—could easily be mistaken for Johnston’s on certain tracks, but his deep devotion to literary and academic references remove any conception of childishness.

As Luna and Galaxie 500 made fans in underground circles in the northeast, the Elephant Six collective, most famous these days for Neutral Milk Hotel and of Montreal, turned Luna’s scuzzy verbose sound psychedelic and established a devoted fanbase throughout the South. As grunge took hold throughout the United States, its primal, muscular rage was incapable of capturing the more plaintive distresses plaguing Gen X, and for many, low–fi was an outlet for emotionality without distortion, a therapeutic conversation between artist and listener. Even seminal indie label Sub Pop knew this, and its first non–grunge release was Eric’s Trip's Love Tara, a home–recorded album where wind chimes, barking dogs, and flubbed notes ebb throughout the soundscape, leaving the listener to feel the weight of the band’s every word as though in their living room.

New York City would come to be the epicenter of perhaps outsider music's most enduring movement: anti–folk. Guitars unplugged and lyrics simplified, artists like The Moldy Peaches and Jeffrey Lewis sang of bikes, comics, and the mundane, with a homely unabrasiveness that served as an auditory embrace. The Moldy Peaches’ “Anyone Else But You” has been featured in ads and movies, but even with Rough Trade at their backing, the band was unable to break into the mainstream. The reality is that, with popular music increasingly being marketed to as broad a segment as possible—whether for the sake of record sales, MP3 downloads, or

viral TikToks—truly personal songwriting has been made foreign. Maybe this is why critics and listeners alike seek to alienate outsider artists. Simply saying that outsider music is honest and personal may not account for how strange it can be, but within much of popular music, honesty might just be that unfamiliar.

Perhaps no other movement stands as a stronger testament to the emotional potency and public misunderstanding of this unique brand of low–fi music than that of outsider country, namely David Berman. A genius of the English language, Berman’s wry, witty lyrics, sung in a deep, monotone affectation over homespun instrumentals, are rife with philosophical lamentations on life, death, relationships, and loneliness. Berman founded Silver Jews, alongside Bob Nastanovich and Stephen Malkmus, both masters of a less serious, though equally affecting, brand of low fidelity as members of Pavement. Alongside Silver Jews, Mark Linkous’s Sparklehorse and Jason Molina’s Songs: Ohia generated a distinguished triumvirate of twangy low–fi rock and

immense critical acclaim. All three acts developed small, but intensely dedicated fanbases.

Their lyrics, often sad but always reflective, spoke plainly to the human condition with few adornments.

However, all three, in a span from 2010 to 2019, would take their own lives. In an interview with The Ringer in 2019, just a month before his own suicide, Berman would say, “I’m not convinced I have fans. In my whole life, I’ve had maybe ten people who have told me how much my music means to them.” And it’s not hard to see why. For an artist as smart, as passionate, and as creative as Berman, to be relegated to the status of an “outsider” was an unconquerable hurdle, both personally and commercially.

Is it true that being raw, vulnerable, and emotional in popular music makes you an outsider? Maybe. But there exists a world of great music, made by people with unique struggles, perspectives, and voices that deserve attention. Even if we continue to cast them aside, trivialize their work, and label

them as different, we shouldn’t ignore them, because listeners and artists can both use some honesty in their music. k Campus Resources: The HELP Line: 215-898-HELP: A 24/7 phone number for members of the Penn community who seek help in navigating Penn's resources for health and wellness.

Counseling and Psychological Services: 215-898-7021 (active 24/7): The counseling center for the University of Pennsylvania.

Reach–A–Peer–Hotline: 215-515-7332 (every day from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m.), A peer hotline to provide peer support, information, and referrals to Penn students.

Public Safety Special Services: Trained personnel offer crisis intervention, accompaniment to legal and medical proceedings, options counseling and advocacy, and linkages to other community resources.

DECEMBER 2023

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Fifteen Years of Twilight

Reflecting on the immortal appeal of the infamous film adaptation

BY JULIA FISCHER Illustration by Melody Zhang

A

s an avid secondhand–book buyer, I have certain rituals when I enter a bookstore. I always step into the horror section to see if I can catch a stray Stephen King; I walk through the classics looking for beautiful hardbacks and marbled pages; and, most importantly, I reminisce among the Young Adult shelves and see if I can spy the iconic black, white, and red– toned Twilight novels. If one part of my bookstore explorations is comfortingly predictable, it’s that I’ll find Stephenie Meyer’s infamous series—often, in its entirety. As of 2021, the saga had sold

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more than 160 million copies, and according to Publishers Weekly, Twilight was fifth on the list of top–selling books between 2004 and 2021 (just under Dr. Seuss’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go!). If you entered a teen girl’s bedroom in the 2000s or 2010s, chances were you’d find at least one copy—and maybe even a poster or life–size cardboard cutout of a character or two.

Since the first Twilight book’s publication in 2005 and the film adaptation’s release in 2008, pop culture has never been the same. As the first film approaches its 15th anniversary, it’s

time to reflect and return to some contentious questions: Why did this movie strike such a chord with a generation of mostly young women? How has Twilight impacted our current pop culture? Is it even a watchable movie? And finally, though we all know how the saga ends, should we still be #TeamEdward?

During the early 2000s, the fantasy genre was arguably at a peak across media, especially in cinema. Behemothic franchises like The Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter dominated both bookshelves and movie theaters, influencing the creation of many similar mag-

-ical and fairytale–inspired stories (like Ella Enchanted, which is also based on a book!). With these franchises coming to an end, there was a void to fill.

Readers and movie–watchers needed a new series to obsess over, and if nothing else, Twilight promised obsession.

At its heart, Twilight is a story of forbidden love—a characteristic that distinguished it from most other fantasy series at the time. It was this focus on romance that helped the saga acquire the readership of a different (and heavily female) audience. Most of the plot tension throughout the series arises from the danger of Edward Cullen’s vampiric tendencies, and protagonist Bella Swan’s willingness to overlook that particular red flag (in addition to his ripe old age of 104 years old). “If this is about my soul, take it," Bella declares in the second movie, New Moon. “I don’t want it without you.”

History has proven time and again the universal appeal of young, star–crossed lovers, whose passions might find fatal obstacles due to their membership in diametrically opposed groups—or in the case of Twilight, literal species. If you were on the internet in the 2010s, you might have heard the phrase, “Still a better love story than Twilight,” referring to terrible romantic pairings. Bella and Edward’s relationship is certainly rife with miscommunication, secrets, and unhealthy infatuation. As Edward himself said, "It’s like you’re my own personal brand of heroin.” How can you be “unconditionally and irrevocably in love” with someone you barely know from high school biology class?

No part of Twilight’s plot is innovative or new; in fact, it’s pretty repetitive. But there’s also an appeal to the all–too–real messiness. In the same vein as reality TV, the plot appeals to our fascination with drama, a point that grows ever clearer as the saga delves into betrayal, love triangles, marriage, and even accidental pregnancy. This campy and melodramatic aspect makes the movie especially enduringly funny: Even in a world of

vampires and werewolves, dumb teens will be dumb teens.

Twilight is truly centered around teenage angst—especially female teenage angst—and this is reflected in the film’s stylistic choices, too. The Twilight “aesthetic” consists of “a dark and muted color palette, romanticization of the Pacific Northwest, and lots of angst.” Forks, Washington’s gloomy landscape of rain, pines, and fog is accentuated by the blue filter overlaying every frame of the movie. (It’s so recognizable, in fact, that one Esty shop sells inspired keychains.)

The movie’s soundtrack embodies this moodiness, too. It draws heavily on alternative rock bands, from Paramore to Linkin Park to Muse—the last of which features in the iconic baseball scene. If nothing else, Twilight’s musical choices are flawless.

The movie is also the only installment in the five–film series to be directed by a woman. Before taking on Twilight, Catherine Hardwicke was an indie director best known for her unflinching portrayals of the ups and downs of teenhood.

Her 2003 directorial debut, Thirteen, dove into the perils of girlhood and the loss of innocence, and 2005’s Lords of Dogtown—featuring Heath Ledger—captured the daring lives of a group of young skateboarders in 1970s California. Nikki Reed, who played Rosalie Hale in Twilight, actually starred in both films, and co–wrote the screenplay for Thirteen when she was only 14 years old. Hardwicke brought her own style and point of view to the adaptation of Meyer’s book.

Her specific experience with depicting teenage struggles and perspective, and especially female adolescence, contributed to her directorial and aesthetic choices. Hardwicke’s presence might explain why Twilight’s sequels—all directed by men—don’t endure to quite the same degree as the first film, which set an unmistakable and iconic tone for the rest to follow.

The film’s aesthetics are perhaps what we can evaluate most seriously. Other than a completely sober take on the

masterpiece that is “Decode,” in order to enjoy the story you have to disconnect from it to some extent. From “Hold on tight, spider monkey,” to “‘Is she even Italian?’ ‘Her name’s Bella,’” the script is chock–full of lines and exchanges that are frankly silly. The unintentional physical comedy, too, is fundamental: Kristen Stewart’s nervous head nods and lip bites, Robert Pattinson’s intense and almost–pained glare (which, according to him, is due at least in part to the contacts he had to wear). In a scene where Bella presses play on Edward’s CD player to see what he’d been listening to, one can’t help but laugh at the first note from Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” “'Clair de Lune' is great,” Bella says, very insightfully.

Perhaps more so than some love stories, though certainly not all, Twilight is ridiculous—a fact its cast hilariously attested to throughout the series' rollout.

But though these embarrassing moments do kind of objectively make Twilight a bad movie, is it unwatchable?

Twilight is a film that seems to take itself seriously, but its cringey moments—of which there are plenty—are actually what make it truly enjoyable. They’re part of its charm, and they’re also part of what makes the movie feel surprisingly real, and unmistakably “teenager.” Today, innumerable parodies continue to pop up on platforms like TikTok, covering everything from Jasper’s creepy stare to Bella’s useless method of shaking a ketchup bottle. While rewatching the movie again recently with a friend who’d never seen it before, I was newly surprised by how much sheer fun there is in Twilight’s absurdity. I was utterly drawn into the fantastical plot even though there was technically nothing new to see. For two hours and two minutes, I forgot about my midterms, my job applications, and writing this Street article. For all its bad CGI, logical inconsistencies, and unoriginal premise, Twilight is a perfect study in escapism. If it’s a bad movie, it’s a great bad movie, and one that’s stood the test of time for 15 years.

Here’s to 104 more. k

DECEMBER 2023

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In Defense of Riverdale Taking a look at the much–maligned show after seven seasons of murder, mayhem, and all–American camp

BY ISA AC POLLOCK

T

Illustration by Melody Zhang

wenty years ago, Roberto Aguirre– Sacasa, a former Glee writer who would go on to become the Riverdale showrunner, received a cease–and–desist order from Archie Comics the night before the world premiere of his adapted play, Archie’s Weird Fantasy. Archie Comics forced Aguirre– Sacasa to change his characters' names, dis-

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tancing them from the pre–existing IP, as the company thought that portraying Archie as gay, which Aguirre–Sacasa intended to do, would “dilute and tarnish his image.” So the team bit the bullet, changed the names, and premiered Weird Comic Book Fantasy instead of Archie’s Weird Fantasy, following the grown– up lives of Tapeworm (Jughead), Monica (Veronica), Rosie (Betty), and an out–of–the– closet Buddy (Archie). Oh, and also the play included AIDS, the Leopold and Loeb case, and a meta–commentary on the head of EC comics. Is it any wonder Aguirre–Sacasa’s Riverdale would end up going in the myriad of increasingly fantastical directions?

It’s hard to talk about how Riverdale is a camp masterpiece without intimate knowledge of the show. I’ve watched every episode, but those who haven’t can look at my handy companion guide recap—I am more than aware that many people fell off when season two took a turn for the crazier (not the worse, never the worse). But if even the showrunner and the lead actors making it clear that Riverdale is supposed to be absurd, campy,

and full of commentary can’t convince you, hopefully I can change your mind.

And absurd, campy, and full of commentary it is. Cheryl Blossom’s cuckoo bananas dialogue alone is enough to out–loud say "what the fuck" at your laptop screen, and I can’t count how many times I’ve seen Cole Sprouse’s iconic “weirdo” monologue floating around the internet. But the writing’s craziness isn’t an accident. Riverdale takes tropes, turns them up to 11, and then subverts them. The Cooper family, with their serial killer patriarch, literally lives on Elm Street. Betty calls herself the nightmare from next door. It’s not a coincidence that the genre that Riverdale pays the most homage to is horror. The white, middle–class, suburban myth of the “simpler time” that the early Archie comics present, with its delineated gender roles and oppressive heterosexuality—that’s horror.

Case in point is Betty. She’s the girl next door, she knows it, and she hates it. Her perfect family is an illusion from the start—her sister Polly has been sent away to a church to hide her teenage pregnancy from (unknow-

ingly) sleeping with her cousin. Off the bat, we’re critiquing WASPy cultures of silence that not only demean but actively harm women in the pursuit of the appearance of perfection. Betty’s family falls apart in season two with her father becoming a serial killer, reflecting the 70s serial killer spike; suburbia isn’t the safe place it pretends to be. In season three, Betty’s mom, Alice, falls prey to a cult—think well–off white woman wellness MLMs. Season three, actually, is one of the best seasons to look at in terms of Riverdale’s critique of the myth of suburbia. It’s easy to laugh at the absurd premise: A roleplaying game called Gryphons & Gargoyles has essentially become the hot new thing in the town of Riverdale, and it’s leading to satanic ritual sacrifice, cult abuse, and drug usage—which is exactly what people in the 80s thought Dungeons & Dragons would lead to.

Riverdale satirizes the Satanic Panic and the Reagan–era War On Drugs, by heightening that the dangerous white suburbia culture actually ended up harming those already seen as less–than by society. Just because Riverdale approaches this from a more camp angle than, say, Stranger Things does, doesn’t mean that it’s any less of a wholehearted, intentional, and coherent critique. In any case, it’s more effective: The camp quality aptly points to the pure silliness of a moral panic, while the horror references illustrate the very real damage that moral panic can cause.

Riverdale gets even more direct with its central critique in season seven, when the gang literally gets transported back to the '50s. They don looks pulled straight from the pages of the comics, deliver lines riddled with absurd slang from the days of yore, and face another very real moral panic about comic books. But instead of reveling in the fantasy of “simpler times” the way old Archie comics do, the gang all collectively rebel against conservative values and make it very clear that those decades were nearly impossible to live in if you didn’t conform.

Riverdale not only traces American history, but references other media as well. Beyond the obvious touchpoints of teen soaps for both writing and casting (the gang’s parents are largely former teen heartthrobs), horror

references abound from the get–go, with the Coopers' house on Elm Street and the Blossoms living in what can only be described as Merricat's gothic castle. The first musical episode is "Carrie," and it culminates in Cheryl, covered in blood, threatening her abusive mom with fire—a direct reference to Carrie the film, which argues strongly that the most harm can come from a Christian suburban culture that alienates people like Carrie, who is seen as “weird” by society, or Cheryl, who is a lesbian. Miss Grundy, the pedophilic teacher who preys on Archie in season one, is seen wearing the same sunglasses as displayed on the poster of Kubrick’s Lolita, pointing to the swapped genders of this particular tale of predation. There are truly countless references in Riverdale to other pieces of media that illustrate just how dangerous suburban America can be.

I am aware that I sound like I’m tin–hatting. But I have to direct your attention back to Aguirre–Sacasa’s first Archie–related work.

Archie’s Weird Fantasy was an absurdist critique of the Archie comics and the traditional, conservative values they represent. Riverdale is the same, just on a much larger scale. Those headlines you saw weren’t lying to you—the show really did end with the Core Four in a lesbian–centric polyamorous relationship.

Riverdale’s Betty Cooper never marries; it’s hard to imagine that the comic version of Betty was even able to make that choice.

I don’t aim to argue that Riverdale is prestige television. The dialogue is corny, the plot is riddled with holes, and the show has some truly insensitive approaches to sensitive topics from time to time. Yet, it’s impossible to argue that Riverdale is a show that doesn’t care. The style is consistently inspired by horror and teen soaps in equal measure, executed with an intention and precision that you just don’t see in long form television these days. I’m always delighted by the use of lighting and color in an age where people seem to think that gritty must equal not being able to see the damn screen. Impactful, harrowing moments are not only visible, but aesthetically striking, even splashed through with neon, red as blood. And the writing may make you feel like you’re on Jingle Jangle, but it’s writing that is self–aware and has been sneaking in

progressive politics for seasons.

Finally, it’s frustrating to see Riverdale get panned by people who haven't watched it and have only ever seen fragments of its satirical writing without necessary context.

Lili Reinhart (Betty Cooper) herself commented in a bittersweet Vulture exit interview about the frustration she feels towards people mocking the show without watching it. The absurdity of the show is “the whole point,” she says. “When we’re doing our table reads and something ridiculous happens, Roberto [Aguirre–Sacasa] is laughing because he understands the absurdity and campiness.”

And Riverdale has been acknowledged by reviewers more storied than myself as a unique, wild, “familiar with its silliness” since season one, campy masterpiece that has impressively managed to hold on as a seven–season, 22–episode show in a landscape not hospitable to that kind of longevity anymore. Those who post out–of–context clips on social media may not understand that, but influencers aren’t actually critics.

If you’re watching this show upset that Betty and Archie aren’t together yet, or that it’s nothing like the comics you and I read as kids, you’re watching it wrong. And Riverdale knows that, and it is making fun of you for it.

Riverdale is a story about suburban violence and the lengths suburbia goes to try and sanitize itself. At its core, it’s the scene of the children bouncing their balls in sync in A Wrinkle in Time. There’s no simpler time, and there never was. The heterogeneity of that imagined “simpler time” is restrictive at best, asphyxiating at worst.

And so is the heterogeneity of the present– day television scene. I find it disappointing when people complain about the sameness of mainstream media and the era of pervasive eight–episode prestige streaming, but then proceed to scoff at the absurdity, longevity, and wholeheartedly campy teen– soapiness of Riverdale. Riverdale is a silly, wonderful, and genuinely well–done (albeit completely insane) critique of its source material. Aguirre–Sacasa was finally able to fulfill his weird fantasy in Riverdale, and for that I am grateful. Goodbye for now, Riverdale. I’ll be rewatching you soon. k

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The Comeback of Color Color is finally being celebrated in fashion again after years of an obsession with neutrals.

BY ZAARA SHAFI Illustration by Melody Zhang

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f you’re a chronically online TikTok addict who probably spends too much time scrolling (totally not speaking from experience!), chances are you had a neutral phase. Everything (and I mean everything) from the T–shirt you wore to bed to the art you decorated your walls with had to fit within the color schemes of beige, gray, white, and black. Color was so distasteful, so old–fashioned, so cheugy!

In the last few years, the online world has developed an aversion to color. Think Kim Kardashian’s mega–beige mansion or the popularity of the neutral time– capsule wardrobe all the influencers are convincing us to build. With the recent rise of the quiet luxury trend on TikTok, this obsession with neutrals has only been exacerbated in mainstream media.

Quiet luxury encapsulates neutral, tailored clothing that screams wealth. Color has automatically taken the backseat; the world is 50 shades of beige. This infatuation with muted colors has even spread to parents, with the "sad beige" parent-

ing trend taking all the colorful fun out of childhood nurseries and bedrooms.

On the other side of this revulsion to color, however, there are also numerous people celebrating it. Color has been a central part of fashion in many cultures worldwide. From the vibrant red lehengas adorned by South Asian brides to the bright prints on African Ankara fabric, it is clear that non–Western cultures have always adored color—and this love for color has also gradually been spreading to parts of the Western world. In Denmark, for instance, fashion brands have been introducing color to the local palettes.

The rise of the GANNI girl is the perfect example of the growing color movement becoming integrated into mainstream fashion.

GANNI is a Danish fashion brand originally founded in 2000 by Frans Truelson but taken over by husband and wife Nicolaj and Ditte Reffstrup in 2009. GANNI’s collections are full of colorful and whimsical designs that appreciate vibrancy and fun prints. It

celebrates contrast by mixing feminine pieces with more laid–back ones and does not shy away from bright patterns and loud silhouettes. GANNI has brought the neutral, clean girlies out of their hypnosis and reintroduced the magic of color to them. Now, GANNI girls are taking the world by storm.

The GANNI girl is not afraid of colors.

She is an expert in mixing and matching contrasting pieces, creating looks that are unique to her. She might match a bright and delicate sweater vest with a masculine corduroy skirt and dark sneakers like the quintessential GANNI girl, Poppy Almond, does. Or she might wear an exaggerated puff–sleeve blouse with colorful pants like influencer Emily Zembo. GANNI girls embrace freedom in how they dress; they forget fashion rules,

take inspiration from the world around them, and make every look their own. To them, fashion has no rules.

GANNI’s SS24 collection at Copenhagen Fashion Week was the definition of unrestricted playfulness. One of the looks, for instance, features a tailored black top with baggy, metallic pink trousers, bug– eyed, holographic sunglasses, and edgy black ballet flats. The outfit is unexpected and novel, which makes it memorable: It doesn’t follow the typical rules of flowing together thematically. Another iconic outfit from the show consisted of a long, buttoned white dress with hundreds of tiny pink flowers—the girly sweetness of this dress was contrasted by undoing all but one of its buttons and having black underwear peek out to match with mesh black socks and leather clogs. My favor-

ite look from the collection showcased a denim dress with exaggerated sleeves worn with bright yellow dad sneakers.

Even though the outfit is vibrant and eye–catching, it still looks put together through the continuous inclusion of black in the sunglasses, bag, and socks.

Overall, GANNI was successful in creating an unforgettable and vivid collection that radiates fun and excitement.

The GANNI girl might not have started this revolution of color, but she is very much proof of a new era in fashion, especially Scandinavian fashion, which has historically been the epitome of "chic minimalism," according to Vogue UK. And this era is beyond exhilarating and extremely inspiring, with an infinite number of adventurous outfit ideas waiting to be sashayed into the world. k

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A World of Art Without Men A new exhibit at the Barnes Foundation shows Marie Laurencin's dreamy world, and one thing is clear: No boys allowed.

BY JOSEPHINE BUCCINI

I

feel perfectly at ease with everything feminine,” Marie Laurencin h wrote in her Le Carnet des Nuits.

“When I was small I loved silk threads, and I stole pearls and spools of colored thread which I hid carefully and would look at when I was alone. I would have liked to have had many children to comb their hair and dress with ribbons.”

Laurencin's ease with everything feminine is at the center of the Barnes Foundation’s latest exhibit, Marie Laurencin: Sapphic Paris, which is on view until Jan. 21. The show is the first major exhibit of Laurencin’s work in over three decades, and it’s the first to highlight one thing: that her feminine work is unequivocally sapphic and queer, and the worlds she creates in each painting are importantly lacking in men.

As a friend to Georges Braque, Francis Picabia, and Pablo Picasso, Laurencin was at the center of the Parisian, male–

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Marie Laurencin. The Visit (La visite), 1916. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Bequest of Scofield Thayer, 1982. Artwork © Fondation Foujita / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris 2023.

dominated Cubist and avant–garde art scene in the early 20th century. Her work was definitively modern by virtue of her involvement in this movement, especially in her early works, but crucially, it was modern because of its content. While using select formal elements of Cubism, Laurencin created almost futuristic pastel worlds where in nearly all her paintings men, put simply, did not exist.

Her works hanging at the Barnes prove this point. In The Visit, a woman in a blue dress on a white horse rides up to

two other women standing behind the bars of a balcony. It’s as if Prince... no, Princess–Charming rides up to Rapunzel on her tower.

In Women in the Forest, Laurencin reinterprets fête galante—a genre associated with French artist Jean–Antoine Watteau, who crafted courtship scenes of elegant men and women in gardens. Laurencin’s version (you guessed it) is wholly devoid of men. Does (in French, “doe” is slang for lesbian) intertwine with and complement the flirtatious, pale gray women.

And it’s not just her paintings that espouse sapphic femininity. The exhibit features Laurencin's costume and set designs for the ballet Les Biches, which translates to The Does, anchoring this motif throughout her work. Laurencin's designs allowed her to bring to life her ephemeral, feminine vision. So do her drawings—the gallery boasts illustrations for a translation of Sappho’s poems, explicitly emphasizing Laurencin’s queer identity.

In the last room of the exhibit hang Laurencin's portraits of influential women. There’s the representation of perhaps the most recognized woman in fashion, Coco Chanel, in Laurencin’s Portrait of Mademoiselle Chanel. There’s also the Portrait of Helena Rubinstein, one of the world's richest women during her lifetime and founder of Helena Rubinstein Inc. (now part of L’Òreal). As a powerful force of a woman, Laurencin painted her powerful female contemporaries.

Although her work is coded in consideration of the times she lived in—there are no explicit drawings of romantic relationships between women—the Barnes makes it clear that the art historical canon cannot ignore Laurencin as a powerful figure in queer art history. The exhibition design plays to her vision of a wholly feminine world—the gallery walls are painted pastel pinks, purples, and greens, playing off of her own color palette. The exhibition's entrance also boasts a faux balcony, allowing visitors to pose as if they are in a Laurencin painting. The whole gallery makes the case for art without men—even alongside the Barnes’s permanent collection, which is heavily dominated by male artists.

Step into Marie Laurencin: Sapphic Paris, and you’ve stepped into one of her paintings—into her world without men.

Laurencin was far before her time—she addresses themes that today, the Barbie movie, the Guerrilla Girls, and modern scholars aspire to do. Despite being born in 1883, her placing of sapphic women at the center of modern art is still modern— and revolutionary. k

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Frida Kahlo’s Likeness Has Become More Important Than Her Art How capitalism and consumer feminism have made the artist merely a symbol

BY DYLAN GROSSMAN

W

Illustration by Melody Zhang

hen you hear “Frida Kahlo,” you picture her dark hair tied up with flowers, her skin a light brown, cheeks rosy, eyebrows full, eyes disinterested, and lips gently pursed, all adorned in a feminine Tehuana outfit. This is the image of Frida Kahlo that you see on tote bags, T–shirts, mugs, and magnets that the culture industry sells. From Frida Kahlo immersive experiences to “feminist” Frida Kahlo apparel, you can experience Kahlo’s likeness everywhere for a price. But this

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isn’t the Frida Kahlo that the artist revealed to us on canvas.

Kahlo is the canon of commercialized feminism. Capitalist manufacturers serve up the likeness of Kahlo on their commodities for profit. They minimize her identity as solely “feminist,” delegitimizing her art, her culture, and her complicated values. It’s deafening that she has been made into a mere symbol of feminism. By branding Kahlo as simply “feminist,” the culture industry acts just the opposite, limiting yet an-

other woman from the recognition she deserves.

To be clear, Kahlo was indubitably a feminist.

The artist Kahlo grew up during the Mexican Revolution of the early 20th century. After contracting polio at six, she took up painting to fill her time while immobilized. Her work drew on her experiences of marriage, her miscarriages, and her innumerable medical operations. These vulnerable portrayals of her pain—which were her own female experience—greatly connected with female audiences and made her work implicitly feminist.

Kahlo was also explicitly feminist as she visually challenged gender norms in her portraits.

Of her 143 paintings, 55 are self portraits. Kahlo, born to a Spanish and Indigenous mother and German father, represented herself with brown skin, facial hair, and her infamous unibrow. She was openly bisexual and consistently challenged standards of femininity through her androgynous dress and self portraits. However, the Frida Kahlo the culture industry prints on phone cases and coasters is often white–washed and “beautified” to fit the bill of the typical hyper–feminine, poised, and idyllic feminist. When the culture industry lightens Kahlo's skin and erases her facial hair, they erase everything she stood for as

an artist, everything that made her work explicitly feminist. The Frida Kahlo we buy into isn’t the real Frida Kahlo at all.

Kahlo didn’t care about selling herself as a feminist. She was portraying her complicated female identity—not commercializing it. The magic of Kahlo’s work is that she is a pure surrealist; she lived a surrealist life and recorded it through her art. So by putting her whitewashed image on graphic tees, the culture industry pigeonholes her into being one–sided. Her likeness has become more known than her art.

Our culture champions Kahlo as a feminist, but in today’s world, they would eat a woman alive in the media if she lived the life she led. Kahlo’s art is largely centered around her messy relationship with fellow artist Diego Rivera. Rivera was 21 years her senior and left his second marriage to marry Kahlo. They had a toxic marriage, filled with affairs on both sides, including one between Kahlo and Communist exile Leon Trotsky. Rivera had an affair with Kahlo’s sister, and the pair eventually divorced.

Swept up in the blinding bite of toxic love, the couple remarried in 1940 despite no effort from either party to reform. Kahlo glorified this tumultuous and abusive love in her art and embraced it as part of her identity. If a contemporary artist, especially a female artist, showed that she was recommitting to abusive exes and stepping out on her husband, she would be marked a “traitor to the sisterhood” and a “disgrace to womankind.”

If people knew Kahlo for her astounding complexities, they would understand what Kahlo conveyed through her art: not a feminist halcyon message, but the nuances and brutality of human life. Kahlo certainly was a feminist, but she was so much more than that. She was complex, human, emotional, androgynous, violent, passionate, and intelligent. She isn’t just the woman you see on your morning cup of tea.

The culture industry has sold her out, branded her, and placed a glass ceiling atop her head to make a quick buck—because being a pretty feminist is a lot more profitable and a lot more controllable than being a real, unyielding, goddamn woman. k

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