February 1, 2022

February 1, 2022 | 34st.com

SITTING FOR THE ANTHEM, STANDING FOR JUSTICE

TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR 6 Rosie Nguyen aka @jasminericegirl

8 Street's songs of the month

12 Men's basketball and racial justice

16 The Pete Davidson phenomenon

18

On losing touch, accepting change, and being a bad friend

I

’ll let you in on a secret: I’m bad at keeping up with my friends.

I joke that it’s an issue of object permanence—that as I naturally begin to see someone less, I have a difficult time remembering they exist. And as cruel as it sounds, sometimes it’s true. As my schedule and inbox fill up with work and I run from meeting to meeting, I notice that more and more people I once saw every day barely even cross my mind anymore.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. Being a young adult is all about change—you move apartments every year or two, live with new people, take new classes, and work new jobs—and you make peace with whatever was left behind. A lot of your high school friendships fade, replaced with college friendships that shift just as quickly.

I think the truth is that I’m just bad at having acquaintances. I’m bad at allowing people to only exist on the outskirts of my life without fading away. I’m bad at maintaining a relationship once convenience or proximity disappear.

We often romanticize staying in touch for the sake of staying in touch—high school and college reunions are evidence of this—but I’ve always felt comfortable with friendship’s transience. People will inevitably come in

and out of my life, and that’s okay. I shouldn’t need longevity or shared history to appreciate the ones who are here now.

After all, isn’t it more important to nurture the few friendships you really care about than to maintain a dozen half–assed ones?

For this issue, Street’s staff talks about relationships— our profile of James the Seventh digs into how her family and past inspires her music today, and our piece on Rosie Nguyen and Fanhouse explores how content creators interact with fans online. This week’s feature explores the Penn men’s basketball team’s decision to sit during the national anthem, and what that meant to its players.

SSSF,

James the Seventh

Illustration by Tyler Kliem Emily

34TH STREET EXECUTIVE BOARD Emily White, Editor–in–Chief: white@34st.com Eva Ingber, Campus Editor: ingber@34st.com Walden Green, Culture Editor: green@34st.com Arielle Stanger, Assignments Editor: stanger@34st. com 34TH STREET EDITORS Mira Sydow, Features Editor Meg Gladieux, Features Editor Julia Esposito, Word on the Street Editor Jean Paik, Focus Editor Kira Wang, Style Editor Alana Bess, Ego Editor Evan Qiang, Music Editor Irma Kiss–Barath, Arts Editor Cindy Zhang, Film & TV Editor Andrew Yang, Multimedia Editor Kira Wang, Audience Engagement Editor

34TH STREET STAFF Features Staff Writers: Sejal Sangani, Angela Shen, Emilee Gu, Avalon Hinchman Focus Beat Writers: Gabrielle Galchen, Sheil Desai Style Beat Writers: W. Anthony Pérez, Anna Hochman, Shelby Abayie, Naima Small Music Beat Writers: Derek Wong, Grayson Catlett, Kate Ratner Arts Beat Writers: Jessa Glassman, Kaliyah Dorsey Film & TV Beat Writers: Jacob A. Pollack, Kayla Cotter Ego Beat Writers: Anjali Kishore, Vidur Saigal

Multimedia Associates: Roger Ge, Max Mester, Derek Wong, Andrea Barajas, Rachel Zhang Audience Engagement Associates: Kayla Cotter, Yamila Frej, Vidur Saigal, Caleb Crain, Katherine Han THIS ISSUE Copy Editor: Brittany Darrow Design Editor: Tyler Kliem Cover Design by Becky Lee

CONTACTING 34TH STREET MAGAZINE If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Emily White, Editor– in–Chief, at white@34st.com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com © 2021 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 (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved.

34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Tuesday.

Staff Writers: John Nycz, Mame Balde glossy mag!

RIP Gustavo

2

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

WORD ON THE STREET

Decolonizing My Dress Code Illustration by Rebekah Lee

My journey to realizing that my clothes do not define me. | WYATT PEREZ

A

t 8:15 p.m. on a Wednesday, I stepped outside of Du Bois College House. It was a little mild for February, but I wore a heavy brown parka nonetheless. I made sure not to zip it up to show my fit: yellow Timbs, gray sweats, royal green sweater, and a matching, velvet du-rag.

To top it off, a pair of diamond–studded earrings accentuated my look. I felt like a ‘Bronx n***a,’ and it was sensational among the mundane crowd of black Canada Gooses and dirty Veja sneakers.

With a board meeting starting rather soon, I walked down 40th Street and made a left on Sansom to my friend’s house. I had left my backpack in my dorm because the meetings were rather chill, and nobody really used their laptop. I passed behind the [Division of Public Safety], searching for the address numbers on what appeared to be a row of

identical houses.

When I got closer to my destination, I spotted a line of people exiting through the door next to my friend’s.

I could tell they were Penn students because it was club formal season and they looked sharp for a Wednesday night. I locked eyes with a white guy in a suit as I approached the communal front steps. Immediately, he turned around and hurriedly said, “Yo! Close the door, close the door.” He looked at me again and rushed down the steps, ushering people into the bus as someone shut the door behind him.

I looked away and knocked on my friend’s door. “Hey, Wyatt,” he greeted me.

“We’re still waiting for a few people, come in.” When I finally exhaled and sat on my friend’s couch, I realized what had happened: He profiled me. With simply a look, that person assumed I was a threat to him and his friends’ safety. I looked

down at my lap not knowing what to think. He could be in one of my lectures, one of my comedy shows, one of my friends’ parties—pretty much anywhere.

I wondered, was it me?

What about me made him feel that way? Then I took a closer look at my outfit.

Because I was walking while “hood–adjacently” Black, he felt the need to close his door. It was absurd. I was tired of being perceived as a threat. Whether it was my tone of voice, my expressions, or my dress, people always felt intimidated. I felt like a monster, one that would never blend in at Penn, let alone the professional world. This burden soon became a relentless cloud that hovered over me, reminding me of what people saw. To cope, after that incident, I taught myself a rule of thumb: Make them feel safer and make yourself smaller.

When I learned about the

colonial matrix in one of my classes, I started to put the pieces together. The matrix describes how modernity, professionalism, and all the politics of respectability were designed to build "Western civilization by celebrating its achievements while hiding at the same time its darker side, ‘coloniality’” according to Duke University professor Walter Mignolo. Coloniality, “names the underlying logic of the foundation and unfolding of Western civilization from the Renaissance to today of which historical colonialisms have been a constitutive, although downplayed, dimension.”

When my friend straightened her hair to rush a socalled “multicultural” sorority, coloniality won. When a student at the barbershop hesitated to get a slit in his eyebrow because of how it’d affect his prospect for being recruited, it won again. And when a white man’s fragility made me stop dressing au-

thentically to who I am, it buried me along with everything I stood for.

Experiences like these chip away at the souls of people of color, especially those like myself who deviate from white, cis–male, Christian heteronormativity.

By refusing to conform to current standards of modernity, professionalism, and respectability, we assert our individuality over the matrix and decolonize our existence. Some time after being racially profiled, I gathered the courage to continue dressing as I pleased, even in my classes, my work-study, and other elite spaces.

Now in my final semester at Penn, I still carry the lesson I learned that night.

Although I can’t remember that white guy’s face, I’ll never forget his words. I still pray for the day when our paths meet again so that I can show him I am much more than the threat he took me for.

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

3

EGO

AMIEL ORBACH HOMETOWN: Stamford, Conn.

MAJOR:

Electrical and systems engineering, pursuing an accelerated master’s degree in robotics

ACTIVITES:

Tau Beta Pi, GRASP Lab, Eta Kappa Nu, Penn Assistive Devices and Prosthetic Technologies (ADAPT), Community School Student Partnerships, Orthodox Community at Penn (OCP), CIS 520 TA

Meet the Engineering senior taking on the world of robotics, machine vision, and Harry Potter. | ANJALI KISHORE 34th STREET: Let's start with your accelerated master’s degree in robotics—tell us about that.

AMIEL ORBACH: In the [School of Engineering and Applied Science], they have these master’s programs that allow you to double count some courses between undergraduate and graduate [levels]. The master's degree itself is ten course units, so I can take three to overlap in undergrad. It's basically an encouragement for people to get a master's degree—I'll be here for another year getting a master’s, while most people spread it out over two years. Robotics isn't its own department: It's cohosted between Electrical and Systems Engineering, Computer and Information Sciences, and Mechanical Engineering and Applied Mechanics. Robotics is a lot of things: machine learning; artificial intelligence; control theory, where you design a controller for a given robotic sys-

4

tem; machine vision, where you process a camera or video feed to understand the environment surrounding it; and kinematics, where you try to figure out how a robotic arm or kinematic de-

“The first

project we did [was] … to help blind kids learn Braille."

vice going to move if you apply different forces and torques to the joints. Ultimately, it's sort of just a hybrid between a lot of different fields. I've taken a lot of courses in machine learning and control theory, and I'm just

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

starting to take kinematics and the other ones this semester.

My classes mostly consist of master’s and Ph.D. students at this point, because I’m taking a lot of graduate–level classes, but there are definitely some undergrads. They’ll probably be juniors or seniors, unless it’s some crazy genius who invented a new language or something, but most people are either upperclassmen or graduate students.

STREET: How did you get into robotics in the first place?

AO: I've always loved building things. The stereotype is playing with Legos as a kid, which is obviously true, and then, in high school, I did a summer program where, for six weeks, we designed and built projects and robots with little microcontrollers, just playing around, getting some experience with building robots. I really liked it and kind of decided there that this is what I want to do.

STREET: As an outsider, robotics can seem like a lot of lab work and kind of distant. How are you trying to be active on the ground with your robotics work through your extracurriculars?

AO: I'm in a club called ADAPT where you take medical problems that people have and try to make low–cost solutions to them. A lot of the time, the work is for individuals—people in the Philadelphia community who will request individual solutions. We're talking to the [Overbrook] School for the Blind, for example. Obviously, medical devices are really expensive, and not many people can afford them, as well as being kind of outdated. For instance, the first project we did concerned how we teach Braille, and we basically made a device with a microcontroller where you could put in the three by two grid and press the buttons to help blind kids learn Braille.

Right now, we're working on a

EGO

system to motorize a wheelchair, because motorized wheelchairs are pretty expensive, so we're trying to have a cost–effective solution.

Also, with machine vision, we're focusing on having a video feed of someone breathing and being able to diagnose if their breathing is too shallow without having to go through a whole diagnostic procedure. It's not necessarily that the solutions don't exist, they're just solutions that can cost thousands of dollars and we're trying to make them cheaper.

I also tutor in West Philadelphia for a couple public and charter schools—English, math, and science. These clubs basically have Penn students go into schools that aren't doing too well and help kids who are struggling, making teachers' jobs easier. This semester, I'm hoping to bring some programming tutoring to West Philadelphia. It's tough because a lot of schools don't have the resources for a full robotics lab—you know, some schools might have a 3D printer or something, and those are starting to become more common as they get cheaper, but many schools still don’t have that. Programming works in that

as long as you have access to a computer or electronic device, you can do it too—that’s what’s making it become more popular than hands–on lab stuff.

STREET: Regarding your involvement in the Orthodox Community at Penn (OCP) and Penn Hillel, how has the Jewish community contributed to your experience here at Penn?

AO: I always grew up with it, so it was nice to have a community to look into when I got here. I already knew a couple of people from high school, so it's really nice to go in there and already be familiar with the rituals and the community. It's also a good way to get to know people, especially coming into college when you don't really know anyone and you're sort of just struggling to fit in, but once you get here and you already have somewhere to plug into, it's great.

STREET: How have you enjoyed your experience as a CIS TA? AO: I've always enjoyed teaching, and I'm a TA for CIS 520. In high school, I taught summer school and a youth group for my synagogue at home, and now here. I started TAing last semester, and it was obviously mostly in person, but

there were a bunch of students who were stuck in China or India with visa problems so we had

is] a “[Hillel good way to

get to know people, especially coming into college when you don't really know anyone and you're sort of just struggling to fit in … It's great.

to have a remote recitation for the people there that was literally back–to–back with our in– person recitation. A lot of the engineering graduate classes are largely Chinese and Indian students, and last semester probably about 45 of them were stuck

outside of the United States, so I had to teach a remote recitation class.

The contrast was ridiculous. In the in–person recitation, you’re having a conversation with people the whole time and they’re engaging with each other, but on Zoom it’s totally silent and basically just a monologue. In COVID–19, it was just hard to meet people through a screen— they’d have their camera off at all times and you’d just get to see their Zoom name. In fairness, when I'm in virtual class I often have my camera off the whole time too, but it's annoying from a teacher's perspective to not be able to have the discussion that you usually get with in–person classes.

STREET: What’s next for you after Penn?

AO: I love robotics and would certainly love to do it as a career, but I haven't really thought about it past next year. If I could be building robots, though, I'd love that. At the end of the day, I just enjoy being here, hanging out with friends, all that—it’s fun.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

LIGHTNING ROUND

STREET: Last song you listened to?

AO: I prefer soundtracks rather than individual songs, usually musicals and stuff—probably Hamilton. I never did theater, but I just enjoy the songs.

STREET: Death row meal?

AO: Can I ask for something made by a friend who could smuggle me a lockpick and a shiv? Or a really, really, big cake that I could smuggle myself out of, like Princess Peach getting stuffed in the big birthday cake in Super Mario.

STREET: Favorite movie?

AO: I'm a big MCU, Star Wars, and Harry Potter fan. I love fantasy—my favorite series has to be Harry Potter.

STREET: There are two types of people at Penn ...

AO: In my experience, those who know what it's like to run to DRL first thing in the morning for math recitation, and those who don't.

STREET: And you are?

AO: I don't know how much it applies to people outside of studying STEM, but I've had several semesters in a row where, first thing in the morning, I had to make the 15–minute walk down to DRL.

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

5

SET G Y LOE

Photo Courtesy of Rosie Nguyen

Fanhouse Founder Rosie Nguyen Puts Creators First Through her creator–centered platform, Fanhouse, Wharton grad Rosie Nguyen aims to foster a safe space for social media personalities. | ANNA HOCHMAN

R

osie Nguyen went viral the way that we all aspire to go viral—on Twitter. She downloaded the app in 2018, and by the end of 2019, Nguyen, known as @jasminericegirl, had begun to blow up. In March 2020, as the world shut down and Nguyen was months away from her Wharton graduation, she had amassed a following of tens of thousands. However, Nguyen wasn't just forced into online classes with the pandemic. She lost her source of income—her on–campus job.

Nguyen started as an undergraduate at Wharton in 2016 with a full–ride scholarship.

Back at home, her mom was the only person in her family of four who was employed, but after an accident during Nguyen’s freshman year, she became disabled and was unable to work. Nguyen’s college years very quickly revolved around finding any way possible to provide for her family.

Using her work–study job at a college house to provide for herself, Nguyen sent her room and board stipend home. Her time at Penn was a constant struggle for money. Nguyen reflects, “Maybe I ate, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I went to class, 6

Content warning: This piece describes examples of digital and sexual harassment, which can be disturbing and/or triggering for some readers. maybe I didn’t. It was very stressful.”

As the only source of income for her family, when Nguyen lost her on–campus work-study job to the pandemic, she began looking for other ways to safely take care of them. “I probably had 30,000–something followers on Twitter,” Nguyen says, “I want to do something with this platform to provide for myself.” After researching different monetization platforms, Nguyen settled on OnlyFans, a subscription service where Nguyen’s followers could fund her as they connected with her.

However, Nguyen quickly realized that it was not the platform for her. “OnlyFans is very much synonymous with sex work and adult content,” she explains, and while she emphasizes that there's nothing wrong with creating adult content, doing so was not her goal. “I felt like every day I was pressured to do adult content because it was OnlyFans,” she says. And refusing had dire consequences. Most days, Nguyen received death threats and rape threats from people who had subscribed to her page and were not getting the adult content they thought

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

they were paying for.

Nguyen couldn’t even use her real name, Rosie, instead opting to go by Jasmine, for fear of being stalked by an angry follower. “I would have nightmares about people killing me,” she says.

“I just really wanted a platform where it wasn’t about your body,” says Nguyen. She wanted a space that “was about the content you create, about your personality as a creator and about fans that genuinely wanted to support you for who you are.” Through this, Nguyen decided that she needed to create a platform that protected creators.

After meeting her co–founders, Jerry Meng and Khoi Le, on Twitter and telling them about her issues with OnlyFans, they started Fanhouse.

OnlyFans and Fanhouse are designed pretty similarly, except on Fanhouse, the content is all safe for work. Rather than an emphasis on creators' bodies, Fanhouse was more about getting a behind–the–scenes perspective on a creator’s life.

To figure out if the idea was even worth pursuing, the founders experimented with the idea of offering a subscription–based glimpse into influ-

encers' lives by giving fans paid access to Nguyen’s private Twitter and Instagram accounts.

Then, she transitioned her subscription plan onto Fanhouse, which now has a few thousand creators using the service. Even though Nguyen is busy with running the business end of the platform, she's still an active creator on the platform to this day.

Compared to most other platforms that have higher take rate of at least 20%, Fanhouse’s creator payout structure is 90–10. The app takes 10% of all transactions—and creators get the rest. “As a creator, I know that that’s a lot of money that people need, and if a platform can take less, it should,” Nguyen says. “That’s one of our foundational beliefs as a creator platform.”

Nguyen’s identity as a creator contributes every day to how the platform operates.

“Everything that I experienced as a creator I know is not limited to myself,” she says. “I know I am not the only woman online who is receiving unsolicited dick pics. I know I’m not the only woman online that’s receiving harassment.” Because of her creator background, Nguyen knew that in addition

to creator profitability, safety also had to be a priority for the platform, causing her to ask herself: “How do we prevent stalkers? How do we prevent people that harass?”

One of the many protections that Fanhouse implemented was watermarking: Before a creator posts or sends a photo, they can choose to put a unique traceable watermark on it. That way, if a follower screenshots and leaks a post, the app will be able to trace the source of the leak and shut it down.

Nguyen constantly brings things to the table to improve Fanhouse for creators. Anything that she or her friends experience—on their platform or anywhere else—contributes to the changes that are implemented at Fanhouse.

Looking to the future, Nguyen wants to stick with the founding principles of the platform, even as it becomes more successful. “The second that platforms make money, they neglect the people that built them up,” she states. “So, I hope Fanhouse continues to succeed, and that we continue to serve creators and do right by creators, and for as long as I’m a part of Fanhouse, I know that we will.”

Love Issue Essay Contest

Love, Actually

Tell Street your story.

Submit here by Feb. 7 @ 5 p.m.: bit.ly/34stLoveEssays FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

7

MUSIC

Illustration by Alice Choi

34th Street Staff Picks: What Street's Been Listening To, January 2021 These are the songs Street's been obsessed with this past month.

There’s nothing that comes close to the thrill of listening to a transformative song for the first time or discovering that hidden gem on a friend’s playlist. Music has always been a boundless world that simultaneously offers just the right accompaniment to our fondest loves, funniest moments, and saddest nights. Street's always exploring the vast treasure chest of releases that streaming has to offer, and we wanted to share some of our favorite riches.

–Evan Qiang, Music editor

“Illusion of Forever”

— Beach House With the release of Chapter 3 from Beach House’s new double album Once Twice Melody, the dream pop duo makes a triumphant return, best encapsulated by the closing song of this installment: “Illusion of Forever.” As Victoria Legrand croons, “Always, always / Centuries of light / And I can’t believe in nothing just yet,” the song pulsates with quiet determination and envelops you with light—it's simply golden. The song’s celestial instrumental is stunningly grand, and yet Legrand’s signature otherworldly vocals are deeply intimate. During a time when life often feels bleak and desolate, “Illusion of Forever” reminds us that hope is just enough to keep us going.

–Kira Wang, Style editor

“Ghosts” —

Laura Marling "Ghosts" does not tell of one broken heart, but of two. A man and a woman find common fears, heartache, and the 8

34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

the desperation for real love in one another. The man attempts to begin a new relationship with Laura Marling, despite “still mourning over ghosts” of his prior relationships. Marling’s chorus reaches out to protect him from the pain she is all too familiar with: “Lover please do not fall to your knees / it’s not like I believe in / everlasting love.” When the pair realizes their similarities, the prospect of love is no longer so daunting, leaving them as “just two lovers crying on each other’s shoulder.”

–Kate Ratner, Music beat

“Archie, Marry Me” — Alvvays

The world is burning, the ozone layer is disintegrating above our heads, and lately, nothing seems easy. Such is the story of Gen Z angst, or maybe just the eternal condition of burgeoning teenage cynics. In what can seem like a world on the brink of chaos, love is a hard thing; our generation’s conquering girlboss, Euphoria’s Maddy Perez, put it best when she lamented the fact that a sweet, simple love might never be enough for her.

But Alvvays’ “Archie, Marry Me”

makes things seem devastatingly simple, sweet, and realistic for even the most jaded of characters. Though singer Molly Rankin's partner expresses his "contempt for matrimony" because of student loans, floral arrangements, and the dreaded bread–maker discussion, the song’s chorus shrugs off worldly concerns and gets right to the heart of the issue, repeating, “Marry me, Archie” over a blurry, soft guitar cadence.

Maybe, the song probes, we’re all just making it harder than it needs to be.

Love has never seemed so straightforward, so charming, or so perfectly enough.

–Anjali Kishore, Ego beat

“We Ride” — Brave Girls

Brave Girls catapulted into the spotlight last year thanks to their four– year–old hit, “Rollin’,” unprecedentedly going viral. For a girl group that was days away from disbanding, “Rollin’” proved to have staying power and kept them from fading into obscurity.

However, just months before their “Rollin’” fame, Brave Girls made a last– ditch effort at charting success, and it came in the form of “We Ride.” While

MUSIC

the lyrics detail a strained relationship during a silence–filled car ride, the '80s–inflected, city–pop production suggests nostalgic reminiscence more than sorrow. With groovy choreography, an infectious chorus, and stellar vocal performances, “We Ride” was a noble effort for what would’ve been Brave Girls’ last comeback –Derek Wong, Music beat

“Midnight River (feat. 6LACK)” — Pink Sweat$

In response to a relatively deserted campus, I found myself listening to mellow music on the walks to 1920 Commons for my grab–and–go meals.

Philly singer Pink Sweat$’s new track, “Midnight River (feat. 6LACK),” is the perfect remedy to a hectic day and, as always, his lyrics are refreshingly honest and sweet. He conjures up a picturesque image with the lyrics, “We can float on a midnight river / We can fly through the moonlit sky,” as he describes the weightless feeling of being or falling in love. The gentle guitar arpeggios make the song feel intimate and the lyrics match this mood, as though they were reserved for his lover.

Serving as a sneak peek into his upcoming album, Pink Moon—which boasts a highly anticipated collaboration with Tori Kelly—“Midnight River” reflects the R&B singer’s unique sound and dreamy aesthetic.

–Cindy Zhang, Film & TV editor

ersity to moments spent with his mother “playin’ Mary J. songs.” However, what Kgositsile craves most is to “triumph over plight and immense loss” and rekindle “a fire” that led him to drop his debut mixtape all the way back in—you guessed it—2010. "2010" (the song) represents a key turning point for Kgositsile’s musical career, as the hardships he faced now motivate him to push forward. Given Kgositsile’s career, which has garnered both critical acclaim and mainstream success, it’s safe to say the rapper has found the spark to his once dying flame. Twelve years later, even if the world around him is collapsing, Kgositsile is burning brighter than ever.

–Evan Qiang, Music editor

a swirling rapture of guitars, synths, drums, and saxophone, is easily one of my favorite musical moments to come out of 2021. If only I got to it earlier.

–Grayson Catlett, Music beat

“Take Off Ur Pants” — Indigo de Souza

Indigo De Souza’s “Take Off Ur Pants” is a procrastination anthem. De Souza deliberates on when she’s going to get around to finally completing the tasks she’s put off, like getting out of bed or following through on her plans.

This alt–rock track explores the mounting pressure to be productive like “everybody else is.” In a life dominated by social media, it can often feel that we aren’t living our lives to the fullest in the same way as our peers. In this song, De Souza urges her listen ers to take a step back and revel in the undetermined.

–Jack Nycz, Staff writer

“2010” — Earl

“Suck Teeth”

Sweatshirt

— L’Rain

In the never–ending havoc and turmoil of the 2020s, Thebe Kgositsile temporarily clings onto his past on “2010,” the lead single from his album Sick! Although “2010” features a new sound for the rapper as he experiments with a more mainstream trap beat, Kgositsile never sacrifices his signature stream–of–consciousness flow. He relives some of his most formative experiences, from his years at Temple Univ-

I’m admittedly late to the hype around Taja Cheek, but earlier this month I finally listened to her acclaimed Fatigue.

While the entire record is atmospheric and beautiful, nothing hypnotized me more this year than, "Suck Teeth," the sixth track on the album. Cheek and the elusive Slauson Malone produced a lush and dreamlike soundscape that is lifted

by Cheek’s mesmerizing vocals. The buildup in the final minute of the song,

A Project of the Annenberg Public Policy Center

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE

9

FILM & TV

Netflix’s 'Hype House' Isn’t Just Boring—It’s Sad.

J

Living in the Hype House was once the pinnacle of TikTok success. Now, it’s just a shallow reminder of the miserable nature of fame. | KIRA WANG

ust last year, being in the Hype House—a $5 million content house that once housed social media superstars such as Charli D’Amelio and Addison Rae—seemed like a teenager’s wildest dreams. From living with young, attractive, and successful influencers to being given the opportunity to work with up–and–coming social media stars, the allure and clout of the Hype House was simply unquestionable. In fact, Hype House–adjacent influencer Nikita Dragun described it best: The Hype House is “a fraternity filled with people who have millions of followers and dollars at their fingertips with high school drama and like… a ring light.”

But despite the initial glitz of this content house, Netflix docuseries Hype House shows that after these influencers’ five seconds of fame, the reality of being a social media star is darker than it seems.

Hype House opens with shots of fancy cars, sunny California weather, and the colossal Hype House mansion broken up by close–ups of members listing the size of their absurdly large followings. But in spite of their glamorous Hollywood lifestyles, these young influencers seem almost numb to the level of fame they have achieved. “Do I think I’m famous?” Chase Hudson, a 19– year–old influencer, singer, and Hype House co–founder with over 32.5 million TikTok followers as of January, asks himself. “I think I have a sprinkle of fame,” he muses.

Hudson’s nonchalant attitude towards his fame and

Illustration by Rebekah Lee his content house is one of the main plotlines of the show. It seems clear that Hudson has moved onto bigger and better things—he’s moved out of the Hype House and has started to pursue a career in music.

Thomas Petrou, another co– founder of the Hype House, is disappointed to see one of the house’s most popular creators make less and less content to keep the collective afloat, saying, “Chase just wants to reap the benefits of the business without doing anything to help us make any of the money.”

Not only this—the show spotlights influencer couple Alex Warren and Kouvr Annon’s tumultuous relationship, which climaxes in an almost tragic scene where Warren convinces Annon to hold a fake wedding to generate more likes on his Youtube channel. Annon is obviously distraught, as she wants to marry Warren in real life and feels that their internet followings are often prioritized over their actual relationship.

10 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

Similarly, TikTok heartthrob Vinnie Hacker, who’s known for his thirst–trap videos, is shown to struggle with balancing his sexualized internet persona with his nerdy, video game–obsessed personality. Faced with thirsty demands from increasingly aggressive fans, all he wants to do is settle down and become a Twitch streamer.

Despite the trials and tribulations each Hype House member faces, Petrou’s story is one of the saddest to watch. Throughout the show, it becomes increasingly clear that Petrou’s investment and near–obsession with Hype House finances is motivated by his fear of returning to his difficult upbringing. He calls multiple group meetings regarding a lack of content on the Hype House TikTok page, and is constantly frustrated that other members in the house refuse to contribute to the collective.

At the end of the series, Petrou reveals that one of his major fears has been realized—a

majority of the most popular members have moved out and have begun to focus on other career ventures, leaving him and his content house behind.

In the last episode, he says dejectedly, “I just keep seeing friends leave, and I ask myself, ‘Why am I doing this?’” With this mass departure, the inevitable breakdown of the Hype House has finally begun.

After the show’s conclusion, it seems clear that the life of a Hype House member isn’t as flashy and exciting as the content house's branding makes it out to be. Ultimately, Hype House and the stories of the influencers that it follows aren’t just sad—they’re also incredibly boring. Contrary to what the show advertises, the drama isn’t composed of the petty fights that characterize most reality TV. In fact, most of the drama in the show is caused by either Petrou’s stress about maintaining his fame or other members of the Hype House engaging in ludicrous tasks to increase their following. In the end, the Hype

House isn’t the crazy frat that Dragun purports—it’s merely a business run by overwhelmed young adults fresh out of adolescence.

The bottom line of Hype House is that the life of an influencer is simply miserable.

Members of the content house are burnt out, stressed, and constantly fear what their fans think of them. Despite the superficiality of content houses in the first place, Hype House shows us that the frivolousness of influencer culture is what makes fame so precarious.

While likes, followers, and subscribers mean absolutely nothing in the long run, influencers’ financial stability hinges on the internet’s need for immediate entertainment and gratification. But at the same time, this constant influx of attention negatively impacts their psyche, mental health, and perceptions of themselves and others.

The main question that Hype House raises ultimately highlights the meaninglessness of social media stardom: What’s the point of being famous if nothing you do can make you happy?

After watching Hype House, it becomes clear that influencer fame is nothing but a losing game. While many aspire to become viral overnight, the stars of Hype House show that their social media performances lack any sort of meaning and fail to bring them joy.

Despite the Hype House existing to create a living space full of like–minded people, each influencer in Hype House is, at the end, undoubtedly alone.

Illustration by Tyler Kliem

FILM & TV

For Ejun Hong, Animation is a Means of Self–Discovery This Penn first year tells powerful stories through her dreamlike animations. | KAYLA COTTER

W

hen Ejun Hong (C '25) was ten years old, she struggled with an unidentifiable eye disorder that threatened her academic journey. However, as she watched various animated films, she found herself inspired. Animation felt empowering—in it, she saw something that “delivers hope, happiness, and inspiration" not only to her but to others around the globe.

For Ejun, who uses the medium to address her personal difficulties and the hardship of others, animation is a refuge. In her film, Broken Star, Ejun illustrates a broken star encouraging a heartbroken child to love himself again; consequently, he regains his ability to shine. The film, which Ejun says was created “during the times of struggle to heal [herself] and help others,” seems to reflect what animation did for her. “Those films conveyed strong and universal messages such as the importance of courage, love, and hope through their personal stories. So through those films, I was able to regain confidence and hope,” she says.

However, Ejun has since morphed her once unidentifiable world into a mirage of color. Though her films de-

pict personal hardship, each invokes dreamlike imagery; her experimentation with vibrant colors, varied textures, and soft music elicits a sense of wistfulness and whimsy. She comments, “I tend to include a lot of symbolic images to deliver the messages that I want them to convey.” This imaginative use of metaphors allows her viewers to experience a myriad of strong, complicated emotions—sadness, regret, happiness, and hope—in a matter of seconds.

When asked, Ejun cites her 2019 animated short Mother as her proudest accomplishment to date. The award–winning film, a tribute to her 94–year–old grandfather, who lost his mother at a young age and now suffers from Alzheimer’s, explores his life, which was long and prosperous despite the challenges he faced. The short depicts their reunion, showcasing the perpetual relationship between a mother and her son. Though Ejun is only a first year at Penn, Mother reflects the work of a seasoned animator with an already fine–tuned visual style: Every choice—be it the colors, music, scenery, or texture—seems imbued with intention and essential

to the narrative. The use of clock symbolism to reflect the passage of time, for example, is a poignant touch that exemplifies her talent for visual storytelling.

Mother was deeply personal for Ejun and her family. Describing her family’s reaction, she says, “They were crying a lot and they were really responsive. So that was the moment that I really realized the power of animation.” Ejun considers this to be what cemented her passion for animation and her aspirations to work as an animator in the future.

The short film resonated not only with Ejun’s family—Ejun learned that “the most personal stories could be the most universal ones, and they could really touch the hearts of people around the world.” She urges aspiring animators who are struggling to come up with an idea to look a bit closer to home.

The technical skill and imaginative tilt that Mother reflects were not overlooked. The short won Best in Festival, as well as three additional awards—for 2D Animation, Outstanding Design, and Stand–Out International Film—at the 2019 Walt Disney Teen Animation Festival International (TAFI). Mother also

won first place at the 2019 Flickers’ Rhode Island International Film Festival, which is an Oscar–Qualifying and BAFTA–Qualifying festival. In total, Ejun's films have been officially selected by over 30 international film festivals.

Ejun, who plans to major in fine arts, design, or cinema and media studies, shows no sign of slowing down. Currently, she’s working on an animated stop–motion film, I Am Roma, set in Slovakia, where she lived for two and a half years. When asked to elaborate, she explains, “I was like the only South Korean there. So I'm living there, and I was able to really connect with them, and I was able to understand their situation. So I wanted to help them overcome those difficulties caused by discrimination and persecution in Slovakia.” The film depicts a Romani child as she explores her culture.

Ejun cites Pixar movies such as Coco and European films as inspirations for her work. She describes how one French film, April and the Extraordinary World, convinced her that animation could convey messages of hope and inspiration through more serious and realistic stories. She also

cites Japanese animator and director Hayao Miyazaki and the film La La Land, which, although not animated, she considers her favorite movie. “When I was young, I was really inspired

by Walt Disney because he once said a quote, ‘If you can dream it, you can do it,’ and that really helped me through the difficulties during my childhood,” she says.

In the future, Ejun has hefty ambitions, hoping to work for Disney or Pixar animation studios; however, while this may seem like a pipe dream, her obvious talent seems to make it a question not of if, but of when.

Upon viewing her evocative films, there's no doubt in my mind that she’ll achieve her goal to “impact people across the globe and deliver strong messages that could help them through difficult times.”

Ejun notes that the power of animation helped her discover herself and her artistic talents, and we're all the luckier for it. Every film of hers I watched was not only immaculately crafted, but left a profound impact on me. She’s not only an incredible artist, but a powerful storyteller, and I can’t wait to see the future of her animation career take hold.

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 11

F E AT U R E

F E AT U R E

Sitting for the Anthem, Standing for Justice After a year of reflection on racial injustice, Penn men’s basketball players return to the court inspired to sit during the national anthem—a choice met with solidarity and controversy. | JIAHUI (EMILEE) GU

W

hen the national anthem plays before its first exhibition game of the season against East Stroudsburg on Oct. 30, instead of standing for the national anthem, most of the Penn men’s basketball team remains still and seated. All but three players sit solemn on the side benches, eyes gazing down. This was not a spontaneous decision, but a planned, deliberate message of activism spearheaded by players. It was also just the beginning—for the rest of the season, critical and approving eyes alike would not only be on the team's game, but on its collective decision to sit in the moments leading up to tipoff.

Lucas Monroe (C '23), a prime organizer of the team’s decision to sit and captain of the Penn men’s basketball team, explains the core driver behind his decision to sit—and it's inevitably tied to racial justice: “[Racial injustice] was always obviously something

Illustration by Becky Lee that was in the back of my mind, and I thought about [it] naturally.” When the Black Lives Matter movement resurged in the summer of 2020, Lucas felt a need to take more direct action.

“Being a person of color, you see a lot of stuff that goes on throughout the country,” says Lucas. “Obviously, a lot of this [larger] conversation was sparked by [the deaths of ] George Floyd, Breonna Taylor,” and the many other victims of police brutality.

While the 2020–21 basketball season was canceled for Ivy League sports due to the COVID–19 pandemic, organizing for racial justice was still on the team’s mind. Many witnessed police brutality cases broadcast on national media during lockdown, a time when our social lives were solely oriented around the internet world. It became evident to Lucas and his co–captain Jelani Williams (C '22) that more conversations needed to be had not

1 2 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

just within their team, but in the world of sports more broadly. Heading into the 2021–22 season, these conversations were at the front of their minds.

A few days before their preseason game against East Stroudsburg, with things slowly seeming on track for a fully in–person season, Lucas and Jelani started actively organizing between each other and then eventually with the whole team.

“We had a lot of Zoom meetings about the protests around George Floyd, a whole bunch of things around that,” Jelani says. “Coming into this year, along with some of the stuff we've been doing in the community, we wanted to [as a team] make a statement and continue conversation around those issues.” Lucas and Jelani met with the team and shared their ideas, opening a forum for the players to join.

The in–team discussions around the

decisions to sit or stand were anything but controversial, according to both players and coaches. They were instead thought–provoking conversations that inspired a learning process within their tight–knit community. “They were pretty intense, pretty real,” Jelani says.

But it wasn’t just a one–off conversation—it remained a continuous dialogue within the team. Particularly as it entered the regular season, the team believed that it was important to continue internally addressing the issues that motivated its decision. These conversations usually took place in the locker room, moments before a game began.

Almost everybody on the team talked about why exactly they wanted to sit or why they wanted to stand. And then we came to a consensus of everybody being on the same page, and understanding and respecting what one another wanted to do,” says Jelani.

For him, it was important that they continue to discuss the racial injustice issues that motivated their activism. He talks about how the teammates of varying opinions were able to arrive at a “unified” place of understanding.

“We had one guy on our team who has some military service in his family. I think his eyes were opened,” says associate head coach of men’s basketball Nat Graham. Hearing teammates’ personal experiences helped illuminate the motivations behind larger protests of the national anthem within the athletic world.

“When Kaepernick or other athletes had done similar things, I think he had thought one way about it, and then learning from his teammates, who he loves and is part of a family with, really changed his perspective,” he says.

After the 2016 season, Kaepernick became a free agent.

An NFL team has yet to sign him, even to this day. Kaepernick’s outstanding performance on the field makes it hard for audiences and ana-

schools including Georgetown, Colgate, Ohio State, Virginia Tech, the University of Florida, and the University of Kentucky led similar movements. All but two Drexel basketball players kneeled for

think that should be a model for the way that we conduct businesses of all kinds on our campuses. But unfortunately, it isn’t.” Zimmerman cites poll literature that reveals high percentages of undergraduates

Photo by Kylie Cooper Though the team members fostered an environment of open–mindedness and unity among themselves, and were confident and proud of their decision, this did not shelter them from its harsh backlash.

And they wouldn’t be the first athletes to face criticism for their display of activism.

The Penn players’ decision to sit places them in a larger conversation around the national anthem and its troubling components. The first modern United States national anthem protests in sports trace back to Colin Kaepernick, the NFL star quarterback who knelt during the anthem all through the 2016 season he played for San Francisco 49ers.

However, the media attention Kaepernick garnered resulted in backlash, mainly from conservatives. President Donald Trump publicly denounced the quarterback’s actions, claiming them to be a “total disrespect of our heritage” and called on the NFL to fire players.

lysts not to attribute this surprising outcome to political reasons.

The momentum of the national anthem protest continued after Kaepernick. Players from the Baltimore Ravens, Jacksonville Jaguars, and Miami Dolphins joined in during the beginning of the 2017 seasons. That year, the Associated Press made an estimate of 204 players who elected to kneel or sit in protest of the national anthem. Throughout the nation, professional and collegiate teams across the country followed suit.

College basketball teams joining the national anthem protest is not a new sight.

Eight players from the University of Mississippi basketball team decided to kneel during the national anthem, making headlines in February 2019.

The protest reached a new height after the killings of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd in 2020 and the Capitol Hill riot in 2021. In March of last year, basketball players from

the national anthem at the NCAA tournament in 2021.

Their protest lasted throughout the 2020–21 season. The Ivy League did not participate in any sports competitions during that time, but Penn players joined in as soon as the 2021–22 season began last November.

"We stood together.

And that's all that really matters."

Lucas Monroe (C '23), Penn men's basketball co–captain Jonathan Zimmerman, a professor of the History of Education at the Penn Graduate School of Education, observes in the basketball team what he believes to be a rare occurrence in the campus space. “It seems to me that the players feel free to either engage in the protest, or not,” he says. “And I

who are afraid to express their opinions.

“I think we could all stand to learn from the way that these basketball teams have handled this,” says Zimmerman. Zimmerman has been an adamant supporter of freedom of speech. In his op–ed published in USA Today, he applauds the basketball players’ respect for each other and their decisions. He believes that free expression is a key vehicle for learning on college campuses. “We can’t learn from each other if we’re not free to speak,” he says.

But the team’s activism certainly hasn’t been met with all praise. Graham notes previous concerns over the potential negative consequences to the basketball players’ decision to sit during the national anthem, especially earlier in the season. “As coaching staff, some of us were concerned that the guys didn't completely grasp potential ramifica-

tions,” says Graham.

Aside from coverage by The Philadelphia Inquirer, the Penn men’s basketball players have attracted media attention from more conservative groups like The College Fix following their decision to sit during the national anthem.

Most notably, Penn’s mega– donor James Maguire, a prominent conservative philanthropist, sent a letter to President Amy Gutmann mid–November, pulling donations from the Maguire Foundation in opposition of the players’ decision to sit. The letter states, “I am serving notice to you that the Maguire Foundation and I personally will not be renewing any scholarship gifts or pledges (present or future) nor undertaking any future commitments to Penn.”

Maguire also demanded that Saint Joseph’s University not host the Penn men's basketball team in its December game. The stakes were high for St. Joe’s—Maguire recently made the largest donation in the university's history. But Maguire’s attempt turned out unsuccessful. Penn’s game with Saint Joseph’s took place as planned on Dec. 8 of last year.

Maguire, a Korean War veteran who enrolled at St. Joe’s through the G.I. Bill, considers the national anthem protest a disrespect to the flag and the country. However, Jelani finds Maguire’s argument frustrating and problematic given the bill’s racist history.

“It was interesting, learning about him and how the G.I. Bill got him an education at St. Joe's,” says Jelani. “The same bill was basically excluding some Black veterans at the time from some of those same benefits that helped him build his wealth.”

To Jelani, Maguire’s statement was built on layers of deep–rooted racial injustice: “If the shoe was on the other foot, and it was a Black vet-

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 13

F E AT U R E

erans at the time from some of those same benefits that helped him build his wealth.”

To Jelani, Maguire’s statement was built on layers of deep–rooted racial injustice: “If the shoe was on the other foot, and it was a Black veteran, who had built his wealth following the war, and came back and wanted to silence some young white kids that are trying to make a statement about what they believe in and what needs to change,” says Jelani, “I just wonder how that would have been received.”

“Even though the school endorses us sitting, it's still only the decision of the 20 of us and our coaches. It has nothing to do with the rest of Penn. And it obviously has nothing to do with St. Joe's,” Lucas says. He sees Maguire’s decision to pull donations as an attempt to politicize a rather personal decision.

Jelani notes a response that stood out the most so far in the season, when he was called out directly by a spectator from the other team in the middle of a game. “One of the crazier instances to me was that Florida State game. There was a guy who was sitting on the floor, basical-

ly in courtside seats, across the bench from us,” says Jelani. “I “We're very aware that not everyone is going to appreciate the message that we're trying to send.

When it was happening, we were trying to just focus on the game.”

Lucas Monroe (C '23), Penn men's basketball co–captain was guarding the inbound pass.

And he stood up and looked me in my face, and told me to stand for the anthem next time.

He called me the n–word.” For Jelani, it was an experience that could only be taken with shock.

“I think that was probably the biggest ‘wow’ moment for me, just being able to hear something like that so close and see the way his face looked when he said that to me,” says Jelani.

But none of this wavered the team’s activist stance or its commitment to staying true to its ideals. “We're very aware of how some people are going to view it,” says Lucas. “You just live with the good and the bad.”

Ultimately, the coaching staff

has remained supportive and stood by the team’s personal reasons for sitting during the anthem.

For Jelani and Lucas, negative responses were expected from the very beginning. “We're very aware that not everyone is going to appreciate the message that we're trying to send,” says Lucas. “When it was happening, we were trying to just focus on the game.”

“Ultimately, what our guys wanted was a conversation. I thought that was so mature,” says Graham, who also recently published an op–ed in The Daily Pennsylvanian about the team’s national anthem protest.

He remarks on the exceptional qualities he sees on the team and the need for such activism: “Their point was by doing something that was less public, that conversation wouldn’t necessarily have happened.” “[In the anthem], we talk about freedom, justice, liberty, and equality for all, and that's a great ideal that America tries to model itself after,” says Jelani.

But with ongoing issues around police brutality, racial injustice, and the prison industrial com-

plex, among others, he found it hard to view the tradition of “If we can get just a few people to educate themselves more about some of the issues that we're trying to bring to light, and get them to talk about it with someone who might not agree with us, and bring everybody to more of a common ground, I think that's a mission accomplished.”

Jelani Williams (C '22), Penn men's basketball co–captain standing during the anthem as a simple act of patriotism.

“I think part of the symbolism behind sitting for the anthem is understanding that it doesn't always live up [to] those ideals,” says Jelani. “And that's part of what our protest is—trying to highlight that.”

Jelani believes the objective of the team's activism is less about actually making direct change, and more about bringing awareness to the inequalities the team sees in its society. “If we can get just a few people to educate themselves more about some of the issues that we're trying to bring to light, and get them to talk about it with someone who might not agree

with us, and bring everybody to more of a common ground, I think that's a mission accomplished,” he says.

Lucas echoes Jelani’s motivations. “However many people we can reach, we want to reach them,” he says. “It just is what it is, we're fully prepared for the bad stuff that's going to happen.

It just brings us closer together.

We stood together. And that's all that really matters.”

Despite pandemic disruptions and the efforts put into organizing the movement, the team’s performance has been stellar so far this season. Just last Friday, Jan. 28, the men’s basketball team scored its first win at Harvard in ten years, ranking third in the Ivy League as it heads into its Feb. 4 game against Columbia. The Quakers currently hold an 8–12 record for the season, 5–2 in Ivy League play.

For the players, it's all worth it—especially if it means that the attention they're getting brings awareness to the work they're trying to highlight with their activism. “In our mind, we're reaching people, even if we're getting a negative reaction,” says Lucas. “They're thinking about what we're doing, and they're noticing. That was always our biggest goal, and [continues] to be our goal.”

"Part of the symbolism behind sitting for the anthem is understanding that it doesn’t always live up to … those ideals.

And that’s part of what our protest is—trying to highlight that."

Photo by Kylie Cooper 14 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

Jelani Williams (C '22), Penn men's basketball co–captain

FOCUS

Philly's dysfunctional trash system impacts the well–being of its own residents—and the health of its neighboring communities. | SHEIL DESAI

P

hiladelphia has a trash problem—residents are familiar with the stacks of garbage overflowing from cans; they know all too well the sight of ripped trash bags littering front lawns across the city. The Philadelphia Streets Department, which manages waste collection, is notorious for its sporadic pickup schedule, leaving behind serious consequences for Philadelphians. In addition to negative physical health effects, studies on the mental health impact of living in an area with excessive waste have found that litter corresponds with higher rates of stress and discourages feelings of safety and security.

The city has blamed everything from the weather, to staff shortages, to increased trash during the pandemic for their dysfunctional garbage pickup system. But these excuses have left Philadelphians frustrated as the trash continues to pile up in their neighborhoods.

Although the city has received wide–spread criticism towards its unpredictable garbage collection, where the trash goes after it’s picked up is rarely acknowledged at all.

Philadelphians produce nearly 1.4 million tons of trash each year. About 55% of this waste is dumped in a landfill, while the other 45% is trucked to one of two incinerator facilities. Philadelphia has contracts with Waste Management—the world’s

largest waste corporation, which operates incinerators in Northeast Philadelphia—and Covanta—the country’s largest trash incinerator company, which operates an incinerator southwest of Philadelphia in a city called Chester.

Chester is a small city of 34,000 people, with twothirds of its residents being Black or African American.

Nearly 32% of Chester’s population also currently lives below the poverty line. Despite its small size, Chester is home to a multitude of sites established by waste corporations: a sludge incinerator, a Delaware County sewage treatment facility, chemical manufacturing plants, and America’s biggest trash incinerator.

The presence of several high–pollution industrial facilities in Chester is no coincidence. Companies like Covanta prefer to be located in low–income, predominantlyminority neighborhoods because they believe these communities lack the influence to oppose them. In turn, cities like Philadelphia, which employs Covanta, view Chester itself as a dumping ground, and the residents of Chester as expendable.

Despite the concentration of polluting industries in Chester, the City of Philadelphia still chooses to burn their garbage there—overtly perpetuating environmental racism in their waste disposal contracts with

How Philadelphia’s Trash Is Spurring an Environmental Justice Campaign Illustration by Collin Wang these companies. Philadelphia city leaders are well aware of Covanta’s long legacy of polluting activities, but following Mayor Jim Kenney’s recommendations, the City Council recently approved a renewal of its contract with the incinerator company in 2019. These contracts can last four to seven years, with options for continuous renewal. Covanta’s incinerator is currently the largest industrial polluter in Delaware County—consistently ranking among the highest emitters for pollutants like sulfur dioxide, and often lacking the most basic pollution control measures.

The excessive pollution in Chester and the lack of pollution controls is causing a public health crisis for its residents. In 1995, an EPA study found that 60% of Chester children tested for dangerous levels of lead in their blood.

Heavy metals like lead can cause developmental disabilities in children and impair brain function. Both cancer and respiratory diseases occur at excessively high rates in Chester compared to national or state levels, and nearly 38% of Chester children have asthma. Assessed on almost any health metric linked to pollution, Chester has some of the worst health outcomes in the country.

But like countless other cases of environmental racism, the communities disproportionately affected by the

pollution are not the same communities that are responsible for producing it. Only about 2% of the trash burned in Chester is produced within Chester itself. Most of the trash is trucked from Delaware County, Philadelphia, Maryland, and even New York City. Chester is used as a public dumping ground for these cities and townships to conveniently dispose of their waste with little regard for the residents living there.

But the residents of Chester are fighting back. At every step of the way, organizers like Zulene Mayfield have been protesting, suing, and physically obstructing Covanta and other industrial polluters in the city. Mayfield has been living in Chester for decades, but she began to notice problems when a foul smell permeated through the city and garbage trucks made an endless procession through the streets.

“Living among all that garbage, made me feel like garbage,” Mayfield says. The pollution had gotten so bad that children could not go outside to play. She remembers older residents with health issues being confined to their homes to avoid the noxious fumes.

Mayfield is a founder of Chester Residents Concerned for Quality Living (CRCQL).

The group consists of Chester residents, scientists, students, and environmental activists looking to shut down the Co-

vanta incinerator and prevent new polluters from coming to the city. This has proven difficult with an endless barrage of polluters attempting to relocate to Chester, but Mayfield and CRCQL refuse to give in to the industrial corporations laying siege to their community.

“We didn’t choose to have this here, they chose us. So we fight,” she says. Mayfield and CRCQL have had key successes in their organizing efforts, including when a soil remediation plant and a medical waste incinerator were denied permits to operate in Chester following pressure from CRCQL, and being the first group to file an environmental racism lawsuit in the United States.

Climate change is the defining issue of our lifetimes.

In addressing a problem of this scale, communities like Chester offer an important example of collective resistance to preserve residents' health and wellbeing in the face of great opposition. Grassroots organizing and environmental justice campaigns ultimately strike at the heart of what the environmentalism movement is about: people coming together to protect their communities. We must be cautious when deciding who to do business with, as in the case of Philadelphia and Covanta, and mindful about supporting and amplifying the work of community organizers who lead the way.

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 15

ST YLE

The Allure of Pete Davidson:

Is Funny the New Hot? From Ariana Grande to Kim Kardashian, Pete Davidson has dated every celebrity it–girl. How? | SHELBY ABAYIE

Illustration by Alice Choi

D

oes Hollywood's new heartthrob follow in the footsteps of handsome stars like George Clooney, Chris Hemsworth, Ryan Gosling, and Harry Styles? Not exactly. On the surface, the only thing that Pete Davidson has in common with other Hollywood dreamboats is his history of dating other celebrities. However, his latest girlfriend has turned heads everywhere—the soon–to–be– divorced Kim Kardashian.

Their relationship sparks an odd fascination that draws viewers in and leaves them with more and more questions.

Why are they dating? How did he get her? Is this all for publicity? In short, to the public, Davidson and Kardashian's relationship seems to be a complete enigma.

However, Kardashian's fascination with Davidson might not seem so odd when one considers that Davidson is a modern bad boy with a heart of gold. Davidson smokes weed, is covered in tattoos, makes edgy jokes, and is best friends with equally tatted–up, controversial rapper Machine Gun Kelly. On the surface, Davidson is the modern quintessential Hollywood bad boy.

Davidson gained fame as a 20–year–old by starring as a comedy writer and cast member on Saturday Night Live.

On the show, he often portrays youthful, chilled–out stoner characters that deliver edgy one—liners. Outside of SNL, he makes no secret of his drug use and cynical humor in his standup comedy, making dark, borderline offensive jokes that have come to define his comedic style. For instance, Davidson has no qualms about making 9/11 dick jokes, even though he's the son of a fallen 9/11 firefighter.

Despite his comedy often making light of touchy subjects, Davidson's humor inspires sympathy in viewers.

Continuing the trend of sympathy for the bad boy, Davidson is framed as the scrappy underdog that is often misunderstood. He's mysterious, edgy, funny, and, most importantly, damaged.

But despite Davidson's bad body persona, many think that he has a heart of gold. For instance, in a Vanity Fair interview, Emily Ratajkowski, an American model, detailed why women find Davidson alluring.

Ratajkowski said, “he seems super charming. He’s vulnerable.

He’s lovely. His fingernail polish is awesome. He looks good!

[And he has a] good relationship with his mother. We love it—that’s hard to find.”

The surprising juxtaposition between his bad boy appearance, crass language, and his

16 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

perceived "golden retriever" personality is in part due to his open discussion of his mental and physical health. Davidson has battled Crohn's disease and borderline personality disorder. He frequently makes jokes about having poor mental and physical states that lead to his often disheveled appearance and very pronounced eye bags.

As a mental health advocate, Davidson also encourages the destigmatization of mental health, incorporating this subject into his comedic performances and public statements. In fact, once on SNL, Davidson told Kanye West that there was no shame in “taking his meds.”

Although Davidson stays out of drama, he may be sucked into the Kardashian tabloid cycle because of Kim's messy and ongoing divorce from Kanye West. Recently, West threatened in his new song “Eazy” to “beat Pete Davidson's ass.”

But in spite of this messy relationship discourse, West and Davidson represent two sides of the same coin. Broadly speaking, both are troubled artists who at one time or another were romantically involved with Kardashian. However, while Davidson is seen as "vulnerable" and "lovely," West is seen as "crazy." In short, West’s treatment by the media and perception by the public is

starkly different from Davidson's.

West’s expression of trauma is seen as uncool and disturbing, especially following his blatant support of former President Donald Trump on Twitter and other platforms. Recently, West has also been accused of battery for punching a man asking for an autograph. In an interview with Hollywood Unlocked about the altercation, West said, “This dude, he just had this real attitude, like, 'What are you gonna do? And see that?' [I said] Imma just tell you, that blue [COVID–19] mask ain't stop that knockout, you know what I'm saying?”

In contrast, when Davidson mentions his trauma, he purposefully takes a lighthearted approach, attempting to make the audience laugh or addressing his mental health in a casual but evocative way. From this, Davidson's expression of trauma seems "appealing" and nonthreatening, which inspires sympathy in fans rather than outrage. Compared to West, it seems that Davidson's struggles with mental health are less publicized and attract less media attention, making him seem more palatable and allowing the public to more easily romanticize his mental health.

But while the two men often have to deal with similar struggles and trauma, their largest

physical difference is hard to ignore. West is Black and Davidson is white. In the expression of trauma, white men are often characterized as deeply troubled, but still worth saving.

Contrastingly, Black men face racial stereotypes in which they are described as aggressive, dangerous, and prone to violence.

Stereotypes create a stigma that suggests Black men aren’t allowed to be mentally ill or express their trauma. Instead, they must fit into the stereotype of the hypermasculine, insensitive Black man.

Undoubtedly, racialized perceptions of Davidson and West have impacted their characterization by the media and in the mind of the public. Both men have their issues, but one seems more appealing to the public. However, the appeal of "damaged" men must also be scrutinized. To have physical, mental, or emotional trauma is not something to be romanticized—trauma is painful and sometimes debilitating.

Men with mental health issues shouldn’t be fetishized, just as no person with mental health concerns or physical issues should be fetishized purely on the basis of their ailment.

Both men deserve to be supported and cared for regardless of their issues, not directly because it fits into a fan's fantasy of fixing a broken bad boy.

ARTS

Airea Matthews: From Penn Student to Philadelphia Poet Laureate Wise words about lifting poetry off the page, sitting with uncertainty, and course correction | JESSA GLASSMAN

A

fter graduating from Penn with a degree in economics, getting her Master of Public Administration, and working in corporate America for years, Airea D. Matthews finally began to actualize her deep–seated passion for poetry. Looking back on her life, Matthews knew this love was always within her, from the book of 17th–century poems she used to peruse as a child to the Toni Morrison novels she read in college, all the way to the slam poems she performed at her friend’s café during graduate school. “You nurture your passions, you don’t have to force them,” she says. “The sweet entity that poetry is stayed there, even when I was ignoring it and didn’t know it was a big part of my life.” Now, as the newest Poet Laureate of Philadelphia, Matthews strives to spread her love of the art form to the city.

Matthews spent her 30s breaking down the craft of poetry, even returning to school to receive her Master of Fine Arts in the subject. “I didn't know what parataxis was or metonymy … I wanted to understand what I was writing,” she says.

“Just like with music, you recognize that you need notes, and you need a scale, and you need an instrument. [School] was really understanding the tools to build a poem that would grow with me.”

For Matthews, the Poet Laureateship unifies her studies, both academic and personal– after reading, writing, teaching, interrogating, and sitting with poems for so long, Mat-

Illustration by Rebekah Lee thews couldn’t be more honored to serve as an ambassador for the art form. She views the civic position as a chance to give back not only to the Philly community, but to poetry as a craft that has fundamentally changed and defined her life.

As Poet Laureate, Matthews is responsible for reading poetry at events, writing occasional poems in response to major political events, and working on a personal project that serves the city in some manner. Her mission is to reconceptualize poetry as public art, building upon Philadelphia’s rich mural culture to create more opportunities for people to encounter literature in their day–to–day lives. By bringing poetry off the page, Matthews aspires to make the art form one that anyone can turn to for inspiration, encouragement, or solace just by looking down at the chalk on the sidewalk or looking at the side of a building while walking home from work.

In her own work, Matthews focuses on interrogation: asking and considering questions that may not have answers. She classifies these poems as the types “that register us as being vulnerable, open ourselves to the unknowable world around us, and make us okay with all that.” In her first book, titled Simulacra, Matthews focuses on inheritance. “What parts of our being, our landscape, our personality, and our public personas, are inherited things that we've learned from other people and have taken on?” she asks.

“And to what degree is that au-

thentic if it's not generated from the self and it's just a simulation of all of these things that we experience, these different people or expectations or inheritances we've received?” For her poetic discussion of these complex questions in her book and more, Matthews has been honored on multiple occasions, with one notable award being the 2016 Yale Series of Younger Poets prize. Judge Carl Phillips described Simulacra as “rollicking, destabilizing, at once intellectually sly and piercing and finally poignant.”

While she didn’t study cre-

ative writing at Penn, Matthews credits her university experience with much of her present day success. After transferring from NYU, Matthews lived in Du Bois College House, meeting countless friends who shared her same insatiable drive for knowledge. Now, Matthews says that seeing her son Westin (C '23) on the same campus she loved so much feels full–circle.

In fact, it was Westin who pushed Matthews to apply for the Poet Laureate position after he was Philadelphia's 2018– 2019 Youth Poet Laureate.

Course correction has de-

fined Matthews' life as someone who switched schools and career paths, and it also defines the advice she gives to students.

“Be open to the idea that what you came here for may not be what you want. And it’s okay,” she says. “Take the four years you have to learn yourself, to learn your strengths, to learn what gives you delight and joy, and to learn what makes you turn your head a bit so that you can know where your passions lie.” Matthews gives the following, aptly poetic reminder: “Build a life that in 20, 30 years you’ll be proud of.”

Large 10 bedroom house on 41st and Pine Streets $725 per room + utilities Available June 1st, 2022!

• 10 spacious bedrooms • 4 baths • 3 small kitchens on each floor • Large main kitchen on the lower floor • Beautiful hardwood floors • 4 zones central air conditioner • Large patio • 2 car parking • 1, 2, and 3 bedrooms available

Call or text: 215-768-5051 F E B R U A R Y 1 , 2 0 2 2 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 17

MUSIC

Photo Courtesy of Kristie Zurmehly

James the Seventh Is More Than Your Next Indie–Pop Darling The 21–year–old artist combines her past and her TikTok presence to tell a potent story. | DEREK WONG

1 8 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

W

hat does one do following a life–changing injury, caused by something you’ve been doing your whole life? For some, they might focus on their health and, hopefully, return to what they once loved. For others, they might see an opportunity to dive into something completely new.

For James the Seventh, the answer was closer to the latter.

“When my parents found out I was doing music, it kind of hit them out of nowhere because it was just always ballet,” the artist recalls. Yet, the Pennsylvania–born Bethany Latham concludes, “I can honestly say now that I do have a better relationship with music than I did with ballet.”

Despite the apparent shock to her parents, it was, in fact, her dad who bought her first guitar. What James Sr. didn’t know, however, was that he was planting a seed in this young artist, one which would wait patiently to blossom for many years. During the period of her recovery, James the Seventh learned how to play the guitar, and after some encouragement from her sister, decided to pursue a music career.

“I got into songwriting, mid–quarantine, and I ended up showing my sister.

She was like, ‘You should make music or something!’ I thought she was joking at

first, but she was like, ‘No, I'm serious!’”

Her sister then introduced her to Gabriel Gaffney Smith, who co–produced James the Seventh's debut single, “You Don’t Know Me.” James the Seventh's stage name is a dedication to her father, who came from a long line of ancestors, all named James. After debuting with the Billie Eilish–esque single just a little over a year ago, James the Seventh has now reached over one million streams on Spotify across only five singles.

When asked about the comparison to the young pop star, she seemed unsurprised, citing Eilish—as well as MARINA, Paramore, and Lana Del Rey—as her main musical inspirations.

“You Don’t Know Me” places these influences on clear display, with raw vocals set behind a polished, rubbery synth line. “I only want the ones that don't know me” goes the chorus, and the singer reveals that “the one” in this case is actually Harry Styles. Sparse claps and snaps join along with more instrumentation during the second chorus, creating a clearly antagonistic backdrop for a song that comments on the obsession of celebrity culture and crushes.

It was her second single, “Turn a Blind Eye,” that refined James the Seventh's style. More closely aligned to the

MUSIC

“dreamy pop music” the singer describes, “Turn a Blind Eye,” with its chilling instrumental and vocals like a breath of frost, sounds like a Stan Twitter fever dream collaboration between Del Rey and Eilish. But don’t mistake her for either of those stars, because the self–taught musician’s voice is distinctively her own. “If life is a game I've been racing through the course / Had my eyes on the prize from the day I was born,” goes the song's second verse, and the autobiographical tone really resonated with listeners. “Turn a Blind Eye” became James the Seventh’s most–streamed song, thanks also in part due to her constant TikTok presence.

In fact, it's become commonplace to find this up–and–coming musician via her social media platforms. With over 2.5 million likes and nearly 200k followers, James the Seventh was able to share her music with the world through the magic of TikTok. Perusing through her feed, you’ll find memes, covers, and even some behind–the–scenes footage.

“TikTok is a great app to promote your music because it gives you a direct line to potential listeners and supporters,” the singer comments. She sees TikTok as a launchpad that could help others establish their careers in music.

Also on her TikTok page? Performances from her time at Billboard NXT, a singing competition sponsored by Billboard Magazine for up– and–coming artists. James the Seventh placed sixth in the final ranking, where she demonstrated her artistic versatility through, for example, a cover of

Paramore’s “Misery Business” and her own “Turn a Blind Eye.” What James the Seventh really excels at is storytelling. “Music is great at making people feel less alone with their emotions, so that’s something I would love people listening to my music to feel,” she comments, and she does just that. Her songwriting style is personal and reads like poetry. At times, her lyricism even merits comparison to Taylor Swift in its use of hyper–specificity which, paradoxically, allows listeners to immerse themselves even more deeply in her narratives.

James the Seventh employs a similar technique.

Lyrics like “I know nothing lasts forever but now I'm so / Tired of caring more, than they do / Wouldn't it be nice to not care too?” from "Wouldn’t It Be Nice to Not Care Too?" or “gambling my dignity’s something I’d never do” from “When the Night Begins to Fall” reveal a brutal honesty that's simple yet impactful.

Her artistic vision doesn’t stop at her music.

James the Seventh subscribes to the belief that an album's cover art can sometimes be just as important as the music contained within.

“Sometimes I will only click a song because I like the cover art, so I think it's very important. But also, it's fun to just add the visual element, and I think it's really cool when people sort of create a whole creative world with their music. I try to do that with the limited resources I have,” the singer says.

Those limited resources would be the collection

of antiques that belonged to her mother, and most of her single covers are adorned with these artifacts of the past. The objects hold a certain aura of mystery and intrigue, which combines with the distinctly DIY quality of the images James the Seventh produces to create a mystic feeling that mirrors her dreamy pop music.

It wasn't until “Double Edged Sword,” her fourth standalone single, that James the Seventh made her first music video. One can tell that her artistic vision came to life through the surreal, gothic visuals. “It's a lovely façade but you're still feeling ignored” she sings, and indeed, the video feels like a lonely fever dream.

It’s baffling to think that James the Seventh is a self–taught musician. She believes her violin–playing experience from when she was little certainly

helped, but the artist admits she's never taken any music theory classes. A listener certainly wouldn't pick up on that from the attention to detail she turns towards her production. Every song starting from “Turn a Blind Eye” onwards has been entirely self–produced, and the subtle drops and transitions between sections appear to be the work of an experienced producer.

In our interview, James the Seventh revealed that a new single is on the horizon, aiming for a tentative Feb. 11 release. Titled “The Moon,” she described the song as laced with yearning for the past: “I used to be a very nostalgic person. I would convince myself that [the past] was better than the present, and it would deter me from appreciating the present moment. I don’t think I feel this way anymore because I’m pret-

ty happy with where I am in life right now.”

The song also features a sound she hasn't explored before, which she labels as akin to psych rock. “I’m always listening to psychedelic rock, but I was really listening to psychedelic rock. I like a nice guitar riff,” the singer gushes. An EP is also in the cards for the near future, although the 21–year–old admits that it might be further down the line due to college. “I really want to release a full body of work at some point.”

Maybe it'll play out just like one of her TikToks: an artist at the infancy of her music career, waiting to make it big. What’s refreshing about James the Seventh, though, is that she never loses sight of her vision. Don’t be surprised if in the future, James the Seventh blows up as an indie–pop sensation in her own right.

NOTHING SAYS I love you

We Deliver!

Open 7 days a week!

LIKE A CASE OF BEER! springfield beer distributor

22nd & Washington Ave. || 215-546-7301

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 19

20 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

OVERHEARDS

Overheards 02.01.22 LOGIST TO

"I feel like a floozy exists at the intersection of bimbo and whore."

F BEING A SUGAR BABY DO

"He's just another haphazardly thrown–together white man with thinning hair."

F EM

ALE GAYS

"I actually forgot that men can be in porn."

DAY SCHOOL ALUM ISH

"It reminds me of the hostels I stayed at in Poland. It's giving brutalist."

CR

JE W

TH E

TIR E

SL U

This week: sexperts, stoners, and sapphics

O

ADED CONFEDERATE S S –F

"He was a part of the conservative United Nations."

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 21

UNDER THE BUTTON

Tired Of Boring Campus Scents? Discover New Smells With SEPTA DARRION CHEN

A

re you tired of the typical boring Penn Campus smells? For instance, during math lecture, the smell of the hair of the guy in front of you is just so overpowering — it reeks of fratty sexual assaults. Or, are you tired of the musty smell of your Quad room, where the ceiling could cave in at any moment due to the happy little colonies

of mold slowly consuming the ceiling like how time slowly consumes your life?

Look no further than the intersection of 34th and Market Streets. Here you’ll find the entrance to the SEPTA, which is Philadelphia’s premier public transit subway network. And in it, you are bound to discover new smells that you never thought existed.

Each time you step into a train, you are greeted by a new smell. SEPTA is incredibly adept at mixing smells. For instance, SEPTA pioneered the groundbreaking Kentucky Fried Chicken/ Gatorade/Weed smell, which is now frequently found in SEPTA. What are you waiting for? SEPTA is excited to receive you with its reeks.

Photo by SignalPAD

OP-ED: They Should Replace the Quad With 1,500 Individual Tiny Homes MARGARITA MATTA

Photo by Margarita Matta

E

veryone knows that the Quad is a key part of many students’ freshman experience, but why?

Why do I have to suffer through a communal bathroom where I have seen not one, but THREE different people have full frontal towel slips? Why do I have to live in a mold-infested shoe box that multiple squirrels have tried to break into?

I am not alone in these sentiments, and it seems that there is only one reasonable conclusion that can be attained. The Quadrangle must be replaced with 1,500 tiny homes. This is the new freshman experience.

Tiny homes have become all the rage, and with the billions of dollars

22 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022

usually meant for whatever new Wharton building is being constructed, we should instead allot this money to create a new hub for incoming students. These tiny homes can be fully equipped for single living students, and gives them the opportunity to excel in their social and academic lives.

The homes will feature many necessary additions that any Penn student might need on a regular basis, including a bucket of water for showering, a multipurpose twin bed/urinal/bidet/ toilet/wood-burning pizza oven combo, and of course a sink. Furthermore, students will now have the freedom to express themselves by choosing a variety of home styles — the traditional

tiny home structure, an airstream, and even a wide selection of RVs. The Quad, although beautiful in architecture and a living embodiment of the historical significance of Penn, is fucking old. It needs to be replaced with something new, something fresh, and that something is the 1,500 tiny homes I am advocating for in this article To the Penn housing services, I strongly urge you to take this proposal into consideration. Frankly, it is appalling that the disregard for students and their well being was not addressed earlier. Tiny homes are the only way we can move forward as a community, and I hope this notion is not taken lightly.

UNDER THE BUTTON

Financial Aid Office Gives Crying, Broke Student Free Pen Before Telling Them to Go Fuck Themselves MARY GRACE MEREDITH

A

nother heartwarming story took place in the Student Registration & Financial Services Office last week. SRFS, known for their compassion and fast response times, generously gifted a struggling student a super cute pen totally free of charge!

While the student had initially entered the office seeking an increase in her financial aid package, she left in tears as the new owner of a very stylish pen and absolutely no money at all.

Financial aid counselors all agreed that this was the best offer they could make.

Times are tough right now, and with Penn’s endowment increasing by billions of dollars over the course of the pandemic, the University simply cannot afford to put

any more money towards financial aid for students. After all, the budget is already stretched thin with plans to further gentrify West Philadelphia and develop new cutting-edge PowerPoint programs for Wharton students. This is why when the student boldly filed for a re-evaluation of her financial aid package, she was promptly told to take her pen and fuck off.

Under the Button spoke to a financial aid counselor to get more details. “She was being sooo annoying with this whole ‘financial aid’ thing,” one counselor told us. “Like, oh, I’m sorry, your mommy and daddy can’t afford to send you here? You thought the University was committed to having students graduate debt-free?

And you think that’s my problem?

Wrong! If on the off chance you somehow can’t afford to pay the totally reasonable and fair tuition out-of-pocket, just take out a loan. Not a big deal.”

In an exclusive interview, Photo by Mona Lee the student recounted her me a stupid broke bitch," lucky break to UTB. “I understand that I the student told us, wiping was asking a lot by requesting her face with a tissue. "And I that the amount of my finan- don’t want to sound ungratecial aid not be lowered, and ful, because it is a really nice I've learned my lesson, espe- pen. But part of me wishes I cially after my financial aid would have haggled a little advisor spit on me and called more — if I could do it all over again I would probably

try to get something more valuable, like Amy Gutmann’s autograph or a water bottle or something.”

Conveniently, this very pen can and will be used to sign on for the loans that she will be paying off for the next few decades of her life!

Breaking: UTB Rebrands As Up the Butt in Support of Our Gays MERESA GARCÍA

A

fter much careful deliberation, UTB has officially announced it will no longer go by Under the Button but by the more democratic and accurate brand: Up the Butt.

The new name not only correctly describes the sole constituents of the publication—gays and hot people—but it justly demonstrates the newspaper’s support of the former’s population.

The entire UTB staff agreed that it was the most equitable direction to take. While there is little to no heterosexual discrimination within the organization, there was complete consensus that it was time for our gays to

be at the forefront.

Great big banners all across Locust joyously displayed the improved name change while Up the Butt staff distributed poppers, anal beads, douches, and many more pro-homosexual items.

"Finally our culture!" exclaimed Ben Guzmán, proud gay and tormented CIS major, "We don't have to fuck in secrete anymore. Look out Penn, the gays are coming."

The UTB community only hopes new president Elizabeth Magill will follow the publications' lead by taking more diversity initiatives in order to transform campus into a safe haven for our fellow homosexuals.

FEBRUARY 1, 2022 34TH STREET MAGAZINE 23

THE RADIAN EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE EXPERIENCE Now leasing for Fall 2022 (215) 222-4212 | theradian.com 24 34TH STREET MAGAZINE FEBRUARY 1, 2022