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Artificial intelligence and the rise of ChatGPT has brought on discussions of the originality of student writing and art. Ink Magazine prides itself on its community of unique student writers and has established policies regarding AI-generated works. The originality of the writing and art in this edition has been confirmed by both writers and artists.
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MISSION STATEMENT
Ink is a literary magazine dedicated to student expression. Our central mission is to create a space for emerging student writers and artists at Paly to share their work with others. We believe reading and sharing writing is an essential part of the writerly experience. As such, Ink is committed to providing an open platform for diverse voices and perspectives.
WRITERS ARTISTS
sthavya chaithanya (‘26) sarina grewal (‘25) alice sheffer (‘26) angela fang (‘27) marisa million (‘28) salem coyle (‘25) motoko iwata (‘26) richard zhang (‘27) mack reller (‘27) cailey lilly quita (‘26)
sera zhu (‘26) aryan kawatra (‘25) josiah duckworth (‘28) tarika pillay (‘26) salem coyle (‘25) chiara martin (‘26) isabelle lau (‘25) clara fesslmeier (‘25)
“spring days” — tarika pillay
ON THE FRONT COVER ON THE INSIDE COVER
“look over the bay” — aryan kawatra
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LETTER FROM THE EDITORS
We are delighted to present Ink’s eleventh print issue! In these four pieces of poetry, four works of prose, and three bulletin articles of journalism, we explore our roots — tracing the threads that connect the nature in the world to the nature of ourselves. Poet Alice Sheffer recounts a bittersweet summer memory, while writer Marisa Million looks at the journey of a bird separated from his pack.
This issue of Ink would not be possible without our advertisers and the MAC Boosters, or without the guidance and support of our adviser, Mr. Kandell. We’re so excited for you to read this issue of Ink!
Submit to Ink’s next issue at www.inkliterarymag.org/submit.
Sarina Grewal and Salem Coyle editors-in-chief
Up high in the blue sky, Here, I want to go to Havasupai.
I admire the ember cliffs, I wish I was there in a jiff.
The sparkling water that flows into the pond, All aqua and bright, pulling me in strong.
I feel the breeze from the palm trees, Swaying so softly, like they’re dancing with ease.
The sun paints gold on canyon walls, A sight so grand, my heart just calls.
I wish I was there, so wild and free, But the path is long—still, it waits for me.
HAVASUPAI DREAMS
a longing for the falls
text by sthavya chaithanya photo by josiah duckworth
Pitter-patter comes the rain on the filth-stained glass, and the world is awash in stark color.
Peering out my bedroom window, The young eyes blink twice — thrice — Lashes coated in a thick film Of dust from the bookshelves.
River flows in air, and I
Burn my neck to keep my hair
Straight, hood up and look straight Ahead, path of my future quick-washed Away by the heavy sheets.
Crack! splits the sky, sending Streams breaking
Over my closed eyes, and Brimming under the lids. I blink away
The curtain of curls, made neat and Set loose by the roaring clouds, Flowing freely down my back.
Droplets sliding down my temples
text by sarina grewal photo by aryan kawatra
Slow Walkers
If you asked me what I thought of Slow Walkers, I would say they’re a bit irritating. But on a deeper level, their leisurely, careless attitude vexes me to the core. They walk around without apparent thought or reason, unbeknownst to the nuisance that is them. They stroll down sidewalks and halls in nonchalant rows, blocking people with destinations from passing. I watch as their feet step in perfectly slow sync. It’s disgusting. I’m left searching for a slight crack in formation I can slip through to continue my pace. I hold my breath each time these feet approach a puddle or loose litter, and exhale when they, by sheer luck, manage to avoid it. Slow Walkers never notice.
People say I walk like I’m late — which is often true due to faulty alarms, daily mishaps, and, for the most part, poor time management. However, this tendency occurs regardless of punctuality or intention. It is a habit, and all habits are subconscious. What in my subconscious causes the soles of my feet to always be on the run? It’s only natural to me, how my cadence accelerates to compensate for my short stride, and I feel like I have no time to lose even though I often have nowhere to be. I could be on my way to anywhere, so I keep moving, keep going to escape my trailing footprints. Perhaps what lies at the base of my annoyance toward Slow Walkers is envy. How would my life be if I wasn’t so hyper-aware of every irksome detail, if I could turn off the siren warning “Watch Out!”? I could walk like there’s more than 24 hours until tomorrow. I could jump like there’s surely someone to catch me. And I could expect everything to work out just fine.
But alas, I deftly sidestep the ambling walkers. With a cold glare and the sweet feeling of triumph, I skitter down the sidewalk and keep my eyes peeled for tripping hazards. Turning the corner, I find an innocuous pedestrian crossing and a flashing yellow sign that blinks back at me: SLOW DOWN. SLOW DOWN. SLOW DOWN…
text by angela fang art by clara fesslmeier
Neptn as renns, franc
3 people in the world know of our secret, and i’m one of them. 3 gold beads beside a crystal—the Neptune of it all. in actuality, Neptune has 16 moons, but in our minds, we’re the only 3. somewhere in northern france, i was in a souvenir shop with 2 whose names rhymed in such a perfect way it seemed a poet dreamed them up and breathed life into them. we stood there and picked the milky blue for the dreary skies and the sea glass beads for when we haunted beaches at sunset; i wanted a sparkling summer but my tears matched the brittany sky. good things always come in 3’s: us. i wish we were 1 again. 3 gold beads; they pinch and pluck at my skin. the things i would do to be 3 again. we knew we were loving until leaving, and when leaving became too painful, i forgot how to love life to the fullest. i forgot how to live you and breathe in the air you displaced when you walked. breathe in the air that surrounds the empty space that should be us, now i wish time were truly a construct, and Neptune was just a city somewhere in northern france, but we’re just 3 moons orbiting, never touching home.
art by isabelle lau
text by alice sheffer
HUNTER the
The others of his flock were still asleep, but Beaks was wide awake. He felt the sun rising and wanted to fly. Beaks had always woken up with the sun since his first migration — he remembered it like it was yesterday. He was just a chick then, but he loved to fly. Back then he could barely keep up with his flock. They didn’t care to help him fly because they pushed him to learn on his own, so he had to teach himself. Since then he had always been independent.
He could fly on his own, and he didn’t need to rely on them. Something kept holding him down to make him stay with his flock — no, his family. He wanted to be free of them, but he needed their approval more.
Beaks slowly flapped his wings so as to not wake the others up. He looked at the little chicks sprawled out sleeping with the flock. A little part of him wondered if any of the adults were delighted at his presence when he was a chick. Another bird in his flock who was staying alert for danger wished him safe travels. Beaks fluffed out his feathers in appreciation. As he flew up into the sky in the early morning, he noticed the sun was peeking out to say hello, and the cool breeze made his aching wings feel like they hadn’t
been flying for days in a row. It makes sense that he has been flying continuously. It is migration season after all. What can he ask for except a warm day and a pretty view?
Just 60 hours to go until he arrived in Mexico. Alaska seemed so far from here. At least the view is nice. An orange, purple and blue gradient painted across the sky with white spots. The trees below are full of life as they sway back and forth. As he flies further up into the sky, the trees fade away into specks until he can only see the clouds below him.
Beaks spotted another bird. This one didn’t look like his kind. She was so small he almost missed her. He could only see her because of their bright yellow patch on her rump. Her body was desaturated compared to her male counterpart. Her wings were striped with brown and white streaks. Her beak was so short he was sure she couldn’t eat a mouse if they tried, but the weirdest part about this bird
was the fact that she was flying alone. It’s not everyday that you catch a bird flying alone. Then again, Beaks was also flying alone. Maybe she was a kindred spirit? He flew below the clouds to get a closer look at the small bird. Suddenly, while he was mid-thought, a small object flew through the sky, piercing the tiny bird through the wing. The bird hopelessly flapped its wings to no avail, the desperate plea for help falling on ears that were too stunned to help. The bird called out to its flock, but no one came. All hope was lost. The bird was now so close to the hunter that he could easily shoot the bird. He heard three more shots fired, and he heard three more calls. And then there was silence. The kind of silence that was filled with sound. You could just feel the plea of mercy for the hunter to leave them alone without the screams. You could feel the pain the Yellow Rumped Warbler felt without a peep. Beaks quickly flew behind the trees for safety, but he didn’t go far enough to block out the bird’s cries.
The silence lasted for a few moments, enough to make him think it was safe and that the hunter didn’t see him. But the hunter was just biding his time, waiting for the moment to strike. Beaks slowly flew out from behind the trees, thinking the hunter was long gone by now. The moment he looked down, he knew it was too late. He had already felt the sharp pain in his wing he knew
the Yellow Rumped Warbler had felt before. His desperation was hopeless, just it had been before. Beaks knew this was how it ended. He knew there was no chance at escape, but where his mind had given up, his body had not. Blood, where the Yellow Rumped Warbler’s blood had sprayed before, sprayed again, much like a fresh coat of paint.
Beaks looked into the eyes of the hunter, and he knew he was done for. There was no chance at mercy.
The trees nicely concealed these deaths, for the redwood trees stood tall and mighty, and the sheer amount of them only hid the birds and their murderer. What happened to make Beaks deserve this fate? Had he flown with his pack, would he still be alive? No, the hunter would have waited for another.
The hunter waited for around for another hour or two, but no birds came out of their slumber. The minute he left, the rest of Beaks’s and the Yellow Rumped Warbler’s flocks took to the sky to find warmer land. The hunter hadn’t noticed the birds behind him, for if he did, they wouldn’t see the warmth of the hot sun ever again.
The hunter carefully placed the dead birds in a dusty, brown bag caked with dried blood from other animals the hunter had killed. He carried them carefully, like the prizes they were.
A little while later they had arrived at the hunter’s van, where
he drove to his shop. The shop had a gun logo on the front with writing on the side of it that said “Ranger Rick’s Gun Shop.” The sides were old and the paint was chipping off so that there was more wood visible on the shop than there was paint. The shop was barely bigger than a shack, yet held so much inside. Entering the shop was a vegan’s nightmare. There were taxidermy animals mounted on the walls like prizes, and there were also some dead animals that had their guts displayed in the back room. There was a blue ribbon tied to a mounted Angel Shark, which couldn’t be legal. The only thing left of its suffering was a large bloody scar that the hunter had intentionally hidden from sight. Its guts had surely been eaten by now.
Though a red door with an “Employees Only” sign nailed to it was a back room. There was blood everywhere. Displayed in the center of the room was an empty rabbit. Its organs laid neatly beside it, its white fur now stained with blood. Another animal was stuffed: a deer, the light behind its fake eyes dull. Its hide was the only thing that remained of its carcass. The only blessing Beaks had was that he wasn’t alive to see the dead animals the hunter had stuffed and gutted. And soon enough the hunter began the process once again.
text by marisa million art by sera zhu
QUEEN: Very much so. Other than our being on opposing sides.
KING: No. Our make is different. I can do far more than you can.
QUEEN: What can you do that I cannot? Why, I believe I could leap across the world right now, if I want-
Kb5
The pieces shift with each interval. Neither KING nor QUEEN understand the nature of their movement.
QUEEN (with a sneer): Hah! Afraid?
KING: Sure.
QUEEN: Rightfully so. I can go right beside you and kill you, if I only please.
KING: That you can’t do.
QUEEN: I can do whatever I want.
KING: They won’t let you do that.
QUEEN: Well, I… (then dejectedly) Why can’t I?
KING: Best take it up with them. I wouldn’t know. It seems all I can do now is flinch back from you.
QUEEN: I’ll catch you eventually.
KING: Sure. But we still have
things to discuss until then. Why rush the game of life, your Majesty?
Qc8
QUEEN: …Stalemate, then. For now.
KING: We both know that isn’t true.
QUEEN: I simply neglect to see why you’re worth speaking to. You’re weak. All you can do are little movements, like so.
KING: As I said, I can do far more than you can.
QUEEN: Untrue.
KING: There are things you do not understand yet. You’re newer to this than I.
QUEEN: What about you could possibly best me?
KING: Why would they work to preserve me if I wasn’t better than you?
Ka4
QUEEN: You think I’m daft! It’s simply because you’re the only one left.
KING: But you aren’t.
The QUEEN notices the White King.
QUEEN: What? What is he?
KING: Myself, I reckon. A version of myself. Only one of us can exist in the end, I think. That’s why we’re fighting at all. I don’t remember enough to know if it’s been worth it thus far.
QUEEN: So it’s your fault, then?
KING: Maybe. I don’t remember…
QUEEN: Well I’m sure not doing this for you.
Qb8
KING: Who is it for, then? Why won’t you stop chasing?
QUEEN: I —
Ka3
QUEEN: I don’t know.
KING: Enough to halt you. Perhaps I should have led with that.
QUEEN: Don’t.
KING: As you wish.
QUEEN: Why is he still here? My King? If he’s just as useless as you, why is he still standing?
KING: That’s what I mean. They wouldn’t have kept him — me — if we weren’t of some great importance that you aren’t.
Kd4
QUEEN: Well — he shifted! You saw him shift, didn’t you?
KING: Shifted only as much as I can. And now he will kill me before you, I reckon. Unless you move again.
QUEEN: If he’s as sluggish as you, I’ve plenty of time to chat.
KING: Now you want to chat.
QUEEN: Is there some issue?
KING: None.
Ka4
QUEEN: What are we, then? What makes you better than me?
KING: Something inherent and vaster than I. Something even I struggle to understand. I can simply do more than you can, in some inherent way. I doubt there is much changing that, in either direction.
QUEEN: Inherent...
KING: Then again, inherentness is a fallacy. I recall that you were much lesser until quite recently. You should be satisfied enough with the power you have gained! It is a hefty thing, to have a kingdom on your shoulders —
QUEEN: I am QUEEN. My kingdom is on my shoulders.
KING: The weight you feel is different. You shouldn’t want this anyway.
QUEEN: I can want whatever I please!
KING: Oh, certainly. (a pause.) I simply fear that your ambitions may be the thing that kills us all.
Kc3
QUEEN: Now why would you fear that? I am a noble QUEEN.
KING: And I a noble KING. And yet we fight. I wonder why that is, hm?
QUEEN: That is just… the way of things.
KING: And yet you wish to rise above your station. Things are fixed in this world, your Majesty. In strange ways, the hands of God move and bring us to ruin each other.
QUEEN: Why would the things which imprison us want us to suffer so? I can’t believe that’s true. If torture was the goal, there would be easier means.
KING: Are there? Pain loses its effect after long enough. But the clouding of my mind — our minds — why, I believe I can mourn that forever, even if I don’t recall what I’ve lost.
QUEEN: I don’t believe the answer to all this is mourning.
KING: What else can we do?
QUEEN: Rise above. Rise enough to where we are no longer bound. Clear the fog that plagues us, and see past the tempest.
KING: There is nowhere that either of us can rise to.
QUEEN: We both know that isn’t true.
Ka5
KING: You’re — no, no, you’re being foolish. You cannot be serious.
QUEEN: Perhaps I’ll break the barrier by rising above you — that’s it! Every other piece has fallen by the hand of another, and yet none are left. There must be an escape, then. They can’t all have killed each other, and I don’t recall killing anybody. If I capture you, then we’ll both escape.
KING: No, I have nowhere else to rise. You would escape alone, in the best of circumstances. Or I would. In
either case, it’s too risky an idea.
QUEEN: So what, then? Just allow that other King to destroy you instead? Haven’t you realized you’re bound to meet your doom anyway?
KING: I…
QUEEN: You can fall by the hand of that pitiful King that stumbles towards you. Or you can fall by my hand, and we can both embrace whatever greets us next.
KING: You’re telling me to accept death for the sake of your own pride? No — no, I don’t wish to choose. Whatever happens, happens.
QUEEN: You’re a coward.
Kc4
KING: I am not a coward for letting fate decide my death!
QUEEN: You are a coward for your inability to choose. Do you truly think this is fate’s issue to deal with? Not yours? Useless king.
KING: My kingdom has been wholly atop my shoulders for as long as I have existed. Now, my kingdom is gone. Allow me to give up choice, then, at least in these last moments.
QUEEN: Very well. (a pause.) I will choose for you, then.
Ka4
KING: What are you doing —
QUEEN: Ending our conversation.
KING: — Oh, stop that! I’ve no where else to go! I’m sure of it now — this will bring the world to its knees, this instant will decide our grander fate! You don’t want that, do you? Ar en’t we good enough speaking like this?
QUEEN: You say plenty to save yourself, KING. The world to its knees… are you serious? So power ful, you say, and yet you can barely
move! And yet I can kill you so easily! You’re hiding something from me, I’m certain it’s so. Fine. We are enemies anyway.
KING: No! I hide nothing! I know little more than you —
QUEEN: You are hiding something from me. The nature of your great
In a time of digital dependency, let’s go back to print
books
Igrew up in a house by the library.
My summer hours were spent between home and the library doors, a tote bag filled with novels swinging from my hand. Some of my fondest memories involved reading in the living room, cradling a book in my arms as I jumped from world to world.
But as I grew older, I moved away from that literary consolation. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I found myself straying from the realm of physical books and moving towards another form of reading – ebooks.
“yet, it is because of our digitized world that we must take a step back and embrace print.”
I wasn’t alone in this transition. According to Forbes, a popular ebook platform, Libby, saw a 30% increase in readership during the pandemic, with 247,000 downloads in just a week. In 2027, the number of global ebooks users is expected to reach 1.1 billion, according to Statista.
New York book forum shows that audiobooks are also becoming popular. Currently the fastest-growing format in book publishing, audiobook listenership is increasing by 15% a year according to NISO, with 270 million people listening to audiobooks on average each month. As a world increasingly addicted to convenience and digital devices, we are drawn to the benefits that these media stand to offer. Yet, it is because of our digitized world that we must take a step .back and embrace
doesn’t have to mean complete disengagement – it can be a gradual integration. While I may listen to an audiobook each night, I have also begun to replace my Kindle with print books. Before I go to bed, I’ll turn on my reading lamp and read a book on psychology, philosophy, business or even a light read — my guilty pleasures are Grace Lin novels and “A Wrinkle in Time”.
Print books can also have benefits to your reading and cognitive function. As reported by Psychology Today, research suggests that reading comprehension is six to eight times better with physical books compared to e-books. This is especially important for reading literacy in children.
“each step echoes memories of the past and the story of the book through time.”
I’ll admit that audiobooks are critical to my everyday. Every night, I will play an audiobook nostalgic from my childhood to fall asleep. Or when I’m knitting a new scarf or hat, I’ll try listening to a new book my friend has recommended to me.
But stepping back from digital literature
There is a certain nostalgia and grounding that comes from print. Even from the start, going to your local library and scanning the shelves, seeing the countless covers and authors which fill your bag to the brim. Then cradling the book in your arms, feeling the weight of the pages shift as you dive deeper. Or even the comforting scent of the worn pages, the occasional pencil annotations in the margins and the odd bookmark left by a previous reader. Each step echoes memories of the past and the story of the book through time.
So the next time you want to read a good book, plug in your Kindle and try old-fashioned print. Go to the library with your friend to share recommendations. Curl up with your favorite latte (or personally a cup of hot tea) and flip through the pages of a physical book. And another. And another.
text by motoko iwata art by salem coyle
A Leap for Literature
Young adult authors display their work at convention
As novelists and attendees filed into the Redwood City Library, the 2025 Young Adult Novelist Convention utilized workshops and other activities to turn strangers to friends. This event also brought attention to the diverse array of authors that write unique, compelling stories, and put attending novelists in the spotlight.
YANovCon 2025 took place on Feb. 8, and was free to attend. Its audience consisted of a variety of age groups, ranging from teenagers to seniors — all united in their love for literature.
Attendees were invited to gather in various places in the library for panels and book signings, all taking place across the first and second floor. In other unused rooms, people were reading, checking out books, or just roaming around.
From the people listening to novelists speaking about writing books, to the ones enjoying a Saturday afternoon reading a book, each person here had their own unique interest in literature. Audrey Anderson, a Bay Area college student, said YANovCon 2025 has changed the way she looks at the world.
have, I would be a different person.”
Award-winning author Carolina Ixta enjoys reading just as much as Anderson and the library’s enthusiastic crowd. More than just reading, though, Ixta spends her time broadening her scope of art.
“I read a lot, and I consume a lot of art,” Ixta said. “Every day, I listen to one album as soon as I wake up. I’m constantly listening to music, watching movies, and reading books to try to keep myself sharp.”
“Art and writing is something where you are what you eat.”
about her book “The Queer Girl is Going to be Okay”, a story about a young queer girl and the obstacles she has to overcome to reach her goals.
“If I hadn’t read the books that I have, I would be a different person.”
— Audrey Anderson
Ixta says her ability to appreciate art translates to her skill in producing it, which motivates her to consume an abundance of diverse artworks on a daily basis.
— Carolina Ixta
“I think it [literature] has expanded my perspective on everything,” Anderson said. “Just reading from different people with different views on life and different experiences has enriched my own life. I think the literature I’ve con sumed has shaped who I am as a per son. If I hadn’t read the books that I
“Art and writing is something where you are what you eat,” Ixta said. “If you’re eating a lot of really good art, you’ll likely make a lot of good art. I think literature has made me have a different lens in life, and I look at the world differently when I’m reading, in a more poetic way.”
On top of its strong focus on highlighting literature, YANovCon2025 also touched on diversity in the Bay Area. Many authors presented a range
One such author, Lala Thomas, expressed her disappointment in her lack of exposure to books with young black girls. According to Thomas, the first one that she read completely shifted her view on literature.
“The first time I ever read a book with a character that looks like me, I was around 16 years old,” Thomas said. “That changed the literary world for me entirely because I didn’t even know that there were many black authors, and that there were books with black characters- especially young black girls. Being exposed to books that were representative of me is what really changed the way I look at literature.”
YANovCon2025 showcased a diverse range of stories and authors, offering attendees insightful discussions, engaging activities and valuable learning experiences. For anyone who loves literature, this was a great opportunity to get a view into the professional aspect of story writing. If you have the chance to attend the Young Adult Novelist Convention next year, give it a shot and see what the world of literature has to offer you.
text by richard zhang and mack reller art by chiara martin
Everything Problematic with “Emilia Perez”
Exploring controveries on film’s award successes and issues with main actor
Does Emilia Perez deserve redemption in a world where second chances are rare?
Karla Sofía Gascón is the transgender Spanish actress who plays Emilia Peréz, aa dangerous drug dealer living in Mexico who hires a highly skilled lawyer (Zoë Saldaña) to assist in securing gender-affirming care to transition into a woman.
The almost entirely Spanish film received backlash after past social media posts were discovered that expressed Gascón’s racist opinions, which included the use of inappropriate language and slurs.
Adding to the controversy, one of the most popular songs from the film, “La Vaginoplastia,” sparked discussions online. In this scene, the lawyer travels to Tel Aviv, Israel, searching for a doctor to perform the surgery. The song was taunted by social media users over the line “Man to woman or woman to man / man to woman / from penis to vagina.” One popular channel, MsMojo, posted a video listing the top three worst songs in Emilia Perez, which crowned “La Vaginoplastia” at No. 1.
When TikTok users searched “Emilia Perez Song” on the app, the top videos featured movie clips of the songs with captions critiquing them. “No way this won best original song,” user Nospharratu said, posting a video with a clip of anoth er song from the movie, “El Mal.”
to the uproar from the discovery of Gascón’s bigoted posts on X from Nov. 22. 2020.
“I’m sorry, is it just my impression or is there more Muslims in Spain?” one of Gascón’s tweets read as translated by Variety Magazine. “Every time I go to pick up my daughter from school there are more women with their hair covered and their skirts down to their heels. Next year instead of English we’ll have to teach Arabic.”
“Nobody in the public should say anything sincere or claim their own beliefs on social media.”
“America is a very racist country with some very racist policies and some very racist people in it, and being angry at Karla Gascón because she expressed racism is a strange form of self-hatred on the part of Americans,” Arnold said. “She’s not saying anything that many Americans have not expressed in the same terms, so what’s going on here? Is it to take down a trans actress? It could be.”
– Regina Arnold, USF adjunct professor
Zoë Saldaña spoke out on the discovery at a Q&A in London.
“It makes me really sad because I don’t support [it], and I don’t have any tolerance for any negative rhetoric towards people of any group,” Saldaña said.
While the film experienced backlash for its bold choice of lyrics, the controversy was nothing compared
Despite public outrage, Gascón’s Islamophobia did not affect the film’s success as it went on to win two Oscars and numerous award nominations despite having an IMBd score of 5.4 out of 10. Conversely, not all viewers were angry at Gascón for her comments. One such viewer is Regina Arnold, a University of San Francisco professor and Stanford University lecturer who feels that American audiences may be too hard on Gascón.
This question raises the controversy of whether Gascón is receiving hate because of her identity rather than her political opinions.
Gascón posted these posts over three years ago, apologized for them once they resurfaced, closed her account, and still received hate for them. Arnold connects this situation to Armie Hammer, director and actor best known for his role as Lone Ranger.
“He got taken down by social media posts by a young woman who he had an affair with, who talked a lot about the awful stuff he did in bed, and it really has ruined his career because he’ll never act again,” Arnold said.
Information can spread quickly on social media, primarily how it affects actors’ professional and personal lives.
“There’s a lot of naivete around social media, not just from naive people, but from smart people and the government and stuff,” Arnold said. “I think the main lesson is that nobody in the public should say anything sincere or claim their own beliefs on social media.”
