Concordia graduate runs for Westmount City councillor
From Queer Concordia to canvassing for municipal office, The Link chats with
Jessica Winton
Hannah Vogan @hannahvogann
Disclaimer: Answers have been edited for clarity.
In June, Jessica Winton received her degree in urban planning from Concordia University. Today, she is president of Queer Concordia, a master’s student at the University of Ottawa, and a candidate for Westmount, District 2 city councillor in the upcoming elections.
Winton, who moved from New York City to Westmount in 2009, said she witnessed the borough change in her formative years. Her platform focuses on advocating for environmental justice, community engagement and empowering others to live the lives they want.
Winton’s campaign uses strictly two mediums: social media and face-to-face canvassing. When she isn’t in Ottawa pursuing her master’s, she’s creating online promotional content or knocking on doors throughout Westmount. You won’t nd any posters of her, because that’s not her style: “I want to be more than just a face on a sign.”
e Link sat down with Winton to discuss her campaign.
How would you de ne your platform?
I'm running on a proactive and educated platform. My degree is in urban planning. e city has a lot of work to do in terms of infrastructure and urban design. I know a lot of people have had issues when it comes to permitting and such. For example, when it comes to replacing a slate roof, slate roofs are like $250,000 to replace, and you're not allowed to replace it with anything else. Unless you have $250,000 sitting around, you're stuck with what you've got. “If it's falling apart, too bad”—that's the current approach of the city. at's got to change.
I think communication is really important. e city is not very transparent, and that goes for most governments, but I'd really love to bring an unprecedented amount of transparency. We have something called the Green Grants program, and when I ask people if they know of the program, I have not gotten a single “yes” out of well over 100 doors. e city will subsidize environmentally-friendly purchases up to $200 per household per year, but people don't know about that, and I think it's really a matter of communicating.
ere's also a lot of intergenerational households, a lot of seniors and young families, and I think we're only planning for the present as opposed to the future. When it comes to making sure that there's enough homes for people my age who can a ord a home one day, or family housing, social housing, they're really important.
If elected, what are some ways you would improve communication from the city?
One of the things that I promise to do is not stop door knocking a er I'm elected. I would make sure that I'm ac-
tually hearing from everybody. One of the things that a lot of councillors do is they get elected and disappear, because they really just want your vote, and once they have your vote, they're gone.
I don't plan to take that approach. I would love to engage with people at least once a month, if I can, and try to hold a lunch or something every two weeks, to invite everybody and have an open door policy to make myself accessible.
Why is going door to door an important part of your campaign process?
If you're walking around the neighbourhood, you won't see any signs of me, because I think it's really important not to just be a face on a sign. I'm a real person. I think it's important to talk to people and see what they want to see from the city.
I know when I've gone door to door, a lot of people say some candidates only drop o yers; they never knock. at bothers me. Door knocking is one of the best ways to engage with people and understand what people are concerned with.
I hear a lot of things and from all di erent sides. Young families are concerned about the garbage pickup being once every two weeks, because obviously when they have a bunch of diapers, it doesn't smell very good.
How do you balance campaigning, being the president of Queer Concordia and pursuing your master’s in Ottawa, and how would you balance your responsibilities if elected?
For Queer Concordia, I've taken a step back, and I'm there more to advise. But if we get a funding increase, I would serve in an actual position that I could do full time. Currently, I’m giving advice to the current team when they need it.
As far as my master’s, all my classes are pretty manageable. Balance isn't hard to nd; even if I were elected as city councillor, I could make the shi in priorities. ere's an option to do part time classes, and I'll do that if I have to.
Why should people vote for you?
If you want somebody who actually cares and is proactive, and really does want to hear from you, I believe I would be a great city councillor. I'm educated in urban planning; I’m doing a master's focusing on recycling policy. I know that's a big point of contention for a lot of people, but to make sure that we're doing things properly as a city, people really need to be informed on these topics, rather than just saying they care. Because, let's face it, I don't know if they do.
If you’re registered to vote in the upcoming Westmount city council elections, advance voting will be held on Oct. 26, and election day will take place on Nov. 2.
Read the rest of our interview with Jessica Winton at thelinknewspaper.ca.
Budget for Quebec’s French language o ce increases by $5M e O ce québécois de la langue française (OQLF) budget has increased by $5 million over the past year, according to the organization’s recently released annual report. e increase has been linked to the enforcement of rules introduced in June, requiring French to be the dominant language on store signs and imposing stricter guidelines for product packaging. Since coming into power in 2018, the CAQ has more than doubled the OQLF’s budget to $49 million.
Ensemble Montréal stands by Daraize following ierry Daraize, Ensemble Montréal’s SudOuest mayoral candidate, has faced backlash for a now-deleted post made in February, joking about booking a “2032 vacation to Gaza at an all-inclusive.” Daraize called the post “sarcastic.” In other deleted posts, Daraize referred to Muslims as “bearded radicals,” spread disinformation about Gaza, and called Canada’s representative on combating Islamophobia “dangerous.” Ensemble Montréal Leader Soraya Martinez Ferrada said the party would not drop Daraize. “[Sometimes people] don’t use the right words when they want to explain some frustration,” she said.
New Quebec rent-setting rule
New rent-setting rules will allow Quebec landlords to pass on 5 per cent of their building’s maintenance and renovation costs to tenants. Housing committees fear the change could have a huge impact on rents. Quebec’s landlord association said the change will help address housing deterioration and improve the province’s real estate stock.
e chillout room boom
How Montreal DJs are bringing back the ambient vibe of the ’90s
Leo Troy
Walking into the rave organized by the enigmatic homeby6 was overwhelming. e woman scanning tickets slapped stickers over phone cameras, as there were no photos allowed.
Behind the building's inconspicuous facade lay a gargantuan room blasting hard-hitting techno, strobe lights that inhibited you from seeing three feet ahead of you (let alone your friends that you lost in the crowd) and a secret DJ set hidden underground in the basement.
All this noise can become tiring fast, so imagine the bliss of nding a room with beanbags on the oor, people mingling with friends and a DJ reclining chaise-longue style, spinning slow ambient tracks. A chillout room, hidden inside a house of noise.
e idea of a room just for chilling out may seem novel, but chillout rooms have been a part of rave culture since the early '90s.
Britain introduced chillout rooms to cut down drug overdoses during marathon raves. To keep their licenses, clubs had to provide free water, proper ventilation and cooler rooms where ravers could escape the heat of the dance oor.
What started as a safety measure soon became a creative frontier for new, forward-thinking talent in the ambient and electronic music scene.
According to David Toop, whose book Ocean of Sound recounts the glory days of chillout rooms, the late '80s ushered in a wave of new vinyls imported from the house music scene in Chicago and New York.
Songs from Boards of Canada, e Orb and e KLF became staples for the chillout scene, soundtracking the ravers’ drug-induced comedowns. During nights at London’s legendary
Telepathic Fish club, the room was decorated with holographic foil while partygoers sipped from a fountain of punch.
As the raves of the '90s died down, so did the chillout room. It’s hard to pinpoint what exactly led to their demise. It could be due to the UK government’s crackdown on illegal raves during this era. Chris Coco, a legendary DJ in the scene, theorised in an interview with DJ Mag that it was due to the UK’s 2007 smoking ban, which pushed attendees outdoors to de-stress.
Whichever it is, a whole generation has been unaware of the benefits a space like this can provide. The chillout room offers a refuge from the energy of the dancefloor—a space to chat with friends, rest your feet and zone out.
“ e better the balance, the better the rave,” DJ jamvvis says. ey played a set in homeby6’s chillout room, diving into the sounds of their childhood in the UK. At one point, they looped the line “ is makes me proud to be British” (from Babyfather’s “Stealth Intro”) to a hallucinatory degree.
“ at was the goal, I’m putting people in a trance,” jamvvis explains. “You’re in this loophole, but it’s not like a nightmare loophole.”
Jamvvis primarily plays jungle and drum-and-bass, but ambient sets unlock a new channel for their artistry.
ey tell me that during a DnB set, “I want people to jump, I want people to dance.”
ey add that there’s always the pressure of getting the transitions right, but a looser set allows jamvvis to freely experiment and use e ects that they haven’t before. It’s a symbiotic relationship where the DJ has just as much of a chance to veg out as the audience.
Jamvvis also sees chillout rooms as vital for harm reduction.
“If you rest for 10 minutes, you can stay for another hour in the rave,” they say.
ey want their set to ensure a good trip, playing music that’s “enough for your frequency to react to your body.”
e chillout room helps counteract the physical e ects of drugs as well.
According to the Centre hospitalier de l'Université de Montréal, “party pills” lead to profuse sweating and a higher body temperature. e real threat of heatstroke exists, particularly in a hot room with other people, and the ventilated space of the chillout room provides an essential retreat to lessen the danger.
In an era where harm-reduction groups like GRIP and CACTUS Montréal now o er drug-screening and supervised consumption sites, chillout rooms may be the next step in ensuring a safe environment for party-goers.
So, why the sudden return of chillout rooms? A er years of silence due to the COVID-19 pandemic, a new generation of ravers is
rediscovering what made the chillout rooms of the '90s so great—and reimagining them with a modern twist. During lockdown, ambient music saw a huge spike in popularity.
Jamvvis believes that, in this modern age, we are constantly overstimulated, and the opportunity to lose touch for just a while presents an o er we can’t refuse.
Attendees of the homeby6 rave were also surprised to see a room like this. Richard Janecek, whose last rave was in Amsterdam, had never seen a chillout room before. Even in a city such as Amsterdam, famed for its nightlife, clubs are struggling to stay a oat and the opportunities to go to a chillout room have become slimmer and slimmer.
According to a Financial Times study, the number of clubs running beyond 3 a.m. fell in 12 of 15 global cities surveyed between 2014 and 2024. In Amsterdam, for example, the number of these clubs dropped from 84 to 61.
SYPHEN, an ambient/hardcore techno show in London, has to now nd a new home as its usual event space announced it would shut down just last month.
It's not as if there isn’t a market for it. Janecek told me that he saw its appeal and would return to a rave with one again.
“I think it’s a really good idea,” says Tara Campbell-Manseld, an exchange student from the UK, “for something so intense to have a nice, calm space for people to unwind and, like, have a moment.”
Another guest, Maya Bradshaw, enjoyed the “more intimate sense of community,” but the idea of a room just for ambient music still seems niche.
“It's cool, I just don’t know how to nd similar gigs,” Brad-
shaw added.
Leaving the rave at 5 a.m. to catch the rst metro, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. I’d assumed chillout rooms had died in the '90s, but what I had witnessed was a rebirth.
As I went to bed in the early hours of the morning, I couldn’t
help but wish that I were dozing o in a beanbag instead.
Whose body c nts?
Every body tells a story—but not every story is heard.
Some bodies are visible only in crisis: when they’re detained, denied or dissected by policy. Others are celebrated until they challenge comfort. Some are attened into headlines or hashtags, others erased entirely.
e body should be personal, but it’s never just ours. It’s the rst site of power, politics and perception—the terrain where we assign value and negotiate the di erence.
Across systems, bodies are ranked and regulated. Immigration policies decide which ones are “skilled.” Borders decide which ones can move. Workplaces decide which ones are productive. Police decide which ones are suspicious. Healthcare decides which ones are worth saving. Every institution carries a standard—an unspoken image of the “acceptable” body—and they punish every deviation from it in ways both loud and silent.
Some bodies are deemed valuable. Others are treated as disposable.
White bodies are protected and centred. Brown and Black bodies are policed, displaced or killed. Indigenous bodies continue to face systemic neglect—denied adequate healthcare, justice and safety. Police continue to target minorities, their victims momentarily acknowledged before they push them out of the news cycle. Unhoused people die in the cold every winter as cities shu e them out of sight, their su ering framed as an inconvenience instead of a failure of policy. e trans community still ghts for the right to healthcare while provinces consider restricting gender-a rming care.
cism and exploitation in their workplaces and communities, and are forced to jump through hoops to obtain permanent residency.
In Canada, this logic plays out in both immigrant-heavy workplaces and public infrastructure. In Quebec, for instance, workers at Amazon’s warehouse network lost their jobs in May 2024 when Amazon shuttered all seven of its Quebec facilities, a move widely seen as anti-union retaliation.
South of the border, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention centres hold record numbers of immigrants, many with no criminal record, where reports of medical neglect, heat exposure and abuse against detainees continue to surface. ese centres disproportionately target visible minorities, turning racialized bodies into symbols of state control. ese bodies, like so many others, become bargaining tools in political games that trade humanity for headlines.
Disabled bodies are treated as burdens, with city designs remaining inaccessible. Fat bodies are mocked and medicalized, told to slim down to deserve care.
body is ridiculed; a disabled body is treated as second-class. A racialized body is expected to educate others on its pain while performing resilience. A poor body is criminalized simply for existing in public space. ese contradictions pile up until existence itself becomes labour.
Immigrants are used as political chips, welcomed when they ll labour shortages, but le without protection when they face ra-
is hierarchy of worth extends globally. e ongoing genocide in Gaza has turned Palestinian men, women and children into statistics, stripped of names and context. In Sudan, mass displacement and famine are met with silence. In the Congo, children mine the minerals that power our devices, their su ering reduced to the cost of convenience. Each crisis exposes the same truth: the world has decided which bodies matter, and which can be sacri ced.
Even our language reveals this logic. Words like “ t,” “normal,” “passing,” “professional” or “safe” disguise centuries of control. A trans body is questioned; a fat
Capitalism thrives on that exhaustion. On how much we can endure before collapsing. e system depends on bodies it can overwork and replace. e su ering of some becomes a political spectacle, while others aren’t even valuable enough to view. When people die in shelters, detention centres or police custody, we treat them not as tragedies but as numbers, proof that some lives are simply expected to end quietly.
And yet, there is resistance in the body. In queerness that refuses de nition. In immigrant joy that persists. In fatness that takes up space without apology. In disability that refuses pity. In transness that exists without permission. ese are not side notes to survival; they are the centre of it.
e Link attempts to confront that hierarchy head-on through our ongoing reporting. We examine the systems that decide whose lives are liveable, and remind readers that these struggles are connected. From the streets of Montreal to picket lines, from hospitals to refugee camps, from vigils to protests, the ght remains the same: every body deserves dignity.
rough reporting, art and testimony, e Link works to challenge the systems that decide whose stories are told—and to amplify those too o en forgotten. Because when the world treats some bodies as disposable, resistance begins with remembering they never were.
Gabrielle Paquet was first prescribed birth control pills at 14 years old. She received the medication due to severe and painful menstrual cramps, or dysmenorrhea.
“I was missing so much school, and seriously, I was on the floor crying in pain,” she said. “That’s how bad it was.”
Pill prob m
Birth control users speak out about their experiences on different forms of hormonal birth control
Paquet did an ultrasound to see if she had endometriosis, a condition where tissue similar to the lining of the uterus grows on other parts of the body. Endometriosis affects at least one in 10 women, according to Endometriosis Network Canada.
When she found out she didn’t have this condition, her family doctor instead prescribed her birth control pills—a type of oral contraception that uses hormones to prevent ovulation. The pills can either come in the form of a combination of estrogen and progestin or a progestin-only pill.
Many people with uteruses experience heavy menstrual bleeding at some point in their lives, according to the Society of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists of Canada (SOGC).
Other than pain medication or surgeries for endometriosis, oral contraceptive pills are the most common treatment available for dysmenorrhea, according to an article published in the National Library of Medicine.
On average, 15.9 per cent of non-pregnant women aged 15 to 49 use oral contraceptives, according to Statistics Canada. The results also reveal that 53.9 per cent of women in the same age group report having formerly used the pill.
“[Women] often want a contraceptive effect and also an anti-acne effect,” said Claire Cogez, a nurse at the Centre de santé des femmes de Montréal (CSFM).
This was the case for Elizabeth Anits, a Concordia University undergraduate student in cellular and molecular biology, who started taking the pill at 17 years old.
“I had very bad acne and I was told it could help, but also [I took it] because I was in a relationship that was progressing,” she said.
However, neither Anits nor Paquet claimed they received an adequate explanation of the potential side effects of being on the pill.
“I don’t remember [the doctor] talking about the side
Sean Richard @sean.e.p.richard
effects,” Anits said.
“I wish that doctors or people that have the ability to prescribe it actually went into more detail for repercussions that it can actually have,” Paquet said.
Side effects and risks of birth control are numerous, including but not limited to headaches, nausea, bloating, increased blood pressure and blood clots.
However, Cogez said that one common misconception among people who take the pill is that skipping periods can be unsafe.
“It is a false belief that is very widespread,” Cogez said. “It is not toxic, [and] it is not dangerous.”
No concrete and reliable research to date suggests that skipping menstruation through hormonal birth control harms the body in any way.
Helpful and safe information regarding menstrual health remains available to people who may have experienced obstetric and gynecological violence. Services like the CSFM offer abortion services accessible to all women and also serve as a sexual and reproductive health clinic for women.
Cogez says that workers at the CSFM understand the reality of medical misogyny and tailor their services around it.
“[At the CSFM], we tend to do what we would have liked to receive, because we know it, we have all had negative experiences at a gynecological level,” Cogez said.
Concordia students also have access to contraceptive services.
“Students can learn about the various contraceptive options and obtain a prescription,” said Julie Fortier, deputy spokesperson for Concordia, in an email to The Link. “They can also get an intrauterine device (IUD) or contraceptive implant inserted, or get injections, if they choose one of these options.”
For Anits, having to take daily pills was challenging, which led to her making a switch.
“I hated the fact that every single day you had to do something for it,” Anits said. “If you missed today, you could be compromising your hormonal processes.”
It’s for these reasons that Anits decided to switch to a hor-
monal IUD, a T-shaped form of birth control that is inserted into the uterus and can last up to 10 years.
Despite their widespread use, hormonal contraceptives can have serious side effects. They are known to perpetuate depression or mood swings, according to an article published in the National Library of Medicine.
“My IUD [exaggerates my mood swings] because I don’t recall [having such] strong emotions before having an IUD,” Anits said.
Hormonal contraceptives are predominantly made for people with uteruses, with men only having access to condoms or vasectomies, according to a 2019 United Nations data booklet on contraceptive use.
According to Cogez, this can put a lot of pressure on women to have to take a form of protection in a relationship.
“We impose things on women, we say that it is normal to have so many secondary effects,” Cogez said. “It is as if, as a woman, it is the price to pay if I do not want to have a pregnancy, so we internalize it a little and accept it.”
There are new developments in male contraceptives like the implant Adam, or the hormone-free YCT-529 pill. According to a 2023 survey published in the journal Contraception, three-quarters of male respondents said they’d be willing to use new contraceptives.
Still, people such as Paquet and Anits expressed that they largely feel as though the existing systemic inequalities perpetuated by patriarchy have women worried as to whether cisgender men would take contraceptives.
“I think that it’s deeply rooted in patriarchy that women should be the ones to protect themselves and ‘close their legs’ in a way,” Paquet said.
Anits agrees, adding that this disproportionate role when it comes to contraception should be acknowledged.
“I think it’s important for [men] to understand what sacrifice their partners are making if they choose to take birth control,” Anits said.
Un r skin w kplace bias against body art
Bias around body art in the workplace persists, but the culture is starting to shift
Jayde Lazier
Body art has long been a controversial topic in the workplace, but researchers and professionals say attitudes may be changing.
Dr. Gemma Dale, senior lecturer at the Liverpool Business School, rst noticed the shi in tattoo taboos in the workplace following a conversation with a tattoo artist who said they were seeing more customers than ever post COVID-19 pandemic. is, mixed with Dale noticing a reduced sense of formality in work attire during and post-pandemic, prompted her to run a study to see if the shi in reception of body art had long-term societal e ects.
“ e increase of remote and hybrid work has led to a range of unintended or unexpected consequences, and [open displays of body art] appear to be just one of them,” Dale said. e 2023 study that is being published later this year, entitled “Has the workplace tattoo taboo nally broken – and does WFH play a part?” was conducted by Dale, alongside professor Matthew Tucker and Dr. Hannah Wilson. It reveals that a shi in reception towards body art can be seen in correlation with the pandemic and working from home.
ough there may still be some negative associations with body art in the workplace, Dale said their research found that attitudes towards tattoos in the workplace might be moving toward “reduced stigma and increased acceptability.”
Even so, some workers are still experiencing inequity surrounding their body art and piercings. So a Leiva is an elementary substitute teacher who has a septum piercing. She said she has concerns about how she might be received if she wore her piercing in the workplace.
“I would never wear [my piercing] out when I am working on my job as a substitute teacher in an elementary school,” Leiva said. “I’m not even sure I would have gotten the job, had I worn it in the interview.”
Leiva said these reservations le her feeling discouraged and uncomfortable in her own skin.
“I shouldn’t have to choose between the way I express myself and feeling secure in my job,” she said.
President and founder of Workplace Fairness International Blaine Donais said that a worker’s right to modify their body through tattoos, piercings and other modi cations
depends on a number of factors. ese include the sector of the employer and whether or not in common law jurisdictions in Canada—all jurisdictions except Quebec—employees are unionized.
Donais said that if an employer is a government department, agency, or has “su cient government nexus,” then employees secure the rights under Section 2 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, such as freedom of expression.
Dale acknowledged that sometimes, there may be a genuine reason for appearance policies—but she said they need to be clearly communicated, and should not apply to an entire workforce. e researcher said she advises employers to think about their policies and how they a ect workers.
On the “SkinTok” side of TikTok, it is not uncommon to see people slathering beef tallow on their faces and claiming that the $600 Dr. Dennis Gross LED mask cured their acne in just three days.
But some social media users may wonder if any of this actually works—how much of it is just social media hype? With paid sponsorships taking a central space on platforms such as Instagram and Tik Tok, it might be hard to tell which trends are legit, what’s risky and what can cause harmful skin conditions.
A 2024 report published by marketing company IZEA found that 67 per cent of Canadian 18-to-29-year-olds have purchased a product a er seeing it used by an in uencer, with 40 per cent of subjects saying they researched a product on TikTok before buying it.
According to Toronto-based dermatologist Dr. Sandy Skotnicki, social media has had a mixed impact on skincare routines. She said that while social media has made people
“Wherever possible, organizations should think about how they can create cultures where people can express themselves, be authentic and have autonomy around their appearance as much as possible,” Dale said. “ is is the environment in which people will perform the best, [and] have fewer demands and
“ is freedom is not absolute and employers bound by the Charter can o en place limits on the appearance of employees that [are] considered a ‘reasonable limit’ under Section 1 of the Charter, and thus these limits are allowed,” Donais added.
According to him, until an argument can be made that body art is a necessary component of a bona de religion, it is unlikely that the legal regime will change.
Although body art and piercings are commonly used as a means for personal self-expression, they also have a long history of religious or cultural signi cance.
Donais said individuals who fall into the category of displaying tattoos for religious or cultural reasons should know there may be some leeway to argue the signi cance of an individual’s body art.
“ e legal obligation in such cases is that the employer must accommodate the employee’s freedom of religion to the point of undue hardship,” Donais said.
the employee’s there reduce
Kiljon Shukullari, an HR advisory manager at Peninsula Canada, which provides HR, health and safety, and legal support to businesses across Canada, said there are ways for employers to reduce bias with tattoos and other body modi cations.
“HR can help reduce bias by establishing standardized and consistent hiring processes and training managers to recognise unconscious bias,” Shukullari said.
Shukullari added that this is followed by further training focused on spotting and addressing biases that occur when assessing appearances and style.
“[ is training] helps leaders focus on professionalism and performance, and not personal preference,” Shukullari said. “[It] shapes more inclusive, exible standards around self-expression at work.”
Skincare crazes, hack hoax?
Experts weigh in on what skin
care trends really work and what could harm your skin.
Sabbia Eljarrat
more skincare informed, it also stems from a culture of miracle cures and overconsumption.
She explained that a product promoted by an in uencer may not work for everyone, particularly because personalized skincare advice should come from understanding one’s own skin.
ural oil our skin produces.
However, aesthetician Rosa Marchitto warns that beef tallow may cause more harm than bene t.
“Everyone is a skincare expert—you may think you have rosacea and buy products for it, but maybe you don’t,” Skotnicki said.
To separate hacks from hoaxes, here’s what some dermatologists and aestheticians have to say about two of the biggest skincare trends dominating social media For You pages.
First, as part of a growing wave of “back-to-basics” skincare trends on social media, wellness in uencers have widely promoted beef tallow—also known as rendered animal fat. Popular social media creators like “tradwife” Nara Smith claim it helps soothe recurring eczema, while others believe it is an e ective moisturizer because it mimics sebum, the nat-
“Beef tallow is highly occlusive and can trap bacteria and dead skin cells beneath the skin’s surface,” Marchitto said. “For those with oily or acne-prone skin, this can lead to congestion, irritation, or breakouts.”
Registered dietitian Jacquelin Danielle Fryer also noted online that consuming beef tallow in moderation will allow the body to absorb fat-soluble vitamins to support vision and immune health.
However, Dr. Mika Tabata, assistant professor of dermatology at MD Anderson Cancer Center, has emphasized online that it is “unclear” if beef tallow actually contains enough vitamins for it to be considered impactful for the skin.
Experts recommend to opt for acne-safe alternatives such as rosehip oil, which also contains the same hydrating ingredient—linoleic acid—as beef tallow.
A study published in e National Library of Medicine reports that red light therapy has been shown to reverse some signs of aging by stimulating broblasts, which are the skin cells responsible for collagen production.
e LED mask is another skincare product that has surged in popularity in recent years thanks to social media.
According to Krysti Skoda, lead aesthetician and co-founder of Salon Rya in Montreal, LED masks can be an e ective addition to one’s skin routine if the technology of the device is right. She said that factors like speci c wavelengths, uences and overall quality play an important role in how much bene t the user will see.
“While they can’t replace professional treatments, they’re great for maintaining results and supporting skin health in-between appointments,” Skoda said.
Skoda highlighted that LED masks have been clinically proven to reduce in ammation, acne and redness, while promoting skin rejuvenation and healing. However, she also stressed that these devices work best with consistency and realistic expectations, especially since they are less powerful than the ones used in clinics. According to her, rather than a quick x, they act more as a long-term supplement to professional care.
Despite how red light therapy’s marketing—o en shown as a “miracle tool”—it’s not suitable for everyone.
Montreal is home to a variety of resources and organizations for LGBTQIA2S+ people in need—from legal resources for changing names and gender markers, to hospitals and clinics that specialize in medical transition and pay-what-you-can gender-a rming gear. e following is a short list of gender-afrming resources that can be accessed by the general public.
Concordia University Centre for Gender Advocacy
In addition to menstrual and safe sex products, the Concordia Centre for Gender Advocacy o ers, according to its website, pay-what-you-can prices for gender-a rming gear, on-the-spot legal name changes at pay-what-you-want prices, commissioner for oaths services and assistance in nding LGBTQIA2S+ resources and organizations within Montreal.
Phone: 514-848-2424 ext. 7431
https://genderadvocacy.org/our-services/ 2110 Mackay St., rst oor
Clinique médicale l’Actuel
Clinique médicale l’Actuel o ers hormone replacement treatment (HRT). Currently, only two doctors are available, and the average wait time is seven to 10 months—which reects the long wait times common for these types of procedures. e clinic does not require a professional referral for new patients, and the appointments are covered by RAMQ.
Phone: 514-524-1001
info@lactuel.ca
Angus Medical Clinic is RAMQ-covered service specializes in HRT endocrinology. Patients must send a referral from a general practitioner and a letter from a psychologist or sexologist conrming gender dysphoria. e wait time is one to two weeks to receive a callback, and you would need to have a blood test at the CLSC or a hospital prior to each followup appointment.
Phone: 514-807-2333
info@cliniqueangus.com
e GrS (gender reassignment surgery) Montreal hospital GrS Montreal specializes in gender-a rming surgeries for trans individuals which are performed at the Centre Métropolitain de Chirurgie. According to the organization’s website, one or two pre-operative nights in an associated facility,
According to online skincare and wellness journal MYSA, people with certain health conditions such as lupus or speci c eye conditions, should avoid red light therapy altogether as it can trigger adverse e ects and make conditions worse.
dermatology
Additionally, as explained by the American Academy of Dermatology (AAD), at-home red light therapy masks should not be considered a standalone solution, but rather an FDA-cleared tool used in between regular dermatologist visits with rest periods. e AAD adds that rest periods are essential to avoid overstimulation. Similarly, Skotnicki pointed out that social media platforms o en suggest skincare advice that oversimpli es complex science. She said that while devices such as at-home red light therapy masks can o er mild results when used correctly and consistently, many over-the-counter devices don’t have the same safety testing as those used in dermatology clinics. Skotnicki furthered that overusing products can also increase one’s risk of developing an allergy to ingredients.
As such, Skotnicki recommends approaching skincare trends with skepticism: look for scienti cally published studies, ensure devices meet safety standards, and when in doubt, check with a board-certi ed dermatologist.
“If the advice sounds too good to be true,” she added, “it usually is.” that
What’s here, what’s qu r
Lauren Parison
a transportation service and a hospitalization and recovery period are taken into account and provided if necessary.
Phone: 514 288-2097
https://www.grsmontreal.com/
Project 10
Project 10 provides subsidies for gender-a rming services, such as hair removal and therapy sessions for dysphoria diagnoses, with funding available until the age of 25. According to a member of the organization’s sta interviewed by e Link, Project 10 also assists with gender-a rming surgeries, prescriptions, proof of dysphoria and dealing with insurance. Additionally, their website explains that Project 10 not only has a variety of gender gear available, they can also help with the process of making specialty orders.
Phone: 514-989-0001
questions@p10.qc.ca
Juritrans
A brief list of gender-affirming resources in Montreal that are available to the general public
e Union for Gender Empowerment
Another service o ered at McGill but not exclusive to McGill students, the Union for Gender Empowerment stocks gender-afrming gear at pay-what-you-can prices. ey o er a Google form to order any items not in stock (including alternative menstrual items and safer sex products), available for pickup or shipping.
https://theuge.org/
3480 McTavish St., Room 413
Juritrans provides a list of trans-friendly commissioners for oaths in the Montreal area to assist with name or gender marker changes. eir website lists commissioners for oaths who o er their services to LGBTQIA2S+ people for free!
https://juritrans.ca/qc/en/list-of-commissioners-for-oaths/ Legal Information Clinic at McGill University e Legal Information Clinic at McGill o ers free commissioner for oaths services to all Montrealers. e clinic accepts both walk-ins and appointments, though appointments are encouraged to avoid wait times.
Phone: 438-944-6545
https://licm.ca/commissioner-for-oaths/
Action santé travesti(e)s et transexuel(le)s du Québec (ASTT(e)Q)
Part of the Cactus Montréal network, ASTT(e)Q o ers healthcare, social services, community dinners and workshops, with the primary clientele being sex workers and those of immigrant status. According to an ASTT(e)Q worker interviewed by e Link, the o ce is open for drop-in sessions Monday through ursday, from 1 p.m. to 4 p.m., but it is possible to make an appointment outside of those hours via telephone. However, it is preferable to use the “Contact ASTT(e)Q” module on the website.
Phone: 514-847-0067, ext. 207
info@cactusmontreal.org
1300 Sanguinet St. RÉZO
RÉZO provides information on legal rights for trans and immigrant Montrealers, workshops to discuss sexuality and gender and a book on safe sex for cis men and transmasculine individuals.
Phone: 514-521-7778
https://www.rezosante.org/
MONTREAL IS HOME TO A NUMBER OF RESOURCES FOR LGBTQIA2S+ PEOPLE. GRAPHIC NAYA HACHWA @NAYAS.STUDIO
alg ithm stole my ap tite
Content warning: is article contains mentions of restrictive eating and eating disorders.
How seemingly innocent social media trends normalize unhealthy eating habits
Melodie Leblanc has struggled with body image issues throughout her life. Seeing how other people’s bodies look on social media and watching di erent trends that sometimes promote unhealthy diets, her relationship with food began to change for the worse in 2018.
“I used to believe everything that was on the internet was onesided,” Leblanc said. “I thought the diet I was being shown was the appropriate one and that I was too fat.”
She began to follow her own restrictive diet, eating nothing but buttered toast three times a day to avoid gaining weight.
“I ignored every sign that my body was unhealthy, and it wasn’t a good way of living,” Leblanc said.
Lisa-Marie Giorgio, a psychologist at the Montreal Children’s Hospital, works in the eating disorders program. She says that social media trends like “what I eat in a day” or “girl dinner” can become harmful because they camou age themselves as fun and casual.
“You might see a trend like girl dinner and think, ‘ at’s so cute,’” Giorgio said. “But then you might sit back and think, ‘Wait a second, I don’t eat like that. Should I be eating like that?’”
Kira Minall @_kiraminall
impact the way you feel and has a potential risk on your mental health,” Giorgio said. “And that could be even things like anxiety and depression.”
In June 2025, TikTok blocked #SkinnyTok, which is the term used to describe content that promotes extreme weight loss and tips on “how to be skinny,” from its search results. Liv Schmidt, a controversial weight loss in uencer, coined the term.
and “How to eat candy like a skinny girl.”
ese trends consist of presenting a person’s eating behaviours. “Girl dinner” revolves around eating small portions of snack food as a meal, whereas “what I eat in a day” is exactly what it sounds like—posting all the food a person consumes in one day.
Giorgio also noted that damaging behaviours present themselves within these trends and that they manifest in subtle ways.
“ ese trends potentially normalize really low calorie intake, and there is a lot of body checking in the content,” she said. “So, it o en exists in a way that isn’t so obvious, but it’s still resulting in the same body dissatisfaction.”
Body checking is a behaviour people use to gain information about their bodies. It manifests through an excessive concern with appearance, shape or size, and when done compulsively, experts have found an association with eating disorders. Symptoms of compulsive body checking include obsessively weighing oneself, measuring the size of body parts, and inspecting your body in the mirror, among others.
According to Giorgio, these trends can o en cause uncomfortable feelings about body image and food consumption, and there isn’t enough space to talk about it.
Giorgio also says disordered eating is unhealthy both physically and mentally.
“At the end of the day, if you’re not eating and not supporting yourself in a nutritious, healthy, balanced way, it’s also going to
Schmidt’s content revolves around workout tips for weight loss, extreme low-calorie recipes, and general advice on how to eat less and maintain a slim body shape. She focuses her posts on “living slim in the city.”
In more recent posts, she has o ered advice on how to avoid gaining weight during the approaching holiday season. She has been quoted saying slogans such as: “Don’t get fat, get fashionable”
Schmidt’s account was banned from TikTok in September 2024 for “violating community guidelines.” Despite this, she continues to post content on other social media platforms like Instagram, though Meta demonetized her account a er messages from her exclusive group chat where she encouraged girls not to eat surfaced.
Although TikTok also banned #SkinnyTok, the content is still available without using the hashtag.
Zahavah Suissa, a Montreal-based health and lifestyle social media in uencer, believes these kinds of
“It glamorizes girls not eating enough,”
program. and feel good.
Suissa also says that even as an in uencer herself, she has felt pressure from other in uencers and social media trends to
“People I’ve seen on social media all have that typical look and [skinny] body shape,” Suissa said. “I wanted to look the same, but as I’ve gone through my own health and wellness journey, I’ve realized what my body can actually look like rather than trying to compare myself to other people.”
She said she avoids posting “what I eat in a day” videos, as she nds food to be a touchy subject. Instead, she said she focuses on talking about her own health choices based on what helped her
“I always want to make sure that I’m just sharing my own experience, because how people want to look or how they want to get t or be healthy looks different for everyone,” Suissa said.
According to Giorgio, one of the best ways to avoid unhealthy content is to simply disengage with it when it starts to
feel uncomfortable.
“You can unfollow accounts, you can tell your algorithm that you don’t like this content,” Giorgio said. “And at the end, if you are still struggling with the content, you should reach out to someone, like a mental health professional, and they will provide you with support.”
Giorgio also emphasizes the importance of thinking twice about social media trends, since they do not always clearly identify their goal.
“It isn’t always explicitly shared that this content is about weight loss, and that’s why we need to consume more critically,” she said.
Leblanc said she still struggles with body image, but that the key to healing is acceptance.
“Your body needs fuel; it needs the calories to function,” Leblanc said. “Listening to what your body needs is the kindest thing you can do for yourself.”
SOCIAL MEDIA TRENDS SUCH AS "GIRL DINNER" CAN PROMOTE UNHEALTHY EATING HABITS, EXPERTS SAY. GRAPHIC LUCÍA CASTRO GIRÓN @LUCIACGART
Fashi that finally fits
Mala Mtl is reshaping the plus-size community experiences secondhand fashion
Maria
Paula Rojas
Since 2018, Mala Mtl has carved out space for plus-size thrifters in Montreal. The Latina-owned boutique, founded by Sandra Muñoz Diaz, offers vintage and pre-owned clothing ranging from size L to 6X, with a focus on sustainability, accessibility and inclusivity.
Located on St. Laurent Blvd., Mala has grown into a community hub, a place where people come not just to shop, but to feel seen, represented and celebrated.
Building Mala from the gr nd up
“I have always been plus-size myself, so to be able to shop in person, second-hand and plus-size, was very di cult when I was younger,” Muñoz Diaz said. “So to create a space that holds that community and can o er a range of accessible pieces for di erent styles, all in plus-size, was what we needed as a community.”
Mala began as an online project with Muñoz Diaz selling clothing in Facebook groups, where her account quickly gained attention.
“My account started growing, so I thought it was a very good idea to maybe create a website,” she said.
A er gaining traction online, Muñoz Diaz began hosting pop-ups where customers could try items in person.
“That was the best way to reach the most people,” she said. “Then, when the pandemic started in 2020, I had to go back to selling online, and I would deliver [clothing] door to door to my clients.”
Mala evolved through the pandemic, eventually moving into a studio space with shopping available by appointment.
“It was very one-on-one with me, so that was a cool experience too,” Muñoz Diaz said.
In July 2024, Mala nally opened its current location on St. Laurent Blvd., o ering a larger, public boutique.
Building a space from scratch
Originally from Chile, Muñoz Diaz immigrated to Montreal at age 15. Her experience as an immigrant shaped both her perspective and her business.
“Owning your own store as an immigrant feels very cool,” she said. “My parents helped me build it from scratch. I feel very grateful to have their support, because not everyone has that chance.”
While she says her cultural background doesn’t de ne the store’s mission, it adds a deep sense of pride for her.
“ e fact that I’m Latina doesn’t change the mission,” she said. “But when other Latinos come in and realize I’m from Chile, it’s
very cool. ere’s pride in being a Latina immigrant with her own business here.”
Muñoz Diaz’s shop shares the street with other independent Latinx-owned spaces, like Carlota Boulangerie Mexicaine and Barros Luco Montreal.
“It’s nice to share the area with other Latino entrepreneurs,” she said. “ e Plateau and Mile End have such a mix of backgrounds; it feels like a true community.”
Circular fashi and acce ibility
For Muñoz Diaz, sustainability and accessibility are non-negotiable.
“It’s very circular,” she said. “About 75 to 80 per cent of the store comes from my clients themselves. It keeps the cycle going and helps people access fashion sustainably.”
She notes that maintaining size inclusivity within that model doesn’t come easy.
“Fashion wasn’t inclusive in the past, so older clothes rarely come in 3X or 4X,” she said. “ at’s why I work so closely with my community; it’s the best way to keep a good selection available.”
Muñoz Diaz also says she prioritizes a ordable pricing.
“As an immigrant, you sometimes don’t have a lot of money to buy new clothes,” she said. “So it’s very important for me that people can nd, for $3 or $5, something to wear.”
A place feel seen
For many regulars, Mala represents more than a store—it’s a safe, a rming space.
Charlotte Galarneau, a long-time client and the owner of the jewelry brand Ça L’fait, rst discovered Mala during the pandemic.
“It’s amazing. It’s like a beautiful, safe space,” she said. “It’s not like going to Renaissance or Value Village, where you never know if you’re gonna nd something that ts you.”
Galarneau recalled the early days when Mala operated out of Muñoz Diaz’s apartment.
“We had to book appointments because of COVID. It was such a welcoming environment,” she said. “Sandra made you feel at ease.”
Another customer, Marianne Lefebvre, said that nding Mala changed how she shops.
“I used to hate thri ing because I could never nd my size,”
Lefebvre said. “Now I actually enjoy it. I’ve met other people like me here. It feels like community.”
Galarneau o en returns to the boutique to browse as there is always something new. .
“ ere’s something for every taste; masculine, feminine, Y2K, baggy,” she said. “You can play with your style depending on your mood.”
Galarneau also participates in the iick Witch market, a plus-size artisan fair that Muñoz Diaz co-organizes twice a year.
“I participated last April,” Galarneau said. “Seeing all plus-size artists, people selling plus-size clothes, and only plus-size people coming to shop. It was so beautiful. It felt like a safe space.”
Muñoz Diaz describes the event as one of her proudest projects.
“We collaborate with plus-size artists, jewelry makers and designers; people who represent fat bodies in their art or work,” she said. “It’s about giving space to our people. We do it twice a year, and it grows every time.”
Holding space in a shrinking market
Despite her personal e orts, Muñoz Diaz has noticed that inclusivity in the fashion world is shrinking.
“When I started eight years ago, there was more inclusivity,” she said. “Now, even big brands that used to carry plus sizes in stores have stopped. You can only shop online. at’s why keeping a physical space like Mala is so important; it lets people try things on and feel good.”
at physical connection to clothes and to one another remains at the heart of Mala’s purpose. For Muñoz Diaz, what she’s built isn’t just a business but a re ection of care.
“Every time someone new comes in and tells me it’s lifechanging to nd clothes that t, it reminds me why I do this,” she said. “It’s not easy to be an entrepreneur, but when you have a community like this, it’s worth it.”
MALA MTL FOUNDER SANDRA MUÑOZ DIAZ STANDS AMONG THE RACKS OF PLUS-SIZE VINTAGE CLOTHING INSIDE HER SAINT-LAURENT BOUTIQUE. PHOTO MARIA PAULA ROJAS
Plus-size
AtMilan Pole Dance Studio, the pole isn’t just a prop—it’s a symbol of empowerment.
e studio’s plus-size pole dancing classes rede ne the rules of who belongs in the spotlight. For students, these classes aren’t just about exercising, but about celebrating their con dence, challenging preconceived notions, and exploring a type of self-expression that embraces every curve.
Milan introduced their plussize pole classes a few years ago, becoming the rst studio in Montreal to introduce these inclusive classes.
Milan also tries to o er plus-size merchandise at the studio and ensures that they have purchased poles, hammocks, hoops and even plastic chairs with di erent body weights in mind.
Ce brating auty in e ry body
pole classes create a space for students to explore movement and build confidence
Jayde Lazier
“ is initiative demonstrates our commitment to creating a safe space for all,” says Isabelle Lê, studio manager at Milan. “Our teacher, Annie [Roy], is among the few plus-size pole teachers in the pole community. We trained her inhouse and ensured that our entire sta is equipped to support students of all sizes.”
The concept came from Catherine Beauchemin, a teacher at Milan, who noticed that in her first few classes, students expressed frustration about how their size prevented them from completing certain moves in the way the studio traditionally taught.
A er a long conversation with photographer Julie Artacho, an activist who centres their work around deconstructing fatphobic-centred biases, Beauchemin proposed creating a class speci cally designed for plus-size students.
“I started teaching because I wanted to share with as many people as possible all the great things pole brought into my life,” Beauchemin says. “It didn’t make sense to me that this experience would only be available to a certain body type.”
Research shows that pole dancing can promote body con dence, but that more competitive contexts can o en promote rigid body expectations and fail to foster a safe and inclusive space for dancers.
Audrey Incendiaire, a student at Milan, once quit pole dancing because she didn’t think her body t the sport.
“When I started, I felt inadequate in my body, and then when I restarted years ago, it was the same time that they started doing the plus-size pole classes at Milan, and it felt nice, it felt like we started a community,” Incendiaire says.
is community includes Sarah Pronovost, another student of the plus-size classes at Milan.
Pronovost also acknowledges the di culty in taking that rst step and trying something new, like pole dancing as a plus-size
person. She says that despite the inclusive and welcoming environment, it can be hard to shake years of stereotypes and preconceived notions that society has placed upon plus-size people.
“It’s hard and it’s going to take time, but everybody can do it,” Pronovost says.
Pronovost, who has a very athletic background, has advanced to the higher-level classes through her continued dedication, but still notices that people o en seem surprised by what she can accomplish just because she is in a bigger body.
“Just by being there and attending higher-level classes, I help in deconstructing biases, stereotypes or misconceptions about people who live in bigger bodies,” Pronovost says. “We are strong, we are
flexible, we are disciplined, we just take a different route to get to that point that someone in a regular body will reach.”
Roy aims to keep alternative paths and adaptive techniques in mind for all of her classes. She began as a student in Milan’s plus-size pole dancing classes, but her passion and skill quickly stood out. Within a year, the studio manager and original teacher of the plus-size classes asked her to train as an instructor, and she has led the class ever since.
“ e goal was to make the plus-size pole gym class even more accessible by having a plussize teacher,” Roy says.
However, many studios in the city don’t put in the same work as Milan to guarantee accessibility.
Incendiaire says she feels like the pole dancing community needs to have more plus-size teachers because representation matters. At rst the plus-size classes were taught by a thin teacher but then when a plus-size teacher took over “it felt even more like a safe space,” says Incendiaire.
For her, seeing plus-size teachers having success in this sport allows plus-size students to feel more comfortable walking in the door and trying something new. e increased comfortability allows students to grow in ways that they may not have thought was initially possible.
“When I do pole dancing, I love that I’m doing something with my body, I’m proud of myself,” Incendiaire says. is feeling of accomplishment is rea rmed by both Beauchemin, who rst started teaching the plus-size classes, and Roy, the current teacher. rough their adaptive teaching methods, their students are able to feel motivated.
“If we want to switch things up, the change needs to happen on a deeper level,” Beauchemin says. “I personally needed to question my view of bigger bodies in general, and then bring that deconstruction into my pole teaching practice.”
Roy also emphasizes the language she uses in class.
“I talk about bodies or body parts in a very neutral way and focus on what it is supposed to do or feel [like] and not what it looks like,” Roy says.
Roy teaches her students to build their movements from the basics, encouraging them to progress at their own pace.
Milan, and their teachers, are the reason why students like Pronovost and Incendiaire can have a safe space to feel comfortable exploring their strength, beauty and athleticism, regardless of their body.
“ eir bodies do not de ne their worth,” Roy says. “ eir bodies are capable of incredible things. Being di erent is a strength, not a weakness.”
MILAN STUDENT AUDREY INCENDIAIRE FINDS CONFIDENCE AND EXPRESSION THROUGH POLE DANCE. PHOTO MARIANNA GEORGIADIS @MARILARTISTE
The
AtC puscule Danse brates 25 years busi ss
Montreal-based dance studio has been
the heart of the Ville-Marie borough is Espace Libre, the home of inclusive contemporary dance studio Corpuscule Danse.
Ballet bars and mirrors line the bright, open space, while heavy beige curtains cover the opposite wall. Overhead, exposed concrete and vents frame the mounted lights and speakers, and a wooden table with a control board anchors the space.
Instructors Laurence Éthier and Madeleine Bellefeuille set up for the day of classes. Each Saturday, they bring a new set of themed activities and props. For this morning’s children’s class, the theme is safari.
However, on this adventure, the dancers do not act as the explorers; they are the wildlife. Rousing music lls the room as the students slither like snakes, stretch like cats and beat their chest like gorillas.
As Éthier explains, copying di erent animals helps the kids’ conceptualization of movement.
“ e goal is really to get them to move, to develop a sense of group cohesion,” Éthier says, “and to learn the core concepts of dance: time, space, quality of movement, energy, and weight.”
Corpuscule Danse is dedicated to inclusivity, bringing together artists with and without visible or non-visible disabilities through creation and research. roughout all classes, sta members facilitate the artistic experimentation of their students.
Demonstrator Aliénor Chamoux mirrors that by approaching every lesson “with the notion of inclusion.”
“We push them within their own limitations,” Chamoux explains.
“ e key is never stopping at the handicap but actually using it as a door to other avenues,” Bellefeuille adds.
e weight of expectati s
From the start, women in bigger bodies are told to shrink— cross your legs, pull at your shirt, sit a certain way, pose just right for photos. Every roll, curve, and stretch mark becomes public property, open to commentary, critique, or worse, complete erasure. We are either too visible or not seen at all. Fat bodies are contradictions: be con dent, but not proud. Be outspoken, but not loud. Take up space, but not like that.
is pressure to make ourselves small doesn’t stop at how we move through the world, it follows us into our most intimate moments.
But behind closed doors, that weight should disappear. When I am naked, I am not thinking about the politics of my body. I am not afraid of being too much. I am simply here.
e myth that pleasure must be earned
ere’s a cruel lie that fat people are taught to believe: the more esh you have, the less pleasure you deserve. Desire is presented as something conditional; something we must earn by shrinking, by making ourselves easier to want.
I was lucky to grow up with a mother who told me that my weight should never stand between me and the things I want, including pleasure. Wanting and being wanted are not privileges, they’re part of being human.
Many of us are taught to think pleasure is a reward for self-improvement, as if thinness or confidence must come first. But pleasure isn’t something to earn, it’s something you’re already allowed to have. You owe no apology for finding joy in your own skin. I refuse to carry shame that was never mine. I will let myself
a sanctuary for artists of every age, experience and ability
Clara Tranquilla
This individual-based approach lies at the core of all their classes.
Joannie Douville, instructor and director of teaching and cultural mediation, has worked with Corpuscule Danse for 15 years.
“At the heart of it,” Douville says, “is that each person achieves their own potential.”
e company’s mission extends beyond weekly classes. ey lead university workshops on the inclusive approach, and co-authored Enseigner la danse selon une approche inclusive, a book that advocates for the professionalization of inclusive dance.
While there have been considerable developments, Douville says barriers remain.
“We have a very ableist perception of dance for many reasons. Sometimes there is already a preconception in peoples’ minds that, ‘Well, if I want to dance, I have to do it on my hands and feet,’” Douville says. “It’s di cult to nd classes that can motivate and incorporate them.”
Breaking this mindset requires openness and adaptation, an idea Bellefeuille highlights.
“I think that in more regular courses, we choose a dominant recipe and then use it,” Bellefeuille says, “but at Corpuscule we don’t have that choice. […] It just takes a bit more time, and accepting that everyone doesn’t function in the same way.”
Working in an adaptive environment has a ected how Bellefeuille approaches aspects of her own life, such as school.
“Not everyone does things in the same way, and if the paths I take to get there are di erent from my classmates’, it’s OK,” she says. “On the contrary, it actually gives me permission to explore my creativity and to learn about myself.”
“ e notion of performance is completely disconnected from the system in which we function, whether it’s school, or just in the overarching system of capitalist productivism,” Chamoux says.
“It’s very easy to disconnect from why you like dance and what makes you feel good. […]. If there is no joy, we won’t want to work,” Bellefeuille adds.
e studio encourages students to focus not on the aesthetics, but on the joy of movement.
Heavy with sire
Corpuscule Danse is more than a dance company—it fosters a conscious view of the world, one critical of structures and accepting of individuals, always striving for progress.
“I always tell myself that what I dream of, ultimately,” Douville says, “is that there won’t be any di erences between inclusive dance and dance.”
Safa Hachi @safahachi
be wanted. I will give myself permission to want. Because this body was built for more than hiding. It was built for feeling deeply; for giving and receiving love.
Reclaiming a hist y of desire
In ancient civilizations, full gures were symbols of power and abundance. So esh wasn’t hidden, but desired, fought over, and immortalized; frozen behind glass in museums, admired as art, but disconnected from their original context: bodies that were once touched, wanted, and revered.
So why not now? Why should I deny myself that same reverence? Why should I deny others the pleasure of desiring me?
Every person I’ve shared myself with has met me with curiosity and care. No one has hesitated to explore the dips and curves I was taught to hide. If sculptors once carved bodies like mine into stone, I will let hands now trace me with that same devotion.
Owning pleasure th t apology
Out in the world, my body is o en reduced to a topic for debate—a problem to be discussed and dissected. But in bed, under so lighting, with someone’s hands on me, none of that matters. at con dence shouldn’t exist only behind closed doors. Knowing you deserve pleasure isn’t about seeking validation—it’s about reclaiming what shame took. You don’t have to x yourself to feel good. You don’t have to earn so ness, or love, or touch. is body was built for more than shame.
It was built for pleasure.
It was built for love.
I refuse to let anyone, or anything, take that from me.
KIDS AT AT CORPUSCULE DANSE CLASS. THE USE OF PROPS IS ONE OF THE MANY WAYS THE STUDIO MAKES ITS CLASSES MORE INCLUSIVE. COURTESY MARIE-HÉLÈNE BELLAVANCE
ONE'S BODY WAS BUILT FOR MORE THAN HIDING—IT WAS BUILT FOR FEELING, FOR PLEASURE, FOR LOVE. PHOTO ANDRAE LERONE LEWIS @SHADOWLERONE. MODEL HOUDA BOUSSAYRI
In
Strength thr gh sumo
Montreal’s only sumo club, strength looks different
The sound of bodies colliding lls the room as night drapes over Montreal. Bare feet slap against the mats at HoMa BJJ headquarters in Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, where a circle of black foam marks the dohyō—the ring. Inside it, two men lean low, hands grazing the oor. eir muscles tense, breath steadying. When the signal comes, they clash.
From the sidelines, Augustin Jimenez watches closely, arms to his hips but eyes alert. e looming founder of the Montreal Sumo Club doesn’t shout orders. Instead, he gives a round of applause before stepping forward to aid with a ghter’s stance.
Founded in 2022, the Montreal Sumo Club meets every Friday at 7:30 p.m. to train and spar.
For Jimenez, this ring represents years of curiosity turned into commitment.
“I got into strength sports in my early 20s; powerli ing, a bit of strongman,” he said. “ en I went to Japan on honeymoon and saw my rst sumo tournament. Ever since that day, I got hooked.”
Back in Montreal, there were no sumo clubs to join. So he made one.
It started modestly, with a Facebook post and a handful of friends from his judo gym.
“ e very rst day, I was surprised to see that many people,” Jimenez said.
ey trained in a park for weeks before nding space inside HoMa BJJ’s facility, where they now practice every Friday.
Two years in, the club averages eight members: men and women of all sizes, most of them newcomers to the sport.
During class, Jimenez leads an intense warm-up of squats, lunges and stomps. Between sets, he checks in with members, o ering brief corrections and light conversation. e room alternates between focused silence and bursts of laughter as the group moves through the drills.
Sumo, as Jimenez explained, isn’t just about mass; it’s about movement.
“You need to develop strength, speed and a wrestler’s brain,” he said. “It’s like a very fast game of chess with your opponent.” at chess game soon lls the room with rhythm. Bodies thud, hands slap and the group cheers a er each bout. e black
Matthew Daldalian @mattdaldalian
foam circle, worn from friction, feels like the centre of something ancient and new all at once.
Sumo’s deep cultural roots stretch back centuries, but its Montreal chapter is still young.
According to Dr. Matthew Penney, a Concordia historian specializing in Japanese culture, amateur sumo abroad isn’t an imitation of the professional tradition; it’s a continuation of it. He sees local initiatives like Jimenez’s as part of a wider cultural exchange that’s brought Japanese martial arts and traditions to cities worldwide.
“It has the potential to get more people interested in di erent cultures and cultural exchange,” Penney said.
Jimenez doesn’t claim to represent that heritage—he simply wants to make space for it. “You learn how to ght,” he said. “But you also learn about discipline, respect, and pushing yourself.”
Lucas Paladines, a molecular biology graduate from the Université de Sherbrooke, stands among the wrestlers catching their breath between rounds. His dark hair glistens with sweat as he laughs through his exhaustion.
“ e beginning, that’s the hardest,” he said, referring to the club’s ritual of 100 squats. “It’s so hard, but so good. You feel really good about your legs a erward.”
Paladines only joined a few months ago a er hearing about the club online. Before this, he’d trained in aikido and kobudō, but sumo felt di erent.
“Here you can be small, tall—whatever size you are—you can be in this class,” Paladines said. “It’s all acceptance. You can learn, you can be with each other. And it's always amazing.”
As the sparring begins again, the mats shake with energy. Sweat beads along forearms. e wrestlers grunt and dig their feet in, straining to push the other from the circle. When one nally tumbles out, applause replaces tension.
At its core, Jimenez’s project focuses as much on people as it does on sport.
“I see a lot of people who are curious, who never thought about doing sumo before,” he said. “When they heard about the club, they thought, ‘Wow, this is really unique.’ And those people usually stay because they’re open-minded.”
His approach, gentle but rm, fosters what one might call a
so strength. He encourages respect and camaraderie, a code that extends beyond the ring.
“You help them, they help you, and that’s how you get better,” Jimenez said. “It’s impossible to get better by yourself.”
at cooperative energy feels infectious. A er practice, members linger, chatting and exchanging water bottles. All members stay behind to help roll up mats. Paladines says that shared e ort keeps the group connected.
“It’s hard, but we do it together,” he added.
For Olivia Feng, a PhD candidate in kinesiology and physical education at McGill University, that “come as you are” spirit reects a quiet revolution in how athletes see themselves.
“ e environment plays a really big role in how athletes feel about themselves and about sport,” Feng said. “ e people around them and the messages they send really matter.”
Feng studies body image and mental health in athletic spaces. In her view, inclusive clubs like Jimenez’s can disrupt old ideas about what athletes should look like.
“We’re starting to open up our de nitions of what winning looks like,” she explained. “ ere’s more emphasis on winning well now; a more holistic idea of athlete well-being.”
Her words echo what happens weekly inside the dojo. ere’s no scale, no talk of calories, no mention of weight classes—just movement, laughter and e ort. In a sport o en associated with mass, it’s not about size but about acceptance.
“I think the idea of 'come as you are' should be applied to sport all the time,” Feng said. “Everyone should be welcomed.”
Jimenez agreed. For him, the biggest victory comes in seeing people who once hesitated now thriving in a sport they’d never imagined trying.
“ ey all tell me the same thing,” he said with a grin. “ at it’s really intense—and that they love it because it’s so much fun.”
By the time training ends, the black foam ring has frayed, and sweat pools across the mats. Members gather for a group photo, laughing through exhaustion.
“I think we’re doing pretty well,” Jimenez said. “Considering we’re the only sumo club in Quebec.”
It’s hard to argue with that.
Shaping future bal t with strength and inclusivity
Camille Rouleau’s pursuit to expand the traditional notions of ballet allows power, joy and inclusivity to exist in the same space
Jayde Lazier
Clanguage. Today, that same passion lls the four walls of her own studio, where she’s traded performance for purpose as she teaches others to nd their strength, con dence and story through dance.
“It did shape me for sure. I’m someone who gives her best to everything. I like things to be well done and to give your heart and soul to everything you’re doing,” says Rouleau, the founder of Ballet Hop! Montreal.
Once a student, now a mentor, Rouleau works to shape the
next generation with the same grace and strength that de ned her.
Rouleau was born and raised on the North Shore of Montreal by a very loving and close-knit family unit that always supported her pursuits. She began dancing at the age of four for fun, and then joined a bigger ballet intensive program from the ages of seven to 12, where she trained rigorously and found ballet consuming most of her time.
She recalls at the age of 12 travelling from her high school in the outskirts of Montreal all the way downtown to take dance classes, training in the studio until 10 p.m. Her mother then picked her up and drove her back home to Terrebonne just to turn around and do it all over again the next day.
“It’s very army-like when you start at a traditional school at a young age and you want to progress and you do the scholarship program,” Rouleau says. “So I needed to be super focused and disciplined.”
is overarching feeling, combined with other people mak-
Before stepping away from dance, Rouleau auditioned for e Nutcracker and earned the role of an angel as an understudy. But she never got the chance to perform, which meant she never worked with a professional company. Not long a er, she decided to take a break. But because the training demanded so much—
physically and mentally—she wasn’t sure she wanted to dedicate her life to it.
“I always felt like it was really hard to distinguish myself,” Rouleau says.
Unfortunately, many young dancers nd themselves needing
important for female entrepreneurs to understand that it’s also
alright to move on at some point if it no longer feels right.
“I feel like as women we are trained to never give up, don’t lose faith,” Rouleau says. “ at’s good and true most of the time, but sometimes it’s time to take some time and think and feel and decide when the game is taking too much of you in comparison
to what it’s bringing.”
is is among the many things that Rouleau has learned from owning her own business and from dance. Ballet helped to give Rouleau a deeper knowledge of the body and its anatomy. She is also a certi ed personal trainer in two di erent methods and continues to take multiple ballet classes every week to maintain
her health for the past 10 years.
dio that emphasizes the importance of having fun and nding your con dence in a safe space, allowing participants to become better dancers.
“It’s a very complete workout—it’s a lot of muscular strength, a lot of cardio work, a lot of exibility is involved,” Rouleau says, “so it’s very physical and you feel it through the body, but you also feel a connection with others when dancing together.”
is connection and enjoyment of dance is felt by participants like Sera Ercan, a student at Ballet Hop!
“It was my rst barre class and I think I realized that to start
any form of activity such as ballet there’s no need to be nervous or scared about how good you will be or look doing it,” Ercan says.
“It taught me to go at my own pace.”
A dancer, a teacher and an entrepreneur, Rouleau wears many di erent hats that require her to stay busy. But she feels it’s
All of this has helped her to develop as a teacher and remove
the focus from just becoming a great dancer.
“When I rst started, I felt quite intimidated to take on the task of teaching adults and kids, opening a school in my own name while not being a professional dancer,” Rouleau says. “It took me a little while to realize that dancing and
teaching are two very di erent things requiring two di erent skillsets. ” a
Rouleau’s pursuit to create a loving and inclusive studio space and be a supportive teacher is felt by the students of Ballet Hop!
like Karina ibault.
“I think that Ballet Hop! gave me all the tools that I need-
ed—I love dancing, I love expressing myself,” ibault says, “and I feel that I got rid of a lot of trauma that my body was carrying just by moving and being graceful, by being accepted and accepting myself for who I am and looking around me
and seeing so many di erent bodies.”
Rouleau continues to prosper in her own career as a teacher by creating an environment for students of all di erent shapes and sizes to come to and feel included and enjoy ballet. Even though they may not meet the traditional standards for the sport at a professional level, they can still come and enjoy the sport, staying healthy and strong.
CAMILLE ROULEAU'S APPROACH TO BALLET COMBINES TECHNICAL ABILITY WITH COMFORT AND SECURITY IN ONE'S BODY. COURTESY CAROLINE PERRON
JordynVerbeek’s experience with sports nutrition began in high school. As the Stingers women’s hockey goaltender’s athletic dreams took shape, she quickly realized how much nutrition impacted her performance.
Fueling game starts tside arena
Athletes turn to smarter nutrition to boost performance
“My last few years of high school, my rst few years of university, it really became something that I added on top of training in hockey,” Verbeek said. “It was an additional aspect that would allow me to perform at my highest level.”
Verbeek’s realization marks a turning point familiar to many young athletes. As they begin to seek out higher-level opportunities, nutrition and diet take on a larger role in their lives. But in a world full of misinformation, how do athletes si through the noise to make meaningful change?
For dietitian Annyck Besso, this thought process led to her founding Sööma, a practice that specializes in eating disorders as well as sports nutrition. Besso, a former competitive runner, places particular focus on the overlap between athletic performance and disordered eating.
“Nutrition plays a really important role in sports performance, but I think that sometimes the sports world can encourage disordered behaviours,” Besso said. “So, the goal of our mission is how can we educate athletes, how can we optimize their nutrition, but in a way that's also considering their health and long-term well-being.”
Due to their unique needs, athletes present a distinct challenge in terms of their nutritional requirements. Besso prioritizes a holistic approach to the changes athletes make to their nutritional routines.
“Di erent sports obviously have di erent energy demands,” Besso said. “ e rst thing that we would do with athletes is go over their typical day. We really do a very detailed recall of their training, their sport, but also their lifestyle.”
Oriana Bellissimo, dietitian and nutritionist at Concordia University’s School of Health, faces similar challenges. She works one-on-one with students to improve their eating habits and dietary progress. She noted that the individuality of each athlete can get lost in the shu e when discussing everyday nutrition.
“Every person is di erent,” Bellissimo said.“ e performance plate is di erent for their sports, but then each individual also has di erent needs. And that's what I think can get lost when I talk to a big group.”
Verbeek experienced the in ux of information when she rst began exploring the world of nutrition. She explained that the speci c needs of her sport helped her structure the changes to her diet and routine.
“It was a lot of learning, learning what we need to have,” Verbeek said. “Before games, I need to eat this, because it's helped me perform. Or right when I get o the ice, I need carbs and protein. I was learning what works best and what's going to make me perform at my best.”
Misperceptions around nutrition in sports can fuel harmful habits. In the era of social media, dieting fads and misinformation about nutrients can spread to even the
Samuel Kayll @sdubk24
most dedicated athletes.
Besso pointed to protein overconsumption as a clear example of harmful nutrition myths.
“[Many of our athletes believe] carbs are bad and we need to optimize protein as much as possible,” Besso said. “I would say typically a lot of our athletes are over-consuming protein and under-consuming carbohydrates.”
Bellissimo takes an additive approach when helping athletes adjust their meals.
“Someone tells me for breakfast they eat a bowl of cereal with milk,” she said. “And they're trying to bulk. Well, what's something in that meal that I can help with? Maybe instead of regular milk, we'll do high-protein milk. I always nd that adding is easier than subtracting.”
people in her life.
“It can be just fun meals with the girls on the team,” Verbeek said. “With my roommate, I might do Taco Tuesday, for example, and just keep it fun, light and easy. I’m making sure I'm managing my time well and preparing my meals in advance.
When working with clients, Besso doesn’t discourage the consumption of their favourite foods. Rather than restricting certain foods, she focuses on education. is way, they can make their own informed decisions when faced with questions about their diet.
“My goal in working with athletes is that they understand the ‘why’ behind the recommendation,” Besso said. “Let's say an athlete is travelling to Cuba on vacation and they're at an all-you-can-eat resort—they understand how to make choices and they don't feel like they're failing because the dessert there looks good.”
Verbeek takes the time to make meals enjoyable, sharing food with the
Another area that Bellissimo emphasizes is the preparation of food. For athletes living alone for the rst time, cooking and nutrition can be intimidating to tackle, so she makes sure to provide them with tips for e ciently preparing meals.
“I talk about bulk dinners, if they can meal prep,” Bellissimo said. “And if they have access to a Bulk Barn, that’s also something that I like to recommend. You get your grains or nuts in an amount, and you can explore the di erent options.”
For Verbeek, nutrition’s role in sports boils down to the understanding of how foods enhance performance. And she hopes to inform young athletes about their own choices in diet.
“You train your body in the gym, you train your mind. And nutrition is just another aspect of that,” Verbeek said. “It's going to help you to recover, and it's going to help you perform at your best.”
Ihave forged myself a voice I cannot call mine. One I feel has lodged itself too far forward in my mouth, shaped by years of sex-speci c vocal expectations forced on those assigned female at birth to sound quiet, unthreatening, unassertive and pleasant. Ingrained from early childhood, it is our apology for existing and taking up space. Even as adults, before we can utter a full sentence, those sex-speci c speech patterns have already betrayed us and stripped us of the authority and credibility routinely a orded to cisgender heterosexual men.
When I realized I did not share verbal and nonverbal cues commonly and instinctively used by cis men, an insidious grief settled in. It felt like I had not been handed the same script, and to avoid the spotlight, I was le to improvise this performance alone.
So, I altered my voice to blend in. A er all, I had no idea who could help ease my voice dysphoria.
Finding y r true voice
Gender-affirming voice therapy is deeply empowering for trans individuals on their journey towards self-affirmation
Maxime Bourdon
When I discovered gender-afrming voice therapy in an academic setting, I immediately knew I had found my professional calling. But I was also confronted with a harsh reality: public unawareness, combined with still-emerging literature, resulted in a cruel shortage of specialists, and made it nearly impossible for the public to access those specialized services.
Institutions, such as the Quebec government and academic bodies, must support, adequately fund and formally promote gender-a rming voice therapy, as it is a vital component of the inclusive healthcare system for which we strive.
Speech-language pathologists (SLPs) are healthcare professionals who identify, diagnose and treat a wide range of communication disorders in people of all ages. Most people associate them with helping children’s and elderly people’s speech and language disorders.
However, in recent years, a new branch has emerged in the eld of speech-language pathology: gender-a rming voice and communication therapy.
SLPs in this eld help trans people feminize, masculinize or androgenize their voices, depending on their clients’ goals. For example, we may focus on articulation, pitch, resonance and loudness for people seeking a more feminine voice. is healthcare service is deeply personal, a rming and empowering for trans individuals on their journey towards self-afrmation and authentic expression.
However, due to insu cient promotion of the full scope of SLP work, marginalized populations o en remain unaware of such available services until signi cant harm has occurred, resulting in missed opportunities for early prevention and intervention by SLPs.
Indeed, trans people regularly speaking in a voice either too high-pitched or too low-pitched for them are at risk of developing muscle tension dysphonia, a possibly chronic and painful vocal condition characterized by vocal strain. is disorder can cause one’s voice, among other things, to change in pitch, give out and become rough, hoarse and raspy. If le untreated, it may lead to permanent damage to the larynx or the vocal cords.
When combined with persistent psychological distress of voice dysphoria, the impact of one’s gender dysphoria can be severe. Considering the current right-leaning political environment as well, it is easy to see how those who need it the most remain unaware of this service.
Notwithstanding the current concerning rise in trans-
phobia, as an SLP, I advocate for greater promotion of our profession, as early intervention and accessible healthcare are essential components of comprehensive care.
While trying to access this service, trans people face another hurdle: there are not enough specialists just yet.
In the United States, a 2020 study showed that only 8 per cent of SLPs surveyed reported having experience working with transgender individuals, while 20 per cent reported receiving training for working with those individuals.
In Quebec, such statistics remain unavailable. However, according to the Ordre des orthophonistes et audiologistes du Québec (OOAQ), around 50 SLPs attended an optional professional development course they o ered in January 2024 on gender-a rming voice and communication therapy. ese low numbers re ect broader, underlying systemic issues: there is a signi cant gap in accessible, clinical and peer-reviewed material for both clients and SLPs; budding literature on trans individuals in speech-language pathology; and additional training required for SLPs to provide this service competently. e combination of these factors discourages many SLPs from specializing in this eld.
As a result, trans people fall through the cracks of the system by never receiving the appropriate and specialized healthcare they seek.
Gender-a rming voice and communication therapy rightfully belongs in the continuum of public healthcare services. Yet, due to a dearth of human, nancial and intellectual resources, and with so few aware of the existence of this service, our work remains inaccessible for far too many trans people.
Communication is a human right; it is our gateway to socialization and self-expression. Amid a modern-day witchhunt against trans individuals, our institutions must continue to recognize and invest in gender-a rming voice and communication therapy, through increased visibility, research funding and training.
ere is a long way to go before this branch of speech-language pathology can truly ourish, and if we are to truly pride ourselves on having an inclusive healthcare system, we must stand behind both professionals providing this care and trans individuals seeking to discover their authentic voice.
Maxime Bourdon (he/him) is a master's student in speech-language pathology at the Université de Montréal.
@max.imebee
GENDER-AFFIRMING VOICE THERAPY IS ESSENTIAL CARE THAT NEEDS GREATER SUPPORT AND ACCESSIBILITY FOR TRANS PEOPLE. GRAPHIC NAYA HACHWA
A di ecti body h r
The art of creating beauty from what otherwise feels devoid of it @krisie.s
Kristina Stamkopoulos
Body horror forces us to confront the one thing we can never escape: our own esh—and all the ways society tells us to hate it.
Body horror is a sub-genre of horror that focuses on the gory and o en overdramatized alterations of the human body. Including but not limited to decay, mutilation and diseases, it aims at showcasing the body as something grotesque and unrecognizable.
And yet, for all its grotesque imagery, it says something very true about us—about the way we fear, obsess over and try to control our own bodies.
e earliest appearance of body horror in cinema dates back to the 1950s. But it was the 1980s, the decade that brought us lms such as David Cronenberg’s e Fly (1986) and John Carpenter’s e ing (1982), that helped cement the genre as a cult classic.
The very concept of body horror, in every sense of the term, should not sound appealing. Yet for many, it has proven to be an extremely cathartic and satisfying metaphor for the ways we view our own bodies. I would argue that this is exactly why it resonates: because it reflects the insecurities, anxieties and sometimes the shame we carry about our own physical selves.
Today, we continue to see new takes and variations on the genre and the themes it helps to unveil. One of the most notable examples in recent years is e Substance (2024), directed by Coralie Fargeat.
e lm follows Elisabeth Sparkle, a 50-something fading celebrity, who decides to take a new cell-replicating substance that promises to create a better, younger-looking version of herself. Pleased with the results and eager for more, she exceeds the suggested dosage, causing extreme and irreversible damage to her body.
e Substance quickly gained worldwide popularity for two reasons. e rst was its gory nature and the e ect it had on viewers, with many audience members leaving theatres in disgust.
However, it also became one of the best depictions of how people treat their bodies as they age. Elisabeth’s disturbing transformation showed, albeit very dramatically, what can go
wrong when you become obsessed with upholding a certain image in the face of sexism and ageism.
Critics may argue body horror is mere shock value, but anyone who has felt trapped in their own body knows it’s a
My AI girlfr nd
brutal, necessary re ection of our deepest fears. is sub-genre is unique because it explores a type of gore with which we can all resonate. Bodies are the one thing we undoubtedly have in common—they may look di erent, but their structures are the same. Other horror clichés, such as ghosts, clowns or monsters, don’t hold the same universal impact, since we don’t all share the same fears.
Body horror allows you to perceive the body as something utilized beyond its intended purpose as a simple vessel for our organs. When you view the human body as something that can be altered, reimagined, created, or even disposed of, you remove the importance that we have been innately conditioned to place on it.
Linda Badley’s book Film, Horror, and the Body Fantastic comments on this phenomenon and how the coupling of horror with the body helps to “provide a language for imagining the self in transformation, re-gendered, ungendered, and regenerated, or even as an absence or a lack.”
Many people consider body horror to be therapeutic because it allows them to be in control of a theme that they feel dictates their life. I would go further and say that it’s almost subversive—a way to reclaim power over what has always been considered frightening or shameful about our own esh. is idea is similar to the concept of exposure therapy. Physical fears, whether they relate to one’s gender expression or personal insecurities, are omnipresent. Consciously choosing to consume media that may be triggering, but in a controlled environment, helps to become desensitized to it.
I nd body horror so important because it demonstrates a very contrasting truth—it reminds us of the signi cance we have placed on our bodies, while also deconstructing our bodies to the point that they start to feel unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
As AI girlfriends gain popularity, they reveal a chilling truth: some men would rather control an illusion than love a real woman.
e rising popularity of generative AI and online chatbots in recent years has been chillingly concomitant with a surge in websites o ering AI-generated girlfriends. is phenomenon is encouraging men to forgo relationships with real, human women, and is yet another trend contributing to the literal dehumanization of women.
AI chatbots have become one of the most popular uses of generative AI among internet users. A 2024 Common Sense Media survey found that 70 per cent of teenagers surveyed used at least one type of generative AI tool. Of these, 51 per cent have used chatbots.
is technology becomes problematic when used as a substitute for genuine social interaction. Many users of AI chatbots are drawn to them out of a sense of loneliness and lack of companionship from their human peers.
A 2024 study by Bethanie Maples et al. found that 90 per cent of users on the chatbot platform Replika reported feeling lonely, and 43 per cent reported they were severely or very severely lonely.
Body horror isn’t just entertainment. It’s a mirror re ecting the impossible standards and fears society forces onto us. If we keep looking away, we let culture dictate how we should fear, age and exist. Maybe it’s time to stop inching—and start confronting the grotesque truth of our own humanity.
A horrifying modern twist to a struggle that women have been fighting for decades
Marissa Guthrie @marinoellle
However, turning to AI as a solution exacerbates the problem it aims to solve.
It disincentivizes a person from addressing the root of their issues at best, and, at worst, creates an echo chamber apt to reinforce toxic beliefs that contribute to these issues. e concerning implications of AI chatbot socialization are magni ed when applied to romantic relationships. AI girlfriends have transcended the chatbot mechanism and have evolved to include physical avatars that can be customized to the user’s speci cations.
Upon visiting one of the multitude of these websites, you are confronted with a catalogue of pre-generated women, predominantly white, young and skinny. If this doesn’t satisfy you, you can create your own.
You can choose her ethnicity, her breast size, her butt size. You can manufacture her temperament from a list of qualities like “temptress,” “caregiver,” “submissive,” “nympho,” and “innocent.” is takes the harm beyond the individual, feeding a culture that punishes women for not living up to fantasies they could never ful ll.
By allowing men to design a woman to match their every desire, this technology creates and perpetuates beauty
BODY HORROR SHOWS US OUR OWN BODIES CAN BE TERRIFYING, TRANSFORMATIVE AND LIBERATING. GRAPHIC KAZ @MELOPHOBIA.MUSE
standards that real women can never meet, because it has no grounding in reality to begin with. It takes centuries-old beauty pressures and twists them into something even more extreme, adding a horrifying modern twist to a struggle that women have been ghting for decades.
AI girlfriends are also programmed to love unconditionally, an attractive quality for consumers who wish to reinforce their toxic shortcomings. is discourages boundary setting and self-preservation, which undoubtedly sets a dangerous precedent for real women.
Additionally, the AI responsible for generating chatbot responses is based on sexist and racist large language models. is makes AI girlfriends especially harmful to women of colour.
Giving men the power to cra their “ideal” woman undermines real women—unique, multifaceted people who exist on their own terms, not to ful ll a man’s desires.
e popularity of the AI girlfriends also plays a role in laying bare what some men really want from a girlfriend.
Men have been seen posting photos on social media with realistic AI girlfriends generated into their sel es. e illusion of a girlfriend provides no companionship to the user, but is rather used as an accessory and a status symbol.
is trend objecti es women to a high degree because the sole purpose of this AI-generated girlfriend is to signal to other internet users—mostly men—that the user has “won” a prize, the way one might display an expensive car or designer out t, ultimately reducing women to possessions rather than equal partners.
And horrifyingly, AI girlfriends only scratch the surface of how damaging the AI industry is. ere have been several alarming cases of men using AI to undress real women, while, paradoxically, others have been using it to cover up women’s
body parts. Both uses of AI rob women of their agency over their bodies, not only punishing women for their choice to reveal or conceal their bodies on the internet but taking it away entirely.
AI-generated porn also presents a multitude of issues, most notably the inability of AI to reliably discern whether the women generated are underage.
e rapid growth of AI as an industry, which is consistently expanding and being met with little to no regulation, must also be taken into account. While those creating AI girlfriends must be held accountable for the issues their actions create and perpetuate, predatory and opportunistic AI companies must also be held accountable.
We must condemn not only the individuals but also the predatory tech companies willing to in ict unprecedented psychological damage upon vulnerable, isolated people and rampant dehumanization upon women in the name of pro t.
Cosplay as n r refuge
My closest friend, Wren, is genderqueer and uses she/ they pronouns. And good god, do they love nothing more than the opportunity to bust out the fake mustache and cosplay Captain Jack Sparrow.
“Cosplay has given me the chance to explore a more masculine style while not having to display to the public eye that I’m ‘experimenting’ with my style or how I present myself,” Wren told me. “Cosplay for me, like for so many others, is a kind of refuge."
Although o en made the butt of jokes, cosplay is a healing practice for many. Not unlike having fun in a costume on Halloween, cosplay allows individuals with di erent body types, gender identities and skin colours to step into the shoes of popular characters in media, defying expectations and mainstream portrayals.
is creative act truly allows anyone who may be questioning to, quite literally, step into someone new. Cosplay is healing and gender a rming to many, promoting emotional regulation, healing and stress relief.
For youth with stricter parents who may not allow for
Jaiden Gales
@jaidennne
Dressing up as a favourite character is for any body and any gender
safe gender exploration or authentic expression, cosplay is a more socially acceptable way to play with di erent ways of presenting. is freedom for creative self-expression is crucial at a young age.
Not to mention the freedom from societal norms and expectations placed on body standards. At the end of the day, any body can be for any character, and any character can have any body.
Although we’ve certainly started to see some progress, mainstream media does not create enough opportunities for people to see representation or diversity in body types. e industry is built on fatphobic foundations, and using cosplay to carve out space free of expectation is so crucial in expressing gender joy.
is versatility of cosplay was on display at conventions in Montreal this summer, which was truly beautiful to see. Otakuthon even had a panel for cosplaying while in hijab, reminding the general public that cosplay nurtures safe spaces for a myriad of communities.
Online forums are also instrumental in creating a space
where a diverse group of people can bond over mutual interests. As someone who grew up in a small town with few resources, I know rsthand how important online forums are for giving genderqueer people a safe space to connect and feel validated, especially during periods of exploration.
Examples of this queer joy are all over the internet. A Reddit user commenting on a post on r/lgbt shares that “being mistaken for the correct gender of the character I'm cosplaying makes me so happy.”
As a person exploring my own gender identity, I’ve realized just how much clothing and hair can impact your self-image and con dence when you go out into the world. Choosing a skirt on a pants day makes me feel like I’m wearing a costume. e connection between clothing, cosplay and gender presentation is powerful and important. It must be shouted from the roo ops until people of all ages, ethnicities and gender identities feel safe to be exactly who they are, whether in a convention hall with their friends or waiting alone for a bus at night.
Public funding for professional sports, a slippery slope
What
Legault’s use of taxpayer money on the L.A. Kings taught us about taxpayer funds for sports
Trent Deschamps-Coinner
Back in 2024, during the NHL preseason, Premier François Legault paid an estimated $5 to $7 million to bring the Los Angeles Kings to Quebec City for the nal stretch of their training camp. e team held one public practice and two exhibition games against the Boston Bruins and the Florida Panthers at the Videotron Centre in Quebec City.
Many spoke out against what they saw as reckless spending of public funds. Opposition parties voiced their concerns with this volume of spending on a non-essential use amid other economic and scal challenges in the province. e ames of these concerns were fanned even further when the Montreal Canadiens con rmed they would have played those same games for free.
is September, Premier Legault admitted to Quebec City media outlets that the decision was an “error.” While the acknowledgement of the mistake provides some solace, in my opinion it still fails to account for the misuse of money at a time of economic instability.
When Legault rst announced the decision in 2023, Québec Solidaire spokesperson Gabriel Nadeau-Dubois made his opinion clear on Facebook. He made a list of services that, despite their love for hockey, Quebecers would no doubt prefer being prioritized: “Feeding themselves. Not having to choose between buying vegetables and buying bus tickets. Not getting poorer by working in our public services.”
Initially, Legault defended his decision vehemently, citing the importance of investing in leisure. He also argued that the visit represented an important opportunity for Quebec City to prove its readiness for a hockey team. In showing o their facilities and fans, Legault hoped that the NHL would agree “to give a franchise, to have the return of the Nordiques.“
However, Vincent Marissal, Québec Solidaire’s critic for sports, challenged this line of thinking.
“It would be foolish to think that to use public money for two hockey games—pre-season hockey games with a team from L.A.—that it would help in any way to get an NHL team
back,” Marissal said in an interview at the time.
Hilariously, Legault’s initial defence of the idea included a bizarre comparison to the $3.7 billion it would require to address the demands of public sector unions. Why not, then, use the funds to address these demands, instead of dispersing money to draw attention away from the systemic issues within the province?
Quebec’s nance minister, Éric Girard, defended the use of taxpayer money by doubling down on the assertion that this would help in the city’s push for an NHL team. He also made sure to remind the press that the exhibition helped show o their new arena, which was also taxpayer-funded.
For some context, Quebec City lost their NHL team, the Nordiques, in 1995 when they relocated to Colorado and became the Avalanche. is occurred due to a variety of nancial issues, including the need for a new arena and problems with the USD to CAD exchange rate (the team earned its revenue in CAD, but they had to pay their players in USD).
While many wish to see the Nordiques return to Quebec City, NHL commissioner Gary Bettman has stated that any potential team in Quebec has lacked a serious ownership bid. He also con rmed in 2024 that the NHL has no desire to expand past the 32-team league any time soon. is con rms the sentiment that the money Legault set aside for NHL dreams may have gone for naught, again calling the use of taxpayer money into question.
As this whole asco has shown, there exists a larger discussion about the use of taxpayer dollars on sports in general. Most can agree that it is a bad look to spend millions on a foreign sports team playing exhibition games in your city at a time when cost-of-living concerns remained common, especially when another team would have done so for free. e question becomes a bit more complex and personal in nature when we talk about the use of money on infrastructure like an arena, which could encourage the arrival of a sports franchise to one's city. While nowhere near the most important use of a province’s public funding, sports teams can become a crucial part of a city’s culture and those of the cities that surround it, as is evident to anyone living in the Greater Montreal Area.
Ultimately, while the use of public funds on sports remains complex, Legault’s misstep showed that, without the support of your tax base, investments like this have the potential to quickly become very unpopular.
Stingers name new men’s basketball interim head coach
Damian Buckley aims to lead his alma mater to national glory
Samuel Kayll @sdubk24
The Concordia University Stingers men’s basketball team has announced the appointment of Damian Buckley as the interim head coach of the team for the 2025-26 season. e announcement follows a successful preseason run in which the Stingers went 5-3, highlighted by a win over the 2025 national runner-up University of Calgary and a revenge victory against the University of Ottawa—the team that eliminated them from the 2025 U Sports men’s basketball Final 8.
A Concordia legend on the court, Buckley was named a three-time Réseau du sport étudiant du Québec (RSEQ) First Team All-Star and the 2008-09 RSEQ Player of the Year. e six-foot-one point guard made both the Canadian Interuniversity Sport’s rst- and second-teams, and is a two-time recipient of the Dr. Robert J. Brodrick Award as Concordia Male Athlete of the Year.
Following a professional stint with the National Basketball League of Canada’s Montreal Jazz, Buckley transitioned to the coaching ranks. He joined former Concordia head coach Rastko
Popovic’s sta for the 2015-16 season, and saw success with an RSEQ championship and U Sports Final 8 berth in 2018-19.
From 2022 to 2024, Buckley served as assistant coach for the University of Ottawa Gee-Gees men’s basketball team, contributing to back-to-back third-place national nishes and an Ontario University Athletics championship in 2023.
Buckley takes over from the previous interim head coach, Aleksandar Mitrovic, who stepped in when Popovic went on leave during the 2025 winter semester. Mitrovic remains on the sta as interim associate head coach.
e Stingers head into the RSEQ season hoping to build upon a 2024-25 campaign in which the team went 14-2 and nished second in the conference. A er earning the nal wild-card bid to the U Sports Final 8, the Stingers beat the RSEQ champion Bishop’s University Gaiters before taking down the University of British Columbia 87-80 in the hplace consolation nal.
Concordia opens its conference schedule on Nov. 6, when the Université du Québec à Montréal Citadins visit John Dore Court. Tip-o is scheduled for 8 p.m.
WHILE SPORTS OFFER A RELEASE FROM THE WORLD, THAT RELEASE LESSENS WHEN ATHLETIC EVENTS SIPHON MONEY FROM VALUABLE PROJECTS. GRAPHIC NAYA HACHWA @NAYAS.STUDIO
DAMIAN BUCKLEY HOPES TO LEAD
Montreal’s
nightlife isn’t dead, it’s being killed
Noise complaints and weak policies are slowly drowning out Montreal’s music
Henry Barnard
Saying that Montreal's nightlife is dead is like saying punk is dead—it’s not entirely true. It’s very di cult to kill a city's nightlife, but there seem to be some people who are trying pretty hard.
I moved to Montreal at the start of my rst year of university, instantly enchanted by a city that seemed
in comparison to Quebec City. Some bars and events catered to me in ways I never imagined. I found venues where I could be openly queer, listen to loud music and dance my little heart out.
I quickly found myself ingrained in Montreal’s nightlife, going to shows, becoming a regular at Emo Night at Les Foufounes Électriques and hosting trivia every couple of weeks at Champs
It made for one of the best starts to my birthday that I’ve ever had; little did I know that the bar would be permanently closed less than two months later.
It’s a problem that is becoming increasingly prevalent in cities far beyond Montreal, like Toronto. People move downtown for a taste of city life without realizing that the city does not abide by their sleep schedule.
It gave me a sense of ful llment I could never quite nd in the city I call my hometown. It wasn’t that I was out every night, partying my way through my freshman and sophomore years—it was simply that I could if I wanted to. And whenever I did, I was always le with a memory that would last me a lifetime, or a little bit less, depending on how inebriated I was.
I am marked speci cally by a memory of Blue Dog, a bar that has sadly fallen victim to Montreal’s wave of venue closures.
In Montreal, noise complaints have forced the closure of beloved venues like La Tulipe and Divan Orange. Venue owners warn that proposed bylaws doubling or tripling nes for rsttime noise o ences could be “the nail in the co n” for small to mid-sized spaces.
It was the night before my 21st birthday. I was out with my partner, trying to nd something to do in the minutes before midnight, waiting to celebrate my upcoming aging. We stumbled down the stairs of Champs and into Blue Dog, where a band neither of us was familiar with was playing. ey were a mix of e Beach Boys and e Cramps, the perfect soundtrack to dance my way into a new year.
For lack of a more polite term, it boils down to entitlement and a level of ignorance that would put the biggest egos to shame. If you move to a neighbourhood known for its party scene, you take on the responsibility of managing your expectations and your reactions. No one should have the right to reshape a city’s nightlife over something as trivial as noise on streets built for bars and clubs.
I would go as far as saying that it’s embarrassing for the complainants. Whether it stems from a lack of research or, worse, a complete disregard for the people who actually live here, it’s nothing short of embarrassing.
It shows a blatant lack of empathy that has absolutely no place in Montreal—a city that thrives on noise, movement and the joy of being alive a er dark.
Accountability starts with us Montreal’s future depends on a generation that refuses to stay silent
Mani Asadieraghi
Montreal’s biggest challenge isn’t just housing, transit or tech—it’s accountability. And accountability doesn’t start in City Hall; it starts with who shows up.
Every few years, the city swells with election posters promising new bike lanes, verdant boroughs, a ordable housing and technological innovation. Yet, by the time ballots are counted, promises wither away into press statements and commissions. The accountability crisis is not a matter of ideas—Montreal abounds with them—it is a matter of whether anyone lasts long enough to ensure they are delivered.
Look around: there are tents
and transit corridors that never quite seem to bene t the communities that are most in need.
The expansion of the Réseau express métropolitain (REM) was a public transportation advance, and yet surveys show that the great swaths of working-class and student districts are still effectively disconnected. Smart-city initiatives are moving forward faster than consultation and governance frameworks can adapt, while green-space investments bypass the boroughs that need them most. ese failures are connected by one thread: nobody’s answerable when they happen.
But a lack of accountability isn’t only a government problem—it’s a civic one. In the last municipal election, voter turnout was less than 38 per cent, and was even lower among students and young adults, according to Élections Montréal. When most of us tune out, accountability becomes optional. Politicians learn that silence is safer than transparency.
how exclusionary—that architecture becomes.
So, what can we do?
First, vote. It sounds simple, but when few do so, it’s radical. Municipal politics may feel distant, yet they decide nearly everything: rent control enforcement, bus frequency, park maintenance, library hours and data governance. If young voters turned out even ve or 10 per cent higher, entire borough councils would ip.
Second, demand transparency, not just representation. Ask candidates how they’ll measure success. Push for participatory budgeting, open-data dashboards and public progress reports. Accountability can’t exist if information doesn’t.
That’s the culture this generation has to break.
We have the most at stake. Students are ghting to stay housed. Renters are one paycheque away from moving back home—or out of the city entirely.
Climate change is already reshaping our neighbourhoods: extreme heat in Parc-Extension, ooding in Pierrefonds and vanishing tree canopies in Ville-Marie. And the digital systems that increasingly govern daily life—from surveillance cameras to algorithmic policing—are being designed with little public oversight.
ird, get involved beyond the ballot box. Borough councils, youth committees and public consultations desperately need new voices—especially ones that understand intersectional equity, digital ethics and environmental justice. ese are the frameworks our generation already studies and lives; applying them locally is how systems change.
Finally, remember that accountability is contagious. When students, tenants and young workers insist on it, institutions follow. Concordia University’s own sustainability and equity initiatives began because students refused to accept vague promises. e same energy can reshape this city if we carry it beyond campus and into the ballot box.
ese aren’t isolated issues; they’re the architecture of everyday life. And the next city council will decide how liveable—or
Montreal’s future doesn’t depend on perfect leaders—it depends on persistent citizens. Accountability isn’t a policy; it’s a habit, and habits spread. e next election will test whether we’re content with the old cycle of slogans and disappointment, or ready to build something steadier: a city that keeps its word.
Because housing, transit and technology will always be battlegrounds—but accountability is the ght that decides them all.
GRAPHIC NAYA HACHWA @NAYAS.STUDIO
BEING SLOWLY SMOTHERED BY ENTITLEMENT.
to never sleep, at least Sports Bar.
beneath overpasses, empty condo towers
e streets have made our voices heard. Now, the polls will.
Montrealers have marched, protested and demanded change. Now, the city’s future depends on the choices we make at the polls.
On Sunday, Nov. 2, from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., residents will have the chance to cast their ballots. Advance polling opens Sunday, Oct. 26, and in some municipalities, voters can head to the polls the day before.
e window is short. e stakes are high.
Don’t cast your ballot blindly. Know the candidates, what they stand for, what they actually plan to do and how their decisions will a ect the people most at risk.
Montreal faces multiple, interconnected crises that demand immediate attention.
A ordable housing is vanishing at an alarming rate, leaving thousands struggling to nd stable homes. Homelessness is rising sharply—with over 9,300 people across Quebec experiencing homelessness, and nearly 42 per cent of them in Montreal. City services are stretched thin, unable to meet the growing needs of communities already under pressure.
Systemic police violence continues to harm marginalized communities. LGBTQIA2S+, Black, Indigenous and racialized residents remain disproportionately targeted—subjected to over-policing, harassment and deadly encounters with law enforcement. Hate crimes and sexual assault cases are also on the rise, exposing deep gaps in the systems meant to protect residents and ensure public safety.
Volume 46, Issue 4 Tuesday, October 21, 2025
Concordia University
Library Building, Room LB-717 1400 de Maisonneuve Blvd. W. Montreal, Quebec H3G 2V8
Editor: 514-848-2424 x. 7407
Arts: 514-848-2424 x. 5813
News: 514-848-2424 x. 8682
Business: 514-848-7406
Advertising: 514-848-7406
ese issues are connected. ey determine who is criminalized, who is erased and who gets to live with dignity in systems that too o en fail them. e challenges facing Montreal are urgent, complex and demand solutions that go beyond surface-level xes.
e Link has reported on these struggles, supported protests and strikes, and ampli ed voices too o en ignored. Our coverage has always been about holding power to account—and that extends to the ballot box.
Montrealers know how to show up.
Over the years, tenant coalitions have taken over the streets of Parc-Extension and Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, calling out landlords and weak rent control. In September, hundreds packed Phillips Square to counter anti-trans protesters. In recent weeks, a er o cers fatally shot 15-year-old Nooran Rezayi in Longueuil, hundreds gathered for vigils and protests demanding justice and an end to systemic police violence.
Montrealers have already proven they’ll ght for their city. Now, that ght needs to move from the streets to the polls.
As of mid-October, Ensemble Montréal’s Soraya Martinez Ferrada leads the mayoral race with 26 per cent of decided voters, despite a recent controversy surrounding a member of her team. Ensemble Montréal’s Sud-Ouest mayoral candidate ierry Daraize was recently under re for now-deleted social media posts that, among other things, see Daraize referring to Muslims as “bearded radicals” and joking about booking a
“2032 vacation to Gaza at an all-inclusive.”
Following Martinez Ferrada’s lead is Projet Montréal’s Luc Rabouin at 18 per cent, with Action Montréal’s Gilbert ibodeau at 8 per cent. Transition Montréal and Futur Montréal trail at 5 and 3 per cent respectively, while independents sit at or below 1 per cent. With more than a third of voters still undecided, the outcome remains far from certain.
Ask yourself: Which candidates will prioritize housing and social services? Who will address systemic violence and ensure safety for marginalized communities? Which platforms actually re ect the needs of those most at risk in our city?
In the 2021 Montreal municipal election, voter turnout came out to 38.3 per cent. Among voters aged 18 to 24, only 21 per cent took part—the lowest of any age group.
is trend re ects a broader disengagement among young voters, who have a stake in current critical issues like job insecurity and housing una ordability. Municipal policies have the power to directly shape these issues, whether for better or for worse.
Streets may swell with protest and timelines with outrage, but real leverage comes every four years at the ballot box. Now is not the time to stay silent.
Voting is an act of advocacy—every ballot represents an opportunity to act with intention. e Link urges you: research the candidates, scrutinize their promises and decide who will shape the future of this city.
The Link is published twelve times during the academic year by The Link Publication Society Inc. Content is independent of the university and student associations (ECA, CASA, ASFA, FASA, CSU). Editorial policy is set by an elected board as provided for in The Link 's constitution. Any student is welcome to work on The Link and become a voting staff member. Material appearing in The Link may not be reproduced without prior written permision from The Link Letters to the editor are welcome. All letters 400 words or less will be printed, space permitting. The letters deadine is Friday at 4:00 p.m. The Link reserves the right to edit letters for clarity and length and refuse those deemed racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, libellous or otherwise contrary to The Link 's statement of principles.
BOARD OF DIRECTORS 2025-2026: Voting Members: Iness Rifay, Hannah Vogan, Alice Martin| Non-Voting Members: Maria Cholakova, Varda Nisar, Lory Saint-Fleur, Geneviève Sylvestre.
TYPESETTING by The Link PRINTING by Hebdo-Litho.
CONTRIBUTORS: Jayde Lazier, Sabbia Eljarrat, Sean Richard, Lauren Parison, Kira Minall, Hannah Vogan, Maria Paula Rojas, Clara Tranquilla, Leo Troy, Matthew Daldalian, Trent Deschamps-Coinner, Maxime Bourdon, Kristina Stamkopoulos, Marissa Guthrie, Jaiden Gales, Henry Barnard, Mani Asadieraghi, Olivia Shan, Anika Poch-McKee, Kaz, Alissia Bocarro
House Ads: Naya Hachwa
Cover and Poster: Naya Hachwa, Myriam Ouazzani, Andrae Lerone Lewis
Model: Houda Boussayri
