Moves Spring Issue - Dumonde Awards

lifest y le for cit y wom en

S PR I NG I S S U E

Who were The Luddites...?

(AI lessons to be learned) CHEATING ?

IT’S NO ACCIDENT !

Are we all 50/50 individuals ?

IS 1776 STILL ALIVE ... OR JUST KICKING

DuMonde Sustainability Awards 2026

LOVE STORY’S

ERICH BERGEN

‘

21ST CENTURY WOMEN

Moves

‘21st Century Women’... in progress ... an insight into twenty years of the Moves Power Women Awards and the women who made it possible...

POWER WOMEN 2003-2023

From the pages of Moves Magazine

... coming soon to a bookstore near you!

018 cheers white lightenin’ 022 feature bitch 026 dish backsliding 030 feature nyc reinvention 034 profile jalyn hall 038 feature we can do it!

040 cover story ali wentworth 048 feature education 052 power women 2022 096 dermot mulroney 104 moves climate forum 110 feature divorce

cover

erich bergen There is something unmistakably cinematic about the way New York lives inside the people who are born into it. Not as nostalgia, not even as memory, but as a rhythm.

A pulse. A kind of internal soundtrack that never quite quiets. For Erich Bergen, a born-and-raised lifelong New Yorker—born in Chelsea in the mid-1980s, raised among artists, records, and a city in constant motion—that rhythm began early, long before career, before craft, before language even had a chance to define ambition.

By Moonah Ellison Photos by James Weber

Erich Bergen has built a multifaceted career spanning Broadway, television, and music, gaining widespread recognition for his electric performance in Jersey Boys. He continues to evolve with his latest project, the super hot Love Story on FX, where his portrayal as John F. Kennedy Jr.’s first cousin, Anthony Radziwill, brings emotional nuance, historical resonance, and contemporary relevance to the project.

“I learned to read by reading the backs of albums,” he says, laughing at the memory. It’s a line that feels almost too poetic to be true, and yet it explains everything. Before formal

education found its footing, before structure and systems took hold, there was music.

There was curiosity. There was immersion. Quincy Jones made more sense than George Washington. MTV was more instructive than any classroom.

And New York, in all its layered chaos, became both teacher and stage.

“I knew who Quincy Jones was before I knew who George Washington was.”

This was not a childhood shaped by strategy or even intention. It was instinctual.

Organic. His parents—creative, free-spirited in a distinctly New

York way—filled their home with art and sound. Not as a pathway to fame, but as a way of living.

His father performed cabaret.

His mother moved through artistic circles that blurred the lines between work and expression. It wasn’t industry.

It was environment. And that environment left its mark.

By the age of nine, he had been discovered. By ten, he had his union card. Acting came first, almost by accident, but it was never the full story.

The real love—the enduring one—was always music. Acting became the vehicle, the visible expression. Music remained the internal compass.

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“I was obsessed with it. I wanted to be Michael Jackson.”

There is something revealing in that admission by Erich Bergen. Not the aspiration itself, but the purity of it. It wasn’t about celebrity. It wasn’t about recognition. It was about feeling. Performance, at its core, is energy transfer, and music was the most immediate, most powerful form of that exchange. Even now, long into a multifaceted career that spans stage, screen, and producing, that connection remains central.

“You walk out on stage every night and you can feel the people loving it, but if it doesn’t cover the weekly running costs, it’s over.”

It is here that his dual perspective as both performer and producer becomes invaluable. Understanding the business does

“The sonic energy that music has is so important to any kind of presentation,” insists Bergen.

That understanding has shaped not only his performances, but his evolution behind the scenes. In recent years, producing has become an increasingly significant part of his work, offering a broader perspective on the machinery of entertainment. It is a shift that has brought clarity, and at times, a more sobering awareness of the industry’s realities.

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And yet, despite the inevitable endings, there is no sense of disillusionment. If anything, the opposite. The deeper Bergen moves into the mechanics of the industry, the more intentional his choices become. The more he understands the stakes, the more deliberate his engagement with each project.

That intentionality extends beyond the stage and into the city that shaped him.

New York, as he describes it, is not a backdrop. It is a living, breathing entity, one that demands participation.

In an era increasingly defined by digital presence and transient engagement, he is deeply aware of what is at risk.

Ask him about stepping onto a stage, even in a non-musical context, and the conversation inevitably circles back to sound. Entrance music.

Sonic energy. The emotional architecture of a moment.

Music is not an accessory, it is the spine.

Broadway, he says, can break your heart. There is a romanticism attached to theater that audiences rarely see beyond the curtain.

Applause, reviews, standing ovations—these are only fragments of a much larger equation. Behind them lies a complex ecosystem of financing, logistics, and risk. A show can be loved and still fail. It can resonate deeply and still close early. The disconnect between artistic success and commercial viability is one of the industry’s most enduring tensions.

“You’re signing up for a business of goodbyes.”

“This is a neighborhood.

This is a community. Don’t come here, take your Instagram photos, and not contribute to the flow of the city.”

It is a sentiment that feels both urgent and timeless.

New York has always been a place of reinvention, of arrival, of aspiration. But it has also always been a place of responsibility.

The myth of the city as an individualistic playground— every person for themselves—is, in his view, fundamentally flawed.

What makes New York work is not competition. It is coexistence.

not soften the emotional blow of a closing night, but it contextualizes it. It replaces confusion with awareness. It transforms disappointment into part of a larger narrative—a reality check if you like, one that every artist at some point in his or her career must confront.

“It’s a city,” Bergen says, “that belongs to everyone.”

That sense of shared ownership has been tested in recent years. Post-pandemic shifts, changes in work culture, rising costs, and evolving tourism patterns have all contributed to a city in flux. Broadway,

“ ... you walk out on stage every night and you can feel the people loving it, but if it doesn’t cover the weekly running costs, it’s over ...”

once a cornerstone of global cultural identity, is navigating new challenges.

The economics of theatre have shifted.

Audiences have changed. Expectations have recalibrated. And yet, he remains optimistic—not blindly, but pragmatically.

But they have also introduced new complexities. New risks. New responsibilities.

by a clear-eyed view of its challenges, the embrace of technology paired with a respect for human creativity.

“With great power comes great responsibility.”

“We’ve been here before. The solve is always the same: take care of the city and make it shine.”

It is a familiar phrase, but in this context, it carries weight. Technology, he argues, is not inherently good or bad. It is a tool.

Its impact is determined by the intention behind its use. AI can accelerate creativity, but it cannot originate it, replicate it, or replace the human impulse to create.

Nothing exists in isolation. Everything overlaps. Even his own journey, beginning in a Chelsea loft, and moving through off-off Broadway stages, expanding into global collaborations feels less like a linear path and more like a series of interconnected moments. Each one building on the last. Each one informed by the same core instincts that defined him as a child.

There is a cyclical nature to New York’s struggles and recoveries. Waves of uncertainty followed by reinvention.

Periods of decline followed by resurgence.

What determines the outcome, he believes, is not policy alone, but people.

Community. Engagement. A collective willingness to invest not just financially, but emotionally in the life of the city. It is, in many ways, the same philosophy he applies to art.

Which brings the conversation, inevitably, to the present and to the evolving landscape of technology.

Social media and artificial intelligence, he acknowledges, have fundamentally altered the way stories are told, shared, and consumed. They have democratized access, amplified voices, and created opportunities that did not exist a generation ago.

“The greatest ideas in this world happened without AI. They came from someone’s brain.”

There is no fear in his assessment—only clarity. The unknown, he suggests, often feels threatening simply because it is unfamiliar. The solution is not avoidance, but understanding. To engage with these tools without surrendering to them. To use them without being defined by them.

It is, once again, about balance.And perhaps that is the thread that runs through everything—the childhood shaped by music but grounded in discipline, the career that bridges performance and production, the love of New York tempered

Curiosity. Passion. Obsession. Through it all, the music never stops.Not literally, of course. There are pauses. Silences.

Transitions. But internally, the rhythm continues. A quiet, constant presence.

The same force that guided him from reading album covers to sharing stages, from listening to creating, from observing to leading.Because in the end, whether on stage, behind the scenes, or simply walking through the city that raised him, everything comes back to that original impulse—the desire to connect. To feel. To contribute to something larger than yourself.

A song. A story. A city. Always moving.

Always evolving. Always, Unmistakably, New York.

“ ... you’re signing up for a business of goodbyes ...”

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Photographer James Weber Stylist Megan Mattson Groomer Angella Valentine @ See Management

contents

006 cover story lisa ann walter’ 018 dish cheating 022 bitch night flight 026 feature 50/50 030 rave knowing 034 cheers irish whisky 036 profile boran kuzum 040 opinion luddites 044 rant might 048 profile daniella pineda 054 feature sustainability awards 071

party power gala 2025

074 profile lonnie quinn 080 feature woeful 084 profile olivia valli 090 feature 1776 hopes 094 profile danay garcia 098 feature altruism 102

rockstar trending foods

104 feature elitists suck 108 profile zibby allen 115

profile carl clemons hopkins

120

cover story erich bergen

Lisa Ann Walter photo by Dylan Perlot

mamoonah ellison PUBLISHER

richard ellison

EDITOR IN CHIEF

nicky black

ART DIRECTOR

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dish

Is Cheating Ever a Mistake?

By: Brinlee Edger When we first connect with someone, there’s an unspoken hope; not just that they’ll treat us fairly, but that they’ll choose us with care, with intention, with some sense of loyalty. But in certain relationships, that hope is misplaced. Some people aren’t just incapable of giving that kind of love; they withhold it. Deliberately.

Which raises a question that feels uncomfortable to ask out loud: is cheating ever a mistake?

To cross that line, to knowingly betray someone who believes they are loved, requires more than a moment of confusion. It suggests a decision, or at the very least, a willingness to ignore the weight of one. So what’s the cognitive process behind it? Is it dissatisfaction within the relationship? Boredom with routine? Or the belief that one person alone cannot fulfill every role, forcing the search for someone else who can?

Or, is it something darker, something more intentional? Is there a kind of gratification in getting away with it, in maintaining the illusion of devotion while quietly dismantling it behind someone’s back?

Cheating is almost universally condemned, yet it persists, often in patterns. Those who stray don’t just seek anyone; they tend to gravitate toward people who offer something different from their partner, something missing or perhaps simply new.

Which complicates the narrative further: Is cheating about absence, or is it about excess? Not what’s lacking, but what someone feels entitled to have more of. Cheating itself is not a simple act. It requires consistency, an ongoing effort to maintain a form of manipulation that doesn’t happen accidentally.

Does sitting on the couch with your partner, half-watching a movie, while your phone buzzes in your pocket—another person, likely just as misinformed—make the moment more exciting?

Does the secrecy add something that honesty cannot?

What about the extremes? Spending holidays with your partner and their family, fully immersed in their life, only to catch a redeye flight and betray them the moment you leave. Is that still a “mistake,” or is it something far more calculated?

Universally, mistakes tend to be small; forgetting your wallet at home or missing the train on your way to work. These are lapses.

They’re accidental. They don’t require intention. And they certainly aren’t rooted in the manipulation of someone you claim to love.

Beyond questioning whether cheating is even a mistake, there’s another layer: who gets blamed. The partner being cheated on is, more often than not, entirely innocent. The cheater holds the responsibility. And yet, people still look for a third party to blame—the “other” person—whether they know the truth or not. But ultimately, only one person was fully aware of the commitment they chose to betray.

So is cheating ever a mistake? Or is that just the excuse that follows it. Because mistakes happen once. Cheating happens again and again—every text unanswered, every lie told, every moment chosen over the person who thought they were chosen. At some point, it’s no longer a mistake. It’s a pattern. And more importantly, it’s a choice.

ANGELLA VALENTINE is a New York– based celebrity male groomer and makeup artist known for her quick precision, easy humor, and ability to move seamlessly from unfussy to dapper styling. In addition to years behind the scenes at Saturday Night Live, Late Night with Seth Meyers, and The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. She’s a sought-after artist for red carpets, editorial shoots, and press junkets—bringing confident, polished energy to every appearance. .

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O

t r i b tO rs

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bitch

NIGHT FLIGHT BRIGHT LIGHT DOWNRIGHT NOT RIGHT MIGHT FIGHT DON’T BITE OBVIOUSLY A LUDDITE SO SIT TIGHT ‘TIL FIRST LIGHT THEN PUT ’EM IN YOUR REARS UNTIL THEN A FOND GOODNIGHT (MAYBE !)

SIGHT

There’s always that one person.

You’re on a night flight, the cabin finally settles into that quiet, dimmed stillness—people curled into themselves, headphones in, the soft understanding that for a few hours, we’re all going to pretend this is rest. And then, out of nowhere, a single overhead light clicks on.

Bright. Unapologetic. Almost aggressive.

And it’s never just about the light.

It’s about the person who insists on it.

There’s something oddly telling about someone who, in a space where everyone has silently agreed to soften, chooses not to. Not because they need to—most of the time, it’s not urgent—but because they don’t really consider the atmosphere around them. Or maybe they do, and just don’t feel like adjusting.

And it’s small, technically. It’s not a real offense.

But it feels bigger than it is because it breaks something unspoken. The shared rhythm. The awareness of other people existing beside you.

We notice those moments more than we think.

The way some people move through spaces without ever lowering their volume, dimming theirpresence, or reading the room. Not out of cruelty, necessarily—just a kind of selfcontainment that doesn’t extend outward.

And then there are people who do the opposite.

Who instinctively adjusts. Who feel the tone of a place and meet it there without being asked.

It’s such a minor thing, a reading light on a plane.

But it says something about how someone exists in the world. Whether they see themselves as part of it, or separate from it.

Because consideration isn’t about big gestures.

It’s in the smallest choices—the ones no one calls out, but everyone notices. Even at 30,000 feet, in the middle of the night, when all anyone really wants is the lights off.

feature

The near-even political divide between left and right across many countries is one of the most striking and persistent features of modern democracy. Elections in the United States, parts of Europe, and other developed democracies often appear to split almost perfectly down the middle. This raises an intriguing question: is this division merely a product of historical circumstance and political systems, or does it reflect something deeper—perhaps even a fundamental psychological split within human beings themselves?

The 50/50 Human Condition? By Margaret Shields At a surface level, the fifty-fifty divide can be explained through institutional and structural dynamics. Modern democratic systems tend to incentivize binary competition. Electoral frameworks such as first-past-the-post voting naturally encourage the consolidation of political forces into two dominant camps.

Over time, these camps absorb a wide range of ideologies, interests, and identities, ultimately producing two large, internally diverse coalitions that compete for power.

This institutional pressure alone can create the appearance of a balanced divide, even if underlying beliefs are more nuanced.

However, structural explanations only go so far. The persistence of this divide across different cultures, economies, and political histories suggests that something deeper may be at play. Increasingly, researchers in psychology and political science have explored the idea that political orientation is partially rooted in stable personality traits and cognitive styles. If this is true, then the political divide may not simply be a social construct, but an expression of enduring differences in how human beings perceive and respond to the world.

One of the most widely studied distinctions is between traits associated with openness and those associated with order and stability.

Individuals who lean toward left-leaning ideologies tend, on average, to score higher on openness to experience. They are more likely to embrace novelty, diversity, and change. They may be more comfortable with ambiguity and more willing to question existing systems. These tendencies align with political positions that emphasize social progress, equality, and reform.

On the other hand, individuals who lean toward right-leaning ideologies tend to score higher on traits related to conscientiousness, order, and sensitivity to threat. They may prioritize stability, tradition, and clear structures. They often place a higher value on security and continuity, which aligns with political positions that emphasize law and order, national identity, and preservation of existing institutions.

From this perspective, the political divide begins to resemble a fundamental tension within human nature itself. Societies require both innovation and stability. Too much emphasis on change can lead to chaos and instability; too much emphasis on order can lead to stagnation and resistance to necessary reform. The coexistence of these opposing tendencies may not be a flaw in the

system, but rather a feature—a kind of built-in balancing mechanism that allows societies to adapt while maintaining coherence.

Neuroscientific research provides further support for this idea. Studies have found differences in how individuals with different political orientations respond to stimuli, particularly those related to threat and uncertainty. For example, some research suggests that individuals who lean right may exhibit stronger physiological responses to perceived threats, while those who lean left may show greater tolerance for ambiguity and complexity. While these findings are not absolute and should not be overstated, they point toward the possibility that political differences are, at least in part, rooted in how our brains process information.

At the same time, it is important not to reduce political identity entirely to biology or personality. Culture, upbringing, education, and life experiences all play significant roles in shaping political beliefs. A person raised in a particular social or economic environment may adopt political views that reflect their lived reality, regardless of their underlying personality traits. Moreover, political identities are often reinforced by group dynamics, media ecosystems, and social networks, which can amplify divisions and create the impression of a stark binary.

Another factor contributing to the near-even divide is the strategic behavior of political actors. Parties and leaders often tailor their messaging to mobilize their base while appealing to just enough undecided voters to win elections. This can lead to a kind of equilibrium, where each side maintains a stable level of support. In highly polarized environments, even small shifts in voter preferences can determine outcomes, further reinforcing the perception of a fifty-fifty split.

Interestingly, while the divide appears balanced, it is rarely static. Over time, the composition of each side changes. Issues that once defined left and right may evolve or even reverse. For example, attitudes toward trade, globalization, and government intervention have shifted significantly over the past few decades. This suggests that while the existence of a divide may be stable, its content is fluid. The labels “left” and “right” act as containers for a constantly evolving set of ideas and priorities.

The question of whether this divide reflects a basic personality split also raises a deeper philosophical point. It may be that each

individual contains elements of both orientations. Most people value both freedom and security, both innovation and tradition, though they may prioritize one over the other depending on context. In this sense, the political divide within society mirrors an internal tension within individuals themselves. The external conflict between left and right may be an expression of an internal balancing act that all humans navigate.

This perspective offers a more nuanced understanding of polarization. Rather than viewing the opposing side as fundamentally misguided or irrational, it becomes possible to see each orientation as emphasizing different but legitimate aspects of human needs and social organization.

The challenge, then, is not to eliminate the divide, but to manage it constructively—to create systems and cultures that allow these differing perspectives to coexist and inform one another.

However, in recent years, this balance has become increasingly strained. The rise of partisan media, social media echo chambers, and identity-based politics has intensified divisions, making compromise more difficult.

When political identity becomes closely tied to personal identity, disagreements can feel existential rather than ideological. This can harden the divide and make the fifty-fifty split appear more like a deep chasm than a dynamic equilibrium.

Despite these challenges, the persistence of a roughly equal division may ultimately be a sign of democratic vitality. It suggests that no single perspective has completely dominated, and that multiple viewpoints continue to compete and coexist. While this can lead to gridlock and frustration, it also prevents the concentration of power and encourages ongoing debate and adaptation.

In conclusion, the near-even political divide between left and right likely arises from a combination of structural, cultural, and psychological factors. While electoral systems and political strategies play a role, there is compelling evidence that deeper differences in personality and cognitive style contribute to this enduring split. Rather than viewing this divide as purely divisive, it may be more accurate to see it as a reflection of the dual needs of human societies—to change and to preserve, to explore and to protect. The challenge for modern democracies is not to resolve this tension once and for all, but to harness it in ways that promote resilience, understanding, and progress.

rave

Knowing When to Leave...

By Brinlee Edger

... There is a moment, not dramatic or announced, when you realize you are done! Nothing collapses. No one says the wrong thing. The room doesn’t change. You do.

For a long time, I thought leaving had to be earned. That you needed proof. A final straw. A clean ending you could explain to someone else without sounding cruel or ungrateful or dramatic. I stayed longer than I should have in some situations. It wasn’t terrible, just quietly exhausting.

Then one day, it stopped feeling heavy and started feeling obvious.

The clarity wasn’t loud. It didn’t arrive with anger or sadness. It arrived like relief. Like noticing you’ve been holding your breath and finally remembering how not to.

This is the pleasure no one talks about: recognizing the moment when something no longer serves you, and trusting yourself enough to leave before it asks for more.

It shows up everywhere. In conversations that loop without meaning. In rooms where you shrink without noticing. In relationships that rely on your patience instead of your joy. You don’t storm out.

You simply stop offering your time as if it’s infinite.

There is something deeply satisfying about not waiting for permission. About not needing the situation to get worse to justify walking away. The power is in the timing. Leaving while you still like yourself. Leaving while the door can close softly.

I used to mistake endurance for depth. I believed staying proved something. Now I understand that knowing when to leave is its own kind of intelligence. It doesn’t feel like loss. It feels like space.

You leave the bar before it gets loud. You leave the conversation before it turns performative. You leave the dynamic before it drains you. You leave the relationship before you lose yourself. And suddenly, you’re lighter. More present. Back in your own body.

This is not quitting. It’s discernment.

The rave is not the exit itself, it’s the quiet confidence that follows. The walk home without replaying the night. The absence of regret. The sense that you didn’t abandon something; you returned to yourself.

And once you learn that feeling, once you recognize the exact moment when staying would cost you, you never forget it. You don’t second-guess. You don’t linger. You leave.

And it feels incredible ...

cheers

It’s that world famous, quintessentially Irish and totally addictive ‘craic’ that makes an Irish Pub an unforgettable experience. Music, conversation and the odd good-natured argument, always encouraged of course by uisce beatha, the water of life that is Irish Whiskey.

It is a narrative of dramatic peaks, near-extinction, and a modern-day resurrection that has captivated the global spirits market. To understand this amber liquid, one must first look back to the mist-shrouded monasteries of the 12th century. It was here that Irish monks, returning from the Mediterranean with the secrets of distillation, transitioned from making perfumes to crafting “uisce beatha”—the water of life. This phrase, phonetically simplified over centuries by English tongues, eventually became “whiskey.” For hundreds of years, Ireland was the undisputed world leader in spirits, with Dublin serving as the global capital of distillation.

In the 19th century, the city’s “Big Four” distilleries—Jameson, Powers, Roe, and William Jameson—ran massive operations that dwarfed their Scottish counterparts. Irish whiskey was the gold standard, prized for its smoothness and exported to every corner of the British Empire and the young United States. However, the 20th century brought a series of cataclysms that nearly silenced the Irish pot still forever. The industry was battered by a perfect storm: the Irish War of Independence and the subsequent trade war with Britain choked off traditional markets, while the onset of Prohibition in America in 1920 closed the doors on Ireland’s most lucrative export destination. By the mid-1960s, an industry that once boasted hundreds of distilleries had withered to just three survivors.Today, we are witnessing a “Golden Age” of Irish whiskey that few could have predicted forty years ago. The industry is no longer a monolith controlled by one or two giant facilities.

A new generation of distillers is reclaiming the heritage of the spirit while pushing into bold new territories. To navigate this landscape, one must look at the standard-bearers

currently defining the category. At the top of the list is Jameson, the global titan. While it is often dismissed by purists as a “entry-level” mixer, its consistency is a feat of engineering. It remains the essential benchmark for the “smooth” Irish profile, offering light floral notes and a sweet, nutty finish that makes it the most accessible whiskey on earth. Assessing its value, Jameson is the engine of the industry; without its commercial success, the broader craft revival would likely lack the necessary capital and global interest.

Second is Redbreast, often cited as the “priest’s bottle” and the ultimate expression of Single Pot Still whiskey. Unlike blended whiskies, Redbreast is made from a mash of malted and unmalted barley, providing a creamy, oily mouthfeel and a characteristic “Christmas cake” profile of dried fruits and spice. It is, quite simply, the connoisseur’s go-to choice.

Third, we find Bushmills, the pride of Northern Ireland and the world’s oldest licensed distillery. Their focus on Single Malts, such as the 10 and 16-year-old expressions, offers a more honeyed, fruit-forward alternative

Uisce Beatha, The Water of Life

to the spicy pot stills of the south. Assessing Bushmills requires acknowledging their mastery of sherry cask aging, which imparts a sophisticated depth of dark chocolate and stone fruit.

Fourth on the list is Teeling, the brand that spearheaded the Dublin revival. By experimenting with unconventional casks like Cabernet Sauvignon and rum barrels, Teeling has proved that Irish whiskey can be avantgarde. Their Small Batch is a masterclass in how non-traditional aging can add layers of caramel and spice to a light grain base.

Fifth is Powers, historically the favorite of the Dublin working class. Its “Gold Label” is bolder and more robust than Jameson, leaning heavily on pot still distillates to provide a honeyed, spicy backbone that holds up exceptionally well in cocktails.

Sixth, we must recognize the “Spot” range, specifically Green Spot and Yellow Spot.

These whiskies represent the historic tradition of “bonder” whiskies, where wine merchants aged distillery spirits in their own cellars. Green Spot is fresh and appley, while

Yellow Spot offers a more complex, syrupy sweetness from Malaga cask aging.

Seventh is Tullamore D.E.W., a brand that rivals Jameson in popularity and serves as a quintessential example of the “triple blend.”

By combining grain, malt, and pot still whiskies, this method achieves a balance that is both approachable and layered with citrus and vanilla.

Eighth is Midleton Very Rare, the pinnacle of luxury. Each annual vintage is a hand-picked selection of the finest casks, representing the absolute peak of what Irish blending can achieve. It is silky, sophisticated, and priced for special occasions.

Ninth is Writers’ Tears, a unique blend of only pot still and malt whiskies, excluding grain entirely. It is a tribute to the 19th-century style of whiskey, offering a “pot still” punch with a floral, malty elegance.

Finally, tenth is Waterford, a newcomer that has disrupted the industry by focusing entirely on “terroir.” By distilling barley from individual farms, they have proved that the

soil of Ireland translates directly into the glass, offering earthy, grain-forward whiskies that challenge the traditional “smooth” stereotype.This resurgence is driven by a global audience that values authenticity and craft.

Modern drinkers are moving beyond the simple “smoothness” that once defined the category, seeking out the complex layers of vanilla, toasted wood, honeyed fruit, and spice found in these top-tier offerings. Irish whiskey has also reclaimed its place behind the world’s best cocktail bars.

While it remains the soul of the classic Irish Coffee, its versatility makes it a favorite for Old Fashioneds and highballs alike. As the industry continues to expand, it carries with it the weight of a thousand years of history and the vibrant energy of a modern cultural icon.

To raise a glass of Irish whiskey today is to toast to resilience; it is a celebration of a spirit that refused to vanish and a craft that, once again, conquered the world.

“Sláinte”

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BORAN KUZUM New Yorkers are born all over the world ... ... they just need to find their way home

By Leo Mayer Photos by Mert Guner An Actor’s Journey from Istanbul to New York There is something uniquely transformative about New York City. It is a place where identities blur, cultures collide, and strangers become locals almost by instinct.

For one Boran Kuzum arriving from Istanbul, New York was not simply a destination, it was an awakening. As he describes it, when you surrender yourself to the city, “New York somehow takes you in… and makes you feel like you belong.”

This sense of belonging, however, did not begin in Manhattan. It was rooted in a much earlier discovery, one that would shape not only his career, but his understanding of empathy, storytelling, and human connection.

Growing up in Ankara, the capital of Turkey, he was surrounded by the arts from an early age. His father, connected to state theaters, exposing him to a world where performance was not just entertainment, but expression. Yet, like many young people navigating education systems that prioritize structure over selfdiscovery, he initially struggled to find his path. He experimented with different academic directions, even studying economics briefly before realizing that creativity, not calculation, was where he belonged.

The turning point came at the age of sixteen.

Reading John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger, he encountered a character whose rage initially felt alien and frustrating. But as the story unfolded, the character’s anger revealed itself as a shield—a response to pain, trauma, and vulnerability. In that moment, something shifted. The young reader began to understand not just the character, but the people around him—even his own relationships—through a new lens of empathy. This was the power of acting: the ability to reveal hidden truths and to create understanding where there was once judgment.

From that point forward, acting was no longer just an interest; it was a calling. After studying theater at Istanbul University State Conservatory and building a decade-long career in Turkey, he came to recognize a fundamental truth about art: it exists in relationship with an audience. “Your job is nothing without an audience,” he reflects. And for an artist seeking to expand perspective and connection, reaching a broader audience became essential.

That desire ultimately drew him toward the United States—toward New York, a city that embodies global storytelling. The journey, however, was not immediate.

Securing an O-1 visa—a process intended for individuals with extraordinary ability—took nearly two years. It was a test of patience, resilience, and belief. But when the breakthrough finally came, it came quickly. Within a short time of arriving in the United States, he landed a role in a major project.

Kuzum stars in Dan Levy’s new Netflix series Big Mistakes. The series follows two siblings blackmailed into the world of organized crime and features a cast that includes Laurie Metcalf, Taylor Ortega, and Levy himself. Kuzum plays Yusuf, a store owner robbed by one of the siblings, Morgan, played by Ortega. After recognizing Morgan, hilarity and chaos ensues.

The project marks Boran’s highly anticipated introduction to American audiences.

Walking onto set for the first time, he felt like a beginner again, “a kid in a candy store,” absorbing every moment. This humility and presence reveal a deeper truth about artistic growth: achievement does not end the journey; it expands it.

Central to his craft is a belief in the responsibility of storytelling. Acting, he explains, is not merely about performance, it’s about perspective.

Through characters, actors have the power to challenge assumptions, reveal complexity, and foster empathy. In a world increasingly divided by misunderstanding, this function becomes more important than ever. “The thing we need the most is empathy,” he says, emphasizing that art allows us to understand differences rather than fear them.

This philosophy extends beyond acting into his views on modern culture. In an era defined by rapid technological change, particularly the rise of artificial intelligence, he advocates for balance. While acknowledging the benefits of innovation, he warns against overreliance.

Creativity, he believes, is fundamentally human—

and when we outsource too much of it, we risk losing the very essence of what makes us alive.

Similarly, his relationship with social media reflects a nuanced understanding of identity in the digital age. Having grown up alongside these platforms, he experienced firsthand the pressure of being defined by others before fully understanding himself. Over time, however, he reframed his approach. Social media became not a space of judgment, but a tool for selfexpression—something to be used with intention and balance rather than dependence.

Even in areas like fashion, which often intersect with his acting career, he approaches the work as an extension of storytelling rather than a separate pursuit. Costume, for him, is not superficial—it is foundational. Understanding what a character wears helps him access who that character is. In this way, fashion becomes another language through which stories are told.

Ultimately, his journey—from Ankara to New York, from uncertainty to clarity—is not just about career progression. It is about discovering a deeper connection to the world and to others.

New York is more than a backdrop. It is a symbol of possibility—a place where diverse voices converge and where, as he experienced, it becomes “easy to feel like a local.”

And perhaps that is the most powerful takeaway from his story: that belonging is not defined by where you come from, but by how you connect with people, with stories, and with the world around you.

opinion

The Luddites.

Were They So Wrong?

BY PETE BARRETT

The protests against the Spinning Jenny in the late 18th century and the growing resistance to artificial intelligence (AI) today are separated by more than two centuries, yet they share striking similarities. Both represent deeply human reactions to technological disruption—moments when innovation advances faster than society’s ability to absorb its consequences. By revisiting historical movements such as the Luddites and the Tolpuddle Martyrs, we can better understand the concerns shaping today’s AI debates.

Fear of Job Displacement One of the clearest parallels is the fear of job loss. The invention of the Spinning Jenny in the 1760s allowed a single worker to spin multiple threads simultaneously, drastically increasing productivity while reducing the need for skilled labor. For textile workers, this was not innovation—it was existential threat.

This same anxiety defines much of today’s resistance to AI. Automation is no longer limited to manual labor; it now extends into creative and intellectual fields. Writers, analysts, designers, and even coders are confronting the possibility that machines can replicate their work. Just as spinners feared mechanization, modern workers fear algorithmic replacement.

In both cases, the fear is grounded in reality.

Technological advancement often eliminates certain roles before new ones are created, leaving a period of instability and uncertainty.

wage cuts. Their punishment revealed the extent to which authorities were willing to suppress collective action in defense of economic structures.

The Luddites: Resistance as a Rational Response The Luddites are often misunderstood as irrational opponents of progress. In reality, they were skilled workers protesting not technology itself, but how it was being used— specifically, to undercut wages and degrade working conditions. Their machine-breaking was a form of targeted protest against economic injustice.

Today, similar tensions are emerging. Workers in creative industries, tech, and beyond are organizing to demand protections against AI. Strikes in Hollywood, debates over intellectual property, and calls for regulation all reflect a modern version of collective resistance.

Like the Tolpuddle Martyrs, these groups are asserting the right to shape the conditions under which they work in the face of disruptive change.

Modern AI protests echo this logic. Critics are not universally anti-AI; rather, they object to how it is deployed—particularly when companies use AI to replace workers, exploit creative content without consent, or concentrate wealth and power. Lawsuits by artists and strikes by writers reflect the same principle: resistance is aimed at unfair implementation, not innovation itself.

The Tolpuddle Martyrs: Labor, Rights, and Collective Power The story of the Tolpuddle Martyrs adds another dimension. In 1834, six agricultural workers in Dorset were arrested and transported to Australia—not for destroying machines, but for forming a union to protest

Loss of Identity and Craft For both Spinning Jenny protesters and AI critics, the issue goes beyond economics—it touches identity. Textile workers took pride in their craftsmanship, a skill developed over years. Mechanization reduced that expertise to a repeatable process, diminishing its value.

Today, AI challenges the uniqueness of human creativity. When machines can produce art, music, or writing in seconds, it raises unsettling questions: What is the value of human effort? What distinguishes human creativity from machine output? In both eras, the resistance reflects a desire to preserve not just jobs, but meaning.

By understanding the experiences of the Luddites and the Tolpuddle Martyrs, we can better navigate the challenges of the AI era. Their stories remind us that resistance to technology is not a rejection of progress, but a demand for fairness.

Technology may transform the world, but it is people—through debate, protest, and negotiation— who determine what that transformation looks like.

Concentration of Power Another key similarity is the perception of unequal benefit. During the Industrial Revolution, factory owners who adopted machines gained significant advantages, often at the expense of workers.

Wealth and power became increasingly concentrated.

In the AI era, large technology companies hold similar influence. They control the data, infrastructure, and algorithms that drive innovation. Critics argue that this creates an imbalance, where the benefits of AI are not evenly distributed. Just as industrialists once dominated markets, tech giants now shape the digital economy.

This concentration fuels skepticism and resistance, as people question who truly benefits from technological progress.

Ethical and Social Concerns Both periods are marked by concerns about the broader impact of technology.

The Industrial Revolution disrupted communities, altered social structures, and introduced harsh working conditions.

While these issues were not always framed in modern ethical terms, they were deeply felt.

Today’s AI debates are more explicitly ethical. Issues such as bias, surveillance, misinformation, and the potential misuse of AI dominate public discourse. There is also concern about long-term risks, including the possibility of systems that exceed human control.

Despite differences in context, the underlying question is the same: how do we ensure that technological progress aligns with human values?

Methods of Protest The tactics of resistance have evolved, but the intent remains consistent. The Luddites engaged in direct action, destroying machinery to halt its spread.

The Tolpuddle Martyrs organized collectively, seeking systemic change through unity.

Modern protests take different forms: legal challenges, labor strikes, public advocacy, and policy debates. While less physically confrontational, these methods are still aimed at influencing how technology is integrated into society.

A Cycle of Disruption and Adaptation History suggests that such conflicts are part of a recurring cycle. The Spinning Jenny

and other industrial innovations ultimately reshaped economies, creating new industries even as they disrupted old ones.

The same is likely true for AI. However, the transition is rarely smooth. Without intervention, the benefits of innovation can be unevenly distributed, leading to inequality and social unrest. This is why resistance—whether by Luddites, the Tolpuddle Martyrs, or modern workers—is an essential part of the process. It forces society to confront the consequences of change and to negotiate a more equitable path forward.

Conclusion The parallels between the Spinning Jenny protesters and today’s AI critics are striking. Both movements arise from fear of displacement, loss of identity, and unequal power. Both involve efforts to resist or reshape technological change. And both highlight the importance of collective action in defending human interests.

By understanding the experiences of the Luddites and the Tolpuddle Martyrs, we can better navigate the challenges of the AI era. Their stories remind us that resistance to technology is not a rejection of progress, but a demand for fairness.

rant

MIGHT IS NEVER RIGHT...

is the battle cry of the human spirit against its own base instincts!

DO THE RIGHT THING ... is the right fit.

by Daniel Brown The phrase “might makes right” is perhaps the most ancient and persistent philosophy in human history. It is the law of the jungle translated into the language of men—the idea that the strong define the moral order simply because they have the power to enforce it. However, as human civilization has transitioned from a collection of fragmented tribes into a sophisticated, thinking society, we have collectively arrived at a profound realization: power is a capability, not a justification. To say “might is never right” is not just a moral sentiment; it is a logical necessity for the survival of a rational species.

The primary reason might can never be “right” lies in the fundamental difference between power and authority. Power (might) is the physical or systemic ability to compel obedience—through a sword, a gun, or a bank account. Authority (right), however, is the moral legitimacy that makes obedience a duty rather than a survival tactic.

When we conflate the two, we destroy the very concept of morality. If a robber holds a person at gunpoint and demands their wallet, the robber has the “might.” If we were to say might is right, then the act of robbery becomes “correct” the moment the robber succeeds. In such a world, the words “good,” “evil,” “just,” and “unjust” lose all meaning; they become mere synonyms for “winner” and “loser.” A society that cannot distinguish between being forced to do something and being obligated to do something is not a society at all—it is merely a cage.

From a purely pragmatic standpoint, “might makes right” is a failed strategy because it is inherently unstable. If the only reason a rule is “right” is that the person in charge is the strongest, then that rule is only valid until the leader catches a cold, grows old, or meets

someone stronger. In a system governed by might, there is no continuity. Every transition of power is a violent reset. This is why “thinking societies” moved toward the rule of law and social contracts. By decoupling “rightness” from “strength,” we created a system where the rules remain stable even when the individuals in power change. We realized that it is far more efficient to live in a world where we follow the law because we believe it is fair, rather than because we are afraid of being crushed. A civilization built on consensus can build cathedrals, hospitals, and space stations; a civilization built on might spends all its energy on internal policing and defense.

Our animal heritage is rooted in the amygdala—the part of the brain focused on survival, dominance, and fear. In the wild, the silverback gorilla or the alpha wolf uses might to ensure the best resources for their kin. This “biological might” served a purpose in the early stages of evolution.

However, the defining characteristic of humanity is the development of the prefrontal cortex—the seat of reason, empathy, and long-term planning. This “thinking” part of our brain allows us to perform a brilliant mental simulation: we can imagine being the weak one. We recognize that even the strongest man will eventually be an infant, an old man, or a sick man.Reason dictates that a system that only favors the strong is a suicide pact for the individual in the long run. Therefore, we “invented” morality to protect our future selves. By declaring that might is never right, we created a protective canopy that covers every human being, regardless of their current physical or economic standing. This isn’t just “niceness”; it is high-level strategic reasoning.

In the modern world, the challenge is that “might” has evolved. It no longer purely looks like a club or a spear; it looks like “soft power”—economic leverage, control of information, and legal complexity.

When a wealthy nation dictates terms to a poor one, or when a corporation uses its massive legal resources to silence a whistleblower, they are practicing a sophisticated version of “might makes right.” They are

using their superior position to define the outcome as “legal” or “fair.”

However, our refusal to accept this as “right” is what fuels progress. The reason we have labor laws, anti-trust regulations, and human rights tribunals is that our collective “thinking” society recognizes these power imbalances for what they are: echoes of the jungle.

We label these actions as “exploitation” or “corruption” because we hold a standard of “right” that exists entirely outside of who has the most resources.

The Moral Compass: A Goal Beyond Power If might is never right, then what is? This brings us back to the search for a “stable core” of morality. While different cultures may disagree on the specifics, most rational moral systems gravitate toward principles of reciprocity (The Golden Rule), the minimization of suffering, and the maximization of human flourishing.

These principles are “right” not because they are backed by an army, but because they are “true” in the context of human nature. They work. They allow us to live together in densities and complexities that would be impossible under a “might is right” regime. Morality is the technology we use to transcend our biological limitations.

Conclusion “Might is never right” is the battle cry of the human spirit against its own base instincts. It is the assertion that there is an order to the universe—or at least an order to the human mind—that values truth, justice, and empathy over raw force.

When we allow might to dictate right, we retreat into the dark, violent history of our ancestors. When we insist that right must govern might, we move toward a future where the power of an argument matters more than the power of a fist. In the real world, power will always exist and will often win the day, but it will never have the last word on what is just. The moment we stop fighting to keep “right” independent of “might,” we cease to be a thinking society and return to being just another animal in the dirt.

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Daniella Pineda: Purpose, Perspective ...

Daniella Pineda is completely disarming!

Even before the conversation settles, she is in motion—literally on the road in Los Angeles, moving from Los Feliz toward Silver Lake, laughing at the novelty of doing an interview while driving. It is a fitting introduction to someone whose life seems to exist in several lanes at once: actor, writer, producer, director-in-the-making, sustainability advocate, and sharp cultural observer. What emerges most clearly is not simply a career story, but a portrait of a woman deeply engaged with the world around her and determined to shape her place within it.

By Mia Smiley Photos by Jonny Marlow

...and the Power of Reinvention

“Climate change and sustainability and ESG have become a back-burner perk.

No—these are front-facing, imminent issues.”

Though now based in Los Angeles, Pineda’s creative identity was also forged in New York, where she lived for nearly a decade after leaving the Bay Area. She originally moved east with a very different plan for herself.

Acting was not the ambition. It was not even, as she tells it, something she seriously anticipated. Her vision was to write, produce, direct, and work in independent film. She had studied radio journalism and sociology, and her dream at the time was to land a role on The Daily Show, combining her understanding of culture and politics with a natural instinct for comedy.

She even tested for the show. She didn’t get the job, but that near miss opened other doors.

Real acting opportunities began to arrive, and what had started almost as a side path gradually became a central one. Even then, she says, it took years before she fully accepted the title of actor for herself. That hesitation says something important about her: she is not someone who adopts labels casually. She seems to arrive at each identity by earning it, questioning it, and testing it against experience.

That same thoughtfulness extends to the way she sees the business itself. Pineda speaks with unusual clarity about the entertainment industry and the changes that have overtaken it. She describes a field under strain, held together “by a thread,” transformed by corporate priorities and tech-driven disruption. In her view, the movie business once functioned as a creative ecosystem; now, it is too often governed by quarterly earnings and shareholder demands rather than by creative conviction. It is a sober assessment, but not a cynical one. Rather, it reveals how deeply she values storytelling and how frustrated she is by systems that increasingly fail to protect it.

That frustration is also personal. The writing and directing work she always intended to pursue remains central to her, even if acting required her to place some of those ambitions on pause. She has been developing a horror film for years, a project she describes as elevated rather than slasher-driven. She also has a more commercially positioned script in the works, along with comedy writing, including a pilot inspired by growing up in the Bay Area. These are not side hobbies. They are evidence of an artist whose interests have always been bigger than any one job description.

Pineda is a familiar face, already seen in major blockbusters like Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom (2018) and Jurassic World Dominion (2022) opposite Bryce Dallas Howard, Chris Pratt and Jeff Goldblum. She also appeared in The Accountant 2 (2025) opposite Ben Affleck and Jon Bernthal, a project she signed onto without hesitation. She was already a fan of the first film and of director Gavin O’Connor’s work, and the chance to be part of a Ben Affleck-led feature shooting in Los Angeles was, for her, an immediate yes. As she puts it, she would have said yes to being “a tree” or “a bush” in the film. Only later did she learn how central and villainous her role would actually be.

But off-screen, Pineda’s life is just as multidimensional. Sustainability is not a talking point for her; it is a field of real study and commitment. She is currently in graduate school for business sustainability and has also begun working part-time with a sustainable apparel company she believes is genuinely committed, rather than simply greenwashing its image. Her perspective on climate change is direct and urgent. She does not see it as a peripheral issue, or a box to check under corporate ESG language. To her, it should be front-facing, daily, and all-consuming.

“ ... I went into this business really only wanting to be a writer, producer, and director—acting was never the thing I was pursuing ...”

That seriousness comes through in how she talks about younger generations inheriting environmental dread, about society’s tendency to relegate sustainability to the back burner, and about the larger failures of business and culture to respond proportionately to the scale of the crisis. She is not interested in vague concern. She wants action, structural thinking, and accountability.

She brings that same directness to politics and public life. Without posturing, she speaks openly about instability, the erosion of civic norms, and the dangers of normalizing division and attacks on the press.

What is striking is not just that she has opinions, but that her opinions are grounded in reading, observation, and serious reflection. She is clearly someone who pays attention.

And yet, for all her intensity, there is lightness too. It arrives in flashes throughout the conversation: her love of smart horror, her delightfully unglamorous trailer needs—slippers, food, a laptop with something playing—her preference for being in bed by 10, her affection for New York, and her riffing on fashion, where anything from the 1970s earns her vote over the worst revivals of early-2000s style. Even her life at home enters the picture vividly, with barking dogs, fish tanks, and the everyday chaos that makes success feel human rather than staged.

What ultimately defines Pineda is not just talent, though there is clearly plenty of it. It is intention. She is purposeful about what she makes, what she believes, and how she moves through an industry that often rewards superficiality over substance. She may have found acting unexpectedly, but there is nothing accidental about the force she has become.

Pineda is not merely building a career. She is building a life with ideas at its center. And in a cultural moment crowded with noise, that kind of depth is what truly sets her apart.

Photos by Jonny Marlow Hair Kiki Heitkotter Makeup Kindra Mann Stylist Desiree Morales

2026 DuMonde

SUSTAINABILITY Awards The Moves DuMonde Awards recognize the role individual leaders and their corporate base play in protecting our future by actively promoting sustainability. Described by the United Nations as ‘development that meets the needs of the present without compromising future generations’, it is an increasingly important factor in forming corporate policy across the broadest business spectrum.

PAMELA ALABASTER Adjunct Professor COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

“... They’re more aware. More conscious.

More connected… sustainability is embedded in how they think ...”

There is a quiet transformation underway—one not dictated by policy alone, but shaped by a generation unwilling to separate profit from purpose. At the center of this shift is Pamela Gill Alabaster, whose journey reflects the evolution of sustainability itself—from compliance-driven reporting to a defining force in how business operates.

Her career began in marketing, working on global brands embedded in everyday life. But in the early 2000s, the introduction of environmental reporting requirements revealed a deeper truth. “Corporations were no longer going to be judged solely on financial performance… there were new dimensions emerging—behavior, responsibility, impact,” she explains. That realization prompted a bold pivot—returning to school while raising three children and working full-time—ultimately reshaping her understanding of both business and impact.

Today, in the classroom, she brings more than theory. She brings lived experience. “Students can learn everything from a book—but real-world application is where the truth reveals itself,” she says, emphasizing the importance of bridging knowledge with practice. Yet what stands out most is not what she teaches, but who she teaches.

This new generation is fundamentally different. “They’re more aware. More conscious. More connected… sustainability is embedded in how they think,” she observes. Their expectations are already reshaping industries, from rejecting mined diamonds in favor of ethical alternatives to demanding transparency from the brands they support. “You can’t just be a good product at a good price anymore.”

At the heart of her message is interconnectedness—the idea that environmental, social, and economic systems are inseparable. Her guiding principle is clear: “Listen to the science.”

In calling herself a “bridge,” Pamela defines her role in this moment—connecting generations, aligning business with responsibility, and helping translate awareness into action. And in the rising voices of her students, she finds not uncertainty, but hope.

DR ANGELA OBERG

Senior Director, Climate Action & Sustainability RUTGERS UNIVERSITY

“...We don’t have to convince students to care about climate—they’re already ahead of us.

We’re the ones catching up...”

Angela Oberg’s path into sustainability reflects the evolution of the field itself— nonlinear, interdisciplinary, and deeply rooted in both practice and policy. Now Senior Director of Climate Action & Sustainability for Rutgers University, she brings a rare combination of real-world environmental planning experience and academic insight to one of the most urgent challenges of our time: the climate crisis. Her work focuses not just on innovation, but on implementation—bridging the gap between ideas and action.

“We don’t have to convince students to care about climate—they’re already ahead of us. We’re the ones catching up.”

Oberg played a key role in shaping Rutgers’ Climate Action Plan, a collaborative effort involving hundreds across the university, leading to the creation of the Office of Climate Action in 2021. At its core, the initiative centers on decarbonization, resilience, and embedding sustainability into everyday systems. Whether testing in-vessel composting in dining halls or rethinking institutional behaviors, her approach emphasizes practicality over theory.

“If people want to make the sustainable choice and we make it hard for them, then we’re doing a disservice.”

For Oberg, the real challenge lies not in developing solutions, but in making them accessible. She believes institutions must remove barriers so that sustainable decisions become the easiest ones to make.

“We need to create a way of life where sustainable choices are simple, affordable, and automatic.”

Equally central to her philosophy is the role of students—what she describes as “potential energy” waiting to be directed.

“Our job is to take that energy and train it on something meaningful.”

Ultimately, Oberg reframes environmentalism as universal, not optional.

“If you’re on this planet breathing, you are an environmentalist.”

Alongside leaders like Debbie Friedel, who emphasizes operational sustainability and behavior-driven change, Oberg’s work underscores a shared truth: lasting impact depends not only on systems, but on people.

“ ... are we doing things right, or are we doing the right things? ... ”

In an era defined by climate urgency and widening inequality, sustainability is evolving beyond environmental protection into a comprehensive framework shaping how societies operate and economies function. At the forefront of this transformation are leaders like Belissa Rojas, who are redefining capital as a tool not only for financial return but for measurable social and environmental impact.

Rojas’s perspective is deeply personal. Growing up in Peru, exposure to inequality instilled in her a lifelong commitment to expanding opportunity. This foundation informs her approach to sustainable development—meeting present needs without compromising future generations—while emphasizing that sustainability must integrate both environmental stewardship and social equity.

Her work in impact investing reflects this philosophy. By directing capital toward sectors such as energy efficiency, regenerative agriculture, and the circular economy, her firm demonstrates that profitability and purpose can coexist. Central to this approach is rigorous impact measurement, tracking both outputs (immediate actions) and outcomes (long-term change). Crucially, data is only valuable when it informs decision-making, enabling investors to allocate capital more effectively.

Rojas expands traditional investment frameworks by introducing a “360-degree lens” that considers financial return and risk alongside positive impact, potential harm, and broader ESG risks. This holistic view acknowledges complexities—such as the unintended consequences of electric vehicle production—ensuring more responsible and informed investments.

She also emphasizes scale and relevance, urging organizations to focus not only on doing things right, but on doing the right things. In a world increasingly shaped by systemic risks like climate change, sustainability is no longer optional—it is essential to long-term economic stability.

Despite global fragmentation and evolving public discourse, Rojas remains cautiously optimistic. Her message is grounded in action, empathy, and persistence: meaningful change does not require certainty, only commitment.

BELISSA ROJAS

Chief Impact Officer FONDACTION

FATE SAGHIR Head of Sustainability MACKENZIE INVESTMENTS

“I found this incredible area where you’re able to make an impact… while also earning a living ... “

During her high school years, Fate Saghir came across an advertisement that highlighted the impact business leaders can have, and in that moment, her perspective shifted. What had once been an uncertain path became clear: she wanted to pursue a career in business. Born in Beirut, Lebanon, and raised in Monrovia, Liberia and Windsor, Canada, she developed a global perspective early on, one that continues to shape her approach to leadership today.

“I grew up in an environment that made me very aware of how political decisions and human actions impact one another,” said Saghir. After graduating and earning both a degree and her CPA, Saghir experienced the major shift that the automotive industry went through in the early 2000s. She ultimately relocated to Toronto, where she began her career as a performance analyst in the construction materials industry. There, she saw firsthand the impact companies can have on local communities and the environment.

Mackenzie Investments named Saghir Head of Sustainable Investing in 2019, where she has since led the integration of sustainability as a core pillar across the firm’s investment processes. Saghir oversees this integration across portfolios representing thousands of companies globally, and her team has developed frameworks used by more than 200 investment professionals to assess environmental and social risks as part of financial analysis.

She describes 2020 as a turning point for sustainable investing and environmental awareness. While progress since then has not been linear, she believes the moment helped reframe what meaningful change can look like.

In addition to her work in sustainability, Saghir has taken on broader leadership responsibilities at Mackenzie, including oversight of marketing and client experience. “I’ve found a space where you can make a meaningful impact on future generations while building a career,” she said.

“It comes down to having a strong sense of purpose, and the ambition to think bigger.”

“Anyone can change the world you just have to decide to start.”

Erica Brinker’s journey from the polished world of luxury fashion to the grounded urgency of renewable energy is a story of reinvention driven by purpose. Once shaping global brands for iconic companies like Kate Spade, Tiffany & Co., and Ralph Lauren, Brinker mastered the art of influence—learning how to move ideas, markets, and people. But influence alone was no longer enough. A pivotal moment during maternity leave, when she read The Uninhabitable Earth, sparked a profound shift. What began as discomfort became clarity: she could no longer dedicate her career to creating desire—she needed to create impact.

As Chief Commercial Officer and Head of Sustainability at Chaberton Energy, Brinker stood at the intersection of business strategy and environmental responsibility. Her work was not theoretical but tangible, rooted in land deals, community partnerships, and innovative solutions like agrovoltaics, where farmland serves both agriculture and solar energy production. Through this model, she helped farmers preserve generational land while contributing to a cleaner energy grid.

Brinker’s leadership style reflects a modern definition of power—one that blends ambition with accountability. She navigates boardrooms and family life with equal intensity, embodying a version of success that is both deeply personal and widely impactful. Her perspective cuts through the noise of corporate greenwashing, focusing instead on action over perfection.

At its core, her story is about responsibility. Brinker recognizes the urgency of climate change not as a distant threat, but as a present obligation.

She challenges both corporations and individuals to move beyond intention and into execution, believing that real change is built through consistent, meaningful action.

Ultimately, Erica Brinker is not just building solar projects—she is helping reshape how we think about leadership, legacy, and the future we leave behind.

ERICA BRINKER Founder & Host AT THE BRINK

REBECCA LYSENKO

Owner THE REFILLERY STOREHOUSE

From a childhood spent in her father’s natural food stores to building a modern refillery of her own, this founder’s journey is rooted in both heritage and innovation. Raised around small business and conscious food culture, she always knew she wanted to create something herself. What she did not know at first was that her future would emerge from one simple, powerful idea: giving people a more intentional way to shop.

That idea took shape during COVID, when her full-time job was reduced and the pause of that moment became an opening. Encouraged by her husband, she turned her long-held concept into a business plan and eventually opened a brick-and-mortar store in Eastdale Village. Now, nearly three years in, her refillery is doing more than selling products by weight. It is reshaping how customers think about consumption, waste, and value.

At the heart of the business is education. For many shoppers, the refill model is unfamiliar at first. But once they understand that they can bring their own containers, buy only what they need, and avoid both food and packaging waste, the concept becomes not only practical, but empowering. Spices, oats, flours, olive oils, and vinegars become part of a new kind of shopping experience—one that is slower, more thoughtful, and often more affordable than traditional grocery shopping.

Her mission is grounded in sustainability, but also in realism. She believes meaningful change happens through “baby steps,” not perfection. That philosophy shapes both her personal life and her business leadership. As a new mother, entrepreneur, and self-described introvert, she approaches growth with humility, adaptability, and care. She remains committed to evolving with her customers while staying true to her values.

For her, sustainability is not about doing everything at once. It is about creating habits, making better choices where possible, and trusting that small actions, repeated over time, can create lasting impact.

“ ... Only focusing on what I can control… if I feel I’m doing my part, then that’s good enough for me... ”

“ ... We don’t have a technology problem,” she says. “We have a courage problem...”

Dr. Janice Lao, traces her career-defining perspective back to a formative realization in adolescence: that math is not an obstacle, but a language of patterns. Guided by her father, what began as a struggle transformed into mastery—and more importantly, into a new way of seeing the world. That lens of pattern recognition would later shape her approach to sustainability, where interconnected systems define both the problem and the solution.

Her early exposure to climate data in the 2000s revealed what she describes as an “open secret”—a clear, data-driven understanding of environmental decline that had yet to translate into widespread action. This disconnect between knowledge and behavior became a central tension in her work. As her academic and professional journey evolved—from environmental science to policy and global systems—she recognized that climate change is not just a technical challenge, but a deeply human one.

At the intersection of science and business, Lao found her leverage point. She realized that corporations, through supply chains, materials, and financial influence, hold immense power to scale sustainable solutions. Today, her role centers on embedding sustainability into core business strategy—ensuring decisions are intentional, measurable, and aligned with long-term environmental responsibility.

Yet, Lao is clear: data alone is not enough. Driving change requires emotional connection and a redefinition of value itself.

“Math is about patterns. And once you see patterns, you can’t unsee them.”

“I can give you all the data, but unless I win your heart, you’re not going to move.”

Ultimately, her message reframes sustainability as a question of human survival and quality of life—not just environmental metrics— calling for a shift from profit-driven thinking to people-centered value systems.

DR JANICE LAO VP of Sustainability HELEN OF TROY

ERIK WOHLGEMUTH CEO FUTURE 500

“ ...We don’t create change by fighting enemies we create it by understanding people...”

In an era marked by climate urgency and deepening societal divides, Erik Wohlgemuth offers a perspective on sustainability that goes beyond metrics and mandates. His work is rooted in a simple but powerful idea: lasting change happens when we learn to connect—across industries, ideologies, and human experience.

Wohlgemuth’s journey began with a departure from the conventional.

After graduating from Yale and stepping briefly into the corporate world, he walked away in search of something more meaningful. It was during his years as a whitewater river guide that he developed a deep understanding of natural systems—and a growing awareness of how closely environmental challenges are tied to business decisions.

“Math, business, nature—it’s all systems. If you understand the relationships, you understand the outcome.”

Returning to Yale to study both business and environmental management, he found himself uniquely positioned between two worlds that often misunderstand each other. That insight became the foundation of his work with Future 500, where he helps corporations and advocates navigate complex social and environmental challenges.

“The work isn’t just about policy—it’s about translation between worlds that don’t speak the same language.”

Over the past two decades, he has seen sustainability evolve from a fringe idea into a core business imperative.

Yet he cautions against oversimplification, emphasizing that real progress requires nuance, patience, and systems thinking.

At the center of his philosophy is humanization—the belief that meaningful change begins when people move beyond polarization and engage with one another as individuals.

“We don’t create change by fighting enemies—we create it by understanding people.”

For Wohlgemuth, sustainability is not just about protecting the planet—it’s about strengthening the relationships that make progress possible.

“ ... They made the hill steeper.

They made the rock heavier.

We’re still pushing ...”

Tiya Gordon is building the future of urban infrastructure with urgency, ingenuity, and what her team calls a “sheer force of will.”

After two decades leading design and technology initiatives— including overseeing more than 200 layers of public-facing systems for the 9/11 Memorial Museum—Gordon has turned her focus to what she sees as the next defining crisis: climate.

As co-founder of it’s electric, Gordon is rethinking how cities power the transition to electric vehicles. The idea was born out of personal frustration during the COVID-19 pandemic, when she struggled to find charging infrastructure in Brooklyn. Gordon explained the complications that arise when trying to implement new layers of infrastructure into old cities like New York. Typically, in cities, charging companies work with the utlity to request a specialized utility interconnection permit as these companies work requires digging seven feet down, and transforming high voltage power. This can take years of time to permit and is incredibly costly.

It’s elecric’s solution to implement more electric vehicle charging ports into cities completely avoids this out-dated process —by instead using spare electrical capacity from nearby buildings already metered at the right level of power..

“Instead of doing this giant open-heart surgery in the street… we’re using what already exists.”

But Gordon’s mission extends beyond infrastructure.

She is navigating a landscape shaped by political resistance, funding inequities, and systemic bias in venture capital, where less than 2% of funding goes to all-female founding teams.

“You just made the hill steeper… but we’re not deterred.”

With an 80% female-led team, it’s electric is challenging not just how cities are powered, but who gets to build them. For Gordon, sustainability is not abstract—it’s practical, immediate, and deeply human.

“Do the work you need to live the life you want— without harming what you leave behind.”

TIYA GORDON Co-Founder IT’S ELECTRIC

“ ... If tomorrow can’t be better than today, something has to change... ”

TODD KLETTER CEO REALM ARTESIAN WATER

Todd Kletter’s career defies the traditional notion of linear success, instead tracing a path defined by reinvention, instinct, and a refusal to accept stagnation. Raised inside his family’s $40 million photographic supply business in upstate New York, he assumed leadership in his twenties, only to confront an industry in irreversible decline. Recognizing that effort alone could not outpace market contraction, he made the pivotal decision to exit in 2008—choosing possibility over permanence. A subsequent venture reinforced a critical lesson: emotional attachment does not guarantee market value.

Freed from legacy expectations, Kletter found alignment as CEO of Tierra Farm, where he scaled the organic food company significantly while reshaping his understanding of sustainability. For him, it extended beyond environmental considerations to include human viability—ensuring that businesses support the lives of the people within them. After COVID, he rejected traditional consulting in favor of equity-based partnerships, embedding himself in companies as a builder rather than an advisor.

His ability to identify opportunity in disruption was exemplified by the rapid acquisition and revival of the 225-year-old Crane Stationery, restoring both operations and employee belief. Today, as CEO of Realm Artesian Water, Kletter applies the same philosophy—focusing on intentional growth, transparency, and practical sustainability. He challenges industry norms not through idealism, but through clarity: progress over perfection, and impact over inertia.

Ultimately, Kletter operates as a systems thinker, driven by a singular principle—that businesses must evolve or be left behind. His journey reflects a broader truth about leadership in a changing world: sustainability is not just environmental, but structural and human, rooted in the ability to build something that can endure.

“ ... Say yes first and figure out the rest later... ” Jamie Hammel’s journey from the fast-paced, intangible world of dot-coms and media to the tactile craft of reclaimed wood is a story of reinvention driven by purpose. After building a successful early career with companies like Condé Nast, NBC, and Pearson, and earning an MBA from Wharton, Hammel found himself searching for something more meaningful than corporate growth alone.

That turning point came after the 2008 financial crisis, when he began to reconsider not just what he did, but what he created.

Inspired by the rise of the maker movement and a growing consumer focus on sustainability and provenance, Hammel saw an opportunity in the built environment.

Starting with salvaged barn beams and a single hire, he personally carried handcrafted samples across New York City, testing demand among architects and designers. What began as a scrappy experiment soon evolved into The Hudson Company, a business rooted in craftsmanship, sustainability, and storytelling.

Despite having no formal training in woodworking, Hammel built his company by surrounding himself with skilled craftspeople and embracing a collaborative, humble approach to leadership. Over time, flooring became the company’s core focus, transforming reclaimed materials into enduring architectural features.

Central to Hammel’s philosophy is the belief that sustainability is not just environmental, but cultural. By reclaiming wood from demolished structures—such as the Philip Morris factory later repurposed for the Whitney Museum—his company preserves both material and history, diverting waste while creating products rich with narrative.

Ultimately, Hammel’s work reflects a deeper shift: from speed to substance, from disposable to enduring. His story underscores the value of craftsmanship, the importance of trade education, and the power of building something that carries both history and meaning into the future. .

JAMIE HAMMEL

Founder THE HUDSON COMPANY

DEBBIE FRIEDEL

Senior Director of Sustainability DELAWARE NORTH

“... They’re more aware. More conscious.

More connected… sustainability is embedded in how they think ...”

Debbie Friedel’s approach to sustainability is rooted not in theory, but in lived experience. Growing up in rural Wisconsin, she absorbed sustainable practices as a way of life—long before the term became mainstream. That early connection to resourcefulness and nature shaped a career spanning biology, environmental science, and large-scale corporate sustainability leadership.

Her early work in watershed management revealed a defining insight: sustainability succeeds when people understand it. By translating complex environmental data into simple, visual systems, she made information accessible—turning awareness into action. This philosophy now underpins her leadership at Delaware North, where sustainability must function across hundreds of locations, diverse teams, and real-world constraints.

For Friedel, sustainability is not a standalone initiative—it is operational.

From building recycling systems to training staff and shaping consumerfacing programs, success depends on collaboration and practicality.

Initiatives like “Skip the Straw” and “Greener Stay” reflect her belief that small, consistent actions create meaningful impact.

“If people understand something, they’re much more likely to support it.”

She also recognizes the evolving consumer mindset. Today’s audiences are more informed, yet more skeptical—seeking authenticity and alignment with their values. In this landscape, clarity and transparency are essential.

Rejecting perfectionism, Friedel advocates for starting small—emphasizing that habits, not grand gestures, drive long-term change. Whether it’s reducing waste or making conscious purchasing decisions, incremental shifts build cultural transformation.

Looking ahead, she envisions a future where sustainability is fully embedded in daily life—defined by circular systems, responsible resource use, and collective accountability.

At its core, Friedel’s work is about people. Systems and strategies matter, but it is human behavior—individual and collective—that ultimately determines impact..

“ ... This was not sustainability as a slogan, it was sustainability as human change ... ”

FELIPE RAYO

Head of Global Distribution & Customer Logistics JOHNSON & JOHNSON

Felipe Rayo’s journey redefines what it means to lead with purpose. His story begins not in a boardroom, but in a deeply personal moment of transformation. At just eleven years old, after his father left home, Felipe made a defining choice—to step into responsibility and reshape his identity. Adopting his second name as a symbol of strength, he became, in his own words, “the guy of the house,” learning early that leadership is not assigned, but lived.

Raised in Colombia, Felipe’s understanding of inequality and resilience was shaped by the realities around him. In coffee-growing communities, he saw firsthand the imbalance between labor and opportunity—particularly for women whose contributions went largely unrecognized. This awareness became the foundation of his sustainability philosophy: one rooted not in theory, but in people.

Early in his career, Felipe worked on an initiative that brought apparel manufacturing into rural regions, creating paid employment for women and shifting the economic structure of entire households. It was a pivotal moment that reframed sustainability as a tool for social transformation.

Throughout his global career—from manufacturing to healthcare— Felipe has carried this mindset forward, embedding responsibility into every decision. Now at Johnson & Johnson, he aligns deeply with the company’s Credo, ensuring that environmental progress and social impact move hand in hand.

For Felipe, sustainability is both professional and personal. As a father, he sees it as an obligation to future generations, grounded in everyday actions and integrity.

Ultimately, his story is a testament to transforming adversity into purpose—using business not just to succeed, but to uplift, empower, and create lasting impact.

2026 DuMonde

SUSTAINABILITY Awards Photographers James Weber Michael Webber Stylists Alison Hernon Sahil Babar Kyd Kacani Ty-Ron Mayes Hair & Makeup Marina Mnovic Romana Emmanuel Emma Genera Marta Noronha Eloria M Cook Video Cris Pena Julia Smirnova Fabienne Riccoboni

Congratulations Dutchess County Honorees Jamie Hammel, The Hudson Company Rebecca Lysenko, The Refillery Storehouse

Awards presented by Robin Mack, Think Dutchess Alliance for Business & Dutchess County Industrial Development Agency

and all 2026 DuMonde Moves Sustainability Awards Recipients Dr Angela Oberg, Rutgers University Erica Brinker, At The Brink Fate Saghir, Mackenzie Investments Debbie Friedel, Delaware North Belissa Rojas, Fondaction Felipe Rayo, Johnson & Johnson

Pamela Alabaster, Columbia|CU Todd Kletter, Realm Water Erik Wohlgemuth, Future 500 Dr Janice Lao, Helen of Troy Raquel Moses, Caribbean Tiya Gordon, It’s Electric

Thank you for leading sustainability efforts that strengthen economies and vitalize communities!

thinkdutchess.com | 845.463.5400 | info@thinkdutchess.com Dutchess County’s nationally recognized economic development corporation

Leadership isn’t a title.

It’s a responsibility.

We find common ground for the common good.

Congratulations to our CEO, Erik Wohlgemuth!

At Future 500, we bring together unlikely partners to build trust and move business forward as a Force for Good.

We humanize, depolarize, and collaborate to create durable, positive change.

Join the conversation: www.future500.org Follow us on LinkedIn: @future-500

Gala

AWARDS DINNER Moves Power Gala 2025

2025

Power Gala

The New York Moves Power Women Gala stands as one of New York’s most enduring and influential celebrations of female leadership, influence, and cultural impact. For more than two decades, the gala—presented by New York Moves Magazine—has brought together an extraordinary cross-section of women who are shaping industries, narratives, and the future itself.

Held annually in New York City, the evening blends editorial prestige with live experience: a red carpet arrival, a formal awards dinner, and a dynamic program of speeches and performances. Honorees span sectors including business, media, politics, entertainment, philanthropy, and social impact, reflecting the evolving definition of power in the modern era. Past recipients have included globally recognized figures alongside visionary leaders working behind the scenes—each selected not only for professional achievement but for influence, resilience, and the ability to drive meaningful change.

What distinguishes the Power Women Gala is its dual identity. It is both a high-profile cultural moment and an extension of the magazine’s editorial platform.

Honorees are featured within the publication through in-depth interviews and portraiture, creating a lasting record of their voices and perspectives. This integration of media and event elevates the gala beyond a single evening—it becomes part of a broader narrative about leadership and legacy.

Power Gala

Equally important is the community the gala continues to build. Over the years, it has evolved into a network that spans generations, connecting established icons with emerging leaders and students. This intergenerational dialogue reinforces the event’s core mission: to celebrate achievement while opening doors for the next wave of talent.

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LONNIE QUINN ... Exactly Where He Should Be - In The Spotlight and Centre Stage

By Moonah Ellison There are television personalities who deliver information, and then there are those rare few who turn information into trust. Lonnie Quinn belongs firmly in the latter category.

For New Yorkers, he is more than a weatherman. He is energy, instinct, reassurance, and urgency wrapped into one unmistakably human presence. He does not deliver forecasts as though reading from a distant script. He lives them, feels them, and communicates them with the kind of conviction that makes people stop what they are doing and listen.

Off camera, that same current runs through him: fast, warm, funny, deeply thoughtful, and entirely unmanufactured.

“New York City has been a dream job.

“You’ve got to be open to what

“

the universe presents What emerges in conversation is that Quinn’s life has never followed a neat or expected line. It has moved instead through instinct, curiosity, reinvention, and a willingness to follow where passion leads. He began with a fascination for weather long before television entered the picture, growing up in rural Connecticut as one of seven children in a family shaped by outdoor life. While others saw a boy drifting into daydreams, Quinn was staring at the sky, captivated by the movement of clouds and the mystery of what was happening above him. That wonder never left. Yet neither did his interest in performance. Acting, weather, aviation, journalism — for Quinn, these were never separate identities so much as different expressions of the same restless, searching temperament.

His journey into acting came after college, following an unlikely but formative encounter while working as a tour guide on Nantucket during the filming of One Crazy Summer. Watching actors work, running lines, and absorbing the rhythm of a set opened another world. He went on to train at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, landing work quickly and building a career that included soap operas and the disciplined intensity that comes with them. Quinn speaks about that period without ego, but with enormous respect. Soap acting, as he describes it, is a boot camp in speed, adaptability, memory, and performance under pressure. It sharpened him. It also gave him the freedom to pursue another passion: flying.

That love of aviation became so serious that Quinn once co-owned a plane and flew himself between Lake Tahoe and Los Angeles while continuing to work as

an actor. It sounds cinematic because it was. But even then, another pivot was waiting. When the acting jobs slowed and airline ambitions did not materialize as hoped, Quinn returned to meteorology, taking a job briefing pilots at Santa Monica Airport. Then came the chance that changed everything: a small-market news director in Charlottesville, Virginia, saw potential in the former actor turned meteorologist and offered him a job on air. Quinn arrived having never done television weather before and was put on camera the same day. It was not polished at first, he admits. But it became something better than polished.

It became real.

That authenticity is what has defined his career ever since, from Charlottesville to Miami to New York, where he has now spent nearly two decades becoming one of the city’s most familiar and trusted faces. Quinn does not perform certainty for the sake of appearances. He thinks in real time. He reacts. He recalibrates. He allows viewers to see the process as well as the conclusion, and that is precisely why they believe him. In a media landscape that often rewards smoothness above substance, Quinn’s style remains refreshingly unfiltered. He speaks with his hands, with his whole body, with his instincts. He is less interested in sounding like a traditional broadcaster than in making sure the truth lands.

That honesty has mattered most in moments of real consequence. When Superstorm Sandy approached New York, Quinn understood the stakes long before many others were comfortable saying them aloud. He recalls the pushback he received for using language some considered alarmist, warning that

parts of the Jersey Shore could be gone by morning. He said it anyway, because he believed people needed clarity more than comfort. He had spent years in Miami learning from Max Mayfield at the National Hurricane Center, absorbing not only the science of storms but the human responsibility that comes with communicating risk. When Sandy hit, Quinn became the steady center of coverage, guiding viewers through a disaster that proved just how vulnerable New York could be.

And yet, if storms have shaped his public identity, private hardship has clearly deepened the man behind it. Quinn speaks with startling openness about the traumatic brain injury he suffered after a New Year’s Eve car accident, an ordeal that forced him into a two-month medical leave and required him to relearn basic skills. For someone whose entire career rests on fluency, clarity, and live communication, the experience was more than frightening; it was life-altering. He describes the humbling reality of having to relearn how to speak smoothly, how to move properly, how to trust his own mind again. What remains with him is not bitterness, but gratitude — an expanded appreciation for life, health, resilience, and the fragile miracle of simply being able to do what one loves.

That same sense of responsibility extends into the causes Quinn cares about most deeply, especially sustainability.

For him, environmental stewardship is not a fashionable talking point or a borrowed issue. It is personal. It is rooted in the outdoor life he treasures, in the future he wants for his children, and in the simple conviction that individual choices matter. He talks about sustainability not in abstract slogans but in daily practices: reducing waste, respecting water, using resources carefully, teaching children to think differently about consumption. His argument is neither preachy nor grandiose. It is practical, grounded, and compelling precisely because it begins with the small things. Turn off the faucet. Use less. Waste less. Pay attention. Multiply that awareness by millions, and culture begins to shift.

There is also something moving in the way Quinn speaks about younger talent entering the industry. He remembers what he did not receive as an intern and made a promise to do better. Those who come through his orbit are given hands-on experience, real guidance, and the tools to move forward. He does not want replicas. He wants truth. His advice is simple: do not imitate someone else’s voice when your own is the one worth developing. That philosophy explains not only how he mentors others, but how he has built his own career. Lonnie Quinn works because Lonnie Quinn never tried to be anyone else.

What lingers after spending time with him is not simply the résumé, impressive though it is, or even the remarkable twists in the story. It is the force of personality. Quinn is the rare public figure whose off-camera self appears to match exactly what viewers have sensed all along: a man propelled by curiosity, sharpened by adversity, sustained by purpose, and still very much in love with the world he is trying to help people understand. In a city that prides itself on spotting the difference between performance and authenticity, that may be his greatest achievement of all.

rant

The Woefully, Willfully Ignorant ...

Why is it the inherent unfairness of many of our cherished American values is so clear to some of us and so vehemently denied or, to be charitable, ignored by the vast majority. Based—as these bastions are—on the lucky sperm, the ‘accident’ of birth, we seem to make no attempt to redress the balance, or, more importantly at this stage in society’s development, even recognize there is any imbalance; any injustice at all.

We even take inordinate adolescent glee in being fortunate. If you are born with it, the lesson goes – it being any of a select list: brains, wealth, ‘good looks’, star quality, and ability, etc. – you are successful by right. Without them, or the ability to ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ (another ability you were born with), you are not.

What is so stupid about this approach is that we are all born the same way: we have no input. None, for crying out loud. What are we so proud of? Our carefully considered and astute choice of birth parents?

We need to grow up and be grateful if we’ve got it, not viciously scornful and dismissive of those who haven’t.

It is with this in mind that I seem to consistently point out the obvious; unintentionally at first, just directly addressing the intrinsic unfairness that our society promotes. That idealization of the American Dream, where everyone has the ability (or so ‘they’ say) to make a fortune, has become our rationalization for avoiding the confrontation of institutionalized injustices that permeate our society.

It is solely due to this delusion that we are able to sleep easy and enjoy the beauties of a life well-lived, neglecting those whose sense of hopelessness alone cripples them.

What has become the American way is a system that can capitalize (note the word base) on our neighbor’s misfortune, further deepening the divide between the fortunate and the unfortunate. Not one of us should be content with this measurable difference. When families are evicted from their homes, an amazing personal tragedy, others hungry for a good deal are lionized when they are allowed to capitalize on this repossession market. Is this equitable for all?

How can we be proud of our education system when the future of our country graduates from school with honors but is tainted by a $50,000 debt (probably equivalent to the dollar value of the college shareholder’s yacht)? Further evidence of our indifference to the fate of the have-nots is a penal system that punishes the children of offenders by demanding custodial sentences that satisfy our need for vengeance. Rehabilitation? This is just not an option, despite the fact that exposure to prison life promotes recidivism.

Most choose to live in this world of deliberate ignorance. So be it. Some of us however, can’t live with ourselves if we don’t at least try to redress the balance. Despite the derision this attitude attracts from some sections of our society, we will continue to come from the right direction because there really is no other.

“… the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” — Plato

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(P.S. we think she is the next Bond... or should be !!!)

OLIVIA VALLI “Good Evening Ms Bond, is that shaken or stirred for your dirty martini?”

By Moonah Ellison Photos by James Weber

There is something unmistakably grounded about Olivia Valli. Even as her career arcs through some of the most demanding and celebrated spaces in musical theater. She speaks not with the polished distance of someone shaped solely by success, but with the clarity of someone who has worked, waited, doubted, and then chosen to keep going anyway.

Raised in New Jersey alongside her mother and brother, Valli’s story begins not with industry access or formal training, but with instinct. Performance was not introduced to her; it revealed itself early. Before she could fully articulate language, she was already responding to melody. Before she understood structure, she was creating it, putting on shows for family friends, experimenting with expression, inhabiting the role of entertainer without needing permission to do so.

“I’ve always known this is something I wanted to do. It just felt innate.”

What she didn’t have, at least initially, was a clear path. Unlike many of her peers entering the world of musical theater, Valli was not coming from a highly specialized performing arts background. She describes stepping into that environment as both thrilling and intimidating—a space filled with individuals who had spent years honing their craft with precision and direction. For her, it was a leap driven less by certainty and more by conviction.

That conviction carried her to Montclair State University, where she earned a coveted place in its BFA Musical Theater program, one of only a small group selected from hundreds of applicants. It was a pivotal moment, not just because of the opportunity, but because it affirmed something she had long believed without proof: that passion, when paired with discipline, can hold its own against experience.

From there, the trajectory was anything but immediate.

That mindset carried her into the next chapter of her career, including her role in Jersey Boys, a production she auditioned for over the course of seven years. The persistence required for that kind of pursuit is emblematic of her journey: steady, unglamorous, and ultimately rewarded.

reality shaped her understanding of self within the industry. Rather than resist it, she reframed it, finding affirmation in the act of performing itself.

Then came an unexpected interruption: the global pause of the pandemic.

Then the call came back.

As her career continues to evolve, Valli’s ambitions remain expansive. She expresses a desire to originate new work, to explore film and television, and even to step behind the camera as a director.

Driven not by a need to diversify for the sake of it, but by a genuine curiosity about storytelling in all its forms.

“They didn’t say no. They said not yet and that changed everything for me.”

Creativity, for her, is not confined to one medium. It is a continuous process.

Cast as the understudy for Elphaba on the national tour, Valli entered one of the most demanding roles in modern musical theater, not as the lead, but as the performer who must always be ready to become the lead at a moment’s notice. It required endurance, patience, and a level of preparation that often goes unseen. For a full year, she rehearsed, observed, and absorbed before stepping into the role on stage.

“I want creativity to pour out of me. I don’t want to limit where that can go.”

That debut, when it came, was not defined by fear but by readiness.

Her perspective is shaped by experience, by witnessing both the benefits and the risks of digital accessibility. It is a stance that feels increasingly rare and increasingly intentional.

Her first major professional breakthrough came with Wicked—a defining moment for many performers, but for Valli, it arrived with a delay that would ultimately shape her perspective. After initially being told she was “not yet ready,” she spent a year navigating uncertainty, working as a wedding band singer while watching peers book roles. It was a period marked by self-questioning, a quiet recalibration of expectations.

Like many performers, Valli found herself in a moment of forced stillness, a rare break in an otherwise relentless cycle of

At the same time, she maintains a clear boundary between her professional and personal life, particularly in an era dominated by social media. While acknowledging its role in modern visibility, she remains cautious, prioritizing privacy and authenticity over constant exposure.

“I waited a full year to go on as Elphaba, and by then, I wasn’t scared. I was ready.”

What followed was three years on the road, a period she describes as her greatest education. It was there she learned not just the mechanics of performance, but the deeper discipline of being a professional—how to stay present, how to remain humble, how to recognize that growth.

And yet, even after such a significant milestone, the question that shadows every artist resurfaced: what comes next?

Post-Wicked, Valli faced a different kind of pressure, not the struggle to break in, but the challenge of sustaining momentum.

She speaks candidly about the internal dialogue that follows a major success, the fear of becoming defined by a single role.

Her response was not to chase validation, but to refine her approach.

“I stopped trying to prove anything and focused on doing honest, grounded work.”

“It felt like nightly affirmations. I know what I bring, and I stand in that.”

auditions and performances. It was during this time that the industry itself began to shift, introducing new formats like self-taped auditions, requiring performers to adapt not just creatively, but technically.

Her return to auditioning led to one of her most prominent roles yet: Vivian in the national tour of Pretty Woman: The Musical, where she starred opposite Adam Pascal. The role demanded not only vocal and emotional range, but ownership, taking a character widely known through film and reinterpreting it for the stage.

“If you want to see Julia Roberts, go watch the movie. I had to make Vivian my own.”

That ownership extended beyond performance into identity. Valli speaks openly about not fitting into traditional or “Eurocentric” standards of beauty, and how that

Even her views on emerging technologies, including AI, reflect a deeper concern for the integrity of artistic creation.

While she recognizes its inevitability, she questions its impact on originality, on craftsmanship, and on the human element that defines performance.

For Valli, the essence of art lies in lived experience, the ability to translate reality into something shared. And that, ultimately, is what defines her journey.

Not just the roles, or the milestones, or even the breakthroughs, but the persistence behind them. The willingness to wait. The discipline to grow. And the clarity to remain rooted in why she started in the first place.

In an industry often defined by immediacy, Valli represents something far more enduring: the quiet power of staying the course.

“I’d rather be chosen for my work than my following.”

Photos James Weber Camera BTS Cris Pena Stylist Sahil Babar Hair & Makeup Marina Mnovic & Roma

opinion

Whether the United States has lost the “essence of 1776” is not a historical question—it is the central tension of American identity. It forces us to ask what, exactly, was born in that moment: a rebellion against distant power, a declaration of universal human dignity, or a system designed—brilliantly but imperfectly—to serve a narrow elite.

How we answer that question determines whether we see modern America as a betrayal of its founding or the long, unfinished fulfillment of it.

The difficulty lies in the ambiguity of 1776 itself. The American Revolution was not a single idea, but a convergence of competing ones.

It was at once conservative and radical—rooted in English legal traditions while advancing a bold new claim about equality. It was both a defense of local autonomy and the beginning of a national project. And it was, undeniably, shaped by men whose ideals outpaced their practices.

To speak of an “essence” is therefore to choose which of these threads we believe matters most.

If the essence of 1776 was a revolt against distant authority and a fierce commitment to individual liberty, then today’s America can appear almost unrecognizable. The Founders distrusted centralized power with an intensity that is difficult to fully grasp today. Their experience under British rule convinced them that concentrated authority—whether in a monarch or a remote legislature—posed an existential threat to freedom.

The Declaration of Independence is not merely a statement of ideals; it is an indictment. It catalogues abuses, from taxation without consent to the maintenance of standing armies, all framed as evidence of a deliberate design to impose “absolute despotism.”

The Revolution, in this sense, was not just about independence, it was about resisting the very conditions that made tyranny possible.

Viewed through this lens, the modern American state represents a

profound departure. Over two centuries, the federal government has grown in size, scope, and influence in ways the Founders could scarcely have imagined. Today’s administrative state regulates everything from financial systems to environmental standards, from healthcare access to technological infrastructure. Unelected agencies wield significant authority, often operating at a distance from the voters whose lives they affect.

To critics, this evolution reflects not progress but drift, a steady accumulation of power that undermines the decentralized spirit of 1776. The ideal of the “citizen-legislator,” rooted in temporary service and close ties to local communities, has given way to a professional political class. Decision-making has become more complex, more bureaucratic, and for many, more opaque.

Even the economic foundations of independence have shifted.

Thomas Jefferson envisioned a republic of yeoman farmers— individuals who owned land, sustained themselves, and therefore could not be easily coerced by either government or concentrated wealth. Property ownership, in his view, was not merely economic; it was political, forming the bedrock of a free and virtuous citizenry.

Today, that model has largely disappeared. The American economy is global, corporate, and increasingly digital. While it has generated unprecedented prosperity, it has also produced new forms of dependency on employers, institutions, and systems far removed from local control. For some, this shift raises an uncomfortable question: can a republic built on independence endure in an age of interdependence?

And yet, this account, powerful as it is, captures only one dimension of the American story.

If, instead, we understand the essence of 1776 as the idea that all people are created equal, endowed with unalienable rights, then the trajectory of American history looks very different. In

Has USA 2026 Lost the Plot; The Essence of 1776?

BY PIETRO ELLISONI this view, 1776 was not a completed achievement but a promissory note, a statement of principle that future generations would be called upon to interpret, challenge, and fulfill.

At the time of its writing, that principle was radically incomplete. The same document that proclaimed equality coexisted with slavery, disenfranchisement, and exclusion. Women had no political voice.

Many men lacked the right to vote. Entire populations were denied recognition as full participants in the American experiment.

If we judge 1776 solely by its immediate realities, it appears deeply contradictory. But if we judge it by the standard it set, it becomes something else entirely: a framework for transformation. Over time, that framework has been invoked to expand the boundaries of “We the People.” The abolition of slavery, the extension of voting rights to women, and the struggles of the Civil Rights Movement can all be understood as efforts to align American practice with American principle. Each movement drew on the language of the founding, insisting that the nation live up to its own ideals.

From this perspective, the growth of federal power takes on a different meaning. Rather than representing a departure from 1776, it can be seen as one of the tools through which its promises were enforced. When local and state systems failed to protect the rights of all citizens, national authority became a necessary instrument of justice.

The result is a weakening of the shared civic foundation upon which self-government depends. When citizens cannot agree on basic facts, or when large segments of the population question the legitimacy of elections, the mechanisms of democracy begin to strain. This is not a new concern. George Washington warned in his Farewell Address that the “spirit of party” could become a destructive force, undermining the common good in favor of factional interests.

What he described as a risk has, in many ways, become a defining feature of modern political life.

And yet, even in this environment, the essence of 1776 has not disappeared.

It persists in the actions of citizens who continue to engage, challenge, and participate. It is visible in protests that demand accountability, in local communities that organize to address shared problems, and in the enduring belief held by millions that the system, however flawed, remains open to change.

The United States has always been more than its institutions. It is, at its core, an idea, one that invites constant reinterpretation. That idea has never been settled. It has been argued over in courts, in legislatures, in streets, and in homes. It has been defended, expanded, and, at times, betrayed.

To say that the essence of 1776 has been “lost” assumes that it was ever fixed or complete. In reality, it has always been contested.

This does not resolve the tension, it reframes it. The same founding ideals that justify skepticism of centralized power can also justify its use in defense of rights. Liberty and equality, often treated as complementary, can in practice pull in different directions.

The essence of 1776 is not a static inheritance. It is a dynamic process, a continuous debate about who belongs, who decides, and what freedom requires. It is not preserved by agreement, but by engagement.

That tension has not disappeared. If anything, it has intensified.

So, has America lost it?

Today, the United States faces a crisis not only of governance but of consent. The American Revolution was rooted in the belief that legitimate government depends on the will of the governed. “No taxation without representation” was not simply a slogan—it was a demand for participation, accountability, and recognition.

If we measure by the distance between citizens and power, by the complexity of modern governance, or by the erosion of shared trust, the answer can feel like yes. There are real and serious challenges that test the resilience of the American system.

In contemporary America, many citizens feel that this principle has been weakened. Trust in institutions has declined. Political polarization has deepened. Across the ideological spectrum, there is a growing sense that the system is unresponsive, unbalanced, or even rigged.

Some attribute this to the influence of money in politics, where campaign financing and lobbying create disparities in access and influence. Others point to the fragmentation of media, where competing narratives make it increasingly difficult to establish a shared understanding of reality. Social media, while expanding access to information, has also amplified division, reinforcing echo chambers rather than fostering deliberation.

But if we measure by the expansion of rights, the persistence of civic participation, and the enduring conviction that authority derives from the people, the answer is no.

The truth is more complicated and more revealing.

The United States has not lost the essence of 1776. It has multiplied it into competing visions of liberty, equality, and power that now struggle to coexist. That struggle is not evidence of failure. It is evidence that the underlying questions of the American experiment remain alive.

The Revolution did not end in 1776. It never has.

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DANAY

GARCIA

“ ... art was never optional for me— it was survival, a way to understand the world a nd my place within it ... ”

There is something unmistakable about Danay García the moment she begins to speak. It is not simply energy, though she has that in abundance. It is not only warmth, though that, too, arrives instantly.

What comes through most powerfully is presence, the kind shaped by migration, discipline, uncertainty, and the kind of faith that only grows after life has tested it.

For García, the journey has never followed a straight line. Born in Cuba and raised in a culture steeped in music, movement, storytelling, and soul, she speaks about art not as a profession first, but as a necessity. In her telling, the arts are not decorative. They are sustaining, a way of understanding yourself, of processing the world, of surviving it.

She began in dance, training in ballet before transitioning into theater. To her, that evolution felt natural. Dance taught her how to tell a story with the body; theater taught her how to tell one with the voice. The instrument changed, but the purpose did not. Performance remained an act of emotional truth.

That artistic foundation was formed in Cuba, where creativity was woven into everyday life. García describes an upbringing filled with rhythm, conversation, and expression that gave her not only an appreciation for performance, but an understanding that art shapes the inner life just as education shapes the mind.

When she moved to the United States, however, everything shifted.

Los Angeles was not simply a new city, but a new language, a new pace, a new emotional architecture. García had to rebuild herself from the ground up, particularly as English became central to her craft. If acting is storytelling through voice, then performing in a second language meant relearning how to express emotion.

She approached that challenge with patience. There would be no overnight transformation only humility, night classes, repetition, and persistence. What could have been discouraging became an education in endurance. Modeling became part of her entry into the American entertainment industry, but acting remained the deeper calling. Early roles included commercials and projects like Danika alongside Marisa Tomei, followed by appearances in CSI: Miami and CSI: NY. Momentum began to build.

By Jude Lemon Photos by Jonny Marlow

Then came Prison Break — the breakthrough. It was there García began to understand the global reach of storytelling.

A performance could travel across continents. A character could resonate beyond language. For an actress already committed to emotional truth, it was a defining realization.

But success rarely arrives without interruption. The 2007 Writers Guild of America strike halted momentum just as doors were opening. What followed was not a smooth ascent, but what García describes as “10 dark years,” a decade of near misses, guest roles, and quiet perseverance.

It is here her story deepens into something more than a career narrative. It becomes a meditation on identity. She returned to class. Studied. Worked abroad. Returned to dance. At the Ivana Chubbuck Studio, she became a monitor, supporting other actors while rediscovering the craft through fresh eyes.

She also just wrapped a leading role on the upcoming series Cuba Confidential, with Peter Sarsgaard, as well as opposite Terrence Howard in the film, Miami Nights.

During the pandemic, García launched her podcast, Treat Your Life Like a Garden, born from a desire for connection. What began as social-media karaoke evolved into a platform for reflection and growth. The garden metaphor—life as something to nurture and tend—remains central to her voice today.

In an age shaped by AI and digital disconnection, Garcia acknowledges the uncertainty, she remains grounded in one belief: nothing replaces the human need to feel, gather, and connect.

The arts will endure because they answer something essential within us.

García does not romanticize struggle, but she honors what it taught her. She learned not to define herself by whether she was booked or chosen. That not working did not mean not evolving. That there is dignity in continuing and power in staying open to your own potential.

What continues to distinguish García is her ability to remain both grounded and expansive at once. She speaks with the awareness of someone who has seen cycles—beginnings, endings, and the quiet spaces in between—and understands that each carries its own purpose. There is a calm confidence now, not rooted in certainty, but in resilience. She no longer chases momentum in the same way; instead, she aligns with it, trusting that the right work will meet her where she stands.

When Fear the Walking Dead arrived, it marked the end of that uncertain chapter. What began as a recurring role grew into a seven-season arc, bringing both visibility and stability after years of unpredictability.

Perhaps that is what makes García so compelling now. She is not speaking from theory, but rather from experience. She has known reinvention. Waiting. Starting over in a new language and country. She has known success, silence, and renewal.

Now, she steps into a new phase with M.I.A., premiering in May on Peacock from creator Bill Dubuque (Ozark). The series is a crime drama set in Miami and offers a tonal shift: from apocalypse to something sleek, emotional, and psychologically layered.

What remains is not just ambition, but clarity. Danay García understands that a life in the arts is never fully secure, never fully mapped, never fully promised. But she also understands something deeper: the work of becoming does not stop when the cameras do.

García plays the mother of the central character, a woman composed on the surface, but carrying internal chaos. It is a role defined by restraint and complexity, one she embraces as an artist drawn to contrast.

And that, more than anything, is what makes this chapter powerful. It is not simply about what comes next. It is about the woman she became while finding her way there.

“ ... Learning to act in a new language wasn’t just technical—it was emotional.

I had to rediscover how to feel out loud ... ”

The Paradox of Altruism: feature

Defining Selflessness in an Egoistic World

Altruism, defined as the unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others, stands as one of the most compelling and paradoxical aspects of human behavior. Coined by French philosopher Auguste Comte in the 19th century as an antonym to egoism, it describes actions performed to assist another individual, often at a significant cost or risk to oneself. While traditional virtues often champion selfless acts, psychologists and philosophers have long debated whether “true” altruism— completely devoid of self-interest— exists. Altruism is a fundamental basis of social life, allowing for cooperation and cohesion, yet it remains closely intertwined with the egoistic drives that define the human experience.

The central debate surrounding altruism is whether it is ever purely selfless.

Psychological egoism posits that every human action is motivated by self-interest, suggesting that even seemingly altruistic acts are conducted to gain a “warm glow,” enhance reputation, or avoid social stigma. For instance, a volunteer might feel personal gratification, which could be interpreted as a form of reward. However, this perspective has its detractors. True altruism is driven by empathy—the emotional resonance with another’s distress—rather than internal or external rewards.

The empathy-altruism hypothesis, suggested by researchers like C.D. Batson, predicts that those experiencing high levels of empathy for someone in need are more likely to help, regardless of the potential costs or benefits to themselves. This suggests that while altruism often brings joy, the joy is a consequence of the act rather than the primary motivation. Therefore, a helper who feels empathy and is focused on the recipient’s well-being is engaging in true altruism, even if they experience secondary happiness.

By Joan Rhodes Evolutionary Perspectives on Altruism Altruism presents a significant challenge to Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection. If natural selection favors individuals who maximize their own reproductive success, why would an organism sacrifice its own fitness to help another? The answer lies in evolutionary theories of altruism, specifically kin selection and reciprocal altruism.

• Kin Selection (Inclusive Fitness). Individuals are more likely to exhibit altruistic behavior towards relatives, as they share common genes.

By ensuring the survival of relatives, an individual implicitly ensures the survival of their own genetic material, even if they perish.

• Reciprocal Altruism. This refers to the concept of “helping now, benefiting later.” Individuals may act altruistically, expecting that the favor will be returned by the recipient or another member of the group, which boosts the survival rate of the group as a whole.

These theories suggest that altruism is not merely a social ornament but a fundamental survival strategy, ensuring the long-term survival of the species.

Types and Manifestations of Altruism Altruism manifests in various ways in daily life. Research has identified several categories of altruism, including kin (helping family), reciprocal (helping with expectation of return), cultural group (helping within a social group), and pure altruism (helping without reward). Examples are widespread: helping a stranger in an emergency, donating money to charity, or volunteering at a food bank.

In society, altruism is frequently manifested through organized philanthropy, grassroots activism, and civic engagement. It can be seen when

individuals risk their lives to rescue others in danger, or, on a less dramatic level, when they prioritize the needs of a community member over their own comforts.

Effective Altruism: A Modern Movement In recent years, the concept of “Effective Altruism” (EA) has gained momentum. Led by philosophers like Peter Singer, EA applies evidence and reason to determine the most effective ways to benefit others. It argues that because resources are finite, they should be used to maximize positive outcomes— for example, by donating to charities that provide the most cost-effective health interventions rather than just “feeling good” about giving to any charity.

This approach suggests that we have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of geographical distance, as argued in discussions of poverty and global welfare. The focus shifts from the emotion of compassion to the calculation of impact, highlighting that the highest form of altruism requires both a caring heart and a rational mind.

Conclusion: The Enduring Value of Altruism Despite the debate over its underlying motives, altruism remains a foundational element of a flourishing society. It is a complex phenomenon, propelled by empathy, influenced by evolutionary needs, and structured by social norms.

While it is possible that all altruistic acts are tinged with elements of egoism, the positive impact on the recipient and the overall strengthening of social bonds cannot be denied. As societies become increasingly interconnected, fostering altruism—both in personal, empathetic actions and in rational, effective charity—is vital for addressing global challenges and nurturing our shared humanity.

rockstar

In 2026, food is no longer defined by indulgence or restriction alone. It exists in a more nuanced space, where comfort meets consciousness, and where every choice reflects a deeper awareness of how we live. The modern palate isn’t chasing trends—it’s chasing meaning.

authenticity. Diners are moving beyond broad culinary labels and toward specificity—seeking regional cuisines, cultural accuracy, and deeper storytelling. It’s no longer enough to offer a general category. People want to understand origin, craft, and context. They want food that feels real.

“People aren’t just eating for taste anymore—they’re eating for how it makes them feel.”

This attention to detail extends past the plate ... to the glass.

At the center of this shift is a return to comfort—but not in its original form. Familiar dishes are being reimagined through a global, elevated lens. A simple bowl of noodles might carry unexpected spice or depth. A classic dish arrives layered with new textures and influences. What was once straightforward is now intentional, designed to evoke memory while still offering discovery.

This evolution reflects something larger: a desire for connection. Food has become emotional again—rooted in nostalgia, but shaped by curiosity.

At the same time, a new kind of awareness is guiding how we eat. The post-wellness era is less about perfection and more about performance. Today’s consumer is looking for food that fuels energy, supports longevity, and integrates seamlessly into daily life.

Functional ingredients—fiber, protein, and nutrientdense elements—are no longer niche. They are expected, embedded into menus without sacrificing flavor or experience.

“Health is no longer the opposite of indulgence—it’s part of it.”

Equally important is the growing demand for

Beverages have become one of the most dynamic spaces in food culture. From customized sodas to sophisticated virgin options, drinks are evolving into a primary form of expression. Personalization, visual appeal, and experimentation are driving a category that is as social as it is sensory.

“Drinks are no longer an also—they’re the main event.”

Yet beneath the innovation, there is a counterbalance.

After years of ultra-processed experimentation, there is a renewed appreciation for simplicity—whole ingredients, traditional techniques, and food that feels grounded. This return to “real” is not about regression, but refinement. It reflects a desire for transparency, trust, and a more honest relationship with what we consume.

What defines this moment is not a single trend, but a tension between opposing forces. We want bold flavors, but natural ones. Global influence, but local integrity.

Innovation, but authenticity.

In the end, the future of food is not about extremes. It’s about balance—a thoughtful intersection of pleasure, purpose, and experience.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT!

Something has shifted at the table—and it’s not just what we’re eating, but why.

The Biggest Food Trends Right Now

Authenticity > fusion gimmicks

After the plant-based boom:

1. Comfort Food… but Elevated

5. Bite-Sized Dining & “Grazing Culture”

Less fake meat More whole, natural ingredients Traditional cooking methods

Think nostalgia—but upgraded.

How people eat is changing: Smashed burgers with global twists Gourmet ramen / instant noodles Caribbean curries, home-style dishes reimagined

Mini meals Snack boards Tapas-style small plates

People want emotional, familiar food—but with chef-level creativity

Eating is becoming more social, flexible, and portion-controlled

2. “Swavory” & Flavor Mashups

6. The Beverage Explosion 🍹

Sweet + savory is evolving fast:

This is one of the fastest-growing trends right now:

Miso caramel Tahini soft serve Chili + chocolate + fruit combos The trend is bold, unexpected flavor layering (beyond “sweet + spicy”) 3. Functional & “Feel-Good” Eating Food is now about performance + health, not just taste: “Fibermaxxing” (high-fiber everything) Brain-boost foods (berries, greens, adaptogens) Protein-added snacks & meals

“Dirty sodas” (customized soda + cream + syrups) Fruit refreshers & specialty iced drinks Energy drink hybrids Recent example: fast-food giants are investing heavily in new drink menus to compete with coffee chains Drinks = high margin + Gen Z obsession

4. Global Flavors Go Deeper (Authenticity Wins) Not just “Asian” or “Mediterranean”— people want specific regional identity: Regional Indian cuisine (huge growth) Filipino, Vietnamese, Thai expansion Korean flavors still dominating

9. Extreme / Viral Flavors (Still Going Strong) Social media is driving bold experiments: Pickle everything (even pickle beer) Blue-colored drinks Over-the-top flavor combos Polarizing = viral = profitable 10. Cozy, Story-Driven Food Culture Even design + vibe is trending: “Burrowcore” kitchens (warm, nostalgic, layered) Home-style, lived-in dining experiences Storytelling menus

7. Savory Cocktails & Fermentation Bars and restaurants are shifting:

👉 Wellness + value = top driver of choices

Consumers are questioning ultraprocessed foods and returning to basics

Savory cocktails (think olive oil, herbs, umami) Fermented ingredients (kimchi, kefir, pickles) House-made everything 👉 Craft + depth is replacing flashy mixology 8. “Real Food” Comeback (Backlash to Ultra-Processed)

Dining is about feeling something— not just eating ⚡ The Big Shift (What It All Means) Right now, food is moving toward: Emotional + nostalgic (comfort food revival) Health-aware but indulgent Globally inspired but culturally authentic Experience-driven (especially drinks + social eating)

rant

“ ... it does not go unnoticed when the energy is hoarded instead of shared. When access becomes the event, and the people inside forget to actually be interesting... “

I am surrounded by them every weekend. The elitists. The regulars. The ones who speak in room names and treat guest lists like credentials. I am not observing this scene from the outside, I am very much inside it. I enjoy the it spots of the city. I like a good room, a packed dancefloor, a night that feels curated in the right way.

But enjoying it does not require pretending not to see it.

New York nightlife has developed a fascinating delusion: the belief that proximity to exclusivity is a substitute for character. The velvet rope, once a suggestion of mystery, has become a personality type. Access is worn like an achievement. Tables are treated like proof.

Every weekend, the same choreography repeats itself. The same men guarding couches like inherited property. The same women arranged for optics. The same conversations about who belongs where, who is “worth” letting in, who knows whom. Status is traded like currency, passed hand to hand in dim light.

What makes it unbearable is not the exclusivity, it’s the insecurity.

True confidence doesn’t need to announce itself. Yet here, everything is announced. Who paid. Who invited. Who has the better table. The

elitism is loud because it’s fragile. It depends on constant reinforcement, on someone else being denied entry for it to mean anything.

And yes, I enjoy the good rooms. I like the music when it’s right. I like the electricity of a full club, the moment when the night tips into something memorable. But it does not go unnoticed when the energy is hoarded instead of shared. When access becomes the event, and the people inside forget to actually be interesting.

Elitists mistake separation for superiority. They confuse being selective with being elevated.

They guard space instead of contributing to it.

They forget that nightlife only works when there is exchange, movement, glances, chaos, joy.

The best nights in this city are never the ones where everyone is performing importance.

They’re the ones where the room relaxes. Where no one is policing. Where the door fades into the background and the night takes over.

I’m not immune to the appeal of exclusivity.

But I am immune to pretending it’s impressive.

Because if the most interesting thing about you is where you stand, who let you in, or what you’re sitting on, then the room is already dead.

And no rope, no table, no list will bring it back to life.

The Insecurity Of The Elitests

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ZIBBY

By Johnathan Browne

Photos by Corinne Moffat

Zibby Allen does not move through the world like someone chasing visibility for its own sake. What comes through in conversation is something far more compelling: a woman building a life that feels deeply considered, intuitively led, and creatively expansive. She is warm, articulate, and self-aware, but there is also a restless energy beneath the surface, the unmistakable quality of someone whose ambitions cannot be contained within a single title.

Actor, advocate, producer, creative thinker, student of herbalism, and, increasingly, entrepreneur in spirit, Allen speaks with the kind of clarity that suggests she has spent real time thinking about what matters and even more time learning what does not.

ALLEN

“ ... I’ll always be an advocate for the LGBTQ community… doing what we do best for something good feels profound ... ” Speaking from Vancouver, where she is preparing to begin filming season eight of Virgin River, Allen sounds both grounded and excited — grateful for the rare gift of being part of a series that has not only endured, but flourished. In an industry defined by uncertainty, short cycles, and constant reinvention, the idea of entering an eighth season is extraordinary. There is no sense of entitlement in the way she talks about the show, only appreciation. And yet, what is most striking is that she does not speak about Virgin River as a final destination. For Allen, it is a meaningful chapter, a major one certainly, but not the whole story.

That story begins much earlier, in San Francisco, where she grew up doing theater and fell in love with performance almost before she could articulate why. She describes acting not as a passing childhood interest or even as a particularly dramatic revelation, but as something she simply knew. It was the place where she felt most alive, most seen, most drawn. What Allen communicates so well is that knowing what you want does not exempt you from the long, difficult work of learning how to build a life around it.

Like so many performers before her, she made the move from Northern California to Los Angeles carrying both ambition and a measure of innocence. Los Angeles became a decade-long education, not just in acting, but in the mechanics of survival, discipline, and self-definition. She worked in commercials and comedy, and developed a strong ability to sustain herself within the realities of the industry. But like many actors, she was also carrying a larger dream: to become a series regular on a globally loved show, to inhabit a role long enough for audiences to truly know her, and to build a career with both visibility and longevity.

What makes Allen’s story particularly interesting is that the breakthrough did not come from clinging harder to the version of success she thought she was meant to pursue. It came when she loosened her grip. She speaks candidly about leaving Los Angeles not as an act of defeat, but as a conscious choice toward quality of life and toward love. She had met her husband in Edinburgh years earlier while performing at the Fringe Festival, and their story feels almost cinematic in its own right. Together, they chose Vancouver as neutral ground, a place where neither would have to disappear into the other’s already established world.

“It wasn’t until I took my claws out of Los Angeles and let myself choose quality of life, and pursue love, that the opportunity really had space to come in.”

Her account of booking the role is a reminder of how modern acting careers are so often built in moments that feel strangely anticlimactic at the time. It was the height of COVID. Self-tapes had become the new normal. She auditioned from home, sent the tape off, and, like so many working actors must, let it go.

Weeks later, she got the call that changed everything: she had booked the role, without meeting the executives, without a callback, without the usual choreography of network approval.

She was already in Vancouver. The world of Virgin River — lush, atmospheric, emotionally intimate — was suddenly the world she was stepping into professionally as well as geographically.

There is real grace in the way Allen talks about that experience.

Long-running series are increasingly rare, offering actors the chance to deepen, stretch, and evolve over time. Allen clearly relishes that long-form storytelling. At the same time, she resists being defined by one role alone. When she talks about the future, there is a palpable sense of creative overflow — theater, prestige drama, comedy, character work, producing, writing, collaboration.

That breadth is visible in the way she thinks about work beyond acting. During the conversation, Allen speaks with unusual passion about herbs, tea infusions, and the body’s signals — territory some might treat as a side hobby, but which she approaches with the intensity of real study. Her health, she explains, has taught her to listen closely. She studies herbs seriously, blends them herself, and uses cold-brew infusions as part of a daily ritual that is grounding and restorative.

“When I’m passionate about something, I just can’t help it. I have to do it.”

Nowhere is that more evident than in the event she is producing in Los Angeles this September, benefiting Foster More. The event, which brings together writers, directors, and actors to create and perform short plays in a single day, sounds joyful and chaotic on the surface. But beneath that energy is something deeply personal. The event’s roots stretch back fourteen years to work Allen did in memory of her late brother, Hunter. Funds originally supported the Baby Dragon Fund and programs at the LA Gay and Lesbian Center, which she says helped sustain her brother through difficult periods of his life.

Allen speaks about LGBTQ support with sincerity and without self-consciousness. She is honoring a history that belongs to her,

to her brother, and to the people and institutions that held him up when he needed it. The expansion of that spirit toward foster youth through Foster More feels consistent with the same impulse: using the tools of her industry to create visibility, resources, and care.

“I’ll always be an advocate for the LGBTQ community… doing what we do best for something good feels profound.”

It also informs how she thinks about social media, fame, and Artificial Intelligence (AI), three of the defining forces pressing on public-facing creative lives right now. Allen is candid about her discomfort with social media. She understands its usefulness, but she is wary of what it asks people to flatten or perform. She describes not always feeling like the same person from one day to the next, and there is something refreshingly honest in that admission.

Allen is more interested in authenticity than polish, even if authenticity itself has become a tired buzzword.

Her thoughts on fame are equally revealing. She is not interested in celebrity as spectacle, but she is interested in the challenge of scale: how authentic can a person remain as the audience grows? Allen appears to understand that visibility is not neutral — it pressures, distorts, and amplifies.

The real work, in her view, is not how to become known, but how to remain intact while being seen.

Her view of AI is similarly measured. She recognizes it as a creative tool, but she is also alert to its risks, particularly around labor and the displacement of human artists. Still, she returns to a belief in the irreducible value of human creativity: spirit, texture, contradiction, instinct.

That faith in the human element may be the thread that ties everything together. Zibby Allen is compelling not simply because she is talented, or because Virgin River has given her a bigger platform. She is compelling because she seems committed to building a life that does not sever art from wellness, success from love, or visibility from integrity. She is thinking expansively. She is creating across forms. She is advocating from lived experience.

And she is doing all of it with a rare mix of self-possession and openness.

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CARL CLEMONSHOPKINS “

... With a

lot of effort

elbow grease actually good things

and a lot of we can

,

make

happen

...

”

By Abby Broad Carl Clemons-Hopkins does not speak in headlines. They speak in layers: thoughtful, incisive, and with the kind of emotional clarity that makes even the most complicated subjects feel sharply human. In conversation, the actor moves seamlessly between art and activism, theater and identity, joy and disillusionment, never sounding performative, never reaching for effect. What emerges instead is a portrait of an artist deeply committed to the truth of storytelling, the truth of representation, and the truth of what it means to create meaningful work in a world that too often prefers labels over humanity.

“People put too many labels on things, and it just segregates that much more.”

There is nothing abstract about the way Clemons-Hopkins thinks. Even in discussing identity politics, they are grounded in material realities—healthcare, rights, war, inequality, survival.

That breadth of awareness gives their words weight. They are not interested in hollow milestones. They are interested in what actually changes people’s lives. That same seriousness carries into the way they speak about performance. Acting, for Clemons-Hopkins, is not simply a profession; it is a lifelong calling shaped by discipline, instinct, and early certainty. Raised in a religious and ministry-centered environment, they joke that church itself contains many of the same elements as theater—lighting, sound, stagecraft, audience—but behind the humor is a deeper truth: performance has always been part of how they understood the world.

From childhood, theater was the gravitational pull. They describe themselves as a child of theater, a child actor not marked by fame but by commitment. Encouraged by parents who nurtured passion wherever they saw it, Clemons-Hopkins was allowed the freedom to follow fascination rather than convention. Music, church choir, dance, drama clubs. Each became part of an early creative language. Yet it was theater, above all, that endured as first love. That devotion was sharpened further in young adulthood, when legendary voice artist Marnie Nixon urged them to pursue acting in earnest. It was not permission they needed, exactly, but focus, and once that focus arrived, so did the conviction that storytelling could be both personal purpose and public service.

“I enjoy the storytelling of it, I enjoy the transformation of it, and I enjoy what theater and just good work can do for society.”

Now, with their first Broadway show, that devotion has found a new stage. Clemons-Hopkins speaks with real excitement about The Balusters, a new comedy at the Samuel J. Friedman Theatre

by Pulitzer Prize and Tony Award winner David Lindsay-Abaire and directed by Tony Award winner Kenny Leon. Describing it as a sharp, funny, biting social comedy set around an HOA board, the play offers something deeper: a mirror held up to modern America. Beneath its humor lies a revealing portrait of a society still struggling to live with itself, still tripping over its own contradictions. What excites them most is not just that audien-

ces are laughing, but that they are being made uncomfortable in productive ways. They are seeing themselves, questioning themselves, and leaving with more than entertainment. For Clemons-Hopkins, that is the best outcome art can offer. “At its best, it can be very revelatory.”

That sense of artistic responsibility extends beyond the stage.

Clemons-Hopkins is equally energized by work behind the camera, where they are beginning to shape projects of their own. Producing, they say, became a serious interest around 2020, beginning in the most stripped-back way possible: a phone, some footage, basic editing, curiosity, repetition. From there came a growing understanding of how projects are built and who gets to shape them. Their recent short, Burned Out Bohemia, an absurd queer film about the theater of finding a job, represents more than a credit—it represents proof. Proof that with enough labor, imagination, and collective belief, independent work can get made. And more importantly, that it can matter.

“With a lot of effort and a lot of elbow grease, we can actually make good things happen.”

Again and again, Clemons-Hopkins returns to the idea that artists must help build the work they want to see. If the industry does not naturally create space for necessary stories, then those stories must be fostered anyway. There is steel in that outlook, but also hope. Even in naming oppression, they point toward possibility. Even in recognizing broken systems, they insist on making something better. It is why their critique of artificial intelligence lands with such force. Their opposition is not casual or trendy; it is moral, environmental, and deeply rooted in questions of exploitation, power, and who bears the cost of technological ambition. For Clemons-Hopkins, innovation without ethics is not innovation at all.

In addition to The Balusters, you can catch Carl in the upcoming fifth season of the critically-acclaimes, award-winning Hacks, reprising their role as Marcus. Carl earned an Emmy nomination in 2021 for the role, becoming the first nonbinary actor nominated in the Emmy’s 73-year history. Their theater work includes Hamilton (Chicago and 1st National), Steppenwolf Theatre, and the Vineyard Theatre, and they were recently honored at the Critics’ Choice Association’s LGBTQ+ Film and Television Celebration as well as by The Human Rights Campaign with the Visibility Award.

“It’s not worth the water.” That line lingers because it captures so much of what defines Clemons-Hopkins: precision, conscience, and a refusal to be dazzled by surface. Whether discussing gender, Broadway, producing, politics, or technology, they return to the same essential demand—that we look deeper, ask harder questions, and resist easy narratives. In an era obsessed with speed, branding, and simplification, Carl Clemons-Hopkins offers something rarer: substance. Not just an actor with talent, but an artist with a point of view, and the courage to voice it. [previous spread] photo by The Riker Bothers [right] photos by Chollette

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Lisa Ann Walter -- a national treasure

By Beatrice Golding Photos by Dylan Perlot There is a particular kind of woman who does not enter a room so much as animate it. Lisa Ann Walter is that kind of woman.

Warm, hilarious, glamorous, emotionally fluent, and gloriously unfiltered, she carries the rare combination of star power and soul. She is quick with a joke, quicker with an insight, and behind the wit sits something more durable: grit. The kind built not in a single breakthrough moment, but over decades of showing up, speaking up, and refusing to disappear.

What becomes clear almost immediately in conversation with Walter is that her life has never moved in a straight line. It has moved with force. Through comedy clubs and television sets, through motherhood and reinvention, through periods of abundance and periods of uncertainty, she has built a career not by waiting for permission, but by creating momentum.

Even now, in a moment when Abbott Elementary has introduced her brilliance to a new generation and theater is currently calling her back to the stage in Heathers The Musical, she speaks not like someone arriving at a destination, but like someone still hungry for the next challenge.

“ ... I don’t wait for somebody to roll out a red carpet and say, here is your opportunity ... ‘cos every no is just one less thing in the way of the yes ... ” Lisa Ann Walter is deeply funny. But what gives her humor weight is intelligence. Walter talks about comedy not as performance alone, but as instinct, curiosity, and survival. Funny people, she suggests, are often the ones making the quickest connections, absorbing the most, reading the room and the culture at the same time. There is history in the way she thinks, family in the way she speaks, and purpose in the way she remembers her own beginnings. Her great-grandfathers died building the New York City subway system. Her great-grandmother raised twelve children in Little Italy. Hard work, she implies, is not a branding exercise. It is inheritance.

That inheritance shaped a woman who learned early that motion matters. As a child, she was organizing neighborhood projects, building clubhouses, marching for causes, writing letters, paying attention. There is a through-line from that young girl to the woman she is now: politically aware, emotionally alert, unwilling to sit still in the face of injustice or limitation. Walter speaks of feminism in a way that feels lived rather than rehearsed. She remembers not simply believing in equality, but being unable to understand why it would ever be denied. That clarity became part of her identity long before it became fashionable language.

And yet, like many powerful women, she also understands what it means to be told to make herself smaller. In school, she recalls wishing she could stop being quicker than the boys, wishing she could simply laugh instead of outpacing them. In comedy, she saw the same pressure repeated in different form. Female comics, particularly in earlier eras, were often expected to soften themselves with self-deprecation, to make themselves less threatening, less beautiful, less powerful. Walter chose the opposite route. She stepped on stage in sexy dresses, in full command of her femininity and her voice, refusing the tired idea that a woman had to diminish one to justify the other. It was not defiance for its own sake. It was identity.

That sense of self has carried Walter through the realities of an industry that can be brutally uneven, especially for women aging beyond the easy categories Hollywood prefers. Walter speaks candidly about the years of constant work, followed by the quieter periods when roles dried up and reinvention became necessity. But what is striking is the absence of self-pity. She does not romanticize struggle, but neither does she let it define her.

She became a radio host. She created projects. She adapted. She parented. She kept going. If there is a philosophy underneath her career, it is this: movement is survival.

That philosophy also explains why her connection to audiences feels so unusually human. Walter is not interested in celebrity as distance. She understands impact through intimacy. She lights up speaking about people who tell her that a role made them feel seen, accepted, or less alone. From The Parent Trap to her

later work, she has heard from viewers who found comfort in the characters she brought to life. For her, that is the true reward: not simply being watched, but mattering. It is a deeply maternal instinct, one she readily claims. First and foremost, she says, she identifies as a mother. The desire to help, mend, protect, and uplift runs through everything she does.

It also explains why Abbott Elementary resonates so profoundly with her. Walter understands exactly why the show has become such a cultural comfort. It is funny without being hollow, smart without being exclusionary, and warm without turning sentimental.

In an era where so much entertainment leans into darkness, Abbott offers something increasingly rare: joy that feels earned. Walter is especially alive when talking about the ensemble, the chemistry, the rhythm, and the way the show’s multi-generational appeal mirrors real life. Parents watch with children. Grandparents watch with grandchildren. Colleagues see themselves in the office dynamics.

The laughter is specific, but the emotional access is universal.

For Walter, that kind of success is never accidental. She is full of admiration for Quinta Brunson and the creative ecosystem around the series, but she also understands what makes great comedy breathe: surprise, chemistry, and truth. The docu-style energy of the show, the movement of the cameras, the spontaneity built into performance, all of it contributes to a feeling that what viewers are watching is alive. That aliveness matters to Walter. It is what she has always chased, whether in stand-up, television, radio, or now, once again, theater.

Her return to the stage through Heathers feels less like a detour than a full-circle moment. Long before television, before Hollywood and network deals and reinventions, there was theater.

There was singing. There was the electricity of live performance.

Walter talks about it with real affection: the discipline, the community, the company of actors becoming a temporary family.

Even the challenge excites her. She knows what it will demand vocally and physically. She knows the schedule is intense. She knows rest would be easier. But easy has never been her operating principle. Opportunity has.

Walter will have her comedy special, Lisa Ann Walter: It Was An Accident, premiering on Hulu May 15th. She’ll also be making her off-Broadway debut in Heathers The Musical on April 27th. And of course, Abbott Elementary. Lots to talk about.

In an industry that so often tells women when their relevance should begin and end, Walter offers a far more radical proposition: that reinvention is power, that experience is currency, and that the most interesting women are rarely the ones who behaved exactly as expected. She is funny, certainly. But more than that, she is a woman who has turned persistence into art. And in doing so, she has become something more lasting than a performer alone.

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[opposite page] Ines Di Santo corset Dolce and Gabanna shirt Merylure tights Brandon Blackwood shoes Kavant & Sharart earrings

“ ... I discovered young that there was a lot of power in funny.

I went from being a cautionary tale to an inspiration ... ”

Vungoc&Son dress Ivar fine jewelry Brandon Blackwood shoes Photographer: Dylan Perlot @ Exclusive Artists Stylist: Kelly Johnson @ Forward Artists Stylist Asst: Marissa A. Perez Hair: Dustin Osborne Makeup: Jenn Bennett Location: Solar Studios CA

lifest y le for cit y wom en

MIGHT IS NOT RIGHT, EVER!

S PR I NG I S S U E

UISCE BEATHA, THE WATER OF LIFE !

ELITISTS ?

SUCH A BORE

CHEATING: NO MISTAKE KICK ‘EM OUT

‘

IS ALTRUISM JUST A DREAM?

REAL FREEDOM IS KNOWING YOURSELF

L i s a A n n Wa l t e r funny ... and for midable