Digital Dispatches In The City of Love
Châtelet–Les Halles (1e)
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Châtelet–Les Halles (1e)
What if Romeo had Snapchat? The soft crooning outside Juliet’s window would cease. Instead of relaying his deepest feelings, “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls/For stony limits cannot hold love out,” he sends a “u up?” text at 2 a.m.
When it comes to dating decrees, all women know that there’s only one rule that matters: “The bigger the better”—bigger resumes, that is. If you thought dating apps could not get more brutally superficial then you haven’t heard of The League—a dating app catered to students and graduates of elite universities and high–powered professionals. What do all of these students, finance bros, and CEOs have in common? Their big, big … resumes. And the app’s tagline, you ask? “Have you been told that your standards are too high? Keep them that way.”
The hallowed halls of Penn field endless traditions. First years celebrate their first steps on campus with convocation and a boozy New Student Orientation. The next four years get filled to the brim with throwing toast onto the field at football games, Hey Day, U–Night, Spring Fling—you get the picture. And at the end of it all, students commemorate the completion of their college years with a week of festivities that culminates in a grand graduation ceremony.
Have you ever watched a TV show and become so immersed in the characters' stories that you cried for them? Maybe even had a crush on one of them? Humans tend to idealize and identify with many things. As kids we love and care for toys, as teenagers, we become obsessed with fictional characters. The emotions we experience with these lifeless objects and characters can mirror the feelings we have for real individuals. But what if a robotic companion could mean even more to humans? What if we could have sex with robots, or even fall in love with them?
Texting seventeen people on Tinder, and going to strange rooms houses apartments might not be the best move. Last week, I sat on my friend’s carpet, and she asked me to hand her the applesauce sitting on her minifridge. I passed it to her, and she took the spoon out, holding it aloft as she gulped straight from the jar. Still kneeling on the floor, I let my head sink into the dark pile of blankets at the foot of her bed. Her fingers landed in my hair, massaging my scalp. I looked up after a few minutes. Her tight red coils were recently dyed and washed. The post–breakup cartilage piercing she had gotten two days ago glinted gold.
What do a Wattpad story about One Direction, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet all have in common with each other?
The year is 2024. It’s snowing outside, and my carefully curated anthology of media about doomed romance tagged ‘#webweaving’ has just hit 2,000 notes on Tumblr. I’m on my second rewatch of Fleabag, and Andrew Scott is telling Phoebe Waller–Bridge to kneel. I know how this story ends. PWB kneels, and I watch on anyway.
With the arrival of Valentine’s Day, it’s time to ask: How do you say “I love you”? Well, other than in those words exactly. A box of chocolate–covered strawberries? A handcrafted card? An all–expenses–paid surprise vacation? (Maybe not that last one if you’re a college student.) If you’re lost, there’s even a very popular theory of five “love languages.” For a time, the mixtape was the pinnacle of thoughtfulness and accessibility in gift–giving. Burning a CD or packing a cassette with songs that perfectly described one’s feelings for their loved one was not only inexpensive but also seen as an art form. Nostalgia for this artifact of the past persists; mixtapes feature even in relatively recent films as a symbol of love. With the rise of music streaming services, it seems the art of the mixtape is dead. But Spotify Blends might be the 2020s’ adaptation of a beloved tradition.
If you’re a Penn student, you’ve probably spent the last few days waiting with bated breath as the congressional hearings about antisemitism on college campuses and Liz Magill’s resignation make top national news. You stalk the The Daily Pennsylvanian Instagram account, and your inbox is flooded with email after email discussing Scott Bok, Magill, Julie Platt, and the state of our campus. This is to be expected after such an unprecedented turn of events. But we didn’t expect our president to be the subject of a Saturday Night Live cold open.
The only thing Shakespeare liked more than naming characters “Antonio” was playing with gender—Portia names herself Balthazar in The Merchant of Venice, Viola names herself Cesario in Twelfth Night, and Rosalind names herself after Zeus’s mythical male consort, Ganymede, in As You Like It. The Globe’s recent production of As You Like It ratchets the show’s gender play and gay undertones up to a hundred with gender–blind casting, a feature that is not only the production’s gimmick, but blended in seamlessly with the themes of the play that I almost forgot not all productions of the show are cast in such a way. Though it has sadly ended its run, one of the most fun things I have done in my time in London was go to The Globe’s As You Like It, and it made me hope for not only more productions that centralize fun, but also more theatergoing experiences that centralize community.
There’s a quaintness to Jacques–Jean “J.J.” Tiziou’s abode on Osage Avenue beyond the kind typically embodied by West Philadelphia's colorful rowhomes. It’s reflected in the year–round Christmas lights strung across the narrow zigzag staircase and above the table, which, aside from a small lamp, are the only source of light in the dark wooden dining room. Deep shadows paint the faces of the soirée guests. Brows furrowed and eyes twinkling, the visitors exchange words and bowls of thick pottage. Somehow, I’ve found myself a part of the semimonthly tradition as nearly as old as I am—Tiziou’s French soirées.
As one of the only senior girl groups still active in the K–pop industry, Red Velvet has made a lasting impact on the genre. Title tracks like “Red Flavor,” “Dumb Dumb,” “Zimzalabim,” and “Psycho” display a sample of the group’s wide and expansive sound. No matter if the group showcases its “Red” (the bubbly, colorful pop side) or its “Velvet” (the darker, evocative R&B–influenced side), listeners know that the five–member girl group has one of the most diverse and creative approaches to the K–pop genre.
When someone mentions the Hunger Games, one’s thoughts likely gravitate towards Katniss Everdeen, the thirteen Districts, and the whole cinematic spectacle. More recently, the mention might garner a visceral reaction towards that Josh Hutcherson "Whistle" meme, or with the recent release of the series prequel, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, you might be reminded of the internet’s collective thirst over President Coriolanus Snow. (What’s up with that, by the way? I know Tom Blyth is hot, but has everyone forgotten that Snow is evil?)
Think about the last time you saw a woman over 60 portrayed on screen as anything but a passive grandmotherly figure. There’s Grace and Frankie, It’s Complicated, Something’s Gotta Give and, well, that’s pretty much it. But for older men, there are a myriad of examples of men over 60 starring in dynamic roles—just think how many Harrison Ford movies have come out since he turned 60 in 2002. Despite the one dimensional examples of older women on screen, most are still part of the workforce until their mid 60s and are active in raising families. Like anyone else, they’re falling in love, grieving losses, exploring the world, and occasionally running into trouble. This phenomenon goes beyond the screen. Surveys have shown that women feel not only devalued by society as they age, but increasingly invisible. This has real world implications, manifesting itself beyond jokey birthday cards to workplace discrimination. The Golden Bachelor seeks to change the lack of representation of women over 60 in media, showcasing the highest peaks and lowest valleys of life after qualifying for AARP while staying (mostly) true to life.
Frank Ma’s (W ’27) past three years have looked a little different from the typical freshman arriving at Penn. As opposed to the typical high school homecoming dances, proms, and stresses of being a teenager, Frank served in the Singaporean army and worked in different jobs before arriving at Penn. Now an eager 22–year–old freshman in Wharton, his life looks a little different than before. Frank now busies himself with new clubs, a heavy course load, and the newness that arises with being a first–year student.
“A work of art does not answer questions, it provokes them; and its essential meaning is in the tension between the contradictory answers.” Leonard Bernstein’s quote given at a lecture at Harvard University in 1976 opens Bradley Cooper’s sophomore film, Maestro. And, just like his first feature A Star Is Born, Maestro lives up to this promise. Both films are messy, complicated, imperfect, occasionally transcendent but nonetheless fascinating works that reveal the artistic obsession buried within their director.
Bundles of presents under a glistening Christmas tree. Keeping up with decades–old traditions. Quality time with loved ones. For many people, these are the hallmarks of the holiday season. For others, like myself, the staple of post–Thanksgiving holiday cheer is listening to hours upon hours (upon hours!) of Christmas music.
In her second feature film, Saltburn, Emerald Fennell, Oscar–winning director of Promising Young Women, sought to create a film that evokes physical reactions from the audience.
The titular Eileen, played by Thomasin McKenzie in the 2023 film Eileen, captivated the audiences even before the film’s inception. Adapting from Ottessa Moshfegh’s Booker Prize shortlisted novel, the director William Oldroyd was instantly fascinated by the complexity of the character of Eileen when he read it for the first time, and immediately knew he wanted to work with Moshfegh and screenwriter Luke Goebel to bring the story to the big screen.
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