I’m a pre–med studying English. That’s not a contradiction.
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I’m a pre–med studying English. That’s not a contradiction.
Sometimes love sneaks up on you. Suddenly, everything shifts. You start to rethink everything you’ve thought or known. This kind of love recently snuck up on me, too. In the throes of a pandemic, I fell in love—with walking.
Name: Misha McDaniel
Name: Leah Baxter
On July 24, Billie Eilish broke what seemed to be a month–long Instagram hiatus. She posted a simple photo of herself standing on a dirty roof in her typical baggy sweats and oversized hoodie, the dark grey of her matching set stark against the cotton–candy sky. The caption was brief: “‘my future’ out thursday.”
Last August, during the thick of NSO, two white male students broke into another student’s apartment and refused to leave. The victim spoke on the condition of anonymity, but her story reveals a malignant societal truth that also infects campus life at Penn: white privilege exists unchecked.
The end of summer vacation is fast–approaching, with only a couple of weeks left until we begin an uncertain and inevitably challenging Fall semester at Penn. With most classes moved completely online and strict guidelines in place, we’ll probably be interacting more with technology than with each other for the next few months.
When The Kissing Booth first debuted on Netflix in May 2018, I was nearing the end of my senior year of high school and had a lot of free time. A hopeless romantic and a sucker for forbidden love stories, as well as an almost–graduate looking for ways to kill time, my 18–year–old self was intrigued by the movie’s seemingly juicy premise: a good girl falls for her best friend’s bad–boy older brother.
COVID–19 has contextualized a society enduring what feels like a hopeless new era— one of a pandemic, an economic crisis, and civil unrest. For some, it has also opened a time for tremendous and much–needed introspection. The aftermath and cataclysmic effects of this virus have forced people to reexamine and reassess our world—its industries, systems, norms—and the way we have been living.
“Black nails are the move [I don’t care] what anyone thinks they are so badass dont @ me,” reads a 2019 tweet from Chase Hudson, the TikTok star more commonly known as Lil Huddy, who hopped on Twitter to defend the painted nails he often sports in his viral videos.
One of my all–time favorite children’s books when growing up was The Lorax. I loved the smooth and satisfying rhythm of its rhyming scheme and the detailed and colorful illustrations. I would turn each page slowly as to drink everything in—and I was fascinated by the story.
365 Days is one of Netflix’s June releases that has become a big hit these past few weeks, being consistently listed under Netflix’s category “Top 10 in the US Today.” At surface level, 365 Days can be described as an erotic foreign film—its characters are Polish and Italian, though dialogue is mostly in English—that has a large amount of nudity and essentially no character development. But the movie is not simply a harmless raunchy sexual fantasy, it is a perpetuator of unrealistic and, frankly, dangerous societal ideals about women and romantic relationships.
Roughly five months into quarantine, boredom and restlessness are at an all time high—the uniformity of routine causing the days to blend together. Naturally, many are eager to change things up; to do something spontaneous, exciting and creative. But being stuck at home and staying safe limits the number of activities available to satisfy one’s appetite for adventure. So for some, restlessness has served as a catalyst for the inception of what seems to be a quarantine trend: completely changing their hair.
It’s usually 12:30 a.m. when I hear the soft clink of a spoon and the tinkle of Cheerios being poured into a bowl— it's time for my brother’s midnight snack. He’s just emerged from our basement, the place where he can comfortably shout commands into a headset without fear of waking up our entire house. He just finished his first year of high school—an experience completely altered by COVID–19—and, now, has a lot of free time.
The month of June usually feels like a time for celebration: the weather is beautiful, the flowers are in full bloom, it’s finally summer vacation. But there is also an official reason to celebrate the month of June— it’s Pride Month, a month dedicated to celebrating the LGBTQIA+ members of the world.
There are few things that give me as much pleasure as curling up on the couch and losing myself in a good book. But my love for reading goes beyond my appreciation for eloquent prose or a powerful plotline; I love the precision of the font and the symmetry of the margins, the rhythmic page-turning, the dog-eared corners and the highlighted passages. I love the physical act of reading. But recently, I’ve felt too restless to actually do so. The sedentariness of the quarantine lifestyle has made the idea of doing any couch activity seem painful. Enter my new obsession, a solution for the avid-reader-turned-perpetual-fidgeter: the audiobook.
“The book is good enough on its own,” is a phrase often expressed by frustrated readers when they learn their favorite story is being adapted for film. This was certainly my reaction when I learned Sally Rooney’s 2018 best-selling novel Normal People—beloved for its depth and realism—was released this past April as a short television series for the BBC and Hulu.
I really miss jeans. Specifically my favorite pair: dark washed, with two big pockets in the back, three brass buttons down the front, and a cropped flare on each leg. I haven’t worn them since March—it’s now June.
TikTok seems to be all the rage these days. With around 800 million monthly users—60% of whom are dubbed Gen Z-ers—it feels like influencer Charli D’Amelio is on her way to becoming as much of a household name as Martha Stewart.
As a result of COVID-19, face masks have become ubiquitous— as essential to an outfit these days as a pair of shoes. This is primarily because—in order to mitigate the spread of COVID-19—the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) issued a recommendation that U.S. citizens wear face coverings in places where social distancing is particularly difficult. In the early stages of the pandemic, surgical masks seemed to be the default, as the baby–blue coverings were worn by the masses like a macabre uniform of sorts. But the CDC has clarified that people should refrain from using and purchasing surgical masks or N95 respirators—as those masks should be saved for healthcare workers—and to instead opt for cloth face coverings.
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