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“Can I get the ‘Impeach Bondi Then Eat Eggs Benedict Florentine,’ please?” I ask our waiter, who nods, expression unchanged. My fellow brunchgoer across the table follows suit: “And I’ll do the ‘Good Work Krasner! Berry Good French Toast.’” A wise choice, nestled just between the equally spirited “Impeach Noem” pumpkin pancakes and the “Shapiro 2028” sausage gravy and eggs.
When Kenan Rabah opened Majdal Bakery in 2024, his father, living in Majdal Shams, Syria, began to plant only za’atar in his garden. After it’s harvested, Rabah’s mother and grandmother dry it and mix it with sumac, sesame, and olive oil. Every time Rabah visits home, he makes sure to bring a little back with him to use at his bakery in Philly.
My hands numb to the extreme, I pry the frozen Rubbermaid container from the back of my freezer. There’s an imprint on the icy wall, but like all things, it will fade and evolve. Exhaustion seeps through my bones as I barely see through my fluttered eyes to press the digits of the microwave panel. I don’t have the time or patience to defrost the magical cooking of my mom, so I’ll rely on artificial radiation.
James Gunn’s Peacemaker just wrapped up its second season, and with it, one of the strangest and most ambitious swings in superhero television. The finale leaves the titular anti–hero stranded in another dimension, sets up the upcoming not–a–Superman–sequel film Man of Tomorrow, and quietly introduces some major concepts for the DCU’s future. What it doesn’t do, however, is end its own story.
Comfort. Fuel. Practicality. Decadence. We all eat, but how we conceptualize food is a different question altogether. Whether it’s perfectly framed shots of sizzling meat or the nauseating reality of the United States’ fast–food scene, food on the big screen never fails to invoke a visceral reaction. Here are some of Street’s favorite depictions—from the appealing to the appalling.
You’d be hard–pressed to find someone who’s never heard of The Office. Over the course of its nine–season run, the workplace sitcom cemented itself as a quintessential “comfort show,” and has since become one of the most beloved shows of our time. It’s for good reason—with characters who walk a fine line between ridiculous and recognizable, zingers that get stuck in your head long beyond when you want them to, and jokes that make you laugh even when you probably shouldn’t, it’s not the type of show you easily forget. But emotional resonance aside, its immense success reflects the time in which it aired —a time before streaming was universal and before social media fried all of our attention spans. So what does it look like to revisit the Dunder Mifflin universe twenty years later? This is the question that Greg Daniels and Michael Koman both ask and answer with their new The Office spin–off series The Paper.
It’s a daunting feat to successfully mix an action–comedy blockbuster with a prestige political thriller, but Paul Thomas Anderson does just that with One Battle After Another. The nearly three–hour film packs in everything from exhilarating shootouts to family drama, from “a few small beers” to reflections on political violence—and with such broad strokes of its brush, it’s no wonder that it’s been dubbed the “most controversial” film of the year.
Brendan Little, 30, takes orders at the counter as he greets regulars by name. Once the crowd subsides, he steps away to join me at a table outside. “I think Knockbox is one of the best coffee shops in the city,” he says as he takes a seat. Bias notwithstanding, of course.
There’s no denying that Leon Vynehall is one of the most intriguing electronic producers working today. His earliest projects Music for the Uninvited and Rojus (Designed to Dance) are fresh takes on the broad genre of house, while the more minimalist Nothing is Still draws heavily on orchestral elements to tell the story of his grandparent’s emigration to the United States. Where Vynehall shines most is as a curator of vibes—every one of his releases is entirely self–contained, showing off his varied production talents in a new light. It's always Vynehall’s lush instrumentation that gives each of these projects their vital force, each successive track carefully built up layer by layer.
I met Lou Reed through a boy with pale blue eyes—which is to say I fell in love for the first time—and even if he only played The Velvet Underground for the bit, I kept listening long after he was gone. The Velvet Underground didn’t sound like The Beatles or The Stones or anything glossy. They sounded like rot, like sex, like you could bleed out in the East Village and the record would keep spinning. Reed, the group’s principal songwriter, died on Oct. 27, 2013, and he would’ve hated this article.
“I’m not great at journaling,” Alina Adams—better known by her stage name, ALINA—admits. “So I write songs instead.”
My parents met through a classic 20th–century matchmaking method: a friend of a friend who thought they would hit it off introduced them. The mutual friend handed over their phone numbers, and one day, my dad picked up the phone, called my mom, and they chose a place to meet up. Now, my generation is obsessed with dating apps—I watch my friends swipe mindlessly, using the same muscle as TikTok doom–scrolling, searching for their match in the endless ether of strangers on Hinge or among the hyper–exclusive pool of potential matches on Raya. Raya’s exclusivity is exhausting, and its waitlist grows by the day. Even the more earnest platforms are designed for dopamine, not depth—they've driven away many users, including 57 percent of women, due to safety concerns. Sure, there are success stories from many of these apps, but what happened to finding your next significant other through a mutual friend?
London Fashion Week—one of the fashion world’s “Big Four,” alongside New York, Milan, and Paris—has always been the most rebellious of the quartet. While New York prizes polish, Milan celebrates glamour, and Paris radiates pedigree, London thrives on risk, experimentation, and wit. The Spring/Summer 2026 season (held Sept. 18–22) reaffirmed London’s reputation as the most subversive of the Big Four, blending conceptual bravado with commercial realism.
I hate your Longchamp bag. Yes, that navy–blue nylon thing you shove all your school supplies into for class. I bet it makes you feel really grown up. I bet you feel so special walking down Locust Walk with something designer.
Sneaker collectors often like to say that a good pair of shoes can be compared to a work of art. Over a year of planning, designing, testing, and even storytelling go into each and every pair of shoes that Nike pumps out of its factories. And out of such efforts come pairs so great, so profound in design, that they end up being sold for far more than the original price point Nike gives them. A connoisseur of fine art browsing Sotheby’s for ongoing auctions will often find a listing for an old pair of Nike Air Mags sitting right next to a 19th–century Impressionist piece—and the pair of Air Mags probably costs just as much. The parallels between sneakers and art, while unprecedented, are clearer than ever before. And what better way to celebrate this than for Nike to collaborate with real designers, painters, and sculptors, right?
After the Hunt arrived at the New York Film Festival as a thriller that’s less about crime than it is about perception, power, and the institutions that shape both. Set in the cloistered world of an Ivy League university (Yale, luckily, and not Penn), the film follows Alma (Julia Roberts), a tenured professor who finds herself entangled in accusations, betrayals, and the unforgiving politics of elite education.
Jake Zubkoff (C ’26) is an adamant believer in using dialogue to build connections and community—so if you see him, don't be afraid to say hello. Throughout our conversation, the way he talked about his love for the communities he's a part of showcased his passion for human interaction across mediums. From the humble list of musical instruments he practices—piano, trumpet, drums, organ, guitar, harmonica, melodica, and a few others—to his unique experience campaigning before the 2024 election, Jake's love for music and politics has helped him find a home for himself at Penn.
For Avia Weber (C ’26), yellow is more than just her favorite color—it’s a lifestyle. She arrives for our conversation dressed in a yellow hoodie that perfectly complements the chunky yellow beads of her bracelet. “It gives me a lot of energy,” she explains, cracking a smile nearly as bright as the color. “It’s positive optimism to start out the day.”
There’s nothing quite like a speedster vaporizing a woman to introduce a new series. From its premiere in 2019, the critically acclaimed series The Boys has achieved a level of success rare in the industry today. Its masterful references to topical events, combined with its use of unique marketing tactics, has allowed it to garner an audience dialed into its criticism of capitalist America.
As the leaves begin to turn, I’m reminded of all that has changed over the past year and how quickly the time has flown. In the blink of an eye, my first year at Penn has come to a close, and I'm returning to campus as a sophomore: reuniting with friends, meeting new ones, and diving into a pool of never–ending readings. It’s too early to get nostalgic about college when it’s only the beginning of my second year, but in the midst of Stommons coffee chats and the stress of club applications, I’ve become aware of how easy it is to focus only on the future without recognizing everything that has made me who I am today.
Solutions by The State News
