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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.
Four decades ago, before everyone had Instagram profiles and every website looked identical, people had laggy, amateur, eye–bleeding personal websites. In the 1990s, the onset of the dot–com boom marked a turning point in internet history. For the first time, access to the web was no longer limited to academics and researchers. Free website hosting services like GeoCities, Angelfire, and Tripod supported an era of unique user–generated content, helping build online communities through vast networks of personal websites. For a brief time, anyone could own their own corner of the internet and shape it in their own image.
Time for a pop quiz! Picture a musician with a chiseled jaw, intense gaze, and a guitar slung low like a machine gun. He hails from a working–class background, in a town left behind by deindustrialization, and got out through the power of rock–and–roll. His music is powerful, reflective, and unabashedly political. Who is he?
Getting Killed, the fourth album for indie rock outfit Geese, doesn’t quite channel the spirit its title seems to promise. Though the cover depicts an angel aiming a gun at the listener, the record itself is more wistful than violent, more focused on moving through life than accepting death. Christian imagery abounds: the Angel Gabriel’s horn, emblazoned on the artwork, announces Judgement Day; “Taxes” compares lead vocalist Cameron Winter’s fate to that of Christ of the Cross; “Bow Down” sees the band explicitly confronted with the imperative to kneel before the divine. These motifs serve less as a real expression of faith and more as a reminder of where faith finds us—at the end of the road, on our knees, ready to serve. Getting Killed is ultimately a meditation on submission—to God, to love, or to the rhythms of everyday life.
Ever since Taylor Swift released her 12th original studio album, The Life of a Showgirl, I can’t count the number of texts I’ve gotten from people I barely speak to asking how I’m doing after listening to the album as if somebody died.
Madeline Scott (C ’26) has taken it upon herself to make sure everyone feels safe and seen at Penn. Whether playing frisbee, making gourmet drinks at Williams Cafe, or working as an instructor with Penn Anti–Violence Education, she constantly works to build strong communities and be an advocate for all. Above all, Madeline finds joy in putting herself at her community’s disposal, whatever that looks like in the moment.
Contains spoilers for both The Long Walk and The Hunger Games series (if people somehow haven’t read or seen the latter)
Mobile Images, an exhibition on Mavis Pusey at the Institute of Contemporary Art co–organized with the Studio Museum in Harlem, is an insightful exploration of the world through the lens of geometric forms and abstractions. It was curated by Hallie Ringle, Daniel and Brett Sundheim Chief Curator of the ICA, alongside Kiki Teshome, curatorial assistant at the Studio Museum in Harlem.
Solutions by The State News