Goodbye Free Will; Hello Fortune Tellers
If there’s anything that setting my fantasy football lineup has taught me, it’s that making your own choices can be incredibly painful.
1000 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
If there’s anything that setting my fantasy football lineup has taught me, it’s that making your own choices can be incredibly painful.
Julia Ducournau has redefined body horror. She makes films about what happens when belief collapses and all that’s left is the body—hurt, grotesque, unrecognizable, still trying to mean something. Her breakout films Raw (2016) and Titane (2021), which turned her into a critic’s darling, obliterate the boundary between flesh and metal, motherhood and monstrosity. They’re some of the most emotionally destabilizing films I’ve ever seen.
When Defne Tim (C ‘26) showed up to The Mask and Wig Club’s auditions during her freshman year, she expected free food. Instead, she discovered a love for musical comedy and a community that “basically raised her” at Penn. As both an international student from Turkey and a member of Mask and Wig’s first gender–inclusive class, Defne faced a doubly confusing first year. Now that she’s cast director, those experiences are guiding her vision as the troupe prepares for their upcoming shows. Amid writing sessions and rehearsals, Defne reflected on how language, leadership, and serendipity have shaped her journey at Penn.
For more than a decade, Twenty One Pilots has built one of the most ambitious mythologies in popular music. Since the success of Blurryface, Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun have spent their last five studio albums creating the world of Dema: a city ruled by faceless bishops, an allegory for depression and self–destruction. Fans were cast as fellow travelers (dubbed “Banditos”) alongside Clancy and the Torchbearer (Joseph and Dun’s fictional stand–ins), fighting toward escape but always being pulled back into cycles of control. Breach, the duo’s latest record, finally closes this saga. But it doesn’t end in triumph. Instead, it insists on something quieter: Healing is cyclical, and survival is never permanent.
Ed Sheeran wants you to believe Play is a rebirth. The cover is Pepto–pink, the mission statement says he’s “leaving the past behind,” and the press cycle swears this is Sheeran embracing global sounds. Then you hit play and realize that beneath the tablas and Hindi hooks, he’s still the guy writing ballads for your cousin’s first dance. Reinvention? No. This is a man who treats world music the way most of us treat a new spice at Trader Joe’s—interesting in theory, but mostly there to garnish the same old dish.
I need you to think of someone who is killing it in pop right now. Take a second—notice how you didn’t think of a man? For the past two years, women have been taking the pop genre by storm. Sabrina Carpenter, Tate McRae, Chappell Roan, Charli xcx, Taylor Swift—female artists have led the charge in bringing the excitement and energy the genre is known for. While it’s good to see women at the top of the music industry, it does beg the question: What ever happened to male pop stars?
“There’s nothing more satisfying than the intricately curated playlists Spotify cooks up for you—sometimes, I feel like my Spotify knows me better than I know myself,” my roommate confessed when I asked her about the platform. She gushed about how Spotify has become a kind of emotional companion for her, but as a proud Apple Music user, I was skeptical about this “friendship” users feel with the app—is it truly as good of a friend as we like to believe?
Every generation has its own version of the "enlightened young man”—ours happens to wear thrifted sweaters and read Sylvia Plath like it’s scripture. He traded in his tie–dye shirts for baggy jeans, Beatles mixtapes for female indie artists on streaming, organic food for matcha, and rebellious protests for fabricated feminine appeal. He is ... the performative male (cue Darth Vader soundtrack). Turn your head in any direct, and your gaze will land on one of his many manifestations; from campus contests (yes, even ours) to newspaper articles breaking down the trend for Gen Xers, his reign truly knows no bounds.
This summer was a big one for lovers of love triangles. Amidst the weekly releases of The Summer I Turned Pretty’s final season, the entire second season of My Life with the Walter Boys was dropped onto Netflix, allowing fans who miss the coastal vibes of Cousins Beach to escape to the scenic landscapes of Colorado and indulge in an equally complicated rural love triangle.
Welcome to this week’s Street Sweeper! I’m your host, Fiona Herzog.
As the weather starts to get marginally cooler, it’s never too early to start preparing for Halloween. Here are ten of Street’s favorite horror flicks to take the guesswork out of celebrating spooky season.
Can you tell the difference between house sparrows and song sparrows? Neither can I, but Syndey Liu (C ’26) can. As we sit by the Biopond, taking a break from the hustle and bustle of Locust Walk, Sydney helps me identify the birds hopping around us. She joined Penn's premier birdwatching club, UPenn Quackers, while trying to find leisurely activities she enjoys here at Penn. While she originally enrolled in the College with an interest in computer science and animation, Sydney later switched to the pre–med track. Later, she pivoted once again to embrace her true passion—teaching, which she discovered via one of the most infamous classes at Penn—CIS 1600.
I would like to start this article off by thanking Beyoncé and every other artist who has been accused of devil worship or being part of some occult group of elites whose main intent is to rule the world through mind control. For as long as music has been around, listeners have loved to imagine the person behind the songs as part of a satanic cabal, trying to snatch your soul for the sake of retaining relevancy. In the 1950s, with the rise of rock ‘n’ roll, performers like Little Richard, Elvis Presley, and Chuck Berry were victims of this moral panic, accused of “corrupting” young people with their provocative lyrics on race and sexuality. This “Satanic Panic” would resurface in the 1980s with heavy metal. This time, the perpetrators were Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath—even Michael Jackson was the subject of rumor and fetishized speculation, accused of selling his soul for fame.
It’s warm and green. Twentysomethings speed by on bikes, and families snack on picnic blankets. Elderly couples walk their dogs together, holding hands. Though some people are quiet, most are silent. This isn’t Fairmount Park or FDR Park, but The Woodlands Cemetery, where the living and the dead have learned the art of cohabitation: The deceased are taking their final rest while the living rejoice around them. Just five miles north of here, Philadelphia residents engage in similar activities at Laurel Hill Cemetery.
Welcome back to this week’s Street Sweeper! I’m your host Fiona Herzog.
It’s the music you'll hear playing in every Bushwick cafe. Listen to it for too long, and you may suddenly find yourself in knitted clothing, pasting stickers over your laptop cover and collecting throw pillows. The artists are legion—Laufey, beabadoobee, Clairo, grentperez, Lizzy McAlpine, and so on—but their purposes are all the same: making background music that doubles as self–medication.
For most, the end of freshman year is defined by the existential despair of final exams, the wistful feeling of knowing your first year is almost over, and maybe even some last–minute romantic debauchery. I, however, spent the final weeks of my college salad days obsessing over the greatest rap beef of my lifetime: Drake v. Kendrick Lamar. I had one too many data structures to study and a couple of friends to say goodbye to (no romantic prospects, unfortunately), but the thrill of infidelity, hidden children, and double agents enticed me more than anything else.
Cluely’s company onboarding package includes the following: a work laptop, ID, house keys, a five–motif Van Cleef, a corporate Hinge premium subscription, 74 servings of whey protein, and five honey packs. “Put it in your coffee next time,” Chief Marketing Officer Daniel Min (W ’25) advises on the company’s official TikTok page. “Trust me, it tastes great.”
A few weeks after I arrived on campus my first year, a PennQuest leader one year older than me sniffed me out and texted me the details of all things queer at Penn. He divulged the basics: Swalloween is the queer–exclusive Halloween party that everybody who is anybody attends, Wharton Alliance is the application–based Gender and Sexuality Alliance club for corporate A–gays, and Carriage is its equally exclusionary counterpart for artsy queer people who love to party and take photos.
Midway through my senior year of high school, my mom and aunt sat me down in the kitchen with a college sex–ed pop quiz.