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After another grueling 24 hours in the villa, Love Island USA season seven has hit its home stretch. In just nine episodes, 10 islanders are sent home, couples are broken up, and some are brought together, and one lucky pair wins a whopping $100,000 prize, along with the coveted title of America’s favorite couple.
As summer sighs her first warm breath, fishermen take to the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Though many Philadelphians know the river for its reputed pollution and rumors of three–eyed fish, urban anglers have become a fixture of the river’s banks. Curious passersby may be concerned or intrigued, but at the end of the day, this is Philadelphia—it’s not the strangest thing to happen in this city.
Visit a tourist destination, attend a local concert, or dine at any trendy restaurant, and the same ritual plays out: Dozens, if not hundreds, of photos and videos are taken. Some are destined for an Instagram post or TikTok video while others will live quietly in the depths of a camera roll, occasionally visited during random late–night scrolls. In a culture dominated by phone usage and social media platforms, the urge to document is practically automatic. While this compulsion exists, though, a counter–revolution urges people to be in the moment, put away the phone, and experience a moment without documenting it.
Three years ago, Julia O’Mara (E ’19) was sprinting across Manhattan—not to a meeting, not to a show, but to someone’s front door with a rented dress in hand. It was early days for Pickle, the peer–to–peer fashion rental platform where she and her co–founder, Brian McMahon, played every role: logistics, product, marketing, and—most importantly—courier. “There were nine rentals last week,” she remembers telling McMahon. “Let’s get to ten.”
It’s hard to miss him on your TikTok feed—half–tucked into a glitter jumpsuit, leaping off a piano mid–ballad, or staring wistfully into a camera while the sound of his own breathy falsetto plays in the background. Benson Boone, the 22–year–old pop crooner whose music seems genetically engineered for Spotify’s Today’s Top Hits playlist, has become something of a walking paradox. He is both a phenomenon and a punchline, and it’s something he is all too aware of.
Mid–May is a season of endings on Penn’s campus. Seniors don cap and gown, final exams loom, and students buzz along Locust Walk cramming in final moments with friends before the school year ends. The familiar sights of family SUVs lining Spruce and Walnut streets, IKEA rugs spilling from trash bins lining the halls of residential houses, and parades of red–and–blue move–out carts rumbling across campus return. Outside of dorm rooms, abandoned lamps and tangled piles of string lights line the corridors like spotlights on a red carpet leading out of the school year and into summer.
This summer, superhero fans are faced with an impossible choice—should they watch James Gunn’s Superman (2025), DC’s attempt to reboot their cinematic universe with a seemingly comic–accurate Clark Kent, or Matt Shakman’s The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025), a fresh take on Marvel’s first family?
As someone who lives in New York, I am lucky to have Broadway so close to me—it’s really only a 40–minute Long Island Rail Road train ride away. So, when I won lottery tickets to see Maybe Happy Ending over winter break, I jumped at the chance. Alas, I entered the theater knowing only that it’s a love story about robots, not expecting to leave heartbroken and reflect upon my previous perspectives on love—specifically why we choose to love when we know there is only a short amount of time that we spend on Earth.
Blazers are trending, lipstick sales are rising, and hemlines are dropping. At first glance, it might seem like a chaotic, aesthetically confusing Pinterest board, but these shifts tell us a deeper story. The fashion industry has always captured cultural values, class tensions, and political undercuts. And as fears of a potential recession emerge, it becomes a mirror of our collective anxiety. What we choose to wear, buy, and display has always been political—a subtle signal for who we are, what we value, and how we navigate a world shaped by instability.
Although there were no new bombshells this week, don’t worry, plenty of bombs were still dropped. Let’s start from the beginning: Tuesday’s late–night escapade. What the hell happened in that G–Wagon? Why did Olandria Carthen pick Nicolas Vansteenberghe up from the villa after their dumpings? Ride–share to the Fiji airport? Better. Heads–up trip to a secret, romantic garden date.
Week three of Love Island USA was truly a roller coaster of emotions, and from the looks of it, next week won’t be any calmer. From Megan Thee Stallion herself to a seismic Casa Amor shake–up, this week had viewers laughing, crying, and screaming (for some of us, all three at once). So if you’ve been lying incapacitated from heat exhaustion somewhere under this sweltering East Coast sun, here’s the lowdown on everything you missed.
Movies are consumed by many as a form of escapism—they close the blinds on daily stressors, provide entertainment during moments of boredom, and spark conversations between viewers. A movie set in the 1950s, however, strikes as an exception. For contemporary viewers, it might come as a surprise just how much the film’s thematic elements carry into the present.
Many things in life can be solved with formulas—like a calculus problem or the optimal fantasy football lineup. But not love. Especially not in the City of Brotherly Love.
It seems that some rappers are called to the art of streaming. Of course, there have always been guest appearances—like Nicki Minaj on Kai Cenat’s stream—but others have taken it further, launching entire streaming careers alongside their musical ones. With Snoop Dogg, T–Pain, DDG, and Soulja Boy, this career path is looking to become more and more relevant. While some see it as downtime, others use it as another platform to share their music or promote other parts of their brand. And for fans, it’s a uniquely fun and casual phenomenon that allows for more casual, accessible interactions with their favorite artists.
Horror films have always reflected society’s deepest fears and anxieties. From monster films like Frankenstein and Dracula to iconic slashers such as Halloween and The Prowler, horror has shifted in waves that reflect the artistic climate of its time. Yet, historically, the genre has had a bad reputation for being cheap, lowbrow, and repetitive. Within the last decade or so, however, a new, semi–controversial type of horror film has emerged—elevated horror.
When most people think of Celine Song, they likely think of her breakthrough hit film Past Lives. The movie, an achingly tender chronicle of love and migration, which mirrors Song’s own life, has garnered an almost cult–following—in addition to glowing reviews and two Oscar nominations. Following on the heels of this success, Song recently teamed up with production studio A24 once again to write and direct Materialists, a romance starring Dakota Johnson, Pedro Pascal, and Chris Evans. However, what seems like overnight directorial success doesn’t come out of nowhere. Long before cementing herself as an acclaimed movie director, Song first made her way as a playwright. Beyond the big screen, her writing credits span the theaters of Off–Broadway and even The Sims 4.
If you were too employed to spend over an hour of your week nights watching Love Island USA, don’t worry, I’ve got you covered. This week was nonstop drama, as usual, and some fans are already claiming that this week was messier than all of season six. I tried to keep count of Huda Mustafa’s crash outs, but somewhere around Monday night, I gave up. If that’s not a glowing endorsement of this week’s standout reality television at its most unhinged, just keep reading.
In Bohemian Rhapsody, Rami Malek’s prosthetic teeth do a lot of heavy lifting. They must—they’re tasked not only with helping Malek channel Freddie Mercury, but with chewing through a script so sanitized it could’ve been written by a public relations team for the Mercury estate (because, well, it was). Queen emerges from the film not as the messy, electric, and debauched band that defined a generation, but as stock characters in a series of triumphant montage sequences that culminate in Live Aid.
Min Jin Lee’s debut novel Free Food for Millionaires paints a portrait of a Korean American community in New York from 1993 to 1997, centering on a recent Princeton University graduate named Casey Han and beginning with the line “Competence can be a curse.”
If you’ve been scrolling on TikTok lately, as the heavy heat of summer sets in—I know you have—you might’ve seen a video or two of a woman comparing how she feels during her “luteal” versus “ovulatory” phase.
Solutions by The State News