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Since it came out two months ago, Queer Eye has become a cultural sensation for the LGBTQ community (again). We love that gay shit. We watched every episode, and we have thoughts. The premise is simple: five gay men invade a Georgia man’s life for a week to renovate his home, give him a makeover and show him how to take care of himself.
Recently, I’d been feeling paralyzed. Anxiety and indecision clouded my thoughts in a way they never had before. Maybe it’s partly due to the fact that I’m only a couple of months away from entering a new decade, or maybe it’s that I’ve never been someone that thrives in times of uncertainty.
During much of the end of fall semester, I couldn’t wait until this time of year. Being inside constantly due to the cold, I was spending way more time on my phone than I wanted to, because anything on there — even just refreshing the same four apps over and over again — was better than walking outside.
Despite attending a high school with an on-time graduation rate of 95 percent, one of my best friends dropped out of high school after our sophomore year. While it would usually be inappropriate to divulge someone’s personal reasons for not completing their primary education to complete strangers, I think she would be comfortable with me sharing her story, so here it goes:
Carbs are my life. I could eat just carbs for every meal for the rest of my life and be happy. I didn’t even know that eating too many carbs was supposedly unhealthy for you until I was talking about dieting with one of my high school friends, who said that she was trying to cut out as many carbs as possible in her meals.
I walked up the staircase to my house’s front door, schlepping my suitcase behind me. It was overstuffed with more clothing than I could possibly need for spring break. I suspected that in a mere five minutes, my mom would hint that my hair was too long. After all, for a couple of weeks, many friends at Hopkins had been giving me the same advice.
I once read a book that changed my life. In that book, author Arundhati Roy talked about love. She talked about how we have sectioned off love and thus made it limited.
I will be the first to admit that I’m not Riverdale’s most devoted fan. I binged season one last summer but then lost interest in the most recent season’s serial killer pretty early on last fall. A few weeks ago, though, after being barraged by commercials for the midseason premiere, I decided to check back in.
I don’t know about you, but I have no idea how my phone works. The same is true of most of the things in my dorm room. The fluorescent light bulbs, this computer that I’m typing on, the way my books are bound and manufactured, even the adhesive on the little sticky tabs I use for hanging pictures of cats on my wall.
“It’s strange, but I actually find my sadness quite beautiful.” I said this a few days ago, over breakfast with a somewhat new friend, and I internally cringed. Did I really just say that? Have I hit the rock bottom of artistic pretentiousness?
Eating junk food is one of my favorite parts of life. It’s not good for me, and I tend to feel an overwhelming sense of guilt afterwards, but in the moment I just won’t be able to stop smiling. This goes for ice cream, chicken nuggets or even a cheap bowl of ramen. That’s why when I’m stressed, I open up a family-sized bag of chips and start wolfing it down.
One defining feature of the modern gay experience is using dating apps. While there are some explicitly gay dating apps (although Grindr can only loosely be called a “dating” app), we also use Tinder and other Straight™ things.
An Anthropologie candle burned, its delicious scent filling my room as I put the finishing touches on my vision board for the rest of the spring. My room back home was and still remains my sanctuary, despite the time that has passed. Each time I return to it, a unique sense of calm fills my bones, one that I still haven’t quite managed to create for myself here at Hopkins.
I carry my planner with me at all times. It’s like my blankie. You might ask, “What’s so special about 50 spiral bound pages?” To be honest, I’m not so attached to the physical planner itself as much as I am to the planning. Planning, organizing and sticking to a routine helps me navigate my everyday life with generalized anxiety disorder.
I don’t remember how I stumbled upon David Foster Wallace, but reading one of his essays was enough to pique my interest in the writer. In “Consider the Lobster,” Wallace explores a Maine lobster festival and its focus on mass lobster consumption — historically, biologically and ethically.
There are three things that I want to get out of the way before I actually get into this article. Firstly, this piece was inspired by the lovely Lily Kairis’ column last week titled “The pain of growing apart from an old friend.” If you haven’t read it, I would highly recommend that you go online and have a read of it — as soon as you’ve finished reading this one, of course.
Wrapping up my Gotham arc, I will now delve into the relationship between Selina Kyle (Camren Bicondova) and Bruce Wayne (David Mazouz) in season four. The teens have individually been making significant strides toward transforming into their iconic alter egos Catwoman and Batman, but they have also drifted apart. As the season nears its end, though, they’ve finally started finding their way back to one another. (WARNING: Spoilers)
White feminism doesn’t account for the nuances in identity, particularly in race, but also in disability or sexuality. As one of my Muslim friends pointed out, white feminism was the feminist telling Muslim women to stop wearing a hijab because, “Don’t you want to be free?”
I’m tired of waiting for people to explain things that I already know. I’m tired of making sure that the ideas I raise and take ownership of don’t sound arrogant. I’m tired of caring about group dynamics and making sure I have all the right “soft skills.”