Your Magazine Volume 21 Issue 3: May 2024

Recognized in Spring 2012, YOURMAG ’s goal is to promote knowledge of the magazine industry by giving students the opportunity to be responsible for all aspects of a monthly lifestyle publication. With an audience of urban college students in mind, members create content across a broad range of topics and mediums, including style, romance, music, pop culture, personal identity, and experiences. YourMag’s overarching aim is to foster a positive, inclusive community of writers, editors, and artists.

volume 21 | issue 3 | MAY 2024

ISA LUZARRAGA

Managing Editor

LILY BROWN

Creative Director

EMMA CAHILL Editorial Director

ISABELLE GALGANO

Asst. Editorial Director

BIANCA LUND

Co-Head Stylist

JULIA MAGDZIAK

Co-Head Stylist

ANNA BACAL PETERSON

Co-Head Stylist

GRIFFIN WILLNER

Romance Editor

SOFIA VERANI

Co-YMTV Director

SEBASTIAN OLIVO

Co-YMTV Director

ISA MULÈ

Asst. YMTV Director

CHARLOTTE BRANDMAN

Asst. Web Editor

ASHLEY FERREr Editor-in-Chief

HAILEY KROLL

Head Designer

MOLLY DEHAVEN

Asst. Head Designer

LAUREN MALLETT

Asst. Head Designer

ALEKS CARNEY Co-Art Director

REBECCA CALVAR

Co-Art Director

LAURA VALENTINE

Photo Director

ARUSHI JACOB

A&E Editor

Lauren smith Living Editor

ISABELLA CASTELO

Asst. Living Editor

SOPHIA ROSSETTI

Web Editor

NIRVANA RAGLAND Diversity Chair

SYDNEY SWANn Asst. Diversity Chair

rachel tarby Copy Chief

SOPHIE HARTSTEIN Asst. Copy Chief

SARA FERGANG Head Proofreader

IZZIE CLAUDIO

Asst. Head Proofreader

gigi sipiora Style Editor

ELLA MORDARSKI Asst. Style Editor

OLIVIA FLANZ Asst. Style Editor

ELLIE BELCASTRO Co-Social Media Director

GABBY GOODE

Co-Social Media Director

VIVIAN NGUYEN Asst. Social Media Director

Copy editors: Penelope parker, eden unger, kyleigh wanzelak, lynn vecchietti, madison lucchesi, nolan primavera, payton montaina, virginia clarke, alexandra dening, ari lacolla, ashley bradshaw, audrey coleman, aylin isik, bernadette nelson, callie liberatos

GRAPHIC designERS: Alexa lunney, isabella chiu, lily holland, lily brown

Proofreaders: Dana Albala, Grace Grauwiler, Elise GuzmaN, Aylin Isik, Maegan Marshall, Dikshya Pattnaik

CONTENTS

we are ym ROMANCE

I STOPPED DATING WHO THE ALGORITHIM TOLD ME TO THE HONEYMOON PHASE IN FRIENDSHIPS CASE OF THE 16 HOUR DATE TO WATCH A MAN EAT ASK YM: SEX ADVICE

It’s My Party IN THE CLOSET TATS ‘R US

FIFTY SHADES OF SILVER FOXES

ALL DOLLED UP STREET STYLE

Cirque Du Désir

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SAY GOODBYE, BUT I CAN TRY HEART OF THE T

MS, MYSELF, AND I

WHAT THEY DON’T TELL YOU ABOUT GROUP THERAPY

YOUR MOMENTS

ONE COSMOPOLITAN PLEASE GOOD BOYS GO TO HEAVEN, BUT BAD BOYS BRING HEAVEN TO YOU

MY MARTYR COMPLEX

WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH “HOPE CORE”?

IS LOVE REALLY BLIND?

Zodiac Signs & Their Cartoon Counterparts

AGE OF ADOLESCENCE

SONGS TO STRUT DOWN THE RUNWAY TO JESS ADAIR

Letter from the Editor

I Stopped Dating Who the Algorithm Told Me To

WRITTEN BY WREN LIVESAY

Compatibility: it’s the foundation for every “match,” “like,” and “swipe.” These terms will likely be familiar to readers who are one of, according to the Pew Research Center, the three in every 10 American adults who have tried dating apps. On some of the most widely used apps, particularly in the college scene—Hinge, Bumble, and Tinder—users are asked to specify things about themselves to generate the most compatible matches. These specifications range from height to pets to interests, such as sports teams. But as a former user of dating apps myself, it was never about finding someone who worked with me. It was about similarities and, well, matching. In turn, I was looking for a mirror image of myself without even realizing it. I remember often dismissing any profiles that conflicted with my interests if the algorithm dared to let them slip through.

And yet, the dates with these almost frighteningly similar people drained me after never-ending agreements which even became competitive at times: “You like Dutch Golden Age art too? Of course you do! Oh, you like it more than me…alright.”

What was especially disheartening was when we dared to exhibit a difference. Disliking La La Land might as well have been an admission of murder after nothing but smiles and nods for the past 45 minutes. After what seemed like a year’s worth of failed first and second dates with my almost-clones, I gave up.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LILY BROWN

only on dating apps.

For example, in my first semester of college, I didn’t rule out potential friends based on handfuls of photos and a few quips about their hobbies. And if you ask me, the best relationships begin with regular old friendships where the goal is simply to better understand the other and not to score a second date. After all, meeting in person and becoming “just friends” is exactly how I fell for someone the algorithm likely would have never shown me.

My boyfriend is, in many ways, my antithesis. Days before we formally met, I watched him sing karaoke to “Work Bitch” by Britney Spears. I sat in the audience in awe of his bravery, thinking I could never, as he belted out the words without an ounce of anxiety.

The more we talked, the less we found in common: I enjoy lighthearted and honest films, and he likes dramatic thrillers. I listen to introspective, melancholy music by the likes of Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski, Hozier, and any other artists you might find on your average “Sad Songs To Sleep To” playlist.

But as a former user of dating apps myself, it was never about finding someone who worked with me. It was about similarities and, well, matching. In turn, I was looking for a mirror image of myself without even realizing it.

And whenever friends would ask, “Were they just too different from you?” I would sigh and say/tell them, “No, it’s not that at all, actually.”

In fact, I was falling into a trap well known to psychologists and psychotherapists like Charisse Cooke, a relationship psychotherapist, who finds that “People often confuse compatibility with being the same” in the Refinery 29 article “This Is the One Thing We Get Wrong When Looking for a Partner” written by Becky Burgum. She finds younger generations desire sameness in their lives and craves the harmony we think will come from dating/ choosing like-minded suitors. While there certainly are and should be some non-negotiables in relationships, I have watched friends swipe away potential companions for the mildest of offenses, like hating avocados.

Who can blame them, though, when the seemingly endless stream of contenders is sure to present someone who checks every box AND will indulge in splitting a side of guac? They’ll come eventually…right? It’s maddening. It can drive a person to abandon all “requirements,” ones that seem to only apply behind a screen and

Meanwhile, his playlist is the setlist for Justin Bieber’s “Eras Tour.” He was a successful student-athlete for seven years, and I’m a nervous theater kid.

One difference the algorithm would have lost its mind over: he’s vegetarian, and I am not.

In many ways, we were all wrong for each other. And yet, many moments I thought would incite arguments or upset have instead resulted in new frontiers for us both. Our dates have always resulted in fascinating conversations regarding our uncommon passions rather than a strange sense of competition. And where it truly matters, we are in alignment. We have many of the same values, like respecting one another’s preferences and staying open-minded. Sometimes I wonder if he was on a dating app, he’d search for vegetarians only, and I would have cringed at his music taste. His killer and unique fashion might have intimidated me, and I might’ve seemed too calculated over messages.

But instead, I’ve seen so many incredible films in the last year that I truly, never would have watched. While thrillers will never be my favorite, I can now sit back and watch David Fincher’s Zodiac with new eyes, eyes he’s helped me open. He attended a Hozier concert with me and has listened to his music since. And as for plant-based foods and I, let’s just say I’ll take “Impossible Nuggets” over chicken nuggets any day. YM

The Honeymoon Phase in Friendships

WRITTEN BY OLIVIA FLANZ

ART BY LILY BROWN

It’s fair to say that developing a friendship has stages. Maybe you haven’t thought about those early stages of friendships in a while; I certainly didn’t in my later years of high school. All of my friends were those I’d known since elementary and middle school. Sure, there was room for acquaintances to turn into friends, but no one at my school was a stranger. In a high school that only has, at most, 300 people per grade, everyone in your class kind of knows who you are. Everyone has had some interaction with one another, no matter how small or just from word of mouth.

I say this to explain that when you are becoming closer with an acquaintance who is also a friend of a friend, you already know their vibe. There are no surprises. But coming into college where the majority of students aren’t friends with anyone beforehand, there’s no familiarity. You’re all true strangers, and it could be the first time you have to ask yourself, “Wait, how do I make friends again?”

In the first year of college, students are experiencing multiple budding friendships, which means many are experiencing that early stage of a new relationship where you may not be showing your true personality. During this time there is a level of freedom for red flags to slip by. There are no problems because you are trying to make friends. It is for this reason that the “honeymoon phase” exists in friendships.

According to the Cleveland Clinic, the so-called honeymoon phase is a period in a romantic relationship that is defined by the rose-tinted view of your new partner and is said to last from six months to even two years. It was originally associated with the first month of marriage, with couples going on their “honeymoons”. The concept of the honeymoon phase eventually caught on, introducing a period of peace and euphoria in the early stages of the relationship.

In dating, the honeymoon phase normally happens because there is a sort of idolization that occurs. You like the person you are

dating for a reason, and when you are so new to the relationship it is hard to find its flaws...You are basically high on love. Like, literally.

According to psychologist Chivonna Childs, “When you do experience the honeymoon phase, many of the physical feelings you have are because your brain is flooded with dopamine.” Dopamine is the hormone that triggers pleasure and satisfaction, which is at an all-time high at the beginning of a new relationship. Of course, this doesn’t last forever, and you experience a dopamine crash, which can lead to one of two things: either the couple stays together or the two people realize they’re not meant for each other and break up.

But how does the honeymoon phase work in budding friendships? A level of idolization can also occur, leading you to want to be friends with someone in the first place. But, I think the real reason for the honeymoon phase in friendships is that true colors don’t come out until later on in the relationship.

This is not to say that someone who isn’t showing their whole personality at the beginning of a friendship automatically is doomed. In most cases, it’s hard to be your full self when you so badly want to be liked. Especially when there is such a fear of being alone in college, you may settle for the people you don’t even have a lot in common with.

I feel like this is best seen during college orientation, the short couple of days when you are meeting your peers for the first time. You are thrown into it, as you meet so many new people from so many different places. I think even the most extroverted person would be socially drained after the millionth “What’s your name, major, and where are you from,” which never leads to a real conversation half of the time. Every conversation is so scripted that there is no room for an authentic or genuine conversation. It’s all performance. And for someone who despises small talk, it was pretty much my worst nightmare. (Let’s just say I was very excited for classes to start.)

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but what made it so was that innate pressure to find your group of people. With the fear that people are already “settling” into their own friend groups, it almost becomes a race. Those early friendships are formed so fast there is no room to breathe or analyze if the people you are choosing to be friends with are the right people for you.

After all, you’d rather ignore red flags in a relationship than not have friends at all.

But there is a point where it could be better to be alone rather than force yourself to settle for people who might not appreciate you—or be good in general. Out of self-respect, you need to know when to walk away. This can be hard when it seems like everyone has found their people, but there is a good chance that there are people in the exact same position as you who are looking for “their people.”

Yes, the honeymoon phase exists in friendships, but there is a chance for that friendship to fully develop into a healthy one. If you are catching signs of a possible toxic friendship or someone who genuinely doesn’t align with your values as a person, you shouldn’t settle for red flags out of fear of being alone. There are people out there for you. It’s just a matter of finding them. YM

CASE OF THE

On average, a date lasts anywhere from two to three hours. An exceptional one might last five. But have you ever heard of a 16-hour date? I never thought this could happen to me and yet it did. Maybe it’s a queer thing! Is there an art to having a long date, or is spontaneity part of the thrill?

Let me set the scene: One Saturday in February, I went out with a super hot, sweet, and talented person who for the sake of their privacy we’ll call “N.” N and I arrived at the Institute of Contemporary Art, observed exhibits, chatted politely, and an hour later hugged goodbye. There was no kiss. No crazy flirting. No intense banter. How tantalizing! On a more serious note, according to the New York Post article titled “One thing to never do on a date — in case you need to escape,” an hour is on the shorter side for a date, even with a stranger, which had me second-guessing our experience together. I liked N and they’d agreed to a second date, but I couldn’t tell if they were into me or not. Well, a week later they came over to watch She’s All That, and that’s when things took a turn.

Immediately, the vibes were more relaxed: we kicked off our shoes,

climbed into bed, and made fun of a classic ‘90s movie. It was just the setting N and I needed to connect on a deeper level. I felt comfortable despite my nerves. We were cuddling, joking around with each other, and being super weird. I mean, the kind of weird where we started squawking at each other like dinosaurs. I guess the rizz is unmatched, because you bet I got that first kiss. And another. And a lot more!

The hours with N ticked by, and I didn’t even notice how late it was getting. We got food delivered from DoorDash. We talked about so much for what seemed like forever It was wholesome, and silly, and really, really fun. We both skipped our academic commitments the next day and went out for breakfast. I know, I’m not the first person to grab a bite with someone “the morning after,” but I could not have anticipated just how right everything would feel. They bent down on the ground to tie my shoes, held my hand without hesitation, and wrapped their arms around me while we waited at the bus stop. Even better, halfway through hanging out, I started to feel sick (#ihateperiods), and N took care of me like they’d known me for years. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. 16 wonderful hours N and I spent

WRITTEN BY DAPHNE BRYANT PHOTOGRAPHED BY LIZ FARIAS

16-HOUR DATE

together, and 16 hours quickly turned into 60.

Yep! In one week I spent 60 hours with N and not once did I grow tired of them. We did it all, culminating the week with a function; I met N’s friends and obsessed over their art and felt an insane amount of bliss. I stayed over, again. We were together nonstop, all the way up to their departure for spring break. We U-hauled. BADLY! But it was a perfect, magical six days with my crush, and it all started with that initial, crazy-long second date. So…how the fuck did that happen? And how might it happen for you?

Well, I don’t think you can really manufacture a cosmic experience like a 16-hour date, but here are some tips to open yourself up to experience something similar:

First off, always be super safe when meeting people online (and even people you’ve known for a long time). N and I started talking on Hinge, and dating apps are always hit or miss. We communicated for a week, exchanged socials, and got to know each other before our first date. If you ever grow uncomfortable during, set boundaries and have an excuse to leave the date. A lot of my friends have also had their

friends tag along and observe the first date from afar.

Secondly, if you’ve already gone on one or two dates with a person and you can’t quite gauge the vibe, switch it up with a different setting. It’s such a cliché, but that Netflix bedroom combo is killer. It’s comfy, low-stakes, and private, which allowed N and I to open up around each other in ways we couldn’t in a revered art museum.

Thirdly, be yourself. This is also such a cliché, but if you’re a stupid, goofy mf, be goofy! Don’t try to come off as “too cool.” N is really awesome and really gorgeous. Anyone would be nervous around them, but my shy ass especially. I thought they would want someone more intimidating or nonchalant, but it was when I started being myself that we really bonded.

Most importantly, be willing to be spontaneous. At the end of the day, I can give all the advice I want, but the universe works in mysterious ways. If signs are being thrown at you to try something fun and different, go for it!

You might just catch a case of the 16-hour date. YM

To Watch A Man Eat

WRITTEN BY KIRA SALTER-GURAU ART BY KIRA SALTER-GURAU

Your mom’s boyfriend is a groaner. His sighs sound like an avalanche heaving down the side of a mountain. The groans reverberate through the walls accompanying every activity from browsing the fridge to movie nights. He has neck, teeth, and knee problems from working on a boatyard. Also, he plays the bongos when he’s happy. You can hear him banging away as you drive around the dirt driveway. “Must be in a good mood,” your mother says, turning the key and smiling.

Six years ago at Bow Street Market, he bumped into your mother whilst reeking of divorce. Your mother’s separation two years prior from her ex, your father, created the kind of tension that required flowers and dinner. Two years later, he’d move into your house, eat your food, and ask you how your day was. Now, every morning, before the girls and sun rise, they share Earl Grey from a cast iron pot.

Your mother wakes up at 5:00 a.m. to make some kind of baked good. She lays out an apple turnover and cup of tea on the table, her scalpel and blade. She claims that she wakes up naturally after having had four children. You think she wakes up early to catch the quiet before it’s gone.

An hour later, your mother’s boyfriend, stirred by his own snores, shuffles downstairs in his flannel and takes a seat at the table. He’ll anticipate his tea and orange cranberry scone as your mother affectionately kisses his forehead before pouring tea. He’ll pour his own milk. If a man can’t control the milk in his tea, he controls nothing. Your mother will talk about needing to find a recipe for the chickpea pasta she made recently while making a note to visit the post office in her notebook.

After five minutes, she’ll spring up to marinate chicken for dinner while her boyfriend finishes his tea. She’ll start on the wash before running to the kitchen to put his plate in the sink. He’ll leave his cup on the table as he gets up to put on his shoes. She’ll bring him his hat and pull out the leftovers from last night’s dinner to pack in a lunchbox with a cheese stick and a Lärabar. She’ll kiss him goodbye as you come in to go to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You’ll hear the car rumble down the road. You’ll squint your eyes in the bright light of the bathroom as the mornings have been dark lately. The car will bang loudly as it hits the big pothole down the road and you’ll spit in the sink.

Upon returning home, he’ll drop his belongings by the door, take a kiss from your mother, and settle for a quarter glass of beer from the week-old bottle in the fridge. He’ll groan as he sits, asking, “Cheese tonight?” Before the words leave his mouth, she’ll swoop by with a wooden cutting board

brimming with gouda, grapes, almonds, and chocolate in a porcelain bowl. She’ll lay it before him.

It took your mother ages to craft this cornucopia, so as a self-assigned protector, you watch as he reaches for his beer. You imagine his eyes glazing over with some treasure-obsessed thirst, his hands rummaging through this abundant display of cheeses. His hands, rough from the life of a pirate on the boats all day, tearing through the grapes, ripping them from their vines. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hairy hand, he slams his fist down on the table, demanding another glass of beer and a refill of the rosemary crackers. On this imaginary pirate ship, your mother, a scullery maid, would run over and pour the remains of the crackers into his lap, the pieces falling to the floor by his slippers. He’d devour them in seconds, bellowing for “MORE!” Your mother would tell him that she had no more, so he’d grab her hand and chomp down on her knuckles.

In reality, he’ll gently pile the cheese on top of the cracker and pick at the almonds till they’re gone. He’ll put on some James Taylor, stopping for a second to blink away the sting in his eyes, asking, “Hon, do you know where I put the eyedrops?”

You’ll wonder about how she keeps this up, allowing this pillaging to persist. Once, you questioned her about his lack of dishwashing, searching in her eyes for a plea for assistance. She calmly sipped her tea and justified it as a trade-off for things like mowing the lawn and bringing in groceries. This answer was unsatisfying. You want more for her than housewifery, than the domestic. You would want more for yourself. You could never serve a man in the way she does, taking part in such a setup, feeding him

He serenades her near the stove with “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You)”, and they sway together in their kitchen bliss. Earlier today, he stopped to buy her flowers which she put in a vase that now sits on the dining table. Their lives wrap around the dining table. You look around at the house that he renovated for her and think about how he never let her do any work since she has a bad back.

You wave goodbye as they go on a walk together before dinner and watch them disappear, arm in arm, down the dirt road. He stops to point out the full moon to her before walking on. Suddenly, you’re grateful for the company he provides her.

“I wanna stop and thank you baby!” he comes back singing, and makes a fire. You forgive them for how “man and wife” they are. While you fear it, your mother seems to find peace in this role, how easy it is. Moving to the living room that he built for her, you sit in front of the crackling fire. You let the warmth embrace you, and let them be. YM

Ask YM: SEX ADVICE

Sex & relationship advice from our Romance Editor based on anonymous questions submitted to a Google Form

NOTE FROM THE EDITOR:

I want to remind readers that I am not a licensed and practicing professional in regards to advice, sexuality, or psychological analysis. Nothing I say should be taken as fact, rather as advice from a peer. Sex and romance can be awkward topics of discussion, but it helps to talk about it with people of the same age. In answering these questions, I hope to open up the conversation of sexuality and help to destigmatize wanting to know more. The more we know, the more prepared we can be to be intimate.

Stay curious, and remember that sex and love are different for everyone!

Love always, Griffin Willner

Q: My partner and I have been together for a while. What can I do to spice things up in and out of the bedroom?

A: For one thing, it might be fun to have a conversation with your partner about both of your dream fantasies, secret kinks, or favorite scenes of pornography. While there must be a clear distinction that porn is not reality, there is merit to exploring some of your sexual desires through it. Sex should be a time to be collaborative, imaginative, and fun! So as long as both partners are communicative about what they like and don’t like, there is room to explore! As a suggestion, consider mutual masturbation if both parties are comfortable. This often helps to break emotional barriers; plus, who knows how to please yourself better than you? It’s a win-win! Outside of the bedroom, discuss some of your dream date ideas with your partner and whether or not both of you would be willing to plan spontaneous dates. The great thing about a relationship is that you get to experience something new with your favorite person by your side. Do something that both or one of you has always wanted to do.

Q: I’m in my early 20s and have had no experience asking/advancing to an intimate level with a woman. I want to ensure I don’t make anyone feel uncomfortable. Help! What are things you can ask? How do I go about asking?

A: Because every person is so unique, it can be very difficult to judge whether or not a person is attracted to you or wants to have sex unless they openly communicate what they are feeling. Overall, Planned Parenthood recommends these core steps: Get consent, be honest, get tested for STIs, use protection, and communicate. While flirting, you should always keep the other person’s comfort and respect in mind. Make sure the other person is comfortable and able to leave the situation if that’s what they want. And it never hurts to wait for the other person to ask you! If not, and enough comfort is built, you can respectfully

ask. Still, always remember that regardless if you’ve been dating this person forever or if you’ve just met them, sex with them is not something that you’re entitled to. If you feel that attraction is mutual, openly and kindly see if they’d like to hookup. And if they say “no,” be able to accept it and understand that they might want space. It can be awkward to flirt, so always keep enthusiastic consent in mind. And make sure that you’re in an appropriate and safe setting!

Q: Blow Job tips?

A: Because of this phrasing, I imagine you’re talking about oral sex on male anatomy! Regardless, always ask your partner what they enjoy and where they like to be touched. Having this kind of honesty will ensure that your partner feels heard and will give them the most pleasure. For male anatomy, there is a stereotype that the goal is to fit the whole penis in your mouth. While some people enjoy this, others prefer other things. For example, penises have a small string of flesh on the bottom side of the head under the urethra called the frenulum. This is commonly known as one of the most sensitive spots on the penis due to a large amount of nerve endings. If your partner likes that, hang out around there. Do your best to see where they enjoy being touched the most and put your energy there. In addition, know your own boundaries and never feel forced to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with.

Q: How do I know if I’m actually a lesbian (rather than bisexual) or if I’m just icked by men because of societal stigmas?

A: Sexuality is extremely complex and no person can tell you who you’re attracted to other than yourself. If you aren’t attracted to a gender, you might just have to listen to your gut. This can be really complicated when you already have connotations and traumas associated with a certain gender, so let yourself explore your sexuality if you are comfortable enough to do so. Secondly, remember that these are only labels, and feelings cannot always be so black and white. Do you identify with bisexuality and feel that it represents you? If you decide that one label isn’t for you, it’s always okay to change your mind and experiment with a different label. One’s sexuality can shift at several points throughout their lifetime! Finally, a label isn’t absolutely necessary. While it might feel comfortable to have a label to find community or better self-identify, it’s also okay to just be you! No matter what, you are valid. Take it day by day and continue to monitor how you feel and who you find attractive.

Q: Is it normal to not feel anything when your partner fingers you? The last few times I literally couldn’t feel anything from them, but when I do it to myself I do.

A: Not everyone is sensitive in the same places. Don’t be afraid to experiment with different finger placement by yourself or with your partner. Also, it could have something to do with intimacy and comfort. If you’re getting off just fine on your own but are unable with your partner, you might just not feel emotionally secure enough with this specific act at this point. Give it time and try to be open with your partner when something feels great and when something doesn’t. Remain engaged and never force it! Sometimes, you might not enjoy being fingered by your partner or at all. If all else fails, there’s always so many other options on the proverbial menu!

Q: Is it normal to use tongue when making out? How does that even work?

A: Using tongue while making out is perfectly normal! Some people enjoy lightly grazing their tongues against one another or carefully exploring the other person’s mouth. Some people might even like a lot of tongue! It’s on a case-by-case basis. If you are wanting to try using tongue, ask the other person if they’d like to try it. If the answer is yes, try to slowly introduce your tongue throughout making out. If they enjoy it, gradually add in more and more. If the person doesn’t like it, always listen and consider trying something else. As always, communication is key!

STYLED BY ANNA BECAL

it’s my par t

MODELED BY HENRY WACHS, XANDER TOTI, LAURA BOTT, EMMA O’KEEFE, MARISA NEGRON, IZZY ASTUTO

DIRECTED BY LAUREN SMITH

PHOTOGRAPHED BY SEBASTIAN OLIVO

PETERSON

IN THE CLOSET

WRITTEN BY ISABELLA CASTELO ART BY CHRISTINA CASPER

When a straight person thinks of queer fashion, I imagine they think of baggy cargo pants, button-ups, and vests—a lot of vests. These styles are highlighted in the media today, and expand their influence to all fashion fanatics, gay or straight.

However, queer people know queer fashion doesn’t begin with these trendy silhouettes. We know it finds its roots in plaid Bermuda shorts, your brother’s swim trunks, softball uniforms, and yes, vests—a lot of vests. When I flip through the pages of an old photo book, QUEER jumps off the page. I’m baffled at how I was able to maintain a heterosexual front for so long. Looking back, my sexuality seems comedically obvious.

June 2011

Every gay person has that one picture that they use as their, “Oh I’ve BEEN gay” aspect of my outfit can be used as evidence in a homosexual court of law. The rainbow bike, the knee-length skirt, the “Pride” plastered across my chest…It even taken in June.

At eight-years-old, didn’t know what sexuality was and didn’t have autonomy over my life. I went to softball because my mom signed me up, I had a rainbow bike because my parents bought it for me, and I smiled for this picture because my mom made me. Yet, I can still feel the one thing about myself that no one could control: my sexuality. Nothing my parents signed me up for or made me do would prevent this inevitable outcome, and I see that in the creepy smile I’m giving to the camera.

May 2012

From a young age, I never felt beautiful

my baby fat longer than most did, but I loved the way I felt in this top. I wanted someone to agree, I wanted someone to tell me that I was beautiful.

I was at brunch with my dad’s side of the family, the side with my Tia Maria. Where no one else in my family chooses to use clothing to express themselves, my Tia makes up for their ineptitude. She takes all the style for herself and is unquestionably beautiful. This May afternoon, she told me I reminded her of her younger self. I got what I begged for, and I think about this day more often than I should, even 12 years later.

August 2013

the beach without a shirt, he got to go to Comic Con with my dad, and adults never made comments about his innocent interactions with female peers. I didn’t understand why I had to wear a green polka dot tankini, or why when I held my friend Brian’s hand our parents winked at each other.

We were very close growing up, and I wanted to be just like him. In the summer of 2013, my hatred for female beach attire grew to a maximum. I begged my brother to let me wear his bathing suit, and I threw out that green tankini I hated so much. I loved wearing these camo board shorts, no matter how uncomfortable the mesh lining was, or how many times people thought I was a young boy. In these shorts, I was allowed to do whatever I wanted and move however I liked. Despite still being made to wear a shirt to the beach, it was one my brother wore too, making me one step closer to his equal.

As a kid, I hated what made me different. Instead of embracing these parts of me, I learned to compensate for them. I continue to take these self-taught lessons with me in my very out, very adult life. Now, at 20-years-old, I attribute my humor, my compassion, my intelligence, and my unique style to being a little weird growing up. I turned the parts of me that I hated into my most admirable qualities. I’m glad I was so bad at hiding who I was, because not only is it a source of a good laugh, it’s also a comforting reminder that sometimes hiding is impossible. YM

Tats R’ Us

Tats R’ Us

Pain is temporary; swag is forever,” a motto I use to hype myself up whenever I’m sitting in that all-too-familiar reclined chair, a needle dancing in and out of my skin. From a young age, I knew I’d either never get a tattoo or be covered, no in between. When I turned 18, the allure of swag won and my mother’s pleadings lost. First, it was modest butterflies hidden deep in my bicep. Then it was a stick figure of Rodrick Heffley on my calf. In no time, this newfound obsession infiltrated my relationship with my body, which was previously tumultuous and unhealthy. I traded the hoodies I’d worn year-round in the Florida heat for tanks and tees, showing off the ink. The more I invested in tattoos, I understood it to be an investment in my body and myself, radicalizing me into an unforeseen journey of self-love and acceptance. Now, with 30-something tattoos (and losing count), I’ve come to view them as accessories, instantly making any outfit cool, and me, as the proprietor, cool by association.

Tattoos, as we know them, have existed since 5000 BCE, starting with some dude called Otzi the Iceman with a whopping 61 tats. I’m no mathematician, but assuming my calculations are correct, that means they predate Gen Z and Pinterest. Initially used for cultural and religious purposes, they slowly came not to necessitate meaning and, through time, became normalized for the artistry alone. In terms of advancing the tattoo industry, Gen Z has prioritized the element of style within the medium. Not only do tattoos act as visual art, but they also help individuals grow more comfortable with themselves, allowing them to explore self-expression beyond fabric and within the weavings of their own skin.

Aesthetics play a large role in tattoos and the inverse applies. Meaning, your aesthetic can be heavily developed through getting tattoos. For instance, if you have a “clean girl” aesthetic, you might opt for minimalism or manuscript tattoos. If you consider yourself “alternative,” you might lean towards black-and white-American Traditional or Cybersigilism. If you’re a middle-aged man who likes divorced-dad-rock, you’re likely to have some sort of culturally appropriated tribal ink or blown-out realism tattoo of a lion (ifykyk). If you’re like me, you’ll try anything once and become a mosaic of different styles, except for the tribal ink or any other problematic tats. When experimenting with a different ink style, I often find myself exploring new clothing styles to match. My Instagram has acted as a memorial, witnessing tattoos aid my style to grow and evolve. The motivation to become the hottest version of myself skyrocketed when I had sick tats to live up to. After getting my first American Traditional piece, you couldn’t pry my Doc Martens from my cold, dead feet.

When I’m out and about, I can tell a lot about someone and

their style, strictly by their tattoos. Using myself as an example, you could tell a lot about my interests based on my Coraline Pink Palace and “Linger” tattoos (these tell you I’m hot and sexy with good taste in movies and music). One might believe tattoos would sidetrack from a carefully curated and meticulously planned outfit, but I argue the contrary. Tattoos do not distract, they amplify. It’s the cherry on top of an already very appealing sundae. It shows a genuineness to their style, something that most people following microtrends cannot relate to. They act as testimonials or credentials, confirming one is not just dressing the part or acting as someone they aren’t, that’s really them. Adorning the skin with ink beckons perceivers to view style as all-encompassing, not just fabric that is put on and taken off at the beginning and ends of each day.

Now, stay with me for a minute; what about tattoos as permanent jewelry? The first notable permanent jewelry in the mainstream, the 1969 Cartier Love Bracelet, only scratches the surface of possibilities: bracelets, anklets, rings, necklaces, waist beads (which have their own cultural significance and history), and more. Naturally, Gen Z has flocked and made it a trend. As much as tats have flourished in the permanent makeup industry, the new frontier is tattoos as permanent jewelry. I’m not just talking about tattooed bracelets, necklaces, or thigh garters (all of which apply). I’m speaking generally about any and all tattoos that ornament the skin and appear when rocking a dope fit. Style isn’t just what clothes you’re wearing, that’s where accessories can come in, obviously. From a broader lens, style is art, and art is an aura, atmosphere, vibe, experience, whatever you will, and tattoos can play a large part in contributing to those themes. We’ve accepted piercings as permanent jewelry, but what about their close friend and first cousin, tats? The central idea behind permanent jewelry, piercings, and tattoos is homogenous. It represents commitment. The commitment one makes to a specific accessory, artistry, fashion, or identity. Here’s the bottom line: nothing’s sexier than someone who can commit.

Tats R’ Us Tats R’ Us Tats R’ Us Tats R’ Us Tats R’ Us

MALLETT

When assessing a person, you consider the most outright displays of expression to gather an understanding of who they are and what they’re about. This primarily includes clothing, hair, jewelry, and tattoos, all of which stick out to reflect our own interests and the things that we place value on. Beauty standards evolve, and with time, the normalization and commodification of tattoos have allowed for taboos and preconceived notions (like “Job Stopper” remarks) to dissolve, allowing for the artistry and resplendence to (stick and) poke through. We’ve grown past Kim K’s motto of refusal to put bumper stickers on Bentleys when we know even Royces have a little sparkle.

WRITTEN BY VARA GIANNAKOPOULOS PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAUREN

Fifty Shades of Silver Foxes

WRITTEN BY GIGI SPORIA

One long, white-as-snow strand of hair. Smack in the middle of my freshly trimmed bangs. I was newly 17-years-old and hadn’t even gotten the nerve to retake my driver’s test, hadn’t tasted my first sip of alcohol, and yet the newly sprouted hair on my head made me feel ancient.

Was it stress? Was I really just getting old? Maybe it’s genetic?

The temptation to pluck it was overwhelming. I’d hardly entered a phase in my life where I felt ready to acknowledge, let alone admit, that I was no longer a child or even a teenager. No one around me had expressed remotely similar concerns; their hair was shiny, healthy, and singularly toned. Every strand. My first instinct, after pushing down the urge to pull it out and pretend it never existed, was to hide it. My youth was my anchor, and I was clinging to it desperately.

Who would’ve thought something lighter than a feather and thinner than a piece of paper could derail my self-confidence?

After school that day, I returned home and asked my mother about it. Was she too soon a victim to fate’s cruel and wintery design too? Sure, just about every mother, alongside my own, had been dying the grays away for years at this point. What I didn’t realize was that, more often than not, the older women around me had been dying their hair for decades. Going to the hair salon seemed to be a staple part of being an adult woman; taking care of yourself started with maintaining your physical appearance and, more specifically, retaining your youthfulness.

After a brief yet enlightening conversation with my mother, I learned that the impulse to rid my head entirely of that little white hair was completely natural. My mother had been in the habit of plucking her grays for years before she first took the plunge and started fully dying her roots. But she was well into her 20s by the time that happened.

Genetics be damned, my grays told another story. Fearful of a before and after presidency type of takeover, I thought hiding those stress-induced silvers was the only way to move on.

Soon, they were popping up more and more, and like the fact that I was leaving for college soon, this wasn’t something I could ignore as easily anymore. Not only was I leaving my teenage years behind, but I was losing something I felt characterized my youth. It truly seemed like everyone around me was so well-versed in ignoring and disguising any inkling of aging. I had no choice but to despise my hair.

ART BY OLIVIA FLANZ

Now, years later, for some reason unbeknownst to even myself, I grew to love them. As few and sparse as they were, I felt inclined to arrange them in a more visible way but never felt secure enough to truly own them. Turning to pop culture, icy blondes dominated the screens. But after a run-in on Netflix with a show I hadn’t thought of in years, I was reintroduced to Stacy London.

London, known best for her role as co-host of the TLC show What Not to Wear, had been a fashion influencer years before the term influencer was socially relevant. Her style was admired and mimicked at the peak of celebritydom in the early 2000s. One thing she had that others couldn’t and hadn’t dared to replicate was her iconic gray streak. Her confidence in her sense of style, as well as in her physical appearance, gave me the encouragement I needed to embrace my grays. She always speaks openly about her streak, being a part of her that she would never want to hide. She’s been quoted as feeling her look resembles that of a superhero or a supervillain, all the more inspiration for those dealing with premature graying to own the power that comes with the total acceptance of your appearance.

As the years passed, more powerful women with heavy grays stepped into the spotlight. Michelle Visage of RuPaul’s Drag Race and Claire Saffitz of Bon Appétit are both famous for their individual successes and for complementing their individual styles with their natural gray hair.

After the discovery of these popular silver-stranded queens, I felt no shame in flaunting my grays. Even when the older women in my life found humor in pointing them out and wondering aloud, “What could have caused such a young person to turn gray so early?”

As a now twenty-one-year-old with a fair amount of white streaks, everywhere I turn, I see another woman on social media learning to love their grays. Following the journeys of women only a few years older than myself, rocking full heads of silver locks excites me now. It no longer represents something I feel ashamed of.

Aging is practically one of the most inevitable parts of life, and hiding your hair’s naturally developed shades doesn’t have to be. Regularly treating yourself to a trip to the hair salon does not have to enable the dismissal of your aging process. Maintaining your selfconfidence and taking care of every inch of yourself, from the tips of your roots to the ends of your grays, is the only way to mature gracefully. YM

WRITTEN BY ELLA MORDARSKI

Ithink we can all agree that 2023 was truly the year of Barbiecore. While the trend has been around since the inception of the blonde-haired beauty in 1959, Greta Gerwig’s highly anticipated film adaption caused somewhat of a “Barbie-Mania.” From Margot Robbie to Billie Eilish, we all embraced our inner sparkly pink purpose. But, like Gerwig’s film taught us, all good things must come to an end

Move over Barbie, there’s a new historical doll in town. She’s 18 inches tall, anywhere from eight to 14-years-old, and has books written about her life in painstaking detail. Her name? Well, she actually has many. And, while you might not think of her as a fashion icon like you would Barbie, she has certainly had an impact on style in her own right. Meet American Girl Doll core.

American Girl was founded by educator Pleasant T. Rowland in 1986. Rowland’s hope was to educate girls about history through the lens of someone their own age who was experiencing the events firsthand. The company was later purchased by Mattel in 1998, who also owns Barbie, and began rapidly expanding from there.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAUREN MALLETT

of individual dolls released by American Girl, and the company continues to stand as a pillar of play for many children. Truly anyone, no matter their interest, can find a doll they have a connection to.

When the brand first started, it exclusively functioned out of catalogs. Kids would wait weeks for new seasonal catalogs to come in the mail. Flipping through the pages, each person had their own way of dissecting the catalog, from clippings for a creative collage, to gigantic red circles around fashion favorites. While the dolls were the showstoppers, the well-made and impeccably-styled clothing captivated many. Of course, these pieces portrayed the historical time period they were from and helped tell the story—and, consequently, each doll had its own particular aesthetic. American Girl Doll core is a melting pot of many aesthetics. While there are hallmarks of the style such as hair bows, Mary Jane shoes, and doily socks, each individual doll offers their own style branch.

For instance, horse-girl Felicity has inspired the cottagecore style. Many believe this nostalgia to be the appeal of Reformation dresses, as some have similar pastel colors and floral prints to Felicity’s Victorian-era gowns. Or you can look at trust-fund orphan Samantha, who is the epitome of the old money style. Samantha is the perfect inspiration if you want to dress like a character straight out of Succession

Many adults today have fond childhood memories associated with American Girl Dolls, similar to those of Barbie. This partially applies to millennials and Gen Z, who were young at the peak of American Girl’s renaissance. Recently, American Girl teamed up with influencer Sydney Rose Paulsen, known online as 5hensandacocketiel, who specializes in American Girl Doll photography, for a #DressLikeAnAG day. Thousands of people flooded Instagram with photos of them all dolled up like their childhood dolls. Many noted that a lot of the styled pieces they wore to match their doll were already in their closet.

To these American Girl “alums,” a large portion of playing with their dolls revolved around style. It was an accessible way for kids to explore and express themselves through fashion when they did not have the same control over what they were wearing each day. While these fashions were not always perfect—with a lot of dolls getting bad haircuts in the process and many accessories being lost along the way—the feeling of maturity through stylistic expression it provided still lives in us today. YM

All Dolled Up

From sports uniforms to patterned pajamas and holiday dresses, the American Girl Doll brand created its own imaginative world. Today, there have been hundreds

V R I T I K A

Name, pronouns

“Vritika Thadhani, she/her”

How would you describe your personal style in three words?

“Bold, fun, denim.”

Where do you typically get outfit inspiration from?

“I like to look at trends over time, and pick separate pieces, and add them to my style. It’s a way to add something different to something you love! My collection has beautifully grown over time <3.”

INTERVIEWED BY GIGI SIPIORA

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAURA VALENTINE

If you could only shop at one place for the rest of your life, where would it be?

“My mom’s closet.”

Celebrity style icon?

“My mom, I love my mom’s style in the ‘90s, so I always go off of her clothing (my denim queen).”

What are three pieces of your wardrobe you can’t live without?

“My Coach patchwork bag, long black trench coat, and my rings.”

Name, pronouns

“John Nickolaus, They/Them”

How would you describe your personal style in three words?

“Maximalist, surrealism, gender-fuckery.”

Where do you typically get outfit inspiration from?

“The internet, art, and strangers on the street.”

If you could only shop at one place for the rest of your life, where would it be?

“Lucy and Yak.”

Celebrity style icon?

“Cartoon characters in real life.”

What are three pieces of your wardrobe you can’t live without?

“A jumpsuit, a fun jacket, and a mesh bodysuit.”

J O H N

Name, pronouns

“Jess Adair, She/Her.”

How would you describe your personal style in three words?

“Girly, ‘90s, eclectic.”

Where do you typically get outfit inspiration from?

“A lot from the internet, Pinterest, and TikTok, and stuff like that, but also from shows and movies of a lot of different eras!”

If you could only shop at one place for the rest of your life, where would it be?

“I think Urban Outfitters has always been consistent for me. I would like to say the thrift store too though.”

Celebrity style icon?

“I honestly find myself dressing like Rachel Green a lot of the time, but with a hint of Phoebe Buffay. Also Cher from Clueless always.”

What are three pieces of your wardrobe you can’t live without?

“My black tights, Doc Martens, and my denim maxi skirt.”

Name, pronouns

“Elisa Umanets, They/She.”

How would you describe your personal style in three words?

“Cryptic, enigmatic, crunch.”

Where do you typically get outfit inspiration from?

“The little gnome in my brain.”

If you could only shop at one place for the rest of your life, where would it be?

“Any thrift store.”

Celebrity style icon?

“Little characters from old Soviet cartoons.”

What are three pieces of your wardrobe you can’t live without?

“Earring stacks, my Docs, and my leather jacket.”

CIRQUE DU DESIR /

DIRECTED BY LAUREN MALLETT

PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMMA CAHILL

STYLED BY BIANCA LUND AND LAUREN MALLETT

MAKEUP BY VARA GIANNAKOPOULOS

MODELED BY VARA GIANNAKOPOULOS, DAPHNE BRYANT, AND SIENNA LEONE

I Don’t Know How To Say Goodbye,But I Can Try

WRITTEN BY LAUREN SMITH

When the Hot Priest asked Fleabag if she was a nostalgic person, he was talking about me. These are excerpts from my memories.

I moved into a square-shaped room on Aug. 24, 2021, with some girl I met on Instagram in April of that same year. When dawn broke every morning, our room filled with glowing sunlight. It bounced off the wooden furniture and white walls adorned with warm-toned prints, an abundance of plants (a few of which I killed), and a Scentsy that always had everyone saying, “Oh my god, it smells so good in here.”

1316 was one of the smaller rooms amongst our friends, but it still felt like home to everyone––the three square feet of open space be damned. It was one of the best places I’ve ever known. We spun vinyls on my Urban Outfitters suitcase record player that did more harm than good. We lured a pair of boys into our room with the prospect of “WE HAVE A FISH!” when they had mistaken our door for someone else’s. We posted polls on our door for others to answer, and we put out a bucket of candy for other residents in October and in February. We sat in the dark, lit up by desktop mirrors, hair pinned back, makeup brushes in hand, and we got ready for disgustingly sweaty nights in the basements of Allston apartments—and made many trips to El Jefe’s upon our return home from rat city. We swapped war stories with each other about the many hours we spent in food service. We waited up for each other. Spoke quietly while the other one napped for thirty minutes between classes. Watched the same shows on repeat to feel a sense of normalcy while so much of our lives changed. And we became intertwined faster than I could’ve ever imagined. The only nights I spent missing home were the ones I spent by myself.

Somehow, a group of people I met six weeks prior changed my definition of home They flipped it upside down, shook it around, rearranged it, rotated it ninety degrees. It was awful and wonderful and exciting and nerve-wracking and everything in between. I wouldn’t

PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAUREN SMITH

want it any other way.

From 1316, we graduated to 1313, and with that came two more roommates and more floor space than what had ever seemed possible. We spent so much time on that floor, whether lying together, dancing, practicing Sun A and B, eating chips and salsa, speaking to the guys who lived across from us in smiles and waves, laughing so hard we cried, and crying so hard we laughed. I spent hours on my computer fighting for Eras Tour tickets, cut bangs for the first time in that bathroom. Maggie Rogers. Radio shows. Photoshoots in 40 mph wind and hail. Shirley temples, Kodak Gold, and a memorable house show. Another year gone. It always goes faster than you think you want it to.

From there we moved upstairs to 1703. Three always stuck with me. I didn’t plan on graduating college early, but here I stand purchasing grad caps and gowns to grab my diploma in May. This year was the hardest for many reasons. The highlights include a boygenius bender, jury duty (seriously), so many birthdays, and a few apple pies.

I can try to quantify my college experience: three dorm rooms, twenty concerts, fifteen rolls of film, one drive to Maryland and back, over three-hundred hours on an airplane, twenty-seven professors, thirty-six posters, over one million laughs, about three hundred cries (maybe more), two dozen frat parties, and so many people I can’t say goodbye to.

I will always be a nostalgic person; I think that’s why I like film so much. I will keep taking pictures of everything. I will keep writing about everything. I’m not terrified of forgetting, I’m terrified of not remembering—they aren’t the same.

As I’ve continued to grow up, and as more people entered and exited my life, more people I have loved and hated and learned to mourn while still living, I won’t say goodbye. These are excerpts from my memories. I can’t say goodbye. But maybe it’ll pass.YM

The Heart of the T

The next Blue Line train to Bowdoin is now arriving,” the intercom says as I sprint up the escalator to make the train.

My long black coat and backpack straps trail with the wind.

Ding, ding As the doors close, I hop into the train car and find a seat near the window. I reach into my backpack to find my purple earbuds and start listening to NPR

Every morning, it’s the same routine: sit across from the window on the right side and read The New York Times It’s the same route: Beachmont to Government Center to Boylston on the Blue and Green Lines. It’s the same community of people.

“Suffolk Downs.”

A woman carrying a child boards with a small box of candy in her hands. Without a word, she asks each passenger to buy something. I wonder what her story is, and I feel helpless without enough cash to buy anything.

“Orient Heights.”

As the woman selling candy rushes to the next train car, my professor in her bright red winter coat boards. We act as strangers until class begins later that morning. We avoid making eye contact, and I wonder if a smile or wave could eliminate the crippling awkwardness.

“Wood Island.”

The little old Italian man from my neighborhood pushes his cart onto the train, coming from the bottle return center. Long-retired, he told me he collects bottles from recycling bins so he can spoil his grandchildren. I strive to love the people in my life that much.

“Airport.”

With the sound of suitcase wheels, three flight attendants step onto the train, laughing with one another. Proudly in their JetBlue uniforms, they discuss their love of being home and excitement for their next destination. I’m reminded of my upcoming trip to visit my long-distance best friend. I miss her.

“Maverick.”

“Everybody on the train. Sit down or hold on!” a teacher shouts to a flock of students on a field trip. Two students sit on each side of me and share chips for breakfast, passing the bag over my legs repeatedly. The nostalgia of a field trip washes over me.

“Aquarium.”

“Good morning!” says the train operator in a sing-songy voice. Her loudness wakes a man fast asleep with his head resting on the window. I pause NPR to listen closely. “Be kind and gentle with yourself and with others.” Her positivity sticks with me, and I smile wide.

“State Street.”

Ding, ding. As the doors open, the raspy voice of a busker singing “What a Wonderful World” floods in. The song plays in my head long after the doors close.

“Government Center.”

Dusting off the potato chips on my shoes, I gather my things and exit the train. On the Green Line platform, my fellow passengers and I agonize over a long wait for the E line, the only line running. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter, my leg bouncing as the wait times climb and the clock inches towards the start of class. Finally, the train screeches to a halt, full to the brim, yet somehow the riders make enough room for one: me.

“Park Street.”

With my backpack at my feet and nowhere to hold onto, I fly into the woman in front of me when the train stops abruptly. One more stop, I think, hoping I’ll stay standing.

“Boylston.”

I trudge up the stairs. The purple and white banners of Emerson College stare me in the face as I leave the station. The screech of the Green Line is still ringing in my ears.

As a lifelong resident of Greater Boston, I love the T. And I mean that honestly. Sure, it’s really slow and loud and dysfunctional and inconvenient, but that’s what makes it the T.

My favorite part of the T is the people. It’s no secret that the T hosts Boston’s best cast of characters. And while some of those characters can be off-putting, others are some of the nicest people I have ever met. I can count on my fellow T riders. The woman selling jewelry in Government Center will smile at me as I walk by. Riders will hold the train door open so I can make it home—so we all can make it home to the people we love. A woman will give me her seat after a long day’s work because she can see my workload wearing on my face. I thank her with a smile, and there is a silent expectation that I will show someone else the same kindness. YM

WRITTEN BY MADISON LUCCHESI PHOTOGRAPHED BY LAURA VALENTINE

It began the night of the hurricane. Her name was Hilary, the storm, of course, and everyone in Southern California was preparing for the worst.

I was on day two of staying at my friend’s house. I originally planned on staying one night, but the severity of the rain led to a multi-day affair.

In the morning, the heavy rain turned into a drizzle. Looking for any excuse to reintroduce ourselves to the outside world, we hopped into my friend’s Toyota and headed to purchase craft supplies. We planned on making matching friendship blankets. Her car stereo blasted Taylor Swift while our laughs overpowered the sound of raindrops hitting her windshield; we never worried for a second that the wind would blow us away. Who knew that the hurricane would be calm before the storm?

That night, we sat on the floor of her living room and worked on our blankets. I felt so content, but as I got up from the floor, I was suddenly greeted by the coldness of the hardwood.

My legs gave out, and the right side of my face went numb. I looked up to find her standing above me. Her mouth forced out a laugh, but her eyes revealed concern. “Bro, I literally just had a stroke,” I told her, laughing it off. She asked if I was okay. I said that I was.

We went on with our night, occasionally joking about how I collapsed onto the floor out of nowhere. What I didn’t tell my friend was that the tingling in my face continued; it was more inconvenient than it was distressing. Young people don’t have strokes, I told myself, especially not healthy ones like me. If I could just fall asleep, I would feel better in the morning.

When I woke the next day, the rain was gone, but the numbness in my face was not. Instead, it had spread—to my teeth, to my tongue, and throughout my right eye. It didn’t happen all at once, just every ten or so minutes, and it lasted for only a couple of seconds. Still, no alarms went off inside my head. Besides, I was preoccupied with the picnic I had planned with my friends later that day.

“Hey guys, I’m literally having a stroke right now,” I shouted over to my friends, turning the heads of several people at the park. Even though I’ve always been one for the dramatics, they saw through my positive disposition immediately.

But like usual, I turned my ailments into a form of entertainment, watering down the situation to make it more palatable for a sunny Tuesday afternoon in the park. Soon, they stopped asking if I was alright because the idea that I was having a medical emergency turned into an inside joke. I’m strong-willed, so I offered to drive to the boba shop afterward. My demeanor tricked them into thinking this was a reasonable idea. Instead of fighting for my car keys, they fought for shotgun.

As soon as I dropped my friends off, I broke down along with my body. Through my tears, I managed to call my mom. She convinced me to drive myself to urgent care, something that I was hesitant to do at first. I was worried that the doctors would write me off as unimportant.

I had gone to the doctor months prior for chronic headaches, but I was told that I was just stressed. My mom reassured me she was on her way but insisted I was having an episode of continuous migraines, from the descriptions of ones that she found on Google. I sat in my car in rush-hour traffic, finally coming to terms with the fact that this may have been bigger than I initially thought.

The urgent care visit was a blur. I remember limping into the doctor’s office with my mom. They asked me a few questions and then told us to drive to the closest emergency room for an MRI. We set off to the ER, where I would spend the next four hours getting poked, prodded, scanned, and asked the same questions over and over again. I wasn’t scared. Maybe it was the fact that I viewed the hospital visit as some sort of twisted adventure or that I distracted myself by trading poorly-timed jokes with my mom.

As I waited to be summoned for my MRI, I made my mom take photos of me in the hospital bed. I spent too long picking out my outfit earlier and couldn’t let it go to waste. After two hours of waiting, a nurse came in for me. She forced me to change out of my long white skirt and purple tank top and into a hospital gown while she waited outside with a wheelchair to take me to the MRI room.

I was excited to travel through the hospital in a wheelchair, even if it was just down the hall. Every door was opened for me, and the nurses did everything they could to ensure I was comfortable. The reality of the situation didn’t matter; they were wheeling me around because they were afraid I would fall, just like I had the night before. Still, I felt special.

Inside, the MRI machine was the most comfortable I had been the whole night. It was the only place where I didn’t have to repeat my symptoms.

Most people are afraid of these machines. Instead of fear, I felt peace. I was in the machine for what felt like five minutes, but I was told it was closer to twenty. I would’ve been happy to be in there for longer, making songs out of the beeping noises that played on repeat. This was my first MRI, but certainly not my last.

“The MRI results came back,” the doctor said as he reappeared. “It appears that she has MS.” His attention was focused on my mother as if she was the one getting earth-shattering news. My mom gasped, which is not the sound that you want to hear right after the doctor gives you a diagnosis.

“Oh my god, are you sure?” she asked in response. He was.

“What’s MS?” I asked, without even looking up from my phone game.

“Multiple Sclerosis,” he stated, in a tone that was more matter-of-fact than sympathetic. He didn’t care to explain what that entailed but instead gave me the time to Google it myself. When he came back into the room, he asked if I had any questions. I had one.

“Could someone get the needle out of my arm?”

Six months later, the news is still taking its time to process. That flareup lasted for a month, and it was the worst pain I had felt in my life. Since then, I’ve gone to at least 15 doctor visits, done 3 more MRIs, and spent 1 full night in the hospital. I still feel special in the hospital whenever the nurses cater to my needs, though I know I’m sick, and their job is to make sure I’m well. My world is different now, even if my daily life is relatively the same. Every time I walk up a flight of stairs, I now picture my legs giving out on me, reminding me that one day they might not work. YM

As I was driving, I could feel my muscles start to give out. My arms felt heavy; I had to fight to keep them on the steering wheel. My legs felt weak as if there was a weight on top of my head, pushing down on the rest of my body. My brain was cloudy, and I was viewing the world through tunnel vision. I had a headache, but I always had a headache. Of course, there was a buzzing sensation on the right side of my face, something that I cleverly decided to call “fizzy face.”

MS, Myself, and I

WRITTEN BY ANNA BACAL PETERSON ART BY ALEKS CARNEY

WHATTHEY DON ’TTELLYOU

AbouTGRoupTherapy

WRITTEN BY LUCY LATORRE ART BY REBECCA CALVAR

In our most vulnerable moments, we seek community. We desire the listening ears of others, their comforting eyes and soft hands welcoming our embrace. Until we don’t. Until we’re faced with two words that send shivers down the spine of a brooding teenager: group therapy.

It wasn’t like I thought it would be. I imagined a cinder block room with folding chairs and unfamiliar faces. Instead, I was face-toface with a Zoom screen, my mother seated beside me in what I can best describe as a night class. Every Tuesday night for 18 months, we sat together and worked through the Dialectical Behavioral Therapy handbook page by page. The manifesto was integral to the practice, focused on skill-based problem solving and harnessing mindful energy. The group work was mandatory if you planned on pursuing DBT treatment. I was, so I did, sitting in my Dad’s office alongside six families and two therapists.

The 14 faces on the screen welcomed my mother and I with uncannily positive energy. Going through the “protocol” for new families, they introduced themselves and discussed the meeting agenda. The group worked in a cycle, with families coming in and out when their time was up, replaced with others shortly after. We began each group session with some sort of “mindfulness activity,” which was simply fancy therapy-talk for a game. We had weekly “homework” that we were expected to complete, broken up into four modules: mindfulness, distress tolerance, interpersonal effectiveness, and emotion regulation. Over the next 18 months, we would explore each module twice. Overall, a surprising amount of work for something that is supposed to help you relax.

There were things we were allowed to share, and things we were not. Yes: major life events, simple details, and general background information on stories we share. No: explicit allusions to triggering topics, your location, or anything negative about the family member attending the group with you. Pretty easy rules, in theory: say what you want without anything too informative and don’t call your mom a bitch, no matter how much you want to.

Sharing our homework one by one each week, outlining how we used each new “skill” in our own lives, was by far the most group therapy-y part of the process. It made me wonder what each person was holding back, foaming at the mouth to reveal. What were they really struggling with? I knew that I was there for a reason. What was theirs? Each week, I got a sense little by little. Some people were working through anxiety, their homework describing pushing themselves past their fears. Others were focused on anger, harnessing their newly learned skills of relaxation. Over time, these issues became clearer, but at the same time, less important.

We were no longer fucked-up strangers, we were just people. There was one kid who loved World of Warcraft, comparing events

he experienced in the real world to his video games. His bedroom, as reflected through the screen, was covered with Lego sets, fake swords, and video game posters. I found myself thinking of him when I saw anything related to video games, putting it in my back pocket to tell my friend. Another girl went to an all-girls Catholic School and often recounted the things she discussed in her classes and how they differed from her personal views. I thought of her when I saw students from the local Catholic schools running around during my lunch break, their school canceled for some holiday. I wondered what she was doing with her day off.

There was one girl who I really got to know. We joined the group the same day and traveled the months completely in sync. As families joined and left, she stayed, and we became the ones greeting anxious teens and their awkward parents with pure joy. I listened deeply to her stories every week, her troubles in soccer and her fears of starting high school. I saw pictures of her eighth grade dance, her graduation, and her first high school class photo. “Happy nine months,” she wished my mother and me, smiling just as I was, a completely different look on our faces than what was there nine months before. It was as if my sister was speaking to me. It made me realize that there was a hidden aspect to group therapy that they don’t tell you about when you sign up: you will create the deepest connections of your entire life, but once those 18 months are up, you never, ever, see each other again.

You have no information about where anyone lives, their exact age, their last names. You can try your hardest to find them based on inklings, but it’s not worth it. The people you meet become your family, but just as soon as you gain them, they are gone. Healed. Moved on to bigger and better things that you can’t help but root for.

Still, you think of them when you see a tweet about World of Warcraft, when you hear people tell stories about Catholic School, or recount their experiences on the soccer team. The pride you feel for their growth is sliced by your desire to spend one more session together. You kick yourself for begrudgingly attending, wishing you soaked up the time wisely, thought harder, and did more. You log off a meeting one last time, a simple action that should mean nothing but instead cuts you in half as you bury a family you have fostered. One who sat by as you mumbled through a session with your mouth inflated, having just got your wisdom teeth removed. One who saw your senior prom through a plethora of photos you lovingly pushed up against the screen. Ones who sat by as you experienced your most important moments—triumphant, heartbreaking, uplifting, downright devastating—all without judgment or questions. One who allowed you to simply be. What they don’t tell you about group therapy is that you’ll desperately want to go back. YM

YOUR MOMENTS

A collection of digital moments from YM readers and collaborators. Whether on campus or in Greater Boston, your moments are worth publishing.

DIRECTED BY JULIA MAGDZIAK

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNA KHACHATRYAN

STYLED BY JULIA MAGDZIAK

MODELED BY JULIA MAGDZIAK AND KYTH CHENG

Good Boys Go To Heaven but Bad Boys Bring Heaven To You

WRITTEN BY YULI HACHMON

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NAIA DRISCOLL

We’ve all heard about him. We’ve watched him smolder and lie and still get away unscathed. He’s been with us for years. The one who is a little bit damaged, a dash lost, but on the crest of being saved. He’s two steps away from the ledge and three steps from your arms. The bad boy from the pages of my and many other readers’ guilty pleasure: contemporary romance books. This literary trope is common and adored by many, but what if the lines between escapism and reality are blurring? The reality of the “bad boy” is much more dangerous than art has led us to believe. What if the archetypes from smutty, bedside reads are seeping into our own love lives?

I fell back in love with reading during the pandemic, stuck at home and tired of spending my days watching Tiger King and Outer Banks. So, driven by my love for One Direction, I decided to read Anna Todd’s infamous After series. I finished the glorified Harry Styles fanfic in a day and a half. There was something so captivating about the beautiful British boy Hardin Scott, who had absolutely no respect for women and the idea of monogamy, yet after meeting the beautiful, innocent Tessa Young, changed his ways. There were so many things about their story that drew me in: their inseparability and obsession with each other, his grand gestures for her, and of course, the steamy sex scenes. Obviously there were steamy sex scenes, it was fan fiction. I remember thinking about how their love was so pure, and they overcame so much to be together. I wanted a love so intense, so deep and passionate like theirs in my life. Blinded by my infatuation, I refused to see just how unhealthy of a depiction Hardin and Tessa’s relationship was. Hardin Scott is extremely toxic and does unspeakable things to the people around him with almost no remorse. To list the biggest example—and the entire plot of the first book— he pursues Tessa because of a bet with his friends. He claimed he could make her fall in love with him and then leave her. He pursues her, knowing she’s in a relationship with someone else, takes her virginity, and even shows her bloody sheets as proof of his conquest to his friends. But in the end, he can’t leave Tessa because he falls in love with her. Chivalry isn’t dead, guys; it comes in the form of brooding British boys with a damaging past. At the end of the first book, his bet is revealed to her and she leaves him— only to immediately get back together with him in the next book.

Throughout the series, Hardin upholds his reputation as a walking red flag, screaming when he doesn’t get his way and drinking himself into a stupor. Perhaps worst of all, it’s revealed that before he met Tessa, he taped himself having sex with a girl without her consent and showed it to everyone. Even after hearing all of this, Tessa always finds a way to forgive him, claiming that he just needs to be shown compassion, believing that her love can fix him. This series, like so many other “bad boy falls for good girl’’ books, perpetuates the notion that every bad guy is worthy of redemption. We need to realize that this trend of tropes where good girls “fall in love” with bad boys just to end up fixing them is not what a real relationship should look like. Excusing a toxic relationship like this as a consequence of “life is messy” justifies abuse, which is unacceptable on so many levels.

Yet, my 17-year-old self desperately idolized their relationship, and I’m not the only one who wanted to find my own Hardin. Toxic tropes like these are an injustice done to young women who know nothing of sex and love. Three and a half years ago, I was completely inexperienced and longed to have my first boyfriend, glorifying the bad boy trope and trying to model a real-life relationship off it. Maybe that’s why I handed my first kiss, and three minutes later, my virginity to the boy who told me that he didn’t want a relationship but still wanted to “hang out.” I thought I would be the one to fix him. I thought I could be the one to change his mind, just like in the books I read. He never called me again, by the way.

Now looking back at what my 17-year-old self wanted four years later, I realize how disturbing my mindset was. While four years doesn’t seem like a large amount of time, so much has happened. I’ve experienced a happy, healthy relationship where I felt safe, loved, and respected. I learned that a healthy relationship and true love isn’t achieved by couples like Tessa and Hardin; it’s shared by people who listen, communicate, and trust each other.

While books are works of fiction with no moral or ethical boundaries, they still influence society’s culture. This trope, while admittedly entertaining, sets unrealistic expectations on what a real healthy love is really like. If Hardin was supposed to be Tessa’s heaven, I don’t even want to know what hell is. In order to avoid a dangerously blurred line between fantasy and reality, it may be time to renovate the trope slightly as well as write more stories about healthier, more positive couples. YM

My Martyr Complex

WRITTEN BY AYAANA NAYAK ART BY ISA LUZARRAGA

Someone once told me that rather than having a victim complex, I suffered with that of a martyr. The worst part was I took pleasure in hearing that. My first thought wasn’t something logical like well, that’s a recipe for disaster, or how did I get to this point? Oh no, my first thought was yes, and? The thing is, martyrdom has been so excessively glorified that many of us have deluded ourselves into aspiring it. And for what, the chance that we’d be appreciated for it? I’ve learned, painstakingly, how that’s hardly a reason for doing something.

While the word martyr is traditionally associated with religion, it has grown to define any person with self-sacrificing tendencies for the benefit of others. A martyr complex stems from ideas similar to those related with people-pleasing. It describes a need for validation —a fulfillment derived from serving others at the cost of their own well-being. To clarify, there’s nothing saintly about me. My version of self-sacrifice has more to do with people-pleasing —pushing myself to unsustainable limits to help someone else. For my friends, my family, wherever I was needed, really. I like knowing that I’m what’s making a positive difference in someone’s life. Maybe that’s just something I do to appease myself so that I believe that I’m a good person. Often, being “good” is associated with how much we do for others and less so about our loyalty to ourselves. When you stop looking at selfishness like the insult we’re taught it is, you’ll see how essential it is to our own well-being. I know this understanding seems rudimentary, but it’s taken me most of my life to really come to terms with it.

Naturally, I’ve wondered where my need to martyr myself comes from. There’s a variety of reasons for it, many of which stem from the culture I grew up in. I was raised to believe you did anything to protect your own, but I think my definition of “own” got a little too superfluous. At the drop of a hat, I’d run to the assistance of anyone who asked for it, whether it was my teachers or peers. Often, I’d volunteer to stay back late and set up events that had nothing to do with me, all because no one else wanted to. Other times, I’d give up hours of my time revising English papers with classmates I’d spoken to only a handful of times. I was a bit of a pushover if you can’t tell.

And then, of course, there were the stories. The stories I was raised on—the ones I consumed with the hunger of adolescent

escapism. There were books and TV shows that fed me tales of heroes and versions of bravery that required sacrificing themselves for the people they loved. Sometimes for the whole world. When you put it into context, their decision to give themselves up makes sense. But how does something like that manifest subconsciously, especially in children?

One of my favorite shows growing up was Avatar: The Last Airbender and its sequel series, The Legend of Korra I watched both of them incessantly in an effort to get as close to their stories as I could. In the third season of The Legend of Korra, the titular Avatar was willing to sacrifice herself to protect a race of people. It wasn’t the first time either. The sequel series has always been the more heartbreaking one because of everything Korra went through. We saw her break over and over again, and each time she faced it willingly because it was her responsibility. What sticks with me is that she was just a girl who had done painfully little for herself and suffered consequences. She was miserable, but she was loved by thousands. At the ripe age of 12, I thought yeah, that’s worth it. I saw her misery as something that was acceptable. What’s worse is that I saw it as something to aspire to. It’s probably why I glorified any suffering I endured. I thought it made me special, made me a better person. On some level, I probably even sought it out, so I could convince myself I was deserving of appreciation.

The trope that Avatar plays with is that of the “chosen one.” The concept itself is a psychotic break waiting to happen. What are the chances that any of us truly bear the burden of protecting a civilization? I’m betting on never. And yet, we secretly await the day we will. Most of us were waiting for Hogwarts letters on our eleventh birthday. Better yet, we were waiting for Hagrid to tear through our front doors to give our lives some greater meaning. One of the beautiful things about stories is that they make us feel like we can be more. Simultaneously, they run the risk of putting pressure on us to be more. I grew up harboring a secret hope that I would stumble upon some great purpose and find meaning in it. I wanted something like destiny to be handed to me, so I wouldn’t have to seek one out for myself; it would have required far more commitment than I’m prone to. The truth, unsatisfying as it may be, is that the greatest meaning in our lives will likely be derived from the things we do for ourselves. YM

What’s The Deal With “Hope Core?”

WRITTEN BY IZZIE CLAUDIO

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NAIA DRISCOLL

In the internet world, aesthetics have inherited a new title: the suffix of “core.” Commonly associated with style trends, there seems to be a new “core” every few months, a far cry from the long-lived subcultures of the past, such as hippies and punks; however, a new “core” has arrived on the internet, and this time it has nothing to do with styling clothes.

Comment sections flood with users begging for more videos labeled “Hope Core,” expressing that they make them cry or help them find faith in the world again. I will admit that these videos have made me sob and have felt like an escape from the dizzying amount of negative news.

Every video in this trend usually includes the following factors: a compilation of heartwarming videos, a sped-up version of the song “Evergreen” by Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners, and a sentence of motivation in the center of the screen. These videos aim to invoke joy ,and, of course, hope, and they’ve gained quite a following.

These video compilations always highlight beautiful and often emotional moments of joy, love, and pride: family members reuniting, tear-jerking award acceptance speeches, or pregnancy announcements. The song brings it together since “Evergreen” emulates triumph in each guitar strum. Hope Core videos emphasize the moments that tug at your heartstrings, the raw moments of humanity.

This leads me to wonder what this internet phenomenon says about human nature in this age of the internet. According to Forbes Magazine, “Over 60% of TikTok users are comprised of Generation Z.” Our generation grew up alongside social media, which can make the internet almost an extension of our lives. Is “Hope Core” a refreshing sight or a warning sign that Gen Z lacks a relationship with raw humanity?

Roma Welsh (she/they), Theatre and Performance ‘26, points out what this video trend could say about Gen Z. “I have found them to be deeply profound and a really beautiful emblem of our generation’s empathy and use of social media as an art form,” Welsh says.

With so much access to online content, it can be easy to disconnect from real life. Hope Core videos invoke strong reactions because raw humanity can often be missing from the internet world. We yearn to give it a place in a space our generation spends so much time in. “[I] find Hope Core to be like little pockets of life and art,” Welsh continues.

We’ve seen the rise of social media and its rapid development, so much so that we are now aware of how to critique and alter it. Hope Core is a reclamation of joy, a reintroduction of humanity to a place that can hold so much fakeness. Alyssa Lazé (they/she/he), Writing Literature and Publishing ‘26, calls it gritted-teeth optimism: “We don’t necessarily need Hope Core, but it’s been a positivity boost when we’ve been in need of one for several years now.”

Gen Z was hit with a major disruption when the COVID-19 pandemic struck amidst our most formative years. The abrupt solitude led us to turn to the internet for connection. “Hope Core is like resilient optimism; we’ve gotten through worse things alone,” Lazé says.

The people love Hope Core; it’s a breath of fresh air in the middle of doom-scrolling, a moment of joy when it’s needed most; however, the question still stands: if we want to see humanity on the internet, why don’t we seek it out in real life? Forbes Magazine says, “The issue is, we can’t move into the future if we’re using technology as a crutch. It’s supposed to augment human interaction, not replace it entirely.”

While Hope Core provides that good, cathartic cry, it’s puzzling that there’s a collective call to action for even more videos depicting moments of humanity. Technology was created as a tool to better humanity, not replace the very emotional experiences that make us human. Amelia Oei, WLP ‘26, says, “We shouldn’t have to depend on aesthetic compilation videos on TikTok to get happiness in our world.” If you enjoy Hope Core and notice a yearning for more, seek out ways to find those moments with the people around you. Hope isn’t just a “core,” it’s something that can always be found off-screen. YM

Is Love Really Blind?

WRITTEN BY ISA LUZARRAGA

Of all the reality series I’ve binged, Netflix’s Love Is Blind (LIB) remains one of my holy grail shows. There is something about the so-called blind love experiment that continues to put me in a trance, even after seven seasons of failed relationships, copious golden goblets, and a lot of awkward tension. While I am not planning to try out for the show myself, I have realized some startling parallels between my own life and Love Is Blind In many ways, my college experience is exactly like falling in love without ever seeing your soulmate.

I enrolled at Emerson, as LIB hosts Vanessa and Nick Lachey would say, “sight unseen.” In a way, I fell in love with the idea of Emerson without ever seeing it. Part of me was terrified to visit the campus, worried I would regret my decision and dread starting my freshman year. It was easier to focus on what I knew about the school from my online research. As my father once advised me over the phone, “I’ve read a lot about Emerson. And it says all the kids are either gay or on drugs.” Niche has us figured out!

But seriously, I felt like I was in a “pod” by myself, the possibilities of college on the other side of an opaque wall. I tried to imagine all I could or would do, but in the end, any image I could paint was unfounded and unproductive. Nothing really prepared me for the culture shock of college. Growing up with my two loving parents, who met at Boston College and still have close relationships with their peers today, choosing a college felt a lot like a marriage proposal. I have always had this idea of my perfect college life, which is kind of how I envision my fictional relationship with Kit Connor from Heartstopper. My commitment felt irreversible, destined to set me on an unmovable path toward the future.

Then came the reveal. Once LIB contestants propose to someone they’ve been dating in the pods for a couple of days, they prepare to meet their fiancé in person for the first time. Each person primps, fearfully confessing their fears to the producers. What if he isn’t my type? What if she doesn’t like the way I look? Finally, the couple is revealed to each other, forced to walk down opposite ends of a long, dramatic runway.

Most pairs laugh awkwardly and run to each other, hugging and kissing. Others sneak glances at the camera. Is this really who I am going to spend the rest of my life with? Together, the couples will either prove or disprove if love is truly blind, namely, if they can get past whatever discomforts they have with each other’s appearances and remain true to their original emotional connection.

You’re probably wondering. What was my reveal like? Luckily, Emerson is a looker and presents quite a pleasing facade. Sure, I did see a seagull murder a pigeon in the Common during my first week

ART BY ISABELLA CHIU

in Boston, but nevertheless, I was captivated by the city campus, so different from the sprawling grounds of other colleges I considered. Emerson and I were good. I accepted the ring, and we went on our week-long trip to Mexico or whichever tropical retreat the producers select each season.

Still, I struggled to reconcile my expectations of college with what was right in front of me. LIB contestants talk a lot about their physical connections matching the emotional bond they built in the pods. Emerson and I had the same issues. By my second semester of Freshman year, I was severely depressed. I started isolating myself in my dorm, going to bed at 9:00 p.m. every night, and crying to my parents about how my college experience was nothing like theirs.

My parents always regaled me and my brother with stories of road trips, football games, and their first dates. The reality that they met at college and have been together ever since resulted in my putting more pressure on myself to date immediately and scout out a life partner. I felt like I was doing everything wrong and that I didn’t fit.

Every couple has those roadblocks—Love Is Blind practically invites them with the drama and uncertainty of the blind love aspect. I genuinely questioned if I had made the right decision by committing to Emerson. In those moments of intense self-doubt, I reached out for the threads of connection. One of them was this beautiful magazine you are reading right now. Though I had little confidence in myself and my future, someone trusted me to lead a group of incredible people. Thus began the metaphorical couples therapy.

Bit by bit, I adjusted my expectations. I wasn’t at Boston College or a state school back in my home state of Nebraska. I had chosen Emerson. And I like to think that Emerson kind of chose me, too—at least, eventually.

Now, at the end of every season of LIB, the couples attend their weddings after less than a month of knowing each other. Honestly, my background check of Emerson took a week or two before I made my decision, so who am I to critique those reality show lovebirds? Granted, I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life braving the wind tunnel on Boylston and Tremont. The past three years have been a potent mix of stress, discovery, and melancholy, as any monumental decision should elicit.

So, is love blind? Romantically speaking, it certainly seems possible. Regarding my convoluted relationship with Emerson College, I have a more definite answer. I’ve never been more grateful for jumping into something blind. YM

Zodiac Signs and Their Cartoon Counterparts: A Perfect Match

WRITTEN BY ALEKS CARNEY

Have you ever wondered which cartoon character or series best represents your Zodiac sign? Look no further! We’ve compiled a list of the most fitting animated shows and characters that embody the unique traits and characteristics associated with each astrological sign.

From the courageous and determined Aries, represented by the fierce Samurai Jack, to the creative and dreamy Pisces, embodied by the lovable SpongeBob SquarePants, this list has it all. Discover how the nurturing nature of Cancer is reflected in the heartwarming series Steven Universe or how the analytical mind of Virgo is represented by the boy genius Dexter and his secret laboratory.

Whether you’re a fan of classic cartoons like The Lion King or modern favorites like Rick and Morty, there’s a perfect match for every zodiac sign. So, sit back, relax, and let us take you on a journey through the colorful and imaginative world of cartoons as we explore the perfect animated counterpart for each astrological sign. Get ready to discover a new way to connect with your zodiac sign and perhaps even find your next favorite cartoon series!

aAries—Samurai Jack: Aries are known for their courage, determination, and leadership skills, which are exemplified by the titular character’s quest to defeat the evil, shape-shifting demon Aku.

b Taurus—Bob’s Burgers: Tauruses are often associated with a love for comfort, stability, and enjoying life’s simple pleasures, making this quirky and heartwarming animated sitcom about a family-run burger joint a great fit.

eGemini —The Powerpuff Girls: Geminis are known for their adaptability, wit, and ability to multitask, traits that are reflected in the crime-fighting adventures of these three superpowered sisters.

g Cancer—Steven Universe: Cancers are often emotionally intuitive, nurturing, and deeply connected to family and home, making this heartfelt and inclusive series about a young boy and his magical alien guardians a perfect match.

h Leo—The Lion King: Leos are often associated with leadership, creativity, and a strong sense of pride, which are central themes in this classic Disney tale of a young lion prince’s journey to claim his rightful place as king.

iVirgo—Dexter’s Laboratory: Virgos are known for their analytical minds, attention to detail, and problem-solving skills, making this cartoon about a boy genius and his secret lab a fitting choice.

j Libra—Avatar: The Last Airbender: Libras are often associated with a strong sense of justice, diplomacy, and the pursuit of balance and harmony, themes that are central to this epic fantasy series about a young Avatar’s quest to master the elements and bring peace to the world.

kScorpio—Batman: The Animated Series: Scorpios are known for their intensity, depth, and fascination with mysteries and the darker aspects of life, making this classic noir-inspired adaptation of the Caped Crusader’s adventures a great match.

lSagittarius—Adventure Time: Sagittariuses are often adventurous, philosophical, and drawn to exploring new horizons, much like the imaginative and surreal journeys undertaken by the characters in this beloved fantasy series.

cCapricorn—Bojack Horseman: Capricorns are known for their ambition, perseverance, and strong work ethic, traits that are both exemplified and subverted by the titular character’s struggles in this darkly comedic and introspective series set in Hollywood.

d Aquarius—Rick and Morty: Aquariuses are often associated with innovation, unconventional thinking, and a fascination with science and the future, making this irreverent and mind-bending sci-fi comedy a perfect fit.

f Pisces—SpongeBob SquarePants: Pisces are known for their creativity, emotional depth, and dreamy nature, which are captured in the colorful and imaginative underwater world and endearing characters of this classic animated series.

Age of Adolescence

DIRECTED BY NATALIA OPRZADEK

PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATALIA OPRZADEK

STYLED BY ANNA BACAL PETERSON, BIANCA LUND, AND JULIA MAGDZIAK

MODELED BY HARLEM ROGERS, ELOISE CAMPISI, AVA BELCHEZ, JESSICA ZHANG, JULIANNA DIPAOLO, AND RUTH LASSIE

songs to strutstrut strut down the runway to

Cover Girl - RuPaul

HEATED - Beyoncé

Paparazzi - Lady Gaga

Nails, Hair, Hips, Heels - Todrick Hall

Jungle - Fred again..

Bejeweled - Taylor Swift

Maneater - Nelly Furtado

Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl - Chappell Roan

American Boy - Estelle, Kanye West

IT

GIRL - Aliyah’s Interlude

Judas - Lady Gaga

Got Me Started - Troye Sivan

Vogue - Madonna

yes, and? - Ariana Grande

Holding On - Jungle

212 - Azelia Banks, Lazy Jay

Gimme What I Want – Miley Cyrus

Peppers - Lana Del Rey, Tommy Genesis

BOOGIE - BROCKHAMPTON

Diamonds On My Mind - Eli Brown

Every Morning - Chris Lorenzo

Raingurl - Yaeji

Deep Inside - Hardrive

Call Me - Deee-Lite

Perfect (Exceeder) - Mason, Princess Superstar

THIQUE - Beyoncé

Artist Statement

Describe your work in one sentence. Cute and cozy handmade items that are made to appeal to many different to people and aesthetics.

How and when did you get into crochet?

My mom taught me when I was very young, and like many people, I really picked it up in quarantine. I liked the idea of being able to make my own clothes out of thin air. I’ve definitely improved since then, but I’ll never forget the feeling of finishing my first ever top.

What inspires you?

The fashion I see on the street, on the internet, I get inspiration from already existing pieces that I find of course, but sometimes I’ll see something made out of regular fabric and think that it must be possible to crochet it somehow. Then, I’ll figure it out and think up a pattern.

Why crocheting?

Crocheting is both relaxing and creating great items. I crochet 50 percent items. because I want to produce an item, but the other half is because I find it

relaxing and satisfying. It really helped me get through hard times with anxiety and OCD, and I recommend it to everyone I know that struggles with the same things. Even my therapist said the rhythms and repetition help soothe anxiety symptoms.

Who are some of your favorite creators/artists?

I’ve found a lot of artists through the internet, some are @mahumcrochets, @beauumeadow, @ty_ballie, and so many more. In real life, a lot of my friends also crochet, and we bond over the craft.

What is one of your favorite pieces you’ve made? What makes it special to you?

My favorite piece I’ve ever made is probably a giant striped sweater. I don’t know why, but I feel connected to it, enough that I’ve actually kept it and worn it myself instead of selling it. It was made from a bunch of scrap yarn from other projects and became something so beautiful on its own.

What advice would you give other/new creators?

A lot of people, even some people that I’ve tried to teach to crochet, often

tell me that they gave it up because it was too difficult to get the hang of. My advice is to keep going! It becomes muscle memory after a little while. It’s an amazing hobby and definitely worth pushing past the first hard part.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

In 10 years, I hope I’m still crocheting. I have a lot of hobbies as a creative

person, but crocheting has always been consistent for me, so I think I’ll still be doing it as my main hobby.

Where can readers see more of your work?

Readers can see more of my work on my instagram handmadeby.jessie, depop handmadebyjessie, and most importantly, at Sustainable Swaps events where I mainly sell my work!

senior photoshoot:

DIRECTED BY ISA LUZARRAGA AND EMMA CAHILL

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ISA LUZARRAGA AND EMMA CAHILL MAKEUP BY ANNABEL KAVETAS AND GAIL ANDERSEN

I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of Your Magazine for the past three years.

As a freshman, I was hesitant to join any organizations, especially publications. The high school newspaper burnout was real. Nevertheless, there was something about YM that drew me in. I like to think it was serendipity that prompted me to apply for an executive board position as a designer—despite my vow that I would never touch InDesign again.

After two semesters of wrestling with magazine layouts, I was selected to be YM’s next Managing Editor. Despite the immense responsibility, being a leader revived me and gave me a purpose that carried me through the weeks. It’s been an honor to see Your Mag’s exponential growth over the past two years. Through the revival of Your Mag TV, the creation of Your Blog, and the infamy of “Rom in the Com,” I have had the privilege to witness YM members create something entirely new yet still cohesive with our organization’s mission and values.

While I just turned 21, I know for certain that being a part of Your Mag has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I want to thank all of YM’s contributors, readers, and critics. We wouldn’t be able to do it without you.

A big shoutout to my partners in publishing, Ashley Ferrer and Nirvana Ragland. Thank you to my wonderful assistants and amazing friends—innovative creators in their own right—Lily Brown and Hailey Kroll. Finally, all my gratitude to my family and roommates who have listened to me vent about print dead lines and missing files for the past three years.

It’s been real.

We are Your Mag. You are Your Mag. Your Mag is us.

All my love, Isa

isa luzarraga

Freshman year used to feel like such a long time ago. Now, I find bits and pieces of the wide-eyed wanderer still within me. By the month’s end, I will have graduated from Emerson College— something I have yet to process, no matter how many times I’ve said it out loud.

Emerson has brought so much to my life. Upon moving to Boston, I was hit with my greatest case of imposter syndrome. I was excited, afraid—all the things. This city full of impassioned creatives was intimidating as much as it was inspiring. Writing was my life, of course, and I had always dreamed of working for a magazine one day, but it seemed out of reach.

I was instantly drawn to Your Magazine, and serendipitously they were the first publication to take a chance on me. As I anxiously rambled about my prior editing experience and what I would bring to the role, the Living Editor at the time saw something in me, and offered me the role of her assistant. The more involved I got in the publication, the more I realized how special it was, and how I

fit into it. There was a magic in the process that left glitter on my fingers every time I flipped through the pages of a printed issue. By the end of sophomore year, the batons of Managing Editor and Editor-in-Chief were passed onto Isa and I. We desperately wanted to make our predecessors proud and protect the publication they had built. Thank you Isa, for always being by my side, for being the publication’s boss lady and our super power. I also had the pleasure of working alongside Cam as co-EICs. To Cam, I thank you for holding down the fort while I was abroad and making a great partner to grow alongside.

I still am excited, and certainly still afraid. But, I am now also confident that what I have learned here, at Your Mag, at Emerson, has prepared me for whatever comes next.

Can’t wait to see what you guys do next!

Lots + Lots of Love, Ashley

ashley ferrer

Dear Your Mag and contributors,

When navigating the transition to higher education and a school of laptop stickers, purple Converse, and a whole lot of self-expression, I was certain I’d never thrive in an organization unless I made it myself. Your Mag has proved me wrong and given me a place to share my creative ideas, uplift others, and build confidence and assurance in myself. These skills will follow me long after I depart from the Boston Campus or even Boston itself. For this, I am so grateful and hope that Your Mag provides that space and opportunity for its current members and prospective students.

From piling gym mats five feet high to emulate mattresses for an editorial to late-night pitch meetings where my stomach tensed from laughing too hard. It was these little moments that formed my bond with our mag. While there were many moments of tight deadlines, stressful mediations, and heightened emotions, I learned just as much about myself as I did the people I spent so much time with. Watching the magazine improve and expand with blogs and YMTV has made me feel like a proud parent. There’s so much skill and talent embedded into all the work that comes out so consistently, and I can’t wait to see the magazine take off further. It has been a space where I could be a makeup artist, photographer, writer, designer, teacher, friend, confidant, and your Diversity Chair for the last two years. Thank you for having me, Your Mag.

Keep pitching, creating, and building.

-Nirvana <3

nirvana

ragland

When I came to Emerson, I was initially overwhelmed by the sheer amount of publications on campus. It didn’t help that my first semester was in the Fall of 2020, so while I was afraid to put myself out there, I also didn’t really have the opportunity to do so. I spent two years working on various on-campus literary magazines as readers and editors, because that was what I was used to from my experience as the Editor-in-Chief of my high school’s literary magazine. But by my junior year, I realized that wasn’t the path I wanted to take anymore. I saw a listing for the Assistant Head Proofreader position on Your Mag’s Instagram in Fall 2022; the rest is history.

Joining Your Mag has been one of the most impactful experiences of my time at Emerson. I never imagined working on a lifestyle publication, let alone one that publishes multiple times a semester. Everyone on the Executive Board was and has continued to be welcoming and kind toward me. I’ve found the entire publication process incredibly rewarding. Even though my work comes in at the end of the production cycle, getting to sit in on E-Board meetings, collaborate with others, and be surrounded by so much creativity in one room has inspired me immensely. Going from the Assistant Head Proofreader to the Head Proofreader position was a bit of a tran-

sition, but once I started managing my own team in Spring 2023, I fell in love with the position and everything that came with it. I loved dividing each issue and assigning articles and editorials to my team. I loved making my proofreading guide to help my team, and seeing their suggestions for each piece. I’ve learned to be meticulous, a clear communicator, and organized, especially with the tight proofreading deadlines. And I’ve continued to love seeing all of the hard work my peers do come to fruition.

I’d like to thank Griffin for hiring and training me and for always being a friendly face; Isa for being on top of everything, and for answering all of my various questions; Hailey for working with me as the issues go from design to proof and then back to design; Izzie for taking on the Assistant Head Proofreader role, and for being the most amazing assistant to work with; Ashley for everything she does to ensure Your Mag is as great as it is; E-Board for being so welcoming and for doing any last minute proofreading for me; and to anyone who has ever proofread on my team before, thank you for all of your hard work, it doesn’t go unnoticed! Peace out Your Mag! I’ll miss you! <3

gabby goode

Well, well, well…Can you believe it? I’m almost done with college! It’s a tad terrifying, yet oh-so-exciting. It feels like just yesterday I was a wide-eyed freshman, completely unhinged, like unhinged unhinged. But you know what they say: “college flies by,” and boy, does it ever!

I stumbled upon the most fabulous magazine, Your Magazine, during my sophomore year, and let me tell you, joining as their social media coordinator was one of the best decisions I ever made. During my freshman year I wasn’t really involved in much, but I’ve always wanted to dive into different activities. Now I’m a part of multiple organizations, and loving every minute of it! Being a part of Your Magazine has been an incredible journey, and I’ve made some fantastic friends along the way.

My absolute favorite memory from my time at Your Magazine? Oh, it has to be creating “Rom in the Com” with Griffin, our Romance Editor. I handled the social media and filming while he tackled asking people questions. Let me tell you, it was a blast! Picture this: us roaming around the Boston Common, interviewing people about romance and sex. The conversations were always en-

tertaining, and some of the answers we got were crazy! My favorite question we have ever asked has to be “What is your Horror Hookup Story?” for our Halloween episode—a classic video, if I do say so myself! And let’s not forget the moments of embarrassing dancing, drawing intrigued looks from people passing us by, and doing our hot girl walks. It’s a memory I’ll cherish forever. I mean, how often do you get to say, “I co-created a sex/romance talk show”? Priceless, right?

As I bid farewell to Your Magazine, I hope the tradition of talk shows continues long after I’m gone. As for me, well, I’m looking forward to pursuing a career in social media marketing after college. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even create another talk show one day! The possibilities are endless, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.

So, here’s to new beginnings and endless adventures. Thank you, Your Magazine, for being a part of my college journey and helping me into the person I am today. It’s been an absolute pleasure, and I’ll carry the memories with me wherever I go.

Peace & Love,

Gabby

It’s hard for me to sum up what my time with YM has meant to me. Your Magazine has been the most fulfilling experience of my life in so many different ways, and I am so grateful for the friends it brought me and the opportunity to create it gave me. My best times at Emerson all have some connection to Your Magazine, and for that, I will forever be so grateful. So much love for this organization, and so much love for every single person that is a part of it.

So much love.

Emma

emma cahill

I’ve been in a committed relationship with Your Magazine for about two years, and halfway through my last semester here at Emerson, it’s hard to think about this as the end. It almost feels like a breakup. In a “it’s not you it’s me” type of way, I’m coaching myself toward the next chapter of my life, with a sort of wistful enthusiasm.

I started my Your Mag journey a bit late in the game. At the start of my junior year, a lovely friend of mine asked if I would be interested in assisting her with the edits for the style section of the magazine, in the interest of eventually taking over her role full time in the coming semester. I was excited, as most people are entering a new relationship, and that honeymoon phase has lasted! I almost immediately took to the way that my peers worked together, in an insanely efficient way, to create such issues. I quickly fell in love with the ease of developing relationships with authors and my peers on the Editorial Board alike.

Not only was I responsible for the livelihood of incredibly talented writers’ pieces, but I was also responsible for interviewing

gigi sipiora

students who were featured in the “Street Style” section of the magazine. I’ve always felt that fashion is the most effective way to express yourself, and working with writers, who felt as passionately about this fact as I did, as well as those who we recognized in the magazine for their audacious style choices, was wildly inspiring. I wrote my first piece for Your Magazine this semester, and it quickly spiraled into a second. The rush I received from sharing my writing with the other talented editors and staff members at Your Magazine has been unmatched and is, notably, one of the most positive experiences of my college career thus far.

Now, as the Head Style Editor with two phenomenal assistants waiting to take my place, I’m feeling incredibly nostalgic. Your Mag and I had a great relationship, and I can only wish the best for the magazine moving forward. I have an immense amount of gratitude for everyone I have worked with and for being able to play a part in such a wonderful organization.

So thank you, Your Mag! We had some good times, but I think it’s best if we see other people now.

rachel tarby

For the past two years, I’ve had the pleasure of working with the talented Your Mag team. Through my position as Copy Chief, I’ve been able to read and enjoy every article while strengthening them to the best of my ability. I’ve learned so much through everyone who has been courageous enough to share their stories with us. Being on the Your Mag executive board has inspired me to be creative in various aspects of my life; I’ve experimented with my style, storytelling, romance, photography, etc. Beyond college, Your Mag will always be a part of my life.

The first story I ever wrote for Your Magazine was when I was a freshman pitching for the October issue. I paced around my room blurting out words, phrases, TV shows, music, anything to try to come up with ideas. And I was in. I started as the Living Editor the following year, and have truly loved every second—shoutout pitch meetings! From there, I pushed myself into creative direction and photography. The team here has always allowed me to grow as a writer and as a creative. This board means so much to me, I’m so glad to have been a small part of the legacy of YM.

Love, Lauren

lauren smith

Wow, I don’t even know where to begin! I feel so deeply grateful for my time with Your Mag. I remember applying to be the Assistant Social Media Director right before my sophomore year because I just wanted to become more involved on campus. I didn’t know that applying for that position would unlock such a meaningful experience. I will take so much away from being a part of Your Mag. I made friends, learned new skills, and felt so much more at home on campus. Because of Your Mag, there is always someone to say “hi” to when walking to class, or someone to chat with in the elevator, and I know that freshman year Ellie would be relieved to know that she eventually got to that place. Every time I go to one of our weekly meetings, I leave very thankful that I get to work alongside some of the most creative and inspiring people I have ever been lucky enough to meet. I am also so happy that my job as Co-Social Media Director means that I get to help showcase the beautiful work that is published in each issue. I will always cherish my time with Your Mag, and I am so excited to see the ways in which this magazine will continue to impress me after I go.

With much love,