In 2018, my mother was cancelled by a Twitter mob. “Katie Roiphe can suck my dick,” one user wrote. Others called her “human scum,” a “ghoul,” and a “harridan.” Enraged by the hypothetical contents of her not-yet-published Harper’s Magazine article, they preemptively took to their ...
Evening breeze winding through my small, soft hands. Tall grass tickling my ankles as I passed. It was just after sundown in the summer, and I was sprinting through a field, and I was still young enough to be unafraid of stumbling.
In the car with my brother over winter break one year, I tried to inconspicuously Shazam the song he was playing. That move has seldom led me astray, and in this instance, it brought me to “Situations” by Robert Lester Folsom. I was struck by the song because of its last verse, one that spoke to ...
When I was in middle school, my friends and I loved to bullet journal. Each of us bought our own personal dotted notebooks that we carried around to class like little trophies, paired with pencil cases filled to the brim with felt-tip brush pens and mildliners and Zebra Sarasa pens. Taking inspiration ...
I’ll be twenty-two before you know it, and my final year of college starts in three days. I am watching the sun slip through the openings in the fence and gilding the honeysuckle. I am pressing my palms against the pavement, still warmed by the final day of August. I am listening to the cicadas. They ...
If you’re in my life, you’ve likely heard about A. I hate A. Well, hate is a strong word. I deeply dislike A, to the extent that I’m still having imaginary arguments with her in my head despite the fact that it’s been two months since I last saw her.
You came to outrun last semester. The slacking, the smoke, the classes you let tip into a soft, resinous fog. You blamed Donnie Hazel. Hazel of midnight joints, floor-creak monologues, and the art of drifting out of the abstract world of collegiate commitment. So you hit I-95 and called it reform. New ...
As my feet, clad in an obnoxious blue and orange sneaker combo, hit the pavement again and again and again, I can’t help but feel guilty.
TW: sexual assault
There’s nothing like caffeine-induced jitters to affirm that you are indeed an Ivy Leaguer. This time last year, I'd never pictured myself strutting down Thayer Street, wielding an atrociously overpriced cold brew from Ceremony on my way to a consulting club meet-and-greet. And yet, a week ago, there ...
In the past five years, the anti-diabetic medication Ozempic has entered the American pop-cultural vernacular. The medication has transformed into an unofficial weight-loss drug, lauded by celebrities and the affluent as a miracle pill that staves off hunger. The Ozempic era has coincided with the cyclical ...
If one more person tells me that they plan to double-concentrate in ECON and IAPA, I’m gonna throw something. Apologies to my many ECON/IAPA friends, but I’m longing to hear something different!
Today I’m in the museum lobby, newly thrifted jacket in hand, waiting for my friends to come out. Today I’m in Amsterdam. Specifically, I’m at the Rembrandt House Museum, though I wouldn’t know—I haven’t gone past the lobby. Still, “Rembrandt van Rijn" is written in a font so big it’s ...
Solutions by The State News
