Most times, you appreciate that they even thought of you to text, but you soon start to wonder when you’re going to see them next. It’s been months, maybe a year; a proper catch-up is due.

Both of you express interest in seeing each other. Yet, a date doesn’t get planned, or if you’re lucky enough, you preemptively schedule something in the far future.

This may be the same friend who sends you posts like “Send this to a friend who you haven’t seen in a while, but you know it’s love anytime you hang out.”

Eventually, these posts start to pile up as the time apart grows further and further. This approach to feeding the dwindling connection starts to feel null and void.

This is how many adult friendships look nowadays, and we’ve given it a name: the low-maintenance friendship. Can true connection really be sustained in the conditions implied by this term, though? Or have we rebranded avoidance once again?

Here’s my take on it in this podcast episode of THE MACBOOK DIARIES.

Most times, you appreciate that they even thought of you to text, but you soon start to wonder when you’re going to see them next. It’s been months, maybe a year; a proper catch-up is due.

Both of you express interest in seeing each other. Yet, a date doesn’t get planned, or if you’re lucky enough, you preemptively schedule something in the far future.

This may be the same friend who sends you posts like “Send this to a friend who you haven’t seen in a while, but you know it’s love anytime you hang out.”

Eventually, these posts start to pile up as the time apart grows further and further. This approach to feeding the dwindling connection starts to feel null and void.

This is how many adult friendships look nowadays, and we’ve given it a name: the low-maintenance friendship. Can true connection really be sustained in the conditions implied by this term, though? Or have we rebranded avoidance once again?

Here’s my take on it in this podcast episode of THE MACBOOK DIARIES.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

There were different reasons for each situation’s demise. Some fallings-out stemmed from my disorganized attachment style; others from simple incompatibilities. But a handful of them were caused by things outside of our control: the economy.

When the idea of entering a real relationship came across the table, a chunk of those people gave me the same excuse. On multiple occasions, I’ve had men say, “They’re not in a place to be in a relationship,” alluding to their finances and busy schedule. Most times, I’d speculate it was a cop-out answer, but other times, I knew it to be true. Some of them were really not in a position to be in a committed relationship.

These men I knew were working multiple jobs with long hours. Most were underemployed, so they weren’t earning a comfortable wage. Yet they still had several expenses to account for, like a car note, car insurance, gas, rent, etc. Paying for our dates was an added discretionary burden that many decided, at one point or another, they couldn’t take on anymore.

Because survival was the main priority, dating had to fall to the bottom of their list. This would often become apparent through the conditions of the dates. Instead of having a nice dinner, we’d trade it for a walk in the park. If we did do dinner, I’d—hold your breath—sometimes split the bill.

This didn’t bother me as much as maybe the sprinkle-sprinkles of the world would want me to be. But I’m in my early 20s, dating other early 20-somethings. I think it would be unrealistic for me to expect every guy to have it like that at this age in this economy.

When our parents were in their 20s, having a menial job was a viable source of income. It was at least enough to sustain a relationship in its infancy stage. For instance, my father worked at a pizza shop when he started dating my mother. With his small paycheck, he was able to take my mother on dates doing paid activities like dinners and concerts, all while driving back and forth from D.C. to Baltimore to pick her up. In my personal experience, this is unheard of today.

According to a Bank of America report, 53 percent of Gen Z spend $0 on dates each month. If they do go on dates, 28 percent are spending less than $100. If that’s what most people are willing/able to pay on dates, they must be shortcutting it elsewhere. In today’s world, you walk outside and $100 flies out of your pocket just for getting a little treat and necessities. Compared to previous generations, our economic landscape makes dating nearly unsustainable.

It’s not cool to say this, but I sympathize with today’s young men. For those trying to date intentionally, I can imagine the financial stress of conforming to societal gender norms. While society’s expectation for men to be the breadwinners isn’t unique to this generation, the constantly moving goalpost has made achieving this dream out of reach for most.

If a man cannot take a woman out, they must put aside their human desire for partnership. And as a woman dating men, I’m collateral damage. The men I dated without means would eventually become detached, dodging the possibility of a relationship—not necessarily because they wanted to, but they had to, to focus on building themselves.

I appreciate that those men understood what it takes to have an equitable relationship. I appreciate them not wanting to waste a person’s time, knowing they can’t be the ideal companion. It still doesn’t negate the disheartening fact that our economy is pushing us further into isolation, and it’s feeding our insecurities.

Men have become increasingly insecure about their status in life, so they’ve resorted to unhealthy and self-exploitative means of increasing their value. Take Andrew Tate and Clavicular, for example. These figures in the manosphere have grown in popularity by exploiting the shortcomings of young men and offering unfavorable solutions.

As if value isn’t already inherent, Tate and Clavicular convince their male audience otherwise. They tell them that the only way to become a “high-value man” is through control of women, becoming a high earner, and bettering their appearance by any means necessary (even if it involves intravenous drugs and a hammer).

Fortunately, the men I dated never took to those extremes. However, a number of them felt like they had to settle for a surface-level connection when they couldn’t buy their way into a relationship. Those men would double down on the idea of commitment, asking me to participate in casual sex instead of something deep and meaningful.

Maybe needless to say, but I am by no means an economist. I have a very basic understanding of America’s economy. And if someone asked me to define capitalism, I’d be tripping over my words.

My understanding of it is from simply existing in a capitalistic society. From it, I’ve learned that capitalism is omnipresent. It slithers through every facet of our lives, obstructing our ability to live fruitful lives in which money and competition aren’t an object.

Before I started paying for things myself, I only had a passive understanding of the cost of living.

I’d hear it in the grocery store when my parents complained about the rising cost of produce. I’d hear it when we went to a department store, and I’d leave empty-handed because my mom thought the cute top wasn’t worth the price. These incidents only made me confused and frustrated, rather than accepting that life is indeed expensive. My naivety made me think my parents were merely being cheap and difficult.

That was true until I went to college, and now, as a 23-year-old facing the price tag of independent living. I no longer just hear my parents’ grievances, but I feel them. If I, a child of a middle-class family, am lowkey struggling to figure out how I am going to afford my future, I realized that others were experiencing a worse reality.

So yeah, sometimes I’ll split the bill—not because I think it’ll make my date like me more, but because it helps take some of the pressure off. Understanding that we’re all struggling, I don’t want our meal to be the reason someone can’t put gas in their tank.

As times only seem to be getting harder, I think we need to develop a fresh approach to dating—for men and for women. We need to date with more compassion and realistic expectations.

Women, we can’t expect men to pay for everything. Men, misogyny and casual sex aren’t the answer to dating post-capitalism. We must understand we’re both working with scarce resources and doing the best we can to survive and find love.

We can take our bleak circumstances as an opportunity to be creative in building connections. We can swap out dinner at a pricey, low-lit restaurant for something more cost-friendly, like a picnic with a waterfront view. Quite frankly, these low-stakes dates can foster intimacy more quickly. Some of my best conversations were had on these kinds of dates.

I believe our current situation is only temporary. Eventually, people my age will begin earning a living as a natural result of climbing the corporate ladder. Until then, I’m content enjoying the outings and experiences my date can afford.

♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

In it, a guy details a brief interaction he had at a grocery store while shopping for coconut water (eeeyuck). The guy in the video goes on to explain how the most inoffensive question from another shopper made him feel his “spirit” was threatened. So, in true fragile masculinity fashion, he gave the inquirer a death stare, to, I presume, ward him off. That poor, innocent guy, just trying to get his health on, unfortunately, asked the wrong person that day.

The video is as laughable as it is telling of the current social conditions of my generation. It’s humorous for how uncool this person comes across; he obviously thinks of himself as being in the right because he’s “trying to protect his peace” when he’s actually just an a**hole. But the undertone is bleak, knowing that this is how a lot of Gen Z people think.

This isn’t the only video I’ve seen of a Gen Z reacting adversely to a normal human interaction, but it might be the worst. I’ve also met people in real life who assume this kind of anti-social behavior. They’re the kind of person who doesn’t care to smile back at a passerby in a public setting. They’re the kind of person who won’t give a cheery geriatric the benefit of a fake laugh to their corny joke. They’re the kind of person who views helping a stranger as a huge inconvenience rather than a civic duty. These are the worst kind of people, in my opinion.

From the small day-to-day interactions at the grocery store to the efforts that create for real community-building, my generation fails to see how these things bring value to people’s lives. The sowing of a self-centered ethos in internet culture and pandemic isolation has left us with social wounds. As a result, I think we’re more entitled than previous generations and aren’t as equipped for creating lasting, healthy relationships.

To use the video as an example: the guy’s entitlement to his own perceived peace resulted in a person not receiving help. While inconsequential (the shopper not getting someone’s opinion on a coconut water brand), it demonstrates how people who seek connection in today’s climate oftentimes get punished for it. People who have the same worldview as him are why people, including myself, feel othered or embarrassed when we put ourselves out there.

We’re so siloed by our phones that some people have leaned into fully detaching themselves from reality. Anything outside of their realm of isolation and comfort is seen as a breach of their personhood; therefore, I and others are met with avoidance. No text replies. No intention to make plans. How can we be the generation that complains about being so lonely when we’re not taking the necessary steps to show up for each other?

Some may say that it would’ve been easier for the shopper to just Google the product. However, in a world where we’re already so reliant on technology to give us quick solutions, we’ve lost the art of looking to thy neighbor. I’m not religious by any means, but I’m Black, so I was born with the gospel in me. Truthfully, I didn’t understand why pastors would command us to literally look at the person sitting next to us (I hated it as a kid) but as I’m writing this, I do now. We must view everyone around as akin to us. It’s when we see the humanity in each other that it will be easier to foster compassion and empathy, leading us to bridge the gap within our communities. Life becomes fuller and easier when you can depend on others.

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Nowadays, it feels radical to look up from your phone, put yourself in a needy position, and ask the person next to you for help or even start a conversation unprovoked. I doubt that the man set out to do a radical thing by asking for assistance, but to a socially inept Gen Z, it’s an unthinkable act. It shouldn’t be. It should be the ordinary. It should be expected.

Situations like this make me appreciate my mother’s ability to linger in spaces and share family tidbits with strangers wherever we go. As embarrassing as it is to stand by my mom while she brags about my accomplishments to a random store clerk, I’ve grown to not only understand how fulfilling these interactions are for her, but I’ve also realized I’ve adopted some of these traits subconsciously. Sometimes I’ll go out of my way to tell the bartender a silly joke. Or maybe I’ll trauma dump to a stranger–to a healthy amount, of course. These moments where I don’t merely act like the people around me are side characters but people a part of my journey, make mundane experiences a little more colorful. Admittedly, I’m not the best at starting conversations with strangers, but I certainly invite anyone to involve me in their worlds.

I’d rather live in a world where I can depend on the people in proximity more than the soulless LED rectangles we’re tethered to. I want to look down less and more to my side, where I hope my fellow neighbors would be when I’m in need, whether it’s dire or not.

Unforgettably, my actual neighbor has shown up for me. I think it was sometime last year that I went through a weird ube infatuation. I had never tried it before, but so badly wanted to. I spent days searching for places near me that sold it. To my surprise, it’s harder to find authentic ube products in Baltimore, Maryland. In desperation, I took my search to Instagram stories, sending out a Bat-signal asking if anyone knew where to find some. One DM response led to another, and the next thing I knew, my Filipina friend who lives only a block away was at my door with ube crinkles wrapped in perfect packaging.

That’s the delicious beauty of neighbors looking out for each other.

♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

I was in high school when someone first imposed their dating preferences on me.

More concerned with finding my forever high school sweetheart than doing my homework, I vented to my best friend about the woes of singlehood. She felt bad for me and saw this as the perfect opportunity to become my personal matchmaker.

Conjuring up a cure for my juvenile agony, we sat on my couch while she texted one of her male friends—let us call him Kris.

I’d only seen Kris in photos. He had soft features, likely still shedding baby fat, and hadn’t yet hit his second puberty. He wore thick, black-framed glasses, and his complexion was somewhere between brown and dark-skinned. I wasn’t initially attracted to him but was open to getting to know him, especially after my best friend raved about his kind personality.

Kris had never seen me, though, so we set about finding the perfect selfie—one that would be sure to impress him. We eventually sent one and waited for his reply.

“She’s pretty but too dark for me,” he messaged. A simple yet startling response.

The disappointment and utter confusion I felt reading that message rattled my spirit. Until that moment, no one had ever discounted me because of my skin tone. I often watched my girlfriends with deeper complexions get shut out of the dating pool by colorist guys. But I, on the other hand, always felt shielded by my caramel skin which sat comfortably in the middle of the spectrum.

Kris’s remark, though, made me realize that my armor could only protect me from so much.

It exposed a deeper issue—how dating preferences, often rooted in superficial traits like skin color, can be just as limiting as they are personal. And now, in the era of dating apps and popular YouTube series like 20v1 and Arlette Amuli’s Pop The Balloon, superficial dating has become normalized, with people emboldened to make snap judgments based on appearance alone.

It’s fascinating to watch people disqualify contestants for attributes they can’t change like skin color or height—or even something as trivial as a bad outfit.

But when I watch these videos, I don’t blame the contestants for standing true to their standards. Instead, I find myself questioning the nature of their choices: Are they based on genuine personal preferences or are they influenced by modern dating norms? This leads me to the question: Are dating preferences always a bad thing?

Kris’s reason for not giving me a chance—my skin tone—was superficial (and colorist). But no matter how unfair I felt his reason was, I don’t hold the power to change his beliefs. Everyone has the right to date someone who they deem attractive, right? I’m a firm believer in mutual attraction. I mean, what’s the point if you and your partner aren’t in awe every time you see each other?

But preferences go beyond physical attraction. A study reported by BBC Future found that personality often takes the lead in dating priorities. Jess Alderson, co-founder of the dating app So Syncd, found that nearly 90% of over 1,000 surveyed users prioritized personality traits in their dating preferences.

What seems much more common (and realistic) is using preferences to filter out compatibility. We all have standards, and that’s okay. Whether it’s a personality trait or career ambition, certain preferences can keep us from getting into relationships that just won’t work.

Some preferences might seem a bit superficial, but the right ones can be key to saving ourselves from… let’s just say future headaches.

Now that I’m in my early 20s and out of college, I’ve got a pile of dating experiences to look back on. I’ve swiped left for the silliest reasons—a photo pose that felt off or a haircut that just wasn’t doing it for me. But when it came to the people I actually dated, there was no “type.” I dated people across the spectrum of body weight, height, complexion, ethnicity, style, etc. In the end, their features or fashion choices weren’t what led to our unsuccessful love stories; it was simply our personalities and lifestyles that just didn’t mesh.

Looking back, Kris’s comment stung, but I get it. We’re all entitled to our preferences.

Still, it’s worth examining our biases. Ask yourself if your preferences will affect the quality of a relationship or if it discriminates against a group of people. After all, who’s to say that if Kris had overlooked my complexion, we couldn’t have been the ultimate power couple?

Seven years later, I discovered that Kris is gay, so, I guess I never had the chance anyway.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

There are 24 hours in a day, and on a weekday, you’re using most of those hours either at work or preparing to be there; thus, leaving the weekend to cram all of the relaxation and social life you can get.

You only realize how brief that time to yourself and loved ones was until you find yourself back in front of your computer screen, recounting to your co-workers what you did over the weekend. It’s then that you realize the weekend felt like a blip in time. A reprieve that’s never long enough.

It doesn’t take long until you’re back on the hamster wheel of early mornings, work, dinner, shower, sleep and repeat–for five days straight. And somehow we’re expected to be well-read, exercised, and pampered in the midst of our already busy schedules. Throw in a creative passion, and your day could be stacked to the brim just trying to keep up with everything.

Days can easily feel breathless if you sacrifice rest for productivity. I have especially tried to utilize every hour, every second of the day to be my most productive self. When I was writing more consistently for my freelance job, I’d stay up to midnight (or longer) workshopping paragraphs to perfection. Avoiding sleep for the sake of work felt like something I had to do in order to feel like my work was of merit. You’ll hear origin stories of successful professionals and entrepreneurs working late hours, eventually leading to their career breakthrough. Restlessness has become a predictor of success, so I viewed my lack of sleep as an accomplishment in itself. A sign of worthiness and incoming applause for my hard work.

But the morning after a late night work session is quiet, just like any other morning. I’m not woken up to a trophy for being the most sleep-deprived and hard-working. Instead, I’m awarded with dark circles, bags under my eyes, and a brewing headache.

I’m constantly trying to manage my time better but the truth is, especially as a working professional, there will never be enough time to give to everyone, everything, and yourself.

This is where intention becomes paramount.

One saying in particular is etched into my brain: “We have the same 24 hours as Beyoncé.” While the statement infers we must be performing at Beyoncé-level intensity at all times, we also have to remember that Beyoncé goes to sleep, too.

As silly as it is, I never thought about our most aspirational figures resting or struggling to manage their time. Rapper Doechii’s song “BLOOM” put this into perspective for me.

It wasn’t Doechii in particular, but her friend’s aunt who laid down some wisdom on the track.

I love the way she delivers the message. It’s perfunctory in the best way possible, understanding that this kind of knowledge and acceptance only comes from years of lived experience. Her bluntness captures the universal struggle of fighting against time and makes it uncomplicated by offering a simple solution: do what you can do and go to sleep.

To be a functioning adult, we must hit the pillows at the end of each day. And to be a functioning, productive adult, we must strategize how much time each task is allotted in our schedule.

One activity can’t overtake our day if we also want to tend to things that fill our cup, whether it’s watching your favorite TV show or painting. I constantly have to remind myself that spending an hour or even half an hour reading is still better than not reading at all. The same goes for everything else. This kind of intentional allocation can create breathing room in our schedules when we are purposeful about making space for it. If you can’t get it done today, there’s always tomorrow. Our pillows are reset buttons, granting us another 24 to try again.

In today’s society, it’s hard not to feel like you’re falling behind. Every time I log into LinkedIn and see one of my peers reaching a new achievement, I can’t help but compare where I’m at in life. I wonder, “Am I just as impressive?” or “Should I be doing more?” Embarrassingly enough, this will sometimes send me into a spiral where I spend the rest of my day researching how I can gain a new trade so I can live up to their standard. And that’s the problem–it’s their standard. Not mine. It’s their 24 hours. Not mine.

We’re not all given the same resources simultaneously when everyone is destined for their own path. We know this because enough self-help books and videos are telling us. So why do we keep comparing? There’s another simple answer to this: It’s because we’re human. There’s a strong chance that the same person is comparing themselves to you or someone else, wondering how they might be using their 24 hours more effectively.

Reality is, we’re all just doing our best to read as much as we can, exercise as much as we can, be with our loved ones as much as we can, all while trying to succeed in our careers. However, none of this would be possible if we didn’t rest. So, in the wise words of Doechii’s friend’s aunt, go to bed.

After the girl group’s performance for the Grammy’s Best New Artist medley, they were introduced to a whole new audience who weren’t privy to their antics before. This brought about an internet hate train, with spectators insisting they don’t belong there and others expressing confusion about who they even are.

Understandably, KATSEYE can be jarring to the uninitiated. On my first encounter, I, too, was perplexed. They have the veneer of a K-pop group but are internationally represented, with one member being of Indian descent and another biracial from Switzerland. Then, to learn their origins and how they were indeed manufactured in the same way as a K-pop group with an added Survivor element, their “come up” became all the more interesting.

Obviously, you don’t get their backstory on first glance. All you see is a group of young, conventionally attractive girls performing hyperenergetic choreography while wearing the tiniest of clothes and singing the most absurd lyrics you’ll ever hear.

If you think about what the Grammys represent, KATSEYE doesn’t fit the bill automatically. The Grammys are highly regarded in entertainment. Artists like Kehlani and Durand Benarr, who just received their first Grammy, have hustled in the industry for years to achieve recognition from The Recording Academy. Not to ascribe this as their biggest accomplishment, but there’s a general sense of “finally having made it” when one gets to bring home the golden gramophone.

Winning a Grammy means you’re a part of an elite group of talents, which includes Frank Sinatra, Aretha Franklin, Barbara Streisand, Beyoncé, Michael Jackson, and more. These artists are revered as the most iconic and influential figures in music history. A Grammy only solidifies that.

So, when people question KATSEYE’s position at the Grammys, they’re holding them up to the greats aforementioned. This isn’t to say that KATSEYE isn’t iconic in its own right. Instead, it’s to say that they haven’t made their mark yet. And in a culture that prizes authenticity, an engineered group designed to infiltrate the music markets—and have been successful in doing so thus far—shouldn’t be expected to be welcomed with open arms.

American audiences typically aren’t fond of artists rising to prominence so quickly, but this industry model is standard in the Korean market.

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Americans love an underdog story. We want our celebrities to feel real and relatable, even if they aren’t. The ideals of the American Dream are so embedded in our culture that we venerate anyone whose fortunes were a result of hard work, and we scorn those whose success seems like a handout. KATSEYE’s success feels antithetical to the American grind-set since their fame is predicated on immense access to resources; therefore, their recognition feels undeserving.

In an article from The Cut released today, Manon notes the difference in cultural attitudes toward productivity and how it has influenced viewers’ perception of her.

Manon had a reputation on Pop Star Academy for being absent from rehearsals and had to miss a date on their first North American tour owing to illness. “It’s the way I grew up,” she says. “America has a very different culture when it comes to work-life balance. You guys are all about grind and hustle. In Switzerland” — where she’s from — “if you’re sick, you take a day off. No one’s going to expect you to work.”

From the perspective of American audiences, Manon’s position in the group would have been deserving if she had shown unwavering determination. Yet, Lexie’s situation proved what it would cost to push through injury.

I’ll not deny that other factors play a part in Manon’s permanence, as she was given more grace than other trainees. Still, the scrutiny she received highlights who America deems worthy of opportunities and what merit is based on.

The K-pop infrastructure (including talent scouting, training camps, debuts, and development) hasn’t fully translated to American audiences. The concept is still relatively new, which helps explain why some people don’t understand or recoil from a group like KATSEYE when they feel force-fed to us

The irony is that many American-based artists have industry backing, too. Some may call them “industry plants.” The only difference is how HYBE (KATSEYE’s managing company) and other K-pop companies alike don’t choose to hide it and make the enterprise a part of their story.

It’s risky to bring this marketing to America, but it’s a great cheat code for garnering community as Idol-crazed K-pop fans cling to the image of something they’re already familiar with. And if you know anything about K-pop fans, they’re not to be messed with, as they’re akin to the Beyhive and Swifties.

KATSEYE and HYBE have been successful in connecting with their target audience. Not only does their K-pop structure help them garner dedicated fanatics, but their music is also internet-friendly. Their lyrics are meme-able, and their absurdity is what appeals to younger generations, as it captures the ridiculousness of Gen Alpha and Gen Z humor. For some, this makes their music feel shallow; for others, it is unadulterated entertainment.

However, this ability to niche-ify themselves could be the reason they have staying power, or it could be the reason they remain stagnant.

Personally, I’m rooting for them. Individually, they each bring unique skills that I think can drive their success, as a group and as solo artists. Like have you heard Lara’s voice?

I’m sure it feels invalidating to see KATSEYE be contenders for a Grammy if you’re an artist with fewer resources but more time in the industry. Still, at its core, KATSEYE is simply six young women who also dared to dream big. They were just fortunate enough to have found (or were found by) a huge machine to back them.

Despite the massive support from their label, I think they can cement themselves as genuine talents worthy of accolades like the Grammys. I don’t think they need to throw away HYBE or the corny songwriting to do it either. I think out-of-the-box lyrics could be their thing, but proving to mature with their audience and with enough consistency, I think they could leave a mark as one of the biggest girl groups of today.

♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

I recently watched Jordan Theresa’s podcast episode “Does everyone ‘need’ to experience singlehood?” and as a black woman, I found her takes very interesting.

Throughout the video, she references Freya India’s article “The Pressure To Be Single” (which, as of today, is behind a paywall). Theresa makes it clear she’s not in agreement with India’s take, arguing that singlehood was never valued for women. The top comments under India’s article also express dissent, with women stating that they’ve always felt the pressure to marry.

Initially, I didn’t understand the counterarguments.

I believed there to be a shared awareness that dating is exhausting, motivating women to shift their focus away from romantic relationships onto other facets (e.g., friendship, hobbies, career, etc.). Considering the endless video essays and Substack articles on this topic, I thought India’s take wasn’t far-fetched.

She and I would be silly to disagree that marriage was pushed onto women historically. Since I was a young girl, TV shows and movies conditioned me to think marriage is the key to happiness and stability. There are still parts of society where single women are morally questioned. These are undeniable facts.

The pressure to marry has and will probably always be there as long as misogyny prevails. However, to think that there isn’t also pressure to remain single is choosing to ignore modern conversations. In the episode, Theresa points out this shift herself, noting that singlehood has become a priority for modern women—or rather, something they’d prefer to default to.

There are many reasons for this, but I sense a jadedness toward the avoidant and hyperconsumptive dating culture of today. People, especially women, are burned out from dating. And because there’s no purposeful function behind dating anymore (i.e., women no longer needing men for financial stability and safety), women are happily choosing peace over dating woes.

The Shift

Every woman’s choice to be single is personal to them. For Theresa, singlehood was a necessity for personal growth. After long stretches of being partnered, she’s currently committed to living the single life as she wants to learn what true independence feels like.

In a relationship, there’s always someone at arm’s length you can depend on. Whereas with singlehood, you’re forced into self-sufficiency. When you’re single, the cost of living falls on your shoulders. The little inconveniences in the day-to-day are also only for you to solve, like not having help with putting on your dress or, as Raye calls it, performing “lonely acrobatics.”

But we, women, have begun to realize that there’s a lot to appreciate when you’re single. You learn to make the best out of your freedom, making decisions without needing a second opinion. If you date men, you no longer have to teach them how to be emotionally attuned in situations. Best of all, no more worrying about infidelity. Singlehood leaves room for self-discovery and tending to the things you love outside romantic relationships.

There’s a wealth of content about this. From the TikToks of women taking themselves on solo dates to Galentine’s Instagram posts each year, the celebration of self-love and platonic relationships–over romantic ones–has become trendy.

I believe this coincides with the growing fascination with old shows like Sex and the City and Girlfriends, where friendships play a central role. Young women today want to live vicariously through the characters, as we witness female friendships be the anchor amidst their messy love lives. If all else fails, at least I have the love and support from my girls.

This mirrors what’s happening on the internet and IRL currently. Women are sharing their dating horror stories, corroborating each other’s experiences and leading to the consensus that dating can be unproductive. So, we’re learning to detach self-worth from male validation and are looking inward for love and fulfillment, with some women going as far as vowing to “boy sobriety” and celibacy.

Whether intentional or not, there’s a certain message that underlies this movement: That this way of living is a better use of women’s time. Instead of waiting for a man to appear, reach your maximum potential by being relentlessly career-driven, being a girl’s girl, and being completely healed from past traumas.

Being single has gotten new PR. India acknowledges the paradigm shift of an internet that once praised #relationshipgoals, to now questioning whether having a boyfriend is embarrassing or not. She offers a valid response to this, expressing that she feels othered for wanting partnership in a world where individualism is idealistic.

Again, I recognize that single women in certain cultures are looked down upon, especially those based in conservatism. Vice President JD Vance’s “childless cat ladies” comment lives rent-free in my head, too. Contemporarily speaking, though, a single woman signifies discipline and ultimate *girlboss* energy.

You don’t get the same applause for being in a relationship—not that I think you should anyway. But now a partnered woman’s integrity is similarly questioned. It’s normalized to openly speculate if a woman is truly happy, being controlled, or settling. It’s like we’ve run out of faith, believing that positive romantic relationships are an anomaly.

Love your partner too loudly and unconditionally, and you’re viewed as having low self-worth and being male-centered. Take Hailey Bieber, for example. She’s judged, pitied even, for her loyalty to a man who obviously has a lot of flaws and baggage shaped by fame. I imagine if they weren’t celebrities and their bad moments weren’t made public spectacles, they’d be the precedent of what commitment in a relationship (specifically a marriage) looks like through the highs and lows. ‘Til death do us part, right?

Not true according to today’s relationship advice.

Current advice is teaching women that any sign of a man’s shortcomings is a reason for a breakup. A recent article going viral on Twitter (she will never be X to me) perfectly describes this and how alienating this rhetoric can be. Here’s an excerpt:

Social media treats avoidance and singleness as the cure-all for our hardships. I can only imagine what this means for the community at large.

Struggle is a natural byproduct of dating that isn’t always a sign of a failed relationship. Co-habiting with another human with different desires and motives will inevitably cause pain or disappointment. I think it’s important not to shy away from this. These can be great growth opportunities.

Being single can’t teach you how to be an effective community member. Especially if you’re hyper-independent, you’re avoiding all of the possible conflicts that can help you learn how to communicate, compromise, and manage expectations of other people. Such skills are invaluable beyond dating.

All in all, this debate is intriguing, and I think needed. And while I find India’s perspective resonant, I couldn’t help but see this discourse through the lens of the black experience.

Maybe needless to say, but the people steering this conversation are white women. This isn’t to say that their perspectives are inadequate. There are experiences shared by all women, regardless of race. I mention it more so in response to the lack of diverse perspectives, to no fault of their own.

Black Women + Singlehood

Two ideals can coexist in one space. The pressure to be single sits on one side of the spectrum, and the pressure to marry sits on the other. The type of pressure we feel is dependent on our lived experiences, influenced by our familial and cultural backgrounds. I resonated with India’s piece because the pressure I feel to be single is linked to my heritage.

Despite us being of different races, India’s experiences lead us to meet in the middle. The overlap diverges due to the disproportionate expectations placed on black women.

As always, black women must overperform their counterparts. Black women are expected to supersede companionship because we’re “independent” and “strong” regardless of whether we prove ourselves to be. White women are allowed to be the damsel in distress, while black women are often seen holding their own in the face of betrayal–by the system and our partners. It’s why single baby mamas are heavily publicized in black media. Not because they’re something to aspire to but because it’s supposed to be relatable.

India writes, “Parents worry about their daughters…if you meet someone too soon, fall for them too fast, that’s when your family worries for you.”

This exact word rings throughout the black community.

Dare to talk to boys too young, and you’re labeled as “fast”—a derogatory term black daughters heard from their moms and dads, directed towards the little black girls in the neighborhood who ran the streets unsupervised.

India’s stories reflect mine, as she was advised by older women who watched relationships crumble due to affairs, divorce, and heartbreak. It’s similar to the advice given by my black mother, who told me not to mess with the Pookies and Ray-Rays for fear of being exploited. Their cautionary tales not only served as warnings, but also my earliest recollection of what it meant to be a woman.

Since my youth, I’ve learned that my life’s trajectory can be at the mercy of a man. I was told that a man and a relationship are distractions and can hinder my success; therefore, I was prevented from dating, mostly during my high school years. Now, as a young adult, my parents can only discourage me from settling down “too early.”

I appreciate our role models sharing their lessons with us. Without their guidance, we wouldn’t know what red flags to look for. Their insights are necessary; however, I think they can equip younger generations with the tools without shielding us entirely.

They want to shield us from becoming a stereotype by advising us to guard our hearts, cross our legs, get a degree, get a well-paying job, and keep it pushing. Otherwise, I could end up aimless, mooching off of a man (or vice versa), and fulfilling the baby mama prophecy. So, I’m urged to delay any romantic exploration until my thirties.

Then all of a sudden society expects a husband and kids out of me.

I understand this to be the experience of a lot of black women, particularly from African immigrant backgrounds. They’re expected to be holier than thou, pursue an advanced degree, all while finding a man and making their parents grandparents before their biological clock runs out.

This in itself depicts the impossible dichotomy of womanhood.

If we date too much, we’re sluts; Date too little, you’re falling behind. Be the single friend in a group full of girlfriends, then you’re unlucky; Be the taken friend in a group full of singletons, and you’re ostracized as the one who “can’t have fun.”

In A Perfect World

My intention is not to delegitimize the pressure felt by women to marry. It’s to acknowledge that the pressure is coming from both sides, and it oscillates depending on the stage of womanhood.

The pushback against dating alone affirms how deeply entrenched hypergamy and women’s “need” to marry are in society. Both ideas work in tandem. There wouldn’t be a need to reclaim self-empowerment if women’s autonomy were a priority in the first place.

There’s no inherent problem with opposing India’s stance, but to call her bluff on her lived experience is to homogenize womanhood. To consider historical context while failing to recognize evolving narratives makes for a disingenuous conversation, when we can hold both truths at the same time. There is pressure to be single, and there is pressure to marry.

I think the more we’re able to validate the marginal experiences of women like Freya India and me, the closer we’ll be to creating more inclusive spaces for women. And in a patriarchy, that’s a radical act of defiance since they’d rather see women competing instead of uniting.

Although my stance leans toward encouraging women to love freely and on their own time, I understand why someone would rather be single. In a perfect world, women who choose not to date wouldn’t be heroic or unfortunate. Women who seek companionship wouldn’t be labeled as “desperate” and something to shelter. Women could just be free to choose, free to get their heartbroken, and free to love.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Like a Big Mac, a Shein item is produced in an exceptionally brief time with questionable manufacturing methods—and it’s ultimately unhealthy for you.

Yet despite their reputation, Shein remains steadfast in the marketplace.

Shein’s working conditions first came into public purview around 2021-2022, when the BBC released its investigation report. In it revealed that staff members were working in unsafe conditions and 75 hours a week.

A spokesperson from Shein responded to this investigation, saying that they’ll be looking into the claims, as it goes against governmental labor laws in the towns where the factory sites are located. However, in 2024, the BBC followed up on that report, and it showed that Shein suppliers are still working way longer than the standard 40-hour work week.

Interviews with workers echoed these findings, indicating that conditions have not improved enough. Workers stated that because the pay increase between 2021 and 2023 was inconsequential, they still had to work long hours to accumulate a paycheck they could survive off of. Getting paid for each item, Shein suppliers are incentivized to produce excessively.

Not only do Shein’s working conditions harm their workers’ livelihoods, but its production has also been known to harm the planet.

Shein’s design strategy is reliant on social media. Whatever fashion trend you’re seeing on TikTok, you can be sure to see a cheap replica on Shein’s website within a few weeks of the item’s virality. But because trends are naturally fleeting, Shein’s cyclical strategy of copying and pasting encourages waste–starting in the factory and then at consumers’ homes.

The following is from the BBC.

“The company relies on thousands of third-party suppliers in China to produce small batches of clothes, about 50-100 per item.

If the items do well with their trend-conscious customers? Shein orders more from its suppliers. If not, it’s discontinued…

Just 6% of Shein’s inventory remains in stock for more than 90 days.”

Even if consumers sell out an item, the natural progression of a fad is for it to end up in the landfill or flood the racks at Goodwill.

But again, we’ve known all of this since 2021.

We’ve known that Shein is the chum bucket of the fashion world, to the point that the internet gave out lashings to any influencer who dared to collaborate with them back then.

I remember, like it was yesterday, that group of influencers getting flamed on the internet for collaborating with the brand during the height of Shein’s denunciation.

Their crime? It wasn’t just about them wearing and promoting their clothes–it was the ridiculous vlogs staged in the Shein factory.

Assuming that this was their way to prove to consumers that nothing sketchy was going on behind the scenes, the PR stunt failed miserably…or at least that’s what the internet would’ve had you believe.

Considering the backlash, I would’ve predicted Shein to drown in the hot water. On the contrary, they’ve stayed afloat.

It seems the attitudes surrounding Shein have softened. Some of my friends no longer hesitate to share with me that they’ve accumulated $200 worth of clothes in their Shein shopping carts. I’ve noticed how some of them say it with pride, celebrating that they were able to buy several outfits on a budget.

Understandably, that same $200 would only get you two shirts and a single pair of denim somewhere else. So, I empathize with my peers.

In general, Shein has a lot of appeal to younger generations. Their designs cater specifically to Gen Z’s taste, and as the generation that holds the least amount of wealth, their extremely low prices make fashion accessible.

I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t shop at Shein myself, even after the controversy. Shein was never my go-to, but it was the option of least resistance as a former college student who didn’t want to spend most of their paycheck on an outfit for a campus party.

Over time, though, that guilty conscience began to weigh on me. The more information I received on Shein’s operations and the toxic chemicals in their fabrics, the more I was repelled. Eventually, I stopped shopping from Shein altogether by the time I graduated from college in 2024.

TBH, the boycotting wasn’t hard. By then, my experience with Shein consisted of ill-fitted, way-too-sheer, and quick-to-shrink clothes. I became increasingly frustrated with their inconsistency, and it influenced me to become more intentional in my shopping as I began to prioritize quality and sustainability.

Now, I use the Good On You website whenever I shop online. Good On You is a sustainable fashion brand that also serves as a tool and guide for sustainability across the fashion industry.

Alongside their products, you can find Good On You’s ratings of other clothing brands on their website. These ratings measure the sustainability and ethics of a company’s production.

Sorry for sounding like an ad, but it’s truly a great source of information! ♡

When I discover a new brand, I will search the company’s name on Good On You to see its rating. The highest rating a brand can receive is a five out of five, which stands for “Great.” The lowest rating is, of course, a zero out of five, which stands for “We Avoid.”

Shein was given this rating.

Brands that earn a “We Avoid” are proven to have unfavorable working conditions or are not transparent about their practices. It can be assumed that brands that aren’t upfront are causing the most harm to their workers and the environment, as they don’t want to disclose certain information to the public.

Shein is particularly noteworthy in that Good On You has dedicated an entire article outlining the company’s problems.

In addition to their abuse of labor laws and unsustainable production, Shein engages in theft. As mentioned, Shein is known for its cheap replicas, but dupes aren’t uncommon in the fashion industry.

It would be one thing if Shein acted with some Robin Hood integrity by only stealing designs from commercial juggernauts. Instead, they go beyond that by ripping off small businesses, too.

Unfortunately, the black-owned Georgia-based brand Dulsè was one of Shein’s recent victims.

In this instance, Shein wasn’t under scrutiny for stealing Dulsè’s designs. They were instead called out for repurposing the brand’s promotional content for their own, and to make matters worse, allegedly lightening one of the Black models in the photo to make them appear white.

According to The Nerd Stash, a spokesperson from Shein said that the meme was pulled from a third-party account. This would mean the photo was edited by someone outside of Shein. They also claim they were unaware that the account did not hold the rights to the original image.

Suuuure…

Before Shein responded, it was understood that they were committing copyright infringement and digital racism. Whether their statement is honest or not doesn’t make much of a difference, though. Shein has already forged a lengthy history of shortcutting creation, regardless of who gets hurt in the process. Fundamentally, they are untrustworthy.

As I grow into adulthood and gain financial independence from my parents, I’m understanding the importance of where you put your money.

Through chance, I’ve found myself engulfed in the world of fundraising in higher education. I currently work in the development office at a university, and the experience has provided me with a lot of insight into money's ability to foster change.

The nature of my job invites affluent people to create more good with their resources. I often see money being put into action as scholarships and mentoring programs get established for students to achieve academic and professional success. Such opportunities might’ve never existed if it weren’t for donors. Through witnessing their giving, I’ve wanted to change my spending habits.

Wherever we choose to be consumers, we have to understand that it inherently supports and facilitates a business’s mission. It’s why Black people have boycotted Target and similar companies that rescinded their DEI efforts. We know we can shift the narrative if we have more discernment with our pockets.

While I recognize that the people who continue to shop at Shein may be spending from a place of scarcity, I encourage them to value themselves and their money more. It’s important to remember that businesses rely on us to keep the lights on.

Continuing to shop at places like Shein sends a message to the industry that we’re ok with exploitation, destroying the environment, theft, and racism—just as long as you have something cute to wear.

I’m still not perfect when it comes to shopping sustainably. Sometimes I’ll shop from a clothing brand that receives a “Not Good Enough” or 2 out of 5 rating on Good On You. I just try to do better the next time, understanding that I have the tools to find new and more ethical brands.

One of the benefits of online shopping is that we have a multitude of businesses at our fingertips. So many of them, BIPOC-owned and produced in the United States, deserve your support. So remember the next time you shop that you have more financial power and freedom than you think. By simply having the choice to choose, you determine which businesses fail and which ones thrive.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

In a different family dynamic, I’d ask them the question, but that’s not how I grew up. We don’t talk about our emotions openly. I reserve those for my partner and close friends. I’d fear that if I posed my grandmothers this deeply personal question, I’d make them feel awkward or come across as impolite.

So, instead, I imagine and speculate about their experiences.

Both my paternal and maternal grandmothers are devoted Christians, so I’m sure religion has helped them to heal. I’d suspect they adopt the “they’re in a better place” kind of mentality, which feels like an appropriate way to view someone’s death.

Yet, the same reason I like this way of coping is also why I take issue with it.

Believing that someone transcended from Earth to exist in a better afterlife doesn’t ignore the fact that the person isn’t here anymore, and for me, that’s troubling. It’s not that I want to play pretend and try to convince myself that this person is still living (or maybe I do), but not only does the saying feel like a discrediting of the good things they experienced on Earth, but it also doesn’t alleviate—what I’d presume to be—the hardest part of grieving: reaching a place of acceptance.

I’d imagine that stage of grieving is easy to regress from, mired in the constant realization that this person is no longer here—a kind of purgatory. How does one live with the fact that no amount of wishing can resuscitate someone?

According to Christianity and similar Abrahamic religions, it’s only until you’re gone too that you and your late loved one will meet again. I wonder, what do you do with that love until then? How do you not let the grief have you in eternal suffering as your time awaits?

Knowing I will probably never muster up the courage to interrogate my grandmothers with that question, I will continue to look at their lives as a mere example of how to deal with grief. Most of my life, I’ve seen them without their spouses, as one spouse passed before I was born and the other passed when I was in elementary school.

In this moment, I’ve realized I don’t know my grandmothers as wives but only as individuals, and my only grandparents. I’ve never even thought of them as widows up until recently. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought they became the matriarch through spontaneous conception.

But as a young adult dating with the intention of finding the person I want to spend my life with, I understand the meaning of the wedding vows my grandparents probably once said to each other.

“…through sickness and through health, and ‘till death do us part.”

My grandparents and married-for-30-and-something-years parents have signed this love contract. To do so is to understand that real love does not come without loss. It’s to understand that love will surpass illness and our lifetime. Although our spirits will be removed from our physical bodies, and our physical bodies will eventually decay, love doesn’t rot away with it.

I’m unsure why Brad Pitt movies have been a through-line in my recent epiphanies, but I’m watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button as I write this. If we took the plot out of context, we’d consider the concept of aging backwards as a miracle. It’s why skincare is a multibillion-dollar business — we, especially women, are conditioned to want to capture youth in a bottle and hold onto it tightly for as long as possible.

But in the case of Benjamin Button (pun intended), we see how his condition doesn’t necessarily serve as an advantage in his interpersonal relationships. We see how his retrograde only allows him and Daisy to experience each other properly in an allotted time in their adulthood. He was also forced to abandon his newborn daughter.

On the bright side, reverse aging does offer Benjamin a unique perspective. One that he has known from a young (mental) age: regardless of which direction you’re aging or how young you may look, death is still an outcome. In a brief scene where he and Daisy lie together in bed, they depict the deep adoration that lends itself to committing to love despite knowing their demise.

Our lives should be aging in the same direction, as it allows us to share in our experiences. We’ve been given the gift of divine timing. The classmates who have turned into our lifelong best friends, we’re able to share in milestone moments with and grow together side-by-side. The same goes for our partners and family members, even if they aren’t close in age.

If any of us were cursed with the Benjamin Button condition, it would force us to grow in different directions, to grow a part.

Like Daisy would say, “nothing lasts”, but the abstract does. It could be that the same intangible love — the kind that doesn’t come with a hug or a kiss anymore but outlives their late spouses — that keeps my grandmothers kicking at 91 and 98 years old.

When I visit them, I can feel that the love hasn’t left them. It seems the love went beyond their widower’s last breath and breathes through the pictures framed on the walls and the memories they bestow to me.

Maybe love is the key to living forever. As Benjamin and Daisy show us, we’re only given a window of time to love on Earth. But when that window closes, my grandmothers taught me that love doesn’t end, it simply changes shape, living on through memories, pictures, and conversations.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Oops, I broke the first rule.

I watched the film with a friend who had seen it multiple times before, and he warned me of a plot twist. Because I think of myself as clever, I thought I’d be able to suss out the plot twist before it happened. I naively thought I did, feeling a bit unimpressed by the arson incident. Then, when the actual plot twist happened, I was stunned. This almost never happens with me. I’m not an easy person to surprise because my instinct is to think of every possible outcome.

Before the plot unraveled, I was already thinking this was a fantastic movie. From the cinematography to the visceral portrayal of themes on masculinity, capitalism, mental health, etc., I understood why this movie has such a cult following. But after the plot twist, I became an instant fan myself. The film’s ability to have me, an overthinker, shocked by its resolution is a testament to its crafty storytelling. I’ve seen enough movies to predict endings, as most usually follow a natural sequence of events. On the contrary, Fight Club is unpredictable while hiding the truth in plain sight. It’s a movie ahead of its time with themes applicable even 26 years later and most definitely, years to come. I don’t usually rewatch movies, but I can’t wait to do so with Fight Club, so I can explore more of its themes.

Other than the plot twist, one scene has really stuck with me since my first watch. The scene where Tyler Durden robs and taunts murder to the convenience store clerk was a stand-out. Some reviewers believe the film has nihilistic undertones; however, I think this scene (among others) contradicts that. Sure, Tyler Durden’s impulsivity shows a lack of care for others’ well-being and his own, but there’s obviously something much deeper about this character. When Tyler Durden told the clerk that he’d be killed if he was not enrolled in veterinary school soon, I didn’t feel a sense of nihilism from him. It actually felt far removed from nihilism and provided a greater reason as to why Tyler Durden is committed to raising hell. Tyler Durden is fearlessness personified. He represents what most of us want to be in life: unafraid. He’s unafraid to wreak havoc to reach his goals, and he wants the people around him to join him in his journey. As the word implies, they infer he doesn’t value life, but he does. It’s evident when Tyler Durden smiles in telling the Narrator that the clerk, stoked with a newfound fear of death knocking at his door, will have the breakfast of his life the morning after.

Relishing in his power to invoke fear, Tyler Durden portrays a sense of accomplishment after motivating someone to achieve their dreams. I’d argue that a person who doesn’t value life wouldn’t want to inspire others to improve themselves, especially through such violent means. I love this scene because, oddly enough, I want to live through the clerk’s perspective. I wondered what it would feel like to be robbed at gunpoint, where survival was dependent on accomplishing that goal I’ve been procrastinating on. I’d most certainly have the best fucking breakfast the next day. I’d also tackle life with a new sense of veneration and vigor, knowing that inaction could cost me my life. That kind of incentive would make me unstoppable.

Moreover, it would show me the immense value of being a human. You typically hear stories from people who are suffering from terminal illnesses talk about how they’ve learned not to take life for granted and to experience life to the fullest. Tyler Durden instills the same sentiment in his followers by influencing them to take more control of their lives. While the Fight Club and Project Mayhem took a turn for the worse, I still believe there were some valuable lessons that he taught. It takes someone to understand life’s value to teach you the lesson, hence why I believe Tyler Durden is the antithesis to nihilism and a symbol of fear untethered from complacency. Tyler Durden taught fight club members that fear and pain should not paralyze them, but instead be used as a motivating force. As someone who has let their anxiety become a barrier in many aspects, this message hit close to home.

Whether it’s the fear of failing in your career or the fear of failing at love, the lesson of not letting it deter you can apply to many things. Lately, I’ve felt fear surrounding the idea of love and loss. If you’ve read my previous posts, you’d know I went through a break-up last year, and I’ve been single ever since. As many breakups are, this breakup was difficult to heal from. But now, a year removed from it, I can confidently say I don’t feel the abandonment I carried for months after the breakup. I can now appreciate the relationship for what it was and accept that the separation was needed for both of us to grow. Still, I recognize that the fear of abandonment is there and it will always be. It’s just lying dormant until something else triggers it.

***

Last month, a classmate and friend of mine passed away. I received the news when I was at work. I was shocked and sent into a daze, unable to go about the rest of my day productively. I remembered it wasn’t that long ago he had reached out to me through text, just wanting to catch up since we both graduated from college. I looked back at our text messages and noticed that our last exchange was almost exactly a month ago from the morning he died. I couldn’t believe it. I continued to scroll through our brief text chain, hoping to find answers that could’ve explained what happened between then and November 11th. Nothing was alarming in my discovery. Everything seemed fine.

Life felt surreal in the following days of his passing. The air felt weird knowing that I was alive, but someone the same age as me, with whom I worked on class projects and exchanged Instagram DMs, is no longer. Fortunately, I haven’t experienced a lot of death in my life, but it made grappling with this reality difficult.

A couple of weeks later, his family held his funeral, or what they affectionately called a “Celebration of Life.” Attending his Celebration of Life made the feelings I felt initially come back stronger. I cried harder than I ever did. I was overwhelmed with sympathy and sadness for his family and friends, who knew him more fondly than I did. A calm somberness clouded me for days. I began to turn the sadness inward, contemplating what it would be like when I inevitably lose my loved ones. Anticipating such pain made me wish I hadn’t loved in the first place. Loving felt extremely precarious, whether platonic or romantic. Not only will people undoubtedly disappoint you, but they will also undoubtedly die. In this cynical moment, the cost of not loving felt more appealing if it meant I didn’t have to cry at someone else’s funeral.

I also thought about my grandmothers who have outlived their spouses. In my mind, it seems impossible not to die from a broken heart after losing the love of your life. Although when I visit my grandmothers, they seem genuinely content. My paternal grandmother–who lives with my two aunts and cousins–remains spry. I attribute this to her staying active with her favorite hobbies, such as going to church and tending her garden. My maternal grandmother loves being home. Every time she steps a foot outside of the house, she seems so eager to return to her sanctuary. I find her situation peculiar. I don’t understand how a widow can come back to an empty house with excitement after living alone for years. And as both of them grow older, they continue to experience more loss as their friends, family, and neighbors pass around them. I’d think they have every reason to be disillusioned. Yet, their good spirits remain intact as they become closer to being centenarians.

One of Tyler Durden’s famous quotes is “It’s only after you lose everything that you’re free to do anything.” Its meaning can be interpreted in a multitude of ways. How I relate to it in my current stage of life is as a liberating lens to view love through. Throughout the movie, the Narrator struggles with expressing affection to Marla as he constantly tries to shut her out. It wasn’t until the end, when the buildings are crumbling down, and he’s seeing the destruction he’s caused, that he’s able to hold hands with Marla and realize his faults. He lost everything, then was able to open himself up. Similarly, I had to undergo heartbreak to realize I can weather the storm and still come out the other end resilient and able to love again. Unfortunately, it sometimes takes losing everything to start appreciating the gift of love and life. And since I’ve reached this awareness, it becomes my responsibility to take advantage of life’s fruitful experiences.

While on my loneliest of nights, I continue to struggle with the fear of losing my loved ones to death or to a breakup, I’m still choosing to love. I’d like to think that in another universe, Tyler Durden is a martyr for love as a radical act. There’s so much pain that comes with love that I think Tyler Durden could use it as a mechanism for revolution, the same way he did with violence. Understanding that love doesn’t come without loss and choosing to love anyway is braver than succumbing to the pain and being complacent. There’s movement and vitality in loving. I want to be a part of that movement, no matter how many blows it throws at me. Loving can often feel like fighting when there’s disharmony. Instead of letting the fight deplete me, I can choose to let love empower me. I’m choosing to be unafraid of love. So, when that loss–in whatever form it comes in–eventually happens, I can learn how to cope with the pain better. And hopefully, I gain a steadfast, loving spirit as my grandmothers do.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Just kidding. I never held that strong of emotions toward Sweeney, but after watching this interview, I do feel something towards her and the interviewer.

Honestly, I felt quite annoyed with the whole ordeal. I was also extremely fascinated by the off-putting dynamics that were at play. Here we have two women, who I wouldn’t presume to be friends in real life, but are faking friendliness on an orchestrated set to promote a movie. Yet, the conversation rarely steers that way because the controversy surrounding the celebrity is too distracting to ignore; therefore, the interviewer fights tooth and nail with a disarming smile to garner incriminating responses from a primed PR-trained professional.

GQ interviewer, Kat Stoeffel, begins the interview by asking Sweeney about her new biopic film, Christy. Sweeney explains her preparation for the film and continues to elaborate on the motivations guiding her selection of roles.

Sweeney says, “I’ve always believed that I’m not here to tell people what to think. I’m just kind of here to open their eyes to different ideas…I think that’s why I gravitate towards characters and stories that are complicated and are maybe morally questionable and characters that, on the page, are hard to like but then you find the humanity underneath them.”

Ironically, Sweeney’s own identity has reflected the characters she’s played.

Shortly after, Stoeffel jumps into the hot water, asking Sweeney about her most notable controversies, such as her engagement, relationship scandal with Glenn Powell, and the American Eagle jeans ad. With each question, Stoeffel tries to get Sweeney to dig deeper, but she’s good at giving non-answers. This is especially true when the topic of politics and the jeans ad come up. This is when she puts her PR skills to the test, and the interview somewhat becomes insufferable. When asked about Trump’s public support of her and the jeans ad, Sweeney deflects. Sweeney tries to convince us and the interviewer that she felt indifferent and was too busy to care about the President of the United States posting about her.

I’m rolling my eyes.

Earlier this year, it was revealed that Sweeney is a registered Republican in the state of Florida. While I don’t believe someone simply being a Republican makes them a bad person, I do believe it’s a bit pathetic not to stand by your beliefs publicly.

One could try to make the argument that it’s her right to keep her political views private. I’d agree with that, only if Sweeney actually kept them private. Instead, as she mentions in the interview, she lets the art speak for her. And considering her run of sponsorships this year, her career demonstrates acquiescence to right-wing politics.

It frustrates me that she thinks she’s coming across as inoffensive under the guise of being a private person. Her refusal to address the concerns about the ad’s eugenic messaging gives way for racist rhetoric to build around its equivocal themes. Although Stoeffel asked hard-hitting questions, her impact was soft and undermined the weight of the conversation. She often laughs off the criticism, never letting the weight of the topic strike Sweeney down.

In a time when the rights of marginalized communities are being threatened, silence is a weapon, and it’s important now more than ever to be clear on our stances. As a Black woman, Sweeney’s dismissal rang loud to me as complicity in the rise of the conservative and fascist state, which only benefits the most privileged class.

Let’s say, that Sweeney doesn't believe herself to be racist. Her willingness to advocate for domestic violence victims makes her apathy toward racial issues all the more glaring.

Her ability to speak out against domestic violence but not the people who use her as a puppet for white superiority, at the very least, makes her a racist apologists.

Whether she knows it or not, she’s becoming a figurehead for the vilest spaces on the internet. These conversations don’t happen in a vacuum either. The incel, red-pill, manosphere uprising in the 2020s has left a stain on the country, with more young men aligning themselves with right-wing ideas that encourage the erosion of women’s and LGBTQIA+ rights.

Because all signs point to her being a right-winger, I find it painfully funny that she just doesn’t flat-out say what her beliefs are. Stoeffel gave her many chances to clear the air.

I think it’s obvious why she doesn’t, though. She knows the quiet part is too ugly to say aloud, and despite her trying to convince us otherwise, she does care what people think. She must care deeply to put so much effort into maintaining a neutral façade—making it challenging for the media to identify who she really is.

What I suspect is that she’s just another privileged White woman who hides behind the shield of female solidarity but truly doesn’t care to voice support for people who don’t look like her.

She is Cassie from Euphoria.

Three nights ago, I partied sober. If I can even call it that.

There was barely any partying happening, but it had everything it needed to be a great party. There was a good DJ, strobe lights, decorations, costumes, food, and drinks. There was also a big dance floor, except no one was on it. Granted, my friend and I got to the party right on time, which is, honestly, a rookie mistake. Arriving at a party on time is obliging to be the first person there, which no one ever wants to be.

Regardless, as the night progressed and more people started slowly arriving, the party never picked up.

There was a moment where two people finally got the courage to get in the middle, which influenced other bystanders to join, but the dancing eventually died down again. What resumed was the flat faces of people staring at each other from across the room. Taking in my environment, an eerie feeling sat with me.

I typed “it feels dystopian” in my Notes app. I turned the phone screen around to show my friend sitting beside me, as I didn’t have the energy to scream over the loud music. My friend smiles and nods. I think she responded, “It does.”

Some odd minutes passed by when our other friend arrived in her sexy vampire costume. The cape and fake blood dripping from the sides of her mouth were a dead giveaway. I imagined having a third presence would’ve helped to liven the energy, but frankly, I didn’t have high hopes.

I’m used to being in awkward situations, anyway. I don’t know why, but I always find myself in these kinds of predicaments. These experiences have taught me to find the enjoyment in anything, but this event felt like a different beast.

All night, I couldn’t shake this unexplainable, uncomfortable feeling. Seeing everyone dressed in costumes, I think made it feel weirder. The juxtaposition of fun, creative costumes on lifeless, still wallflowers felt uncanny. It felt wrong. People should be feeling their most confident, wearing outfits that already create a facade of something otherworldly. Yet, we’re still afraid of making ourselves look like fools.

There was nothing I wanted more than a drink or two to break the tension, but I couldn’t. I’m on antibiotics for two weeks, and I was on day eleven. I heavily considered doing it, though. I went back and forth constantly in my head. I asked my friends, and I even asked ChatGPT. ChatGPT gave me what my friends couldn’t do, and that’s give me valid reasons as to why I shouldn’t drink. It listed out all the side effects, like increased symptoms, reduced treatment effectiveness, liver strain, and nausea. You’d think that would be enough to convince someone, but I still contemplated.

I felt like an alcoholic trying to fight the urge. Maybe I am one, I thought. It runs in my family, so it’s not too far-fetched. Maybe I was born an alcoholic, and I’ve been unknowingly fighting the urge before I ever started drinking.

I came to this party knowing I was going to be sober, but I didn’t think it would be this hard. This party made me reflect on what I’d do in these situations before I started drinking entirely.

That’s my relationship with alcohol now. I can segment my life into two parts: me before drinking and me after drinking. And unfortunately, my relationship with drinking aligns with the beginning of partying. So, I don’t really remember a time when I partied and didn’t have a drink.

To be clear, I’m not a classified alcoholic by any means. I can go days without drinking. I can go out and not have a drink at all, but this is mostly dependent on the occasion. Sometimes, I find myself wishing I were tipsy in moments when it doesn’t call for drinking, and I see that as a personal flaw.

Knowing the health risks of drinking, it feels so self-destructive to do it. I still drink, though, because sometimes social interactions feel more intolerable than the possibility of liver damage or Cancer. Or simply knowing that you’ll have a better time while drunk is worth the short-term gratification.

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There’s always a catch-22 with drinking. There’s rarely such a thing as having one drink for social lubrication. Most times, it doesn’t take one drink; therefore, you inhale two more shots for the lingering anxiety to dissipate. And by the fourth, your inhibitions are shot so it doesn’t become a second thought to grab another to make the good time last longer. It’s a slippery slope.

Since graduating from college, I’ve become more cognizant of my drinking patterns. Such patterns weren’t bred out of addiction, but out of anxiety and forgetting that I can have fun while sober. Three nights ago, I got to put that to the test, and I think I’ve got the answers.

The one friend I showed my Notes app to never drinks. I’m not sure if I can call her “sober” since she’s never drunk (to my understanding) due to living a particular lifestyle. I was freaking out to this specific friend about my dilemma. While I was doing so, she calmly counseled me. She didn’t make me feel bad for having the temptation. She also didn’t encourage it. I think this was exactly what I needed. I didn’t need condemnation. I needed time to process. Then she gave me something ChatGPT couldn’t give me: an example. Witnessing her take on this painfully uneventful night completely sober showed me that it’s possible.

***

For much of the night, my friends and I playfully teased each other to get onto the dance floor. No one budged until I finally gave in. I couldn’t live with myself paying $17 to attend this party and not dance at least once. I stood up and motioned to my “sober” friend to join me. Thankfully, she didn’t leave me hanging.

This was the first time we danced together, and it felt kind of uncomfortable. My gaze was stuck to the floor as my anxiety wouldn’t allow me to look her in the eyes. A part of me wanted to sit back down and resume being an onlooker to everyone else, but that didn’t feel like an option anymore. Instead, I continued to dance through the awkwardness, hoping it would start to feel natural soon.

Did it? Not really, but I found the humor in this weird predicament. In a stilted movement, I spun her around with my arm like a male dance-partner would and foolishly tried to dip her. She felt natural as I was trying to figure out how to be human.

Later that night, as she drove me home, she said unprompted how she felt awkward during our dance, too. I felt relieved. So, I guess we’re all just dancing through the awkwardness.

♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Definition from The Wondering Afro

I’ve been feeling real represented lately. With Angel Reese, Quenlin Blackwell, and Precious Lee recently walking the Victoria’s Secret runway and the release of Monaleo’s single “Sexy Soulaan”, I haven’t felt prouder to be an African American woman than in this moment. Not only am I proud to be an African American woman because of them, but I’m also proud to be a part of the brown-skin girl brigade.

While few in comparison, I feel like I haven’t seen this much brown-skin and FBA (Foundational Black American) representation since the 90s and 2000s. During this time, the media landscape was colored by Black American excellence as it marked the height of Black sitcoms on television. There was Martin, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, The Bernie Mac Show, My Wife and Kids, Girlfriends, That’s So Raven, Moesha, and more. You’d see a wide range of Blackness on these shows. Specifically, Girlfriends showed that a posh, uppity dark-skinned woman (Antoinette) can co-exist with a brown-skin woman who was gritty and street-smart (Maya) and a light-skinned woman who was free-spirited and thrifty (Seacry). How many popular shows today are providing this kind of representation for a singular community? I can’t think of many.

I actually wrote about this in my application for the Television Academy Internship, in which I was accepted as a semi-finalist. In my essay, I wrote about the decline in Black shows since the early aughts, and how I’d wish to revive the culture by providing opportunities to underrepresented identities as a casting director. My aspirations of becoming a casting director are now dead, but I still dream of a Black media resurgence.

Old Black sitcoms, while not infallible, offered quality and diverse representation of the Black community. I long for the days when Black female representation wasn’t so one-dimensional. Nowadays, Black representation in the TV and film industry is “light-washed.” Hollywood’s reflex, when casting Black female roles, is to hire Zendaya or another racially ambiguous actress, even if the part was written for a woman of a deeper complexion. Sorry to Zendaya for the random stray, but even she knows she’s been made the token Black woman. And being a token is anything but a flex. In fact, tokenism is the direct outcome of ineffective representation—but that’s a conversation for another piece.

The hip-hop industry is also infamous for promoting colorism. For some time, all rappers would rap about were the yellowbone or redbone women, while dark-skinned Black women were either completely disregarded or characterized as dirty or too masculine.

However, as conversations on colorism progress, attitudes around dark-skinned women (and men) are shifting. It feels like, in recent years, dark-skinned celebrities are receiving more praise for their work and beauty. I see it online with people like Lupita Nyong’o, Anok Yai, Adut Akech, and Jodie Turner-Smith going viral and gaining visibility in the media. Media virality may seem trivial, but I think it’s a good indicator of the direction societal beliefs are going.

The proliferation of light-washing in Black Hollywood is a reflection of how colorism manifests in real life. Art imitates life, and life imitates art. The media is no different. During and after chattel slavery, lighter-skinned Black people who could pass as white were treated better than their darker counterparts. These biases continue to warp our perception today. So, I don’t take the increasing attention given to dark-skinned Black women lightly. Actually, it gives me hope that we’re progressing as a society as we reimagine who is afforded opportunities and what beauty looks like.

The Netflix teen drama series, Forever, feels like a testament to this. Young Black girls and women have begged for a new show where an unambiguous Black girl is loved proudly. Finally, we have one in the mainstream, and it seems like a positive portrayal of a Black relationship. No struggle love. So refreshing!

Despite my not having watched the show (yet), I can still recognize the significance of a dark-skinned Black woman being cast as the main love interest. Because light-skinned Black women were set as the precedent in the media, we start to believe that they’re the only acceptable form of Blackness that’s worthy of love and, most importantly, opportunities. Forever’s diverse casting goes against these discriminatory beliefs. The hope is that the media and entertainment industry continue to hire Black women of all skin tones to discourage colorist practices and foster true diversity.

With that, I’ve always felt like brown-skinned Black women were often overlooked in the colorism conversation. Understandably so. Brown-skinned women (including myself) sit comfortably in the middle of the spectrum—never being perceived as too dark or too light. We’re almost unremarkable in that way. We don’t face the struggles that dark-skinned people do, but we also don’t reap the benefits of having fair skin. Therefore, I think our presence isn’t as felt in the rooms of other Black people. I’m not trying to sound like I’m complaining. It’s just an observation. I’m sure most people would rather not have their looks be a debated topic. Still, to be included in the conversation is better than not being thought of at all, at least in my opinion.

Another observation is that the dark-skinned Black women in the media are mostly of immigrant descent. Take for example, Grace Jones, Naomi Campbell, Ayo Edebiri, Michaela Coel, and the others mentioned previously. This doesn’t come as a surprise, since people with deeper complexions often originate from regions closer to the equator.

Culturally, they’re different from Black Americans. Although we’re all considered Black under a white supremacist system, the Black diaspora is not a monolith. There are many subcultures within the Black community, varying in customs and appearances. For example, Black people with immigrant backgrounds (in the context of America) can have more pronounced features. Whereas with FBAs, whose lineage is tainted with the slavemaster’s blood, are a combination of European and African features. Considering this, it makes sense why celebrities like the ones listed above are receiving more recognition for their beauty. Their ethnically profound appearance is a reason for allure.

I think we’ve been desensitized to the European look in America. We’ve been fed the Westernized image for centuries now, and there’s a greater appetite for something different, something foreign. Thus, dark-skinned models and actresses from international backgrounds have captivated the American audience. The cutting cheekbones, powerful lips, and round noses are features specific to African culture, and they’ve become increasingly desirable. Such traits can only be achieved through cosmetic procedures or if you’re lucky enough to be born into the lineage. Yet, we Black Americans were not granted these traits in abundance. This is not to say we’re not beautiful in our own ways, but it’s a possible explanation as to why I’ve felt underrepresented in today’s media.

I cannot align myself with the Anoks of the world. Culturally and phenotypically, we are different. And the few Black women who shared my caramel shade and soft features, like Regina Hall or Tatyana Ali, were before my time. I couldn’t see myself in anyone. When I was younger, I would ask people if I had a celebrity look-alike to see if anyone else found the representation I was desperately searching for. It wasn’t until recently, however, that I would finally have answers.

I was attending a college ceremony when I felt from my peripheral an older Black couple peering at me from across the table. Suddenly, the wife got my attention to say, “You look like that one WNBA player on the Chicago team.” She was talking about Angel Reese. I was shocked. It was the first time someone could identify me. The wife and the husband both agreed that it was my eyes that looked similar. Once I got a moment to Google a photo of her, I saw the resemblance, too. Double points for her being a Baltimore native like me.

Some months after that, I posted a picture of myself on Instagram Stories when a woman replied, saying I look like Yara Shahidi. I couldn’t believe it. What a compliment, I thought.

I can anticipate someone reading this and asking What’s the point of all of this?

“What does it matter if I have a celebrity look-alike or not?” or “Who cares if brown-skin Black American women are included in the conversation?”

If you’re asking this, you’re not wrong. It doesn’t really matter. Again, I recognize that my struggles as a brown-skin Black woman are insignificant to the ones faced by dark-skinned people of ANY race. Colorism isn’t only a Black issue.

Also, America is a very diverse country. Of course, Black Americans aren’t going to be the only group publicized like how we were in the 90s. I’m more than okay with that. We must be comfortable with sharing the spotlight with others if we want to bridge the divide within our country.

Nonetheless, true inclusivity acknowledges the small and seemingly inconsequential aspects. Society’s tendency to overlook intersectional identities hinders equal distribution of opportunities, or in this case, representation across communities. I believe there’s a disparity for Black Americans.

To me, Monaleo’s hit “Sexy Soulaan” offers a special moment for Black American representation in the media. But to others in the Black community, it felt segregationist. Monaleo’s use of the term “Soulaan” garnered criticism. Because of the perceived divisiveness of the term, people believed she was trying to separate herself from the rest of the Black diaspora. This wasn’t true, according to her.

Especially after the music video dropped, which showcases several African flags tied to the Black American flag, it’s evident that the Houston rapper never intended to be exclusionary. The song is an ode to Black people whose ancestors were enslaved. If anything, the song is meant to be unifying as it pulls references unique to Black culture. Additionally, I believe it advances the Black community. I find the term itself to be beautiful. There are so many unappealing words to describe African American people. Nigger. Nigga. Negro. Blacks. None of these words has the same ring as Soulaan or can capture the essence of what it means to be Black in America.

A song that highlights a certain subgroup doesn’t mean appreciation for others is removed. We should be able to stand on one stage, have equal time under the spotlight, without it taking away from other people’s plight.

Seeing women who look like me take center stage, whether it’s on the Victoria’s Secret runway or in the hip-hop industry, makes young me happy. That version of me felt somewhat invisible, but found comfort in avoiding the harsher realities of a colorist society.

As much as I hate that we live in a world where skin tone is used to divide us, on top of many other things, I’m optimistic for Black people’s future as our view on Blackness expands to encompass all of our intricacies.

♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Reading it, I stepped into the many roles she has played in life. Actress, model, author, fashion designer, art curator, dominatrix, sugar baby, mother, Julia Fox (35) is a force to be reckoned with. The many hats she wears are all a result of her hectic life, full of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Her book, which condenses her life into 12 chapters, shows Fox collecting experiences and hobbies like Thanos is collecting Infinity Stones. In one chapter, Fox is in Italy, living a true euro-summer, and in the next, she’s hanging out in the New York slums with heroin addicts. It’s truly impressive how, in the midst of extremely destructive behavior, she was building a resume most people could only dream of having.

In all seriousness, Fox has lived a life that is as exhilarating as it is depressing. As the book progresses, you almost forget that she’s the same actress who was starring in a movie alongside Adam Sandler and not a fictional character from one of the Safdie brothers’ older films (Harley from Heaven Knows What could’ve easily been inspired by Fox’s life). Not because her life was so fantastical, but because not many live to tell her kind of story—let alone come out the other end a movie star.

Most people, including me, discovered Fox from Uncut Gems. Still, I was so immersed in her book and how her life was so opposite from the presumed glamorousness of a Hollywood actress that reading chapter 10 nearly felt like a shock. Chapter 10, titled “Starstruck”, is when she first discusses her role in the film. Her writing isn’t verbose but remains vivid. Her ability to draw readers into a specific moment in her life, then set it up as a foundation for the next event to breathe on its own, is a testament to her storytelling and artistry. According to People magazine, she wrote the entire book herself. She’s obviously intelligent, and I think because of her looks and the media’s portrayal of her, the average person may assume otherwise. She acknowledges this herself in the book.

This book made me realize many things. One of those things is that being famous is not all fun. Before reading this book, I had loose dreams of being famous. I still do, but there’s a cap to the amount of fame I’d want to reach. A local celebrity of sorts. However, post-Down-The-Drain me is pretty content with being a nobody in this current moment. Even before walking through Hollywood’s doors, Fox was that girl everyone knew in the neighborhood. This brought on a lot of scrutiny as she lived her life openly and unshielded. Her worst moments as a growing teenager and young adult were disclosed on social media and in the news. Since the beginning, the press and media have tried to paint her as a liar and salacious woman—in turn invalidating the abuse she’s endured. When she sought help from the media, they dismissed her.

I also realized that being famous meant schmoozing with lackluster celebrities and suffering at the hands of their annoying entourage. The chapters where she wrote about her relationship with the “artist,”—whom she doesn’t care enough to conceal is actually Ye—I was stung with irritation every time his assistant-friend appeared. He reminded me of the boys who hung out with the known predator on campus, just because he had some level of popularity and could buy them drinks. Fox reached a level of socialite that, again, I almost forgot she isn’t just another nepo-baby gentrifying New York with her presence. She’s a native New Yorker with two working-class parents who couldn’t afford to give her a silver spoon. By nature, Fox is an outsider to the industry. Because of her street smarts, she can sniff out the BS, and she doesn’t care to be seen as somewhat of a Hollywood whistle-blower. It provides an authentic yet surreal reading experience, offering readers a glimpse into the lives of very influential people.

I think a lot of people, especially women, can see themselves in Fox. She’s flawed in relatable ways. Sure, there’s a chance you haven’t overdosed on heroin multiple times or had a wealthy sugar daddy set a private investigator on you. But it’s not the specific events that make her relatable; it’s the emotions that propel them. She writes about the messy feelings that ensue when going back to a toxic ex. She writes about the internal conflict incited by a vice you promised to quit countless times. She writes about the overwhelming feeling of imposter syndrome, even at your own celebration. Fox’s vulnerability makes you feel a little less alone, and it uncovers the importance of picking yourself up again after failing because if you don’t, well…

You might end up dead. Literally and figuratively.

Fox knows this all too well. She has faced the harsh reality of loss, watching friends slip away to the shadows of addiction and mental health issues. Despite the book’s already depressing nature, I’m oddly glad Fox didn’t omit the deaths in the memoir. I’m sure writing about them felt like etching a permanent memorial that can be picked up and read back when called upon. To me, their deaths were a reminder of how one should live life.

The retelling of her friendships taught me that how you live is how you’ll be remembered. Fox wrote affirmingly about her friends even posthumously. She spoke of her female friends as if they were lovers in a past life, damned by compulsory heterosexuality in the now. Reading about how they supported each other through both good times and hardships made me reflect on my own friendships. It made me wonder if I was showing up for my friends in the same way, and if they’re doing the same. It made me wish we’d hug more. Cuddle more. Tell each other “I love you” more. And if I were to die tomorrow, I hope my friends write about me the way Fox does. I admire how Fox values her platonic relationships. They’re intimate and fulfilling in ways that her romantic relationships couldn’t be. Her friends in Louisiana, while chaotic and definitely not helpful in her recovery journey, still offered a sanctuary from the hostility of her life in New York.

I can’t forget to mention how funny she is, too. Fox is the kind of funny where she doesn’t have to try too hard. Her humor is a relief, cutting through the dimmest of moments and reminding you that sometimes life isn’t that serious.

Reading Julia Fox’s Down the Drain was an escape from reality. It’s fiction in a non-fiction format. The lines are embedded with unfiltered lessons of survival, grief, identity, addiction, exploitation, and love. Regardless, she makes sense of all the weirdness by hitting it home with one message at the end of the book: “It’s ok to live with regret. It’s not ok to let it consume you.”

So, if Julia Fox can find the silver lining in her rising and falling and rising again of stardom, then I can too.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

My hair is the most complimented thing about me, and I hate it.

If it’s not every week, it’s every other week that I dedicate a day (typically Sunday) to washing, de-tangling, moisturizing, and styling my hair.

This is the Black girl experience.

It’s hours and hours, sometimes an entire day, set aside to ready your appearance for the following weeks or months. Black hair requires undivided attention and full effort. Without it, it would be unmanageable and, by society’s standards, unkempt.

There are countless times when I’ve canceled plans because of my hair—not because it was merely undone, but because fixing it was intensely demanding. The mental anguish felt trying to tame hair that naturally doesn’t want to be tamed feels frustratingly inane. It’s almost indescribable. I could try, but I don’t know if someone outside of my race could understand how it feels to exhaust all hairstyle options just to end up with tension bumps on your scalp from pulling your hair too tightly. Or how it feels to have cramped fingers and tired arms after repeated brushing and holding up your hair for an hour. And before you can try again, all you can do is flail your arms down to release the stress built up in your shoulders.

Granted, bad hair days know no racial boundaries. The difference is that one’s bad hair day is passable, even seen as admirable, when the other is deemed inappropriate.

May I present to you, the messy bun.

During Tumblr’s peak era, the messy bun became a quintessential part of the girlhood image. It was seen as a cute and low-effort hairstyle, never giving off a sense of “I tried hard”. It’s lazy chic. A post-worthy achievement.

The memory is vivid: the middle school girls at the cafeteria table, snatching their scrunchies off their wrists, fanning out their top buns, and pulling out the proper amount of hair strands to frame their faces. Of course, I wanted to partake too, but I knew my 4B/4C wouldn’t allow it. I remember asking my mom to press my hair with the only intention of wearing a messy bun to school and posing for Instagram selfies. After several hours of holding my neck still underneath the blow-dryer and inhaling the harsh aroma of chemical straighteners and burning hair, my coils were made silky smooth. Now that my hair was at gravity’s whim, I could attempt the messy bun.

The hairstyle was so easy that I practically nailed it on my first try. The only struggle was sometimes not achieving my preferred bun shape. If it didn’t have enough volume, I’d callously throw my flat-ironed hair up again, slightly spread the bun, methodically select and pull out strands and baby hairs, then go on about my day. At most, it would take 5 minutes. The ease of this procedure was a stark contrast to the time spent styling my hair in its natural state. Fixing my afro into something presentable took at least 30 minutes. I could never simply throw my afro up into a bun without having to spray it, comb it, brush it, and lather it down right after.

For most of my childhood and adolescence, I struggled with loving my hair. I hated doing it and wished for straighter hair without the need for a perm. I often thought to myself, “If I had hair like the white girls, life would be much easier”. I also envied the other Black girls in my grade who wore Brazilians and box braids, as they had the luxury of convenience. My mom didn’t believe in young girls wearing “fake hair.” Still, I’d beg her to let me wear weaves and other protective styles. Ironically, wearing my natural hair started to feel childish, and I wanted to be like everyone else. I knew protective hairstyles could hide my insecurity. I also knew it would grant me freedom. Freedom to wake up later. Freedom to not think about my hair. Freedom from mental breakdowns in the early morning caused by styling gone wrong. Freedom to feel beautiful.

The sad fact is, I did not feel beautiful with my natural hair. While I received compliments for having thick, long hair, the praise barely penetrated my psyche. Initially, the compliment feels good but quickly, it turns to resentment. I began to realize that these compliments carried anti-black undertones as they were delivered in a surprised intonation. I always knew what that meant. Whether it was said blatantly or implied, I always knew it was because they believed the notion that Black women can’t grow long, healthy hair. Moreover, I loathed the acceptance knowing the cost of it was my well-being.

When I thought of my hair, beauty didn’t come to mind. Instead, I thought of pain and fear. I thought of grade-school me throwing temper tantrums when my mom would approach my tender head with a wide-tooth comb and a hard-bristle brush. As I punched and kicked her away with bloodshot eyes, my mom had no choice but to concede to me. Weeks and weeks would go by with my hair undone. Eventually, my hair would start locing on its own, but I didn’t care. Comfort was more important than vanity to me then.

The messy bun was everything I couldn’t be: effortlessly beautiful. To be perceived as beautiful as a Black girl, I had to suffer through shame and long days sitting on my ass in an uncomfortable hair salon chair. Unlike the white girls on my Instagram and Tumblr feed circa 2010, I was not afforded laziness.

To be lazy about my hair meant being treated as less than, including by other Black women. Growing up, Black women were especially judgmental when my hair wasn’t to their liking. It was like my hair was an invitation for criticism, as I was approached with unsolicited advice on how I should wear my hair. Reflecting on these instances, it felt as though they were projecting their fears—shaped by their own experience—that if my hair looked slightly imperfect, I would be treated differently by society entirely.

To be lazy about my Black hair meant not being desired. Although desirability should’ve been the least of my worries as a student, I couldn’t help but notice the kind of girls most boys tended to like. It was everything opposite of me: skinny, fairskinned with loose waves.

To be lazy about my Black hair means facing discrimination. A company’s hiring manager who will consider my appearance as strongly as they do my resume could withhold job access due to my hair texture. If I look too Afrocentric, I risk being seen as unprofessional.

So, yeah. I hate being complimented on my hair. My hair, while intimately tied to my identity and ancestry, felt like a curse—not a gift.

It wasn’t until late high school that I finally discovered an easy way to style my natural hair. Thanks to the rise of the natural hair movement, I learned how to do the two-strand twist out. As a Black girl who didn’t inherit the braiding gene, twist-outs became my saving grace. Twist-outs allowed me to de-tangle, moisturize, protect, and style my hair in one go. Most importantly, I didn’t have to break the bank to do it. For once in my life, my hair didn’t feel like a burden. The natural hair movement taught me that my hair is a self-love journey in it of itself. Hair doesn’t have to be a grueling process. It can be enriching and fun to learn what makes your hair thrive.

When I first started wearing twist-outs, I noticed an uptick in compliments. Frankly, this didn’t come as a surprise to me. I’d often admire my own hair in the mirror, twirling my defined curls and playing in its softness. It wasn’t until recently, however, that I started to feel that same resentment creep back in. How could this be if my relationship with my hair has improved tremendously?

Well, I wondered if I hadn’t watched all of the right YouTube tutorials that led me to buy the right products to use during my multi-layered twist-out routine, would I still receive applause? Or am I being ungrateful? My curly afro, now more than ever, elicits off-hand remarks like “Are you mixed with anything?” or “Is your hair real?” Such comments make me question if I’m living as my most authentic self. There are so many hairstyles for me to choose from as a Black woman. Is the one I’m wearing the most representative of me? Am I somehow a fraud for changing the way I look? Just as I conformed to wear the messy bun, could I be doing the same with twist-outs? Do my curls—once taut, now stretched through manipulation—somehow dishonor my heritage?

I can’t escape these intrusive thoughts. Even if I try to, everyone else would remind me what’s on top of my head. My hair is the first thing people notice about me. It takes up space and walks in the room before I do. Because of this, I’ve developed a newfound fear that if I lost my hair tomorrow, I would eventually fade into my surroundings, and the compliments would cease completely. My hair has defined much of my experience as a Black woman. Even when I’m not doing my hair, my hair continues to work for me. It’s my protector and a signifier of my culture. So, if I lose it, will I lose myself?

At the end of the day, perhaps I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it if I were bald. Maybe people would start seeing me for me and not my hair. No more hiding behind messy buns, protective styles, or twist-outs. No more conforming—just me and a shiny bare head.

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♬⋆.˚ Postscript pick ♬⋆.˚

Oh, how exciting it is to have a crush. 

A crush gives me something to look forward to the next day. If there’s nothing else that I live for, at least I have this person to ruminate over. There’s a strange excitement that comes with anticipating a person’s actions, such as whether or not he’ll reach out to me first or if he’ll reach out at all. Will they ask to come see me, or will I be forced to wait another day? It’s a tug-of-war of emotions. A game of certainty and uncertainty. When I get a sign of reciprocation, it feels like finally getting a taste of that meal you’ve been craving all day. And what makes the taste richer is when they start pulling away. The longer they take to text back, the more I salivate. 

You see, I don’t like a lot of people. I would consider myself a picky person when it comes to making friends and seeking romantic partners. So when I do find someone I like, it feels like I struck gold, and who would risk losing treasure? I certainly wouldn’t. The moment I receive their mere acceptance, I refuse to loosen my grip. I apply pressure. 

Still, I play it cool. “How does that work?” you may ask. How is it possible for you to apply pressure while still coming across nonchalant? Easy. 

Respond to their text messages, but not too quickly. Wait at least 20 minutes. Answer their phone call, but not on the first ring. You don’t want it to seem like you’ve been waiting by your phone with bated breath, even though you have. This way, they’ll never know how much they truly mean to you. 

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They don’t need to know a war is inside your head. If they knew, they would most likely retreat. They don’t need to know that you’re constantly fighting between spilling your guts and swallowing the sour vulnerability you know, deep down inside, may never be reciprocated. You must remain the cool girl in their mind because it gives you a false sense of hope that you’ve caught them in the same position you are in: yearning for more. 

Being the cool girl doesn’t come naturally to me, though. The crumbs they’ve given me for months leave me insatiated as my appetite grows larger for something real. I try to fight against the hunger pangs by telling myself I don’t need a meal to satisfy me.

I’m completely fine with the scraps.

The self-convincing only works for so long. Eventually, I can no longer ignore the drool running down my chin. My mask slips, revealing the fervent grin that lies beneath a detached face. 

I hope he doesn’t notice.

I succumb to the hunger. I ask for a bigger bite of his acceptance, or rather, his attention.

His response isn’t outright. It’s not an enthusiastic “Yes”, but it also doesn’t feel like rejection. I don’t ask for too much clarification because that’s what a cool girl does. 

He says he wants to hang out more, but somehow, he’s always busy on the days I’m free. I’d be lucky to catch him once a month. At least, he’s trying, I guess. I’m just happy to be here, on a one-way street with him on the other end. 

Walking this street feels like stepping into purgatory. 

Some days, he’s able to serve me a full-course meal. Then, the next time, he comes empty-handed. I’m always on edge because I never know what I’m going to get, if anything at all. One day I’m full, the next day I’m starved. I’m euphoric and uneasy all at once, knowing I could be one step closer to being chosen or one small step away from being left in the dust—a blip in his dating history. I love it here. Nothing makes me feel more alive than being at the mercy of someone. I found my perfect match, the catalyst to my nervous system. 

It’s only after my nervous system becomes drained from the irregular spikes of dopamine, days and months on end, that my thoughts become clearer. Their enigmatic persona and fickle behavior have become a puzzle I no longer wish to solve. There’s only a certain number of times I can ask myself, “Why doesn’t he do this?” or “Does he really like me?” before I morph into insanity, and I can’t recognize myself anymore as I’ve gotten lost in their potential.

He’s the kind of song you stumble upon and can’t stop replaying, over and over again, despite knowing one day, you’ll get sick of it. Except you don’t get sick of him, you just get sick of yourself for playing the same stupid game of tug-of-war. You remind yourself that it’s up to you to stop the cycle. The song and game will always be there. There will always be an avoidant man waiting for you to get attached to him, but your heart deserves better. 

Unfortunately, it took me getting triggered several times over for me to finally realize, it’s up to me to step away and choose a different game. One that doesn’t leave my forehead sweating from anxiety and hands calloused from pulling ropes that’ll inevitably have me falling and him standing as the conqueror. 

In fact, the alternative won’t be a game at all. A game requires one to strategize. For my true, “perfect” match, I won’t need to strategize my affection to be accepted. Instead of sacrificing parts of myself, I can find my empowered equal who understands my emotional needs and doesn’t coward away from them. They’ll uplift me, and I’d do the same for them. 

Author’s note

This is not about one person being the bad guy. It’s about the trials and tribulations we experience while seeking a deep, lasting connection. We typically find squares before finding the shape that fits into ours. As an anxious-avoidant person, I’ve learned that my inclination to attach myself to an avoidant is unhealthy for me. I’m continuously learning to find my empowered equal—someone who will meet me halfway in love, fill in the gaps, and go beyond.

No one shows up perfectly in relationships 100 percent of the time. It goes without saying that even your most loved one will disappoint you or trigger you. Nevertheless, it’s important to be intentional with love and dating to avoid incompatibilities and misunderstandings. Learning your attachment style can help. For instance, an avoidant person may never understand why I need reassurance. I may never understand why an avoidant may need a day to process their thoughts. This doesn’t necessarily mean you shouldn’t date someone with an opposing attachment style—as long as the person doesn’t make you feel like you need to sacrifice parts of yourself to be accepted. I don’t mean for this to sound like an advertisement for attachment style quizzes. I’m simply speaking from personal experience.

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Maybe I’m too traditional for the modern way of dating, but I feel some men have lost the plot entirely. Listening to some men talk, I feel bad for the women they dated, knowing they had to put up with treatment that didn’t meet the bare minimum.

Within the heteronormative dating scene, I do not think the woman should do most of the chasing when we live in a society where the act of choosing a man is not simply child’s play—it’s a game of chess. Who we decide to live our lives with can significantly impact how safe and secure our future is, both emotionally and financially. Of course, women today can provide all of these things independently. This shouldn’t mean we have to throw our desire for partnership out the window.

When women are looking for their perfect match, they should come as they are, with nothing to prove. The most evolved woman I know already has everything men are looking for; therefore, it’s futile to expect a woman to convince a man of her emotional intelligence when it’s a given. Empathy is embedded in our coding. Just look to our grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunties, or teachers, for example. As a man, though, I think it’s critical to show that you’re able to meet a woman at her fullest capacity. Women do not have to earn your chivalry. I’m already due respect at first introduction. The same sentiment extends beyond romantic interests, too.

The average woman you see on the street also deserves a handout and a door opened for her. As women, we risk our bodies and our lives daily, walking out into the world with the gifts that we carry. The same gifts that bring and nurture life into the world are the same gifts that are used and exploited every day in the media and real life. If you don’t want to listen to me, Tupac said it best in “Keep Ya Head Up.” But again, maybe I’m too traditional and I’m asking for too much. I just think it’s no coincidence that men’s loneliness is at an all-time high and more women are vowing to lifelong singlehood.

I think it starts with the role models young men have. Younger men, now more than ever, need non-toxic older male figures who will take the time to share their wisdom. I think certain ways of being that were prevalent back then, like courting, are now becoming lost arts due to older generations not passing them down. I find values like these are important not only for the development of a relationship but for the community. Learning to lend a hand or open doors builds connection. As we all know, connection is something a lot of us are chasing nowadays. While it is difficult to achieve connection in a world where nonchalance is seen as cool, my solution is to start with those small gestures. Same with dating. It takes those small but intentional gestures to grow a foundation for a relationship. I think some men are missing this understanding. This is not to say women don’t struggle with community, because I certainly do. However, I think most of us already have an innate understanding of what it looks like to foster community, which can lend itself well to dating and finding a partner.

I wasn’t expecting to write another piece on Love Island so soon, but these past episodes have been insane. There have been a lot of opinions shared, and of course, I’m throwing in my 25 cents.

I feel like I must preface this by saying this is the second season of Love Island I’ve ever watched. Yes, I did hop on the bandwagon after the hype of Love Island USA season 6. I still know that the heart rate challenge is a staple in the Love Island universe. It’s spicy, cheeky, and of course hella messy.

This season was no different, and dare I say, all of the things tenfold.

Obviously, this season’s heart rate challenge turned into a pinnacle moment for Islanders, for some good but mostly bad. It mostly served as a perfect opportunity for resentment to build within the Villa for it all to be released during the “Standing on Business” challenge.  As a viewer, it was a pinnacle for me as it shifted my perspective entirely on certain Islanders.

So, where do we start? 

My Takes

Andreina

I just have to say—because she rarely gets screentime, it doesn’t make her boring. People are just hating.

Chelley, Olandria, and Huda

This situation had viewers split, with some on Huda’s side and others on Cierra, Chelley, and Olandria's side.

I was on Huda’s.

My biggest frustration with the other side was that they were quick to call us racist or anti-black. And as a Black woman, this feels very disingenuous. Recognizing that Black women are quick to be seen as the “angry Black woman” stereotype, I understand why people want to defend Chelley and Olandria. 

However, there comes a point where we can’t defend everything a Black woman does just for the sake of them being a marginalized identity. 

To me, Chelley’s frustration with Huda was unfair. Did Huda do too much in the heart rate challenge? I would agree, but then why not give that same energy to Ace, who was equally as freaked out during the challenge? Her feelings are valid, as are everyone’s, but it felt a bit misdirected. Instead of being upfront sooner, it felt like Chelley took this as an opportunity to release all of her grievances since the Huda and Jeremiah days.

I also disliked how Chelley got upset with Huda about Chris. Her reaction gave as if she could have a monopoly on both Chris and Ace without either connection being threatened. This was an unrealistic expectation considering Chris has every right to explore other connections, and so does Huda. 

Chelley’s attention was also spread too far apart between two people. It would be difficult to put in effort to maintain both or build a strong connection with either. I don’t think this was the right move, considering how late we are in the season. It’s time to stop playing games and lock in.

Finally, Chelley and Huda had their conversation in episode 27. With Huda apologizing for not telling Chelley sooner about her blossoming connection and Chelley accepting it with an open heart and mind, they reached a resolution. Did we notice that there was no mention of Ace, though? I hate an unresolved plot line. 

Overall, it doesn’t make it racist to support a non-black person over a Black person if they’re clearly in the wrong. Whether Chelley was in the wrong is very subjective amongst viewers, but I think the consensus on Olandria was that she was wrong for airing out Huda’s business. Is everyone who agrees racist? No. 

Olandria even apologized because she knew she was in the wrong.

Cierra 

If you had told me some episodes ago that Cierra would be demoted from my favorite islander to one of my least favorite, I would’ve thought you were joking. 

Cierra has made it clear before and during the heart rate challenge that she supports all of the girls in the Villa. 

It only took an episode for this “Girl’s girl” mentality to fly out the window. In episode 27, Cierra decided to stand behind Taylor when his time on the Villa was in jeopardy. What was the reason?! *Cardi B voice* 

Personally, I don’t hate Taylor. I believe he and Clarke deserve to grow their connection in the Villa. Still, it doesn’t make sense for Cierra to go against two of her supposed closest friends, Olandria and Iris. If she were truly a “Girl’s girl”, she should’ve stood behind TJ to help Iris. Maybe she felt threatened by their connection?

Moreover, Cierra getting exposed for using a slur shows more of her ignorance. According to Asian creators on TikTok, they recognize that the meaning behind Asian slurs is often diminished by society. Some could argue that she didn’t realize how bad the word is, but if we consider the context in which she used it, it’s very clear she knows what the word means. 

As a Black woman, I feel terribly for the Asian fans of Love Island. I know how it feels to like a public figure only to then discover they’ve been racist and ignorant. There’s a kind of pain that occurs when this happens, almost like a parasocial friendship breakup. It’s when someone you had high hopes for lets you down in a reprehensible way. 

Amaya

Following up on my last email, Zak did not take care of our precious Amaya Papaya.

It was very hard to watch the male Islanders throw shots at Amaya during this challenge. I think Austin was particularly nasty in his delivery. He became small when Ace was criticizing him, but tried to shut down Amaya when she tried to express her grievances. This was very b*tch-made behavior. 

While her compassionate personality is admirable, it is also one of her biggest shortcomings. In my opinion, her sensitive nature acted as a blind spot when Zak tried to apologize to her. 

Zak came to her, not trying to attack Amaya. It was clear to me he was apologetic for not sharing his boundaries sooner with her. Instead of respecting his boundaries now, she took it straight to heart and basically called him fake. 

Just because he was only able to come clean retrospectively doesn’t make him “odd.” He simply needed a safe space to do so. 

I love you, Amaya, but you can’t hate everyone who isn’t as affectionate as you. As Ace mentioned, you have to meet them halfway.

Conclusion

By the end of episode 27, I’m happy to see friendships amended for the most part. I look forward to seeing what comes next for Huda and Chris. Amaya and Brian seem somewhat promising. Lastly, I’m going to miss Iris and TJ.

Let me know your thoughts!

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The emotions have been high inside of the Villa and we’ve all been feeling it. I’ve winced, smiled, and teared up more than I ever thought I would in the duration of this show. I’ve also learned my lesson to avoid social media if I miss an episode because the Love Island fandom does not spare anyone spoilers. 

The Love Island production team has been nothing short of messy. Here I am eating it all up, loving every minute of the mess and I have all of the opinions. So without further ado, here are my new opinions, rankings, and predictions after episodes 15 to 22 of Love Island US season 7. 

My Takes

Jeremiah and Hannah 

Everyone knows how unfair this elimination was.

I think the boys were full of haterade when they decided to have Jeremiah eliminated. What do you mean he was locking down with Andreina too fast? They only had like a day! 

And Hannah, she didn’t deserve to leave. I would’ve been sad to see any of the girls go but Hannah and Pepe seemed to have a real connection and they hated to see it. I think the Islanders are taking “exploring” way too seriously. 

Casa Amor

Quite frankly, compared to last year’s Casa Amor cast, they seem less intimidating. I’m not sure why I feel this way but I do. 

Still, they’re very hot! The guys? Tall! The girls? Sexy! 

Elan and Chris are my favorite Casa Amor men. Not only are they super attractive but they seem to be the most emotionally intelligent. I’m glad they’re officially in the Villa now. 

I think I like Zak (do they always have to distinguish the two Zack’s by their last letters?) too. I can’t get a good read on him but overall, I like that he accepts Amaya’s bubbly personality. May he take care of our precious Amaya Papaya. 

Amaya

Talking about Amaya, it has been nice to see her reach fan-favorite status. At first, I think she rubbed audiences the wrong way with her intense personality; then we got to see why she is the way she is. She has a big heart with a child-like spirit. 

“We build you!” Can she be more cute?! 

Amaya feels so deeply for others. The moment where she nearly cried telling Austin that she doesn’t have romantic feelings for him really showed me how much of an empath she is. 

Her empathetic nature is also apparent when anyone has to leave the Villa. It doesn’t matter who it is, she’s going to be right there with you from an emotional standpoint. It’s honestly refreshing and admirable to see this level of genuine emotion in a society where everything feels so jaded. Too real?

Cierra

Another girl I want to be protected at all costs is Cierra. 

Although she radiates confident bad bitch energy, she’s not afraid to show her emotional side. She does this in a very mature manner when she starts to feel Nic is pulling away. She communicates this to him calmly, allowing Nic’s perspective to be heard and for him to continue exploring. As a Nic and Cierra stan, it was hard to watch the connection be tested but I think it took bombshell Andreina and Casa Amor for them to ultimately be led back to each other.

Nic and Olandria 

The Nicolandria stans were finally getting what they wanted. For me, I didn’t want it to happen at all. 

It was clear from the beginning that Nic was attracted to Olandria. However, I knew this attraction was only surface-level when the relationship never went beyond the mini-competitions. If Nic truly wanted to explore their connection, I believe he would’ve sooner and not under the advantage of staying in the Villa longer.

Not to get too social warrior-y but I felt his attraction borderlined fetishization. Sure, there was no mention of color from him (besides the chocolate, lip combo moment) but as an avid watcher of reality dating shows, I’ve seen this trope before: The dark skin female contestant is praised for her deep tone and sensuality–but that’s it. They continue to be ogled from afar with no real pursuit from the male contestants or worse, they’re disrespected by their partner. Take AD from Love Is Blind for example. 

I’m glad that Nic and Olandria mutually agreed to remain friends and it didn’t leave her looking silly. Instead, someone else was waiting to make her look silly.

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Taylor and Olandria 

Full transparency, I’m not mad that Taylor picked Clarke over Olandria. I just wish Taylor could’ve done something to save her from shock and embarrassment. 

I noticed a lack of chemistry between Taylor and Olandria from the jump. I think what we perceived as a slow burn was actually Taylor fighting through his disinterest with her. Contrarily, Taylor and Clarke seemed to hit it off immediately–even the guys acknowledged that Taylor was never this giddy with Olandria. There were signs he wasn’t fully attracted to Olandria, so why would we want our girl to be coupled up with a man that gave her a “Here damn” kiss?

If I were to guess, we simply just want Olandria to win not only on the show but in life. Her bold personality and the sisterhood she’s built made her a fan favorite. Therefore, Islanders and viewers alike rally behind her during challenging moments. Watching her stay strong during elimination, only to finally break down, had my heart breaking right along with hers. I know audiences felt similarly.

Then Taylor chose Clarke over Olandria and everyone was unhappy again. While I was unhappy with the possibility of her going home, I was not surprised. I was honestly relieved because again, I could sniff Taylor’s intentions from a mile away (or however far Fiji is from the United States). If he had picked Olandria, I do not think they would’ve lasted outside of the Villa. 

I sincerely hope that a new bombshell comes in to swoop Olandria off of her feet because she deserves to find love. 

Vanna

I’ll keep this short: we’ve gotten away too comfortable talking about other people’s looks. Remember these are real people we’re watching, not characters. 

Andreina

They’re getting the Nic and Cierra edit which is barely any edits because where are her and Bryan’s clips?

Anyways, thanks girl for motivating me to work out again. 

Rankings

The following are the couples from my most to least favorite:

1. Ace and Chelley

2. Nic and Cierra

3. Zak and Amaya

4. Austin and Jaden

5. TJ and Iris

6. Pepe and Gracyn

7. Taylor and Clarke 

8. Bryan and Andreina

9. Chris and Huda

Predictions (and follow-ups)

1. Nic and Cierra continue to grow strong

2. Jaden and Austin continue to grow strong

3. Huda and Chris grow their connection but they move really fast

Follow-ups 

The following are evaluations of the predictions I made in the previous article. 

1. Somewhat came true: We don’t know if they’re inseparable yet but they are remaining strong despite Casa Amor. 

2. Didn’t come true: There’s no follow-up with Huda and Iris. 

3. Somewhat came true: There wasn’t a bombshell but Huda did find someone she has a connection with.

4. Came true: We did see more of Cierra and Nic. 

5. Didn’t come true: Jeremiah got eliminated. 

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