Issue 11

I spent most of my teenage years looking for what we called in conservatory a "2G scene": a scene with two girls. The premise was deceptively simple. A 2G scene was almost impossible to find. I mean, how many times could we do Proof or The Children's Hour? I was sixteen playing forty-five (and then, inevitably, told I lacked the life experience to play her convincingly). It was a fraught assignment: find a scene that captured the girlhood you were actually living when the c

There has never been anything quite like Hinge. A sleek-white butcher-house, recommending up an endless buffet of meat; a place where fresh flesh is pumped in, carved up, and discarded into the anonymity of an Instagram following: that graveyard of stillborn romances. All you need is a perfect post; one flawless mix of music and visuals that will, surely, certainly (just this once), resuscitate those staunch story watchers–like Lazarus, they will rise and hit up your DMs. A

I recently made an X account. I have been heavily limiting my social media usage for over a year now and have found the absence of scrolling to be quite refreshing. But if I’m being honest, my brain-rotting tendencies have not entirely disappeared, and I probably wanted the front-row seat to some reality TV drama unfolding in real time. I no longer have the said X account, mostly because I found the algorithm to be truly berserk. When I opened the platform for the first time

If you ask anyone what their favorite song is, chances are they will name something they first listened to when they were young; a song from adolescence; a track that marked a formative period of change and growth. Accompanied by that song, there is likely a story, an experience, a vivid moment in time. For my dad, it was opening Aja at seventeen, and hearing Larry Carlton’s soulful “Black Cow” intro lick. For my mom, it was dancing in her twenties at Studio 54 to Whitney Ho

Picture this: a 5-foot-5 figure donning an elegant, fluffy white fur coat that nearly kisses the ground, 2000s white gold-plated aviators, a sleek, bedazzled fedora resting atop a freshly and meticulously executed perm with signature 90s flipped ends, accompanied by matching sparkling earrings nearing the 8-carat mark. Luxury. Glamour. Couture, HONEY (look at the tag). All rolled into one. You uncontrollably gasp and think to yourself, could it be the iconic Britney Spears? T