For some reason, society has taught us that crying signifies weakness. Of letting down your guard (not always a bad thing, by the way), leaving you vulnerable and, in a way, utterly naked. By crying, you’re displaying your lack of self-control, your failure to “hold it together.” Such a raw, personal display of emotion is sure to make others around you uncomfortable, so it is best not to subject anyone to your tears or angst if you want to appear, for lack of a better term, stable.
Ok, the world is going through a lot right now: basic human rights are being threatened and violated, there’s the increasingly plausible threat of the next World War looming over us, everything feels like it’s getting more expensive, and we all seem to hate each other; sometimes we really do, and sometimes (sometimes. In my belief, this shouldn't be normalized) with good reason. Some may say we have collectively lost the plot. Some of us––so many of us––are just plain tired, anxious, and/or scared.
The idea of a “perfect victim” is a racist, sexist, outdated myth. Life is messy. Relationships are messy. Victims can be any age, any race, and any gender. Combs’ certainly are.
For some reason, society has taught us that crying signifies weakness. Of letting down your guard (not always a bad thing, by the way), leaving you vulnerable and, in a way, utterly naked. By crying, you’re displaying your lack of self-control, your failure to “hold it together.” Such a raw, personal display of emotion is sure to make others around you uncomfortable, so it is best not to subject anyone to your tears or angst if you want to appear, for lack of a better term, stable.
Queer people have expressed it’s potential performative perception, and straight fans have expressed discomfort at the songs “unnecessary” nature. Yet at the end of the day, Swift’s advocacy, performative or not, always comes back with a positive effect.
At Ground Floor Theatre, Amy and the Orphans delivers a powerful, heart-wrenching story about family, resilience, and the dark history of disability institutionalization. Directed by Maryanna Tollemache, Lindsey Ferrentino’s 90-minute play follows siblings Jacob and Maggie as they reunite with their sister Amy—who has Down syndrome—on the way to their father’s funeral, only to uncover the painful truth of her past at Willowbrook.
Bones, lost souls, and remembrance: these are the threads that stitch together Lise Olsen’s chilling and compassionate exploration of justice in her latest novel based on true events, The Scientist and the Serial Killer: The Search for Houston’s Lost Boys.
This summer, my little library card became more than just a card. It became a reminder that the things we love never really leave us.
Ego death is the undoing of everything you ever believed made you, you. It is not graceful. It is not cinematic. It is terrifying in its quiet unraveling, the slow peeling away of identity until you don’t know where your skin ends and the air begins.
There are many companies that have caved to the administration’s ideology this year out of fear, and there are also companies that have done and continue to do genuinely great work for the community. Both things can be true. But remember: if you want to support the LGBTQ+ community during Pride Month, and all year round, spend your money at a local queer-owned business rather than a trillion-dollar company.
