Things that Weren’t on my 2024 Bingo Card: Preteens Terrorizing Sephora Employees
I was in Sephora over winter break, looking for a new perfume, when a couple of girls who could not be any older than 11 shoved past me to get to the Sol de Janerio display.
Question for a flapper: Can my bar clothes be feminist, too?
Walking into a dimly lit room, bass vibrations rattling the windows, I look around—the women are in uniform. So am I. The year is 2023. I’m in a small “going out top” matched with straight leg jeans, and for personal flair, my black combat boots.
On Being a Writer: Conversations with UVA Creative Writing Students
When I was in first grade, I wished for the first time to be a writer. I pictured holding a book and running my finger over my name in embossed text on the cover of a pristine book jacket.
Democracy360 Wanted Us to Save American Politics. But What ‘Us’ Was There?
On a recent Saturday morning, I was bursting out of the dimly lit Paramount Theater in Downtown Charlottesville with furrowed brows and a long stride.
Open Letter: Words Have Consequences. It’s Time to Own Them.
I am no stranger to opinion.
As someone who gravitates towards op-ed writing, I am used to disagreement. I enjoy reading political essays online, especially from news outlets that allow conservative voices to publish thinkpieces.
Who Are You Showing Up to the Party As?
I am instantly hit by an unforgiving wave of humidity and booming trap music. There are tons of people around me dancing, drinking and making out, but they all seem adrift.
A High Holy Day of Queerness
Gay Christmas, or bitches Christmas, was a queer Halloween parade born in Philadelphia in the 1950s, in response to the
The Cost of Being a Woman
As I watch Bridgerton edits on TikTok, I once again ask myself, “Why do they get to dress up and go to balls, while I have to dress up and go to frat parties?”
My Favorite Color is Pink…Is That Ok?
In the fall of my junior year of high school, the athletics program mandated an assembly for all the female athletes, stuffing our already cramped cafeteria full with apathetic girls.
Femininity Isn’t Changing. Our Language Is.
It is not lost on me, the irony of reading The Idiot as my clock reads midnight: I have work in 8 hours. But I am captivated.