☘︎
The March Issue is finally here...
☘︎
Lucky you!
☘︎ The March Issue is finally here... ☘︎ Lucky you!
The March 2024 Issue
Looks like you’re in luck — Your Magazine is back in business for the spring 2024 semester! Our March issue features three editorial photoshoots, 15 lifestyle stories, as well as our fan-favorite additive YMP3, sharing a staff-curated collection of songs that will “make you feel lucky” this early spring season.
From a bird’s-eye view, flea markets reflect something of an indie-fied Where’s Waldo scene, one that invites you to jump into the page as you begin your search. On a broader scale, fleas suggest more than just a fun way to meet people and their creations. It is a valuable outlet for cutting through the noise of overconsumption.
The subway has cheap fares, no insurance, and no responsibility. In theory, this system is accessible and a revolution for those wanting to save money while having reliable transportation — until the responsibility to be safe falls on the femme, the “vulnerable,” and the fashionable.
Over the years, the idea of the final girl has certainly evolved. From sexual orientation to racial identity, the make-up of a final girl has been diversified to include all kinds of shapes and sizes. Say bye-bye to Black people always dying first, and hello to the female protagonist fighting the killer to save her girlfriend, not just her boyfriend.
My pinterest boards were filled with models and people with curly bobs, the smiles on their faces convinced me that their hair was the root of their happiness. I needed a chop.
Thrifting, in many ways, has changed the game of fashion and the traditional trend cycle. Not only is thrifting slowing down the damage of fast fashion by providing a more sustainable substitute, but additionally, reusing second-hand clothes has brought back past trends, making some pieces timeless."
Can I tell you a secret? I own a vintage fur coat. My grandmother recently gifted me her once prized possession. This golden mink garment has so much sentimental value to me. I remember running my hands over its soft fur and trying it on while my grandmother told me about her adventures wearing the coat in the city.
Pulling into the lot, the shadow of the massive warehouse towered over Clara’s pickup truck. Near their car, a mother and her young daughter were rolling up their sleeves and putting on plastic gloves. At another car, a group of 20-somethings had the trunk down and laid out their finds.
Surrounded by the picturesque slopes of Brokeback Mountain and dressed in traditional western cowboy attire, this clipped confession is equal parts romantic and heartbreaking, and the accompanying scene perfectly encapsulates the tragedy that is Ang Lee’s 2005 cinematic masterpiece Brokeback Mountain.
Three years ago I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, disgusted by what I saw looking back at me: a girl who still had to deal with the pain of braces four years after their first installation. Someone with cuts in her cheeks, caused by the wires attaching the brackets to my teeth for “just another month,” as my orthodontist would say, to provoke false relief.
Giving new life to pieces that may otherwise end up in a landfill, Depop promotes sustainability. It’s also fun!
She looked like someone everyone would fall in love with, and I wanted to look just like her. I still do.
A quick search for “how to dress gay” on TikTok produces a mass amount of content with stylizing tips to “look gayer.”
Even though we weren’t super close, it felt good to hear that and it gives me an extra sense of pride when wearing his clothes.
A rule to live by: if it doesn’t represent you, it doesn’t deserve space in your closet.
Without even knowing, you advertise a lot about who you are through the stickers on your laptop. After all, they are a personal reflection of you.
The relaxed tapered leg can be worn to fall over your shoes for a looser, baggier fit, or sized down, potentially cuffed at the bottom to show off the ankle or those unused New Balances that just came fresh out of the box.
It’s important to regard that “girlishness” does not equate to thinness, whiteness, petiteness, or the infantilization of grown women.
Hating is one of the easiest ways to make yourself belong somewhere; by alienating others, you are making yourself desirable.
Ever noticed the colorful star stickers dotting people’s faces as they walk to class? Meet Starface’s Hydrostars, a fashionable pimple patch transforming skincare and style.
Nowadays, closets aren’t the first place people look for outfit inspiration; people want to wear this uniform to prove their loyalty to the artist and their fellow fans.
The modern bohemian trend carries on as if nothing really matters by embracing the creative freedom in its designs and the intricacy of the craft of the clothes.
Always being decked out in the latest craze actually halted my development of personal style.
It is incredibly rewarding to wear something that I spent hours of my time and labor creating.
Looking back at my 11-year-old self, I wish I could tell her that she’s beautiful and doesn’t need makeup to fit in.
How do you create a meaningful article of clothing in the seemingly endless landscape of fashion—a landscape where at some point in time everything has been thought of or created?
Crocs, the porous foam clogs that are often splashed with crayon-colored hues and highly customizable with Jibbitz, have recently become one of the year’s hottest shoes.
I see my dad twice a year. The last time I saw him feels like the kind of memory one associates with a photo—stagnant, an anecdote. We sat in a coffee shop in Boston at a small round table for an hour, sipping on coffee. It was brief. This time, jumping out of his car, he greeted me with a tight, bony hug at the North Carolina airport.
I thought that girls didn’t slut shame other girls for the clothes they wear anymore. At least, there wasn’t much of a dress code at school anymore. Since middle school, I had friends who were accepting of all kinds of beauty. I was living in a bubble.
I felt their passion. I craved their commitment. I couldn’t fathom loving something so much that I would leave behind any possibility of living a life for myself—one with romance, some parties, sleeping in, and wearing pants.
I thought it was a clean break—as clean as the sudden loss of a close friend can be. But before I knew it, Sara had created a new image for me, one I wasn’t comfortable with: the liar. She became Ruth’s advocate, her defender. She said all the right things: that I was a narcissist, a psycho, a sociopath, and a crazy bitch.
Much of my life has been spent waiting. Waiting for the day where I wake up and have all of life’s answers, where I wholeheartedly possess every and any quality I’ve ever felt I was lacking.
Technology was created for it to be relied on, but even with our continuous reliance on technology for our day-to-day needs, I am convinced that most of society are not using this tool to our full advantage.
When magazines came out, every new page I flipped onto I came across a familiar face or name. People in my class got featured as writers, models, and photographers: everything that I was too scared to apply for. I felt like a failure.
Internalized misogyny (used interchangeably with internalized sexism), a term that was first explored by psychologist Steve Bearman in 2009, refers to sexist behaviors and attitudes held subconsciously by women against other women. As feminism has entered mainstream media, this condition has followed in its shadow.
My first love was food. My Venezuelan father, a skilled home cook with a truly inspirational passion for food, would feed my curious, young self extraordinarily rich dishes packed with spices that express intricate ancestral and cultural stories spanning back generations with a single bite.
Now, whenever I have a slice of my mom’s cheesecake, it transports me back to that rambunctious house, filled to the brim with all my extended family, the Christmas tree with the overly packed presents underneath it—one for each of my fifty-plus family members—bringing me back to when we used to celebrate the holidays together.
Nobody is upset about turning 20. At least, that’s what my parents told me this past June. But I was, I was the first of my friends to complete the second decade of my life, so there were few people to give me advice aside from my 60-year-old parents. According to them, these are going to be the “best years of my life.”
Finding some semblance of home while traveling in a new place is no easy feat, especially knowing your time there is temporary. Studying abroad is a formative experience for college students worldwide.
Talking to my friends’ boyfriends has never been easy. We only make small talk, usually talking about work and school. Once we finish these two topics the conversation goes stale. There I am, standing next to someone my best friend is in love with, someone who means so much to them, and I have run out of things to talk about.
The idealistic haze of possibility perpetuated by travel influencers online often overlooks the potentially dangerous consequences of traveling unprepared, especially as a young woman.
Everyone seems to think that the way to solve your problems is by making a playlist for every occasion or pretending a camera is watching you cook pasta alone.
My new aversion to attention makes me feel sorry for my younger self who used to proudly wear her own frosting, how disappointed she would be to know that the big day in mid-March has become one I decidedly ignore until someone forces me not to.
As I reflect on these two vastly different places where I grew up, I realize that I am a fast walker, a fast talker, and someone who stands up for myself when others try to put me down.
After crashing into the water, I would have to find my way to the ladder and retrieve my goggles. Somehow, I always reigned victorious.
The very first tarot card Mary pulled was the Nine of Swords which shows nine swords seemingly going through the figures’s back. She immediately asked me if I knew about someone who was talking behind my back.
That pesky habit of greed that parents strive to eliminate from their children’s behavior has started to manifest in adult behavior as well; it is known as “gatekeeping.”
When you’re a kid, you don’t know that you’re different—people have to tell you. And I was told over, and over, and over.
I would often feel guilty for desiring alone time and not wanting to spend all my time with friends or family; however, I really was just unaware that my social battery was worn out.
Desperate to become one of the pack, I sought out the school’s “it-girl” and made it my mission to befriend her. Or become her.
We would always feel left out and wonder what we were doing wrong, why couldn’t we make friends?
Recently I’ve become aware of another guest sitting beside procrastination at my table: self-sabotage.
But how had I gone seventeen years without any of the adults in my life noticing symptoms?
They fail to realize the anger and resentment of their 10-year-old not wanting to talk to them is in fact–and stay with me here–their own fault.
I had my first kiss alongside Lady Bird and Rory Gilmore, smoked and drank with the cast of Freaks and Geeks, and ran away with the love of my life in Moonrise Kingdom.
We rely on the chance of love. The chance you’ll find the one during your morning bagel trip. Or maybe that’s just me.
However, something I didn’t have on my 2023 bingo card was getting into a situationship! I truly planned my fall semester to be full of fun and spontaneity and my spring semester to be my globe-trotter era. Now, don’t get me wrong, that still happened, but I also fell in love in the process.
And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t hide it, and I certainly couldn’t handle it alone. I needed support, I needed help, but I wasn’t doing enough to get that. I was completely reliant on my partner to help with all my problems—to an extreme fault.
What is it about dates that makes me so red with rage? Is it the small talk with strangers that makes my shoulders turn a bruised violet from the weight of carrying the conversation? Is it the fact that I feel the need to survey every person I meet and test them to see if they will fit the position of boyfriend?
Are you familiar with the feeling of constantly landing in the friend zone no matter how hard you try to dive into the depths of romance? If so, you're not alone. However, in my journey through the maze of love, I've discovered that sometimes, being in the friend zone isn't such a bad thing.
When it comes to a blossoming romance, an astrological chart has always been my key to being delusional. “What time and place were you born at?” I ask, with a twinkle in my eye, hoping to uncover the cosmic secrets of compatibility. “No, I don't want your social security number; I’m not crazy. I’m just a firm believer that each and every one of our holistic identities are written in the stars.”
Sex and I have a complicated past. It’s like when your friends beg you to go with them somewhere, telling you it’ll be a great time and you’ll realize how much fun it is once you’re there, and so you cave and go. Once you get there, you realize they lied; it’s not fun.
I’ve been with my partner for over three years now, but every now and then I still catch myself looking up his old flings on social media. We’re each other’s first serious relationship; and yes, we’re both well aware that we both have had flings, situationships, FWBs—whatever you want to call it—in the past and it’s never been an issue in our relationship.
Letters take various forms, like Post-It notes, birthday cards, postcards, written declarations of love (or hate)…the list goes on. To me, a letter features a written message; its complexity knowing no bounds. These Post-It notes were my first experiences with what I consider to be letters, and I only became more familiar with this form of expression when I started facing difficult conversations.
After a party, when one is alone in bed, or sometimes in the middle of the day while writing for a nonfiction creative writing class––these are some of many instances where we receive a request to send nude pictures of ourselves to a suitor or a random person over the internet.
I know. You are reading the title and thinking, “Well, that’s dramatic.” It is, but it would be a lie to say that there is absolutely no societal pressure to find your person in college. Unlike high school sweethearts, which are considered special and rare, couples who met in college are pretty easy to find.
Call it circumstance, call it fate, call it what you want to, but the universe always finds a way to humble us. Often, it’s in the form of a special kind of hell–running into the very person you want to, depending on the moment, punch or kiss in the face. The ex.
I recently had an experience hooking up with someone where the connection was unreal. Two bodies and two hearts intertwined with all the passion and buildup that one could ever hope for. My summer had been arguably dry, so I was thrilled to return to campus life in Boston to be around my contemporaries and to better my mind and spirit.
I was simply single, craving attention, and feeling a little frisky over winter break. But before I knew it, the video was blowing up and the audience was overwhelmingly women loving women.
In a feed full of aesthetic clips and cheesy affirmations, how can we tamp down our inner cringe and truly believe that these practices yield results?
I’ve taken what God’s given me (in this case, God is Joseph Gordon Levitt in yoga pants) and seen it in a way I consider worthy of beauty and attraction.
They say love makes you blind, but so does hatred, and I was blind to the benefits of being my very own partner.
When the topic of my ex got brought up in the early stages of my current relationship, I had felt as though my tongue had been ripped out of my throat. I couldn’t speak.
Threesomes: a staple of sexual experimentation, the word assumed to precede a story about college coming of age or questioning of “how do you know unless you’ve tried it?” from a partner.
It’s the classic tale of girl meets boy, girl dates boy, and girl falls in love with boy that has young girls swooning over ‘90s rom-coms and daydreaming about when they will meet their prince charming.
I think we shed our past selves like snakeskins, and mine is somewhere on the side of the road between Connecticut and Boston decomposing, melting, and slowly becoming one with the earth.
The real question is not if “icks” truly exist, but what has them so widely talked about?
Each time someone opens their mouth in the same room as a Film Bro, the Film Bro is simply waiting to disagree, or to loudly and publicly declare their opinion.
We all know about it, but so few of us know how to do it in a way that feels satisfying for all parties involved.
This is not to say I have a five-year plan or anything, but I know that at this point in my life having a variety of partners that all bring different aspects and experiences is the best for me.
While humor is a significant factor in picking a partner, it’s more important to me that we are able to laugh together.
Seeing my brother lose interest in his art made me question my place at Emerson, my career choice, and my talents. As mostly arts and communications students, we know this uncertainty all too well. We spend entirely too much money at Emerson to be stressed about whether we will earn any of it back.
The use of artificial intelligence has infiltrated almost every aspect of fashion marketing and, most recently, has posed a serious threat to the existing modeling industry. It is becoming increasingly popular for brands to utilize AI software to create “models” for their new collections, and while these advertisements truly are captivating, the implications for instituting these non-human models into the world of fashion are potentially dangerous.
When I first landed my job at Sephora, I wanted it only for the free products and discounts on beauty products. I’ve always had a passion for makeup, but I didn’t know it was going to be one of my best and worst jobs yet.
There’s some powerful thread that connects every individual member of the audience, the actors on stage, and the crew that creates the show. For the time that everyone is in a theater, the outside world, the ‘real’ world, is forgotten. The world of the show takes over.
The Grateful Dead is long past its heyday, yet their music has withstood the tests of time. With each generation, the music, culture, and messages are passed down. Calling themselves “Deadheads,” the devotees spread joy to those who are willing to listen.
Though sports fans can say that they were invested in this scandal because it perfectly embodies the stereotype of American soccer parents—petty, ridiculous, and Karen-esque—and at the end of the day, everybody loves some good old-fashioned drama.
Those moments are what makes music magical and tangible, when you can physically feel the grainy guitar riffs or heavy beats vibrating through you. With concert ticket prices skyrocketing that ineffable feeling seems further than ever, but thanks to a little place called YouTube.com it’s not so distant.
In the past two decades, the way that we share music with each other has been utterly overhauled. In an instant, we can share a song with someone thousands of miles away with just a push of a button.
All artists subject themselves to the public light once they are famous, it’s part of the unwritten rules that come with the spotlight. Some may argue, they subject themselves to this form of abuse by just existing, but online fan culture has brought parasocial relationships to an entirely new level.
I have a terrible condition: I can’t watch or read anything that doesn’t have a happy ending. If the media has even a hint of a tragic resolution, I run in the other direction.
When I say that we need to make more original work and fewer spin-offs or adaptations, I am not talking about Percy Jackson and the Olympians. I will complain about another live-action remake of a beloved Disney animation, or the twentieth book in a YA series initially published fifteen years ago, but all bets are off when it comes to Percy.
Phoebe Waller Bridge’s Fleabag has become my most beloved piece of media. With quick Brit-wit, relatable subject matter, and monologues that will make your father cry, there is not much you can’t love. Season two introduces the notorious Hot Priest, whose on-screen chemistry with Fleabag is so palpable it has you feeling like you should look around to make sure no one sees you intruding.
Growing up, I always brought my DVD copies of Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper, Barbie: Fairytopia, and Barbie of Swan Lake to sleepovers (so 2000s, I know). What I loved about these movies was how magical they seemed. I was able to escape into the life of a fairy, or a princess, or a mermaid; all things that my inner child desired to be.
I will never forget the first time I watched a telenovela. I was four years old and at my grandparents' house, while my parents attended a Law convention.
My most embarrassing secret as a Writing, Literature & Publishing major with a literary concentration? I’m a romance reader. Well, maybe reader isn’t the most accurate term–I’m a romance devourer.
How are you supposed to feel like you’re in the Land of the Sweets with Clara when the person next to you is playing Candy Crush with their brightness turned all the way up?
Maybe a modern actor’s face can take away from one’s viewing experience, but there are certainly better ways to express that feeling than the easy out of diagnosing “iPhone face.”
There’s a fine line between investigative journalism and creating a spectacle of someone’s death or disappearance. And that line is often public involvement.
The very idea of centering an entire series around an entirely white, out-of-touch, filthy rich, and ethically rotten family, such as the Roys, seems like it would spell out a show’s death sentence due to a perceived lack of viewer empathy.
There is only one difference between a woman wearing a pink boa to a Harry Styles concert and a man painting his face for a football game: simply, he is a man.
Vocal warm-ups, tap lessons, improvisation games, itchy costumes, hairspray—mundane things that I took for granted—vanished from my life.
When the world around me feels overwhelming and chaotic, Bluey provides a calming and reassuring escape, reminding me of the importance of family, love, and empathy.
We learn about female nurses and teachers in school—that’s expected of us. But what about those of us who want to be writers? Performers? Stand-up comics?
Ad-libs, also known as words delivered spontaneously in speech, are the cherry on top. Born out of feeling intense rhythm, they beat and fill the flow of the music we’re bumping today.
During a period when I struggled with intense self-doubt, my dad showed me the therapeutic nature of live music. The concerts we shared together were transformative.
Swift has not only written and performed in nearly every genre, but has succeeded and broken ground in each.
Many people thought that the Kardashians’ fame would not last, and eventually their reality show would fizzle out, making them irrelevant.
Movies have always been the way straight to my heart, and though “movie watching” doesn’t exactly fall seamlessly into a category within the five defined “love languages,” it is nonetheless my personal and most beloved method of spending time with those I care about.
With the rise of platforms like TikTok which are largely centered around music, the fandom music phenomenon has grown exponentially.
Tsismis, which means “gossip” in Tagalog, is practically a national sport in Filipino culture. The nostalgic image of being at a family party where all the moms and aunties are gathered around the dinner table gossiping. While bringing back that nostalgia, Reese is taking a twist on tsismis; instead of dishing dirt on others, she takes readers along with her as she digs deep into one’s own fears and hang-ups. While spilling her guts and sharing stories, “Talk Tsismis” will make you feel like you're right at that table with them… but in a more introspective, healthy way.
Recently, Isabella turned 20, and she’s feeling the mix of emotions that come with entering this new decade. When she wants a break from reality she’ll turn on a movie, immediately bombarded with depictions of messy young women who are simply trying to find their place in the world. These imitations are so romantic, aesthetically pleasing, and easily left behind; however, for Isabella, the image being painted of these women is more than just a recurring main character in her favorite books — she is the messy young woman. She has real feelings, emotions, and ambitions that she shares with you every Tuesday with “Love, Isabella.” Isabella loves you, and you’ll love taking a look into her messy, young mind even more.
Every Wednesday, Karenna shares her “pick of the week” for movie screenings you can catch nearby — both new releases and repertory screenings. As a devoted and (in her own words) quite annoying cinephile, Karenna focuses her blog on writing about films she thinks must be seen in theaters, blending her critical lens with her personal love for the theatrical experience.
Want to keep up with what Karenna’s watching? Follow her on Letterboxd.
How come the genre that keeps the literary industry alive is the same one film bros and literature professors love to hate? Charlotte invites you to join her blog/online book club to explore more about—in her opinion—the world’s best literary genre. Whether you like romance for the easy reading, happy endings, or a superbly written enemies-to-lovers plot, Charlotte’s got you covered with book recommendations, reviews, and topical articles on everything romance novels. So, pick up your favorite book (preferably with a shirtless man on the cover) and join her in her deep dive into chick-lits.
Want to keep up with what Charlotte’s reading? Follow her on GoodReads.
“Lust, Lore, and Sometimes Love” is a space to read and learn about intimacy, as well as one’s experiences with sex and romance. Brooke describes their blog as a look into their inner psyche, putting themself out there with different people and sharing their vulnerable thoughts with the reader… you! After a long-time obsession with the sex section in women’s magazines and a lack of knowledge about sexual experimentation, Brooke hopes to simultaneously give you advice and make you laugh along, providing a space for the reader to feel comfortable with themself and their inner sexuality– and the hopeful romantic inside you.
At work, a young girl taught me all there is to know about Yayoi Kusama. I was shocked at her level of knowledge and the fact that she learned it all in public school. This interaction made me reflect on my experience with art as a child and my thoughts on educating younger generations.
Working at a museum gives me plenty of time to people-watch. Guests are unaware of my presence and act like no one can see them in the dimly lit exhibits. I get to observe them in their most vulnerable state, the one where they forget the people around them.
I’d like to say I was a secure person; however, I know my habits and fears from my chubby childhood will stay with me forever.
Having a crush is humiliating and invigorating all at once. When I have a crush it consumes me, and I’m ashamed of this consumption.
Having to put effort into finding hobbies and staying healthy used to stress me out. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and become a runner like everyone else in Boston.
For me, the shower is the only place I can’t feel the eyes of anyone else on me, and I let myself do something I’d never imagine in the public eye—dance, like crazy style.
Everything I do, a little piece of my mom is with me — and now when I’m puking from cramps, I’ll have to be reminded of her, too.
I visited a former convent when I was abroad, and instead of teaching me about biblical history, I realized I’m not passionate about anything.
I’m too lazy to be passionate about anything. I wish someone would just tell me what to like so I can stop searching for something cool and unique enough to make me an interesting person.
The New Year is something that I should be celebrating, but I am spending it curled up in bed telling myself I should be applying to summer internships yet not being able to peel myself away from my phone or silly crafts.
People idolize the relatable, messy female leads of movies like Frances Ha and Shiva Baby because they make viewers feel better about their own lives.
Before leaving, I enjoyed things like laying in my bed and talking to myself or walking around aimlessly, but now I feel strange trying to force myself to be as excited about my hometown.
My love for Stephen King and all his works began not with any of the iconic film adaptations, but rather with the thrilling, disturbing novel Misery.
Truly great directors should not be afraid to fail, and we should support artists even when they do so.
My digital footprint contains no shortage of articles, essays, and rants about my second favorite movie of all time, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me.
Sometimes there is no salve as healing as an uncontrollable, guttural fit of sobbing.
The joy in discovering a new classic, a hidden gem that when it gets a wide release, will become the movie everybody’s been talking about, is a delicious, nearly indescribable high.
I find that the haunted house is merely an empty setting, waiting to be filled with dastardly, dreadful horrors any specific imagination conjures up.
I yearn constantly for theaters like the Brattle and the Coolidge Corner Theater to release their up
If there is a cure for loneliness, for being wrought with boredom and distressed in monotony, it can likely be found at the movies.
There’s merit in film as meditative art just as there is merit in film as entertainment.
This film is just so spectacular, so over-the-top, so ridiculous and hilarious that it begs to be seen on the big screen — or for me, on any screen, as often as possible.
And if you disagree, I don’t care — that’s why it’s The Karenna Oscars.
Like Ocean’s Eleven for the doomed generation, How To Blow Up A Pipeline is a thrilling heist film hinging on the urgency of the crime.
I’ve always, consciously or not, searched for Asian American women in media, people who looked like me. Multiple recent films have celebrated Asian-American and immigrant culture so beautifully that I will never forget how special it is that I get to exist at the same time as them.
Unlike other films that invoke fear of our unknowable futures, Her examines a persisting loneliness, one that can’t be cured by new technology. Innovative, fascinating technologies don’t squander or dispel our humanity.
As a college student, I’ve had my fair share of dreary late nights caught walking around the city, mostly because there is some sort of incredible power and self-assurance in knowing that I can.
Oh, the concert film. Swaths of fans, tight intimacy, winks to the camera, audience sing-alongs, and everything in between.
Though the popularity of Parasite has increased demand for watching more international films in America, our U.S.-centric watching habits still largely inhibit our ability to watch and learn from so many beautiful international films.
Together, agents Murtaugh and Riggs find their magnetic chemistry and humorously dangerous banter to create a fantastic partnership – and an even better friendship.
In a world marred by destruction and peril, we must persist, we must trust ourselves and our dreams, and live as colorfully as possible.
Out of two recently released, IFF (Independent Film Festival) Fall Focus-screened new releases set in Massachusetts, Eileen is definitely not the feel-good one.
It is difficult to watch and difficult to even attempt to understand – but I see this as the power and intention of the film, a skill to be celebrated and adored.
Fall, also known culturally as ‘cuffing season,’ can often feel a lot like a lower-stakes version of The Lobster.
Despite the sorrow, grief, and pain, there is something hopeful in every shot; that there is love in this emptiness.
It takes good and evil as concepts and blurs them; what happens when evil as a concept becomes evil as tangible action.
The intimacy in any movie screening can be so meaningful, but a repertory or otherwise famous, beloved cult film screening takes this to another level.
Creating a successful twist means taking full advantage of every aspect of the art of filmmaking; every step and hand movement, minuscule colors, and cinematic details, everything changes meaning when you reveal the twist.
Scorsese isn’t calling to abolish all MCU/comic book movies, but he instead is concerned about how these movies are pushing out independent, lesser-known films.
Once you mint yourself any sort of film expert, the logical next step is, of course, to assert your expertise over anyone who watches movies less ‘seriously’ than you do.
If you’re looking for a fast, sweet, and sexy read, Untether is perfect. I love me some smut.
I love lesbians and thespians. I love lesbian thespians. Did I mention my girlfriend is an actor?
Well, I could never be actually done. But I’m sick of bad writing.
While she makes it clear they’re platonic dates, that line is quickly blurred as we get to know these two…
Well, not exactly. It’s like OnlyFans circa 2014– it’s jankier and there’s no paywall to see naked people.
Does your Twilight phase ever really leave you? Or does it haunt your romance reads for the rest of your adult life?
Okay, maybe they only take over Bright Falls, Oregon. But we’ve got to start somewhere.
And people wonder why I’m a lesbian when men are acting like this…
I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?
Have you ever been trapped in a serial killer’s den with maggots on your tail and found that a fellow serial killer is your only reprieve? Me neither. But apparently, it’s all the rage.
I’m sorry if you also have an evil ex. But hey, maybe one day you’ll have a romance blog where you talk about sex and love and you too can write about them instead of committing arson.
Divorce is like a break-up but with more on the line. For example, I would only tell you to get back with your ex if he was a billionaire.
Happy 2024. The smut is only getting better this New Year.
That’s right, I read about sex somewhere other than my Kindle. And it was awesome.
I know, for a fact, you can’t fix him in real life, but here’s to living vicariously through women who can.
My best friend Regan has been with me through thick and thin— and she introduced me to my first smutty romance novel. Isn’t that what friends are for?
My favorite pastime is giving my readers whiplash. Last week: sexy priests. This week: young adult romantasy.
CODE RED: My mom found my blog. I think my life is over.
This book was powerful enough to rip me right out of a reading slump and launch me back into my happy, sappy romance homeostasis.
Tropes are essential to the romance genre, but they’re also essential to your favorite Tarantino movie. Sue me, film bros.
Three words: Single. Dad. Romance. Enough said.
Ana Huang has taken over the world. Okay, maybe not the entire world. But my world and for a voracious reader, that’s pretty impressive.
So, you might be wondering: Where’s the romance, Charlotte? Where’s the drama? If we didn’t get a sex scene earlier, when do we get one? Hold your horses (see what I did there?)…
“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you.” - Rhett Eaton, Flawless
When I envisioned this blog, I didn’t see myself being a mouthpiece for Mafia romance books but J.T. Gessinger continues to rope me into loving crazy plotlines.
Really? Another sports romance genre? What’s the difference, the male protagonist can skate?
Maybe it’s all the Gemini placements in my birth chart, but long conversations are always the most intimate and exciting part of getting to know someone.
I have never felt so genuinely excited about someone before and he is a potential option for future me, but I’m truly just so bored by everyone else.
I view poetry as more sacred now; when I write about someone they have to truly mean something to me.
I’ve had many be taken aback at my statement, roll their eyes, or even start begging for it in a very temper tantrum-esque way.
@your.mag SO MANY BEEPS, BYE! #bostoncommons #talkshow #relateable #emersoncollege @Gabby Goode @griffin✨ ♬ original sound - YOURMAG
Like many people, I have fantasies. A good one can take over your brain for hours thinking of the possibilities of that alternate reality. I was lucky enough to have my biggest sexual fantasy come true very recently: I finally had a threesome with two guys.