Wednesday, April 30, 2025
Blog Page 443

Love, actually: dating in 2020

Trudy Ross
-
0
Love, actually: dating in 2020

I can’t lie, when I heard the news that we’d probably all be holed up in our rooms for the next few months, without a glorious summer term with our friends to look forward to, without the prospect of seeing college crushes or indulging in a Trinity romance, the question might have crossed my mind. I’m bored after all, so what’s the harm in Tinder?

It didn’t take me too long to scrap the idea altogether – not that I’m against Tinder or Bumble or any of the rest of them, but because any online flirting would, in the current climate, be pretty futile. The pubs won’t even be open for us to go and get that drink.

There are much bigger issues going on in the world than the dwindling dating lives of bored uni students, and I was well aware of this. But still, for some reason, I couldn’t help feeling filled with frustration, even disappointment. What was I meant to do? Put any prospect of a love life on hold for months on end? It wasn’t really that I’d thought I’d meet the love of my life this term, on a dating app or otherwise; in fact, that definitely wasn’t something I was planning on any time in the foreseeable future. But some swiping here and there would be something to do, wouldn’t it? Waiting around for the slightest spark of romance was a depressing thought.

Patience. I wouldn’t say it’s my strong point. But I wasn’t alone; my friends lamented the fact that they’d be separated from boyfriends, prevented from getting to know that guy they’d got with in 8th week, the list went on. But why are we always so reluctant to wait? Why is it we feel the need for something to be going on all the time? Some bit of goss for us to spill to friends when they ask what’s going on in our lives? I decided it maybe had something to do with the form modern dating tends to take these days, and by extension modern love and romance. We are bombarded with options; I know it’s cliche to talk about the never-ending stream of choices us millennials and Gen Z-ers face, but surely the way online dating offers up prospective partners like sweets in a candy shop has got to have an effect on us, on our perception of love, romance, and sex. I think there’s a sense of freedom around, a feeling that there’s no need to stay stuck in a particular relationship; if it isn’t working for us we can easily find something or someone else. And while obviously that’s a great thing which can allow us to set our standards high, to ensure we really click with the person we’re committing to, it can also lead to a fear of even suggesting the idea of commitment to a partner. There’s a whole lot of ‘situationships’ these days, a whole lot of floating about, acting like a couple but not wanting to actually say the binding words, a whole lot of wavering between the comforting feeling of being with someone and the comfort blanket that our fast-paced, dating app culture provides. As long as you avoid any official labels, you’re safe in the knowledge that you can get out whenever you want, and a whole host of shiny Tinder matches will be ready and waiting for you.

I’m not trying to advocate commitment when it isn’t right, and I’m not against situationships in general; if that’s what works for you, go for it. My main concern is that some people find that the seemingly endless supply of options around them relieves them of the responsibility of figuring out what it is they want from any particular romantic situation. Not knowing whether or not you want to commit to someone is fine, because you can have them there without putting a label on it, without giving up your dating app rights. But I think understanding what you want and need is actually pretty important when it comes to having a healthy love life. Or any kind of life.

I’m definitely not innocent of this ‘floating around’ phenomenon, dating people when I’m not sure what it means, seeing people when I have no idea where I want it to go. Dating is fun, after all, and working out what you actually want and need can be tricky. It’s easy to push that part of things aside and just focus on the fun in today’s romantic arena. But where does that leave you? After the fun, I mean. Sometimes it works out fine, because things seem to naturally go the way you wanted, ending up staying casual or slowly blossoming into something more serious. But more often than not somebody ends up in a situation they’d rather not be in, whether that’s in a situationship with someone they’d rather commit to, or a relationship they aren’t sure they wanted. Telling someone what you want can be scary. It leaves you vulnerable, it puts them in the position of power; they can either reject or accept you, and nobody wants to face rejection. But I don’t think avoiding the whole ‘what are we’ conversation is really the answer, despite the fact that it can be fun when you’re always open to new things and new people, never committing to the one thing you actually want, whether that’s casual hookups or the love of your life. It means there’s always something going on, right? And as we’ve already established, this generation isn’t the biggest fan of waiting.

I think intentionality needs to be brought back into modern dating. I’m not saying that everyone is guilty of an inability to wait around, or of avoiding listening to their own needs and voicing those. But I know I can be, and I know more than just a few others who are. I believe that these next few weeks or months of social distancing and uncertainty might be the perfect time for those people to take a break from romance and figure out what they’re looking for. It can be hard to find time to think amidst all this noise and activity – but we’ve just been handed a big portion of peace and quiet. So use it.

Cherpse! Trudy and Will

Cherwell Life
-
0
Cherpse! Trudy and Will

Will, St. Hilda’s, Physics 1st year

First impressions? 

Her fashionably late entrance left me worrying I had been stood up on a Zoom date – that would have been a new lockdown low. But on arrival she came across as very friendly and wasn’t too awkward about it being a virtual date. 

When I realised I was 3 Stellas down and she was sober, I had to reel in any loose chat. 

Did it meet up to expectations? 

Yes, far exceeded them actually. Lasted way past the designated 40 mins, which I think for a zoom date is a sizeable win. Was nice to have someone new to bitch about Corona to, also. 

Highlight? 

When I found out she preferred Park End to Bridge, meaning both of us opposed our college’s preference. There was some really nice bonding over the overrated bridge smoking area. 

Embarrassing moment? 

When I realised I was 3 Stellas down and she was sober, leading me to have to reel in any loose chat. 

Date in three words? 

Lamenting lost Trinity 

Second date? 

At the time of publication a second date has been secured #coronachirpsecomplete

Trudy, Univ, English, 1st year

First impressions?

 Once we got over the initial awkwardness of actually being on a virtual date, I thought he seemed like a lovely guy (despite mild Tory vibes).

Did it meet up to your expectations? 

For sure, I was expecting it to be painfully awkward but we actually had a nice chat and it was refreshing to talk to someone outside my usual Zoom/FaceTime bubble.

I had to inform him that the idea of me playing any sport remotely well was laughable.

What was the highlight: 

 Reminiscing about our favourite Oxford club nights and imagining the Trinity that would have been (RIP). 

What was the most embarrassing moment: 

When he asked me if I wanted to get a Blue (get a Blue or become a Blue?) during my time at uni and I had to inform him that the idea of me playing any sport remotely well was laughable.

Describe the date in 3 words: 

Chilled, friendly, different. 

Is a second date on the cards: 

Never say never.

Met Gala 2020: keeping the spirit alive with Alexa Chung

Joe Stonor
-
0
Met Gala 2020: keeping the spirit alive with Alexa Chung

For the true aficionado, awaiting eagerly their night amongst fashion’s aristocracy in a New York gallery, the indefinite postponement of this year’s Met Gala is an unthinkable disaster. All the pent-up excitement and anxiety that accompanies the tireless preparation of an ambitious piece or daring look has amounted to no great night of Bacchanalian excess and dazzling colour, but been left instead to dissipate. No adulation from paparazzi or earnest Vogue columnists awaits these phantom dresses and dinner jackets, but only the noiseless appreciation of a lonely mirror. 

Yet, for such mournful high-fashion celebrities, and for those who just like looking at them, some kind of solace has been provided by the improvisation of Alexa Chung. The fixture of a decade worth of Galas released a mini-series on her YouTube channel this week, providing an insider’s knowledge of what really goes on at the “Oscars of fashion”. Entitled ‘Tales from the Met Gala’, Chung released three videos on Wednesday exactly a year since the last Gala, and two days after this year’s was scheduled to unfold.

The varied tales that emerge from the videos come through conversations with three designers whom Chung has worn in the past, and therefore accompanied on the night. What start as interviews quickly develop into informal chats, gossiping about the impossible range of stars that are invariably present each year and offering a behind the scenes window into the process of producing an outfit worthy of so illustrious an occasion. An air of glamour that keeps the spirit of the Gala alive is given not least thanks to the names who appear with Chung, as she is joined by Erdem, Christopher Kane and Philip Lim. Present too is Chung’s own effortless style, as dressed in a different look for each video she belies the lethargy of lockdown, including a particularly lively tulle rose shirt. 

With Erdem, Chung looks back over the deep fuchsia ankle-cut dress that she wore in 2015, sharing pictures of the fittings and pausing over the importance of small details such as the inclusion of pockets, crucial for giving an impression of informality on a night of haute couture. The idea that the Met is an epicentre of wild and baffling celebrity activity is added to by the remarkable reminiscence of the night in which Debbie Harry and Kanye West performed at the same time from opposite ends of the same hall, and the memory of Rihanna stomping down tables lined by the A-list whilst singing ‘B**** Better Have My Money’.

The sheer glittery mini-dress that Kane designed for Chung won the model best dressed, an especially incredible achievement on a night of “death or glory” stakes. The joy of this series is in its humanising of an event that appears so unattainable and opulent as to be entirely unreachable, the domain of a hardly-human elite. This insight is provided by the charming candour of Kane. Amongst his highlights included the moment when, upon first arriving at the event, he was stupefied by stage fright as he encountered David Bowie at the neighbouring urinal. Chung and Kane also discuss the thrill of nervous energy that distinguish the event. Kane’s answer to being “so goddamn nervous” is Dutch courage, although a consequence of such self-medication is an excessive champagne consumption that may lead you inexplicably to embarrass yourself in front of Amal Clooney and make for a particularly blurry-eyed morning.

Lim designed the outfit Chung wore in her first appearance at the Gala, a rebellious “men’s-wearish inspired suit” that played into Chung’s tomboy reputation and needed an extended consultation before being permitted to appear by the guardian of all standards, the event’s host each year, Anna Wintour. Lim also shares in the nerves behind “the most anxiety-ridden red carpet” that makes the Gala such a formidable event, as at the top of the long stairway each attendee must climb there awaits the fearful risk of embarrassing oneself in front of the Vogue Editor-in-Chief, or indeed Oprah Winfrey, as Chung discovered the hard way.

The Met is notoriously exclusive, as phones are banned from the event and it is one of the very few events where stars must leave publicists and agents at the gates. It is therefore a delight to learn that the party is ever in the bathroom, the “hotspot, nucleus of the night”, and that the elusive Gala is really “high school amplified to the nth degree” where “everyone goes buck wild and does crazy s***”. Chung has given a fascinating window into the genesis of a Met look before on her increasingly successful channel, chronicling the creation process of the 70s-inspired mini-dress she wore and designed last year, a video which, along with this serious, evokes an appreciation of the care and art that lies behind the glamour that amazes each year. For all those who are feeling the pain of being Gala-deprived, the series provides a reminder of the joyful celebration of fashion and extravagance that we can look forward to revelling in once we are on the other side.

“It’s Not a Phase, Mom!” – In Defence of Teenage Clichés

Lily Tidman
-
0
“It’s Not a Phase, Mom!” – In Defence of Teenage Clichés

“I’m not like other girls,” comes the mocking cry from my little sister across the kitchen table – a phrase I’m pretty sure I’ve never actually used, and she knows it. But, in a faded My Chemical Romance t-shirt from c.2014 and garish tie-dye jeans from heaven only knows what source (Hot Topic wys xx), I am a walking, cringing time capsule of my teenage self. Except with essays. And access to a student newspaper.

Anyway – if, like me, you’ve abandoned the majority of your clothes from 2017 onwards in an overpriced student house hundreds of miles away, you’ve probably been scrabbling around your childhood bedroom trying to find things to get you through to the next laundry load. Many of us are now back in our childhood homes and hometowns, often in similar situations to those of our schooldays. For some, this experience will inevitably be more bearable than for others; either way, if you’re currently staring at the same four walls and walking down the same streets as you were five years ago, listening to the same music is the logical (and tempting) next step. Maybe we’re regressing. Get me outta this town.

Seriously, though – lockdown presents the perfect opportunity to engage with the music we used to (and secretly still do) love in a shame-free way. There are bigger issues, sure – especially in the middle of a pandemic – but in a culture dominated by the elusive search for individuality, music enjoyed by teenagers (particularly girls) is frequently belittled and made fun of. Think small-town Smiths fans, emo kids and Beliebers, jibes about pop-punk stereotypes and 1D not making ‘real music’. At the same time, especially now we’re plastered to the Internet 24/7, there can be a pressure to ensure your favourite band is so niche no one else has ever heard of them, or that your Spotify page secures you maximum indie points. Really, what a lot of us need right now is a little musical TLC.

Detached from some of the more performative aspects of everyday music snobbery, in the confines of your bedroom, shower or neighbourhood, now is the time to crack out those cringey, cherished classics. Maybe this isn’t the place to start a debate on separating the art from the artist, but if you’re into it – being back in the provincial towns you jog round and all that – lockdown also allows us to gain a deeper understanding of the environments and emotions which inspired some of our favourite music (location permitting).

Whatever your hometown tastes and findings, now is the perfect time to rediscover old musical paramours (and maybe their new stuff, too – Hayley Williams’ debut solo LP Petals for Armor came out last week) and enjoy what you like, on your terms. That old MP3 player full of JLS’ greatest hits, the oh-so-unique Smiths-Cure playlist you thought was so intellectual back in 2016, The Black Parade seven times a day, whatever. Subject your family to the Twilight soundtrack for the fifteenth time this week. Embrace your inner emo kid – you know you want to. You’re probably cutting your own hair by now anyway. And do it without shame – teens and tweens across the globe find comfort in these artists for a reason, and we should respect that, rather than looking down on people for liking stuff that’s popular.

Nearly two months in, many of us feel like we’re stagnating, as the pause button is pressed on a period of our lives brimming with change and growth. At the same time, by now we’re all familiar with the argument lockdown gives us more time to ‘really appreciate’ media and consume it in its pure, untainted form – whatever that’s supposed to be. However, the way we experience music in our everyday lives is often messy, unscripted and in-the-moment – and this isn’t a bad thing! In fact, it may be this which holds the key to the comfort it can give us right now: providing gateways back to better, brighter times.

Music is often central to our most cherished memories of being *out there* in the world – sing-shouting along to your new favourite album on midnight drives with old friends, throwing shapes to your song with the partner who’s now a grounded plane ride away, that sort of thing. Y’know. The moments which make the slog through our monstrous workloads worth it. When a lot of us are separated from communities and spaces providing us with a sense of identity, security and belonging at Oxford and beyond, the comfort and solidarity music provides in this way can be invaluable.

After all, I’m sure many of us are living an age-old pop punk cliché back in towns we spent our teenage years dreaming of leaving. Oxford was our ticket out, and now it’s been jarringly transplanted into the same childhood bedrooms we once colonised with dreams of bigger things. So stick on that old mix CD, raid your brother’s record collection – even whack on that secret cheese floor playlist from when you were still a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed fresher. Things will get easier, but in the meantime – if music be the food of love, play on, in the way you love best. No one’s watching.

The playlist for all your recurring teenage/early-twenties angst needs: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4YsL6tntGN8CnYU0a53Oiv?si=XEf6SfXkRtyoXeVYo8DJuQ

The Chosen One Turns Chooser: Joe Biden’s Running Mate Dilemma

Spencer Cohen
-
0
The Chosen One Turns Chooser: Joe Biden’s Running Mate Dilemma

In 1961, the charismatic John Fitzgerald Kennedy offered the vice-presidential nod to Senate Majority Leader and career establishment figure, Lyndon Johnson. They had no real personal relationship, and Johnson feared the vice-presidency would be ceremonial: the possibility he would exert less power as Kennedy’s number two than as the Democratic Leader in the Senate was real. Johnson was aware of the job’s limited authority and bad reputation, which was summed up a few years prior by FDR’s long time Vice President John Nance Garner when he likened the office to “a warm bucket of piss.”

But there is one redeeming quality to the job: it leaves you within touching distance of the presidency. So, Johnson got his staff to compile statistics on how many vice presidents have ascended to the presidency. Once they reported back to him with the odds, a female staffer asked him what he made of them.

“I’m a gambling man, darlin’, and this is the only chance I got.”

**

The odds of the next vice presidential pick to ascend to the Oval Office will be even better than Johnson’s were.

Joe Biden, should he win, will be 8 years older than the oldest President ever inaugurated. He hasn’t ruled out running for a single term, and has already stated that he sees himself as a “transition president.”

Joe Biden’s fond memories of his warm and trusting relationship with President Obama, and his insight into what he brought to that ticket, make Joe Biden’s search for a running mate special for him. He has consulted widely with Obama about the search, and hopes to emulate the dynamic they had together.

Whoever he chooses will be thrust as the next de-facto leader of the Democratic Party, and as next-in-line for a shot at the presidency, whether they get elected or not. The vice-presidential nod also has a historic element to it this time: pursuant to Joe Biden’s promise to choose a woman, the nod could potentially be a historic ticket to be the first woman president.

So, with the stakes so high, both personally and politically, and the speculation so frenzy, this is your guide to who, how, and why Joe Biden will choose his running mate.

Will Biden’s choice of running mate influence the election outcome?

No. Decades of political science literature has shown that the fabled ‘home state advantage,’ whereby a vice-presidential candidate can deliver their home state, is largely a myth. They argue that this only works in case the running mate is extremely popular or extremely polarizing. There is also mounting evidence that suggests that voters don’t take the choice of running mates into account: polling records have shown that since 1988, overwhelming majorities of voters have stated that a candidate’s running mate “has no effect” on their vote.

Instead, the vice-presidential pick will play a symbolic role in executing Joe Biden’s campaign strategy: should the campaign focus on winning back white working class Obama-Trump voters from the Rust Belt, or should the campaign seek to turbocharge minority turnout around the country? The identity of the running mate will be crucial in this sense. Choosing Midwestern, centrist politicians like Sen. Amy Klobuchar or Gov. Gretchen Whitmer would signal an attempt at the first strategy; choosing Kamala Harris or Stacey Abrams would signal the latter.

Whoever Joe picks will also have a more delicate role to play, which will be to shield and defend Biden from the sexual assault allegations he is facing from Tara Reade, especially given the Trump campaign and Fox News seem intent on instrumentalizing the allegation. Nevertheless, with 86% of voters declaring themselves to be aware of the allegations in a new poll, Joe Biden’s credibility is in play, and his running mate will have the unenviable job of being his number one public defender. Given the role most of his prospective vice presidents played in opposing Brett Kavanaugh for similar allegations, this will be an awkward and unfortunately crucial balancing act for them.

What is he looking for in a running mate?

Joe Biden has been very public about what he is looking for in a running mate.

He has stated that he wants an experienced candidate, “someone who, the day after they’re picked, is prepared to be president of the United States of America if something happened.” In addition, he is looking for someone with whom he can build a rapport, as he did with President Obama, and he has hinted that it would be easier to do with someone who shares his worldview. He has also promised his running mate would be younger than he is, to honour his promise of “transitioning” power to the next generation of Democrats.

Another consideration Joe Biden will have to take into consideration is the push from some of his closest allies for an African-American vice president. Given the role black voters played in Biden’s primary win, and the institutional support Biden has received from black politicians, key advisors from campaign chair (and former CBC chair) Cedric Richmond, to the second-highest-ranking House Democrat Jim Clyburn, have stated their preferences for a black woman running mate.

So, if the criteria are a younger, experienced, “simpatico,” and ideologically compatible candidate, who is Joe Biden considering?

Who are the main contenders?

Sen. Kamala Harris (D-CA)

There is no doubt that Kamala Harris is currently the favourite for the vice-presidential nod. She fits most of the criteria Biden has set out. As the former attorney general of California, she ran the country’s second-largest Department of Justice, and as a high-profile senator she has gained a reputation as a hard-hitting, and progressive legislator. While her own presidential run was disappointing, it hasn’t harmed her reputation.

Her positive relationship with Joe Biden, who is effusive and admiring at joint fundraising appearances, coupled with the support she has received from Biden allies who favour a black running mate, means that she has consolidated a large portion of support from the Party. Her unbeaten electoral record in California, coupled with some impressive debate performances during her presidential run, have made some Democrats salivate at the prospect of her debating Vice President Pence.

Despite the seemingly limitless upsides of choosing Kamala, there are two points that play against her selection. First, her rocky relationship with the progressive wing of the Party, which has been weary of her record as a prosecutor, doesn’t necessarily strengthen Biden’s ongoing progressive outreach operation. Secondly, her tough attacks on Biden’s busing record in the Democratic Debates seems to have created some wariness in the Biden camp, reportedly including Jill Biden.

Regardless, Kamala is a frontrunner for the job, and would represent a historic and eminently qualified pick.

Sen. Amy Klobuchar (D-MN)

Amy Klobuchar has emerged as a contender for the job when she dropped her own presidential bid before Super Tuesday and endorsed Joe Biden, greatly contributing to his victory over Bernie Sanders. A former prosecutor and long-time senator, she is one of the most effective, experienced, and bipartisan members in the Senate, and has an impressive electoral record in her home state of Minnesota.

Her politics are near-identical to Joe Biden’s, and her admiration for him has always been clear – her loyalty for him has made Jill Biden a supporter of Klobuchar. Her Midwestern centrism and humour would make her appealing to the Obama-Trump voters crucial to victory, and her deal-making history would reinforce the ticket’s ability to capture the votes of disenchanted Republicans.

However, her inability to attract support from black voters during her presidential run stands as a concern. She would also deprive the ticket of ideological diversity, which might weaken turnout among progressives and young people, this remains her biggest weakness as a vice-presidential candidate.

Amy Klobuchar is a well-suited and extremely capable candidate for the job, and would represent a solid and sensible pick.

Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-MA)

The progressive icon has recently began a public lobbying campaign pushing for the job, and new polling has shown she is the most popular choice among Democrats for the job. A fierce senator who has just off a strong presidential campaign of her own, picking her would represent a “party unity” ticket and would signal a governing-first approach to the coronavirus crisis.

Indeed, Warren has been very present during the pandemic, introducing ambitious plans to counter the coronavirus (the first of which she presented in January), in what is arguably a public audition for the job. These unquestionable policy chops seem even more important in the context of the pandemic, and they have gained attention and plaudits from Barack Obama. Her fundraising abilities and strong digital would also help strengthen the Biden campaign, which is weak in these two areas. Crucially, she could unite both the progressive and moderate wings of the party and is an extremely powerful advocate and messenger. Plus, her debating skills would help make her a formidable running mate.

Yet, Warren still faces an uphill battle for the vice-presidential spot. Her willingness to challenge the Obama administration and outspoken progressivism would make for an awkward ticket, given the gulf between her positions and Joe Biden’s. She doesn’t exactly fulfil the “youth” requirement (she is 70 years old), nor does she have any proven ability to attract much minority support.

Elizabeth Warren undoubtedly has the experience and qualifications for the job, and would make an exciting vice-presidential pick, but the circumstances and the requirements Joe Biden has set out seem to make her selection unlikely.

Gov. Gretchen Whitmer (D-MI)

A long-time state legislator and native Michigander, Gretchen Whitmer has been the Governor of Michigan since 2018. A charismatic pragmatist, she has shone during her handling of the coronavirus crisis in one the pandemic’s national epicentres.

Gretchen Whitmer has sky-high approval ratings in a crucial swing state and has made national news for her ability to slow and respond to the coronavirus crisis in a time when the same is not happening at the federal level. She is young, compelling, and Biden-compatible, and it seems like she was made for the moment. Her response to the SOTU was widely praised, and as a campaign co-chair, she has gotten to know Joe Biden through joint-appearances and campaign stops.

Nevertheless, it might be difficult for her to campaign for the job while remaining in charge of Michigan in crisis. While her profile has been raised recently, Whitmer is still a relative newcomer to national politics, and an unknown to most. Moreover, her first year in office was difficult, and marked by a standstill with the Republican-controlled state legislature.

A dark horse, but a compelling candidate, Gretchen Whitmer would shine by her charisma and competence, but seems an unlikely choice this time around.

Stacey Abrams (D-GA)

Stacey Abrams has recently rewritten the playbook on campaigning for vice president, embarking on a remarkably public and candid campaign for the job. A former state house minority leader, Abrams came tantalizingly close to winning the Georgia gubernatorial election in 2018, becoming a sensation and Democratic favourite ever since.

Stacey Abrams is a favourite of the base, and has received support from African-American figures like Al Sharpton who also prefer an African-American running mate. Her charisma and the enthusiasm she fosters among voters that Biden is weaker with (young voters especially) would make her an astute choice.

But the fact remains that Stacey Abrams’ lack of national political experience is a major roadblock to her prospects. While she does run a major voting rights non-profit, it seems unlikely she could be elevated from ex-state legislator to vice-presidential nominee.

Stacey Abrams, despite her lobbying campaign, would be an unlikely pick for Joe Biden: her lack of experience seems to be disqualifying, and despite early enthusiasm for her, she is not the best pick available to Biden.

**

This selection process has been marked by a media frenzy which has unusually been fed by both Joe Biden stoking speculation through his public musings, and the very public jockeying the contenders have been engaging in for the job. While normally a more quiet affair, this process has shown a key trait in Joe Biden: a willingness to elevate new voices and a new generation in the Democratic Party.

The search for a vice president has included several dark-horse candidates who are women of colour (Rep. Val Demings, Sen. Catherine Cortez-Masto, Gov. Michelle Lujan Grisham, Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms, Amb. Susan Rice, Sen. Tammy Duckworth) whose national profile has been elevated by the process. By praising and elevating the voices of a diverse, new class of elected Democrats, Joe Biden is building something critics thought his nomination would prevent: a renewal of the Party. Joe Biden’s collective spirit and commitment to the Party stand in contrast with Barack Obama’s own efforts: arguably, the only Democrat he elevated and sought to install in the Party and national landscape more durably was Hillary Clinton.

The frenzy of speculation will finally come to an end in June when Joe Biden announces his running mate. And his decision might even be more historic than we know: she might even “shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling” one day.

Oxford City Council marks Mental Health Awareness Week

Imogen Duke
-
0
Oxford City Council marks Mental Health Awareness Week

Oxford City Council is marking Mental Health Awareness Week, Monday 18th to Sunday 24th May, by urging people to consider how kindness can improve our own and others’ mental health. It thanks everyone who has shown kindness and helped those in need in these difficult times.

The Council has partnered with Oxford Health NHS Foundation Trust to promote the Oxfordshire Mental Health helpline, for non-emergency mental health care and advice. It operates 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The helpline gives information about how to get help and access support from professionals.

There is a range of further support available, including practical support to help with the challenges of coronavirus, activities, more specialist advice, and help with mental health. They are also circulating posters and colouring sheets in food parcels.

The Council also supports residents’ mental health through its Activity Hub, which provides online advice on exercise, mental health, learning, and cultural activities.

Councillor Louise Upton, Cabinet Member for Healthy Oxford, Oxford City Council, said: “This week is Mental Health Awareness Week, a time to promote the range of support available. This is particularly relevant now when we have the additional anxieties caused by coronavirus, from isolation, job losses and new pressures on relationships.

“We continue to provide practical support, from food supplies to prescription deliveries. Also, to help people keep active in mind and body, our online Activity Hub has lots of ideas and resources. With some restrictions now lifted, safely getting exercise is so important.

“Given that the theme of this mental health awareness week is kindness, be kind to yourself – we all need to take care of ourselves at this time. Get out and enjoy nature, take a walk, take up a hobby – but also be kind to everybody else. Just a few kind words to somebody can make all the difference to how they’re feeling that day.”

Rob Bale, clinical director for mental health in Oxfordshire at Oxford Health NHS Foundation Trust, said: “When people need mental health care, support or advice they should call the 24/7 Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire Mental Health Helpline. Our trained mental health advisers will be able to make sure people get the care that is right for them.”

The helpline number for adults is 01865 904997. For children and young people the number is 01865 904998.

Image: Ellie Wilkins

The Masque of the Red Death: Reading our way out of a crisis

Devanshika Bajpai
-
0
The Masque of the Red Death: Reading our way out of a crisis

Edgar Allan Poe wrote his short story, the Masque of the Red Death, after his wife had been diagnosed with the then-incurable disease, tuberculosis. Some have seen it as a horror story, others as a commentary on feudalism, its metaphors representing everything from government incapacity to xenophobia. It seems like a tale inordinately applicable to current times– a devastating plague to which the only solution is to isolate ourselves, away from the rest of the world.  Rather than reading it – as many have recently done, including the Washington Post and Slate – as an obvious allegory for the ways in which issues of class and privilege are magnified during crises, we need to consider its specific examination of what is essentially the phenomenon of social distancing. 

The story’s Prince Prospero is undeniably callous: while “his dominions were half depopulated” he chooses not to intervene, instead looking after himself and his court first. The ruler and nobility all know about the Red Death – it takes only a half hour to cause a visibly painful demise for its victims, and has “long devastated the land” – but they assume that simply locking themselves away will be enough to save them. If there was no chance of transmission, wouldn’t we all enjoy a huge party with our friends and family right now? In a very literal sense, you might similarly presume none of your loved ones have contracted Covid and invite them to this massive house party – yet the disease could be brought in by them, and stalk through the party just as the Red Death did through the seven masquerade rooms, affecting not only the invitees but the host themselves. This is then a story about the devil you do know, the overwhelming trust one places in those closest to them, when the reality is that disease doesn’t account for character, just as it doesn’t consider money or class. Even though Prospero is doing all this to a large extent for the “knights and dames of his court”, they are the only practical answer as to who allowed the now-personified Red Death to appear inside, and to ultimately kill them all. 

On a deeper level, when Prospero throws his titular, epic masquerade he is significantly de-problematising the realities of the disease outside. His courtiers consequently followed their leader in believing that “the external world could take care of itself”, while they were still safe, safe enough to attend the prince’s celebrations. They were living out the paradox of isolating together because higher authorities either did not give them the relevant information or downplayed it. Think of the doubts regarding the virus for months before it was officially recognised by nationwide or worldwide authorities, or more specific cases – such as the Chinese government preventing further Covid-19 research and editing data from their experience of the disease. The lack of clarity on infection, testing and death figures, evident in governmental policy and media releases all over the world, conditions public responses more than almost any other factor. Who wouldn’t take their government easing lockdown restrictions as a sign that things are rapidly improving, even if a closer study of the data might say otherwise?  Depending on how far the nobles are in touch with the on-ground situations – considering its feudal context, they are likely geographically, as well as socially, disconnected from their social inferiors – the inside of Prospero’s abbey represents a den of ignorance or misinformation. If “security [was] within. Without was the Red Death” then this was obviously a false sense of security, perpetuated by authorities aiming to avoid mass panic, perhaps, and retain the trust of the powerful elite just as leaders in modern democracy are hoping for a re-election. The public’s reaction was then based on inaccurate information, and their actions did not take into account the seriousness of the threat.

James B Reece, in an article for Modern Language Notes, cites Campbell’s Life of Petrarch as a likely historical source for Poe’s account because he reviewed it for Graham’s in 1842. The real-life fourteenth century nobles in Campbell’s work are ascribed a very specific reasoning for their celebrations – “it was the general persuasion that sadness accelerated the infection of the malady… the living, being persuaded that diversions and songs of gaiety could alone preserve them from the pestilence, kept up their revels.” Though this context does not fit in with the usual implications of the Masque, which is seen as the selfish action of an uncaring elite à la ‘let them eat cake’. It almost humanises these partygoers: allowing us to comprehend rather than demonise them as an oppressive group deserving their bloody end. Reading the story as class polemic doesn’t help but understanding even those who are ‘wrong’ in the wider Covid-19 narrative such as protesters in America or your neighbour gathering four friends in her garden, will allow us to navigate this crisis without an added social disaster. Where the crisis threatens to divide and highlight differences between communities and classes– think of minorities being more susceptible to Covid-19 due to their socio-economic circumstances, racism against Asians or growing class antagonism after the coming recession – we must strive for unity, which can only come from a willingness to understand and to compromise.

As for the Masque attendees’ idea that having the medieval equivalent of an invite-only kegger keeps viruses at bay, of course no one today is arguing that a positive attitude and a smile will stop you from contracting Covid-19. Yet every individual has found obstacles during this crisis, whether in adapting to new work environments or being far away from those we love, and we are in danger of being mentally just as much as physically overwhelmed. A Kaiser poll shows that 45% of Americans feel the virus has taken a negative toll on their mental health, and studies predict upto 75,000 ‘deaths of despair’ as a result of the crisis. In these circumstances, the loneliness and stress of social distancing mean that maybe we can learn from the Masque, not just from their mistakes – throwing huge gatherings or refusing to aid others around us – but from their mostly non-malevolent intentions of pursuing happiness in any way possible. 

Cleverly Captured Vulnerability in ‘Normal People’

Maya Little
-
0
Cleverly Captured Vulnerability in ‘Normal People’

When I first read Normal People, it was the unwavering emotional rigour of the prose that got to me. Rooney has this matter-of-fact way of plunging into vulnerability like it’s the undercurrent of our lives. I couldn’t imagine how the oppressive anxieties, the powerfully dissociative moments, the frightening clarity of insight could translate to a TV series. How could you convey Connell’s ‘sense all of a sudden that he could hit [Marianne’s] face, very hard even, and she would just sit there and let him’? How could this be adapted without some crude handling, upsetting the delicate balance of Connell and Marianne’s relationship, which is always a basket of teeming, doubting thoughts frustrated by love and by fear.

But the new adaptation of Normal People manages to keep the emotional vulnerabilities of both its characters constantly in frame without becoming overblown. This owes a large debt to writer Alice Birch’s knack for brittle, understatedly brutal exchanges. After one of their friends suggests a threesome, Marianne confides to Connell that she’d have done it if he wanted to. Connell, with his anxious sensitivity, tells her:

Connell: You shouldn’t do what you don’t what to do
Marianne: No, I didn’t mean that. It’s more that... had you wanted to - I’d have enjoyed you wanting to. I like doing things for you.
Connell: No. You, you can’t do things you don’t want - or that you don’t enjoy - just to make me happy.
Marianne: But I like making you happy.
Connell: Yeah.

It’s at this point in the novel that Connell thinks of hitting Marianne in the face. The show doesn’t verbalise the thought but it creeps in anyway, with a just-too-close shot of Connell’s face as he fidgets, looking uncomfortable and then pained, before very gently rolling Marianne’s head off of his lap and moving away from her. This apparently ordinary moment takes on an elevated, dramatic emotionality, though there is none of the conventional shouting or gesticulating. Rather, Connell’s movement is slow, subdued. Normal People’s strategy for making its characters’ vulnerabilities feel personal and sharply revelatory is to deny its characters the ability to make articulate declarations of their feelings, which can sanitise onscreen vulnerability by putting too fine a point on it. 

Even the camerawork feels vulnerable. Early on in their relationship there are some odd, off-beat pacings. As Marianne leaves for Connell’s house for the first time, she is accompanied by a song which cuts out mid-word. At the end of the same episode, after Marianne admits her feelings of complete submissiveness to Connell, she simply asks ‘can we go back to my house now?’, and they both walk out of shot, leaving a moment of uninspiring, empty scenery as the disorientating final moments of the episode. This recreates the feeling of reading the novel: the very ordinary is constantly made to feel unordinary, unsettling us into attention.

Connell (Paul Mescal) wordlessly studies Marianne, who sits off-screen with her feet dangling in the water.

We see this again after their break up, the camera now having to pass a new distance between them, dragging itself slowly from one to the other as they sit an exam, matching them as they watch each other through a frame of anonymous shoulders. Their lack of surety, their fear-tinged openness to each other in these moments seeps out from them, takes over our perspective, and reminds us that we would probably be able to do no better. In every relationship, to misunderstand each other is devastatingly normal.

Sex too becomes a navigation of vulnerability. The first time Connell and Marianne have sex, secretly, after school, is a six minute scene which is tender, consensual, and strikingly communicative. Undressed from the waist up, Marianne tells Connell she’s sceptical of his interest: ‘there are much prettier girls in school who like you’, she says, taking Connell aback. As they continue, they actively make themselves vulnerable to embarrassment, asking ‘is that ok?’, ‘is that good?’, willing to risk awkwardness, and therefore, avoiding it.

As the sex scenes continue throughout the series, they reveal the couple’s essential disinterest in hiding from each other; again, the way these scenes are shot reflects this. Despite the LA Express calling them ‘some of TV’s steamiest sex scenes’, there is nothing sensationalizing about the way they are shot. The nudity is frank, little use is made of discrete cutaways or tangled sheets. When Connell tells Marianne, as she loses her virginity, that if it hurts ‘it won’t be awkward, you can just say’ he embodies an attitude that extends outwards to the best parts of their relationships: an unselfconscious desire to hear and understand each other.

The worst of their relationship is filled with the exact opposite attitude, an inability to ask for what they want due to a fear of judgement. In an excruciating break-up that neither of them wants, Connell is too proud to be financially reliant on Marianne, and Marianne can’t bear the vulnerability of telling Connell she wants him when she thinks he doesn’t want her. They split, and both spiral downwards, Marianne into an abusive relationship punctuated with the hard flash of her boyfriend’s exploitative camera, and Connell into a depression that sees him lying hollowed out and empty on his bed as his new girlfriend breaks up with him. Most arresting, for me, is Connell’s counselling session, a fumbling attempt to match words to feelings that doesn’t serve as a fix-it moment (afterwards he says he feels only ‘empty’) but which gives him the space to say that things hurt without it being awkward, to apologise for feeling, and to be told he hasn’t got anything to apologise for.

Connell’s sadness, like everything in Sally Rooney’s stories, is elegant, and it does not pretend. Pretending to be invulnerable, Normal People quietly says, gets us so caught up in misunderstanding and worry that we are bound to fail each other completely. These aren’t characters who go on some journey to gain the superpower of empathetic understanding and emotional openness. Vulnerability pulls us apart as much as it brings us together, alternately letting us understand each other and making us close ourselves off from understanding. The series ends with the two about to part again, but this time there is nothing misunderstood between them. ‘I’ll go,’ says Connell. ‘And I’ll stay,’ Marianne agrees, ‘and we’ll be ok.’ At its core, Normal People is about slowly opening up to the risk of each other, and through this, to that of the world.

Letting loose: our relationship to “natural hair”

Kanengo D
-
0
Letting loose: our relationship to “natural hair”

It’s been about three months since the start of what we now know to be a worldwide shutdown. Like many other students, I’ve been forced to settle into a work-life routine at home, and things, whether reassuring or not, have started to feel very normal. A lot of my habits have shifted to accommodate this new life. I no longer wear the clothes that I used to; it seems that the rejected, private, and comfortable part of my wardrobe (i.e. a mishmash of hole-y pyjama bottoms and worn t-shirts), has become what I usually reach for in the morning. I have left a lot of myself alone; I am no longer particularly bothered by the parts of my appearance that I used to regulate. The patch of acne that occasionally pops up on my chin remains untouched, and I don’t care about the leg/armpit/pubic hair that’s grown past the limits of what I would typically sanction. What I can’t seem to leave alone is the hair on my head. It’s big and complicated, its texture is dense. It takes up space, and on most days, I try to put it up and tuck it away. 

Black girls aren’t raised to know their hair. Not deeply, at least. On TV, afros and curls are obscured from the everyday, or worse, objectified and ridiculed into a sort of grotesque costume. Even in Tanzania, where we are an almost entirely Black nation, there remains a cultural apprehension around wearing ‘kinky’ hair. Most of the women I knew growing up would leave their houses with hair carefully packaged under straight wigs. 

Childhood memories surrounding my hair are tainted with physical pain. My mother would spend hours blow-drying it, sticking pomades and gels in it, manipulating it into something that was ‘manageable’. I would cry getting my braids done, fiercely wishing my hair would fall out of my head if it resisted falling flat against my back. It was a sort of coming of age–a symbol of westernised womanhood made attainable to me when I was allowed to chemically straighten my hair at ten. 

Black girls are taught to keep our hair neat, and palatable, but ultimately external from ourselves. Over the years, it evolves and takes on a personage of its own – constantly morphing shapes, lengths, and styles. After I stopped chemically straightening my hair at 15, I was confronted with a stranger when I looked in the mirror. I spent months going through dozens of oils and creams, trying to learn and ‘tame’ a thing that I wasn’t taught to understand. I grew exhausted. For a year, my hair was a bizarre half-straight, half-coily mess before I chopped it all off on a whim, and decided to start again from scratch. 

Lockdown has invited a wave of similar, boredom-induced experimentations. E-girl-inspired bleached bangs, cheek-grazing bob, and the classic bald head are some of my favourites. But there is a lot to be said about the implications of this on hair that society already condemns as experimental, and unusual. 

Self-isolation has changed a lot about our routines and ideas concerning beauty and vanity. Surely, if no one sees your hair, there’s no need to do it in elaborate and performative ways? This presents an obstacle for Black women. A large part of our hair care involves communal, hours-long sessions at the salon, to choose from a variety of braids, weaves, cornrows, twists, etc. as a means of managing our hair on a day-to-day basis. But with the closure of non-essential businesses such as the hairdresser’s, women of colour have chosen to handle their hair care at home. Whether born out of a lack of choice or inspiration, many girls with afro-textured hair are using time under lockdown to transition from their chemically straightened strands to their natural texture. 

This is both scary and liberating. Somewhere along the way, Black hair has unintentionally taken on a political overtone. As Adichie articulates, hair is the ‘perfect metaphor for race’. It signifies how race pervades every aspect of our lives, even the mundane and private. The ones who are ‘brave’ enough to wear it out are first forced to sort through complicated feelings that they may have around conceptions of manageability and belonging. Natural hair, in all its bouncy and shrunken glory, is cast to the shadows of Eurocentric standards that uphold its long, straight counterpart. At-home relaxers promise their users the attractive and nebulous prospect of ‘professionality’ (at the potential risk of scalp burn). They bottle and sell respect. Straight hair grants a sturdy platform to stand on and be listened to; it’s an outward sign of success, desirability, and femininity. As a result, kinky, coily, and ‘nappy’ hair is misunderstood and pushed to the margins. By existing at the intersections of sexism and racism, these ideas are at once appealing and comforting to women of colour. 

I’m self-conscious about this turning into a political, didactic rant – that’s not what I want it to be. Obviously, women should feel empowered to wear their hair as they please. Perhaps at the risk of hedging my own argument, I should say that not every Black woman needs to let her natural hair grow to feel authentically like herself – to feel authentically Black. And I am not blind to the caveats that the ‘natural hair’ and ‘Black is beautiful’ movements impose on women. Loosely-curled hair and lighter skin seem to be placed at the forefront of these movements, at the expense of tightly-coiled hair and dark skin. But I am also aware of the mental break that isolation can afford from the need to adhere to cultural beauty norms. I look on social media, and I’m captivated by the women reshaping and owning the narratives around their hair. Women shouldn’t be hailed as ‘courageous’ or ‘quirky’ for wearing their hair as it grows from their scalp; these are the same sentiments that exotify and alienate people of colour.

In its hiddenness, it’s both enigmatic and fitting to refer to afro-textured hair as natural. Like all things ‘untamable’, it can be restrained, but will always assert its presence. Maybe a lockdown can help to unleash it.

Tradition and transformations: reconnecting through food

Mila Ottevanger
-
0
Tradition and transformations: reconnecting through food

What is your Christmas smell? Mine is cinnamon. At that time of year, it seems to spill off the table and into every bowl and dried fruit it can dust itself over. Inhaling that once seems to bring up a whole host of inter-connected memories, though. The apples for the cake are stewing in cinnamon and sugar, the dried oranges hang over the door in their cages; the coffee is black and steaming, the cherries are soaked in alcohol and melted dark chocolate and the marzipan is gently rolled in cocoa powder – and it’s mine, because nobody else wants it. These tastes and smells on the air carry with them those minute details – the china, the wrought-silver sugar spoons, the cream tablecloth, the buttercup glow of the lightbulb. 

There cannot be anything more evocative than food – or, specifically, the communal act of eating. It combines all those senses we are told are the most sensitive – touch, smell, and, of course, taste – and quickly and irreversibly ties them to a recipe we can easily follow again, unearthing those feelings and memories through the simple act of eating a cake you ate once when you were a child. A bowl of warm banana and custard, painstakingly heated just enough for comfort but not enough to burn the roof of my over-eager mouth, always brings me back to sitting at my grandpa’s left with a cup of similarly-prepared Ovaltine in the early winter evening as he proclaims himself ‘king of the custard.’ Leek and potato soup is my Opa at the stove as my cousins and I sit beneath the overhead lamp, kicking each other under the table as we wait for it to be served in little blue and white bowls through which the light shines when you hold it up.

There are little moments contained in every step of construction. Each of us cousins took turns learning how to make strudel with our Oma, dousing the apple in lemon juice and evenly distributing the sultanas over the translucent pastry. My grannie taught me how to make her famous quiche, pressing down the shortcrust into the glass dish she uses specially for it. The act of preparing food links us to our parents, our grandparents, and their own parents, passing down the broader strokes of the cultures that produce us, yes – but also the tweaks they’ve made; their own signature dishes. More honey and cumin on the carrots; heavy on the lemon juice; a mix of garlic and ginger can’t go wrong. A family favourite brings those memories of holidays and celebrations rushing back to you; you mingle new experiences to the old ones through sharing your own tricks and recipes with your friends.

Right now, we can’t see our families and our friends in the same way as we used to. I was out walking my dog the other day, though, and I saw a woman in gloves passing a tupperware crammed full of cupcakes over the fence to her masked granddaughter. If you don’t live near your loved ones, try cooking up a dish you make with them, or a meal you shared when you were all together. Look for the flavour that will bring them back to you.

Image via Wiki images

1...442443444...2,488Page 443 of 2,488

Support Student Journalism

Cherwell is Oxford’s oldest independent newspaper, established in 1920. We are entirely student-run. By supporting us, you will contribute to keeping our paper in print and online. Every donation makes a difference.

Donate

Explore

Follow us

More

Oxford Student Publications Limited © 2025 - All Rights Reserved | Privacy Policy

Website by James Ashley