Category: Opinions

Categories
Opinions

Kanye West and the mental illness of the rich and famous

How should we support someone struggling as the world’s watching

 

Over the past two weeks, Ye’s (born Kanye West) activity on social media — particularly the direct and indirect intimidation of his ex-wife Kim Kardashian and her new boyfriend Pete Davidson, which has culminated in Ye kidnapping and assaulting a caricature reminiscent of Davidsons in his latest Eazy music video  — has garnered a tremendous amount of attention from the public and the media alike.

While public discourse on the situation has fixated on Ye’s manipulative behaviour towards Kim Kardashian, the lack of coverage surrounding Kanye’s mental state during this period neglects a key aspect in understanding the situation.

In no way, shape or form do I condone Ye’s behaviour towards the Kardashians or Davidson, which is real harassment, but whatever the motivations and intentions are behind his actions are independent of the fact that clearly Ye’s mental health is deteriorating at an alarming rate.

I want to clarify that I have no academic or professional qualifications in psychology, and that this article should not be interpreted as a professional diagnosis.

Ye’s actions are eerily similar to the actions of those close to me that have had similar mental health problems. His use of cropped photographs, entirely capitalized text, and the lack of consistent timing between his posts are all things I have witnessed my loved ones do in similar situations.

The only difference is that Ye is one of, if not the, most public examples of an artist struggling with mental health issues.

It often goes without question that those who thrust themselves into the public eye do so at the mercy of the public — a public eager to strip you from privacy. But in any parasocial relationship, the extent to which we as the public feel entitled to private information and the ethical responsibility that comes with our access to Ye’s psyche has yet to be defined.

The fact that Ye has shared these details of his own volition complicates the issue, but this only shifts the ethical responsibility onto our individual and collective response. Ye has decided to make this situation public, but we have decided to make it a spectacle.

I noticed scrolling through Ye’s Instagram feed that the same people are commenting the same things on every new post. “Amen pastor Ye,” “Ye helping people more than the president. Ye 2024,” “Ye the GOAT no CAP!” Beyond these consistent “Kanye stans,” most commenters have been far less empathetic to Ye. The one sentiment that these Ye stans and Ye haters share is the lack of concern for Ye himself.

Maybe the Ye memes and “shit-posts” are reflective of the larger sentiment that those in positions of privilege and wealth are less deserving of our collective empathy. But if anything, Ye’s sporadic behaviour reveals that no amount of money can provide a substitute for a healthy support system.

On Thursday, Feb. 17, Ye posted a clip to his Instagram from a 2018 episode of Saturday Night Live, in which Davidson made the assertion addressed to Ye that “Being mentally ill is not an excuse to act like a jackass.” Responding to the controversy, Ye claimed that his latest actions on social media activity was payback for Davidson’s comment.

While I agree with Davidson’s sentiment to a degree, it begs several important questions: is support for someone struggling with mental illness contingent upon their perceived moral integrity? Does the movement to end the stigmatisation of mental illness apply to all, or to the select few deemed worthy?

I’m surprised that the videos of paparazzi provoking Ye to violence in the early 2010’s haven’t been re-examined in our current social climate, especially with the knowledge of his previously undiagnosed mental illness. Even today, headlines like “Kanye Off His Meds and Off His Rocker On Instagram” which are being published in the same era of the “Free Britney” movement, receive mainstream recognition.

It involves a tremendous amount of cognitive dissonance not to connect the two.  Both musicians’ struggles with their mental illness have been exacerbated by media coverage, but where Spears has received a sort of moral reckoning, Ye’s struggles are still seen as appropriate topics of gossip and scandal.

In hindsight, how much can the public’s perception of Ye as a primadonna figure be discerned from misconceptions and prejudices surrounding mental illness?

 

Visuals by James Fay

Categories
Opinions Student Life

In-person learning? Not for everybody

Concordia University's Sir George Williams Campus. CATHERINE REYNOLDS/The Concordian

My success with online learning (and problems with the traditional classroom).

We’ve known for a long time that everybody learns differently, so why aren’t we giving students options?

I’m not ashamed to admit it, I struggled through my undergrad. Lots of discontinued classes and less-than-stellar grades. Until recently, that is.

When classes were moved to Zoom, my grades consisted of almost straight As. My performance during this time convinced me that I was capable enough to give grad school a shot — a longtime dream of mine.

My GPA was scarcely above the cut off for a Masters in Public Policy and Public Administration, and strong letters of recommendation from teachers as well as solid volunteer experience were just enough to allow me to get through by the skin of my teeth.

My first semester of online grad school went swimmingly. I was able to boost my GPA (again) and even had time to get involved in student government as the VP Internal of the Political Science Graduate Student Association.

Then came the announcement: we would return to in-person studies in February. Like many students, I had my reservations. Mine, however, were different. Some were anxious to return to campus for health reasons, as was I. While I had many elderly relatives and was in several risk groups for COVID-19, there was another dimension to this. I knew there was a stark difference in my performance during the period of online learning and before, when most student life took place in person.

Reviewing my own transcripts, I could also see that an earlier, pre-pandemic experiment with online learning on eConcordia had yielded similar results: more straight As. Sadly, there are no eConcordia courses available for my current program.I’m sorry to say that the return to in-person class has not been good for me. Without going into too much detail, it seems that many of my old problems returned. Distractions, travel time, issues with the facilities, are all features of campus life.

I took the features of online learning for granted, but I can’t help but wonder: why can’t we have options and flexibility? I can understand many people were looking forward to the return of in-person classes, but by the same token, many of my colleagues had a positive experience of working from home and may not want to go back.

So far it looks as though the government is giving office workers the opportunity to continue doing this, but not us. Moreover, why are they so adamant about having us on campus? Like many policy decisions during the pandemic, it appears to be very top-down and arbitrary, imposing a “one size fits all” approach to complex and nuanced problems.

One can’t help but feel as though the decision also reflects an anachronistic vision of students. In the past, it might well have been the case that many students (who were young, affluent, single men) wouldn’t have to work on the side to finance their academic path, never mind looking after dependents. Most of us juggle the many different facets of our lives.

Online learning and working from home were brought about by necessity, and in turn, this had led me to question the necessity of in-person learning. It may boost student engagement in some cases, but there are always exceptions to every rule and for everyone to realize their full potential, there should be options available, especially for those who have health concerns as well as professional and family commitments.

The internet is a part of our everyday lives and we should be embracing its demonstrated potential to make things easier instead of simply following traditional course delivery for no other reason besides that it’s what we have always done in the past.

 

Photo by Cathrine Reynolds

Categories
Opinions Student Life

Toil-et and trouble

Graphic by James Fay

Why we shouldn’t be charged to use public bathrooms

 

I’m dancing at a club in Amsterdam. House music blares (I wish it was Taylor Swift instead), the floor is sticky, and the room is filled with people. It’s fantastic, especially after so much time spent in lockdown.

What’s not fantastic is my acute urge to pee. I tap my friends on the shoulder and let them know I’m going to find the washroom.

When I get there, I’m appalled. There’s a woman standing outside the door, collecting 50 euro cents before allowing people through.

Over the course of my first few weeks on exchange in Europe, this is not the first time I’ve been required to pay to use the facilities. Budgeting for entering public washrooms is one thing that I certainly had not planned for.

Still, I need to rant about why I think this phenomenon, though extremely common here, is absolutely insane and should definitely not exist.

My first point is the obvious one: needing to excrete is a natural and normal function of our bodies, so why should we have to spend money to do so? It’s the infrastructure surrounding our ability to relieve ourselves in a socially acceptable way that’s not natural.

And the fact that we’re forced to pay for a basic necessity of our own human creation makes it even worse.

Also, we can’t control when and where we’ll suddenly have the urge to go. If we could, I guarantee no one would ever use a public washroom to begin with. But since that’s not possible, shouldn’t our toilets be accessible to all?

Another point for my takedown of the pricey public washroom is the consequences you face when you don’t have your 50 cents, or refuse to pay all together.

The first option that comes to mind is good ol’ fashioned public urination, which is a literal fineable offense. The logic here is missing — if you don’t pay for the washroom and nature pee (or wild wee, as my British flatmate calls it) and get caught, you have to pay even more. It makes no sense.

This is even worse: to combat this “problem” of public urination, probably correlated to the blasphemous concept of paying to use the washroom, the Dutch installed public urinals (a glorified hole in the ground with a panel for privacy) at some places in the center of certain cities. But of course, this brings forth an annoying double standard. While penis-owners who are comfortable enough get to whizz to their heart’s content, free of charge, people with vaginas don’t have it as easy. Classic.

Furthermore, as I’m writing this, it’s becoming clear that paying for public bathrooms isn’t the sole facet of our society that works this frustrating way. Period products, though necessary because of the cultural norms surrounding menstruation, are also inaccessible without money.

My annoyance with having to pay for the public bathrooms in Europe reveals a harmful phenomenon. Humans create these unbreakable social norms relating to natural bodily functions and then profit off of them, leaving those who can’t pay in difficult situations.

I can’t say I expected my rant about public bathrooms to get so serious — but oftentimes, it’s the most silly topics that end up revealing the most. While I don’t have a solution to the challenges of commoditizing natural bodily functions, the best I can do is bring attention to them to try and advocate for a change.

 

Graphic by James Fay

Categories
Opinions

What the hell is an NFT?

The next digital revolution — let’s break it down for you.

Chances are you’re feeling the same way your grandparents did when the internet blew up in the ’90s and, rest assured, you’re not alone.

Las year , you saw Mark Zuckerberg host a weird video about a game-like reality. Now, your friends are making thousands of dollars on some alien planet they call the “Metaverse.”

What kind of witchcraft is going on here? Let me break it down for you.

 

NFTs explained

An NFT, or “non-fungible token” is a digital asset that’s been around for quite a while now. In plain English, that basically means that it’s entirely unique and irreplaceable… kind of like the original Mona Lisa — just digital.

Think of it as a form of virtual art, whether it’s music, a drawing, a Gucci-themed ghost, or a picture of your cat. Wait, I can make money off my cat? We’ll get into that in a second.

So how exactly do NFTs work? It all started with Ethereum, the first blockchain to support these tokens. To oversimplify: a blockchain is a digital ledger that records and distributes all transactions across an entire network of computer systems, making it virtually impossible to be manipulated.

Ethereum’s blockchain, unlike Bitcoin and Dogecoin, is designed to support NFTs by storing additional bits of information. Attaching metadata (details like name, description, image and a link), along with a transaction log, to each token provides investors, artists, and collectors an additional layer of authenticity and value to their assets.

When crypto-mania exploded and gained support from high-profile celebrities such as Paris Hilton, Gen Z masses were quick to hop on the trend. In fact, Chain Analysis, a data platform providing research findings, estimates that the NFT market reached $41 billion (yes, with a “b”) in 2021.

Unsurprisingly, a number of other NFT-supported blockchains have since emerged like Flow and Tezos, each trying to capture their share of the market.

 

The Metaverse explained

So, you just bought Beeple’s artwork for $69 million and want to show it off. There’s only one problem – it’s not a physical object. Did you really just waste $69 million? No need to panic, the tech gods have got us covered.

Simple, just buy land in Decentraland – one of many virtual land platforms – build a museum, hang up your most prized possessions on the wall and invite others to visit. Problem solved.

Welcome to the Metaverse.

A virtual or augmented reality where you can do everything you do in the real world — okay, maybe more. Your avatar (fancy way of saying your fictional character) can buy clothes, cars, houses and can go to work, just like you do in real life. Here’s the catch: those virtual goods cost real money.

If you’re thinking this might just be a phase, have a look at world-renowned brands who are diving into NFTs like Coca-Cola, Taco Bell, Balenciaga, Gucci, Ray-Ban… the list goes on. They can now sell their products for real money, while avoiding rising costs along with the entire manufacturing and supply-chain process. No wonder big corporations are hopping on the crazy train.

 

I just want to know how I can make money off my cat

Well, it’s certainly not impossible. A proud pet owner recently sold a picture of their grumpy cat as an NFT for $83,000. Shortly after, a meme of a dog, commonly known as Doge, was auctioned for $4 million. The best part is that the process is pretty straightforward once you got your digital wallet set up: you simply select an NFT marketplace like OpenSea, upload your file along with important details, and let the buyers bid away.

Oh, and it gets better. A CNBC report just announced that real estate sales in the Metaverse hit $500 million in 2021. Let that sink in – digital land and buildings… in an imaginary world… are now worth more than Beyonce’s entire career. Yes, the world has completely lost its mind. Or perhaps not.

It seems the Metaverse, along with NFTs, has given birth to a different form of investment. Similar to stocks, investors are buying tokens with the expectation that their value will appreciate and that they’ll be able to re-sell them for a profit. Of course, this is the lowest level of NFT involvement and requires nothing but a digital wallet and a couple hundred dollars (maybe more than a couple).

So, the big question remains: is this a bubble? Perhaps, but one thing is sure, there is money to be made until it bursts.

 

Graphics by James Fay

Categories
Opinions

The death of an important Canadian white of passage?

There’s snow way Canadian childhood will be the same without snow days.

I’m in elementary school. All day I’ve heard whispers from the adults that tomorrow there might be a huge snowstorm.

My exhilaration is palpable. In class, I dream about traipsing through deep snow and making maple syrup taffy in the backyard, leaving the stresses of the third grade behind for a day.

As I got older, I even heard rumours of a ‘SnowDayPredictor’ that some would refresh frantically and announce the odds to their peers.

Before I go to sleep, I stare out my window, willing the snow to fall in copious amounts, silencing the city with a thick white blanket.

The next morning, I’m too wired with excitement. I wake up early and glance outside. Sure enough, the snow has piled up to at least knee height, and my mom urges me to go back to sleep — school is cancelled. It’s a snow day!

As a born-and-raised Montrealer, snow days are an integral part of my fondest winter memories. There’s nothing like waking up and realizing you have the day off to spend outside, frolicking in fluffy powder and cozying up with a warm hot chocolate when you come back inside (or spending the entire day inside, staying warm!).

But with new possibilities for online school thanks to the pandemic, are my beloved snow days a thing of the past? On the Jan. 16 snow day, 10 Montreal schools opted for Zoom learning instead of giving students the day off to enjoy the winter wonderland.

It’s ridiculous. Blasphemy. Absurdity.

I firmly believe that snow days should remain in practice in spite of the option to hold school online when excessive snow makes travelling to school difficult.

In addition to the pure fun and the creation of core memories that snow days bring, taking a spontaneous day off school does wonders for one’s mental health.

In our often-too-busy lives, snow days offer us the time to relax, recharge, and enjoy our surroundings, without having to feel guilty for missing out on being productive.

“Where I come from, some days it’s like 40 degrees,” said Concordia student Zina Chouaibi. She grew up in Algeria and moved to Montreal at age 11. “We [didn’t] take days off. Even if the sun [was] burning,” she explained, noting that her first snow day here was quite a shock, but very exciting.

Still, Chouaibi sees the benefit in snow days, particularly for younger people. “My sister does a lot of Zooms now. And it’s sad because she [spends] most of the time now inside rather than outside.”

A 2020 study from the International Journal of Behavioral Nutrition and Physical Activity found that only 4.8 per cent of children and 0.6 per cent of the youth surveyed were meeting movement behaviour guidelines during COVID-19 restrictions. More than ever, children can use time away from their screens to enjoy the outdoors, making the need for snow days even more apparent.

Taking these much-needed breaks isn’t only necessary for kids and teenagers — these so-called “mental health days” reduce burnout in adults as well.

That being said, even if snow days become obsolete, I’ve been known to create my own. When there’s a decent snowfall in the Laurentians or the Eastern Townships, I suddenly fall ill with mogulitis, a near deadly self-coined disease that can only be cured by playing hooky and driving to the mountains for a day of skiing.

But mogulitis isn’t really about skiing, it’s more about reconnecting with nature, taking time for myself, and appreciating the beauty of Canadian winter (before it turns to brown slush). So even if snow days become a thing of the past, I urge you to fall back on mogulitis — but hopefully it won’t come to that.

 

Archive Picture from Talia Kliot

Categories
Opinions

My Strange Obsession – LEGO

Reconnecting with my childhood through a toy I always wanted

Growing up, I moved a lot. Not just houses, continents.

This may sound like I’m trying to brag, but in this context, it’s no such thing of the sort. Moving around meant LEGO bricks were the most inconvenient toy ever.

By the time I was five-years-old, my parents had learned that my sister and I were unable to keep a build together for longer than a few months, rendering the colourful blocks into sharp mounds of clunky rectangles.

I never lacked toys – I know I was lucky in that sense. But a part of me always knew LEGO and I had a forbidden love story, destined to happen and blow up all over my life.

And now, it has.

LEGO has taken over my social media feeds, my YouTube recommendations, even my relationship. My partner and I have adjusted our nightly routine to reflect the new change – we now watch videos of people building massive and expensive lego sets, reviewing all the fun playing features.

I don’t know what exactly it is about the building block – maybe the satisfaction I feel when two pieces fit perfectly together, to create a seamless and entirely new object.

Or maybe the feeling of accomplishment from seeing the finished product of a set that once started out as bags of what looked like confetti.

Could even be the childlike playfulness the toy brings out in me, imagining the different scenarios I could play out in my own little pretend world, making the mini-figures speak in funny voices…

Either way, it’s not a hobby I can easily delve into… not to mention it would cost me some serious money.

LEGO might be most commonly known as a children’s toy, but there is an entirely different “LEGO” world for adults, too. One that is expensive, filled with intricate architectural models, scenes from movie franchises, and creative objects such as flower bouquets or even globes.

My long-lost LEGO love found me one night when my partner unsuspectingly pulled out the LEGO Paris Architecture set, retailed at $70-$80. A tiny, innocent-looking box sparked this weeks-long obsession.

The evening was quite quaint, the two of us silently squatting on the floor sorting LEGO pieces into neat piles only to rummage through them when looking through the instruction manual.

Once we had completed the set – a total of 649 pieces and approximately five hours – we sat, content, observing our creation, now in awe of what had come from those mismatched pieces in the small, innocent box.

The next morning, we pulled out a 10-year-old un-assembled LEGO set from my partner’s basement storage closet. It was one of the big boxes. The ones you see on the shelves at the store that your parents would never buy for you. Over 2,000 pieces.

I haven’t felt pure excitement over a toy in a long time. But now, with my new LEGO obsession, I’m hoping I will continue to honour my inner child’s wildest dreams.

 

Graphic by James Fay

Categories
Opinions

What makes Molotov cocktails on a weekday night worthy for a journalist?

In the pursuit of finding the answer to journalistic woes, I was reminded why I am here

Patricia Mukhim, an investigative journalist and the editor of The Shillong Times was greeted with a gasoline-filled Molotov cocktail at her house on April 17, 2018 in Meghalaya, India. She had been reporting on illegal limestone mining in the northeastern hilly state with a fragile ecosystem.

Raman Kashyap, a freelance investigative journalist at Sadhana TV, Uttar Pradesh, India, was at first declared missing and later found dead on Oct. 4, 2021. He was covering the ongoing farmer protests where a vehicle of an official allegedly ran over protesters.

I could have brushed these examples off as anomalies in the vast profession that is journalism. But the stats didn’t support me either. In Reporters Without Borders’s 2021 World Press Freedom Index that ranks nations according to their press freedom and safe reporting laws, India ranked 142 among 180 countries. This calls out a crisis in Indian journalism, the very crisis I decided to be a part of.

These events and stats made it really hard for me to convince my dad to fund my journalistic interests. Like any Indian father, he too was religiously following the loud news debates, atrocious insensitive headlines, clickbait thumbnails and shameful coverage of what is now merely labelled news. He politely asked me to choose something else to pursue.

When I first shared my intentions to still pursue journalism, the immediate response was a shocking “Why?” followed by a big “No.” My loved ones were worried about my safety — and it was a valid fear. They knew I would be too ambitious to cover a mere puff piece instead of a scandal. Thankfully, I convinced them.

Once travel restrictions around the world were lifted, I flew thousands of kilometres from Hyderabad, India to Montreal to study journalism. I hoped that it would give me a global perspective on the respected profession.

Soon after arriving, I luckily came across an investigative article by Ricochet Media, which reported on police brutality in Montreal against student journalists during a protest. The Canadian Association of Journalists also published a press release condemning multiple attacks on journalists and reporters covering protests in Montreal and Quebec City. They requested police to take action against the attackers.

What I learned from instances like this is that the world views journalists and our profession as something to be restricted, disrespected, and controlled with an iron hand no matter the continent.

Why do these journalists keep going back to the field, back to their newsrooms, back to reporting and investigating just to be shoved around, arrested and even killed? Why am I still here writing for newspapers and looking for events to report on? It is because journalism is a powerful profession — one that I want to be a part of.

My presence as a media person suddenly made people around me self-aware of what they said and did. That was something to take pride in. It’s crazy to think that I, a student journalist who just started her classes, am already making people nervous. It was this power of journalism that still drives me and convinced my loved ones to support me.

Journalism is founded on the efforts made to seek the truth, and I believe that the profession derives its power from this truth.

Truth-seeking is also one of the founding pillars of freedom of the press. In the same way, the makers of the Indian Constitution included freedom of speech and expression as some of the fundamental rights for its citizens, with a few press or media exceptions.

But where do we draw the line in our reporting, when it doesn’t guarantee complete truth?

Some journalists get hit with death threats and “sedition” cases for digging deep or getting closer to a hidden truth. However, those who spread and propagate falsified truths remain unaffected.

The reason behind those who benefit from fabricating truth being unharmed is complex. When the truth is being weaponized, fabricated and projected from behind a shroud of imagined righteousness, those holding the weapon are not harmed, nor those who fixed the targets. I could be at the right place trying to debunk false news at the wrong time and become an easy target in this chaos. Now, I understand the collective concern and worry my friends and family had for me and my professional choices.

In the wake of all this, what is journalism fighting for? For the truth that is losing its sanctity? For righteousness that is constantly maligned? For an ultimate value that can never be achieved? No. Journalism fights for change.

Mukhim’s reporting moved the local government to make amendments to licensing limestone mining. This was a partial win as the illegal and environmentally harmful extraction of the locally abundant material hasn’t stopped. But neither will she.

Efforts of journalists like Kashyap, along with many local farmers, enabled change. They covered different angles of the farming laws, collected reasons for the dissent, debunked fake rumours for over a year, and finally led the government to annul the new farming laws.

Hope that change can be achieved, even in part, pushes journalists to keep going against the odds. It inspires young journalists like me to take up this profession so that in every article I write, I am able to push the wheel of change, one millimetre at a time.

It is great to witness journalism striving for noticeable changes and generating value for itself by overcoming the negative effects of the actions of some of its own, seeking truth, and hopefully being safe to practice. Until then, cheers to Molotov cocktails on weekday nights.

 

Photo by Christine Beaudoin

Categories
Opinions

My strange obsession: Day in My Life Vlogs

No Danielle-like-and-subscribe-buy-my-merch, it’s a day in MY life (I wish)

The extreme close-up of espresso dripping down into a marble mug.

The lo-fi beats shimmering over aesthetically pleasing B-roll footage of candles being lit, coffee being sipped, and hydro flasks being filled.

The La Croix-stocked fridge.

Let’s not forget about the eloquently lit bathroom consisting of The Ordinary skincare products, guasha stones, and eucalyptus hanging over a rainshower.

Hi. My name is Mélina and I have a slight obsession with “Day In My Life” vlogs.

There’s something about watching people on YouTube go through their days doing supposedly productive and wholesome things that just… gets me. From the morning coffee, to the seven-step skincare routine, to the weekly trip to the Village Juicery, I want it all.

When I open a video and see that it’s more than 10 minutes long, I know it’s going to be a good day for me. The truth is, I usually end up watching these videos for inspiration hoping they will encourage me to at least try to have a YouTuber-esque day in my life as well.

A day that is worthy of being accompanied by lo-fi beats as I film myself sipping an oat milk latte in my Barefoot Dreams robe, sitting on a white fluffy couch next to a perfectly manicured tall plant.

These YouTubers fill me with a different sense of “put-togetherness” that I haven’t quite felt before. At the same time, they also remind me that I should probably be getting to tasks that I’m avoiding, which is usually the case.

Through watching these vlogs, I too feel I am living the seemingly perfect life I get to witness through my laptop screen. Only in a less trendy, less glamorous, but equally caffeinated sort of way.

I may not be living out my life in a high rise apartment in New York City, grabbing expensive brunches with the gals, and reading spicy books by Colleen Hoover under fairy lights in a low-key type of coffee shop in Brooklyn, but I’m still living my best life.

However, if there’s one thing that these videos have taught me it is the absolute therapeutic pleasure of perfecting a skincare routine.

This has to be my favourite part.

Sometimes, I’ll stand in front of the mirror with my headband on, hair tied back, and snuggled in my bathrobe and recite my entire skincare routine, step-by-step. I do the whole shabang in a very “Harper’s Bazaar get unready with me” type of style.

I start with a classic, “Hey Guys! So I’ll be running you through how I take care of my skin…” and then go on to describe the benefits of each of the products I’m using each step of the way. I even do a little smize and shimmy in between steps, just to make myself FEEL like a real YouTuber.

The only people truly witnessing my routine are my cats, who like the warm bathroom floor.

You’re lying to yourself  if you’re reading this and thinking, “That’s weird I would never do that.” I know who you really are and you can’t hide from me.

Bottom line is that “Day in My Life” vlogs keep me sane these days, sort of. They’re that extra sprinkle that make my days better.

I’m not an influencer (if you didn’t catch that already). I know I can’t afford most of the things that they have or do.

In the words of Miss Ariana Grande: “I see it, I like it, I want it, I [don’t] got it.”

 

Graphic by James Fay

Categories
Opinions Student Life

Can’t Handle The Cringe?

A look into silly handles from childhood and growing up with the internet

The year is 2010. Nine-year-old me has spent a few weeks eyeing the prospect of a Gmail account to chat with my friends. Wary of the dangers of the internet, my mom finally acquiesced, and sat with me as I created my account.

We sat there together, filling out all the necessary information — when I’d normally be yawning over the boring stuff, I was squirming in my seat, eager to choose my handle. I knew it had to be something fun, exciting, and quintessentially me. So, naturally, I pondered it with great concern.

I leafed through my address book from summer camp, looking for inspiration, when I came across an email handle that caught my eye immediately — “thepicklequeen.”

While I didn’t (and still don’t) like pickles, I knew that this was the path I wanted to take with my email, given my overwhelming, overpowering, and intense obsession with chocolate. My handle would be “thechocolatequeen.” It is the perfect encapsulation of who I am. Plus, it has a nice ring to it.

As I typed that into the server, I was appalled to find out that someone else had the same brilliant idea as me. I considered trying to reach them and have a chocolate eating contest to settle who was the real Chocolate Queen. But, as a nine-year-old, I realized that I might not have as big of an appetite as the person defending the title, and couldn’t stomach the thought of that crushing defeat.

I did what any kid would have done at that moment. I added my birthday to the end of the aforementioned handle, and thus, my beloved, silly email address was born.

From then on, “thechocolatequeen” was my identifying handle on the internet. It even had a brief stint as my Instagram handle. I should honestly change it back.

As much as it pains me, I now only use “thechocolatequeen” for promo emails and correspondences with old friends and family. But, looking back, I miss the unapologetic silliness that it conveyed, and decided to look into the slightly cringe elementary school email trend and how it’s progressed now that it’s 2022.

I used my Instagram story to find other silly email fiends, and their handles and stories did not disappoint.

Samantha Stermer made her handle around 2009, opting for one that didn’t reveal her full name at her father’s request due to safety concerns. She explained that as a kid, she was always climbing things. Fittingly, her nickname became “monkey,” so she decided to tack on her birthday and make that her handle.

“It was such a pain when I got older and had to figure out how to swap everything,” she said,  noting that in high school, if anyone had seen it, she would have been “mortified.”

Now, she has a more professional handle, but “monkey” remains her handle on iCloud. She finds it hilarious that when texting people on a recent trip to Portugal, the messages were coming from that account.

Sarah Lotfi, better known as “wdwfanatic,” created that handle in grade four or five, when her Walt Disney World phase was in full swing.

She explained that though she only uses this account for promos now, she still identifies with her younger self, and is a self-proclaimed “Disney adult.” While she fell out of this phase for a bit, she said that she spent lots of time during quarantine watching videos about Disney secrets. “It’s cool that I came back to myself,” she said.

Like many of us, when Lotfi started CEGEP, she realized that she needed to create a more professional account, but wasn’t happy about it. “I don’t want an email with my name in it,” she said. “That’s so boring.”

Lotfi laments that her name is often misspelled. “We wouldn’t have this problem if I was just the Walt Disney World fanatic, you know?”

In her opinion, we could all use a little more fun and self-expression in our emails. “Everything is so sanitized and so ‘LinkedIn.’ I hate that.”

I suggest a revolution where we revert back to our silly handles. Who needs a job? If they don’t want me as the Chocolate Queen, they won’t be getting me as anything else. I mean it.  At some point, they’ll have to notice the copious amount of chocolate wrappers in the work garbage cans.

In all seriousness, it’s very interesting to watch the shift in ways in which internet safety has changed as we’ve grown up.

“It’s weird that we used to protect ourselves by pretending we weren’t ourselves on the internet,” said Stermer. “Now, we are ourselves but we have to kinda change ourselves a little bit, and filter what part of ourselves [show] through.”

For better or for worse, as adults, the internet is now a place for real names and creating profiles that make us professional and employable. Or maybe that’s just a part of growing up. Either way, it’s important not to lose sight of what makes us who we are — whether it be monkeys, Disney World fanatics, or chocolate queens.

 

Graphic by Madeline Schmidt

Categories
Opinions Student Life

Is it really that rewarding to be a winter athlete?

Laurie-Anne Palin/The Concordian

The real motivation behind going out in the cold

There are many ways to enjoy the outdoors during wintertime.

Of course, it all depends on the climate that you live in. How cold does it get? Do you have snow, ice? Or is it more of a mild winter temperature, where you get the occasional snow, but wearing heavy-duty winter gear isn’t a necessity to get your groceries?

Either way, there’s a lot you can do.

But is being outside in freezing cold weather really what our hearts desire? Or are we just trying to fit into the wishful image of a winter-loving well-rounded human being?

Most of us hate winter — it is a time reserved for the holidays, followed by a three-month hibernation. Maybe you’ll go outside once a day for a smoke, or perhaps a cup of coffee, but most of us make use of the extra dark hours of the day to binge-watch our favourite TV shows and eat lasagna.

Say you do want to go outside; what do you want to do? It all depends on access. In Montreal, it’s possible the best you can do is the Mont-Royal — not a bad spot. You see, when you live in the city, getting out to the wilderness to breathe fresh air and fall into fresh powdery snow is difficult, and a lot of the time expensive.

First, you gotta get out of town. Unless you have a car, you have to take a bus or a shuttle, but the bus may drop you off at a random gas station on the side of the highway. Nice.

Next, you need equipment. Whether you want to do alpine skiing, cross-country, or just some snowshoeing, you either need to carry it with you all the way to your destination, or you need to rent — expect to spend $40-50 per person. Finally, you need to make sure you have a suitable backpack to carry your food, extra layers, and water bottle, and don’t forget a good winter jacket on top of a breathable base layer of clothing.

Just writing all that down was exhausting.

But new sports and new ways to explore the outdoors keep popping up, and apparently, there is some real interest in winter sports.

Recently, a faction of alpine skiers is reigniting the interest in an old sport with its debut tied to medieval Norwegian traditions: alpine touring.

Now, strap on spikey “skins” to the back of your skis, and invest a couple thousand dollars on a new pair of “walking ski boots” (some claim they are comfortable, I have a hard time believing that), and climb up any mountain you desire!

Not exactly, but you get the idea.

In all honesty, I think I am just jealous of those who have the means and the time to invest themselves in outdoor sports like these. Right now, all I crave is to witness the silence of a snow-covered forest, and the void of a mountain valley.

But, you know, whatever. I’ll just keep being bitter from the comfort of my home, wasting away looking out of my window into the world, instead of living in it.

 

Photo by Laurie-Anne Palin

Categories
Opinions

Flying off the shelves — the love for Squishmallows

One year later, let’s take a look at our plushie obsession

Last winter, it was hard to come by the squish.

I scoured the shelves of any Walmart I came across looking for a rare squish, even following stores on social media to know when they would come back in stock.

Yes, it may be a little shameful to admit that is how I spend my time, but I love the soft, squishy plushies. They come equipped with a name and a small description of what their aspirations are, and can become your fluffy best friend.

Although, now I find myself asking, where the hell am I gonna put all these damn Squishmallows? 

This all began when my partner’s mom innocently gifted me Tally the Tabby Cat, one of the original Squishmallows. Within a few months, I was obsessively placing my many squish on my bed every morning.

Maddie Laxer, a fellow squish-enthusiast, had a similar experience. After receiving a squish as a gift from her bestie, she suddenly found herself immersed in the world of round fluffy friends. “It just turned into such a fun thing, trying to find all these little animals.”

After all, the hunt is half the fun.

After finding fame on TikTok, Squishmallows became virtually impossible to find in stores. Not only were me, my cousin, and my cousin’s friend all looking for them, but a slew of resellers appeared out of the woodwork, driving up the price of our round furry friends online and in stores. All of a sudden they were not only hard to find, but they were exclusive.

That’s when things got interesting. It became a real hunt, searching for the cutest companion for the best price (the big squishies retail for $20-25, pretty reasonable in my opinion). “You never know when they’re sort of gonna pop up,” said Maddie.

Although she occasionally went out on hunts herself, Maddie’s mom was the main culprit responsible for her daughter’s Squishmallow collection. “It sort of turned into a fun little, like, activity with me and my mom,” explained Maddie.

Last year, as outings were limited to essentials only, and many of us weren’t able to go out to browse for fun anymore, Maddie’s mom would utilize her weekly trips to Winners to hunt for squish. She would send photos of neatly stacked rows of them to her daughter, asking which one would best suit her collection. “She started going out of her way every time to be at Winners trying to see which ones were there.”

Squishmallows aren’t just useful for cuddling and staying cozy, they also help to build a community, and helped some to stay connected during a long lockdown.

Much of the content posted on social media showed us how friends and family of Squishmallow enthusiasts would get in on the fun of the hunt. Often accompanied by captions such as, my grandpa found me the cutest squish today! or get yourself a boyfriend who hunts squishmallows with you.

In a time where — and I don’t have to remind you of this — the air felt tense, everyone was locked inside and forced to face the realities of a global pandemic, maybe we all needed a furry friend to rely on.

Teddy bears and plushies were a huge part of our childhood. A recent study found that four in 10 Americans still find comfort in their childhood stuffed animals. So it’s not so surprising young adults have taken an interest in this new plushie craze.

In the ‘90s it was Beanie Babies, now it’s Squishmallows.

But, I will reiterate: what the hell am I supposed to do with the mountain of stuffed animals I have in my small Montreal apartment?

I’ve shoved a substantial amount of my collection up on a shelf I can’t reach without the help of a chair. But still, a select few stay on my bed, desk chair, and couch at all times. I find it fun to switch them out depending on my mood. For example, I currently have Dawn the Fawn out, since she’s a winter-themed squish. Fitting for the recent snow, and cold weather.

But there are other solutions if you wish to get rid of them entirely. I’d recommend finding a toy drive to donate to, or even a thrift store with a large toy section. Maybe you have a relative that just had a baby.

Regardless of where the squish ends up, they will always hold a special place in my heart. Not only did they single-handedly throw me back into childhood, but they also represent my biggest financial shame… don’t tell my parents.

 

Photo collage by Catherine Reynolds

Categories
Opinions

Where should you eat now that we’re in lockdown (again)

My guide to ordering good food in Montreal

Let me save you some time: when ordering in, the easy way out is always Dominos. When in doubt, you can always count on their thin crust pizza to be edible.

Personally, I like to be a little more adventurous when I scour UberEats and SkiptheDishes. If I’m gonna spend at least $13 on service fees, tax and delivery, I will make sure the meal is worth it. And so over the past two years (yes, it’s really almost been two years), I have discovered a few gems worth checking out.

Three different price categories will make it oh-so-easy for you to navigate this guide to ordering in  our third… or fourth? Maybe even the fifth lockdown.

 

PRICEPOINT — cheap-ish

For those who still eat meat (such as myself, as much as I hate to admit it), Cantine Emilia is the perfect spot to satisfy your Portuguese craving.

Their delicious roasted chicken is cooked and served in a spicy and acidic fiery red sauce — and you can pick what level of spice you can handle. Sides such as light and yummy green salad, rice, and obviously fries are available for your liking. In my experience, they tend to be generous with the portions. The spicy mayo that comes on the side (as an extra) puts A&W’s spicy mayo to shame; you can also find the sauce-slathered onto one of their chicken sandwiches.

Lastly, my favourite part, the natas. Please, do yourself a favour and heat those babies up in the oven, sprinkled with a little sea salt before eating.

Five different locations around the Island of Montreal make it so you can order from wherever you reside — no excuses.

 

PRICEPOINT — medium

For a slightly more expensive option, Mont Everest Masala is a great place for some delicious Indian food. The way I see it, ordering Indian food is an investment: it may be a little more expensive than what you’re ready to spend, but you will have delicious leftovers for days.

You can go the “safe route” and order butter chicken, basmati rice and naan, but why not try something different? Go for some lamb korma, palak or shahi paneer, and even some yummy mixed vegetables.

I always order extra naan and make my own rice to save cost (never enough rice in my opinion), but if you have pitas or even some frozen naan, that’ll do the trick to help u save even more!

 

PRICEPOINT — hard

Obviously, if you are gonna treat yourself, the meal to order is sushi. Cheap sushi is a miss, but good sushi is a MUST.

SOZO Sushi, located next to Metro Mont-Royal or in Saint-Leonard, is a delicious treat you can afford maybe once a semester. Why not surprise yourself and get an assortment of random sashimi and nigiri?

Even if that order doesn’t float your boat, then this place will be sure to have at least one roll to satisfy your belly. The portions are generous, and worth the cost (5 futomaki per order, 6 hosomaki per order, and 8 maki per order).

One thing I really appreciate from this establishment is the rice. Unlike most sushi shops, the rice at SOZO is nicely seasoned, not too wet, and served at the perfect temperature. Rice that is too gummy or falls apart at the touch is so unpleasant, but the worst is ice-cold rice. The rice should be room temperature, stuck together but still distinct individual grains.

Just remember — even if it may be unaffordable for must of us to order everynight, but it’s okay to indulge sometimes… right?

To help save on some of the delivery costs, maybe walk to the location to pick up your food rather than going through an app, or make it a point to try the restaurants within a six-block radius. Save some money and help your favourite restaurant make more money by disregarding a thirst party app.

But don’t worry, ça va bien aller. 

 

Graphics by @sundaeghost

Exit mobile version