Alice wonders, but this is no wonderland, I wondered.

As I laid in bed this morning, watching my third episode of October Road (a show I do not recommend, here I am watching it anyways), I felt a tension building up in my head. Could it be?

I fear, dear reader, that I have a cold. Now, before you start getting upset, stressed, fearful and worried, I am okay. I will be okay. Part of me knew this was coming because I caught myself having a conversation in my head where I complimented my immune system for being so powerful. Of course, I didn’t knock on wood. Too late now.

Plus, on Friday night instead of going out, Alienor told me a story. I had just predicted her future and it was now her turn to predict mine. I won’t get into the details, but it involved her descent into a deep illness. In the story, I sat beside her, warm washcloth in hand, and tended to my ailing roommate. Time passed, and she got weaker and weaker. Before either of us knew it, I began showing symptoms as well. Alienor killed her own character, and I quickly followed suit.

This story was in the back of my mind as I made my way to the kitchen.

My morning passed as I had fleeting conversations with Charlie, Jaimie and then Alienor. It was similar to what I imagine happens in the book As I Lay Dying, although I’ve never read it.

I opened the freezer to retrieve my bread and was met with a deeply unsettling feeling in my stomach. This was to be expected, it’s been occurring ever since we put the dead mouse from our apartment floor into a yogurt container and then onto the freezer shelf.

I sat in my chair at the head of the table (to assert my dominance - I got bullied for getting beta in the male archetype quiz, and it was getting to me)   I begun drinking my Emergen-C and watched as people entered and left the kitchen.

I am a complainer by nature, so it didn’t take long for me to alert my roommates to this “cold.”

Much to my surprise, instead of breaking out into sympathetic tears, Alienor told me she felt slightly sick as well. (Well, she says she doesn’t get sick; she’s going through a new life phase).

The connection to the story from Friday didn’t escape either of our minds. Did she predict something? Was her interpretation of my future correct? I’ve yet to find an answer to these questions.

Until then, I’ve settled for alerting the rest of you to this cold, trying to dissuade you from complimenting your own immune systems. It always ends in regret.

Tourism and My Middle School Experience

On my way to my home away from home, Port Authority Bus Terminal, I decided to take the scenic route and walk from the F on 42nd. Walking up to eighth avenue, to no surprise I marched alongside tourists.

Tourists, with their smart shoes, selfie sticks and little backpacks. Tourists, with their most “New York” outfits on to blend in and a glimmer of hope in their eye. For those of them with earbuds on, I imagined them to be listening to New York, New York, the Glee version.

If you scroll long enough on reels, you’ll probably encounter a recent New York resident, complaining about tourists. Still, as someone who’s grown up here, I love them.

One guy had his selfie stick up loud and proud, on the longest setting. He wasn’t filming himself, but instead the times square ambiance. Now, I’m not really sure why he needed the selfie stick for this because he wasn’t holding it higher, just further from his body, so the angle wouldn’t be that different from if he chose to film the buildings with the phone in his hand. However, as someone whose always wanted an excuse to own a selfie stick, I get it. More than for the practicality, it’s for the feeling, the power, the experience.

As I looked closer, wanting to see if I approved of his composition, I noticed he was on Facebook live.

I love to see people on live. I know some still do it all the time (other than celebrities), but it still makes me nostalgic for when the feature first debuted. I’ll forever remember the first few months - I know for a fact I was in the seventh grade.

I was at Celeste’s house, shoutout, and convinced her to do a live with me on my phone in hopes my crush of the year would join. I was thinking back on it, trying to remember if he joined after all, but I can’t remember. That’s a lie, he did. What can I say? I had an impact.

I think it was short lived, though, because being on live (and watching them) was exceedingly boring.

I’m sure I had like three viewers, but that memory might have been the first time I felt fame hungry (a foreshadow of this blog?). I’ve had many more moments of this since, some more embarrassing than others. Pretty much whenever I join a new social media, actually, I secretly (or not so secretly) hope I’ll go viral.

If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I could handle the fame. I recently redownloaded tiktok, inspired to make content, and I could barely take three followers without freezing up. (Barely is a stretch, I removed them once again and I’m back to zero).

42 street also brought me back to a year later, in eighth grade. I know Beacon* isn’t exactly in the area, but being around Times Square always reminds me of my interview there. The other kid with me wrote his essay about The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost, I think comparing it to his piano career or something geeky like that. (Just salty cause I got rejected - although, sorry Sarah, so glad I didn’t go there). I wonder if he knows how much he affected the trajectory of my life, because I quote that poem at least once a week. I do think it’s because of him, because usually when people talk about poets I tune out. Except, of course, when I can’t.

*for my non New York readers, Beacon is a high school.

My Lord and Saviour, JC (James Charles)

I remember exactly where I was when it happened. It was a spring day in 2019, I had just parked my car in the mall parking lot (The Oshawa Centre in Oshawa, Ontario, Canada to be specific). I picked up my phone, thinking I would just briefly check it before heading on in to do my shopping. When I unlocked my phone it opened automatically to the Instagram app and, unbeknownst to me, the post at the top of the feed would completely change the trajectory of my day. It was a screenshot of a youtube video. The thumbnail: a woman I immediately recognize as none other than widely beloved MUA Tati Westbrook, the title: two words, all caps, BYE SISTER. I was taken aback —flabbergasted even— I thought to myself, there's no way this is real. I closed the instagram app with a combination of intense ferocity and child-like glee. Hands shaking, I carefully typed the words "bye sister" into the youtube search bar. There it was. Posted 2 minutes ago.

I propped up my phone on the car dashboard, connected the audio to the car speakers, pressed play, and sat back —ready to take it all in. I had no idea what I was about to watch, but I knew it was going to require my full attention. That's right, I sat in my car in a mall parking lot for 43 minutes watching a video where an adult woman (37, she was Thirty Seven) accuses a 19 year old boy of being a power hungry charlatan and sexual miscreant all because he posted one instagram story ad for a rival to her vitamin company. And guess what? I enjoyed every last minute of it. I revelled in the pure spectacle of it, the complete absurdity —I was nourished by the melodrama. It didn't just stop with the video, I perused #JamesCharlesIsOverParty on twitter for days, I watched every single tea spill video; I was, what some people might call, "obsessed".

I guess it is important to clarify that I have a bit of a history with the beauty community on youtube. From ages 11-13 I watched makeup tutorials like they were gospel. Now, I was initially going to make a joke like "and James Charles was my Jesus Christ", but I can't bring myself to deceive you dear reader, truthfully I was never a big fan of his makeup tutorials (I mean have you seen what his eyebrows used to look like). But that does not mean that I wasn't well acquainted with his existence far before that fateful spring day in 2019.

It is also important to clarify that in 2019 I was 16 years old, I had been free from the clutches of sculpted eyebrows, cut creases, and shamelessly undisclosed product ads for quite some time. So I'm sure you're wondering why this video had such a powerful impact on me. A big part of it was definitely nostalgia for my bygone MUA days, but truthfully the main reason I was so captivated is my profound, completely intellectual —some might even say metaphysical— love for gossip.

I will be the first to admit that I love gossip. I am tired of the shame that society tries to force upon me regarding my unabashed appreciation. There isn't a doubt in my mind that the vast majority of the population loves gossip just as much as I do, but rather than claim it proudly, they hide it under covert layers of sophistication. I have a really great example of this, but first I have to make an unfortunate confession to all those reading who don't know me. I (to the scrutiny of almost everyone I meet) am a political science major. Political science as a field is what I like to call "high brow gossip". People go into the field of political science so that they say, "Hey did you hear US Congressman George Santos claimed his mom was a 9/11 survivor even though she was actually living in Brazil at the time. Oh also pictures of him in drag were just released!" and get to claim that this incredibly juicy piece of gossip is actually just legitimate, dignified political discourse. (My reference was initially going to be about former mayor of Toronto, Rob Ford (RIP), who was caught doing crack after vehemently denying it for years, but I know that this is a primarily American audience and I don't want to isolate my reader).

Gossip, whether you like it or not, has legitimate healing, unifying power. Have you ever experienced the mind-numbing agony of being on hour 2 of an 8 hour minimum wage shift with that one coworker you just can't get along with? You've already run through the cursory niceties (weather, length of shift, weekend plans) and it seems like all hope is lost until, out of nowhere, they drop a saving grace: "did you hear what [insert name of coworker who no one likes] did the other day?" or "you're never going to guess what this crazy customer said to me". Immediately, the conversation is flowing, there's a palpable excitement in the air. Love of gossip is universal. It permeates all personal differences. You may have nothing in common with that one coworker, but in that moment, you are spiritually linked by the act of gossiping.

Now this brings me back to the paradigm shift that was "BYE SISTER". This was by no means the first major drama to happen in the beauty community and yet somehow it broke into the mainstream. The way people from all walks of life dropped everything to weigh in on this completely absurd spectacle should be studied by historians (and I will proudly lead that charge if necessary). Now I have to say, in principle, I do not necessarily agree with internet-wide witch hunts. However, overlooking trivial things like "morality" and "integrity", you have to admit the way the entire internet united over something that, underneath all the layers of theatrics, was so incredibly banal, is just truly fascinating. I firmly believe that there is a profound, morbid beauty in the act of gossiping and for that reason, I will never let anyone make me feel ashamed about my unwavering devotion to drama.

Thank you to the lovely Violet, for allowing me —an amateur/up and coming blogger— to have a taste of the big leagues. If you like what you just read, check out my newly released blog: Miss World.

-MW