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

Trailways Terminator

Today was a crazy day. I decided to skip all my classes because my bus was at 10pm and I didn’t want to cut it too close. (My classes were from 1 to 4, so you can understand where I was coming from). So, to deal with the stress from that and our once again malfunctioning dishwasher, I took a mental health day.

The mental health day started off strong, I “preserved my peace” by finally getting back into my old TikTok. I made an emotional video about our dishwasher to Let You Down by NF to cope, which helped me a little. I then spent an hour watching my old videos and laughing.

I continued my morning by sitting at my kitchen table. I scrolled for a bit on instagram, albeit it uninvested when I saw a reel about the bedbug infestation ailing Paris. I jumped from my seat, quick to rush to Alienor’s side - I hoped to provide her comfort she needed and deserved in these trying times. As an empath, I shed a few tears before moving on with my morning.

I was so wrapped up in being such a caretaker that I didn’t even realize they have taken MY city, New York, as well.

This, believe it or not, was not the only instance of critters overtaking my safe space today. A few hours later, I was Alone in the house. As usual when I’m by myself, I was on guard, alert to any mysterious noises.

I’ve always had gas stoves, but my apartment this year is electric. I’ve found this journey to be exciting, as I love learning. I’ve been told by many I’m inquisitive by nature.

I sat at the kitchen table, eating my dinner, running through the list of things I’d packed and the things I would need to bring back to Canada.

All of a sudden, my ears perked up. There was a rattling noise coming from the stove. Of course, as I mentioned, I wouldn’t hesitate to compare myself to a modern Sherlock Holmes. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the stove was off, which crossed my first hypothesis of a burner heating up off the list.

I got closer to the stove, not sure what I was looking for. It took me a second, but I realized the mysterious grey line along the side of the burner was a tail. So we meet again, dear mouse.

My first instinct, naturally, was to do my best cat impression and make a hissing noise. The mouse was unmoved by this, and the tail stayed. I banged my hand against the top of the stove, and she retreated into her cave. I sat back down, and my heart rate returned to normal.

I continued my dinner, and a mere five minutes later, BAM. She was back. Bobby McGee and me. I was Tom and she was Jerry. We played the game of cat and mouse a few more times, and then I heard the creak of the front door, a sound much like the flapping of angels wings. Alienor and Jaimie had returned, and the mouse took her leave for the night. Sleep tight sweet Angel.

An hour or so later, it was time for me to set sail on the rocky seas of the west and begin my pilgrimage to Brooklyn.

My trip to 1717 rue Berri, the glamorous and famed bus station was nothing short of rocky.

The man beside me on the 80 kept calling me a slut - as I tuned him out, staring at the woman in front of me’s knee, I wondered why? I was wearing pants and a t-shirt. Then, as if the clouds parted above me, I realized - it was probably my Patagonia backpack. I’ve heard red is a slutty color, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve experienced envy at the hands of this bag - jealousy comes out in cruel ways.

Also, I was thinking my hair dried differently than usual - maybe he was saying I looked like Lindsay Bluth from the episode of arrested development where she visits her George Bluth in Jail. I hope this was the case, then in real life I could be married to Ellen. Dreamy!!

A transfer and short walk later, it happened. I had arrived. Rue Berri!! How I had missed her fluorescent lighting. We lined up almost immediately, and as I settled into the bus, GASP. The chargers didn’t work. It felt like a knife to the throat. I crumbled to the ground and let out a wail. Gone were the days of me blogging- me playing sudoku. Gone, before they would even begin. Me, living alongside all of the tragic love stories of the past. Me, Romeo, Juliet. I threw my fist into the ground as I mumbled, Et Tu, Brute?

(Caesar had a tea for lunch and Brutus ate a rat. This one’s for my Latin language lovers. Rawrrrr).

I laid on the floor for what felt like hours, shrieking, and much to my dismay, no one gave me a second glance. So this is what heartbreak feels like?

I shook my head as I rummaged through my bag and realized I forgot my slam poetry book - the greatest art comes from the greatest pain.

Luckily enough, the lady beside me asked the bus driver about the outlets and a few hours later I was saved.

The time before this bounce back, though, led me to some serious pondering. When Ila pointed out to me the quotes on the top of the pages of the US passport, I decided on a new goal in life - to be featured. I’m not sure what I have to say, but I think I could up with something. I always have lots on my mind.

Really, I would like to be featured on the Canadian passport, but one, I’m not sure if their passport has quotes, and two, I worry you would need to be a citizen.

Soon after, I watched the freaks like me music video, and my spirits were uplifted.

“We are we are we are the quirky ones”

20 reasons we should bring back razor scootering

If you know me, you know this is an issue close to my heart, and one I think about constantly. I thought I should share a few insights about the scootering life just off the top of my head.

1. It speeds up your commute by tenfold, even those of us who take the bus. I can’t even count the number of things I could do with that extra minute and a half I would save.

2. It would help you make a name for yourself, and as we say in the industry, no press is bad press.

3. It’s super sexy and sleek

4. It would make everyone think you’re a badass because you always have mysterious bruises along your ankles

5. You get to say “are we razoring there?” which is mysterious and unique and has an instant cool factor

6. If you got a whole posse to scooter with you you could bring back the boy band era or girl band era. People don’t do things in groups enough anymore

7. You would have to carry it around everywhere meaning you had a conversation starter 24/7

8. You would never need to be upset if there were no busses for a while, with a scooter you have an option other than walking

9. In Montréal it would be difficult to scooter during the winter so you would have another piece of room decor you could hang scarves or necklaces on, like a multipurpose and functional sculpture.

10. In awe of that sculpture, all of your houseguests would think you were imaginative and cool

11. When scooters catch on again you would get to tell people you were in the front lines of their revival.

12. I would finally have another piece of evidence to present people with after telling them how influential I am

13. You would have a weapon on you at all times to hit creeps with

14. You would have another accessory to complete your outfit

15. You could get away from any unpleasant interaction in a moments notice - all the pleasant parts of a bike without the clunkiness

16. You would get to hate on electric scooters for not being authentic

17. You could learn scooter tricks and then be even cooler

18. You wouldn’t have to worry about carrying a bike lock or the scooter getting stolen like a bike cause you could bring it inside with you.

19. Nobody would forget who you are ever again because even if they can’t remember your name they’ll think of you as the scooter kid

20. For my McGill readers - you might even get featured on the Reddit