Dear Little Me,

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time wondering what you would think of me—if you’d be proud, excited for where your future is headed. Your eyes were always so full of love and joy and your heart so full of hope. Would you still look proudly at me, with my weary eyes and weighted smile? I don’t know, but on good days I like to imagine you would. 

I do know for a fact you’d be glad you never stopped reading, delighted that you’re an English major, that your life is still steeped in story. You read and you write all the time, and it’s so much harder than you thought it would be but somehow you still love it. And you love college—you spent so much of your life being told you were an old soul and now you feel like you’re finally growing into your personality. You do miss home, kind of a lot more than you thought you would. You, who were so desperate for a new adventure, to be in a different place, with big dreams and an even bigger heart, turned out to have a big soft spot for home. But in a way, missing home is something you love—calling your parents,  being grateful for the incredible people who make your life so bright. And you’ve found some really amazing friends in Pittsburgh too—that’s right, Pittsburgh, a city you had absolutely zero concept of as a kid. Through a series of taking chances and oddly specific signs from the universe, you ended up here. 

And you are fun and funny, obsessed with movies, with a music taste you think is incredible and a parasocial relationship with Phoebe Bridgers. You don’t swim anymore, or really even run, but you love exercising again. The body that as a kid you so happily called your home you now have a complicated relationship with; with its curves and its stretch marks, but also with its memories and its smiles and its capacity to dance. You have bangs again, and you absolutely love them (bet you never thought that would happen after you chopped them off). You wear clothes you like, and sometimes ones you don’t, but you’re figuring it out. 

You’re figuring a lot of things out. Anxiety is really hard and scary and daunting, but I think even as a kid you were already beginning to learn that. Your health will be worse and more frustrating than you want it to be, your body not keeping up with everyone else’s your age—but even still that doesn’t stop you from living as best as you can. Most of your life is really good, and you’re really thankful. 

If I could look back in time and tell you anything I would say: 

1) Please for the love of God save more of your money, you really do not need all of those clothes I promise.

 2) It really is all about balance, of work, of food, of fun, of everything. 

3) The right people will stay, and they will make your life so amazing. 

4) Be who you want to be, not who other people tell you to be. 

5) Love yourself; you’re always going to be stuck with you, you might as well love her. 

6) Be nicer to your parents, they’re really incredible. 

7) Keep chasing those dreams, they’ve gotten you this far, keep going after them.

You’re a really cool kid, like honestly I look at pictures of you and you’re kind of iconic. Life is gonna be life, make the best of it, you got this. I love you. 

Love, 

You

Written by Lauren Deaton

Edited by Kaitlyn Seydel & Kate Castello

I tell people my favorite coffee shop is a local cafe downtown.

I go to Starbucks every day

Ask me where my outfit is from, and I’ll respond; "it's thrifted".

A closer examination of the tag would tell you it is from Zara

The best concert I have ever been to was this indie band in a small venue.

I would sell my soul to see Harry Styles live again

We all strive for this sense of difference. In this quest for individuality we chase what we were originally running from: being basic.

Being called basic in today's society is always said with a little edge in the voice. Meaning, I cannot recall the last time someone described someone or something as basic with the intention of flattery. When searching for insults or jabs at someone, basic always seems to be in the top three options. I myself am guilty of this belief in the idea of basic equating to bad, which begs the question:

Why?

Since when was liking a universally accepted item, song, person, or clothing item, “embarrassing”?

Personally, I find it to be most evident in terms of music or clothing. Whenever I am in public listening to Harry Styles, Taylor Swift, or anything you can find on the Billboard Top 100, I’m constantly afraid someone with a microphone and camera will come up to me and ask me what I am listening to. Embarrassed, I would have to admit “Meet Me In the Hallway” or “Cardigan” and then suffer through the endless TikTok comments calling me basic or lame. This is a genuine fear of mine, a very unrealistic one, but a fear nonetheless. I worry that Harry Styles will be my most listened to artist at the end of the year in my Spotify Wrapped and not some random Indie band I found one day and convinced myself was good because the album art was cool.

It’s the same idea with clothing—I thrift my clothes mostly because I like the challenge of walking into a thrift store and finding a gem that sometimes feels like it was meant for me. I also thrift because I appreciate the individuality my clothes represent. I know no one else will have my exact clothing item,eliminating the possibility of being considered basic. Yet, whenever I walk into a thrift store, I am surrounded by about ten other college-aged girls. We are all participating in the same act, so does this make Goodwill basic? Are we all becoming exactly what we told ourselves we would never become?

This is the main issue I have with being “basic”. When does it begin? While everyone was running from the designated trend of the season, we arrived at the same point, convincing ourselves we are different. There is some sort of superiority complex that comes with convincing yourself you go against the curve, causing you to look down on those who stick to the trend. Yet, if you stop looking down and instead start looking around, you will see you are not the only one up there. We are all basic, and that is not a bad thing.

I am in no way saying we all need to be little cookie cutters of each other and that everyone needs to like the same thing. Having your own interests and opinions are important—it’s what makes us who we are. If you happen to find your interests and opinions lining up with the majority, that doesn’t make them less important, less valuable, or “basic”.

Whenever I am with someone and we admit that something is basic, I back it up with “That’s because it's good!” Because it’s true! Something gets coined “basic” because multiple people enjoy it, and participating in that enjoyment is supposed to be fun, not embarrassing.

I think so much about how others will perceive me and my preferences, that I lose sight of why I like those things in the first place, because they make me happy. I am aware of how incredibly cheesy that sounds, but I think it is important. Basic is not an insult, it’s a community, and one that I am teaching myself I am proud to be in.

Because being basic just means we all have good taste. So go us.

Written by Belle O’Hara

I’ve been a swiftie ever since I can remember. The Red stadium tour was my first concert, and you’ll see me in the Ticketmaster trenches so I can get my ticket to the Eras Tour. Here are some standout tracks from Midnight, including the 3 am releases I have been listening to on repeat.

You’re on Your Own Kid

This song reminds me of young Taylor with the youthfulness and fun she brings to the music while also delivering a punch with the lyrics. These lyrics make me think of my childhood and growing up while also realizing how much we have seen Taylor mature through her music career. I recommend checking out the Spiderman: No Way Home edits to this song if you weren’t already feeling emotional.

Anti-Hero

Let’s talk about the sexy baby line. The first time I listened to the song, I didn’t think much of the line. It sounded silly, but I thought I knew what she was trying to say, that she feels like a big monster compared to all of the small and cute women surrounding her. As someone who always tends to be on the taller side of women, I understand her strife. This line is also a call out to a joke from 30 Rock where a woman puts on a” sexy baby” act to impress a man. Either way, I think that my interpretation stands, and this bizarre phrase only adds to the theatrics of the song.

Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve

I am so excited to go home to scream this song while I drive with the windows down. It makes me feel like I had just gotten my heart broken and stepped on. Whether I’m sitting on the silent floor of Hillman, zoned out with my headphones on, or running through South Oakland so i can make it to morning classes on time, this song gives me enough righteous anger to get sh*t done.

Bejeweled

I like this song enough to listen to it, even with that one verse from TikTok engraved in my mind. This song is just fun. It’s the perfect song to play when you are getting ready, whether you are about to go out on the town or to a lecture. This usually isn’t the kind of Taylor Swift song that I prefer, as I’m sure you can tell by this point in the list that I like songs that make me feel like the love of my life has left me. This one is just irresistible and never fails to brighten my mood.

High Infidelity

It has come to my attention that this song is an uncommon pick off the album. I’m not surprised because when I think about why I am so obsessed with this song, I can’t focus on what exactly appeals to me. I think there is something about the beat that makes me feel like the most powerful person on campus when this song blasts through my headphones as I strut down Forbes Avenue. I will continue to dance around life, causing chaos wherever I go, but that’s just how things will be, and I appreciate Taylor for realizing that.

Written by Jameson Keebler

I conceal my face with layers of makeup hoping that half a bottle of BB cream will be enough to make me as flawless as Emma Chamberlain looks on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine. I use innumerous acne medications, aspiring to be as unblemished as the girls in the Clean and Clear commercials. I reject bags of M&Ms and fudge brownies and pepperoni pizzas thinking that my sacrifices will make me “love my body” as much as the emaciated Victoria Secret models love theirs. I routinely shave my legs and armpits and pluck my eyebrows with fear of becoming the hairy woman the media deems horrendous. I do everything yet feel like I am nothing. Nothing compared to the beautiful women pictured in magazines and television.

I didn’t always feel so self-conscious. All my life I’ve been considered a “normal” healthy kid. I didn’t know that there was anything “wrong” with my body until I was in 10th grade and a friend felt the need to make it known to me. We were laying on my bed watching a YouTube video about grilled cheese sandwiches when she said, “You’ve got stretch marks on your legs!” and proceeded to take her pointer finger and identify the four or five tiny lines that were starting to form. “Only fat people have stretch marks.” The onset of my confidence issues came soon after that.

Whereas the world saw a young teenage girl who was happy in her skin, laughed a lot, and didn’t care what anyone thought about her, I felt like I was worth nothing on the inside. The truth of the matter was I wasn’t happy in my skin; I laughed to hide my pain and cared deeply what my peers thought of my appearance. I can’t remember a moment when I’d look in the mirror and think, I look good. I’d lose it when a photo of me at a bad angle was posted, or when I was a bigger size at one store than I was somewhere else. Every day, I’d scroll through Instagram with envy, looking at the girls with perfect bodies and be so angry that I couldn’t look like that.

For far too long, I abused my body. I talked down to her, writing down every part of myself that I hated and reading it back to myself over and over. I would look at myself in the mirror for hours, poking the extra fat and pointing out the flaws. I fought with her. I created good and bad food lists for her to live by, obsessively tracking calories taken in and calories burned. I punished her, exercising for hours at a time, secretly enjoying the pain I felt. I refused to nourish her. Mealtime felt like a battle—one that I was consistently losing. I chose to hide her away because I was ashamed of her, wearing oversized sweatshirts every day and making up excuses to not go to the beach with my friends.

Coming out of this toxic mindset has not been easy. Some days I feel like I am on top of the world and other days I feel as if I had made no progress towards recovery at all. I’ve sought help online by reading inspiring stories from women who have somehow found a way beyond this thinking. “I have learned to love my body and accept it and cherish it and worship it,” they’ll write. But I haven’t gotten to that point yet, and it doesn’t seem like I will anytime soon. So, when I read about all these women coming to love their bodies, it all seems like a giant lie because how can I learn to love something I’ve hated all my life?

But maybe it is okay to accept that I am not happy with my body just yet. Maybe it’s okay to hate how I look in the mirror some days because that means that there are days that I am happy with how I look. When I catch myself comparing my body to those I see on social media, I remind myself that my body does so much for me, and I should appreciate it for all the good it brings. Loving who we are is not easy because there can be so many things to hate but focusing on the good—great friends, beautiful art, calming music, a wonderful support system—has helped me make small pushes forward.

Written by Anonymous

Growing up as a pastor’s daughter, I felt pressure coming from all directions dictating what I should wear. Dressing for church, shopping with my mother, and picking out clothes for a night out all involved complicated decisions as I tried to find an outfit that would look good, be comfortable, and not reveal too much. Or reveal just enough? I stood in front of a mirror countless times, wondering if I was dressing for myself or for others.

To work out some of these questions, I called up some friends with different religious and cultural backgrounds than mine. We had a long conversation, ate way too many sour patch kids, and learned some things about each other. Keep in mind these are our own thoughts and not a reflection of Studio 412 as a whole, and buckle in for a *spicy* conversation about religion, clothing, and the patriarchy.

A brief introduction: Our names, religions, and backgrounds.

HARSHENI: Freshman, Hindu, and one of my roommates. A public health major with a knack for discovering high lead levels in my favorite foods.

FIZZA & TASBEEH: Freshman, Muslim, New Jersey natives. Identical twins and microbiology and molecular biology majors, respectively.

LIZZIE: Freshman, Christian, political science major and narrator of this piece.

Was modesty something that you thought about growing up? Was it tied to religion in any way? Were the adults in your life impressing it on you in any way? 

LIZZIE: My mom was the enforcer of the dress code—she would check me before I went out the door every day, and sometimes she would say “Turn around! Different outfit!” There were things I could wear to school but not to church. I also went to a Christian camp where I couldn’t wear two-piece bathing suits. Which makes sense on one hand, because two-pieces aren’t very practical if you’re being flung off of the Blob. But on the other hand, there was this element of the girls needing to be modest.

TASBEEH: Were the guys expected to wear shirts?

LIZZIE: No.

FIZZA: In Islam, there’s a point where you become “wajib”, which is like a coming of age. For women, it’s 9, and for men it’s 15. That’s when you’re supposed to start wearing hijab. For us, we stopped wearing shorts. I wore short sleeves until I was twelve, which technically you’re not supposed to do, and then I switched into long sleeves, long pants. I didn’t start the scarf until this summer. It’s been a kind of leaning into modesty—never anything our parents forced on us, although they obviously had an influence. My mom wears a scarf. 

TASBEEH: Something I didn’t know until I started hijab is that not only are you not supposed to show your hair but you also shouldn’t show your neck and collarbones. That’s to protect your “aura”. Men have an aura too, which they would protect by covering their chest and their knees. I don’t know any man in my life who covers their aura, but I know lots of women who do it.

HARSHENI: As I got older, there was some pressure to be modest to “protect myself”, but my mom is pretty chill about it. But even now, I don’t wear short-shorts, and dresses and skirts I wear just above my knee. 

LIZZIE: Was that decision a religious thing?

HARSHENI: More of a cultural thing. The way my parents grew up in India had a big influence on me—my dad grew up in a village where there’s unspoken rules about modesty. But if I’m going to a temple, I’m fully covered, out of respect. Even if I was going to church or another religious place, I would cover up.

Besides religion and culture, what influences the way you dress?

FIZZA: I feel like I wouldn’t be dressing this way if I wasn’t Muslim. There’s so many other things I would rather be wearing, but I have to set a limit for myself. I used to wear a lot of v-necks, because I love my collarbones. Finding cute clothing that’s modest, especially for the summer, is so hard. That’s why I’m much more of a fall/winter girl.

TASBEEH: I used to think that I was modest enough as long as I wasn’t showing skin, but my perspective on that has changed since I started wearing the scarf. But if I try to switch too much too quickly, I start hating the way I look.

LIZZIE: I feel like in my life there’s a tension between wanting to be modest and wanting to look attractive—and with that, wondering if I’m dressing for myself or for guys.

TASBEEH: As a pastor’s daughter, did people have a higher expectation for the way you dressed?

LIZZIE: I was very lucky in that my church didn’t put that much scrutiny on me. Maybe there was a little more attention, because everyone knew who I was. 

HARSHENI: I’m realizing now I didn’t have much of a say in my wardrobe until high school...my mom often picked out my clothes for me, and I just went along with it. But I got closer to my mom during quarantine, and we had more conversations about clothes then. Now I dress in a way that’s comfortable to me, where I feel cute but comfortable in terms of modesty.

Do you think guys should think about modesty more?

TASBEEH: One hundred percent. I don’t know what side of Instagram you guys are on, but I’m on this religious, Muslim side…

FIZZA: It’s fake religious.

TASBEEH: There’s people saying “women shouldn’t wear this, this, and this, because you’ll attract men”, and it’s the wackiest stuff I swear I’ve never heard before in my life. And they don’t say anything about men. 

FIZZA: There’s an idea—I’m sure this is in the Bible as well—that people shouldn’t judge others because they themselves aren’t perfect. If a man isn’t trying to be modest, he shouldn’t be saying anything about women. 

HARSHENI: I am going to bring this back to the patriarchy. *Laughter* The way that guys can just walk around shirtless…and if you see a guy walking around in a Speedo at the pool, no one asks any questions. In most religions, modesty is pushed more on women.

FIZZA: I will say…the one place that had modesty rules for men was our Saturday school. They couldn’t wear shorts.

HARSHENI: That’s the same for temples. There’s this one temple in New Jersey where I’ve been handed a dhoti for modesty, and the last time we were there they gave one to my brother! In terms of Indian culture, I’m going to blame the British for everything.

LIZZIE: As you should.

HARSHENI: In Hindu scriptures, there’s lots of stories about equality between men and women. There’s even a god that’s half man, half woman. The British came in and ruined everything. The blouse worn under the sari only came about because of the British…the entire point of the sari is that it’s a giant piece of cloth tied in a way that can fully cover you.

How would you define modesty, and why is it important?

TASBEEH: I feel like modesty really does not have a definition. It’s what you make of it. For me, it’s important and helpful because it lets me know who’s on the same track as me in Islam. Also, you can be a bad Muslim and wear hijab. Don’t get me wrong—hijab is important. But it’s your version of your utmost modesty, and that looks different for different people.

FIZZA: Modesty can also look different based on the culture you’re living in.

HARSHENI: For me, modesty is important as a sign of respect when I’m in temple, or if I’m praying.

LIZZIE: That’s a very valid point, but something that drives me crazy is when I’m around other Christians, and they start slut-shaming women behind their backs. 

FIZZA: That is so annoying. It just pushes people away. Biggest pet peeve.

From here, the conversation meandered away from clothes and onto all sorts of other religious topics. Following our general theme of religion and the patriarchy, we discussed marriage, fasting, and periods. Although we weren’t able to wrap things up neatly, we learned a lot about each other and ourselves. 

I love conversations like this. I can’t speak for Harsheni, Tasbeeh, and Fizza, but growing in my understanding of other cultures and religions helps me grow in my own faith and respect women who come from other practices.

Written by lizzie dickerson

I always joke with my friends that I’ve never dated anyone.

 Not really, anyways. 

They then proceed to chime in to clarify that I have—which is technically true. So then why do I feel like I haven’t had that experience? 

From a fairly young age, relationships are shoved down our throats. Not even just by others in our lives, but by the media. Cinderella finds her Prince Charming and he saves her from a life of being enslaved by her evil stepmother, Aurora can only come out of her coma with true love's kiss, etc. And especially as we age, everyone in teen programming has significant others and on-screen kisses. So I feel as though it’s fair that the rose-colored glasses we wear when we freshly enter high school are valid. 

I had my first and only boyfriend when I was a freshman/sophomore in high school. He was super sweet and was one of my best friends at the time, but he liked me a lot more than I liked him. Famously, he had been asking through a friend of mine if I would say yes to going on a date. For a long time I said no since I wasn’t sure of my feelings and I knew that wasn’t fair for him. Eventually though, those rose-colored glasses were slid back on my face by those around me, saying how cute we would be together. He asked me out after the Spring Dance at his school.

To say the relationship didn’t go well would be an understatement. It’s not like we fought or anything, because that wouldn’t have physically been possible. We barely saw each other all summer. This was my fault of course, as I had a lot of stuff going on, and my pseudo-boyfriend always got pushed to the side. 

Once we got back to school, we started getting back into the swing of things, but even then the relationship moved at snail speed. After eight months of dating and many talks with friends about how the relationship just wasn’t working, I broke up with him on my sixteenth birthday. 

I know you’re wondering, how in the world did you not see it sooner? How did he stay with you that whole time? And honestly, I don’t know. I think that I just wanted to be in a relationship so bad and have that coming-of-age moment I so desperately longed for that I was willing to turn a blind eye to all of the faults. 

So where does this put me now almost four years later? Not much further. I have done a lot of reflection since then, trying to understand what went wrong. I’ve made sure to not jump into things with others too fast so I can fully comprehend my feelings before I commit. This, however, has completely stunted my dating life. 

To this day I still really struggle to navigate relationships, both romantic and platonic. I also feel that, since I haven’t had much experience I haven’t been able to figure it out. And now that I’m in college I feel like it’s too late to figure it out. But I know this isn’t true.

Feeling lonely and left behind since you have no experience to show for yourself is not necessarily a bad thing. Trust me, I had to learn the hard way. It just means that you are better at prioritizing yourself and your desires. It’s ok to have high expectations! I know I do.There is, and always has been, this idea that you have to start dating young and that the later you wait the weirder you are. But I’m here to tell you that, even though I know it doesn’t feel like it, you will get there. Everyone has a different story, otherwise what would they make movies and write songs about?

Written by Leighton Curless

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I can’t count the number of times the question has been thrown at me. 

Often I’m caught off guard and try to laugh it off, usually mumbling something about focusing on school. And while that is somewhat true—it isn’t the full story.

When I was younger I thought something was wrong with me because I wasn’t in a relationship. I must be too ugly, or annoying, or my body wasn’t good enough, etc, etc… On and on I’d go, finding reasons why someone couldn’t love me, all while being constantly surrounded by messages telling me I needed to be in a relationship. 

It was in the Disney movies I watched as a child and the books I read as a teenager. It was there every time I opened social media and in almost every song. It felt like a cuckoo clock going off at the beginning of every hour, reminding me I was unlovable. 

Frustrated doesn’t begin to describe how I felt watching the world continue to push this narrative down, not only my, but every other young person’s throat. From the minute we can understand what a romantic relationship is, we are told that our goal in life is to find one. 

But I don’t believe that’s true. 

I hope I don’t come off as cynical or that I hate love and think everyone should avoid it at all costs—that couldn’t be further from the truth. Ironically, I’m a hopeless romantic. 

I still believe love is a beautiful, unifying force in our world, and hope that everyone who wishes to find romantic love, will. There are few things that make me as happy as seeing my friends in happy, healthy relationships. I even believe in soulmates! 

But over the past year, as I have put myself out there, gone on “dates”, and thought more about the idea of being in a relationship, I have realized something crucial,

I want to be alone. 

At least for now. 

I do hope to find a romantic partner someday (I think, only time will tell), but currently, I am perfectly fulfilled with my own presence and the presence of my friends and family, that I feel no need for one. Honestly, when I think of dating someone right now, it feels like I’m suffocating—like I’m a little patch of grass that’s in the shade of a skyscraper and can’t feel the sun.

I brought my feelings up to my therapist, who stared at me and said point blank, “Then why are you trying to contort yourself to meet expectations you don’t even agree with? It seems to me that being in a relationship right now would make you miserable. There’s nothing wrong with being alone.” 

It may sound stupid, but that conversation was a breakthrough for me. Of course, I knew people could be happily single; I was even happily single, but I always assumed I would be happier with a partner, and I should constantly be on the lookout for my soulmate. I didn’t understand that it was ok to crave solitude.  

Realizing I wanted to dedicate this period of my life to focusing on myself—I don’t mean my studies or my career—but the things that make me truly happy, the hobbies and interests that light up my soul, and the people that make me feel at peace, has been the most restoring change I have made in years. 

It has made me much more gentle and kind to myself. I get to enjoy all of the things I thought were “cringe”, “silly” or “childish” because I no longer feel the need to impress anyone.

Looking back, I feel sad for that young girl who wanted nothing more than to be loved. She should have been focusing on building friendships and being a kid, rather than feeling like a failure because she didn’t get asked to prom. I wish I could go back and tell her how differently she would feel about relationships in a few years. She’d probably be terrified that she’d be twenty years old and still had never been in a romantic relationship, but truly, I couldn’t be happier. 

 At the end of the day, as cliché as it is, you only have yourself, so do whatever the f*ck makes you happy. Be in a relationship, don’t be in a relationship, date around, be with the same person for ten years—it doesn’t matter. But don’t let the world persuade you into thinking you can’t be a whole person if you are alone. 

Embrace your aloneness. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, kate xo

Written by Kate Castello

I never considered myself to be the “relationship type”. 

I had all the dating apps, I met up with the guys, and then I always left those meetups with no desire to see them again. I used to think it was me—I simply wasn’t someone who was made to date. I was always ghosting or friend zoning these guys that I simply had no motivation for, I was starting to get exhausted. 

Over the summer I expressed these concerns to my mom while we were driving into Oakland. I gazed at the Monongahela river and felt the warm summer air on my face. “I just think I have commitment issues, that’s why I will never be in a relationship.” I mentioned off-handedly. 

I think if my mom could have slammed on the brakes she would have, and what she said has stuck with me since, “Isabelle, don’t even manifest that to yourself, the more you say it the more you convince yourself it is true. You do not have commitment issues, you just haven’t found the person you want to be committed to.” 

I think that this is such an important thing for all of us to keep in mind. I didn’t have commitment issues, I had high expectations for myself and knew my worth when it came to finding someone I wanted to be committed to. There’s nothing wrong with you if you want to be alone, you are an independent person who is comfortable enough with themselves to recognize you don’t need a partner. 

There is no guidebook when it comes to dating, no timeline. We find our person when the time is right, and it usually comes when you least expect it. 

Rewind to February 22, 2022 I was distractedly swiping through tinder and came across a man with a cute smile and good music taste. A rare but easy swipe right from me. We matched, and a week later we met outside of Pizza Romano at 1 am (how romantic). We stayed in touch for the two weeks following, and I got welcomed back to campus from spring break with a “Hey Belle, I think we should just be friends” text. 

Humbled is an understatement of how I felt at that moment. 

I managed to keep my disappointment at bay, and we truly did stay friends. We were a little shy of each other at first, but by the summer he was truly one of my best friends. Those feelings for him never went away, but my ego and heart refused to admit defeat to him again, so I kept it to myself. But, whenever my mom told me I would be committed when I found the right person, he was the first face I thought of. 

By the end of the summer going into O-Week, I was starting to get frustrated. I never have been the hopeless romantic type, and I was embarrassed with myself of how just flat out obsessed I was with him. I just had this gut feeling we would work, and as each day went by it seemed as though the universe was trying to prove me wrong. 

Being single but wanting to date is a confusing and exhausting process. You have so many strike outs and receive so much blatant disrespect that when someone holds the door for you it is easy to imagine getting married to them. The bar is literally in hell. All I would say is don’t silence that little voice in your heart. You know what you deserve, and you know when those needs are not being met, and when they are. It's easy to convince yourself you are overreacting or being dramatic, but you know you best, and you deserve the best. 

For the longest time I tried to convince myself I was crazy, because every time I looked at this man I had this terrifying, amazing gut feeling that he was my person. I still feel crazy for saying that. But it’s Valentine's Day, so I am embracing my hopeless romantic side and I encourage you all to do the same. Love is a scary and intimidating feeling, but once you let yourself be vulnerable and find that person, you will be so appreciative of all of the stages you went through to get there. Whether you want to be alone, don’t understand dating, or are in a relationship, embrace the feelings you have now. 

Focusing back to the present day, I have now been with this silly little tinder man turned best friend turned boyfriend for over five months. The wait was worth it, my gut was right, and my heart can finally say, 

“Ah, Finally”

Happy Valentine's Day. 

I love you all, but especially you, Andrew Clarke. 

Xoxo belle

Written by Belle O'Hara

I’ve never been skilled at change. Notice my word choice — skilled. For “normal” people, is changing a skill? Or is it a natural innate thing; a piece of humanity that I was born without? After all, change is built into our biological clocks. Every day, we get a little older, and every year, the Earth does too, with its changing of the seasons. Right now, we merge from the days of sandy toes and sun that seeps through to your core, to the snow-piled winters, where somehow my body, even in its constant state of tension and agitation, is warmer than the air itself.

I’ve spent the last two or so months sorely attempting to adapt to my college surroundings. I grew up about twenty-minutes east of campus, and I purposefully stayed close to home — something that I know would disappoint my younger self. She ached, not only to leave her town, but to go as far away from it as possible. I think I had convinced myself that I wasn’t the problem, I wasn’t the reason I was so lonely, so unfulfilled, and so glued to that classic state of eighth-grade depression — it was the city. It was Pittsburgh, and its steel mills, and its dirty rivers, and its stupid little black-and-gold towels that angry men wave around in the air — no matter if our sports teams lose or win.

High school was also a hard change for me — I went to three different schools in a four-year time-span. Finally, I settled on a place where I managed to find a handful of good friends. Friendship is part of what makes change so hard. At the risk of sounding cliche, it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack. But sometimes the needles will poke you until your hands are speckled red. Or, your slippery fingers will drop them into the abyss, never to be seen again.

By my senior year, I finally became semi-confident in myself. I grew out of my hatred for my hometown. I decided to stop resenting my parents, and my mom became one of my best friends. I adopted a cat named Houdini, who I love more than life itself. I was comfortable, by most definitions of the term. But it was time to venture off again to a brand-new start. Never did I ever think I’d be nostalgic for rubbing my hands together in a cold gym, or for wasting time in study halls. But, here I am, exhausted with reinventing myself.

Some nights, when I lay in my Tower A dorm room, I stare at the ceiling and a wave of melancholy washes over me, like I’m laying in a shallow sea. The sand is prickling at my spine, and the tide is growing lower, and lower, and lower. When I’m feeling brave, I’ll try to close-read this feeling like it’s an assignment. At its core, it’s a feeling of lost time and what-ifs. I want my lips to be stained with freshly-picked strawberries. I want to drink hot cocoa on a snowy day. I want to cook peanut butter fudge with my Grandma. I even want to re-play the taunts of my bullies, because this time, I’ll know what to do.

I worry that Pittsburgh is a curse, or some sort of never-ending time loop.

But for as many wants of the past, I have wants of the future. I want to live in another state someday. One with mountains and lots of trees, like Oregon or Washington. I want to study abroad in London just for the sake of saying I did it.

I have a backstory and a load of possibilities, both just out of reach. I am not fond of this middle, limbo space. Why can’t I view myself as an individual instead of an extension of a city or a family? And is it really a curse to have a home that it hurts to leave?

For my own sanity, I hope those answers come soon. I don’t know where I belong, but I do know that everything is a process. At one point, I was born, and I’m sure that infant-Wendy wasn’t a big fan of things like light or sound. But now those things are at my core. One day, maybe I won’t just be a part of a family, or a Pittsburgh-native — I’ll be a tree in Oregon, a big book with complicated words, or a little grain of sand on a big beach. Or, dare I say, a past and a future consecutively: both knowing pain, and strife, but also the joy that can come after disaster.

Written by Wendy Moore

Prior to my visit to Andy Warhol’s Social Network exhibition, I knew very little about Andy Warhol and the exhibition itself. I chose to analyze this particular exhibition because, despite being a Pittsburgh native, I have never been to The Andy Warhol Museum. Although I lacked knowledge of the exhibition, I knew about the existence of Interview Magazine before visiting. I did not, however, know that the magazine had any relation to Andy Warhol. After learning that Warhol founded Interview Magazine with journalist John Wilcock, I was intrigued by the idea of an artist, known for his work with screen printing, co-founding a pop culture magazine.

I had a few preconceived notions before attending the exhibition. I expected the museum to feel very modern and industrial because of the work and style of art for which Andy Warhol is famous. I went on a Thursday morning, mid-October, so I did not expect to see many people there. My biggest hopes were that all articles of Interview Magazine were on display and labels describing the process behind and the formation of the magazine were available. In terms of diversity in gender, race, and in color, I did not expect very much. With little to no evidence, I predicted that the museum would predominantly be filled with white males in their twenties and thirties. I made many of these assumptions because I do not find Andy Warhol to be a particularly relatable artist or person. He was, in fact, a white male with a college education. He lived in New York for a portion of his life, and there he made art, went to parties, and spent time with his friends and regular muses, Liza Minnelli, Mick and Bianca Jagger, and Jane Fonda. Despite Warhol being born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I have always thought of him as a mysterious, distant individual. Andy Warhol has been a consistent inspiration to me, and he was one of the few names I knew in the art world for some time. Although I do not find him to be relatable, he has continued to be influential with his revolutionary art style.

The Andy Warhol Museum is quite unassuming from the outside. It is a gray stone building with minimal advertisement of the museum and its exhibitions. The ground level of the floor has display windows filled with merchandise and the wallpaper that fills the walls of the museum inside. The lobby of the museum felt like that of a high-end hotel or lounge space. There was a cafe with seating and many comfortable couches, and even a coat-check room to leave my jacket in while walking around the museum. I made my way up to the second floor of the building via elevator, and when the elevator doors opened, I was welcomed to the Social Network exhibition by a wall text that read, “Andy Warhol’s Social Network: Interview, Television, & Portraits”. The floor was filled with display cases full of Interview Magazine articles, and there were pictures hung up that were taken on Warhol’s 35 mm camera. Many of the walls and all of the display cases and labels were a dull, light pink color. Despite the color pink typically being associated with femininity, the exhibition did not feel particularly feminine. The room felt very industrial because of its exposed lighting, high ceilings, and open concrete structures, but the floor felt softer when juxtaposed with the light pink color. The curator of this exhibition, Jessica Beck, succeeded in producing a space that felt diverse in gender, age, color, and race.Andy Warhol’s Social Network exhibition was a peaceful and informative experience. I enjoyed the aesthetic of the space and the pools of information I digested. I found the common theme between the works in the exhibition to revolve around Warhol’s social life. I was impressed by the neutral feeling of the museum in terms of feeling comfortable. As a nineteen-year-old college girl, I tend to feel out of place in spaces in which I am not familiar, however, at the Andy Warhol Museum, I felt accepted and relaxed throughout the duration of my visit. I was not overwhelmed by the amount of information being thrown at me, and I did not feel rushed to move through the exhibit. I was impressed by the pacing and spacing of the exhibition. The architectural and interior design elements of the exhibition strengthen the idea of inclusivity and peace. The labels and wall text provide the viewer with ample information pertaining to the artist and his extravagant life. Curator, Jessica Beck, did a spectacular job explaining such a broad portion of Warhol’s life while encouraging the viewer to continue to read, learn, and take in the artwork.

Written by Maggie Knox