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Like so many fans around the world, I first discovered Harry Styles through the boy band One Direction, which I have loved fiercely for almost seven years. I’m going to admit it — for a while, the obsession was embarrassing. I ran a blog, I read some fan fiction, I may or may not have participated in some mild stalking.
“RuPaul’s Drag Race” — a reality competition in which drag queens vie for the title of America’s next drag superstar — premiered its ninth season on television March 24th.
Disney’s live-action "Beauty and the Beast" opened Friday with its share of controversy, mostly surrounding the possible inclusion of a gay character. On the press tour prior to release, Director Bill Condon teased that the film would have an “exclusively gay moment.” This moment features LeFou — Gaston’s bumbling sidekick, whose sexuality was not explored in the original animated film.
On a tiny island in the Bahamas, there’s a small herd of wild pigs, now famous for their tendency to run into the ocean and swim alongside visitors. In the past year, “the swimming pigs” — a herd of approximately 20 wild pigs — have made quite a name for themselves on social media and TripAdvisor.
I have ten weeks left of my final semester at IU. Ten weeks to get through the last bits of classes, and to soak in all the experiences I’ve taken for granted for the past four years. But there’s a complexity to final semester senior year that I hadn’t expected — senioritis. It’s a little different for every senior, but seems to manifest itself most often in a combination of delight at the prospect of no longer having to attend classes and a stringent desire to never leave our beloved IU.
It’s no secret that “The Bachelor” franchise has a race problem. In the combined 33 seasons of “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette,” the only title star with any claim to diversity has been the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Venezuelan Juan Pablo Galavis.
I watched the Super Bowl this weekend with a notebook close by, fully intending to jot down any cultural critiques I could think of for this column. But as I watched, I felt the life draining out of me, and not just because I had to look at Tom Brady’s ugly mug for more than a split second.
On the day of Trump’s inauguration, neo-Nazi and white supremacist Richard Spencer, who is infamous for advocating ethnic cleansing, was punched in the face by a stranger during an
This weekend millions of people participated in the Women’s March on Washington, a peaceful protest and rally in support of women’s rights. The march was initially organized for Washington, D.C., but sister marches of the same name sprouted up around the country and the world.
I’m a college senior, and I’ve never seen a horror movie. This is largely due to the fact that I am scared of most things — spiders, snakes, clowns, people brushing their teeth too loudly. You name it, I’ve probably had a nightmare about it.
This holiday season actress, activist and icon Carrie Fisher died at age 60. I didn’t know her personally — in fact, like so many of Carrie’s fans, I never met her.
On Monday night, the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show aired on CBS.
There’s something magical about “Gilmore Girls”.
Like so many Americans, I believed foolishly that if I tried my best in everyday life and voted for the right people, progress would be inevitable. Clearly, voting straight-ticket Democrat is no longer enough. In that spirit, I’ve compiled a list of a few tangible ways to promote activism for progressive change in Trump’s United States.
I come from a long line of bookworms. My grandma was a schoolteacher, my mom was a children’s librarian, and my sister and I would spend all day holed up in our rooms reading. Perhaps because of this, when it came to Disney heroines, Belle was a fan favorite in my household, but as I grew older into a teenager, the allure of Belle faded, and she began to annoy me.
Early Sunday morning, a powerful 6.6 magnitude earthquake shook central Italy. In the 500-person town of Norcia, the tremors reduced dozens of medieval structures to rubble. Norcia’s 14th-century monastery, the Basilica of Saint Benedict, was among the buildings destroyed.
From across a picnic table, a father reaches out for his son’s hand. The scene is set for him to break the worst news possible to an 8-year-old. His mother has overdosed, and a shoddy cell phone camera is here to capture the newly-motherless child’s reaction.
The songwriter pens powerful lyrics, but not literature.
We’ve all seen the video.
When I was in elementary school, I would lie awake on Saturday nights fighting sleep, waiting for the moment when I could safely tiptoe out of my room without waking my parents. At precisely 11:23, I would begin to creep down the hall to station myself in front of the whispering TV. It was time for “Saturday Night Live,” and I wouldn’t miss it for anything.