From club nights to fresh air to high school horror flicks, our team shares the very best of what we consumed this month
Attended Miranda July’s film series F-F-Fearless: Art21’s first-ever film festival saw a series of premiers and artist-curated screenings at New York’s Metrograph and SVA theaters. In anticipation of her feature in the culminating episode of Art in the Twenty-First Century, Miranda July offered a look at her watch list, presenting shorts, YouTube videos, TikToks, and drafts and deep cuts of her own work. Among them: an excerpt from a Francis Bacon documentary; Ilke De Vries and Shérazade Gharbi’s La recherche du silence total; and a short July made in Liverpool early on in her career. Theater-goers left with facsimiles of a letter she uncovered from the latter work—a piece of paper, hand-painted by local women, a note from its young star, and the address of an actor noted on its back.
—Megan Hullander, Print Managing Editor
Bought a bicycle on Facebook Marketplace: The vast majority of my crushes have ridden bicycles, and I tend to take up the hobbies of people I admire. Do I want them, or do I want to be them? Turns out, biking is an activity I actually enjoy. So much so that my mom insisted on buying me a helmet for all the Citibiking I do. But now that their prices have climbed to nearly $5 for a classic ride, and $10 for electric—with annual memberships at over $200—I decided it was time to get my own bicycle. I scoured Facebook Marketplace, admittedly knowing very little about what I wanted. When a seller asked me if I had any questions or requirements, all I could answer was, “One that gets me where I need to go.” This one does just that—and fashionably so, with its slightly metallic emerald green finish, and cute little gingham-trimmed saddle bags on either side. Maybe one of my crushes will notice me now.
—Anabel Gullo, Social Intern
Read Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham: I recognize that I’m late to this seminal text (I found this copy in a box of free books left out on someone’s stoop in Fort Greene), but that’s because the R-word allegations Lena Dunham was slapped with made me so angry I considered pursuing a major act of domestic terrorism instead of a degree in liberal arts. This is hyperbole, of course—a writing technique Dunham does excellently in this collection of essays. As an original Girls watcher, I’ve always admired her storytelling chops. But if there’s one thing you can expect from Lena Dunham, it’s that she’s going to do something that warrants a public apology, which goes along the lines of I said what I said, white lady-flavored. In any case, Dunham’s prosaic approach turns stories about her personal quest through life into something universal, which is no small feat. To quote Hannah Horvath: “I’m a voice… in a generation.” If you think you’re too good to read this book, consider this your chance to get over yourself and succumb to the awesome autofiction that is Not That Kind of Girl.
—Maya Kotomori, Assistant Editor
Attended Honeyverse at Southbank Centre: I touched down in London on a Saturday morning, and promptly went to sleep until 5 p.m. Then got dressed, hopped on the tube (as they say), and arrived at Southbank Centre. It was the final night of Honey Dijon’s Honeyverse series—combining “club nights, live sets, orchestras and conversations into a takeover drawing inspiration from [the DJ’s] roots in the Black Queer community.” Cakes Da Killa and Alewya performed that night, followed by Gayance, Red Pig Flower, and Dijon herself. Great crowd, venue, music—a first-rate welcome to London!
—Morgan Becker, Digital Managing Editor
Took a puff of my inhaler in the office for the first time: I broke the fourth wall this month and had to use my inhaler in the office for the first time. It may be way out of line to say this, but something about having moderate to severe asthma is remarkably embarrassing. I’m convinced that the first thought that pops into a person’s mind when they hear someone else has asthma is, Oh, they’re lying. I have visited the hospital multiple times for being… breathless? I, too, think asthma is essentially a fake ailment. Like, Excuse me guys, I can’t breathe, let me take a few puffs from my firetruck-red inhaler. Picture me exiting an ‘engaging’ circle of conversation with a bunch of ‘hot’ people outside a dark and mysterious nightclub. They’re all smoking cigarettes, and I go wheeze around the corner. Nothing chic, sexy, or cool about that. After accepting that the air quality in New York is bad, or that maybe I’m just getting sick, I let myself be vulnerable around my coworkers of more than a year, exposed the real me, and hit a few puffs at my desk. They’re probably talking shit about it in the couch corner, but I’d like to think we’re all closer for it.
—Syd Walker, Assistant Art and Photo Editor
Watched John Fawcett’s Ginger Snaps: I would’ve been so annoying if I watched this at 15. Funding issues—people didn’t want to bankroll movies about ‘violent teens’ after Columbine—and distribution woes kept this gory, girly cult film off my radar until the Criterion Channel added it to its High School Horror series. Sisters Brigitte and Ginger Fitzgerald have a death pact, hinging on whether they escape their suburban town by the age of 16. Then a wolf bites Ginger under a full moon, and she experiences werewolf transformation alongside puberty. The agony of girlhood—its physical and social implications—are front and center in the relationship between the Fitzgeralds as they try to grow up. “I get this ache… And I, I thought it was for sex, but it’s to tear everything to fucking pieces,” Ginger tells her sister. It’s one of the best lines on teen angst ever written. Add gnarly practical effects and multiple dogs deaths—Ginger Snaps would’ve gotten a third Fitzgerald sister out of teen me. Jennifer’s Body was right to pay homage with its slow-mo hallway walk.
—Jayne O’Dwyer, Editorial Intern