AUGUST ‘25
curated by Jasmine NatanEvery summer, I look forward to watching my favourite reality television series, Love Island. However, this season of Love Island USA feels different; I can see the effects of last season’s popularity weighing on the new cast and how they navigate finding “love.” The show's premise is for contestants to ultimately find love. They are isolated from the outside world, living together for two months, coupling up, and exploring their connections in real time.
Although the lighthearted themes of the first couple of seasons felt like a welcome escape from my reality, the show has evolved into more of a sociological experiment, an intense observation of human relationships. Cast members live in a pressure cooker of heightened emotions with almost no outlet to release stress, inevitably leading to tension and dramatic moments. From what I’ve seen, constant surveillance, isolated environments, lack of sleep, and producer manipulations create the perfect storm for emotional crash-outs and amazing television.
This season has been the show’s most successful yet, but it has not been without its consequences. A lot of the audience discourse I’ve encountered questions the authenticity of the new cast—whether they’re genuinely looking for love or if their real goal is the $100k prize or a brand deal to kick-start an influencer career.
And yet, despite the fame and fortune that come with being part of the show, life in the public eye always invites criticism. The internet’s obsession with Love Island has created this strange parasocial relationship where we start seeing the cast not as real people, but as characters we can comment on, judge, and dissect. I’ve noticed how easy it is for viewers to dehumanize contestants online, and sadly, this has real consequences. Several cast members have been subjected to intense misogynistic and racist hate, showing just how quickly a fun dating show can turn toxic, and how easily people project their biases onto individuals they’ve never even met.
I’ve been fascinated by the Toronto-based duo LiFE DESiGN, whose Filipino-inspired tarp designs have caught the attention of mainstream fashion audiences. Their work has been shown everywhere from the streets of Manila to Paris Fashion Week, which is wild when you think about what they're showcasing: party tarps that most Filipinos would recognize from birthdays, baptisms, and neighbourhood gatherings. Their meme-like designs are eye-catching and a little absurd, but that’s what makes them so powerful.
Xylk Lorena, one half of the duo, said he wanted to create something unapologetically Pinoy. That stuck with me. These tarps scattered across every street back home have always been there, but I never thought of them as art. LiFE DESiGN saw something meaningful in the everyday and turned it into a statement. For many people outside the culture, this was their first time seeing these visuals, and for those of us within it, it felt like a reclamation.
Their tarp pieces often feature low-res images, colourful fonts, and dramatic congratulatory messages to fashion icons, plastered across an average Filipino neighbourhood. The contrast between high fashion and a random neighbourhood in Manila creates something so absurd that you stop, laugh, and then realize: this is the point. Fashion doesn’t have to belong in glossy studios or elite runways.
Many know the fashion industry has always felt like an exclusive club, where you need the right connections, the right look, and the right background. But what LiFE DESiGN is doing pushes back against that. They invite everyday people, especially those from the Filipino diaspora and back home, into the fashion conversation. And they’re doing it by glorifying Filipino mundane life, plastic chairs, sari-sari stores, and tarpaulin banners. All of it feels deeply familiar, yet suddenly elevated. It makes me think about who fashion is for and how powerful it is when we decide the answer is everyone.
The first solo studio album, Ruby, by Jennie, following her departure from longtime label YG Entertainment, has been one of my favourite releases this year. I was first introduced to Jennie in 2017 when she debuted as a member of BLACKPINK, a group that quickly rose to global fame. Despite the group’s massive success, Jennie’s true artistry has shone through in
this album, showing an incredible potential to thrive as an artist independent of BLACKPINK. Her voice, vision, and presence feel more pronounced than ever.
K-pop entertainment companies have long had a reputation for overworking and mistreating the artists under their labels. It’s not uncommon for K-pop idols to have little to no creative input in their projects, often expected to promote multiple comebacks a year while maintaining a tightly controlled public image. Jennie’s decision to leave YG in 2023 marked a pivotal turning point in her career. She went on to found her own entertainment company, Odd Atelier, where she appointed her own management and creative team—giving her the freedom to oversee and shape the direction of her solo work fully.
In my opinion, the album is incredibly ambitious. Jennie isn’t afraid to experiment – she switches up her sound with each track while maintaining a clear artistic identity. The production choices in songs like "ZEN" and "Filter" are bold and unconventional, yet refreshing in the pop music scene. She also explores more intimate territory with tracks like "Love Hangover" and "Handlebars”, where her vocal tone feels soft and expressive. What impressed me most was how cohesive the entire album felt, despite the range of genres and moods. There weren’t any outlier tracks, yet each one brought something new to the table, making the listening experience exciting every time.
My personal favourites are Damn Right (featuring Childish Gambino & Kali Uchis) and Seoul City, both of which highlight her musical versatility. The album feels like a true reflection of who Jennie is now and her new role in control.