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.
JULY ‘25
curated by Jada BowenTHIS IS LUNDUN” is not just a campaign video for Corteiz (a London-based clothing brand), it’s a celebration of Black London culture. Featuring big names like JME, Gabriel Moses, Central Cee, Oluawu Slawn, and more, it’s an ode to the city’s creative scene.
I’ve always been drawn to Black culture in the UK, especially in London. Coming from Jamaican descent myself, seeing how the diaspora stays connected to their roots, even while being so far away from home, inspires me. It makes me think about my relationship with my culture and how I might connect to it more deeply. This campaign video perfectly captures that feeling. It showcases everything from kids on the block playing football and making money to successful artists shaping culture. Everyone is just living their truth, all while wearing Corteiz. This isn’t just a promo; it’s a statement about the richness of Black London culture. It makes you feel part of something real, something exclusive, something that you want to be involved in.
What really resonates with me is the community spirit. London’s Black scene feels tight-knit, with an “everyone eats” mentality. They lift each other, collaborate, and celebrate together. Seeing that is inspiring, and it reminds me of my own experiences in Toronto. The video shows all parts that make up the “hustle” in their creative community, and it honestly makes me want to hop on a plane to experience it firsthand.
Mustafa the Poet’s album, DUNYA, has had such a deep impact on me that it would feel wrong not to mention it. Twelve tracks, forty minutes, and somehow, it holds entire lifetimes of grief, reflection, and beauty. It feels like a collection of prayers, of memories, of truths too heavy to carry alone. Somehow, he’s found a way to turn grief into something gentle. Something you can sit with.
His music combines traditional Sudanese instruments with the sounds of Regent Park, the neighbourhood that shaped him. It’s a powerful blend of past and present, of legacy and lived experience. Perfectly capturing the beauty and pain of growing up surrounded by loss but still finding ways to bloom.
Through his music, I’ve found a deeper appreciation for Islam. The way he weaves faith into his lyrics feels so natural, not just through his poems, but through the sense of community he builds around it. There’s no judgment in his words, just openness. He creates space for everyone, Muslim or not, and that’s what makes me want to learn more. To him, Islam feels like home, and he is simply inviting us in.
“I'm Leaving Toronto” is one of the heaviest songs on the album. Mustafa speaks about having to leave his city, not out of choice, but because the streets he grew up on now carry too much pain. The same streets that took his brother. It’s heartbreaking to think that a place that raised you can also break you. That survival sometimes means walking away from everything you’ve ever known. It’s the weight of a system that was never built to protect you, and the fact that it could’ve been different is what makes it all so devastating.
One story Mustafa shared at a show has stuck with me since: the last time he performed in Toronto, his older brother was in the crowd, sitting next to the person who would later take his life. While that image is incredibly haunting, it speaks to the weight of his artistry. Even as he carries so much pain, Mustafa continues to pour love back into the same community that scarred him.
Directed by Barry Jenkins
Moonlight is one of those films that just stays with you. It’s quiet, but it speaks volumes. Directed by Barry Jenkins and produced by A24, the film is soft and subtle in its delivery, but the message it carries is incredibly intense. It resonates deeply without ever feeling overwhelming. There’s a certain kind of power in that softness. The movie explores queerness, toxic masculinity, and the Black experience in America, but it does so without any fast cuts or dramatization. Everything is so intentional. The stillness. The silences. The colour grading. The scoring. It’s slow, but never dull. Just beautiful storytelling that lets you ache with the characters.
Visually, it’s stunning. The colour grading perfectly complements the cast’s skin tones. You can tell every frame was carefully thought out, something A24 always gets right. Their work resonates with me on an emotional level that other production studios don’t. They always manage to perfectly portray the feelings we don't say out loud and connect with a Gen-Z audience.
Moonlight tells the sad truth about how so many young black boys are taught to hide their softness, their love, and their true selves. It’s an unfortunate reality that comes with a great message: life is too short to live for other people, always be true to yourself.
JUNE ‘25
curated by Jahrell TeodoroDirected by Gregg Araki
The film “Mysterious Skin,” directed by the inspiring filmmaker Gregg Araki, is a coming-of-age drama released as an indie film in 2004. The film, known for its rawness and representation of the alienation generation, resonates deeply with me because of how it dives right into the complexities of childhood sexual abuse, and how it is coped with differently. The representation of sensitive themes gives this film a sense of authenticity as it presents them in a way that impacts the audience, leaving a lasting impression as the film progresses.
Watching this film countless times and studying the journeys of the two main protagonists, Neil and Brian, as they grow into young adults, this film is a perfect exploration of how identity and trauma challenge the ideas about memory and sexuality, especially in the context of childhood trauma that regresses the personal growth of the two characters. It also examines how those who were inflicted with that abuse further cope with it as they age.
Through Neil and Brian's journeys, where Neil can not forget this trauma, whereas Brian is trying to piece together what happened to him as a kid through suppression, it takes a deep dive into the layers of trauma and how they cope with it. The film shows the audience how Araki’s raw, poetic language can accentuate the themes depicted in the movie in an uncomfortable but comfortable way.
Photographed, Edited and Directed by Anthony Nguyen
This photo series, ‘Guilty Pleasure,’ crafted by Anthony Nguyen, a photographer and creative director based in LA, photographed a series that captured the sense of teenage rebellion by exploring the casualty of everyday pleasure. Looking through these collections of photos, I found it inspiring and admirable as each image perfectly depicts the temptations and emotions that young teenagers experience and face through their day-to-day lives. From substance use to partying, and even to sexual intimacy, many of the themes captured by Nguyen offer a glimpse into their mind, where the media tends to glamourize and romanticize these experiences, further influencing the younger generations.
This project made me feel a sense of nostalgia, and for some reason, I started to reminisce. In my early years of perplexity, disobeying rules for my selfish benefit, and having vulnerability of teenage rebellion, all these feelings came flooding back in a rush. It made me realize how personal, yet universal, my experiences are because everyone has a complex life just like mine. The candid imagery set by Nguyen creates a story that reminds the audience about the cultural norms we face and the youth defiance that seeks that authenticity. Through his photography, he showcases how these cultural norms stifle self-expression. Youth culture deserves to be seen from all perspectives, the good, bad and ugly.
It makes me fall in love with how art in any form can create something seen as chaotic and degenerate, be something so beautiful, as we get a glimpse into that lifestyle that others may not understand.
Directed by Coralie Fargeat
Directed by Coralie Fargeat, the 2024 horror sci-fi film was another piece that resonated deeply with me. The film starts out with a fading celebrity, Elizabeth Sparkle, who yearns to be brought back into the spotlight, to be glorified again. However, as she ages and is deemed not beautiful enough, she gets offered this injection, and things take a nightmarish turn.
To me, this film focused on a theme I found quite interesting: the perception of beauty. The Substance portrays beauty and repulsion, where it challenges the traditional standard regarding aging. This standard constantly distorts how other societies perceive what is beautiful or not and makes them consider their identities and sense of worth in a culture that highly favours people who are deemed “beautiful”. I deeply enjoyed this film, and it resonated deeply with me in terms of how I see myself and put into my creative work. For me, symbolism is really big in my writing. Having that rawness, like Araki or Fargeat, gives so much flavour and allows the readers to fully immerse themselves in my writing. Being able to challenge these stereotypes allows me to see them from all perspectives. I want my work to resonate with my audience and leave a lasting impact on them to think about.
Media as a whole is something that has become so popular and so important. In this day and age, it shapes our lives and determines how we and others may view our lives and the world around us. As someone who constantly digs themselves into many different forms of media, the media acts as a mirror. It reflects our reality, often giving access to young adults a space where they can have a voice or a platform. However, with all that media has to offer, it often pressures youth culture. Having that constant exposure to curated lifestyles, dealing with the never-ending trends, and adhering to unrealistic expectations or idealized standards can become overwhelming for young adults.
With an audience that still has a developing brain and cannot comprehend how little it may affect them, the media plays a big role in the lives of young adults, which is why it is so important to give youth culture that authentic representation. It’s like a duality where the media is complex. Its impact can be empowering to people, and spark that creative freedom; however, it can also misshape our perceptions of the world and dig people so deep into a loophole of “what-ifs,” and their perception of themselves that they cannot find their way out.