Which brings me to the purpose of this post: if you could program a film festival, curate an art show, or arrange a room full of items, what story would you tell? Curation is all about sharing your perspective and uncovering meaning through the intentional selection and arrangement of pieces. I may not be an expert, but I do have a vision to offer, and I encourage everyone to use their platforms to share their passions with an audience. Just as I did with my Tis Autumn series, where I gathered books, playlists, and films that captured the spirit of Fall, I am now excited to explore how I would shape my own film program and the reasons behind my choices.

Some (totally optional) Educational References:

There are two important definitions to consider: Film Programming and Curation.

What is curation? According to C.A.I (Contemporary Art Issue Magazine), curation is an endeavor of researching, selecting, managing, acquiring, organizing, inventorying, and presenting art—most often in the form of curating exhibitions. Curators interpret the artwork against the backdrop of different theoretical, historical, social, and ideological influences and craft an exhibition that tells a unifying story. From great museums such as the MET or the Smithsonian, to smaller galleries or pop-up events, curators are responsible for creating an educational and engaging display for audiences.

What is film programming? Film programming is similar to curation in that programmers are selecting and arranging films in a particular order for the purpose of engaging audiences. Much of the same kind of researching and inventorying is similar to art curators, as film programs require extensive knowledge about film movements, genres, director influences, and a technical understanding of the film medium. Film programmers and curators are tasked with understanding their general audiences and how to infuse their knowledge and taste into a program/exhibition that will build trust and sell tickets within their local community.

During my time at the New York Film Festival, I took note of the myriad of programming series that centered around particular themes, “The Golden Age of 1960’s Asian Cinema”, “Pan-African Shorts” , or “European Neo-Noir” - all with the intent to showcase lesser-known foreign films to American audiences. As I begin my own journey in the curation/programming world, I have since gathered a few educational resources that have been helpful as a means to expand my knowledge in the art of curating and public programming.

The Curator’s Handbook by Adrian George

This book was recommended to me as a starting point to understand the process of a curator from the initial idea to the final installation. Since I am not familiar with the work of a curator, this book is meant to provide a practical guide in understanding the role of a curator and how exhibitions are created.

Film Programming: Curating for Cinemas, Festivals, Archives by Peter Bosma

This textbook (which is free here) explores the fundamental aspects of film programming in different venue capacities. Whether in movie theaters, film festivals, public spaces, or in archival support, the role of a film programmer/curator is extensive and requires not only practical knowledge but also curatorial taste in how a film program should be structured and screened to an audience. These two books will hopefully be able to provide me a foundational understanding of the nature of curating / programming and what is required within my role as someone who facilitates public engagement with an art form. Although the first book speaks to those in the contemporary art world, it shares a close resemblance to the work and critical eye that is needed to create programs that not only educational but engaging.

As artists, our creativity often falls to the wayside as pressing workloads and adult obligations take priority. Even though I’m unable to contribute in a more creative manner within my admin desk job, I wanted to create this series as a means of dedicating time and energy to something that feeds my creativity rather than stifles it. I want this series to be a fun exploration into my own taste and authorship as an artist, even when I am not actively creating. My talk with the agent taught me something valuable that I hadn’t previously considered - taste is not just something we have; it also gives us a sense of confidence when we pitch or share our thoughts and ideas. As I flesh out some film programming ideas and explore my love for films, I hope to encourage other people to get into the art of curating, whether as small as a bookshelf or the career or lifestyle you envision for yourself.

With Love,

Isabella

For context, I work in the film and entertainment industry, so in my field, it isn’t uncommon to move from gig to gig that only last a couple of months or end just shy of a year. Most of my work experience includes film productions, seasonal operation jobs at cultural art events, a stint at a talent agency, and a freelance writing gig for an educational publishing company - to name just a few. Still, his concern for my prospects as an employee prompted me to reflect on my non-traditional path and my reluctance to settle into a single, defining career, despite parental and societal expectations.

The Mailroom and My Reckoning with Corporate America:

During a short coffee break in our company’s breakroom, a top executive welcomed us to the team, shared some early career wisdom, and, with playful apathy, warned us not to “wake up one day and realize that you only did one thing with your life”. It was unexpected, especially coming from a sharp-looking man making well over 6 figures a year, but it resonated nonetheless. I’d applied to this job on a whim one afternoon while at home in the Fall of 2022. I was two years into both post-graduation and a global pandemic, and was grasping at straws to find employment that would at least put me in the arena as a working artist. Before this, I worked on film production sets for 12+ hours a day, took unpaid internships for marketing and PR firms, and submitted countless self-tapes and job applications to pass the time. I never imagined working on the corporate side of the entertainment industry, but I figured a job was a job, and apparently, this particular listing was a highly coveted one amongst college graduates. Till this day, I believe my naivety was what solidified my acceptance and subsequent end of this job.

This was, in all respects, my first “big girl” job. It felt exclusive (because it was), professional (because it was) and serious (it DEFINITELY was). I was able to live independently for the first time in my life in New York City of all places. I had my very own key card to access certain floors and carried around my very own company MacBook. I was on the inside of things, learning information before it hit the general population, taping auditions for acclaimed actors for Broadway musicals and shows whose scripts still read “Untitled / Marvel” series, and a plethora of other perks that made the novelty of corporate life appealing. But even in all of that, there was always an incessant nagging at the back of my head telling me that I didn’t belong here. Not because I was made to feel like I didn’t, but because I was already getting fidgety and looking for the nearest exit sign, figuratively speaking. The taste of corporate life was beginning to leave behind a bitter aftertaste, and I wanted out.

For those unfamiliar with the inner workings of a talent agency, you usually start in the mailroom. The job functioned much like an apprenticeship. The end goal was to land an agent’s desk as an assistant - and that was where the music died for me. To be perfectly clear, I loved the mailroom. I worshipped the mailroom. It was my safe space; the space between the gig economy and a standard W-2. In the mailroom, I did exactly what I do now, floated between different departments, worked on various projects simultaneously, connected with creative professionals, wrote copy, and ran some really cool errands around Manhattan. I was devastated at the idea that I would have to let that go, and in some subconscious (but not really) way, mentally sabotaged my chances of staying.

Our main task, besides working in the mailroom, was to meet with agents and prepare for desk interviews. And I did what was expected of me. I showed interest, left good impressions, and did my homework on each department and their respective agents. From the very first day, I remembered names, kept track of who I met and when, read the trades and took coffee dates with other assistants. But at a certain point, when I figured my odds of securing a desk was few and far between, I held back - never fully convincing, never fully assured of my ability to do the job. Truthfully, the work terrified me. I heard, witnessed, and even briefly experienced the horror stories of assistant work that would make “The Devil Wears Prada” look less like a comedy and more like a documentary (that film is ruined for me).

And after each failed interview or lost desk opportunity, I grew disillusioned, agitated even, with the business. I knew that where I really wanted to be was on other side of it; filming self-tapes, attending award shows, acting in blockbuster films and writing multi-million dollar scripts. After a particularly bad stint on an agent’s desk, I was forced to reconcile with the fact that I was not cut out for this world. I didn’t have it in me to be ruthless - to stick it out when an agent screamed at you over a missed phone call, to thrive in a competitive environment alongside those more privileged than me, faster than me, whiter than me, and just deal with it. I left work most days with a heavy chest, unable to fully breathe until I reached my doorstep.

When I left that job, I felt like a complete failure. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was the only person in my cohort class not offered a desk. Despite how hard I worked - despite my positivity, eagerness, “white glove” service, meetings, networking, and endless emailing - I wasn’t chosen. And to this day it pains me. Because even if I knew I didn’t want to stay, I didn’t want to feel disposable either. I’m able to accept that part of myself now, almost three years later and carrying work trauma from that coveted job I took on that one afternoon in the Fall of 2022.

Still, I don’t regret it for a single moment. I blossomed during my time in NYC and learned a lot about myself and what I was capable of. Without that opportunity, I would’ve never discovered a path in cultural programming, acted in an indie film, worked at THE New York Film Festival, written freelance or befriended the myriad of creative people I miss dearly. If nothing else, I am immensely grateful for having been selected in the first place for something that so many people fight for every admission cycle.

Perhaps it’s youthful foolishness that drives me, but as uncertain as I am on most things in life, I hold steadfast to the path I’ve created for myself. I thrive in spontaneity and impermanence, enjoying the dopamine rush of time-constrained contracts and donning multiple hats. From my first job on an HBO production to now being intricately involved in South Florida’s cultural arts programming, I’ve come a long way. It’s funny how, in hindsight, we see the silver linings much clearer than before. Sometimes a door needs to be slammed in your face for you to know that you are meant for something different.

As I turned in my key card and MacBook on August 2nd, 2023, I stuck a yellow sticky note with my farewell and gratitude onto the computer screen. It felt like a homecoming.

I had the impulsive idea to write a letter to myself on New Year’s Eve morning - a letter detailing the emotional and mental distress that I am, admittedly, desperate to be released from come 2026. The ceremonious burning took place on the front steps of my house while battling the wind that blew out almost every match I lit. That could’ve meant something, but I’ve decided against my superstitious thoughts, as those have done me no good up to this point. It’s funny how another person’s idiosyncratic thinking could infect your own, how easily we internalize a parent’s uneasiness with unseen forces and myths that you don’t fully understand. Either due to exhaustion or outright rebellion, I rejected the usual ceremonious activities that are common within my culture. I didn’t have a cup of 12 grapes, I didn’t throw a pot of water from my front porch, and I didn’t run up and down my neighborhood with a suitcase in my hand to bring forth more travel. In hindsight, the magic that was made last year came from my own hand - not from curating vision boards or chanting positive affirmations every morning and night.

But as I watched the letter burn, I, like a ritual, closed my eyes and said a quick prayer that the fire would consume both the physical and spiritual; that all the internal junk I had regurgitated onto the page would now and forever be singed with black smoke and rendered into ash. Old habits, as they say, but I think I’m allowed some proof that not all the things that make up who I am are flammable. As I cleaned out my closet and tossed the remnants of a character I will no longer play, I kept the small things that reminded me of her.

I am allowed some sentimentality, after all.

With Love,

Isabella

The moment of reckoning arrived when Belly flew to Paris to escape a failed “almost” marriage and the uncertainty of her life and relationships back home. In an instant, Belly transformed from a naive and hopeless romantic torn between two brothers into a blossoming young woman. I was intrigued, but, most importantly, I felt happy for Belly—a character in a TV series I never paid much mind to. As I caught glimpses of her time in Paris—working in bars, having a steamy fling, hosting parties with friends, and rekindling her romance with Conrad—I sensed that familiar pang of jealousy creeping in again. I could no longer deny it, and in that moment, I finally understood why I held such a strong dislike for the show: I wanted what Belly had.

On the surface, she lived what I thought was the quintessential teenage dream. She had both the friendship and adoration of two handsome boys, with whom she shared every summer at a picturesque New England beach home. She was madly in love with the eldest brother, Conrad Fisher, whom she knew like the back of her hand, and he was madly in love with her. What stood out to me in my casual viewings - mainly as I grabbed snacks from the kitchen cabinet that was adjacent to the TV - was how intimately the Fishers and Conklin’s’ knew one another, even to the point of inflicting pain. From the insufferable loss of the boys’ mother, who was also Laurel’s best friend, to their contentious relationship with their father and extended family, Belly witnessed the hardest moments of the boys’ lives. And through all their imperfections, flaws, and at times, unintentional cruelty, she loved them. And in return, they loved her - even in times where she didn’t know it or was convinced that she was no longer deserving of it.

To think what I dismissed as a cheesy romance centered on an indecisive girl was actually a multilayered story of love between very flawed and imperfect people who were always worthy of it. What I envied wasn’t Belly’s love life; it was her ability to be open and vulnerable for love to happen. Despite the mess she left back home, despite the shame and embarrassment that tormented her, along with the heartache she endured, she had the intimacy that I’ve longed for, and she had it simply because she dared to love. And that very intensity of love and vulnerability—no matter how deeply I yearn for it—frightens me.

At 28, I have never had a serious romantic relationship. Growing up I never cared for a boyfriend, only indulging in the occasional crushes on boy band members or movie stars like every normal teenage girl. Whenever my friends would speak about their relationships or current flings, I was often the quieter voice, unable to share anything remotely close to an interaction with a boy. I figured that love and romance would find me later on, preferably with better options than the immature teenagers I went to school with. But as I’ve gotten older and have witnessed the marriage and engagements of friends and peers, I wonder if there’s something innately wrong with me? Have I done enough? Am I in the “right” spaces? Am I desirable to the men I want? Can men smell the stench of paternal abandonment and modesty that I fear follows me around? These questions have plagued my mind on most nights spent doom scrolling, encountering yet another engagement announcement or wedding photo of beautiful people in beautiful places.

The emotional wounds left by my father created an avoidance of love, where affection and vulnerability with a man felt unstable. For the longest time, I’ve avoided discussing my anxiety towards intimacy due to embarrassment and the fear of appearing prudish. While I don’t believe our self-worth is defined by whether we’ve experienced romantic love, I’ll admit that I fantasize about a transformative magic that happens when one is in love and is loved back—and as of now, that magic has yet to grace me. I have felt a stirring rage in the pit of my stomach for some time - a rage born from what I feel is a betrayal that I have committed against myself. I am to blame for the loneliness that afflicts me. It’s me who hasn’t forgiven my father. It’s me who coils and flees from the touch of a man with desire in their eyes. It’s me who has never agreed to a single date with a decent one. I thought I was protecting myself, when in fact, I was avoiding being irreparably changed by the world and the people in it. That’s the real shame of it all.

I have often thought of my own plight with love against the backdrop of a world where, to quote Baldwin, “love has never been a popular movement”. The advocacy for love against hate is not a new concept. Previous generations have dealt with social and political unrest and the uncertainty of how to heal a world marked by loss and destruction. Influential thinkers, leaders, and artists throughout centuries have upheld the belief that love could serve as a moral compass for humanity to find its way back from devastation. Much of our current struggle with love and the growing divide between the sexes stem from the changing of traditional gender norms and tense political climates. This growing resentment has only seemed to worsen via the proliferation of social media platforms and how communication channels and public spaces have been reshaped by them. More and more young people have shared online their growing disillusionment with love and dating - grappling with both their desire and outright avoidance of it.

It was bell hooks who put it best in her acclaimed novel “All About Love”. She believed that love is the very foundation of a healthy society, and without it, we risk perpetuating physical, emotional, and spiritual harm onto ourselves and others. She argued that love required courage and is a choice that must be consistently practiced for the benefit of our societal institutions and the coexistence of men and women in perfect harmony. Although profound in theory, this stands in complete odds with the present, where love is often treated as a punishment more than a guiding principle.

From the rise of “red pill” content that normalized conditional and deeply misogynistic behaviors towards women, to the infamous op-ed article from British Vogue asking “Is having a boyfriend embarrassing now?”, our cultural landscape is undergoing a vast “breakup” with love and dating as we know it. Social media platforms have created a false sense of connection that tech companies and consumer brands exploit to no foreseeable end. Experts warn of the psychological effects of online dating and the illusion of infinite choice, while reality tv shows dilute love and relationships into formulaic, superficial spectacles, turning viewers into voyeurs rather than active participants.

This anti-love rhetoric has become all consuming to the point where it seems everyone has collectively hit a wall, where the proclamations of “Love is dead” grow louder to raucous applause, and the vocal desire for romance elicits immediate disgust and criticism from those jaded by their own disappointment. We have seemingly concluded that love should be an afterthought, something to pencil in once we have cultivated our ‘best selves” through ambition, education, careers, and copious amounts of hobbies. And yet, what we privately consume tells a different story. The rise of literary spaces such as Steamy Lit and The Ripped Bodice, the enduring charm of Wattpad fan fiction, the boom of romance authors on #BookTok, and the worlds of Jenny Han and Shonda Rhimes signal that we want love. We crave love. We love love, but we’ve been misled to assume that love is scarce and that only the privileged few can have it. And so here we stand, in the midst of a battlefield, - lost, confused, yearning, rageful, but no closer to any resolution for our collective heartache. And while I don’t have the answers on how to fix this, I can begin with addressing my own hesitation towards love and vulnerability. Where we can make a difference that is felt is through our own practice and cultivation of love in our own communities.

What I learned from The Summer I Turned Pretty (thank you Jenny Han!) is that to live is to love, and to love is to risk. Those risks include letting go of our comfort zones and facing heartache, rejection, disappointment - even irreparable damage. Love is not separate from these emotions; it is the very core of them. Instead of the constant escape through literature, film, and other mediums, to feel its warmth, we can practice love - openly, unconditionally, and courageously. Belly dared to be vulnerable, embracing the risks involved, and in return, she experienced a profound love that shaped both her relationship with Conrad and herself.

I’m learning, too, my role in cultivating love - as we all should. Above all else, I have chosen to be open to love for myself, my family, and my community. Love does not offer a safe refuge, but that is ultimately where its power lies.

Now that I am no longer in school and working full-time, it’s a bit of a challenge to find time to study new subjects or research areas of interest. Since graduating, I feel as though my days no longer belong to me, with most, if not all, of my energy and focus spent on work obligations and other familial responsibilities. To commemorate the new season, I intend to nurture my love of learning through the creation of a personal curriculum with specific subjects I’ve been meaning to explore. I was particularly inspired by annotations: by Tati Sofia where she shared her own personal curriculum covering topics in Art, History, and English literature, and provided materials and references for her studies.

In this edition of my curated Fall series, I begin by crafting the perfect syllabus. May this inspire you to create your own study guide and fall back (pun intended) into a love for learning this season.

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Fall 2025

Class Schedule: Tuesdays & Fridays, 8pm - 10pm

Location: My Home Office

FMS 101: Introduction to Film Studies

Course Description: This course introduces the formal study of film as an art form and cultural medium. Students will explore the essential elements of cinematic expression, including mise-en-scène, cinematography, editing, sound design, and color grading. Through close analysis of selected films, the course develops skills in visual literacy, critical interpretation, and aesthetic appreciation. In addition, students will examine the historical evolution of the Hollywood studio system and gain an overview of the business of American television.

Course Objectives:

• Student(s) will gain an overview of the various visual elements and aesthetic principles of motion pictures.

• Student(s) will develop fundamental criteria for evaluating and analyzing motion pictures.

• Student(s) will gain an overview of the Hollywood studio system and the business of American Television.

Course Materials:

1. Film Studies, second edition: An Introduction by Ed Sikov

2. Agnès Varda: Director’s Inspiration (my fav director!)

3. What Is Cinema? by André Bazin

4. The Business of Television by Ken Basin

5. The Genius of the System: Hollywood Filmmaking in the Studio Era

   Thomas Schatz

Course Film List:

1. Rope (1948)

2. Cleo from 5 to 7 (1962)

3. Network (1974)

4. Bullet Train (2022)

5. Wicked: For Good! (2025)

Coursework & Final Paper:

• Read and take notes on required course materials

• Watch selected films and take active notes on the visual elements you have learned throughout the course

• Write a 5-page film critique on any film and post it to Substack

ATS 101: Introduction to Art Studies

Course Description: This course is designed for beginners with limited knowledge in art studies. Students will gain an overview of the global perspective on art and explore the ways in which visual art has influenced humanity across centuries and continents. The course will cover fundamental aspects of visual art while allowing students to develop an individualized area of study focused on an artist or art movement of their choice.

Course Objectives:

• Student(s) will gain a basic understanding of art and its global influence

• Student(s) will gain a deeper understanding of a particular artist or art movement.

• Student(s) will be able to apply fundamental art knowledge towards a career in art curation.

Course Materials:

1. Mirror of the World: A New History of Art by Julien Bell

2. Ways of Seeing by John Berger

3. Danielle McKinney: Beyond the Brushstroke by Danielle and Barbara McKinney

4. Blk Art: The Audacious Legacy of Black Artists and Models in Western Art

   by Zaria Ware

5. (Optional) Art History for Everyone by Kristine T. G. Hardeberg

Coursework & Final Paper:

• Read and take notes on required course materials

• Watch and analyze visual exhibitions or educational content by artists or art movements that interest you.

• Choose a theme and write a five-page paper exploring it through the work of an artist or art movement.

CUS 101: Introduction to Museum Curatorial Studies

Course Description: This course introduces the art of curating and teaches the fundamental skills needed to think and act like an art curator. This course is designed for beginners with limited knowledge and experience in curatorial practices.

Course Objectives:

• Student(s) will gain a basic understanding of art curation

• Student(s) will identify the fundamental tools and skills needed to be a successful art curator

• Student(s) will engage with material from experts in the field who highlight how curators individually approach the art of curation.

Course Materials:

1. The Curator’s Handbook: Museums, Commercial Galleries, Independent Spaces by Adrian George

2. A Brief History of Curating by Hans Ulrich Obrist

3. Ways of Curating by Hans Ulrich Obrist

Coursework & Activities:

• Read and take notes on required course materials

• Practice how museum tour guides approach and relate art knowledge to visitors.

• Create a guided tour outline for a local museum for your curatorial internship starting December 2025

I initially planned to add a figure drawing course, but I don’t want to overwhelm myself with too much. For now, these are three areas of studies that I am passionate about and have been meaning to devote time to studying. I am fully aware that this syllabus may be a bit too ambitious to complete in the next two months, especially considering that November is a very busy time at my workplace. Nevertheless, I haven’t been this excited about learning in a long time and I needed something, anything, to satiate my yearning for knowledge beyond schooling and damned student loan debt.

If you too are petrified of becoming stupid after graduation, do yourself a favor and create a personal curriculum that keeps your mind sharp and your curiosity fed. In a digital landscape that often feels loud and chaotic, with our attention span and consumption habits being our most sought after value, try turning inward ( or analog) and dedicating time to learning some things that make you stop, and, well, think.

With love,

Isabella

As we get older, it can be more challenging to stay connected to the inner child that once lived for the holidays - the school breaks, Halloween costumes, trick-or-treating, and classroom decorations. However, we can still keep the spark alive by creating our own magic using the tools we already have.

I am not immune to the allure of the Dark Academia aesthetic that creeps in during this time of year, so my list will be heavily influenced by that. (Don’t worry, you won’t see any Donna Tart over here lol) I present to you my curated list of book recommendations along with a Fall-inspired playlist. I hope you will find some great picks and curate your own lists to get yourself into the seasonal spirit. Link to Part 1

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Isabella’s Spooky Shelf

For those looking for some scary good reads for October.

Grab a piping hot cup of coffee or tea, and choose any book you fancy - watch out for the cobwebs, dust, and that peculiar Raven perched on the windowsill. Carnivals, madmen, killers, and monsters run amok in these pages, but all for a spook-tastic reading experience.

This is my humbly curated bookshelf for those craving a ghoulish vibe this season.

And Then There Were None (1939)

Coraline (2002)

Something Wicked Comes This Way (1962)

The Raven (1845)

The Tell-Tale Heart (1843)

Frankenstein (1818)

The Devil in the White City (2003)

The Masque of the Red Death (1842)

Curating Your Fall Bookshelf:

Dark Academia, as with many aesthetics, centers around a few key themes that emphasize curiosity, intellectually engaging literature, and artistic hobbies. Whether it’s learning a new language, studying World or Art history, or reading various works of literature, this is a great opportunity to curate your own Dark Academia-inspired bookshelf to satisfy your intellectual hunger this fall.

Questions to Ask Yourself:

What Mood Do I Want To Create? Perhaps you’re a scaredy cat and don’t want your books to be too sullen or dark. No worries! Think about what Fall means to you and the kind of vibe you want your bookshelf to capture. Are you more Dead Poets Society or Coraline? Or maybe more Practical Magic and less Twilight. (These are movies, but you get the gist ;)

What genre(s) do I really enjoy? Are you a murder mystery fanatic? Do you enjoy historical pieces? Are you into Gothic horror? Pinpoint the genre of books you are interested in and start from there!

What period(s) of history are intriguing to me? You’d be surprised by the plethora of books you weren’t even aware of throughout history. Instead of diving into #BookTok for recommendations (no shade), try researching new subjects that pique your interest. This search can lead to book suggestions that you never knew existed. I’ve done this with films, and so far, I’ve been able to expand my cinematic knowledge because of it.

Isabella’s Fall 2025 Playlist

Every Autumn, I create a playlist that encapsulates both the transformations I’ve experienced so far and where I want to go from here. The changes in nature during autumn mirror the personal growth and shifting paths that have unfolded in recent years. This time of year often feels like I’m standing on the edge of something new, even if I don’t know what that is yet. Because of this, my fall playlists often carry themes of self-reflection, growth, excitement, and uncertainty. I use playlists to memorialize these moments so that in the future, I can listen back and remember precisely who I was and what was happening in my life then. My playlists have become personal audio journals, and I look forward to creating one every fall.

Creating playlists for study sessions, mood boards, seasons, parties, and more allows you to curate a soundtrack that reflects specific moments or transitions in your life. It’s a wonderful opportunity for self-expression and memory collecting. Consider what this season means to you and how music can capture this time in your own unique way. Who know? This could even become a meaningful tradition to look forward to every year!

Tips for The Perfect Seasonal Playlist:

1. Choose a Theme: What is the purpose of the playlist and what vibe do you want to capture in your music selections?

2. Set a Song Limit: Similar with Pinterest Boards, you don’t want to pin too many photos to the point where its too broad and overwhelming. Setting a limit can help with curating a sound that coincides with your theme.

3. Be Authentic: Don’t shove songs or artists in there because you want to appear “cool” or copy someone else’s playlist vibe. This is meant to encapsulate you and your unique perspective of the season.

4. Don’t Overthink It: It doesn’t need to capture every single thing about you or even mean anything significant beyond a cool soundtrack to listen to and share with friends. This is meant to be fun, so have fun!

What are some of your favorite reads and songs to cozy up to during the new season? Stay tuned for more curated content in my Tis Autumn Curated Fall Series. Happy Curating!

With Love,

Isabella

When I lived in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, I experienced a cinema-worthy fall season that I miss every so often. I had the privilege of living on 100th Street, right across from Central Park, and would walk the long trail that led up to Midtown Manhattan. I recall the cool breeze, families and couples on their morning jogs, owners playing frisbee with their dogs, and one too many squirrels darting in and out of foot and bike traffic. Autumn in New York became a staple pleasure and even though I’m back home in the South, I intend to keep that autumn feel alive, come rain or humidity.

So as we bid farewell to Summer and welcome Fall, here are some of my seasonal favorites that I come back to every year to put me in the fall mood.

It’s Sweater Weather

For cozy vibes, autumn leaves, and a slice of homemade pumpkin pie

Twilight (2008)

Twins Peak (1990-91)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin Patch (1966)

Harry Potter (2001 - 2011)

Coffee and Cigarettes (2003)

Good Will Hunting (1997)

When Harry Met Sally (1989)

Spooky Kooky-tober

For those who crave a good scare!

Coraline (2009)

Scream (1996)

The Descent (2002)

When A Stranger Calls (1979)

Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber on Fleet Street (2007)

As Above, So Below (2014)

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

A TCM Halloween - Turner Classic Movies

For those who have a devilish taste for Old Hollywood Classics.

Rope (1948)

Rear Window (1954)

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956)

Psycho (1960)

The Night of the Hunter (1955)

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

This is an ongoing series to get myself into the fall mood, and I would love to hear about your favorite films, books, and activities that help you curate a season full of personal delights.

I will be sharing more curated film and book lists on my Substack, so please consider checking it out and subscribing for more updates. Happy Fall!

P.O.V - We are inside an Alex Katz’s painting where nothing changes. But one day, we begin to wonder; If each day is the same, then nothing changes.

We are in the company of a peculiar bird.

The Bird: Why leave? You will begin to see things you don’t wish to see, know the truth of things that you may not want to know the truth about, see your parents for who they truly are. What if you become sick and carry a mind filled with worry. Stay here, and your days will be filled with play. Stay here and do not stray.

The Child: We have finite choices in life, but in games, we have infinite ones. If life is a game we can play, yet we are given finite chances, then life isn’t a game; it must be a test.

The Bird: A test?

The Child: Yes, a test.

The Bird: A test for what?

The Child: For survival, maybe.

The Bird: Well that’s no fun!

The Child: What makes you think life is meant to be fun?

The Bird: Well, I think anything you do everyday should at least be appealing.

The Child: That’s not the point of life.

The Bird: Well, what is the point of life?

The Child: How should I know, I’m only 6.

The Bird: I think life should be fun.

The Child: That’s a very childish thing to think

The Bird: Perhaps I’m childish.

The Child: You certainly are, and a bit funny

The Bird: Well it’s no worse than being a cynic.

The Child: I’m no cynic, I’m simply truthful

The Bird: How would you know truth at only 6?

The Child: I know what truth feels like

The Bird: Even a lie can feel truthful.

The Child: Well then life must be about survival

The Bird: How so?

The Child: We have many things to do, instead of just wanting to do things

The Bird: Like what?

The Child: We have to brush our teeth everyday, and we have to drink water and eat food otherwise we die.

The Bird: Die? What a finite word! Finite words don’t exist in games, do they?

The Child: They do all the time

The Bird: Why?

The Child: Cause people make games and people are finite

The Bird: If people are finite why make things that are infinite, like games?

The Child: How would I know, I’m only 6

The Bird: Well if life is more have to than want to, why do you do it?

The Child: We have no choice but to

The Bird: But we always have a choice, don’t we?

The Child: Not always in the ways we want them.

The Bird: Maybe we can beat life and stay here.

The Child: Don’t be silly - Life can only beat us

The Bird: How so?

The Child: We die

The Bird: What is death, Child?

The Child: How should I know, I’ve never died

The Bird: Can we stop death?

The Child: Don’t be silly - only death can stop us

The Bird: So life and death are out of our hands?

The Child: Not exactly. We have choices - they may not be infinite, but they are ours. And while some lead to life, all lead to death in the end. Either way, both are always here, and one day when we are no longer here, they still will be.

The Bird: What do they look like?

The Child: Like me and you

The Bird: Like you and me?

The Child: Yes, they look like everyone actually

The Bird: How so?

The Child: It just is

The Bird: Are things often just as they are?

The Child: Not everything, but some things, yes

The Bird: How are you so wise for 6?

The Child: I am in the between and I have a lot of time to think

The Bird: What should I do without you here?

The Child: You must live

The Bird: How do I live?

The Child: How should I know, I’m only 6

The Bird: How does one live at 6?

The Child: I take my time and let the days go by as they may. I take in the sun and the slow afternoons. I look into my parents eyes and count their fine lines. I kick a ball with my friends and read a picture book. I don’t know what I’ll do everyday, but I know that I have a day to do and live is what I must do.

The Bird: Do you seek change?

The Child: Change will seek you, it will seek me too

The Bird: But do you want change?

The Child: What matter if I do or don’t? It will come anyway

The Bird: I thought we had choices?

The Child: We do, but change is not one of them. One day I will no longer kick a ball to my friends or have my parents to count their fine lines. Someday, I will no longer be 6 and that will be fine.

The Bird: Don’t you want to stay forever?

The Child: What is childhood if one cannot reminiscence of it? What is life if one cannot move forward in it?

The Bird: But you will be different

The Child: One day yes, but not today. Today, I will take in the sun and play ball with my friends.

The Bird: Come a day where that changes?

The Child: So be it

The Bird: You accept things too easily.

The Child: You don’t accept them enough, even the things you can’t change

The Bird: Why can’t I?

The Child: You just can’t, but that isn’t a bad thing

The Bird: Growing up is hard. I would know, I’ve done it before

The Child: I’m sure, I’ll be just fine

The Bird: You sure are sure of yourself for a 6 year old

The Child: I hope that never changes

The Bird: It may

The Child: Then so be it. I can always find it again

The Bird: Do you think so?

The Child: Why not?

The Bird: Because life is uncertain and it will make you uncertain too.

The Child: Life is life and I shall make myself what I like and should I loose my certainness I shall find it again; like a tooth in the grass, or a toy on a playground.

The Bird: It won’t be easy

The Child: Nothing really is and that’s just fine

The Bird: So life is acceptance?

The Child: How should I know, I’m only 6.

The Bird: So then what is life?

The Child: Life will tell us just fine

I have much to say and very little time in the day to write them down. Everything moves quickly now, the days and months bleeding into each other without any distinguishing quality other than a different route home or an after work social gathering. I want to believe that life had more color back then, but perhaps that’s the alluring pull of nostalgia dousing every childhood memory in a glittery paint, cosplaying as truth. It’s said that we remember things differently than how they actually occurred, maybe that’s the danger of yearning for a past that no longer exists. But social media knows how to twist the knife of nostalgia already lodged into one’s chest with early 2000s music and home interior, the inside of abandoned Toy R Us stores and the closing of Claire’s where preteen girls got their first piercings as an introduction to womanhood. The slow collapsing of shopping malls aligning with the rise of AI is more poetic than people realize - like witnessing two planets clashing into one another.

Adulthood was never something I was curious about. When you’re young, you have the privilege of blissful ignorance of how the world works. The world as you know it only exists as far as the eye can see and the mind can wander. Concerns of friendships, popularity, puberty, homework, volunteer activities, exist in a bubble of adolescence. Your concerns, for the most part, are meaningless and eventually resolve themselves with age. The real test is adulthood, and like many others, I’m flailing about - knocking into objects, and people, and places and things that hopefully lead to something. The main difference between adulthood and childhood is how fragile it all now seems. In the same way a child’s bones are likened to rubber, adulthood feels like the weakening of both bones and tolerance. Not due to sickness, but to obligation and the cruel realization of how connected we are to everyone else’s pain and suffering.

With ages comes not only wisdom but responsibilities that make you die a little on the inside. After 26, you’re pretty much on your own when it comes to healthcare and you have to pretend that you understand how interest rates work and why your credit score takes a hit whenever you check it more than twice a year. You worry about how you are gonna pay 20 different corporations, 400 dollars every month for the rest of your life as you sit at your desk, working within the constraints of capitalism until you retire or die, whichever comes first. And within your cold, empty and freezing cubicle, you stare at a screen and consume other people’s lives to distract yourself from your own. You know that life isn’t fair and that it doesn’t reward hard work or talent, but you play the game anyway, hoping that the Universe will “work in your favor” and give you a fucking break.

My generation grew alongside the rise of technology, and while it's given us many benefits, it has also corrupted every aspect of our lives. We are no longer whole people. We are a new species, a merging of both man and machine, our entire lives held within a black screen nested in the palms of our hands. We are inundated with news reports, podcasts, reels, notes, and algorithms with the most outlandish and most disruptive media from the moment we wake to the moment we sleep. Buzzwords, trigger warnings, and bizarre takes land for two seconds at a time, with our compulsion to keep scrolling, liking, and commenting. But I’m not here to lecture you on something we already know. Anyone with a cellphone can see how far society has plummeted off a cliff. We look to social media and AI Chat tools for advice, quick answers, and shallow connections to the myriad of media references, inside jokes, and current trends that never last more than a few weeks. We curate the same style, playlists, Pinterest boards, and commentary, yet beg to be different, unique, special, as if it’s still possible in our globalized, media-infested landscape.

Everything now feels dissociated and phony. A boring peepshow into the lives and drama of strangers. An impending train crash we can’t look away from. We have turned attention into currency, into opportunities that pay more than an overly educated teacher or electrician due to well-paying brand deals for “engagement”. Where music artists are forced to make viral TikTok videos in hopes of going viral and getting a record deal. Where actors are forced to create content for more followers, resulting in better casting odds. Where GoFundMe’s are normalized and shared in the aftermath of a person’s death, families rely on the goodness of strangers to fit funeral expenses. People clamoring for attention, all of it ultimately meaningless and forgetful, for the sake of turning a profit. We live in an age where privacy is nonexistent, and the likelihood of unknowingly appearing in content is harder than finding a decently priced house. I totaled my car this summer and came to discover that the woman whose bumper I hit used my accident as content for her page, further adding to the guilt and shame I already felt. But I convinced myself that that was totally normal - that it’s almost expected at this point to have your most vulnerable moments captured for other people’s gain or amusement. How fucked is that!!

Amongst bottles of Sertraline pills and weekly therapy sessions, I have attempted to incorporate self-help rituals and affirmations into my daily life for the sake of self-preservation. My mother lives on motivational content and is never short on a Mel Robbins podcast or Louise Haye’s lecture to send to “set your intention for the week” or “expect the very best” out of life. I almost envy my mother’s ability to let things go easily, to refrain from the negativity of others. Her zest for life has always impressed me, and I wonder often how it hasn’t rubbed off on me after all this time.

Maybe my sister is right - perhaps I am a cynic who has no desire to be happy in my life. Maybe I was wired that way. Maybe it's because I never held steadfast to a faith. I didn’t fully believe in anything. I questioned God and religion, my teachers, my father, the rules and traditions of things that didn’t sit right with me. I would hold out on sleep on Christmas Eve cause I wanted to see, with my own eyes, that Santa Claus did exist. But I played along. I created vision boards, ate exactly 12 grapes on New Year's Eve, threw pennies into fountains, said my prayers, attended church every Sunday, hoping to be proven wrong - that contentment is possible and that a higher order is real. But the fear that plagues me, that holds me from giving in to the Word of God, is that we are truly alone - that no one is coming to save us, and that everything, as Jeff Goldblum puts it in Jurassic Park, is just pure chaos. That how we cope with life, either through music, film, books, love, sex, careers, etc., is created by humans out of sheer desperation to distract ourselves from our own pointlessness. That the cards we are dealt with are from a shuffled deck, and how they lay is not through merit or worth, but at complete random.

It’s often stated by many critics of capitalism and political activists that the failings of a society are evident when the vast majority of its population is only one misfortune away from destitution. And with the pervasiveness of social media, we are never short of a socio-economic failing or political disaster to fret over. From Trump and the 1% percent, to the ruins of Gaza, to the medical deserts in Rural America, and the sweeping ICE raids across Metropolitan cities, we are shown how very little control we have over our lives and our financial prospects. Luck can be as simple as a geological location. Subsequently, we turn to coping mechanisms that society has devised - self-help books, religion, yoga, meditation, and so on- to ignore a reality that is too raw, too difficult to swallow without a chaser.

When I get this way, I think about the silence and ease of death. Not in a self-harm way, but more for its irrevocable promise of reprieve from uncertainty and an unjust world that only seems to be getting worse as the years go by. Since my teen years, I’ve thought of shedding my skin often, hiding these sort of thoughts from my family out of fear that they’ll have me committed. I would have detailed fascinations of obliterating myself. Of ripping myself to pieces, from limb to limb, until I am no more visible than an atom. I visualize setting my belongings on fire, watching as my entire bedroom becomes engulfed in flames. I imagine my white bedsheets becoming tinged with black smoke, the carpet coiling from the floorboards. My clothes, shoes, jewelry and other sentimental junk thrown together into a fiery heap - every last remnant of my existence ending in pure, glorious destruction. This would be my resurrection.

To have nothing, to worry about nothing, to be nothing - what ease I would feel in that reality, delusional or not. Every problem I have, every bill, every annoying notification, familial relationships, doctor appointments, therapy sessions, savings account, my credit score, my car loan, my student loans, my desires, my wants, my needs - all of it disappearing into thin air. No longer tied to vast nothingness, no longer judged by a number or a score, no longer tethered to earthly inconveniences.

That I think is true freedom. When you have nothing, nothing can be taken away. Nothing is unconditional, nothing is transactional. Perhaps my hesitation about happiness is not cynicism after all, but survival. I fear that happiness can be taken away from me, like loved ones, jobs, money, freedom, and rights. Like a carrot dangling from a stick in front of a rabbit, happiness, to me, is only real so long as you can chase it, hope for it, feel its grace from time to time, but never forget that it isn’t still dangling in front of you, teasing you, ready to be snatched away. I’m rambling, I know, I don’t know what to make of this post, but it's a rapid scribbling of my subconscious. A messy lamenting.

To be clear - I don’t support disrespect, cruelty, or any behavior that goes against public decency and basic humanity. When we step outside of our homes and engage with society, we are responsible for how we conduct ourselves and treat others. But even too much humility can be a dangerous thing. Many have been conditioned to play small, to remain humble, and to not draw so much attention to themselves. Particularly for us women, we are taught that openly pursuing and desiring is a shameful and humiliating act. Whether it’s love, money, health, material possessions or career advancement, we are sold the falsity that the world operates on an invisible axis of merit, and that what we get is often what we deserve.

But what does it mean to deserve something in a world that is unfair and unjust, where many life outcomes depend on factors beyond our control? Letting go of these false and limiting beliefs about worthiness will help prevent us from holding ourselves back.

This question - posed by my therapist - challenged every belief I held about what it means to be deserving. Growing up I saw myself as painfully ordinary. I believed that if I was smarter, more athletic, more outgoing, more attractive - more, more, more - I would have everything I ever wanted. But because I didn’t fit that mold, I assumed that only the best and brightest of my peers were “entitled” to take up space, experience popularity, receive praise, and access better opportunities overall. Unfortunately, I’m not alone in this belief. The idea that only a select few deserve privileges based on circumstances—both internal and external—is deeply rooted in societies around the world. I don’t mention this to diminish the greatness of others; rather, I, too, am in pursuit of greatness (yes, I just quoted Timothée Chalamet). However, many conversations about impostor syndrome and self-worth stem from the inherent belief that success and misfortune is distributed based on "deserving," as if there’s a scientific method to the chaos of life.

Say you and a co-worker are both up for a big job promotion. You both are exceptional employees, always on time, reliable, team players, and willing to go the extra mile to accomplish a goal. Final decisions are made, and it turns out that neither of you is chosen. Instead, the role, along with its great benefits and pay raise, goes to an external hire. Needless to say, you start questioning your entire existence on a decision that was completely out of your hands to begin with. You start to think, well, maybe if I just stayed longer, or had been more vocal about my great ideas, or networked better than you would’ve gotten the role. You later find out that the person hired is the boss’s son. Now you could try to convince yourself that you or your co-worker were more deserving of the role, but not only will that get you nowhere, it will just put you in the position of negotiating your self-worth over an external circumstance. Self-criticism will only keep you in the dark of what’s important here - and it's that no one is deserving of anything.

The truth of meritocracy is that it’s a myth. Regardless of the level of talent, intellect, work ethic, athletic prowess, attractiveness and likability, you are not any more or any less deserving than the person next to you. Nevertheless, society has perpetuated the idea that any one of those qualities mentioned is an accurate assessment of your self-worth. This is further reinforced by social media, where we are exposed to various lifestyles and opinions that create conflicting narratives, overwhelming our inner perception of what is and what isn’t. I’m not suggesting that hard work or talent won’t take you far in life, on the contrary, I implore you to be great in everything you do. However, merit has little influence on success or failure; it’s all merely psychological. We have heard many successful people who go on to speak about how they aren’t the best at what they do, nor unique enough to only achieve what they have achieved. This isn’t them being modest, although it may come across as such - it’s them being truthful. The ones who accomplish their goals and amass public admiration are rarely ever the ones who are “the most deserving”. Think of the many political figures and celebrities we hear about daily. Do you genuinely believe they are the best at what they do? Sure they may be talented, have great work ethic, and are likable to a degree, but even they would likely admit that nothing about them makes them any more special than the next artist or public figure looking to make a name for themselves.

This reminds me of the song “Popular” from Wicked, where Glinda proclaims the appeal of popularity as she tries to transform Elphaba into the belle of the ball. There’s a specific line in the song that perfectly encapsulates my point:

“Celebrated heads of state
Or specially great communicators!
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don't make me laugh!

They were popular!”

Glinda didn’t think twice about the qualifications of a person, only that they cared to be publicly admired. Wicked may be the perfect example of a story that exemplifies the importance of self-worth rather than relying on external validation or solutions. Even the Wizard of Oz was nothing more than a man behind a curtain pretending to be an all-knowing presence for the sake of power and influence. From media to authority figures to our own elders, we're conditioned to believe in a set hierarchy—and to accept our place at the bottom of it without question. Those who bend the rules, who color outside the lines, who fiercely believe in their ability to achieve whatever they put their mind and effort towards, are not always the most talented or the most intelligent - they just didn’t wait for the world to give them permission.

Life isn’t fair - some are born more fortunate than others. With age comes the understanding that upward mobility requires the intervention of pulled strings and favors from far more privileged hands. However, that should not stop you from demanding more for yourself. Talent and intelligence, or lack thereof, may be largely determined by the accidental and chaotic mixing of genetics and environmental factors, but what one chooses to do with their lot says more about them than anything else. What we lack in inheritance we gain through calculated risks and daily choices that create our lives. That is where hope and success lies - not in what one has but in what they choose to do with the cards they’ve been dealt.

I used to despise the saying, "There will always be someone smarter, prettier, or more talented than you, but they will never be you." I found it offensive and would point out its unnecessary cruelty and bluntness. However, as I grew older, life chipped away at my adolescent naivety, leading me to accept this truth and use it to my advantage. I have never been the most revered, talented, or intelligent person in any space i’ve occupied, but that hasn’t stopped me in the slightest. There will always be someone who can do something better than you can, but why should that stop you? Would you rather waste your time comparing yourself to everyone else, or pour your energy into getting everything you want?

You can’t choose your parents or the house you grew up in, but you can choose who you become. Personally, I hate mediocrity - I hate it more than stupidity. At least with stupidity, you can’t help the intellectual capacity a person is born with, any more than you can help your fight-or-flight response. Mediocrity, however, is an active choice. The beauty with being great - like with everything else in life - is that it’s all relative. You don’t need to be at the top of your game or a bonafide genius to be great, you can excel in certain environments and fail in others - that’s just life. Mediocrity signals to the world that you don’t care about yourself. Being a perpetual victim to life will do far more damage than competition or a lack of talent ever will. There will always be obstacles that can keep you from achieving a goal, but what separates you from a mediocre person is not talent, beauty, intellect, or strength - but choice. You can either choose to be mediocre, or you can choose to be great, but that choice is on you and you alone.

I’m not saying that simply believing in yourself and taking action will solve all your problems. Life will still be life. You won’t always get what you want, you will fail, you will be disappointed, you will be challenged and humbled from time to time. However, what reason do you have to not give it your all? A fulfilling life is not about being the best; it’s about feeling inherently worthy of the things you desire and going after it. There’s no imaginary line to cross or a song and dance needed to be worthy of anything.

You don’t have to wait to be deserving; you already are!

Though you may not remember your first taste of coffee, I’m sure you can relate to its steady presence in your life. But what is it about coffee, beyond its addictive qualities, that makes it so alluring? It has transcended from simply keeping us awake to becoming a chic accessory or a cherished tradition passed down from generations. I’ve become fascinated not only with the history of coffee and the cafés we love to linger in, but with how coffee has woven itself into the very fabric of communal life.

A Brief History of Coffee and Coffeehouses:

It is believed that coffee was first discovered in Ethiopia, most likely by the nomadic Oromo (or Galla) people of Ethiopia and northern Kenya. According to a popular myth dating back to 800 AD, an Ethiopian goat herder named Kaldi noticed that his goats became unusually energetic after eating berries from a particular tree. Kaldi gathered the berries and took them to a group of monks who were initially skeptical and thought the berries to be some form of dark magic. However, upon throwing the berries into a fire, a strong and intoxicating aroma emerged, leading the monks to place the berries in a jug submerged in hot water. The resulting drink was not only delicious, it allowed them to stay awake during their nightly prayers and devotions.

Though the legend of Kaldi and the monks may not be entirely factual, the cultivation and consumption of coffee quickly spread across the globe, reaching regions of Africa, the Middle East, and Europe. The first recorded coffeehouse opened in 15th century Constantinople (modern-day Istanbul) where locals would gather to discuss an array of topics like religion, philosophy, and the local news over a cup of coffee. As coffee’s popularity rose throughout the Middle East, Europe’s appetite for the new beverage grew and coffee beans began making its way to Europe via trade routes and cultural exchanges. The first of many European coffeehouses were established in major cultural cities like Venice and London sometime in the early 17th century.

The significance of coffee’s origins lies in how it shaped cultural and intellectual landscapes around the world. Coffee was not only seen as an energizing drink for spiritual practices but, with the rise of coffeehouses, it also became a beacon of intellectual thought and political resistance. During the Enlightenment period in the 17th and 18th centuries, coffeehouses were known as “penny universities” where philosophers, artists, writers and scientists would gather and debate over cheap cups of coffee. In fact, coffeehouses grew so influential in their role of fostering deep connections amongst civilians and encouraging independent thought, that they became infamous to the elite class.

Throughout history, societies have been hierarchical, with the mixing of classes not only forbidden but also carefully segregated. Coffee became a catalyst in dissolving these social norms, allowing individuals from different classes to gather. This increase in accessibility to information led to more public discourse and criticism, with these spaces often being chastised—and even banned—by the ruling class due to their influence on political tensions and uprisings.

During the Ottoman Empire, Sultan Murad IV declared war on coffee drinkers, convinced that coffee was a narcotic used to sow public dissent and erode his rule. It is documented that he would disguise himself as a commoner and venture into coffeehouses, where he would decapitate anyone caught consuming the “illicit” drink with a hundred-pound sword. Sultan Murad IV had some reason to fear the effects of coffee - his brother and uncle were killed by their own militants who would frequent coffee shops themselves. Eventually, The Sultan attempted to ban coffeehouses in the 18th century to prevent the gathering of political adversaries, but the spread of coffeehouses throughout the broader world would ultimately undermine his efforts.

Though ruthless in his bloody crusade against coffee drinkers, the Sultan was not the only monarch who sought to curb coffee's influence on his subjects. King Charles II, also scarred by the decapitation of his father, King Charles I, during the English Civil War of 1642, grew increasingly alarmed of the gatherings in coffeehouses. Fearing that citizens would revolt against the monarchy, he sent spies to infiltrate London coffeeshops, hoping to dispel any unsavory rhetoric or squash plans for a revolution. He also attempted to ban coffeehouses, only to lift the ban after a mere 11 days due to widespread public resistance. The king even issued a proclamation against the spread of “false information”, which included the following quote:

“— men have assumed to themselves a liberty, not only in Coffee-houses, but in other Places and Meetings, both public and private, to censure and defame the proceedings of State by speaking evil of things they understand not.”

So influential in shaping political and cultural landscapes, a handful of coffeehouses around the world have solidified themselves as the birthplace of revolutionary thought and action. In Boston, the Green Dragon Tavern served as a gathering spot for Freemasons and the Sons of Liberty in the lead-up to the Revolutionary War, earning the nickname “The Headquarters of the Revolution.” In Paris, the Café de Foy became renowned as the meeting place where Parisians planned the storming of the Bastille, while the Café Procope was a popular spot for intellectuals during the Enlightenment period, hosting the likes of Voltaire and Rousseau.

But despite coffee’s role in political and social upheaval, much less revolutionary means have contributed to its routine consumption in modern society. As political unrest gradually subsided over the centuries, coffee became less about resistance and more about fostering artistry and communal engagement.

A Prevailing Love Affair

James Baldwin’s love affair with Paris began in 1948, where, at the age of 24, he arrived in the city seeking refuge from the racial discrimination he faced in America. In the pursuit of his literary ambitions, Baldwin would often linger in cafés, either engaging with intellectual circles that included Richard Wright and other expatriates writers or working on some of his most notable novels such as Go Tell it On the Mountain and Giovanni’s Room. Café de Flore and Le Select - now expensive tourist spots - were instrumental in Baldwin’s growth as a writer. These’s café were sanctuaries where Baldwin and other brilliant writers could explore more taboo themes like religion, race and sexuality.

Many celebrated writers throughout history have written some of their most beloved work in the corners of cafés, often with a pipping cup of coffee and a cigarette pinched between their fingers. F. Scott Fitzgerald, T.S Elliot, Gertrude Stein, and Ernest Hemingway were regulars at the Parisian café La Rotondo, with Hemingway even referencing it in his novel The Sun Also Rises. It’s said that Fitzgerald shared his manuscript of The Great Gatsby with Hemingway at another café, La Closerie des Lilas, where writer James Joyce also celebrated the news that his controversial novel Ulysses would be published.

“You're an expatriate. You've lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed with sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafes.”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

Till this day, a writer and a coffee shop is a prevailing and unbreakable love affair, and its charm lies in its simplicity. Whether in good company or in solitude, the act of having a cup of coffee feels sacred, not only because its fascinating history, but because the forging of human connection has been lost in the age of social media. The simple act of meeting up with a friend at a local cafe and sharing a cup of coffee is an ode to the love of community.

This brings me to one of my favorite films, Coffee and Cigarettes by Jim Jarmusch. Released in 2003, the film features a variety of recognizable actors and musicians, all gathered around a table cluttered with coffee cups, cigarette packs, and ashtrays. Styled as an anthology, it presents abrupt and brief conversations that spark between patrons and servers. For those who are not familiar with Jarmusch's work, his films typically focus on the lives of ordinary people in everyday situations, exploring the absurdities and revelations that can emerge from life's smaller moments. Coffee and Cigarettes is plotless; there are no climactic moments or resolutions. If anything, many of the anthology stories feel somewhat pointless and awkward, but that’s where its brilliance lies.

Despite the awkwardness and perceived pointlessness of the entire interaction, the true significance lies not in the subject matter, but in the act of people from all walks of life coming together in a shared space to participate in a common ritual. After multiple viewings, I’m always captivated by its intimate and poetic quality. The cinematography and editing style are modest, featuring a black-and-white filter and characters interacting in a single location. Nonetheless, the film exudes vintage charm, harkening back to when coffee and coffeehouses were at the center of community life, where conversations and ideas flowed freely and time moved more leisurely. In a world that often feels loud and chaotic, enjoying a cup of coffee (or tea) encourages us to find those small moments to slow down and be more present in our surroundings—something we have lost with the pervasiveness of social media and artificial intelligence in our daily lives.

In Ethiopia, the birthplace of coffee, the brewing and consumption of coffee is a meticulous process that is treated as a ceremonious event that can last for hours. Grounded by hand and steeped in a clay pot known as a “Jebena”, coffee is enjoyed in three stages: abol, tona, and baraka. Each stage symbolizes a deeper level of connection and blessings and is regarded as an important aspect of Ethiopian spiritual and social life. In Colombia, one of the largest producers of coffee, coffee is not only vital for their economy, but is a way of life for many families and a source of cultural heritage and pride. To put it simply, wherever you go, you will find a rich history surrounding coffee and its significance in communal and spiritual life.

My desire to write this article comes from the grief of losing my grandmother and two great-aunts over the past couple of months, along with the loss of many traditions that were upheld in our family. I’ve forgotten the taste of my grandmother’s coffee and no longer hear the chatter of my relatives in the early morning as they sip their brew and prepare for the day ahead. That generation - a group so connected through tradition rather than technology - has passed on. I didn’t realize the immense gap they would leave behind until the family gatherings grew smaller, the music turned quieter and more modern, and the comforting scent of flan and other cultural foods no longer filled the air.

I realized all too quickly, and far too late, how much of my family and identity was shaped by our closeness and our traditions - like a cup of my grandmother’s espumita or a signature Cuban flan. Since her passing, I’ve been reflecting more on my Cuban heritage and feeling a stronger desire to reconnect with it as a way to be closer to my grandmother, even in death. I’ve had to contend with the fact that I took so many things for granted. I wish nothing more than to be able to speak to my grandmother again, to ask her the many questions I now have due to age and wisdom. I wish I could ask her about her recipes and have the privilege of watching her move around our kitchen again, carefully jotting down the spices and herbs she used to make a flavor that only she could achieve.

But when I drink coffee, particularly a Cuban espresso, i’ve not only partaken in a ritual passed to me from my grandmother, but for that brief moment, I am connected to her and our ancestral land. Coffee has always been more than just a drink born from civil unrest or the enlightenment era. Across continents, cultures, ethnicities, and religions, it has served as a way to preserve time-honored traditions - traditions that keep us connected to our ancestors and to one another. Community and the continued fostering of it is essential for our survival as a species; it is the key to human evolution. No matter what your signature family recipe or drink of choice may be, may it bring you closer to your community. And for those who are still fortunate to be surrounded by your elders, may you cherish them and talk to them. May you share a nice cup of coffee with them.

Buen Provecho!

Works Cited

• Allen, Stewart. “Drink Coffee? Off with Your Head!” NPR.org, 17 Jan. 2012, www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2012/01/10/144988133/drink-coffee-off-with-your-head.

• “Baldwin in France.” National Museum of African American History and Culture, nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/baldwin-france.

• Bate, Jesse. “Coffee Rituals around the World: How Different Cultures Enjoy Their Coffee.”

• Hay, Mark. “In Istanbul, Drinking Coffee in Public Was Once Punishable by Death.” Atlas Obscura, Atlas Obscura, 22 May 2018, www.atlasobscura.com/articles/was-coffee-ever-illegal.

• Nescafe. “The Rich History of Coffee.” Nescafé INDIA, 2023, www.nescafe.com/in/coffee-culture/knowledge/coffee-history.

• Özeren, M. Murtaza. “Coffeehouses in Ottoman Society.” Daily Sabah, 20 July 2018, www.dailysabah.com/history/2018/07/20/coffeehouses-in-ottoman-society.

• Rotondi, Jessica Pearce. “How Coffee Fueled Revolutions—and Changed History.” HISTORY, 11 Feb. 2020, www.history.com/news/coffee-houses-revolutions.

Though I haven’t lived long enough to make such a bold statement, I don’t think there will ever be another decade as tumultuous and life-altering as your 20s. It’s a time steeped in duality—almost as if Charles Dickens was writing about this age when he said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” One moment, everything seems to be coming together, and the next, it feels like it’s all falling apart. When I watched Frances Ha for the first time at 25, I immediately knew I would’ve hated it as a teenager. Not because it’s badly written (it’s actually brilliantly written) or because the characters are shallow (I’ve met those exact guys in the West Village), but because I would’ve had little empathy for Frances. At 16, I felt so much more assured of myself. There was no urgency to “figure it all out” at an age when I wasn’t even old enough to see an R-rated film alone. Life after high school felt full of promise, and I was convinced that if I followed the prescribed path—college, then a job—I’d be just fine. Not perfect, but stable. Teenage naiveté is a sweet thing, in hindsight, because now, at 27, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, and the word “stable” hasn’t been part of my vocabulary since graduation. I’ve never felt more unsure of my identity or my path, and despite the years that have passed, there seems to be no clarity on any of the insecurities, instability, or emotional struggles that define my mid-20s.

For those who haven’t seen Frances Ha (please do!) the film follows Frances Halladay, a 27 year old aspiring dancer who finds herself at a crossroads when her best friend / roommate decides to move in with her boyfriend, leaving Frances to navigate life alone. While searching for a new living situation, she attempts to cope with her evolving friendship with Sophie, a failing love life, and the bittersweetness of getting older.

For the first 18 years of your life, you’re given very little agency to explore your own existence. You’re told what to do, how to do it, and you’re taught far more about algebra than you are about grief or credit scores. Then, suddenly, you graduate and are faced with a level of freedom that both excites and terrifies you. But despite the newfound independence, what you don’t anticipate are the many losses that come with it—the loss of confidence, friendships, shared timelines, and the growing distance between people. You’re forced to confront the reality that life isn’t as straightforward as you once thought, and that realization is a jarring one to accept.

I’m glad I didn’t watch this film when I was a teen. If I had, it wouldn’t have resonated with me the way it does now. Back then, I probably would have judged Frances as immature, clingy, and irresponsible—just a child who needed constant reassurance and had to get a grip fast. But now, I see myself in her more than ever. I understand her naiveté and frustrations. I get her attachment to her best friend, Sophie—the one stable thing in her life—and her fear of losing that. I can relate to her struggle to pursue her creative passions while grappling with the realities of adulthood. I also understand the temporary solace of going home for the holidays when nothing else seems to be going right. Most of all, I marveled at her impulsive trip to Paris, a trip she couldn’t afford, driven by a desperate need to feel as though she was doing something meaningful with her youth.

This is what being in your 20s feels like: the chaos and constant questioning of what’s next. The dialogue and acting are simple yet brilliant in capturing the anxiety of this decade, with Greta and Noah perfectly embodying not only the intensity but also the apathy that often comes with this age. The black-and-white filter keeps the focus on the characters, making the world around them feel almost secondary. At its core, this film is about embracing uncertainty—something we often try to avoid but that ultimately shapes us. We cling to people and things for comfort during times of instability, but it’s that very attachment that holds us back from growing. We’re not meant to have everything figured out or adhere to arbitrary timelines that don’t fit our individual desires or paths.

But if I’m honest, I’m still afraid. I’m now the same age that Frances is in the movie, and I’ve recently moved back home from NYC. I’m freelancing while searching for full-time employment, and I have two weddings to attend this year—with no plus-one in sight. In other words, I didn’t expect my mid-20s to turn out this way. But then again, as a teenager, I couldn’t really picture life after 21, and honestly, I didn’t care to. What I think I long for now is that sense of ease I had as a child—the unquestioning acceptance of life as it came, tending to what I could and letting go of what I couldn’t change or control. Perhaps adulthood is like they say: a process of losing your childhood only to find your way back to it again, but hopefully with more wisdom and perspective. As I get older, I’m once again learning to let the chips fall where they may. I’m not certain about much anymore, but somehow, despite it all, I have a feeling that I’ll be okay.

If you are looking for a rich and detailed account of the influential role women played during the golden age of department stores, then I present to you Julie Satow’s newest release, When Women Ran Fifth Avenue: Glamour and Power at the Dawn of American Fashion.

Julie Satow provides a compelling portrayal of the glamorous and illustrious careers of three remarkable women: Dorothy Shaver, Hortense Odlum, and Geraldine Stutz—each of whom served as a president of some of the most renowned department stores in American history: Bonwit Teller, Lord & Taylor, and Henri Bendel. With precision and engaging prose, Satow explores their humble beginnings, the seemingly destined career paths they followed, and the significant role department stores played in shaping the cultural landscape of fashion and consumerism.

Throughout the chapters, we explore the public and private successes, failures, humiliations, and achievements of Shaver, Odlum, and Stutz, along with their differing perspectives on feminism, working women, love, style, and social norms. During significant societal periods—such as the Great Depression, wartime, civil unrest, and the rise of female workers—these women were at the forefront, advocating for women as strong leaders in the workforce. Their creativity, innovative ideas, and business acumen highlight the impact of influential female leaders throughout history and demonstrate how their contributions continue to inspire progress today.

While the book primarily focuses on Shaver, Odlum and Stutz, Satow intentionally includes the contributions of Black figures and female employees, seamstresses, and BIPOC designers who played significant roles in paving the way forward. She highlights the challenges and innovations of Black business owners whose contributions have often gone unrecognized, as well as the women who excelled at discovering new talent and striking lucrative business deals. By elevating the stories of Maggie Walker, the first Black female department store owner; Stephen Burrows, an influential Black designer; Jean Rosenberg, often referred to as Stutz's fashion conscience; and James "Buster" Jarrett, the loyal doorman synonymous with the class and leisure of Henri Bendel, Satow gives credit where credit is long overdue.

Do yourself the honor of sitting down with a hot cup of tea or coffee and diving into the world of luxury and high fashion of the 20th century.

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