It was my grandfather that gave me the idea. He filled my head with galaxies far, far away, Lost in Space, Vulcan Hellos, and above all, the idea that something as terrifyingly vast as space gave people hope. He told me that we would go to the moon someday.

When I realized the harrowing amount of math required to study the stars, so I decided to be an English teacher — and part time writer — instead.

While we did not really get to the moon, we both had the chance to watch other people do it, with the launch NASA’s Artemis II on April 1, 2026.

With the wonder of space exploration making its way into the cultural landscape, the theatrical release of the book-to-movie adaptation of Andy Weir’s 2021 novel Project Hail Mary seemed to arrive at just the right time. Science fiction, outside of the franchise giants, was exciting again! I found it to be a visually stunning film with an inspiring and relevant message of friendship, collaboration, and the importance of vital scientific research when scientific research has been defunded across the board.

We’re not exactly living in the easiest time to be a human being. The world is changing, and not really for the better. Speaking for myself, my belief in the American exceptionalism that first sent humanity to the moon in 1969 was at an all-time low at the time of launch, while the world’s temperature is still at an all-time high.

The Earth’s surface temperature has risen about two degrees Fahrenheit, leading to devastating consequences for people around the world. Wars fought over resources, famine, displacement, and ecosystem collapse. Meanwhile, the belief in science sits firmly on one side of the party line, no matter how dire the situation might look to the rest of us.

That is what Project Hail Mary is about.

But Artemis II, even just for a moment, brought a divided nation — a divided world — back together again. It gave people hope.

That is what Project Hail Mary is about.

It would be so easy to simply analyze Project Hail Mary’s from the perspective that it is a story about climate change. It would be so easy to label Astrophage as an allegory for the climate crisis, and how necessary it is for humanity to band together across boarders in and political divides in order to solve it.

But according to Andy Weir, that’s not what the book is about.

Project Hail Mary is actually about Dr. Ryland Grace, a science teacher and less-than-qualified astronaut who finds himself the sole survivor on a vessel that will never return to Earth. He is tasked with saving humanity from a star-eating microbe, known as Astrophage, which is shrinking the Sun at such a rate that it is set to send Earth into an ice age — leading to devastating consequences for people around the world. Wars fought over resources, famine, displacement, and ecosystem collapse.

See what I did there?

During his appearance on The Critical Drinker podcast, Weir says: “I never put any politics or messaging in any of my stories at all … My book, even non-political, there’s just no symbolism at all. My books are always just purely to entertain. They’re human stories.” (59:33 - 59:49)

Interesting, because I’m not sure of an America where a science teacher wouldn’t get an angry email after saying that a student’s parent was wrong about climate change being fake without some deus ex machina tomfoolery. Even if it was the end of the world, you’d still be accused of indoctrinating the kids.

I’m not sure of a universe where every single member state of the United Nations — mainly the United States and Russia — would come together and agree upon the Hail Mary’s mission, when eight member states (including The United States and Russia, two of the Petrova Task Force’s biggest players) voted against a United Nations resolution that called upon states to “cooperate in good faith and continuously coordinate efforts to tackle climate change globally and ensure that climate policies safeguard the rights to life, health, and an adequate standard of living.”

That sounds pretty political to me.

From the countless times Weir references Star Trek in Project Hail Mary, we can tell that he’s a fan. I’m sure he knows a lot about it. I’ve never claimed to be the biggest Star Trek fan, but was it not Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek: The Original Series that featured the first scripted interracial kiss on American television despite pushback from NBC and viewers from the American South? Was it not Gene Roddenberry who believed that humanity will only reach its full potential as a species if we learn to embrace our own differences — and eventually the diversity we’d find as we continued to explore other worlds?

That’s not assumed responsibility, that’s integral to the work of art. It’s integral to the science fiction genre itself. What could be more forward-thinking than believing in a brighter future for everyone, and telling those stories?

I am of the belief that once your writing has been sent out into the world, its meaning is no longer up to you. It is for the reader to decide. Whether Weir meant to or not, he wrote a political novel that has been read through the lens of social issues such as climate justice, the importance of scientific research, and the human spirit.

Like I said, Project Hail Mary is a science fiction novel about a teacher, whose actions are driven by his role in creating a safe future for his students. Even if it’s not a world-ending space disaster, I think every educator knows what it’s like to stand in front of a class full of kids and teach them, even when it feels like the world as you know it is ending. This deeply resonated with me, and still does, making for what I found to be a very compelling narrative. Especially where science education has become particularly politicized, with standards for K-12 science education in schools varying drastically from state to state. But science education — and real-life science educators — play a role in changing this, helping students develop skills that will help them become informed citizens of the world.

Politics aside, Project Hail Mary is one of those works of science fiction that (in my opinion) focuses more on being scientifically accurate than telling a good story. If you value real science in your science fiction, then it’s the perfect book for you! But as someone who didn’t even try to take physics in high school, this made the book extremely hard for me to start reading in the first place, and I would’ve put it down if it wasn’t the only one I’d brought on a twenty-two hour road trip.

While impressive for a self-proclaimed hobbyist such as Weir, one of the pitfalls of setting a novel so close to the time we are currently living in is that you must consider real-life human technologies and their limitations. I also noticed there were points of the novel where I felt that Grace’s characterization got lost in exchange for becoming Weir’s textbook-reciting mouthpiece to the reader. He’s smart, but I’m not sure I could tell you much more about him than that.

Despite Weir’s obvious commitment to realism, there is still so much of Project Hail Mary that required a suspension of disbelief (and not even for any fun sci-fi stuff!) that I just couldn’t grasp. Grace and Rocky became proficient in the other’s respective language in a matter of days, with very little shared context? The whole world would rally around one woman, placing the entire fate of the world in her hands alone? Each and every character from a country outside of the United States has a personality that perfectly fits an American stereotype of their culture? The Russians are heavy drinkers and love vodka to a cartoonish degree, the Chinese are stoic and serious and boring, the Dutch are coarse and blunt …

But Weir proves that he can get creative with his characters (the non-human ones, anyway) with the Eridians. Eridians are about the size of a Labrador, with five legs and rock-like skin. Like everyone else who’s read Project Hail Mary I really appreciated Rocky as a character. I thought the choice to make a sentient (and highly intelligent) alien species whose biology, culture, and scientific knowledge is so different from humans subverts the usual route that science fiction stories like Star Trek and Star Wars often follow with humanoid creatures like Vulcans and Twi’Leks. Rocky is endearing and refreshing, no notes.

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Overall, Project Hail Mary certainly is relevant to the time we are living in, and the ways we currently view science and science fiction. It is a story about hope, and the responsibility that even the most ordinary individual has in the creation of a brighter future for all of humanity. It might have it’s pitfalls, it is a work of science fiction that subverts the genre’s norm, while proving that as writers, our work will take on a narrative of its own in the hands of our readers. But as the stories we consume looks to a future of progress, collaboration, and friendship, we must consider how we can do the same in the world around us. It is how we will achieve that better world.

Sure, it’s all well and good that we exist because fourteen billion years ago The Big Bang prompted a chain reaction that led to the evolution of the human race. But that doesn’t tell us why. It’s human nature to want to know our greater purpose, that everything we do is part of a greater design that we may not understand. Why do we build great cities and civilizations just to knock them down again? Why do we fight wars over women and land and gods — that we don’t even know are there. Without the why, what’s the point of all this?

The Odyssey is one of those great stories that endures millennia, because it seeks to answer those questions that are quintessential to the human experience. Even after thousands of years, the story is still as true to the people gathered in the movie theater to watch Christopher Nolan’s 2026 rendition as it was to the ancient Greek patrons listening to a traveling poet tell it. The Odyssey shows us how greed and entitlement can turn men into animals, and how a senseless war can bring us to break the bonds that tie civilized society together — our humanity, and the stories we tell. We still need stories to tell us that.

Since Nolan’s The Odyssey was first announced, it has drawn the criticisms of right-wing commentators, people with English degrees, and people whose knowledge of Greek mythology stem from a childhood reading the Percy Jackson series. Much of the discourse is surrounding the accuracy of the adaptation, and whether or not it is true to Homer’s original poem.

But jokes on you, I am four credits away from an English degree. I have read the Percy Jackson series front to back. Apparently that makes me an expert in the eyes of the internet.

The Odyssey (2026) and Historical Accuracy

First of all, I think it is important that we establish that there never can be a “historically accurate” retelling of The Odyssey. There is no history to be true to, it is a work of fiction. Stories are meant to be retold in ways that resonate with their current audience, so that we might learn the lessons they are trying to teach us. IMAX Theaters and Anne Hathaway resonate with current audiences.

This is not to say that there are not valid criticisms of Nolan’s Odyssey, classicists have their own thoughts on this rendition of the story. But I take issue with those who have not dedicated any time towards the source material criticizing “deviations from the source material.” What has critics so up in arms? The complaint that the casting of Lupita Nyong’o as Helen of Troy, the woman whose beauty launched a thousand ships, is historically inaccurate.

Firstly, how many of you cared about Greek myth and The Odyssey before a Black woman was cast as Helen of Troy?

No one in The Odyssey (2026) is Greek, or even of Greek descent, but it is the casting of Nyong’o that has been deemed offensive. I would also like to point out that none of the major roles in the 2004 film Troy — which The Odyssey has been compared to since the casting was announced — were played by Greek actors or actors of Greek descent either.

And if that’s where your outrage really lies, are you just as offended by Elizabeth Taylor in the titular role of Cleopatra in the 1963 film? Do you care as much about whitewashing in movies like The Prince of Persia, or the thousand and one adaptations of The One Thousand and One Nights where white people play SWANA (Southwest Asia and North African) roles?

Or is it that you just can’t stand a beautiful Black woman — who is also one of the most gorgeous actresses of our generation — playing the role of a woman who is celebrated for her beauty? It is actually completely realistic that people of African descent could have been included in Ancient Greek society, but I don’t think this criticism is really concerned with being “historically accurate.”

Don’t get me wrong, I have always been in favor of a story being told by the modern descendants of its historical culture. Take my previous example of The One Thousand and One Nights. I think it could be better told by talented SWANA artists (instead of than white people in fake tanner and parachute pants). But, if Christopher Nolan wanted to make the story of Scheherazade into a movie with the proper research and respect towards the culture and people who created it, it still has the potential to be a good retelling.

Even if it’s not exactly the story we started with, it might be the story that we need.

Translation, Oral Tradition, and How Stories Change Over Time

We as humans have always been storytellers, but we have never once told an original story. All stories come from another.

The Epic of Gilgamesh is the oldest piece of recorded literature, the first written example of “the hero’s journey” story arc, and a story that predates Homer’s The Odyssey by over a thousand years. Some scholars believe it to be an influence on Homer’s work. Who knows, maybe The Odyssey is just a “historically inaccurate” retelling of The Epic of Gilgamesh.

The Odyssey itself is speculated to have been an oral tradition, which was then written down by Homer (a mythical figure in his own right, much like Shakespeare). Was Homer telling the story accurately when he wrote it down? How accurate was his recollection of the tale? What creative liberties did he take? It’s possible that Homer is an unreliable storyteller, but we will only know his version.

The Odyssey has undergone several translations in the modern era, and because none of us speak ancient Greek, we will most likely never read a perfectly accurate version of The Odyssey. Once a text is translated, it becomes an interpretation — rather than a one-for-one copy of the original text in another language. Take the Qu’ran, the Islamic holy book, for example. A translation of the text may be helpful for an English speaker to learn about the religion, but certain nuances that only exist in the original Arabic may be changed or removed in English. It is no longer the word of God as it was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad.

Translations — no matter how true to the source material they can be — are not exempt from the bias of their translators. Emily Wilson’s translation of The Odyssey is the most recent, and probably the most heavily criticized for its “inaccuracies.” Wilson’s critics have taken issue with some of the choices she has made with her translation of the text, claiming that her work places “wokeness” and “modern ideals” above historical accuracy.

Sound familiar?

But every translator makes choices when translating a text. Men who have translated The Odyssey would sometimes include misogynistic and dehumanizing terms (such as “slut,” “creature,” or “whore”) to describe the slave women who had slept with the suitors — despite the original terms Homer used casting zero judgement on the women’s sexuality.

That isn’t necessarily accurate either. But in the same way a translation is an interpretation of an ancient text in modern language, it is also the retelling of a story through modern interpretations and ideas. Calling women “sluts” and “whores” — even when it was not necessary to the story — was how they chose to retell it. Personally, I find that calling women names a thousand times more offensive than the choices that Nolan and Wilson made when retelling The Odyssey.

The real world will always influence the stories tell, but that’s why it’s so important that we take those certain liberties when we tell them. In a world where Greek goddesses and ancient Egyptian queens are portrayed through European beauty standards, and women are shamed for having sex while rape is a weapon used by men fighting wars, maybe making the choice to tell an ancient story in ways that are true to modern times is more important than “accuracy.” Maybe there is no correct version.

Just the one we need at the time.

For two days, I could not leave my house, even just to sit in the backyard or take a short walk down the street, thanks to some slight breathing problems I’ve had since I got double pneumonia as a kid. The air quality was considered “unhealthy for sensitive individuals,” and three days later we still are experiencing a Code Orange Air Quality Alert. I swear, you could see the smoke hanging in the air when you looked out the window.

This week felt very heavy, on my lungs and on my heart. The climate crisis was literally on my doorstep, and what good is creating when we are literally destroying the planet? I couldn’t bring myself to write a single sentence, I didn’t touch The Artist’s Way, and I mostly laid in bed and felt bad about myself for it.

It was depressing.

You take one scroll through Substack and every other article is about how to optimize your creativity, how to gain more subscribers, how to become a bestseller. I find myself wondering when our worth as artists became more dependent on how many words we could write in a day and less about whether or not we enjoy writing in the first place. When did the private, introspective practice of journaling become the first productive thing we do everyday? When did we start reading for the sake of meeting a reading goal, and not just because we like reading?

When did using AI to make art become more important than learning to draw, and more important than breathable air?

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Because we don’t want to make bad art anymore. We want to make everything as quickly and in as large amounts as possible. We like fast fashion because we can receive hauls of cute clothes quick and for no money. We want ChatGPT to write our essays because it takes less time than thinking. Its inhuman, and it isn’t sustainable.

To some, a capitalistic society is what got us here. Others blame our chasing of likes, views, and reads on social media. Many blame hustle culture, which has seemingly weaseled its way into every single corner of our lives. In my opinion, all of these things are connected. Bad art won’t make you any money. Bad art isn’t aesthetic, and won’t bring in any followers. Allowing yourself to create for the joy of it (yes, even if its bad) isn’t productive — and therefore has no purpose.

This world tells artists: if you are not productive, you have no purpose.

We are living in a time that is mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting for everyone — including artists. So much of the advice we receive as creatives is simply not accessible, and does not take into account the mental toll this world takes on artists. “Write every day and you’ll become a better writer” is not good advice when the world has placed so much weight on your shoulders, and your everyday can change in an instant. Generic advice might not work for you, but that does not make you less of an artist.

People can barely afford groceries. We are watching civil rights protections for marginalized groups disappear before our very eyes. War, genocide, and climate change are everywhere. Yes, it is incredibly hard to bring yourself to get out of bed when it feels like the world is ending. It is incredibly hard to create — something that should be driven by joy — when there is smoke in the sky.

If you do not give yourself time to rest, process, and make bad art, this world will burn you out.

Writing is something we were always meant to do as humans, just like sleeping or eating, because writing is the one of the only ways we can prove that we were once here. That once upon a time, we had something to say, and it was important.

After spending a year and eleven days on Substack (and spending a decent amount of time off before bouncing back with Suddenly 21), I can confidently say that this is definitely not where I thought my writing would go by twenty-one. If I’m being honest, this is not where I thought my writing would go, ever. Because once upon a time, I thought maybe I’d be a novelist. Maybe I could last on-staff at a magazine for longer than nine months. Maybe I could figure out how to curate a nice-looking social media to promote my work (I didn’t think Instagram could be so hard). But now at twenty one — and severely humbled by strangers on the internet — I think I might actually be the only exception.

This is something I shared with the director of my college’s Writing Center, when she interviewed me for the Peer Tutor position I had applied to for the coming academic year. And yes, I did get the job at the end of the interview. This should have been affirming, but a part of me wonders if instead of being some wonderful synchronicity or answered prayer I brought about by my own hand, that it was nothing but luck. I think every writer has a bad case of imposter syndrome, but helping other people become better writers must mean that I’m doing something right.

The theme of this week was recovering a sense of integrity, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how when writing, we’re forced to face some discomfort (examples: the daunting final paper, the article we don’t want to start, the intimidating English professor). It’s hard to feel like you’re lost as a writer, because your words force you to come back to yourself. We have to tell hard truths and answer tough questions in a way that’s grammatically correct while being bogged down by endless imposter syndrome, inner and outer critics, and the thief of all joy: comparison.

One of my struggles on Substack is my lack of niche. I don’t necessarily have anything interesting to say about love, friendship, life, or any of the other “deep” and introspective topics that do well on Substack. There isn’t anything particularly interesting about me either, the market for women romanticizing their twenties on Substack is already saturated. I thought about recommending books, but who cares what I have to say?

I’ve had several friends who’ve self-published multiple books, I have peers that write advice columns while I’m flailing through my early twenties, and I used to know someone who had started drafting a self-help book.

Like with most of the advice in The Artist’s Way, I approached Julia Cameron’s advice this week with some skepticism, but this week’s suggestion seemed more impossible than the last.

Reading deprivation.

No books, no Substack articles, nothing (except The Artist’s Way, of course). Which feels like a waste of an Artist’s Date, since I had gone to the bookstore prior to reading the chapter.

The purpose of reading deprivation, according to Cameron, is to prevent the distraction that reading brings into the life of an artist (in my case, a writer). “Reading deprivation is a very powerful tool — and a very frightening one,” she writes. “ Even thinking about it can bring up enormous rage … We gobble the words of others rather than just digest our own thoughts and feelings, rather than cook up something of our own.” (pg. 87) Historically, Cameron’s students do not respond well to the assignment of reading deprivation, and neither did I.

She’s also a little dismissive of her students who protest the ban on reading, stating that they have jobs and other classes that require reading, stating that she has “had jobs … [and] gone to college and that in her experience [she] had many times wriggled out of reading for a week due to procrastination.” (pg. 88) I’m not trying to say I’m a perfect student, but acting like your class is the most important one your students are taking is kind of a power trip, Julia. Some of us can’t afford to screw around with our grades, Julia. Anyways.

You can’t be a good writer unless you are a good reader — another thing I’ve always said. But after a week of no reading at all, I can kind of see how I might sometimes use reading as a productive cop-out to avoid writing. Kind of like what we learned from last week’s “Habits” task, there are some things that we do that hurt our creativity, or that help us stay blocked when there’s lots of writing we should be doing. One of those things might be scrolling through Substack and reading other people’s work, which leads to seeing how many likes their articles get and how many Subscribers they have. Next thing I know I’ve closed the draft I was working on and wondering why I even bother.

So maybe reading wasn’t the whole problem, it’s the comparison.

I realized that that was what I was feeling doomscrolling on Substack. Stalking my subscriber count. Overthinking my posting schedule. Watching people on Substack announce that they had deleted all social media and replaced it with Substack, only to then engage with Sub4Sub and the same tactics that they were trying to escape on Instagram and TikTok.

Not reading did force me to write more, just for myself. I finally completed an entire week of Morning Pages! For my task, I looked at one situation in my life that I feel stuck in, and I considered what the benefit was of staying stuck. I thought about the first time I (tried) The Artist’s Way for a class. My main complaint was the feeling of performance that Morning Pages and check-ins became when they were graded. At the same time, I had just taken a job at a national magazine, and was now solely writing for an audience. My dream had come true, but I was no longer making the time to write for myself. Between class and my work, I felt like the artist got lost somewhere in there, and I didn’t know how to get back to her.

I only picked up The Artist’s Way again because I felt lost. So much of my energy was invested in things that no longer served me, places I didn’t want to be in, my self worth wrapped up in what others thought about me — only to come crashing down depending on what other people thought about my writing. I wasn’t making art anymore, and I needed to come back to myself.

I love having an audience, I love having readers that resonate with my work. But at the end of the day, this was something I started for me one year and eleven days ago. I am so incredibly grateful for the connections I have made with other artists in my community. But at the same time, it’s important to consider how we’re showing up to our communities — with integrity. This Substack started as a writing exercise meant to test my consistency, and whether I can show up for myself through my art. Choosing to think about it this way relieves some of the pressure.

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Not writing the next viral essay on Substack is no reason to stop writing your blog. You wouldn’t stop writing a book just because it won’t become the next great American novel, would you? I am a good writer because I write. You are a good writer because you write. (I know we both feel the imposter syndrome creeping in, but bear with me.) It really is all you need.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron refers to this feeling as synchronicity, or “‘a thousand unseen helping hands.’” (pg. 66)

This chapter found me at a very angry time of my life. Of course, I’ve always been seen as an “angry” person. I’ve been scoffed at, teased, and looked down on for it. But that’s something all women can relate to, to some degree. Every woman holds some amount of anger. Every eldest daughter, every twenty-something, everyone (within their right mind) living in America is probably a little bit angry.

But even if your anger is justified, it will still be looked down upon.

Certain amounts of anger can be healthy — obviously not putting your fists through walls or hurting someone else’s feelings — but feeling strongly enough about something that you’re willing to fight for it. Especially when we are living in a world that devalues feeling (and of course, art).

We are living in a time where it is so easy to feel powerless. For creators, for advocates, even the average person.

In this chapter, Julia Cameron shows us that anger can be fuel for creativity. But as any good activist knows, anger can be a great tool for advocacy. When reading this chapter, I thought about the connections that Cameron (unintentionally) makes between creativity and social justice. I feel like this chapter makes the strongest case for the relevancy of The Artist’s Way in a world where creativity has real-world power, and is necessary to make change. We just have to figure out how to use it.

So what is power?

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On page 64, Cameron makes the argument that answered prayers and acts of God require a degree of responsibility from whoever’s asking. Whether you believe in God or not — I understand that the emphasis on God and spirituality is where the Way loses some people — there is no denying that God is used in arguments from both sides of the aisle. God is used to justify hateful and discriminatory policies:

“Life begins at conception!” “We must return to Biblical womanhood!” “God only created two genders.”

At the same time, the world’s injustice is also used to deny the existence of a higher power:

“How can God exist in a world where people starve?!” “How can God allow children to suffer?!” “Where is God when people commit genocide against one another?”!

All good questions, of course. But both arguments try to absolve humanity of any responsibility for the state of our world, placing the blame on a higher power instead of asking (in my opinion) the most important question:

How did we get here, and what can I do about it?

As Cameron states, “If God, or the lack of God, is responsible for the state of the world, then we can easily wax cynical and resign ourselves to apathy. What’s the use? … This is the use. If there is a responsible creative force that does hear and act on our behalf, then we may be able to do some things.” (pp. 63-64)

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In the same way we feel powerless with our creativity, we feel powerless in changing the world around us. We give miraculous acts of something bigger than ourselves — God, a social or political movement, miracles and magic tricks — so much power. Meanwhile, we forget that they require some action on our part, and that we too possess some power.

There is a power in prayer, wanting something so badly that you are willing to ask a higher power for it. There is a power in having so much faith in something — a better future for the next generations, a clean Earth, equality for all — that instead of abandoning it, you choose to believe in it. There is a power in people coming together to create the life they choose to live, and design the world we desire.

“Is it any wonder that we discount answered prayers? We call it coincidence. We call it luck. We call it anything but what it is — the hand of God, or good, activated by our own hand.” (pg. 64)

But as much as you must have the courage to ask, you must have the courage to take action. Only you can create the life you want, and only we can change the world. In the same vein, no one can write like you can. No one can draw or paint like you can. No one can create like you, but you must have the courage to start.

After two weeks of solitary creativity (my least favorite part of The Artist’s Way), we can finally make a case for the power of creating as a community. While synchronicity may be “a thousand unseen helping hands,” Cameron claims that it is what guides us to other artists. “Remember that creativity is a tribal experience and that tribal elders will initiate the gifted youngsters who cross their path,” she writes. “Sometimes an older artist will be moved to help out even against his or her own wishes … I would say that some of the helping hands may be something more than human.” (pg. 66) It might be easy to write this off as divine intervention or the unseen force of synchronicity, but I’d like to believe that maybe artists can simply be good people helping one another simply for the sake of it.

This week, I was only able to complete four out of seven days of Morning Pages. But, I made up for it by completing two of this week’s tasks (“Inner Compass” and “Habits”). I found “Habits” particularly helpful, as I’ve started to find myself falling into the habit of comparing my writing to others,’ and it’s making me not want to do it. For my Artist Date, I went to Salem, Massachusetts to attend the Northshore Pride parade. It was really exciting to watch people come together, and to see the creativity at the pop-up market at the end of the parade. I saw lots of art for sale, crochet turtles and flowers (there were also a couple of crochet penises), and handmade jewelry. It was a testament to the power of joy and community.

Individualism can be defined as “a social and philosophical stance that emphasizes the moral worth, autonomy, and primary importance of the individual over the collective.” Individual liberty, focus on merit, and independence can all be positive examples of individualism in society. But, we are living in a culture that is rapidly shifting towards a tipping point, where individualism can become a lack of empathy and isolation.

It is so easy to feel lonely as a creative person (I’m sure we are all aware of the tortured artist stereotype). We do our solo Artist Dates, we sit alone with our Morning Pages, we don’t share our journey towards becoming “unblocked” with our friends. But when every artist is influenced by something — another artist, your favorite piece of art, where you come from — you are never alone. As I reflect on each week, I have found that so much of my identity as a writer is inspired by the world around me. I write better when I have something important to say.

But today, the whole world constantly encourages us to focus inward. We are pushed to always do what is best for ourselves and ourselves alone. We are told we owe nothing to those around us. Our communities start to shrink.

When we lose community, we lose more than the strength in numbers necessary to challenge systemic issues. We lose funding for libraries that support literacy in underserved youth and archives that preserve history. We lose the infrastructure that supports parks, community gardens, and commons that allow everyone to appreciate the environment. Shared resources like community centers and food pantries that are safety nets for our most vulnerable neighbors begin to disappear. The impact is real, and felt through policy and in everyday life.

If you’ve been online lately, you have probably heard a lot about how to bring back these “third spaces,” how to be a villager, and how to build collectivism with those around you. While anyone and everyone can foster a village, artists have so much to offer to a community. From unique skills and talents to can-do attitudes, artists can be incredible additions to villages — we just have to do some work to find them.

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Love the Locals

As artists, the best way that we can support other artists is by not supporting billionaires (if you have the means, of course.) Buying craft supplies from an independent stationary store instead of Hobby Lobby and purchasing your books from indie bookstores is a great alternative to buying them from Target or Amazon. My personal favorite local bookstore is The Purple Couch in North Andover, Massachusetts. They host a series of book clubs, writers’ circles, and local author visits — all incredible ways to go out, find inspiration, and meet other creators in the area. If you don’t want to go through the humiliation ritual of checking out in-person, you can always see if you can support your local store on Bookshop.org!

If you don’t want to spend money, you can support independent businesses and creators in ways that don’t hurt your wallet.

Create in Third Spaces

Yes, making art in the comfort of your own temperature-controlled, air conditioned, quiet home is lovely. But in order to ensure these shared third spaces still exist, we have to actually utilize them. And, a change of scenery can be super useful for a creative block. On the days it doesn’t rain in Massachusetts, I’ve found myself taking the time to put on some sunscreen and write outside for a change. But if you still prefer to be in an indoor, quiet space, creating in the library or a local coffee shop can be just as nice.

Use Your Powers for Good

Using your creative talents for causes that help your community is one of the easiest ways artists can be villagers. Creating for a cause can give your art purpose and direction, great if you’re in a creative block. And who doesn’t love their idea of their art helping somebody?

If you’re looking for some ideas, painters can take part in projects like community murals that celebrate diversity and make your town or city even more beautiful. Writers can take part in volunteer initiatives that help those in your community develop stronger literacy skills, such as tutoring and mentorship programs for local youth, or donating your time to assist on a nonprofit’s communications staff. Dancers, writers, and musicians can look into volunteer opportunities with community centers and schools, teaching dance or choreographing productions. Using our powers for good is not only how we can give back to our villages as artists, but how we foster the next generation of creatives.

Find Your People

Creating together is better than creating alone, and part of being a villager is being the one to host (and follow through on) plans with others. While we are all busy working on our own creative works, fostering a village environment means making time for one another on a deeper level than grabbing coffee when you have the time. Book clubs, writer’s circles, and art classes are all places where creatives can share ideas, reflect, and hold one another accountable. Whether it’s as simple as having friends over to read a book or as elaborate as a themed movie night, creativity thrives with company.

Buy me a coffee!

Give Where You Can

One of the most important parts of being part of a village is giving where you can — without the expectation of receiving anything in return. Donating books and games to Little Free Libraries in your neighborhood, brainstorming your novel while giving your time to a community garden, buying an artist you appreciate a coffee, and contributing to causes that support creativity in underserved communities are all ways artists can give to a good cause — while still making an impact on others.

Week two of The Artist’s Way centers around the theme of recovering a sense of identity as a creative. Cameron advises us to let go of our feelings of skepticism and doubt towards The Way. Doubts are powerful, and according to Cameron, can sabotage creativity if we don’t allow ourselves to express them. Doubts towards synchronicity, Artist’s Dates, the Morning Pages, et cetera. After exploring these doubts, we put them aside and open our minds to positive change and put our trust in the Great Creator to guide our creativity. Now, I know this is where The Artist’s Way loses a lot of readers. God stuff is tricky.

Cameron introduces us to the “Crazymakers.” According to Cameron, creativity is a gift from The Great Creator (God), and allowing others to get in our way of our art is a waste of it. But beyond bystanders, “Crazymakers” are destructive personalities that will consume the life of a creative, distracting them from their art. I’ll admit, part of the reason why I stepped away from The Way (and Substack all together) was because of my own Crazymakers. These individuals are the reason why Cameron encourages creativity as a solitary adventure.

But in this current political climate, individualism can be very dangerous. I feel there are certainly healthy ways to “protect your peace” without completely shutting out others. Cameron advises against sharing Artist Dates with friends for fear of them “squandering” our time, we run the risk of pushing away others in our community. My writing is my activism, and I’m not sure what I would do without my friends. They read my writing, share it, and encourage me to keep going. “Your own healing is the greatest message of hope for others,” is a great sentiment — and certainly can be true — but I don’t know where I would be without that. I would rather bring them along with me.

My community and my culture is essential to who I am, and who I am has always been essential to my creativity. I don’t think you can create art without sharing one piece of yourself. I simply cannot “recover a sense of identity” without acknowledging who and where I came from, and how they inspired me.

But in the same breath, so much of how I see myself is based on others’ expectations of me. When we shed the roles others assign to us, and the ones we perform, what is left underneath? I’ve played the roles of a daughter, granddaughter, sister, student. I’ve performed as a writer, a woman, a biracial person, the child of an immigrant. When I’m alone, who am I? When I’m only writing for a professor or an audience, can I really call myself creative?

Can I call myself a writer if I don’t write?

Like with all things, I think balance is essential. This is where Cameron’s recommendations of Morning Pages as a solo part of the journey comes in handy. Doing my Morning Pages everyday for no one else but me makes me feel like I have a story worth telling again. There are healthy degrees of privacy and solitude that are not self-centeredness. But whether identity exists or not, there is no denying that it has become a loaded topic in this political landscape. So much of how we move through this world, the opportunities we have access to, and how our creative work is valued is dictated by how we are seen by others.

When certain identities are political, art is political. Books by people of certain races, gender identities, and sexualities are banned in certain states. Black art, culture, and music is consumed while Black artists are devalued. Writers, artists, and creatives around the world are victims of years-long genocides and human rights crises. Writers and journalists are detained — yes, even in the United States — for writing about important issues. We don’t know how much art we will never see.

My Artist’s Date this week was going to the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston. Of course, I did not go alone. For my tasks, I chose to make a list of ten Tiny Changes. I’ve been starting to make them. I also decided to take a second look at the Rules of the Road that Cameron introduces us to at the end of the chapter. I tweaked them a little for my mission with The Way.

In order to be an artist (and community member) I must:

1. Show up to the page. To rest (rest is resistance), to dream of justice, and to try.

2. Fill the well by caring for my inner artist, as well as the artists around me.

3. Set small goals and meet them, and celebrate the wins of others meeting their goals.

4. Practice — not just pray for — kindness, courage, and humility.

5. Choose companions who encourage me to do the work, not just talk about doing the work or why I am not doing the work. Be an encouraging companion for others, too.

6. Remember that it is my job to do the work, not judge the work. Remember that it is not my job to judge others, but uplift them.

This week’s overall theme was recovering a sense of safety, and exploring creativity without fear of judgement — from yourself and others — and protecting your “inter child artist. As a creative, I do feel the presence of that “inner critic.” I very often feel as though if my writing isn’t perfect the first time, then I am automatically a terrible writer and shouldn’t brother making any more art. After all, that was one of the reasons I gave up The Artist’s Way in the first place.

But if I couldn’t shake my inner critic the first time around, how can I do a better job at feeling safe as an artist?

After some reflection this week, one of the biggest things that makes me feel unsafe as an artist are looming deadlines. I have lots of deadlines, from homework for my college classes, article drafts for my job writing for a magazine, personal Substack deadlines, and now the 11:59 PM deadline that demands my Morning Pages every day, I can definitely feel them piling up. It stresses me out, and makes my inner artist child — who used to write for fun, imagine that — want to hide under the covers. I’ve been thinking a lot about a quote from The Artist’s Way that illustrates this feeling, “when we are blocked in an area of our life, it is because we feel safer that way.” (pg. 30) I would rather not be a writer at all than be a bad one.

Tackling my inner critic has been hard, but I have started by actually going against the advice of The Artist’s Way. First and foremost, by not punishing myself for missing my Morning Pages (I still achieved five out of seven days, which I think is a great start). I did not throw away my Substack or abandon the Artist’s Way when I was sick and did not publish this check-in on time, and I even built up the courage to create a posting schedule to help guide my writing. Mistakes were not the end of my recovery as a creative, I am choosing to think of them as the foundation of it. I am choosing to begin again.

Outside of inner feelings of safety, there are some very valid reasons to not feel safe as an artist in the world right now. The United States has seen extreme restrictions on freedom of the press, as well as a decline in the value of the written word. From college campuses to the Pentagon, writing about certain topics can come with very real consequences. Around the world, poets and journalists are silenced by war, targets for telling the stories of oppressed people. I reflected on this idea a lot during my Morning Pages. If all art is political, is it really safe to create art in a time like this? Maybe not, but it certainly is important. I would rather be a writer with typos than one who remained silent in the face of injustice, I feel an obligation to be creative in honor of those who cannot.

Julia Cameron, to some extent, recognizes the politics of who has the ability to be creative when discussing how being an artist is often thought of as an career choice that will not pay the bills. This is extremely relevant to how art is viewed — not just by our loved ones as discussed in the chapter — within society and culture today. Artists are not valued or compensated fairly by a world that consumes their art, and cannot live off of doing what they love.

This is the culprit of why marginalized identities often don’t receive representation within the media, many people do not have the financial means or support to tell their stories. Despite how The Artist’s Way may frame it as “choosing to be blocked” or “choosing to give in to one’s inner critic,” this response to a societal problem cannot be fixed within a 12-week program.

buy me a coffee!

Whether I mean to or not, politics comes up a lot in my personal writing — my Morning Pages included. The little bookstore that I did my Artist Date at has displays dedicated to banned books and anti-fascist literature. The world I am living in inherently affects how I navigate it, and how I write about it. The political and the personal have become intertwined. It’s not a positive or negative thing, but a neutral observation in how I express my creativity (even in the privacy of my Morning Pages).

As for my Morning Pages, I have found that while they are meant to be an informal stream-of-consciousness, my writing style continues to be very formal. Part of recovering my sense of safety from my inner critic is allowing myself to make mistakes in them. I do not go back to erase or edit my Morning Pages, I do not put much pressure on spelling, and I write about whatever I want. There are no sacred cows in my Morning Pages. No one will ever read them but me, but as a way of combating my inner critic, I do not reread them at all.

I’ve found that the practice of doing my Morning Pages every day has really helped my mental health as well. Waking up in the morning and making the choice to write, rather than scroll social media or turn on the TV feels very healthy. Thinking about them as relief, rather than another deadline to meet, has really helped me see the benefit in doing them. But, in order for me to do them — and do them reflectively and thoughtfully — I must set aside dedicated time in my day to do them.

Part of my Morning Pages this week was my task. This week, I chose to do one of the “time travel” tasks. The task was to come up with five alternate lives that I would want to live if I got a second (or fifth) chance at life. I know that the point of this is to recognize that we only have one life, and we should have the courage to incorporate aspects of these dream lives into the one we’re currently living in. I couldn’t think of any — I try not to think about things I would do in other lives anymore, because I’m kind of stuck in this one. Instead, I reflected on how my own feelings of fear often do not allow me to pursue the life that I want to, and how my fear of not living up to the expectations of others has caused me to live with some regret. I feel like 21 is too young to have regrets, and yet, it trickles down into my creativity.

Last, but definitely not least, is my Artist Date. This week, instead of taking myself out for an Artist Date, I bought myself a new journal. I don’t necessarily need a new journal, but I really liked both Snoopy and the message on it. See below:

Share By Grace Kaye

It feels really stupid to continue to write Morning Pages upon Morning Pages about my stupid, simple life and stupid, simple girl things when the world is falling apart. I only ever want to write about grief and fear because it feels unfair to experience anything else right now. While writing about what goes on in the world around me is part of my purpose and drive as a creative, I don’t feel like I have been able to write what I’ve wanted to, and use my art for that I feel I should be as a responsible creative.

Writer’s block is such a first world problem.

Because I’m still living a normal life. I’m still going to school, I am still safe at home, and I still have the ability to create while others’ art is being silenced. But But I feel like I’m at a loss for words. It feels unfair.

Everyone says that this is the most important time to create art and feel joy, in the face of fear. Writing has always been how I put how I feel about the world around me into words, but I can’t. I’ve been asking myself: where is the line between the privilege to look away, and staying sane? When does it become frivolous to write about “fun stuff” when I have more important things to say? What happens when the fear, the hate, the world all feels so big, that I don’t know what to say?

But in a political climate where being creative is a necessary form of resistance, I am hoping that I can use The Artist’s Way to answer some of these questions. I am looking to create something that serves as a sort of record — something that proves I am here now. I want to experiment with it; and see if the Way can be applied to a kind of creativity is more than just the “starving artist” or throwing it all away to pursue your passion — one meant for the time I am living in, where art is inherently political and creativity can be a force for change.

I have read the Preface, Introduction, Basic Principles, and Basic Tools of the 30th anniversary version of The Artist’s Way. According to Julia Cameron, the reason why The Way didn’t work for me the first time around was because I couldn’t make it past what she calls the “choppy growth phase” (pg. 5), a “bargaining period” in which hopeful creators looking to get unblocked throw in the towel — and return to life as they know it.

But I think I have other issues with The Artist’s Way. The Artist’s Way is often (rightly) critiqued as being inaccessible to creatives of certain backgrounds, abilities, and and walks of life. Not every creative has the free time or financial stability throw away their real lives in order to commit to going on a creative and spiritual journey. When I was first introduced to The Artist’s Way, my professors constantly reminded us that it inspired Elizabeth Gilbert to write her incredibly popular book Eat, Pray, Love.

But Gilbert’s famous trip was financed by her publishing company, so no I don’t think that finding myself and making art is necessarily accessible to the rest of us.

Applying a sort of social justice framework to The Way means first recognizing it’s somewhat privileged stance, and thinking critically about how it can be modified and expanded to include creatives who may face barriers to taking the journey as it is written. It will mean keeping the time I am writing in, and the world as it is around me in mind as I go through the twelve weeks, using The Artist’s Way to look social issues in the face — not as a means to look away from it.

Additionally, twelve weeks is a lot of time to commit to, especially in college. When I was first introduced to The Artist’s Way in a college class, I thought I would love it. But then it got so academic. I was a little put off with how condescending the book could felt, coupled with balancing the assignments of The Artist’s Way with the assignments of my everyday life (on top of a budding journalistic career.) Could Morning Pages really be thoughtful if they were just another deadline I had to meet? Were my reflections really helpful if the had to hit a word count? I didn’t feel like a writer, but someone in a 12-step program on how to perform the role of one. Being creative became a chore.

And yes, Cameron does tell readers that The Artist’s Way was born from “informal class notes” (pg. xvi) before evolving into packets of materials, then eventually becoming the book we see today. It is structured like a semester of classes, twelve weeks of assignments, “homework,” and required readings. This disciplined approach to creativity, while productive for some, can also seem overwhelming. It also begs the question: what is the difference between academic settings that foster creativity, and ones that stifle it? Is that always a one-size-fits-all? As an education major, I am inclined to say no, because we know education is not a one-size-fits-all. We adapt curricula for different students with different needs, why does the same not apply to different artists with different paths?

So why bother with The Artist’s Way again?

Going into it with the outlook of a woman in 2026, the attitude that it isn’t that serious, and a creative with purpose, I am allowing myself to believe this experience will be different.

I feel like I — much like the rest of the world — am standing on the edge of a shift. I’ve been feeling like I want to change my life, and I want to start by doing something for me. To give credit where credit is due, The Artist’s Way did hold up a mirror to me the first time around, and after some reflection maybe that is the reason why it made me feel so incapable. My whole life, I have lived so afraid of others’ disapproval, of trying new things, and of finally seeing what my art could be when I was creating and living for myself — not as someone’s daughter, sister, someday wife or mother. When your whole life is being who everyone wants you to be, who am I really? Who could I become?

I believe that change starts in the individual, and can expand into the wider community. I am hoping that, if I can change myself and my creativity, I can better use it as a way to serve my community.

As Cameron says, “our lives become a work of art.” (pg. xvi) Despite it all, I am constructing the life and world of my dreams.

We see this in Meryl Streep’s iconic monologue as Miranda Priestly, where she satisfyingly chastises Andy for her attitude of superiority towards the fashion industry, when in reality she cannot escape it.

You go to your closet and you select that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue. It's not turquoise. It's not lapis. It's actually cerulean…that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs. And it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact…you're wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room…from a pile of ‘stuff.’

Stay with me, there’s a point.

In case you (somehow) missed it, American Eagle’s latest campaign has sparked controversy for allegedly featuring what could be interpreted as white-supremacist and eugenicist dog whistles. Now, I thought I would love this collaboration between Sweeney and AE. I would leave my happy home for a wide-leg jean. I loved its retro all-American feel, I love vintage Ford Mustangs, and I absolutely love anything that gives back to domestic violence survivors—not that you can tell that was the whole point of the campaign in the first place—but it is now impossible to ignore the implications and potentially deeper meanings of the language the campaign uses.

This campaign could have been so powerful. Instead of making a weird statement and using a tired jeans/genes pun, American Eagle could have focused on how this campaign will support domestic violence survivors, with 100% of the purchase price from the AE x Sydney Sweeney Ultra-Wide Leg Jean being donated to the Crisis Text Line. You might think this has nothing to do with you, and the choices you make are your own, but you are wrong. Even something as simple as the clothes we choose to put on our back have a greater message because of who created them, and who they were seemingly created for.

In one of the ads, Sydney Sweeney explains in excruciating vocal fry—what sounds like the marketing team’s attempt to dumb down and even sexualize what Sweeney is about to say—how “genes are passed down from parents to offspring, often determining traits like hair color, personality, and even eye color. [Her] genes are blue.” This ad ends with the tagline “Sydney Sweeney (a blonde haired, blue-eyed white woman) Has Great Jeans.” Of course, “jeans/genes” functions as a double entendre here, referring to the literal jeans that Sweeney is wearing but also her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, conventionally attractive white woman genes.

All of these things—this ad starring “Conservative It-Girl” Sydney Sweeney, the good genes/jeans entendre, the campaign centered around a white woman with blonde hair and blue eyes and nobody else—were choices. Whether they were made with a specific purpose of promoting white nationalism and white supremacist ideals is not the point. Whether or not these ads were meant to uphold a beauty standard rooted in whiteness during a time where women—like Sydney Sweeney—have been praised for “Making America Hot Again” through “traditional” all-American femininity is not the point. The point is that in one way or another, they do.

You might think that people are reading too deeply into this. That maybe “Sydney Sweeney Has Great Jeans” refers to her simply being attractive, and that there wouldn’t be any problems with this campaign if it was a BIPOC woman stating that she has “great genes.” But in a world where beauty standards are so Eurocentric, to the point where there was ever a notion that those who had them were biologically superior, that instance simply does not hold the same connotation.

Of course loving your blonde hair and blue eyes is not the same as promoting white supremacy, white beauty standards, or eugenics. But saying that those features are somehow better or make you better than those without them definitely is. I have known people who struggle with finding foundation shades that work for their skin tone because they are so pale, I have known people who dislike the blonde hair they were born with. Self-love and acceptance is important for everybody, but self-acceptance of these traits on a personal level is not the same as implying they are any better than anybody else’s. That is the problem people have with this campaign.

Hell, American Eagle could have run this campaign with a white woman and stuck jeans/genes double entendre, while featuring a variety of models of different backgrounds celebrating a variety of heritages, histories, and cultures. To me personally, I think we too often forget where jeans came from.

My literal genes can be traced back to South Asia, and so can the iconic denim jeans we all know and love. The long tradition of indigo dyeing was exploited by colonial powers, but it also helped to shape the modern denim industry as we know it today. Genes are passed down from parent to offspring, but so is the tradition of textile work, cultural significance, and style that’s interwoven into my South Asian heritage. We wouldn’t have the jeans we have today if it weren’t for the jeans that came before us, and American Eagle wouldn’t even have a brand if it wasn’t for the larger legacy and influence of South Asian craftsmanship. But I am mixed-race, living in a country where interracial marriage wasn’t even legalized until 1967—and still isn’t widely accepted because of the notion that mixing races takes “good genes” and taints them.

You think this has nothing to do with you, but you cannot escape the context of the world around you. In fact, you wear it on your sleeve. These ads, their tagline, and our choice whether or not to turn a blind eye to the messaging here do not exist in a vacuum. The choices we make—the clothes we put on our back or how they are marketed to us—reflect our culture, no matter how “simple” they seem. Sydney Sweeney’s jeans are not blue, not lapis. They aren’t even cerulean. They are indigo, and it represents centuries of history and countless generations. While different from one another, all genes are good, and are all tied together by a common thread of shared humanity and super cute pair of pants.

Additionally, I had always been a fan of Americana fashion’s resurgence during the summer months. For the uninitiated, Americana is an aesthetic based in nostalgic iconography that is “distinctly American.” Coca-Cola, country music, vintage cars, pool bars, milkshake diners, New England coastal towns—I could go on. But in terms of clothing, “patriotic” colors, gingham and striped patterns, denim, cowboy boots, Lana Del Rey’s red heart sunglasses all invoke the American spirit. So it was no coincidence that—while Ralph Lauren did it first—when the Brandy Melville Nico American Flag Sweater (and its countless dupes) had found its way onto my social media feed and I desperately had to have it. 

But that being said, are any of these things “distinctly American"? Absolutely not. Could an aesthetic that glorifies the 1940s-60s potentially be problematic because of the rampant theme of oppression that several communities faced (and are still fighting today) during that time? Most definitely. Is there an entire internet trend trying to reclaim all of these things that have now come to symbolize America and potentially the oppression that exists within it? Yes, you can read up on it here.

We wear our politics on our sleeves through the fashion we wear—and of course, spend our money on. Beauty standards, fashion trends, aesthetic choices, all “girly” things that seem trivial are in fact informed by the values, politics, and ideals of a culture.

Obvious disclaimer, this is not meant to be a moral judgement on anyone’s politics or the clothes and brands they wear. It is simply an observation by a fashion and beauty enthusiast who believes that women can contain multitudes, and thinks way too hard about the cultural shift towards conservatism that these trends are signaling to. 

The Americana aesthetic is no different. It pops up when the United States of America celebrates our American heritage of liberty, justice—so-called “equal opportunity”—for all. As of late, independence that borders on individualism, patriotism that has grown into nationalism. In many ways, Americana fashion and aesthetics harken back to a time period that has come to represent the “American” values of progress, prosperity, and tradition. A time that was easier. Obviously, this longing for the “good ol’ days” of America completely ignores the inequality that came with much of the culture within that time period that we citizens have inherited today. 

And yet, I still loved to celebrate the idea of what America could be and what I want to see it become—a country that was true to its promises of equality and progress. I loved the idea of “American culture” and “American fashion.” I loved the idea of reclaiming an aesthetic of a time period that had been exclusionary to me and many of the people I love (that being said, it’s not like modern-day Americana is particularly inclusive at all, almost every result of my Pinterest search for was a white woman—pretty historically accurate.) I love Coca-Cola and the vintage cars my father and grandfather collect and rebuilt, so why am I writing a thinkpiece about a sweater that normally I usually would spring to spend my money on?

Because no one wants to wear the American flag anymore. 

If we’re speaking technically, no one should be wearing the American flag—or any part of it—at all. While the sweater in question is not sporting a true American flag (the “flag” on the front only has twenty-three stars, not fifty) the flag code is still something that those on both sides of the political spectrum need to read up on. Even its most staunch supporters accidentally disrespect it all the time—the Thin Blue Line flag can be interpreted by some as an example of this.

The United States Flag Code is not legally binding—and you can’t really be punished for defying it—it still outlines rules and customs that one should follow when displaying, handling, and disposing of the flag. If you were ever told as a kid to absolutely not let the flag touch the ground—with an Air Force veteran grandfather, I know I was—that’s the flag code. If your public school ever had the flag at half-staff and you knew to Google what important person died that day, that’s the flag code too. In regards to wearing the flag, the United States Flag Code states: “The flag should never be used as wearing apparel, bedding, or drapery…The flag should never have placed upon it, nor on any part of it, nor attached to it any mark, insignia, letter, word, figure, design, picture, or drawing of any nature.” (The American Legion)

But the conversation around whether or not our nation’s flag should remain in your wardrobe has been circling social media as of late, finding its way to a conversation with my mother while flipping through a Vineyard Vines catalogue. There’s Mom with that inspiration, and the subject of this article. 

For many, the American flag has become representative of the nationalism and divisive politics within the country it symbolizes. Recent events have been a wake up call to the social issues the U.S. is riddled with showing through where they hadn’t prior. Many no longer want to wear the most recognizable symbol of the United States because it is now seen as aligning themselves with what they see as its flaws. 

But of course, not everyone shares this sentiment. In fact, there’s another entire section of the internet advocating for others to wave and wear the American flag as both a fashion and political statement (ex: during protests in response to ICE raids and arrests in Los Angeles) as opposed to an alternative country’s flag one may feel represents them better. This is in order to “take back the flag” from those who have made it representative of negativity, and show that the United States is harming its own people. But what may be a change in optics to some, can also be seen as a push towards assimilation—that one cannot truly be American if they are proud of their heritage or home country. Is this not the same xenophobic rhetoric that this movement is meant to fight against? 

I digress.

I don’t think there’s a right answer here. As the Flag Codr states, “The flag represents a living country and is itself considered a living thing.” (The American Legion) The flag, along with the United States, is constantly changing as history progresses. How we view it, the connotations and meanings it holds, and whether or not we feel it represents us isn’t the same for everyone. The flag’s use as a negative symbol did not simply appear out of nowhere, rather it stemmed from centuries of injustice that many are just beginning to notice. That being said, I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong to wear the flag, either. I for one understand why someone would out of hope for an America that is true to its promises of equality and progress, with a flag that symbolizes that. But as far as the thirty-eight dollar Brandy Melville sweater goes…I need to save money anyway.