Along with having a distinct visual aesthetic, Greta Gerwig’s 2019 film adaptation of Little Women celebrates the beauty of aspiration through the lens of four sisters. Inspired by Louisa May Alcott’s classic 1868–1869 novel, the film follows the emotional journey of the March sisters and the dreams that shape their lives. Breaking from the tradition set by previous adaptations, Gerwig presents the story through a non-linear narrative, opening with the March sisters as young adults while interweaving relevant flashbacks to their childhood. By structuring the past and present through an almost cause-and-effect format, the film illustrates the distinct ways each woman interacts with the world and the choices that define each girl’s path to womanhood. Each March sister embodies their own vision of fulfilment, illustrating that there is no single way for women to navigate life or pursue their ambitions.

Representing the comfort of a domestic life, the eldest sister, Margaret “Meg” March, played by Emma Watson, is responsible, caring, and deeply devoted to her family. Meg’s decision to prioritise marriage and building a family challenges a contemporary belief that fulfilment only comes from personal financial/career related success. Her perspective shows how one can find joy in domesticity and nurturing those familial connections.

The second sister, Josephine “Jo” March, played by Saoirse Ronan, is fiercely independent and determined to forge her own path. She continues to be a focal point of the story across interpretations and serves as a pseudo-narrator to the events. Based on Alcott herself, Jo dreams of becoming a successful author and challenging the domestic expectations enforced upon women during the Victorian era, originally planning for the protagonist of her novel to remain unmarried. After finding a compromise with her publisher on this aspect of the book, Josephine is successful in her artistic endeavour. The events of the story are the basis of the novel she publishes titled, of course, Little Women.

The third sister, Elizabeth “Beth” March, portrayed by Eliza Scanlen, is the quiet and compassionate heart of the family. Her love for music and her selfless nature reflect a simple desire for a peaceful life surrounded by the people she cherishes most. Her gentle demeanour contrasts the harsh and unpredictable nature of reality, especially in relation to her tragic early death due to illness.

Lastly, Florence Pugh’s interpretation of Amy March is artistic, ambitious, and captivated by beauty. Aspiring to become a successful artist, she dreams of leaving an impact on the world around her. Amy is one of the film’s most realistic characters, evolving from a self-centred child into a mild-mannered and socially aware adult. She holds onto her ambition and has the drive to work for it. However, she knows she must marry, not only to check off that social expectation of women but also to ensure financial support for her future.

Through Meg’s devotion to family, Jo challenging social norms, Beth’s quiet empathy, and Amy’s artistic ambition, Little Women presents four distinct paths to womanhood. It reminds viewers that fulfilment takes many forms and that every woman has the right to define her own aspirations and pursue them in any manner they choose. Greta Gerwig’s adaptation of Little Women leaves an impact as it perfectly captures how young women have been and continue to battle social barriers while chasing their own ambitions. The film honours a variety of women’s identities, aspirations, and choices rather than offering a singular ideal for womanhood to adhere to. In this regard, the March sisters teach us to cherish our individuality and work toward the life we desire, even if we have to compromise with reality.

Beyond the narrative, each scene’s cinematography conveys a warm feeling of nostalgia and golden reminiscence. This encompasses the characters’ attire as well as the familial ambience that surrounds the setting. The attention to detail placed on these “background” aspects of the film highlights how Little Women’s filmmaking team brilliantly showcase their understanding of nostalgic comfort. The film’s visual components all support the emotional impact of the narrative, and convey the idea that simply sharing a moment with a loved one can be a precious thing in its own right.

Little Women is more than just a staple in the classic genre; it’s a celebration of the myriad of decisions women make in life. It serves as a continual reminder that there is no correct way to characterise love, success, or desire in people’s lives. Louisa May Alcott’s creation of the March sisters inspired future generations to think about how they would define their own happiness and the means they would use to achieve it.

Nearly twenty years after the phenomenal success of the first film, the sequel revisits the same iconic and tedious world of fashion journalism – this time in a dramatically different era and perspective. Directed once again by David Frankel, Meryl Streep stars once again as Miranda Priestly – breaking her rule of not doing sequels – for a film that surpassed the records of its predecessors. Watching this film not only provokes tears of joy, but also an immense feeling of intrigue, specifically regarding the character of Miranda Priestly herself.

In the original film, Miranda is portrayed as your typical demanding, ruthless, and no-nonsense boss, expecting a lot from her employees and often going to as many events as possible in full glam. However, The Devil Wears Prada 2 presents a different version of Miranda. Instead of being precise and untouchable, she faces a much more difficult conflict as Runway declines and digital media overshadows the control of traditional magazines.

Despite this, the sequel successfully humanises her character by showing her personal conflicts and vulnerabilities: it reveals how much she’d missed in her kids’ lives and how much she truly loves Runway.

One of the sequel’s most significant achievements is its humanisation of Miranda. In the original film, viewers mostly saw her through Andy’s perspective, making Miranda appear cold and emotionally distant. The sequel allows audiences to understand the emotional cost of maintaining power for decades, as well as the rising trend of digital media and the risk of overtaking tradition.

Additionally, the sequel also effectively uses Miranda’s personal struggles as a metaphor for both industries and leaders who fail to adapt quickly enough to the ruthless forces of change. As times change, Runway is no longer the dominant cultural sensation it once was, and due to new technology and unforeseen issues, Miranda has to depend on former employees and corporate partnerships for the industry to survive. Miranda’s vulnerability is shown through quieter moments rather than dramatic emotional scenes. Meryl Streep’s restrained performance of the character still continues to emphasise silence, facial expressions, and subtle dialogue instead of exaggerated emotion. Critics and audiences have noted that Miranda remains intimidating, but the sequel adds exhaustion and loneliness to her personality.

The sequel was not just iconic but also covered how time changes people in industries. However, the fact that Miranda is the strongest element of the film still stands. Once again, Meryl Streep delivers a nuanced performance that balances authority with vulnerability, making Miranda the emotional centre of the film. Perhaps the most poignant scene is when she talks to Andy about missing the important things in her life for Runway – it reminds the audience that we should cherish these important moments before they’re gone, no matter how occupied we are.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 undoubtedly transforms Miranda Priestly from a symbol of absolute control into a more complex and genuine representation of ageing power and professional survival. The sequel reveals that beneath her confidence lie fear, insecurities and loneliness regarding both her life and the future of Runway in a changing world. By focusing on her vulnerability, rather than simply her cruelty, the film offers a more mature and reflective perspective than the original.

Gerda Lerner once proclaimed, “Women’s history is women’s right—an essential, indispensable heritage from which we can draw pride, comfort, courage, and long-range vision.” Her words serve as a powerful reminder of the importance of women’s contributions to society.

Throughout the eras, female achievements have frequently been pushed to the sidelines, often being overshadowed by those of the other sex. Ignoring the roles of women in shaping our world is a trend that must be shattered; studying women’s history is essential for both honouring our foremothers and inspiring our children to live in a world where women and men are equals in garnering recognition for their work.

“Patriarchy” and “misogyny” are two recurring societal norms in women’s history. Patriarchy is a social system where the male figure, usually the eldest, holds absolute authority in a family, or, in a wider context, the male members of society have absolute power over the community they preside over. Misogyny further extends the influence of this system, described as hatred, prejudice, or discrimination against women. This imbalance is not recent—history shows that it is an ingrained narrative. To illustrate: ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, infamously believed that women were inferior, deformed versions of men.

If this gap is such a widespread norm, why is it even vital to break it? The answer lies in the definition of humanity: benevolence, kindness, and empathy for others. And because there is perhaps no greater human desire than to leave a legacy, it is thus hardly humane to remain silent about the women left buried by historians.

History loses all meaning if we only consume what is socially acceptable; women’s history is human, and thus it inherently deserves recognition. In this endless debate, however, some may argue that women are justly represented—Amelia Earhart, Marie Curie, Rosa Parks, and the like. But for every woman who earned herself a name, how many others were exiled from the textbooks?

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One of the most famous minds of the 20th century is Albert Einstein. However, among the millions who recognise him, few know the woman who made his theories credible. Amalie ‘Emmy’ Noether, German-Jewish mathematician and physician, made some of the most groundbreaking discoveries of the early 20th century. She earned her doctorate at the University of Erlangen in Germany, despite the institute’s policy against female students. Later, while working with Einstein and David Hilbert, a mathematician and philosopher, she repaired fundamental errors in their work by distinguishing between proper and improper energy conservation laws, formulating the two Noether theorems. Noether also developed an interest in algebra, inventing the ‘Ideal Theory’, the basis of modern factorisation. She was dismissed from her teaching position by the Nazi regime, then fled to America, where she taught at Bryn Mawr College and Princeton University and later died due to illness. Today, her work continues to define the foundation of various mathematical and scientific fields, paving the way for generations to come.

This pattern also extends to literature; anyone remotely familiar with the world of African-American activism can name Malcolm X, but what about Zora Neale Hurston? Born in 1891 to enslaved parents, she later moved to Florida in her younger years. After travelling to New York for her studies, she joined the Harlem Renaissance, a creative and social movement by Black intellectuals and artists. Hurston participated in the movement through literature, submitting early works such as ‘Drenched in Light’ and ‘Spunk’ to Opportunity Magazine, which earned her prestige. Later on, she attended Barnard University on scholarship as its first Black student and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in anthropology. This passion helped her study her people’s heritage and history from a scientific perspective. From her work, ‘Their Eyes Were Watching God’, she famously wrote, “Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf with the things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches.” Hurston was well-known for championing complex Black characters, exploring them beyond mere racial struggle. However, she passed on in 1960 due to a stroke and was later forgotten despite her early success.

Another woman with remarkable contributions to medicine and invention is Bessie Blount Griffin, a pioneer in physical therapy and science. Despite a fragmented education, she was one of the first Black women to obtain certification in physical therapy from Union Junior College, New Jersey. She became a licensed physiotherapist at Bronx Hospital in New York, assisting disabled World War II veterans. Passionate about helping them reclaim their independence, she invented the ‘Invalid Feeder’, now known as a feeding tube. This helped disabled patients regain their mobility without having to depend on others. The ‘portable receptacle support’ was patented under her name on April 24, 1951, earning her an official name in the physiotherapy world. However, the U.S. Veterans Administration and the army declined her inventions; thus, she handed them over to the French and Belgian governments, where they were used in military hospitals. When asked if she regretted not earning money from her inventions, she replied, “No, it was never about the money or notoriety—it was making a point about the abilities and contributions of Black women.” Despite passing on in 2009, her numerous assistive devices for the disabled still have a great impact on the health world today.

Despite the contributions of many such women, arguments still arise that women’s history is comparatively limited, with only a few key figures, and thus less significant. This disparity is due to the balance of authority—the power of preserving written history was initially given to men based on a system that was already patriarchal. Over time, as the chasm between masculinity and femininity deepened, the work that a woman typically excelled in (i.e., housework and cooking) was deemed her ‘place’, and she became unworthy of pursuits that would tip the scales of power, including education.

A study conducted by the National Women’s History Museum, which analysed various history syllabuses in the United States, discovered that only 178 individual women were named, with only fifteen being mentioned ten times or more. Additionally, women were typically referred to as a marginalised group or part of a movement rather than for their contributions alone, treating them like a minority instead of an entire gender of the population. Therefore, women’s history is far harder to document due to systematic erasure over centuries.

Historian Margaret Rossiter coined the term ‘Matilda effect’ to describe this calculated negligence, paying homage to an overlooked suffragist, Matilda Joslyn Gage. The fact that female history is difficult to track does not mean it is undeserving of recognition; in fact, it becomes even more important to study the aspects that people of the past buried. From Noether to Hurston to Griffin, how many women dreamed of a better society, only to be overshadowed by the men in their community? If people of previous eras did not consider a woman fit to speak alongside a man, we can not trust those historians to accurately depict the very women they put down. It has now become our duty to create a world where women are no longer considered an inferior species and girls are not barred by discriminatory restrictions.

Mary Pollack Sadker declared, “Each time a girl opens a book and reads a womanless history, she learns she is worth less.” Regardless of the deeds done in the past, our primary focus should now be on educating our daughters and sisters, so they do not grow up with a history just as lacking in equality. When young girls find themselves reflected in history’s pages, they feel empowered to create an impact of their own. As it shapes our understanding of the past and serves as a learning foundation for the future, the study of women’s history remains indispensable.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a girl grows up reading Jane Austen, she sets impossibly high standards; believes in the romanticism of a man professing his love through dramatic letters and lines; and inevitably understands that the dark, brooding man is the archetype of all romantic expectation.

However… were a girl to grow up with Menstrual Rage’s rendition of Austen’s timeless romance, ‘Emma’, she might reach adulthood with an arguably better set of priorities.

A world of pastel colours, dancing and matchmaking was twisted into Britney-Spears-soaked mayhem by the exceptional North-East-based feminist theatre company. Throughout the play, both instrumental and vocalised Britney Spears tracks were used to mark character entrances, provide background to dance sequences and to comment on the emotions of individual characters, creating a hilarious means of drawing the characters of ‘Emma’ into the modern world.

Along with references to the modernised adaptation of Austen’s work ‘Clueless’, including Emma’s (Hannah Burnside) declaration of ‘Ugh as if’ in response to Mr Elton’s proposal, and a passionate dance to Saturday Night, Menstrual Rage’s adaptation was perfectly grounded in the limbo between the dazzling Regency world of the original text and the modern day.

Framed as though directed by Emma Woodhouse herself, ‘Emma… Oops I Did It Again’ explores Emma’s fear of a loss of control, as she attempts to matchmake Harriet (Lucy Talbot) with supposedly reasonable suitors, unintentionally makes cruel comments about friends and ultimately is expected to marry Mr Knightley.

Throughout the play, Emma can snap her fingers to pause scenes and provide individual commentary, including her thoughts on the personalities of other characters and distaste as situations developed in ways she didn’t want them to (only made more interesting and impressive by the skill of the actors to stand incredibly still in absurd positions for minutes at a time during these sequences). She also rewinds to ensure the perfect opening and to hear conversations; she can mute people when they are speaking and fast-forward through situations she deems dull.

The actors undoubtedly did an exceptional job of managing multiple roles, bringing comedic flair to the characterisation of each individual. Dannielle Faye especially stood out, playing three separate, chaotic roles throughout. From the insufferable Mr Elton – complete with a fake moustache and a mumbling, bumbling vocal expression – to the womaniser Frank Churchill with his vulgar attitude, trashy terminology and attempts at swagger, to the quiet and distant Jane Fairfax, all of the characters were distinctive and hilarious. Emma questioning why Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax were getting married when they had never been in the same room, even going as far as to suggest they were almost like the same person, only added to the hilarity, while also highlighting the impressive way in which this was handled.

Despite her apparent fourth-wall-breaking powers, when she makes a cruel comment to Miss Bates, Emma finds her directorial role snuffed, unable to make the changes she desires, as control slips from her fingers. However, this is not the only way in which control is pulled away from her…

Since its publication in 1815, Mr Knightley has been seen as the perfect romantic partner for Emma, balancing out her childish whimsy and naivety with an older, more sensible outlook on life. However, Menstrual Rage takes a different view of his frequent attempts to reprimand Emma and his declaration that “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more”.

Instead, Mr Knightley (Gemma Blake) serves as the foil of the play in a strangely perfect way, acting as an emblem of societal desire to control women. His declaration “It was badly done, Emma, badly done indeed” in response to one minute mistake spotlighted his controlling behaviour. He is no longer framed as an older guiding hand, but rather an undoubtedly alarming figure who claims to have wanted Emma since she was “three weeks old”. Emma reluctantly agrees to marry the man after he has wailed and sighed dramatically, practically gaslighting her into saying ‘yes’ to his proposal.

However, Menstrual Rage steps in to fix the disastrous relationship being enforced. Emma instead has a moment of realisation at the end of the play, declaring “I’m handsome, clever and rich – we established that at the beginning”, and choosing to call off the marriage. The play ends with the women of ‘Emma’ sitting in a semi-circle, expressing relief at taking off their high heels and exasperation at the men in the play, ultimately choosing friendship and freedom over the suppression of individuality.

Infused with feminist fervour, wit and hilarity, ‘Emma…Oops I Did It Again’ not only serves as a look at the beauty of girlhood and the importance of female friendship, but also as a poignant commentary on the nature of control.

Fashion is no longer expressive fabric draped across your body, tailored to your needs and personalised to your tastes; it is now a helmet that defends you against the instability of the job market and a sword you wield to combat corruption in the workforce. Most importantly, it’s an armour that protects you against the devil herself.

The Devil Wears Prada franchise has recently expanded with a movie sequel, and it’s questionable, to say the least. What was once a story that celebrated unorthodox, successful, and multi-dimensional women in journalism was recently tainted by the money-grabber of a “story”, The Devil Wears Prada 2. What could have been a ground-breaking story about the precarious state of the job market and the uncertainties of artificial intelligence, it merely touched on these subjects. Instead, it does little more than remind us why we shouldn’t try to alter the legacy of an untouchable movie.

What is special about the film is that the fashion and styling are ultimately the saving force of this disaster (as well as clutching onto nostalgia). The general rationale is that even if the plot is terrible, at least it’s fun to look at. Whether it’s Anne Hathaway’s colourful Hampton dress or Meryl Streep’s Balenciaga red gown, there’s no shortage of glamorous eye candy in this movie. If this were any other story, it could certainly be interpreted with a “women should be seen and not heard” sort of mentality. However, the Devil Wears Prada 2 team cares enough about the project to never allow their story to be misinterpreted that way.

Even with a disorderly plot, The Devil Wears Prada 2 never fails to remind the audience that fashion is ownership. If the story is lacking in dialogue or character development, it tells a story in itself with its clothing, and those who still believe in unconventional storytelling can see that. It is natural to be drawn to the story’s fashion aspect because humanity yearns for the arts. Even though the story attempts to make a statement about the industry being attacked by industrialisation and technology, the audience is led to the conclusion that the arts must be retained, even if that’s not conveyed primarily through the script.

Although this is a sequel that nobody asked for, it might have been the sequel we needed to remind us that humanity needs creativity, whether it’s by expressing yourself with the clothes you wear or by writing better scripts than this one.

Of approximately 76,000 publishing presses worldwide, nearly 70,000 are independent. However, only around 120 globally are dedicated to women’s literature and interests. Perhaps shockingly, in the United Kingdom – often referred to as the world’s literary hub – this bottleneck is even tighter. Only one house, Linen Press, ticks all of these boxes.

In a region celebrated for its great writers, why is there only one country-wide feminist independent press? What sets it apart, and why does the world of literature need more publishing houses like it?

Linen Press was founded in 2005 by Lynn Michell, who has completed a doctorate in children’s language and authored seventeen books herself. Coming from a military family, she describes books as her “safe zones” away from the soldiers and khaki uniforms. She has now settled in the Western Isles, where she enjoys gardening and sheep herding. However, her main endeavour is championing women’s literature through Linen Press. The press’ values can be summed up in her own words: “What we lack in size, we make up for in integrity and passion.”

The first work published by Linen Press was Childhood Hill, a memoir by 94-year-old Marjorie Wilson. After meeting her in a writing group, Michell remarked that she was moved by her lyrical, exquisite prose. When she heard that Wilson had been rejected by every publisher she contacted, Michell took a leap of faith and, despite having no industry experience, set out to publish the memoir herself.

After months spent meticulously typing, editing, and formatting the biro-written work, she sent it out into the world. It was at that moment that Michell realised that this was her true calling – creating a book that was unashamedly beautiful to read and handle. To date, her favourite books to publish are those with a natural rhythm, consistent narrative voice, and surprising originality and depth.

Upon establishing Linen Press, she sought to adjust the scales that were tipped against women writers, a cause she had been drawn to even before Childhood Hill. Despite being skilled at editing, the publishing process was difficult to learn – she has stated marketing was a struggle and has recollected making expensive mistakes with her first few authors. However, she remained committed to excellence at Linen Press as they published books for women, by women.

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Linen Press’ official mission statement embodies their dedication to representing marginalised female authors, rejoicing in their strength and originality. They publish ground-breaking work across various cultures, ages, and writing styles, striving to empower women, regardless of barriers and boundaries.

To achieve this, Linen Press works closely with the authors it chooses to represent, treating the editing process in particular like a joint masterclass. Michell and her team tune in to the ebb and flow of the story’s narrative tension, adjusting its scaffolding and structural weak spots. Michell has stated that her own journey of authorship has given her a sixth sense for prose, evident in her support of Hema Macherla.

Macherla travelled from an Indian village to England, learning the language through borrowed children’s books from the library. Spotting her talent for complex plot and realistic characterisation, Michell decided to work with her. As colloquial English and societal norms were the basis of Macherla’s confusion, Michell practically had to work as a translator to rework the awkward phrasing and grammar in the book. Today, Macherla is the only author at Linen Press with foreign rights for her masterful stories.

Since its establishment, Linen Press has made leaps and bounds in its mission to represent and empower women authors. Its diverse roster features both major and emerging literary figures ranging in age from twenty to ninety, across India, Ukraine, and Nigeria. Headed by a qualified team of university professors, professional translators, and PEN executives, it trains elite editorial assistants to work within Linen Press and other major publishing corporations.

In the last decade, it has won multiple awards for its influential approach to publishing, from being a finalist for ‘The Pandora Women in Publishing Prize’ in 2015, to being shortlisted for ‘The Saboteur Award for Most Innovative Publisher four years later. Likewise, the authors represented by Linen Press have also brought much fame to the publishing house with their accolades. The most striking recent win was on account of Hema Macherla’s cross-cultural work Letters in the Sand. Shattering geographical barriers, the piece won the ‘Prix Littéraire de la Chambre de Commerce et d’Industrie Franco Indienne’, in 2026. Further titles have landed shortlist status for ‘The Richard & Judy Book Club’, ‘The Eyelands International Book Award’, ‘The Lucy Cavendish Fiction Prize’, and ‘The Robert Louis Stevenson Award’. The press continues to give a voice to the marginalised female writers of the United Kingdom and beyond.

Linen Press highlights the unfortunate reality that men and women still lack equal access to the power of the pen. However, it also serves as a reminder that it is now our duty to champion the rights of women to wield their words like swords. Lynn Michell acts as an inspiring symbol of female enterprise and creativity in this battle, and as a reminder of what a dedicated businesswoman can achieve, for herself and others.

There are concerts, and then there are historical moments disguised as concerts. The recent trilogy finale of the “Philippine Pop (P-Pop) Kings”, SB19, unmistakably falls into the second category. Held in the SMDC Festival Grounds in Parañaque City, an area famous for hosting major international acts, festivals, and concerts, the sold-out event wasn’t a mere performance—it was a culmination and celebration of everything the group has built over the years.

From the moment the entrance gates opened, countless fans, known as “A’TIN”, flocked from the nearby Parqal Mall to the concert venue, crowding every nook and cranny of the nearby streets. SB19 and their production team, led by Stage Director Paolo Valenciano, leaned into scale and ambition, choosing an outdoor festival ground as the site, which allowed for massive staging, pyrotechnics, and multi-layered performance areas. Additionally, fans enjoyed purchasing the group’s merchandise at their pop-up in North Entertainment Mall at SM Mall of Asia, one of the largest malls in the world.

The beginning alone showcased that this concert was not your typical show. The opening was dramatized with a procession of cloaked figures and a “bait and switch” reveal of the group, accompanied by fireworks illuminating the clear night skies as “DAM” filled the air. It was not just an introduction—it was an arrival befitting royalty, as the group members are often deemed the “Kings of P-Pop”.

Moreover, SB19 put great effort into structuring their concert like a story rather than a playlist. Early energy came from high-impact tracks such as “WHAT?”, “GENTO”, “DUNGKA!”, and “CRIMZONE”, immediately inviting high engagement from the crowd. However, the show hit its emotional peak later on, as songs like “LIHAM” and “Memories” turned the massive gathering into something strangely intimate. Instead of only watching idols perform, fans became part of a shared gallery of memories—singing, crying, and reliving years of connection with the group

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One of the defining traits of SB19 is their ability to shift between extremes. At one moment, they commanded the stage with bold, stylized performances like “MOONLIGHT” and “I WANT YOU”, which leaned into seductive choreography and theatrical staging. In another, they stood still under soft lighting, delivering heartfelt ballads that stripped everything down to emotion and voice. The contrast added layers of passion to the concert—it wasn’t about spectacle, but storytelling as a whole. Each song was planned as an elaborate performance, with theatrics, sentiment, and music.

The presence of famous guests such as J2X (the artist of AKONGAPALASI), Riehata (a famous choreographer), Xonara (their entertainment’s newly announced girl group), and Befirst (a Japanese boy band) dominated local and global media reports, making the concert all the more captivating. The range and quality of their performances opened the doors to casual listeners who enjoyed their music upon hearing the melodies live. Fans of the group eagerly supported them during the event by cheering, clapping, and recording.

In true SB19 fashion, the finale wasn’t about goodbye—after three hours of performances, visuals, and sentiment, the group addressed their fans, A’TIN, with heartfelt gratitude. In their post-show message, they reflected on the journey as something continuous rather than finished, reframing everything that the audience had witnessed. By stating, “You are our beginning and our end”, they declared that the wakas (finish) was not final—it was a circular return to where everything had started.

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The concert stood out for its representation of P-Pop identity as a whole. The intense production, international-level stage designs, narrative-driven structure, and fantastic music show the development of Philippine Pop, not only in its place of origin, but globally as well. The performance is a golden chapter in Filipino history as the biggest solo concert ever performed in the country, amassing crowds of over 100,000 dedicated fans from around the world. Apart from entertaining the audience, it has set a benchmark for future concerts and global performances by Filipinos.

From the fireworks in the opening sequence to the wholesome and heartfelt fan projects displayed during the concert, everything was spectacular—even small, technical errors were hardly noticeable. This concert shows how we, as Filipinos, can use our artistic platforms to spread awareness regarding current issues, as seen in “VISA” and “DAM”, which comment on Filipino culture. The devoted fanbase brought the concert to life, becoming a marvel to witness. Watching people of all walks and generations of life unite to support the group as they perform yet another song deeply inspired me to enjoy life by pursuing my passions.

Venues and portable toilets after concerts were cleaned and properly maintained, and some fans even brought trash bags to dispose of their waste. Seeing this, I was highly impressed that the enormous group would collaborate to do something as humble and simple as this after the event. Apart from being a sign of respect, it showcased our Filipino culture of teamwork and care for our surroundings. Most importantly, it emphasized the development of the group themselves, as they went from performing in front of seven people in a mall in Iloilo to consistently selling out venues and performances attended by thousands. Excitingly, a film about the concert will be produced and released, documenting the experience and developments of the group. The event left me with the most positive and profound emotions I have experienced in a long time, and I will forever cherish these memories in my heart.

The Wakas at Simula concert was not just a homecoming, but a statement which proves that Filipino artistry can scale globally without losing emotional authenticity, fandom can feel like family, and endings are rarely endings when the story is still being written. For SB19 and A’TIN, this wasn’t goodbye; it was an opportunity to rise like a phoenix from its dull ashes, ready to welcome a modern era in a new universe.

Despite its framing as a breakup album, you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love is less interested in a boyfriend than it is in the psychology of being loved. Olivia Rodrigo turns inward, examining how self-doubt, identity confusion, and emotional volatility can distort even the most “ideal” relationship, and blur the line between victim and villain.

The expected story is familiar. A young pop star writes a breakup record, the internet assigns a villain, and listeners pick sides. He hurt her, she suffered, case closed. But the album resists that simplicity almost immediately. The more it unfolds, the clearer it becomes that the relationship itself is not the centre of gravity. It is the space where something far more uncomfortable takes shape: Olivia Rodrigo’s own patterns of self-sabotage.

What makes the record compelling is not what it reveals about the person she is dating, but what it reveals about her inability to fully trust her own emotional stability within love. The boyfriend remains oddly undefined, almost peripheral. We are not given a portrait of wrongdoing or betrayal so much as we are placed inside Olivia’s internal experience of the relationship: the spirals, the jealousy, the doubt, and the brief moments of clarity that collapse almost immediately after they appear.

There is something distinctly early adulthood about this tension. It is not only the experience of falling in and out of love, but the recognition that emotional patterns do not disappear simply because life looks different on paper. The same tendencies remain, even when the circumstances improve. The same anxieties surface in new settings, the same forms of self-doubt reappear inside relationships that, in theory, should feel secure. It becomes possible to be successful, desired, and in a “perfect” relationship, and still feel unsettled within it. What changes is not the emotional landscape itself, but the context in which it plays. Love does not resolve internal uncertainty; it often makes it more visible. Early adulthood, in that sense, is less about arriving at emotional clarity than it is about recognising its absence. It is the first time you begin to notice that your reactions are not purely situational, but habitual. That you can change environments, partners, even versions of yourself, and still arrive at familiar emotional outcomes.

This is where the album finds its central tension, not between Olivia and her partner, but between expectation and reality. Between the version of love she assumed would bring stability, and the version of herself she encounters inside it.

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What becomes striking is how little the record relies on moral clarity. It does not construct a stable narrative of blame, nor does it fully absolve either party. Instead, it shifts between positions, at times implicating the partner, at others implicating Olivia herself. She is jealous, uncertain, reactive, and self-sabotaging. The emotional logic of the album is not linear but circular, where insecurity produces behaviour that feeds back into itself.

This refusal of resolution is also what unsettles it. There is a cultural preference for emotional narratives that resolve into clarity. Someone caused this. Someone is at fault. Someone is right. The album resists this structure. It suggests instead that relationships can deteriorate without a single identifiable source of harm, and that emotional contradiction can exist without needing to be resolved into a clear explanation. In this sense, the album is less concerned with breakup as an event than with love as a psychological condition. It is not documenting the loss of a relationship so much as the instability that emerges when love does not align with expectation.

By the end of the record, there is no resolution in the conventional sense. No final moral position is reached, no narrative is neatly closed. What remains instead is recognition. That growing up is not only about finding the right person, but about understanding that one’s internal patterns remain present regardless of circumstance.

The final impression the album leaves is shaped by its closing image. Ending on a track titled “cigarette smoke” carries a particular weight. Smoke is something that should dissipate. It moves through a space, thins, and disappears when the air is changed. It is transient by design. Yet it does not behave entirely as expected. It lingers in fabric and walls, clings to surfaces, and alters the space it passes through in ways that are not immediately visible but are difficult to ignore once noticed. It is also something that, once repeated, becomes embedded in the body rather than the routine, carried with you even when the rest of your life improves.

This is what the album ultimately understands. Certain emotional experiences do not resolve cleanly. They fade, but they do not fully disappear. They cling to your clothes, they stain your teeth, and they are the first thing you reach for when you need comfort.

Women account for 70% of fine arts degrees worldwide, yet make up barely 2% of the global art auction market. This stark disparity has catalysed the emergence of numerous women-led artistic nonprofits, each committed to securing the recognition that female creatives rightfully deserve for their contributions to international culture. From making art more accessible to rural communities to encouraging young girls to embrace creative expression, these organisations are leaving an indelible mark on the world of design.

ArtGirlRising is one such organisation, launched by Liezel Strauss in 2018. A passionate advocate for the empowerment of women artists, Strauss has addressed the question of inclusion in the arts on global platforms. Strauss also co-founded ‘Subject Matter’ in 2011, one of the earliest online galleries of its kind. Representing the UN’s Women ‘Impossible to Ignore’ campaign in 2019, she was named one of the top 100 female innovators worldwide. Among her further achievements is co-founding ‘Where Are the Women?’ in 2021, a database and directory for female artists. Living in South Africa with her husband, Jon Hindley, and her two male cats, Strauss channels her considerable energies into community service and interior design. Currently, she serves as Creative Director of ArtGirlRising, a project conceived by a woman artist, for women artists.

The organisation traces its origins to the #5WomenArtists campaign, launched in March 2016 by the National Museum of Women in the Arts (NMWA) as part of Women’s History Month, which was a social media awareness initiative that challenged gender inequity in the art world. Its core question, “Can you name five women artists?”, was the inspiration for ArtGirlRising’s own motto, “Together we rise for women artists”. Strauss says that the campaign led her to research the true statistics regarding women in the arts, and the sobering findings compelled her to advocate for systemic change. Since its inception, ArtGirlRising has worked to dismantle the gender biases and discrimination that persist against women in creative spheres, openly championing the cause of gender equity. The organisation plays a significant role in amplifying the voices of underrepresented and undervalued female creatives across museums, galleries, and auction houses. Thus, they have collaborated with other organisations to create an international online community for female artists who go unheard, giving them a chance to share their incredible ideas with the world. These projects and partnerships are driven by conviction, solidarity, and equity, not commercial gain and the vast majority of ArtGirlRising’s initiatives are oriented towards both creating safe spaces for female artists and actively advocating for their right to visibility.

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ArtGirlRising describes its mission as “to raise awareness about the inequalities that women artists face, to spark conversations about the inequalities, and to ultimately inspire change and action to help women artists rise to their rightful equal positions in the art world”. The organisation challenges museums and galleries to reassess the amount of women-created art they choose to represent, advocates for greater public showcasing of female artists, and protests the deeply inadequate pace at which opportunities are being extended to women in the field. Additionally, they aim to achieve their objectives while staying sustainable and environmentally conscious. They are committed to the ‘slow fashion’ movement, printing only on-demand for waste reduction. They manufacture ethical products, using 100% organic materials and fibres, and hand-screen-printed using eco-friendly water-based ink. Approved by the Fair Wear Foundation, their products are made by well-paid and respected employees in a safe environment and shipped in paper packaging, encouraging customers to recycle. In this way, ArtGirlRising’s objectives reflect Strauss’ dual commitment to the UN’s gender equality initiatives and Sustainable Development Goals for 2030.

Since 2018, ArtGirlRising has achieved numerous remarkable projects and collaborations. They have donated over £12,000 to charities like NWMA and Tessera Arts Collective. In September 2022, they launched ‘Weekly Rise’ in collaboration with Repaint History, an opportunities portal for women artists. It acts as a one-stop shop for female artists with everything on one page. Throughout 2020, they hosted free and low-pressure online art classes for their community. Additionally, over 2200 artists from 87 countries have signed up on their ‘Where Are the Women’ database. Its extensive product range has been enriched through collaborations with esteemed museums and art organisations. These include the Philadelphia Museum of Art, National Gallery of Australia, MOCO Museum Amsterdam, Nevada Museum of Art, Kahn Gallery, Mekomit, Artist / Mother Podcast, and Black Women in Visual Arts, among multiple others. The organisation also facilitates guest curatorial opportunities, allowing for the discovery of new female artists. These include All She Makes Magazine, Create Mag! Magazine, Stay Home Gallery, and Visionary Arts Collective. Beyond this, they sought to increase literacy and awareness by curating a comprehensive list of books about art, which includes: books on art activism and history, contemporary art and feminist novels, artist biographies, BIPOC artists, women photographers, and children’s stories about art. ArtGirlRising extended its influence beyond the online community in March 2019 by opening an all-female artist residency in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. The house hosted the projects of seven female artists and an exhibition; unfortunately, it had to be shut down because of property complications in December of the same year. Its most recent initiative ‘Fair Art 2030 Pledge’. Museums, galleries, art fairs, and organisations are invited to sign this pledge, a collective, public promise, to show their commitment to representing the full population in their collections, exhibitions, programming, and management by 2030.

Organisations such as ArtGirlRising serve as a vital reminder that gender equity in culture and creativity remains an aspiration rather than a reality. It falls to each of us to champion the rights of women to stand alongside men in their respective fields. In this ongoing struggle, Liezel Strauss stands as a compelling emblem of feminist power and creativity in this fight, a testament to what a determined woman entrepreneur can achieve, both for herself and for others.

Fangirls are crazy.

It’s a phrase we’ve all heard. It’s thrown about across the spheres of the internet without a second thought. It’s a phrase that seems harmless, but truly is an erasure of women’s interests. It’s “Girl Power” until we express our interests a bit too much, right?

Women’s interests have changed over time, and yet the diminishment of our interests remains a constant. The first documented instance of ‘fangirl mania’ was in the 1800s with supposed “hysterical behaviour” towards Franz Liszt. This follows with the rise of Elvis Presley in the 1950s and the Beatles in the 1960s. However, stigmatisation of fangirls was truly centralised from the 1990s onwards. It is seen in the treatment of Directioners in the 2000s, and even Heated Rivalry fans as recently as 2025.

While magazines often cater to the mainstream interests of women around the world, these companies are typically run by men in senior positions. Even then, women’s interests are not taken seriously. They’re commented on, sure – but… Swifties are crazy, and rom-coms aren’t really serious films worthy of cultural criticism, and didn’t you know that’s a girly topic?

In the same vein, women interested in any stereotypically masculine field are shamed. It’s “Name 5 songs” - so they can try to catch you out - because they don't want you to actually be smart, or interested, or interesting. It’s “horror films are for boys”, because “girls are easily scared”. It's the normalisation of undervaluing women’s sports – their wins and losses equally dismissed.

Women constitute around 40% of the journalistic workforce and yet are pushed into boxes, consigned to specific roles, and their interests are shunned, denied and undermined. When did it become normal to believe women can’t have interests, and why?

We’re sick and tired of a culture that sidelines and shatters any passion, curiosity and invention.

What do we want to do about it?

We believe women deserve a space to call their own, share their interests, and be taken seriously. We deserve creative ownership over the things we love, and the right to discuss them without judgment. When men dictate our media, it erases the stories that they don’t want to hear. We’re here to tell those stories.

Poppleton Ink is a magazine founded by a woman, but is created by creatives of diverse identities. We spotlight those who have ever been told to be smaller, and seek to create opportunities for individuals to gain experience by talking about the things they love.

We’re founded on the belief that fans make the best critics, and that change is needed in an industry that undermines our interests. We believe your taste was never the problem – the cultural attitude towards it was.

In practice… what are we doing?

We’re on Substack every week, publishing new articles about the culture we care about – including (but not limited to) music, film, fashion and literature. We publish thinkpieces, essays, and reviews that discuss the cultural moments we love and the things we hate with equal intensity.

We also publish biannual thematic print and digital issues, with each issue being a carefully crafted zine – inspired by the work of the 90s punk scene – of around 20-30 pages, containing art, photography, poems, short stories, reviews, think-pieces and personal essays.

In order to enable readers to engage with us in print outside of issue season, we also have a quarterly snail-mail club available to our Pen Pals, starting in September 2026. After signing up to be a Pen Pal, you will receive an envelope every three months, each focused on a different theme and delving into arts & culture. This includes: a handwritten note from our Editor-in-Chief, a playlist card, film & book recommendations from our team, and an additional collectable item (e.g., a mini zine, bookmark, stickers, etc.).

We believe your taste was never the problem. If you believe that too, join us…

How to Support Us

Jane Austen remarked in Persuasion, “I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” This quote sums up the struggle of female authors perfectly; though women have tried to blend into a male catalogue of writers over time, using assimilation and imitation, the works of the best authors have withstood the test of time only by shattering this trend with their unique voices. From classics to historical accounts to modern writing, female authors are breaking free of male influence and building an unparalleled legacy in the literary world.

Canon formation refers to the process through which certain texts are selected and accepted as part of an authoritative collection, shaping the literary and social landscape. Throughout history, women have been forced to let go of their distinctive epistemologies to make their work socially acceptable. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, women were not considered fit for literary prose or analysis. Henry Fielding debarred all ‘fine Ladies’ from admission to the lofty ‘Realms of Criticism’. Women, he averred, spoke only a debased critical language, a repetitious modern lingo composed of the phrases, ‘sad Stuff, low Stuff, mean Stuff, vile Stuff, dirty Stuff, and so-forth’. A popular practice was for women authors to use pseudonyms—disguising themselves with a male name to ensure that their work was read. Jane Austen never saw her own name on one of her books; the covers always proclaimed, “By a Lady.” Katherine Bradley also published work under a false name, commenting, “We have many things to say which the world will not tolerate from a woman's lips.” However, as time passed, there came certain female authors who claimed literary authority without regard for societal stigma.

One powerful example is Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, a bildungsroman first published in the 1860s. Now a classic, the story takes place during the American Civil War, a common touchstone for readers at the time. However, the American feminist movement was also gaining popularity at the time, and seeds of such thought can be found within the pages. A family composed entirely of women being left alone at home, even if the father had good reason, was a quietly revolutionary idea in the 19th century. Thus Alcott argues that women are capable of being independent breadwinners. The March sisters mostly portray feminine virtues, but these norms are again counteracted by hot-headed Jo March. She repeatedly defies stereotypes of what a woman should act like, refusing to give up her literary ambitions while simultaneously earning money for her poverty-stricken family. Her most notable sacrifice was when she lost her beautiful hair in order to help her sisters. Coming home suddenly with twenty-five dollars, she proclaimed, “I didn’t beg, borrow, or steal it. I earned it, and I don’t think you’ll blame me, for I only sold what was my own.” Therefore, by assimilating a mix of socially acceptable norms underscored by quiet feminist ideas, Alcott became a progressive author in the world of female literature.

Some women authors preserved their real-life experiences through the written word—notably, Anne Frank, who penned a firsthand account of her experiences, Diary of a Young Girl, during World War II. Starting out as a diary filled with ordinary happenings, it quickly shifts to a profound and heartbreaking account of the Holocaust through the eyes of a teenage girl, as she says, “When I write I can shake off all my cares. My sorrow disappears, my spirits are revived!” Frank grapples with her German-Jewish identity, documenting the loneliness of spending her adolescent years persecuted by the Nazi regime. The diary, kept over three years, also records her journey of maturity as she begins realizing the true consequences of her family being found. Regardless, she maintains a mostly positive outlook, continuing to secretly celebrate Jewish holidays like Hanukkah. However, she and her family were tragically found and killed when she was fifteen. Frank's diary was published by her father in 1947, and its poignant ending highlights the impact of the genocide even on ordinary lives. Thus, Frank's words live on as one of the few written accounts of the Holocaust, earning her a prominent status, even as a female perspective among male historical writers.

In recent years, a number of female authors have embraced contemporary writing, particularly in South Asia. Rehana Alam, author of the 2017 novel, The Tea Trolley, stands out for her bold viewpoint. Her novel explores gender norms and marriage rituals in 1979 Pakistan, set against a multifaceted political backdrop. By portraying a teenage protagonist, Amna, who wishes to pursue higher education but is instead forced to consider marriage, Alam directly tackles the inherent issues present in arranged pairing. The novel also depicts the lack of societal expectations placed on sons in comparison to daughters, and how women are often ‘objectified’—the most insignificant details, such as their way of walking or their complexion, are analyzed as though marriage is a business contract. Amna's mother, for example, remarks, “A woman is queen only in her husband's house.” The tea trolley itself, used to serve food to the suitor and his family, is a clever metaphor for these old-fashioned rituals. However, after a thorough exploration of these societal norms, Alam ends on an optimistic note when Amna is allowed to further her education in the end. Thus, the novel weaves together threads of patriarchy with more modern ideas, reflecting the trend in women's literature today.

Even now, some in the literary world adamantly refuse to let women make their place in a male catalogue. Little Women is still heavily criticized, as the most radical character, Jo March, eventually marries a professor and forms a classic family. Readers argue that this contradicts all prior seeds of feminism, reinforcing patriarchal norms. Therefore, it can not be read as a feminist claim to authorship and blends in with corresponding perspectives. Similarly, The Tea Trolley is considered to lean more towards agreeing with gender and marital stereotypes than it is committed to breaking them. The character cast is largely made up of women whose lives revolve around housewifery and motherhood, with not a single working woman. Consequently, some readers argue that Alam appears to be concurring with problematic standards. Lastly, The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank is sometimes said to be an inaccurate view of a woman's experience of the Holocaust, as it was edited by her father for publication. Many sections—especially those dealing with topics like menstruation—were removed. It is often said that these changes make it impossible to treat Frank's work like a woman-penned novel. Thus, there is still criticism that the assimilation to male opinion in these books is too strong to ignore.

Unexpectedly, these issues may not be as straightforward as they seem. For example, Alcott was a stout feminist who remarked that she wanted Jo to remain a literary spinster. Instead, she was pressured by her publisher to write a socially acceptable ending that would appeal to mass audiences. The marriage of Jo March should not be seen as a woman assimilating with male views, but as a female author who was forced to blend in for a chance at getting her work read at all. Additionally, Alam's novel deals with a topic that is sensitive in South Asia even today, raising awareness about the intense expectations placed on marriageable women. By portraying an ordinary protagonist, Alam shows how widespread this unreasonable gender ideological gap is. Rather than agreeing with problematic rituals, she consistently opposes them. Finally, Frank's diary withstands the test of time as a universal symbol of childhood innocence destroyed. Despite debates about the content's alteration, it is undeniable that as a first-person account of the genocide, it stands unrivalled. It is also worth noting that all versions of Frank's diary were later made public and are now available to read. Thus, from Alcott to Frank to Alam, female authors continue to carve out their reputation in a male-dominated field.

Without the contributions of female authors, literature would be one-dimensional with little diversity. Virginia Woolf powerfully declared, “Literature is impoverished beyond our counting by the doors that have been shut upon women.” Consequently, it has now become a more pressing matter to empower our women so that, instead of shying away from books, they wield the pen with purpose. One day future generations will be handed books which will be their sole source of knowledge about our times, and it is essential that when they flip through the pages, they find not only the words of our men—but also those of our fearless women.

Recently, there’s been a noticeable trend in the way classic novels are adapted for film and television. Rather than simply adapting the story, many productions seem intent on cinematising the classics, reshaping them into visually dramatic, highly stylised experiences that prioritise aesthetic appeal and emotional spectacle over the quieter strengths of the original text - an issue especially evident in ‘Wuthering Heights’ (2026).

On the surface, it makes sense why classics lend themselves so easily to cinematic reinvention. Many of them already contain the kind of intense drama modern audiences respond to: obsession, revenge, doomed romance, social conflict. Emily Brontë’s novel is practically built on these themes. Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship is raw, obsessive, and destructive. It’s the kind of emotional intensity that filmmakers want to heighten visually.

However, this is where many adaptations begin to drift away from the spirit of the source material.

Classic novels were not written with cinematic pacing in mind. They rely heavily on voice, narration, atmosphere, and psychological complexity. In Wuthering Heights, for example, the story unfolds through layered narration and emotional distance. Much of its power lies in the unsettling ambiguity of its characters, particularly Heathcliff, who is not meant to be a polished romantic hero but something far more disturbing and morally ambiguous.

Modern adaptations often smooth out that roughness, as in Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Emily Brontë’s timeless work. Instead of leaning into the strangeness and moral darkness of the novel, films frequently recast characters through a familiar Hollywood lens: beautiful leads, romantic chemistry, sweeping visuals, and a cleaner emotional arc. The result can feel less like an adaptation and more like a romanticised interpretation that fits comfortably within contemporary film aesthetics.

The casting choices in many recent adaptations also reflect this shift. There’s often a clear emphasis on visually striking, conventionally attractive actors, the kind of faces that photograph beautifully on a cinematic landscape. While that might work for marketing, it sometimes runs against the grain of the original story. Heathcliff, in particular, is repeatedly described in ways that suggest otherness, harshness, and social alienation. When adaptations prioritise polished “Hollywood-style” beauty, that essential tension can be lost.

This is not a new problem. Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and even The Great Gatsby have all faced similar criticisms over the years. Baz Luhrmann’s visually extravagant take on The Great Gatsby leaned heavily into spectacle and opulence, which worked stylistically but sometimes overshadowed the novel’s quieter critique of wealth, illusion, and emptiness. The result was visually stunning, but arguably less subtle than F. Scott Fitzgerald’s original work.

The issue isn’t that classics shouldn’t evolve. Adaptations inevitably reflect the era in which they’re made, and reinterpretation can be valuable. In fact, some of the most successful adaptations are those that take thoughtful creative liberties while still preserving the emotional and thematic core of the original text.

The challenge arises when the aesthetic of cinema begins to dominate the storytelling itself.

Classic literature often thrives on discomfort, and moral complexity. These are ambiguous elements that don’t always translate neatly into mainstream film structures. When these stories are streamlined into something more conventionally romantic or visually glamorous, they can lose the very qualities that made them endure.

What readers often love about classics is precisely their roughness: their flawed characters, unresolved tensions, and unsettling emotional truths. When adaptations polish those edges away in favour of cinematic beauty, the result can feel strangely hollow, a visually impressive version of the story that never quite captures its soul.

The ongoing interest in adapting works like Wuthering Heights suggests that filmmakers recognise the power these stories continue to hold. The question is whether filmmakers will ever trust the source material they adapt? Will their future works embrace the darkness, complexity, and strangeness of these classic texts, or will they continue to reshape them into safe, visually marketable films and television shows? The most powerful adaptations allow stories to be unsettling. They remain as they were meant to be.

The short story “Early Autumn” is a poignant masterclass in tragedy written by the renowned American author Langston Hughes. The narrative centres on a fleeting encounter between two former lovers, Mary and Bill. Through the lens of the Reader’s Response theory, one can explore how the story’s power lies in subtlety. The unspoken tension submerges the reader in a love eroded by the callous forces of time and regret.

Published in 1950, this narrative highlights Hughes’ impeccable ability to capture complex human emotions through simple yet profound prose. Set in Washington Square Park during autumn, the plot captures the moment when Mary and Bill cross paths after years. Their long-standing silence is due to a youthful misunderstanding that drove them apart. During their brief dialogue, it becomes clear that Mary reminisces about their past relationship, struggling to reconcile her lingering feelings with the cold present. Their superficial conversation masks an ache that neither character voices, yet the readers recognize. The story’s abrupt end comes when Mary boards a bus, realizing that neither of them asked for the other’s address and that she maybe—no, definitely—still loved her youngest son’s namesake.

From a Reader Response perspective, the story’s emotional impact is in the reader’s visceral reaction to the characters’ unexpected reunion. When the text states, “He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old”, the reader feels a sense of defensive pity for Mary. This moment resonates because Bill’s instant judgment feels like a cold dismissal of their shared past. The tension escalates as the reader sees their separate lives, but cannot intervene with their fates; Bill is a successful “lawyer downtown” while Mary works a “mundane job at a bursar’s office in Columbia”. While Bill has moved on to a fulfilling life, Mary remains anchored in the past. Time has turned two lovers into tragic strangers; they used to be bound by invisible strings of red that are now fraying.

Langston Hughes makes the emotional weight of “Early Autumn” devastating by transforming silence into a vessel of bottled-up feelings. The sentiment of saudade in the story is not expressed through declarations but through absence—what is not said, almost remembered, and ultimately lost again. This residual ache resembles the fleeting nature of saudade: a longing not only for a person but for a version of life that can never be reclaimed. As Mary attempts to sustain the conversation, she conceals her internal desperation with composure. Every word she speaks carries implication greater than its surface meaning, as though she is trying to stretch time itself. This reflects her determination to hold on to their once-vibrant connection, which is now fading away with each passing moment.

This emotional tension is heightened by the imbalance between the characters. While Bill appears detached and unaffected, Mary struggles with her unresolved affection. Therefore, the reader becomes emotionally aligned with Mary, experiencing her quiet heartbreak in real time. There is a subtle cruelty in Bill’s casual demeanour—not intentional, but impactful. His inability to recognise her at first, followed by his minimal contribution to their exchange, reinforces that their shared past does not hold equal significance for both of them. This asymmetry intensifies the reader’s response, as it reflects a universal fear: that one’s most cherished memories may be insignificant to the person with whom they were formed.

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Moving on, Mary’s emotional depth and nostalgia are the heartbeat of the narrative, as the readers feel her yearning and regret through her dialogue with Bill. Every small gesture, glance, and pause—or the fact that she named her youngest son Bill—represents her enduring love for him. She carries both the weight of his consummate life and her suppressed feelings, speaking not with anger or grudges, but with quiet want. Her tranquillity is an indirect acknowledgement of what was beautiful but tragically lost. Beneath her delicate mask simmer storms of her memories and unspoken words that she cannot express aloud. She is simultaneously reaching for a past that no longer exists and trying to reconcile herself with the life she now leads.

Hughes also does a magnificent job of emphasizing Mary’s internal isolation. While Mary continues to wallow in past memories, Bill dances through life. Successful and content, he seems disconnected from the past, as if Mary had never even existed. Her job at the bursar’s office and her ordinary routines highlight the contrast between her external mundanity and rich inner life. This tension increases the reader’s empathy for her, alerting them to how profound her struggle is: to honour the past, yet continue forward in a world that no longer resonates like it used to. Naming her son after Bill is her most plaintive yet powerful act—a living symbol of her unrequited adoration and the preservation of something now irretrievable. In this singular but profound gesture, Hughes captures the essence of saudade: the bittersweet intertwining of love, loss, and memories that refuse to fade. Through Mary’s experiences, the reader realises the raw, human truth that some bonds cannot be rekindled, yet their traces brand our souls forever. Instead of allowing Mary closure, Hughes immerses the reader in her haunted melancholy and quiet heroism in living with a love that exists only in memory. Her futile attempt to converse with Bill proves her resilience, as well as the cruel beauty of time—how it transforms intimate connections into mere echoes.

The seasonal setting in “Early Autumn” mirrors Mary’s inner landscape, as autumn is a time for letting go and reflection. The crisp chill, falling leaves, and muted tones of Washington Square Park are extended metaphors for her longing and sorrow. From a Reader Response perspective, the weather allows the reader to feel her soul sickness. The cold wind becomes a tangible echo of their emotional distance, and the slipping leaves reflect their declining bond. Instead of stating Mary’s grief outright, Hughes lets the environment draw the reader in, so that saudade is felt by the heart and soul rather than described through text. Each gust of wind and shadowed corner of the park accentuates the fragile moment and the impossibility of recapturing what was once beautiful and alive. Thus, the autumnal world, as well as the reader, witnesses Mary’s quiet heartbreak, as irreparable as shattered glass.

In conclusion, Hughes’ short story captures the essence of saudade through the delicate ache of lost love. Through Mary and Bill’s brief encounter, the story envelops the reader in profound longing and soft regret. Due to Hughes’ restrained dialogue and evocative setting, the unsaid words resonate more powerfully than description alone. Moreover, the story reminds readers that there are times when sentiments are more vivid than mere words can portray—especially when these words fall short. The narrative leaves a lingering impression, a reminder that some burdens are endured in silence, shaping our lives long after the moment has passed. However, at the same time, it is also a warning not to cling to dead seasons, as waiting for a vanishing interlude to return will prevent the growth of another. Like the falling leaves of autumn, some emotions must pass slowly but painfully, leaving marks forever imprinted on our hearts. Therefore, the narrative is a reminder of the echoes of the past and the beauty of moving forward.

Wuthering Heights, written by Emily Brontë, is arguably the most emotionally intense and possibly the most controversial work in English Literature. Even the opening lines draw you into a world of desolation and tumult. The bleak, harsh world of the Yorkshire moors and the brutal buildings themselves at both Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange appear to be a perfect parallel to the tumultuous and erratic personalities that live within them. In my opinion, Brontë has deliberately created this stark environment in order to make it appear an exact mirror to the mental state of its inhabitants; that is, both passionate, violent and extremely proud and isolated. Unlike many traditional romantic novels, which celebrate love as a redemptive force, Wuthering Heights confronts readers with love as something capable of destroying those who harbour it. This willingness to display love in its most potent and negative forms has, in my opinion, made it such an unforgettable read.

It is impossible to engage with Wuthering Heights without being struck by the consuming passion between Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw. This is not mere affection but something almost spiritual in its intensity; Catherine’s declaration that “I am Heathcliff” speaks to the degree to which she identifies with him, suggesting a bond that transcends admiration and is woven into the very fabric of their souls. What makes this love story so tragic is not the force of their feelings but the weakness of their choices. Catherine decides to choose society and security over their love and personal happiness, which proves fatal; her marriage to Edgar Linton exposes how deeply societal hierarchy governs the world of the novel. When this happens, the pain is deeply felt, and Heathcliff internalises his pain and suffering to seek revenge. Brontë does not, in my reading, present him as simply evil; rather, his cruelty towards the next generation illustrates the devastating lengths a person may go to when they have been betrayed, humiliated, and cast out.

Another reason why this book is so powerfully written is its narrative structure. It is not a straightforward story where we see all events unfolding from a fixed position but it is an ambiguous one where the events are narrated to Lockwood by Nelly Dean, making the events feel slightly further removed and thus more like a story or legend, in my opinion, this really contributes to the feel of mystery within the story and enhances the legends that Heathcliff and Catherine appear to be. It also invites the reader to question Nelly’s reliability as a narrator; because we cannot be entirely certain of her objectivity, the story feels all the more extraordinary and elusive. Wuthering Heights, through this structure, becomes something beyond a lost love story; it is a meditation on how memory is shaped and retold, and on how pain echoes across generations.

Comparatively, the novel’s adaptation to film does seem to have the same powerful impact as the novel. This is not only down to the extreme difference between film and the printed word, but in the adaptation to film, these seem to really focus on the dramatic love story of Heathcliff and Catherine, often becoming visually stimulating, but in my opinion, rather one-dimensional tragedies. While the Yorkshire moors are rendered compellingly on screen, the visual landscape alone cannot substitute for the interiority that Brontë’s prose affords her characters. Furthermore, the constraints of screen time make it difficult to do justice to the novel’s later generations, and with them, the themes of inherited suffering, revenge, and eventual healing are largely lost.

To conclude, Wuthering Heights is a successful and enduring book, seemingly due to its complete lack of comfort and its refusal to present a happy ending. There is no certainty in this book that any wounds will be healed and that suffering will truly pay off. It lays bare how love, when entangled with pride and social ambition, can become something ruinous. Through the younger Catherine and Hareton, however, we are told that eventual healing does occur when humility takes over pride. It is this tension between destruction and redemption that elevates the novel above a conventional tragedy. The film captures the storm; the novel captures the characters enduring it, and what becomes of them when it finally passes.

Originating from the dark forests of Norway and making its way to the glamorous runways of America, witchcraft has cast its spell on fashion for quite some time. Once a label for outcasts and rebels, it is now a symbol of rebellion and resistance in goth, metal, punk, and other alternative subcultures in fashion.

During the witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries, women who wore dark cloaks, veils, or sombre clothing—along with those who enjoyed reading, owned black cats, or stood up for themselves—were deemed witches. One prominent example is Hawthorne’s character, Hester Prynne, in “The Scarlet Letter.” She spoke up with courage against the carpenters she believed were overcharging her, and the Puritan society of 17th-century Boston responded by hanging her instead.

Other contributions to the association of women with witchcraft included intense misogyny, patriarchal prejudices, and religious beliefs that portrayed them as morally weak and easily tempted by the devil. Social tensions fuelled these accusations; marginalised women who did not conform to traditional roles often faced fatal punishments.

‘Religious’ texts like the Malleus Maleficarium (1487) were used to promote such ideas, as they propagated the spiritual weakness of women, stating that they were more vulnerable to satanic influence. Furthermore, society targeted women who threatened patriarchal norms, such as those who challenged gender stereotypes or were “too educated,” to enforce societal roles and domestic expectations. If births failed or illnesses proved incurable, those who practised traditional folk medicine, herbalism, and midwifery frequently faced charges of malevolent witchcraft. Additionally, poor, elderly, or widowed females were regular victims as they lacked male protection. Neighbourly disputes, envy, or personal tragedy sparked such accusations, leaving these women vulnerable with no one to defend their innocence.

But the correct question is: did genuine witches exist?

Yes! Real witchcraft is primarily a nature-based spiritual practice focused on personal empowerment, energy work, and rituals, rather than supernatural harm. It is often integrated into daily life through meditation, herbalism, and setting intentions, similar to prayer or mindfulness. Some might be disappointed that they don’t fly on brooms or live in medieval castles!

True witches and the historical perception of witchcraft have significantly impacted fashion by transforming symbols of persecution into emblems of mystery and rebellion. The “witch” aesthetic started out as practical clothing and has now evolved into a stylised look emphasising black garments, pointy hats, and romanticised, esoteric silhouettes.

One striking example is ‘The Craft’ - a supernatural horror movie that explores female empowerment, the dangers of unchecked power, and the consequences of vengeance.

Ripping Halloween store stereotypes to shreds, the clique of Nancy, Rochelle, Bonnie, and Sarah dress up in Victorian lace boots; metallic and spiky black chokers with crosses; dangling earrings and stacked necklaces; a 90s slip dress with oversized cardigans; red-tinted sunglasses and fishnet tops; and mini kilts with leather jackets. Who said good witches weren’t stylish?

Movie costume designers weren’t the only ones obsessed with witches; fashion designers also incorporated them into their fashion shows. These included Martin Sitbon SS 1993, Jean Paul Gaultier FW 2006, Alexander McQueen FW 2007, Luella Bartley FW 2008, Saint Laurent SS 2013, Comme des Garçons SS 2016, Dior SS 2017, Preen by Thornton Bregazzi SS 2017, Ryan Lo SS 2019, and Gucci FW 2020.

The witch aesthetic itself has also developed over centuries. Historically, witches wore ordinary clothes. The popular association with all-black clothing stems from the Renaissance, where black became linked to the devil and “dark magic”. This has evolved into a gothic or alternative fashion statement of mystery and glamour.

Beyond the classic witch wardrobe, there are bohemian and ethereal styles inspired by modern paganism and folklore. 1960s/70s fashion and 1990s media highlighted the flowing fabrics, lace, and capes that characterise this style.

On Pinterest and across the internet, a 1990s-inspired aesthetic called ‘Whimsigoth’ has emerged—a term coined in 2020. It blends dark gothic, bohemian, and witchy themes with whimsical, celestial, and romantic elements. Whimsigoth is pulled off using velvet, chokers, platform boots, corsets, and purple or silver jewellery featuring moons and stars.

Ultimately, witchcraft’s spell on fashion has long maintained its power, inspiring new subcultures that radiate personal independence, feminism, and rebellion against patriarchal views in fashion.

Love Me, Love Me is more than just a love story; it is an in-depth portrayal of human emotion, vulnerability and the complexities of desire. On the surface, the novel may appear to be a straightforward love story, but it soon becomes clear that the narrative is really about the effect of desire, longing and insecurity on relationships. From the very beginning, the title, which sounds like a plea, illustrates the inherent need for humans to be understood, chosen and valued. As Love Me, Love Me progresses, love is explored as not only being a cause of happiness but of sadness as well. This combination of intense love that leads to happiness and negative emotions that leads to hurt, truly makes Love Me, Love Me interesting, unlike the often perceived harmonious, fulfilling nature of love.

What distinguishes Love Me, Love Me from other novels is the realism of the emotional landscape that the characters navigate. Issues like obsession, fear of abandonment and jealousy exist throughout the story, but characters are shown with the realistic qualities necessary to gain sympathy and understanding from the reader, even when the events unfold in negative circumstances. By looking at both of the characters’ desires to love and be loved, the reader can see both their capabilities of love, yet they are also limited by themselves, and so the love is hindered and becomes destructive in a balanced form. This duplicity shows how love can be an amazing, empowerment tool for the relationships involved, but also how our own inhibitions can sometimes stop our loves from flourishing.

Love Me, Love Me‘s film adaptation effectively conveys the characters’ emotions and vulnerability through performance, cinematography and sound. Cinematography using focus, lighting and soundtrack creates the necessary tensions and desires the characters face, making for a visually emotional film that can make viewers instantly feel the feelings that they portray. However, although the film captures the external aspects of the passion in Love Me, Love Me, it lacks some of the psychological exploration which is evident in the book. The novel provides a full insight into the characters’ minds, emotions and motivations, while the film is left with characters who can be defined by external features of their love for one another.

Overall, despite this divergence in medium, both the book and the film accurately present a compelling story on love and the complicated and intimate nature of the characters. In many ways, the book provides more insight than the film into love’s influence and guidance on relationships, as it allows readers the freedom to analyse the characters, motivations and interactions. The film does, however, successfully offer a vivid visualisation that magnifies the intensity and emotional weight of the story in a visually dynamic way.

Love Me, Love Me will, no doubt, remain an important and timeless piece because it allows readers to delve into a messy, challenging, yet also extremely real portrayal of the human condition of love. It offers neither easy answers nor guaranteed perfect relationships, but allows readers to analyse their own lives and relationships on the interaction of desire, need, and insecurity. The book gives you a greater understanding through psychology, while the film is a great way to see those elements brought to life as well. Both share a similar purpose: illustrating the often-contradictory nature of love.

We are all obsessing over thrillers and remakes.

If you look at bestseller lists or streaming platforms, the overlap is obvious. Psychological thrillers, particularly domestic ones, have moved from guilty pleasure to cultural mainstay. Stories about fractured marriages, unreliable women, and secrets contained within private spaces now dominate both our bookshelves and our screens.

Part of their appeal lies in how easily they travel from page to screen. Freida McFadden’s The Housemaid is a clear example: short chapters, rapid pacing, and twists designed to land quickly. The novel reads less like a traditional literary experience and more like a series already mapped for adaptation. These stories are built for momentum.

This is a pattern across the genre. Alice Feeney’s novels thrive on misdirection and psychological unease, making them ideal for television’s long-form suspense. Geneva Rose’s The Perfect Marriage carries the structure of a courtroom drama, where perception matters more than truth and tension builds through testimony and doubt. These narratives invite audiences to participate: to judge, to speculate, to reassess.

Thrillers also align neatly with contemporary viewing habits. They reward binging by ending chapters on moments of instability rather than closure. In a media landscape already shaped by remakes and adaptations, familiarity becomes part of the appeal. We know the rules of these stories, even as we wait for them to be broken.

There is comfort in this repetition. The pleasure often lies not in surprise alone, but in anticipation. We return to these narratives because they promise control: tight plots, high stakes, and resolution. In uncertain times, that clarity matters.

The risk, however, is predictability. When every house hides a secret, and every marriage conceals a lie, the genre begins to blur. The adaptations that will endure are those willing to deepen character and atmosphere, rather than relying solely on shock.

For now, thrillers remain the dominant force shaping popular storytelling. They move quickly, adapt easily, and reflect exactly how we consume stories today, urgently, visually, and always wanting the next reveal.

Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” (2026) is a film that lingers in the body as much as the mind. It is visually intoxicating, emotionally raw, and deliberately uncomfortable, yet it often misfires in translating the depth of Brontë’s novel. Fennell’s choices in casting, aesthetic, and narrative at times misrepresent the characters and their motivations, and yet the film can break your heart and make your stomach turn in equal measure, proving that she captured something of the raw force of the story even as she misreads it.

One of the most striking departures from the book is the portrayal of Heathcliff. In Brontë, his Romani heritage and the oppression he experiences are inseparable from his obsession with Cathy and his quest for revenge. Heathcliff’s character is shaped not only by love and desire but by the systemic cruelty and marginalisation he faces from a young age, and his flaws—especially the perpetuation of trauma within his own family—are inseparable from that context. Fennell’s Heathcliff, white and impossibly handsome, loses this layer of social and racial complexity, flattening his anguish into personal grievance. Jacob Elordi’s performance leans into Heathcliff as an arrogant, self-interested, obsessive man, rather than the broken, mistreated boy of the novel. In the film, his material success and ability to manipulate outcomes at will further erase the character’s Othering and the social forces that drive his cruelty. Yet even as the adaptation misfires, Elordi imbues Heathcliff with a chaotic energy that is compelling, reminding viewers that a flawed interpretation can still produce moments of intensity and fascination.

Sex and desire dominate the narrative, portraying Cathy and Heathcliff as unrepentant in their destruction of each other and those around them. Isabella, reimagined as a willing participant in a kinky dynamic, becomes a character very far removed from her literary counterpart. She is depicted as childlike, impulsive, and driven by sexual desire, despite her inability to form lasting attachments, which erases much of her survival and resilience from the novel. Alison Oliver’s performance gives Isabella a surprising depth, at times making the audience root for her and even sympathize with Cathy’s destructive influence, highlighting the blurred lines between victim and perpetrator. Margot Robbie’s Cathy, by contrast, is magnetic and relentless, exuding both allure and danger, and making it almost impossible to separate empathy from disgust. These choices emphasize the film’s eroticism while highlighting the tension between Fennell’s indulgence and Brontë’s themes of abuse, trauma, and moral complexity. Because the work is explicitly branded as Brontë’s, these deviations feel sharper, yet they also contribute to the intensity and shock that make the movie impossible to forget.

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The Moors become a character themselves, their vastness and volatility reflecting the turbulence of Cathy and Heathcliff’s inner lives. Cinematographer Linus Sandgren, known for La La Land and Saltburn, shot the film on 35mm and VistaVision, creating a gothic, textured aesthetic that gives every frame both weight and intimacy. His work captures wind-swept plains and roiling skies with painterly precision, and the modernised costumes create a visual tension that extends beyond mere style. Cathy and Heathcliff are draped in opulent, almost alien fabrics, far removed from their youth, signalling both their estrangement from innocence and the inescapability of desire. This visual language reinforces the emotional distance and moral ambiguity of the characters while immersing the audience in their obsessive world, making it impossible to separate the environment from the inner chaos of the protagonists.

Fennell amplifies this immersion with grotesque, almost tactile imagery; eggs cracking in a bed, dirt, opulent displays of meals, and visceral textures that linger in the senses. These moments are not merely aesthetic flourishes; they are a brutal reminder that Wuthering Heights is first and foremost a tragedy, where desire and violence leave ruin in their wake. The messiness, the discomfort, and even the occasional indulgence force the viewer to confront the physicality of obsession and the consequences of unrestrained passion. The visual and material intensity of the Moors and these grotesque elements work together, creating a world that is at once beautiful, repellent, and entirely inescapable, echoing the obsessive nature of the central love story.

The film’s conclusion mirrors the novel’s relentless despair while amplifying its emotional intensity. In Brontë’s novel, a romantic might cling to the belief that Cathy appears to Heathcliff after death, offering him some form of solace, an outlet for his grief. Fennell, however, presents the ending as only the beginning of the story, showing Heathcliff utterly destroyed, Cathy gone, and no possibility of comfort or resolution. It is brutal and unflinching, yet profoundly effective in conveying what it feels like to be consumed by a love so intense that functioning physically or mentally becomes impossible. Jacob Elordi’s raw, tearful performance in the final scenes, pleading for Cathy to haunt him so he can see her once more, makes the agony of that obsession palpable. The sequence displays the tragic power of their connection, a love that is destructive, all-consuming, and achingly human.

Despite its flaws, the film achieves moments of profound emotional impact. Scenes of grief, obsession, and cruelty provoke tears, nausea, and awe. Fennell’s personal indulgences, from her casting choices to her aesthetic infatuation with Elordi, do not fully negate the emotional truth embedded in the chaos. Cathy and Heathcliff are selfish and destructive, yet their world, shaped by violence and neglect, explains their behaviour. The tragedy of their choices is both horrifying and compelling, and Fennell’s vision, imperfect as it is, renders it unavoidable. The conclusion underscores this emotional intensity and leaves the audience with the full weight of a love that cannot be contained or reconciled, proving that even amid narrative and stylistic flaws, the film delivers unforgettable, heart-breaking moments.

To the average thinker, the song “Just a Girl” by the band No Doubt is a classic piece of satire. When Gwen Stefani sings “I’m just a girl / I’m just a girl in the world,” she intentionally belittles herself. By writing this song, Stefani shows she is not only aware of the infantilization of women, but she also criticises it. As a woman in the face of the music industry, it would be very impressive not to be patronised, belittled, talked down to, or condescended to. This is especially well known in the alternative rock/pop-punk scene Stefani was in. All of this indicates that she knew exactly what she was talking about and, more importantly, does not genuinely see herself as “just a girl.” The song conveys a strong message, albeit perhaps veiled by a layer of irony.

The reason why this song deserves reflection even nowadays is how it’s used as a trending sound. While it’s true that the trend passed, its influence has stuck around. You can still hear a woman on the street saying that she doesn’t know how money works because she’s just a girl. While most of the women who followed the trend thought of it as just a joke or a phrase, but its association with the song gives it an eerie, dystopian feeling. They’re just girls, so why should they think? Even the song says so! “Oh, I’m just a girl, all pretty and petite / So don’t let me have any rights.” Why should we have to worry about things reserved for men, like politics and the right to vote? Why should we have a say in the government? Why should we have a say over our bodies? We’re just girls after all! We’re idiots who can’t think for themselves! Anyone with opinions on what is going on in the world around them shouldn’t dismiss themselves. If you think critically about literally anything, you deserve to speak out. If we continue belittling ourselves, we allow others to belittle us as well.

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In a similar vein of satirical misinterpretation, there’s Mary Harron’s American Psycho (2000). While “Just a Girl” ironically allows women to participate in their own patronising, the misinterpretation of American Psycho allows men to put themselves on a pedestal. Following in the footsteps of the book that preceded it, American Psycho is a satire on the social hierarchy of upper-class businessmen. It portrays the downfall of Patrick Bateman, depicting all of the characters so similarly that they get confused between themselves throughout the film. It is a critique of the shallowness that thrives off of this culture of men in suits, shown most prominently in the famous business card scene: The characters fixate on trivial matters like font and paper type. How have men taken this satire and transformed it in their minds into an aspiration story about the perks of being on top? It’s hard to tell whether these people truly don’t understand the intricacies of this film, or whether they do, and just decide to ignore them to believe in their own narrative. Furthermore, the ambiguous ending of the movie makes it seem as if the murders that take place during its duration never even happened. Perhaps this is one of the perks of status that idolizers enjoy. Imagine being so rich and powerful that you can get away with murder! To scholars, this is dystopian; to the indoctrinated, it sounds heavenly.

The most disturbing aspect of the misinterpretation of media is the consequences that follow. People convince themselves that social status is the most important thing or, conversely, that they are just silly girls unfit for adult responsibilities. It’s scary, really. It is fascinating that these are the messages that people retain from satirical media that are meant to say, frankly, the opposite of what is idolised.

It’s a common stereotype that men struggle to express their feelings. So imagine: two men meant to be rivals playing in a tough, aggressive, and openly homophobic sports corporation… Inserting feelings there is definitely not ideal. Their fear of rejection is amplified, and their careers seem constantly at risk. However, that does not stop Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, the main characters in Rachel Reid’s best-selling novel and new TV series, Heated Rivalry, from exploring the pull between them and eventually falling in love.

A secret 10-year relationship seems impossible, but Shane and Ilya (mostly Ilya) love a challenge. They embody the slow burn and deep longing. After years of secret meetings, endless flirtatious text messages, and countless hockey games, Shane and Ilya begin to accept their sexualities and stop resisting the love that has blossomed between them.

This series is more than just lust-filled moments: it’s a way to open viewers’ minds to the struggles of those within the LGBTQ+ community. The fear, the sadness and the excessive planning to be together form this invigorating love story – but it’s the realisation that being queer isn’t a choice that sets this series aside. There were so many moments that had me crying on the floor because I couldn’t imagine the weight people live with when they shouldn’t have to.

Watching Shane and Ilya meticulously plan to continue seeing each other in secret was heart-breaking. Their love shouldn’t be hidden; it deserves to be shared and celebrated. But society remains stuck in outdated ways, preferring to fight against love rather than support it.

This is a call to watch (and definitely read) Heated Rivalry, not just for the sex and attractive actors, but for the story of two people discovering themselves and falling in love, despite the obstacles they face.