From Sideshow to Scapegoat From being looked at to taking flight—Afong Moy and Hazel Ying Lee mark a century-long shift in how Asian American women moved through history. Image created with Kling AI. As we mark Women’s History Month, these stories remind us how much work remains—not only to honor well-known figures, but to recognize those whose experiences challenge and expand our understanding of what it means to be seen in America. History reveals its favorites by making them sit still, and, all too often, by making them Asian. Take Afong Moy. 1834, New York City. She arrives at fourteen, not as an immigrant, not as a traveler, not even as a human being. She arrives as entertainment. "Fear and fascination mixed, shaping American views of Asians for generations." Merchants billed her as “The Chinese Lady,” and Americans paid fifty cents to stare. At her bound feet, her tea ceremony, her clothing, basically, a live museum exhibit. And while the country gawked, they weren’t just fascinated. They were anxious. Exotic. Foreign. Other. Fear mixed with fascination: a cocktail that would represent anti-Asian sentiment for centuries. Fast forward about a century: enter Hazel Ying Lee. Born in Portland in 1912, Hazel grew up under the shadow of the Chinese Exclusion Act, a law that essentially said, “We like your food, just not you.” Flying planes was a male domain; doing it as an Asian woman was asking for trouble. Trouble found her. After a forced landing in Kansas, a farmer chased her with a pitchfork, mistaking her for a Japanese pilot. She flew for a country that didn’t want her, only to be attacked on its soil. When she died in a runway collision in 1944, her family couldn’t bury her in certain cemeteries because Asians were “not allowed.” What connects these stories isn’t just history, it’s psychology. Americans have long cast Asians as perpetual foreigners, admired and distrusted at once. Stereotypes and anxiety make competence seem threatening and difference seem strange. Fascination and hate are two sides of the same coin. Place these stories side by side: Afong Moy: a living exhibit, displayed so people could stare at her exoticness. Hazel Ying Lee: a fighter pilot, navigating prejudice, pitchforks, and racism while literally flying over the country that doubted her. One was forced to sit still. The other refused the ground. Both illuminate the strange American paradox: we want Asian women visible… but only on our terms. The story of Afong Moy and Hazel Ying Lee isn’t just about spectacle or skill; it’s about a country that has long struggled to see Asian women as fully human. Fear, anxiety, and the mental shortcuts that cast them as perpetual outsiders have provoked both fascination and hate for centuries. Yet time and again, women like Hazel refuse the box, fly anyway, and force us to face our own prejudices, whether we’re ready or not.

I don’t go to the Manhattan shows anymore, not because I’m too busy, but because, well, they’ve felt a little… tired. There’s been chatter about designers skipping official NYFW dates or staging off-calendar presentations, as Forbes recently reported, and the polished perfection just feels more performative than ever. At this point, the only thing more staged than Fashion Week might be a presidential debate. So instead of chasing the old routine, I set out looking for something that felt more honest, and a lot more alive. So I spent time on the ground at Runway 7 at Sony Hall and Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK), walking the spaces, watching the chaos, talking to designers, models, and photographers. What I found was a much more human, unpredictable, and, frankly, exhilarating side of fashion—one that stood in stark contrast to the rehearsed perfection uptown. Props, Absurdity, and Everyday Drama What caught my eye this season wasn’t just a silhouette, it was what the models were actually holding. Hydration jugs, umbrellas, energy drinks, kombucha bottles casually clutched mid-walk, even a stroller that looked like it rolled straight from daycare. All of it made it down the runway (Fashionista). These props aren’t just gimmicks. They’re declarations: fashion is alive in everyday absurdity. A Hydrojug says, “I’m conscientious.” A Red Bull says, “I’m caffeinating through capitalism.” A stroller says, “I have responsibilities and impeccable taste.” Honestly, I half-expected someone to roll out a laundry basket and announce, 'Behold, my emotional baggage.' This absurdity mirrors the lived world, not a fantasy dreamscape, and maybe that’s exactly what fashion needs right now. The everyday objects became a connective thread, tying the spectacle of the runway to the practicalities of real life. Runway 7 vs. FWBK: What I Saw Firsthand Having experienced both platforms back-to-back, I can say they each offer a unique perspective on the state of fashion, and together, they reveal the spectrum of what New York fashion can be. Runway 7 at Sony Hall is pure, frenetic energy and global diversity, dozens of designers (streetwear, couture, heritage labels) all crammed into a four-day marathon (Runway7 Fashion). It’s a spectacle for sure: nearly every photographer, influencer, and social media account imaginable is invited, guaranteeing online buzz. Experiencing it firsthand, I felt the rush, but I also saw how easy it is for designers to get lost in the noise, and how backstage can turn into a kind of beautiful chaos. Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK), by contrast, is intimate, intentional, and totally community-driven (FWBK). I wandered the venue, chatted with designers, and felt how the audience actually connected with the work. Its charm is in the scale: designers have space to tell stories and experiment, and audiences get to soak it all in without the constant buzz of social media. It’s less about chasing Instagram virality and more about creating something memorable, which makes the work feel deeply human, even if it doesn’t dominate headlines. Both prove a larger point: the most culturally alive fashion happens off-calendar, messy, and human where energy and intention matter more than spectacle alone. This theme echoed everywhere I turned, from the runway chaos to the conversations in the audience, and it set the stage for what followed. Fashion as Agency: Revenge Dressing in Wellness Rewired (the)MAGAZINE’s issue’s theme, Wellness Rewired, couldn’t be more relevant. Joan Swift’s piece on Revenge Dressing explores how fashion becomes an active tool for reclaiming yourself (theMAGAZINE). From Princess Diana’s 1994 black “Revenge Dress” to Bella Hadid’s post-breakup runway strut, Swift shows that dressing with intent is a radical act of self-authorship: therapy you wear. The props, chaos, and unconventional staging I witnessed at Runway 7 and FWBK may look playful, but behind them is fashion as cultural and personal agency—a way to tell stories, reclaim space, and own identity. Swift reminds us that wellness is not always quiet; sometimes the most radical healing is loud, structured, and worn like armor. The interplay between performance and authenticity is shaping the fashion conversation in real time. Objects, Absurdity, and the Human Element Fall/Winter 2026 teaches us that the accessories, props, and staged chaos are more than spectacle, they are mirrors. Fashion’s absurdity isn’t frivolous; it’s functional. A runway littered with coffee cups, kombucha, umbrellas, and strollers sounds like a punchline. But those same objects signal lived experience, agency, and cultural commentary. If aliens landed and saw this, they’d assume humanity runs on caffeine, chaos, and a healthy fear of dehydration. In this way, fashion becomes a form of anthropology, documenting what matters to us now—not just entertaining, but reflecting and shaping how we see ourselves. Honestly? It’s a breath of fresh air. After decades of fashion telling us to aspire away from ourselves, this season finally says: Here’s you. Here’s your water bottle. Make it mean something. If you asked me what the defining accessory of this season was, I wouldn’t point to a handbag. I’d point to a hand that’s no longer empty—and a wardrobe that’s willing to say, I am here, I am seen, I’m reclaiming my story. In a world obsessed with the next shiny thing, maybe the real revolution is just showing up—arms full, quirks out, nothing to hide. Fashion isn’t just about what you wear; it’s about dragging your real life down the runway, coffee stains, chaos, stroller wheels and all. That’s not just a trend. It’s a statement. Want to go deeper? Print copies of Joanne Swift's "Revenge Dressing" are available now via magcloud.com. or get the E-Pub.

In his recent article,“Dressed To Resist: Style as Moral Courage When the State Turns Lethal,” John P Ryan poses a question that’s been ricocheting around my brain like a loose marble: What is there to do when your society is in free-fall? If you’re paying attention, you feel the vertigo, the accelerating wind, the sense that we’ve missed the last safe exit. If you’re not, maybe you’re still comfortably numb, wrapped in the soft blanket of state-sanctioned media, blissfully unaware that the floor is dropping out beneath your feet. But if you need proof that our descent has turned into full-blown spectacle, look no further than the latest headline-grabbing episode featuring Kristi Noem—the governor with a poker face so still it makes Mount Rushmore look like it’s overacting, taking center stage. In this national reality show, we’re treated to a spectacle so surreal, it’s hard to tell if we’re watching public service or a deleted scene from The Apprentice. Welcome to the golden age of spin, folks, where every word is triple-filtered, pre-chewed, and tested on focus groups before it ever hits your ears. Politicians, CEOs, heck, even reality TV stars rehearse their lines like they’re gunning for an Emmy in “Most Likely to Be Believed.” And yet, despite all the prep, the moment they start talking, the collective eyebrow of the public shoots up faster than a caffeinated squirrel. “Wait, do they actually mean that?” we wonder, squinting at the screen like we’re trying to spot a UFO on C-SPAN. Here’s the kicker: It’s not the words that trip us up; it’s the rest of the human package. We evolved our facial muscles long before PR firms roamed the earth. Those involuntary eyebrow twitches and micro-sneers? They’re like a pop-up ad for your real feelings, coded by some ancient software in your brain. And get this: scientists (yes, actual scientists, not just the guy at your local bar) have shown that even trained experts can’t reliably spot a lie just by watching body language (Scientific Reports, 2021). Let me give you a real-world example. Picture this: I’m Kristi Noem, sworn in and seated before a congressional committee, the klieg lights blazing hotter than the South Dakota sun. I clear my throat, channel my inner calm, and launch into my talking points: “I’d like to thank the committee for the opportunity to clarify the facts regarding the alleged Minneaplois incident.” But in this scenario, I remain stoic, almost statuesque. My eyeballs are huge, unblinking, like I’m auditioning for a role as a haunted doll. Why? Because somewhere between the campaign trail and today’s testimony, I decided to take the human expression right out of my face—on purpose. Thank you, Botox and fillers! My plan: if my face doesn’t move, they can’t read my emotions. (Take that, evolution!) The committee members squint, unsure whether to trust my words or just check for signs of life. I stick to the script, but I know every twitch is being catalogued for the next day’s news cycle. The real test isn’t what I say, it’s whether my face and body will cooperate. Spoiler: They rarely do. And that’s the human side of spin that even a seasoned pro can’t always control. But our brains are like conspiracy theorists at a poker table. We’re desperate to catch someone bluffing. Evolution basically hardwired us to scan for weird vibes in the tribe. So if a politician’s eye twitch doesn’t match their sunny speech, we instantly think, “Aha! Caught you!” even if they’re just trying not to sneeze (Scientific American, 2019). The result? You get a perfect storm: carefully polished messaging colliding with faces that leak the truth like a busted garden hose. Public suspicion isn’t a sign we’re all cynics; it’s really just our inner caveman doing quality control. Bottom line: Mother Nature didn’t give us built-in polygraphs, but just faces that sometimes play for the other team. And honestly? That’s probably for the best. If we could all read minds, democracy would be out, and we’d be letting Alexa run the next election. Be careful what you wish for. And if you’re still worried, don’t be. Trump just fired Kristi Noem via a Truth Social post that feels more like a TV show season finale than a closed-door meeting. Problem solved! Except, plot twist, she’s now running a new department that does the same thing, just with a longer name. You know, like on The Shield, when they’d just move the dirty cop to another precinct and call it a day. So, nothing’s really fixed (except her face). We just shuffled the cast and rolled credits. Democracy: always ready for its next gritty reboot. Good day, everybody. Want to go deeper? Print copies of John P Ryan’s “Dressed To Resist: Style as Moral Courage When the State Turns Lethal” are available now via magcloud.com. SAVE 20%* THROUGH MARCH 9, 2026. CODE: 20MARCH2026. DETAILS. Because sometimes, the best resistance is on the page.

Every four years, the World Cup arrives as spectacle and scandal in equal measure. Football, joy, nationalism, corruption — all bundled together in 90 minutes plus stoppage time. Now it’s 2026, hosted by the U.S., Canada, and Mexico, and some voices, including in the Netherlands, are asking whether teams should stay home in protest. It’s a fair question. It just deserves an honest answer. History isn’t kind to sports boycotts as tools of political change. The biggest experiments we have, the Olympic boycotts of 1980 and 1984, were massive, coordinated, headline-grabbing, and ultimately ineffective. Over 60 countries skipped Moscow to protest the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. The Soviets stayed. Four years later, the Eastern Bloc skipped Los Angeles. U.S. policy didn’t blink. But you don’t need to reach back to the Cold War. Qatar 2022 gives us a recent, visceral lesson. Thousands called for boycott. Fan groups in Germany hung massive banners in stadiums. Cities across France refused to broadcast matches. The #BoycottQatar2022 hashtag reached over 43 million impressions. And then came the moment of truth: seven European teams planned to have their captains wear “OneLove” armbands, a rainbow heart symbol supporting LGBTQ inclusion. Gianni Infantino, FIFA’s president, the man who calls himself a champion of inclusion, threatened yellow cards at kickoff. Every single team backed down. Hours before England’s opening match, Harry Kane who’d said the day before he wanted to wear it, took the field without it. Meanwhile, Vinod Kumar, a 24-year-old migrant worker from India, died on a Qatar construction site in October 2020. (https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2022/12/02/1140260086/the-world-cup-has-taken-a-toll-on-the-migrant-workers-who-made-it-possible). His family got conflicting stories: workplace accident, then suicide, then cardiac arrest. No investigation. No compensation. His brother Ashwini still doesn’t know what actually killed him. Across Nepal, families like Urmila Devi Sah’s received bodies back in coffins with death certificates reading “natural causes” or “acute heart failure.” Her husband died in Qatar four months before the tournament. She has four children. The village had to pool money to bring his body home. Moral gestures collapse the moment power applies pressure. Harry Kane, England's captain, a man worth millions learned exactly what his solidarity was worth when it actually cost something: less than a yellow card. The regime got its clean tournament. Vinod Kumar stayed dead. Urmila Devi Sah still wakes up at 5 a.m. to raise four kids alone. And Harry Kane, England’s captain, a man worth millions, learned exactly what his solidarity was worth when it actually cost something: less than a yellow card. That’s the pattern. Moral gestures collapse the moment power applies pressure. What did move was the cost, and it landed almost entirely on athletes. A 23-year-old sprinter trains for a decade, peaks at exactly the wrong moment, and watches their Olympic window close forever while politicians who made the decision retire comfortably on pensions. Careers don’t pause for geopolitics. Presidents didn’t miss a step, but sprinters missed their one shot at history. Political historians and institutions like the Council on Foreign Relations have been blunt about this pattern: sports boycotts move symbolism, not governments (see CFR’s overview: https://www.cfr.org/timelines/olympics-boycott-protest-politics-history). So if teams boycott the 2026 World Cup, who actually feels it? Not the migrant workers who built the infrastructure, they’ve already been exploited. Not the communities displaced for stadium construction, they’re already gone. Not Gianni Infantino, he’s still selling broadcast rights to 200 countries. Not Coca-Cola or Adidas, their contracts are signed. Not U.S. immigration policy, border enforcement, or detention centers. None of that changes because the Dutch captain stayed home. Who does feel it? The 26-year-old midfielder who’s been good enough for exactly one World Cup cycle. The kid who grew up in a Rotterdam suburb dreaming of this. The player whose parents worked double shifts so he could train. Their absence becomes a footnote. Empty stadiums as moral statement? That’s what mega-events are built to absorb. Television fills the silence. Power remains comfortable. If the World Cup is a propaganda machine, then abandoning it doesn't break the machine, it leaves it uncontested. When dissent stays home, the stage gets cleaner, not weaker. If the World Cup is a propaganda machine, then abandoning it doesn’t break the machine, it leaves it uncontested. When dissent stays home, the stage gets cleaner, not weaker. There’s a different option, though. Not withdrawal, but presence without obedience. What if all seven captains wore the armband anyway? Same day, opening matches. Make Infantino choose between his rules and his spectacle on live television in front of three billion viewers. What if players answered every press question with the names of dead workers? What if teams invited the families of workers who died in construction as personal guests, put them in VIP boxes where cameras would find them? The point isn’t a perfect playbook. It’s recognizing that showing up and making noise is harder to ignore than staying home. Boycotts let the spectacle proceed smoothly. Disruption from inside makes it uncomfortable to watch. One lets power celebrate in peace. The other forces it to explain itself. Boycotts feel pure. Participation feels compromised. But purity is cheap when someone else pays the price. When the athlete sacrifices their career. When Vinod Kumar’s family gets no answers, no compensation, no justice, but at least we didn’t watch, right? At least we kept our hands clean. Here’s what history actually shows: when we skip the game, the regime gets exactly what it wants. A quieter news cycle. Fewer awkward questions. A smoother spectacle. The athlete loses their moment. The workers stay dead and forgotten. And we get to feel righteous. That’s not resistance. That’s surrender with better PR. So maybe the real protest isn’t walking away from the world’s biggest stage. Maybe it’s standing on it and refusing to perform the lie. Image generated with KLING AI using custom prompt.

Alright, folks, strap in. On Wednesday, February 11, 2026, Dutch speed skater Joep Wennemars got a masterclass in something the ice has been trying to teach humanity for millennia: life doesn’t give a damn about your plans. Picture this: he’s flying down the 1000 m like a human missile, carving perfect lines, probably imagining the headlines. Then, in a moment that could only happen at the Olympics, Chinese skater Lian Ziwen drifted wide in a key crossover, clipping Joep’s lane. Collision! Milliseconds vanished! Momentum? Gone! Ego? Slightly bruised. Public humiliation? Imminent. And somehow, Lian managed to turn a simple crossover into a plot twist worthy of a soap opera — if Olympic speed skating had a “chaos cameo” award, he’d be a shoo-in. That little interference cost him roughly nine strokes, the kind of micro-disaster that almost certainly turned a potential bronze medal into a footnote in Olympic history. Here’s the kicker: earlier today, Wednesday, this became the first time in Olympic long-track speed skating history that a competitor has been awarded a re-skate due to interference — and this time, he had to skate alone, with no direct competitor to push him, no pack to chase, just him and the clock. According to the International Skating Union: “A competitor who is interfered with through no fault of his own shall be allowed a fresh start, and the best time of the two races shall count.” Translation: the ice may be chaotic, but fairness still exists… kind of. And yes, Lian Ziwen got the official slap on the wrist — disqualified for interference — while Wennemars was awarded a re-skate, a do-over that gives him a second chance to show the world he’s the human missile he thinks he is. Like father, like son: same collision, same chaos, just a slightly different ending. Funny enough, some things run in the family. Joep’s dad, Erben Wennemars, collided in the same Olympic 1000 m race back in 1998 — shoulder dislocated, race ruined — no re-skate, no second chance, just ice and disappointment. Fast forward to 2026, and here’s Joep: like father, like son, flying down the track, clipped by another skater, nine strokes lost, Olympic dreams teetering — but this time, a re-skate. Same chaos, same heart-stopping drama, just a slightly different ending. History repeating itself, only with a tiny bit of mercy. And speaking of Erben, he just said in an interview that he wants to go home as of now — apparently watching his son relive his nightmare is a bit too much to handle. Then came the moment we all live for: the interview. Joep’s reactions were perfectly human, perfectly real. “Klote. Ik word eruit gebeukt” (“Shitty. I got knocked out”). “My Olympic dreams are over… naar de klote” (“gone to hell”). Half an hour to recover? “Elke minuut telt” (“Every minute counts”). Could he improve? Realistically, no. Could he think about the next race? Not even a little. There he was, alone on the ice, facing the clock, a disrupted dream, and the absurdity of Olympic timing staring him down. Watching him flare, exhale, and psych himself up for the redo is pure theater. Forget medals for a second. Wennemars also gave a masterclass in composure under pressure, resilience in the face of chaos, and elite-level speed skating craft. This is raw human drama: lineage meets pressure, ambition meets chaos, and the ice? The ice watches, smirking. Will he medal? Maybe. Will it make for a better story than the podium? Absolutely. In that collision, in that tiny moment where Lian Ziwen’s misstep and Olympic law collided, Wennemars reminded everyone why we watch the Games: it’s not perfection we crave, it’s unpredictable, unfiltered, electrifying human drama. Imagine being nervous, angry, and still upset at the same time — that’s basically how I watched the whole thing, except with more coffee and less speed-skating grace.

What Davos’s silence reveals about the fragmentation of American foreign policy. by Max Schadefreude You probably scrolled past the Davos coverage the other day. Governor lectures Europe, Europe does Europe things, everyone moves on. Except something weird happened. Or rather, didn’t happen. And that’s the story. When California Governor Gavin Newsom urged European leaders at Davos to “grow a backbone,” headlines followed—but not a single direct reply to him personally. While European leaders like Ursula von der Leyen and Emmanuel Macron made forceful statements about Trump’s threats over Greenland at the same forum, none addressed Newsom’s comments directly. Macron wore sunglasses throughout his speech, reportedly due to a burst blood vessel, though the effect was less “medical necessity” and more “I literally cannot look at this anymore.” Macron wore sunglasses throughout his speech, reportedly due to a burst blood vessel, though the effect was less “medical necessity” and more “I literally cannot look at this anymore.” Not. One. Word. And that silence matters right now because it’s not just about Newsom. It’s about what happens when American foreign policy fragments in real time and nobody knows how to respond. While you were scrolling past Davos coverage, a precedent was being set: U.S. governors can now contradict federal policy on the world stage, and the world will just… wait to see who actually speaks for America. That silence wasn’t confusion or indifference. It was a strategy. The kind of strategy you deploy when someone who doesn’t work here starts giving notes in your staff meeting. Let’s be clear about what happened: ✓ Newsom called European leaders cowards ✓ At their own forum ✓ While they were managing actual threats from an actual U.S. President ✓ And they responded by... continuing their scheduled programming That’s not diplomacy failing. That’s diplomacy working exactly as designed. Why Europe Ignored Him Despite the international setting, Newsom’s message is not aimed at Europeans. European leaders already understand Trump— they’ve spent years managing him, surviving him, and preparing for his return. Their caution isn’t cowardice; it’s constraint. They’re balancing trade dependencies, security guarantees, NATO obligations, and fragile domestic coalitions. They don’t have the luxury of performative outrage. Newsom knows this. Which is why the real audience for his remarks is domestic: Democratic voters hungry for aggression rather than restraint, party donors and elites looking for a future standard-bearer, and media outlets that reward bluntness over nuance. Diplomacy is hierarchical, and Newsom isn’t even on the org chart. Diplomatic protocol, codified since the Congress of Vienna in 1815, establishes clear hierarchies: nations engage with their counterparts—heads of state with heads of state, foreign ministers with foreign ministers. From Europe’s perspective, Newsom is a state governor with no authority over trade, defense, or foreign policy. Responding would elevate him into a role he doesn’t occupy and set a precedent that European diplomats want no part of. Now, the simpler explanation: maybe Europe’s silence wasn’t strategic at all. Maybe Newsom’s comments simply didn’t register as newsworthy to them. A governor from a country they’re already managing says something provocative—so what? They constantly hear provocative things from Americans. Why would this particular statement merit a response? But that interpretation actually strengthens the strategic dismissal argument. If Newsom’s comments were so unremarkable that they didn’t warrant acknowledgment, that’s an even more devastating form of irrelevance. The silence isn’t careful calculation—it’s reflexive dismissal. Either way, the message is the same: he doesn’t matter enough to engage with. Because—and I cannot stress this enough—Gavin Newsom is not the President of the United States. He has no standing military, no nuclear codes, and no ability to negotiate treaties. The power dynamic in one sentence: Newsom needs Europe to validate his foreign policy credentials. Europe needs Newsom for absolutely nothing. The power dynamic in one sentence: Newsom needs Europe to validate his foreign policy credentials. Europe needs Newsom for absolutely nothing. It’s the geopolitical version of “don’t feed the trolls,” except the troll has a $3.9 trillion economy and nuclear-adjacent ambitions. (Look, I’m not saying Gavin Newsom is a troll. I’m saying the diplomatic strategy treats him like one. There’s a difference. A small one. But it’s there.) European leaders are managing real relationships with the President, Congress, and NATO. Publicly sparring with Newsom risks irritating Washington without gaining leverage. From a diplomatic cost-benefit standpoint, silence wins. Why validate the opening act when you’re waiting for the headliner? Especially when the opening act is performing for Democratic primary voters circa 2028. This isn’t unprecedented. European diplomatic services have long practiced strategic non-engagement with subnational actors who lack foreign policy authority. When congressional Republicans sent an open letter to Iranian leaders in 2015 attempting to undermine nuclear negotiations, European diplomats largely ignored it—not because they agreed with the Obama administration, but because engaging with legislative branch freelancing would undermine the diplomatic order they depend on. Seen through this lens, the comments make much more sense. Newsom isn’t trying to change European policy. He’s trying to define himself as the anti-Trump—loud where others hedge, moral where others calculate, confrontational where others manage. That’s not foreign policy. That’s positioning. Here’s the thing about telling people to “grow a backbone”: It only works if they need something from you. Europe doesn’t need anything from California except to keep buying their cars. That’s not leverage. That’s a customer relationship. They Know the Genre European diplomats have been watching American politicians use international stages for campaign content since the Iraq War. They can spot a stump speech at 1,000 meters. They’ve developed what they call “American electoral theater”—immunity to domestic political performance dressed as strategy. Comments like “grow a backbone” get the same treatment as street performers: you might stop and watch, but you’re not joining the act. Did Europe Actually Agree? Oh, here’s where it gets good. The most interesting possibility isn’t that Europe dismissed Newsom—it’s that they couldn’t publicly align with him even if they privately agreed. Endorsing his critique would be an admission of weakness. Rejecting it would be defending a posture they may not believe in. So they said nothing—not because he was wrong, but because he said the quiet part loud. The unspoken rule of international relations: When someone without authority tells you what to do, the most powerful response is to act like they didn’t speak. Not disagreement. Not debate. Just... nothing. Newsom found out what nothing feels like at scale. The Paradox: Losing One Game, Winning Another Here’s where the story gets more interesting than it first appears. If the goal is to blunt Trump’s power, this approach fails completely. Trump feeds on elite outrage. Every denunciation from a prominent Democrat reinforces his central narrative: that powerful insiders despise him because he threatens their control. When Newsom calls global leaders “pathetic” for accommodating Trump, Trump’s base doesn’t recoil—it grins. Foreign criticism rarely moves American voters. If anything, Trump’s supporters enjoy the fact that Europeans are unsettled by him. It confirms their belief that he puts American interests first and refuses to be lectured by outsiders. And without a direct electoral contest, the clash feels theatrical rather than consequential—more like a warm-up act than a real challenge. In short, this kind of rhetoric excites people who already oppose Trump and barely touches those who don’t. But as political positioning for a future Democratic primary, it works brilliantly. Newsom is consolidating his image within the party as combative rather than cautious, emotionally fluent in liberal anger, and unafraid to name Trump as a threat. For many Democrats, this feels refreshing after years of institutional language and careful phrasing. Newsom sounds like someone who wants to fight, not just manage decline. The comments generated global headlines, conservative backlash, and liberal applause—the holy trinity of modern political relevance. And he’s building a future argument: that when the moment required clarity and force, he didn’t hedge. That argument isn’t meant for 2026 or Europe. It’s meant for a Democratic primary electorate down the road. Newsom is playing two games simultaneously. The game he claims to be playing—weakening Trump, stiffening European resolve—he’s losing badly. The game he’s actually playing—building his 2028 presidential brand—he’s winning handily. So Newsom is playing two games simultaneously. The game he claims to be playing—weakening Trump, stiffening European resolve—he’s losing badly. The game he’s actually playing—building his 2028 presidential brand—he’s winning handily. The question isn’t whether the strategy works. It’s the game you’re measuring. This reveals something deeper: the collapse of transatlantic consensus isn’t just about policy disagreements. It’s about the inability to even coordinate on how to talk about the problem. When a U.S. governor can publicly criticize European resolve and receive only silence, it signals that the traditional “united front” is already gone—everyone just pretends otherwise. It’s diplomatic kayfabe. Everyone’s in on the bit, but nobody can break character. Why This Matters Right Now This episode exposes a live crisis in American foreign policy. For decades, the norm was clear: domestic politics stopped at the water’s edge. U.S. officials didn’t criticize their own president abroad. That norm is dead. Buried. Composed into content for political action committees. Newsom’s Davos appearance represents a new reality: subnational actors conducting shadow foreign policy that contradicts federal positions on the world stage. It’s as if Bavaria started negotiating trade deals while lecturing Berlin on moral courage. Except Bavaria has better beer and less main-character energy. And here’s Europe’s problem: They can’t treat Newsom as irrelevant (California’s economy is massive, its climate policy influential), but they also can’t treat him as legitimate (he doesn’t control U.S. foreign policy). So they do nothing. They navigate by not navigating—staying silent while America sorts out who actually speaks for the country. America’s current foreign policy structure: Imagine a company where the CEO, the regional managers, and several former employees all show up to the same client meeting with different pitches. Now imagine that the company has nuclear weapons. America’s current foreign policy structure: Imagine a company where the CEO, the regional managers, and several former employees all show up to the same client meeting with different pitches. Now imagine that the company has nuclear weapons. That’s where we are. Welcome to the federalized foreign policy era, where the org chart is a mystery and the credentials don’t matter. The Precedent Being Set (Or: The Balkanization of American Diplomacy) This moment establishes something genuinely weird: if U.S. governors can criticize foreign leaders without consequence or acknowledgment, what’s to stop senators, mayors, or former officials from doing the same? The fragmentation of American foreign policy voice isn’t theoretical—it’s happening right now at global forums. And here’s why the timing matters: We’re in the middle of actual crises where this confusion has real costs. Ukraine: European leaders need to know if U.S. security commitments are real. But which U.S.? The one that controls the military, or the one that controls public opinion? When governors contradict presidents abroad, it signals to adversaries that American resolve is negotiable. Taiwan: China is watching this chaos and doing the math. If America can’t figure out who speaks for America, why would Beijing take U.S. red lines seriously? Every fractured message is an invitation to test boundaries. NATO: Alliance credibility depends on clear commitments. But how do you maintain Article 5 credibility when U.S. state leaders publicly undermine federal positions? Allies start hedging. Defense spending calculations change. The alliance weakens not from external pressure, but from internal incoherence. Trade negotiations: Europe is negotiating with the U.S. on tariffs, climate change, and tech regulation. But who signs the deal? Who can promise it’ll hold? When California can contradict Washington, every agreement becomes provisional. Next year’s Davos could feature the Mayor of Austin on Ukraine, the Governor of Florida on Taiwan, and a former cabinet secretary selling a memoir-based Middle East peace plan. They’ll all have panels. That’s where we are now. The new American diplomacy: 50 states, 50 foreign policies, and one very confused State Department trying to explain that none of this is official while also not saying it’s unofficial, because that would be worse. Europe’s silence is a bet that this is temporary chaos, not permanent realignment. But the longer they treat this as theater to ignore, the more ground they cede. Newsom’s Davos moment was a test balloon. Europe’s non-response wasn’t strength—it was uncertainty dressed as strategy. And here’s the final irony: Newsom is criticizing foreign leaders for failing to stop Trump—while representing a country that elected him. From the outside, that weakens the message's moral authority. It’s hard to scold others for accommodation when your own system produced the problem. Many non-Americans see this contradiction clearly, even if American political media often does not. What Newsom’s Davos moment proved: You can have all the moral clarity in the world, the best zingers, and a $3.9 trillion economy behind you. But if you don’t have the authority to back it up, you’re just making noise. And in diplomacy, noise is what gets ignored first. What Happens Next The question isn’t whether Newsom deserved a response. It’s about whether Europe is prepared for a world in which American foreign policy legitimacy is contested, fragmented, and performed rather than executed. Because Europe doesn’t have clarity about what comes next. They’re waiting to see if America is going through a phase or if this is just how things work now. But real decisions with real consequences can’t wait: Trump’s Greenland tariffs take effect February 1st. Ukraine aid packages worth billions need coordination. NATO defense spending commitments require trust that American promises mean something. And here’s the problem: Europe can’t wait for America to sort itself out, but they also can’t engage with fifty different American voices all claiming authority. Every day of this incoherence is a day adversaries gain ground and allies lose confidence. Security guarantees become unreliable when nobody knows who can commit U.S. forces. Trade agreements fall apart when subnational actors can undermine federal deals. For now, Europe is betting that traditional structures will hold. But every Davos speech by a governor chips away at that bet. And when it fails—not if, when—the consequences cascade: Europe builds its own security architecture. China fills the vacuum in Asia. American influence, built over 80 years, fragments in less than a decade. All because nobody could answer the simple question: Who speaks for America? You know, the way you do when someone at Thanksgiving starts explaining what’s really wrong with the family. Except at Thanksgiving, you have to invite them back. At Davos? That’s optional. The stakes: This isn’t about Gavin Newsom’s ego. It’s about whether the United States can maintain a coherent foreign policy in an era where authority is contested, legitimacy is performed, and nobody knows who actually speaks for the country. Yesterday in Davos, Europe made a bet. Now we wait to see if it pays off. The Bottom Line Gavin Newsom’s rhetoric doesn’t restrain Trump. It doesn’t reshape European strategy. It doesn’t meaningfully alter the political terrain Trump thrives on. What it does do is strengthen Newsom’s brand.If the goal is resistance, the strategy is flawed. If the goal is relevance, it’s working just fine. That distinction—between fighting Trump and auditioning against him—is the real backbone of this moment. And that distinction—between fighting Trump and auditioning against him—is the real backbone of this moment. So here’s where we are: A California governor flies to Switzerland to lecture European leaders on courage while they’re actively negotiating with an American president who wants to buy Greenland. The Europeans say nothing. The governor flies home. Trump stays the president. Europe keeps waiting to see who actually speaks for America. And somewhere in a Des Moines focus group facility in 2027, a Democratic primary consultant will play a clip of Newsom at Davos and ask voters: “Does this make you feel like he can beat Trump?” That’s the whole game. That was always the whole game. The backbone comment wasn’t for Europe. The silence wasn’t confusion. And we’re all just pretending we don’t know what we’re watching. Welcome to American foreign policy in the age of the audition. The reviews are in. Europe gave it zero stars. But the target audience—Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina—hasn’t voted yet.

by Veronica Slipstream* What really drives Red Bull? Brains, guts, and girl power. Ah, Formula 1—the pinnacle of speed, strategy, and spectacular male egos on parade. Hannah Schmitz, Red Bull Racing’s top strategist, has been central to every one of Max Verstappen’s victories (yes, the four-time world champ now eyeing a fifth, like it’s the latest smartphone release). Yet, in a sport ruled by testosterone-fueled machismo, Schmitz's exceptional talent hasn’t always gone down smoothly. Fun fact: Verstappen himself has said that “our real racing genes are on my mum’s side. His mother, Sophie Kumpen, was a highly regarded karting rival to future‑F1 drivers; she stopped karting after she became pregnant with him.” 3 Enter Louis Dekker, F1 reporter and podcast commentator extraordinaire, with gossip that’d make even the most stoic race fan raise an eyebrow. On the December 1, 2025, Dutch NOS Formule 1 podcast, Dekker spilled the beans on how Hannah’s rise stirred tension among some male colleagues. Since Christian Horner left as Red Bull’s team principal, the team seems to have found a new groove. Hannah recently gave a formal F1 interview after the strategic pit‑stop call that snatched victory at the Qatar GP—finally letting her shine in the spotlight instead of hiding behind the timing screens. (Thanks, new principal Laurent Mekies, for allowing the talent to breathe?) “Some colleagues complained they, not just Hannah, deserved the attention.” -Louis Dekker on Red Bull colleagues’ reaction to Hannah Schmitz’s success. With that shift in mind, here’s the word-for-word breakdown of Dekker’s segment:1 Original Dutch (excerpt): “…zij (Hannah Schmitz) is wat op de achtergrond omdat ze die rol nu eenmaal heeft meer achter de schermen, maar er speelt nog iets anders, zij heeft wel eerder op het podium gestaan trouwens met Red Bull en ze is wel heel belangrijk, maar toen zij de eerste vrouw was in deze rol en succes begon te boeken doken alle media, journalisten, camera ploegen op haar en dat vonden de heren collega van Hannah niet fijn…” English translation: “…she (Hannah Schmitz) works more behind the scenes because that’s the role she has, but there’s another factor: she has appeared on the podium with Red Bull before and is very important. However, when she became the first woman in this role to start achieving success, the media, journalists, and camera crews focused on her—and her male colleagues didn’t like that…” Dekker continues: Original Dutch (excerpt): “…die begonnen te klagen dat zij ook en hun werk deden en ook complimenten verdienen en ook airplay verdienden en toen heeft RB besloten alle interview verzoeken met Hannah… We (NOS F1) hebben haar nog nooit in de podcast gehad, dat heeft een reden, want RB hield dat tegen…” English translation: “...They (Hannahs' male colleagues) began complaining, claiming that they also deserved the compliments and airtime while producing quality work. Red Bull's solution: they blocked all interview requests with Hannah. We’ve never had her on our podcast, and there’s a reason—Red Bull prevented it…”2 Yes, you read that right. Hannah’s male colleagues apparently found it scandalous that she only received media attention for doing precisely what they were paid to do. In a dazzling display of team spirit, Red Bull blocked her interview requests for a while—because, heaven forbid, one person actually gets credit in a team sport! Clearly, the solution to women breaking barriers is… keep them behind the scenes. As Dekker pointed out, the reactions were framed as shock: “Oh look, a woman can do that too!” Red Bull might argue they were trying to treat men and women equally by limiting exposure—but equality isn’t silencing everyone. If someone deserves recognition, that light can be shared. The lesson? True equality means celebrating all contributions while giving well-deserved acknowledgment to groundbreaking achievements like Hannah’s. Hannah is not alone in shattering motorsport’s glass ceiling. From engineers to team managers, women are making their mark—but often under more scrutiny than a pit lane speeding violation. Her story underscores how systemic biases can color perceptions of success even in a sport that prides itself on meritocracy. "Recognizing a woman's groundbreaking achievements in F1 isn’t just about credit—it’s about celebrating diversity and inclusion." In conclusion, Hannah Schmitz’s experience shows that in a world where every second counts, egos and outdated assumptions can move slower than a safety car mid-race. Celebrating her achievements isn’t about handing out gold stars—it’s about championing diversity, fostering inclusion, and proving that leadership and brilliance know no gender boundaries. Excellence triumphs—though grumbling about women getting credit still seems in fashion. Kudos to Formula 1 and the broader motorsport community for actively promoting the inclusion of women across all aspects of the sport. This commitment is exemplified by initiatives like the F1 Academy, a female-only, Formula 4-level single-seater racing championship founded by the Formula One Group. While there is resistance and cultural inertia to overcome, it's encouraging to see real, meaningful change underway that promises to reshape the future of motorsport. Source: NOS Formule 1 Podcast, Episode #28 WO_NOS_20308228, hosted by Afke Boven, aired December 1, 2025, with Louis Dekker commentary at 13:50–15:16. Spotify: Listen here (Dutch) Footnote: 1.Transcribed and translated from Dutch to English by the author. 2.This is Dekker’s observation and does not constitute an official Red Bull statement. 3.https://www.gpfans.com/us/f1-news/1067964/f1-news-max-verstappen-ended-racing-career-mom/ *Satirical F1 commentator & cultural commentary writer Veronica Slipstream (pen name). Editorial Contributor: Trudy Giordano.

by Greta Gearshift* A satirical deep dive into McLaren F1’s “papaya politics,” exploring team strategy, social media spin, and the soft-power maneuvers behind the garage doors—where racing meets real-world politicking. Welcome to the thrilling world of McLaren politics, where the only thing faster than a pit stop is the spin on the latest policy! Forget about the House of Commons; the real drama unfolds in the McLaren garage, where the orange hue of papaya has replaced the drab palette of traditional politics. In this high-octane game, every tire change doubles as a debate, and the team insists they’re “not political” — a statement as believable as a driver claiming they just “love to race.” (Reuters, Mar 22, 2024) Behind those glossy smiles and social media filter-fabricated moments, the McLaren F1 Team acts like its own miniature monarchy. They've got whispers of deals in the FIA Commission, which Zak Brown firmly believes must be transparent, stating in a recent interview, “I think we’re living in 2024, not 1984… total transparency” (because nothing screams honesty quite like a billionaire in racing). They’re even pushing sustainability initiatives that could make activist, Greta Thunberg rethink her strategy, with a Climate Transition Action Plan promising net-zero emissions by 2040 and a circular economy focus — all while gracefully sidestepping the emissions of the engines that keep them going (McLaren Racing, Sept 2023). Our self-proclaimed team ambassador, Zak Brown, is practically an F1 diplomat, championing the mantra of “team integrity” while deftly orchestrating alliances that change directions faster than a car on slick tires in the rain. “I believe in transparency. I believe in putting your hand up when you get something wrong,” he confidently asserts, likely while casting sideways glances at Red Bull’s ongoing cost-cap dramatics (si.com). Meanwhile, Lando and Oscar’s “friendship” feels more like a bipartisan government rivalry, each vying for their share of the spotlight while pretending to share doughnuts in the team hospitality suite. Looking at McLaren's social media presence, it’s hard not to be lured into their glossy world of “behind-the-scenes” content. It’s almost wholesome enough to overshadow the covert backroom dealings. We ought to heed Brown’s advice about teams needing to “step back from governance” to keep everything fair—ironic when you realize that stepping back often just means strategizing from a distance. (formula1.com) Let’s not kid ourselves; this is Formula 1, not a tea party at grandma’s house. McLaren is locked in a relentless race not only against Red Bull, but against the relentless tide of competition that threatens to sweep them away. In an arena where the politics are as hot and heavy as the engines, McLaren’s flamboyant papaya revolution is a vivid reminder of a harsh truth: while you might not be able to outrun the established power structures, you can certainly find a way to slalom around them — as Zak Brown himself said, “the color papaya has become a brand” and a whole philosophy of renewal (motorsportweek.com+1). According to the latest GridPulse™ Poll—conducted between sips of overpriced paddock cocktails—62% of fans are convinced McLaren F1 Team will “probably win unless something ridiculous happens.” Meanwhile, 38% associate “something ridiculous” with McLaren’s entire branding strategy. Honestly, the vibes check out: they were voted the most popular team by 29.5% of fans in the 2021 Global F1 Fan Survey, many citing their “authentic leadership” and “fresh, open” culture. (Formula1.com; PR Newswire). When it comes to Zak Brown’s leadership style, fans are divided between “corporate cool dad” and “Formula 1’s version of a motivational TED Talk.” Brown himself chips in, asserting, “I think we have been extremely transparent … definitely a no-blame culture,” reflecting on McLaren’s ambitious internal rebranding (motorsportweek.com). Statisticians might quibble over the margin of error being about as wide as a Red Bull budget-cap loophole, but you can bet your last tire this one’s gonna be a classic! So buckle up, fans — McLaren’s papaya politics aren’t just about the podium. It’s about survival, strategy, and style. And remember: in this game, it’s not just Drive to Survive… It's Spin to Win. *This article was drafted with the assistance of AI tools, with all final content written, edited, and curated by Trudy Giordano. Greta Gearshift is a fictional persona created for satirical purposes.

by Salma Ahmed, May 30th 2025 Salma Ahmed Explores How AI And Deepfakes Are Used To Target Women. A Deepfake Is An Artificial Image Or Video (A Series Of Images) Generated By A Special Kind Of Machine Learning Called “Deep” Learning (Hence The Name). Women have been a target for misogynistic men for years. To expand on this, the reasons are layered, involving gender dynamics, digital culture, and psychological motivations such as power, domination, and control (especially over women). However, this is a topic for another article. Misogyny causes women to face new challenges on a daily basis. There might be attempts to help them, but the attempts to harm them are superior. For example, a woman may be overlooked for a promotion in favor of a less qualified male colleague due to ingrained gender biases. Women have been haunted in a variety of ways in recent years, including image-based sexual abuse.They had to come to terms with seeing themselves naked or in pornographic content without their consent. No one should go through that, and yet, women do on a daily basis. This type of violation of privacy can have long-lasting effects on a woman’s mental and emotional well-being. It can cause feelings of shame, embarrassment, and helplessness. While the world is still behind in protecting women from all kinds of abuse, including image-based sexual abuse, new and more extreme methods of targeting women have emerged. They now have to face the weaponization of AI technologies. AI algorithms can be manipulated to target and harass women online by flooding their social media accounts with abusive messages and threats. Starting in 2017, a new type of technology appeared. One that is known as deepfakes. Deepfakes, as mentioned earlier, are videos, pictures or audio clips made with artificial intelligence to appear real. Deepfakes were initially used to create memes or perform other benign tasks, but this quickly changed. With the existence of misogyny and violence against women, many people, particularly men, saw deepfakes as another way to cause harm. They began manufacturing non-consensual intimate deepfakes with high speed and a wide target range. Not just female celebrities were targeted. It was enough to be targeted simply because you are a woman. The numbers and statistics are horrific. 96% of deepfake videos, according to a 2019 report by the AI company Deeptrace, were essentially pornographic.* The horror doesn’t stop here. When analyzing the content published on the top five deepfakes pornography websites, 100% of it was about women. We can look at the numbers again and again to try and comprehend them, but the gravity of the situation will never change. While companies such as Meta and X, praised the rise of AI and began to use it, they turned a blind eye to the technology’s negative aspects. Women have always been targets of deepfakes, but the issue received increased attention when nonconsensual deepfake pornography created for Taylor Swift was shared on X (formerly Twitter). Swift is a victim, as are many women, but not all women have the same resources. Not all women have millions of fans ready to defend them. So we were left with an example that overshadowed the rest of the issue: how normal women, not just celebrities, are also targeted. Both groups are victims, and they became victims because they are ordinary women. There are many truths to face when discussing AI and deepfakes, but one that no one should accept is how famous women, such as singers, actors, and YouTubers, have to get used to seeing deepfakes made about them. It is the kind of knowledge you cannot ignore, but you are forced to accept. We shouldn’t have to accept deepfakes. We should not be seeing an increasing number of women being used in non-consensual intimate deepfakes that are targeting women. We shouldn’t talk about how hyper-realistic the videos made are or how easily this content is distributed through social media platforms. Yet, here we are faced with another ugly aspect of what it means to be a woman. It’s not a surprise or news that governments don’t have laws in place to protect women against all forms of violence that they face. So it is not surprising that there aren’t enough laws to regulate AI and deepfakes, or to protect women. Organizations and victims have attempted to get big tech companies and governments to listen and change, but no one has acted. This shows how normalized violence against women has become. *Source: Adjer, H., Patrini, G., Cavalli, F., & Cullen, L. (2019). The State of Deepfakes: Landscape, Threats, and Impact. In https://regmedia.co.uk/2019/10/08/deepfake_report.pdf. Deeptrace. https://regmedia.co.uk/2019/10/08/deepfake_report.pdf @stylebyrahel1 @ genet11 @fashionweekbrooklyn

INTO THE GRASSROOTS  HIP HOP CULTURE  OF NEW YORK By BUSINESSMAN El Chopz @elchopzfuckingsucks IN VENUES ALL OVER NEW YORK, YOU’LL HEAR THAT CRY. “YUUUURRRR!!!!” THE CROWD YELLS BACK. THE VENUE IS FILLED WITH ARTISTS HUNGRY TO SHOW THEIR CRAFT. AS A REGULAR ENERGIZER, THE HOST ASKS: “IS BROOKLYN IN THE HOUSE?” - LOUD CHEERS. “IS THE BRONX IN THE HOUSE?” - LOUD CHEERS “IS QUEENS IN THE HOUSE?” - LOUD CHEERS “IS HARLEM IN THE HOUSE?” - MEDIUM-LOUD CHEERS. “JERSEY? LONG ISLAND?” - TWO OR THREE VOICES. “IS STATEN ISLAND IN THE HOUSE?” - SILENCE. LAUGHS. “MANHATTAN” IS NEVER EVEN ASKED. NO REAL PEOPLE LIVE IN MANHATTAN.  Energetic crowds at Pass The Aux, Hell’s Kitchen T he Stairway To Stardom These Underground Showcases Are The Incubators Of Hip Hop. After The Street Corner And School Yard, The First Step On The Stairs To Fame Starts Here. Rappers From All Over New York And Beyond Flock To These Showcases. Here They Try Out Their First Rhymes For An Audience, On An Unlicensed Rental Beat Mixed On A Phone App, Mic Trembling In Hand. Often, Newbies Forget To Cut Off The Beat After The Rap Is Done, So It Keeps Looping. “Um Sorry... Dj, Next Song”.  They Screw Up, Try Again. Rap Better, Write Better Songs, Get Better Beats. Hire A Better Studio. Work Together With Other Artists. Get Invited To Bigger Showcases, Build Rapport With Djs And Bookers. At Some Point, Someone Makes A Banger That Catches Fire, Djs Start Playing It On Their Radio Shows And Feature It In Their Playlists, And If Really Lucky, It Becomes A Hit. Enter The “Rap Game”; Get Collabs With Bigger Rappers, And Charge Smaller Rappers Money For A Verse Or Hook On Their Track. Then The Record Labels Wake Up And Crawl Out Of Their Burrows, Burst Out In Mortal Combat Over A Deal, Artist Blows Up, Gets To Tour The Nation, Do Stadiums, Feature Superstars, And Then, Immortality.  At Least, That’s The Dream. But The Showcases, In Run-Down Rehearsal Rooms, Photo Studios With Thrashed Rolls Of Backdrop Paper, Bankrupted Restaurants, Abandoned Retail Stores, Party Centers, Mired In Weed Smoke, Tossed Speakers, Dented Microphones With Crackly Cables; Young Black Artists In Their Hippest Puffers, Balaclavas, And Sunglasses, That’s Where It All Begins.  Depending On The Show, There’s 10 To 35 Artists, Doing One Or Two Songs Each. The Artists Are Each Other’s Audience. Some Bring A Girlfriend. Some Bring A Friend Who Double As Manager. Some Are 4 To 8-Piece Rap Collectives Who Knew Each Other Since Kindergarten. Often There Are Artists Who Just There To Enjoy, Support And To Show Love.  The more ambitious artists pop out in different venues. The bigger artists bring friends that know the lyrics verbatim and perform as a group on stage.  Anyone who pays performs. Depending on the show’s clout $20-50, big ones with important radio DJs or industry execs present, run up to $100, $300, or more.  There’s no vetting, no pre-approval. What you do on that stage, is up to you. No one tells you it’s got to be rap, though it is the default. From oldskool to boombap to trap and drill and everything in between. The other 10% is RnB, poetry, spoken word, sometimes dancers. In one case, I even saw opera. Don’t You Leave! The host announces the artists, who should hope not be outside smoking a blunt at that moment. Host gives the mic. The DJ plays the music, the artists double their own track. If all goes well, success and new friends.  Only the host and the DJ know the order in which the artists will perform, so that everyone stays inside and gives energy. To keep artists from going home after they performed, some award prizes at the end. Studio time, money, awards, radio interviews, a slot at a bigger show. Or contacts. “Pass The Aux” a bigger showcase hosted by well-known rapper Phresher in a top floor club with an elevator as entrance, he often repeats: “Remember, after you perform, network! You never know who’s in the room! That elevator door is dangerous!” Show Love, Get Love. Hip hop showcases are all about energy, energy, energy. Show energy, partake in the hooks, or the artist’s signature dance moves. If the artist is loud, be loud with them.  Love is shown by flicking out your phone and filming. If it was good, share an Instagram Story. Stories bounced back and forth between rapper and fan several times, frame-in-frame-in-frame, until the video itself shrank to a tiny thumbnail in the middle. Networking is straightforward: if you like an artist, say it, give them your phone to let the artist type their unspellable IG handle, follow and follow right back; and you have a natural moment for conversation and possibly contact for more.  Energetic crowds at Pass The Aux, Hell’s Kitchen  Showcase organized by @naeemreign (dark hoodie in the middle) with @genuwinebeauty in the front (cosplay rapper, host for @mor.bookings) and @tj4playofficial on the left (boombap rapper from Philly), Brooklyn, Montclair, NJ. IYKYK Since the early days of hip hop in the 1980s, underground rap showcases have been around. It exists in every US city with a sizable Black community. But in New York, the Bethlehem of hip hop, it’s huge. I know roughly 50 promotors and venues who organize showcases regularly, and I discover new ones all the time. Which means there must be many, many hundreds more out there, nobody really knows how many. There are no web sites where you can find showcases. There’s no central cultural org or blog that keeps track of events, like you have in the world of fine arts. It’s all sharing fliers on Instagram and hearsay. Follow a promotor or artist, you find the next show, and the next and the next. If you know, you know. Even though it’s an open call, organizers put a lot of work into getting good artists. To stay in touch with new artists and keep the roster fresh, organizers often ask on Instagram “tag a fire artist” and then see who recommends who, and approach them. Likewise, getting yourself tagged by other artists in such postings, is a hustle of its own. Black Culture Hip hop showcases are a Black culture phenomenon. It is a Black audience with a Latino minority. White or Asian: usually none, sometimes one.  Despite the highest grossing rapper of all times, Eminem, being white, and the main NYC radio DJ, Drewski from Hot97 being white, very few white rappers circulate in the hip hop underground of New York. In general, aspiring white rappers have no clue about Black culture or the roots of hip hop, didn’t grow up in it, and consequently, are often not that good.  Think putting your hat backwards and say “yo yo yo I’m a rapper” is hot, or hip hop is just rhythmic bragging on a beat; they are welcome at showcases, they get applause, but not much is expected of them. That said, the few white rappers that are really good, and it’s felt they respect and understand the culture, get the genuine appreciation and fandom that Black rappers get, though a white rapper does remain a guest in the culture. And that’s how it should be. After all, pretty much every Black music genre except hip hop has been appropriated by whiteness and white capitalism... Beyoncé claimed Country back now, but that’s only a drop in the ocean.  Show Your Steez, Brooklyn Getting Inside Can Be Uncomfortable Security ain’t playing. Empty your pockets, full-body pat-down, belt check, crotch check, no exceptions, no “he wit me, he ok”. As Coi Leray says: “Cus girls is playas too”, women are not exempt. But because everyone gets searched down so thoroughly, no one thinks about bringing weapons or making trouble. There’s gangs and guns out on the street, of course. There are rappers inside who brush with the law. Some have unfinished business with one another.  But inside, everyone’s cordial and supportive; I never felt aggression in the air. I only saw a handful of escort-out moments, mostly between women. The showcase itself is a pretty non-violent, safe space. DJ Smoov @iamdjsmoove. 420 Friendly The average rapper sparks up blunts like a smoke stack. In regular bars and clubs, they have to huddle outside to keep up they THC levels. Traveling to a venue, the first sign you’ve come to the right place is seeing artists smoke weed outside.   “420 friendly,”  meaning smoking weed inside is allowed, is regarded as an advantage. It can result in a dense grey fog that obscures the other end of the room, and over time, too-low energy. You can and will get high from secondhand smoke if the place is poorly ventilated. Performing in such air is like breathing powder-ground asphalt.  Mixxy Gods (rap collective) Summer Festival, rapper Chris Welchs @chriswelchs_ Underground Hip Hop Fashion Even though it’s about music in hip hop culture, most artists take their drip very seriously. They need to stand out in a consistent way. As an artist, you have to be recognizable, original and how you look, should express who you are.  Rappers are true masters at looking super hip by simple means, reasonably priced streetwear with accessories like funny hats, furry balaclavas, gloves, face masks, make-up or a creative hairstyle. Some make their own accessories or t-shirts. Honorary mentions: rock rapper ElChopz just draws things on his face with a sharpie. Producer Dav the Ninja wears a neon-lit space helmet.  It doesn’t have to be designer label stuff, that’s for the superstars... hip hop is street culture and most rappers grew up in with few privileges in poor neighborhoods where you have to make something out of nothing, and that includes how you look.  Some even flaunt clearly fake luxury brand wear or leave the labels on as if they’re stolen, which the jeans manufacturers quickly absorb as part of their product. Some artists just wear the plainest of clothes to express that they are real and from the block. More experienced rappers often wear busy-print leather jackets from Avirex or Pelle Pelle, or if really oldskool 80/90s, custom made ones.  Female artists, about 1/4 of the performers, put a huge lot of work in matching colored hair, make-, and very long nails. Large, thick rimmed sunglasses are in. But it’s often the shoes that are the most outspoken. Furry moon boots, glitter Crocs, Uggs, long boots, you name it.  And of course, no rapper goes without a chain. How many chains a rapper wears, size, degree of customization and the amount of sparkly stones indicate the degree of experience and success. And the chain expresses identity—where a rapper’s from, a personal motto, referral to a family member or what their art is about. The real OGs have slabs of real gold and real diamonds, but since custom jewelry is extremely expensive, most chains are inox steel or silver “made yellow” through some chemical rinse and glass rhinestones. As long as it shines, we gucci.  What We Do It For The artists do it to either express themselves, show their art and craft, be creative, show off, impress with freestyle skills and thrills, get the hot shower of applause, get famous, or all of the above. The showcase’s side wall-lining hustle-micro-economy of food, drink and weed vendors is, of course, about making a buck, but at least as much about being part of the energy, see the artists, have fun, party, sing along, dance, get high, meet their friends, be part of that wonderful and feel the love for that intangible thing called hip hop culture.  Show love. Get love.   Who dis? Businessman (@businesman_nyc) is a (white) rapper/producer from East Harlem, originally from Amsterdam. Businessman is a frequent performer and is often-invited to showcases all over New York. He also performed in Atlanta for Quality Control DJs and opened for The LOX (Jadakiss with original crew) in a sold-out theater in Clairmont, NJ, at the day of the earthquake. Which he insists was the DJ sound-checking his new bass-heavy single, “New Ferrari.” Available on all streaming platforms under “Businessman NYC,”  including a ridiculous cat meme music video.