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Every International Women’s Day, we celebrate women’s achievements, from politics to science, art to activism. Among these voices, FEMEN stands out: a group that refuses to be polite, refuses to blend into the background, and instead demands attention with fearless, audacious protest. Founded in 2008 in Ukraine, FEMEN began as a small movement against prostitution and sex tourism. As spokeswoman Inna Shevchenko explained in interviews, “At the beginning, we were not protesting topless but we realised we had to do something really radical…We are trying to say: ‘You should not show your body like that; you should use it to protest and fight.’” (Dazed Digital, 2014) Their topless demonstrations with painted slogans are designed to force the world to look, not just glance. And in case you thought this was just topless improvisation, think again. Activist Lara Alcázar of FEMEN Spain describes their protests as deliberately provocative, stating: “Activism has to be annoying and provocative.” (Cadena SER, 2025) Why topless, you ask? Because nothing says "pay attention" quite like a protest where shirts are optional but making a point is mandatory. But FEMEN aren’t just there to make headlines or cause a wardrobe malfunction. Their topless protests are a cheeky middle finger to the idea that women’s bodies are only there to be controlled, censored, or sold. Instead, they weaponize nudity, turning the world’s obsession with boobs into a political bullhorn. FEMEN-style activism works because it hijacks attention, triggers emotion, and taps deep into the lizard-brain wiring that makes us stare at what’s bold, risky, and unexpected. It’s the perfect cocktail for maximum impact: vulnerability meets empowerment, shock meets clear symbolism. Our brains can’t help but notice, and—more importantly—remember. As summarized in a 2013 Guardian piece: “Our nakedness attacks the raw nerve of the historic conflict between women and the system.” It takes a particular kind of person to do this work: brave, disciplined, and unafraid of public scrutiny or arrest. FEMEN activists describe themselves not as exhibitionists but as soldiers of equality, using visibility as a strategic tool. (FEMEN.org) Their reach is now international, with a particularly prominent branch in France, based in Paris, coordinating high-profile actions across Europe. Here, their combination of theatricality and strategy transforms protest into both performance and statement, a living argument that society still needs to notice women’s voices. (laicite-secularism.eu) In the United States, FEMEN is often perceived through the lens of spectacle—what The Economist once described as the “naked shock troops of feminism”—grabbing headlines and sparking debate. Yet interviews reveal a strategic, intentional approach; these activists are media-savvy, articulate, and deeply committed to creating meaningful discomfort that invites reflection rather than ridicule. (Washing Post, 2018) If FEMEN were a dinner guest, they might burst through the door with slogans behind their heels, but they’d explain why they’re there with the same conviction they share in interviews: freedom, equality, and strategy. They remind us that visibility matters, and that courage can take many forms, some bold, some uncomfortable, all unforgettable. On International Women’s Day, we celebrate FEMEN not only for their provocative tactics, but for their fearless commitment, strategic brilliance, and outspoken insistence that women’s voices and bodies are tools for change. As the world applauds progress and honors tradition, FEMEN charges forward, reminding us that equality is never handed over politely. True change demands courage, discomfort, and unrelenting visibility. Today, let’s salute not just FEMEN, but every woman who refuses to shrink, to every radical, every challenger, every voice that will not be silenced. Change is messy, loud, and sometimes half-dressed, but that’s exactly what keeps it moving forward.

Think of this as your invitation into a quieter, deeper current of fashion: a prelude to our Q&A, “Stitched in Silence: How Momoyo Stoby’s Vintage Obsession Became a Wellness Movement,” featured in (the)magazine Vol. V. Here, the everyday becomes extraordinary—each garment a fragment of living history, each pattern a remnant of another time. If you’re curious about the stories that clothes can carry, and the mysteries stitched into every fold, you’re in the right place. What follows is a glimpse into Stoby’s world, where memory, tradition, and a touch of mystique are woven into every piece. Lately, I’ve been drawn to the idea that clothing can be a vessel for memory. In today’s world of fleeting trends, fast fashion churns out pieces that quickly disappear, their stories lost. But there’s another way: imagine a jacket woven with the echoes of a previous life, a sleeve that carries the touch of a distant summer, a garment that quietly holds a forgotten story. Clothing, then, becomes a keeper of moments—its fabric rich with the mysteries and histories of those who came before. That’s what Momoyo Stoby, founder of MOMOYO STOBY FASHION, does. Momoyo is less designer, more historian—restoring Showa-era tenugui towels and vintage Japanese fabrics, weaving the spirit of the past into new shapes. Her mantra, “Once Vintage. Now the Spotlight,” isn’t just a slogan—it’s a tribute to memory, care, and the quiet power of honoring what came before. “Each piece carries its own story… Wearing the piece becomes a quiet act of respect for history, materials, and the present moment,” Momoyo told me. Every stain, every faded shop name, every imperfection is preserved, not hidden. Fast fashion tries to erase these marks, but Momoyo stitches them back into the narrative. Wearing one of her pieces is less about style, more about stepping into a story, a rebellion you wear on your back. It’s a stance against a culture that wants you to forget. Here, you’re invited to remember. Her garments spark connection, too. You might find yourself stopped on the street—someone asking about a pattern, curious about its origin. Suddenly, you’re sharing stories about cryptic symbols, hidden histories, and memories stitched into cloth. Fashion here becomes a quiet signal, a subtle nod to those attuned to legacy and meaning. Wearing these pieces is about honoring the past, adding your own chapter, and quietly joining a community that values the stories behind what we wear. We talk about sustainability, carbon footprints, and recycled fabrics, but in Momoyo’s workshop, there’s another kind of sustainability at play. Emotional, cultural, almost mythic. Who gets remembered? Whose stories get lost in the city’s static? Which ghosts do we choose to wear on our shoulders? Fast fashion wants you to forget. Momoyo wants you to remember. In that act of remembering, there’s a kind of quiet power, a way to move through the world armored in memory, walking your own timeline while everyone else rushes by. If you want to challenge the way you think about clothing, consumption, and memory, and maybe find your own crew among these city shadows, start here. Wear a story. Wear respect. Wear change. Or wear a manifesto for the underground, stitched in a language only a few know how to read. The full Q&A with Momoyo Stoby in (the)magazine Vol. V is your next move. In the interview, Momoyo shares the emotional, cultural, and political roots behind each piece, reveals stories you won’t find anywhere else, and offers perspective for those tired of disposable trends. The interview opens the door to a side of fashion that values both vintage and authenticity, and the lasting power of history. And if you’re itching to make a bit of that history your own, you can browse or buy Momoyo’s pieces online at momoyostoby.com. (Warning: Side effects may include compliments from strangers and spontaneous storytelling.) Credits: Designer - MOMOYO STOBY FASHION @momoyostobyfashion/Models – Reyna Ozawa @reyna_ozawa and Akari Natsui @akari_natsui/ Creative Director - Rick Davy @rickdavyfwbk @fashionweekbrooklyn/Fashion Creative Director Stylist - Rahel Tadesse @stylebyrahel1/Photographer – Renan Nishimura @_renphoto_/Hairstylist – Anne Ogasawara @ogasawara/Makeup Artist – Michiko Kubota @kubotamichiko/HMU curated by House of Annex @houseofannex/

by Cyrene Renée @CYRENERENEE Black Dandyism, a term that has been around for centuries, but in recent months, has been given a more mainstream rebirth. With the 2025 Met Gala “Superfine, Tailoring Black Style,” taking center stage on a much-needed topic. Black fashion has been given its flowers. This was the first time the Met Gala dedicated the event to Black designers, Black stylists, and Black creatives. Celebrities Zandaya, Janelle Monae, Diana Ross, Angela Bassett, Colman Domingo, Lewis Hamilton, Alton Mason, and many others graced the blue speckled carpet in their finest tailored ensembles. Cloaked in exceptional fabrics. Adorned with creative details of pearls, metallics, clocks, and feathers. Their hats cocked to the side embracing the finest of attitudes. The Metropolitan Museum of Art is the latest to capture the historic account of culture and pristine handsome beauty. For those of us who know, the Gala may have been for one night, but Dandyism is a mindset. It is a tribute to ancestral tenacity and class. It is more than a suit. It is who we are as people. “I laid out above eight pounds of my money for a suit of superfine clothes to dance with at my freedom.” OLUADAH EQUANO, 1789 DANDYISM DEFINED According to the Oxford University Press, the term Dandy is defined as “1. A person unduly devoted to style, neatness, and fashion in dress and appearance. 2. An excellent thing of its kind.” The Met states, “A Dandy is defined as someone who “studies above everything else to dress elegantly and fashionably.” In a nutshell, Dandyism is dope! It is art. It is pristine and captivating. It can be as simple or elaborate as the person would like it to be. To be a Dandy is to be bold, and confident. Always confident. The rule of Dandyism is to be uniquely you. It is far less about the price tag of the garment and more about how it is presented. Regardless of if the piece is couture, thrifted, or trending, the individual breathes life and dignified character of boundless greatness. “Dandy to me means being unabashedly yourself. A person of substance and standards who takes risks and shrugs off naysayers. A descriptive term for some who shakes and moves by their own rules, with immaculate tailoring to boot!” RAMÓN LUIS (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) “I know society can learn from the history of the Dandy and Black culture. Black people will always be resourceful and rooted in self-love which is a shared experience through expression.” ELISHA GLASS (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) HISTORY AT HIS FINEST Since the 18th century, Black people have embraced our beauty, accentuated our personal archetype, conquered devious stereotypes, and persevered while looking good through it all. Beyond mere appearances, we have created the societal norms and status quo of fashion with talent, innovation, and determination as well as through music, theater, television, film, and poetry, and in all levels of visual artistry. Either as freedmen or enslaved ancestors working as tradesmen, in indentured servitude or held captive in bondage in the 18th and 19th centuries, the flappers and dapper gentlemen of the roaring 20s during the Harlem Renaissance, rock and roll and the civil rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s, disco in the 1970s, street style and hip-hop in the 1980s to present day, and the blues since the beginning of time, we remain a classic. Throughout history and modern day, Black people have shown unique growth despite the ongoing wrongdoings against the community. Through art and specifically through fashion, we have been able to dispel the myths used to attempt to stunt our progression. The Dandy is a direct result of such a dilemma. The art of dressing impeccably allows for a different tale beyond comparison to a primate. As the elders may say, “there must be a fly in the buttermilk,” or in today’s terms, “the math isn’t matching.” SUPERFINE The exhibition is free with museum entry. We traveled to the rear of the museum. Coasting through with one space in mind. While other showcases are bright and airy, the exhibition itself is dim. The lighting sets the mood for a theatrical and smokey journey. The strategically placed lighting illuminates each figure, allowing for silence and in some cases an uproar. It is grouped into 12 sections to include cool, jook, presence, disguise, distinction, champion, beauty, respectability, freedom, cosmopolitanism, ownership, and heritage. With these sub-sections, museum-goers are introduced to different styling of Dandyism and its progress. Shifting the climate of each station with each outfit at a time. From track pants, to silk lined blazers, ruffled shirts, kaftans, sneakers, and shined hard-sole shoes, all are on display for the world to see. Coupled together in a common yet grandiose space, attendees can connect with the displayed garments, fabrics, encased accessories, and photos and videos of Dandies past and present. Placing names and dates pinpointing the who and the where brings a sense of humanity and relatability to the exposition. It goes far beyond mannequins draped in fine threads. The rooms are filled with carefully chosen artifacts of distinct taste. A living art gallery of various time periods of fashion seamlessly held together by one common theme: admiration for style. It is a sight to behold. “The Costume Institute’s Spring 2025 exhibition presents a cultural and historical examination of Black style over three hundred years through the concept of dandyism. In the 18th-century Atlantic world, a new culture of consumption, fueled by the slave trade, colonialism, and imperialism, enabled access to clothing and goods that indicated wealth, distinction, and taste. Black dandyism sprung from the intersection of African and European style traditions.” THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, 2025, SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE THE ROYALE This all leads me to The Dandy Royale. I came up with the idea when I heard about the showcase. I knew I wanted to see it. I knew I had to see it, but I didn’t want to attend common wares. I wanted to show up as my own version of Dandy. I had two months to plan and prepare. It needed to be done well. I wanted to create something memorable and tangible. This needed to be documented. The invitations doubled as a custom Power Point website with detailed information for all attendees. It was a must for the execution to be as close to perfect as possible. Thankfully, I have some marvelous friends who all accepted the invitation and the challenge to show up and show out graciously and unapologetically. Beyond just seeing the exhibition, I curated an editorial photoshoot held in Central Park. Steps away from the historical Seneca Village community, which is located on the West Side. It was only right since we were already adorned in our Dandy best, and near where original Black settlers lived before the park was established from the 1820s to the 1850s. They were ultimately forcibly removed and displaced by eminent domain in mid-1850, due to the city’s aspirations to expand the plans during the creation of the park. From there, we attended my birthday dinner at the Café d’Alsace. The décor of the restaurant fit the theme of our fashions just right. “My personal style would be described as streetstyle chic. I like simplicity and comfort with a little something extra to elevate my looks. For instance, a matching set is simple, but your jewelry, shades, handbag, other accessories, or even hairstyle can turn something simple into something dynamic." MARCUS EARLY (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) From the checkered tiled floors to the printed wallpaper and illustrious bar. We sat in the private dining space in the rear of the restaurant. The tablescape was just as important as the trip to the museum. Black and white with hints of plum for a splash of color not to clash with the pine green chairs. Custom favors of Himalayan rose bath salts and selenite crystals were given to all guests. Personalized menus and thank you postcards, along with the official Superfine postcards from The Met gift shop were at each setting. White chargers and black table runners placed vertically to create a bold stripe along the dinner table. Fresh purple flowers in vintage glass bud vases nestled between the stark black and white. The main centerpiece, a large, white, two-tiered, naked cake with white edible pearls, silver candles, and a black-and-white Polaroid-style photo of myself. The flavors were bold and fun, based off pies, key lime and peach cobbler. White linen napkins with lucite and feather place cards for assigned seating. Black-and-white spiraled candles with vintage metallic holders used to continue the vision. Decorated bottles of wine and apple cider with white pearls and etched flowers were placed on either side. Small cream velvet pockets of tic tac toe game filled with pearled bows and circles for a guest activity. The Dandy theme further played out on the dinner table with framed accessories featuring a pearl necklace, a mini polka dot bow tie, silver tie clips, silver applique, and a pewter pocket watch. Simple touches to remind us of what makes a lady a lady, and a gentleman a gentleman, and everyone in between. It was a brilliant extension of the museum. In a nutshell, it was Dandy. I admire Rihanna because her style is more than just her clothes—it’s her attitude, confidence, and vibe. She wears authentic, unapologetic clothes, despite what others think. She walks with confidence and poise, turning heads wherever she goes, ignoring what others think. She’s done edgy, glam, sporty, and chic. She’s multifaceted. She’s inspiring, and I try to incorporate bad gyal energy into every outfit.” AMANDA UDAKA (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) This event was to ultimately celebrate my birthday with my loves, but it was also a beautiful moment to celebrate Black excellence with the very people who go above and beyond in their own fields of expertise and talents. Individuals whom I admire and have the blessing to call family and friends. We uplift and support each other in real time and for all the right reasons. It wasn’t just about me; it was about us. It was about the resilience and the magic that makes society what it is today, by honoring those who have come before us. “I not only had a great time at Cyrene’s Dandy Royale, I received a hands-on masterclass in Dandyism itself. Watching Cyrene, her friends, and contemporaries bring this art form to life was truly remarkable. As someone outside of the model world, I was honored to witness such an artful celebration of life, style, and fashion history. I am humbled to be a part of it.” ANDREW MARSH (DANDY ROYALE GUEST) Ancestors are not “was,” but “are.” If we speak their names, tell their stories, read their books, watch their movies, and listen to their music, they are very much relevant and present even beyond their transition. I made the day personal and wore an icon photo pendant of my grandmother. I wanted her to be present and honored. On any given day you will find me with an icon brooch of Dorothy Dandridge, who is my style icon, or Billie Holiday, Aretha Franklin, Irene Cara, or Maya Angelou. Those who have come before me and paved the way for me to be who and what I am. I would describe my personal style as chic, sexy, classic, classy, and even when casual, a touch of vintage adornment. Fashion is one thing and style is another. It is my personality draped over my being. It is the embodiment of my spirit. How I look and how I feel shown in a visual representation whether caught in a glance, a glare, or desired longing. It is me. Dare I say, I too, am a Dandy. “Being rebellious and Black, a nonconformist, being cool and hip and angry and sophisticated and ultra clean, whatever else you want to call it. I was all those things and more.” MILES DAVI(“MILES: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY,” 1989) CREDITS PHOTOGRAPHER: TRUDY GIORDANO & ELISHA GLASS CREATIVE DIRECTOR: CYRENE RENEE STYLIST: CYRENE RENEE DECORATIONS & EVENT PLANNING: CYRENE RENEE EVENT PLANNING ASSISTANT: MORGAN LEWIS LOCATIONS: THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART – 1000 5TH AVE, NEW YORK NY 10028 CENTRAL PARK – CENTRAL PARK NEW YORK, NY 100024 CAFE D’ALSACE RESTAURANT – 1703 2ND AVE NEW YORK, NY 10128 QUOTES: AMANDA UDUKA ANDREW MARSH ELISHA GLASS FREDERICK DOUGLAS MARCUS EARLY MILES DAVIS OLUADAH EQUANO * RAMÓN LUIS BOOKRECOMMENDATIONS: CARL AYERS ASPECIALTHANKSTOALLWHOATTENDED ALYSSA SENEH AMANDA UDUKA ANDREW MARSH BRANDON JERROD ELISHA GLASS MARCUS EARLY MONIQUA FLADGER MORGAN LEWIS RAMON LUIS TAYLOR WILLIAMS TRUDY GIORDANO RESOURCES:* MONICA L. MILLER WITH ANDREW BOLTON, WILLIAM DEGREGORIO AND AMANDA GARFINKEL, 2025, “SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE.” * OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS DICTIONARY. * SHANTRLLE P. LEWIS, 2017, “THE DANDY LION: THE BLACK DANDY AND STREET STYLE.” * THE CENTRAL PARK CONSERVANCY, 2018 JAN 18, BEFORE CENTRAL PARK: THE STORY OF SENECA VILLIAGE, HTTPS://WWW.CENTRALPARKNYC.ORG/ARTICLES/SENECA-VILLAGE * THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART, 2025, SUPERFINE: TAILORING BLACK STYLE, HTTPS://WWW.METMUSEUM.ORG/EXHIBITIONS/SUPERFINE-TAILORING-BLACK-STYLE

F ashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK): Now in its 19th year and approaching a milestone 20th anniversary, Fashion Week Brooklyn continues to champion independent designers, community, and culture across the borough and beyond. October 2025 Fashion Week Brooklyn (FWBK) is featuring a lineup that celebrates creativity, culture, and community across the borough. This season, FWBK spotlights the whole journey — from concept to runway  —where ideas are transformed into unforgettable fashion moments. From Concept to Runway: The Journey of Creativity The phrase “Concept to Runway” captures the whole arc of fashion creation—where imagination meets execution. It’s more than just showcasing garments; it’s the narrative of an idea evolving into a tangible, wearable statement. Each sketch, fabric choice, and silhouette reflects the designer’s vision, influenced by culture, personal experience, and social trends. This journey celebrates experimentation, risk-taking, and collaboration—bringing together designers, artisans, models, and audiences. On the runway, these concepts are given life, turning abstract ideas into a shared, immersive experience that engages all senses. Concept to runway is not just fashion—it’s storytelling in motion. Come see it come to life — from concept to runway. The FWBK event is running from October 11th-18th, Brooklyn, NY. “Two fashion philosophies walk into a runway... here’s what happens next in Concept to Runway .": The Street as Runway No velvet ropes. No front row. Just the pulse of the city as the stage. Here, sidewalks replace catwalks and self-expression takes center frame. The street becomes fashion’s truest runway — raw, spontaneous, and unapologetically real — where style moves with life, not trends. The New Atelier The studio is the show. Here, creation replaces spectacle, and process becomes performance. Fabric, form, and idea unfold in real time — transforming the private act of making into a shared experience. In The New Atelier, fashion isn’t just shown; it’s revealed. For Schedule & Tickets Visit: fashionweekbrooklyn.com @fashionweekbrooklyn Image Credits: Runway Gen-4

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.

Lucinda Williams, World’s Gone Wrong (Highway 20 Records). Album artwork shown for editorial purposes. I entered the YouTube listening party expecting a casual album preview. What I received was initiation. A full-album transmission. She delivered every track from World’s Gone Wrong, one after another, and witnessing it unfold felt like watching scripture come alive — sharper, more urgent, profoundly human and achingly divine. Last Sunday, there was a show at Lucinda’s — her East Village bar — the kind of freezing night that tests devotion. I didn’t make that pilgrimage. But today’s worldwide listening party offered its own form of communion, even through a screen. Still… part of me aches for what those in the room experienced: the collective shiver, the shared caffeine ritual, the electric intimacy of being there. The lyrics cut deeper in real time. And that voice — what fans and critics have long described as gritty, expressive, vulnerable, worn but resonant — proves why it’s one of the most distinctive instruments in Americana. It’s perfectly suited to bear this weight. Williams doesn’t just sing about the world’s fracture, the moral exhaustion, the grit required to endure. She channels it, embodies it. On the title track — a portrait of a car salesman and nurse clinging to hope amid economic ruin, empty houses, and confusion over what’s even true anymore — the frustration becomes prophecy. “How Much Did You Get for Your Soul?” invokes Robert Johnson’s crossroads, turning moral compromise into accusation. “Don’t Take Me for Granted” personifies freedom itself, demanding we stay vigilant. These aren’t complaints — they’re testimonies. Witnessing her inhabit each song felt like receiving direct transmission, like she’s speaking the world’s chaos into truth, straight to your soul. And then there’s the band — Marc Ford and Doug Pettibone on guitars, locked in but leaving room. David Sutton on bass, holding it down. Brady Blade on drums, pushing when it mattered, pulling back when it didn’t. Siobhan Mayer Kennedy’s harmonies cutting through at the right moments. Rob Burger’s organ threading underneath. They weren’t there to prop her up. They were in it, same as Lu. Watching the album live, track by track, I understood: these songs are rituals that demand communion. From the garage-rock funk of “Low Life” (conjuring New Orleans hurricanes, both literal and liquid) to the haunted Southern Gothic of “Sing Unburied Sing” (inspired by Jesmyn Ward’s novel of racial trauma), each track carried weight beyond melody. When Williams introduced “We Have Come Too Far to Turn Around,” she invoked 400 years of struggle — the civil rights movement, the anti-war protests, the long march toward justice. You could hear it in her voice: this wasn’t nostalgia. This was bearing witness. Little improvisations, eye contact between believers, call-and-response moments — all of it made the songs breathe with collective spirit. Each track wasn’t just performed; it was channeled, and the YouTube stream captured that sacred intimacy. By the end, I felt transformed, not just informed. Williams delivered the album’s core message with conviction: we’ve come too far to turn around. Despite confronting theodicy (“Did God Forget the Punchline?”), systemic violence (“We Have Come Too Far to Turn Around”), and soul-selling compromise, the album insists on resilience. Williams and her congregation proved that World’s Gone Wrong works best when it’s alive: vulnerable, raw, and collective. And thanks to the worldwide listening party, anyone can receive that intensity, even from home — a different kind of devotion, but devotion nonetheless. Watch the full listening party: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5MXJsk7nBuk

From my apartment in Brooklyn, scrolling through Dutch headlines with a coffee in hand, I watch Mark Rutte—my former prime minister—do what he’s done for years: survive politics with the calm of a social studies teacher grading a particularly messy essay. This week at Davos, while Trump floats ideas about annexing Greenland and everyone else scrambles for soundbites, Rutte—now NATO Secretary General—just keeps doing his thing: calm, measured, effective. And yes, the nickname "Teflon Mark" is fully deserved. The Teflon Teacher Rutte is a walking paradox. On the surface, he looks like the guy who brings his own sandwich to a state dinner and cycles to work while running a country. As prime minister, he mostly biked to the office, even to visit the King at the palace—no motorcades, no security theater, just a guy on a bicycle navigating The Hague traffic. There’s something very Dutch about this. The Netherlands has spent centuries figuring out how not to drown—you don’t survive below sea level without planning ahead, thinking in trade-offs, and keeping your cool when the water rises. That pragmatic, no-drama mindset runs deep, and Rutte embodies it completely. Underneath that modest exterior, he commands a country with quiet authority. No bombastic speeches, no Twitter feuds, no haircare controversies. The man is Teflon. He’s never married and has no children, a fact he frames in his own trademark way: he calls it a “happy single” life. This is also a guy who almost became a concert pianist—he considered studying piano at the conservatory after high school. Instead of Chopin, he chose coalition governments. Perhaps that explains the patience: politics became his practice room, where he’s willing to play the same diplomatic scale a thousand times until everyone gets it right. It also fits the persona: disciplined, focused, and able to genuinely listen to anyone in the room—even if it’s a rowdy minister or a diplomat having a meltdown. Surviving Below Sea Level (Literally and Politically) Look, I find him odd. I don’t have to like Mark Rutte 100% as a person. But he appears to be good for NATO, and that’s what counts. Watching him from afar, it’s impossible not to notice how he handles volatile personalities like Donald Trump: absorb the chaos, don’t stick to the outrage, stick to the lesson plan. ”Trump treats diplomacy like a reality TV audition; Rutte treats it like a social studies seminar.” One yells for attention; the other silently grades the papers while the first one throws a tantrum. What strikes me is how he makes people feel heard. He listens carefully and aims to connect, even with distant voters. That quality distinguishes a leader you understand from one you only fear. Of course, the teacher analogy isn’t perfect. Rutte’s calm, pedagogical approach can feel slow, evasive, or too comfortable with ambiguity. When a crisis demands moral clarity, he prefers to explain trade-offs rather than make fiery declarations. That same trait kept him in power at home for many years: scandals slide off him, but it can also make him seem detached or unaccountable. Still, maybe that detachment is his superpower. Patience, careful listening, and a knack for turning chaos into structured options let him navigate unpredictable leaders without losing his footing. He doesn’t dominate conversations; he ensures everyone leaves understanding the rules of the room. The Classroom vs. The Reality Show And yes, the man is a teacher at heart. His background in social studies isn’t a footnote—it’s the playbook. Explaining, reasoning, guiding, and surviving disruption without drama is what Rutte does best. Trump could be yelling, spinning, or tweeting about unicorns, and Rutte would still be at the whiteboard, chalk in pocket, not even looking up. He’s the kind of leader who could calmly explain the Dutch budget to a room of toddlers wielding flamethrowers. Watching the spectacle unfold, I can’t help but admire it. In an age of performance politics, maybe we need more Teflon Marks and fewer screaming toddlers. The guy who brings his own sandwich, listens more than he talks, and somehow makes you feel heard—sometimes the quietest teacher in the room is also the smartest. If political survival were a sport, Rutte wouldn't just win—he'd grade the other competitors' essays on why they failed. Which makes you wonder: when was the last time America elected someone who could actually teach a class? The Netherlands keeps picking teachers. We keep picking the kid who set off the fire alarm. Image Credits: Runway Gen-4

by Trutherella Jones In the age of infinite scroll, I see how every lie wants to be a mantra. Every headline feels like a hymn. Somewhere between outrage and entertainment, the line blurs—and I watch as the Tangerine Toddler turns that blur into a business model. The trick isn’t the lie itself; it’s the loop. I realize that if I say something enough, it hardcodes into my memory. The human brain, poor thing, loves patterns more than truth. Repetition becomes belief. The media knows this—and plays priest anyway, shaping our perceptions and convictions. They claim to be “fact-checking,” yet first, they chant falsehoods like holy verses. Headlines flash across my feed like neon confessions. By the time the correction lands, the lie has already multiplied. The network doesn’t care which side I’m on—only that I click, share, and rage, feeding its profit model. The old religion had crosses and incense. The new one has hashtags and ad revenue. Here’s the paradox: most journalists have good intentions. They’re told to be transparent, to represent both sides, to shed light on every aspect of a story. But when one side keeps inventing its own reality, that illumination turns into an unintended spotlight. Coverage becomes currency, and attention a form of endorsement. The aim was to expose the lie, but somewhere along the way, exposure gave it value. Journalism’s mission—to inform—has been reprogrammed into “engage.” And engagement doesn’t care if it’s truth or poison, as long as it’s viral. So I scroll, react, repost—worshipping outrage like it’s my civic duty. This is how the Cult of the Echo works. It doesn’t need belief; it needs attention. Misinformation doesn’t survive because it’s persuasive. It survives because it’s loud. The smarter resistance doesn’t shout “fake news.” It studies the pattern. It sees how repetition builds faith, and faith builds obedience. It asks the forbidden question: Who profits when confusion reigns? The goal isn’t to convert me—it’s to exhaust me. If I can’t tell what’s real, I stop trying to care. And in that numb space, control slips in quietly, like background noise I stopped noticing. So maybe rebellion isn’t about arguing online. Maybe it’s about cutting the feed, starving the spell. The cult runs on attention, not agreement. And truth, whatever shape it still takes, doesn’t need to trend. At this point, I’m convinced the real battle isn’t political—it’s psychological. My poor brain wasn’t built for the infinite scroll; it just wants to find patterns and feel safe. And the internet knows that. Every repetition sneaks in like a jingle I never meant to memorize, until the familiar starts feeling like truth. Outrage becomes routine. Confusion becomes comfort. The trick isn’t to make me believe—it’s to make me tired. Because once I’m exhausted, I’ll stop checking sources and start accepting slogans. That’s when control slips in—quietly, like autoplay. So maybe my rebellion isn’t about winning arguments online. Maybe it’s about logging off before my brain starts buffering—reclaiming my attention one scroll-free evening at a time. After all, if attention is the new currency, I’d rather spend mine on something that doesn’t yell back. Image Credits: Runway Gen-4

How America Ended Up Here They gather at the monument in pelts, raw sheepskin, unrefined, their faces lit by screens— a crowd that knows exactly what it means to stand for something. They have found what's felt as certainty. Above them, steel and stone: the cross-shaped monument that holds the scale. One pan sinks heavy. Watch the balance fail. The bricks marked "Lies" outweigh what truth is known. The sun is setting, nearly blocked from view. The sky goes dark but no one turns away. They've chosen what to see, what to obey, what fires to follow, what they know is true— or what they've learned to call truth. In the glow of golden hour, everything looks right. The skins they wear, the gathering of night, the scale that tips toward what they think they know. They do not see themselves as following blind. Each one believes they're standing for what's real, that they're the ones who finally dare to feel the weight of what the others left behind. But from a distance, in the fading light, the crowd looks like a herd, the pelts like hide, the monument a grave for what has died: the common ground. The shared sense of what's right. The scale tips further. Lies outweigh the small and fragile stack of truth that rises, free from burden. But whose truth? And who can see which pan is which? Who's certain, after all? History will record this golden hour— the monument, the crowd, the dying sun, the moment when we thought that we had won by gathering our numbers into power. The chains sway slightly. Everything descends. The question hanging in that amber air: What happens when the scale breaks from the wear of all this weight? How does the fracture mend? The camera pushes forward through the mass of bodies wrapped in wool-on-hide, their faces set. The monument looms larger. Not yet, not yet— but soon the sun will sink. The hour will pass.