A semester ends, and here’s what I learned…

…from JOMC 240, that is.

The question:  What’s the most important thing you learned about media this semester?

The answer: Disruption.

In the world of mass media, I learned that disruption is always going to happen, and it’s actually exciting. Unsurprisingly (given my  general worldview), I embrace the idea of disruption in communication as a downward power shift.

It’s true that a very small number of companies control the bulk of media companies, but the actual voices that are being heard are expanding, and that is all thanks to a more recently crowdsourced media landscape.

Newspapers were disrupted by radio, which was disrupted by TV, which was disrupted by Internet streaming. Books were disrupted by radio, which was disrupted by film, which has been disrupted by Netflix and the Internet. The lists go on, and we’re nowhere near the end of the lists of media disruptions.

But that’s OK. We don’t know what is coming next, which leaves us with a remarkable amount of power over where communication goes and who gets a say in it.

The most exciting part of all of this? We have the ability to be the next disruptors.


Hogwarts is here.

This is, by and large, the best thing I discovered online this month. Someone has created an actual online schooling experience based on the world of Harry Potter. The site is not affiliated with J.K. Rowling or with the film series, but has instead been created by fans of the books. And they’re making every Potter-obsessed kid’s greatest dream come true.

Screen Shot 2014-04-20 at 8.19.25 PM

My own clear excitement is the only thing I have to add to add to the general positive freakout that the Internet is having over this site. That, and my astonishment at the dedication of the people running it. To the people who are writing textbooks on divination, those preparing syllabi for transfiguration courses, and those who programmed this whole magical world: The Biggest of Thank Yous.

I now know how I’ll be spending all of my free time once exams are over: I’ll still be doing homework in coffee shops everyday—but I’ll be studying potions, y’all.

Screen Shot 2014-04-20 at 8.20.39 PM

Hannah Price’s “City of Brotherly Love”

I studied Price’s brilliant photo series for a class and wrote about its merits as an activist art piece. Here are some of my thoughts about this photographer’s response to street harassment:

Every Day After Work

Every Day After Work

Price’s individual, daily experience of catcalling and street harassment sparked her interest in creating “Every Day After Work” and the entire “City of Brotherly Love” series. After moving to Philadelphia, where she lived for three years, she began to experience attention from men as she walked down her block daily for the first time in her life. She felt uncomfortable with how common this occurrence became, having never dealt with such persistent, straightforward and unwarranted sexual attention on her own street, and she decided to respond to the discomfort she and so many women worldwide experience daily.

“It’s an inappropriate moment,” Price said of the experience of being catcalled. She flipped the inappropriate action of catcalling around through her photographs. Rather than suppressing the anger, discomfort, and other negative emotions often associated with the experience of being catcalled, Price turned around and spoke to the men who were harassing her. She began conversations with these men, and worked with them on the process of creating a photograph.

Activism is generally defined as some sort of action taken in order to shift power dynamics. Price’s work does exactly that. She flips the focus of the gaze and the focus on the female body. In order to do so, she turns these portraits of each man who catcalled her into studies of each of their personas and bodies, instead.

“Cosmos” and Neil deGrasse Tyson, communicating astrophysics to a TV audience



“Have YOU seen ‘Cosmos’ yet???” has been one of my most commonly asked questions for the last week or so.

Astrophysicist, author, and all-around science advocate Neil deGrasse Tyson hosts “Cosmos: A Space-Time Odyssey,” a new installment of Carl Sagan’s 1980 “Cosmos” series.

My favorite episode of the four thus far is “A Sky Full of Ghosts,” in which Tyson explains perfectly to viewers that space and time are really two sides of the same coin, that most of the stars we see have already died, what black holes actually are, that gravity is the uniting force of all corners of space, and the fact that we can see certain stars at all is proof of the age of our universe.

I dare you not to be in total awe after this episode, of the science and of the effects and animation that carry you through Tyson’s mind-blowing journey.

He also debunks creationist views of Earth’s origins in every episode with so little effort and emphasizes the history of scientific discovery that have led us to what we know now. His enthusiasm for the scientific is infectious, as is his reverence for the things science has not yet figured out.

And finally, the show has proven to me that there is room for mass media and science to collide because we’re all innately curious, and curiosity is one of the driving forces behind our efforts to make sense of the starscape and our place in it.


Miss Representation: media coverage of women politicians

Miss Representation (which is now streaming on Netflix) covers an array of issues, and the whole thing is worth watching. If you’re like me, you’ll re-watch it a few times, and you’ll want to break it down and take it apart piece by piece, especially the part 41 minutes in that digs into the gaping gender disparity in politics.

After a long and all too familiar sequence of political commentators disparaging the credibility of female politicians based on looks and gender, Pat Mitchell, who is the president and CEO of Paley Media Center and the former president and CEO of PBS, says:

“There’s probably no more powerful influence on the way we view power than the way media treats power, and media treats power as defined by men because it has been, throughout our generation and the ones before, generally defined that way.”

Interviewees in that section of the film goes on to explain that writing articles about a politician’s looks or insulting a piece of clothing she wore is not only irrelevant and objectifying, but it also trivializes that individual, making her appear less powerful or credible.

At a panel I attended last year, former NC senator Ellie Kinnaird’s final words to the audience, nearly all of whom were women, was to run for office. She brought up the fact that women are often not asked to run for office as persistently or as frequently as men are, so she encouraged us to tell the women leaders that we knew to consider running.

Media is perpetuating the image of what power and intelligence looks like, and with its often embarrassing coverage of female politicians, it affects what we imagine politicians can hope to be in the future, as well. If we see strikingly few female politicians holding public office and watch as so many media organizations follow their careers in a horribly sexist way, how are we supposed to see a future when it will be desirable for more women to pursue public office?

The best we can do now—and absolutely must do—is encourage women to run and demand that the press will fairly cover their achievements and actions and than it will stop visually dissecting bodies and discounting logic as emotional defeat.

“Broad City”: the most hilarious show about twenty-something-year-old women figuring out life in New York yet


the glorious Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer

I started watching Broad City last night, and I cannot believe I did not start watching it sooner. This show focuses the best friendship of two women living in New York in their early twenties. And it does that without feeling like any other shows that may feature a similar description. And it’s hilarious.

(Also, in keeping with the show’s theme of finding round-about ways of getting things when money is tight, shout-out to the sister of the friend of the friend whose Hulu Plus account I’m currently using for this particular binge-watch….whoever you are, you’re the best.)

Screen Shot 2014-03-23 at 4.07.42 PM

In awe of your generosity ❤

Rather than ramble about why I like the show, here is a short list of reasons why you, too, should love Broad City:

-Ilana and Abbi’s terrified reaction to having to venture into the Upper East Side—not Harlem—is SPOT. ON. Ilana calls it “a horrible, vapid wasteland.”

-It’s actually laugh-out-loud funny.

-Lines like, “You’re so anti-racist sometimes that you’re actually really racist.” They really hit the liberal-arts-educated-but-still-trying-to-be-young-and-edgy nail on the head with that one.

-Despite doing a lot of positive things, the show is not self congratulatory.

Ilana’s outfits.

-New York appears as both completely fascinating and disgusting, both of which it actually is.

-It’s still funny.

-Lincoln, Ilana’s dentist non-boyfriend.

-And his endearing conversations with dogs.

-Abbi and Ilana’s experience with the accountant. (Particularly poignant because I was doing taxes five minutes before watching that episode.)

-The characters get to experience actual joy, even when their lives aren’t exactly representative of classical success. They’re resilient and find ways to get happy anyway. Y’know, what actual people do everyday!

Now, go forth and watch!

Now, go forth and watch!

White-washed Children’s Books and Single Stories Leave Kids Lost, and There’s a Way Out of It

Screen Shot 2014-03-24 at 12.56.47 AM

The New York Times recently published an incredible opinion piece by Walter Dean Myers about the lack of people of color in children’s books.

In a particularly poignant passage, Myers describes the way his voracious love for books turned into a problematic relationship:

“As I discovered who I was, a black teenager in a white-dominated world, I saw that these characters, these lives, were not mine. I didn’t want to become the “black” representative, or some shining example of diversity. What I wanted, needed really, was to become an integral and valued part of the mosaic that I saw around me.

Books did not become my enemies. They were more like friends with whom I no longer felt comfortable. I stopped reading. I stopped going to school. On my 17th birthday, I joined the Army. In retrospect I see that I had lost the potential person I would become — an odd idea that I could not have articulated at the time, but that seems so clear today.”

This passage made me think of another writer’s perspective. One of acclaimed author Chimamanda Adichie’s incredible TED Talks about, what she calls, “the danger of a single story” is something I’ve returned to many times when I’m writing.

She details her upbringing on a university campus in Nigeria, where she read mostly British books. She began to realize, like Myers, that the lives she read about were not her own, but it didn’t even occur to her that books could be about experiences like her own until she finally read some.

She talks about the stories she began to write as a child:

“I wrote exactly the kinds of stories I was reading. All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played in the snow, they ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather—how nice it was that the sun had come out. Now, this, despite the fact that I lived in Nigeria. I had never been outside Nigeria. We didn’t have snow, we ate mangoes, and we never talked about the weather because there was no need to.”

Adichie uses her own life to illustrate the need for a diverse spectrum of narratives to choose from, a wide variety of voices to be heard. The danger of the single story, she explains later, is the potential for a complete misreading of a group based on the idea that one story can perfectly represent all people with somewhat similar experiences or similar identities.

Drawing on the clear pictures Myers and Adichie present of this problem, I break down the need for representation of a wide variety of racial identities in children’s books—and diversity in the media as a whole—into two major points:

1. People belonging to marginalized groups need to see more people with experiences like theirs reflected in the media. We see media images, both consciously and subconsciously, as models for our own lives. When the only people we see in media who are like us are minor characters, are not protagonists, are one-dimensional, or are altogether absent, we can begin to see ourselves in the same light.

2. People belonging to dominant groups need to see more people with experiences unlike theirs reflected in the media. By gaining the ability to relate to people who are not just like us, we also gain understanding. We learn to understand lives that are not lived identically to our own, and by doing so, we become more empathetic people, less likely to write off those who we don’t immediately understand.

Kids of all races and ethnicities are being slighted by the current imbalance. The children’s book issue is an indicator of the much wider media representation problem, and it’s an important indicator. Books are some of the first exposures to media we have, at a crucial time when we’re learning about society, about who we are, and about what we can one day become.

Myers writes about finally reading a story that spoke to his experience, saying:

“Then I read a story by James Baldwin: “Sonny’s Blues.” I didn’t love the story, but I was lifted by it, for it took place in Harlem, and it was a story concerned with black people like those I knew. By humanizing the people who were like me, Baldwin’s story also humanized me. The story gave me a permission that I didn’t know I needed, the permission to write about my own landscape, my own map.”

When publishers support children’s books about non-white characters, about characters who defy gender norms, about characters who have dynamic abilities and emotions, about all kinds of family structures, etc., those publishers are giving kids validation.

To borrow Myers’ analogy, the more kids receive that permission to be and appreciate themselves, the more people may be able to end up, one day, comfortably moving through the world according to their very own maps.