Unhardening the heart . By Althea Downing-Sherer Illustration by Iris Pope This Valentine’s Day, as some of us face the perils of online dating or despair over unrequited crushes, Achsah Guibbory urges us to reframe love: not as conquest, but as devotion.  Achsah Guibbory is a professor of 17th-century English literature at Barnard College, specializing in John Milton and John Donne. She has published multiple books, including Returning to John Donne; Christian Identity, Jews

On relationships, labels, and keeping love alive .    By Ana Sorrentino Illustration by Iris Pope The names in this piece have been changed to respect the sources’ romantic privacy. Upon reading, I’m sure you’ll understand why.  In high relief against the outer wall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, white birds bathe in shallow pools of melted snow along the plaza’s edge. In soft crowds they stretch wings, pivot, and stare. Two take off flying around in a frantic chase to th

Some thoughts on the recent snow in New York. By Kate Sibery Illustration by Iris Pope Ten days ago they were predicting a lot of snow. “They” being my grandmother’s reference point for all information relating to weather, current events, and anything else you might read about in the newspaper or see on T.V. “They are saying it might get up into the 70s this week.” “They say it’s a good time to start shopping at Fairway.” “They say interest rates are way down.” “They” is her

On the inexplicable obsession with the perfect ballet dancer. By Magda Lena Griffel Illustration by Iris Pope As a child, Grace Li, CC ’28, was transfixed by the role of Clara in Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker . For Fiona Witty-Daughtery CC ’28, it was the older dancers at her first summer intensive. For the late ballerina Michaela Mabinty DePrince, it was a magazine cover of a prima ballerina that flew to the gate of her orphanage when she was four. She joined ballet classes a

On swenking, Sapeurs, and dressing well . By Nnema Épée-Bounya Illustration by Iris Pope I am in the back of a theater, the smallest theater I have ever been in. The seats are made of wood and have red velvet cushions. The woman next to me is eating a bag of chips extremely loudly, slowly, and self-consciously. The woman in front of me has an afro shaped like a heart, and I wonder if it’s intentional. Two middle-aged Black women sit beside me after arriving with the director

The tale of a freshman seeking fellow Humanities majors . By Ana Sorrentino Illustration by Iris Pope It was in my second week at Columbia that I began to notice a foul scent stubbornly clinging to the air. It lingered in the halls, followed me into the elevators, and coiled itself between the crevices of the stacks. I told myself it was only my imagination. Perhaps I was still getting used to life in a new city. But the more it remained, I began to realize that this was diff