Classifieds

Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com

ACROSS
1 Cabo’s peninsula
5 Stupefy
10 Earthy shade
14 “Don’t have __,
man!”
15 Jennifer
Saunders’ “Ab
Fab” role
16 Room service
challenge
17 Simba’s mate
18 Pack animal?
19 Shrewd
20 Port
23 Heavy weight
24 It may need a
boost
25 Port
34 “Mean Girls”
actress
35 Instrument heard
in the Doobie
Brothers’ “Black
Water”
36 Lived and
breathed
37 Uncompromising
38 __ nus: barefoot,
in Bordeaux
39 Hilarious one
40 Scotch datum
41 Construct
42 Friend of Jerry
and George
43 Port
46 Org. with a
square-rigger on
its seal
47 Jungle swinger
48 Port
57 Ointment additive
58 De Valera of
Ireland
59 “Dies __”
60 Array of options
61 Urban air
problem
62 Reposed
63 Rear deck
64 Blush-inducing
H.S. class
65 House meas.

DOWN
1 Judicial seat
2 Smoothie fruit
3 Cola named for
its intended effect

4 Football squad in
white jerseys,
typically
5 Lagging
6 Time change?
7 Turbaned
Punjabi
8 Selective Service
classification
9 Blue Devils’ rival
10 Homeowner’s
account, perhaps
11 Kind of sandwich
or soda
12 Tiller opening?
13 Taxi alternative
21 Unlike new
clothes
22 Indian tourist
mecca
25 Like some pond
growth
26 Blacksmith’s
need
27 Copper?
28 Like Wrigley
Field’s walls
29 Many a flower girl
30 Acknowledge, in
a way
31 “It’d be a dream
come true”

32 Judd matriarch
33 Legally prohibit
38 One of Disney’s
official eleven
39 Perfume staples
41 Forum infinitive
42 Yokum cartoonist
44 Garage service
45 Agitated
48 Where much tie-
dyeing takes
place

49 Kitchen bar
50 Prohibition
51 Tone down
52 Camera that
uses 70mm film
53 Move like honey
54 Modern-day
Mesopotamia
55 Newbie
56 Commonly
anchored 
shelter

By Bart Beisner
©2017 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
01/13/17

01/13/17

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

RELEASE DATE– Friday, January 13, 2017

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

xwordeditor@aol.com

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FOR RENT

STYLE NOTEBOOK

Once, Anna Wintour made 

eye contact with me and I 
almost peed.

That’s the story I tell when 

people ask me what I do “on 
the job.” In one month, I will be 
headed back to Manhattan for my 
fifth season interning at New York 
Fashion Week. As always, I am hes-
itant to tell those around me where 
I’m really going for those seven 
February days, for fear of being 
pinned a “humble-bragger,” or 
receiving endless coos of unjust 
admiration and jealousy. When 
I tell people I’m working Fashion 
Week, they seem to overlook the 
“working” part entirely, so I just 
give them what I know they want 
— juicy little anecdotes without 
any substance, like my lackluster 
Wintour encounter. In the eyes of 
many of my friends, I’ll be skipping 
school this February to attend a 
star-studded affair in Manhattan. 
Though they aren’t technically 
wrong, a few key aspects of my 
work at NYFW consistently go 
unnoticed.

I pay my own way. I spend 

my own money on my own 
flights to my own unpaid job. I 
have worked other jobs, saved 
money from gifts and sold my 
old clothes so that I can accom-
modate my internships. I am 
not asking for pity — I come 
from an upper-middle-class 
family where money has never 
been an issue, and therefore 
have the rare opportunity to 
pursue ventures that involve 
little-to-no pay. Rather, I am 
trying to shed light on an 
industry that outsiders (and 
even some insiders) view as 
full of unrestrained glamour 
and drama. From my vantage 
point, it’s easy to see that fash-
ion is full of humility. It is a 
universe populated by everyone 
from artists to models to pro-
duction specialists. No matter 
their trade, each individual is 
controlled by a select few cor-
porate giants, generally under-

paid unless they manage to 
make it big.

Be it New York, London, 

Milan or Paris, Fashion Week 
sucks the life out of everyone 
involved. No matter their job, 
anyone who has ever worked 
a Fashion Week could tell you 
that it is a grueling seven days, 
both physically and mentally. 
Though I have worked two very 
different jobs over the course of 
my NYFW career — social media 
correspondent for a modeling 
agency and celebrity escort for 
a backstage lounge — each left 
me with a maximum of four 
hours of sleep a night and a 
brutal cold by the end of the 
week. Not even the most beau-
tiful models are exempt from 
the ubiquitous Fashion Week 
eye bags (I always joke that 
mine are Prada). Emergen-C 

tablets are given out at every 
venue like souvenirs. Each of 
us works vigorously in hopes 
of fulfilling traditionally unre-
alistic deadlines. All the while, 
we must elicit stylishness, our 
faces blotted and our outfits 
impeccably chic, to ensure that 
bystanders view Fashion Week 
as the elitist affair it pretends 
to be. We may not be doctors or 
lawyers, but that doesn’t make 
the fashion industry any less 
invested 
and, 
subsequently, 

overworked.

Save for Us Weekly, nobody tells 

you that stars truly are just like us, 
even during NYFW. In fact, affili-

ated publications likely don’t want 
you to know how “normal” many 
celebrities are despite their cir-
cumstances. After all, media out-
lets receive most of their Fashion 
Week related traction from celebri-
ties who use their online platforms 
to create a covetable facade of a life. 
In September of 2016, headlines 
noted that Kylie Jenner sat front 
row at Prabal Gurung’s show, but 
failed to mention that she was likely 
being paid to attend, another shift 
of her extremely well-rewarded, 
yet never-ending job. Season after 
season, blogger Leandra Medine of 
Man Repeller is regularly featured 
in magazines’s “street style” broad-
casts, yet none show the young 
businesswoman hurriedly jetting 
from show to show, taking rushed 
sips of Blue Bottle coffee (a NYFW 
staple — ask anybody) as though 
she fears her cup will run away. The 
same principle reigns when applied 
to celebrities’s most down-to-earth 
behaviors. When Jenna Lyons, 
creative director and president of 
J. Crew, asked for a photo with a 
lowly intern (i.e. me) after a show at 
Milk Studios, not one reporter took 
notice. Like many other human 
beings, Lyons did not feel comfort-
able having solo shots taken that 
day, and instead opted to use me as 
a means of diverting the spotlight, 
if even for a moment. That kind of 
raw humanity does not jive well 
with the image of Lyons contrived 
by the media — intimidatingly 
stern and all business — and so they 
simply left it out. In the most frank 
of terms, envy and fear make New 
York Fashion Week profitable.

It’s true — Anna Wintour is 

scary, and capable of evoking 
involuntary bodily functions. 
But New York Fashion Week is 
more than a brush with fame, 
or even clothes on a runway. 
It is practically its own being, 
layered with great and poor 
qualities alike. It jerks real 
tears out of its victims, but 
always winds up giving them 
some of the most memorable 
experiences of their lives. That 
— you know I had to end this 
way — is something that will 
never go out of style.

TESS GARCIA
Senior Arts Editor

Intern Insight: the various travails
of working New York Fashion Week

We may not 
be doctors or 

lawyers, but that 
doesn’t make the 
fashion industry 
any less invested

SIMON & SCHUSTER

Tilikum died how he lived, a prisoner of human greed and need for spectacle. 
‘Loner’ a pertinent read

In 2015, Brock Turner, a 

freshman at Stanford Univer-
sity, was found atop an uncon-
scious female, hidden behind 
a dumpster, by two passing 
cyclists. The girl, whose name 
was never revealed, later testi-
fied to being unconscious, as 
did the cyclists who found her. 
She didn’t remember Turner 
and she didn’t remember initi-
ating any sexual activity with 
him. She woke up with dried 
blood on her body and pine 
needles in her hair.

Turner, behind a barrier of 

well-paid attorneys, told a dif-
ferent story: one of a typical 
college romance that springs 
from 
alcohol-fueled 
college 

parties. He said they left hold-
ing hands, she had slipped and 
then they kissed. A fairytale 
romance, it must have been, 
especially for the girl who woke 
up with blood on her body and 
pine needles in her hair.

In recent years, these stories 

have become more and more 
familiar in the media sphere. 
Fraternity parties that lead to 
outrageously high blood alco-
hol content and girls with the 
word “no” floating on their lips 
— these are a formula, espe-
cially at universities, that we 
all know too well. And all too 
often they end in six months 
leave — three, if the perpetra-
tor displays “good behavior.”

But take away the alcohol 

and add obsession. Remove 
the darkness and stickiness 
of a fraternity basement, and 
add the ivy walls of Harvard 
University. Take away lowered 
inhibitions and add agency, and 
we get Teddy Wayne’s “Loner,” 
a story told from the point of 
view of David Federman, an 
incoming freshman at Harvard. 
A boy who never stood out 
and was always pushed aside 
in high school, David yearns 
to be someone special, and 

he believes that Harvard will 
grant him this.

The first day of school, David 

sees Veronica, a girl so utterly 
perfect in his mind’s eye that 
he idealizes and romanticizes 
every aspect of her. He seeks 
out her classes and stages casu-
al run-ins just to glimpse at her. 
He enrolls in the same classes 
and eagerly writes entire essays 
for her. She comes from an 
entirely different world than he 
does, one taken from the heart 
of Upper East Side Manhattan 
and all the freedom and riches 
which that upbringing affords.

And so David fixates, and he 

follows. The entire novel, read-
ers are buried deep in David’s 
thoughts, seeing and thinking 
everything he is. And what is 
so attracting about his char-
acter is that we find ourselves 
rooting for him. His unsettling 
knack for manipulating Sarah, 
his girlfriend and Veronica’s 
roommate, is disturbing and 
occasionally 
upsetting, 
but 

often swept aside as excusable 
due to her presentation as an 
obnoxious and whiny creature. 
His fixation on Veronica, which 
escalates to an unnatural and 
violent degree, comes across 
as a simple crush for most of 
the novel. She encourages; he 
reacts. She speaks; he follows. It 
is the obsession that stems from 
the romanticization of those we 
adore. It is a crush that anyone 
who has ever waded through a 
stranger’s Facebook page can 
understand.

Remember, this is all told 

from 
David’s 
perspective. 

He is an intelligent boy who 
worked hard enough in high 
school to get into Harvard on 
merit alone. His presumed air 
of intelligence is what defines 
him, and ultimately reveals to 
the reader the unsettling nature 
of how this boy sees himself in 
comparison to those around 
him. He is intellectual elitism 
at its worst. When his essay is 
praised by a professor in class, 
he entertains grand fantasies 
of becoming this teacher’s TA 
before the semester ends. He 
assumes an air of superiority 
towards his roommate and his 
girlfriend despite having come 
from the high school lunch 
table of rejects and loners. His 
elitism and entitlement runs 
rampant on a campus where 
half the students are bred 
from and raised in families of 
those exact character flaws. 

Even they though can’t seem to 
ascend to the same height of his 
self-made pedestal.

Left alone, these faults form 

the vision of a narcissistic boy 
who has never been told he is 
wrong. When placed beside 
Veronica, he appears as the 
underdog, the nerd, trying to 
get his hands on the cool, chic 
girl who always rejected him 
in high school. And David is 
simultaneously both of these 
people, but with a twisted and 
self-righteous 
agency 
that 

eventually leads him to a simi-
lar position as Brock Turner — 
a man hiding behind a barrier 
of well-paid attorneys.

Remember, this is all told 

from David’s perspective. The 
unnatural nature of his crush, 
though unsettling at times and 
increasingly so, never reveals 
to us the nature of the boy in 
whose head we rest and rely. It 
is an extreme case of the unreli-
able nature that leaves the flesh 
crawling and stomach turned, 
because it is a narrator in whom 

we lend our ears, eyes and mind 
to, only to be betrayed.

Harvard has faced a great 

deal of criticism in recent 
years. Alumni fear the asso-
ciation and rivals look at it not 
with disdain, but pity because 
of the aforementioned criti-
cism. As scandal after scandal 
has emerged the school has 
been able to do little to redeem 
itself, and Wayne, a Harvard 
grad himself, only draws this 
scandal into a more critical 
light. By placing readers inside 
the protagonist’s mind, readers 
have a first-account insight into 
the mind of a loner — a loner 
impaled on the stake of white 
privilege and entitlement that 
has brought unwanted criti-
cism to the country’s oldest and 
most esteemed institution. An 
institution, just like Stanford, 
awash in scandal that will come 
to taint the university’s legacy, 
both past and present.

NATALIE ZAK

Managing Arts Editor

Teddy Wayne’s eerily relevant novel touches on questions 
and concerns of modern campus life at elite institutions

Harvard has faced 

a great deal of 

criticism in recent 

years

BOOK REVIEW

His presumed air 

of intelligence is 

what defines him

WE BELIEVE THERE IS BUT ONE GOD, 

AND HIS NAME IS YEEZUS.

Congregation meets at 3:30 P.M. every Sunday. If you have any questions regarding 

our parish, please email anay@umich.edu

Fashion’s facade showcases an industry grounded in purpose

6 — Friday, January 13, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

