10C — Fall 2018
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
We have a glitter
shortage
You know that episode of
“Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse”
where Malibu has a glitter shortage
and all hell breaks loose because
Barbie is supposed to attend a
Hollywood premiere that night and
she doesn’t want her fans to see her
without any glitter? I feel like that’s
a pretty accurate depiction of how
my summer’s gone so far.
My “dreamhouse” is a little
apartment on Central Campus, and
toward the end of the school year,
my roommates and I began to allow
ourselves to consider the prospect
of summer. Summer. The word
itself drips with glitter and lake
days and late nights. We all have
jobs and internships, of course, but
we’re used to being at the library
until the early hours of the morning
every single day. When you can’t
remember the last time you got
seven hours of sleep without feeling
guilty about it, the idea of having
nights and evenings completely
void of homework sounds like
something out of a fairytale.
But now summer’s here. We’re
almost two months in, actually. And
though our shoulders are tanner
and our living room is packed to
the brim with box fans we bought
from CVS, it doesn’t really feel like
summer. Day-to-day life doesn’t live
up to the anticipation that the word
“summer” carries.
Why? My theory is that the
University of Michigan has a glitter
shortage.
The first time I was finally
allowed to wear makeup to school,
I covered my eyelids with silver
glitter, just like I’d practiced so
many times before. Other than
math class, when a boy told me I
looked like I was on crack, I felt
glamorous all day. I wasn’t just
another gangling, awkward middle
schooler. I had created art on my
face that showed I was a stylish,
dazzling it-girl.
I’m 20 years old now, and my
mom really doesn’t get much say
as to what I’m allowed to wear
anymore. I live on my own, so I call
the shots. What do I wear now that I
have no parental supervision?
Well, last night, one of my
roommates had some friends over
and we all got dressed up for a night
out. I sat cross-legged in front of the
full-length mirror in my bedroom
and listened to my roommates
laughing and singing as I put on my
makeup. Foundation. Concealer.
Blush.
Eyebrow
gel.
Black
eyeshadow to create the illusion of
longer lashes. Thick, dark mascara
that my mom got me for Christmas.
No glitter. Not even a drop.
During our walk down South
University Avenue on the way home
after our glitterless night out, my
roommate, Shannon, and I asked
ourselves why it doesn’t feel like
summer yet.
“It feels like we’re just waiting
for summer to start,” she said. “Like
it’s going to be fun and exciting and
full of adventure, but it just hasn’t
happened yet.”
“I think we’re still trying to
figure out who we are beyond
homework,” I said. “’Cause during
the school year, all we did was study
and go to class and we never had to
figure out who we were and what
we wanted to do. And now that we
have the time to do that, we’re just
lost.”
Before we started spending
every spare moment in the library,
we all used to daydream about
being glitzy and glamorous. Where
did those big dreams go? When did
we become so boring?
It doesn’t feel like summer yet
because, yep, I’m glitter-deficient.
That’s bad news. The good news?
You can buy glitter eyeshadow on
Amazon for $3. Anyone want me to
order some for you?
Someone tell Barbie that Malibu’s
glitter deficiency has nothing on the
University of Michigan.
HANNAH HARSHE
Columnist
Rice-krispies induced nostalgia
I once roamed the basement
of
North
Quad
Residence
Hall during a study break to
search for a quick and filling
vending machine snack. As
I
approached
the
machine
hoping I wouldn’t be forced to
settle for a bag of chips that
was 75 percent air, I noticed a
blue rectangular surprise in
the left corner: a Rice Krispies
treat. At only 160 calories, it
proudly wore the MHealthy
sticker on its front. I went for
it without hesitation. Peeling
back the wrapper, I exposed
what I had been missing for so
many years. The first bite was
crispy, chewy and soft — just
the way I remembered it. It
transported me to a decade in
the past, to the kitchen table
of my childhood home where
my mom taught me how to
make these delicacies from
scratch. It was the first recipe
I committed to memory, and
though it resulted in a messy
cleanup, it became one of my
favorite bonding experiences
with my mother. But I didn’t
realize how long it had been
since I had enjoyed Kellogg’s
greatest invention (sorry Nutri-
Grain bars, it was a close call). I
felt nostalgic immediately after
that first bite, and it prompted
me to clear the CVS shelves of
their Rice Krispies inventory
on my way home.
For some of us, it’s Rice
Krispies treats. For others, it’s
Smucker’s PB&J Uncrustables,
Fruit Gushers or maybe even a
traditional home-cooked meal.
No matter the treat, many
of us have strong emotional
connections and memories tied
to foods that have us longing for
a simpler past. It’s a powerful,
food-induced nostalgia. The
etymology
of
“nostalgia”
is
complex,
but
today
we
understand it to be a yearning
for yesterday. It allows us to
travel back to specific times
in our lives and sometimes
even relive old feelings and
emotions — like the way I felt
in my mom’s kitchen all those
years ago. By evoking these
feelings and emotions, food
acts as a medium for childhood
recollections. But what is it
about food that makes it so
powerful? Why does eating
certain foods resurface some of
our most treasured memories?
The answer may be that
food
consumption
involves
memory-inducing cues that are
extremely evocative, such as
scents, tastes and textures. The
general experience of eating
is also significant to memory
creation and collection as it
is oftentimes tied to social
activities
and
exchange
which attaches a new layer of
sentimentality to our favorite
foods. The act of eating can
definitely be private, but we all
remember sharing food over
the holidays with our loved
ones and during the most social
parts of our young lives, such
as school lunches and summer
camps. Those images suddenly
come back when we revisit
our favorite foods. And, from
a more biological perspective,
our brains are wired to form
memories about what we eat.
The part of our brain called
the hippocampus, which is
essential to the formation of
long-term memories, is also
home to receptors of hormones
that
regulate
appetite,
digestion and eating behavior.
Perceptions
surrounding
nostalgia are usually negative,
portraying those caught in
nostalgia as stuck in the past.
But some studies challenge
these perceptions and suggest
that nostalgia can actually be
beneficial. In fact, evoking
feelings from the past can
help
buffer
people
from
experiencing
loneliness.
Comfort food that reminds
us of previous social ties can
help deter feelings of isolation.
Additionally, some researchers
argue
nostalgia
contributes
to feeling safe because foods
that we’ve already consumed
in the past can be associated
with positive memories, which
reduces risk-taking. If this
is the case, it seems wise for
food brands to play into this
“positive nostalgia” in their
advertisement techniques.
In
2017,
Post
Consumer
Brands did just that by bringing
Oreo O’s back into our lives.
After a 10-year absence, the
iconic
cereal
reminded
us
young adults of what it was like
to eat cookies for breakfast.
I remember walking through
the cereal aisle at Kroger
and
reading,
“the
highly
anticipated sweet return” on
the front of the box, and though
the cereal hadn’t crossed my
mind for years, I was suddenly
convinced
the
comeback
was well overdue. While my
matured
palate
no
longer
appreciates the grainy feeling
that lingers after eating sugary
cereal, it was definitely worth
giving Oreo O’s another go.
We’ve grown out of our
childhood habits to become
hardworking college students.
But that shouldn’t stop us from
indulging in sugary snacks from
time to time. Sometimes, all it
takes is a Rice Krispies treat
to send us back to our favorite
moments.
And
thankfully,
science supports our endeavors
to reconnect with our past.
HANNAH MYERS
Helpful lists for college students, Hannah Myers can be reached at hsmyers@umich.edu
REEMA BAYDOUN
Columnist