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