Wolverine claws, orgasms and Goop. 
This seemingly-odd combination takes 
the screen in Netflix’s new show: “Sex, 
Love & Goop.”
Gwyneth Paltrow, along with a cast of 
sexological experts, tackle couples’ sex 
problems in hopes of enhancing their 
intimacy; they explore some interesting 
techniques to make sex lives more 
pleasurable. This even includes the 
incorporation of a wok cleaner (which 
is typically meant for the kitchen) into 
foreplay. And so, while it may be hard to 
admit, the show is so out of the ordinary 
that it’s not only engaging, it’s addictive.
In 2008, Gwyneth created Goop as 
a “homespun weekly newsletter” that 
covered things like food, style, wellness 

and travel. However, the website gained 
a lot of popularity as a result of its self-
care advice and taboo items for sale 
— including a $75 candle called “This 
Smells Like My Vagina.”
So, when Gwyneth turned Goop into 
a six-part therapy docuseries, it came 
as no surprise that sex would be its 
main premise. Still, it’ll always be a bit 
shocking to turn on the first episode 
of a new show and hear the phrase, 
“You have total permission to have an 
erection.” 
The couples are warned off the 
bat: “(The show is) probably going to 
be a little embarrassing and weird.” 
This warning goes for the viewer, too. 
Naturally, one can only feel second-
hand embarrassment from watching 
half-naked people sensually touching 
each other in front of a sex expert and 
a camera crew. Presumably, intimacy is 

not so intimate when it’s being filmed for 
a TV show. 
“Sex, Love & Goop” takes sex 
education to another level. Each couple 
is paired with an expert who helps them 
discover what they find pleasurable. 
First, they take a quiz that teaches 
them what kind of sex they enjoy most: 
erotic, sensual, kinky, etc. Then, with 
this newfound information, the couples 
explore this type of sex to see what each 
person enjoys most. 
Depending upon this, the couple 
is then given a variety of sex toys or 
introduced to intimate “games.” This is 
where the Wolverine claws come into 
play. While some may argue that this is 
a prop that should remain on the set of 
“X-Men,” others enjoy incorporating it 
into their sex routine to spice things up 
with some added sensual touch.
The series does a good job of 

incorporating 
people 
and 
couples 
of different ages, races and sexual 
orientations. In doing so, the viewer is 
able to better connect with those they 
see on the screen and, therefore, will 
be able to get more out of the show and 
effectively incorporate the advice given 
in to their own sex lives. 
After watching the pilot of “Sex, Love 
& Goop,” you may be asking, “What did 
I just experience?” But it’s hard to resist 
the urge to keep watching. The show is 
made for anyone, whether it be someone 
with plenty of sexual experiences or 
someone with no experience at all. This 
is even reflected among the couples on 
the show whose experience levels vary or 
sexual preferences seem incompatible. 
For instance, one partner may rate kinky 
sex as the most pleasurable for them 
while the other partner might rank it as 
the least pleasurable. The show’s main 

goal is to bridge that gap by finding each 
couple’s happy medium when it comes to 
sexual pleasure and intimacy.
While the show is occasionally cringe-
worthy and very blunt when it comes 
to the birds and the bees, the audience 
can’t help but relate to the people they 
see on the screen. Regardless of sexual 
orientation, age, race or relationship 
status, intimacy is a topic that is 
often difficult to discuss. It requires 
conversation, and that is exactly what 
Gwyneth’s show attempts to facilitate.
The series is most definitely out of 
the ordinary. Understandably so, most 
people can’t imagine repairing the 
intimacy of their relationship on a TV 
show. It’s watching other people do it, 
though, that makes it that much more 
entertaining. And who knows — maybe 
you, too, will become a sex expert after 
binging “Sex, Love & Goop.”

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, November 3, 2021 — 5

The University of Michigan has long been 
characterized by its robust offering of dining 
options, treating those lucky, dining-plan-
endowed students to a wide range of meals 
and eating experiences. Campus Culture 
writers took to exploring the various corners 
of the campus’s dining options to discover 
what draws students to these particular 
spaces, three times a day, seven days a week.
During our last installment of Campus 
Culture reviews: Dining Hall edition, Arts 
writers explored the copious displays at South 
Quad Residence Hall dining, the endearing 
nostalgia of Mosher-Jordan Residence Hall 
and frat row’s safe haven: Twigs at Oxford 
Residence Hall.
For our second installment, Arts writers 
dive into reviewing three more dining spaces: 
North Campus’s infamous Bursley Residence 
Hall, State Street’s North Quad Residence Hall 
and Central Campus’s charming, sustainably 
friendly oasis: East Quad Residence Hall.
In-person dining is back, and we could not 
be more excited to write about it.
— Grace Tucker, Campus Culture Senior Arts 
Editor

Bursley Residence Hall: The place you 
love to hate
Oh, Bursley, you hold such a special place 
in my heart. Where else would I go to eat a 
spicy black bean burger on a Sunday? Where 
else would I go to consume as many carbs as 
humanly possible? Yet … this year, your dining 
hall is far from perfection.
The Bursley Dining Hall, nestled in the 
heart of North Campus, feels busy at best 
and overwhelming at worst. The cafeteria 
is hosting its usual pre-pandemic swarm, 
making the ambiance even more abysmal than 
the foods’ tastefulness. Not to say the food is 
chef’s kiss, rather, Chef Boyardee. 
Finding my meal was a journey in and of 
itself. Wading through intermingled lines 
that lead into different food stations while 
trying to get to the salad bar felt like merging 
into oncoming traffic. I have to ask: Why 
were there only four measly areas to get food, 
as compared to the up-to-10 that usually 
populates other dining halls? Why has it 
become so difficult to get a full meal on one 
plate? 
Don’t even get me started on the plates. 
THE PLATES. There are no plastic trays, no 
compostable food containers — just paper 
plates that you would get at your aunt’s 
barbeque in the park. Appetizer-sized — not 
even enough space for an entrée. And because 
you can’t get enough food the first time, people 
have to go back into the lines to get more, 
making the already-tedious lines worse. 
A plus in the sea of minuses: I did enjoy 

the food preparation. Seeing the salad bar 
felt great. Everything was well-stocked and 
well-manicured. The dressings didn’t seem 
too askew, and the feta was crumbled with 
gourmet perfection. So, kudos to the food prep 
people — you did what needed to be done! 
Still, from the corner of my eye, I saw 
something so devastating that it deserves its 
own review: The trash.

A row of trash cans lined the window, filled 
with the miscellaneous heapings of food and 
utensils. Having to see the number of plates 
consumed at Bursley shook me, even knowing 
they were compostable. I never noticed how 
much waste goes into a fully-opened dining 
hall until it was consolidated into a row of 
garbage before me. 
Bursley, I love you to the moon and back. 
My time spent within your walls was well-
enjoyed, along with the food. Nevertheless, if I 
were a resident now, I would not feel the same 
way.
— Matthew Eggers, Daily Arts Writer

North Quad: Take-out 2.0
One of the greatest features of North Quad 
dining is that after the routine Mcard swipe, 
you only need a five-second tour of the place to 
get familiar with what’s on the menu. 
That statement may have been too kind. 
Compared to the other dining halls, North 
Quad can feel small and limited in variety. 
For those with dietary restrictions, there’s 
nothing worse than swiping in to discover the 
bane of your existence: the inevitable salad 
bar. However, if you find yourself in a tight 
spot on a weekday, with just five seconds to 
grab-and-go, there are enough options there 
for its coziness to turn into comfort, especially 
in knowing that you’ll make it to class on time.
But, I already knew all of this from 
my freshman year visits. Seeking a new 
experience, I went for a late Saturday brunch. 
It was 1:20 in the afternoon, yet most students 
were still opting for the breakfast options — 

and, as I quickly found out, for good reason. I 
followed suit by helping myself to the breakfast 
classics.
While the scrambled eggs, sausages and 
French toast sticks were satisfying in that 
reliable, dining hall sort-of-way, the lunch 
entrees missed the mark. Pizziti offered a 
strange combination of picadillo, beans and 
baby carrots that I never quite figured out 

(especially the carrots — mine were raw, 
which was fine, except they were hilariously 
disguised as cooked with sprinkles of pepper), 
and the pizza just barely satisfied my Joe’s 
Pizza craving. With the scarcity of good lunch 
options this day, the next time I find myself 
there, I might play it safe with the sandwich 
bar or stick to the “breakfast” part of brunch.
As I cleared my table, I noticed an exciting 
upgrade to the hall: the waste area. Praising 
the corner that deals with post-meal messes 
may sound like an insult, but it’s the opposite. 
The waste area boasted a refreshing change; 
every item I’d grabbed since walking in, from 
trays to utensils, was compostable. 
Two years ago, North Quad was the place 
frequented for its convenience. During my 
year online, I’d wondered what had changed; 
while many aspects had remained, the one 
change I noticed made the convenience I’d 
regarded North Quad with better. Since 
COVID-19, take-out meals have exposed us 
to another pandemic: single-use plastics. At 
North Quad, however, I know that my meal 
won’t have negative effects, and this, more 
than anything, may be my newest “greatest 
feature” of North Quad.
— Priscilla Kim, Daily Arts Writer

East Quad: the Residential College’s 
intimate oasis
Truthfully, my freshman year was a blur, 
from start to finish, but one thing I know for 
certain is that the only dining hall I ever went 
to, besides South Quad, was North Quad — I 
recall that day’s menu looking more appealing, 

but I think I also might have had back-to-back 
midterms in the Modern Languages Building 
and Burton Tower. 
Two years later, a whole different person 
walked into the East Quad dining hall just in 
time for “linner.” Lunch/dinner, that is. It was 
4:56 p.m. to be more precise, and my stomach 
had been making noises for a while. College 
will do that to you — neglect meals, pile them 
up, eat twice as much in one sitting so you’re 
filled for longer, adopt odd schedules or abolish 
them altogether. 
As I walked in, two things caught my 
attention: an Afrobeat song that was playing 
oddly loud and a smell of bleach that brought 
me back to middle school lunches — when all 
the kids had left for the playground and the 
floor was already being mopped, but I had to 
stay behind until I ate the collard greens. 
This dining hall was ¼ the size of South 
Quad, and not knowing what station had what 
food was both fun and annoying. I hadn’t 
missed having to do five trips from the food 
stations to the table and back again, sitting 
on uncomfortable chairs and overhearing 
conversations that I didn’t care for from people 
who forgot they weren’t alone. 
Off I went, discovering what was being 
offered for us vegetarians. I was glad to see 
the vegan stand “24 Carrots,” where they 
were serving seitan bites with squash and a 
rice bowl with guac and pico de gallo. Before 
I actually review the food, I will say that I 
forgot how painfully cringeworthy some of 
the names of these stands were. 
Of course, a meal in a dining hall is nothing 
without an excess of plates — I went back 
and got cucumbers in tzatziki sauce, a farro 
and tomato bowl and a mix of edamame, one 
broccoli floret and some crumbled feta from 
the salad stand. I can’t tell you what dressing 
I went for. Trying to figure out what they are 
is like a silly game of who’s-who. Based on the 
10 different dressings and their complicated 
names, which seemed most like sesame 

vinaigrette? Because to me, not one looked like 
a vinaigrette but more like vicious and dense 
meta-sauce. Also, to my demise, the olive oil 
was nowhere to be found. 

I sat down at a table on the far back, past all 
the stands and next to nobody — just how I like 
it. I assembled my plates, picked the pepper 
up and sprinkled a ridiculous amount on top 
of basically everything. Now, I know they say 
that you should never season your food before 
trying it, as it’s an offense to the chef but … let’s 
call it a need. 
Overall, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy myself. 
I was underwhelmed with the seitan bites, 
a plant-based protein made from gluten, 
which felt like biting down into a shoe sole — 
a sensation I hadn’t felt since before I turned 
vegetarian and I ate school steaks. It became 
alright when I started mixing it with the 
tzatziki and the farro. It was like being in 
Greece, Italy and France altogether. And 
Spain of course; nothing screams Spain louder 
than the tapas-sized bowls and plates in the 
University’s dining halls. 
Although the options were more limited 
than in South Quad, there was an intimacy 
that came with being at a smaller dining hall 
— I noticed the extra care put into everything, 
the quiet murmur of students unlike the 
unnecessarily high decibels of South Quad 
and not having to put up with the frustrating 
and sad chaos of lining up to get a bagel. 

Campus Culture reviews: Dining hall edition, Part 2

‘Sex, Love & Goop’ takes sex education to a new level

Read more at MichiganDaily.com

File Photo/DAILY

GRACE TUCKER, MATTHEW EGGERS, 
PRISCILLA KIM AND CECILIA DURAN
Senior Arts Editor and Daily Arts Writers

MOLLY HIRSCH
Daily Arts Writer

File Photo/DAILY

File Photo/DAILY

The pains of sharing a photo 
on Instagram are almost never 
ending. A pimple too big, a filter 
too “cheugy” and a smile too large 
can all be deemed a final flaw. Even 
after finding the right photo, there 
is still the aesthetic to consider — 
pulling and twisting a photo you 
love to fit into the dollhouse that 
is your profile page. This pre-post 
step is mandatory: You have to clean 
up the clutter in an image, so it can 
perfectly occupy an ornate frame 
like an open house nightmare.
To be honest, this elaborate 
process is all too much for me. I 
haven’t posted on Instagram in, like, 
a year. Or, well, I haven’t posted on 
my “main” account that is. During 
the summer, I cultivated my “fake 
Instagram,” a.k.a finsta, as a chaotic 
conglomeration of bad poetry and 
midnight escapades to all 10 of my 
followers. This smaller, private 

account allowed me to vent about 
my feelings and post about private 
life in a way that my main account 
could never allow. Why in the world 
would I want my aunt — one of my 
many main-Instagram followers — 
to know when I’m clubbing, cruising 
and crashing?
Unlike Facebook, there is a 
level of anonymity that is fostered 
on Instagram. You’re allowed to 
have multiple accounts under the 
same contact information. In fact, 
these accounts aren’t considered 
connected to each other, giving the 
Gen Z user the freedom to make 
as many niche, obscure accounts 
as their heart desires. And the 
birth of finsta was inevitable after 
Instagram became mainstream. 
When you have hundreds of 
followers, finding a post that makes 
everyone happy is overwhelming. 
What might be funny to your college 
friends is “blasphemy” in the eyes of 
your uncle.
As opposed to these anonymous, 
niche accounts, the level of reality 
depicted 
on 
main 
Instagram 

accounts is abysmal. There is a 
saturated market for face editing 
apps. There are websites that will 
create special instagram caption 
fonts for your next post. On some 
apps, you even have the ability to 
track how and when your followers 
frequent your account.
But running a personal Instagram 
shouldn’t feel like being a marketing 
manager. 
Consolidating 
photos 
that are cohesive to your account’s 
“aesthetic” can look super cute, but 
is it true to oneself? To get those 
photos means leaving parts yourself 
out of the picture. Setting up photos 
at brunch feels a little artificial if you 
wouldn’t be caught awake before 1 
p.m. on a weekend.
Social 
media 
shouldn’t 
feel 
limiting. Posting on your main page 
shouldn’t feel like adding set pieces 
to a retail display. It should feel like 
sharing what you love with people 
who care.
Sure, I have that sense of 
authentic closeness among my 10 
finsta followers, but at what cost? 
Why lead this Hannah Montana 

fantasy — with girl-next-door Miley 
on a finsta and popstar Hannah 
on the main — when it is easier to 
just cultivate an authentic digital 
persona on one main account? 
Crusty dog photos, crying selfies 
and all? 
Gen Z has taken note of these 
questions, and Instagram culture 
has shifted. People don’t use their 
finstas as much, maybe because the 
pandemic showed just how tiring 
performing on social media can be 
in the end. Now, mains are messier 
— in a good way.
It starts out small. A post of a 
sunset is met with a Vine (a.k.a. an 
extinct TikTok predecessor) quote. 
Suddenly, 
Twitter 
screenshots 
are used to punctuate the ends of 
slideshow posts. You repost content 
from @umichaffirmations more 
often. Insta stories are now home 
to Spotify recommendations and 
blurry candid photos. 
I appreciate the candidness of 
the people I follow. Their mains are 
messy in a way that a room is lived 
in. Sometimes you don’t make your 

bed, and that is okay. Sometimes 
you have pit stains when taking a 
selfie, and that is also okay. Your pit 
sweat shouldn’t kill your happiness 
just like the assortment of cups 
that adorn your room isn’t clutter, 
but chic. I mean, my room right 
now is college-core, raccoon-eye 
chic; interior design is not my main 
concern.
The spaces we exist in shouldn’t 
be 
ready-made 
store 
displays. 

Instagram shouldn’t feel like the 
dorm room shown to you during a 
campus tour. Social media is not the 
room where all your dirty clothes, 
mismatched socks and retainers are 
thrown in the closet. That is so 2015. 
Let the chachkas you love and 
collect bathe in the sun. For so long, 
I thought social media was a thing to 
be graded or gawked at. But it can be 
something to explore and grow into 
when you get messy on main.

More than (Facebook) friends

HANNAH CARAPELLOTTI
Daily Arts Contributor

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