The first time you came across
Rookie’s website, it was already
a graveyard. It was March 2020,
you had a surplus of free time
on your hands, and you were
reading interviews with Elizabeth
Meriwether, the creator of the
sitcom
New
Girl.
Upon
first
glance, Rookie’s website appeared
anything but dead: an online
magazine by and for teenagers.
Created
by
Tavi
Gevinson
in 2011, the vivacious teal-and-
white site features thoughtful
art and writing pertinent to the
current zeitgeist. As you read
further, you were charmed by
the frank yet playful writing by
Emma Straub; you spent the rest
of your night scrolling through
the interview series “Why Can’t
I Be You?” It was easy to get lost
in the mix of readers, journalists
and celebrities remarking on pop
culture, feminism and adolescence,
with their art sharing honest
experiences of friendship, sex,
art and life: things that felt so
prescient but seldom acknowledged
genuinely. Upon further inspection
of the website, it becomes clearer
that Rookie folded in 2018; a thin
red banner sticks to the top of the
screen, stressing as you scroll that
“THIS IS AN ARCHIVE. THIS
SITE IS NO LONGER BEING
UPDATED.” Upon realizing this,
you were overtaken by a passing
wave of loneliness for the next few
days: How could this adolescent
hub of imagination, whose pulse
was so loud to you that it seemed
almost deafening, already be dead
before you could see it alive?
You found Rookie a few weeks
before your 18th birthday, at the
tail end of your legally-bestowed
childhood — before the reality of
the pandemic set in, and when
momentary relief from the absence
of in-person work outweighed long-
term devastation for many. You
read the essay “A Fork in the Road”
by Upasna Barath when you began
to question your college major,
listened intently to the Rookie
podcast with Lisa Hanawalt while
re-watching “Bojack Horseman,”
and
scrolled
through
issues
archives, desperate to know more.
You spent days clicking through
the origins of the Live Through
This category, overcome with
respect for the authors who
managed to so eloquently make
maps for those who came seeking
to overcome traditional and new
growing pains after feeling around
in the dark for so long. The content
was fun, but also took readers
(mostly teenage girls) seriously,
while simultaneously accepting
them as they were, all at the same
time — you know how rare this is.
You never felt like a good teenager.
You never broke out of your shell,
reading Rookie late into the night,
the brightness of the screen searing
your eyes, while days that were
supposed to make the high school
experience worth it, like prom and
graduation, passed in quarantine.
So much of high school was spent
feeling like you weren’t close
enough to the ideal person, and
until you finally do make it there,
you assume you are worthless.
Reading Rookie Magazine felt
different, though, because it was
always full of love for its readers.
Not conditional, like everything felt
back then, not because you were the
best, or you took up the least space,
but because you were alive and
thoughtful and full of love.
You still don’t know if you can
articulate why Rookie was so
fascinating to you, beyond the
obvious joy and acceptance of its
art. Rookie was never about the
“best” piece of writing; it was about
finding beauty in the stories that
teens expressed out of love for their
communities and craft itself, quietly
firm expressions of humanity that
made you feel a little less alone, in
their explorations of everything
from writer’s block, birth control,
graduating high school and much,
much more. Scrolling through
issues made you see the impact
that magazines could have on
their audience: Unfamiliar with
this philosophy, you were freshly
done with architecture college
applications and receiving your
International Baccalaureate Visual
Arts grades — to you, art was still a
zero-sum game. Rookie is the first
place where you began to question
the competition you were instilled
with.
Gevinson writes that Rookie
“had been founded, in part, as a
response to feeling constantly
marketed to in almost all forms of
media; to being seen as a consumer
rather than a reader or person.”
Viewing the reader as a consumer,
and therefore, the writer as a
producer removes the human
irrationality that is critical to art.
The words of Rookie impressed
you because they made your, and
so many others’, inner worlds real:
They took off the pressure to be
something widely-loved and easy
to stomach. This active defiance
of artistic worth made all the
difference;
suddenly,
speaking
didn’t seem so alienating anymore.
Slowly, you made your way through
your first year of college and began
to release your grip on the ties you
held in your childhood so tightly
that your wrists burned. The
archived website wasn’t a sign of
what you missed anymore, but a
memory that shows you what art
can be.
Now you carry a little bit of
Rookie in your pocket wherever
you go. Sustaining the magazine
was clearly an exhausting amount
of labor, and Rookie struck gold
with its investors that allowed
the site to remain free of charge
(though it was overwhelmed with
adertisements and influence from
large media companies hoping to
bend the site to their will), but you
can’t help it: The childish part of
you still waits, still holds out hope
that history’s reiteration of Rookie
will appear soon. You can’t help
it; you scramble when you see a
new New Yorker essay by Tavi,
you press play immediately for an
episode from Barath’s hibernating
“Wait for It” podcast, you sift for
Roxane Gay’s Goodreads reviews
because you know how funny she is
from the Rookie podcast. Because,
my god, you don’t think you’ve seen
a purer labor of community care
that you can understand. Rookie is
dead now, and you are long gone,
but spirits are celebrated. If you
see young Tavi and the old Rookie
team, make sure to give them your
thanks for giving you a place to stay
for a while.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
6 — Wednesday, December 7, 2022
The first time you came across Rookie’s website, it was already a graveyard
MEERA KUMAR
Daily Arts Writer
Chasing ghosts at
Borders
There’s a track on Jon Brion’s
unparalleled 2004 soundtrack to
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless
Mind” that’s been playing in my
head lately. “Bookstore” runs
only 52 seconds, but its character,
formed from eerie strings played
in reverse, is unforgettable. In the
movie, the track plays as Joel goes
to meet Clementine at a bookstore
where she works.
The logo is never shown, but I’ve
always known it was a Borders.
The warm colors, those angled
shelves rising just to chin level —
the setting of the bookstore chain
is etched into my memory. But
I’m one of the last kids who grew
up with it. Fifth graders today
have no memory of the place I’m
about to describe. And when they,
like I once did, watch “Eternal
Sunshine” in late high school or
early college and think they’ve
found a niche and unknown
brilliance in it, that scene in the
bookstore will be nothing more
than that: a scene in a bookstore.
It’s more to me.
***
The carpet in the kids section.
That’s what I remember. The
space-themed, cosmic blue/purple
carpet with yellow stars and rocket
ships, flattened in the center lines
of the aisles where people walked,
where they stopped to tilt their
heads at the spines on the shelves.
The shelves were taller then, if
only because I was smaller.
There was a little platform
where
they’d
give
readings,
where authors would presumably
sit and leaf through their new
picture book to a crowd of adoring
kindergartners, though I never
went to one of those. My Borders
was in Grosse Pointe, Mich., just
down the block on Kercheval
Avenue from Starbucks and Ace
Hardware. There used to be a
Jacobson’s
department
store
across the street, but it closed
before I was born or soon after
and I only know because my mom
mentions it whenever we drive by.
I went there to look for Percy
Jackson
and
Warriors
books
— the two series that held my
third-grade class in a pop-literary
chokehold. I have a Harry Potter
box set somewhere that I know for
a fact was purchased by my dad at
the 2007 midnight release of “The
Deathly Hallows,” the one my
brother commanded him to camp
out for in his stead.
Those are the things I saw
myself. Here are some I didn’t.
Borders was founded here in
Ann Arbor. The first store opened
in 1971 at 209 S. State St. — now
the site of a CVS — but the owners
relocated a few years later to 303 S.
State — now the site of the MDen
— and in 1994 to the corner of
Maynard Street and East Liberty
Street — now home to Knight’s
Steakhouse,
Sweetwaters
and
Slurping Turtle.
The Liberty location would
remain the flagship Borders for
the next 17 years. The space used to
be a Jacobson’s department store,
which my mom would find funny.
But
the
company
quickly
expanded beyond Ann Arbor.
They opened their second store in
Birmingham, Mich., sometime in
the mid-1980s, just a few minutes
away from where I went to high
school. When the founders sold
the company to Kmart in 1992,
there were 21 Borders locations
across the U.S. That number rose
to the hundreds as the company
opened franchises, airport stores
and went international.
By the mid-2000s, Borders was
the ubiquitous bookstore chain.
Some had cafés and sold Starbucks
coffee. They sold CDs and CD
players, branded mugs and toys
— Bakugan and Beyblades, if I
remember correctly. They had an
endless assortment of bookmarks
and, of course, they sold books.
Real, physical books. And that
might’ve been why they didn’t last.
There were over 500 Borders
locations in the U.S. in 2010. A year
later, there were none.
The company had been bleeding
money. They hadn’t turned a profit
since 2006. It occurs to me that
my memories of Borders were all
from this time when things were
turning bad, though I never knew
as much. I can think now only
of the quiet among the shelves
and the smell of fresh paper. But
behind the scenes, the model was
failing.
Amazon arrived in 1995. As he
is wont to do, Jeff Bezos killed a
source of happiness.
Design by Leah Hoogterp
puzzle by sudokusnydictation.com
By Rich Norris
©2022 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
12/07/22
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Patti Varol and Joyce Nichols Lewis
12/07/22
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Wednesday, December 7, 2022
ACROSS
1 GI on the lam
5 Annual festival in
Austin, TX
9 Tot’s crumb
catcher
12 Rural strolling
spot
13 Short dog, for
short
14 Forearm bone
15 French
preposition
16 Rationale
17 Gloomy aura
18 Nissan sedans
since 1982
20 Put away, as loot
22 “Blade Runner”
actor Rutger __
23 Lives
24 Take away
26 Brought up
27 “Night” author
Wiesel
28 Finance guru
Suze
30 1815 classic
whose title
character is
played by Anya
Taylor-Joy in a
2020 film
34 Common interest
group
35 “Same”
36 Campus bigwig
37 Novelist Morrison
38 Derby town in
Surrey, England
39 Frigg’s husband
40 Steakhouse order
42 Steakhouse order
44 Database
systems giant
47 Jousting weapon
48 Revenue source
in many a free
app
50 Counterpoint
melody
52 Kid’s plea for
permission
53 Fairway chunk
55 “__ girl!”
56 “Law & Order:
SVU” co-star
57 Storm rescue op
58 2007 U.S.
Women’s Open
winner Cristie
59 Lil Wayne’s
“__ Carter V”
60 File partner
61 “Grand” ice
cream brand
DOWN
1 “Sad to say ... ”
2 Greet from
across the street,
say
3 Phrase of unity
in the Pledge of
Allegiance
4 Itinerary for
touring speakers
5 Health club
amenities
6 Crosses (out)
7 Winter getaway
need, maybe
8 Brunch dish
with ham and
peppers
9 Malaise, with
“the”
10 Cove, e.g.
11 Gets thinner, in
a way
14 Food named for
how it’s baked,
and a hint to
each set of
circles
16 Flatbed scanner
relative
19 Blues-rocker
Chris
21 Lumberjack
competition
projectile
24 Mortgage
balance, e.g.
25 Nonsense
26 Ulan __: former
Anglicization
of Mongolia’s
capital
29 Matterhorn and
Weisshorn: Abbr.
31 Treated, in a
way
32 Primary way in
33 Dudek of “Mad
Men”
41 Matterhorn or
Weisshorn
43 Courtroom VIPs
44 Footnote abbr.
45 Jazz drummer
Max
46 Sleep
disturbance
49 Operatic icon
50 Tie up at the pier
51 Patches, as a
driveway
54 Part of a moving
story
SUDOKU
Sudoku Syndication
http://sudokusyndication.com/sudoku/generator/print/
1 of 1
6/4/09 2:22 PM
2
1
7
1
4
5
2
1
7
8
5
7
2
9
7
3
2
5
1
8
2
1
8
3
6
2
5
4
WHISPER
“Please submit
something to
the Daily
Whisper.”
“Unpopular
opinion: wasabi
peas are an elite
snack.”
WHISPER
By Hoang-Kim Vu & Christine Simpson
©2022 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
11/30/22
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Patti Varol and Joyce Nichols Lewis
11/30/22
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
Release Date: Wednesday, November 30, 2022
ACROSS
1 French “Thank
you”
6 Political alliance
10 Strongbox
14 Starters
15 New York school
named after a
Scottish isle
16 “Grand slam”
awards acronym
17 African herbivore
18 “Double
Indemnity” genre
19 Filmmaker
Ephron
20 Shoplifting?
23 Huffy mood
24 Pacific Northwest
st.
25 “Lady Bird”
Oscar nominee
Metcalf
29 Insider trading?
32 Male with horns
35 Road goo
36 Cushioned seat
37 La madre de su
prima
38 Family docs
41 Food with altered
DNA
43 Martin’s “The
West Wing” role
44 Lobby group for
seniors
46 Big primate
48 Erodes
50 Money
laundering?
54 Depress
55 Group of whales
56 Greeting Down
Under
60 “I did nothing
wrong!,” or an
apt title for this
puzzle?
63 Essential nutrient
for the immune
system
66 Pulled strings?
67 Bushy-tailed
canines
68 Field
69 Aware of
70 Singer Patsy
71 Dollop
72 Blast from the __
73 Snow vehicles
DOWN
1 Gas station
shops
2 “__ Frome”:
Edith Wharton
novel
3 Hands-on
healing practice
4 “Do my eyes
deceive me?”
5 “My time to
shine!”
6 Using only ones
and zeros
7 Least strict
8 “Put a lid __!”
9 Deterrent in a
parking garage
10 Parodies
11 Before now
12 Pro
13 “Wheels down”
stat, for short
21 Jupiter or Mars
22 Suede property
26 Spanish wine
region
27 Deduce
28 “Zounds!”
30 __ chart:
corporate
diagram
31 Move one’s tail
32 Males with
antlers
33 Jeweled
accessory
34 Like cornstalks?
39 Spot for fast cash
40 Mud wrap venue
42 Possess
45 Human-powered
taxi
47 Competitive
video gaming
49 Appetizer served
with duck sauce
51 Brooklyn NBA
player
52 Family-style
Asian dish
53 Journalist Tarbell
57 Carter of
“Designing
Women”
58 Modify
59 Agreements
61 Mama’s mama
62 Ozone-
destroying
chemicals: Abbr.
63 Zig counterpart
64 Not online, online
65 Prefix for
classical and
gothic
JULIAN WRAY
Book Beat Editor
Read more at MichiganDaily.com