The basement in my childhood
home
was
equipped
with
a
Magnavox box TV, a GameCube and
a PlayStation 2. The furniture was
old, and the basement was prone to
flooding, but it didn’t matter so long
as my older brother and I had the
TV and at least one console. Before
the days of homework and exams,
my brother and I would spend every
day after school in the basement: He
would sit on the ottoman in front
of the television while I curled up
in the armchair behind him and,
for hours, watched him play video
games. He played any number of
games — “Super Mario Sunshine”
or “The Legend of Zelda: Twilight
Princess” were the most popular,
and if I was lucky enough, he’d let
me play “Lego Star Wars” with him.
I spent years consuming games
but spent hardly any time playing.
By the time I reached my tween
years, I had gotten decent at “Lego”
games, “Animal Crossing” and
“Super Smash Bros. Brawl,” and I
was familiar with the mechanics
of the Wii and PlayStation. But I
intimately knew “Legend of Zelda”
and “Infamous” games and others
less suited to a little girl than
“Animal Crossing.” I knew how to
solve the puzzles in those games.
I knew the lore and character
biographies, and I knew that if you
fell in water in “Infamous,” death
was immediate, so steer clear. I
watched the early days of YouTube
gamers like ChimneySwift11 and
iHasCupquake,
and
in
recent
years, I fell in love with Polygon’s
“Unraveled” series. I had all the
theoretical knowledge it took to be a
“real” gamer, but my brother was the
gamer, not me. No matter how much
interest I showed, the video games
underneath the tree on Christmas
morning weren’t addressed to me.
So what was a young girl to do?
She gets smart. She learns
everything she can about video
games since she can’t afford to buy
them herself, and she flexes that
knowledge at every opportunity.
And it surprises people — men,
mostly. After they undergo a brief
period of wondering how a woman
could have so much knowledge
about a sphere mostly exclusive
to them, there are generally two
ways they follow through. One,
they accept it and carry on the
conversation with me. Two, and
perhaps the more common option,
is the testing.
If I know so much about one
video game, then they want to
see if I know everything about its
predecessors and spin-off games.
As a young woman, I am not new
to men’s attempts to trip me up in
an arena they do not deem suitable
for me, but I never face it quite so
poignantly as I do within the gaming
sphere. Their singular desire is to act
as gatekeeper to the academia of the
video game community — meaning
I am not allowed in unless I prove
myself
intelligent
enough
and
otherwise ought to be kept on the
fringes of their culture. And while
I don’t mind saying that I can hold
my own when it comes to discussion
about a game’s story or characters,
I will also admit that I begin to trip
up when it comes to gameplay. If
someone asked me to speak on the
particular mechanics, special items
or battles in, say, “The Legend of
Zelda: Twilight Princess,” I would
be at a loss because even though I
watched my brother play through
the entire game, I have never laid
hands on a “Legend of Zelda” game.
All these years later, I still find
myself wondering why?
That why has a number of
answers, but advertising is at its
core. Before the 1980s, video games
were pretty neutral due to a lack
of data. Yes, the industry was still
largely male-dominated, but “
there
was hardly any player research
being conducted.” No developers
knew who exactly was playing the
games, so the games were made for
everybody.
Enter the 1983 video game crash:
a recession in the industry caused
by
over-saturation.
Consumers
stopped purchasing games, and
the industry lost money by the
billion until a little company called
Nintendo stepped in. Aiming to
avoid repeat over-saturation and
to create a more niche market,
Nintendo conducted wide-scale
market research into who was
buying and playing the most video
games — or toys, as they were
marketed at the time to avoid the
defunct title of “video game.” And
what did they find? Boys were
playing more. It follows that, in the
’90s, “Video games were heavily
marketed as products for men,
and the message was clear: No
girls allowed.” Marketing images
and campaigns often featured
hypersexualized women, the notion
that increased gaming skill could
win you more female attention and
the age-old joke that video games
were an escape from the old ball and
chain.
This is why video games under
the Christmas tree were never
addressed to me as a child. They
were good gifts for my brother —
tools for him to be a regular little
boy —while I was given baby dolls,
which were tools for me to be a good
mother.
As a future homemaker, I was
represented in countless Disney
princesses
rescued
from
the
clutches of evil only to become
wives and mothers. The only kind
of women I saw in the video games
my brother played were these
same damsels in distress. To my
child-mind, Zelda and Princess
Peach
were
princesses
locked
away in towers, waiting for Link
or Mario to come save them from
Ganon and Bowser. Even when the
rare strong female character, like
Lara Croft or even Samus Aran,
did make an appearance, she was
hypersexualized and seemingly
animated for the male gaze.
The “gamer girl” identity is
reflected in this representation.
Somehow both fetishized and
scorned, the internet’s definition
of a gamer girl is, like Lara Croft,
welcome in the gaming community,
yet is more ornament than player
and is non-threatening enough to
be held at arm’s length within the
community. She is an unfortunate,
unrepresentative catch-all term that
has been applied far too liberally to
myself and other female gamers.
In 2014, Gamergate — the online
harassment campaign in which
“thousands of people in the games
community began to systematically
harass,
heckle,
threaten,
and
dox several outspoken feminist
women in their midst” — revealed
just how dangerous video game
culture actually was for women,
and particularly for transgender
gamers. The campaign produced
transphobic memes in order to
push its agenda and highlighted
just how long transgender women
had been speaking against sexism
and harassment in the community.
Arts
michigandaily.com — The Michigan Daily
Read more at MichiganDaily.com
Saying goodbye to The Daily
The Michigan Daily’s Arts
section has impacted us all greatly.
From the words we have written,
to the friendships we have made,
to the ways we have grown, our
time here has helped make us
who we are. Even for a group
of writers, it can be incredibly
difficult to put into words just
how much this community has
shaped us. However, we decided
to take this opportunity to do just
that. The Arts B-Sides always
inspire
the
most
vulnerable,
intimate writings, and because
this is the final B-Side that we
will be participating in before
we graduate, this felt like the
perfect opportunity to write
about how much Daily Arts
means to us. And because this
B-Side’s theme is “Firsts,” it felt
even more appropriate: What
better way for seniors to honor
their time here than by writing
about
their
favorite
“Firsts”
related to the Arts section, as we
all contemplate the endings — the
“Lasts” — that await us?
First interview: Meeting a
hero is fine, just don’t call them
a hero
There was a point in my junior
year — right around the start
of the second term — when I
suddenly awoke from my album-
review-every-week grindset and
realized that I hadn’t done a single
interview in my four semesters
at The Daily. I’d be lying if I
said
that
nose-to-the-ground
mentality wasn’t an escape from
the monolithic task I had always
envisioned
interviewing
to
be. The irony was, in my hasty
attempt to snag an interview
at a concert, I stumbled into
speaking with an all-time hero.
The immense pressure didn’t
wash over me until Phil Elverum
(of The Microphones and Mount
Eerie fame) replied to my email
saying that he was starting his
tour next week, so the interview
had to take place within the next
few days. I only had a day to come
up with all of my questions. For
the next 24 hours, nothing else
existed in the world. My life
became a maelstrom of logistics:
what sources could I find, what
questions should I avoid, how
to even record a phone call — it
was very much a learn-as-you-
go process. And then the actual
interview came, announced by
my phone screen lighting up with
a Washington area code. A gentle
voice that was as recognizable to
me as members of my own family
gave a meek “Hello,” as if to gauge
whether he had the right number.
It was time. The conversation
went about as well as I ever could
have expected. We talked about
infinity and the music industry
and (because I couldn’t help
myself) iconography. Ultimately,
he found the sort of indie folk
mythos fans build around him
rather baffling and occasionally
unnerving.
Even
in
hearing
all this, something in me felt
like I would live to regret not
mentioning how impactful his
work has been to me when the
interview was over. His response
was a sort of muted graciousness,
one that couldn’t quite disguise
a slight discomfort. It was then I
knew I perhaps made a mistake.
Cut to several weeks later, I’m
at the concert before Elverum’s
set begins, and as I approach the
front of the merch table, who is
there but Phil selling his own
stuff. The question of whether
I should mention the interview
was looming large in my mind. As
I grabbed a poster and paid for it,
my last opportunity was staring
at me. But I realized I was just
staring at a man. I walked back
to my seat, waited for that man
to come on stage and tell me his
story in the one way he knows
how.
First Race Day
The Arts marathon team was
the first time I was convinced to
leave my book behind to sweat
it out across the finish line.
Bizarrely, I credit the Arts section
for pushing me toward physical
fitness. While not the fastest
runner, I found my way back to
running through Daily Arts. The
Arts section runs the Probility
Ann Arbor Marathon as a relay
team of four. We have written
extensively
and
scrupulously
about our experience training
(and sometimes not training). An
unlikely combination to be sure
— media reviewing and sprinting
— but it works. Besides the other
memories made, I will treasure
running in the Arb, making
race T-shirts and navigating the
labyrinthine Michigan Medicine
complex with Arts friends. I’m
thankful to have seen the people
whose
brains,
writing
and
personalities I adore in a new
context. The Arts marathon team
was the first time I was convinced
to leave my book behind to sweat
it out across the finish line.
First time I was personally
vulnerable in an Arts article:
The Queer B-Side
I knew I’d wanted to write
about Queerness, quarantine and
my One Direction phase again;
Katrina Stebbins’s announcement
of the Queer B-Side a year ago
gave me the perfect opportunity.
But to do it, I would have to come
out — not only as a Queer woman,
but as a Directioner. Luckily
for me, Arts is an incredibly
wonderful,
welcoming,
supportive
space
where
I
have never felt uncomfortable
with my identity or with my
opinions about media (everyone
is surprisingly nice about my
“Twilight” obsession). I was
nervous about coming out in such
a public way — sometimes, when
I get an email from a random
person who read my article, I’ll
realize I’ve forgotten how big of
a readership The Daily really has.
After all, someone could Google
my name (no one is Googling my
name) and have this article come
up! Still, having this platform,
and being able to use it to talk
about things that are important
to me, has been invaluable.
It’s
fitting,
and
somewhat
bittersweet (and a little bit meta),
that this is the last B-Side I’ll
write for. I’m being vulnerable
about my vulnerability. A Last
about my First. I loved you then,
Daily Arts, and I love you now.
Daily Arts Writers
Design by Phoebe Unwin
4 — Graduation Edition 2023
It’s time to talk about John Green
No, John Green has not been
officially “canceled.” In fact, his work
remains quite popular: His latest
book, “Turtles All the Way Down”
(2017), debuted at #1 on The New
York Times bestseller list, and in 2018
Green confirmed its film adaptation.
Last August he announced that he
will be publishing his first work
of non-fiction in May 2021. So, no,
Green isn’t canceled in the sense that
we have all agreed to stop reading
his work and unsubscribe from his
YouTube channel, but he is canceled
for me. And he has been for quite
some time.
To be truthful, I was always a great
admirer of Green’s work, particularly
in middle school. His Young Adult
fiction is known for its young female
readership, something that held
true in my school district and friend
group. I can’t remember which novel
I picked up first, but “The Fault in
Our Stars” was undoubtedly my
favorite — a love story between two
young and beautiful cancer patients?
It was as if its sole purpose was to
attract romance-giddy teens.
Regardless, by the time I reached
high school, I separated myself from
his work and most of YA fiction.
This isolation wasn’t provoked by a
controversy surrounding Green, nor
had I simply grown out of the genre; I
still loved the glorious romances that
were stuffed into my bookshelves. I
was just afraid to admit it.
It was around the same time
others did fervently stop reading
Green’s books because they were “for
girls” or “not actually that good” or
“overrated.” Maybe other YA fiction
readers have encountered the same
sentiment — that because we enjoy
books with cheesy friendships or
coming-of-age themes, we must be
superficial. So I can’t blame my first
dissociation with Green on him, but
I can hold him responsible for the
second.
Unfortunately for me and John
Green, I was diagnosed with a rare
form of cancer when I was 17. It was
an odd experience: The diagnosis and
the scans and the surgery didn’t feel
like they were happening to me, but
to someone else. Maybe another me
in a different universe, or someone
else entirely. Either way, like many
survivors of cancer, I had adapted
a new perspective. A new way of
seeing things, both things trivial and
significant, including the way society
treats disease and diseased people.
Especially John Green.
When I reread “The Fault in Our
Stars,” it wasn’t so I could relate to
Hazel or Augustus or the other cancer
patients depicted. I subconsciously
started reading it on one of the dark
days anyone fighting illness, whether
it be mental or physical, knows well.
I picked it up out of muscle memory:
I had read it on multiple occasions
when I was in need of comfort or a
distraction. It was simply one of those
times. I depended on the trustworthy
characters and their cliché remarks
to provide some degree of relief.
Something to softly pull me out of my
reality and into another.
And the truth is, I both enjoyed
and detested the book. Lines like
“Grief does not change you Hazel.
It reveals you,” and “But I believe in
true love, you know? I don’t believe
that everybody gets to keep their
eyes or not get sick or whatever, but
everybody should have true love,
and it should last at least as long as
your life does” stuck out to me. As
tacky as they may appear, they were
successful in distracting me from my
metastatic cancer.
But what also stuck out to me
were the fallacies. Green invents the
therapy that keeps Hazel alive. It’s
not real. In the acknowledgements
section of the book, Green writes:
“The disease and its treatment are
treated fictitiously in this novel. For
example, there is no such thing as
Phalanxifor. I made it up, because I
would like for it to exist.”
And that’s not fair. Not for cancer
patients like me whose cancers
don’t have definitive treatments;
not for those who live in constant
uncertainty and fear; not for those
who are told that we will just have
to monitor our bodies for the rest
of our lives, as long as we may live.
And I know this is a work of fiction;
I know that Green is entitled to
create any fantasy he would like. But
does fantasy belong in a book about
cancer?
Perhaps it is shocking because
of Green’s other statements: “This
is hopefully not going to be a
gauzy, sentimental love story that
romanticizes illness and further
spreads the lie that the only reason
sick people exist is so that healthy
people can learn lessons.”
But if the only reason his main
character is alive is because of
a made-up treatment, isn’t he
glamorizing the scarce miracles and
hope some cancer patients may have?
By keeping Hazel falsely alive to
share with us her newfound wisdom
upon Augustus’s death, does it not
turn into her and her experiences
becoming a lesson for healthy people?
And Green does not stop there.
The other principal character and
cancer patient, Augustus Waters, is
said to have just been re-diagnosed
with cancer right before embarking
on a grand adventure to Amsterdam
with Hazel. In what world is that
possible? Having Augustus endure
the long trip and the exhaustive tours
around the city while simultaneously
maintaining his emotional and
mental capacity is another delusion I
cannot forgive.
It is also difficult to ignore the
other unreasonable decision to have
the two cancer patients share their
first kiss inside the Anne Frank
house. Not to mention the heedless
combination of cancer and the
Holocaust, something like a kiss
should — and would — never happen
inside so sacred a place. Did Green
think it would not matter because it
is cancer patients performing the act?
That they were not normal, healthy
people, so in turn their actions should
be excused in exchange for pity?
My particular position might
make me overly sensitive to Green’s
mistakes — but that’s another
comment I’m sick of hearing. My
sensitivity stems from my truth,
as does my criticism. The errors of
authors like Green do not deserve to
be disregarded because of their merit
or their well-intentioned ventures
into sensitive subjects. Instead, that’s
exactly why they should be held
accountable. By putting their work
and themselves into the world, they
are inviting both criticism and praise.
“The Fault in Our Stars” is
expertly problematic because its
flaws can be easily overlooked.
However, other errors of Green
are not so deftly unnoticed: His
repetitive
usage
of
the
same
rudimentary character tropes and
his lack of diversity in terms of
race, gender and sexuality (noting
a few exceptions: Tiny from “Will
Grayson, Will Grayson,” Hasan from
“An Abundance of Katherines,”
and Radar from “Paper Towns”)
make me wonder why Green has
been, and continues to be, such an
influential figure in YA fiction, and
why he hasn’t been canceled before.
LILLIAN PIERCE
2022 Managing Arts Editor
ARTS
over the
YEARS
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velicti comnit dunt, tota que consequo is
essunture dolor molesti beriore, il ea ne
plab ipsae excero te volorep tation re
videndunt omnihil ipienda veliqui nobites
et laboriame lantiossunt hil ius arumqui
dentibus, qui aliat pa qui simolessit, nes
escilit harum que volorit eicia con plis
everum fugitatur si quiae esto blaturem labo.
Itatas mos venis arumnihilla ntentotatem
aut etum hil il mod quam es est as endaesc
ipiendis escium lation cupta doluptam ab
2013
2014
JANUARY 31 – The final eight episodes of the
Netflix original adult animated series “Bojack
Horseman” premiere, solidifying its status as
one of the best television shows to ever air.
MAY 7 – As the COVID-19 pandemic halts
traditional releases, the Arts section starts
a series titled “Art during COVID,” exploring
the methods of creating art for oneself in
quarantine, including environmental art,
yoga, watercolor and protests.
JANUARY 10 – Prince Harry releases his tell-
all memoir “Spare,” commenting on his time
in the royal family. He shares just a bit too
much about his life, including about his
t-word.
APRIL 5 – “The Super Mario Bros. Movie”
releases and has the biggest opening
weekend of all time for an animated film.
Jack Black’s musical number as Bowser
becomes a viral hit and debuts on the
Billboard Hot 100 chart.
2021
MAY 30 – Standup comedian Bo Burnham
releases his new special “Inside” on Netflix.
Filmed and edited solely by Burnham, the
special features musical numbers intertwining
themes of mental health and isolation.
JULY 20 – Months after U-M alum and
Activision-Blizzard CEO Bobby Kotick
donated millions to the University, the
California Department of Fair Employment
and Housing sues his company over allegations
of harassment towards female employees.
ARTS
over the
YEARS
2022
2023
2020
MAY 13 – Kendrick Lamar releases his most
confessional and controversial album Mr.
Morale & the Big Steppers, half a decade
after the Pulitzer Prize-winning album
DAMN.
APRIL 8 – Before going on to sweep the
Oscars, “Everything Everywhere All At Once”
releases to critical acclaim. The multiverse
epic features healthy doses of sci-fi goofiness
and family drama, and is a perfect film to
bring people back to theaters.
Gaslight, Gatekeep, Gamer Girl
MADDIE AGNE
Daily Arts Writer
Read more at MichiganDaily.com