Pop Culture Blog ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Responding to:

Hi Mary Ellen! I really enjoyed reading your post, “Let’s Talk Thrifting”. You captured so perfectly why thrifting feels like so much more than just shopping. I especially loved the way you described it as a treasure hunt and a way to feel more connected to your own style. I could not agree more.

One thing your post made me think about is how thrifting also feels like a small act of resistance against the constant push to buy everything new. Our culture is so obsessed with fast fashion and trends that change every month, and it is exhausting trying to keep up. I love that thrifting allows you to step outside of that cycle and just pick things that speak to you personally. Like you mentioned, it feels more authentic to wear something that has a story, even if you do not know exactly what that story is.

I also thought it was interesting that you talked about thrifting as a way to connect with your community. That part resonated with me because I grew up going to church rummage sales and local thrift shops with my mom and grandma. It was always such a social thing. Even now, I love going with friends and seeing what random stuff we find. It feels so different from scrolling online or walking through a big department store where everything looks the same.

Another angle I wanted to add to the conversation is the environmental impact. You touched on this briefly when you mentioned reducing waste, but I think it is worth emphasizing. According to the EPA, Americans throw away over 11 million tons of textile waste every year. That is honestly mind-blowing. When you thrift, you are giving those items another life instead of letting them end up in a landfill. Even if it feels small, it adds up when more people start thinking that way.

I also appreciate how you talked about the creativity involved. There is something really satisfying about styling a secondhand piece in a totally new way. For me, it is almost like a little rebellion against the idea that you need to spend a lot of money to look put together. Some of my favorite outfits are made up entirely of thrifted items.

I would be curious to hear your thoughts on how thrifting sometimes gets criticized when it becomes too trendy. There are arguments about whether resellers drive up prices or whether gentrification of thrifting makes it harder for low-income people to access affordable clothes. It is definitely complicated, but I think it is worth talking about, especially since secondhand shopping has become such a big part of pop culture.

I made it one of goals this summer to read Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I feel like this is one of those books everyone says they love or at least pretend they have read, but somehow I never got around to it until now. I honestly thought it would just be an old-fashioned romance with fancy language and characters I would not connect to, but I was so wrong.

First of all, Elizabeth Bennet is such a great protagonist. She is smart, a little stubborn, and not afraid to stand up for herself, which feels pretty modern for something published in the early 1800s. The way she calls Darcy out on his arrogance is still satisfying to read, and I love that she refuses to settle for marrying someone she does not respect. I think a lot of people (especially women) can relate to feeling underestimated or pressured to be more agreeable, so seeing her push back was refreshing.

What surprised me most is how funny this book is. I was expecting it to feel slow and serious, but Austen’s writing has so much humor and sarcasm. The conversations are full of little jabs and clever observations about society, money, and marriage. Mr. Collins is probably one of the most ridiculous characters I have ever read, and I laughed out loud every time he showed up to awkwardly propose or brag about Lady Catherine.

Culturally, Pride and Prejudice is interesting because it is both a romance and a social commentary. On the surface, it is about who will marry who, but underneath it is a critique of how women’s lives were shaped by wealth and class. Even though we do not have the same rules about inheritance or social status now, some of those pressures still exist in different ways. I think that is why the story keeps getting adapted into movies and shows. It feels timeless.

Speaking of adaptations, I watched the 2005 film right after I finished the book. I get why people love it. Keira Knightley is perfect as Elizabeth, and the soundtrack is beautiful. But I think reading the book gave me a better appreciation for all the little details and side characters that get left out.

This week I ended up rewatching Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa because I needed something light and nostalgic after a lot of heavier stuff. Honestly, I did not expect to enjoy it as much as I did, but it actually holds up in a lot of ways. If you have not seen it (or forgot), it is the sequel to the first Madagascar movie. The story follows Alex the lion, Marty the zebra, Melman the giraffe, and Gloria the hippo as they try to leave Madagascar and end up crash landing in Africa.

The plot is pretty straightforward. Alex gets reunited with his parents and has to prove he is a “real” lion, Marty deals with feeling replaceable among a herd of identical zebras, Melman thinks he is dying, and Gloria just wants to find love. Even though it is mostly silly, there are moments that hit harder than you would expect from an animated comedy. For example, Alex’s storyline about feeling disconnected from his roots and having to figure out who he is actually feels relatable. I think a lot of people can connect to that feeling of not quite fitting in, especially if you grew up in a totally different environment from your family.

One thing that surprised me on this rewatch is how funny the penguins still are. I forgot how many of the best lines come from them trying to fix the plane and boss everyone around. The movie also has a lot of little jokes that you probably would not catch as a kid, which makes it more entertaining to watch now.

Visually, the animation is obviously a little dated compared to new DreamWorks movies, but it still looks colorful and fun. The soundtrack also has some really catchy moments, especially the version of “I Like to Move It.” Even though it is used a lot in the franchise, it somehow never gets old.

From a cultural perspective, it is definitely a product of the late 2000s, with some humor that feels kind of corny now. But it also has a sweet message about community, belonging, and accepting yourself. Even the romance between Melman and Gloria, which I used to think was random, is actually pretty cute.

So this week, I have been kind of obsessed with Lorde’s new album Virgin. Even though I have always liked her music, I was not sure what to expect this time because Solar Power felt pretty mellow and honestly got mixed reactions. But Virgin feels totally different. It is way more raw, a little weird, and definitely not afraid to make people uncomfortable.

First off, everyone is talking about the cover art. If you have not seen it yet, it is an X-ray of her pelvis with her IUD showing. On the vinyl version, there is a nude photo that shows her pubic hair, which immediately sent the internet into a meltdown. Some people think it is gross or attention seeking, but I actually think it is really bold. It feels like she is saying, “This is my body, this is my reality, and I am not going to filter it to make you comfortable.” Especially as a woman, it feels kind of powerful to see someone famous refusing to be sanitized or photoshopped.

The music itself is interesting because it is still pop, but it does not feel polished in the usual way. There are a lot of synth sounds and catchy choruses, but the production feels almost stripped down sometimes. One of my favorite songs so far is “Man of the Year,” where she sings about gender and not fitting into the box of what people expect her to be. It reminded me of some of the readings we have done in class about how gender is performed and how female artists are constantly pressured to reinvent themselves but never in a way that feels too threatening. Lorde does not seem to care about any of that. She is just doing exactly what she wants.

Another track I really loved is “Favourite Daughter.” It is about her relationship with her mom, and it feels really personal. Even though I do not relate to everything she is singing about, I love that she is willing to be vulnerable. That is honestly what keeps me coming back to her music. It never feels like she is pretending to have it all figured out. She is just as confused as the rest of us, which is comforting in a weird way.

Culturally, Virgin is fascinating because it does not follow the usual pop comeback formula. Most artists try to make something super polished to get radio hits, but Lorde clearly is not interested in playing that game. She would rather start a conversation or even an argument about bodies, shame, and identity. Whether you love it or hate it, you cannot really ignore it.

Responding to https://www.tumblr.com/annarobbiew-blog/787255224347787264/okay-confession-time-i-am-obsessed-with-love

I really felt this post because I’ve been watching Love Island Season 7 too, and it has seriously taken over my free time. I did not expect to get so into it, but here I am, keeping up with every episode, checking the app, and scrolling through TikTok like it is part of my daily routine. I get why people call it a guilty pleasure, but honestly, I do not even feel guilty. It is just entertaining.

The app adds a cool layer to the show. I like being able to vote or weigh in on stuff, even if it feels like the producers already have their favorites. It makes watching feel more interactive, like your opinion actually matters, even a little. And TikTok is a whole other side of the experience. The edits, the memes, the commentary—it makes it fun to be part of the conversation in real time.

I am also on the Nick and Cierra train. They seem like one of the more genuine couples this season, and their chemistry feels real. I am a little nervous about Casa Amor though. That stretch always ends up changing things, and I really hope Nick does not mess it up. I want to believe he is solid, but Love Island has taught me not to trust too easily.

And I totally agree with you about Huda. I have tried to keep an open mind, but she has made it hard. Her attitude, the way she talks to people, even how she handled Hannah—it just does not sit right. Hannah getting sent home was disappointing. She brought a sense of calm to the villa that it really needed. It always sucks when someone who is actually likable gets cut early.

Olandria and Chelley are carrying the show in a lot of ways. Even when the couples are flat or the drama slows down, those two keep things interesting. They have personality, and they are fun to watch without doing too much.

What I liked most about your post was how it captured the routine of watching the show. It is not just about the episodes. It is the app, the fan reactions, the side conversations. Love Island becomes part of your day, and that is what makes it kind of addictive.

I feel like Led Zeppelin is one of those bands that people either grow up hearing in the background or discover randomly during a music deep dive. For me, it was kind of both. I had heard the big songs before, like “Stairway to Heaven,” but it was not until I actually sat down and listened to Led Zeppelin IV from start to finish that I realized how good the whole album really is. There’s a lot of good Zeppelin songs from a variety of albums, but I want to focus on Led Zeppelin IV specifically because it is my favorite.

There is something about it that feels timeless. It came out in the early seventies, but it still holds up today in a way that is hard to explain. It is loud and wild in parts but also soft and emotional in others. It is one of those albums that hits you in different ways depending on your mood.

Out of all the songs on the album, my favorite is definitely “Going to California.” I know that might be surprising because it is one of the quieter tracks, but maybe that is why I like it so much. It feels different from the rest of the album. It slows everything down and gives you this kind of dreamy, reflective space to sit in.

The first time I heard it all the way through, I had to pause and replay it. The lyrics are simple but honest. It is about searching for something, maybe a person, maybe a place, maybe just peace. There is this mix of longing and hope that really resonates with me. The acoustic guitar is beautiful and calming, and Robert Plant’s voice sounds softer than usual but still so expressive. You can hear the ache in it.

Even though I have never been to California, the song makes me feel like I have. It paints a picture that is both literal and emotional. Like you are chasing a new beginning or trying to escape whatever has been weighing you down. I think a lot of us, especially in college, can relate to that feeling. Wanting something else. Hoping it will feel different somewhere new.

Of course, the rest of the album is amazing too. “Black Dog” and “Rock and Roll” are pure energy. “The Battle of Evermore” is weird in the best way, and “When the Levee Breaks” has this gritty, heavy sound that feels like a storm building. And then there is “Stairway to Heaven,” which is the kind of song people always argue about, but honestly it is just a classic. The way it builds from quiet to full-blown chaos is still so powerful.

What I appreciate most about Led Zeppelin IV is how well it balances emotion with technical skill. The band members are insanely talented, but they also know when to hold back and let the feeling of a song shine through. There are no throwaway tracks. Every song feels like it belongs.

Listening to this album now, I get why it has stuck around for so long. It is not just music for rock fans or for a certain generation. It speaks to something deeper—questions about where you belong, who you are becoming, and what it means to be searching for something more.

I first read Daisy Jones & The Six during winter break last year, and I immediately devoured it. I could not put it down. I was hooked from the first few pages, even though I knew it was a fictional band. The way it was written—like an oral history or a behind the scenes documentary—made it feel completely real. I actually Googled the band at one point because I forgot for a second that they did not exist.

Then earlier this year, I watched the series adaptation, and even though I had mixed feelings about a few parts, I still loved it. The book and the show work differently, but both capture something really raw and interesting about creativity, addiction, fame, and all the emotional chaos that comes with being in close relationships with people you make art with.

The story is centered around Daisy Jones, a wild and incredibly talented singer-songwriter in 1970s Los Angeles, and a rock band called The Six, fronted by Billy Dunne. When their paths collide, everything changes—for better and for worse. The story unfolds through interviews with the band members, producers, and people close to them, decades after their sudden breakup at the height of their fame.

What I loved most about the book is that it does not try to romanticize any of the drama. It shows people being selfish and jealous and insecure. Daisy is magnetic and rebellious, but she is also self-destructive. Billy wants control over everything, especially himself, but he is constantly at war with his past choices. There are so many flawed and complex characters, but you still care about all of them. Or at least you understand them. And I think that is a sign of great writing.

The series brought the music to life in a way the book obviously could not. Hearing the songs made everything feel more real, and some of them were genuinely good. Riley Keough as Daisy had the exact energy I imagined when reading. She was electric and unpredictable, but also deeply vulnerable. Same with Sam Claflin as Billy—he captured that inner tension between being a rock star and being a husband and father trying to stay sober.

That is one thing I think the show really emphasized more than the book. Billy’s sobriety and the emotional weight of staying on the right path while being constantly surrounded by temptation. There were scenes where you could just see how tired he was, not physically, but emotionally. And Daisy’s drug use was portrayed with a lot of weight too. It never felt glamorous. It felt painful.

Something that stood out to me in both the book and the show was how much they say about the cost of creativity. Making music together gives the band this powerful connection, but it also breaks them. There is love there—especially between Billy and Daisy—but there is also ego, addiction, and pressure. Watching them fall apart felt weirdly personal, like watching people you know lose something they can never get back.

I also really appreciated how the story gave space to the women in the band. Karen, Camila, Daisy—all had different roles and different kinds of strength. Camila, in particular, was more important than I expected. She is not just the supportive wife character. She has her own limits and values, and she stands by them. She knows what she deserves. She is quiet in a lot of ways, but she has this solid presence that keeps everything grounded.

In a way, the story is about how people love each other imperfectly. Daisy and Billy love each other, but they cannot be together without destroying each other. Camila and Billy love each other too, but it is complicated by everything they go through. Every character wants to be understood, but they all speak different emotional languages. It is messy and sad and very human.

What I keep thinking about is how this story could have ended so differently. But the ending felt right. It was bittersweet. Some people changed. Some people stayed the same. Some relationships survived, and some did not. But it never felt forced. It just felt like life.

I think a lot of people read or watch Daisy Jones & The Six expecting a story about music, and it is that. But it is also about identity. About how the roles people give us—like lead singer or loyal wife or tortured artist—can be both empowering and limiting. It made me think about how much of who we are is shaped by other people’s expectations, and how scary it is to break out of that and be truly yourself.

Pretty Woman is one of those movies I will always come back to. I have seen it more times than I can count, and somehow it still holds up every single time. It is romantic, funny, nostalgic, and oddly comforting. I know the plot by heart, I know when the best lines are coming, and I still smile during the big reveal when Vivian goes back to the store on Rodeo Drive and says, “Big mistake. Huge.” It is iconic for a reason.

What I love most about the movie is how it blends charm and heart so effortlessly. Julia Roberts as Vivian is unforgettable. She has this energy that is magnetic from the very first scene. She is confident and playful, but also deeply human. Even though I know what is going to happen, I still find myself rooting for her every time. There is something about her character that feels real. She is flawed and funny and incredibly smart, even if the world constantly tries to make her feel like she is less than.

When I first watched the movie, I was much younger and mostly focused on the romance. Now that I am older, I notice different things. I notice how much of the story is really about dignity and being treated with respect. Vivian starts the movie used to being overlooked, judged, or treated like she is disposable. But throughout the week she spends with Edward, you start to see her believe she deserves more. Not just from him, but from the world. And maybe most importantly, from herself.

Edward’s transformation is slower but still important. At the beginning he is guarded and emotionally distant, using money as a way to control every part of his life. But Vivian challenges that. She calls him out on his coldness and makes him confront things he usually avoids. Their relationship is not just about attraction. It is about growth. They both learn from each other, and that is what makes their love story feel meaningful even though it is wrapped in this fairytale setup.

One thing I also really appreciate is the way the film tackles judgment. That scene where Vivian is humiliated by the saleswomen in the fancy boutique always hits me, even though I have seen it dozens of times. It says a lot about how people are treated based on appearance or social class. Even though it is a lighthearted romantic comedy, it still takes moments to say something real about how we value people and who we consider worthy of respect.

I know some people see the movie as unrealistic or idealized, and in some ways it is. No, most people do not get swept off their feet by a rich man in a limo after spending a week at a fancy hotel. But that is not really the point. The movie works because of what it represents. It is about what happens when someone is finally seen for who they are instead of what they do. It is about the freedom to change your story. And maybe that is not always realistic, but it is still something we long for in different ways.

What makes Pretty Woman special for me is not just the love story. It is the feeling of hope it gives me. It is a story about second chances and unexpected connection. It reminds me that sometimes the people who come into your life in strange ways end up teaching you the most. And even though it has been over thirty years since it came out, the message still resonates.

Responding to : https://www.tumblr.com/samanthabirmingham/787185640152383488/week-3-response-5

First of all thank you for sharing such an honest and grounded reflection. I also came across the Let Them Theory through social media and like you I was not actively searching for advice it just showed up at the right moment. Something about the simplicity of “let them” hits harder than it should. It is not revolutionary but it cuts straight through all the overthinking and second guessing that we tend to spiral into especially when it comes to relationships.

Your post reminded me of how exhausting it can be to hold on to people who are already halfway out the door. I have definitely been there convincing myself that if I just explained one more thing sent one more thoughtful message or gave them more grace maybe it would turn out differently. But it rarely does. And like you said it is not always about being dramatic or cold. Sometimes it is just about giving yourself permission to stop.

One part of your post that really stuck with me was this idea that we feel responsible for fixing things that are falling apart even when it is not our fault. I think that is especially true for a lot of us who grew up being told to be kind understanding and empathetic to always try to see the best in others. But the flip side of that is sometimes we start seeing “potential” in people instead of seeing their actual behavior. We end up clinging to hope instead of paying attention to the reality in front of us.

What I would add to the conversation is that letting go is not just about stepping away from what is not working it is also about making space for something better. When we are constantly chasing people who do not want to be caught we miss out on the connections that actually want to meet us where we are. I have noticed that when I stopped giving my energy to people who drained me I started noticing the ones who consistently showed up. The quiet friends the stable people the ones who do not create chaos just to keep your attention. That shift has been huge for me.

I will be totally honest here. I have never really been into superhero movies. I know they are a huge part of pop culture, and I have friends who get really into all the Marvel storylines and characters, but I never paid much attention. Most of the time, I felt like I would have to watch twenty movies just to understand one. But for this blog, I wanted to try something different, so I picked a character I had at least heard of before: Thor.

Before watching anything, all I really knew about Thor was that he is a god, he has a hammer, and he is played by the really tall actor with long blonde hair. I assumed his movies would be dramatic and full of slow motion battle scenes and deep speeches about honor. I figured I would sit through it and maybe be bored. However, I ended up liking it despite my negative predisposition. To start with, Thor is introduced as this arrogant prince from a magical space place called Asgard. He has this giant hammer and a cape and acts like everything is beneath him. Honestly, I did not like him at first. He just storms into another realm and picks a fight for no reason. I thought I would be watching a movie about a perfect hero, but instead I got a guy who had to be humbled in a big way. His dad basically kicks him out of their magical kingdom and sends him to Earth without his powers.

Once Thor lands on Earth, the whole movie changes. It goes from being this fantasy space war to kind of a fish out of water comedy. Thor walks around like he owns the place, even though he clearly does not understand anything. He smashes a coffee cup in a diner and demands another one. He walks into traffic. He gets tased. It is ridiculous but also kind of funny. It made him seem more human, even though he is technically a god.

What I liked most about the movie is that it is really about character growth. Thor goes from being loud and selfish to actually caring about other people. He spends time with humans, gets beat up a little, and slowly learns that strength is not just about having powers or winning fights. It is about protecting people and making good choices. That lesson felt kind of old school but in a good way. Like something out of a myth or a fairytale. He had to lose everything in order to become someone worthy of it.

Natalie Portman plays Jane Foster, a scientist who helps Thor while he is on Earth. I thought their relationship was rushed, but she brought some realism to the movie. She is smart, curious, and not afraid to call him out. I liked that she was not just there to be the love interest. She actually had her own goals and interests. Her whole team was fun, especially Darcy, who brought some needed sarcasm.

What I did not expect from this movie was how much it focused on family drama. Thor has a brother, Loki, who turns out to be a lot more complicated than just “the villain.” At first, he seems like the smart, quiet one in the background. But as the movie goes on, you realize he has been feeling second best his whole life. His anger and manipulation come from feeling rejected. I still do not agree with his choices, but I get why he feels the way he does. The scene where he finds out he is not actually Odin’s biological son was surprisingly emotional. I was not expecting to feel bad for the supposed bad guy.

The visuals in the movie were a little hit or miss for me. Asgard looks cool, like a giant golden space castle, but some of the effects felt a little cheesy by today’s standards. Still, it made the movie feel different from other superhero stuff I have seen. It leaned more into fantasy than science fiction, which helped it stand out. Also, the soundtrack was kind of epic in a dramatic way that matched the whole “god of thunder” vibe.

I think what surprised me most about Thor is how much it was actually about learning humility and finding your place. Even though Thor starts out being super powerful, the movie is not really about his powers. It is about him becoming a better person. That made it feel more grounded than I expected. A lot of superhero stories seem like they are all about saving the world, but this one was more personal.

The film, which came out in 2000 and stars Julia Roberts, is based on the true story of a woman who takes on a giant energy company after discovering they’ve been poisoning a small California town’s water supply. What makes this story so powerful is not just the legal case, but the woman at the center of it all.

Erin Brockovich is not a lawyer. She does not work in an office building with a fancy title. She is a single mom of three, out of work, and completely untrained in law. Still, she ends up uncovering one of the largest environmental scandals in the country. The film focuses less on courtroom drama and more on the emotional and everyday labor that goes into building a case like this. Erin is the one who knocks on doors, listens to people’s stories, organizes documents, and keeps pushing even when no one else seems to care.

One thing people always talk about with this movie is Erin’s appearance. She wears tight clothes, low-cut tops, short skirts, and high heels. A lot of people judge her for how she looks, both in the movie and in real life. But that’s kind of the point. Erin refuses to change who she is just to fit into a more “professional” mold. And the film makes a pretty strong statement with that. Erin gets things done not by pretending to be someone else, but by being fully and unapologetically herself. Her appearance doesn’t hold her back. It challenges the idea that you have to look or act a certain way to be respected or taken seriously.

The movie also touches on some major social and environmental issues. The town she’s fighting for, Hinkley, is made up of working-class families. These are people who don’t have access to the kind of legal power or resources that a company like Pacific Gas and Electric does. They are getting sick from the water, losing family members, and struggling to understand what’s happening to them. Erin listens to them, believes them, and uses their stories as the foundation for the legal case. Watching this part of the film, I kept thinking about how many real communities have gone through the same thing and never got the attention or justice they deserved.

Even though the movie doesn’t say it directly, it connects to what we now talk about as environmental justice. The cultural impact of Erin Brockovich is huge. It came out at a time when people were becoming more skeptical of big corporations and more aware of the environmental damage happening around them. Julia Roberts won an Oscar for the role, and her performance helped shape a new kind of female lead in movies. Erin is not perfect. She gets emotional, makes mistakes, and sometimes loses her cool. But that’s what makes her believable and inspiring. She’s not some flawless hero but she’s someone who just refuses to give up.

Rewatching the film now, it feels more relevant than ever. We are still dealing with water contamination crises, toxic chemicals in neighborhoods, and corporations avoiding responsibility. The situation in Flint, Michigan is just one example. The problems shown in the movie are not stuck in the past. They’re happening today, and often to the same kinds of communities.

What I found most powerful about the movie is how Erin does all of this without changing who she is. She never pretends to be something she’s not. She uses the skills she has, whether that’s empathy, persistence, or the ability to connect with people. She reminds us that real change often comes from people who are told they don’t belong in certain rooms or conversations. Erin doesn’t wait for permission to get involved. She just does the work.

I was struck by how deeply the story focuses on the immigrant experience. The Corleone family is trying to build power and respect in a country that sees them as outsiders. Their roots are in Italy, but they want to thrive in America. And to do that, they follow their own rules. What looks like organized crime from the outside is, to them, a kind of family business. Their actions are often violent and unethical, but they are based on survival, loyalty, and protecting their own. It felt like a dark version of the American Dream.

Michael Corleone’s journey is what really hit me emotionally. At the beginning he is the good son, the one who served in the military, the one who is supposed to have a different kind of life. But slowly, he becomes everything his father was. He starts off outside the business, and ends up running it. The most powerful moment for me was the very end, when Kay watches the door close in her face. That one image says so much. Michael has completely shut her out, not just from the truth but from who he is becoming.

That moment also made me think about gender and power in the movie. The men are the ones who hold control, make decisions, and protect the family. The women are mostly left to the side. Kay is kept in the dark and expected to stay loyal even when she is clearly being lied to. Connie is married off to someone who abuses her. Their voices are small in a world where loyalty and silence are more important than honesty. The film does not try to hide that. In fact, I think it uses their silence to show how much this version of family depends on control.

Even though the movie is full of violence and corruption, it still looks and feels beautiful. The lighting, the music, the style of the characters — all of it makes the story feel important and grand. It is not just about gangsters. It is about power, tradition, and the line between love and control. That is why I think it has influenced so many stories since. You can see pieces of The Godfather in shows like Breaking Bad or The Sopranos, where we follow a man who becomes something darker in the name of protecting his family.

At the same time, I could not help but think about how much this story shapes our idea of masculinity. The men in the movie are never allowed to be weak. They show love through protection and revenge, not through emotion. Even Michael, who once seemed gentle and idealistic, ends up cold and distant. The price of power in this world is the loss of vulnerability. It is not a celebration of violence, but it does show how people become trapped by the roles they are told to play.

So would I recommend The Godfather? Yes, one hundred percent. But not just because it is a classic or because it is beautifully made. I would recommend it because it raises real questions about identity, power, and loyalty. It asks what happens when we trade love for control. It shows how the desire to protect can turn into something much darker. And it reminds us that becoming the person others expect you to be can mean losing who you really are.

I expected a crime story. What I got instead was a story about family, tradition, and the cost of legacy. Even though the movie was made many decades ago, it still feels painfully relevant. The quiet moments are just as powerful as the violent ones. And the themes are still shaping pop culture today.

I cannot stop thinking about this book. One of my best friends recommended this book to me and I’m so glad she did! I have been in a book slump lately and this was the perfect book to drag me out of it.

Be warned: spoilers lie ahead

The entire book is told from the point of view of a woman who grows up imprisoned in an underground bunker with thirty nine other women. She was a child when she arrived, so young that she remembers nothing about the world before. No name, no family, no real identity. Her whole life has been this cage, these women, and the guards who watch them silently. That alone is so eerie. Imagine growing up with no memories, no connections, no knowledge of the world beyond your prison. You would not even know what you were missing.

What really stayed with me was the emotional loneliness. Even though she is surrounded by other women, the narrator is completely alone in how she sees the world. The others had full lives before being taken. They had families, relationships, homes. She has nothing. She is always a step outside of the group, watching them but never fully understanding. That kind of isolation is hard to describe, but Harpman does it so quietly and effectively that it sinks into you without warning.

When the women escape the bunker, you expect things to change. Maybe you think this is the moment when hope will arrive, or when some part of the world will be restored. But that does not happen. Instead, what they find is emptiness. The land stretches on forever, dry and flat, with no people, no signs of civilization, nothing at all. It is terrifying, not because anything dangerous is chasing them, but because nothing is. That total absence is much scarier than anything else. They are alone in a world that no longer seems to hold life.

The narrator becomes obsessed with understanding what happened. Why were they taken? Who were the guards? What happened to the world outside? The older women stop asking these questions, but she never does. That is one of the reasons I felt so connected to her. Even when everything is uncertain, even when the world offers no answers, she keeps trying to understand. She holds onto curiosity like it is a lifeline. That felt incredibly human to me. Sometimes asking the question is all we have.

This book also made me think deeply about gender and identity. The narrator has never known men. She has never had a romantic or sexual relationship. She has never been looked at with desire, never looked at someone that way herself. And still, she is a woman. She still questions what that means, even without the experiences we usually tie to womanhood. Her identity is shaped by what she has not known, not just by what she has. That idea stayed with me. It made me realize how much we define ourselves through comparison. If you have never loved, never been loved, never even been touched, can you still be fully yourself? This book says yes. And that is a powerful thing.

The way the narrator views her body is also different from what I expected. She watches it grow older. She learns how it works. She listens to it. But she does not have shame or pride in it. It is just a fact, a part of her. There is no mirror to reflect her image, no one to comment on her looks, no culture to tell her what her body should mean. That quiet relationship with the body felt refreshing and strange at the same time. I could not stop thinking about how our bodies are shaped so much by how others see them. But what happens when no one is looking?

The ending of the book is soft and quiet. There is no big answer. No final truth. Just the narrator, older now, still walking, still wondering. Still hoping for meaning in a world that may never give her any. That quiet persistence broke my heart a little. She is not hoping for rescue anymore. She is not even hoping for understanding. She just wants to keep going. And there is so much strength in that. Sometimes continuing is the bravest thing we can do.

Reading this book made me think a lot about what it means to be alive. We often define our lives by relationships, goals, and achievements. But what if all of that were gone? What if you had no one, no purpose, no structure at all? Would you still be yourself? Would your thoughts still matter? This book says yes. Even stripped of everything, the narrator still has her mind, her questions, and her sense of wonder. That becomes her life. And in some strange way, that gives her a kind of freedom.

I do not think this book is for everyone. It is very quiet. It moves slowly. It does not give you answers. But if you are the kind of person who is okay with sitting in silence and letting something unfamiliar unfold, then this book might leave a deep mark on you. It does not entertain in a flashy way. Instead, it asks you to think. To imagine. To feel what it would be like to live in a world where meaning is not handed to you, but where you have to search for it yourself.

A little bit about me and typical pop culture tastes are:

- I love any rom com movie (bonus points if it’s from the 90s- early 2000s)

- I listen to a lot of music, and my music taste is pretty diverse. Currently I am listening to a lot of Red Hot Chili Peppers, Steely Dan, Eagles, and Nick Drake because these artists have a summery feel to me. I enjoy all kinds of music! Except sometimes I don’t enjoy rap but that honestly just depends on my mood.

- I enjoy reading and am in the middle of two books right now: I Who Have Never Known Men by Jaqueline Harpman and Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I will definitely be talking more about these books in future blog posts!