If you’ve seen a girl around campus whose style gives off “if Cleopatra had been a goth/emo vampiress party girl” vibes, that’s probably JR Herman. Continue reading to join JR on her makeup journey as she explains why she does her makeup the way she does — and why it’s probably not for the reason you might guess.

This semester the Flat Hat Magazine held a short story contest open to all William & Mary students. Participants in the contest were asked to write a short story based on the phrase “Stylish Gluttony.” The two winners, Kat Vanbourgondien and Taylor Wilson, wrote compelling and unique stories based on their own interpretation of the prompt. Both stories provide a unique and thought-provoking commentary on how people at any stage in their lives can be affected by the expectations of others, and how those expectations can become a toxic and all-encompassing lifestyle. When put together, these stories paint a heartbreaking picture of stylish gluttony.

Review of Lost Days, otherwise known as the Damned, and known in some quarters as The Last Days of Marie Antoinette in the Euphoric Eroticism of Revolutionary France

How does one avoid being “The Girl Whose Whole Personality Revolves Around Studying Abroad in Paris” while still offering an honest reflection on the experience? Maybe one doesn’t, and if you find that to be so, dear reader, then just flip to the next article where someone will certainly be writing about something far more unique than a study abroad experience in Paris. In the space that follows — if you’re still reading — I hope to strike a balance between purveyor of superficial clichés à la “Emily in Paris” or “Gossip Girl” and absolute killjoy who argues (inaccurately) that Paris isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

Remote staff writer JR Herman has spent the last seven+ months quarantining in her house, and she’s still sane enough to tell the tale. Continue reading to explore the ins and outs of her quirky quarantine life, as well as how it has changed her for the better.

In the middle of a lukewarm night about a month ago, a group of friends and I trespassed onto the Crim Dell Amphitheatre. Crossing the triple-layered yellow rope felt how I’d imagine stepping into a boxing ring for a welterweight bout might feel… Something on the other end of those menacing “DANGER DO NOT ENTER” signs fastened to the rope I found a bit ironic: no clear and obvious sense of impending doom.

Clique clique,
The white shone bright,
The politest of no's,
We don't accept you tonight.