DIGIWEEN 2024: WHAT SCARES YOU?

Lily says: Humans fear what we don’t know. This is a fact of life. Fear is a survival instinct.

Both Wasians and vapes are fairly new phenomena in the overall scale of human history—it’s natural to question their seemingly sudden incorporation into our society. Where did these racially ambiguous baddies come from? Why are they carrying electronic pacifiers? And what the $%!# kind of flavor is Icy Blue Lagoon?

It seems impossible to answer these questions, but what is life if not for learning? Stop running from your fears. Look them dead in their confusingly green eyes. Embrace them. Fill your heart and lungs with their sweet essence.

Don’t limit your avenues because you’re afraid of the unknown. There is a wealth of knowledge waiting for you. All it takes is a little less air capacity and a little more WMAF.

Boba and Buzz Brew: 12 hours of EDM, 3 identity crises, and 1 quarter in a business frat.

Lily says: Beyond the butt bumping, forced eavesdropping on total strangers’ conversations, and a variety of suspicious smells, the environment inside an elevator is somewhat beautiful. Status ceases to exist. An elevator could care less if you’re a CEO or a jobless Dog Mom. Inside those tiny walls is a cluster of bodies just trying to get somewhere (vertically). No matter where you’re coming from or where you’re going, you’re all on a journey together. Sometimes that journey may be prolonged, but think of this less as an “inconvenience” and more as an opportunity. Spark up a conversation. Get to know these randos standing uncomfortably close to you. Maybe one of them is your new best friend!! Or maybe you hate them all. Either way, it’ll make for a good story. 

Vertical Elixir: 5 rides on the ultra high speed elevator in Taipei 101, 2 shots of failed rejection therapy, and 1 flaming-hot firefighter

Olivia says: Thanks for taking the time to leave a reply, President Lincoln. If sitting in the back makes you feel the most comfortable, then do that. The theater is about immersing yourself in art, so sit in whatever seat will allow you to be at ease— that will always be the best seat in the house [though I’m partial to the Mezz, maybe you’ll like it there too]. I do, however, have some follow up questions. Do you own any top hats? Do you have a strong desire to grow a beard? Do you have a beard? Do you like beards? Do you prefer your houses undivided? If you answered ‘yes’ to any of those questions please send an autograph to the UCLA Radio Station. We can auction it on Ebay to fund our snack cabinet.

The Backseat Emancipator: a dermaplaning tool, a pair of those glasses that allows you to see what’s behind you (they’re basically rearview mirror glasses), 1 trip to the psychic’s

Olivia says: This, my friend, is a universal fear. I hear you and I understand. Unfortunately, our society often portrays singleness like it’s something urgent that requires our constant attention and effort– we see it as something that needs to be fixed. But darling, you don’t need someone else to fulfill you. I don’t need to even know who I’m responding to to know that. Your 20th birthday is such an incredible milestone! Life is too short and too precious to spend a second of it feeling incomplete when you aren’t. This is your life. What an opportunity! This is YOUR life! You can do whatever you want, make it into whatever you want. You could wake up tomorrow and decide you want to be a professional polar bear photographer. And guess what? You would be amazing. You only have this one life– I encourage you to focus your attention on making it a collage of things you love. And there is so much love to be found in everything; it doesn’t exist only in romantic relationships. I hope you have a great birthday and that you spend it being proud of who you are. 

A Single Shot: 5 hours min. of gathering inspo on Pinterest, 3 off-key renditions of “Happy Birthday” being sung to you, 2 new hobbies/experiences, 1 playlist full of 2000s hot girl anthems (thank you Beyoncé), all with a sugar rim

Dana says: There’s an ongoing epidemic of men who listen to female singers solely to attract potential partners. One can easily picture some nonchalant dude with a vintage jacket and wired earbuds blasting beabadoobee, Clairo, Faye Webster, or Fiona Apple. Readings from Camus and Dostoevsky flow from their Burt’s Bees-lined lips in an attempt to look educated in front of their peers. This phenomenon is as common in college as all-nighters and Scantrons are. My best advice on this? Never trust a man who listens to Clairo. But in all seriousness, it’s super cringe to put on a persona to impress anyone. I would say the same thing if a friend of mine suddenly got into League of Legends or Major League Baseball for the sake of a crush (although if you’re trying to impress a League player, you’ve already lost your sanity). Be true to yourself, be proud of your own interests, and be wary of indie men. 

The Indie Sleaze: one blocked phone number, some grass to touch, and a sprinkling of self-decency

Gray says: While finding discomfort in the unexpected tearing off of a shirt is understandable, it unfortunately goes deeper than that. You must ask yourself what type of man is engaging in this endeavor. The first step is being aware of that. Is this exact snapshot the cover of a profile in a dating app, potentially accompanied by the prompt “Helen Keller was fake” or “All I ask is that you give my hoodies back?” Alternatively, the prompts could cover something that conveys that they identify as “underground”, though it remains an unspoken fact. This could be something along the lines of  “My perfect Sunday is a sunny side up egg, a shot of espresso, and a Nina Simone vinyl.” The mere act of removing one’s shirt could be attributed to liquor, yes, but ego as well. My advice? Watch out and stay aware, and never,  ever let your guard down around a man who can do a backflip– they are the real terrors. 

Teat Tincture: An 100 pack of fake (realistic) nipple stickers, 3 daygers at a frat, 2 trips to Venice skate park or muscle beach, and 1 Benson Boone concert

Gray says: Oh boy. There are multiple ways to either alleviate or avoid this fear. I will elaborate on each of the following– exposure therapy, generalized avoidance, and monkhood. Exposure therapy is one that you may have to commit to, but I recommend doing it with someone you trust thoroughly or someone that you will never see again. The former is preferable but I understand that those circumstances don’t always spur into existence at convenient moments. So, a one night stand is optional if you think practice would ease your dread. You could also go down the path of generalized avoidance which would involve either making excuses, being honest, or abstinence altogether. I, personally, have always been curious about monkhood, but it is an extreme avoidance tactic that requires a deep level of commitment so you should consider it thoroughly before choosing that path. 

Daredevil Draft: 5 Virginia Woolf Books (one is required to be A Room of One’s Own), 1 long term relationship, 2 weeks of sleeping with mouth tape, and 3 skydives

Zain says: You are not immune to the possibility of dying a horrible death like one of those you hear about happening to other people. When you do die, people will be sad but eventually move on with their lives and think about you less and less, until you’re a distant thought that pops into their minds ever so often.

The next time you find yourself flattened
on your back on a soft flannel blanket
over the damp grass with your forearm
behind your head and only the night sky
in your line of sight, think about the dots
scattered at random across the inky plane.

Some of them, maybe most, are satellites
tossed into the ether to spin a web
of mirrors that make it feel like we’re all
sitting next to each other. But if you seek
a bit further, beyond the floating machines,
you will recognize other worlds with ecosystems
that are far more desolate than anywhere
four thousand miles from where you lay.

Further on, especially if you keep looking,
as the glow from the city slowly dissolves,
bleak radiant spots will reveal themselves
one by one. These stars make up the legend
that dictates fortune, time, and all probability.

But once their small light falls upon your eyes,
remember that they have been dead for longer
than your existence. And anything related
to your microscopic existence, for that matter.
It’s hard to realize that all the way out there, on
the other side of your gaze beyond the largely empty
abyss, you’ve been dead since before you were born.

So take a deep breath, stretch your legs, and don’t
get up to stressfully pace all over the grass. Enjoy
the brief spangle of light that glimmers before your eyes.
There’s no loneliness in a place where everything dies.

Death Be Gone: One telescope, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, and a whiff of smelling salts.

Charles says: Men! Oh, man. Sorry for the jumpscare there. It’s another fall quarter being crushed under the relentless weight of the patriarchy, and the men are… back up to their spooky little antics again.

They hack up phlegm every other minute right behind you in your economics lecture. They forget to wear deodorant and brush their teeth as a fully grown college student??? One of them just, for NO reason, put a very uncomfortable arm on your lower back to move behind you, because saying the words, “Excuse me,” is apparently impossible…

We really must offer apologies on behalf of our gender, we h8 men too. Can’t live with them, can’t live without- hold on, maybe that’s the solution?

ManBeGone Tincture: one week of ghosting your male family members, ten votes for Queen Kamala, three vinyls from boygenius, Billie Eilish, and/or Chappel Roan, miscellaneous body fluid from the mosh pit at the Charli XCX Sweat Tour

Charles says: “I look at this, beautiful, letter I get from Andrew Lloyd Weber… he said, ‘I’d love to have you as my guest. I’m opening up a musical called The Phantom of the Opera.’ And I said, ooohhhh. So, let’s go?

And it opens with the chandelier and the this (sic.) and the… no but the whole thing was great, it was a great great musical… So I go in and I see this musical- I say this ‘thing is unbelievable!’– it didn’t take long because the music I think was so good. By the time we had intermission, I said, ‘this thing is incredible!!’ And by the end, you know with the whole thing with the gon-dough-las and the candles and the whole thing coming out — and the great music! It’s beautiful, it’s great, everybody likes it.

But you go there and it’s opening night for one of the most successful play-musicals ever I would say, maybe, I would say the most but certainly one of the most.” – Donald Trump on the opening night for The Phantom of the Opera

He’s just a little theater boyyy. And have you seen that CAKE on the golf course?? The whole raised-by-an-abusive-father into fascist arc is such a shame. 

HE deserved to be starring in that opening night.

The Billionaire Failson: two tickets to Phantom of the Opera, one cross-country move to a state that prioritizes female bodily autonomy, 10 hrs of Trump twitter fancams

Kiara says: Dear thought daughter, 

Please put down your tarot cards, Chungking Express DVD, and copy of The Bell Jar. As Fiona Apple once said, “I think you guys might be thinking about yourselves too much.” I was once just like you and spent so much of lockdown sobbing to this song while convinced I would never interact and certainly never connect with another human being again. Fortunately, I can attest to the fact that it does get better for us hopeless romantics. You’ll find your people. You’ll find yourself. You’ll get that one good movie kiss. You have time. 

With love, a recovering yearner

Planet of Love Potion: 365 listens of BRAT, 24 hrs of rom-coms, a shot of “that me espresso,” and a dash of delusion

Grace says: Honestly, this is the scariest thing in the world. My advice: don’t do it unless you have to. Or, do it all the time so you’re always a step ahead. There’s no right way to go about bloodwork, and frankly, I avoid it like the plague. 

But, if you find yourself in the position of having to get bloodwork done, here’s what to do. Draw yourself a bath. Acquire some crystals, preferably citrine or aventurine — any stone with positive, healing energy. Let the crystals sit in the bathwater and energize the water. Vitality is the priority, so set your intentions before getting into the bath. Maybe mediate, do some breathing exercises, or find something to help clear your mind before you enter the bath. Sit quietly in the bath, and if you need some audio, make sure its pink noise, like a waterfall or scenes from the natural world. At some point in your meditative bath, place the energized crystals on your body. Be open to heal and to cleanse yourself through this process. There’s virtually nothing you can control before getting your bloodwork done, so the moral of my advice is to release yourself from anxiety and fear. Get some crystals.

Grace says: THEY SLIDE DOWN!!! WHY!! WHY DO THAT TO YOURSELF!? No-show socks are objectively the worst type of socks, and I personally feel sympathetic to the individual who submitted this fear. IT IS SCARY. THEY DO SUCK. I can’t imagine reaching to purchase them. Ever. But such is life — making bad purchases and horrible investments. 

If you were gifted no-show socks, my advice is to immediately donate them or turn them into sock puppets. Usually, people wear long enough pants to avoid exposing their bare ankle, but in the case they don’t — if you spot someone wearing no-show socks, my advice is to point and stare. 

Sorry if this isn’t the most fruitful advice, I find it difficult to fathom why anyone would expose their ankle with so much pride. I also can’t comprehend how they are able to feel comfortable putting them to use. Those sorry-excuses-for-socks always slip down, and then it feels like you’re walking around without any socks! A travesty! Not being dramatic, just honest.

Kayalani says: As someone who was once an unashamed gleek, I stand with you in this fear. Even 9 years later, Will Schuester finds himself applicable to our everyday lives. Any time you hear a rap song, his breakdancing infiltrates your mind; when you see a bug run across the room, “La Cucaracha” starts to play and every holiday season brings flashbacks of the Grinch Christmas special.

Unfortunately, I had to live in the shadows of the architect of our dear fear, for six long years as I attended Matthew Morrison’s performing arts middle and high school. Mr. Schue’s wide grin was plastered on countless walls and his eyes seemed to follow me as I made my way from class to class. As a theater kid in his reach, I had to hide at all costs, and if I could graduate safe from a 2010s mashup performance, you too can persist. 

While his methods were foul, without good ol’ Will we’d lack our countless covers and iconic clap-back moments, proving that good can be found amidst all the evil. I encourage you to face each of your fears with this in mind, whether they be social, personal, or, in this case, musical. But beware, if you ever meet a teacher like Mr. Schue, zip your lips and run! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Morrison Memory Loss Mix: 1 spoon of “Cough Syrup,” 10 cover-free playlists, and the discardment of all vests

Au’Laila says: Anon, I get it. Like, do they even f*ck with you like that? Did this friend instantly sense that you weren’t worthy of their nickname? They introduce themselves to you “Abigail” and turn to their friend who refers to them as “Abbie.” Are you meant to join in on this? Did they already veto you to formality, nothing more than co-worker status? And you, in name purgatory, have no guidance on this matter. 

You know you can’t start using the nickname unprovoked but you aren’t sure if you’re the only one calling a lifelong Abbie by her government name. After a quarter’s worth of boba chats and Westwood dinners, they haven’t given you the green light to call them the nickname in question. So you, in your polite hesitation, have not taken the initiative to call them that either. So you ask the golden question, feigning as if you’ve just come up with it on the spot, knowing you’ve been secretly mulling over this haunting subject for weeks – “Oh, by the way – do you go by Abbie or Abigail? I just wasn’t sure.” Abbie shrugs, and with a dismissive demeanor says, “Either-or.” 

Cauldron of Clarity: A clove of self-assurance, 2 chamomile tea packets for anxiety relief, and a teaspoon of the unwavering confidence and assertion of a Trader Joe’s cashier.

Elaina says: What we have here is a gradient of three very understandable fears: blondes, men, and mustaches. Are they scary by themselves or only when combined? Who is this guy? A surfer? A cowboy? Matthew McConaughey in the 1993 coming-of-age classic Dazed and Confused? Whatever his identity, we don’t know why he has the mustache. Mustaches cover, they conceal; they’re a shield one wears on the face. If we return to the “men” part, we can hypothesize the reason why he has it: fear of vulnerability. You don’t have to assuage his fear or do anything for him, just remember the spider rule – he’s probably more scared of you than you are of him. Alright, alright, alright.

METS (Mustache Exposure Therapy Solution): 2 oz. hair dye, 3 trimmings of mustache hair, ¾ cup of surfer-approved salt water, and let simmer while gazing at Sam Elliot in Road House

Elaina says: As with the above fear, maybe it’s related to concealment – what is all that hair covering? What’s it got to hide? A very normal fear of the unknown. But what is the object of fear here: is it body hair on others, or oneself? Entering the personal warzone of gender expectations, being hirsute has different connotations for all people, with women in our society especially being told to get rid of it, both by others and voices in our own heads. But body hair is human. It keeps us warm, it keeps us alive when the cold winds blow. Maybe the aforementioned blonde men just have a chronically cold philtrum. We don’t know. Whether you want body hair or not, make sure that decision isn’t ruled by shame and fear – just ask what feels right.

hair care potion: 4 drops of jojoba oil, a sprinkle of pine needles, ½ oz. of riot grrl classics, 2.5 hours on GROWLR

Clementine says: And when was the last time you changed your Brita filter? That’s what I’d like to know, and that’s what should really scare you. Kitchen sink water,; tap water,; municipal water,; the precious treated Sierra and Colorado River water of LADWP:; whatever you choose to call it, it is drinkable. And you should drink it. Of course there are many things regarding water that can be scary, such as bacterial contamination, or boiling hot temperatures, or sharks (that one is in regards to ocean water, but still), and those fears are completely warranted. Yet here in Los Angeles, you have nothing to fear with kitchen sink water. It is a privilege to drink kitchen sink water purified and treated such as this, and though it may have a twinge of putrid city flavor, I would be hard pressed to find any water that doesn’t have its own unique spin, aside from Boxed Water™, which arguably tastes worse (like air…and so pure and clean…but wet…and utterly unsatisfying).

But I shouldn’t simply tell you not to fear kitchen sink water, for that is certainly easier said than done. Instead, I encourage you to embrace the privilege of kitchen sink water, imagine each water bottle filled with its valuable stream as a testament to modern municipal technology, its lukewarm temperature a gift fromreminder of the sweet Southern California sun. And don’t get me started on bathroom sink water: in the dead of night, or the wee hours of the morning, it is reliable and consistent in its thirst-quenching provisions. I have no doubt that you indulge in bathroom sink water on occasion, your thirst pulling you from bed beneath the dark blanket of a Westwood night. These pipes are the same, and they will continue to serve you tirelessly, unlike your year-old Brita filter, blinking passionately red from the depths of your refrigerator. Embrace the kitchen sink, and all it has to offer you. 

Sink Puration Soup: ¼ cup of kitchen sink water, four freezer ice cubes, and the wealth of knowledge that you’re stronger than a Brita-user.

Brooke says: It goes like this: No one chooses Hedrick Hall, Hedrick Hall chooses them. You may hedge your bets that you find your people by opting into some LLC or another, but ending up in Hedrick is only ever a byproduct and consequence of this. The question of what the ecosystem of Hedrick Hall does to a human being must be carefully examined as a series of comorbidities:

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation from the lengthy pedestrian lecture commute, maybe it’s the hike per se, maybe it’s the thinner oxygen levels so far up The Hill. Perhaps it’s that liminal place, The Study, with its panopticonal Fishbowl and the massive easterly window that inexplicably becomes a mirror for the studying crowds after sundown. Maybe it’s those dim hallways, shoddy washrooms, and smoke-break-induced full-building evacuations we all know too well. It might just be something they in the Study sandwiches.

We don’t know for sure what does it, but all we can say with scientific certainty is that any or all of these factors induce such a a psychophysiological effect within that peculiar specimen called the Hedrick denizen such that once they acquire their first dubious fake ID and partake in the boon of Campus Cooler, something changes deep within them that will animate them unceasingly up to and through their sophomore year.

You hear them thundering down the hallway. Yes, I hear them too. Their Uber must be waiting in Hedrick turnaround. Yes, I know it’s 1:30 in the morning. Some things just defy common reason.

Here’s something to help you wind down:

The Hedrick Tranquilizer: 6 parts Jasmine tea, 1 part melatonin, 2 parts NyQuil, 2 parts vodka, 20 noise complaints excerpted from the floor GroupMe. Stir in a cast iron cauldron over low heat and serve with or without chloroform

Keifer says: Wow! That does sound scary.

What could be in that box… Maybe a spider? Yikes! Perchance a gooey brain? Yuck!

Fortunately, far greater fears than some silly little box should be occupying your mind in this instant.

Did you know he’s behind you? Right now?

You might have thought you saw something out of the corner of your eye a time or two these past few weeks. Increasingly often in the last three days?

Start running!

Here’s the cure:

I recommend 1 blindfold: you won’t witness the eldritch horror to come!

Also handy! A handful of lemon drops. Yum!