You don’t know the life of a showgirl, babe

By MOLLY THOMPSON – mmtthompson@ucdavis.edu 

Taylor Swift’s 12th studio album, “The Life of a Showgirl,” released just 3 hours, 43 minutes prior to my writing this, and I’ve already listened to the whole thing twice. From just the promotion and aesthetics, it was evidently going to be a significant departure from her recent albums, but hearing it makes the distinction all the more stark. 

Right from the get-go, the album received mixed reviews. Sonically, it’s more reminiscent of Swift’s earlier projects like “1989,” “Reputation” and some of the punchier songs on “Red” — songs also made by “The Life of a Showgirl” producers Max Martin and Shellback, along with Swift herself. The songs that come from that particular team are top radio hits (“Style,” “Blank Space,” “I Knew You Were Trouble,” “Gorgeous” and more), which is also the vibe of many of the songs on her new album. I think this is one of the reasons why it’s been so polarizing — it’s very pop and a little campy.

But I think the real reason has been culminating for a while now: Taylor Swift isn’t relatable, and she hasn’t been for a long time. One of the biggest appeals of Swift’s early discography was its inherent familiarity — it felt like she was voicing the feelings inside of your head. When she was 20 years old writing about laying in her bedroom daydreaming about her crushes, we all listened and anguished along with her. But now that she’s writing about how “this empire belongs to me” and “you’re only as hot as your last hit, baby,” most of us simply can’t relate. 

Swift writes autobiographical songs: her niche is personal storytelling. So, naturally, as she continues to gain global renown, we as fans are going to feel increasingly distanced from the stories she tells. That doesn’t mean we can’t appreciate them, listen to what she’s saying, enjoy them or understand them, it just means that our relationship with her music is inherently different than it’s been at earlier points in her career. 

Taylor Swift is untouchable. Not because she’s so confident that nothing can knock her down, but because she’s one of the few true celebrities we have left in our growing culture of oversharing. With social media and the prevalence of “vlogging,” along with behind-the-scenes content, it’s never been easier to glimpse quotidian elements of the lives of superstars and feel as if they really are “just like us.” But Swift doesn’t participate in that, so she tends to appear more sacrosanct and elusive than others. Of course, other factors contribute to this and she’s not the only one perceived this way, yet it makes her all the more alluring. 

The thing about her recent work is that you don’t have to like it. This is especially true of “The Tortured Poet’s Department” and “The Life of a Showgirl” — I like to think that she made them because she had something to say, not because she felt the need to impress us. Both albums are vulnerable and blatant (as is characteristic of her portfolio), but they’re especially raw, something that is not characteristic of a project created solely as a performance. Somewhat ironically, this album — in all of its over-the-top sparkly glory — is perhaps more intimate than its sisters. It’s the juxtaposition of glamour and toil; of celebrity and domesticality; of diamonds and sequins and Louboutin; of sweat, hustle and selling out — “pain hidden by lipstick and lace.” She’s been jaded and has come out stronger than ever. She knows what she created and doesn’t need it to be your favorite. 

  For me, as someone who’s been emotionally invested in what Swift creates for more than a decade, this album feels like a victory parade. It feels like standing at the top of a mountain while adversaries are stuck at the bottom. It feels like growing up and becoming friends with your parents and siblings again after you hated them during your teenage years. It feels like learning from your mistakes and reading your old journal entries. It feels like being at peace and realizing that your life looks nothing like you thought it would, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It feels like standing up for yourself, like burning bridges and shaking new hands, like putting people in their place and talking to yourself in the mirror. It feels like applause and hairspray; in what I can only try not to read too much into — it feels like taking a bow at the end of the show. 

Written by: Molly Thompson — mmtthompson@ucdavis.edu 

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie

From sidewalks to screens, policies to partition

By NEVAEH KARRAKER — nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

Sometimes the loud hammering of construction, beeping of trucks and barricaded roads make me question whether it’s even worth going to class. Sidewalks are unusable and classrooms are nearly inaccessible near the Touchdown Tower (one of UC Davis’ iconic water towers) as bike racks continue to be uprooted and unusable. 

Like the chain-linked fence between the road and sidewalk, public spaces are often altered without the community realizing the implications of that kind of change. Construction is a physical reflection of the actual separation it’s giving rise to, which is subtle, but nonetheless present.

For example, building new apartments may seem like an excellent idea to combat the housing crisis, but what are the ramifications of it? Does it tear down senior centers? Does it actually help people, or will modernity contribute to gentrification and push out already existing neighborhoods? Before they get put into motion, these plans need to be analyzed from an outside perspective, through proper research and consideration of how they’ll impact the community as a whole.

Then comes normalization — believing the price for progress is inevitable. While in some ways it is, we don’t have to accept the first deal we’re offered. In many cases, policies are passed without thorough analysis and we end up sabotaging the integrity of our communities, even though we only intended to improve it.

Technological advancement (including metropolitan development and digital progress) enhances education and careers, but not without repercussions. Libraries are swapped out for databases of digital files, small owned businesses are being drowned out by large companies and trails and parks are shrinking under real estate pressure. 

Similarly, social media has become the new digital playground. It’s disgustingly over-monetized and algorithmic; there is no coexistence online like there is in the real world, it’s either strong animosity or enthusiastic encouragement. Face-to-face interaction promotes genuine connection in a way that online communication simply does not. As we spend more time on our phones and less time with each other, we lose not only those connections, but our ability to connect with each other in the first place. 

We claim that we want to nurture inclusivity, and yet we disregard the importance of community engagement. If we have nowhere to gather — especially nowhere that has free parking or admission — then disunion and contempt become the norm. Genuine interactions are what make us empathetic, grant us the ability to peacefully converse and temporarily breach our isolated bubbles; we can’t sacrifice our already scarce social opportunities for a new apartment building or department store.

Forcibly closing public spaces — and therefore reducing our ability to form and foster interpersonal connections — does two major things: it indirectly reduces our critical thinking skills by stifling activities that promote neurological activities (like those that take place outdoors or in a group). As a result, we become dependent on screens for entertainment and recreation, which makes it easier to indoctrinate our population and form dependent thinkers who aren’t used to questioning the information that crosses their social media feeds.

Society also becomes defenseless and easy to control if people have nowhere to congregate. The locations that were once the unifying bridge between all political parties, all races and all socioeconomic levels, are now driven by profit and consumption — you’re all “welcome,” but only if you buy something. You can enjoy yourself, but only if you sign up for monthly payments. The businesses that remain have to accommodate this new jurisdiction just to stay afloat.

A construction project can easily transgress into a cultural shift. As the sidewalk concrete cracks without repavement in sight, public spaces become obsolete — as does the foundation of our society. 

We cannot allow ourselves to become dependent on the technology freely given to us, and we cannot be naive to the consequences of the extinction of our public spaces — they are our livelihood and we must treat them as such. Our public spaces are integral to our social connections and our cultural autonomy, so it’s important to pay attention to what’s going on around us so that we can protect them. If we want to preserve the integrity of our society, we must consider the ramifications of development plans before we put them into action; what might seem like a good idea on the surface might end up causing more harm than good. 

Written by: Nevaeh Karraker—nakarraker@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Grok, is this true?

By SABRINA FIGUEROA — sfigueroaavila@ucdavis.edu

From asking ChatGPT to write an email to directing xAI’s Grok to fact-check a Pop Base post on X, artificial intelligence (AI) has us in a chokehold. 

Since the first launch of ChatGPT-3.5 in November 2022, generative AI has been integrated into our lives — willingly for some and forcibly for others. It was initially branded as magic, looped in with wizards and witches that can create anything out of thin air. The reality is that AI has as much magical power as the Wizard of Oz — with only a man behind the curtain operating a complex system, trained on our own data, that keeps the illusion of magic, novelty and power. Still, if tech companies continue their quest to sell it as so, let it be known that magic has its conditions and often comes with a price.

We don’t have to wait to find out what that looks like: It’s already here, and it’s affecting small, low-income and Black communities first, many of which lack the political power to significantly change the operations of tech companies and their data centers. It’s another wave of environmental racism — a regression in the name of “progression.” 

Tucked-away in Southern Memphis, Elon Musk has built “Colossus:” a giant supercomputer that he utilizes to power his company, xAI, and the chatbot, Grok. In June 2025, the Southern Environmental Law Center found that Musk was operating 30 unpermitted methane gas turbines without any notice or regulation. Turbines such as these emit formaldehyde and smog-forming pollutants, increasing risk of asthma, heart disease and cancer. 

If that isn’t unethical enough, the surrounding area is predominantly made up of Black communities that have historically experienced environmental injustice and industrial pollution. The city closest to the xAI data center, Boxtown, for example, already has an average cancer risk four times the national average. 

Luckily, both the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and Southern Environmental Law Center (SELC) have decided to sue Musk over this. However, a recent study from scholars at the California Institute of Technology (Caltech) and UC Riverside found that other communities all over the U.S. are still suffering from the emissions of fossil fuels burned to power AI. 

Carbon emissions travel from one area to the next, affecting communities, people and ecosystems beyond those local to the data centers. If we do not enforce limitations upon these Big Tech companies and we continue to use AI like a harmless toy, the consequences will soon catch up to us. Although society may discriminate, climate change does not. One minute it’s directly affecting people in a far-away community, the next minute it’ll directly affect you.

 The high energy demand, along with the mass amounts of water consumption necessary to sustain data centers, are expensive. Not for the tech companies, but for community members in the surrounding areas. 

Tech giants like Google, for example, are securing deals with utility companies that help them save money and make more profit. Just last year, Google scored a deal in South Carolina that allowed them to “pay less than half the rate that households pay for electricity,” according to an article by Capital B. This “deal” forced local households to cover the remaining cost through their own utility bills. 

Every year, generative AI has the potential to drive a racial economic gap by $43 billion, with low-income and predominantly Black communities having to pay for AI’s giant mess — both environmentally and financially. Generative AI has become an environmental issue, a public health issue and a social issue. As we continue to use AI as a search engine, an artist for lack-luster art, a writer for discussion posts we’re too lazy to write and more, we must ask ourselves: Is it worth it?

Big Tech and billionaires, like Musk, sell us magical supercomputers designed to help us, but it’s all a facade to make them more money at the expense of our health, critical thinking and literacy skills, communities and financial well-being. If you think for a second that companies in a capitalist society only have the goal to help the masses, think again. Their main concern is not people, it’s profit.

Before it’s too late, we must demand regulations on AI and Big Tech companies and hold ourselves accountable for abusing generative AI as more than a tool; for the sake of human lives and the planet. AI can’t save us time if there isn’t any more time left to save. 

Written by: Sabrina Figueroa — sfigueroaavila@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Exploring the toxicity of intellectual prejudice 

By VIOLET ZANZOT— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

I’ve never understood the true definition of “smart,” and yet, I can certainly say that I’ve spent too much time feeling dumb. It’s this weird, ambiguous feeling — to feel a certain way about your own intelligence — because, while it shouldn’t be, it can be such an emotional experience. If your brain is a separate entity from your heart, why can thoughts hurt so badly? 

The pain that comes from feeling dumb is interesting to me. It echoes the expression: “The opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference.” I don’t think the opposite of being smart is being dumb, but is it indifference? 

I first asked myself this question (I will pose it to you now) as I was thinking about a boy I liked. Our forms of intelligence are very different, so I was pondering whether or not he and I would be compatible. I had chatted with him earlier that evening, and I remember him claiming that he isn’t as smart as me — that he doesn’t know as much as I do. I found this odd, considering I wouldn’t even be confident saying that I’m the smartest person in an empty room. 

This is the question I asked myself later: Does having the conscious awareness to consider our own intelligence inherently demonstrate some kind of intelligence to begin with? In other words, does wondering exactly how smart we are indicate that we possess a certain level of intelligence?

I certainly tell myself that thinking “I’m dumb” actually means I may not be; and, whenever I feel completely lost — I think “you can’t be found if you don’t know you’re lost, right?” 

I like to think that this self-reflection means something, especially considering that the real problem with self-imposed intellectual inferiority is that it involves multiple levels of perception. Beyond how we perceive ourselves, we often consider how we perceive others, how we assume others perceive us, how others actually perceive us and then how others perceive themselves. It’s a lot to read on paper, let alone process that this is how the world works. We lose empathy in the conversation around being “smart” because of these many levels of perception.

In my short time studying abroad, I’ve already noticed that Americans have a tendency to, as they say, “stick out like a sore thumb.” I am in London right now, and it’s painfully obvious that the rumors are true — we don’t come across as the brightest bunch. 

This is probably the main reason why this topic has recently been at the forefront of my mind: to be perceived as less intelligent because of the prejudice associated with my accent has certainly been thought provoking. 

Misjudgements are ignorant because they lack empathy. Empathy, it seems, is a key aspect of intelligence. If we cannot understand the language of someone else’s thought processes, any assumptions about their intellect may as well be errors in our own translation. It is foolish to assume our own knowledge is greater than others because they think in a language we are unable to understand. 

Written by: Violet Zanzot— vmzanzot@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.

Is diversity within the Trump administration indicative of progress or a deeper sociocultural movement?

By GEETIKA MAHAJAN — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

This past month, FBI Director Kash Pramod Patel bewildered the majority of the United States at the funeral of right-wing zealot Charlie Kirk. 

“Rest in peace brother,” Patel said into the microphone. “I’ll see you in Valhalla.” 

The comment drew widespread attention, first and foremost because of Patel’s insinuation that Valhalla (a Nordic myth) was still a relevant cultural belief, that Kirk had done something to deserve the afterlife of a warrior and that Patel himself was planning to die in battle soon (which, according to Norse mythology, is the only way to reach Valhalla). 

The bizarre statement could be explained as just another example of the Trump administration’s attempts to sound tougher than they really are, which it is, in a way. But Patel’s reference to a cultural belief that died with the Viking empire at the funeral of a man who vehemently disagreed with policies that made it possible to succeed as an immigrant in the U.S. is symptomatic of something else.  

What looks like a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiative from the outside is actually symptomatic of the worst colonial hangover of all time. An NBC article found that “Indians are perhaps the most well-represented minority group within the Trump administration” — despite making up a mere  2% of the national population. The current FBI director, Kash Patel, and the Second Lady of the U.S., Usha Vance (among others), are second-generation Indian Americans. They’re entrenched in an administration that’s imposing a $100,000 fee for the employment visas that made it possible for them to grow up in the U.S. in the first place.

Watching Vivek Ramaswamy, American entrepreneur and politician, proudly advocate for the end of birthright citizenship or Governor of South Carolina Nikki Haley implement some of the most stringent “show-me-your-papers” immigration laws is disorienting. From an American perspective, it’s odd to see children of Indian immigrants turn their back on other immigrants. From an Indian-American perspective, it’s kind of pathetic. 

The Trump administration hasn’t been randomly populated by Indian sycophants. Through a confluence of socioeconomic factors within India and America, the incoming immigrants are uniquely poised to occupy this specific niche and be particularly successful under Trump’s regime. The issue originates long before immigration itself — it starts as a byproduct of the deeply entrenched caste system in India. The subsequent structural inequality affects the opportunities, education and access Indian citizens have today. Ramaswamy discussed where his family fell within this hierarchy in his 2021 book “Woke, Inc. Inside Corporate America’s Social Justice Scam,” stating that “Kings were below us.”

While such a blatant appeal to false authority is a little nauseating to anyone who understands how horrible the caste system in India really is, it’s also indicative of the overall demographic pattern of Indian immigrants. Many people who come to the U.S. are fleeing war or famine, or looking to escape conditions of abject poverty. On the flipside, immigrants from India are largely the product of employment visas; consequently, they are college-educated (77% of Indian-Americans have a college degree, as opposed to 35% of all immigrant adults) and may even have jobs lined up the moment they land in America. Essentially, Indian immigrants arrive in the U.S. relatively well-positioned with stable roots back home. 

What this primarily implies is that such a demographic might be unsympathetic to the desperation and hope that fuels many immigrant stories. It explains the eagerness with which Haley and Ramaswamy so strongly emphasized their intolerance of other immigrant groups.

There’s also the assimilation aspect. Being a visible minority is difficult, and there’s been a significant rise in anti-South Asian sentiment in the United States within the past few decades. With racist caricatures like Ravi from “Jessie” or Apu Nahasapeemapetilon from “The Simpsons,” it’s understandable to want to prove you’re not like the stereotype. Ostensibly, the easiest way to do this is by demonstrating that you have the same cultural and political beliefs as the most “American” people in the country.

However, this is not to assign blame. Trump’s DEI hires aren’t victims of some unjust system that forced them to act evil, and nobody should sympathize with them. Currently, immigrants across America are being subjected to Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) rollbacks, family separations, visa attacks and the Trump administration making existence in the U.S. more precarious at every turn — these are people who have been directly victimized by a system that runs on racism and ignorant, anti-immigration sentiment. It’s much more difficult to feel sympathetic towards Usha Vance or Ramaswamy, even despite the racism they’ve demonstrably experienced within the Republican party. Maybe they’re locked in a room full of bullies, but it’s their own fault for closing the door. 

Written by: Geetika Mahajan — giamahajan@ucdavis.edu

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by individual columnists belong to the columnists alone and do not necessarily indicate the views and opinions held by The California Aggie.