Let me set the scene.

It’s Friday night and you’re out with your ladies. You’re wondering if it was worth pausing Netflix, getting out of bed and putting on makeup to go pay for alcohol at a bar with mediocrely attractive people.

But then, everything changes. “Drunk In Love” comes on, and suddenly you know that this is going to be the best night ever.

Why? Because Beyoncé.

After making a name for herself as the lead singer of Destiny’s Child in the late 90s and early 2000s, Beyoncé went on to build a successful solo career with her first album, Dangerously in Love.

Fast-forward 11 years and Beyoncé is more relevant than ever. She has emerged as a symbol of femininity, sexuality and success, while embracing the idea of being a strong independent woman and feminist.

But with this success also comes some heavy criticism. As young women navigate the media on a search for a strong female role model, many question the validity of Beyoncé’s brand of feminism.

Feminism has been defined in many ways, but can ultimately be described as the fight for gender equality (NOT the superiority of women over men). Feminist writer and cultural critic bell hooks defines feminism as “A movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression,” while Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, who is sampled in Beyonce’s song “Flawless,” defines a feminist as “a person who believes in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.”

How can Beyoncé be a feminist if she dances like that? Isn’t she just playing into society’s representation of women in the media?

The answers to these questions, of course, are complicated. As an avid Beyoncé fan, I’ll be the first to say that Beyoncé’s sexuality and self-expression can be confusing when looked at from a feminist perspective.

Beyoncé’s cultural relevance is especially important in this day and age, as one issue in the feminist movement has been how to increase accessibility. Feminism has been isolated in academics and made inaccessible to the average layperson who is unfamiliar with complex and specific jargon such as “intersectionality” and “false binaries.”

Beyoncé’s music, however, has made the idea of equality of the sexes accessible for everybody, presenting it in a way that is interesting and relevant to modern day young listeners. Similar to Virginia Woolf and Alice Walker, whose literature highlighted feminist ideals, Beyoncé’s songs and music videos present feminism in a way that’s easier to swallow.

This is a part of a greater movement of feminism away from academia and back to the founders — everyday women.

Of course arguments arise when Beyoncé is presented as an “everyday woman.” As No. 17 on Forbes’ list of 100 most powerful women in the United States, Beyoncé has resources that are unavailable to the majority of her listeners.

But looking at feminism through the Beyoncé lens can help us understand society’s view on feminism and sexism, and help us assess what still needs to be done. While no one needs to agree with everything Beyoncé says, understanding her effect on modern day feminism can bring us a little bit closer to gender equality.

Beyoncé has created a successful music career while also making huge steps towards overcoming sexism in our society by providing a brand of feminism that can be consumed as an entertainment media by the masses.

While Beyoncé has dazzled all of us with her performances and sparkly dresses, she isn’t a perfect human being, or a perfect feminist. Throughout the next few weeks I’ll be looking at Beyoncé and the role she plays in providing different viewpoints on modern day feminism, and I hope you’ll be paying attention too.

To sing Beyoncé karaoke with HANNAH STRUMWASSER, email her at hstrumwasser@gmail.com.

How do I even start to talk about where I live? The beginning, yes, but the self-conscious freshman that started hanging out at the co-ops doesn’t quite understand the importance of the whole matter. And starting in the middle is asking for a whole lot of “this is cool and this and this and oh yeah that…” so the beginning it is.

I discovered cooperative communities through the on-campus Tri-Cooperatives during the winter quarter of my freshman year. After one dinner and one garden party, I was so hooked that I now find myself in the middle of that cooperative, garden-crusted, compost-making space as a resident, not a visitor. Though I’ve been living there for two quarters now, I know I still have a lot to learn. So that’s what this column is for — I’m hoping to take you on this adventure with me. I aim to delve into all the aspects of the cooperative community that, over the course of the last year, I’ve just accepted and ran with. For example, what even is a cooperative community?

Why, thank you for asking! Loosely put, it’s a group of people that agree to work together to meet some sort of ends, be it economic, cultural or social. While my experience is in a housing community focused around us all having a place to sleep and a social base, the idea of the cooperative extends to businesses, such as the Davis Food Co-op. As a business, the Food Co-op shares ownership with its customers. Instead of having a Big Person at the top of the line, the Food Co-op is literally owned by anyone who wants to chip in.

That’s a somewhat obvious example, since it includes the word “co-op” in the name, but get this, unions can actually be considered co-ops. (Did you know that? I didn’t know that.) Unions are worker cooperatives, essentially, because all the workers cooperate to get better wages and working conditions and all that jazz. If we look back to the earlier definition of a co-op, the union meets that definition. Workers voluntarily become part of a group that cooperatively pursues economic benefits.

Co-ops, including the Food Co-op and unions, fall under various owner models. The Food Co-op is a consumer co-op because it’s owned by various members (who are usually customers) while unions are worker co-ops because the members do work that benefits the whole of the cooperative. There are even more owner models: retailers, non-monetary, volunteer, business/employment … and beyond ownership models, there are types of co-ops: housing, utility, agricultural and even banking co-ops. (Is this more complicated than you expected? Yeah. Same here.)

Fun Fact: out of all the types of co-ops, agricultural co-ops are the most common, which isn’t too surprising coming from the home of the Aggies and the water tower that’s secretly a cow poo scented air freshener.

With these definitions in mind, I’m realizing that this place I’ve come to call home is way more than just a house filled to the brim with cats and people and tasty food. While I’m interested in exploring the little details of cooperative life, such as when to plant chard and how many freaking gallons of milk 14 people go through in a week, I’m intrigued in taking a step back. I’ve realized that this special and strange world I live in is actually a huge system that means a lot more than a refrigerator full of food that I chipped in money for and a few hours of garden work a week.

The decades of people before me actually thought a lot about what they were getting into. Even though there are all these definitions that are designed to define co-ops, and they seem to apply pretty well to business-like co-ops, I’m not sure where to begin when it comes to the housing cooperative I live in. Can a group of ridiculous and entertaining individuals even be defined like that? Maybe by the end of this column, after I’ve figured out the details of the details, maybe then I’ll know if I can write the answer down and pin it to my muraled wall. But I don’t think that’s going to be possible.

Interested in wearing socks with sandals? Ask ISABEL MONIZ for advice on how to rock the look at irmoniz@ucdavis.edu.

The definition of ‘social norms’ was reiterated to me recently in my psychology class — they are “expected standards of conduct in a society that drive members’ social behavior.”

The way I see it, social norms are just begging to be broken. I mean, why do random rules of social conduct even exist and who put them into effect? Was it some sort of collective team effort, devised by a kind of mainstream coalition? Or do social norms come to exist simply out of popularity of performance?

One intriguing social norm concerns table manners. There are so many rules around how to conduct yourself at the table, so I thought I’d break a few to see how people would respond.

It’s noteworthy to mention that I’m a freshman, so eating at the DC is a daily occurrence and also is the perfect place to break social norms.

I spotted two guys sitting together at a table in the Cuarto DC. They were immersed in a conversation and I approached their table without making eye contact or asking if I could sit with them. Instead, I just pulled out a chair, sat down and started to eat my bowl of cereal.

I wanted to see how people would react if a complete stranger just decided to sit at their table.

The two guys abruptly stopped their conversation as soon as they realized that I was actually going to sit at their table. For nearly 20 seconds — nothing. I kept quiet to myself until the guy to my right nervously said “Heyy, how’s it going?” I responded, but then quickly returned my focus back to my cereal, further confusing the two guys.

Nick, the guy to my right, flat out said, “I’ve never had someone I don’t know sit at my table before.”

Mission accomplished. Social norm confirmed.

After introductions were made and a conversation started, I told Nick and my other new BFF James that I was performing a social experiment. Nick, feeling relieved, said “Ohh! That makes it so much less creepy.”

“Creepy?” I’d say that’s a normal way to respond to what I did. But why is that the standard? The answer is because we’re told that you can’t just sit down at any table you want without asking because that would be, dare I say, absurd.

That would make people feel uncomfortable. This is one of those norms that could easily be swept away and forgotten if we just put our minds past how potentially awkward sitting with strangers could be.

Nick and James admitted that they were extremely confused as to what the hell I was doing, and it even ran through Nick’s mind that he had met me before but had forgotten who I was. That’s how unlikely he thought it was that a random person would just come sit at their table.

Soon enough, I was on to my next target: a group of four guys eating on the couch in the middle of the DC. After I sat down and made some eye contact with them, one guy actually got so uncomfortable that he stood up and left, only to return again as I was leaving. One of the others told me he just felt really awkward.

It just goes to show how surprised and overwhelmingly confused people feel when they’re confronted with this scenario.

Another social norm that I decided to break was the proper eating technique. Not too many people deviate from the social norms that accompany mealtime.

So, I got creative. Instead of drinking my Diet Coke from a cup, I poured my soda into a bowl and used a pink umbrella straw that I supplied myself. The people at my table and those passing by gave me weird looks, of course.

Because “why??” would I do that, as a friend inquired. Why? Well, it works. I stayed hydrated.

I also decided to have some fun with mealtime by “bobbing” for my own apples. I got two apples, placed them in a bowl, submerged them in water and was going to attempt to work for my food.

However, right before I was about to dunk my face in, I was stopped by “What the f*** are you doing, Savannah?” That was the voice of society scolding me for veering away from normal eating behaviors.

Just like the apples in the water, that comment was saturated with negative judgment. And the intriguing thing is, that’s a completely normal and appropriate response to my behavior at the table.

When seeing people violate the unwritten rules of social conduct, it’s normal to respond in a shocked way. That’s why people don’t commonly go against them.

If you want to play hot potato with the pancakes at the DC, contact SAVANNAH HOLMES at skholmes@ucdavis.edu.

It all started when my mom wanted to find out about Oahu’s Farmer’s Market.

My family was headed to the islands for spring break and, in accordance with our predisposition to non-normative travel, wanted to experience more local aspects of the islands that weren’t purely manufactured for the tourism industry. To my unpleasant surprise, I found that if you plug “Oahu” into the Google Machine, you find out it’s the most populous island, #1 Hawaiian tourist destination, “a tourism and shopping haven” (Wikipedia), “The most developed of the Hawaiian islands” (Lonely Planet) and “home to the only real metropolitan area in all the Hawaiian Islands” (WikiTravel) — all of which I read as “hella colonialized.”

For a little bit of context, colonialism is “a political-economic phenomenon whereby various European nations explored, conquered, settled, and exploited large areas of the world” (Encyclopedia Britannica). In Hawaii, this occurrence could be pinpointed around 1893, when the United States violently overthrew the Queen of Hawaii and put their own government into place.

Since then, mainland Americans came in and built high-rises and highways, much in the same way they did on Native American land — but in this case they kept natives around instead of driving them out, in order to exploit and bastardize the culture for profit.

Colonialism is the soundtrack to this column being the $99/person luau playing out a few feet from my balcony — turning a historically special and symbolic practice into a weekly event wherein dark-skinned people serve “traditional” food, wear “traditional” dress and perform “traditional” dance for their dominantly white-skinned audience.

Colonialism is an ad in Hawaiian Airlines magazine, a two-page spread in the hotel’s guest book and a four-foot poster in the lobby advertising “the world’s premier Polynesian encounter, featuring hundreds of warm, welcoming islanders and “Go Native” adventures” — accompanied with pictures of shirtless caricatured “natives” posing with tank-top clad tourists.

Some argue that “cultural immersion” programs like these are acceptable, or even beneficial, because you’re financially supporting local people and you’re appreciating and trying to learn more about their culture.

But that fails to take into account that colonialism and capitalism have erased a diversity of jobs, leaving locals economically dependent on resorts, “cultural shows” and other aspects of the tourism industry. (Also, it’s highly doubtful that the hula dancers and such-branded “Polynesian Natives” see much of the money that you pay — the hotels and tourist companies most likely gobble up the majority of your funds).

The unfortunate reality with all of this is that it isn’t a system I feel I can put a stop to, but it’s also one that I don’t want to support.

It’s a dilemma pretty much completely exclusive to middle-class socially-conscious college students: do I contribute to a system that I am fundamentally opposed to, or do I turn down a dope-ass free vacation?

Ultimately, I chose the former.

I went because I love my parents and it would make them sad not to see me. I held my tongue because they are good, hard-working people who don’t deserve my financially-dependent ass making snarky remarks about privilege and colonialism.

I winced walking past the luau, groaned at the “Go Native” ads, facepalmed when I found out a neighboring Marriott housing project was called “Coconut Plantation,” but for the most part, tried to relax and enjoy myself and not let the money my parents spent go to waste. I’m privileged enough that this sort of vacation is a reality for me, whether I asked for it or not.

So yeah, in some cases I’d say take the damn vacation. If you’ve worked hard and feel you deserve a break, go ahead and make awkward eye contact with that beautiful steward on the plane. If you acknowledge your privilege and give sincere thank-yous to the hotel staff, go ahead and fall asleep on the beach, giving yourself unseemly tanlines.

But steer clear of the “Go Native” events, grass skirts and coconut bras.   Colonialism and cultural appropriation are SO 1893.

To suck the fun out of anything with TANYA AZARI email her at tazari@ucdavis.edu.

I love movies. They reveal, they entertain and they stimulate us in ways both conscious and subconscious. I love stories. They put flesh on bone. There is no way to illustrate a theme better than a story.

So what do we have here? We have great films. We have stories. And we have the themes that shape those stories. Films. Stories. Themes. Let’s add one more ingredient to the mix before you get back to staring aimlessly at your phone. Coming of age.

Everybody says that it’s harder now growing up than it ever was. Certainly there are components of our culture that former generations couldn’t even dream of growing up with (twerking). But what generation hasn’t experienced this? We are blossoming sprouts, coming into our adult lives whether we like it or not. We are also crash test dummies for new challenges along the way. Sounds fun.

Movies provide the perfect venue for trying to understand what we are going through. After all, if movies weren’t relatable on some level, we wouldn’t watch them. And although the story may change, the themes stay the same, time and time again. Let’s explore!

The Virgin Suicides is a 1999 film by Sofia Coppola, adapted from the 1993 novel by Jeffrey Eugenides. We are presented with the tale of five sisters, the youngest of which commits suicide. But through a kind of sad beauty, and a surprising grin-inducing humor, we whimsy our way into the lives of the remaining four sisters, as well as four boys who find themselves captivated by their mystery.

One of the boys mentions how girls know all about things like love and death and that boys are often there to merely add the noise that entertains them. That boys never can truly understand these things like a girl can.

I’m not so sure about that. But maybe that’s just proving the point. Can it be possible that men are so unilateral in intention and desire that girls have us figured out from the get-go? Maybe this is true of girls looking upon pre-pubescent boys, but as males foster their abstract mind, it surely cannot be possible that women will reach into the minds of men so wholly as to leave us sitting on our asses.

Sofia Coppola gives a story in which those humans endowed with penises are observers of those other humans endowed with vaginas. It is true that girls become women earlier on than boys become men. I suspect this creates a kind of wonder in boys, who have yet to mature. And I believe this wonder looks different with each generation.

In 1970s Michigan, the time and place in which The Virgin Suicides is set, we can see a difference in the way boys learned about women. The four boys in the movie peeped through telescopes to see sex in all its moist, passionate and slightly awkward glory. Now, boys peep through the internet to sites where their cravings can be satisfied by professional and amateur pornographers alike.

Porn can create illusions for many young men — illusions that can persist. Sure, there was Playboy and Hustler back in their hey-day, but today’s sexual media makes those magazines look like chastity manuals.

Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am nostalgic for a time I did not live. That would be impossible. Peeping through telescopes for sexual gratification is far riskier than waiting until you’re alone in your dorm room with nothing but tissues, some lotion and a working internet connection.

So where is the silver lining here? What do we learn from The Virgin Suicides, other than that Trip is a terrible name for the most handsome dude in the movie? Well, that is hard to say. Movies that give us ambiguous endings tend to leave people feeling crazy. But somehow, we are left with more when less is said for us.

And in this thought we find a parallel to our modern predicament. Pornography is similar to the grandstanding politicians of today — full of answers and no questions. Because that’s what people want. Answers. But considering the ubiquity and subsequent dilution of sex in today’s culture, sexual coming of age may be better endured as trial and error fraught with natural embarrassments and ambivalences that can only be laughed upon as we reflect on our experiences.

Spring is in the air, the birds are chirping, the bees are buzzing; it’s time to perk up your ears, open your eyes and read my column. I hope you join me as we try to figure out all the ways we leave our youth behind.

If you want to tell ELI FLESCH that he knows nothing about sex, you can reach him at eliflesch@ucdavis.edu.