popular culture

Some still like it hot

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 13:00:00 +0000

Some still like it hot Rachel Sauer Mon, 06/01/2026 - 07:00

Cody DeBos

On what would have been her 100th birthday, Marilyn Monroe still defies the image society gave her, says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder film historian Clark Farmer

Platinum blond hair framing red lips parted just so. A white skirt flapping over the grate of a subway. Her image, the portrait of 1950s Americana, is instantly recognizable.

Marilyn Monroe, born Norma Jeane Mortenson on June 1, 1926, died at age 36. Today, a century after her birth, Marilyn Monroe remains one of the most iconic stars in American cultural history.

But how well do we actually know her? More importantly, what does it mean that we know the image so much better than the woman beneath?

Clark Farmer, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder assistant teaching professor in the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts, encourages students to look closer at film and the cultural machinery responsible for our favorite on-screen stories.

Clark Farmer, an assistant teaching professor in the Department of Cinema Studies and Moving Image Arts at the �鶹��Ѱ��, has spent his career teaching students to look closer at film and the cultural machinery responsible for our favorite on-screen stories.

On what would be Monroe’s 100th birthday, Farmer offers a nuanced perspective of her mythos.

A star is built

The Monroe the world knows was as much discovered as she was constructed. When Norma Jeane entered the film business in 1946, the Hollywood studio system was already adept at creating personalities for its stars.

“Studios had a vast machinery to manufacture personas for their actors, but the performers were able to contribute to the process,” Farmer says.

That was something Monroe took seriously. She collaborated with her personal makeup artist, Allan “Whitey” Snyder, to develop the signature look she debuted in Niagara.

“This is the look that people who have never seen a Monroe film still recognize. The look immortalized in Andy Warhol’s silkscreens,” Farmer says.

Of course, studios also controlled which roles stars were cast in, giving them an outsized say in how they were seen. From the start, Monroe was handed “dumb blonde” parts and spent years fighting to be seen as something more.

More than glamour

Hollywood had no shortage of glamorous women before Monroe arrived on set and has had no shortage since. Rita Hayworth set hearts alight and Betty Grable smiled her way onto wartime pinups.

However, when Monroe broke through in 1953, starring in Niagara, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and How to Marry a Millionaire, the cultural shock was palpable. That same December, the first issue of Playboy hit newsstands with Monroe starring in its centerfold.

“She wasn’t simply glamorous or alluring,” Farmer says. “She was sexuality personified.”

Unlike earlier Hollywood sirens who projected power and control, Monroe came across unguarded, almost innocent.

“Monroe seemed softer and more vulnerable, even to some extent damaged. Men might project on to her fantasies of an unthreatening partner who didn’t demand anything from them,” Farmer says of the way Monroe’s sexuality was coded.

That image only deepened her allure. After her untimely death, the idea of Monroe as a beautiful victim became a permanent part of her star persona.

During the 1950s, though, her status as the “ultimate sex symbol” was cemented in the zeitgeist. It was widely accepted during a time when cultural gender roles were incredibly narrow.

A year after her death in 1962, the publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique would help launch second-wave feminism. This was the start of an evolution in how society viewed Monroe and helped pave the way for wider appreciation of the actress, not just the image.

“I think that the true legacy of Monroe is in her performances, where you can see her as a great talent that transcends just being an image,” says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder film historian Clark Farmer. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

“I think it is a better world where a woman isn’t reduced to being just sex and nothing else, and we can instead see their sexuality as part of their complete humanity,” Farmer says.

The actress behind the archetype

While studios and many fans were content to enjoy the eye candy, Farmer is quick to point out the seriousness with which Monroe approached her craft. From 1947, she trained in Method acting, first at the Actors' Laboratory Theater and later at Lee Strasberg's Actors Studio in New York.

Her 1956 film Bus Stop, filmed under a new contract that gave her more creative control, was a turning point. Monroe took on an Ozark accent and stripped away her signature glamour to deliver a performance that garnered a positive critical reception for her acting chops rather than her looks.

However, Farmer says dramatic work wasn’t where Monroe’s talent was greatest. He suggests comedy was where her star shined brightest.

“Critics and audiences often underestimate how much skill goes into comic acting,” Farmer says. “In part because ‘serious’ acting is associated with dramatic roles. But playing a ‘dumb blonde’ who secretly isn’t so dumb is actually very challenging.”

In films like Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Some Like It Hot, Farmer sees an actress using irony, comedic timing and quiet intelligence to subvert the stereotypes she’s performing.

“Today I think we recognize the immense skill in her comic roles,” he says.

A lasting image

More than six decades after her death, Monroe’s image has grown only more vivid. That is no accident.

“James Dean and Marilyn Monroe are encased in the amber of film at the moment of their peak popularity. We don’t have to let a pesky thing like aging get in the way of fantasizing about them,” Farmer says. “Monroe will never be older than 36.”

Earlier Hollywood sex symbols didn’t fare as well. Many saw their stars rise and fall with their eras. Others found themselves embroiled in controversy, forever tarnishing once glamourous personas.

Monroe’s untimely death froze her popularity at its height, and her image would go on to inspire everyone from Madonna to a generation of filmmakers who never met her.

Still, most people, including the students in Farmer’s classes, know Monroe’s image from a distance, but have never actually watched her work.

“They are often surprised by her singing ability, her comic timing, and her obvious intelligence,” Farmer says.

On Monroe’s 100th, perhaps the most fitting tribute is to not just admire the icon, but to watch her films with greater appreciation for the woman smiling behind the cherry lipstick.

“I think that the true legacy of Monroe is in her performances,” Farmer says, “where you can see her as a great talent that transcends just being an image.”

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On what would have been her 100th birthday, Marilyn Monroe still defies the image society gave her, says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder film historian Clark Farmer.

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Happiness in literature isn’t entirely a matter of chance

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 15 May 2026 18:19:24 +0000

Happiness in literature isn’t entirely a matter of chance Rachel Sauer Fri, 05/15/2026 - 12:19

Alexandra Phelps

Which is why readers and storytellers continue turning to Jane Austen, says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright, considering why this enduring proto-feminist writer still holds a place in the classroom

Last week, The Other Bennet Sister debuted on BritBox, allowing U.S. viewers to enjoy the latest reworking of Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice—this time telling the story of the often-overlooked Bennet sister Mary.

The series, based on the novel by Janice Hadlow, first debuted in the United Kingdom on the BBC and arrives in what would have been Jane Austen’s 250th birthday year (her birthday was Dec. 16). Known for her ability to capture the beauty of the ordinary lives of everyday people, Austen wrote novels that remain relevant centuries later. In the opening lines of Mansfield Park she declares, "Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery," revealing that as a writer, she strived to depict joy and community within the lives she created in her novels.

Yet even in developing happy and uplifting plotlines, Austen didn’t refrain from commenting on the social pressures and shortcomings of her society. Two and a half centuries later, the strength of this proto-feminist icon still remains in classrooms as students discover through Austen how gender, choice, relationships and power interact with one another.

Year after year, says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright, students are surprised by Jane Austen, connecting to her writing in ways they didn’t think they could.

Nicole Mansfield Wright, an associate professor of English at the �鶹��Ѱ��, has seen Austen’s power firsthand. As a scholar of late 18th- and early 19th-century British literature, she notices that students often presume Austen’s writing will be prim, proper and unrelatable to their own lives. Year after year, though, students are surprised by Austen, she says, connecting to her writing in ways they didn’t think they could.

On a broader level, Austen resonates with people even though our political structures are different from hers, says Wright, who received international coverage for an op-ed she wrote on Austen's political relevance today, “Alt-Right Jane Austen.” On a personal level, Wright explains that Austen “resonates because she’s both relatable and profound. She speaks to situations we recognize, like having a sister whom you’re really close with or not being able to suss out what a crush thinks about you. These are really relatable situations, but she takes them seriously. She’s not just sensationalizing it.”

When teaching Austen, Wright encourages students to look through various lenses at the elements that make her novels so complex. Although Austen published just four novels while she was alive—two more were published posthumously—her limited body of work still captures the dynamics that exist within a wide range of social classes and experiences. These experiences are what allow students to connect to her work. “She’s into exploring our everyday experiences and helping us think through: ‘What kind of person do I want to be in the world?’” Wright remarks.

In Wright’s course “Developments in the Novel,” she includes Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. In one scene, Elinor Dashwood, the eldest Dashwood sister, has a conversation with Colonel Brandon, a suitor of Elinor’s sister Marianne. Brandon mentions the sadness and loss when young people sacrifice their own ideas and originality for conformity, observing, “One is sorry to see them give way to the reception of more general opinions.” Wright uses moments like this to help students understand the importance of advocating for their own ideas.

Recalling a phrase from Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, which she encountered when she was a college student herself, Wright says, “One thing I really find important to my pedagogical strategy is that I don't think about education as ‘banking knowledge.’ I’m not dispensing information and then students store it in a bank and don’t question it. It’s about giving students a toolkit to decide how they’re going to operate out in the world. To be informed so that when they come across these ideas especially in this world of misinformation, they can be knowledgeable and they can come to the table with their own ideas.”

Publishing anonymously

Although today Austen’s novels—Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, Mansfield Park, Emma, Persuasion and Northanger Abbey—are widely read, she didn’t publish under her name during her lifetime. Wright explains that female authors were often viewed as scandalous. “If you published a novel as a female author, you had to seemingly disavow your authorship. During her lifetime, Jane Austen’s name was not emblazoned on the covers of her books; one novel was attributed to ‘A Lady,’ for example.” During Austen’s life, the literary canon was overwhelmingly male, and women who wrote instead of keeping to the domestic sphere were often seen as morally suspect.

Austen’s legacy exists partially because of the way she centers and distributes power to female protagonists, says Nicole Mansfield Wright. (Photo: actress Ella Bruccoleri as Mary Bennet in The Other Bennet Sister. BBC/Bad Wolf)

Today, that canon has expanded to include a broader range of writers and stories, and there are ongoing discussions about what works deserve recognition. “There’s this idea of scarcity; that there’s only a set amount of attention. If we give this attention to new authors, is it taking away from honoring the authors who have stood the test of time?” Wright asks. “I would retort something along the lines of ‘Why do we have to choose?’” Literature, she argues, continues to offer new ideas and important insights, especially for students who are learning how to engage with the world around them.

Despite Austen’s limited catalogue, Wright resists naming just one novel as important to read. Instead, she approaches them “in an apothecary way. There are different Austens I can prescribe based on what malady you have.” For students and those reading for pleasure, there are different novels that can speak to universal feelings, she says. “If you’re worried about not getting started in life right and it seems like everyone is moving ahead of you, [pick up] Persuasion. If you’re an awkward person and you feel like you’re an outlier from others and that you’re not valued, [read] Mansfield Park. If you just want a good laugh, [choose] Pride and Prejudice. There are definite advantages to choosing each; it’s hard to choose just one.”

Austen’s legacy exists partially because of the way she centers and distributes power to female protagonists, Wright says, adding that Austen’s novels importantly “sustain a dialectic—a debate—rather than settling it,” and allow characters to exist beyond categories such as good or bad. Wright explains that more broadly, “novels remind us that our individual choices cumulatively can operate for or against justice. They make us feel less helpless. I have had situations where I think back to what this character would do in this situation.”

For students and readers navigating their own uncertainties and decisions, Austen’s novels offer an enduring possibility—a way to see themselves in characters who, despite being written centuries ago, were also questioning their belonging, identity, and power.

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Top photo: A scene of the five Bennet sisters from The Other Bennet Sister (Photo: BBC/Bad Wolf)

¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 07 Apr 2026 16:10:13 +0000

¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba! Rachel Sauer Tue, 04/07/2026 - 10:10

Jared Bahir Browsh

With Speedy Gonzales set to make his triumphant return to the silver screen, the character’s redemption arc appears complete

“¡Ándale! ¡Ándale! ¡Arriba! ¡Arriba!”

Meaning “hurry up, let’s go,” the trademark slogan of Speedy Gonzales was, for generations of children, the first Spanish words they learned.

But by the 1980s, ABC had pulled his cartoons due to concerns that his dress, accent and characters like his cousin, Slowpoke Rodriguez, were insensitive toward Mexicans and Mexican Americans. The Cartoon Network followed suit in 1999.

Jared Bahir Browsh is the Critical Sports Studies program director in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

I’ve studied and written about the history of animation, including how characters have been received around the world. Though rooted in a well-intentioned effort at cultural sensitivity, taking Speedy Gonzales off the air was a step too far for many viewers. He was one of the few cartoon characters rooted in Mexican identity, and he’d become a cultural icon across all of Latin America. The ensuing uproar in the wake of his cancellation prompted the Cartoon Network to reinstate the cartoon mouse in 2002.

With Warner Bros. greenlighting a new Speedy Gonzales movie in January 2026, the character’s redemption arc appears complete.

A speedy rise to stardom

“The fastest mouse in all of Mexico” first appeared in the 1953 animated short “Cat-Tails for Two.”

He was redesigned with his iconic yellow sombrero and red kerchief when he starred in his eponymous 1955 film, which won the Oscar for Best Animated Short.

The short film features the general framework for future plots: Speedy helps members of his border community – a place inspired by Ciudad Juarez, just south of El Paso, Texas – evade the conniving Sylvester the Cat.

It opens with a town of starving mice looking longingly at the AJAX cheese factory through a fence establishing an “international border.” They try to determine who will try to outrun Sylvester, the factory’s guard. One of the mice says that his sister is friends with Speedy Gonzales. (Another pipes in that Speedy is friends with everybody’s sister, signaling Speedy as something of a Don Juan.) After they call on Speedy, he uses his speed and smarts to outrun and outwit Sylvester.

The basic premise also appears in a number of cartoons, from Tom and Jerry to Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote: An antagonist is consistently thwarted by a clever protagonist who avoids increasingly complicated traps and attempts at capture.

Speedy Gonzales is unique, though, in that he was the first cartoon star to be from a Latin American country.

In the 1940s, with the European and Asian markets cut off due to World War II, Disney had turned to the Latin American market. The studio produced “Saludos Amigos” in 1942 and “The Three Caballeros” in 1944 to abide by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Good Neighbor Policy, which aimed to leverage diplomacy, trade and cultural exchange to improve relations with Latin America.

Speedy ended up appearing in 45 theatrical shorts. In 1969, Warner Bros. shut down its animation studio, but the character lived on in Saturday morning cartoon anthologies like “The Bugs Bunny Show,” which repackaged older cartoons for younger audiences.

Animation’s racial reckoning

The Cartoon Network pulled Speedy Gonzales from the air at a time when networks and studios were starting to reassess animated characters from earlier eras.

Many early cartoon characters, including Mickey Mouse, had been modeled after blackface minstrel characters. Warner Bros.‘ first star, Bosko, was originally patented as “Negro Boy.”

With Warner Bros. greenlighting a new Speedy Gonzales movie in January 2026, the character’s redemption arc appears complete. (Illustration: Warner Bros.)

Since racist tropes were ubiquitous in early-20th-century animation, films and shorts like Disney’s “Dumbo,” “Mickey’s Mellerdrammer” or Warner Bros.’ “All This and Rabbit Stew” were either pulled, edited or updated to feature a content warning.

But after The Cartoon Network pulled Speedy Gonzales from the air in 1999, there was unexpected pushback from the Hispanic American community and the character’s Latin American fans. Groups like League of United Latin American Citizens, the oldest Hispanic civil rights organization in the United States, declared Speedy a cultural icon and requested that his cartoons return to the air.

Back when Speedy Gonzales was first introduced to audiences, Hollywood had been filming more movies in Mexico and at the U.S.-Mexico border. However, most of these films depicted Latinos as either incompetent or villains.

In this regard, Speedy represented something different. Though the character’s English speech and accent reflected stereotypes – and he was voiced by a white actor, Mel Blanc – the character was ultimately a clever, quick-witted and good-natured protagonist. And the Spanish dubbing of his cartoons in Latin America had removed the stereotypical accent altogether.

Let the people decide

The trajectory of Speedy Gonzales resembles that of another controversial cartoon character: Apu Nahasapeemapetilon from “The Simpsons.”

An Indian immigrant who earned his Ph.D. in computer science in his home country, Apu becomes the manager of a convenience store in the U.S.

Some critics viewed Apu’s depiction as problematic; voiced by a white actor, Hank Azaria, Apu’s exaggerated Indian-American accent and catchphrase – “Thank you, come again” – was routinely mimicked and mocked by viewers of the show. Others, however, saw Apu as the embodiment of the American Dream: He was intelligent, hardworking and morally grounded.

Cultural theorists like Jacques Derrida and Stuart Hall have written about the complexities of how audiences understand – and either resist or embrace – what they read and watch. They ultimately argue that viewers and readers often interpret media however they see fit, regardless of the creators’ intent. For example, many minority groups who are underrepresented or misrepresented in popular culture will nonetheless find their own meaning and inspiration in characters, even if those characters weren’t supposed to represent those groups in the first place.

This happened with “The Goofy Movie.” Some audiences went on to describe the 1995 film as Disney’s first “Black” animated feature, despite the fact that the characters’ race is never mentioned. There were hints, of course: Black R&B singer Tevin Campbell played the movie’s fictional pop star, Powerline, and the themes of fatherhood and generational tensions eerily echo those in the play “Fences,” written by Black playwright August Wilson.

Of course, in the case of a character like Speedy Gonzales, depictions can become more nuanced as cultural norms and sensitivities change. Jorge R. Gutiérrez is set to direct the animated feature. If his work on films like “The Book of Life” is any indication, he’ll be well-equipped to bring cultural awareness to the animated feature – even if Speedy continues to sport his big, floppy sombrero.

Jared Bahir Browsh is an assistant teaching professor of critical sports studies in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article

With Speedy Gonzales set to make his triumphant return to the silver screen, the character’s redemption arc appears complete.

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TikTok doesn’t change minds—it changes moods

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 23 Mar 2026 23:25:55 +0000

TikTok doesn’t change minds—it changes moods Rachel Sauer Mon, 03/23/2026 - 17:25

Bradley Worrell

New research from �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder political scientist Michelangelo Landgrave finds that watching political influencers on TikTok does not seem to influence young voters on the issues—but does leave them feeling sadder, angrier and more anxious

If you are over the age of 30, put aside those preconceived ideas that TikTok is just a website where teens and young adults watch 10-second videos of cute cats.

According to the Pew Research Center, about one in five U.S. adults now regularly gets their news from TikTok—and usage is highest among people under age 30. That shift prompted �鶹��Ѱ�� political scientist Michelangelo Landgrave to ask a simple but important question: What does consuming political content on TikTok actually do to young voters?

In a new study published in Political Studies Review, Landgrave and his co-authors found that while TikTok videos from political influencers don’t appear to change young voters’ positions on the issues, they do have an impact—making those viewers feel more negative emotional states, such as anxiety, anger and sadness.

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder political scientist Michelangelo Landgrave and his research colleagues found that while TikTok political influencers may not change minds, they do change moods.

Landgrave recently discussed the findings of his research paper with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine. His comments have been edited lightly for clarity and condensed.

Question: How does this latest study fit into your broader area of research?

Landgrave: I study American politics broadly, including institutions and political behavior. This paper is primarily a behavior study. It was inspired by earlier work examining how exposure to traditional news media—like Fox News and CNN—shapes political beliefs.

We started thinking that traditional media isn’t where many young people get their news anymore. Instead, they’re getting it from TikTok or similar short‑form video platforms like YouTube. It’s arguably the only type of media where the number of people getting news is actually increasing. Traditional media still has an audience, but it’s relatively stagnant and it skews older.

That led us to ask: Does this change in media format affect how people process political information?

Question: At the outset, were you surprised to learn how many younger Americans are getting their news from TikTok?

Landgrave: Somewhat. One of our co‑authors, Robert Anstett, was a student at the time, and we brought him onto the project explicitly because neither I nor the other senior co‑author, Abdelaziz Alsharawy (assistant professor at UT Health Houston School of Public Health), really used TikTok. We had a sense this was happening, but we weren’t firsthand users of TikTok.

We had read a Pew Research Center report noting that an increasing number of people get their news from TikTok, and both of us thought, ‘Isn’t that just a 5‑second clip? What can you really get from that?’

That skepticism helped motivate the study.

Question: When and where was this study conducted?

Landgrave: This study was conducted in 2023 at the University of Missouri while I was finishing my work there. Missouri turned out to be ideal because, while it’s a red state at the presidential level, the local student population was about evenly split—roughly 50% Democrat and 50% Republican. The experiment involved political science students who agreed to participate in the experiment.

Question: How did the experiment work?

Landgrave: At the start of the weeklong study, participants were randomly assigned—regardless of their political views—to one of three groups. One group watched Democratic‑leaning political videos, another watched Republican‑leaning videos, and the control group watched nonpolitical content—mostly animal videos.

We didn’t produce the videos ourselves. These were real TikTok videos that had been popular in the week leading up to the study.

"Because the videos are so short, influencers rely heavily on emotion rather than argument. Both Democratic and Republican videos leaned strongly on negative emotions—sadness, fear and anxiety," says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Michelangelo Landgrave.

Question: With political influencer content, did you notice any notable differences in who was producing the content by age, gender or race? What about the frequency of posts?

Landgrave: That surprised us. We expected differences but we didn’t find much. Age, gender and racial diversity were fairly balanced across political sides.

We did observe that Democratic‑leaning influencers produce more videos and tend to have more followers. Both are still dwarfed by nonpolitical content like animal videos, but there is a clear production imbalance. It’s unclear whether that’s due to the algorithm or differences in content creation. We can’t say for sure.

Question: Were there differences in the way Democratic and Republican influencers made their cases to TikTok viewers?

Landgrave: That was one of our most interesting findings. Because the videos are so short, influencers rely heavily on emotion rather than argument. Both Democratic and Republican videos leaned strongly on negative emotions—sadness, fear and anxiety.

Republican‑leaning videos tended to show more negative emotions like contempt and fear. That said, both sides relied heavily on negative emotions. Democratic-leaning videos were more likely to utilize anger. By contrast, traditional news often includes lighter or feel‑good stories, while animal videos found on TitkTok are, of course, just animals being animals.

Question: If the political videos on TikTok are less than a minute, it doesn’t seem like that’s enough time to properly address an issue in a substantive way?

Landgrave: Exactly. Even short television news segments usually provide some nuance and context. There’s a reason it takes 10, 20 or even 60 minutes to follow the news properly. With 5‑ or 10‑second clips, there’s very little room for nuance—you’re really only getting snippets.

Question: After the weeklong experiment, research subjects who watched these influencer videos showed no evidence of changing their opinions on political topics?

Landgrave: That’s correct. We didn’t find evidence that political attitudes changed—even after a full week of exposure. This is important because it wasn’t just one video; the algorithm adapts. Once someone starts watching a type of content, TikTok shows them more of it. So, effectively, we were altering their algorithm for a week—and still didn’t see attitude change.

It’s possible longer exposure—months or years—could matter, but at least over a week, we didn’t see a direct effect on political attitudes.

Question: But you did see emotional effects even at just one week?

Landgrave: Yes. While political attitudes didn’t change, emotional states did. After a week of political TikTok exposure—regardless of whether it was Democratic or Republican—participants reported feeling more sadness, anxiety and anger.

I went into this study fairly ambivalent, assuming concerns were probably overstated. But after seeing the results, I’m genuinely worried about the emotional effects on young people.

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Michelangelo Landgrave and his research colleagues found that after a week of political TikTok exposure—regardless of whether it was Democratic or Republican—participants reported feeling more sadness, anxiety and anger. (Photo: Kelly Sikkema/Unsplash)

Question: Do you believe there are possible policy implications here?

Landgrave: Speaking only as a private citizen, and not representing �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder’s position, I think there’s reason for concern—particularly regarding children and teenagers. While we didn’t find direct political effects, we did find emotional harm.

That suggests policymakers should consider stronger safeguards, whether that’s time limits, improved parental controls or other measures.

Question: Why do you think emotions changed but political attitudes didn’t?

Landgrave: That surprised me, too. We focused on young adults because their political views are still forming. If there were going to be an effect, we expected to see it there.

One possibility is that emotional effects accumulate faster than ideological change. I also wonder whether younger audiences—middle school or even elementary‑age children—might be more susceptible, though that research would require different expertise.

Question: Were your survey participants already using TikTok?

Landgrave: Almost all of them. Only about five participants had never used TikTok. Most already had accounts and varied only in how much they used it. Our intervention didn’t replace their normal viewing—it nudged the algorithm by requiring them to watch specific videos daily.

Question: How confident are you that TikTok itself caused the negative emotional effects, rather than outside life stress?

Landgrave: Because it was an experimental study with random assignment, we’re confident we controlled for most external factors. That said, I’d love to explore conditional effects—whether the impact is stronger for heavy users, rural populations or people with fewer entertainment alternatives.

Question: Do you believe this is a subject area worthy of more exploration, possibly on what longer-term exposure to TikTok might mean for mental health outlook? And maybe whether political influencers have a greater influence over a longer-term period?

Landgrave: Long‑term experimental studies would be very difficult, but observational work is possible. As a researcher—and as a teacher—I’m increasingly concerned about the mental health effects (of social media) on younger people. I see students who seem almost addicted to these platforms, and I worry about my nieces and nephews too.

I want to be clear: This is speculative, but I can imagine an indirect effect over time. Years of exposure to emotionally negative content could potentially radicalize people or increase tolerance for extreme behavior. Our study can’t prove that, but it raises important questions.

Question: If you do more research on this particular subject, what might that look like?

Landgrave: We want to use eye‑tracking technology—glasses that track where people are actually looking. That would help us understand whether viewers are focused on the speaker, the text or even the video at all. Future studies might also involve controlled lab settings to see whether focused attention changes outcomes.

Question: Have you received feedback from other researchers on your published work regarding TikTok influencers?

Landgrave: Yes. Colleagues have reached out, including researchers studying similar effects internationally. This may not be a uniquely American issue—it could be global.

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Film builds science into beaver tales

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 09 Mar 2026 16:46:49 +0000

Film builds science into beaver tales Rachel Sauer Mon, 03/09/2026 - 10:46

Rachel Sauer

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder alumna Emily Fairfax shared her scientific expertise as the beaver consultant on the new Pixar film Hoppers

Emily Fairfax came home one evening from her job as a weapons engineer at Los Alamos National Laboratory feeling a bit sad. Yes, she was using her degrees in chemistry and physics, but the work just wasn’t a good fit for her.

She sat on the couch and turned on the TV, happening across an episode of Nature on PBS called “Leave it to Beavers.”

“I was so hooked,” recalls Fairfax (PhDGeol’19). “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There were all these aerial images of beaver wetlands in places like the Nevada desert, which was amazing and I couldn’t get it out of my head. So, I thought, ‘I’ve got to go to grad school and study beavers.’”

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder alumnus Emily Fairfax (PhDGeol’19) was the scientific beaver consultant for the new Pixar film Hoppers. (Photo: Emily Fairfax)

Fast forward to the evening of Feb. 23 on the red carpet outside the El Capitan Theatre in Hollywood, California. There, wearing a beautiful teal and black dress with a lace and sequin overlay—and having received glam tips from her grad students—Fairfax posed for photographers in front of a yellow screen bearing the images of animated beavers she’d helped bring to life.

Fairfax, whose “a-ha beavers!” moment led her to the �鶹��Ѱ�� Department of Geological Sciences, was the scientific beaver consultant for the acclaimed new Pixar film Hoppers, which opened nationwide Friday.

The story of an animal-loving college student whose mind is transferred into a robotic beaver so she can help save a pristine glade from being paved for a freeway, Hoppers highlights a keystone species in a scientifically accurate way that is, frankly, adorable.

“People need to know that they’re a keystone species,” says Fairfax, who signed on to the film project with the assurance that this point would be emphasized. “When you lose the beaver, you lose the ecosystem, and I think (Pixar filmmakers) made that crystal clear.

“The other point that I really wanted to be in the film is that beavers are not just off in national parks. You can have beavers living in cities, living adjacent to cities, and we can coexist with them to our benefit, not just the benefit of the beaver. I wanted to highlight the idea that protecting beavers and habitats isn’t just about protecting nature out of the goodness of our hearts; we benefit greatly.”

The force of a glacier

Long before her pivot from Los Alamos to �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, Fairfax, who now is an assistant professor of geography, environment and society at the University of Minnesota, was a Girl Scout in a troop that took its role as stewards of the natural world very seriously.

“We learned the basic principles of ‘Leave No Trace’ very early on, but then our troop leaders took it a step further,” she wrote on her personal website. “They urged us to put in that little bit of extra effort and leave things better than we found them. When we went camping this usually panned out as picking up trash off of trails, but the sentiment stuck with me. If everyone strives to leave things better than they started—even if only by a little bit—then the overall state of things will consistently improve.”

It’s a sentiment that dovetailed neatly with her graduate work at �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder, where she studied beavers through the lens of ecohydrology, combining remote sensing, modeling and field work to understand how beaver damming changes the landscape and the timescales on which that change happens.

“I’m at heart a water scientist—how fast it’s moving, if it’s being slowed or stored or just blasting downstream superfast,” Fairfax says. “I care about the shape of rivers as a geomorphologist, and I’m very hyper-focused on how one specific animal controls water or the shape of water.”

Her first Colorado field site was in Lefthand Canyon west of Boulder—where, if you drive slowly and look closely, it’s possible to see an 11-foot-tall beaver dam from the road—and her dissertation research was inspired by “Leave It to Beavers”: “In the documentary, they were interviewing hydrologists and geomorphologists, who kept bringing up how beaver wetlands in these areas are the only things staying green during droughts.

Emily Fairfax takes measurements of a beaver dam in Lefthand Canyon west of Boulder. (Photo: Emily Fairfax)

“I get that beavers can seem really chaotic—they don’t draw any blueprints, they don’t pull permits, they don’t let anybody know what they’re going to do before they do it. But beavers are second only to us, humans, in terms of animals that can change the physical earth. They’ve been damming for at least 7.5 million years, maybe as long as 25 million years, so thinking about beavers as this geological force is really intellectually exciting—this rodent in my yard carries the force of a glacier.”

Inquiry from Pixar

Two years after earning her PhD and joining the California State University Channel Islands faculty, where she worked before joining the University of Minnesota faculty in 2023, Fairfax presented a Zoom webinar about beavers and drought in California that several Pixar employees attended. “I thought, ‘OK, cool, they have a right to be interested in what’s going on in their state,’” she remembers. Several months later, she received an email with the subject line “Inquiry from Pixar” and thought it was a prank.

Nope: It was legitimate.

Pixar filmmakers wanted her to give a presentation to studio staff about beavers, which she did. It turns out that Pixar was making a film about them, and after signing reams of non-disclosure agreements and securing a promise that the filmmakers wouldn’t even think about having the beaver characters eat fish—because beavers do not eat fish—Fairfax was officially the Hoppers beaver consultant.

At first, Fairfax answered a lot of basic questions about beaver behaviors, ecology, what they can and can’t do, how long they live, their family units, their size and why their teeth are orange. Then the questions started getting more specific: What other animals would you see in a beaver wetland? How do beavers get along with humans? If someone tried to build a road by a beaver wetland, how would beavers react? She brought a group of Pixar filmmakers to Lefthand Canyon for a week of beaver observation, which yielded even more questions.

“At every step along the way, they were turning seemingly disconnected beaver facts into scenes,” Fairfax says. For example, as with humans, beavers’ tailbones tuck under, allowing them to sit on their tails like little chairs. So, the scene in Hoppers in which the real beaver George sits on his tail is accurate, and the fact that the character Mabel sits with her tail outstretched is a clue that she’s not a real beaver.

The dam-building sequence in Hoppers is also scientifically accurate: “A lot of people don’t know how beavers build dams,” Fairfax explains. "It can be very sudden, and they will often use relatively large cobbles and stones to start, which they put along the base of their dams. Then they’ll put on some sticks and then pack it with mud. Everyone thinks they pat the mud on with their tails, but they actually use their paws. So, the sequence in the film where you see these super buff beavers lifting up stones and rolling them down, then you see other beavers waddling in carrying mud and patting it down, that actually shows the real sequence of dam building.”

Among the questions that Pixar filmmakers asked scientist Emily Fairfax was how beavers relate to and get along with other animals in the areas where they live. (Photo: Disney/Pixar)

Throughout the filmmaking process, Fairfax received scenes to review, so the accurately rotund beavers in the film are her doing. “The very first time I saw one of the (film) beavers, I told them it was too skinny. Beavers are shaped like a bowling ball, so when I saw it again it was a little fatter, and then I saw it again and it was a little fatter. Finally, people with Pixar were like, ‘If it’s sitting on its tail, it needs more rolls’ and ‘It should be jiggling more when it’s running.’ I was like, ‘Oh my god, this is adorable.’ They’re like big, fuzzy bowling balls, and I’m collecting all the little plushies.”

Science and storytelling

Through the process, Fairfax says, the filmmakers balanced storytelling and science. There were times when total accuracy had to concede a little to the story, “but they always asked me, ‘Is this realistic enough? Is it going to hurt beavers, is it going to hurt climate change work if we do it this way?’ They were always really good about asking me how much certain things mattered, because they are people trying to create a compelling narrative, but they also wanted to respect the science.”

(And speaking of respecting the science—and scientist—the full name of the film character Dr. Sam is Dr. Samatha Emily Fairfax.)

Fairfax’s work on the film was also a matter of balancing the often solitary, generally unglamorous work of science with the razzle-dazzle of Hollywood. She jokes that she considered wearing her waders to the Hollywood premiere, but her grad students stepped in with hair and makeup tips. And then she was on the red carpet with A-list stars like Jon Hamm, then inside the ornate theater watching the velvet curtain rise on her research via Hollywood movie magic.

“It was just so surreal,” she says. “I’d seen the movie many times before that, but it was so real in that moment, packed into this theater, all the voice actors there, and immediately I’m crying. In many ways, it felt like there was a lot of myself on that screen, and seeing people’s reactions to it felt like seeing reactions to my research.

“Trying to translate what I know in a way that’s relevant to artists was not a normal part of my job, and it felt very high risk at first because what if people don’t like the movie and it sets beavers back? Beavers are still coming back from the fur trade, plus we have the rising challenge of climate change, so it felt risky. But it’s a beautiful movie and people seem to love it, so that makes me feel very hopeful about how science and storytelling can benefit all species.”

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�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder alumna Emily Fairfax shared her scientific expertise as the beaver consultant on the new Pixar film Hoppers.

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The real Regency: What history says about Bridgerton

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 24 Feb 2026 15:18:56 +0000

The real Regency: What history says about Bridgerton Rachel Sauer Tue, 02/24/2026 - 08:18

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright notes that Bridgerton demonstrates how fantasy can illuminate real history

With part two of Bridgerton’s fourth season arriving on Netflix this week, fans are once again swooning over romantic duels, dramatic ballroom vistas and whispered scandals.

But beneath the spectacle, many viewers wonder how much of the world on-screen comes from real history and how much is dressed up in empire waistlines for our streaming pleasure?

For Nicole Mansfield Wright, an associate professor of English at the �鶹��Ѱ��, that question is more than an idle inquiry. A scholar of British literature from the “long 18th century” (roughly 1688 to the 1830s), she specializes in understanding how literature and other imaginative media can help people either reinforce or question their beliefs about society.

Nicole Mansfield Wright, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder associate professor of English, is the author of Defending Privilege: Rights, Status, and Legal Peril in the British Novel.

Her verdict on Bridgerton?

“Bridgerton is a ‘Disney-fied’ version of history. Historical accuracy isn’t the point of the show—it’s escapist by design. Yet, its packaging as an escapist diversion makes its moments of tacit political critique all the more potent,” Wright says.

The real Regency

The British Regency era in which Bridgerton is set was a time of both grandeur and unrest.

“For Britain, the Regency period was an era of rejuvenation: the Prince Regent took the place of his father, King George III, who was no longer fit to govern,” Wright explains. “Great Britain was ascendant after Napoleon was vanquished. With its military might, it continued to expand its empire as a world power.”

However, it also was a time of deep inequality.

“Much like today, there was increasing resentment over inequality. The most elevated members of society reveled in opulence and conspicuous consumption, which was made possible by the desperate poverty and deprivation of rights for others,” Wright says.

Pressure for reform was growing. Labor movements gained traction. Most concerning, although the transatlantic slave trade had been abolished in 1808, was slavery’s persistence in the British colonies.

What the show gets right

Bridgerton’s aim isn’t to capture gritty realism, but within its stylized depiction of the Regency era, it occasionally lands close to emotional truths about the period.

“Some of the portrayals of gender dynamics are among the most faithful elements of the series,” Wright says.

She points to a moment when Lady Featherington and her daughters wait in silence for suitors who never come. (When some young men finally arrive, they are calling on the girls’ cousin instead.)

“In its representations of race, the series indulges in fantasy. At a time when diversity is decried as ‘woke’ and the numbers of students of color are plummeting at some colleges, Bridgerton dares to persist in envisioning a thoroughly integrated world,” says Nicole Mansfield Wright, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder associate professor of English. (Photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix)

“The bright chatter that pervades the rest of the episode lapses into heavy silence; and the composition of the shots seems cramped and restrictive, as opposed to the joyous ballroom panoramas from earlier in the episode,” Wright notes.

“At such points, the series suggests, the mothers’ concern is not trivial. The mothers want the best for their daughters. Marrying well—or marrying at all—could mean the difference between comfort and constant struggle.”

Even seemingly small moments, like when a young woman is told to stop reading because it will “confuse your thoughts,” have historic precedent.

“It reflects actual 18th-century hostility to women’s supposed susceptibility to being misled by fiction,” Wright adds.

But what about the fashion?

Bridgerton has been praised for its stunning on-screen visuals and lavish costumes. Wright says that, although most of the colors and costumes are chosen for their “pop” on screen, and a number of styles are taken from other eras, some elements are faithful to Regency history.

“Some looks, including empire waists, align more with the styles of the era.”

The fantasy behind Bridgerton’s world

The show’s multiracial aristocracy, egalitarian romances and modern slang might be a far cry from what history buffs hope for in a period piece. However, Wright sees them as deliberate choices that add meaning to the story being told.

“In its representations of race, the series indulges in fantasy,” she says. “At a time when diversity is decried as ‘woke’ and the numbers of students of color are plummeting at some colleges, Bridgerton dares to persist in envisioning a thoroughly integrated world.”

She points to how the show “defamiliarizes” issues of race and often gender. In presenting them this way, it allows viewers to think more critically by decoupling them from today’s headlines.

“The first season of Bridgerton aired in 2021, at the dawn of a different federal administration. For the primary demographic the show reaches—young women—the national mood was hopeful,” Wright says.

“Now, watching the show feels different in an era when Black history is being erased and the lives of people of color are at risk.”

“I’m in favor of showcasing history and literature via pop culture. To make a case for why our research matters, a key step is convincing non-academic audiences to care about our research and the history.”” says �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright. (Photo: Liam Daniel/Netflix)

In this light, Bridgerton’s cultural impact isn’t thanks to perfect authenticity. Rather, mingling with the show’s entertainment value is an imagining of the kind of harmonious world that could have existed at the time and, albeit with much fewer corsets, still could today.

Pop culture as a gateway to scholarship

Despite its liberties with historical accuracy, Wright believes Bridgerton and other popular period dramas can serve as important entry points to a deeper understanding of history.

“I’m in favor of showcasing history and literature via pop culture,” she says. “To make a case for why our research matters, a key step is convincing non-academic audiences to care about our research and the history.”

She’s not alone in this belief.

“Bridgerton can be a gateway for students to become more interested in historical scholarship. I just heard this yesterday when I attended a webinar on ‘Teaching the 18th-Century Beyond the Academy’ by the American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies,” she says.

Scholars at the event shared how even loosely accurate portrayals like Bridgerton can open doors for rich classroom discussions. In modern academia, where curriculum cuts and attacks on the humanities are becoming more common, those conversations matter more than ever.

Stories still untold

When asked if she could suggest a future Bridgerton subplot, Wright’s mind didn’t venture to more galas or scandalous letters. She’d like the show to dig into one of the Regency’s darker truths: military impressment, which had ramped up from earlier times.

“This was a violent Regency-era military recruitment method. Men were ‘pressed’ into service, or forced to join the British Royal Navy, through physical attacks and intimidation,” she says. “Focusing on impressment would be a good way to explore more intensively the valuation of self-determination vs. the (supposed) greater good that’s at play even in some of Bridgerton’s frothier storylines.

“As a bonus, seafaring vignettes would be a refreshing change of scene and would furnish some large-scale vistas of the kind that make the show a feast for the eye.”

As Wright sees it, whether in Bridgerton’s ballrooms or a future epic on the high seas, popular storytelling doesn’t have to choose between fantasy and critique. In fact, when done well, she says, the fantasy itself can be the critique.

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�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder scholar Nicole Mansfield Wright notes that Bridgerton demonstrates how fantasy can illuminate real history.

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Film addresses the dark side of aging

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 27 Jan 2026 22:39:05 +0000

Film addresses the dark side of aging Rachel Sauer Tue, 01/27/2026 - 15:39

Megan Clancy

�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder sociologist Laura Patterson makes screenwriting debut with short horror film “Silent Generation”

Laura Patterson of the �鶹��Ѱ�� Department of Sociology does a lot in her field, teaching courses in research methods and environmental sociology. She also teaches about the sociology of horror in courses such as Gender, Race, and Chainsaws and co-hosts the podcast “Collective Nightmares,” which examines the sociological implications of horror films.

Now she’s added screenwriter to her resume. After years of development, writing and filming, Patterson recently completed an eight-festival circuit, including the Denver Film Festival in late 2025, showing her new film, “Silent Generation.”

Laura Patterson, a �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder assistant teaching professor of sociology, screened her short horror film "Silent Generation" at the recent Denver Film Festival.

“I think one of the things that horror can do well is make us look at the stuff that we don’t want to look at,” says Patterson.

“Silent Generation” is an eight-minute horror film that explores the dark side of aging and isolation. It follows an octogenarian as he goes about his day alone at home, watching TV and doing the laundry—a perfectly mundane task that turns bloody. And the inspiration for the film’s gruesome moment is rooted in a true story.

“It happened to my grandma, but she wasn’t living alone. My grandpa was there and my grandma was downstairs doing laundry,” Patterson recalls. “She calls to my grandpa and says, ‘Eddie, bring down the scissors.’ And so he brought the scissors down and she had got her hand stuck in the wringer washing machine, and it tore the top of her finger off. And she wanted him to just cut it off—which he wasn’t going to do. He took her to the emergency room, and they fixed things.”

But this incident got Patterson thinking about what would have happened if nobody else had been there. Thus, the idea for “Silent Generation” took hold.

“It stood out to me as a really important moment in life. The time when you notice that the people who were your caregivers now need care. And just the thin thread connecting older people to the rest of society, and how needed that connection is, because when that gets cut off there’s real danger just in the house where people are living,” says Patterson. “And you realize things that used to be normal become a threat.”

The idea stayed with Patterson for years, but she struggled to piece together how to make it into a movie.

“Since it is so short, writing the screenplay was not a big undertaking, because I kind of had the vision. But then to actually figure out how to make it, I just tried to take off like one piece at a time.”

One of the most difficult parts of creating the film, Patterson says, was actually finding the machine that would be centered in the climactic scene. The search took over a year. She eventually found the dated appliance in the 1,500-washing-machine collection of retired CSU professor, Lee Maxwell, who had curated the warehouse full of machines to represent the story of women’s liberation.

Laura Patterson's eight-minute horror film "Silent Generation" explores the dark side of aging and isolation.

Sitting with discomfort

To produce the film, Patterson connected with director Francisco Solorzano, producer Kenny Shults and cinematographer Kesten Migdal.

“They knew how to take this idea and put it onscreen. And they were amazing. Frank knew how to shoot the things and what sort of emotional tone I wanted. They knew how to actually evoke it on screen,” says Patterson. “Frank was really able to bring out the loneliness of the whole script. He was great at thinking about the timing and the way it was shot. Just to let you as an audience member really sit in that was very much something that I think he pulled out or leaned into very well.”

When it came to casting, Patterson turned to Leo Smith, the father of her podcast co-host, who readily agreed to be the film’s sole actor. Smith was making his film debut at 90 years old.

“He’d never acted before in a film, but he was excited about doing this project and kind of commenting on mortality. And this was just his house, and his laundry. We brought in the ringer washing machine, but otherwise, he just did what he does.”

Patterson sees her film as making an important comment on the peril that comes in the solitary life of a stoic generation.

“I wanted to make a film that would have a positive social impact,” she says. “The line on the poster for the film says, ‘When was the last time you called?’ I’ve gotten a lot of feedback from audiences. First you see people cringing when they’re watching the film. And then it’s kind of nice, because it seems to be accomplishing what we wanted it to accomplish. Afterward, they’re like, ‘I need to call my, you know,’ fill in the blank.

“We can all think of people—especially of that generation—that that sort of resonates with,” Patterson adds. “So, there's been a lot of audience discussion around that, and around this sort of generational divide between then and now.”

Patterson aimed to make audiences sit with the discomfort.

“It's like, no, this isn’t pleasant,” says Patterson. “But it’s even worse if you don’t look, because then this person’s sitting alone having to navigate this.”

As for whether she has another film in the works, Patterson says she’s unsure.

“I think the pieces came together so well for this to happen. And I had wanted to do it for so long, in part to inform the other things I do. I think it makes sense to have some idea what it’s like to be on the other side of the camera and just understand what that process feels like. I have a lot of film students who come into my class. Now I can have a little bit of a connection point with them, having gone through this experience.”

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�鶹��Ѱ��Boulder sociologist Laura Patterson makes screenwriting debut with short horror film “Silent Generation."

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Why a boy and his tiger still matter

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 18 Dec 2025 18:44:15 +0000

Why a boy and his tiger still matter Rachel Sauer Thu, 12/18/2025 - 11:44

Bradley Worrell

Calvin and Hobbes, Bill Watterson’s beloved comic strip, ended three decades ago this month, yet its magic endures, says William Kuskin, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder English professor and expert on comics and graphic novels

When teaching his popular course on comic books and graphic novels, William Kuskin’s classroom represents a microcosm of the university, where engineering majors sit alongside business students and aspiring writers.

In that mix, the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes, which debuted in November 1985, sparks an enthusiasm across students—even though the comic strip ended its syndicated run in December 1995, before most of those students were born, says Kuskin, a �鶹��Ѱ�� Department of English professor and department chair.

“Students will march down at the end of class and gush about Calvin and Hobbes,” he says. “It’s not just nostalgia; there’s an ongoing love for it in this generation.”

William Kuskin, �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder department chair and professor of English, teaches a course on comics and graphic novels that draws students from disciplines across the university.

That love often comes with a personal twist.

“A lot of dads and kids sat around reading comics together,” Kuskin explains. “Students tell me this course brings them closer to their dads. There’s a comic culture out there that spans generations.”

While no new Calvin and Hobbes comic strips have been produced since 1995, author Bill Watterson authorized the publication of 18 books between 1987 and 2005 that reprinted comic strips from various years. In honor of the publication of the three-volume The Complete Calvin and Hobbes in 2005, re-runs of comic strip were made available to newspapers from Sept. 4, 2005, to Dec. 31, 2005.

Kuskin says the beloved comic strip is not just a relic of the bygone newspaper era—it’s a shared language of humor and imagination between generations.

Describing Calvin and Hobbes to a newcomer

How does one describe what Calvin and Hobbes is about to the uninitiated?

Kuskin says the task is not as easy as it sounds, because the comic transcends its characters. On one level, it’s about Calvin, a mischievous 6-year-old boy who enjoys undertaking adventures with his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, who seemingly comes to life with biting humor when alone with Calvin. Beyond that, Kuskin says, it’s about the endless possibility of childhood, served up with doses of humor, philosophy and whimsy.

He identifies two endearing qualities that he says gives the comic strip its remarkable staying power. The first is its balance of cynicism and sentimentality.

“Calvin and Hobbes critiques the world but ends with love and warmth,” he says. “As cruel as the outside world is, they still have time for a hug. Our world needs that—maybe now more than ever.”

Kuskin says Watterson’s work reminds its audience that skepticism doesn’t have to cancel tenderness. He notes that Calvin’s sharp observations about consumerism or dreary school regimen coexist with moments of pure joy—snowball fights, sled rides and bedtime musings.

Calvin and Hobbes invites readers to slow down, to imagine, to laugh—and perhaps to question what really matters, Kuskin says.

“Our culture promotes avarice and excess over happiness and personal expression,” he says, quoting Watterson: ‘To invent your own life’s meaning is not easy, but it’s still allowed, and I think you’ll be happier for the trouble.’”

Kuskin says the second appeal of Calvin and Hobbes results from the comic strip’s role as a portal to the imagination.

“Hobbes himself is a gateway,” he says of Calvin’s stuffed tiger. “He’s both real and imaginary. That ambiguity invites readers to participate in the magic.”

The Exploring Calvin and Hobbes exhibit will be open to the public through Dec. 31 at the Fenimore Art Museum in New York City. (Screengrab: Fenimore Art Museum)

From cardboard-box “transmogrifiers” to intergalactic daydreams, Kuskin says the comic strip celebrates childhood imagination. Hobbes—neither fully stuffed nor fully alive—embodies that space where fantasy and reality blur, Kuskin says.

Comics as high art

Kuskin says the recent Calvin and Hobbes exhibition at the Fenimore Art Museum in New York underscores the comic strip’s artistic stature, which he sees as part of a broader movement to elevate comics.

“Comics have a fundamental tension,” he explains. “They don’t belong comfortably to any one discipline. They’re literature, but they’re also visual art. And they’re tied to franchise culture.”

That tension creates a spectrum—from mass-market superhero films to avant-garde graphic novels. Watterson, like Art Spiegelman (author of Maus), staked out the high-art end of that spectrum, resisting the strong pull of merchandising, Kuskin says.

“He stood by his principles. He made his art. It’s beautiful and lasting,” he adds. “There are many ways to make comics, but Watterson’s way—purity of vision, resistance to exploitation—defines a kind of artistic practice that’s very beautiful.”

Art over commerce: Watterson’s high road

Unlike many cartoonists who embraced merchandising, Watterson famously resisted commercialization. Thus, no Hobbes plush toys and no animated specials. Kuskin sees that as a principled stand.

“Watterson fought hard for artistic control,” he says. “He framed his work as art, connecting back to early innovators like George Herriman (Krazy Kat) and Winsor McCay (Little Nemo). Comics often straddle art and commerce—Watterson pushed toward high art.”

That decision was not without cost. While Peanuts became a multimedia empire—complete with beloved TV specials—Calvin and Hobbes remained confined to the printed page. That purity may be why the strip feels timeless rather than dated, Kuskin says.

“Would the world have been better for a few more Hobbes stuffed animals snuggled in at night?” he muses. “Watterson thought not. He believed the work should speak for itself.”

The cultural company Calvin and Hobbes keeps

Will �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder students still be talking about Calvin and Hobbes in another 10 years?

“Calvin and Hobbes critiques the world but ends with love and warmth,” he says. “As cruel as the outside world is, they still have time for a hug. Our world needs that—maybe now more than ever.”

Kuskin doesn’t hesitate in his response: “Absolutely. Parents and grandparents will keep sharing it. And it’s entered that rare cultural space—like Spider-Man, Batman or even Marilyn Monroe. It’s iconic.”

That “iconic space” includes other comic strips that transcended their medium: Peanuts, Krazy Kat and Little Nemo. Like them, Kuskin says, Calvin and Hobbes combines accessibility with depth—simple enough for children but layered enough to be appreciated by adults.

“The best comics have always transcended age,” he says. “They’re not just for kids. They explore fantasy, philosophy—even avant-garde art.”

And while Calvin and Hobbes often gets mentioned in the same breath as Peanuts, Kuskin says featuring cute kids and animals is not a prerequisite for a comic strip having enduring appeal.

“Will Dilbert ever go away? I can’t imagine—it nails corporate life,” he says.

Endings as beginnings

For Kuskin, Watterson’s final comic strip—with Calvin and Hobbes sledding into a snowy landscape—is a farewell, but also a reminder that imagination is infinite.

“It’s about endings as beginnings,” he explains. “The snow becomes a metaphor for possibility. Watterson’s goodbye is a clean start—not an end.”

The dialogue is simple: “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, old buddy … let’s go exploring.” But Kuskin says its resonance in the comic panels is profound: the blank whiteness of snow mirrors the blank page—a canvas for imagination.

“The snow looks like snow because we invent it as snow in our imagination,” he says. “That’s the genius of Watterson—he makes us co-creators.”

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Streaming killed the video star

Kylie Clarke — Wed, 03 Dec 2025 00:12:02 +0000

Streaming killed the video star Kylie Clarke Tue, 12/02/2025 - 17:12

Jared Bahir Browsh

Once a cultural phenomenon, MTV ends five music channels in the UK; viewership in the U.S. continues its downward slide

When MTV announced earlier this year that it would be shutting down music channels at the end of 2025, the reaction was nearly unanimous: MTV still plays music?

The digital networks—MTV Music, MTV 80s, MTV 90s, Club MTV and MTV Live— will shut down in the United Kingdom, Ireland and several other countries in Europe. In the United States, MTV’s secondary networks—MTV2, MTV Live, MTV Classic and MTVU—will continue operating for now despite declining viewership and being carried through cable.

The changes are evidence of both the global reach MTV had at its peak and the significant changes that have occurred in television, especially over the last decade as the rise of streaming and cord cutting has led to a dramatic decline in cable and linear viewing.

Jared Bahir Browsh is the Critical Sports Studies program director in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

Music programming has been a part of television since the 1930s, when radio broadcasters transitioned to the visual medium and many of the early experimental broadcasts in the United States and Europe featured live musical performances. As television matured following World War II, music continued to be an integral part of its growth with variety programs like The Ed Sullivan Show, which debuted as Toast of the Town in 1948, and American Bandstand, which debuted as a local program in Philadelphia in 1952 featuring top musical acts.

These shows not only brought musical acts into people’s homes but were one of the few opportunities for African Americans to be seen on the quickly growing medium. The Ethel Waters Show, a variety special that aired on NBC in New York City in 1939, was the first television show to be hosted by an African American. Later, as television spread, Nat “King” Cole hosted his own show, which aired nationally beginning in 1956, but struggled to gain a permanent sponsor in its 13 months on air, causing Cole to comment “Madison Avenue is afraid of the dark.” In spite of this type of prejudice, Ed Sullivan and American Bandstand regularly featured Black artists in the 1940s and 1950s before Brown v. Board of Education overturned segregation in schools.

Musicals before videos

Short musical movies are as old as sound films, with series like Silly Symphonies debuting in 1929 and featuring animation produced around classical music. Warner Bros. followed Disney’s lead with Looney Tunes in 1930 and Merrie Melodies in 1931, featuring music from the Warner Bros. catalog. In 1929, RCA produced the short film Black and Tanwith Duke Ellington and His Orchestra, set in New York City during the Harlem Renaissance. In the 1930s, Paramount produced a series of short films featuring Cab Calloway and His Orchestra, offering visuals as a companion to his music.

In 1964, Top of the Pops debuted on the BBC, airing interviews, live performances and music news based on weekly record charts. The program also featured pre-taped music videos, then known as promotional films, when artists could not perform in the studio live. The Beatles’ film A Hard Day’s Night was also released in 1964, accompanied by the album of the same name and functioning as a promotional vehicle for the band and its music. Inspired by the Beatles’ film, “The Monkees” TV show debuted on NBC in 1966 with a made-for-TV band and their music at the center of the series. In animation, Saturday morning producers took a cue from the popularity of The Monkees with young viewers and made series like “The Archie Show” and “Josie and the Pussycats” following the same model. The fictional band The Archies even scored a No. 1 hit with “Sugar, Sugar.”

In the United States, Ed Sullivan ended his run on television in 1971 and the following year NBC’s “The Midnight Special” and ABC’s “In Concert" debuted, featuring filmed live performances and the occasional music video.

Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody is often recognized as a turning point in music videos. Released on “Top of the Pops” in 1975, the video’s production value and popularity led to a new age of music video production and to music videos becoming a vital tool to promote singles.

Throughout the 1970s, dedicated music video programs, including Australia’s “Countdown” and “Sounds,” aired more frequently. In the United States, cable television was quickly expanding and USA Network/Showtime’s Video Concert Hall, which debuted in 1978, featured music videos. In 1980, Pop Clips aired as a weekly show on Nickelodeon, produced by former Monkees member and music video pioneer Michael Nesmith.

Nickelodeon, the first children’s cable network, had been launched the previous year, in April 1979, by Warner Cable Communications; American Express purchased 50% of Warner Cable Corp. in September of that year. Soon after, Warner-Amex began to develop a network to attract the underserved teenage audience. Seeing music as a way to connect with the demographic, the company was originally going to purchase and expand Pop Clips, but instead developed its own Music Television network.

MTV launched on Aug. 1, 1981, and fittingly, The Buggles’ “Video Killed the Radio Star” was the first video played on the new network. The new network’s impact on the music industry was nearly immediate, as bands with little radio play like The Human League and Men at Work saw a significant uptick in record sales. It also kicked off the Second British Invasion, as the music video format was featured for years on British television. As U.S. acts scrambled to leverage the format, music videos imported from Britain by bands like The Police filled the MTV schedule.

In spite of the demonstrable cultural impact of MTV, the network still faced challenges from the limited proliferation of cable and the unwillingness of cable companies to carry the station due to concerns over the long-term viability of the network. After negotiations with cable operators resulted in little progress, MTV decided to go directly to the consumer. The “I want my MTV” campaign featured famous musical stars like Mick Jagger and David Bowie to promote the network and persuade television viewers to call their cable providers and pressure them to pick up MTV.

Controversial MTV

MTV’s rise in the early 1980s was not without controversy. Black artists were rarely seen on the channel, a fact Bowie raised in a 1983 interview on the network. Programmers for MTV said that the channel’s rock focus and fears of alienating fans in middle America prevented Black artists from being placed in heavy rotation. When Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” was rejected by MTV, the president of his label, CBS Records, threatened to pull all of the label’s artists from the network. MTV relented and the video debuted on March 10, 1983. Boosted by the music videos for “Billie Jean,” “Beat It,” and especially the title track “Thriller,” the album went on to become the highest selling record of all time. The popularity of Jackson’s videos helped him to become the “King of Pop.” The music video for the title track of Jackson’s next album, “Bad” premiered in primetime on CBS, and the premiere for the video for “Remember the Time” was simulcast on multiple networks including ABC, NBC and MTV.

The following year was a turning point for the network. On the business side, Warner spun off Nickelodeon and MTV into their own company, MTV Networks, later buying Amex’s stake in the company and then turning around and selling all of MTV Networks to Viacom, completing the deal in 1986. Several new programs and special events also debuted on the network in 1984, including the MTV Music Video Awards, the Top 20 Countdown and the WWE event The Brawl to End It All, the first live wrestling event on cable. Cyndi Lauper featured wrestler Captain Lou Albano in her 1983 video for “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” leading to a WWE storyline featuring the pop star and cross-marketing that benefitted both MTV and the WWE.

MTV’s influence spread quickly throughout the 1980s, influencing other media while earning criticism for its effect on the music industry. Shows like Miami Vice introduced the aesthetics and music of MTV into scripted television. On the other hand, MTV was also criticized for leading the music industry to focus more on the visual appeal of artists than their music.

The Cable Communications Policy Act of 1984 helped remove regulations that were slowing cable’s growth, leading to further expansion of MTV and other cable networks into new markets. Throughout the 1980s, the network continued to expand its original programming, moving away from the radio-style format hosted by its video jockeys, or VJs. This included more genre-specific shows like Headbangers Ball, which featured heavy metal, and the alternative rock-focused 120 Minutes, along with Dial MTV, which allowed viewers to call in and vote for their favorite videos.

Even with the expansion of music played on MTV, there were still genres the network overlooked. With MTV playing very little country music, in 1983 both Country Music Television and The Nashville Network launched. The same year, Black Entertainment Television also grew from a programming block on the USA Network into an independent network, airing music videos from Black artists. In 1985, MTV’s sister network VH1 premiered, focused on an older audience with adult contemporary music. All of these networks are now owned by Paramount.

MTV also expanded beyond the United States when MTV Europe launched in 1987. One of the new network’s early shows, Yo!, featured hip-hop artists and became one of its most popular programs, Yo! MTV Raps, which debuted in the United States in 1988 and helped expand hip-hop’s visibility. The genre had been limited on the network to a few artists like Run-DMC and the Beastie Boys, both of which heavily sampled rock music. Also in 1987, This Week in Rock launched MTV News, which originally focused on music and pop culture news but expanded into politics during the 1992 election, focusing on issues impacting its younger audience.

MTV continued to expand their programming in the late 1980s and early 1990s, airing the game show Remote Control and giving young comedians Ben Stiller and Jon Stewart their own shows. In 1992, MTV Sports debuted focusing on extreme sports, helping to bring skateboarding, BMX, and other alternative sports to the mainstream leading to the X Games in 1995. The same year modern reality TV was launched with The Real World. This also marked the beginning of the shift away from music videos as more reality shows and docuseries, like Road Rules and True Life, filled more of the schedule throughout the 1990s.

The last gasp for the music in Music Television was Total Request Live (TRL), which debuted in 1998. Driven by the popularity of boy bands, “pop princesses,” hip-hop, and pop rock, the show aired in the afternoon as teenagers were getting home from school. The program revitalized the role of the VJ and launched the careers of Carson Daly, Hilarie Burton, La La Anthony, and Vanessa Lachey. By the time TRL ended its original 10 year run, most of the music videos on the network were airing in late night.

As MTV moved into other programming, the internet became the primary platform for music videos. The non-linear format offered by early MTV with a playlist of very different videos played back to back forecasted our relationship with YouTube, TikTok, and other social media sites. MTV motivated the evolution of the music industry and the explosion of music videos that continue today, even as Paramount moves away from the M in MTV.

Jared Bahir Browsh is an assistant teaching professor of critical sports studies in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

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Once a cultural phenomenon, MTV ends five music channels in the UK; viewership in the U.S. continues its downward slide.

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On Thanksgiving, pass the gravy and a tight spiral

Rachel Sauer — Mon, 17 Nov 2025 19:10:19 +0000

On Thanksgiving, pass the gravy and a tight spiral Rachel Sauer Mon, 11/17/2025 - 12:10

Jared Bahir Browsh

The tradition of football on the fourth Thursday in November is almost as old as the holiday itself, bringing families together in an important cultural touchpoint

As families unite for the Thanksgiving holiday, it is likely the gathering will include watching football before and after the traditional dinner. Thanksgiving football is almost as old as the holiday itself, with more than a century and a half of history on the holiday

Most historians recognize the Nov. 6, 1869, matchup between Princeton University (then The College of New Jersey) and Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey, as the first official American football game. “Foot-ball” was played much differently then, looking more like a hybrid of soccer and rugby. Rutgers won by a score of 6-4 with about 100 spectators looking on.

Just 11 days later, an advertisement appeared in The Evening Telegraph, a Philadelphia newspaper, announcing a “foot-ball match" between Young America Cricket Club and the Germantown Cricket Club to be played in the Germantown section of the city on Thanksgiving. There are no reports of the game, but considering it took place just 70 miles southwest of New Brunswick, it was likely played under the same rules as the college game.

Jared Bahir Browsh is the Critical Sports Studies program director in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

Abraham Lincoln, influenced by a series of essays written by editor and activist Sarah Josepha Hale, had established Thanksgiving in 1863, proclaiming the last Thursday of November a holiday. Subsequent presidents continued this traditional proclamation until 1939, when Franklin D. Roosevelt named the second-to-last Thursday in November as Thanksgiving to provide an extra week for holiday shopping. This created a political rift with Republicans, who declared that day “Franksgiving” and encouraged Americans to celebrate the holiday the following week.

Congress solidified the date of Thanksgiving in 1941, with Roosevelt signing the bill on Dec. 26, 1942, officially making the fourth Thursday of November the Thanksgiving holiday. By this time, football on Thanksgiving had become a tradition, with some high schools establishing rivalries as early as 1875 and annual intercollegiate games beginning in 1876.

Princeton and Yale played a yearly game on Thanksgiving between 1876 and 1881 before the Intercollegiate Football Association declared its championship would take place on the holiday beginning in 1882. The University of Michigan played annually on Thanksgiving between 1885 and 1905, including a series of games against the University of Chicago that helped firmly establish football’s presence on the holiday. Many New England high schools play their rivalry game, or Turkey Bowl, on the holiday, allowing alumni to come back to root on their alma mater, a tradition that celebrates its 150th anniversary in 2025.

The third edition of the “Border War” between the University of Kansas and University of Missouri in 1893 took place on Thanksgiving in Kansas City, Missouri, a tradition that continued through 1910, when the conference began requiring all games to be played on college campuses. Like many rivalry games, it is now played in late November, typically the weekend after Thanksgiving.

As old as pro football

Thanksgiving games are also as old as professional football itself—the first recognized professional team, the Allegheny Athletic Association in Western Pennsylvania, regularly played on Thanksgiving. Regional professional leagues in Ohio, New York and Pennsylvania scheduled marquee late-season matchups and championships on Thanksgiving. The Ohio League and other professional and semi-professional football organizations did stop holding Thanksgiving games for a short time, given that many of their players were high school coaches whose teams played that day.

From its inception in 1920 as the American Professional Football Association, the NFL began playing games on Thanksgiving. The Detroit Panthers played their first Thanksgiving game in 1925, a tradition carried by several Detroit franchises including the Detroit Lions. In the Lions’ first season in 1934, owner George A. Richards saw a Thanksgiving Day game as a way to market the new team. Richards also owned NBC radio affiliate WJR, and he negotiated that the matchup against the Chicago Bears be broadcast nationally.

The NFL’s hold on Thanksgiving was disrupted in the late 1930s and early 1940s. The Franksgiving controversy led to a political-party split over when states would recognize the holiday, making it difficult for football teams to schedule games across state lines. The one exception in the NFL was the case of the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Philadelphia Eagles; being in the same state, they were able to play the game when Pennsylvania chose to recognize Franksgiving.

Yale and Princeton, here playing at Yale Field on Nov. 20, 1897, had an annual match-up on Thanksgiving between 1876-1881 before the Intercollegiate Football Association declared its championship would take place on the holiday beginning in 1882. (Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

World War II disrupted all sports, with the NFL hit especially hard by the loss of personnel, causing some teams to suspend operations. In one notable case, it led the Eagles and Steelers to combine teams to play as the Steagles for a season in 1943.

When NFL Thanksgiving games resumed in 1945, only the Lions continued the tradition. The All-America Football Conference (AAFC) played on Thanksgiving when the league launched in 1946. Both the AAFC’s Cleveland Browns and the San Francisco 49ers played on Thanksgiving in 1947 before joining the NFL after the AAFC folded in 1949.

The Lions and their rival Green Bay Packers, which play each other on Thanksgiving this year, battled on the holiday every year between 1951 and 1963. During this time, the two franchises’ fortunes seemingly switched, with Vince Lombardi taking over the Packers and leading the team to six NFL championships in the 1960s, of which they won five, including the first two Super Bowls. The Lions were the only NFL team to play on Thanksgiving during this period, except in 1952, when the Dallas Texans, in their only season, were scheduled to play the Chicago Bears. The Texans-Bears game had to be moved to Akron, Ohio, due to a scheduling conflict in Dallas. The Bears, underestimating the expansion team, sent their second unit to Akron and were upset by the Texans in the team’s only win of their sole season.

Not on Friday or Saturday

The Sports Broadcasting Act of 1961 allowed the NFL to negotiate media rights on behalf of the entire league, with the league agreeing to not broadcast on Fridays and Saturdays—a concession made to protect traditional scheduling of high school on Friday and college football on Saturday. Thursdays were an exception, so it did not affect the broadcasting of football games on Thanksgiving, although it would be another four decades until Thursday night games became a weekly fixture for the NFL.

Dallas returned to Thanksgiving in 1966, when Cowboys’ President Tex Schramm saw a holiday game as a way to publicize the team that was founded in 1960. Schramm also felt there would be an advantage for the team, given that the visiting team would have one less day of practice due to travel. The Cowboys joined the Lions as a permanent fixture on Thanksgiving, hosting a game on the holiday every year since 1966, except for 1975 and 1977. In those two years, the St. Louis Cardinals hosted over the much more popular Cowboys, who had become consistent Super Bowl contenders. The Cowboys’ success in the period and their appearance in the nationally televised Thanksgiving game led to their becoming “America’s Team.”

St. Louis also had a long-running tradition of the “Turkey Bowl Game” between high school powerhouses Kirkwood Pioneers and Webster Groves Statesmen. The matchup, which started in 1928, is an example of Thanksgiving’s presence in high school football. Separately, Norwich Free Academy and New London High School in Connecticut have been playing the “Ye Olde Ball Game” since 1875.

The Detroit Lions and the Atlanta Falcons play on Thanksgiving Day in 2005. (Photo: Dave Hogg/Wikimedia Commons)

Historically, many high school sports associations ended their seasons around Thanksgiving, allowing for championship games and rivalry matchups to be held on the holiday. State tournaments and shifts in sports seasons have disrupted this tradition in some places, but Thanksgiving continues to be a major day for high school football, especially in New England and the northeastern United States where these traditions began.

Football fans typically have very few obligations on Thanksgiving, given its status as a holiday. The holiday’s intersection with the end of the high school and college football seasons has meant playing on Thanksgiving quickly became a tradition for football. This has only intensified with the advent of television, as families use sports to come together or even escape tensions, which is why the NFL’s Thanksgiving games are among the league’s highest-rated regular-season contests. This popularity led to a third primetime game being added to the schedule to complement the early afternoon Lions game and midafternoon Cowboys game.

The third primetime game was partially motivated by the limited opportunity for American Football League teams to play in the game. When the AFL launched in 1960, it scheduled Thanksgiving Day games; however, when the league merged with the NFL in 1970, the Lions and Cowboys, two NFC teams, continued to be the sole hosts of Thanksgiving Day games. This meant that fewer AFC teams played on Thanksgiving and could only be the away team.

Playing in primetime

The first primetime Thanksgiving matchup, played in 2006, featured the Denver Broncos and Kansas City Chiefs and marked the premiere of Thursday Night Football. NBC obtained the rights to the primetime Thanksgiving game in 2012, which continued in spite of Amazon gaining exclusive rights to Thursday Night Football in 2022. The following year, the first Black Friday game aired on Amazon, further leveraging the holiday and shopping season. The game is played in the afternoon to avoid conflicts with the Sports Broadcasting Act, which bans the NFL from Friday night broadcasts during the high school season.

While a national audience watched, there have been several memorable games and traditions during the holiday game. The first overtime game on Thanksgiving was in 1980, with the Bears returning the opening kickoff for a touchdown—the shortest overtime in NFL history. The Bounty Bowl in 1989 intensified the rivalry between the Eagles and Cowboys after Philadelphia was accused of offering a reward for injuring the Cowboys kicker. In 2012, the infamous Butt Fumble occurred on Thanksgiving, when New York Jets quarterback Mark Sanchez ran into the backside of his own teammate. The fumble was picked up by the New England Patriots and returned for a touchdown.

Teams often wear their alternative jerseys on Thanksgiving to mark the holiday game, including throwback jerseys and the NFL’s monochromatic “Color Rush” uniforms. Halftime has also become a spectacle during Thanksgiving games, and since 1997 the Salvation Army has kicked off its Red Kettle Campaign during halftime of the Dallas game. A halftime concert has also been added to the games over time, with Shaboozey, Lainey Wilson and Lindsey Stirling performing at the three 2024 games.

Considering football on Thanksgiving is almost as old as the federal declaration of the holiday itself, it is no surprise it has become synonymous with the holiday. With fewer shared cultural experiences in this oversaturated media environment, the NFL remains one of the few forms of popular culture that crosses age, gender and political affiliation, helping to ease possible tensions and, along with food, bring families together during the holidays.

Jared Bahir Browsh is an assistant teaching professor of critical sports studies in the �鶹��Ѱ��Boulder Department of Ethnic Studies.

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The tradition of football on the fourth Thursday in November is almost as old as the holiday itself, bringing families together in an important cultural touchpoint

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