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The body is frequently thought of as something straightforward—just a physical entity that sustains us throughout our lives. However, the body means considerably more in the field of women's and gender studies. It is a place where control occurs, where people resist, and where authority is outlined and displayed. The racialized body is an important concept that illustrates how gender and race interact to shape how people are viewed. The bodies of Brown, Black, and Indigenous women have frequently been treated unfairly and with less value. These opinions are not new; they stem from a lengthy history of racism, misogyny, and imperialism. These bodies are more than just victims, though. They are resilient and powerful as well. Using the work of scholars such as Gloria Anzaldúa, Bell Hooks, Dorothy Roberts, and Kimberlé Crenshaw, I contend in this essay that the racialized body is both a target of power structures and a means of resistance. When discussing the racialized body, the concept of intersectionality is crucial. This phrase was created by Kimberlé Crenshaw to describe how individuals may experience multiple forms of discrimination simultaneously. As an example, black women are impacted by both sexism and racism, not just one of them. Crenshaw demonstrates in her essay "Demarginalizing the Intersection of Race and Sex" how Black women are frequently excluded from discussions about feminism and racism. Their bodies get caught in various forms of inequity.   Crenshaw's theory, in my opinion, is crucial because it clarifies the particular issues that women of color experience that others would overlook. Black bodies, particularly those of women, are frequently objectified, or viewed more as objects than as human beings, which is another significant problem. Bell Hooks describes how Black women are viewed as objects by the "white gaze" in her book Black Looks: Race and Representation. This indicates that white people tend to see them as stereotyped rather than as complete human beings. Hooks, in my opinion, demonstrates how racism continues to exist not just through laws and acts of violence but also by the media, beauty standards, and interpersonal perceptions like comparisons in weight relations. In her book Killing the Black Body, Dorothy Roberts discusses how the medical and governmental systems have regulated Black women's capacity to conceive and nurture children. For instance, Black women who had children while poor were sometimes penalized or compelled to get sterilized. Roberts raises an important point, in my opinion, which is that racism and sexism combine to dictate what happens to Black women's bodies, particularly in relation to parenting and family. However, despite all of this damage, the racialized body is resilient and powerful. In her book Borderlands/La Frontera, Gloria Anzaldúa discusses how people who are LGBT, mixed-race, or unconventional may create new identities. According to her, these bodies have the ability to transcend boundaries and violate laws based on gender, race, or culture. However, I believe Anzaldúa gives us hope. She demonstrates that those who don't conform to conventional norms may still establish their own areas and resist. In conclusion, the racialized body is an imposing being that is not only something that individuals attempt to control or criticize. We may observe how these bodies are influenced by sexism and racism through the work of Crenshaw, Hooks, Roberts, and Anzaldúa, but they also resist. They develop new ways of being and living while opposing unjust structures. The racialized body is an agent for transformation rather than just a victim.

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Music videos can be more than just entertainment, but as acts of political resistance. Beyoncé’s 2016 video “Formation” is one of the most powerful visual pieces to explore how race, gender, and power intersect in American society. Through its imagery, lyrics, and choreography, Beyonce shines a spotlight on the racialized body, especially the Black female body, as both a target of oppression and a site of strength and cultural pride. The video directly confronts issues like systemic racism, police violence, beauty politics, and cultural erasure. Through Beyoncé’s use of her own body and the bodies of others, Formation makes a clear argument: Blackness and Black femininity are not only worthy of celebration but are essential forces of resistance.

From the very beginning of the video, we see Beyoncé reclaiming Southern Black identity. Seated atop a plantation mansion in New Orleans, dressed in upscale vintage clothes, she reclaims a site that has historically been associated with Black tears and transforms it into one of Black presence and strength. Her body and appearance—her hair, her skin tone, her stance—challenge white beauty standards and demand visibility on her own terms. One of the most striking images is a young Black boy in a hoodie dancing in front of a line of police officers. When the boy throws his hands up, the officers do the same. The next shot is a graffiti wall with the words “Stop Shooting Us.” This moment links directly to the ways Black bodies—especially young Black male bodies—are criminalized and policed. But instead of only showing pain, Beyoncé also shows resistance. Dance, style, and music become tools for survival and protest.

Throughout “Formation,” Beyoncé embraces a version of Black femininity that refuses to be tamed. She declares, “I like my baby hair with baby hair and afros - I like my Negro nose with Jackson Five nostrils.” These lines decline the pressure to conform to white beauty norms and embrace physical features often criticized in Black communities. Here, the racialized body is not hidden or made noticeable—it is bold, visible, and unapologetic. The video also centers cultural memory and heritage. Images of Mardi Gras Indians and the very knowledgeable Afro-Carribeans, Black church members, and Southern Creole traditions remind viewers that Black culture is deep, layered, and resistant to erasement. Beyoncé uses her own body to connect the past to the present, honoring the legacy of those who came before while also pushing back against the systems that continue to target Black people today.

In “Formation,” Beyoncé uses the music video format to create a powerful statement about race, gender, and resistance. She centers the Black body not as something to be pitied or feared, but as something that commands space, celebrates culture, and fights back with meaning. Through bold visuals and confident lyrics, she reclaims the racialized body as a source of pride and power. Beyoncé demonstrates that art can be a means of action, and the body may be its most powerful instrument, much like the feminist activists who write about intersectionality and embodied resistance.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDZJPJV__bQ

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Food is more than just something we eat—it’s a way of expressing culture, identity, memory, and love. In my life and in my community, food has always been a way to connect with people, tell stories, and keep traditions alive. One dish that means a lot to me is pierogis. These soft, doughy dumplings filled with potatoes, cheese, or even fruit are a staple in many Eastern European households. For me, pierogis represent a connection to family, tradition, and cultural pride.

Growing up, pierogis were always at the center of holiday meals and family gatherings. Making them was never just about feeding ourselves—it was about being together. We’d set up a long table, roll out the dough, prepare the filling, and fold dozens by hand. It was slow work, but it didn’t feel like a chore. It felt like a ritual. Even as a kid, I knew I was participating in something important—something bigger than just dinner.

In today’s media, food is everywhere. On social media platforms like Instagram and TikTok, pierogis are sometimes shown in trendy ways—stuffed with unique fillings or fried and served with dipping sauces. While these versions can be creative, they sometimes miss the heart of the dish: its cultural and communal roots. News articles or cooking shows might mention pierogis during holiday seasons or as part of a “top comfort foods” list, but they often skip over the emotional and historical significance behind them. Media can sometimes flatten food into aesthetic or entertainment, forgetting that many traditional foods come from long histories of immigration, struggle, and survival.

To me, pierogis are not just a meal—they are nourishment in every sense of the word. They fill the belly, yes, but they also nourish relationships, memory, and identity. They remind me of where I come from and how food brings people together across generations. Sitting at the table with warm pierogis on a cold winter day, I feel the care that went into making them—and I feel the presence of the people who made them before me. Pierogis show that food isn’t just about ingredients—it’s about culture, care, and community. Whether they appear on a TikTok feed or at your grandmother’s kitchen table, they carry meaning that goes far beyond the plate.

Recipe: Classic Potato and Cheese Pierogis

Ingredients:

2 cups flour

1/2 tsp salt

1 egg

1/2 cup sour cream

1/4 cup butter, softened

Filling:

2 cups mashed potatoes

1 cup shredded cheddar cheese

Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions:

1. Mix flour and salt in a bowl. Add egg, sour cream, and butter. Knead into a smooth dough. Cover and let rest for 30 minutes.

2. In another bowl, combine mashed potatoes and cheese. Season with salt and pepper.

3. Roll out dough and cut into circles. Add a spoonful of filling, fold, and pinch edges to seal.

4. Boil in salted water until they float (about 3–4 minutes). Serve with sautéed onions or sour cream.

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In today’s media, one harmful trend that stands out is the way weight loss drugs like Ozempic are being promoted on social media and by celebrities. Originally created for people with diabetes, Ozempic is now being used by many to lose weight quickly—even if they don’t have a medical need. On TikTok, Instagram, and in celebrity interviews, people praise the drug for helping them slim down, often without talking about the risks or side effects. This kind of promotion creates a form of body violence—not always physical, but emotional and social. It sends the message that thinness is always better and that changing your body should be a priority. This is especially harmful for women and people in larger bodies, who already face pressure to look a certain way. Seeing famous people and influencers lose weight quickly with a drug can make others feel like they’re not good enough the way they are. Media and ads often frame this kind of weight loss as “wellness” or “self-care,” but in reality, it brings back harmful ideas from diet culture. It encourages body shame and ignores the health of people who actually need these medications. Plus, it makes young people feel like they must change themselves to be accepted, which can be damaging to mental and physical health.