Tess F. Stevens
If you are in need of a soundtrack to gray days in San Francisco, employ equally gloomy British rock bands — Babyshambles, Suede, The Smiths — they embody the silent torture of hazy rolling fog. The bands and the fog are doubtful and mysterious, cloaked in sorrow that comes from
While riding BART in the early am of a Monday like any other, Facebook served me an article entitled “Feeling Strapped on a $400,000 income? That’s the Bay Area.”I stared at my tiny computer in my palm in disbelief but not with a sense of surprise. People always complain here, and of course, they have a right to. I thought I’d be met with another person complaining about home prices and the cost of living and much more, and I was right.
The saga of the Muni commute doesn’t end when you get off and head to your destination. This public transit system has deep-seeded issues that stem from money mismanagement, bureaucratic nonsense, and a distinct attitude of smugness.
Nobody watches the Grammys anymore right? Television is dead. Music is deader, and anything relevant is on Reddit, right? I found myself watching a real television in a real house with my boyfriend and his parents on Grammy night 2019. As a child, I dreamed of being a rock and
What if you could live like one of those famous Instagram celebrities for a couple weekends in the Bahamas. For a few thousand dollars — would you? What’s a few thousand dollars in the eyes of all those envious followers and potential fans online?
San Francisco’s self-care obsession is just another thing that makes its residents feel like they can’t catch their breath. As if rising rent costs, skyrocketing crime rates, political turmoil and the ongoing tragedy of the homeless crisis weren’t enough. Even though the goals of self-care are to relax and enjoy life, the path is now a rabid, stressful competition to get the most likes on Instagram.
Our new column The Wanderer follows young writer Tess F. Stevens through different threads of San Francisco culture, experiences, and issues. She hopes to challenge, connect and define some of the things we find difficult to put into words. I love San Francisco. It’s a magical city of opportunity, brimming with
Haight Street 2018, a buzzing motorized hallway filled with Ubers and Lyfts, and I’m in one with an eccentric former artist and now, photographer of “women over 50,” Denise, who has lived in San Francisco for 20 years. “What’s going on at the gallery tonight?” She asked, nearly killing a