Standing in the boutique that bears her name, Joan Shepp explains this among racks of Ann Demeulemeester tailored jumpsuits and Rick Owens draped jackets.
When I was a not-so-rebellious preteen, MTV was the coolest. My dad introduced me to The Real World and Spring Break, but it was the music videos that really got me.
You know that Ego of the Week question, “There are two types of people at Penn …”? Well, after a little social experiment I took part in these past couple of weeks, I would divide Penn into BlackBerry users and everyone else.
It’s no surprise that smartphones took over campus long ago, but I didn’t realize the ubiquity of the BlackBerry in particular until I suddenly found myself without.
This is my last editor’s letter. Ever. Even though Street is printing next week, by then the new board will have taken over and I will be completely washed up.
Last week I attended my first preceptorial ever. It’s not that I hadn’t wanted to go to one before this semester, but rather I was systematically shut out of every cheese-tasting, Barnes Foundation-going, ceramics-learning preceptorial imaginable for the past six semesters.
I love steamed pork buns. They are my favorite food of all time. I had my first pork bun at New York's bun mecca, Momofuku, a few years ago, and I was instantly hooked.
Thanks to three consecutive midterms, I ended up spending Fall Break in Philly. I don’t even know if it could be called a break (how Penn thinks that canceling Monday’s classes constitutes a vacation is beyond me), but it did allow for some quality time with my equally midterm-challenged roommates.
Ten years ago, Joan Shepp single-handedly redefined how Philadelphians think about style. A decade later, her Walnut Street boutique stands as a model for luxury retailers.
Shepp is often described in the same terms that are used to describe the coveted goods she sells: eccentric, brilliant and desperately chic.
I went to my first Penn party the January of my senior of high school. Fresh off the high of my early admittance, I visited a friend from home who was a freshman living in the Quad, and took in all of Penn’s earthly delights.
As humans, we are all driven by fear: fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of insignificance. But we college students (or, at least, we Penn students) are driven by another type of fear: the fear of missing out.
Let’s be real: freshmen are on the bottom of the food chain. Most arrive at Penn without any friends, some have to live sans AC in Hill and pretty much none can get into Smoke’s.