A new publisher, Conduit Books, founded by UK novelist and critic Jude Cook, will focus on publishing literary fiction and memoirs by men: at least initially. Conduit is currently seeking its launch title, “preferably a debut novel by a male UK novelist under 35”. It aims to publish three books a year from 2026. Diminishing attention is now paid to male authors, Cook feels, creating a need for “an independent publisher that champions literary fiction by men”.

This argument has been made closer to home, too. Earlier this year, Australian poet and fiction writer Michael Crane bemoaned the diminishing space and attention for male authors, claiming to be unfairly overlooked as a white male author over 50.

Are there declining numbers of male authors in Australia and elsewhere? How is this reflected in prizes, readership statistics and sales? And if less men than women are reading, particularly literary fiction, then might this be a logical outcome of a gender divide in demand and engagement?

Prizes, working writers and sales

While more focused on age than gender, Crane noted “most books published locally are by women”. He also argued female writers have recently come to dominate the Miles Franklin Literary Award shortlist.

There is some truth in this: since 2012, the year the Stella Prize was founded, there have been 12 women winners of the Miles Franklin and just one man. In the equivalent preceding period (1999–2011), there were ten men and three women. So, there has been a change – even a flip – in the past decade or so.

That said, older male authors have historically been overrepresented in literary culture, both within Australia and globally. The shift seems, in part, a correction.

While the number of working writers in Australia has grown steadily since 1983, the percentage of male writers has diminished: from 55% (in 1988) to just 17% (as of 2023), according to a recent Creative Australia study of Australian professional artists.

Looking at last week’s Australian bestseller list, topped by US self-help guru Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory, eight of ten authors are women. The bestseller list for Australian writers only, topped by colouring-in book Cosy Calm, is further dominated by women: no male writers are represented in the top ten.

Last year’s overall top ten bestseller list in Australia reads similarly: seven titles were authored by women. Two of these, ranked first and second, were RecipeTin Eats cookbooks by Nagi Maehashi.

In the UK, too, female authors are increasingly dominating publishing lists and the space and attention for male authors has dwindled. New and established male authors lack the “cultural buzz” associated with female authors like Sally Rooney, who have arguably captured the literary zeitgeist, wrote literary critic Johanna Thomas-Corr in the Guardian.

On the other hand, in the period when Australia’s leading literary prize had 12 women and one male winner (2012–24), the Man Booker Prize was still narrowly dominated by men, with eight male and six female winners. (Two women, Bernardine Evaristo and Margaret Atwood, shared the 2019 prize.)

And in the US during that period, the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction was heavily dominated by men, with nine male and four female winners. (The 2023 prize was shared, between Barbara Kingsolver and Hernan Diaz.) The 2025 Pulitzer was announced today: the fiction winner is Percival Everett, for James.

Do men need better stories?

While Cook’s project has its sceptics, it seems well intentioned. As Cook notes, current conversations around toxic masculinity make it more important than ever to “pay attention to what young men are reading”. Other commentators have argued the decline of male authors and readers is a cause for concern, too.

In recent months, Las Vegas English professor David J. Morris argued in the New York Times that dwindling interest in literary fiction represents emotional, cultural and educational regression among men in the United States. He notes women readers now account for about 80% of US fiction sales.

The alienated, disaffected young men who have been drawn to the “manosphere” and contributed to Trump’s second election win “need better stories – and they need to see themselves as belonging to the world of storytelling”. He makes a good case for the importance of literary fiction in developing emotional intelligence – and that the decline in male readership is therefore troubling.

Cook seems to agree: he believes important narratives and voices are being overlooked. He is keen to publish novels and stories that focus on fatherhood, masculinity, working-class life, relationships and other topics that relate to “navigating the 21st century as a man”.

He stresses, however, that Conduit Books is not taking an “adversarial stance”. It will “not exclude writers of colour, or queer, non-binary and neurodivergent authors”.

Women read more than men

A February 2025 Australia Reads survey indicates “avid readers” (who regularly start new books and read daily) are predominantly women, whereas “ambivalent readers” and “uninterested non-readers” were far more likely to be men.

Furthermore, recent research suggests there is still a significant gender bias in male reading habits. Men made up less than 20% of the readership for the top ten bestselling titles by female authors, Nielsen Bookscan data revealed in 2023. Conversely, the readership for bestselling titles by male authors was more evenly split: 56% men and 44% women.

Women, on balance, read far more than men do, and are much more willing to read books by men than men are to read books by women. It would be fair to say all writers of literary fiction are largely dependent on a predominately female audience – and have been for a long time.

Back in 2005, when male writers were not exactly underrepresented in the literary marketplace, UK novelist Ian McEwan embarked on an experiment. Seeking to clear out some shelf space, he took a stack of novels to a nearby park and attempted to give them away to passersby. The free books were happily accepted by women, but he failed to give away a single title to a man. McEwan gloomily concluded: “when women stop reading, the novel will be dead”.

Publishing and demand

Cook believes works by men that grapple with themes especially relevant to male readers are “not being commissioned” in the current literary environment.

A 2020 diversity study reported 78% of editorial staff in the UK are women (though the same study indicates just under half of senior management roles in publishing are still occupied by men).

An anonymous male publisher told the Guardian a few years ago “the exciting writing is coming from women right now”, but this was “because there aren’t that many men around. Men aren’t coming through.”

Another publisher, from literary imprint Serpent’s Tail, said: “If a really good novel by a male writer lands on my desk, I do genuinely say to myself, this will be more difficult to publish.”

Sales figures seem to back this. The Guardian calculated, based on figures from the Bookseller, that 629 of the 1,000 bestselling fiction titles from 2020 were written by women, with 341 authored by men (27 were co-authored by men and women, and three were by non-binary writers). Of course, many still read the historical literary canon, which is overwhelmingly male.

Cook seems to argue men are now less interested in literary fiction because there are fewer contemporary male authors, and they attract less commentary and acclaim. But it is just as likely female authors have become more prominent because women are consistently more engaged with literary fiction – and the publishing market is simply adapting to cater to its principal audience.

Can we bring back male readers?

So will publishing and promoting more men bring back male readers? Or does this just amount to a demand that the overwhelmingly female audience for literary fiction should pay more attention to male authors? As literary critic Thomas-Corr notes, regardless of authorship, a lot of men

couldn’t give a toss about fiction, especially literary fiction. They have video games, YouTube, nonfiction, podcasts, magazines, Netflix.

Male writers are still well represented in these mediums, so perhaps it may be as or more important to devote serious attention to their narratives and storytelling practices. Novels aren’t, after all, the only engines for emotional intelligence or empathy.

Cook’s initiative will at the very least create more discussion around the growing absence of male authors and readers in literary spaces, and will probably ensure the first few titles published by Conduit Press will be received with interest. But given contemporary reading demographics, it seems reasonable to expect male authors will occupy an increasingly niche space in literary publishing.

Julian Novitz, Senior Lecturer, Writing, Department of Media and Communication, Swinburne University of Technology

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

Mother’s Day offers an opportunity to reflect on what motherhood means in different religions and cultures. As a scholar of Buddhism and gender, I know how complicated Buddhist attitudes toward mothers can be.

The historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, taught that family ties were obstacles to enlightenment. According to the Buddha, attachment to family causes suffering because family relationships eventually end and cannot offer lasting contentment. The main goal of Buddhism is to break the cycle of rebirth, which is characterized by suffering.

However, one family tie remained important for the Buddha – his relationship with his mother. Even after the Buddha left home, he continued to honor two mother figures – his biological mother, Maya, and his foster mother, known as Mahaprajapati Gautami in Sanskrit and Mahapajapati Gotami in the Pali language, which was used for early Buddhist scriptures in ancient India. These women played key roles in the Buddha’s life story, and they continue to inspire Buddhists today. Mahaprajapati specifically inspires women as the first Buddhist nun.

Many Buddhist scriptures describe reproduction and pregnancy in negative terms because they continue the cycle of rebirth. But Buddhist scriptures also express love and gratitude for mothers, especially the Buddha’s two mother figures.

Maya, the birth mother

Maya and Mahaprajapati were sisters who both married the Buddha’s father, Suddhodana, who ruled the region of Kapilavastu along the India-Nepal border. Maya’s name means “illusion,” which refers to a Hindu and Buddhist concept that the material world conceals the true nature of reality.

Miracles related to Maya appear throughout stories of the future Buddha Siddhartha’s conception, gestation and delivery. Siddhartha is the Buddha of the current world cycle, but in Buddhist tradition there were other Buddhas in the past and there will be more Buddhas in the future. Each one goes through many rebirths before they attain Buddhahood, and each Buddha’s final rebirth follows the same pattern. According to Buddhist texts, Buddhas-to-be wait for the right time to be born, they choose their own parents, and they are not conceived through sexual intercourse.

Early Buddhist texts claim that Siddhartha chose Maya as his mother because of her purity and entered her right side in the form of an elephant while she was sleeping. According to some Buddhist scriptures, during Maya’s pregnancy the future Buddha never actually touched her womb, which was considered impure in early Indian Buddhism. When Siddhartha was born, he is said to have emerged from Maya’s right side as she stood, holding onto a tree branch.

Maya died seven days after her son’s birth, meaning that she did not live to see him become an enlightened Buddha. As the Buddha, even though Siddhartha encouraged his followers to leave domestic life and cut family ties, he never forgot his birth mother.

Thanks to her good karma, Maya had been reborn in the heavens as a god, but in Buddhism gods are not as spiritually advanced as Buddhas. The Buddha used his spiritual powers to travel to the heavens, where he preached to Maya and encouraged her progress on the Buddhist path.

One Chinese text claims that Maya spontaneously lactated upon hearing her son’s words, showing that the bond between mother and son remained strong even after her death.

Mahaprajapati, the foster mother

Siddhartha’s aunt Mahaprajapati became his foster mother after Maya died. She cared for the young Siddhartha and breastfed him, having just given birth to her own biological son, Nanda.

When Siddhartha was preparing to leave home to follow a spiritual path, the chariot driver tried to convince him to stay by reminding Siddhartha how Mahaprajapati nursed him and telling Siddhartha he should be grateful for her motherly kindness.

Siddhartha left home anyway, which caused Mahaprajapati to collapse out of grief. According to the Mahavastu, the earliest Sanskrit biography of the Buddha, her “eyes, as a result of her tears and grief, had become covered as with scales, and she had become blind.” It was only after Siddhartha returned as the Buddha that her sight was restored.

At around the same time as the Buddha’s return to his kingdom of Kapilavastu, his father Suddhodana died, making Mahaprajapati a widow. The books with rules for Buddhist monks and nuns, known as the Vinaya, report that Mahaprajapati approached the Buddha to ask whether women like her, as well as women whose husbands had become monks, could leave home to join the Buddha’s monastic order.

The Buddha eventually agreed to this request but warned that including women as nuns would cut short the lifespan of Buddhist teachings in the world from 1,000 years to 500 years. Mahaprajapati became the first Buddhist nun, reaching enlightenment before passing away at the age of 120.

Scholars of Buddhism do not necessarily treat this episode as literally true, but instead see it as a reflection of mixed attitudes toward admitting women as nuns in the early Buddhist community. These mixed attitudes can still be seen today – for example, in the unwillingness to reinstate the order of nuns in Southeast Asia, which died out centuries ago.

In Buddhism, nuns must be ordained by a group of 10 fully ordained monks and fully ordained nuns. An order of nuns still survives in China, Japan, Korea and Vietnam, where Mahayana Buddhism is practiced. However, the monastic leaders in Southeast Asia, where Theravada Buddhism is practiced, decided that Mahayana nuns could not ordain Theravada nuns, leaving countries such as Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar without fully ordained nuns.

Legacies of the Buddha’s mothers

Both Maya and Mahaprajapati were loving mothers in the Buddha’s life story, but it is Mahaprajapati who has remained more of an inspiration for Buddhist women.

Reiko Ohnuma, a scholar of South Asian Buddhism, argues that Maya is remembered in Buddhist tradition as an idealized, if passive, maternal figure. Her death shortly after the future Buddha’s birth serves as a reminder that life is impermanent and characterized by suffering.

In contrast, Mahaprajapati lived a full life and played an active role in both raising the future Buddha and in advocating for women to join the monastic community. Early Buddhists may not have fully supported the inclusion of women in the Buddhist monastic community, but the nuns’ order was established nonetheless.

Mahaprajapati made this opportunity possible thanks to her unique position as the Buddha’s foster mother.

Megan Bryson, Associate Professor of Religious Studies, University of Tennessee

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

Hadrian Garrard, the curator of Morris Mania – an innovative exhibition now showing at the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow, east London – tells the story of being in King’s Cross Station and spotting someone wheeling a shopping trolley covered in a plasticised Morris pattern. It reminded me of the time when a student thanked me for my teaching with a pair of Morris-themed flip-flops.

Mugs, tea towels, notepads, handbags and all manner of other incongruous objects make up this world of Morris merchandise. Much of it is made in China and remote from the purposes William Morris had in mind. How did this Victorian designer and socialist, known for championing craftsmanship and preferring substance over style, become an icon of consumer culture?

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The exhibition’s tagline – How Britain’s Greatest Designer Went Viral – makes good sense. It’s not just that Morris stages an escape from the Victorian decorative world, but that his art proliferates in uncontrolled ways. The walk from Walthamstow station lays the groundwork in this regard: exhibition posters in shop windows, end-of-terrace murals and even the civic architecture, speak of something leaking from the gallery walls.

The first display in the exhibition tell the story of how we got here. Morris began spreading thanks to the commissions he received from aristocratic and royal clients. They were drawn to the medieval ethos of his work, and its rejection of industrialism in the arts. An important early contract was for the interiors at St James’s Palace.

But these establishment associations soon morphed and mutated, first among the English middle classes, who welcomed Morris’s designs into their suburban villas despite his new fondness for revolution, and then more remotely: one photograph shows Morris-patterned walls at St Peterburg’s Winter Palace, taken shortly after the Bolsheviks stormed the building. The socialism as it were, is turned inside out.

The earliest Morris merchandise was printed for a centenary exhibition at the V&A Museum in 1934. One of its patterned postcards appears in a display case, the souvenir of Morris’s own daughter, May, whose handwriting is on the back. In 1966, Morris’s designs went out of copyright, marking a watershed. Pop Victoriana and Laura Ashley floral dresses depended on it for their reproductive freedoms.

George Harrison’s “golden lily” jacket, from the Chelsea boutique Granny Takes a Trip, stands out as a poignant example of the ways in which Morris was recut and repurposed for the counterculture.

Morris’s “rose” pattern proves a particularly intrepid traveller, as the design chosen for the officers’ cushions on HMS Valliant, an early nuclear-powered submarine. Its onboard domesticity blends curiously with the menace of its mission.

Three turning points prepare us for the newest forms of Morris mania. The V&A’s 1996 exhibition repopularised Morris’s work, and thanks to new digital technology, its merchandise included printed mugs.

Then, in 2001, the British government instructed public collections to open their doors for free. In search of new income streams, museums turned to selling themed objects through their shops. The rise of China as a manufacturing hub complemented this emphasis – less by revolutionising working conditions and democratising design, as Morris had hoped, than with a flood of cheaply produced goods.

Beyond this revealing timeline, what really impresses is the exhibition’s care in preserving distinctions. It’s particularly careful to show that going viral need not mean selling out. From Nanjing – a major centre of Chinese manufacturing – comes a poster for the 2023 exhibition Beyond William Morris at the Nanjing Museum. It attracted over a million visitors, reminding us that behind the merchandise are new wells of love and respect.

Something similar applies at the level of making. For every sweatshop Hello Kitty, the same character appears in a beautifully crafted yukata (a casual kimono) in Liberty fabrics made in Japan.

A Brompton Bike hangs from the wall – manufactured in London, and sporting a handsome “willow bough” livery. Likewise, a neon “strawberry thief” motif, made at Walthamstow’s God’s Own Junk Yard, rekindles the embers of local production. This emphasis extends to the exhibition’s own making. A film documents the weaving of the Axminster carpet that furnishes the main room. Even the labels were dyed by hand with weld, a natural pigment whose use Morris revived.

In these ways, the exhibition champions ethical and bespoke production, while confronting the darker currents that move objects around our world. It also stays curious enough to push further by exploring the kitsch new frontier of “Morris” patterns generated by AI, or by populating a Victorian dresser with “crowdsourced” Morris bric-a-brac.

There might have been more space to consider why the surface effects of pattern travel so readily, and to quote Morris’s writings on the subject. But much of that is implicit and there for audiences to follow up.

Morris Mania excels by nurturing the joy behind all this promiscuous growth. Most pleasingly, that trolley from King’s Cross makes a reappearance, dressed here in an AI-adapted “strawberry thief”, courtesy of Sholley Trolleys, Clacton-on-Sea. Just like Morris himself, it was made in Essex.

Morris Mania: How Britain’s Greatest Designer Went Viral is at the William Morris Gallery until September 21 2025.

Marcus Waithe, Professor of Literature and the Applied Arts, University of Cambridge

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

One moment, your spaghetti is happily bubbling away in the pot. A minute later, after busying yourself with something else, you turn around to find a hot mess all over your stove.

Boiling liquid can rocket up very quickly, and we often only have a split second to act. But are there ways to prevent the pot boiling over in the first place? One kitchen hack you may have seen on social media is to place a wooden spoon across the top of the pot.

Does it work? As with many kitchen science questions, there is an answer – and there’s lots of nuance, too.

In short, it will work, but not for long periods of time. Let’s dig into the why.

What causes the bubbles?

Interestingly, a pot of rapidly boiling pure water will not rise up the sides of the pot.

Ingredients added to the water are the culprits for overflow and spillage. Pots of pasta, rice, porridge or milk are the most prone to boiling over and making a mess. A heavy stew is less likely to bubble over – unless you overfill the pot.

In cookery, the key food molecules are water, carbohydrates, proteins, lipids (the collective term for fats and oils) and, to a lesser extent, vitamins and minerals.

The main culprits for rapid boiling and overflow are carbohydrates and proteins. When carbohydrates or proteins (or a combination of both) come into contact with heated water molecules, their properties change and structures rearrange.

Changes can happen quickly if the heat is high. Excited by lots of heat, the water molecules begin to boil rapidly. As this occurs, bubbles form.

Why do the bubbles rise so quickly?

The carbohydrates involved in bubbling up and messing up your kitchen are primarily plant starches. Pasta or porridge products are derived from plant starches such as wheat, rice, potato or corn. If you’re boiling anything with milk, a protein called casein can contribute to the bubbles, too.

Casein and starches are known as colloids. “Colloidal dispersion” means that not all such particles will dissolve into a water solution, because some of these particles are too large. As bubbles form, the larger starch and/or protein particles start to coat the bubbles.

For pasta water or porridge, the heat and starch solution starts to form a gel. This gel becomes sticky and, depending on the type of starch and other additives, the temperature of the boiling solution can rise above 100°C.

So, they’re not just bubbles – they’re hot, sticky bubbles. Filled with air and coated with a sticky starch gel, as the solution continues to boil, the bubbles build on top of each other and rise up the sides of the pot.

It’s a little different with milk. Have you ever noticed a film across the top of boiled milk? Milk skin is formed by heated casein. When heated, the casein can become quite strong – like plastic – and coat each bubble. Milk bubbles are smaller and become more of a foam, but they can still rise quickly.

So, how does a wooden spoon stop the bubbles?

Placing a wooden spoon over a boiling pot acts as an interruption to the bubbles – it lowers the surface temperature and provides a porous surface to burst the bubbles. This stops them from climbing over the edge of the pot.

To understand why, picture another porous surface: the structure of a sponge. Because the sponge has a lot of holes in it, you can blow air through a dry sponge. However, air does not pass through a wet sponge because the holes are filled with water.

Wood is a porous material, and a dry wooden spoon is more porous than when it’s wet. On contact with the wood, the air in the bubbles is released.

But you can’t just leave a wooden spoon over the pot indefinitely and expect it to not boil over. As the spoon is exposed to heat, moisture, sticky starch or casein bubbles, it will soon become the same temperature as the liquid. That means it won’t reduce the surface temperature any more, nor be porous enough to burst bubbles.

This is why some people claim the spoon hack doesn’t work – because it has a limited window of effectiveness.

What should I do instead?

Stirring the pot or using the wooden spoon as a fan would work equally as well.

Better yet, try not to get distracted in the kitchen and select the correct kitchen tools for the job: use a bigger pot, and turn down the heat so it’s not just going full blast.

We like to treat working in the kitchen like a meditation. Remain present and in the moment. If you do get distracted, turn the stove to its lowest setting, switch it off or remove the pot from the heat. The phrase “a watched pot never boils” doesn’t count in this situation. Indeed, a watchful eye on the pot is essential.

Jay Deagon, Senior Lecturer of Home Economics, CQUniversity Australia and Gemma Mann, Senior Lecturer in Access and Equity in Education, CQUniversity Australia

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

It’s almost impossible to go a day without seeing or hearing about sport.

Walk around any city or town and you will almost always catch a glimpse of people playing sports in teams or participating solo.

Turn on the TV or radio and you’ll be able to find some kind of sport being played at international or national level.

Why do people love sport so much?

To answer this question, it’s worth a dive back into ancient history.

An ancient person’s perspective

One of the most famous figures from the ancient world, Saint Augustine of Hippo (354-430 AD), once wrote that when he was a boy he was obsessed with playing sports:

I liked to play ball as a boy and my playing slowed my progress in learning to read and write.

In fact, Saint Augustine was so preoccupied with playing ball that his teacher was said to sometimes beat him for it. His teacher said it was bad to waste one’s youth on such things – it’s better to study hard.

Why was Saint Augustine obsessed with ball games? He loved to win:

I loved to play games […] in these games I was overmastered by my vain desire to excel, so I used to strive to win, even by cheating.

Plenty of people today probably share Saint Augustine’s view that winning is one of the things that make sport enjoyable.

Of course, there are many other reasons why people might like to play sport.

What sports did they play?

If you walked down a city street in ancient Greek and Roman times, it’s likely you’d come across children or even adults playing a ball game.

The Roman playwright Plautus (3rd/2nd century BC) even has one of his characters complain about people “who play ball in the street”.

Ball games were probably the most popular sporting activity in the ancient world and could be played in many different ways.

In one ball game, called episkyros, two teams competed against each other. If one team got the ball over the line behind the other team, they scored. Feet and hands could be used and tackles were permitted.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Of course, many other sports were also popular: athletics, swimming, wrestling, lifting weights and boxing were all favourites.

Ancient ideas about the origins of sports

For the ancient Greeks, the earliest mention of a ball game appears in the Odyssey, an epic poem composed by the poet Homer in probably the eighth or seventh century BC.

In the Odyssey, Nausicaa, daughter of the King of the Phaeacians, plays a ball game with some other girls on the beach. While they throw the ball, they sing songs:

Then when they had had their joy of food, she and her handmaids, they threw off their headgear and fell to playing at ball, and white-armed Nausicaa was leader in the song.

During the game, Nausicaa throws the ball too far. Her maid can’t catch it and the ball flies into the sea. All the girls shout out when it goes flying.

Already in the 3rd century BC, Nausicaa was sometimes regarded as the inventor of ball games. However, other people attributed the invention of ball games to different regions of Greece, saying the games were invented by the Sicyonians or Spartans.

But it is unlikely any Greeks were the original inventors of ball games.

In Egypt, thousands of years before Homer’s epics, there are already artistic depictions of ball games.

For example, in the tomb of the Nomarch of the 11th Dynasty (c. 2150-2000 BC), Baqet III, there is artwork showing women playing ball games and men wrestling each other.

Baqet III, whose tomb contained these artistic depictions of various sports, was likely a true sports lover.

Why did people like sports?

People liked ball games for many different reasons.

One was for the sheer fun and excitement. Another was because they were considered a healthy type of exercise.

Ancient Greek and Roman doctors even told their patients to play ball games to become healthier.

For example, the famous ancient Greek physician Galen (129-216 AD) wrote an essay titled On Exercise with a Small Ball.

He argued “exercises with a small ball are superior to other kinds of exercises”.

He claimed ball games were especially healthy because they moved all of the muscles and because teamwork was good for the soul.

People in the ancient world also thought just watching sport could be something worth doing.

The writer Lucian of Samosata (born 120 AD), for instance, said watching athletes competing for glory could help to encourage men to achieve similar feats: “many of the spectators go away in love with manfulness and hard work”, wrote Lucian.

So it seems there’s nothing new about our modern love of playing and watching sports, and this obsession will probably continue for thousands of years into the future.

Konstantine Panegyres, Lecturer in Classics and Ancient History, The University of Western Australia

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

In an age of cynicism and despair, Lady Gaga’s recent Coachella performance “The Art of Personal Chaos” brings audiences hope.

Over two weekends, audiences were treated to a visually lavish set, flawless choreography and strong vocals. Gaga’s performance in five acts — staged for fans as an opera house set in the Indio, California desert — was a self-reflexive event exploring many influences upon the singer.

Gaga’s performance paid homage to past greats such as Michael Jackson and Prince as well as her different past selves. From donning armour and crutches from her “Paparazzi” persona to her Fame-era look, Gaga showed that where she is today follows and emerges from every iteration of her artistic identity over the years.

The evocation and embodiment of her different selves suggested not only a journey of mixed emotions and struggles regarding fame, but her negotiation and resolution of these struggles as pathways into a promising future.

In a recent interview, Gaga highlights that for her, despite emotional struggles and pain, reflexiveness, acceptance and forward thinking can yield eventual peace and happiness.

For me as scholar who researches organizations, Gaga’s performance is an allegory of the need for stewarding change and transition in today’s world.

Allegory of the need to steward change

In my work with organizational scholars Peter Dacin and Derin Kent, we suggest that people involved in stewarding change and transition in organizations are “custodians” — people with a vested interest in protecting traditions, while also reimagining and renewing them over time.

As our work argues, custodians are agents of maintaining the best aspects of cultural continuity, as well as change. Such custodians in workplaces or social organizations facing disruption take valued remnants from the past and curate them to be accessible and relevant for the future.

Gaga’s performance reminds us how artists may be understood to serve this role for society at large. This leads us to view Gaga as an architect of future possibility, a “custodian of hope.”

Cultivating expectations, visions

Custodians of hope are deliberately prospective — meaning, they cultivate expectations and concrete visions for the future.

They craft futures that are worth preserving. They do this by translating current and past practices through renewal and reinvention and by keeping things continually refreshed. Gaga did this by reimagining her past hits during her performance and by injecting them with a new and renewed sense of energy and style.

As writer Coleman Spilde’s brilliant review in Salon noted, Gaga’s performance reminds us that in a world where it’s easy to feel defeated, “beauty is not lost; it’s just harder to find.”

Throughout several of the numbers performed during her Coachella set, Gaga showed that existing in the present is not so simple. Battles are fought and choices must be made. By embodying resilience, Gaga gives us hope and inspiration that in a world full of volatility and despair, small acts of resistance and emotional contagion can craft and recraft the future.

The past is a resource for renewal

According to recent research by organizational studies scholars Matthias Wenzel, Hannes Krämer, Jochen Koch and Andreas Reckwitz, people can work to make alternative futures that are not strictly bound to the past but still align with their values. We shouldn’t just passively allow the future to unfold: we need to be intentional about crafting truly desirable futures, as suggested by organizational scholars Ali Aslan Gümüsay and Juliane Reinecke.

As my research with entrepreneurship scholar Nico Klenner examines, custodians of hope care for the past while projecting the past into futures they and others desire.

Yet Gaga goes beyond merely preserving tradition. As a custodian, Gaga curates the past, showing us that tradition is not simply the weight or remnant of the past. Bits of the past are reworked and recrafted as she selectively incorporates past styles of Prince and Michael Jackson into her performance as well as nods to fashion moments of her varied personas.

As expressed by a fan on Tik Tok, dance moves choreographed during “Shadow of a Man” are reminiscent of Jackson. The past becomes a valuable resource for renewal and reinvention moving us towards what might be.

Evoke emotion to enlist others

However, invoking the past is not enough. To realize change, custodians need to evoke emotion to enlist others. As sociologist Ann Mische suggests, hope is ultimately an emotion of possibility.

As a custodian of hope, Gaga takes audiences through an emotionally laden and inclusive journey that reminds us how struggles can be overcome through acts of confrontation, defiance and resilience. For example, during her performance of “Poker Face” performed on a chess board, Gaga confronts a blond figure, an earlier version of her past self.

Early on in her second performance at Coachella, Gaga experienced a wireless microphone failure and grabbed a connected mic and exclaimed: “I’m sorry my mic was broken for a second; At least you know I sing live; And I guess all we can do is our best; I’m definitely giving you my best tonight; I love you so much,” sending the crowd into an uproar.

The audience experienced a collective sense of resilience or effervescence, in what seemed to be a public celebration of generosity and improvisation above perfection.

Collective sense of care

Through interactivity with the audience via the live performance and livestream, fans are drawn in to co-imagine the future not through Lady Gaga but with her. Asking the crowd to raise their “monster paws” signals encouragement and support highlighting the importance of a sense of collective care.

In addition to evoking emotion, Gaga reminded us of the importance of anchoring her vision for the future in the collective sense of care embedded in the Born This Way Foundation. For example, her #BeKind365 platform has logged millions of acts of kindness since its inception. This shows how value can be generated through structured supports or programs that link positive emotion with specific and concrete acts.

Gaga curates as well as extends the past through renewal and reinvention to enlist new believers into a plausible path forward. Her performance underscores that hope is not a one-off moment but rather, an ongoing custodial effort of curating and reconciling the past towards a kinder and more authentic future.

M. Tina Dacin, Stephen J.R. Smith Chaired Professor of Strategy & Organizational Behaviour, Queen's University, Ontario

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

Labor’s federal election win means university fees and costs are set to change. But some of these changes will not be immediate.

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has already said planned cuts to student debt will be a top priority for the the new parliament. A new student debt repayment system will follow soon after.

But humanities students paying nearly A$17,000 a year for their studies – thanks to the Job-ready Graduates scheme introduced by the Morrison government – will probably have to wait until 2027 for lower fees.

Reduction in student debt

People with student debt will benefit from a 20% cut to how much they owe. As the Greens support wiping student debt entirely, Labor is likely to only need one or two other senators to pass the cut.

With more Labor senators elected, Labor will be less reliant on crossbenchers to get legislation through parliament.

Labor says the debt reduction will apply before 3.2% indexation is applied to HELP loan balances on June 1 this year. Given this deadline is mere weeks away, the necessary legislation will probably need to be retrospective.

On average, the 20% reduction will save Australia’s 3 million student debtors about $5,500 each.

A new student debt repayment system

Another promised Labor change will deliver quick cash benefits to the about 1.2 million people making compulsory student debt repayments.

If the Senate agrees, for the 2025-26 financial year, the income threshold to start repaying student loans will increase from $56,156 to $67,000. Anyone earning less than $67,000 in 2025-26 will repay nothing that financial year, compared to between $561 and $1,340 under current settings.

Once the $67,000 income threshold is reached, student debtors will repay 15% of their income above this amount up to an income of $125,000, when the rate moves up to 17%. For example, a person earning $68,000 will be $1,000 above the new threshold – 15% of $1,000 equals a repayment of $150. Under the current system, somebody earning $68,000 would repay $1,360.

Employers will deduct lower HELP repayments from their payroll, delivering extra cash to student debtor employees. Given the limited time before the thresholds are scheduled to change on July 1, employers may start with the old repayment system and transition to the new one after the necessary legislation passes.

Understand the fine print

During the election campaign, the Parliamentary Budget Office released work it did on HELP repayment scenarios for independent ACT Senator David Pocock, who was reelected on Saturday.

This showed how under Labor’s proposed system, people with student debt will take longer to repay and incur higher indexation costs. If student debtors are concerned about this they can make voluntary repayments.

What happens to the Job-ready Graduates scheme?

A key to reducing repayment times is students accruing less debt in the first place. The Morrison government’s Job-ready Graduates policy increased student contributions for business, law and most arts subjects. Currently they pay $16,992 a year for their studies.

The Coalition introduced this change in 2022 in a bid to encourage more university students to study “job-ready” teaching, nursing and STEM subjects.

A new Australian Tertiary Education Commission, which Labor plans to legislate in the second half of 2025, will review student contribution levels as part of its broader role in managing the domestic student funding system.

Last year, the Australian Universities Accord final report recommended student contributions should no longer be designed to steer course choices. Instead they should be based on expected future earnings.

Using this principle, humanities students would pay the cheapest student contribution level. But this will not happen quickly.

The new commission has a lot of work to do, with new student contributions forming part of a broader funding overhaul. The government then needs to accept any recommendations and legislate the new rates.

Unfortunately for current students, this process means that student contributions are unlikely to change before 2027 at the earliest.

International students

While many domestic students are set to eventually pay less for their education, international students face early increases in costs. During the election campaign, Labor announced student visa application fees will increase from $1,600 to $2,000. As recently as June 2024 the visa application fee was only $710.

This latest visa increase adds another item to an already long list of policies designed to discourage or block potential international students. It probably isn’t the last.

Although student visa applications have trended down, the number of student visa holders in Australia at the end of March 2025 was higher than at the same time in 2023 or 2024.

The government might try again to legislate formal caps on international student numbers. The Greens combined with the Liberals to block this in 2024.

Commonwealth Prac Payments

With Labor returned, eligible teaching, nursing and social work students will receive $331.65 a week when on mandatory work placements.

While the “Commonwealth Prac Payments” policy is scheduled to start on July 1, the necessary legal instrument is not yet in place.

Late in the election campaign the Coalition announced that, if elected, it would proceed with Prac Payments as a loan, rather than a grant.

With the election result, Prac Payments can go ahead as originally planned. The minister can authorise the necessary delegated legislation before parliament sits. While the Senate could later “disallow” Prac Payments, the new Senate numbers make this very unlikely.

Needs-based funding

Labor’s election win should see another so far unlegislated program – needs-based funding for equity students – proceed as promised from January 1 2026.

This will be a per student payment made to universities for each low socioeconomic status and First Nations student, along with each student enrolled at a regional campus. The idea is similar to needs-based funding for schools.

Whether or not current education minister Jason Clare remains in the portfolio, Labor has a large higher education agenda to implement. In some areas the detail is already clear. But significant work remains to develop the new Australian Tertiary Education Commission and a new domestic student funding system.

With several policy start dates due in the next eight weeks, the government will need to move quickly.

Andrew Norton, Professor of Higher Education Policy, Monash University

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

Picture this: a small audience is quietly ushered into a darkened room. They gasp in awe, as a brilliant night sky shines above. They wonder – as many after them will do – what trickery has made the roof above their heads disappear?

But this is a performance; the stars above an ingenious projection. For the first time a public audience has experienced the spectacle of the opto-mechanical planetarium. The location is the newly opened Deutsches Museum in Munich, built to celebrate science and technology. The date is May 7 1925.

Visualising the heavens

Throughout time, cultures around the world have used the stars to help make sense of the world, to understand where we come from and determine our place in the cosmos.

People have tried to recreate the movements of the stars and planets since antiquity. In the 1700s, the orrery, a clockwork model of the Solar System, was developed. The word “planetarium” was invented to describe orreries that featured the planets.

One room-sized orrery example was built by the self-taught Frisian astronomer Eise Eisinga. It’s still operational today in Franeker, Netherlands.

No human has ever been to the edge of the Solar System to see this view. Orreries, and other mechanical models of the universe like celestial globes, present views from impossible, external perspectives.

The first planetariums

The desire for a realistic view of the stars and planets, created from a perspective we actually see, gathered pace in the early 20th century as light pollution from growing cities diminished the view of the night sky.

People like Oskar von Miller, first director of the Deutsches Museum in Munich, Germany, wanted to return this vision of the stars and planets to everyone. (Ironically, von Miller’s earlier career was as an electrical engineer, rolling out the city lighting that contributed to light pollution.)

One early attempt to create this view of the night sky was the Atwood Sphere, installed in Chicago in 1913.

Approximately five metres across, it was made of sheet metal perforated with a star map. When viewed from the inside, the light shining through 692 pinholes replicated the Chicago night sky. The whole structure could even be rotated to simulate the motion of the stars.

A realistic display of the stars is one thing. Representing the planets, whose positions in the sky change from night to night, is a different one. Von Miller and others at the Deutsches Museum knew that fixed holes could not represent the complexity of a moving planet.

What if the planets were displayed by projection? If so, couldn’t the stars be projected, as well? With this realisation, a new kind of planetarium was born, borrowing the name from earlier orreries but working in a completely different way.

The task of building such a device was given to the German optical company Carl Zeiss AG. After many setbacks, their first planetarium projector was completed in 1923, with the first performance at the Deutsches Museum a century ago today.

Planetariums were a hit with the public. Within decades, they had spread around the world – the first planetarium in the United States opened in Chicago in 1930, while the first one in Asia opened in Osaka, Japan in 1937. The popularity of planetariums particularly accelerated in the US during the space race of the 1960s.

Australia’s oldest operating planetarium is the Melbourne Planetarium, managed by Museums Victoria since 1965. In Aotearoa New Zealand, Auckland’s Stardome Observatory has been in operation since 1997. The current longest-running planetarium in the southern hemisphere is in Montevideo, Uruguay, operational since 1955.

Changing pace of technology

The opto-mechanical planetarium projector remains a technological wonder of the modern world. Individual plates, perforated with pinholes, are illuminated by a bright central light. Separate lenses focus each projection from one of these star maps to fill the entire dome with about 5,000 stars.

The Sun, Moon and planets have separate projectors driven by gears and rods that mechanically calculate the object’s position in the sky for any time or place.

By the 1990s, a digital revolution had begun. With the advent of computers, the positions of the planets could now be calculated digitally. The Melbourne Planetarium became the first digital planetarium in the southern hemisphere when it installed the Digistar II in 1999.

This system, developed by computer graphics company Evans and Sutherland, replaced the multiple lenses of earlier projectors with a fisheye lens. A single beam of light swept across the whole dome so rapidly that it seemed to create a single image – albeit in a bizarre green colour, rendering a starfield of fuzzy green blobs.

The trade-off for a less crisp starfield was a 3D database with more than 9,000 stars. For the first time, planetarium audiences could fly through space, far beyond the edge of the Solar System.

Planetarium technology continues to develop. Today, most planetariums operate through video projection. Known as fulldome, the output from multiple projectors is blended together to create a seamless video, transforming the planetarium into a sophisticated 360-degree theatre.

A gateway to the stars

Astronomy has also changed over the last century. Just as Zeiss was completing its first projector, astronomer Edwin Hubble discovered that other galaxies exist beyond our Milky Way galaxy.

The stars shown on the dome in Munich in 1925 turned out to be just a tiny part of the universe that we know today.

Planetariums’ digital systems now incorporate data from telescopes and space agencies around the world. Audiences can fly off Earth, orbit the planets and moons of the Solar System, and explore the billions of known galaxies.

Yet some things have not changed. From orreries and lantern slides to opto-mechanical and digital planetariums, the communication of astronomy has always been about more than just the latest results of science.

The power of the planetarium over the last 100 years has been its ability to evoke wonder and awe. It taps into our enduring fascination with the vast mystery of the night sky.

Martin Bush, Senior Lecturer in History and Philosophy of Science, The University of Melbourne and Tanya Hill, Honorary Fellow at University of Melbourne and Senior Curator (Astronomy), Museums Victoria Research Institute

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

As we age, it’s common to notice posture changes: shoulders rounding, head leaning forward, back starting to curve. You might associate this with older adults and wonder: will this happen to me? Can I prevent it?

It’s sometimes called “hunchback” or “roundback”, but the medical term for a curved back is kyphosis.

When the curve is beyond what’s considered normal (greater than 40 degrees), we refer to this as hyperkyphosis. In more severe cases, it may lead to pain, reduced mobility and physical function, or lower quality of life.

Here’s how it happens, and how to reduce your risk.

What causes a curved back?

A healthy spine has an elongated s-shape, so a curve in the upper spine is completely normal.

But when that curve becomes exaggerated and fixed (meaning you can’t stand up straight even if you try), it can signal a problem.

One common cause of a curved back is poor posture. This type, called postural kyphosis, usually develops over time due to muscle imbalances, particularly in younger people who spend hours:

• hunched over a desk
• slouched in a chair, or
• looking down at a phone.

Fortunately, this kind of curved back is often reversible with the right exercises, stretches and posture awareness.

Older adults often develop a curved back, known as age-related kyphosis or hyperkyphosis.

This is usually due to wear and tear in the spine, including vertebral compression fractures, which are tiny cracks in the bones of the spine (vertebrae).

These cracks are most often caused by osteoporosis, a condition that makes bones more fragile with age.

In these cases, it’s not just bad posture – it’s a structural change in the spine.

How can you tell the difference?

Signs of age-related hyperkyphosis include:

• your back curves even when you try to stand up straight
• back pain or stiffness
• a loss of height (anything greater than 3-4 centimetres compared to your peak adult height may be considered outside of “normal” ageing).

Other causes of a curved back include:

• Scheuermann’s kyphosis (which often develops during adolescence when the bones in the spine grow unevenly, leading to a forward curve in the upper back)
• congenital kyphosis (a rare condition present from birth, caused by improper formation of the spinal bones. It can result in a more severe, fixed curve that worsens as a child grows)
• scoliosis (where the spine curves sideways into a c- or s-shape when viewed from behind), and
• lordosis (an excessive inward curve in the lower back, when viewed from the side).

In addition to these structural conditions, arthritis, and in rare cases, spinal injuries or infections, can also play a role.

Should I see a doctor about my curved back?

Yes, especially if you’ve noticed a curve developing, have ongoing back pain, or have lost height over time.

These can be signs of vertebral fractures, which can occur in the absence of an obvious injury, and are often painless.

While one in five older adults have a vertebral fracture, as many as two-thirds of these fractures are not diagnosed and treated.

In Australia, the Royal Australian College of General Practitioners and Healthy Bones Australia recommend a spine x-ray for:

• people with kyphosis
• height loss equal to or more than 3 centimetres, or
• unexplained back pain.

What can I do to reduce my risk?

If you’re young or middle-aged, the habits you build today matter.

The best way to prevent a curved back is to keep your bones strong, muscles active, and posture in check. That means:

• doing regular resistance training, especially targeting upper back muscles
• staying physically active, aiming for at least 150 minutes per week
• getting enough protein, calcium, and vitamin D to support bone and muscle health
• avoiding smoking and limiting alcohol to reduce risk factors that worsen bone density and overall wellbeing

Pay attention to your posture while sitting and standing. Position your head over your shoulders and shoulders over your hips. This reduces strain on your spine.

What exercises help prevent and manage a curved back?

Focus on exercises that strengthen the muscles that support an upright posture, particularly the upper back and core, while improving mobility in the chest and shoulders.

In general, you want to prioritise extension-based movements. These involve straightening or lifting the spine and pulling the shoulders back.

Repeated forward-bending (or flexion) movements may make things worse, especially in people with osteoporosis or spinal fractures.

Good exercises include:

• back extensions (gently lift your chest off the floor while lying face down)
• resistance exercises targeting the muscles between your shoulder blades
• weight-bearing activities (such as brisk walking, jogging, stair climbing, or dancing) to keep bones strong and support overall fitness
• stretching your chest and hip flexors to open your posture and relieve tightness.

Flexibility and balance training (such as yoga and pilates) can be beneficial, particularly for posture awareness, balance, and mobility. But research increasingly supports muscle strengthening as the cornerstone of prevention and management.

Muscle strengthening exercises, such as weight lifting or resistance training, reduces spinal curvature while enhancing muscle and bone mass.

If you suspect you have kyphosis or already have osteoporosis or a vertebral fracture, consult a health professional before starting an exercise program. There may be some activities to avoid.

Can a curved back be reversed?

If it’s caused by poor posture and muscle weakness, then yes, it’s possible.

But if it’s caused by bone changes, especially vertebral fractures, then full reversal is unlikely. However, treatment can reduce pain, improve function, and slow further progression.

Protecting your posture isn’t just about appearance. It’s about staying strong, mobile and independent as you age.

Jakub Mesinovic, Research Fellow at the Institute for Physical Activity and Nutrition, Deakin University and David Scott, Associate Professor (Research) and NHMRC Emerging Leadership Fellow, Deakin University

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

Anna Jagiellon was elected Queen of Poland in 1575. While many women rose to power by birth or marriage, Anna was actually chosen by nobles to rule. This achievement remains surprising.

Today, female world leaders are still rare. According to recent data, only about one in four national parliament members globally are women: 27.2% of parliamentarians in single or lower houses, up from 11% in 1995.

As of January 1 2025, in 25 countries women serve as heads of state or government. That number has improved over the past few decades, but men continue to dominate elected office. Anna’s story, set over four centuries ago, shows a woman could secure power through a vote, even in an era when female rulers were nearly unheard of.

The making of a queen

Anna was born in 1523. Her father was King Sigismund the Elder and her mother was Queen Bona Sforza.

The family, the Jagiellon dynasty, ruled a vast realm of Poland and Lithuania. Her brother, King Sigismund II Augustus, was the last male heir. When he died, Anna became the only living member of that royal line residing in Poland.

When Sigismund II Augustus died in 1572, Anna was not initially considered as eligible to ascend the throne: there was no tradition of a woman inheriting it. The Poles had only one previous queen regnant, a woman who rules a kingdom in her own right: Jadwiga, the queen whose 1386 marriage to Jogaila, grand duke of Lithuania, founded the centuries-long union of Lithuania and Poland. Lithuanians had none.

The nobility of the Jagiellon realm decided to elect their monarch, as Sigismund II Augustus did not have a son to inherit the throne. In May 1573, 22-year-old Henry Valois of France was elected king. His reign did not last much more than a year. In May 1574, his brother, Charles IX of France, died. Henry returned to France to become Henry III.

Anna had once been on the sidelines of court life. Perhaps she was overshadowed by her powerful mother and siblings. Yet after her brother’s death and Henry’s abandonment of the Polish throne, she leapt into politics.

In the time when the throne was vacant, Anna became an important figure in deciding who would rule next. Many people viewed her as a political pawn, but she aimed to protect her family’s legacy. She made bold moves to shape alliances and ensure she herself would not be pushed aside.

Election of a queen

In 1575, a group of nobles and officials assembled to pick the next monarch. This was the second time in Poland–Lithuania royal elections were held, instead of the throne passing down the dynasty line. Standing for royal election was unusual among women in the 16th century.

At that gathering, the electors did something almost unheard of in Europe: they chose a woman, Anna, to wear the crown. They also selected a husband for her, a man named Stephen Báthory, who would be her co-ruler.

Yet Anna was crowned as a queen in her own right, not just as a wife of a king. She signed laws, granted privileges and held ceremonies that emphasised her royal power. Some historians once doubted her independence, but newer research points out her keen political sense.

For instance, Anna invested her own money and energy to defend her inheritance from foreign claimants. She made deals to secure alliances and pushed hard to protect her family’s interests. Her role in Poland’s next royal election, after Stephen Báthory died, sealed her reputation as a serious political player.

Breaking gender barriers

Anna’s rule broke with expectations of her era. Like Mary I, the first queen to rule England in her own right (1553–58) and her successor Elizabeth I (1558–1603), she stepped into a job usually held by men.

She faced scepticism and criticism, often based on stereotypes about her age, her fertility or her ability to manage power. Some described her as emotional and unfit to lead. Others cast her as incapable because she had spent so long as a single woman.

Despite these biases, Anna went on to promote her family’s legacy. She commissioned a funerary monument for her mother in the Basilica of San Nicola in Bari and completed the Jagiellon chapel at Wawel Castle in which her father, brother and her own tombstone were placed.

She arranged key alliances and rewarded those who remained loyal. She also supported religious and cultural projects, building on the traditions of her royal parents. In that sense, she showed a queen could manage statecraft and political negotiations, just like any king of her day.

Lessons for today

Women in leadership continue to face hurdles in modern elections. Many still question their abilities or focus on their appearance. Some blame voter bias. Others highlight social structures that limit women’s options. That is why Anna’s story matters.

Her success in a challenging environment underlines two major lessons. First, women have long claimed a rightful place in government. Even in the 16th century, when few women held direct power, Anna achieved electoral victory and took an active role in shaping policy. She helped decide who would succeed her, proving her ability to steer the political landscape.

Second, history’s hidden figures deserve recognition. There are countless remarkable women from outside Western Europe who rarely appear in popular culture. Many stories can also be found in central or eastern Europe, once a vibrant powerhouse of diverse cultures. Yet global narratives often overlook this legacy, especially after 1945, when the Yalta Conference redrew political maps and sidelined histories of those who found themselves on the eastern side of the Iron Curtain.

Anna Jagiellon’s tale broadens our view of female leadership. Her life reminds us that a woman could win a political contest centuries ago, despite prejudice and rigid traditions. It proves there is nothing new about women excelling in positions of power.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Historian, Australian Catholic University

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

Fashion is one of the most powerful tools we have for understanding ourselves and the world around us. Nowhere is this clearer than in the story of Black American tailoring and the legacy of the Black dandy.

Inspired by scholar Monica L. Miller’s groundbreaking book Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, the theme of The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute spring 2025 show is Superfine: Tailoring Black Style.

The exhibition charts the evolution of the Black dandy from the 18th century to today. The story it tells is about more than suits. It’s about power, pride, resistance and joy.

Each year, the Met Gala takes its dress code from the institue’s spring exhibition. This year’s is “Tailored for You”. So who is the Black dandy, why are they so important to fashion today, and what can we expect to see on the red carpet?

The birth of the Black Dandy

“Black dandy” is a modern term. Figures like American abolitionist Frederick Douglass (1818–95) or Haitian revolutionary leader Toussaint Louverture (1743–1803) would not have called themselves dandies, but they used style with similar effect: as a tool of resistance, self-fashioning and cultural pride.

French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821–67) first wrote about dandies in 1863, describing them as individuals who elevate style to a form of personal and aesthetic resistance.

Baudelaire’s dandy was not just stylish but symbolic. He was an emblem of modernity itself: a time marked by fluid identities, liminal spaces and the collapse of clear boundaries between gender, authenticity and social order.

Dandyism among Black men took root in the 18th and 19th centuries in both the United States and the Caribbean. Tailoring became a way to reclaim dignity under enslavement and colonialism.

Dandies take the clothing of an oppressor – aristocratic, colonial, segregationist or otherwise – and turn it into a weapon of elegance. Through meticulous style and refinement, dandies make a silent yet striking claim to moral superiority.

Douglass famously appeared in immaculate Victorian suits when campaigning for abolition, consciously dressing in the same style as those who denied his freedom.

Louverture used perfectly tailored French military uniforms during the Haitian Revolution against French colonial rule.

In the 1920s, Harlem dandies wore fine tailoring and flamboyant colours, rejecting the idea that poverty or discrimination should dictate presentation.

In perfectly tied cravats, polished shoes and sharply tailored coats, Black dandies refashion power on their own terms.

Presence through style

Dandies also challenge the narrow rules of masculinity.

Conventional menswear often demands restraint, toughness and invisibility. Dandies dare to embrace beauty, self-adornment and performance. This masculinity can be expressive, creative and even flamboyant.

The luxurious silk suits and carefully groomed appearance of American Jazz pioneer Duke Ellington (1899–1974) projected glamour rather than austerity.

The elegantly tailored overcoats and scarves of American poet Langston Hughes (1901–67) suggested a masculinity deeply entwined with creativity and softness.

Figures in Harlem’s ballrooms and jazz clubs blurred gender boundaries decades before mainstream conversations about gender fluidity emerged.

A tradition of Black tailoring

In a world where Black self-presentation has long been scrutinised and politicised, tailored clothing asserted visibility, authority and artistry. Dandies transformed fashion into a political declaration of dignity, resistance and creative power.

Black American tailoring practices blossomed most visibly in the zoot suits of the Harlem Renaissance, though they also had strong roots in New Orleans, Chicago and the Caribbean.

As seen in the Sunday Best of the Civil Rights era, Black tailoring walked the line between resistance and celebration: beautiful but with clear political intent.

In the 1970s, the Black dandy became more flamboyant, wearing tight, colourful clothes with bold accessories. He transformed traditional suits with exaggerated shapes, bright patterns and plaids inspired by African heritage.

Artists popular with a white audience like Sammy Davis Jr (1925–90), Miles Davis (1926–91) and James Brown (1933–2006) embraced the aesthetic, contributing to its widespread acceptance.

Meanwhile, a super stylish contingent of Black men in the Congo, La Sapeur, refined their look so spectacularly they would become the benchmark of the Black dandy for generations to come.

The 1990s saw a new era of Black dandyism emerge through luxury sportswear and hip-hop aesthetics.

Designer Dapper Dan (1944–) revolutionised fashion by remixing luxury logos into bold, custom streetwear, creating a distinctive Black aesthetic that bridged hip-hop culture and high fashion.

Musician Andre 3000 (1975–) redefined menswear by blending Southern Black style with bold colour, vintage tailoring and theatrical flair.

Today, the tradition thrives in the style of influencer Wisdom Kaye, the elegance of LeBron James, and the risk-taking of Lewis Hamilton.

Dressing for the red carpet

Tailored for You invites guests to interpret the dandy’s legacy in personal, bold and boundary-pushing ways.

Whether conforming to tradition, subverting expectations or creating something entirely new, this theme is a celebration of the freedom to dress – and be – on your own terms.

The Black dandy is a figure of defiance and desire, of ambiguity and brilliance, of resistance and beauty. Dandyism blurs boundaries between masculinity and femininity, artifice and authenticity, conformity and rebellion. It unsettles fixed identities and reflects broader tensions within modern life.

Black dandies have shocked, amused, offended, delighted and inspired society since their inception. In the sharp defiance of Douglass’ Victorian suits, the flamboyant spectacle of Harlem ballrooms, and the logo-laced rebellion of Dapper Dan’s streetwear, the Black dandy has continually forced the world to reckon with the politics of presence, pride and performance.

Despite being overlooked by mainstream fashion history, they’ve shaped the way we see elegance, masculinity and self-expression. This Met Gala and the accompanying exhibition are not just a celebration – they are a long-overdue recognition.

Toby Slade, Associate Professor of Fashion, University of Technology Sydney and Dijanna Mulhearn, PhD Candidate, School of Design. Author of Red Carpet Oscars, University of Technology Sydney

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

In a world with political polarisation, war, extreme weather events and increasing costs of living, we need to be able to cope as individuals and communities.

Our capacity to cope with very real stressors in our lives – our resilience – can determine whether we thrive, just survive, or are deprived of a reasonable quality of life.

Stress vs resilience

Resilience means having the ability to cope with, and rebound from, life’s challenges and still achieve our goals.

Stress isn’t something to be avoided. We need to feel some stress to achieve our best. Exposure to manageable levels of stress and adversity develops our coping skills and resilience.

But if we feel too much stress, we can flounder or become overwhelmed.

The ability to re-activate ourselves when we feel down, fatigued or disengaged helps to optimise our focus and motivation. Sportspeople, for example, might listen to high intensity music just before a competition to increase their energy levels.

Conversely, the ability to dampen down emotional intensity can make use feel less stressed or anxious. Exercising, listening to relaxing music, or patting a much-loved pet can prevent high arousal from interfering with completing a task.

Effective emotion regulation is crucial for adapting to life’s ups and downs, and keeping us on a relatively even keel.

How does resilience develop?

Resilience emerges from interactions between personal and environmental factors.

In addition to emotion regulation skills, personal factors that can bolster resilience include academic achievement, developing a range of skills and abilities (such as sport and music) and problem-solving skills. Many of these skills can be fostered in childhood. And if one area of life isn’t going well, we can still experience confidence, joy and meaning in others.

People who reflect on traumatic experience and develop new positive meanings about themselves (getting through it means I’m strong!) and life (a greater appreciation) can also have higher levels of resilience.

Genetic factors and temperament also play an important role. Some of us are born with nervous systems that respond with more anxiety than others in novel, uncertain, or potentially threatening situations. And some of us are more likely to avoid rather than approach these situations. These traits tend to be associated with lower levels of resilience. But we can all learn skills to build our resilience.

Environmental factors that promote resilience include:

• a nurturing home environment
• supportive family and peer relationships
• cultural identity, belonging and rituals
• modelling from others overcoming hardship
• community cohesion
• government policies that provide social safety nets, strong education, anti-discrimination and inclusion
• investment in facilities, spaces, services and networks that support the quality of life and wellbeing of communities.

Can resilience be taught?

Many factors associated with resilience are modifiable, so it stands to reason that interventions that aim to bolster them should be helpful.

There is evidence that interventions that promote optimism, flexibility, active coping and social support-seeking can have small yet meaningful positive effects on resilience and emotional wellbeing in children and adults.

However, school-based programs give us reason to be cautious.

A trial across 84 schools in the United Kingdom evaluated the effectiveness of school-based mindfulness programs. More than 3,500 students aged between 11 and 13 years received ten lessons of mindfulness and a similar number did not.

There was no evidence that mindfulness had any benefit on risk for depression, social, emotional and behavioural functioning, or wellbeing after one year. Teaching school children mindfulness at scale did not appear to bolster resilience.

In fact, there was some evidence it did harm – and it was most harmful for students at the highest risk of depression. The intervention was not deemed to be effective or cost-effective and was not recommended by the authors.

In another recent trial, researchers found an emotion regulation intervention with Year 8 and 9 school children was unhelpful and even harmful, although children who engaged in more home practice tended to do better.

These interventions may have failed for a number of reasons. The content may not have been delivered in a way that was sufficiently engaging, comprehensive, age-appropriate, frequent, individually tailored, or relevant to the school context. Teachers may also not be sufficiently trained in delivering these interventions for them to be effective. And students didn’t co-design the interventions.

Regardless of the reasons, these findings suggest we need to be cautious when delivering universal interventions to all children. It may be more helpful to wait until there are early signs of excessive stress and intervening in an individualised way.

What does this mean for resilience-building?

Parents and schools have a role in providing children with the sense of security that gives them confidence to explore their environments and make mistakes in age-appropriate ways, and providing support when needed.

Parents and teachers can encourage children to try to solve problems themselves before getting involved. Problem-solving attempts should be celebrated even more than success.

Schools need to allocate their scarce resources to children most in need of practical and emotional support in non-stigmatising ways, rather than universal approaches. Most children will develop resilience without intervention programs.

To promote resilience, schools can foster positive peer relationships, cultural identity and involvement in creative, sporting and academic pursuits. They can also highlight others’ recovery and resilience stories to demonstrate how growth can occur from adversity.

More broadly in the community, people can work on developing their own emotion regulation skills to bolster their confidence in their ability to manage adversity.

Think about how you can:

• approach challenges in constructive ways
• actively problem-solve rather than avoid challenges
• genuinely accept failure as part of being human
• establish healthy boundaries
• align your behaviour with your values
• receive social and professional support when needed.

This will help you navigate the ebbs and flows of life in ways that support recovery and growth.

Peter McEvoy, Professor of Clinical Psychology, Curtin University

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