By Anna LeRoux 

With the holiday shopping season in full swing, consumers are flocking to large national retailers, drawn by deep discounts and flashy promotions. For small, local businesses, the surge in consumer spending presents both an opportunity and a challenge. 

While many shoppers are lured by the convenience and perceived savings offered by major chains, small businesses are struggling to maintain their profit margins, brand identities and customer loyalty during the busiest shopping period of the year.

The advent of Black Friday, followed by the Christmas shopping rush, has long been a critical time for both large and small businesses. However, the contrast between the two is becoming more obvious as e-commerce giants such as Amazon and big-box retailers like Walmart dominate with enormous discounts and advertising budgets. This raises an important question for small business owners: How can they compete with the scale and prices offered by major retailers without sacrificing what makes them unique?

During Black Friday and the lead-up to Christmas, consumers are increasingly expectant of large discounts. Major retailers often discount popular items up to 70%, making it difficult for local shops to keep pace with prices. 

According to the National Retail Federation, the average American consumer was expected to spend $902 between seasonal items and holiday gifts in 2023, with a significant portion going toward big-box stores and online outlets. While large retailers can afford to sell products at a loss for a short period, small businesses, often operating with slimmer margins, are forced to make tough decisions about pricing.

For local businesses, lowering prices to compete with the big players is not always an option. Unlike major retailers, small businesses may not benefit from bulk purchasing power or supply chain efficiencies that allow large chains to reduce their overhead costs. While they can offer unique products and personalized customer service, these advantages don’t always translate to immediate sales during high-volume shopping periods.

Despite the dominance of big retailers, there is a noticeable shift in consumer behavior between generations. Gen Z — individuals born between 1997 and 2012 — is increasingly seeking out locally sourced, thrifted, handmade and personalized gifts over mass-produced items. 

Kendal Nobrega, U of A sophomore Apparel Merchandising and Product Development student, is a participant in Gen-Z’s shift to thrifted gifts. “Thrifted gifts have so much more personality and thoughtfulness behind them,” Nobrega said. “My best friend and I have recently started only gifting each other second-hand items. We both find this so much more intentional and I always love to see what made her think of me.”

According to a 2023 survey from the National Federation of Independent Business (NFIB), 50% of Gen Z respondents said they would be more likely to purchase gifts from small, local businesses during the holiday season compared to 25% of Baby Boomers. This generational difference highlights a growing trend that could offer small businesses an opportunity to stand out amid the large retail giants.

“I love going to flea markets for gifts because it feels so much more special finding something unique that fits the person,” said Delanie O’Dell, a U of A freshman. “I don’t have to worry that they’re going to get the same gift from someone else, and finding the gift in a small town flea market gives it a fun little backstory. It’s also more sustainable, which makes it even better.”

O’Dell’s sentiment is echoed by many Gen Z consumers who prioritize sustainability, uniqueness and the desire to support local economies. In a world that often values convenience over connection, this younger demographic is proving they are willing to go the extra mile for products that reflect their values, even if it means paying a higher price.

Annalise Robins, a U of A junior who is founder and president of the UARK Sustainable Fashion Club, emphasizes how thrifting plays into this trend. “I have been thrifting since childhood because it was how my family afforded most things,” she said. “As I got older, my friends wanted to join me thrifting. They wanted to save money and have unique pieces. Many of them were inspired by influencers like Emma Chamberlain, who, despite having money, prefers thrifting and antique stores in many cases.”

For small businesses, the ability to offer something unique, whether in the form of a handmade item or a carefully curated selection of products, is one of their greatest assets. Unlike larger retailers that may stock thousands of identical items, local stores have the flexibility to feature one-of-a-kind products that resonate with consumers looking for authenticity or a personal touch. This is especially true when it comes to gift-giving during the holiday season, a time when people want to express thoughtfulness and individuality.

Additionally, as more consumers become aware of the environmental impact of their purchases, the demand for sustainable, locally sourced products has risen. Many small businesses, particularly those that specialize in artisanal goods or vintage items, have embraced eco-friendly practices as a selling point. Maggie Paige, owner of Presley Paige in Fayetteville, Arkansas, curates a collection of many items that have a sustainable size and include recycled post-consumer materials.

Whether it’s upcycled materials, hand-crafted gifts or products made locally to reduce carbon footprints, these businesses have the opportunity to tap into a more responsible practice.

“Gen Z is also the most environmentally conscious generation. However, we do not have money” Robins said. “That is why myself and many of my friends will hunt antique shops, flea markets, and art/maker markets to find something affordable and often vintage.” 

As the holiday shopping season continues to be dominated by large retailers, small businesses must get creative if they hope to stay afloat. Offering exceptional customer service, creating memorable shopping experiences and building a strong community connection are all ways local shops can differentiate themselves.

In addition, many small businesses are turning to digital tools to reach a wider audience. E-commerce platforms, social media and email marketing campaigns allow small stores to advertise their products, connect with customers and even offer exclusive discounts during key shopping periods. In some cases, local businesses are collaborating with each other to offer combined promotions, encouraging consumers to shop local in exchange for a broader variety of inclusion with goods and services.

Robins, who is studying Apparel Merchandising and Product Development with a minor in Sustainability, also explained how thrifting is especially meaningful to her as a plus-size shopper. “Finding clothes at thrift, resale and antique stores is much easier and more affordable than buying new. There are very few retailers that I can walk in and walk out with something that will fit me.”

For small businesses, the holidays can be both a blessing and a burden. The surge in consumer spending can provide a much-needed boost to local economies, but the competition from massive retailers remains a challenge. As Gen Z continues to prioritize supporting small, sustainable and unique businesses, there is hope for a resurgence of locally driven commerce. 

However, the key for small business owners lies in finding ways to maintain their brand identity, offer quality products and create personalized shopping experiences that larger stores cannot replicate.

Ultimately, the future of small businesses during the holiday shopping season may not depend on who can offer the deepest discounts, but on who can offer the most meaningful connection to their customers. And in a generation increasingly looking for authenticity, that might just be the most valuable product.

The post ‘Tis the Sustainable Season: Gen Z’s Shopping Revolution appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ashton York

In the heart of downtown Springdale, Coco Vasquez — known onstage as Pura Coco — sat on a brown couch in the back of a small recording studio built into an old shed. She crossed her arms, smiling while she talked about her passion for music.

Vasquez is an R&B artist who works with Love More Records, a locally-owned record label that started in 2022 in Northwest Arkansas. Her music is a blend of alternative R&B that leans into Latin culture and her southern upbringing, according to her Spotify page. Vasquez got started with Love More Records when her friend Raquel Thompson invited her onto the team. 

Raquel is a local DJ and wanted to create an artist-friendly, independent record label. She started Love More Records in 2022 to provide local artists with a label that would pay fairly and give back to the musicians.

Greg “G.T.” Thompson, Raquel’s father, encouraged his daughter to follow her dream of creating the local business. He said the name of the label “means exactly what it says.”

“We’ve always wanted to put a little bit of that energy out into the universe,” Greg said. “Love a little bit more, man. Just be more present with people, conscious of people.”

Greg also said Love More Records specifically partners with artists who carry a similar energy and goal, whether it be onstage or in everyday interactions with other people. He also said he believes most other record labels are outdated in terms of how much they take from their artists.

“It doesn’t cost as much nowadays to make a record as it did 20 years ago,” Greg said. “You couldn’t do it from your bedroom or your home. Now that’s changed, and some artists can make music by themselves without having a room full of musicians. Not as much money needs to be taken out of the artist’s pocket because it doesn’t require as much to make.”

 Love More Records’ main mission is to create a new standard in the music industry to uplift artists and hold record labels accountable for giving their artists the right kind of support. According to the Love More Records website, the business seeks to work collaboratively with artists to reach their career goals and avoid imposing restrictive decisions on them while also fostering a sense of community.

Jeremiah Pickett, known as BAANG, is another hip-hop artist who works with Love More Records. The acronym “BAANG” stands for Believe, Aspire, Achieve, Now Go — which perfectly reflects the energy he brings to the stage.

According to the BAANG Spotify page, he has a dynamic stage presence and an effortless ability to control the crowd. He is passionate about finding and highlighting local talent in his annual mini-festival called BAANG & The Gang.

“A lot of times, this area specifically caters toward already-established artists,” Pickett said. “I desire a world where a person who is just now starting to make music today can have a path to start and deal with this career from right here without having to move away.”

Pickett said he thinks music is about expression, creation and showing people how to feel. Much of his music is made of real stories and experiences he has seen. He also said that Love More Records provides a good foundation to connect with others who feel the same way.

“(We’ve) got a bunch of dedicated and passionate team members who are willing to work hard and figure stuff out,” Pickett said. “It’s cool being a part of an organization that you don’t have to worry if they’re being honest – if they’re going to do right by you. They’re genuine people.”

The label also cultivates growth for the entire local music community, welcoming outside musicians into the studio for jam sessions and networking opportunities. Love More Records partners with the Music Education Initiative, a Northwest Arkansas nonprofit organization that hosts artist workshops and trains people to work with stage production and technology.

Around October, Love More Records opened a new studio in Springdale, and there are several upcoming events scheduled to take place in the homey, instrument-filled space. There will be a grand opening welcome party before the end of 2024, and it will be open to the public.

“I feel like it’s another family,” Vasquez said. “Of course, it is still business, but I love having that support system, and I love being able to support them. I like where we’re at. I’m really grateful for it.”

The post Love More, Grow More: The Local Record Label Redefining the Music Industry in NWA appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Alexandra Solberg

Travel the world within 10 minutes of Fayetteville by stepping into French Metro Antiques, a local treasure trove of French history and culture. Nestled in the heart of our community, French Metro Antiques has been a beacon of elegance and history for two decades. The store’s journey began with Renée and Terry Hunt, a couple united by their shared passion for French culture and antiques. Renée, a former high school French teacher with a Master’s degree in French language and literature from the University of Arkansas, and Terry, a stockbroker with dual degrees in business management and fine arts, combined their expertise and love for France to create a unique antique shopping experience. This exceptional antique store is a testament to their shared passion for all things French. 

For over 40 years, the Hunts have traveled to France, immersing themselves in its rich history and culture. Their deep connection to the country is evident not only in their extensive collection but also in their family’s involvement. Their four sons, all fluent in French and with experiences living, studying or working in France, have grown up surrounded by French antiques. Today, sons Harrison and Cam, both University of Arkansas graduates with degrees in French, work full time at French Metro, continuing the family tradition.

French Metro Antiques offers a diverse array of pieces, spanning from the 17th century to the mid-20th century. Whether you are looking for formal buffets, rustic farm tables or mid-century modern coffee tables, the store has something to suit every taste. The collection includes furnishings, decorative objects, lighting, mirrors and oil paintings, all carefully selected by the Hunts during their trips to France.

Authenticity is paramount at French Metro. The Hunts distinguish between period pieces, created during the reign of specific French kings, and later reproductions made in the style of those periods.

“The age of a piece cannot be determined by its features alone since during the 19th century there was a resurgence in popularity of all styles” Renee said. 

Period pieces reflect the unique styles developed by individual kings and crafted by French cabinet makers of the time. Even pieces created a century later in the style of a former king are considered antiques, meaning they are at least 100 years old.

When it comes to assessing the authenticity of their items, the Hunts are meticulous. “Period pieces refer to furnishings made during the reign of a particular French king,” Renée said. “Each king developed his own personal style, and the cabinet makers in France would create furnishings in that style during the period of the king’s reign. However, not all antique pieces are period pieces; some were created in the style of those periods but made later.” It is rare to come across a piece that is specifically dated to the year it was made. 

Renée leads a team on trips to France two to three times a year to acquire fine antique French furniture, art and accessories. “Variety is key at French Metro,” Renée said. 

French Metro currently has a unique box with an original hand-forged lock and key with a hand-carved year of 1732. The Hunts explain that “when we do come across a dated piece, it usually was to commemorate a special date such as the year someone got married.” 

George Walker, a frequent visitor of French Metro Antiques, said, “Walking around the shop is like being engulfed in historical furnishings.” He explained that he and his wife love to “pop in and pretend they are roaming one of France’s many antique stores.” 

French Metro Antiques also organizes customer appreciation events. These can range from special book signings to anniversary events and even special pastry tastings. When passing by, one can only help but notice the beautiful floral garden in front of the shop. This is a tradition for the owners to “plant 2000 tulips every year in front of our shop, and we display ever-changing vignettes in our large window facing Dickson Street,” Renee explained.

Starting your own antique collection can be overwhelming when first starting out. “Antiques never really go out of style since tastes are cyclical and subjective,” Renee said. “When you buy something you are drawn to, it becomes a part of your own history, your own story to tell.”

At French Metro Antiques, every item tells a story, offering a glimpse into the past and a touch of timeless elegance for your home. “We are fortunate to be able to hear each story in France and pass that on to our clients,” Renee said. Visit French Metro Antiques to explore their exquisite collection and bring a piece of French history into your life.

The post Passport to France: In Fayetteville appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ashton York

For many of our kin, pets are more than just animals — they are family. Especially after COVID-19 sent the world into isolation about four years ago, many people sought out the company of animals. Although many know the joy of owning a dog or cat, some may not realize how deep that connection actually goes.

A human-animal bond is a mutually beneficial relationship between people and animals in which both the human and the pet benefit mentally, physically and socially. 

Throughout history, animals have been incorporated into religious ceremonies and folklore tales. The human interest and love for animals trace back to around 100,000 years ago, according to The New York Times.

In Fayetteville, there are several opportunities for anyone to bond with animals, even for those who do not own a pet. Places such as the Good Dog Cafe and the Smitten Kitten NWA offer a chance to kick back with a coffee and watch animals play.

The Good Dog Cafe is open Thursday through Sunday and allows people to bring their dogs inside the building as long as they are well-behaved. There is a fenced play area with an obstacle course available for either a one-visit or subscription fee, according to the Experience Fayetteville website.

Tryphina Renz, owner and manager of Good Dog Cafe, said her family started the business nearly six years ago when they bought the property and renovated it themselves.

“My family and I used to spend a lot of time at our local dog park,” Renz said. “It’s terrific for the dogs, but we noticed that we were usually ready to leave before the dogs were just because there’s not anything to drink and there’s not a restroom nearby.”

This experience gave Renz’s family the idea to create something equally for humans as it is for pets. The cafe has a full menu for humans featuring breakfast, lunch, drinks and snacks, and customers are welcomed in even if they do not bring a dog.

The cafe regularly hosts events for specific types of dogs, such as Dog Pawties it has for different sizes and breeds. On Oct. 12, the cafe held a small dog party, where they only allowed small dog breeds and sold food and drinks from a limited menu.

The Smitten Kitten, on the other hand, is catered more toward cat people who wish to spend time with new animals. According to its website, people can pet, cuddle and adopt cats from local rescues and shelters at the cafe.

Smitten Kitten is a nonprofit that is open Wednesday through Sunday with varying times. Entry is $12 per person and allows unlimited time and coffee with entry. 

Justine Lentz, superintendent of Fayetteville Animal Services, said she has noticed an increase in cat adoptions since the pandemic began in 2020. She said she believes it is because of the accessibility of owning a cat.

“With the shortage of housing and landlords having tighter restrictions, (people) usually stay more open to cats than they do with dogs,” Lentz said. “It’s really hard for us to even keep them in here because they can adopt so fast, which is wonderful.”

Lentz said she wishes more people would check out local animal shelters. Fayetteville Animal Services not only offers adoption services but has animal control and veterinary services for animal shelters in Fayetteville.

“Even with our spay/neuter program, seeing people that want to make sure their pet’s health is taken care of even though they may not have the resources to have it done at a private vet, it’s always really good to hear that stuff,” Lentz said.

Human-animal bonds have been proven to reduce stress, anxiety and depression, ease loneliness and improve overall health, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness. 

According to University of California Health, 60% of dog owners meet the recommended weekly amount of exercise. Owning a pet gives one the responsibility needed to add structure to one’s daily routine, providing a sense of stability and purpose.

Chris Tanner, who has 20 years of experience in the Marines, personally knows the importance animals bring to their owners, as his dog Daisy helped him every day when he left the military.

“I had a lot of medical issues, including PTSD, and when I left, I was having probably about 30 to 50 anxiety attacks a day,” Tanner said. “I occasionally still get one, but it’s not to the severity it was, and there’s much fewer of them. I think just the comfort of having her with me was hugely beneficial.”

Even after Daisy passed away a couple years ago, Tanner said his current dog, Kepler, plays a huge role in his day-to-day life. He takes Kepler everywhere with him, whether to the store or on a daily walk. 

“Now that I’m divorced, the house is so quiet,” Tanner said,” but no matter when you come home, no matter what you’re doing, (dogs are) always happy to be there. They’re always happy to see you. They always want to be by you and that’s a big comfort.”

Tanner said Kepler brings the most comfort to his life by making him laugh and being protective. He said it feels like Kepler gives him a better sense of security because he knows he will get alerted if someone is at the door or in the house.

“It’s a feeling of acceptance,” Tanner said. “It’s a feeling that they’re there to protect you. It’s a feeling of loyalty.”

The post Paws and Effect: How Our Bonds With Pets Enrich Our Lives appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Emma Bracken

As the Thanksgiving season approaches, many of us are preparing for a holiday season full of family gatherings and warm meals. We look forward to indulging in our favorite holiday classics and gathering around a feast of comfort foods. For many others in our community, however, the holidays only bring an influx of stress. 

“As is the case in many places across the country and around the world, food insecurity is a prevalent issue here in Northwest Arkansas,” Reverend Joshua Bland of Springdale First Methodist Church said.  “Access to food and the rising costs of both food and living create challenges for families in our community.”

In the Northwest Arkansas area, food insecurity plagues around 89,000 people according to the NWA Food Bank. As our community grows, the numbers of food-insecure residents follow suit. As defined by Feeding America, food insecurity is when people do not have enough to eat and are not sure where their next meal will come from. During the holidays, this problem is only exacerbated as so many of our traditions and connections to family and friends are centered around food. 

Hunter Engel, programs coordinator at NWA Food Bank, explained the urgent need for food banks and pantries to address this growing problem in our area.

“Arkansas is the No. 1 food-insecure state out of all 50 states,” Engel said. “Picture the U of A stadium completely packed with people; that is how many food insecure people we have in NWA.”

As the biggest food bank in the area, NWA Food Bank serves as a hub for food resources and works with over 100 partner agencies including local food pantries. Engel works with other organizations such as Feed Rogers and Feed the 479 to connect with clients and make sure they are able to put food on the table. As a staff of only 48 people, the food bank depends on the service of volunteers to keep the place running. 

“Last year, we had over 18,000 hours of volunteer time, and that equals out to having about nine to 10 more full-time staff members every day,” Engel said. “They help the organization run. We literally couldn’t do it without them.” 

Though food insecurity continues to be a problem in our community every day, it is the work of these organizations and their volunteers that is making a difference daily. For those looking either for food resources or to lend their time to volunteer work, there are so many different places to turn to. 

Even the University of Arkansas runs its own food pantry, which serves both students and staff every day. Full Circle Food Pantry focuses on fighting hunger on campus and is a necessary resource for many students. Full Circle is also a great opportunity for students looking to get involved in the community and lend a hand where it is needed during the coming holiday season. 

“When I first got involved, I was surprised by the number of clients we see on a daily basis,” said Madeline Crisp, the Full Circle Volunteer Coordinator. “After working with clients, I could really see the need for it within our community.”

Crisp explained that those who are not seeking out these resources for themselves may have no idea that they exist and that the demand is high. Therefore it is equally as important to spread awareness about the issue of food insecurity and make it known to people where they can either volunteer or donate. 

“It’s always really gratifying to be able to serve them and volunteer your time if you are able to, either at the NWA food bank or, if you’re a student, volunteer with us,” Crisp said. 

As well as educational institutions, churches and religious organizations are also one of the most vital and productive groups in our community who are fighting food insecurity. Springdale First Methodist Church runs a ministry called Bread of Life, which is both a food pantry and a USDA warehouse and distribution center for Washington County. This means it supplies necessary resources beyond food, such as toiletries and diapers. 

“The needs of our community are always changing,” Bland said. “We need to listen attentively and compassionately to our neighbors to better understand what they are experiencing and what wisdom and insights they bring to solving these issues in our community.”

Bread of Life works tirelessly to provide resources as well as a safe space where people always feel welcome in times of crisis. For Bland, it is in the building of relationships through programs such as this that embody hope and point toward a stronger, healthier community. 

“I have the joy of sharing life with our neighbors,” Bland said. “I know that I am standing with them on holy ground each time they invite me into their story and circumstances.”

Getting involved in the fight against food insecurity in Northwest Arkansas is essential to supporting our growing community, and there are plenty of ways to get involved. If volunteering doesn’t fit into your schedule, all of these pantries and even the warehouse at NWA Food Bank accept food donations. As we enter the season of giving, it is important to remember the privilege of knowing where our next meal is coming from as well as finding ways to make sure our neighbors can have the same. 

For most of these pantries, you can just show up to offer your donation or service. NWA Food Bank has no qualifications for volunteers besides an age requirement of 13 and up. Bread of Life is open for volunteer service from Tuesday through Thursday each week. As a campus organization, Full Circle does require applications each semester for volunteer staff. Applications to be a volunteer next semester through Full Circle open in November and can be found here through the VAC volunteer actions page.

The post Fighting Food Insecurity in Northwest Arkansas appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Meredith Pinkston

April Wallace rolls out of bed much later than she anticipates. It’s a lazy Sunday, Sept. 13, 2015.

She slowly starts to make breakfast for her and her newfound roommates — her boyfriend, Sam, and his son. She became the new resident in August, so this arrangement is still fresh.

The move was not as easy as she thought it would be — just last week she and Sam argued about something that in the grand scheme of things did not matter much. She honestly did not remember what it was even about. They worked through it, and she is happy.

She is happy because they have found a new groove for the weekends. She is happy as she cooks and reads in her pajamas while Sam works and his son plays video games.

She smiles as she plates her breakfast.

The new domestic normal, she thinks.

She eats her breakfast still in her pajamas, and Sam says bye, grabbing his keys, off to meet with a client, a kid being tested for ADHD. Today, he decides to bring his son with him.

April realizes then she has free alone time.

So, she decides to do what she never finds much time for anymore. Run.

She does not put makeup on, wearing long shorts as she laces her typical old running shoes. She grabs her earbuds so she can listen to Zella Day radio. She hops in her car and heads to her normal running route, Lake Fayetteville.

She reaches the park around 1:45 p.m. and begins her run right by the lake. The trail is crawling with families with their kids, cyclists zipping by, and mothers with strollers and dogs. She likes her pace, not too fast or slow, and the weather is more than ideal. Gone with the scorching Southern heat, onto bright warm breeze-filled days. She does not even need a jacket. 

Her phone keeps dinging. Her childhood best friend Maggie keeps texting her updates after giving birth to her precious new son. She slows down to reply every few minutes. Smiling down at her phone as new pictures of the baby boy come and news of a healthy mother. She is happy — happy for Maggie, happy for her future with Sam, happy for the weather, happy for the run.

She receives another few texts about the baby and hits 2.5 miles. The trail is 5.5 miles of beautiful forest, trees covering the cement casting cooling shadows, and stretches of asphalt leading to a shimmering body of water. April reaches the first bend of the trial, shadows covering her. She sees the last family in view passing her.

She looks up from her phone and notices a man is there, standing, in non-athletic clothes. She notices him, and as a single woman jogger, she makes a mental note. She runs alone for most of her runs if not all of them, so she knows the precautions to take. Her music is never blaring. She is aware of her surroundings. She is a woman runner.

What was he wearing?

Cargo pants, a dark T-shirt. A ball cap and sunglasses. A backpack.

What was he doing?

He is just standing there.

The trail is suddenly seemingly empty. She just keeps her head down. She had heard about the homeless population being around trials. And the Botanical Gardens of the Ozarks is only a mile away.

He waves at her with a small grin, looking directly into her eyes. April keeps running.

Do not give him much attention. Do not give him an invitation.

She reaches the tree line of the trail letting go of a breath she did not know she was holding.

But through the echoing of Zella Day’s radio, she hears big heavy footsteps.

The bottom of her stomach drops.

No. No. This cannot be happening.

The epidemic of violence in America against women is a clear problem, with surveys in 2019 revealing that around 71% of women in the United States have experienced street harassment. According to a study done by the University of Manchester, two-thirds of the 498 women who took part in the survey are concerned for their safety while out running, and 68% of women runners have experienced abuse while running.

Women’s habitual thoughts of fear and violence committed against them have become typical, especially for women runners, specifically in light of the horrific murder of Laken Riley. 

Laken, a 22-year-old nursing student at the University of Georgia, went on a morning run by her university’s intramural fields Feb. 22 and never made it back to her apartment. She was later found by the police with blunt-force trauma to the head. She died at the hands of Jose Ibarra, an illegal immigrant, which sparked controversy. Articles flooded the internet, first about the tragic passing of the young woman but then twisted into something else entirely — a political debate. Many articles came out blaming President Joe Biden, using her murder as a reason to vote for former President Donald Trump. Others were angry that Trump commented on the incident.

A woman being attacked is not a political issue. The blame should not be on a political figure, and it should not be on her. It is on the man. 

The blame shifts upon women for many reasons. The Independent Office of Police Conduct explains the reasoning: “These views may be rooted in misogyny, sexism, ableism, and racism. Others may blame victim-survivors in order to cope with hearing about their trauma…making them feel like they are restoring a sense of control and order in a chaotic and unpredictable situation. They might do this by reassuring themselves that ‘because I would never do XYZ, the same thing could never happen to me.’” 

Jackson County, Arkansas, faced a “this could never happen here” moment in 2021 when Sydney Sutherland, a 25-year-old nurse was kidnapped and murdered on her run by 29-year-old Quake Lewellyn, admitting to first hitting her with his car, kidnapping her, raping her and killing her. 

It also was not Eliza Fletcher’s fault when she was kidnapped and murdered while on a jog in September 2022. It was not Karina Vetrano either, a 30-year-old New Yorker who was killed in 2016, along with Vanessa Marcotte who was killed jogging in Massachusetts. These stories flash in the minds of female joggers everywhere, on every run.

Fayetteville Police Department Sergeant Stephen Mauk advises women to become proactive, minimizing the chance of any crime and being conscious, which means not wearing headphones, bringing a weapon and running with a partner. Coach Cole teaches Krav Maga and preaches something similar.

In his many years as a self-defense coach, Cole has worked with countless women who have been harassed or assaulted, and his wish, other than the safety of these women, is that women start to prepare and take self-defense classes before anything happens. To be proactive. Despite women having to be proactive, Mauk explained the protection that runners are guaranteed with the dedicated trail patrol program under the Special Operations Division of the Fayetteville Police Department. The patrolling of the 45 miles of trails is done by patrol officers either in cars, on foot, or utilizing the electric SPIN and VEO bikes. But he later noted his need for his two college daughters to keep their location on their phones for their safety.

Mauk expresses, “There are people who prey upon others everywhere, but being of a sober mind and being smart can help stop it.”

Though, sometimes you are just a woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. The actions and decisions that women must make to stay safe daily might help, but ultimately might not.

And again, unfortunately of these 68% of women who have been harassed, only 5% report.

Madi Mason and Kate Bailey are a part of the 5%.

I am a part of the 5%.

In 2022, Madi and Kate were freshmen at the University of Arkansas. Madi and Kate were finally settling into their dorms in Reid Hall and were getting used to living in Fayetteville, both moving from Dallas, Texas. Both roommates ran track in high school, so running was normal for them.

Madi texted Kate.

“wanna run today?”

“yeah! Just lmk when”

Madi put on her running gear — a Lululemon top and shorts and her Hokas. Kate met Madi at the dorm and off they went. They decided to run around campus, not needing or wanting to go to the Razorback Greenway, a trail through Northwest Arkansas. The trails seemed more dangerous anyway. And they were not training for anything, so there was no need for a long run.

They warmed up with a light walk, talking about their days and schedules, and after a while, they started on the jog.

Madi and Kate felt safe together. In fact, running in pairs is one of the safety precautions recommended by police and suggested by Mauk.

Madi and Kate’s paces don’t match, so Kate speeds up slightly leaving Madi following for a short time. But it didn’t matter how quick the separation was.

Madi turns and sees a white pickup truck slowing down, and the window is rolling down.

Oh no.

The immediate realization of what is about to happen. The man in the truck starts yelling.

Is he trying to catcall me?

She scans for Kate; they need to reconvene. She speeds up to meet Kate, and the truck follows.

The truck follows both for what feels like forever, still yelling incoherent catcalls. Kate and Madi finally find a turn to try to get him off their tails.

“It was freaky because they wouldn’t just leave us alone,” Madi said. “We were literally just running, leave us alone.” It’s small acts such as this that plant the seed to create a culture of fear around running.

Like Madi and Kate, April in 2015 is just running, she wants to be left alone.

So, when she looks over her left shoulder and sees the man with the baseball cap hightailing toward her, she feels sick. He is not running for exercise; he is after her.

She speeds up, but he keeps gaining on her. She is 2 miles in and getting tired. It was supposed to be a lazy Sunday.

Where am I supposed to go?

Nothing is close, her car is 2 miles away, and the Botanical Gardens is 1 mile away.

But the exhaustion gets to her. Seconds later, he catches her. He hooks his arm over her right shoulder bringing her to the asphalt.

Immediately, her head hit the ground. April and the man tumble until he is on top of her. She tries to scream, scratch, claw.

Get him off.

He closes his fist and punches her in the face.

He hit me. Why? Why is he hitting me?

He is hitting her, and all her brain can do is count.

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8.

Her brain loses count then. He starts on the other side. She will not go unconscious. She struggles against him, trying to scream.

“Stop screaming. No one is going to hear you,” he speaks. The first time she heard his voice.

She gets her breath again and screams for help.

I only need one person to hear.

He puts a hand around her throat and over her mouth. Her panic deepens because of his hands.

His hands smell like soil. Why did his hands smell like soil?

Did you dig a grave?

Her brain flashes images of a woman broadcast reporter in Little Rock in 2003, who was murdered in her apartment, she was beaten to death. She was young.

She fought until the end, too.

He keeps readjusting his hands. Squeezing the breath out of her, trying to squeeze the life out of her. Then the horrific realization — there is going to be very little time for her to get away.

This must be what dying feels like.

She needs to find a way to get another breath. She had to make it look like the strangling was working. She stops struggling. She stops screaming. Maybe for the chance he will let up or stop so she can just get one more breath.

For a split second, it seems like it is working.

Then he looks past her, ahead, looking at the trial, as if someone is coming. For April, this is a miracle. Someone can witness this. Someone can call the police.

Someone can help.

But he stands up. He puts his arms under her armpits and begins dragging her to the edge of the trail and the beginning of the thorn-filled forest.

She starts to scream again.

This is my chance.

April screams and screams, but he threatens her. She does not remember what he said, not then and not 9 years later. 

She goes quiet, then she hears the people pass. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. He pulls her further and further into the woods while she tries to make her body as heavy as possible.

Make this difficult for him.

He finally stops and shoves her away, and in a struggle, she stands and looks at him. She looks around, she is too disoriented to know where she is, and she is not able to see which direction is the trail.

Then, he does something she never expected, “Are you okay?”

What do you think?

She tells him she is not okay.

“Why did you do that?” she asks him.

He is paranoid, she realizes with his pacing, and he says, “There’s Blacks in the woods with guns.”

He is insane.

He tries to explain they were waiting for her to walk by.

“Maybe that’s my problem,” April spits at him. She is angry. She is disgusted.

“They took my daughter,” he explains. She is finally able to see his face, his sunglasses are gone, and she notices a ring on his finger that reads “Dad.”

He has lost his nerve.

She pulls out her phone and tries to call the police, but he threatens her, so she calls her boyfriend. He asks to call his wife on her phone. She ignores the man. She remembers Sam is at work with a patient.

Pick up, please. Please, please. Pick up.

Sam’s voice comes through her phone, “Hello?”

Her already splintering composure completely snaps. She simply cannot say a word, only a sob escapes her, with one overwhelming horrific thought.

This might be the last time we ever speak.

It is 2016, and the trial is finally ending, and April is thankful. The man who did this to her is finally going away for good. He was caught six weeks after the attack took place. The case went to trial in 2015, and he pleaded not guilty.

He tried to appeal and argue there was insufficient evidence to identify him as the perpetrator or prove that he had the purpose to inflict physical injury or terrorize her. The court disagreed.

She had been public about the attack from the very beginning, first to put pressure on finding the man who was out in the open for six weeks, but then to tell her own story to the public, trying to keep others safe.

But this publicity came with its harmful spotlight for April, with comments on her story from the public blaming her for what happened.

“They said that I must have been running really early or really late,” April said, “sometime when it was super dark and dangerous; with various comments about how stupid it was to run alone, and I should have had a friend or partner. Many said I should have been carrying a gun or weapon. Some people actually even said that my claims could not possibly be true, and I was making the story up for attention.”

Why would someone want attention for that?

Being victim blamed happens to many female victims and can be heard in more common ways, such as a comment about “What was she wearing?” or others, especially regarding sexual assaults, implying that the reason for the abuse or harassment was her fault. Women must first face the fear of running alone, and then, if something does happen be blamed for not “being smart”.

Kate Knox, a woman self-defense coach, tells me about the blame she and the women she works with have faced. She has had her fair share of being harassed on runs while cycling and running. She remembers a man standing 10 feet away from her car at a gas station before work one morning, and when she returned to her car with her fresh coffee, the man sped to her car. Before she could even think, even lock her car door, a police car pulled into the station. It taught her she must be more aware of her surroundings.

But she, similar to many women, has been blamed for the things that happened to her.

“I had a man grope me at a restaurant,” Kate said, “and I was told it was because ‘I must have looked older than I really was.’ I was in my prom dress. I’ve seen a lot of ‘Are you sure?’ attitudes toward women when they’re vocal about what they have experienced and people rationalize or make excuses for the offender’s behavior. It really sucks to see women being invalidated as they try to be open and vulnerable, it sucks to see women having to spend energy defending why they feel what someone did was wrong or how what said person did was wrong.”

“It’s not fair,” April said.

Blaming women for men’s actions is one of the many reasons women do not report, and the blame makes no sense because women are not the only ones being harassed.

It is 2016. April’s case is finishing, and 140 miles away in Little Rock, Arkansas, I am a brace-faced 13-year-old. A minor. A girl. I am on a run with my mother; she walks, and I jog.

She never lets me go alone.

I am not allowed to go to many places alone. We have a compromise on certain places, such as the promenade where I can go with a group or the park with my older sister. But running, I absolutely cannot go without someone.

Not until I am older. When even is older?

I don’t understand my mother’s persistence until we see a blue, beat-up car slow down on the busy street we walk by and pull into the neighborhood right next to our street.

“That was weird,” my mom mumbles.

My mom and I turn onto our street with a steep incline, and I sprint the hill.

I need to get faster for soccer.

But then, the blue, beat-up car turns right onto our street. And I am at the top of the hill. My mom is at the bottom. The car gets closer and closer.

Maybe it will pass?

I am 13, not stupid. I know this will be bad. I feel my anxiety ignite, and suddenly, I am planted to the ground when the car stops right beside me. The window rolls down, I cannot see him, but I know it is a male.

My mother does not waste a second. She sprints up the hill, and before he can open his door, he stomps the gas and shoots up the rest of the street.

So, that is why I do not run alone.

“Run,” Sam pleads with April.

She did not know where the trail was. She did not want to risk it; she did not even know if she could. She did not know the extent of her injuries.

Then, with limited options, she looks at him and asks, “Where is the trail?”

He motions her to the trail as if she were to walk in front of him.

No.

So, instead, he is the one who leads her to the trail and swiftly leaves the scene once she is out of the woods. Sam hangs up to call the police, so does April.

She limps to the Botanical Gardens, the dispatcher asking her question after question, as April looks over her shoulder, terrified. People pass her. She just wants to talk to a uniform.

She sees the police cars, a cop escorts her to the parking lot, as the ambulance arrives at the scene. Sam arrives at the scene seconds later. She has a concussion, she is bruised. She is missing patches of hair. People ask her what happened. What the man looked like.

But her only thought is, I escaped.

I escaped.

Nine years later, I parked my car at the Botanical Gardens and put my running vest on with the water compartment full and pink taser in the left pocket. I normally ran from my parent’s house, which is only around a mile away from Lake Fayetteville, but today, I wanted to try a new route. I tied my shoes and placed only one air pod in my ear. Maybe it was writing this story or my interview with April two days before, but I had become much more aware of my safety, almost hyper-aware. A squirrel scared me on my last run.

Nevertheless, I started my warmup jog. I decided to run toward Lake Fayetteville. The hills seemed much less steep. I planned on running 7 miles, and when I looked at my watch I was already at 0.5 miles. Until I saw a woman with her hands out, she signaled me to stop.

I took out my air pod.

“Hey, I just want to stop and warn you, there’s a man on the trails, and he is really creeping people out,” she continued on and on about him.

I had already heard enough.

“Thanks. I’ll find somewhere else to run,” I said. 

I turned around and walked directly to my car. Flashes of the stories I had been researching raced through my mind. In 2022, 47% of female runners had been assaulted, by 2024 in 2024, the percentage grew by 21%. The women that I had talked to. I walked to my car and took off my vest, with only three words April said in my interview repeating in my head.

“It’s not fair.”

The post Fight and Flight: The Fearful Reality Women Runners Face During Their Daily Jog appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Emma Bracken

Since the 1980s, the number of women in prison has skyrocketed. As mass incarceration continues to sweep the nation, this once narrow population has risen by over 500% over the past 40 years, according to a study from The Sentencing Project. As the population grows here in Northwest Arkansas, resources and productive facilities for these women are struggling to keep up.

For 17 years, Northwest Arkansas Community Corrections Center was a beacon of hope for the community as a valuable facility for incarcerated women. Beyond a traditional women’s prison, NWACCC offered rehabilitative programs to prepare these women for reentry into society. From treating substance abuse and addiction to therapy and education, this facility prepared women to rebuild their own lives rather than be thrown back into the environment that led them to prison in the first place. 

In the spring of 2024, Washington County Judge Patrick Deakins announced NWACCC would be closed by the end of the year. Instead, Deakins planned to use the space as an expansion for the overcrowded Washington County Jail. While addressing one issue of overcrowding in our local prisons, a great resource has been tragically taken away from the community. 

Lowell Grisham, the former rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church and co-founder of Magdalene Serenity House, a program that worked with NWACCC to provide support to incarcerated women, said he feels that this is an immeasurable loss for the community. 

“I can tell you those programs worked,” Grisham said. “It was a really strong, healthy place that allowed women to change their lives in a positive, productive way.”

Grisham said the constant struggle within the county quorum court to come to a decision about financing programs focused on creative solutions to reduce crime and rehabilitation over prison space. Though some support the initiative, many people seem to be more comfortable with a punishment approach rather than these alternative facilities, Grisham explained. 

“This kind of prison is constructive and humane,” Grisham said. “The warehouse form of prison is inhumane and is destructive to people’s very being. People aren’t built up in prison, they’re broken down.”

With the lowest recidivism rate in the state, NWACCC was an irreplaceable haven in a world of traditional warehouse-style prisons. Grisham described incarceration as a way to be punitive, yet NWACCC was a way to be rehabilitative. Beyond serving time and taking accountability for their mistakes, he explained it is crucial for people to have access to education, family and friend support, job opportunities, and overall healthy environments if they are expected to stay out of jail in the future. 

“Sometimes people don’t need to just be incarcerated, they need help,” Grisham said.

Grisham recounted a story of a young woman he saw through St. Paul’s work with NWACCC succeeded in these programs. According to Grisham, she seemed to have really been supported by and learned from them during her time behind bars. However, as soon as she was released, she had no choice but to return to the toxic environment that landed her in prison in the first place. He saw the way a toxic home environment can reverse the progress made in prison in an instant. A woman who he had seen turn her life around in prison fell victim to the same drug abuse that landed her there, and tragically lost her life to an overdose. At the young woman’s funeral, held in part by St. Paul, Grisham’s colleague Reverend Suzanne Stoner turned to him and said, “We have got to do something.”

Grisham and Stoner worked to establish Magdalene Serenity House here in Fayetteville, a two-year program that provides services to women who have been trafficked, incarcerated, and struggled with substance abuse. By providing resources for women after their release from prison, it hoped to stop them from being stuck in toxic environments and build new lives for themselves after incarceration. 

Takama Statton-Brooks, executive director for Magdalene Serenity House, described the essential work of helping formerly incarcerated women face the barriers they are presented with once freed. 

“It’s one thing to hear about it, but witnessing it firsthand is a whole other ballgame,” Statton-Brooks said. 

Statton-Brooks explained the difficulties women in her program faced with seemingly simple tasks, such as getting their IDs renewed, finding a job and searching for a place to live. For convicted felons, there are an endless amount of hurdles to jump on their way to being integrated into society. 

“There’s an expectation that once you are released you start paying your fines and fees, but you have to find a job, and very few jobs will hire a felon,” Statton-Brooks said. “Very few housing places will accept applications from felons. It’s expensive to be poor is really what it boils down to. It’s expensive to have a criminal history.”

Having programs such as Magdalene Serenity House are vital for supporting formerly incarcerated women to rebuild their lives, but alone, it cannot meet the demand that the Northwest Arkansas population demands. The loss of NWACCC as a resource has certainly stunted progress toward this initiative, however, these resilient organizations are fighting to give incarcerated and formerly incarcerated women a voice. 

Statton-Brooks explained the resourcing for rehabilitation is taking a significant hit with the closing of NWACCC. She feels the loss for the community as she witnessed firsthand the way the women were able to heal from their past trauma and establish tools, knowledge and strength to create a life they are happy about. 

“I don’t think there’s enough resources for the growth in this area,” Statton-Brooks said. “The growth in this area would dictate more mental health services, food banks and different resources. It really takes a community effort to support a population that needs it.” 

Statton-Brooks said some resources are out there yet are not widely known to the public, so those who need them do not know where to look. It is crucial not only to support these programs when voting but to raise awareness about the topic in general in order to build a more supportive community for these women and incarcerated individuals in general. 

“We keep punishing people who have felonies by making it hard for them to rent, get a job or make it impossible for them to vote,” Grisham said. “There’s just a lot of dehumanizing things that happen to people when they fall on the other side of that line.” 

Beyond St. Paul’s and Magdalene Serenity House, NWACCC worked with numerous programs to provide a wide scope of opportunities for its inmates. From religious services to drug rehabilitation, NWACCC was bursting with volunteers and organizations willing and excited to help them rebuild their lives. 

Though its loss rings through the community, action can still be taken to hopefully rebuild more of these organizations in the future. It is important to remember the attitudes toward incarcerated community members when voting season comes around and continue to support those suffering from our carceral system.

The post Love Heals: The State of Women’s Incarceration in Northwest Arkansas  appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Edward McKinnon

“Happiness, more or less,

it’s just a change in me, something in my liberty.

Happiness, coming and going.”

—The Verve, “Lucky Man” (1997)

I sit inside a bar on Fayetteville’s busy Dickson Street just before things get really busy. Blinking, colorful lights illuminate a wall of spirits in front of me. A woman several stools down is armed with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. The only other customer in the bar at 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, I am armed with my first whiskey and coke of the evening in one hand, my iPhone with an open Spotify playlist in the other, and a building sense of anxiety on the inside.

Several thoughts race through my head: “What am I doing alone on Dickson Street?” “What am I doing at a bar with no college students?” “Am I really about to sing in a public space?”

Bar and club environments are not exactly my speed since frenetic settings can trigger my social anxiety, so trying a place with other social tools was equal parts scary and exciting. I was in the middle of working on a story about music therapy so that subject matter was top of mind, and that night, I suppose I was in search of my own music therapy.

The bar I am sitting inside is appropriately called Infusion since it specializes in infused liquors. But like almost everyone who walks through the door, I am there for the bar’s other specialty — karaoke. 

I search my playlist for the perfect first song to perform. I scroll past several dozen Green Day, Oasis, U2, Beck and White Stripes tracks that all look enticing, but when I see “Lucky Man” by the Verve, I suddenly become confident. I have listened to the song on a loop and have grown to love it due to its uplifting nature. The lyrics are vague enough for me to conjure up my own idea of what the song means, but the song’s central theme of happiness, and how difficult it can be for people to find level emotional ground, is universal. The refrain, “Happiness, more or less, is just a change in me, something in my liberty,” provides a good mantra. As someone who struggles with depression, I try to gravitate toward songs such as “Lucky Man” that elicit positive feelings. The best part: I can hit every note relatively easily as an inexperienced baritone.

Not long after picking my song, the DJ kicks off karaoke, and I am called to the mic. I feel a bit stiff and sit at a bar stool for most of my performance, but my vocals are rock solid. Four minutes and 53 seconds later, I am proud of my performance and immediately request another song. As someone who is generally shy, I view singing in public as an effective method of public exhibition. Additionally, because people bond over shared music interests, people you might never talk to might approach you if they like your song choice, performance or both.

There is a surprising amount of research on the subject of karaoke and its positive impact on people’s social confidence. One centered on Finnish karaoke singers — published in The European Journal of Social & Behavioural Sciences in 2013 — concluded that “alcohol drinking is not part of the behavior model of karaoke singers. Karaoke singing is rather a joyful way to spend time together.” Researchers observed that participants in the study almost unanimously alluded to “star moments,” instances where vocal performances are met with positive audience feedback as a primary motivator for the surveyed karaoke singers.

After one song, I felt I had achieved one of those “star moments.” But four minutes and 31 seconds later, I felt humbled. My decent attempt at a British classic was easily topped by the woman at the other end of the bar who bodied Whitney Houston’s 1992 cover of “I Will Always Love You.” Doug Teaster, an older man I will eventually become more familiar with, gives back-to-back impeccable deliveries of Pearl Jam classics “Better Man” and “Jeremy” not long afterward. More people come through the door and give enthusiastic performances of rock, pop, hip-hop and country staples. Some exit on top, others hang around. I now notice the standard is much higher than I expected.

Alas, as I began drinking more throughout the night, my performances weakened. I stumbled through Oasis’ hit “Champagne Supernova.” I pushed my vocal boundaries further on U2’s 1991 deep cut, “Acrobat.” I even sang “D’You Know What I Mean?” which is Oasis’ overindulgent seven-plus-minute mess of a rock anthem that begins with a full minute of random helicopter and Morse code sound effects. “The music video is badass, though,” I thought to myself upon choosing the song. My performance was not.

My night ends with a small sense of regret. My performances were not maligned since the karaoke bar atmosphere is generally non-judgemental, but I feel a bit self-conscious about my song choices. I am not in good enough shape to socialize either. But I still have an itch to return the next night to improve my performance and talk to more people. I sense a change in myself. Happiness, more or less? If I want to socialize, I must keep singing.

The socialization benefits of karaoke are more relevant than ever. In the past several years, social isolation brought on by the COVID-19 pandemic caused more people to report feeling depressed. Fittingly, as COVID restrictions have been lifted worldwide, the karaoke business has rebounded and is expected to grow significantly throughout the 2020s. In Fayetteville, Big Box Karaoke opened its doors in 2018, offering private karaoke rooms for group gatherings, and has remained a popular destination even after the pandemic. JJ’s Grill and Tin Roof on Dickson Street also offer weekly karaoke nights, attracting college students looking for a fun night out midweek where they can deliver either ironic or sincere renditions of their favorite songs in front of hundreds of their peers. Performing music does not just produce an endorphin high in participants. It generates social opportunities.

Over the past couple of decades, the introduction of new technology has greatly impacted how we socialize with one another. Early research has shown that overexposure to digital technology can prevent people from developing and refining social skills. I have anecdotally become aware of karaoke’s power to combat social disconnectedness through my conversations with the regulars at Infusion, hence their patronage. One who I’ve heard echo this sentiment frequently is Doug Teaster, a 66-year-old attendee at Infusion.

“Learning to walk again.

I believe I’ve waited long enough.

Where do I begin?”

— Foo Fighters, “Walk” (2011)

Two months since my first visit to Infusion, I have essentially made it a part of my routine, where I go once or twice a week. Just as I have suspected, I find Teaster sitting at the bar, sipping on his usual drink — water. He does not drink alcohol, or at least has not in six months, and has no desire to go back. Drinking has mainly served as a social tool for him in the past. Singing is a better one, he said. At the bar, he is contemplating his next song choice.

I greet him, and we jump into conversation. Neither of us is extroverted, but after several previous interactions, we know each other well enough to talk about many things before shifting the discussion to his nearly two decades of experience as a karaoke singer.

In 2006, Doug Teaster walked down an almost unrecognizable version of Dickson Street, searching for a sense of fulfillment akin to a coming-of-age college student. Off the heels of a divorce, he wanted to get out and meet new people. He found fulfillment initially in a now-closed karaoke bar, but another karaoke bar, which would later become Infusion, would pique his interest.  

One night in 2009, he walked in. The subsequent series of events would ensure that amending his usual karaoke routine at the other bar would be more than worth it. He fondly recalls his first social interaction with the karaoke DJ.

He handed him a song slip since the place had yet to adopt a computer-based system. The slip read “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” He looked at the song, then looked at Teaster, then looked at the slip again.

“This I’ve gotta see,” the DJ said, amused.

“You will,” Teaster clapped back.

 He proclaims this series of events solidified Infusion as his go-to bar.

I have never heard Teaster sing “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” but I am familiar enough with his vocal range and usual — or unusual — song selections to know that he did not just pull off the performance but truly owned it. He challenges himself with the microphone regularly by pulling from every rock subgenre you can think of. For years, his favorite song was “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by the Beatles. He still sings Beatles songs but will follow them with equally competent renditions of grunge, post-grunge, nu metal, punk-rock, metal and new-wave anthems.

Following his divorce, his music taste expanded when he began listening to whatever was on the radio and soaking in the karaoke scene on nights when he did not have his kids. “I actually discovered ‘90s music in the 2000s. I learned about grunge in 2006,” he quipped.

During a conversation, I notice Teaster looking through a list on his phone. He tells me he has compiled a list of the songs in his repertoire. He estimates he has sung over 500 tracks that he would not try again, leaving only 150 songs in his regular rotation. A rangy tenor, he identifies songs from artists such as Guns N’ Roses and Aerosmith as being in his wheelhouse. But he also has the range and vocal power to emulate the gruffness of iconic grunge-adjacent vocalists such as Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder and Dave Grohl. “Walk” by Foo Fighters is his current go-to song.

In the past few years, Teaster has developed a lung condition, bronchiectasis, which affects his vocal abilities. But you would never know this based on the ambitious choices he makes. Just when I think I have him figured out, I watch him mimic Chester Bennington’s screams on “One Step Closer” without breaking a sweat before tackling a much smoother track, Post Malone’s “Better Now.” Each performance begins with cheers from patrons who recognize Teaster. When he finishes, he receives some of the largest cheers of the night.

In his 15 years of going Infusion, Teaster has witnessed the place transform from a small pub with the occasional karaoke offering into a full-fledged karaoke bar where self-proclaimed vocalists take up residency. While he has played the role of customer and vocalist for the most part, he did take a turn at DJing for several months in 2011 when the previous one walked out.

“In the beginning, I just did it to help the owner,” he said. “I told her I would cover until she could find a replacement. But then, when I got into it, I discovered it was my favorite job that I had ever had. So it was for fun. I was getting compensated. Not a lot, but it was still about $600 extra a month to spend on my kids.”

In the years since, Teaster has seen plenty of customers and employees come and go. Management shifted hands in the mid-2010s when Amber Hurlbut, one of the bartenders, purchased the place. After all of his children moved to college, Teaster made the karaoke bar a bigger part of his lifestyle. Two to three times a month became two to three times a week. In a good week, he gets to perform more than a dozen songs, which gives him a dozen opportunities to be approached by someone new after hearing him sing. Attending the bar is not indulging in a vice. It is his hobby.

“I am an addict though,” Teaster said. “I’m addicted to this bar.”

Though bars ideally offer a good social atmosphere, karaoke can add another dimension to these establishments if they choose to adopt it. Selling drinks keeps the business afloat, but judgment-free vocal exhibition enables individuals to meet new people in a musical context, find their social confidence and indulge in a healthy dose of braggadocio. The regulars insist that karaoke bars such as Infusion are different. Performance art is a jumping-off point to talk to unique people. On my best days, this is why I go to Infusion. For regulars such as Teaster, this is what it is all about.

Through more than half a year in total I have spent going to Infusion, I have become a recognizable patron. The workers know my name and face, but I am not a frequent enough visitor to fear I am adopting a bad drinking habit. As weeks pass, I notice the bar’s clientele is shockingly age-diverse, ranging from 21-year-olds, who are hoping to shake up their weekend evening routine to folks Teaster’s age, and anyone in between. 

It does not take a genius to figure out why Infusion has a different, arguably better aura than neighboring establishments. The drink selection is good, and the tight space creates a very intimate vibe, but it is also one of the only all-nights-a-week karaoke spots in the area. The social benefits are evident.

For instance, business owners and even the military have cited karaoke as a method for boosting morale and retention. But, from a social-scientific standpoint, there is strong evidence that singing as performance art is more than just an activity that adds an additional element to a fun night out. One qualitative research study published in the European Journal of Public Health  found that group singing activities such as karaoke can help individuals “develop a sense of belonging and enhance self-confidence in participants.” Around the same time as my sit down with Teaster, another character approaches me who also preaches about these benefits, and then some.

“We’re all in the mood for a melody

and you’ve got us feelin’ alright.”

—Billy Joel, “Piano Man” (1973)

Though I am starting to get acclimated to the familiar faces at Infusion, I feel relieved when someone else is eager to make conversation. Brian Jackson, a 26-year-old diesel technician in Tontitown, Arkansas, thinks the bar is a good place to blow off steam. He rings off a familiar mantra I can picture coming from an old man making love to his tonic and gin: “Anytime I have a stressful day at work, I don’t like taking it home.”

Jackson tells me he spent six years in the Army before moving to Northwest Arkansas, stationed through most of his tenure in Oklahoma while having brief stints in Iraq and Europe. Growing up, he developed a strong interest in music, first gravitating to ‘90s alternative rock. Later in youth, he became infatuated with punk rock and thrash metal. He said his music taste has matured with age, and he now has gotten into more synth music and slower rock. While in the Army, he formed a punk-rock band with fellow soldiers called Iggy Six and the Ground Pounders.

Jackson plays bass, keyboards, and some guitar and is a confident vocalist. While he acknowledges that music is a hobby, he enjoys working with other artists and making friends through common musical interests. Infusion is one of his go-to spots not just because he likes to perform but because the usual clientele includes aspiring musicians he hopes to work with.

Our conversation is interrupted when the DJ calls for Jackson. I have seen him perform enough times to know that his go-to song is Billy Joel’s classic “Piano Man.” Unlike Teaster, I’ve mostly seen Jackson stick to bonafide crowd-pleasers. His other go-to song is Paul Anka’s “Put Your Head On My Shoulder.” By selecting the favorites, he lives the dream only the greatest rock stars get to fulfill — hearing the audience sing the lyrics back at him.

This is why people come to karaoke bars. The environment ideally provides a safe social space. I remember the four rules that Teaster had during his tenure as DJ: Respect the equipment, respect the singer, there is no such thing as a bad singer and don’t fuck with the DJ.

Good karaoke bars operate under this kind of social contract. Everyone within the walls is encouraged to sing. Applause is mandatory. Heckling and mic drops are forbidden. I have yet to hear boos from crowd members at any karaoke night. The environment is engineered to negate negativity.

Still, Infusion is different from the average karaoke bar. Customers, bartenders, security guards and DJs all sing — and well. Teaster recalls a conversation with a professional tennis player from New Zealand who approached him after finishing his song. Blown away by the experience in the bar, he turned to Teaster to ask how all of the singers are so good. 

Jackson also agrees. An attendee at Infusion since February, he has concluded the place doubles as a place to meet everyday people and a viable medium for connecting with fellow artists.

“This is a good way for independent musicians and beginners to network,” Jackson said. “This is the place to come.”

“How many lives are living strange?”

—Oasis, “Champagne Supernova” (1995)

After my less-than-stellar showing during my first night at Infusion, I decided to exercise some restraint. I limit myself to two beers. I am there to have a good time but also want to sing better. I fare better, make a few social connections, then dip.

I want to believe that karaoke bars such as Infusion are different. Most regulars claim they get the most value from the establishment by singing and using people’s performances to start conversations. Teaster goes as far as to tell me that karaoke is so beneficial that he can confidently call it a lifestyle. His assertion is supported by a study published in the International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health that found karaoke offers a “fun, arts-based intervention that can improve well-being” as a component of the “Creative Aging” movement — a trend encouraging older adults to express themselves through painting, drawing, acting and music.

Even at 21 years old, this is the mindset I adopt when I enter a karaoke bar. One Saturday night, I am lucky enough to fit in four songs the day after a less-than-stellar showing. At the beginning of the night, I perform “Lonely Boy” by The Black Keys and feel less lonely when the sparse crowd applauds. As the night goes on, more people file in and applause grows louder for each performer. I sing “All These Things I’ve Done” by The Killers and feel as though the lyrics “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier” are mine for a brief moment. I sing “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day knowing many people in the bar were raised by the American Idiot album. I conclude with “Champagne Supernova” again, which I now have gotten the hang of, and the nonsensical lyrics of the chorus suddenly mean something when I hear multiple people around me also sing along with conviction. I see dozens of lives around me happy to be living strange.

After hearing applause one last time and sensing the night is coming to a close, I begin to file out. I tip the DJ and thank them for hosting. I close my tab at the bar. I bid farewell to some fellow regulars. I head for the exit and back to my apartment, allowing my memory to rest. When I am ready to visit some old friends, make new acquaintances, and feed my ego for just a few minutes at a time with a microphone and a supportive crowd, I know a karaoke bar will be waiting for me.

The post The Star Moment appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Maggie Green

Cars halted in the street and cyclists steered off the path to watch as six men wheeled a bird-shaped coffin along Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd on Feb. 22. They were followed by a crowd of mourners clad in black and red, onlookers stepping in time with the drums, and photographers buzzing around the entire ordeal like flies. The mourners filled the wooden coffin with notes to their departed loved ones, and it was their task to deliver it across a stream near the Fayetteville Public Library safely to the ancestors. Fearlessly leading the procession was Jacob Paa Joe Jr. wearing a lion mask. At every turn, he guided the crowd of over 50 people through the mock procession of a traditional Ghanaian funeral.

Jacob Paa Joe, 36, and his father, Paa Joe, are coffin artists in Ghana. They specialize in crafting proverbial coffins, which take the shape of anything that represents the life of the deceased. The style became popular in the 1960s in southern Ghana, where funerals are a celebration of life as reflected by the colorful designs. For example, a fisherman might be buried in a boat, or someone known for loving hot dogs can be buried in a six-foot wooden hot dog. Paa Joe Coffin Works has even been commissioned to do genitalia-shaped coffins, Coca-Cola bottles, shoes and cigarettes.

“Funerals should be fun in a way,” Jacob said. The coffin Jacob was asked to make in Fayetteville was of a Sankofa bird. It represents the Ghanaian principle of the importance of looking to the past to determine the best way forward. For Jacob, this meant looking back on the years of his father’s teachings to guide him in the future of his life and their business as Paa Joe’s health declines with age.

Before the procession, Jacob read his letter aloud to the crowd and placed it inside the bird. It was to his father, now 77 years old, who is an internationally renowned artist whose sculptures have been featured in the Smithsonian, the British Museum, and purchased by celebrities and world leaders.

“He is growing old,” Jacob explained. “Or he would have been here with me working on this project. This is my first appearance working outside in the world without him being by my side. I told him before I left that I would make him proud.”

Jacob’s solo residency at the University of Arkansas signifies his emergence as the new face of Paa Joe Coffin Works. His innovation seeks to transform the business and ultimately his father’s legacy, taking it to new global heights. During this transitional period, he must navigate his various ambitious projects without his father for the first time in his life.

A coffin of this magnitude would normally take Jacob six to eight weeks to construct, even with the help of his esteemed father and their many assistants at their workshop in Ghana. However, his deadline was only two weeks and three days.

The first time I visited Jacob’s workspace in the UA Studio and Design Center, I could tell he was hesitant to leave his work to talk with me and eager to return to it when we finished. He was wearing khaki pants, black Crocs and a navy T-Shirt depicting a pint of beer with a Band-Aid on the glass. The text above it read “THIRST AID.” Sawdust clung to every available inch of him and sprawled off the plastic covering the concrete floor. Wood glue clotted on his fingers, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He was building the bird’s body using short planks of wood, slightly angling each new piece to form a curve, and filling in the gaps with a mixture of wood glue and sawdust to smooth out the form. He cut the boards with a hand saw and shaved the bulk off the body with an adze, which looks like a pickaxe without the pointy end.

“Sometimes we have a few conflicts,” Jacob said about working with his father. “I want to bring in the new technology, but he will say, ‘No you can’t do that! You have to do this.’”

Paa Joe’s use of traditional tools is one aspect of his work that fascinates their international audience and makes the large-scale works so impressive. But given the short deadline and absence of his father, Jacob decided to use the power tools available in the wood shop. He said the art students working alongside him taught him new techniques and how to use the machines he was unfamiliar with.

Veronica Huff was part of a group of art students who visited Ghana and Paa Joe Coffin Works in May 2023. She saw the trip as a chance to return to her Ghanaian roots.

“It was literally just hammer and nails,” Huff said about the workshop. “That was it. And the shaving tool. Other than that, I didn’t really see anything else. Here, (Jacob has) been using the shaver machine, but there they’re just doing it by hand.”

She also said they don’t use measurements, which explained why Jacob could be seen using the handle of a hammer to estimate the placement of a piece of the neck.

“Here you have to be precise with things for assignments, but with him, it was just a flow,” Huff said. “It was beautiful, and I learned a lot.”

Janine Sytsma is the professor of global African art at the U of A. She was one of the professors who facilitated Jacob’s residency in Fayetteville after she led Huff’s study abroad trip. Sytsma said she was excited the project could involve the entire school of art and the community to learn more about Ghanaian funeral practices.

“We’ve even had involvement from art education,” Sytsma said, “and I love that because I love the idea of some of our students bringing this tradition to their younger students.”

She expressed her admiration for Jacob’s innovation as he has taken on greater roles in the family business and for the overall atmosphere of artistic expression in Ghana’s capital, Accra, that she wanted her students to learn from.

“There is a vibrant art scene in Accra,” Sytsma explained, “more so than in some other countries with strong art centers in Africa. There’s a lot of support for rigorous experimentation.”

Another Ghanaian artist, Va-Bene Elikem Fiatsi, visited Fayetteville during Jacob’s residency. She was there to share her activist performance art but had the opportunity to accompany one of the classes visiting Jacob’s workshop. Sytsma said Fiatsi’s family had actually purchased two coffins from Paa Joe Coffin Works. The family couldn’t decide on one design, so they asked the coffin artists to make two.

“I thought our funerals took forever in the Black community here, as in taking a while to bury our loved ones,” Huff said with a laugh, “but they take maybe two weeks or sometimes months because they’ve got to build the coffins.”

In Fayetteville, Huff helped Jacob with much of the construction of the bird and brought him homemade Ghanaian food when he was feeling sick. She suspected he may have inhaled too much sawdust while working indoors.

“I know being here is way different for him because the space is open over there in the shop (in Ghana),” Huff said. “You could just walk in and see the variety of coffins they have and that they’re working on. It was so chill and laid back, and there was a constant beautiful breeze blowing through.”

Jacob and his siblings were always in their father’s workshop growing up. Around the age of 9, they were tasked with fetching tools and supplies so Paa Joe and his assistants could continue working.

“I was there all the time, but I never knew I would be an artist myself,” Jacob said. “Back then, God was preparing me, but I never knew.”

He gestured to his chest and said around that same age, he felt a divine calling to become a pastor, which he does part time while managing the business.

“I have the gift,” he said, beaming. “The feeling to do God’s work was there, and He has given me a lot of revelations and knowledge and wisdom.”

In secondary school, Jacob studied building construction and had ambitions to become a contractor or project manager, but Paa Joe told his son he could not leave the business to become a pastor or a contractor. Jacob said his father had sent him to school primarily to learn English so he could communicate with international buyers. He also could not pay for Jacob to complete his education because Paa Joe Sr. would need to hire more help at the shop.

“In 2008 my dad told me, ‘You can’t go to university. You need to stay behind and work with me. I’m getting old, and you are my successor. You need to take over.’ It was a very challenging moment for me,” Jacob said.

Jacob started his apprenticeship under his father that year, but hardship soon struck. The man who gave Paa Joe the land the shop was on had passed away, and his family said the coffin artist would need to pay to lease the land if he wanted to stay. Paa Joe refused and moved his family from the center of Accra to a plot of land almost two hours away from the capital. Few people wanted to travel that far for a coffin, even if it was by Paa Joe.

“It was a very critical moment,” Jacob recalled. “We went through a financial crisis. There was no commission for a period of weeks or months. I had a lot of friends I was dependent on; they were feeding me, and it was a very tough moment.”

Paa Joe, Jacob and his younger brother, and five apprentices moved to the new location. However, eventually all the apprentices left when they ran out of hope for the future of the business. Jacob said he and his brother had no option but to learn the trade to keep the family business alive.

“No one was there to work, and Paa Joe was growing weaker,” Jacob recalled. “We thought of leaving, but I looked back, and I said ‘No.’ That is another part of the meaning of Sankofa. Paa Joe has been very famous. He has received international exposure and international commissions. If I should leave, that would mean it is the end of his legacy. That is the end of his life.”

Jacob’s apprenticeship lasted until 2016 when he was ready to graduate and marry his wife, Thuodora. They have three children, the oldest of which is 6. While juggling fatherhood, traveling internationally for artist residencies, preaching when he has time and co-managing the business at home, he is also building an academy in Ghana to teach people at home and abroad how to build the proverbial coffins. A four-story building is already under construction.

However, he said he has not considered passing the business down to any of them the way his father did. So far, he is content with the prospect of teaching his father’s craft to students all over the world.

“Looking at my name, it is Jacob Paa Joe Jr., so I am an extension of him,” Jacob said. “If he were here, he would be working, and I would only be here assisting him. The art would be on him. So, since he’s not here, I am here as an extension of him to make his dream still come to pass … Sankofa means we are trying to regain back the glory, the international publicity and exposure.”

Jacob was working for 12 hours every day in Fayetteville, including weekends, but said he was still behind on the project just three days before the procession. I offered my help, and he accepted.

It was a pleasantly warm day for Arkansas in February, and he had moved his setup from the unsettlingly pristine white walls of the Studio and Design Center to the school’s inconspicuous wood shop out back. The garage doors were flung open to let the breeze float through like they would be back home in Ghana. He had finished building the sculpture over the weekend, and it was perched atop a precarious little rolling cart ready for sanding.

His beer shirt was wadded up and creased with dried glue in the belly of the coffin, and he now wore a Santa T-shirt with a short trench coat that matched the color of the sawdust.

Jacob pointed toward the bird and asked me to start sanding the glops of dried wood putty. I reached for the orbital sander, but he told me the battery was dead. He said he could charge it if I felt comfortable using it. Until then, it would have to be done by hand with folded sheets of sandpaper.

We fell into a rhythm of me sanding while he mounted the feet on the base. He looked over my shoulder occasionally to compliment my progress or give tips. When I was done, he said we needed to lift the coffin and lay it on the ground. I glanced at the wooden vessel, solid wood and large enough to hold a corpse, with doubt, but Jacob seemed sure of my strength and braced himself at the butt of the bird. I wrapped my arms around the neck but paused as he said, “Wait,” and started to scoot his side into position.

Suddenly, the wobbly cart lurched under the weight of the Sankofa. The wood hit the concrete with a heavy thud, and I watched as two weeks of this man’s life fractured in my arms. Clinging to the neck of the Sankofa, too afraid to move, I watched Jacob’s face fall just as hard as his bird. His laced fingers cradled the back of his head as he slowly surveyed the damage.

Two cracks blighted the thick neck: One snaked along the base, and the other was closer to the head. The top crack was about an inch wide and revealed the nails holding back the inky darkness of the hollow interior.

“I think it is destroyed,” he said.

I didn’t know how to answer, so we stared in silence. He pressed his palms together under his chin, eyes closed, head tilted toward the sky and sent up a quick prayer before returning to his somber expression.

“We will fix it,” I reassured him.

“Yes, we will fix it,” he replied.

He took a few more minutes to think after instructing me on which part to sand next. Shortly after I had lapsed back into a meditative state of filing down the wood putty, he laid out his plan. We would need to fill the gaps with extra-strength wood glue and nail together the crack at the base. The top and larger break would require us to hammer the bird’s face to scoot the wood back on the nails.

He left me to continue sanding while he went inside to grab the glue and returned promptly. In his position, I would have taken a few minutes to mourn the setback in the bathroom. However, his stoic disposition did not falter as we righted the bird and wheeled it into the wood shop.

I held the coffin by the neck with two other students as Jacob climbed inside. One of them, the graduate student monitoring the shop, shot me a worried glance as the structure wobbled with each hammer blow.

We had finished driving nails into the bottom fissure and needed to address the dire situation at the top. Jacob slathered extra-strength wood glue on the edges of the gap and told us to brace ourselves. He began whacking the head with a board, and each impact sent most of the coffin’s weight into my hip. We tried hitting, pushing and lifting the head, but the nails were still exposed.

With a sigh, Jacob pulled the head off and the metal teeth slid out of the base. He removed them and pressed the seam back together. The graduate student hammered the nails back into the neck at an angle to pierce both sides as Jacob held the head steady. It was a success.

We cut, glued and screwed two blocks of wood under the arch of the neck for extra support, which was the only indication the cracks ever existed after it was sanded and sprayed with cream-colored paint. With the cracks adequately sealed, the next few days were spent painting the finishing touches.

On the day of the mock funeral procession, a group of participants wearing green face masks would intermittently jump out of the tree line and block the path of the procession. They crouched and stalked toward the coffin, hands outstretched. Their part was called “The Lizards.” In Ghana, lizards are believed to be evil spirits, and they try to prevent the coffin from reaching the ancestors across the river into the afterlife.

“To dispel the lizards,” Jacob shouted into a megaphone, “we must spin the coffin!”

The six pallbearers dug their heels into the pavement and spun the heavy cart once, twice, three times, then changed direction. As they did so, the lizards fled back into the trees to find the site of their next ambush. Cheers from the mourners followed their departure, and the march continued. It reminded me of Jacob’s response to the cracks in the Sankofa. When difficulty appeared, he pivoted and marched forward.

The family of the dead does their best to ensure their loved one has a successful transition into the afterlife. They fill the coffin with money, valuables, and sometimes food and water before it is buried. Death is the beginning of a new journey to the world of the ancestors, and they might need money to buy safe passage along the way. The participants modeled this tradition as the coffin approached the area designated as the cemetery, which was the Lower Ramble, a bridge over a stream by the public library.

The coffin rounded the corner to face the bridge, and as if on cue, the sun peeked out from the clouds and a smattering of rain began to kiss the rocks and the faces of the mourners. The procession halted at the edge of the bridge, but the pallbearers delivered the Sankofa filled with messages of love, hope and grief into the open arms of the ancestors who carried it across the stream. The crowd cheered, the rain ceased and the sun hid behind the clouds.

“It is a blessing,” Jacob said, looking at the dark splotches the raindrops left on the ground. “It wasn’t raining until we got to the spiritual world — the cemetery — and after the coffin arrived in the afterlife, it stopped raining. What is the significance behind this?”

The coffin was shepherded back to the studio as students bombarded Jacob with hugs by the bridge. They thanked him for coming and said they would miss him. Jacob planned to leave Arkansas in three days to do another residency in Pittsburgh — there he would build a rooster, which is a symbol for leadership, for the August Wilson African American Cultural Center. It would be his second residency without Paa Joe.

“I wish my father was here with me today, but he is in Accra,” Jacob told me as we walked back. “I know he would have loved to take part in the procession. I felt very emotional when I remembered he is not here.”

The post The Bird-Shaped Coffin appeared first on Hill Magazine.

By Ella Karoline Hendricks 

On Oct. 13, the Arkansas Alumni Association held its ninth annual Scholarship Drag Brunch at Mount Sequoyah, a staple of Fayetteville culture, and it was truly a joyful celebration. As soon as you entered, you were greeted by friendly faces and food. The reception room was decked out in every shade of the rainbow, LGBTQ+ flags, Arkansas merch, glitter and crowns, with everyone dressed to the nines. The environment was electric, with everyone excited to see one another and the show. 

Bo Morrison is an Arkansas journalism alum who currently serves as the vice president of the Arkansas Alumni Association. Morrison became involved with the Alumni Association when he moved back to Arkansas three years ago after living in California for 20 years. 

“When I moved back, I called the Alumni Association,” Morrison said. “I told them I wanted to get involved immediately, and I began reaching out to see where I can do the most. I heard about the Pride Alumni Society — it was about the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.”

The PRIDE Alumni Society Board was founded at the University of Arkansas about 10 years ago and was the first of its kind in the Southeastern Conference. This is the ninth year the board has put on the Drag Brunch, a unique way to showcase local talents as well as raise money for the scholarship. 

“Visibility is everything,” Morrison said, a member of the LGBTQ+ community himself. “When I was growing up, I didn’t know people like me existed. It was like walking around in a fog. If I had seen people living their best lives as a couple or with kids, my life would be different now. We want to be visible — we exist, and we are always here for you.” 

The fabulous host, drag artist Taylor Madison Monroe, is an Arkansas alum who has been in drag entertainment since 2002. Jeremy Reid Stuthard, the mind behind Monroe, received his undergrad in communications from the U of A and later his masters in recreation and sports management. Monroe has hosted the event every year since its beginning. 

“My favorite part about performing is making people smile,” Monroe said. “I know it sounds cliche, but getting to connect with someone in the audience is a gift. I’ve performed for birthdays, anniversaries; you never think performing is heavy, but it can be. It’s good to make people smile.”

Other performers included the dazzling Ba Xa Er, beautiful Brooklyn Bisette and enigmatic Audacity Twinx, who engaged with the audience and raised money for the scholarship. They each had stunning outfits and striking performances, bringing something new to the table for each song.

“The LGBTQIA + community is tight knit in Northwest Arkansas,” Monroe said. “We all know each other. I’ve been hosting shows in Fayetteville for 15 years. They asked me to host, and it stuck; we’ve worked so well together. It’s a fun event and so different for them — it’s not football or a dinner. Instead, it combines a niche form of entertainment, so it’s a lot of fun to do.”

This year’s recipient for the Pride Alumni Society Scholarship is Breannah Small, a current senior from Little Rock. The Pride Alumni Society has awarded over $14,000 in scholarships since 2019. 

“The Pride Alumni Scholarship Brunch has always been a favorite of mine,” Monroe said. “Giving the gift of education through performing drag is one of the most beautiful things in the world. Putting eight or nine people through school by just doing drag is amazing.” 

Local artist Shelley Mouber was one of the highlighted artists at the brunch. Mouber mostly works with mixed media art forms. She started as a working artist in 2015 and has been in the art community for 30 years. She created the Art Market at Gulley Park for the Summer Concert Series and does markets for artists all over Northwest Arkansas.

“I’m a mixed media artist, I like everything,” Mouber said. “I’m known for my paper art because in Northwest Arkansas it’s different than any other paper art. I use labels, any repurposed items — probably 90% of the time. For example, teachers will donate ripped books to incorporate into my art. Paint is like one of the only things that’s not repurposed.”

The art is striking and visually engaging, with overlapping patterns, eclectic designs and vibrant colors. One such piece was the Fayetteville collage, which was a community artwork only about three weeks old. Mouber had contracted with the city and had a make-your-own person event at the Lower Ramble, so everyone came and made each piece, truly making it a product of the community. 

“I am just super proud to be a part of something that hopefully changes people’s hearts and minds,” Morrison said. “It’s about people in the community coming together to support one another — alumni groups, donations, community; people do want to be a part of change and a community that is open to everyone. Fayetteville is progressive, and we want to cultivate that sense of community and create an all inclusive experience through raising money to send people to school.”

At its core, the annual Scholarship Drag Brunch is a celebration of the queer community in Northwest Arkansas. The board members have worked incredibly hard to cultivate a safe space that is welcoming and encouraging for both students and alumni. It is a testament to the community’s perseverance and love for one another. 

As Bo Morrison said, “We exist, and we are always there for you.”
To donate to the scholarship fund, click here.

The post The 2024 Arkansas Alumni Scholarship Drag Brunch: A Celebration of Community appeared first on Hill Magazine.