Lifestyle
Gen Z Is Tired of Chasing the Trend Cycle
For the past few years, opening up social media has felt like standing in front of a fire hose of fashion and internet fads and cranking open the nozzle, full blast.
New “it” water bottles are anointed almost quarterly. Influencers urge their viewers to style themselves as coastal grandmothers, ballet dancers, indie sleazers and coquettes — looks that have little in common besides the consumption they require. Specious fads like the “mob wife aesthetic,” recognized by publications including this one, prompted The New Yorker’s humor column to predict what might come next: How about “Supreme Court casual” or “spotted-lanternfly goth”?
To keep up would leave most people broke, not to mention disoriented. And while a majority of these crazes are labeled “Gen Z trends,” members of that generation may be the ones most fatigued by the churn.
It’s not that they don’t get what’s going on: Today’s young adults can comfortably discuss the way that social media and fast fashion keep many members of their generation buying, sharing and discarding items. They are aware, sometimes painfully, that their insecurities are being harnessed for someone else’s bottom line. But awareness does not equal liberation. Understanding the mechanisms at play does not always mean they can escape them — although many are trying.
Neena Atkins, 16, a high school junior in Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., said she felt “constantly bombarded” by product recommendations. Cheetah print was hot less than two months ago, she said, “and now when I go on TikTok, I see people saying, like, cheetah print is getting so old.”
Lina, 15, a high school freshman near Fort Wayne, Ind., watched classmates buy $35 Stanley tumblers only to covet another brand of pastel water bottles shortly thereafter. “It’s wasteful,” she said. “You’re just wasting resources, you’re wasting money.”
James Oakley, 19, a college student in Oregon, thinks his age group has reached saturation: “The prevalence and pure amount of microtrends has made it impossible to understand or participate.”
‘This Is Gross’
We tend to think of trends as a means of demonstrating that we know what’s cool and new, or as a way to take part in a bigger collective “moment.” For decades, critics have rightly pointed out that following trends facilitates a consumer capitalist culture — wake up, sheeple! — but it can also be experimental, playful, even fun.
Lately, though, trends feel more overwhelming. I recently set out to make sense of which trends were actually relevant to Gen Z-ers’ lives. But after hearing from dozens of young people, a pattern emerged: Many wanted to talk not about any one trend that they thought mattered, but about their struggles with the relentless onslaught of trends, and the whiplash they felt from trying to process them all so quickly.
Young people I spoke with described an online trend ecosystem that resembles a soupy flood plain of fads — trends that are at once flimsy and a genuine source of stress for young people eager to fit in. The insecurity that young people feel when they don’t have the “it” item is amplified when there’s a new “it” item every week.
To be clear, not every member of Gen Z has gotten sucked into the whirlpool that awaits them on their phones: Many can’t be bothered — or simply can’t afford — to pay attention. “A lot of people don’t buy from Shein, do not have the time or money to invest in every microtrend that just walks by,” James said.
Bemoaning the quickening of trends is itself a tradition. The scholar Quentin Bell observed in a 1978 edition of his book “On Human Finery,” that “the pace of fashion has become noticeable, so noticeable that the fashions of a man’s youth could look dowdy by the time that he was middle-aged.”
Almost a half-century later, the journalist Kyle Chayka wrote in his book “Filterworld” that “microtrends” now rise and fall in a matter of weeks. In its quest to retain our attention, social media seemed to have heightened both the quantity and intensity of what we once called a fad: “Under algorithmic feeds, the popular becomes more popular, and the obscure becomes even less visible,” he writes.
That’s how it feels for Francesca Oliva, an 18-year-old college freshman in Hopewell Junction, N.Y. As a middle schooler, she said, she felt pressure to own the signifiers of the “VSCO girl” look that was then dominant: pastel scrunchies, a Hydro Flask water bottle. When she got them, it felt a little bit like she was putting on a costume.
“When you have 18,000 different ‘core’ identities being thrown at you — like eclectic grandpa, or coastal grandmother, or office siren — you’re like, What am I supposed to be?” she said.
As she watched even more trends come and go, each one seemingly requiring a new wardrobe, she took a step back. She wants to spend her money on clothing that will last, she said, and she has neither the budget nor the mental energy to keep pace with a trend environment that resembles a game of Whac-a-Mole.
“People that continuously are buying these clothes just trying to fit in, it has to feel exhausting,” she said. “As someone who’s just observing that, it’s exhausting.”
Keeping up is a full-time job for Casey Lewis, author of the Gen Z trend newsletter “After School.” As an adolescent in rural Missouri in the late 1990s, Ms. Lewis, 37, learned about the popular styles of the moment — low-rise slip skirts, embellished baby tees — in teen magazines that arrived monthly. Fashion trends, in the macro sense, spun in 20-year cycles: Today’s tier of more slight digital ephemera did not yet exist.
Her newsletter, a daily cheat sheet for millennials and their elders who want to know what young people are up to, is stuffed with a survey of everything that social media users and fashion publications are simultaneously declaring to be of the moment. Some of its tongue-in-cheek subject lines barely scan as English: “Quietcations and Tweecore”; “Rococo Revival and Cinnamon Softcore.”
A sense of consumption fatigue has set in, she said. “Eventually, you’re just kind of like, ‘This is gross. Why am I even participating in this culture?’” she said. “I think creators and brands are increasingly having to answer to that understanding from young people.”
Status, Anxiety, FOMO
Accelerants for the trend cycle abound. TikTok requires novelty to hold our attention, and has an algorithm potent enough to elevate the unknown to ubiquity in a matter of days. Fast-fashion marketplaces are able to churn out polyester to meet whatever bottomless demand is generated online. And platforms are rolling out click-to-buy functions like TikTok Shop to all but eliminate the friction between seeing something online and having it dropped on one’s doorstep.
That can make being online an unsatisfying experience: Social media was sold as a playground, but ended up feeling more like a mall. “Every time I go on Instagram, it’s like something is being sold to me,” said Sequoya, a 22-year-old living in Salt Lake City.
Ensuring that the wheel continues to spin is the status-seeking element of human nature itself, W. David Marx argues in his book “Status and Culture.” We want what other people have in order to fit in, but eventually abandon those same things once we see them as too accessible to the masses. Or, as Ms. Lewis put it, “Once a 12-year-old is crying over getting a Stanley, a 17-year-old isn’t going to want one.”
In fashion, the result is a glut of low-quality clothing items that are not wearable for long. The average number of times a single garment is worn has decreased 36 percent compared with rates 15 years earlier, according to a 2019 report by the Ellen MacArthur Foundation and McKinsey & Company. For every five garments produced, the report added, three end up in a landfill or incinerated.
But it’s not just clothes. David Peraza, 21, a college student in Yucatán, Mexico, watches new titles surge to the top of the online game marketplace Steam more quickly than he can afford to buy them. At the beginning of last year, it seemed as if everyone was playing “Helldivers 2,” he said, only to pivot a few months later to an updated release of “The Legend of Zelda.”
“It is overwhelming,” he said. Games trend so quickly that his FOMO — fear of missing out — has grown “exponential.”
Some so-called trends feel more like mirages. Things like “mermaidcore” and “barefoot-boy summer” function less as reigning aesthetics in real life and more as mash-ups of words memorable enough to achieve social media virality for a week or two. But trend pieces reliably follow: “Lately I wonder if we’re living through a mass psychosis expressing itself through trend reporting,” the fashion critic Rachel Tashjian wrote for Harper’s Bazaar in 2022.
Those fleeting trends can still cause real anxiety for young people who feel pressure to measure up to what they see online.
Neena, the 16-year-old, recalled a conversation with a panicked friend during study hall. “She told me: ‘I’m really stressed out. I don’t know whether I want to be an Aussie girl or a vanilla girl,” Neena recalled, naming two looks that had briefly overtaken her TikTok feed. “That was kind of my realization: This is not normal.”
Enter ‘Underconsumption Core’
Is it possible that the fire hydrant of trends is starting to run dry? Business of Fashion predicted in January that viral microtrends were on their way out, in part because of the uncertain fate of TikTok, which was set to face a federal ban in January. The app flickered dark, and then back to life, after President Trump signed an executive order that delayed enforcement of the ban for 75 days.
Hana Tilksew, 19, a college student near Fresno, Calif., got rid of the app anyway. It’s been a relief, she said: “I think a permanent TikTok ban would definitely help mitigate the relentless pressure we feel to keep up.”
Other TikTok users have been making their fatigue known for a while now. In a flurry of videos last year, some expressed frustration at the buy-buy-buy ethos on the app. Others pushed “underconsumption core,” which encourages users to show off their off-trend, but still thoroughly wearable, clothes. Still more have documented their attempts at a “low-buy year” in which they vowed to cut back on shopping.
Such neatly packaged repudiations of trendiness strike Abner Gordan, a 21-year-old college student in New York City, as ironic. “In a weird way, I think being anti-trend is very trendy,” he said.
While many of his friends still buy secondhand clothing or furniture, he has watched the “underconsumption core” label lose steam online, just like all of the “cores” before it. It was dispiriting, he said, to witness what at first seemed like a move away from the trend cycle be subsumed by it instead.
“It’s like you can’t escape,” he said.
Perhaps Gen Z is just aging out of the period of their lives ruled by trends, Ms. Lewis said, noting that its eldest members are in their late 20s. But she does not think the online trend madness will slow down anytime soon. Enter Gen Alpha, whose eyes are already racing across screens. “I think they’re going to be trend freaks,” Ms. Lewis said.
Hana stopped buying ultra-trendy items when she realized that a closet full of bags and Brandy Melville miniskirts wasn’t making her any happier. She said she gave her hand-me-downs to her 13-year-old sister, a middle schooler who is “still obsessed with trends.”
“She’ll grow out of it eventually,” she said.
The art industry is increasingly shaped by artists’ and art businesses’ shared realization that they are locked in a fierce struggle for sustained attention — against each other, and against the rest of the overstimulated, always-online world. A major New York art fair aims to win this competition next month by knocking down the increasingly shaky walls between contemporary art and fashion.
When visitors enter the Independent art fair on May 14, they will almost immediately encounter its open-plan centerpiece: an installation of recent couture looks from Comme des Garçons. It will be the first New York solo presentation of works by Rei Kawakubo, the brand’s founder and mastermind, since a lauded 2017 survey exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute.
Art fairs have often been front and center in the industry’s 21st-century quest to capture mindshare. But too many displays have pierced the zeitgeist with six-figure spectacles, like Maurizio Cattelan’s duct-taped banana and Beeple’s robot dogs. Curating Independent around Comme des Garçons comes from the conviction that a different kind of iconoclasm can rise to the top of New York’s spring art scrum.
Elizabeth Dee, the founder and creative director of Independent, said that making Kawakubo’s work the “nerve center” of this year’s edition was a “statement of purpose” for the fair’s evolution. After several years at the compact Spring Studios in TriBeCa, Independent will more than double its square footage by moving to Pier 36 at South Street, on the East River. Dee has narrowed the fair’s exhibitor list, to 76, from 83 dealers in 2025, and reduced booth fees to encourage a focus on single artists making bold propositions.
“Rei’s work has been pivotal to thinking about how my work as a curator, gallerist and art fair can push boundaries, especially during this extraordinary move toward corporatization and monoculture in the art world in the last 20 years,” Dee said.
Kawakubo’s designs have been challenging norms since her brand’s first Paris runway show in 1981, but her work over the last 13 years on what she calls “objects for the body” has blurred borders between high fashion and wearable sculpture.
The Comme des Garçons presentation at Independent will feature 20 looks from autumn-winter 2020 to spring-summer 2025. Forgoing the runway, Kawakubo is installing her non-clothing inside structures made from rebar and colored plastic joinery.
Adrian Joffe, the president of both Comme des Garçons International and the curated retailer Dover Street Market International (and who is also Kawakubo’s husband), said in an interview that Kawakubo’s intention was to create a sculptural installation divorced from chronology and fashion — “a thing made new again.”
Every look at Independent was made in an edition of three or fewer, but only one of each will be for sale on-site. Prices will be about $9,000 to $30,000. Comme des Garçons will retain 100 percent of the sales.
Asked why she was interested in exhibiting at Independent, the famously elusive Kawakubo said via email, “The body of work has never been shown together, and this is the first presentation in New York in almost 10 years.” Joffe added a broader philosophical motivation. “We’ve never done it before; it was new,” he said. Also essential was the fair’s willingness to embrace Kawakubo’s vision for the installation rather than a standard fair booth.
Kawakubo began consistently engaging with fine art decades before such crossovers became commonplace. Since 1989, she has invited a steady stream of contemporary artists to create installations in Comme des Garçons’s Tokyo flagship store. The ’90s brought collaborations with the artist Cindy Sherman and performance pioneer Merce Cunningham, among others.
More cross-disciplinary projects followed, including limited-release direct mailers for Comme des Garçons. Kawakubo designs each from documentation of works provided by an artist or art collective.
The display at Independent reopens the debate about Kawakubo’s proper place on the continuum between artist and designer. But the issue is already settled for celebrated artists who have collaborated with her.
“I totally think of Rei as an artist in the truest sense,” Sherman said by email. “Her work questions what everyone else takes for granted as being flattering to a body, questions what female bodies are expected to look like and who they’re catering to.”
Ai Weiwei, the subject of a 2010 Comme des Garçons direct mailer, agreed that Kawakubo “is, in essence, an artist.” Unlike designers who “pursue a sense of form,” he added, “her design and creation are oriented toward attitude” — specifically, an attitude of “rebellion.”
Also taking this position is “Costume Art,” the spring exhibition at the Costume Institute. Opening May 10, the show pairs individual works from multiple designers — including Comme des Garçons — with artworks from the Met’s holdings to advance the argument made by the dress code for this year’s Met gala: “Fashion is art.”
True to form, Kawakubo sometimes opts for a third way.
“Rei has often said she’s not a designer, she’s not an artist,” Joffe said. “She is a storyteller.”
Now to find out whether an art fair sparks the drama, dialogue and attention its authors want.
Lifestyle
They set out to elevate karaoke in L.A. — and opened a glamorous lounge that pulls out all the stops
Brothers Leo and Oliver Kremer visited karaoke spots around the globe and almost always had the same impression.
“The drinks weren’t always great, the aesthetics weren’t always so glamorous, the sound wasn’t always awesome and the lights were often generic,” says Leo, a former bassist of the band Third Eye Blind.
As devout karaoke fans, they wanted to level up the experience. So they dreamed up Mic Drop, an upscale karaoke lounge in West Hollywood that opens Thursday. It’s located inside the original Larrabee Studios, a historic 1920s building formerly owned by Carole King and her ex-husband, Gerry Goffin — and the spot where King recorded some of her biggest hits. Third Eye Blind band members Stephan Jenkins and Brad Hargreaves are investors of the new venue.
Inside the two-story, 6,300-square-foot venue with 13 private karaoke rooms and an electrifying main stage, you can feel like a rock star in front of a cheering audience. Want to check it out? Here are six things to know.
The Kremer brothers hired sculptor Shawn HibmaCronan to create an 8-foot-tall disco-themed microphone for their karaoke lounge.
1. Take your pick between a private karaoke experience or the main stage
A unique element of Mic Drop is that it offers both private karaoke rooms and a main stage experience for those who wish to sing in front of a crowd. The 13 private rooms range from six- to 45-person capacity. Each of the karaoke rooms are named after a famous recording studio such as Electric Lady, Abbey Road, Shangri La and of course, Larrabee Studios. There is a two-hour minimum on all rentals and hourly rates depend on the room size and day of the week.
But if you’re ready to take the center stage, it’s free to sing — at least technically. All you have to do is pay a $10 fee at the door, which is essentially a token that goes toward your first drink. Then you can put your name on the list with the KJ (karaoke jockey) who keeps the crowd energized throughout the night and even hits the stage at times.
Harrison Baum, left, of Santa Monica, and Amanda Stagner, 27, of Los Angeles, sing in one of the 13 private karaoke rooms.
2. Thumping, high sound quality was a top priority
As someone who toured the world playing bass for Third Eye Blind, top-tier sound was a nonnegotiable for Leo. “Typically with karaoke, the sound is kind of teeny, there’s not a lot of bass and the vocal is super hot and sitting on top too much,” he says. To combat this, he and his brother teamed up with Pineapple Audio, an audio visual company based in Chicago, to design their crisp sound system. They also installed concert-grade speakers and custom subwoofers from a European audio equipment manufacturer called Celto, and bought gold-plated Sennheiser wireless microphones, which they loved so much that they had an 8-foot-tall replica made for their main room. Designed by artist Shawn HibmaCronan, the “macrophone,” as they call it, has roughly 30,000 mirror tiles. “It spins and throws incredible disco light everywhere,” says Leo.
Karaoke jockeys Sophie St. John, 27, second from left, and Cameron Armstrong, 30, right, get the crowd involved with their song picks at Mic Drop.
3. A concert-level performance isn’t complete without good stage lighting and a haze machine
Each karaoke room features a disco ball and dynamic lighting that syncs up with whatever song you’re singing, which makes you feel like you are a professional performer. There’s also a haze machine hidden under the leather seats. Meanwhile, the main stage is concert-ready with additional dancing lasers and spotlights.
Brett Adams, left, of Sherman Oaks, and Patrick Riley of Studio City sing karaoke together inside a private lounge at Mic Drop.
4. The song selection is vast, offering classics and new hits
One of the worst things that can happen when you go to karaoke is not being able to find the song you want to sing. At Mic Drop, the odds of this happening are slim to none. The venue uses a popular karaoke service called KaraFun, which has a catalog of more than 600,000 songs (and adds 400 new tracks every month), according to its website. Take your pick from country, R&B, jazz, rap, pop, love duets and more. (Two newish selections I spotted were Raye’s “Where Is my Husband” and Olivia Dean’s “Man I Need,” which both released late last year.) In the private karaoke rooms, there’s also a fun feature on Karafun called “battle mode,” which allows you and your crew of up to 20 people to compete in real time. KaraFun also has an entertaining music trivia game, which I tested out with the founders and came in second place.
The design inspiration for Mic Drop was 1920s music lounges and 1970s disco culture, says designer Amy Morris.
5. The interiors are inspired by 1920s music lounges mixed with ‘70s disco vibes
A disco ball hangs from the ceiling.
If you took the sophisticated aesthetic of 1920s music lounges and mixed it with the vibrant and playful era of 1970s disco culture, you’d find Mic Drop.
When you walk into the lounge, the first thing you’ll see is a bright red check-in desk that resembles a performer’s dressing room with vanity lights, several mirrors and a range of wigs. “So much of karaoke is about getting into character and letting go of the day, so we had the idea to sell the wigs,” says Oliver. As you continue into the lounge, the focal point is the stage, which is adorned with zebra-printed carpet and dramatic, red velvet curtains. For seating, slide into the red velvet banquettes or plop onto a gold tiger velvet stool. Upstairs, you’ll find the intimate karaoke studios, which are decorated with red velvet walls and brass, curved doorways that echo the building’s deco arches, says Mic Drop’s interior designer, Amy Morris of the Morris Project.
Sarah Rothman, center, of Oakland, and friend Rachel Bernstein, left, of Los Angeles, wait at the bar.
6. You can order nontraditional karaoke bites as you wait for your turn to sing
While Mic Drop offers some of the food you’d typically find at a karaoke lounge such as tater tots, truffle popcorn and pizza, the venue has some surprising options as well. For example, a 57 gram caviar service (served with chips, crème fraîche and chives) and shrimp cocktail from Santa Monica Seafood. For their pizza program, the Kremer brothers teamed up with Avalou’s Italian Pizza Company, which is run by Louis Lombardi who starred in “The Sopranos.” He’s the brainchild behind my favorite dish, the Fuhgeddaboudit pizza, which is made with pastrami, pickles and mustard. It might sound repulsive, but trust me.
As for the cheeky cocktails, they are all named after famous musicians and songs such as the Pink Pony Club (a tart cherry pomegranate drink with vodka named after Chappell Roan), Green Eyes (a sake sour with kiwi and melon named after Green Day) and Megroni Thee Stallion (an elevated negroni named after Megan Thee Stallion).
When John Lantigua, a retired journalist in Miami Beach, checked his email one recent morning, he was glad to see an invitation.
“It was like, ‘Come and share an evening with me. Click here for details,’” Mr. Lantigua said.
It appeared to be a Paperless Post invitation from someone he once worked with at The Palm Beach Post, a man who had left Florida for Mississippi and liked to arrange dinners when he was back in town.
Mr. Lantigua, 78, clicked the link. It didn’t open.
He clicked a second time. Still nothing.
He didn’t realize what was going on until a mutual friend who had received the same email told him it wasn’t an invitation at all. It was a scam.
Phishing scams have long tried to frighten people into clicking on links with emails claiming that their bank accounts have been hacked, or that they owe thousands of dollars in fines, or that their pornography viewing habits have been tracked.
The invitation scam is a little more subtle: It preys on the all-too-human desire to be included in social gatherings.
The phishy invitations mimic emails from Paperless Post, Evite and Punchbowl. What appears to be a friendly overture from someone you know is really a digital Trojan horse that gives scammers access to your personal information.
“I thought it was diabolical that they would choose somebody who has sent me a legitimate invitation before,” Mr. Lantigua said. “He’s a friend of mine. If he’s coming to town, I want to see him.”
Rachel Tobac, the chief executive of SocialProof Security, a cybersecurity firm, said she noticed the scam last holiday season.
“Phishing emails are not a new thing,” Ms. Tobac said, “but every six months, we get a new lure that hijacks our amygdala in new ways. There’s such a desire for folks to get together that this lure is interesting to people. They want to go to a party.”
Phishing scams involve “two distinct paths,” Ms. Tobac added. In one, the recipient is served a link that turns out to be dead, or so it seems. A click activates malware that runs silently as it gleans passwords and other bits of personal information. In all likelihood, this is what happened when Mr. Lantigua clicked on the ersatz invitation link.
Another scam offers a working link. Potential victims who click on it are asked to provide a password. Those who take that next step are a boon to hackers.
“They have complete control of your email and, in turn, your entire digital life,” Ms. Tobac said. “They can reset your password for your dog’s Instagram account. They can take over your bank account. Change your health insurance.”
Digital invitation platforms are trying to combat the scam by publishing guides on how to spot fake invitations. Paperless Post has also set up an email account — phishing@paperlesspost.com — for users to submit messages for verification. The company sends suspicious links to the Anti-Phishing Working Group, a nonprofit that maintains a database monitored by cybersecurity firms. Flagged links are rendered ineffective.
The scammers’ new strategy of exploiting the desire for connection is infuriating, said Alexa Hirschfeld, a founder of Paperless Post. “Life can be isolating,” Ms. Hirschfeld said. “When it looks like you’re getting an invitation from someone you know, your first instinct is excitement, not skepticism.”
Olivia Pollock, the vice president of brand for Evite, said that fake invitations tended to be generic, promising a birthday party or a celebration of life. Most invitations these days tend to have a specific focus — mahjong gatherings or book club talks, for instance. “The devil is in the details,” Ms. Pollock said.
Because scammers don’t know how close you are with the people in your contact list, fake invitations may also seem random. “They could be from your business school roommate you haven’t spoken to in 10 years,” Ms. Hirschfeld said.
Alyssa Williamson, who works in public relations in New York, was leaving a yoga class recently when she checked her phone and saw an invitation from a college classmate.
“I assumed it was an alumni event,” Ms. Williamson, 30, said. “I clicked on it, and it was like, ‘Enter your email.’ I didn’t even think about it.”
Later that day, she received texts from friends asking her about the party invitation she had just sent out. Her response: What party?
“The thing is, I host a lot of events,” she said. “Some knew it was fake. Others were like, ‘What’s this? I can’t open it.’”
Andrew Smith, a graduate student in finance who lives in Manhattan, received what looked like a Punchbowl invitation to “a memory making celebration.” It appeared to have come from a woman he had dated in college. He received it when he was having drinks at a bar on a Friday night — “a pretty insidious piece of timing,” he said.
“The choice of sender was super clever,” Mr. Smith, 29, noted. “This was somebody that would probably get a reaction from me.”
Mr. Smith seized on the phrase “memory making celebration” and filled in the blanks. He imagined that someone in his ex-girlfriend’s immediate family had died. Perhaps she wanted to restart contact at this difficult moment.
Something saved him when he clicked a link and tried to tap out his personal information — his inability to remember the password to his email account. The next day, he reached out to his ex, who confirmed that the invitation was fake.
“It didn’t trigger any alarm bells,” Mr. Smith said. “I went right for the click. I went completely animal brain.”
The new scam comes with an unfortunate side effect, a suspicion of invitations altogether. It’s enough to make a person antisocial.
“Don’t invite me to anything,” Mr. Lantigua, the retired journalist, said, only half-joking. “I’m not coming.”
-
South-Carolina4 minutes agoTwo from South Carolina charged with murder after Massachusetts man found dead in trash can
-
South Dakota10 minutes ago
SD Lottery Millionaire for Life winning numbers for April 23, 2026
-
Tennessee16 minutes agoAlabama Baseball Capitalizes on Free Passes in 12-8 Win Over Tennessee
-
Texas22 minutes agoTexas attorney raises concerns as investigation continues into 2 home explosions on North Side
-
Utah28 minutes agoUtah road rage cases peak in March, data shows
-
Vermont34 minutes agoFederal reclassification of marijuana could ‘turbocharge’ Vermont’s medical market – VTDigger
-
Virginia40 minutes agoA proposal to merge Alexandria, Arlington back into DC sheds light on past retrocession
-
Wisconsin52 minutes agoWisconsin Lottery Pick 3, Pick 4 results for April 23, 2026