Outside Lands 2025 announces Dolores' lineup featuring Rebecca Black, local legends
Rebecca Black, who shot to fame with her viral hit 'Friday,' is among the special guests at Outside Lands for the return of Dolores', its open-air dance club dedicated to celebrating the Bay Area's queer and trans communities.
Set to take over the Polo Field during the festival's 17th edition, from Aug. 8-10 in Golden Gate Park, Dolores' marks its second year with a lineup that promises a high-energy blend of DJs, live performances and drag artistry curated by local nightlife staples Fake and Gay, Oasis Arts and Polyglamorous.
Among the standouts joining Black over the weekend are DJs Father Figure and Chase Icon. Drag luminaries from Oasis, including D'Arcy Drollinger and Nicki Jizz, are also set to appear alongside collectives like Baloney & Friends and Reparations.
'Dolores' honors the extensive history of queer arts, events, and activism both in San Francisco and beyond,' organizers said. 'All are welcome at Dolores'!'
In the lead-up to the festival, Outside Lands will also host a pre-party at the Independent on June 28 dubbed Bay Area Pride Amplified! The event will feature Bay Area queer talent and drag performers including Emily Afton, Pillowprince and Aurris X Lilith.
This year's Outside Lands will be headlined by Tyler, the Creator (making up for his 2024 cancellation), Doja Cat and Hozier, alongside more than 100 acts, including Beck, Doechii, Anderson .Paak, Vampire Weekend and Ludacris.
Single-day tickets begin at $199, while three-day passes start at $465. All ticket options are available online at www.sfoutsidelands.com.
Among other returning experiences at Outside Lands this year are City Hall, an exclusive outdoor wedding venue where festivalgoers can legally marry or renew their vows, and SOMA, the festival's open-air house and techno stage. The latter will feature a fresh redesign by Studio RRD with creative direction from Iron Bloom and performances by top artists like Black Coffee, Claude VonStroke and Floating Points.
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Yahoo
an hour ago
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The Left Must Reclaim Motherhood
Credit - Photo-Illustration by TIME (Source Images: Johner Images—Getty Images, Dougal Waters—Getty Images, Vera Livchak—Getty Images) 'I had no idea how much you loved being a mom,' my best friend said one day at a park meet-up 15 months after my son was born. At that point, I'd been parenting for over a year, and yet, I'd somehow forgotten to tell her how much this new life-altering experience had meant to me. In fact, one of the first things I decided after my son was born was that I wouldn't write about him or motherhood. I'd felt unable to describe the mixture of joy, rage, love, and exhaustion that consumed me because of it. More accurately, it took me years to feel comfortable with the idea that parenting wasn't a frivolous topic, and 'mother' was a word I actually wanted to be associated with. Since then, there have been other moments of motherhood dissonance. I've found myself baking a cake from scratch (which, for the record, has never turned out quite right!) or cooking a meal for my family, feeling happily domestic, when a suspicious sensation takes over, as if I might turn into a milkmaid-dress donning homesteader who has abandoned all her progressive ideals. But is enjoying cooking food for people you love a conservative endeavor? And why did it take me so long to feel ok to share my experiences as a mother? Sure, I never dreamed of becoming a parent when I was growing up, and I saw the suburbs as a heteronormative hellscape. But it's more than that—recently, it's because the cultural chasm surrounding motherhood has widened, largely because of politics. On one side of the political spectrum, conservatives have adeptly rebranded motherhood as a sanctified identity—stylized, nostalgic, and tightly wrapped in traditional values. From the rise of tradwives, to the rise of the pronatalist movement, to the homeschooling revival, conservative motherhood has become not only a lifestyle but a political aesthetic. Decorated in gingham and pastels, with references to "simpler times," right-wing influencers have woven a narrative where motherhood is both an ideal and a coveted aesthetic—one that often valorizes the nuclear family, eschews public institutions, and distrusts science. Read More: The False Escapism of Soft Girls and Tradwives Meanwhile, the left has engaged in a vital act of exposing the harsher and heavier realities of parenting. From economists like Emily Oster and writers Jessica Valenti and Angela Garbes (to name a very few), we have been shown the truth about the gender wage gap's impact on parenting, the way maternal mortality disproportionately affects Black women, and the imbalance of cognitive labor that mothers bear. Social media accounts like TikTok's @momunfiltered share stories of messy motherhoods detailing the exhaustion, the inequity, and the lack of social safety nets. These accounts have helped to destigmatize these experiences and have revealed how parenting in a country with no universal childcare, inadequate maternal healthcare, and no guaranteed paid leave becomes an act of survival for many. This truth is essential—especially in a culture that punishes mothers while feigning reverence for them. But amidst this necessary reckoning, depictions of joy and meaning have been lost. As a queer, progressive mother of two, I know this conflict intimately. I've noticed how quickly I'll make a joke about the stress of parenting, but hesitate to share when something about it feels deeply good. There's a subtle sense that taking pleasure in domesticity might be a betrayal of my values—as if nurturing children, or even enjoying something as benign as baking, plays into oppressive tropes. But why should the right own parenting and caretaking? I was most struck by the recent headline of feminist philosopher Kate Manne, who wrote a piece titled 'Don't Have Children,' where she described her daughter as her greatest joy, but simultaneously wrote that she hopes to never become a grandmother. Is that the best we can offer children and young people in our country, which is rich in money, technology, advanced medical treatments, and resources? This complete give-up cannot be the only solution. . In our efforts to dismantle the idealization of motherhood, the left has struggled to articulate a more complex view of caregiving—one that acknowledges the labor, yes, but also celebrates the connection, creativity, and sometimes radical meaning that comes with raising children. It has also left out a vision for what caregiving has the potential to be under the right leadership. As the conservative right makes motherhood its ideological stronghold, the left risks ceding not just the narrative, but the cultural and political power that comes with it. What would it mean to embrace motherhood not only as a struggle but a site of potential joy and creativity? Our elected officials could, in theory, make positive change should they choose to take on caretaking in a meaningful way. We've seen it happen elsewhere: In 2024, for instance, the UK passed a law attempting to help specifically working and low-income families by allowing access to free childcare for up to 15 hours per week for children nine months and older, and up to 30 hours for three and four year olds. This past April, Singapore added four weeks of mandatory paternity leave (other countries, including Sweden, Japan, and Norway have similar policies), which has the ability to jump-start more equitable caretaking for both parents early on. This does not solve all the issues that come with parenthood, but it's certainly a start. Leftist activists are fighting for childcare funding, reproductive justice, and equitable family leave policies. There are growing grassroots childcare collectives popping up, like Rad Dad Zine and the Parenting for Liberation network, which both model the use of mutual aid, intersectionality, and bring joy to the forefront. During the COVID-19 pandemic, we saw families lean on each other for pod schooling and collaborative use of resources. Despite these boots on the ground movements, we don't see our elected Democratic officials take these needs on in a meaningful way that would put people over profits. The left doesn't need to replicate the tradwife stylings, however relaxing and visually appealing it seems, but it does need its own vision—one that affirms the possibility of caregiving without erasing the hardship. To reclaim motherhood, the left must do more than critique. We must dream and share what caregiving could look like in our world of more than plenty. We must push our elected officials to champion meaningful public policies like universal childcare and paid parental leave. I've also realized that I can do a better job of making more visible the joy and radical meaning that comes not despite caregiving, but because of it. I have become more vocal in claiming the title of mother and discussing the varying ways motherhood has changed me for the better. Above all, since all moms feel so differently about each stage, day, and moment, I try to make sure that I am just sharing my point of view. Motherhood and joy are not inherently conservative. It's time for the left (and me) to reclaim this truth—and with it, to imagine a future where parenting is not a battleground but a common ground. Contact us at letters@
Axios
an hour ago
- Axios
GSU's plan to demolish historic building sparks community uproar
Georgia State University's proposal to demolish an old substation within the local Martin Luther King Jr. Historic District is drawing criticism from members of the community who want to see the building preserved. Why it matters: GSU, which has the largest student population of any college in Georgia, is a major player in attracting people to Downtown, and the school wants to turn its "concrete jungle" into an integrated campus with more gathering spaces for students. Driving the news: The school hosted a public input session last week where dozens of community members and students could ask questions about the project, which would demolish Sparks Hall at 33 Gilmer St. and the former substation at 148 Edgewood Ave. The gathering quickly devolved into heated discussions between those opposed to demolishing 148 Edgewood and GSU representatives and students who backed the plan. What they're saying: Supporters, which included some Black fraternity and sorority students, said removing the building would give Greek life students a communal space to gather. The 148 Edgewood building is vacant and abuts GSU's Greek Housing area. Ashleigh Harper, vice president of the Zeta Phi Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta at GSU, told Axios that demolishing the building wouldn't diminish Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s legacy in Atlanta. "It can't be encompassed into one [building]," she said, referring to King's legacy. "I feel like that's doing him a disservice." The other side: Opponents argued the building is part of Atlanta's history and could be incorporated into GSU's campus. "The objection to its destruction is based upon facts and experience and the longevity of this area," said David Mitchell, executive director of the Atlanta Preservation Center. "This building … represents an identity and something that's integral to understanding what the city of Atlanta is." Atlanta City Council member Liliana Bakhtiari wrote a letter in opposition to the plan, as did Georgia Trust for Historic Preservation president and CEO W. Wright Mitchell. Zoom in: GSU's plan to demolish Sparks Hall and 148 Edgewood is part of its larger, long-range plan to create a " true college town downtown." Sparks Hall would be torn down and a "Panther Quad" would rise in its place. The quad would include additional greenspace that would connect to the existing campus greenway. Plans also call for transforming part of Gilmer Street into a car-free zone, which would provide better connectivity to Hurt Park, said L. Jared Abramson, GSU's executive vice president and chief operating officer. The Edgewood building would be demolished to create outdoor community space next to the fraternity and sorority housing, Abramson told Axios, adding the building's historic significance would be commemorated. By the numbers: Abramson said it would cost $12 million for GSU to renovate the Edgewood building, which he said is about 9,000 square feet. It would cost about $1.7 million to demolish it, he said. The big picture: Abramson said GSU's plans are part of its overall work to shed its "concrete jungle" image and create a campus that encourages students to stick around Downtown. "We have determined that this is the type of experience our students need," Abramson told Axios. What's next: A GSU spokesperson told Axios the university is reviewing the feedback it received from the May 28 hearing.
Time Magazine
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The Left Must Reclaim Motherhood
'I had no idea how much you loved being a mom,' my best friend said one day at a park meet-up 15 months after my son was born. At that point, I'd been parenting for over a year, and yet, I'd somehow forgotten to tell her how much this new life-altering experience had meant to me. In fact, one of the first things I decided after my son was born was that I wouldn't write about him or motherhood. I'd felt unable to describe the mixture of joy, rage, love, and exhaustion that consumed me because of it. More accurately, it took me years to feel comfortable with the idea that parenting wasn't a frivolous topic, and 'mother' was a word I actually wanted to be associated with. Since then, there have been other moments of motherhood dissonance. I've found myself baking a cake from scratch (which, for the record, has never turned out quite right!) or cooking a meal for my family, feeling happily domestic, when a suspicious sensation takes over, as if I might turn into a milkmaid-dress donning homesteader who has abandoned all her progressive ideals. But is enjoying cooking food for people you love a conservative endeavor? And why did it take me so long to feel ok to share my experiences as a mother? Sure, I never dreamed of becoming a parent when I was growing up, and I saw the suburbs as a heteronormative hellscape. But it's more than that—recently, it's because the cultural chasm surrounding motherhood has widened, largely because of politics. On one side of the political spectrum, conservatives have adeptly rebranded motherhood as a sanctified identity—stylized, nostalgic, and tightly wrapped in traditional values. From the rise of tradwive s, to the rise of the pronatalist movement, to the homeschooling revival, conservative motherhood has become not only a lifestyle but a political aesthetic. Decorated in gingham and pastels, with references to "simpler times," right-wing influencers have woven a narrative where motherhood is both an ideal and a coveted aesthetic—one that often valorizes the nuclear family, eschews public institutions, and distrusts science. Meanwhile, the left has engaged in a vital act of exposing the harsher and heavier realities of parenting. From economists like Emily Oster and writers Jessica Valenti and Angela Garbes (to name a very few), we have been shown the truth about the gender wage gap's impact on parenting, the way maternal mortality disproportionately affects Black women, and the imbalance of cognitive labor that mothers bear. Social media accounts like TikTok's @momunfiltered share stories of messy motherhoods detailing the exhaustion, the inequity, and the lack of social safety nets. These accounts have helped to destigmatize these experiences and have revealed how parenting in a country with no universal childcare, inadequate maternal healthcare, and no guaranteed paid leave becomes an act of survival for many. This truth is essential—especially in a culture that punishes mothers while feigning reverence for them. But amidst this necessary reckoning, depictions of joy and meaning have been lost. As a queer, progressive mother of two, I know this conflict intimately. I've noticed how quickly I'll make a joke about the stress of parenting, but hesitate to share when something about it feels deeply good. There's a subtle sense that taking pleasure in domesticity might be a betrayal of my values—as if nurturing children, or even enjoying something as benign as baking, plays into oppressive tropes. But why should the right own parenting and caretaking? I was most struck by the recent headline of feminist philosopher Kate Manne, who wrote a piece titled 'Don't Have Children,' where she described her daughter as her greatest joy, but simultaneously wrote that she hopes to never become a grandmother. Is that the best we can offer children and young people in our country, which is rich in money, technology, advanced medical treatments, and resources? This complete give-up cannot be the only solution. . In our efforts to dismantle the idealization of motherhood, the left has struggled to articulate a more complex view of caregiving—one that acknowledges the labor, yes, but also celebrates the connection, creativity, and sometimes radical meaning that comes with raising children. It has also left out a vision for what caregiving has the potential to be under the right leadership. As the conservative right makes motherhood its ideological stronghold, the left risks ceding not just the narrative, but the cultural and political power that comes with it. What would it mean to embrace motherhood not only as a struggle but a site of potential joy and creativity? Our elected officials could, in theory, make positive change should they choose to take on caretaking in a meaningful way. We've seen it happen elsewhere: In 2024, for instance, the UK passed a law attempting to help specifically working and low-income families by allowing access to free childcare for up to 15 hours per week for children nine months and older, and up to 30 hours for three and four year olds. This past April, Singapore added four weeks of mandatory paternity leave (other countries, including Sweden, Japan, and Norway have similar policies), which has the ability to jump-start more equitable caretaking for both parents early on. This does not solve all the issues that come with parenthood, but it's certainly a start. Leftist activists are fighting for childcare funding, reproductive justice, and equitable family leave policies. There are growing grassroots childcare collectives popping up, like Rad Dad Zine and the Parenting for Liberation network, which both model the use of mutual aid, intersectionality, and bring joy to the forefront. During the COVID-19 pandemic, we saw families lean on each other for pod schooling and collaborative use of resources. Despite these boots on the ground movements, we don't see our elected Democratic officials take these needs on in a meaningful way that would put people over profits. The left doesn't need to replicate the tradwife stylings, however relaxing and visually appealing it seems, but it does need its own vision—one that affirms the possibility of caregiving without erasing the hardship. To reclaim motherhood, the left must do more than critique. We must dream and share what caregiving could look like in our world of more than plenty. We must push our elected officials to champion meaningful public policies like universal childcare and paid parental leave. I've also realized that I can do a better job of making more visible the joy and radical meaning that comes not despite caregiving, but because of it. I have become more vocal in claiming the title of mother and discussing the varying ways motherhood has changed me for the better. Above all, since all moms feel so differently about each stage, day, and moment, I try to make sure that I am just sharing my point of view. Motherhood and joy are not inherently conservative. It's time for the left (and me) to reclaim this truth—and with it, to imagine a future where parenting is not a battleground but a common ground.
