by Holly Arend | May 13, 2026 Fourth Street Collective did not start as a brand. It started as a conversation that had been happening long before anyone gave it a name. Four sisters, Susie, Mary, Emilie, and Maggie, along with their brother-in-law Andrew, each came in with different paths already in motion. Event planning, tech consulting, accounting, design, and finance. Different cities, different careers, but the same shared idea that kept coming up in conversation. At some point, that idea stopped being hypothetical. This is where Fourth Street began to take shape. I had the opportunity to sit down with the Pilibosians to explore their inspirations, individual backgrounds, and the vision they have for the future of the brand. Every story has a starting point. Take me back to the beginning. When did the first real conversation about creating Fourth Street happen between all of you? It actually started with our mom. She called us over on a warm August morning for breakfast - one of her infamous "family meetings." She knew we had all been individually thinking about entrepreneurship ideas, and she sat us down and basically said there is never going to be a perfect time. You just have to go for it. What stood out most wasn't anything about our resumes or qualifications - she focused on something much more meaningful: the fact that we are a group of people who truly trust each other. We've seen one another navigate highs and lows, persevere through challenges, and consistently show up for each other. She knew our character better than anyone, and she reminded us that kind of foundation can't be manufactured. She told us we already had every piece of the puzzle - we just needed to open the box. And her two questions have stuck with us ever since: Why not us? And if not now, when? Each of you came into this with different careers and experiences. How did your individual backgrounds influence the direction Fourth Street started to take? Honestly, it would have been hard to design a better founding team if we tried. Mary runs her own event planning business, so she brought a real operator's mindset — she knows what it takes to build something from scratch and keep clients happy. Susie comes from technology consulting and strategy, so she's always thinking about how we scale, what the bigger picture looks like, and how we build something that lasts. Emilie is a tax‑specialized accountant known for her ability to command a room, blending technical depth with a clear, confident speaking style to turn complex financial data into conversations that drive understanding and action. Maggie studied art and design at Michigan, so our creative instincts are built in from day one — nothing goes out the door without her eye on it. And then there's Andrew, who comes from a finance background and is the steady, grounding force that keeps the business side of things running smoothly — and somehow keeps the rest of us running smoothly too. What's interesting is that none of us came from fashion or apparel — and we think that's actually an advantage. We came at this from the angle of storytelling, community, and business, not product. That's why Fourth Street has always been bigger than a sweatshirt." The concept of “Join the Family Business” is such a defining part of the brand. How did that message first come together? That was Maggie. She came up with it, designed it, and once she put it out there we all felt that was exactly right. It captures exactly what we wanted the brand to feel like: inclusive, warm, like you belong here no matter who you are or where you come from. Maggie has always been the person in our family who wants everyone in the room. Growing up she was always the one saying ‘just invite everyone, the more the merrier’. That phrase genuinely is an extension of who she is. The fact that it translates so naturally to what we are building with Fourth Street Collective made it feel perfectly right. Naming a brand is often one of the biggest early steps. Where did the name Fourth Street come from and when did it start to feel right? Fourth Street is pretty simple — it’s the four of us. Four sisters. We wanted the name to mean something to us before it meant anything to anyone else, and having it rooted in who we are felt right from the start. And when you pair it with “Join the Family Business,” the whole thing clicks into place. That phrase means two things to us simultaneously — it’s an invitation for anyone who comes across our brand to feel like they belong to something, but it’s also a literal open door for family businesses, big or small, to partner with us and bring their own story to life through a collaboration. That dual meaning is actually at the core of everything we’re building, and it all lives right there in the name. Once the idea started to feel real, the next step was turning it into something tangible. When did you decide that apparel would be the way to introduce the brand? We kept coming back to the question of what the vehicle should be — what's the thing that carries the story into the world in a tangible way. It had to be something people interact with every day, something that sparks a conversation, something you'd actually want. A sweatshirt made sense because it's personal. You choose to put it on. You wear it out in the world. And when someone asks 'wait, what's the family business?' — that's the moment. That's the conversation starter we were looking for. There's also something about a premium sweatshirt that feels universal. It doesn't matter your age, your background, where you live — everyone has one they love. We wanted something that felt like home, because that's what this brand is supposed to feel like. The apparel is the handshake. The story is what comes after. Your first piece is the sweatshirt people are already recognizing. What was the creative process like designing that first product? We knew we wanted to start with something that people would actually live in - not a piece that sits in a drawer or on a shelf. The sweatshirt had to be premium, the kind where you put it on once and don’t want to take it off. Maggie designed the ‘Joined the Family Business” graphic for the back, and then it became about how the front would look and what colorways felt right. The first two - maize and blue, and red and white - came pretty naturally. Maggie and Susie went to Michigan and that colorway made sense because Michigan was their community, their place. Sometimes the first time people react to a product is when it really hits you that something is working. Do you remember the first time someone asked about the sweatshirt or the brand? There have been a few of those moments and they never get old. Maggie wore hers to Yost and had someone literally lift up her hood trying to read what it said. Susie had friends approaching her asking, ‘wait, what is the family business?’ - and the answer being ‘we ARE the business’ was kind of a full circle moment. Those reactions told us we had something. It stands out, it sparks conversation, and that’s exactly what we wanted. A big part of your vision is supporting family businesses. Where did that idea come from and why did it feel important to build it into the brand? We kept asking ourselves: there are so many apparel brands out there, so many sweatshirt companies, what makes us different? And the answer had to be more than just the product. We grew up watching family members build businesses with their hands and work extremely hard. We know what that takes. We started noticing that those stories - the grandfather who started a plant, the family that’s been running a restaurant for decades - those stories don’t always get told. Nobody’s putting a spotlight on them. We wanted Fourth Street to be that spotlight. The sweatshirt is the vehicle, but the story is the point. Family businesses often have stories that do not always get told. What excites you most about the idea of highlighting those stories through Fourth Street? The people behind them. There is a restaurant in Chicago that Susie goes to all the time with her friends - they know there are many family members working there, but nobody really knows how it started, who built it, why they do it. That is the story we want to tell. We think people are genuinely hungry for that right now. There is so much noise on social media, so much ‘buy this, here’s my link’ - and people are starting to see through it. What cuts through is realness. A family that built something with everything they had. That is what we want to put in front of people, and the idea that we get to be the ones to help tell those stories and give back to the community is honestly the most exciting part of all of this. Building a brand together is a different experience than building something alone. What has it been like working on this as sisters and as a family? Chaotic and wonderful, honestly. We are four very different people - different careers, different personalities, different ways of thinking - and that is actually our biggest strength. Mary runs her own business and brings an operational mindset. Susie is an executor who thinks about strategy, scale and purpose. Emilie is our sweatshirt connoisseur and accountant. Maggie is the creative engine. And Andrew is our quiet, steady numbers guy who has somehow survived twelve years with all of us and lived to tell the tale. What makes it work is that we already know each other completely. There’s no figuring out communication styles or building trust from scratch. We can be fully honest, push back, disagree - and then move on. We have the most ridiculous home videos and a lifetime of memories together. We were each other's best friends growing up. So doing this together does not feel like a business decision. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. A lot of your brand is about storytelling and connection. How do you hope people feel when they first hear about Fourth Street or see someone wearing it? We want them to feel like they’re being invited into something. Not sold to - invited and welcomed with open arms. The sweatshirt catches your eye and makes you ask a question, and then the answer opens up this whole world of what we’re actually building. We want people to feel the warmth behind it. To understand that this isn’t just a brand, it is a family that decided to build something meaningful and wants to bring other family businesses along with us. If someone sees one of our sweatshirts and feels even a little bit of that, we’ve done our job. At the heart of everything is the message behind the brand. If someone hears about Fourth Street for the first time, what do you hope they understand about what you are building? That we’re building a community, not just a clothing brand. Fourth Street exists to celebrate the people who build things — families who pour everything into a business, sisters who decide to bet on each other, anyone who has ever looked at the people around them and thought “let’s make something together.” The sweatshirt is just the beginning. What we’re really building is a platform for those stories — a place where family businesses get seen, where community gets celebrated, and where joining the family business means something bigger than just buying a product. And if there’s one piece of advice woven into everything we do, it’s this: you are going to fail. Every successful person will tell you they failed over and over again before anyone ever saw their wins. People see the success—but they don’t see the attempts that came before it. So to anyone on the fence about starting something, our message is the same thing our mom said to us on that August morning: Why not us? If not now, when? Take the chance. Believe in yourself. Open the box. Because at the end of the day, we want to see you win—and we want the family business to grow. You can’t compete with us, because we’re rooting for you too. That’s the power of family. What stands out most after speaking with them is not just what Fourth Street is, but how it is being built. Mary is focused on execution, always thinking about how to turn ideas into action. Susie is the strategist, focused on structure, scale, and long-term growth. Emilie brings precision and clarity, grounding decisions in detail and logic. Maggie leads the creative direction, shaping the identity and visual language of the brand. Andrew brings financial structure and stability, making sure the foundation behind everything holds as it grows. Each plays a different role, but nothing exists in isolation. Decisions overlap, conversations blur together, and the process feels less like a traditional brand build and more like a family figuring it out in real time. Fourth Street is still early, but the foundation is already clear. Not just what they are building, but how they are building it. And that is what makes it matter.

Photographed by Kai Staton-Green | May 9, 2026 Mac DeMarco takes over Agora Theatre in Cleveland, Ohio photographed for HAZZE MEDIA by Kai Staton-Green

Written by Allen Hale | December 12, 2o25 | Opinion I: Introduction As one oft-quoted adage goes, “old habits die hard.” Shedding them can, in some cases, result in the transformation of individuals’ entire mode of being. We need to retain many of our habits, especially the boring ones. Others can consume us entirely. Building them up and tearing them down is never a simple, straightforward task. When undergoing this reconstruction, people often defer to the advice of others. Alongside the prominence of self-help books which line the shelves of Barnes & Noble, there is a particular submarket for literature aimed at nurturing discipline and cultivating healthy, routine behavior, demonstrating how to break and reshape our patterns of (in)action. “Atomic Habits,” Good Habit, Bad Habit,” “Tiny Habits,” “Badass Habits,” the titles go on and on. Academics and essayists alike are no strangers to the topic. Is the desire for this genre in nations like the U.S. to be explained through a Weberian analysis of the Protestant work ethic? A historical account of therapy and self-help literature, alongside their ties to philosophies of moral and religious improvement? Psychiatric science? Something entirely less high-flung or theoretical? There are plenty of potential points of emphasis. Broadly, the social phenomena which have themselves produced a continued demand for these works today can potentially be explored along the following contemporary lines: doomscrolling, bedrotting, excessive screen time and general mental malaise tied to social media; distracted consumption, the attention economy and our dwindling ability to focus; the streaming model’s rise and on-demand, constant access to entertainment. These present-day bad habits nearly all of us have grappled with in one form or another. Spotify is the most prominent way streaming culture captured my attention. I was a longtime participant and, given the app’s prominence, you might be as well. As evidenced by the popularity of self-help literature, engagement in questionable habits despite knowledge of their impact is a seemingly universalizable illness; Spotify is but one current symptom. This much is clear. Throughout its history, the app has pounced on the aforementioned condition while deftly navigating a variety of controversies and criticism. Despite its immense success, the app has also been attacked relentlessly by disparate groups, which Lauren Boisvert rightly termed a continuous “hate cycle” ceasing to reach resolution. Most recently, the rightful outrage which inspired this piece — and has now disappeared from the news cycle — surrounds Spotify co-founder and Executive Chairman (having recently stepped down from his CEO position) Daniel Ek funneling his fortune into defense industries. Ek serves as the founder of an investment fund called Prima Materia, which recently led a round of investment in Helsing; the latter is a defense company that sells AI software aimed at informing and assisting military operations. According to The Fader, this revelation and the disgust it prompted have led a variety of notable artists to exit the platform and pull their music from its immense library. The news broke during late July of 2025, a period in which Israel intensified its genocidal military campaign in Gaza, with some bands specifically denouncing Israel’s actions as a reason to break with Spotify; others cited anti-war or pro-peace stances more broadly. If Ek’s connection to Helsing is surprising, Spotify’s habitual business practices evince a long pattern of disregard for music’s flourishing. These inadequacies crop up in separate areas of the user experience but remain unified in their pervasive carelessness. The neglect emerges at the smallest levels of the app’s profit structure. Spotify has been incessantly criticized for paltry payments and the subpar quality of its services. Although the rate per stream is generally minuscule across music platforms, Spotify’s average premium rate ($0.006 - $0.008) sits below both Apple Music ($0.01) and TIDAL ($0.01284). According to Qobuz, they instead pay $0.01873 per stream as of 2024, according to independently verified figures. Despite offering lower payouts, Spotify does not necessarily incentivize users to join through lowered subscription costs. An individual subscription plan on Spotify will run you $11.99 per month, compared to $10.99 with Apple Music and $10.99 with TIDAL. Their music’s streaming quality similarly fares no better, falling behind competitors. While occasionally bashed for bugginess, TIDAL and Qobuz offer catalogs that rival Spotify’s while one-upping it on quality and, in the case of Qobuz, editorial content offerings. After continuously promising lossless audio’s eventual incorporation, Spotify finally began rolling it out to Premium listeners in select markets this September, likely in an attempt to prevent dissatisfied consumers from jumping ship; widespread incorporation, however, lags behind other outlets. At $10.83 per month with an annual subscription plan, Qobuz allows you to access hi-res FLAC (Free Lossless Audio Codec); the format is similar to MP3 files, but without the accompanying loss in quality owing to compression. MP3 and AAC files are instead “lossy,” the latter previously being used by Spotify. Deezer, a French streaming service, is slightly more expensive, but likewise includes FLAC audio streaming at $11.99 per month — the same as Spotify. TIDAL offers comparable hi-res audio, having initiated a transition to FLAC in recent years. Apple Music’s catalog is also in a hi-res lossless format, although the prior three services are among the best audiophile streaming options, as explained by Derrick Gee. All of these figures culminate in a readily-apparent fact: Spotify is not cheaper for listeners or more rewarding for artists when compared to other popular streaming options. In terms of quality, it has only recently become competitive. On a purely practical level, the app falls flat and fails its users — even before the morality of its business practices is scrutinized. Nonetheless, we are habitual users, repeat offenders. Spotify sits atop the global charts today in terms of its monthly active userbase, servicing 640 million listeners as of January while eclipsing notables like YouTube Music, Soundcloud, Apple Music, Amazon Music, and Pandora. It persists like a phoenix that was never reduced to ashes. Listeners fly like moths to that flame, unable to break free from the pull of our patterned behavior; those habits die hard, scorching us in the process. Still, when its grave falterings are spelled out, their obviousness makes the app’s continued success increasingly confusing, if not borderline baffling. With its main disadvantages and overt lack of ethical consciousness in mind, a question quickly emerges: Why are we still on Spotify? II: Spotify’s history and model Our collectively irrational — yet persistent — allegiance to Spotify needs to be probed. To thoroughly unravel that conundrum, we need to understand Spotify’s historical evolution and success in the face of widespread discontent. Before Spotify even entered the fray, the music industry suffered a variety of calamitous blows threatening its day-to-day operations and enduring future. Around the turn of the millennium, peer-to-peer file-sharing applications like Napster and LimeWire began to increasingly enable the distribution and download of free, pirated music across vast geographic boundaries. A digital revolution in consumers’ mode of interaction with music had arrived. Panic set in quickly, likewise identifiable with previous forms of backlash towards home taping. Observing increased threats to the viability of physical media, a common issue for artists and industry figures alike, Napster was swiftly sued into oblivion by Metallica for copyright infringement and racketeering; a leaked demo by the band had circulated on the platform before its official release. In the fallout, Napster filed for bankruptcy roughly three years after its founding. LimeWire shuttered in 2010 after a federal injunction; the Recording Industry Association of America suggested the software had cost them a catastrophic 72 trillion in damages, eventually resulting in a $105 million settlement. Pandora’s musical box, however, had already been opened. Spotify’s inception in Sweden was structured by similar sociohistorical forces. During the early aughts, the Scandinavian nation earned a reputation as a haven for piracy — The Pirate Bay, for example, was started in the country. As one of the largest sources for such content, Sweden’s position in an evolving market for musical goods was understood to be increasingly shrinking. The country came to be viewed as a sort of digital lost cause, possessing a cumbersome consumer base resistant to purchasing music through traditional forms of law-abiding distribution. Legal struggles and threats remained, though, and stigmas around piracy persisted among both individuals and corporations. Amidst that uncertainty, there was a gap waiting to be filled by a service which promised free access to music alongside a legal, profitable business model for investors. Daniel Ek recognized the opportunity. As a co-founder of Spotify and its current CEO, Ek initially seized upon the futility of legislating piracy away, according to a 2010 profile in The Telegraph: “The only way to solve the problem was to create a service that was better than piracy and at the same time compensates the music industry – that gave us Spotify.” Armed with a background in IT and open-source technologies while entrenched in a culture replete with file-sharing services, Ek envisioned Spotify as a means of capitalizing on examples set by these networks of exchange, legally replicating their appeal through an advertising-based model. “Instant, simple, free,” proclaimed one tagline, bundled up with a sleek image that out-iOSed iOS. As author, researcher and music journalist Liz Pelly observes, the point of interest during conversations throughout the company’s early history was never music-specific, with some suggesting the company eventually turned to the medium owing to smaller file sizes when compared with video. In her landmark study of the app published earlier this year, “Mood Machine: The Rise of Spotify and the Costs of Perfect Playlist,” Pelly swiftly details the company’s changing commitments: “Like many other tech companies in the twenty-first century, Spotify spent its first decade claiming to disrupt an archaic industry, scaling up as quickly as possible, and attracting venture capitalists to an unproven business model. In its search for growth and profitability, Spotify reinvented itself repeatedly: as a social-networking platform in 2010, as an app marketplace in 2011, and by the end of 2012, as a hub for what it called ‘music for every moment,’ supplying recommendations for specific moods, activities, and times of day. Spotify made its move into curation the next year, hiring a staff of editors to compile in-house playlists. In 2014, the company was increasing its investment in algorithmic personalization technology. This innovation was intended, as Spotify put it, to ‘level the playing field’ for artists by minimizing the power of major labels, radio stations, and other old-school gatekeepers; in their place, it claimed, would be a system that simply rewarded tracks that streamed well. By the mid-2010s, the service was actively recasting itself as a neutral platform, a data-driven meritocracy that was rewriting the rules of the music business with its playlists and algorithms.” Unsurprisingly, Spotify’s shifting character and ambiguous artistic goals have resulted in friction between musicians and Ek’s business aims. Despite being wealthier than any musical artist in history, Ek has displayed a stunning ignorance to the process of creation: “In 2020, for example, Spotify cofounder and CEO Daniel Ek said that musicians need to release more material to create “‘a continuous engagement with their fans’ if they want to thrive on the platform: ‘You can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough.’” While promising (and delivering users) with an inexhaustible catalog of albums, Spotify’s monetary viability is driven by subscriptions and ads. You listen, but nothing in your “collection” is actually owned by yourself in a tangible sense. As a tech company lacking any veritable allegiance to the interests and pursuits of musicians, Spotify’s mode of all-encompassing participation smoothes over distinct behavioral forms of engagement among unique genre communities and scenes, reducing musical practices — think college radio rock or bloghouse — to a one-size-fits-all model which offers little referent to their histories during listening; the music is presented in a floaty manner, devoid of context or editorial explanation. Regardless of the umbrage one might take with the commodity fetishism tied to physical music ownership, Spotify’s practices seem detached from the interests of both listeners and musicians alike, hardly by or for either group. Upon closer inspection, a litany of related scandals only reinforces this intuition. III: Spotify’s controversies and endurance As previously mentioned, Spotify’s poor payment of artists was a consistent point of criticism faced by Ek. While they benefit from exposure to a massive user base, smaller artists fail to reap the benefits conducive to their future pursuits. Spotify’s seeming ability to level the playing field has, rather than producing a musical meritocracy, resulted in a skewed terrain that maintains only an image of fairness. Instead of turning the industry upside down entirely, familiar faces latched onto the opportunity: per Pelly’s “Mood Machine,” “Spotify was subject to the outsized influence of the major-label oligopoly of Sony, Universal, and Warner, which together owned a 17 percent stake in the company when it launched. The companies, which controlled roughly 70 percent of the market for recorded music, held considerable negotiating power from the start.” The situation has not improved over time. Senior staff writer for Chicago Reader, Leor Galil, notes that: “Last year, Spotify further tilted its playing field toward big stars by instituting a policy withholding payouts entirely on songs streamed fewer than 1,000 times in a 12-month period.” Although Spotify’s curated playlists have become an appealing draw for fans and artists alike, their return on success is often fleeting, failing to encourage deeper engagement with those who occupy prized spots on such tracklists. Despite possessing tools for discovery, Spotify — like TikTok’s and its ability to capitalize on dwindling attention spans — appears unable to fully furnish thorough habits of sustained listener engagement. Similarly, Pelly’s investigation in “Mood Machine” laboriously highlights the degradation of Spotify’s curation efforts over time, limiting the app’s ability to function as an exploratory or informative music platform. Playlist-based discovery is especially key for smaller musicians looking to make the most of Spotify’s streaming features. Discovery Mode, introduced in 2020, even encourages labels to accept a lower royalty rate in exchange for algorithmic promotion. Furthering one’s career as a musician via Spotify involves a reliance upon these recommendation features and their downstream impact on merch and concert ticket sales, as opposed to the money earned through those streams themselves. Spotify’s recommendation features also fester with less visible threats, capitalizing on already-low payout rates for musicians. To continue squeezing out a profit, Spotify has increasingly filled its curated playlists with “ghost artists.” In 2022, an investigation by Swedish daily newspaper Dagens Nyheter revealed that “around twenty songwriters were behind the work of more than five hundred ‘artists,’ and that thousands of their tracks were on Spotify and had been streamed millions of times,” as recounted by Pelly. She goes on to demonstrate how Spotify maintains, “partnerships with a web of production companies, which, as one former employee put it, provide Spotify with ‘music we benefited from financially,’ but also a team of employees working to seed these tracks on playlists across the platform,” with Spotify curators increasingly forced by their superiors to include such songs on their playlists. The music is largely cannon fodder for playlists, making the unique promise of discoverability entirely compromised and rendered hollow. Some of these providers promoting cheap stock music have similarly furnished partnerships with Apple Music and Amazon Music; streaming platforms are subsequently able to enrich themselves by paying less in royalties to these ghost musicians than they would otherwise. Without ownership over any part of the master recordings or their publishing rights, ghost musicians themselves generate far more revenue for Spotify and ghost labels than they would ever see; “I’m selling my intellectual property for essentially peanuts,” one asserted to Pelly. If those who indirectly limit the algorithmic or playlist-based discovery of others’ work are themselves being shoddily compensated, does any musician see benefits? If that sounds egregious, it can still worsen. As AI continues to encroach on the arts, the degradation of Spotify’s curation may be increasingly supplemented with generative content churned out at breakneck paces — the Velvet Sundown incident, in which a fake band with AI generated music garnered thousands of listeners, serves as one warning sign. Pelly argues that Spotify has been readily open about its AI-related intentions, a technology which entirely aligns with the company’s model for success: “During a 2023 conference call, Daniel Ek noted that the boom in AI-generated content could be ‘great culturally’ and allow Spotify to ‘grow engagement and revenue,’” an unsurprising stance given the pride placed in their platform’s machine-learning-powered recommendations. Deezer CEO Alexis Lanternier has instead opined that they intend to “lead the way in minimising any negative impact for artists and fans alike” following a notable uptick in AI-generated content on their platform, as monitored by a detection tool installed at the start of the year. In February, 10,000 AI-generated songs were being added to Deezer each day; the daily totals had increased to 30,000 by February. If the app initially earned its stay by capitalizing on a niche unfulfilled by potential then-competitors like YouTube or iTunes, how has it maintained this position while routinely disservicing musicians and fans every step of the way? In my estimation, Spotify endures owing partly to its sociality and UI, alongside its core model’s early entrenchment relative to competitors — the announcement of direct messages being added to the app is the most recent development in this vein. By offering free modes engagement alongside subscription-based services, the app lowers barriers to initial use and encourages sustained loyalty through features like family or student plans. These features are not uncommon for streaming services. However, Spotify’s early identification of this model’s feasibility — an image and service placed somewhere between piracy and pricy corporate distribution — cemented its preeminence among interconnected, mutually reliant base of users. In recognizing the general mode for their enduring viability and appeal comparatively early historically, Spotify has retained subscribers with deep legacies on the app, initially earned before a swarm of competitors could also catch on. User-to-user interactions like friends lists, blended playlists and shared listening queues in the form of “jams” likewise dissuade interest in non-compatible platforms, or everything that is not Spotify, the listener version of green text bubbles on your iPhone. By possessing an early grip on a listener base eager for free, streamed music, Spotify has subsequently persisted like a black hole of discouragement; using an alternative involves dropping a variety of conferred social benefits. Once the consumer habit sufficiently deepens, abandoning a preference grows cumbersome, even in light of its evidently lacking areas. While other platforms have caught up — such as by delivering their own versions of Spotify’s famed (yet increasingly enshittified) Wrapped feature — having an instinctual jump from the get-go is no small historical advantage for Ek’s empire, a vision for the future of social media-ified music listening conceived in an opportune time and place. Beyond listeners, major players across music labels, A&R and PR have increasingly relied upon Spotify’s metrics as a barometer for industry health and trends, sustained by nearly a decade of the company’s continuous growth. It functions as a resource of inestimable value for powerful players seeking to navigate the techno-cultural disruption of traditional media wrought by the online streaming services, hence major labels’ willingness to partner with Spotify. On a macro level, Spotify’s success is subsequently reinforced by other monied interests. The algorithm might deliver more of what you like, but it has no reason to exhaustively provide what you might love by probing the deep recesses of less commercializable sound cultures. While leaving the app also involves leaving money on the table, the recent exodus among large names in independent music has expanded the question of Spotify’s worth beyond purely musical or economic concerns. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Deerhoof, Xiu Xiu, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Hotline TNT and others have all left owing to Ek’s monetary investments in Helsing, with the visibility of Israel’s genocidal destruction of Gaza serving as an unignorable inflection point for some. In leaving, these bands sacrifice access to a massive audience in order to distance themselves from any connection with a platform producing profits that are rechanneled into defense industries; like-minded listeners ought to weigh the benefits offered by the app in the same light. Spotify navigated past controversies owing partly to the lack of visible harm stemming from its use. Artists have always been underserved by corporations like Spotify, functioning as the rule rather than the exception. Being shortchanged in a new manner, despite worsening these existing problems, did little to place consumers into a new or pronounced category of blame with regard to their listening. However, even if the overt cruelty of Spotify’s practices has rarely been this explicitly evil in the past — only shady or avaricious by comparison — the causal distance between our actions as listeners and their monetary impact on industries of death remains dispersed and somewhat out of sight. Like the burning of fossil fuels, the effects of Spotify’s continued success results in destruction that is temporally and geographically separated from the harmful action of streaming itself, which — like driving cars or running AC — is deceptively innocuous, normal and habitual in our daily lives. Spotify especially encourages a related form of disconcerted, lean-back consumption via algorithmic programming, background music with playlists for any mood or activity; Pelly emphasizes that the genre playlists seen as most conducive to distracted listening are also those most likely to be plagued by ghost artists’ filler recordings. Because Spotify is accepted to be a socially paradigmatic form of digital life by its users, the app’s faults have been continually dismissed as unfortunate yet inevitable circumstances; marginally better outcomes promised for musicians by other streaming platforms have not been worth the switch for some. For anyone with a conscience, though, that can no longer be the case; recent events have obliterated any validity behind this refusal to correct our habits. With the indifference long shown towards the suffering of fellow humans despite the visible interconnectedness of our online world, the latent danger of apps we use is yet another dilemma wherein it the ordinary is easy to turn a blind eye, more so than the never-ending feed of pronounced crises we are broadcast. If Spotify itself relies on fulfilling the promise of frictionless, inactive forms of enjoyment, challenging their appeal involves undermining societally pervasive forms of cruelty’s passive acceptance, which we have all been socialized to accept. In other words, we are acclimated to the normality of small deeds which, in isolation, appear mild; cumulatively, their impact can instead be linked to calamitous results, such as Ek redirecting his wealth into industries that profit from death. IV: What is to be done? Despite these issues, Spotify will inevitably continue to be used. Aside from the difficulty for many of breaking an old habit or emotional attachment, the departures thus far represent a mere blip for the app, currently unable to ultimately tip the balance of power, even if it sets an inspiring precedent that others may follow. Dozens of artists on the level of Taylor Swift or Drake, for example, would have to leave in order to notably impact the app’s revenue. Leaving itself similarly takes time for musicians to pursue, owing to the web of negotiations regarding their contractual label duties and musicians’ ownership over their work itself; leaving Spotify is not always a choice entirely in the hands of these figures. The obligation increasingly lies with listeners themselves, then. Even if this particular hate cycle is more effective, it remains to be seen if it breaks any sort of adherence we maintain to the platform. Reacting and condemning is not enough: Unshackling ourselves from daily use of Spotify and decreasing the size of the app’s potential audience is a choice only directly enactable by its millions of users. Simply caring is our impetus. I have used Spotify almost every day for nearly a decade, emotionally attached despite my knowledge of its glaring contradictions. It enabled my growth as a music fan by offering a way to enjoy songs without keeping a YouTube page open, a way to make playlists efficiently, a way to partake in music with others. In the past, imagining the end of Spotify was tantamount to imagining the end of streamlined digital music listening itself. For years, it had never been easier to give my music an accessible home. Thankfully, if remaining on Spotify was always simple, it has also never been easier to abandon the app entirely. Although switching to Apple Music involves its own set of ethical concerns, its superior services at a lower cost trounce Spotify on all fronts. With a less scandalous reputation and a newly-released feature that allows users to import playlists from Spotify, Apple has made switching incredibly seamless, a task that once appeared exhausting for those with large libraries. For users looking to immediately change platforms and test the waters, it is likely the simplest option. Those interested in exploring platforms like Deezer, Qobuz and TIDAL can look to services such as Soundiiz or Songshift in order to port their playlists. Furthermore, Spotify’s failures may have enticed you to consider abandoning music streaming platforms altogether. The payout rates that competitors provide are an improvement over Spotify, to be sure. Still, these amounts remain microscopic in the long run, imperfect halfway solutions to broader problems facing the economic survival of working musicians today. To thoroughly support your favorite artists, consider buying from services that monetarily support their output in a direct fashion. Nina Protocol and Bandcamp are two platforms that have succeeded along these lines, in addition to offering great editorial content. If you can afford an $11.99 per month Spotify subscription, buying one LP during the same time duration at the same price point should not be considered an excessive or unrealistic investment. My hope for this piece was not to simply admonish the Spotify users I have routinely identified in this essay, since I belong to the group myself. Rather, having recently transferred my library to Deezer, I hope to offer some starting points for those in a similar position, a way to productively and responsibly channel any internal guilt. As I have hinted, breaking free from streaming entirely could constitute its own article and, given the near-ubiquity of its modus operandi for young music fans especially, I wanted to discuss some options that may feel more familiar for an initial switch away from Spotify — even if buying only physical media or digital downloads, for instance, rewards artists more properly. On both practical and ethical fronts, there is little incentive to continue using Spotify, despite its convenience often trumping these concerns. Breaking a bad habit is never easy, but in doing so, there lies something beyond view worth pursuing. Compared to other perpetual struggles we attempt to correct, abandoning an app which funnels its wealth into AI-powered killing mechanisms is, plainly, no one’s choice but your own — a readily imperative one at that. In a world filled with overwhelming displays of chaos and violence from which we feel disconnected and powerless, staking our claim as devoted listeners is but one minute area where we must begin to push back. It is a small step, but if we cannot muster up the effort, how will we fare when courage is actually demanded of us? Disclaimer: The views, analysis, and opinions expressed in this op-ed are of the writer. All information is for commentary and informational purposes only and is not intended as legal, professional, or investment advice. References to third-party sources and public figures are made for illustrative purposes and do not imply endorsement or verification by HAZZE MEDIA. Source list: Rebecca Richardson, “Ambition, monomania and the seeds of self-help,” bps.org “Speaking of Psychology: Why our attention spans are shrinking, with Gloria Mark, PhD,” apa.org Lauren Boisvert, “Spotify Criticism Is Louder Than Ever, But Will It Make A Real Difference This Time?,” vice.com Natalie Sherman, “Spotify founder Daniel Ek to step down as chief executive,” bbc.com Walden Green and Matthew Strauss, “Deerhoof to Remove Music From Spotify,” pitchfork.com Nora Wang, “All the artists leaving Spotify,” thefader.com Aya Batrawy, Anas Baba, and Abu Bakr Bashir, “As Israel turns its focus to Iran, the death toll mounts in Gaza — and hunger deepens,” npr.org “Israel intensifies Gaza City attacks, forcing starving Palestinians to flee,” aljazeera.com “BYE SPOTIFY,” deerhoof.com Matthew Strauss “King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard Leave Spotify,” pitchfork.com “How Music Streaming Platforms Calculate Payouts Per Stream 2025,” royaltyexchange.com Carrie Marshall, “Qobuz reveals how much it really pays per stream, and I want to see more of this transparency to help us spend money more ethically,” techradar.com spotify.com apple.com tidal.com tidal.com qobuz.com newsroom.spotify.com “The Best Music Streaming Services in 2025,” audioadvice.com support.spotify.com deezer.com “The Best Music Streaming Services in 2025,” audioadvice.com “The Best Music Streaming Services in 2025,” audioadvice.com instagram.com Tom Newman, “Top 10 music streaming platforms by monthly active users in 2025,” routenote.com Sam Law, “Metallica vs. Napster: The lawsuit that redefined how we listen to music,” kerrang.com Kirsten Acuna, “The RIAA Claimed LimeWire Owed Them 72 TRILLION Dollars,” businessinsider.com Stephen Heyman, “Sweden's Notorious Distinction as a Haven for Online Pirates,” nytimes.com Eric Alper, “Learning to Listen,” thebaffler.com Stephen Heyman, “Sweden's Notorious Distinction as a Haven for Online Pirates,” nytimes.com Eric Alper, “Learning to Listen,” thebaffler.com Rupert Neate, “Daniel Ek profile: 'Spotify will be worth tens of billions,'” telegraph.co.uk Eric Alper, “Learning to Listen,” thebaffler.com Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Eric Alper, “Learning to Listen,” thebaffler.com Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Daniel Griffiths, “What the Ek? Spotify founder is richer than any musical artist, ever,” yahoo.com Leor Galil, “Time to dump Spotify,” chicagoreader.com Stuart Dredge, “Spotify CEO talks Covid-19, artist incomes and podcasting (interview),” musically.com Eric Alper, “Learning to Listen,” thebaffler.com Megan De Mar and Mikayla Price, “Chicago artists pulling music off Spotify over concerns about pay and AI-generated content,” cbsnews.com Geoff Bennett and Jackson Hudgins, “Musicians push back on dwindling payments from streaming service,” pbs.org Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Leor Galil, “Time to dump Spotify,” chicagoreader.com Leor Galil, “Time to dump Spotify,” chicagoreader.com “How Music Streaming Platforms Calculate Payouts Per Stream 2025,” royaltyexchange.com Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org “DN avslöjar: Svenska fejkartisterna som tog över på Spotify – större än Robyn,” dn.se Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Tara Bellucci, “The Velvet Sundown: The AI Band Controversy Explained,” berklee.edu Aneesa Ahmed, “Deezer reveal that 28 per cent of music uploaded to platform is fully AI-generated,” nme.com Aneesa Ahmed, “Deezer reveal that 28 per cent of music uploaded to platform is fully AI-generated,” nme.com “Introducing Messages, A New Way To Share What You Love on Spotify with Friends and Family,” newsroom.spotify.com Hua Hsu, “Is there any escape from the Spotify syndrome?,” newyorker.com Liz Pelly, “The Ghosts in the Machine,” harpers.org Hua Hsu, “Is there any escape from the Spotify syndrome?,” newyorker.com “‘You Feel Like You Are Subhuman’: Israel’s Genocide Against Palestinians in Gaza,” amnesty.ca Emma Graham-Harrison, “Israel committing genocide in Gaza, say Israel-based human rights groups,” theguardian.com Tatiana Cirisano, “Some artists are leaving Spotify (again). Here’s what’s different now,” midiaresearch.com Bernd Debusmann Jr. and Natalie Sherman, “Apple lawsuit: US accuses tech giant of monopolising smartphone market,” bbc.com Jazz Monroe, “Apple Music Now Lets You Import Playlists From Spotify and Other Streaming Services,” pitchfork.com

Written by Elliot Heath | May 8, 2026 | Opinion In the past decade, Apple has cemented itself in modern culture. Features like Airdrop, Apple Pay, and iMessage games have helped distinguish the global tech company from its competitors, leading to increased sales and wide adoption by American youth in particular. Indeed, a Bloomberg survey showed that 79 percent of respondents in the 18-24 age bracket used iPhones, compared to just 13 percent who used smartphones from Samsung, Apple’s biggest rival worldwide.1 With such a prevailing lead, Apple appears to have captured the collective consciousness of Generation Z. The storied debate of Apple versus Samsung phones has reached a clear winner in the United States, and Apple has emerged as a near-unrivalled force as its signature products — the iPhone, MacBook, AirPods, and many more — slowly become the default for young consumers.2 But beneath the tech behemoth’s success lies a slew of serious allegations that continue to tarnish its image.3 Apple has come under fire in recent years for harmful business practices against both workers and consumers.4 5 The Department of Justice (DOJ) filed a lawsuit against the company in March 2024 for violating antitrust laws, alleging monopolistic actions that allow Apple to stifle its competition and drive up prices.6 Although the lawsuit remains ongoing, it speaks to a growing nationwide sentiment many of us have had for years: As Apple’s stranglehold on the industry tightens, the user experience diminishes.7 “The new iOS is like getting a present from the relative who knows you the least,” Sloane Crosley wrote in a piece for Wired, referring to Apple’s most recent software rollout.8 The company also had to suspend an AI tool that summarizes headlines in January 2025 after a host of news organizations criticized it for generating misinformation.9 And a quick perusal through tech-centered Reddit threads over the past few years will show just how frustrated many users have felt with Apple’s trajectory.10 With all the headaches and irritation, it’s time to reconsider our reliance on the tech giant and how we can combat its predatory practices. Traces of the Apple monopoly start small, but they build up to something much larger. One of the most common gripes from Apple loyalists is that texts from other brands appear green and limit messaging features, which the DOJ lawsuit uses as an example of the company's objectionable business moves.11 Someone using a Samsung phone can still correspond with an iPhone user, but is not able to directly play iMessage games via GamePigeon,12 use the “reply” function to specific messages,13 send Apple Cash,14 or engage with a host of other features that have come to define modern messaging. These inconveniences, however minor, can alienate users of other brands and make it seem as though Apple is the only viable smartphone option. Green texts are just one in a host of tactics that result in curtailing competition. In the past several years, Apple has designed a sizable line of software to be incompatible with other smartphones.15 The DOJ lawsuit targets the Apple App Store in particular for its monopolistic overreach,16 citing its efforts to prohibit cloud streaming apps and super apps,17 18 both of which are programs that would allow users to conveniently access a range of online services without having to rely on the iOS system. Super apps, also known as everything apps, are mobile apps that centralize a variety of digital tools to an individual’s account, effectively housing several “mini apps” in one.19 WeChat, for example, one of China’s most popular apps, allows users to message, shop online, reserve movie tickets, and play video games all in one place.20 Cloud streaming or gaming apps, alternatively, use an outside server to operate its hardware, which works even when the phone that hosts the app doesn’t have the adequate computing power or storage.21 Essentially, a user can run a complex app with high-powered software, including many video games, on a less complex smartphone because of the remote cloud connection. Apps with “mini apps” and cloud connections of their own would be a great way to preserve people’s digital lives across different smartphone models while saving money on expensive software and hardware — and for that reason, threaten user reliance on Apple products. It’s the same pattern with services like the Apple Watch and Apple Wallet. In connecting to an iPhone, Apple bars any smartwatch — that is, a watch that connects to the internet, is able to receive notifications, and tracks user health — made by a third-party software from accessing the full range of features offered by an Apple Watch.22 Similarly, the company blocks any non-Apple digital wallet — a service that centralizes access to credit cards, contacts, and IDs in one place to auto-fill information and keep track of payments — from performing pivotal functions like tap-to-pay and in-app payment, features that would provide healthy competition to Apple’s built-in system and allow users to access their digital wallets regardless of what kind of smartphone they use.23 As Apple decisively sweeps its opponents in the American youth market, the company uses the opportunity to do what monopolies do best: cheapen the quality of the product and inflate prices as soon as consumers think they have no other alternatives. Apple famously removed the headphone jack from the iPhone in 2016,24 effectively forcing users to purchase wireless devices like Airpods for listening. The same year, it eliminated all non-USB-C ports from the Macbook,25 which means that tools like flash drives, SD cards, and HDMI cables can’t connect unless through an adapter that has to be bought separately. And as of 2020, iPhone packages now arrive with no complimentary charging block,26 requiring yet another outside purchase from consumers. While the company’s proponents have claimed such moves serve purposes aside from profit, such as increasing water resistance, optimizing space for other device features, or reducing environmental impact,27 Apple consumers seem to always bear the financial brunt of these decisions rather than the tech giant itself. All the while, Apple continues to raise prices on the iPhone.28 It is able to do so precisely because of its alleged monopoly over the industry; even while rival brands like Samsung, Google, and Motorola release products with lower costs,29 30 31 Apple’s presence in the American market is so ubiquitous that it can feel as though its competitors hardly matter. Even for buyers who do pay attention to price tags, switching to a cheaper brand when all your devices are from Apple is unfeasible given the iPhone’s incompatibility with non-Apple products. Perhaps even more sinister are the divisive effects of Apple’s smartphone dominance on our collective culture. A 2025 All About Cookies survey showed that 36 percent of Android user respondents said they have “felt negatively judged” because of their smartphone, while 22 percent of Apple user respondents admitted to thinking less of someone when their text messages appear green.32 These stigmas have even seeped into dating, with 23 percent of iPhone users reporting it would be a “dealbreaker” if a potential partner had a non-Apple phone. While tiny differences in messaging functionality may seem trivial, they add to a growing pileup of factors polarizing American youth,33 eating away at our social fabric. As the years go on, Apple’s calculated veneer of an in-touch, culturally relevant modern tech company begins to break down, slowly revealing the company’s true colors. A monopoly’s goal, ultimately, is to obtain maximum profit through complete market domination.34 With no viable competitors or government regulation, a company can do nearly anything it wants to achieve that goal, throwing away any notion of consumer satisfaction in the process so long as it provides a product people can’t live without. Apple has not yet gotten to this extreme — but it’s getting closer and closer. While organizations such as the DOJ have already taken aim at Apple, it is worth considering what young consumers can do at the bottom level. It may be impossible to avoid using Apple products, but organized pressure campaigns, which range from protests and letter-writing to collective outcry via social media, against the company’s domineering practices can still help shift the tides against Apple’s public favorability, forcing it to change its trajectory before it’s too late. And on an interpersonal level, people should not be blaming or stigmatizing other smartphone users for problems that a tech company worth trillions of dollars deliberately put into place — otherwise, we fall into the same pattern that gave Apple so much power in the first place. In an age where our devices and the tech companies that control them take up so much of our everyday lives, emphasizing our own agency as human beings is more important than ever. Source List Disclaimer: The views, analysis, and opinions expressed in this op-ed are of the writer. All information is for commentary and informational purposes only and is not intended as legal, professional, or investment advice. References to third-party sources and public figures are made for illustrative purposes and do not imply endorsement or verification by HAZZE MEDIA.

Interview By Emily Kulyk | May 8 2026 Stadium lights flicker on as crowds fill the stands before Mario Easterly takes the field. Under that glow, he comes alive with a similar intensity. He carries every version of himself that led to this moment, shaping the player he has become. There is a steady strength to him, both physical and emotional, as he steps onto the turf. As a child, he may not have expected to stand under those lights, taking in all the game would offer. But he hoped for it. He played for the wins, and learned from the losses. Photos Provided By Nilson Sports and Mario Easterly Growing up in Pennsylvania, he could be found on either a mat, a diamond or a field. Athleticism seemed like it came naturally. The athletic qualities were a reaction, something that made up who Easterly was, and they transmuted once he stepped into his zone. With seven sisters, the Easterly house would be loud and filled with love, bursting with support. It gave him space to grow not only as a person but also as an athlete. He carved his own path, specifically as an athlete. Practices weren’t just a weekly commitment; they centered on traveling and playing on elite teams, which demanded a lot from a child. He pushed himself through tough moments, which were the building blocks for something more. He held a desire and grit that was rooted in something more. The people who helped him create his why were found on the sidelines. “You will always know when the Easterlys are around because of the amount of passion and the enthusiasm they cheer with,” he says. It was not only the skill but also the support that would be the groundwork on which his young career would be built. The sacrifices they made cleared a path for Easterly. “Each day, I strive to be a better person not only for myself but also for the people around me,” Easterly says. It almost seemed easy how he would transform into a player from each sport. Each with their own required skill, differing from the others. He fit the bill for each. There wouldn’t be just a single goal; there would be many. As the love for those sports had continued to grow, so had the competitive nature. He wanted to do more than was asked of him. He was excited to compete, and no one had to remind him to bring the passion that fuels his spirit. Photos Provided By Nilson Sports and Mario Easterly Despite the success on the field, the same couldn’t be found for school. He had some trouble, which led him to transfer schools. He was taken from something familiar and now had a longer commute to school every day, picturing how to make the most of what had been presented to him. In this new environment, he gained something larger than what he left behind. This new beginning proved to be a contributing factor to the success he found in the grand scheme of things. The stage was set, and he was now playing at a school with a notable football program, which had created new opportunities for him. This couldn't be taken lightly anymore. He saw the evidence of how it worked for others. NFL players had passed through those very doors and took on the responsibilities that came with playing at that school. Easterly would be doing the same, walking those halls, running onto the field with the idea of what he could become. Seeing how those around him got the ticket to the next level, which focused his perspective on figuring out how to get there. He wondered how he could punch his ticket for the ride as well. With each pass and play, the idea of who he could be was unfolding before him, which would offer hope that taking a chance would give him something in return. Photos Provided By Nilson Sports and Mario Easterly With the playing time he had, he saw both sides of the ball, safety and receiver. Not even the increased workload would slow Easterly down. The role he stepped into kept growing with each play. He had been proud to show what he could do. The time on the football field didn’t feel like enough. He found time to compete in another wrestling and baseball season. It wasn’t luck; maybe it wasn’t even validation, but it was something that would prove he had qualities that could be built upon. His sights were set on the brighter lights of a college football field. Knowing offers were on the table fueled the work he was putting in. Premature college offers are often reserved for athletes who are demonstrating something that may have people look twice. Those players usually have a certain something that cannot be described solely by stats or highlight reels. It would instead be an encompassing feature presentation on who they are and what they do. By this point, Easterly wasn’t average. A college offer came early in high school for him. There wasn’t anyone to tell him what he needed to do or how hard to work to do it. He simply did it, time and time again, showing up to leave everything he had with the sports he cherished. Not much could stop him from achieving what he had set out to do. Many athletes shared those ideas about their goals before the pandemic took hold. This led to sidelining athletes everywhere, including Easterly. Seasons were cut short, or didn’t happen at all. He was up against a feeling he hadn’t felt very often, which would be boredom. “I wasn’t able to compete, which is what I was so used to. From the time I was six to now, 15 to 16 years old, I know I was bored,” He explains. He took the extra time, and simply put it back into himself. He figured out ways to get himself ahead even if there was a level of quiet he hadn’t been used to. It was a moment that laid the work that supported the mindset, grit and investment. From where Easterly stood, slowing down seemed foreign, and it had been a tough moment that he couldn’t fix by just putting in another rep or some extra time practicing. The boredom would eventually fade; slowly and cautiously, football would return, and Easterly had a positive outlook on things from where he stood. It would be like starting an engine again. The hope is that it will run again. But in what condition, and would it run smoothly? He found ways to get back to the place that meant everything to him. He saw how his hard work paid off. The proof was found in the stacks of offer letters that began showing up at his home. There was no wrestling season, but baseball went on. With baseball being a second love for Easterly, it gave him pause in deciding what route to take in college. “I started to realize football is my thing,” he says. The summer going into his senior year, Easterly knew what it would mean to be committed to a college. Wondering how a looming decision would play out, one that cements an idea around what his future would look like. Getting to that point was something to strive for. In a funny happenstance and as a nod to his dad (who gets credit for much of Easterly’s success), his commitment to Old Dominion University was made on August 10th, his dad’s birthday, who knew the meaning it would hold for his son to show up on a college football field and play, just as he did. Highs and lows are tangled within every good story. Easterly finished not only his high school football career with a state championship game under his belt. He competed in the PSFCA Big 33 Football Classic, an All-Star game between Maryland and Pennsylvania's All-Star football teams. Having these meaningful moments reminded him of his love for sports. He was happy to deliver on them during some of his last chances to play high school football. It had been wrapped up in the best way it could. For how hard Easterly had been working, it’s not surprising that he would conclude his senior year with 15 touchdowns and 1100 receiving yards. He had one more box to check as his high school time had come to an end. Easterly was busy, but not too busy that he couldn’t give back. There was a little time left for work in the community. Easterly took on working with kids with special needs. Senior year ended with a well-rounded experience that sets up the next chapter. High school was in the past, and ODU had come into focus. He saw an opportunity to build a role on the team. His position had officially been changed from receiver to safety. Starting at a new school will come with a new system. Diving into that college system and playbook would be different from what he’d already been used to in high school. Of course, the fundamentals of football are the same. The story was a familiar one. But it wasn’t the entire story. It was all falling into place in front of Easterly. He was taking on something larger than himself. He wasn’t sizing up in the way he once was. He was trying to compete in a role he hadn’t fit into yet. It was a tough moment to shake. The pieces he had weren’t fitting into place, and that was becoming increasingly frustrating. Easterly learned how to navigate and take another step beyond what everyone else had been doing. He knew what he wanted to do, what he wanted to accomplish as an individual. But that would mean investing in himself time and time again to get there. Being the best wouldn’t get him to the level he expected of himself. He needed to find a path that would bring him there. Photos Provided By Nilson Sports and Mario Easterly Freshman year, more or less, was about learning rather than playing when it came to the work on the field. He played in four games and had several tackles. It wasn’t ideal, but it offered some understanding of what needed to be done off the field to take his game from where it was to where it needed to be. It was the first step. The quick glimpses in between had not been enough to satisfy the lingering desire to be better and to get him more time in the environment that meant everything. He labeled the time as bittersweet. But taking the time to learn had importance; the playing time would come back to him. While it was difficult to spend a good amount of time sitting on the bench his freshman year, it was taken in stride. He put his head down, regrouped and got back to work. He saw what he needed to do and did it, setting him up for more game action in his sophomore year. He wondered how he could get more from himself. If it meant doing whatever it took, Easterly would sign up. There wouldn’t be time for an inner critic, a lonesome voice that seems louder than the rest. Easterly had a vision that pushed past anything else that would challenge him. Late nights in the film room studying plays were an important part of getting skills to be replicated on the field. “It made a huge difference, and I realized what I put in was what I will get out,” Easterly said. There was never a question about talent; that was always present. But the transition wasn’t as he had originally thought before getting on campus. Transferring the skills he had watched in a quiet room and getting them to translate them was not part of the workload he expected when he took time to get himself ready for a game. Having a moment to reflect on what kind of player he wanted to be led him to the success he wanted. He had channeled what he learned on and off the field and found the solution worked. It was an investment worth making. He hadn’t asked for permission. He saw what was his and knew it would be his to take. By taking a step back, not in his game, but in how he faced the game, he was going further. Elements were unfolding naturally, and there was a bubbling excitement. He wouldn’t chase the outcome. A slow, steady method would bring him what he wanted. He found a rhythm in a game that would also serve as something to go back to when he needed the reminder of what he was capable of. The first matchup of that season was against Indiana, which would go on to win the National Championship. Along with the win, Easterly used that as a benchmark in how he’d play against some of the best. It meant something to accomplish this, knowing what he had faced. With the knowledge he could now reach a new level, he expected that of himself each game. That gave him some reassurance. In no way could he relax; it meant the opposite: he would be showing up to that standard every time. It would be the goal post he’d need to run towards. It was also a reminder that he could play at the level he knew he was meant to play at. Both physical and mental ideas finally merged as Easterly believed they would; the point where the proof caught up was reached. Those ideas surrounding his game, including preparation, mindset, and confidence, were pillars that supported the game he knew he could show up and play. The crucial part was that it worked. In the end, it was a moment that set the tone for the season and led ODU to a bowl game win. With the extra time he was putting in now, Easterly was seeing his performance change. It had simply been the hard work that would pay off. It was a puzzle to be solved, but once he accomplished it, the reward was in the performance. With a new season, he was now finding consistent success in his game, one he himself had been happy with. This last season, his redshirt junior year, he started all 13 games, completed 80 tackles, those tackles were team-leading, completed his 1st interception, additionally, 4 pass breakups, and forced fumble rounded those stats off. Photos Provided By Nilson Sports and Mario Easterly An athlete's mindset is vital, especially for him. The wins don’t come as easily and accumulate until the mindset changes. Challenges can be overcome. If it wavered, it regained a steady beat and came back, and probably came back stronger. Along with mindset, preparation keeps him locked in on his goals and his own game. “Being able to play with conviction is most important, and that starts with preparation,” he said. If he were able to go back and tell himself something, it would be to “invest as much as possible and dive deep beyond,” Easterly adds. As busy as his schedule is, he shows up with plans to give back. His spare moments are few these days, but he knows their importance. The initiatives are different. The mission of giving back could be another consistent element in his game. Easterly works with the Read Across America program, where he visits elementary schools and reads a story to a classroom full of kids. He also stops by a local middle school, where he finds himself on the sidelines more than on the field. This time it’s for the best. He’s coaching and offering valuable insight to bright-eyed, young football players. If his teammates were going to describe Easterly, they might mention that he’s a leader, supportive and encouraging, which makes sense since he’s using those to work on his own career, along with supporting young athletes. He continuously developed as an athlete, but it wouldn’t be surprising if that has bled over in helping him develop as a person. “The most beneficial piece of my development has been my maturity and my understanding of the game—the Xs and Os of football. Being intentional in any given situation,” Easterly said. Applying what he’s learned has revealed another level of motivation and intention, allowing Easterly to show up every day. In 2023, Easterly found motivation through a heartbreaking moment. His uncle James passed away unexpectedly during the season. Easterly had to keep showing up through a difficult moment. He would honor his uncle by doing what he had built his game on, an instinct that was rooted in those ideas and behaviors. His uncle had played football at Georgia Tech. He felt like the best way to honor his uncle was to keep showing up to play the game they both loved. It was a type of camaraderie he hadn’t felt before as he honored his uncle. The challenges he faces are handed over to God and a man who is always ready with an answer: his dad. Hopefully, taking on the National Football League, along with additional community initiatives, Easterly has a stacked final year. Along with ensuring that his final year at ODU is well spent, he leaves knowing he left everything on the field. The NFL is within reach, and the excitement, much like his game, continues to rise. He is expanding his focus beyond football, developing business plans and working to open a sports complex that will keep him tied to his college town of Norfolk, Virginia. Those opportunities were made possible through Name, Image and Likeness deals. Each chapter has brought challenges and questions, but Easterly has consistently answered both. His story is defined by hard work and a willingness to invest in himself. He has only increased his value on and off the field, and that investment is proving invaluable. For any press/NIL/ or brand inquiries for Mario Easterly, you can contact Nilson Sports.

Gallery by So Kim | May 4 2026 AFC Toronto and the Halifax Tides drew 0 - 0 at BMO Field on May 3rd in their Northern Super League home opener.

Photographed by Orchee Sorker | April 24, 2026 The Maine brought a wave of nostalgia and energy to Marathon Music Works on April 24. The night was stacked with openers—Moody Joody, Grayscale, and Nightly—but Moody Joody set the tone early with a performance that felt both intimate and electric. Their set was expressive, visually dynamic, and deeply connected to the crowd. As the night built, each act added its own layer, but The Maine delivered fan favorites with newer material, all carried by a crowd that knew every word.

Photographed by Curt Silver | April 25, 2026 Montréal Victoire Earns 2–1 Shootout Win Over Seattle Torrent in Season Finale | Photographed by Curt Silver for HAZZE MEDIA Montréal Victoire closed out the regular season with a dramatic 2–1 shootout win over the Seattle Torrent at Climate Pledge Arena in Seattle, WA on April 25, 2026. A lot was on the line, as the fates of both teams were in each club's hands. For Montreal, the Victoire clinched the #1 overall team, now able to choose their opponent for the first round of the Walter Cup Playoffs. Photographed by Curt Silver for HAZZE MEDIA As for Seattle, any win would have given them "Golden Rule" points, but unfortunately, their loss cost them the 1st overall pick in the 2026-27 PWHL Draft. A back-and-forth defensive (and penalty-filled) game ended in a 6-round shootout Montreal win, sealing each team's fate.

Gallery by So Kim | April 21 2026 The New York Sirens beat the Toronto Sceptres 1 - 0 in overtime on April 21 but were still eliminated from playoff contention. Toronto earned a point to stay in the race. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and the Professional Women's Hockey League (PWHL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

Gallery by So Kim | April 19 2026 The Oshawa FireWolves closed out their season on a high note, defeating the Buffalo Bandits 12 - 8 on April 18 at the Tribute Communities Centre. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and the Professional National Lacrosse League (NLL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

by Holly Arend | April 9 2026 Annie O’Donnell grew up in ice rinks in Southern California. Not on the ice, but in the stands, in the hallways, hanging around during those long gaps between games when you are just waiting. More time at the rink than at the beach, even though she was a San Diego kid. That is where she learned about competition and community, but also about people and herself.​ She comes from a big hockey family. Five kids, four brothers who all played travel hockey. That meant early mornings, long drives up and down Southern California, holidays on the road. Her parents were the type to hide Easter eggs in hotel rooms and lobbies so the holiday still felt like a holiday, even if it was wrapped around a tournament. The same families moved up together through different age groups, so it was not just a sport; it was a whole little world.​ “I say I was born in it, molded by it, and that is pretty true,” O’Donnell said.​ She did play when she was younger, but eventually lost interest. All her brothers were in hockey and she wanted her own thing. She jokes about having heavy Aquarius placements, about always wanting to differentiate herself. So she tried other sports, leaned into other interests, but she never stopped being a hockey fan. Even when she was not playing, she knew she wanted to work in the game somehow. She just did not know what that job would be. In high school, she thought athletic training might be the path, mostly because she admired her school’s trainer. Then she looked at the reality of the classes she would need, imagined a future in khakis and a polo on the sideline, and changed course. Science heavy, not her. Khaki pants, also not hers.​ She ended up studying sports marketing at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh. That got her internships with the Los Angeles Kings and the Pittsburgh Penguins. With the Kings, she worked in community relations, the side of hockey that handles charity events, autograph items for auctions, and all the behind-the-scenes stuff fans take for granted. Tables full of players signing until their hands hurt, staff and interns trying to tie up loose ends around game schedules, trades, travel, everything. It was fun and eye-opening, but it also stripped away the idea that working for a team was some glamorous dream.​ Her internship with the Penguins was in youth and amateur hockey, helping with things like Sidney Crosby’s Little Penguins program, where kids got gear to try the sport. She worked game nights, helped run tournaments, and saw again how many people it takes just to keep things moving. She was grateful for those experiences. They also convinced her that a front office job was not her long-term future. Long hours, low pay, feeling like you had to fit into a certain mold and not get too “excited” about anything. That did not match how she wanted to show up.​ “I think being a fan is cool. I think being excited about things is cool,” she said.​ After college, she ran into the same brick wall a lot of people hit. Entry-level sports jobs did not pay enough to live on, especially if she did not want to move back home. So she took an inside sales job in Chicago. The work was not a dream, but she loved the city. She told herself she would keep looking for sports jobs and pivot when she could. A promotion moved her to New York. On paper, that looked like progress. In reality, the job itself was rough. The environment was toxic, the work left her drained, and she spent a lot of time staring out the office window wondering when things would change. That period still anchors her sense of what she will and will not tolerate. “It’s not worth it to do a job that you hate for 40 plus hours a week where you’re mistreated,” she said.​ Eventually, the company started cutting costs and her job was eliminated. It was scary, but it also felt like a reset. She suddenly had a blank slate and a chance to do something that actually interested her. Podcasts were having a moment, so in November 2019 she launched one. At first, she did not want to niche down. She talked about sports in general, whatever she found interesting. Then the pandemic hit. Sports shut down, seasons paused, and like everyone else, she got on TikTok. In her tiny Upper East Side apartment, she set up her phone and started talking to it. About hockey, about sports stories, about whatever was happening. When the NHL returned for the bubble playoffs, her content really started to pick up. There were not many people doing what she was doing in hockey, and her voice felt different.​ “I make content that I want to see,” she said. Over time she narrowed her focus. She still watches football. She is still a big Dodgers fan. But as a creator, she saw the value in building a specific lane. She leaned into hockey, tested ideas, watched what worked, and learned what did not. She makes things she likes first, then adapts based on what her audience responds to. The trial and error is part of it. Her style became one of the most recognizable parts of her presence. People tuned in to hear her talk about the game, but they also wanted to see what she would wear on a game day or what she would say about player outfits. She gravitates toward vintage pieces, leather, rock influences, and looks that do not blend into the crowd. She is not trying to dress like every other fan in a jersey and sneakers. “I don’t like showing up places looking like everybody else,” she said. To actually make the outfits she pictured, she started teaching herself to sew. Thrifted pieces became raw materials. She took ideas from her head and turned them into real clothes, including a leather set inspired by motorcycles that she put together entirely on her own. Having a vision is one thing. Following it all the way through is another.​ “One thing I pride myself on is when I have a vision, I execute it,” she said.​ The more she immersed herself in that side of the game, the more obvious it was how limited the options had been for women for so long. If something was “for women,” it usually meant a pink jersey or a fitted V-neck that did not actually fit real human bodies. It felt like an afterthought, not an invitation.​ “It was pink jerseys or things that didn’t actually fit women,” she said.​ By building her own looks and putting them online, she was quietly rewriting what a hockey fan could look like. A woman who knows the game, cares about the culture, loves rock music, and dresses in a way that feels aligned with all of that. She is not trying to be the “cool girl” who does not care. She is very clear that she does care. “I think being excited about things is cool,” she said.​ Her urge to be distinct runs deeper than clothes. As a kid, it showed up in how she drifted toward other sports just to carve out space that was not already occupied by her brothers. As an adult, it shows up in the way she approaches content. She is open about her interests, about grief, about music and life outside scores and stats. She wants people to see something in her that reflects something in themselves, whether that is a love of hockey, a love of rock, or figuring out how to live with loss.​ She is clear that it is okay to change your mind, okay to “hold the L” when a take ages badly, okay to learn publicly. In a sports world where people cling to old opinions out of pride, she sees a lot of value in staying teachable.​ Hockey, for her, is also inseparable from her youngest brother, Paddy . He was the goalie in the family, the youngest of the five kids, the one her dad actually allowed to try the position because he thought Paddy could handle the mental side of it. A lot of kids say they want to wear the pads once they see the gear. Paddy was different. He stuck with it.​ He played his youth hockey in San Diego and eventually went on to play at the University of Utah. He was more than just a goalie. He was the funniest person she knew, the one with weird, specific interests. He loved Star Wars and space, had a YouTube channel where he edited gaming videos, and kept a friend group that did not all look the same or like the same things. Hockey guys, anime kids, rock climbers, all mixed together. That range said a lot about him. Before his junior year, he had a seizure. Doctors found glioblastoma, a terminal brain cancer with no cure right now. They gave him six months.​ “He wanted to inspire people,” O’Donnell said.​ Paddy chose how he was going to respond. He turned toward faith and community. He wanted people with his diagnosis, or with any heavy thing in their life, to know that you can still move forward. You can still live, still find joy, even when you are limited. He became partially paralyzed on his left side and had to wear a medical device on his head. None of that stopped him from trying to live the way he wanted. He went out with friends. He showed up to games. He did his best to keep being himself. “He still wanted to do everything,” she said.​ One of the things that meant a lot to him during that time was his friendship with Anaheim Ducks goalie Lukas Dostal . Connecting with an NHL goalie made him feel like he was still part of the position he loved, like he had not lost that piece of himself.​ “He felt like a goalie again,” she said.​ Paddy passed at 23. His loss sits inside everything O’Donnell does, but so does his influence. Watching him confront rock bottom and still choose to live in the way he could reshaped how she thinks about her own life and risks. “They say the benefit of rock bottom is there’s no place but up,” she said. “And it is the easiest place to rebuild.”​ She remembers being unemployed, heartbroken, unsure what was next, and realizing that settling had already shown her what that felt like. She did not want to go back to that. Fear of what people might think had kept her from fully committing before. At some point she decided she was not going to let imagined opinions stop her from doing what she felt she was here to do.​ “Sometimes you just have to jump,” she said. “You are never going to feel fully ready.”​ That is basically how she has built her career. By trying things, learning by doing, screwing up sometimes, and not letting that stop her. She knows what it feels like to sit at a desk, stare out a window, and wish you were somewhere else. That memory keeps her moving. If she is going to go up, as she puts it, she wants to go up her way.​ Now, what she has built is more than a platform or a collection of videos. It feels like a community. People come in through hockey, fashion, or fits, but they stay because it feels honest. There is room for excitement, for grief, for personality, and for the version of hockey culture that includes all of that. And somewhere underneath all the content and the sewing and the games, there is still that kid sitting in the stands in Southern California, watching her brothers skate, breathing in the rink air, listening to skates cut into the ice and pucks hit the boards. She did not know then what it would turn into. She just knew she loved being there. That feeling never really left.

Gallery by Hazze Sports | April 11 2026 In a milestone moment for the PWHL , a sold-out TD Garden set the stage for one of the league’s most high-profile matchups, showcasing the growing energy around women’s hockey. Montréal spoiled the night with a 1-0 win behind Ann-Renée Desbiens’ shutout and Lina Ljungblom’s game-winner, while Boston’s Aerin Frankel was nearly perfect in net, turning aside 18 of 19 shots in the narrow loss. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and the Professional Women's Hockey League (PWHL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

Gallery by So Kim | April 11 2026 The Ottawa Charge shut out the Toronto Sceptres 2 - 0 at Coca-Cola Coliseum, earning three points and moving into fourth place, the final playoff spot in the PWHL standings. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and the Professional Women's Hockey League (PWHL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

Gallery by Holly Arend | April 10 2026 The Maine Mariners defeated the Norfolk Admirals , 6-3, at Cross Insurance Arena. Sebastian Vidmar led the way with two goals, while Brooklyn Kalmikov and Jaydon Dureau added to the scoring as Maine pulled away for the win. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and East Coast Hockey League (ECHL). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.

Gallery by Holly Arend | April 7 2026 The Portland Sea Dogs' 2026 season began at Hadlock Field with a 12–7 loss to the New Hampshire Fisher Cats, highlighted by a decisive second inning from the Fisher Cats. These photos are owned by Hazze Media and Minor League Baseball (MiLB). They may not be redistributed, sold, or used for commercial purposes without explicit permission.