HeyJaredVirtue Signals
A full-time law student's creative outlet with an intentionally ironic title. Writing about feast days, faith-inspired fashion, pop culture, and more.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 7
- Latest publication
- Sep 30, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
Angels on the High Line (opens the original)
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If you walk to the northern end of the High Line in New York City in late September, you won’t find the makings of the perfect #nycfall just yet. The dedicated and dutiful High Line gardeners will be making full use of the last bits of warmth before the ground turns hard and cold. Where you might hope to see auburn and ochre you’ll find a curious and dazzling meadow of bluish violet instead. We call these flowers asters today, but your medieval ancestors would know them as “Michaelmas daisies,”
Algorithmic cloisters and overusing the big “C” (opens the original)
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“Novelty is a new kind of loneliness.” — Wendell BerryIt’s a Tuesday morning and I’m hitting the Reels tab with my morning coffee. A recognizable face crosses my screen, a woman who’s catechesis content I follow but rarely watch. Thirty-second catechetics from strangers online never did sit well with me, especially when my own catechism sits at an arm’s length away. Nonetheless, I support her with a follow and the occasional like, I suppose because every other Catholic online seems to do the sam
Fig season (opens the original)
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This is a paid subscriber-only post. Thank you to those who have stuck around and continued to be patrons of my work online through the ups and downs of law school and my bar exam hiatus! I’m looking forward to figuring out how to structure paid and free posts in a way that fosters creativity and aligns with the Lord’s plan for me in this new era of my professional life. This essay is quite personal, so it is for your eyes only. Keep a look out for snail mail coming soon, I intend to keep my pro
We’ll meet again, New York (opens the original)
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Vera Lynn sings a very hopeful tune in my head as I write down the places I know I will find you when I leave you… don’t know where, don’t know when! I think it’s best to be optimistic right now and swallow my sorrow. You aren’t going anywhere, after all, and I know we’ll meet again, even if it will be as visitor and host instead of resident and home. But right now I look forward most to taking you with me in the parts of my soul that you changed for the better, the lessons I can’t forget even i
Southwest of Eden (opens the original)
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After the last few notes of “Taps” sounded from the bugle horn at my grandfather’s memorial three weeks ago, there were several minutes of silence in which only the rustling of crispy oak leaves hardened by the California summer sun could be heard. Burning hot tears rolled down my face and into the curves of the orchid petals of the lei on my neck. The tears increased the floral perfume alongside my sorrow in measure-for-measure comfort as the Army officers presented my grandmother with a folded
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