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editor’s letter
contributor’s page
an advertisement for anti-wrinkle cream
let me enjoy my red leaves!
As ALT wraps up another hectic semester, it is important for us to reflect on the year as a whole. 2022 has been a year of transition and readjustment, and overall an attempt to reorient ALT towards the issues that impassion us and the surrounding community. As UW Madison continues to platform voices which espouse harmful rhetoric, we find it imparitive to platform those whose are subsequently marginalized and shine a light on the fears of our generation.
In accordance with our mission, ALT members chose writing editor Charlene Huynh’s theme “Phonies, Phonies, We’re All Phonies” for our second Fall 2022 issue. Charlene was interested in exploring instances of nostalgia and reminiscence of America’s youth, critically analyzing the rebirth of a new American adolescence through the lenses of subculture and rebellion. This mindset is captured in the cotempary release of the film adaption of “Catchers’ in the Rye.”
Likewise, we are the “Catchers’ in the Rye,” caught at intersection of life between adolescence and adulthood, attempting to navigate life as we constantly fail at it. As the inevitability of time pushes us towards adulthood, we are eternally trying to swim back against the unrelenting tide of American maturity, desperately grasping for the last remnants of juvenility. This issue begs the question: How do we redefine youth in a post-modernist world? Does youth start when we’re born, and end when we enter the workforce? What does it mean to you?
I would like to extend a big thank you to all of our readers for your continued support, and to all of our members who put so much energy into producing this issue. You have made all of this possible.
Enjoy Alt Magazine’s 17th issue, “Phonies, Phonies, We’re All Phonies.”
-Panagioti Tsiamis (CEO) and Ginger Townsend (EIC)
Chief Executive Officer Panagioti Tsiamis
Editor in Chief Ginger Townsend
Secretary Rachel Nevasier
Graphics Director Aishwarya Gouthaman
Makeup Director Sophia Egge
Fashion Director Ella Cunz
Writing Director Charlene Huynh | Emily Hirsch
Photography Director Natalie Pricer
Social Media Director Sofia Irigoyen
Photography
Kaelin Silas
Tien Showers
Lucy Gillard
Van Tran
Bridget Flannery
Macy Chen
Xaver Davey
Kaitlyn Tran
Anna Dirksmeyer
Emma Warne
Fashion
Reena Singhal
Forrest Rivers
Grace McKinstry
Lily Mihelich
Olivia Mabbott
Jayda Bessel
Redet Dereje
Models
Jaylene Muñoz
Kimberly Huete
Hannah Ritvo
Mai Chada Vang
Videography
Luke Canning
Writing
Jillian Turner
Lauren Tamborino
Katja Fair
Honor Durham
Lincoln Miller
Leah Maitland
Zack Zens
CiCi Cox
Graphics
Annika Carter
Ian Vailliencourt
Sofia Irigoyen
Business
Avery Opland
Sydney Walters
Fallis my favorite season. I spent most of my elementary school years in California, a place known for its consistent 60 degrees and sunny weather year-round. When I moved to New York, the novelty of cyclical temperatures and the stunning bright red leaves during autumn made me attuned to a fascinating part of nature I had been missing out on. Every year without fail, seeing the first ombre tree would fill me with joy, and I would appreciate it in a way I felt that no one else could unless they’d also spent the first decade of their life without it. That childish awe made me fascinated by the wonders of the world. I was filled with excitement for what the next cycle would bring. I wish I still knew what that felt like.
None of us are born with the urge to rush through life. Yet, most of us are always thinking about the next stage of our life’s cycle and worrying about how we will tackle it. Why are we so anxious to be prepared as adults, even when we are still considered adolescents? Why should I know what I want to do for the rest of my life when I am only nineteen? Society has taught us to plan every move, every step, for the rest of our lives, and if we don’t, we are considered to be “behind” on whatever life stage we are entering next, even when we are far from arriving there yet.
The stresses of being in college have made me desperate to feel the childlike felicity that autumn once delivered. To be reminded that I am barely nineteen years old and should have the time to appreciate that first red leaf. That there is some joy in living in the present and not only living for my future.
I’ve also lost the urge to be excited about the next stage in my life. We all know this stage as “post-grad” and I absolutely dread it because I’m scared of it. It’s extremely unnerving to hear new labels for people, especially the term “failure” for those who don’t seem to have a plan. It’s stressful enough being in college and managing so many classes and living independently from parents or guardians, so being rushed through it all is just the cherry on top. The freedom to live in the moment and experience the current life stage would make it so much easier to transition to the subsequent one. I would feel much more excited to graduate from college if there was not so much pressure for me to have a stacked resume and a job lined up the very second I’m handed a degree. And, if I had these college years to discover what I am really passionate about instead of forcing myself down a potentially dreaded career path that my inexperienced 18-year-old self chose out of pressure. Unfortunately, that’s not how our societal expectations work.
Right at moment, I feel confident about what I’ve decided to do with my degree. But there will always be that little voice in my head that questions if I have made the right choice, asking me what I might have done, or which direction I might have followed, had I more time to decide. It seems to me to be entirely unfair to systematically demand young adults know what exactly they want to do in the future when they first begin college.
The change in the seasons is wonderful because there isn’t much preparation involved. Sure, maybe you invest in some clothes that fit the temperatures better, and maybe you start thinking about fun seasonal activities to do. But for the most part, the previous season fades and suddenly you’re in the next one. This allows you to enjoy the cycle you’re in without worrying about what’s yet to come. Life should be approached in this way, as well. There should be no rush to plan every detail of the next phase of your journey on Earth. Enjoy the stage you’re in! Live the way you please. Be excited about what will come next, but don’t let that change the way you inhabit the present moment. Finally and most importantly, always appreciate the red leaves on the trees before they are gone. They’ll be gone before you know it.
“Revolution is a serious thing, the most serious thing about a revolutionary life. When one commits oneself to the struggle, it must be for a lifetime.” -
Angela DavisAs adults, many of us may look back on our childhood and youth with a melancholic fondness, reminiscing the innocent and relatively trivial lives we led. Many of us miss the blissful ignorance that childhood allowed us to have before we truly learned and understood the world and ourselves; now, we are forced to deal head-on with the pains of our consciousness and the actions of others and our own. Unfortunately, this bittersweet experience of childhood is not a luxury that everyone has the privilege of experiencing. Personally, I don’t remember most of my childhood and perhaps it’s better that way–what I do remember are things I wish I could forget. However, these somber, personal stories are not what I wish to focus on in this conversation about youth.
America is by no means perfect–in fact, it is exceptionally far from that–but it would be disingenuous to not acknowledge the social privileges that
By Charlene Huynh
many of us have living in America. We do not live under an authoritarian theocracy or a state that vehemently suppresses the rights and existence of women or queer people. For much of American youth, the hardships we face do not compare to the deprivation that many foreign youth must undergo as a consequence of the material conditions of their society. While we may sign petitions and attend a couple protests, foreign youth are risking their futures, lives, and sanctity to gain the most basic human liberties.
Look towards Islamic Republic of Iran. On September 16, Mahsa Amini, a 22 year old Kurdish woman, died in police custody after being arrested by the morality police for allegedly violating the conservative Islamic dress code for women. Although the police claim she died of heart failure, reports show that her death was caused by skull fracture from heavy blows to the head. Amidst this untimely death, the citizens of Iran took to the streets to protest the dress code—particularly concerning the hijab—by refusing to wear the hijab and even burning them.
media citizens and rest the police. protests been college have In a shouted, us one a group before on, afraid The front knowing shot will They see At having time at my code straps above everywhere.
media platforms, preventing the citizens of Iran from sharing information media about the protests to the rest of the world, effectively censoring atrocities being committed by the police. Continuing onto the 7th week of protests in 133 cities, over 14,000 have been arrested, including about 300 college students, and over 300 people have been killed, including 46 minors. video, Iranian teenage schoolgirls shouted, “If we don’t unite, they will kill one by one.” Another video depicted group of young women kneeling down before the police without headscarves shouting, “Shoot us! We are not afraid anymore.”
The brave, young women at the front of the protests leave their homes, knowing that they may be arrested or shot by the police. They know that they see others die in front of their eyes. They know that they may not be able to their friends and family again. At 19 years old, I could not imagine having to regulate the way I look every time I went outside, as if the teachers my middle school that would dress code the girls for wearing spaghetti straps or wearing shorts that were above fingertip length followed me everywhere. I could not imagine having
to accept these truths and risk my life to simply be able to live freely. This is a reality for millions of women around the world and it is our responsibility as those who have the privilege of living in America to raise awareness about the injustices occurring around us, especially when governments like Iran’s shut down Internet access. We cannot stomp our feet on the ground and shout about abortion rights and the gender pay gap if we do not extend our feminism towards the issues of global feminism–and also recognize that feminism is not just about the struggles of women, but also the postcolonial struggles of all genders and all sexualities. Feminism is the struggle of all, and we must fight for it.
By Katja Fair
Sometimes I can’t help but wonder how many times I’ve been called in from recess while still being “it” in tag. And I wonder if it’s some sort of lingering thing or if that identity dies with tag once it’s adjourned. And I know there were countless times where we said that we would come back to it the next day, only to start a whole new game. And it reminds me of the notes I forgot in my third grade recorder concert, and the feeling I got when they moved my class from the playground to the blacktop, watching my dad play Minecraft on the Xbox with me and thinking he was the best player in the world, and how I had my last Christmas pageant with Martha never knowing that it would be. When I’m reminded of these things, I’m reminded that this present moment is the last time I will ever be this young. That I’ll be twenty soon, which might as well mean I’m twenty five, or thirty, or one hundred years old, here one day, a skeleton in a museum the next. But right now I’m nineteen, and walking the line between feeling like I’m four again and feeling like I’m fifty, and I’m not sure how that could be.
For example, when I moved into my first apartment and was responsible for keeping myself fed, I learned that you can only make so many sandwiches before you run out of bread, so you go to the store and buy more bread, and then you make more sandwiches, and then you run out of cheese, so you go to the store to buy more cheese, but you get disgustingly excited by the four for five sale on yogurt, so you forget the cheese and have to go back, and by the time you do all of that your bread is expired. So I gave up on the healthy eating dream, instead opting for Mac and Cheese shapes, chocolate chip cookies, and microwave
quesadillas, my personal breakfast of champions. On one hand, I was feeding myself something, but on the other hand, I was not doing it like a “grown up” should. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.
The dissonance between the past and future is heard in other ways beyond abhorrent culinary decisions, like seeing a gift that your old friend would have adored, and then remembering that you guys don’t talk anymore. Remembering that you haven’t seen nor pet your childhood cat in ten years and how it felt when you said goodbye. Coming home to an empty room when all you’ve known your entire life is a loud house and a crazy family. Moving into an apartment by yourself and not feeling settled until you put your childhood stuffed animal, Milo, on your bed, and knowing that’s enough. Not because you decide that it’s enough, but because it needs to be enough.
I’m still trying to figure out the people who say they know how to do this whole growing up thing. Because I feel like I am both the counselor and the camper trying to navigate the world both wanting to mow the grass and run in it barefoot. The one setting the bedtime and the one disobeying it, hiding under my covers, playing Pocketfrogs on my iPod. One side keeps me safe, one side keeps me sane, yet somehow they’re seldom in agreement. So for every step forward I take, I’ll read a book or listen to a song written by people who have gone through the same thing and remember that I am not the only one who is confused, tired, anxious, and perpetually nauseous. And I’ll hope that maybe one day if I’m lucky enough everything will be okay in the end. As for right now, my goal is to get through the day. And sometimes it’s hard when all I want to do is to sing my ABCs and know my time tables and have that be enough, and sometimes it is enough because it makes me remember that I am still young. Call it Peter Pan syndrome, call it coming of age. I call it growth and I call it life. And for me, right now, that is enough.
