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“Fashion is the armour to survive the reality of everyday life. To do away with fashion would be like doing away with civilization.” BILL CUNNINGHAM
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ISSUE NO. 21
Editors-in-Chief MIKKI JANOWER MADELINE MONTOYA JANE THIER Design Directors LAUREN FOX NATALIA OLEDZKA Executive Editor RACHEL HELLMAN Editors MORGAN DUNSTAN ANNE KRAMER ALEXANDRIA MOORE JENNA SCHNITZLER Photography Director ANDREW WENG Marketing Directors ROMULO SOSA EMMA TANG Fashion Director MADELEINE RITHOLTZ Digital Brand Coordinator CELIA GERBER Media Director ROSE HO PR Director ARIELA BASSON Cover Design MADELINE MONTOYA
Contributors SIMONE HANNA SOPHIE GOLDSTEIN FATIMA GARCIA SASHA BASH HALEY HARRIS CELIA GERBER PATTY ALVAREZ ELIZABETH VAN HORN NOAH TREVINO LILLIA JIMENEZ RACHEL ZEMSER ANJALI REDDY EILEEN CHO VIRGINIA PITTMAN REILLY MACDONALD MORAYO LADEJOLA–OGINNI CAROLINE HUNDLEY PRIYA KRAL NIA LI LILY HYON KRISTINA YOU
THE F–BOMB: WHY FASHION IS A DIRTY WORD
Put down this magazine before it’s too late. Naturally, you want to dissociate from fashion. You have your reasons: for example, you believe in gender, sexual and racial inclusivity. You believe in sustainability. You believe in socioeconomic equality. You believe in ethical corporate practice. You believe in ‘90s films about blonde bitches in phenomenal miniskirts. You could try to reconcile these tenets with the moral enfant terrible that is the fashion industry or you could burn our magazine and take a long shower. Alternately, you could keep reading and cultivate an understanding of the negative cultural dialectic around fashion. We’re not going to make a case against it; if anything, we hope this prompts you to join the dialogue, especially when it comes to confronting the factors that make fashion a dangerous game. The stigmas associated with the industry shouldn’t cause us to abandon one of our most enduring art forms; rather, they should motivate us to adapt it to our needs as a society.
What does that mean for us? It means continuing the debate about appropriation versus inspiration; it means seeking out makers who prioritize sustainable production, ethical treatment and inclusive products; and it means addressing our biases about fashion’s alleged cult of personality. This semester, Armour staff has worked tirelessly to explore these topics. We hope we can inspire you to continue where they left off. Mikki, Madeline + Jane
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CONTENT
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Editorial YOU PROBABLY HATE US, AND HERE’S WHY
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Article HOW MUCH DOES COOL COST?
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Article PANTSUITS/ POWERSUITS
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Editorial THE TIPPING POINT
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Article PERFORMATIVE SUSTAINABILITY
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Editorial NEW UTILITARIANS
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Article THE SCIENCE BEHIND FASHION FORECASTING
Article THE RISE OF UNCONVENTIONAL BEAUTY IN MODELING
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Editorial COMMODIFYING POVERTY
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Article WHEN DOES INSPIRATION BECOME APPROPRIATION?
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Editorial INSECURITIES
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Editorial SURVIVALISTS
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Editorial NON-ARCHETYPES
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Feature SANG–JIN LEE: BRAND AS EXPERIENCE
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YOU PROBABLY HATE US, AND HERE’S WHY Direction MADELINE RITHOLZ MIKKI JANOWER
Photography NOAH TREVINO
Styling CHRISTINA YOU LILY HYON
Models SIMONE HANNA IZZY JEFFERIS FATIMA GARCIA PRIYA KRAL
Writing MIKKI JANOWER
Makeup BROOKE ADLER
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We hold these truths to be self-evident: If you appreciate art, you’re a cultured, openminded intellectual. If you appreciate fashion, you’re a shallow, entitled bitch. In either case, you’re sensitive to composition, craft, color and context; you read into makers’ backstories, and you understand that the merit of a work lies somewhat in shock value, or at least the way society reacts to it. How did we become so alienated by the latter, even as we continue to engage the former? Where’s the differentiating factor between these two worlds? Obviously, fashion is problematic (see: inclusivity, sustainability, ethical practice). Think tech-industry problematic. Think politics problematic. Think problematic problematic. Now swap the white cisgender male for halfstarved cisgender woman and you’re there. Yes, that’s part of why we’re reluctant to voice enthusiasm about fashion, but our own bias plays a role, too. To fully understand our collective animosity towards fashion, we need to unpack the stereotypes which befall the sartorially inclined. In the public imagination, the archetype is female. She’s the wrong kind of popular (like that girl with the glittery lip gloss who didn’t invite you to her slumber party in middle school). She has an eating disorder. She’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She’s armed with daddy’s credit card. Sound familiar? Without a doubt, she exists. She exists on screens, in books, and in our own perception. She might even exist somewhere within your wider social stratosphere. She does not exist as the keystone species in the sartorial food chain. One more time for the people in the back: this cookie-cutter archetype is not one-size-fits-all. Liking fashion does not make you this person. Looking back at our analogy between fashion and fine art, you can see how much the two share. To cultivate an understanding of any visual experience, you consider the same factors, both compositionally and contextually. In short: both exist on the same intellectual plane. The myth that art is for genius visionaries while fashion is for svelte cardholders is exactly that, a myth. Another myth: the correlation between loving style and having money. Returning to our analogy, consider the fact that engaging with the arts requires appreciation, not possession. You love painting without purchasing Rothkos and Warhols; you love music without VIP tickets to
Drake; you can love fashion without owning it, and most do. The internet alone enables us to cultivate holistic knowledge of what’s going on around us, and finding a community with similar interests supplements that understanding (take Armour, for instance). If any of this resonates–if you believe that you can be a thoughtful and intelligent human being who likes fashion– how do you reconcile that belief with the knowledge that the industry remains fraught with issues and oversights? How do we sleep at night knowing we love something so flawed? We sleep at night understanding that engaging with fashion doesn’t mean condoning those issues, or even acting as bystanders. In fact, the opposite is true: engaging with fashion means understanding the problems and joining the search for solutions, using our understanding of the field to shape it into something that we can stand by. The more you get involved, the more you can voice your concerns and implement social change. Maybe you hate us. More likely, you hate the stereotypes we’re fighting against, too.
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HOW MUCH DOES COOL COST?
Writing MIKKI JANOWER Editing RACHEL HELLMAN Photography BRIAN PLUST, FOUND ON ARE.NA
Style has long been defined by the trope of the luxuriant. In Hellenic Greece, certain togas were reserved for the wealthier classes; in the middle ages, certain colors were reserved for members of the nobility; today, certain limited-edition sneakers are reserved for those with the cash to pay resale prices. The virality and hypebeast culture have only served to underscore the common conception that a wardrobe is only as good as its monetary worth. As a localized issue, this manifests in the popularization of on-campus status symbols like Canada Goose coats (~$600+) and Nike Air Max 1s (~$70, but hundreds more for a limited edition pair); on a vast, social-media driven societal scale, we see the phenomenon in Off-White belts ($225), Gucci bags (commonly over $1,000) and Yeezy anything (you get the gist). Those uninterested in dropping huge sums on high fashion can find relative ‘bargains’ on sites like SSENSE, where ‘chic’ still sells for hundreds to thousands of dollars apiece. Alternately, shoppers can wait until word of sought-after pieces trickles down to fast-fashion conglomerates like Zara and Urban Inc, which effectively generate knockoffs for prices that seen cheap relative to the originals, although they often cost upwards of $150. Also common: the archetype of the eclectic collector, the clothes horse with too much integrity for big-name brands. This arbiter of taste found acetate earrings at a shoppe in Copenhagen and mens’ cropped corduroys at a vintage store “somewhere on the Lower East Side.” Inherent in the word ‘collector,’ however, is an understanding that quantity remains a factor. Moreover, the notion that quality remains elusive to those without money, leisure time or plane tickets continues to pervade our ethos. ‘Cool’ carries a hefty price tag in many arenas. The objects we use and the experiences we have allow us to level up, particularly when we’ve mastered the subtle art of the Instagram flex. In fashion, however, cost has always been a particularly inhibitive factor. Or hasn’t it? The obvious answer to this question is yes, it has. The accurate answer to this question is no, it hasn’t. In many cases aesthetics associated with steep costs sought to
imitate cheaper, chic-er, more groundbreaking originals (read our Commodifying Poverty article to learn about why this practice of romanticizing and upselling is, well, not great.) For every arbiter of taste who wields a wallet like a weapon, there’s another who digs cool out of an internal repository of attitude, body language and an understanding of color and form. And a third who knocks off the second and sells it to the rest of us. Go figure. What does this mean? It means that money can’t buy cool. Money can buy expensive things, but only taste can curate them (although taste does come at the high cost of a lifetime of curiosity and experimentation). Wearing Adidas won’t make you into Luka Sabbat: Luka Sabbat makes Adidas into something you wear. Does ‘cool’–that elusive holy grail of descriptors–really forgo the clearance rack? Just the opposite: ‘cool’ acts as an equalizer, giving those with taste the opportunity to dress better than those with money. In summation: How much does cool cost? N/A.
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THE RISE OF UNCONVENTIONAL BEAUTY IN MODELING There is no lasting definition of beauty, rather, standards of beauty evolve with the cultural climate. Beauty as a concept is in constant flux, as it is an embodiment of the mindset of society at a given time. In previous decades, being curvy and pointy-breasted like Marilyn Monroe was all the rage. Centuries before, beauty was associated with signs of affluence: having fair skin and a more substantial figure. More recently, to be beautiful one had to be skinny, her features had to be in perfect proportion, and while never explicitly stated, whiteness was pretty much a prerequisite to appear on the cover of vogue. In true Gen-Z fashion, we’re redefining the definition of beauty to include those previously marginalized by the industry. In fact, our generation has initiated a movement to increase unconventional beauty in modeling; a movement spearheaded by such icons as Duckie Thot, a 22-year-old Sudanese-Australian model whose rich, dark complexion and barbie-like proportions landed her campaigns for Oscar de la Renta, Moschino, and Fenty x Puma. In 2018, she even walked in the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. Despite her stereotypical model-like features which include a height of five feet, eleven inches; a slender physique; and chiseled features, the spectacular, hyper dark pigment of her skin sets her apart from her counterparts on the catwalk. Other figureheads of this movement include Winnie Harlow: a Canadian fashion model with vitiligo, a condition in which areas of skin lose their pigment, causing whitish patches. A decade ago, her skin condition would have barred her from appearing on any magazine cover or being at the forefront of any ad campaign. While she continues to be set apart from other models, her singularity is celebrated rather than dismissed. It’s 2018. We’re out of the stone age and far too socially evolved to subscribe to a definition of beauty
Writing SOPHIE GOLDSTEIN Editing ALEXANDRIA MOORE Photography SLICK WOODS, COURTESY OF iD MAG
which characterizes beauty as having a set roster of features: aryan coloring and a sample-sized waist. Why must we ascribe to the notion that there are conventions in beauty? Why not throw out the nuances entirely and simply allow everyone to just be: to be beautiful, to be confident in the things that make them special. Inclusivity rarely feels applicable to the beauty industry. When you construct an ideal such as beauty, a separation arises between the haves and the have-nots: the beautiful and the unbeautiful. The direction in which our definition of beauty is evolving marks a step away from this cookie-cutter mindset. Finally, we’re coming to put idiosyncrasies on a pedestal and recognize them for their aesthetic merit. This inclusivity is a feat which should be celebrated. Still, however, we subconsciously marginalize individuals by labeling their beauty as “unconventional.” If the goal is truly to promote inclusivity in the realm of modeling, we have to start by changing our conventions of beauty entirely. That does not come with the addition of adjectives, but with a total paradigm shift.
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COMMODIFYING POVERTY There’s a certain uniform in Portland: tattoo sleeve, dyed hair, baggy jeans, crocheted sweater, ear gage, Bernie Sanders sticker. It’s hard to discern whether someone is homeless, stylish, or an artist. The sartorial cues we use to navigate the rest of society are overturned, and we’re forced to consider who gets to look cool while wearing torn up jeans and holey sneakers, and who is deemed poor.
Writing RACHEL HELLMAN
Photography CELIA GERBER
Styling ANJALI REDDY EILEEN CHO
Models AVERY JOHNSON JACK MOORE
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21 The careful assemblage of moving pieces that makes up our known history. Systemic colorblind racism, toxic masculinity, Western colonization, and class discrimination, among a host of other destructionary practices, have shaped who gets to wear what—and get away with it. In this post-industrial age of consumption, all you need is the spending power to get a good costume and, of course, be born into whiteness to be cool. When done correctly, you can seemingly transcend class and status. We have entered an era of culture-based conflict that has the uncanny power of camouflaging the underlying and dominating powers that shape our lived reality. This is no accident. The very idea of “the hipster” emerged through the writing of Norman Mailer in his essay The White Negro: Superficial Reflections on the Hipster in 1957. In it, Mailer connects the lifestyle and aesthetic choices of the beatniks to a white desire to embody marginalized black culture. The contemporary hipster culture has its
roots in a white disaffection with 20th century American capitalism. Post-World War II era youths were disheartened by the prospect of doing consumerist managerial work, but also would not partake in working-class labor, a choice unavailable to their non-white counterparts. To be a maker or an artist or a writer, however, was a way to opt out of the system entirely. By borrowing from African American culture and positioning themselves as class non-conforming and by appropriating working class style, hipsters could choose to never inhabit the consumerist world. The “white negro” was the original hipster, a borrower of culture, repackaged and displayed for white consumption and ownership. This must be understood as a type of violence, a radical form of cultural appropriation. The contemporary hipster stands upon a mountain of marginalized black bodies that were once the manifesters of forced and underappreciated creativity.
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The difference between the black jazz artists and white beatniks of the 1960s, or the black creatives and white hipsters of the 2000s, is the presence of an invisible hat. Like the invisible backpack, originated by Peggy McIntosh in her groundbreaking essay White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Backpack, the invisible hat allows white people to move through the world easier. It is part of their costume. It validates their authenticity and creativity, and serves as a layer of masking on top of the appropriation lying underneath. But unlike the invisible backpack, the invisible hat is an aesthetic symbol of the creative class; it can be added to any hipster assemblage as an extra dash of style—but only if you’re white. Instead of offering a toolkit to fall back upon, the invisible hat functions as a stamp of validity for “looking poor” or being creative. Without it, we remain unable to discern the homeless man from the kombucha crafter. The invisible hat is only available to white people, but it remains invisible. For this
reason, a creative black person is not alloted the same amount of aesthetic leeway as a creative white person. They are unable to fit unquestioned behind the Portland maker-costume, making it seem as though only white people can be the creatives. The making of costumes—the creation of a consumerized history—is mirrored by destruction. There is only so much fabric available to make costumes, and certain ones must be unmade to make room for the newer and shinier ones—to make room for better ones. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction;the blatant erasure of certain histories, fables, and lived realities is covered up by a hipsterization of history, and a commodification of poverty.
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Art Direction ELLA NEEDLER
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WHEN DOES INSPIRATION BECOME APPROPRIATION?
Writing MORAYO LADEJOLA–OGINNI Editing MORGAN DUNSTAN Photograph VALENTINO VIA VOGUE RUNWAY
When I open the doors to my closet I am greeted with a variety of colors, patterns, and styles, many of which were inspired by someone else. Whether it was when flipping through the pages of a magazine or passing by trendy mannequins in the mall, some visual inspired me to buy and wear those items. Maybe I could see myself in a cable-knit sweater, drinking herbal tea in an aesthetically pleasing coffee shop. Or I could imagine myself looking as edgy as the girl in the picture modeling a vegan leather jacket. I borrowed someone else’s style and made it my own, which is perfectly fine. Sometimes. In an industry that is brimming with varying forms of beauty, it is almost guaranteed that there will be an exchange of ideas. Creativity often comes hand in hand with collaboration. However, it is always important to be aware of the culture from which our fashion choices originate. Global lifestyle correspondent Jenni Avins wrote on the importance of not crossing the line between appreciation and appropriation, noting that, “Someone else’s culture or race—or an offensive idea of it should never be a costume or the butt of a joke.” She points to the Washington Redskins football team as an example of how, through our form of dress, we can “perpetuate negative stereotypes and [pour] salt into old wounds” wounds”^. In a day and age in which racial tension is on the rise, awareness and cultural sensitivity are crucial. In the world of fashion, the aim is to engage in a beautiful medium of self-expression which, in turn, can and should be freeing. The key phrase here is ‘can be.’ The magic of fashion comes alive when fun can be had and freedom can be found. However, it is up to us to see that its outcomes do not necessarily bring joy for some and can often instead induce pain and frustration in others.
Fashion & Culture Expert Meera Solanki Estrada, in her article for the Huffington Post, sheds light on a common downfall in the world of fashion as it relates to appropriation. Oftentimes, it occurs when people look at a particular religion, culture, etc. and “decide that they like parts of it”*. Estrada addresses Beyoncé’s use of henna tattoos as well as Gwen Stefani and Selena Gomez’s modeling of bindis and bras onstage. She recalls being “mocked and degraded” for different aspects of her Indian culture while she was growing up. However, once celebrities utilized select parts of it as an accessory, her culture suddenly became a cool and fascinating thing*. Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli, designers for Valentino, decided to create an Africa-inspired collection for Paris Fashion Week, featuring stereotypically/ “traditional” African clothing, hairstyles, and accessories*. However, not one of their models was a person of color. Stealing fragments from a different culture and having women of a completely different race and background model them does not communicate to people of color that they are valued or their culture genuinely respected by these companies. When asked about the topic, Piccioli defended his choice saying, “The message is tolerance and the beauty that comes out of cross-cultural expression”*. When working in a field that directly affects so many people, it is crucial for one to ensure that his message comes across the way that it was meant to be. Piccioli’s comfort with his decision does not automatically dismiss the issue.
** = Pulled from Huffington Post article ^ = Pulled from The Atlantic Article
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SURVIVALISTS The latest fashion metadiscourse introduces the concept of post-fashion: a survivalist, apocalyptic take on utility gear. Gabby Jung and Charles Paraiso explore the boundaries of technology, utility and aesthetic value.
Direction MIKKI JANOWER
Photography ANDREW WENG
Styling VIRGINIA PITTMAN REILLY MACDONALD
Models CHARLIE PARAISO GABBY JUNG
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SANG-JIN LEE: BRAND AS EXPERIENCE
Writing ALEXANDRIA MOORE Photography MADELINE MONTOYA Editing MIKKI JANOWER
How would you describe your brand? My brand is more fluid than a tee shirt company; it’s an exploration of identity. When I was a junior in high school, I found that making things gave my life meaning. I was feeling existential as a seventeen year old *laughs*; I didn’t understand design, but taking influence from graffiti and street art, I created a character that represented me and used it to work through my existential crises visually. Over time, my work grew from one character to a visual language. Only this year has my brand become less about me as an individual. What’s the significance of your ghost motif? Originally, I think the ghost channeled my fascination with graffiti—the desire to mark the world in a physical way—and my teenage angst; I also didn’t know how to draw anything else *laughs*. Creating an identity has a lot to do with iconography. Religious iconography is powerful to me because humans infuse those symbols with meaning… there are icons that people recognize wherever they are. Banksy, too, carries so much weight, and his power comes through recognition. That kind of energy interests me. I’ve been experimenting with translating [my work] beyond ghosts; I drew skulls, and then crosses…I’ve been focusing on that Korean identity thing, too. I’m interested in working with other Korean artists, collaborating and using Korean models to normalize Asians in a place of creative power. What’s one thing you want to do with the brand? Growing up in America as a Korean youth, the Asians represented in the public sphere were mathematicians or Jackie Chan stereotypes in movies and TV shows. If you had told me when I was younger that I would be creating, I wouldn’t have believed it because there was no one for me to look up to. I want kids to look what I’m doing and be like, “this person is doing it, so I can, too.”
I could see my brand expanding into film, or to get it to the level where it’s a broad platform. Fame appeals to me in the sense that if if you’re in a position of creative power, you can translate ideas into many different mediums and reach a lot of people. I create things to connect with other people and understand their hopes and fears and what drives them. It sounds hippie-ish, but honestly it’s about connecting souls. I want my work to invite open communication and connection. What does your creative process look like? My process is very intuitive. I do a lot of reflecting and reverse engineering; I look at what I’m drawn to and explore it through writing, thinking, or making to figure out why i like it. Then I’ll take something from that, cannibalize it, and add it to my design process. Everything I do and every interaction I have-- I try to take it in like a sponge to gather all of these different experiences into one unique experience. A lot of people do things out of habit, or see pleasure and profession as seperate, but if you pay attention to what you like, you’ll be a more passionate maker and your work will be better. I take my brand seriously, but it all stems from what’s fun for me. Elementally I’m discontent with the world–I don’t say that to sound edgy, I say that to explain why I want to make an impact through my work. A lot of problems stem from our inability to work through our negative emotions. I want to help people do that in a tangible way. The visual arts have a really unique power to break boundaries: when everybody watches the same movie or listens to the same song, everyone’s unique narrative converges into a shared experience. That’s something I strive for through the things I make.
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PANTSUITS/ POWERSUITS
Writing HALEY HARRIS Photography RACHEL ZEMSER Editing ANNE KRAMER
A dark green pantsuit. A formidable and unapologetic or elected female official, is characterized by complex stance. Legs uncrossed, mouth closed, hands clasped gender dynamics, forcing women to navigate their way together, eyes fixed directly forward. In a story with Inter- through male dominated spheres. The components of view Magazine, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortes, 28-year-old public image, from projected personality to styles of female political activist, poses on the front steps of an dress, have historically been dictated by, and are still apartment complex in the Bronx, New York, the district very much subject to, the “rules” of a patriarchal system. where she beat longstanding incumbent, Joe Crowley, At the same time, when reclaimed and used authentiin a primary Congressional race this past June. She cally, these public images can be a tool for activism. doesn’t display the traditionally “feminine” body posThe suffragettes of the early 20th century were some ture so often displayed by women in magazines: she’s of the first to shift the paradigm of female public image not sexualized, and she’s not physically confined in any and expressions of gender, with the emergence of the way. Rather, she leans forward, and claims her space. “Suffragette Suit.” As they took to the streets, advoWith female representation in Congress hovering around cating for their right to vote, the new mobility of these 20%, and a newly appointed Supreme Court Justice suits stood in stark contrast with the pervasive “hobble whose political preferences do not bode well for women’s skirts” of the time. These hobble skirts were, quite frankly, choices over their bodies, there’s a long way to go when it symbolic of their social immobility: they physically bound comes to women’s representation in the political sphere. womens’ legs together and limited their range of motion. Even so, with the Washington Post claiming, in August In the 1910s, Coco Chanel, continually influential in the of 2018, “There’s Never Been a Better Time for Women design world, rode the feminist wave of the Suffragette to Run for Office,” there seems to be a larger trend in Suit—already tied to ideas about women’s liberation. With the political forecast: women—like Ocasio-Cortes—are subtlety and intentionality, she expanded the accessibililaying claim to their roles in personal, social, and political ty of pantsuits made for the “modern woman.” Zoot Suits, arenas. Women are embracing an emerging presence, with baggy forms and large lapels, were embraced and marching and starting movements, speaking out in popiconized by working class, second generation Mexican ular news and media, and of great import, increasingly Americans in the American Southwest during World appearing on ballots for the upcoming midterm elections. War II. Along with making a statement in advocating for Life in the public eye, however, as either a prospective Latino rights and equality, female zoot-suiters, known as
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39 pachucas, wore them alongside male peers to establish themselves outside of the traditional gender roles of maternity. Across the Atlantic, Yves Saint Laurent’s Le Smoking suits were tuxedo suits created for women. Though they received huge backlash when released, due to their cultural references to men’s 19th century smoking jackets, they marked the female reclamation of a history they were not included in. Perhaps the image most directly associated with the concept of the “power suit” comes straight out of the 1980s. Attempting to introduce professionalism into fashion for career-minded women, Giorgio Armani’s groundbreaking pant suit—often pinstriped—had wide, padded shoulders and a boxy facade, essentially concealing the female form, and blurring the lines of gender representation. For about a century, there has been a cultural impulse to push back against the conventions which attempt to place women in specific categories of what is “acceptable.” Visual representations of self must be purposeful in our image-based culture of mass media. A noteworthy, and sometimes defining, component of women’s campaigns are the choreographed ways in which they present themselves in the public eye. These actions and personas are composed for an audience, who possess the power of disapproval. Held to a certain set of expectations, women in the political world have long been told what to say, how to act, and how to dress, all orchestrated to create the image that will go over most successfully and with the least conflict. They must dodge and dance around low blows and shallow criticisms to ultimately push their professional agendas. Pacific Standard Time Magazine highlights the fine line of public perception when it comes to female candidates running for office: “Voters expect them to embody strength and competence — qualities they instinctively associate with men. Yet if they’re too hard-edged, they are perceived as insufficiently warm and engaging.” To be taken seriously and gain initial respect, women must not be defined by their femininity. Adopting traditionally male traits when immersed in male dominated spheres, has perhaps been a necessary tool for women to get their foot in the door. The embracing of gender performances associated with success has become a prerequisite for the job, or even just for entry. In a lot of cases, a pantsuit is a “Garment Least Likely to Offend Any Interest Group.” Even still, public perception can result in a lose-lose situation. In order to not push the envelope too far in any direction, these male dominated spaces have had to be navigated consciously for long time. Yet, when women claim: “We can wear this too,” it translates to a larger proclamation: “We can DO this
too.” In her 2016 campaign for POTUS, Hillary Clinton’s collection of “power suits” went viral, representing a wide array of colors, textures, and patterns as she campaigned. She took a traditionally male-associated article of clothing and reclaimed it for her own public image. British Prime Minister, Theresa May, often employs similar tactics, personalizing her conventional pant suits with a bold shoe collection to match. Connecticut Representative Rosa DeLauro is known as the “hipster congresswoman,” dismissing all expectations with her brightly dyed hair, colorful scarves, and statement jewelry. “Women like me aren’t supposed to run for office.” As the interior of her modest apartment comes into focus in the first shot of her campaign video, these words, spoken by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortes herself, complement the visual space as she begins her daily routine. Getting ready, she wears a simple black dress, quickly tying her hair up and putting on mascara as she looks into the small mirror of her apartment. Her routine isn’t showy, or glamorous, and her independence is clear. The camera follows her as she makes her way through the streets of the Bronx. Riding the metro, interacting with members of her community, and speaking at rallies, she wears the same simple black dress. The unprecedented authenticity of her campaign is reflected in this intimate view of her everyday life. Her grassroots campaign for a seat in Congress did not give in to the forces of corporate
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THE TIPPING POINT Direction MADELINE RITHOLZ Photography PATTY ALVAREZ Styling CAROLINE HUDLEY PRIYA KRAL
The mini skirt is hot. Red hot. It’s the summer of 1969 and the one glance down the streets of New York reveals legs, legs, legs. The shorter the better. Mary Quant, the iconic owner of the London boutique Bazaar tells The New York Times, ‘’If I didn’t make them short enough, the Chelsea girls, who had wonderful legs, would get out the scissors and shorten the skirts themselves.” The mini skirt is radical, fresh, daring, sexy. It is contagious. Soon, it graces the pages of every major fashion magazine, and in a mere year, becomes a mainstay in the closets of the masses. Many compared the rise of the mini skirt to that of an epidemic, the popularity swelling to critical mass just as a virus takes over a city in mere days, spreading exponentially with each person affected. Fashion trends, much like sickness, reach a tipping point, a moment in which the stars align and a seemingly contrived trend becomes the look of the season. Malcolm Gladwell, in his groundbreak-
Writing RACHEL HELLMAN Models JEREMY BARNES HIBA YOUSIF STANLEY XIO MEREDITH BUSCH
ing book The Tipping Point defines this phenomenon as “the moment of critical mass, the threshold, the boiling point. Ideas and products and messages and behaviors spread like viruses do”. People make careers out of defining and identifying fashion trends, marketing upon them, and bringing them to full fruition. Sometimes, it seems like they appear out of thin air, their popularity so artificial it seems silly to assign meaning to why everyone suddenly is wearing dad sneakers and mom jeans. Does our generation have some deep, onset daddy issues we’re trying to work out, reflected in an obsession with “ugly” clothing that our parents wore? Probably not. Instead, we can turn to the rich world of social theory to begin to understand why at certain points in history everyone seems to be wearing the mini skirt, chokers, or even dad sneakers. Change, that elusive moment of flux that defines history, happens not gradually, but once in a dramatic moment, a tipping point.
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Instead of working from the top down, searching for meaning in the manifestation of a trend, our journey towards understanding epidemia starts at the source. Despite an instinctive assumption that trends are the products of the masses, the movement of many, social research has revealed that a tiny percent of people do the majority of the work. Social epidemics are created by socially exceptional people with a particular and rare set of social gifts. These connectors have an innate talent for making acquaintances, for maintaining hundreds of social ties and bringing people together. They occupy many different worlds and subcultures, and as a result, the closer a trend gets to them the more power it gathers. Perhaps Mary Quant herself was one of these people, stratifying the fashion and music world, bridging distinct groups together. Or maybe there was one special Chelsea girl (a cultural subsect of trendy women in London in the 1960s) who was distinctly good at networking and deciding what was hot and what was not. In understanding the sheer power a handful of people have to dictate the fashion world, we can begin to see behind the facade of the trend formed by the masses and debunk the illusion of meaning inherent to trendmaking. This first step of trend fabrication is only the beginning, however. Once a certain look or item has been labeled as fashionable by a connector, it must also be relevant through the power of context. People come to very different conclusions in groups that by themselves,
relying on the people around them to dictate what is right and wrong in a given situation. Small, close knit groups have the power to magnify the epidemic potential of a message or an idea. Beyond this, certain trends in historical context have a greater “stick factor,� meaning, they are situationally relevant. When placed historically, the popularity of the mini skirt makes sense. It was a symbol of female liberation, a moment of movement from one gender norm to another. Some trends, more than others, have this power of context on their sides and consequently grow like wildfire. There is no way to pinpoint the exact moment when the mini skirt went from being a groundbreaking look a few trendy women riskily wore on the streets of London, to a worldwide phenomenon, a marker of the times, and a historical trend. There is no way to pinpoint who the trendsetting women were who made a bold choice, who had a circle of friends who would listen to them, and who were so well connected that what they wore was instantly replicated. All we know is that during the summer of 1969, mini skirts were seen everywhere. Trends, despite what we assume and are told, are not arbitrary or symbolic. They are not accidental, but they are also not symptomatic. They are the result of a handful of people wearing the right thing at the right time. Trends are the brainchild of the well connected, replicated, escalated, and elevated by the masses.
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PERFORMATIVE SUSTAINABILITY
Writing FATIMA GARCIA Image ARE.NA VIA THOMAS BUILLOT Editing MORGAN DUNSTAN
It is estimated that by next year, millennials will be the generation with the most purchasing power in history, so it comes as no surprise that today most retail businesses are marketing specifically to millennials. With social media and technology on their side, companies are better equipped than ever to target consumers with advertisements based on algorithms specifically catering to internetsavvy millennials’ past searches and purchase history. Services such as Amazon Prime have created a culture wherein people are so accustomed to the luxury of instant gratification without having to leave their homes, that the extent of mass consumption in today’s society is unprecedented. As a result, malls and physical retail stores are on the decline and new generations will never know what it means to have to wait a whole week for a package. This detachment from the physical process of purchasing goods allows few people even bother questioning where their products are sourced from or where they go after they are disposed of. Millennials have grown up facing the challenge of climate change, the possible extinction of multiple species, and the constant nebulous threat of nuclear war. The millenial generation has the greatest understanding of
their purchasing power and the interconnectedness of the world. Millennials know and care about sustainability, but are sorely lacking in terms of understanding the textile and fashion industry. Most are unaware of how and where their clothing is manufactured and the creation of instant gratification has only increased their detachment from the process. Stores such as Zara and H&M cater specifically to individuals who want fast and trendy outfits for a low price. They feed directly into the millennial desire for constant change and a faster paced lifestyle. But the cost to make this all happen is much higher than the listed retail price. After many years of backlash, fast-fashion companies such as Zara and H&M have finally been forced to commit their brands to adopting sustainable practices. At the yearly Copenhagen Fashion Summit held last year in May, the Global Fashion Agenda outlined four immediate action points needed to lead the fashion industry into a circular and sustainable system. By June 2018, 94 companies signed the 2020 Circular Fashion System Commitment, comprising of 12.5% of the global fashion market. In signing, the companies have committed to adhere to one of the four immediate action points and to
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report annually on their progress in reaching their desired goal of sustainability. Some of the companies that have agreed to sign are ASOS, GAP, H&M and Target. Although fast-fashion companies have moved towards more sustainable methods, the same cannot be said of many luxury fashion houses. Luxury companies often purposefully destroy their items in an effort to preserve their exclusive image. Burberry alone burned $36.5 million worth of retail items last year in an effort to ensure their items would not sold for a discounted price to the “wrong people�. Shareholders were angry because they were not even given the opportunity to take home some free goodies after their last meeting before the items were
wiped out. According to Burberry, this practice of destroying items is very popular in the industry and other wellknown companies such as Louis Vuitton have also been known to burn bags all for the sake of their reputation. It is clear that a collective effort within the fashion industry will be needed in order to enact any real change and work towards creating and normalizing more sustainable production. It’s time for a reality check. Consumers need to come to terms with the true price of their merchandise.
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NEW UTILITARIANS From coveralls to fluorescents to reflective strips, utilitarian elements have been on the forefront of our sartorial radar. Phoebe Li explores how dressing for utility can be an aesthetic choice.
Direction MADELINE MONTOYA
Model PHOEBE LI
Photography ELIZABETH VAN HORN
Styling CAROLINE HUNDLEY KIRSTEN HOLLAND
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THE SCIENCE BEHIND FASHION FORECASTING Before the dawn of social media trends emerged through a trickle-down system. Runway shows and magazines dictated yearly trends and retailers followed suit, manufacturing ready-to-wear outfits. Recently, however, the influence of sharing, tweeting, and double-tapping has changed the way that trend forecasting agencies can predict the next craze. By observing the news, culture, and activity on various social media platforms, forecasters can extrapolate which trends will manifest–up to two years in advance. One of the biggest trend forecasting companies is WGSN—World’s Global Style Network—which consults for brands such as Zara, H&M, Nike, and Topshop. WGSN identifies as the “World’s Trend Authority: what’s next, so you can make smarter decisions today”. Their global trend forecasters and data scientists “ decode the future to provide the authoritative view on tomorrow.” With experts in every major continent, they build locally sourced and globally relevant content, including trend intelligence, retail analytics, consumer insights and consultancy services. In short, WGSM predicts which colors, fabrics, and styles are soon to be “in.” They reach these conclusions through qualitative and quantitative data analysis and careful observation of media trends. Take color, for instance. WGSM forecasts color palettes by using retail analytics to see which colors currently sell well as well as tracking what social media influencers are wearing. 2020’s predicted color? Neo-mint. The company’s color director, Jane Monnington Boddy, claims that neo-mint “aligns futuristic development with nature.” As technology and artificial intelligence become increasingly present in our lives, WGSM believes neo-mint encapsulates themes of innovation and advancement, combined with a yearn for a return to nature. WGSM sources cite a recent interest in the cyberpunk genre, a popular ‘70s sci-fi vibe characterized by fear of artificial intelligence (think: Blade Runner, Ex-Machina).
Writing SASHA BASH Illustration LILIA JIMENEZ Editing JENNA SCHNITZLER
Take Gucci’s FW18 show: set in a mock operating room with bright white ceiling tiles and green, scrubs-colored walls, models walked around operating tables while viewers sat in waiting-room style chairs. Gucci said the concept “reflects the work of a designer—the act of… splicing and reconstructing materials and fabrics to create a new personality.” The setting also points to the “biopunk” genre (like cyberpunk, but reflecting the implications of biotechnology). This is just one example of how forecasters like WGSM have combined data analytics with knowledge of our society; they synthesize information into predictions. The applications of fashion forecasting reach far, but they also affect short-term operations for retailers like Shein or H&M, which specialize in mass-producing whatever is currently relevant. For instance, WGSM offers ready-made design templates which are updated constantly to reflect trends. Designers use these templates as a base and pick colors and fabrics predicted to sell successfully. As a result, stores often sell similar items, all of which lack the integrity of original work. Even WGSM founder Marc Worth criticizes the forecasting system. “Instead of looking for inspiration,” he observes, “brands are relying on templates...there’s no competitive edge.” Do brands design clothes that add something substantial to existing sartorial paradigms? Or do brands design clothes purely to sell well in the upcoming season? Designers are increasingly forced to face the dilemma of maintaining their own aesthetics or using forecasted trends to bring in revenue. Regardless, fashion forecasting remains an extremely interesting new frontier. By examining the world around us—from technology to socio-economics to global conflicts to social media influencers—trend forecasters make meaningful predictions that, more often than not, lead retailers right to our shopping bags.
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INSECURITIES There it is. The dress hanging in your closet, gathering dust. You loved it when you saw it in the store, but your mom says it makes you look fat. Or maybe you swear you get weird looks when you wear it out the door. Perhaps you have decided it is not cool enough for the lowly likes of yourself. We all have fashion insecurities. Heck, we all have all types of insecurties. In an open call to the student body, we sought to learn more about why we don’t wear what we want to wear, and what’s stopping us.
Direction RACHEL HELLMAN
Media ROSE HO
Photography ANDREW WENG
Styling MADDY RITHOLZ
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“I had this jacket made in India, where I am from. I want to wear it, but sometimes I feel like my body shape hinders me from wearing any style of dress I want to wear.” Manasvi
“I loved these pants when I saw them, but I don’t like to wear them because people look at me when I do. They’re attention grabbers.” Gabby
“I use fashion as a way to boost my own levels of confidence, it’s a create voice for me. This outfit represents what I would be afraid to wear before I stopped caring about what other people think” Maddie
“I am pretty insecure about my legs and thighs area, in fact I even wear pants when it is hot out. I chose this from my closet because it is the shortest thing I own.” Risako
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“My fashion confidence has grown over time. I used to wear what everyone else was wearing, but once I played into what I wanted to wear, I developed my own style.” Allie
“This is so much pink. Like so much pink. I usually avoid wearing statement pieces, so I am challenging myself in wearing this.” Dana
“I liked this in the dressing room, but never wear it out. My mom always told me that how you dress is how you present yourself to others, but sometimes that stops me from wearing something I like.” Madi
“This top has never seen the light of day. What I wear ties to how confident I feel, and coming to college changed my perception of what it looks like to dress confidently.” Ellie
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“I love fishnets because they are worn by a lot of kpop stars, but have always been afraid to wear them. I feel like I’m overcoming a certain fear in wearing these now.” Victoria
“A friend and I ordered these shirts, but as soon as I got it I became afraid of wearing it to class and having to explain my shirt while talking to a professor.” Sophie
“I believe that what you wear determines how you feel. Seeing plus sized models on instagram helped boost my fashion confidence, because body positivity is something I have struggled with.” Abby
“Growing up in a more conservative family, my mother wouldn’t allow me to wear very revealing things and I never really bothered trying. But right now, I feel great!” Victoria
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NON– ARCHETYPES Within the fashion industry, ethnically ambiguous individuals face a climate fraught with racial archetypes. Designers trace trends to certain cultures; meanwhile, consumers feel pressure to assume racially charged identities or align to specific niches, even though this undermines the ideal of individual self-expression. Morgan Dunstan, Sophie Attie and Atma Berry reflect on their non-archetypal ethnic identities.
Direction EMMA TANG Photography NIA LI
Models MORGAN DUNSTAN SOPHIE ATTIE ATMA BERY
Writing SIMONE HANNA Editing MIKKI JANOWER
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“I find myself often grappling with the performative element of cultural identity and what it means to be demonstrably enough of something.� Morgan Dunstan
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“I can understand [my cultures] on a surface level but it’s difficult when it is only a part of you.” Atma Bery
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“Everyone always assumes I’m just American.” Sophie Attie
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