ISSUE 22
PLAY MEN IN MAKEUP THE NEW WAY TO GO BARE TYPOGRAPHY IN FASHION PERFUME VS COLOGNE FASHION + FOOD BODY ESCAPING THE EFFORT PARADOX DEVIANT PRACTICES
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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. 22 Editors-in-Chief MADELINE MONTOYA EMMA TANG JANE THIER Design MADELINE MONTOYA Editors MORGAN DUNSTAN ANNE KRAMER ALEXANDRIA MOORE JENNA SCHNITZLER Photography Director ANDREW WENG Marketing Director ROMULO SOSA
Contributors SIMONE HANNA SOPHIE GOLDSTEIN FATIMA GARCIA HALEY HARRIS LOGAN KORHN CELIA GERBER 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
Fashion Director LINA WILEY Digital Brand Coordinator CELIA GERBER
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COME PLAY* 5
Happy spring, WashU! The days are longer, the weather is nicer, and we’re so excited to finally present our newest issue. This season, we’re all about the simple pleasures. Hot pink lipstick; neon t-shirts; bouncy curls. It is in this spirit that we give you Armour. Issue 22: P L A Y.
aren’t just as legit (and badass) as a power suit? We’ve had so much fun working on this issue, and we hope you can indulge your inner child as you flip through these pages. Don’t be afraid to gravitate towards the bright colors and shiny accessories. You’re only young once, right?
Fashion and makeup can often give the passing impression of being serious, no-nonsense pursuits. And sure, perfecting a winged eyeliner and matching swatches can be tougher than it would appear. But we don’t believe getting dressed has to be a task akin to cleaning your room or registering for classes. Fashion, like the creation of any art, must at its basis be for the enjoyment of the artist. A release; a break from the ordinary; an inspiration to others.
To never playing by the rulesXoxo, Madeline, Jane + Emma
Most of all, as we age, opportunities for play seem to diminish. We look unflinchingly towards the future, attempting to check all the right boxes and follow the right path. We hope this issue makes you rethink how fashion and design applies to these rules. Who says you can’t wear yellow eyeshadow? Who says you have to retire your tutu after you’ve dropped tap dancing? Who says men can’t wear earrings? And who said play clothes
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Editorial MEN IN MAKEUP
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Article THE NEW WAY TO GO BARE
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Article TYPOGRAPHY IN FASHION
Editorial PERFUME VS. COLOGNE
Article DRAG CULTURE
Editorial FASHION + FOOD
Editorial BODY
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Article ESCPAING THE EFFORT PARADOX
Editorial DEVIANT PRACTICES
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Direction MADELINE MONTOYA Styling JONAH THORNTON Makeup VIRGINIA PITTMAN CELIA GERBER LOGAN KROHN
Photography NOAH TREVINO ANJALI REDDY
Models MARCO QUARONI ALEJANDRO FRYDMAN JAKE DELUCA XAVIER BRAVO SHIVAEN AHUJA KJ JIAHENG KUANG
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THE NEW WAY TO GO Writing EMILY SPECTOR Editing JANE THEIR
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25 If you’ve followed Fashion Week coverage or pored over Vogue’s haute couture collection spreads, you may have noticed a large number of models going braless. From hot new trends like Christian Cowan to classic, established brands like Dior and Versace, designers have begun to dress their female models in sheer fabrics or underboob-revealing crop tops en masse. But is it a style, so to speak? Revealing a model’s breasts on the runway is rarely the focal point of the outfit itself. Rather, like bare legs and shoulders, freeing the nipple has become a central tenet of high fashion. This perspective, though, is rather niche. Instagram, the world’s largest photo-sharing site, enforces a strict anti-nudity policy that specifically includes women’s breasts. According to their community guidelines, this policy is meant to protect “an authentic and safe place for inspiration and expression,” but it has garnered substantial backlash. When I googled “instagram nipple policy,” the first few articles to pop up all critiqued the app’s stark censorship. The platform eased back their puritanical stance in 2015 when they finally allowed photos of breastfeeding and baby girls in diapers, but breasts in any context deemed “adult” (which, naturally, is almost all contexts) remain prohibited. Facebook, which owns Instagram, is just as stringent. Twitter is more lax, but their green light on topless girls exists only as part of their overall permissive policy towards pornographic and sexual posts. Even Tumblr, which is infamously laissez-faire when it comes to censorship, has drawn a line: “female-presenting nipples” were explicitly forbidden in an adult content ban established in last year. But responding to complaints about spam bots and reports of pedophilic content by censoring female breasts reinforces the same cultural stigma that pervades Instagram. The message from these sites’ guidelines is clear: on social media, breasts are innately pornographic. Why, then, is high fashion exempt from this cultural discomfort? Most news coverage of fashion shows includes uncensored photos, even if those sites tend to censor other instances of nudity. Part of that may be a question of purpose: if the point of a runway show is to celebrate clothes, why focus on the bodies wearing them? Designers and reporters alike tend to linger on the gauzy fabric or striking silhouette cut by a piece when they discuss collections. The visible nipples are often an afterthought. If models wear sheer clothes on their bottom half, unless the underwear itself is part of the look, they almost always make it nude and modest so as to keep attention on the outfit. Like picture frames to spotlight a painting, or maybe just glorified hangers, models are supposed to accentuate, not distract from, their wearable art—nudity notwithstanding. One may wonder, then, how much of this trend is rooted in the kinds of bodies we see in fashion. When Sora Choi or Kiki Willems flash their svelte physiques, their breasts are
less sexualized; their skinniness often extends to small cup size. Even the Hadid sisters, larger-breasted high fashion models, are extremely slim. They also often play down their cleavage on the high fashion runway, at least compared to their Instagram posts and lingerie modeling. But size doesn’t explain everything; any woman is liable for censorship in their Instagram stories. The difference overall seems to rely on whether the person is being sexualized—whatever that means. In most media and throughout our culture, women are perceived and treated as sexual objects; in the fashion industry, they’re objects, full stop, as are models of all genders. It’s easy to critique haute couture’s portrayal of body types and bemoan the damage it causes. But in terms of breast positivity, fashion may be ahead of us. Perhaps this desexualized approach will trickle down into cultural consciousness.
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THERE IS NO HAUTE COUTURE WITHOUT TYPOGRAPHY. Writing KIRSTEN HOLLAND
Editing JANE THEIR
Photography VIKTOR & ROLF: HAUTE COUTURE FASHION WEEK SS19
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27 bara Kruger-esqe branding, one could assume he drew inspiration from its boldness and commercial qualities. The irony of Supreme’s appropriation—or misappropriation—of this aesthetic is that the marketing intent of a logo is completely contrary to Kruger’s original use of this typography. While Kruger’s work references capitalism and advertising in order to be critical of material consumption and society as a whole, Supreme’s logo is meant to further all that Kruger criticizes, which kind of misses the point.
The typeface chosen for logos and lettering on the clothing items themselves become deeply enmeshed with the identity of a well-known brand. Additionally, the subtlety of typography choices has a deep impact on a consumer’s perception of fashion houses. Oftentimes a logo or a clothing line’s choice of type is very specific and tailored to its overall image. But interestingly, many fonts used lately in fashion branding are common, inexpensive and accessible typefaces like Futura and Helvetica. Yet even such simple fonts, when used in the context of fashion, can transform simple pieces like t-shirts into inaccessible luxury items. The use of type in fashion can create praise, controversy, and sometimes both. It is an often overlooked yet quietly crucial facet of high fashion branding.
Burberry Font: custom sans serif designed by Peter Saville
Comme des Garçons Similar Font: Helvetica Neue Bold While Helvetica Neue Bold is slightly heavier, it is almost identical to the font used in the Comme des Garçons logo, with the exception of an asterisk being placed under the C in Garcons rather than a cedilha. Helvetica is one of the most commonly used typefaces—so common, in fact, that a documentary filmmaker produced a movie in 2007, entitled Helvetica, about its ubiquity. Yet the use of such a simple and well-known typeface makes sense for Comme des Garçons; Helvetica is a sleek, no-nonsense, neutral typeface that conveys modernity and simplicity. It can complement a variety of different aesthetics. It feels modern and multimodal, so it fits the modern, forward-thinking and playful appearance of the designs that are hallmark of the brand. The simplicity of Helvetica can also elevate the more loose, almost handmade quality of their more well-known heart with eyes logo. Supreme (and Barbara Kruger on the right) Font: Futura STD Heavy Oblique Supreme, the ubiquitous street style brand, with its well-known and easily recognizable red logo, uses an even more ubiquitous font: Futura STD Heavy Oblique, set in white on top of a red box. Futura is a commonly used typeface in a variety of branding for its modern, geometric look. Even more interesting is how the Supreme brand, established in 1994, appropriates the work of fine artist Barbara Kruger, who was known for her use of almost identical white-on-red Futura Bold Oblique. Kruger’s typographic work was based on bold advertising and commercial graphic design, which permits that such a style would also work well in advertising itself. While James Jebbia, creative director at Supreme, has not explicitly mentioned his reasoning for choosing the Bar-
The font used in the rebrand of Burberry in this past year has been met with criticism and controversy for its generic look, especially in following the trend of sans serif high fashion rebrands. On one of Burberry’s Instagram posts, a commenter wrote, “This looks like it was done on Microsoft Word.” Many fans expressed belief that the sans serif rebrand looked cheaper, less official and less classic. On its own, the new Burberry logo and accompanying monogram looks well-designed and visually pleasing. It fits into a larger trend of sans serif typefaces in all sorts of brandings, fashion and non-fashion. This trend is can be quite effective if the brand needs to emphasize a sleek or modern look, but with a classic brand like Burberry, a look that is too modern might do more hurt than harm. The response of consumers to this trend in simple, sans serif rebrands is important to consider. Especially in the case of older, more historic luxury brands, consumers seem to prefer more intricate, older-looking typography. Burberry is a prime example of the way that trendy sans serif rebrands do not necessarily communicate well or carry the right meaning for all brand identities. Gucci Fonts: custom type for G monogram, Granjon Roman for their wordmark Gucci is everywhere, and it’s been especially having a moment over the past few years under creative director Alessandro Michele. Part of its pervasiveness, and also the most interesting typographic aspect of Gucci, is its interlocking G monogram. This monogram is used many ways to brand Gucci products. Sometimes a large G is used for emphasis. Many other times, this G is used in subtler ways to create a texture that at first glance, looks more like a simple pattern than two Gs. The use of sans serif G letterforms that are a consistent, low contrast line weight allow the Gs to appear more incorporated into a general geometric diamond-shaped pattern. This type as texture allows Gucci to be both subtle in their brand-
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28 ing, in a way that warrants taking a closer look, while still demarcating it clearly and recognizably Gucci. Victor & Rolf: Meme Gowns Fonts: various display fonts Dutch fashion label Victor & Rolf is renowned for their avant-garde bridging of fashion and art. They have created a variety of highly conceptual wearable art throughout their history. At first glance at their Spring 2019 couture collection, which debuted at Paris Fashion Week, one might think they look more like memes than a high-brow work of art. For their collection, Victor & Rolf showed 18 tulle dresses ornamented with various bold, flippant slogans. Phrases like “no,” “I’m not shy I just don’t like you,” “go fuck yourself,” and “sorry I’m late I didn’t want to come” were announced on these extravagant outsize dresses, which seemed reminiscent of snappy slogans one may find on graphic t-shirts or captions on memes. The way that these seemingly trite sayings are composed on these dresses is what sets them apart and elevates them from simply being a meme or a slogan tee. The use of tulle, especially in the complicated and heavily decorated form used by Victor & Rolf, requires great technical prowess. Additionally, there is a wide variety in terms of the style of typography on the dresses, from geometric sans serifs to typeface reminiscent of vintage advertisements. These distinct usages of type were clearly carefully considered to match and become a part the overall structure, texture, and color scheme of the dresses. The attention to detail, specificity, and variety in these dresses, combined with the oh-so-Instagrammable nature of the phrases on them, made for the perfect storm of internet praise, even if the humor might be off-putting to the fashion purist.
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Director MADELINE MONTOYA
Photography CELIA GERBER
Styling CAROLINE HUNDLEY ERIN NOH
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33 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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DRAG CUL TURE
Writing IZZY JEFFERIS Editing JANE THIER
When considering new-age androgyny, the first person that comes to mind may be Ruby Rose. When she made her mainstream debut on Netflix’s Orange is the New Black, she made headlines for her seemingly universal sex appeal, sparking a widespread reevaluation of attraction. Some would argue that her meteoric rise marked a turning point in what we consider conventional “beauty,” and the wider view that lack of adherence to traditional feminine ideals doesn’t constitute being less desirable. But there is still an issue that was left unaddressed: Rose, despite presenting as an androgynous person, still conforms to a relatively feminine ideal. Rose may have a short haircut and dress in traditionally masculine clothing, but she still embraces her feminine side and has distinctly feminine features of large lips, eyes, and an undeniably female face. This may seem like a strange and aggressive point to make, but it is not meant to invalidate Rose’s identity in any way. Instead, it is meant to point out a larger problem in fashion and mainstream
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41 culture: we are quicker to accept the exploration of gender identity and presentation if it is somewhat familiar and easily palatable. Men can wear nail polish and experiment with makeup and feminine fashion on Youtube and Instagram, but when worn in a public setting, it may come across as inappropriate or out of place. For instance, many are quick to comment on James Charles’ messages of support and praise, but if your friend rocking a masterful cateye is harrassed on the street, many immediately regress into the common adage of “maybe you brought it onto yourself. Maybe if you weren’t so extra in public, people would just leave you alone.” Often, those who generally consider themselves to be allies to folks experimenting with gender presentation may be quick to pass judgment on people proudly wearing their beards in combination with a full face. It is, then, important to acknowledge that those who are often validated and praised for going against the norm in their exploration of gender identity do so in a way that popular culture has already co-opted, prompting the larger question. Where is credit given and where is credit due? The influence of not only gender non-conforming people, but specifically drag queens, on fashion is incredibly widespread, but seldom properly acknowledged. A perfect example is Madonna’s song and music video, Vogue. Were you to ask most people what they associate with the word “vogue” it would be either the fashion and culture magazine, or the hit 1990 single by the gay icon. Directed by David Fincher, the black and white video was instantly iconic, garnering 7 MTV Video Music Award nominations. The video sparked a noticeable shift in culture, not only through its positive portrayal of those of different races interacting and proud displays of female sexuality, but also when it showcased a significant and distinct aspect of queer culture normally resigned to private spaces. Vogueing is a dance that originated in Harlem with black and latinx drag queens, and was (and still is) a dance meant to allow queer people to forget, even if just for a few moments, the oppression faced on a daily basis through cathartic physical release. It is impossible to perfectly encapsulate the complex dance in words, but the best way to describe it is an exaggerated portrayal of the poses often featured in its namesake magazine by predominantly white, able-bodied female models. It involves large sweeping movements and rhythmic changes in position, usually to house music. Madonna’s musical and visual tribute to this iconic practice was well-intentioned and maybe even proper allyship: she used her platform as a white, able-bodied,
straight woman to help elevate queer culture into mainstream consciousness while giving credit. Included in the Vogue video were many LGBT black and latinx dancers performing the dance with the singer, all dressed in suits. Madonna at no point tried to claim credit for invention of the dance, yet she still is often billed with introducing the move into the larger cultural dialectic. She was given credit where it wasn’t due. This idea of unintentional appropriation is a widespread issue throughout popular culture, but an area that is highly affected though very rarely acknowledged is the drag community. It is difficult as a queer person speaking to a predominantly straight audience to properly convey the feeling of having your identity and culture erased, and why it’s important. It is easy for people to get defensive, to feel attacked, to resort to “well I didn’t mean to!” Lack of awareness isn’t the issue, but choosing to go forward and remain ignorant is actively choosing to be complicit in further erasure. We have always been here, we just haven’t always been visible. You, as allies, can help us. But you have to listen. If one wishes to appreciate drag and queer culture, they must be aware of its societal role, understand the implications, and foremost be an ally, even when it’s unfashionable. This is particularly important to apply to the trans community, as drag is a large part of that branch of queer culture. Drag is above all else a form of artistic expression for those who choose to practice it, and choosing to get into drag every day is a form of political activism. Drag tells the world that the gender binary does not define any of us, and that gender expression should not be restrictive, but should be fun and beautiful. Many choose to practice drag primarily as entertainers, performing incredible lip sync performances to Whitney Houston songs, collecting tips, and doing death drops on stage at clubs and bars. To others, it is a way of exploring their personal gender identity, playing with androgyny, and discovering more about the way they may want to present themselves offstage. There are too many types of drag performers to properly identify all of them, but the unifying aspect of all of these people is that drag is a way of life, and cannot and should not be dismissed simply as something for drunk bachelorette parties and transphobic jokes. We have always been here, and it’s time you see us.
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FASHION
Direction CELIA GERBER MADELINE MONTOYA EMMA TANG Styling LINA WILEY CAROLINE HUNDLEY
Photography ARNO GOETZ Models MEREDITH BUSCH ALEX KUNZE
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FOOD
In this editorial in collaboration with Simple Syrup, we explore how playing with your food can overlap in expressing one’s look.
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Direction LOGAN KROHN Photography ANIKA KUMAR ANDREW WENG
Models AUBREY SCHMIDT ISABELLA XIE CHRISTOPHE WASSMER FELIX MORENO LILIA JIMENEZ ELLA LAWRENCE OLA ADEBAYO Styling MIRAI PATEL IZZY JEFFERIS
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ESCAPING THE EFFORT PARADOX
Writing MIKKI JANOWER Illustration MIKKI JANOWER
Congratulations, Gen Z! We’ve finally transcended centuries of meticulous self-presentation to embrace the new frontier of cool: the Cult of Low Effort. We can grow out our hair and wear sneakers to parties, and it’s okay to leave the house in the joggers we slept in last night.
female tendency to compete for attention. More optimistically, perhaps the reverse is true: maybe our monumental effort to appear effortless is our attempt to rebel against our respective gender standards and abandon our dated obligation to attract a mate.
But our low-maintenance lifestyle isn’t everything we make it out to be. Behind closed doors, more of us than we’d like to admit invest an enormous amount of effort into our perceived effortlessness. We front-load our beauty routines—stockpiling skincare products instead of makeup—and investing in sleek running gear we’ll never break a jog in. We sift through every outfit we own to find one that looks as if we’d simply thrown it on. Are you seeing the paradox yet?
Maybe impatience plays a role, too. Effortlessness and immediacy appeal to us in every facet of our lives: after all, we’ve ushered in the rise of fast-casual food, 4G, media streaming, and Amazon Prime, among other developments. Our generation doesn’t want to spend an hour wielding a curling iron when we can move mountains faster than we can say, “instant gratification.”
Our obsession with appearing effortless exposes the dark underbelly of the self-love movement: we’re “supposed”to accept ourselves exactly the way we are, and if we don’t feel that way—if we’re only confident once we’ve put some elbow grease into our appearances—we’ve failed, right? Maybe it reflects our changing relationships with public figures. Social media has vastly broadened our access to celebrity lives: suddenly, we peruse supermodels’ jetlagged selfies and double-tap snapshots of influencers in leggings; we see them radiant and fresh-faced, without the bells and whistles reserved for red carpet appearances. Our standard of beauty could be adapting towards these new, all-natural paradigms.
Whatever the reasoning behind our collective psyche, we try remarkably hard to pretend we’re not trying. We have tricks up our sleeves, not limited to: wildly oversized clothes; no-makeup-makeup brands (think Glossier or Fluff); the ugly-chic genre in all its uncomfortable glory (ask the writer about her zip-off cargo pants); and even straightup lying. The truth is that it doesn’t really matter why we choose to perpetuate the cycle of trying hard to feign effortlessness. The other truth, the one at the heart of the matter, is that we really don’t need to try so hard. Nor, however, do we need to stop trying. It’s okay, even in our era of personal acceptance, to work on our appearances if it makes us feel good. It’s okay to be a little vain about our imperfections, even in a world in which nobody’s an object and beauty is universal.
Or maybe the phenomenon is partially rooted in outdated, binary-gender generalizations: we could attempt to trace it to a delicate sect of heteromasculinity that drives its strain of male-identifying persons away from self-maintenance, or we could attribute the shift to the perceived
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Photography ARNO GOETZ
Direction LINA WILEY Styling MIRAI PATEL LINA WILEY
Models HARRISON PARKER EMMA RUSKAY-KIDD
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