issue 23
EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Alexandra Pink Carlin Praytor
BUSINESS DIRECTORS Audrey Linden Belinda Yan
CREATIVE DIRECTORS
Lieyah Dagan Sarah Kersting Camilia Kacimi
EDITORIAL DIRECTORS
Cover: Janette wears coat Modern Appealing Clothing (MAC), jewelry stylist's own
Megan Lee Charlotte Muth
LAYOUT DIRECTORS Jiani Hou Adrienne Lee
EVENTS DIRECTORS Emma Sayiner Vanda Saggese
MARKETING DIRECTORS
Christine Oh Cindy Chou
WEB DIRECTOR Diana Tu
CONTACT
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Alex Hazell Andrea Garcia Ashley Zhang Audrey Ma Campbell Docherty Chanea Smith Chantal Herrera Chesa Wang Cindy Feng Diego Jimenez-Palacios Dylan Burgoon Dylan Gee Enrique Lopez Gillian Rose Grace Schimmel Hanna Biabani Hannah Rasekhi Isaias Hernandez Jackie Wlodarczyk Jacqueline King Jah'rel Moyenda Jairo Lima Joey Levenson Johanna Saunderson Josh Perkins Kai Henderson Kim Romero Leah Hotchkiss Lilly Wedbush Maddy Nimmo Maiah Johnson Maria Morales Reyes Meili Wang Micaela Stanley Michelle Chen Miguel Correa Guevera Natalie Abber Nina Rachmanony Noelle Forougi Olive Curreri Paige Strockis Rachel Hokanson Rachel Trujillo Regina Madanguit Saleena Kalita Sophia Dawn Sophia Swedback Teresa Ortega Vanessa Yang Yasmina Hoballah Zara Patel Zehra Naqvi
Table of Contents
THE STAFF
06 The Beauty of Representation 08
Young Adults
16 Trash: Authenticity and Aesthetics of the Feminine 18
It's Just a Phase
24 The Premature Midlife Crisis 26
Ready to Work
34
Suburban Silhouettes
36 Matriarchs 42 I Don't Want to Marry You, I Just Want to Dance
Editors’ Notes I'm writing this letter to you, reader, from a crowded bar on Manhattan's Lower East Side. I'm surrounded by people at various stages of adulthood, all loudly gabbing to friends and acquantainces under neon lights and a slowly turning disco ball. When I was 12 or 14 or 16, I wondered what 21 would look like. At 12, I might have guessed that I would be in New York. At 12 I would have imagined the outfit I'd wear to be a long cream cashmere coat and a beret, everything luxurious and matching. At 14, I might have imagined myself in a school uniform-inspired dress with a white button down. At 16, I would have worn a blue velvet blazer, black jeans, and and flats. Today, I wear a white high neck translucent top under a thick wool sweater and an oversized hounds tooth blazer. Every item of clothing I wear today is informed by past choices and moments of emulative inspiration. And as I sit, surrounded by people in all manner of midMarch layers, I come to realize that each one of their outfits is also a record of their stylistic experiences of growing up. As I prepare to leave BARE and UC Berkeley, I feel that "Young Adults" best captures my current feeling, exposed at the brink of childhood and adulthood. Whatever I do next, in whatever direction I grow and explore, I hope to pursue the same goals I have had during my time at BARE: a marriage of beauty and inquiry, pursued wholeheartedly. As for BARE and for Carlin, I look forward to seeing the magazine, its staff and its readers grow and continue to question and pioneer. Love always!
The Executives:
Audrey, Belinda Lieyah, Sarah Camilia, Megan Charlotte, Jiani Adrienne, Emma Vanda, Christine Cindy, Diana
BARE Magazine unabashedly celebrates students. As a publication whose focal point is a university, it is not unnatural for our content to be so often inspired and captivated by our peers. We aim to highlight nuance within this community, displaying varied style on a multitude of twenty-somethings. Still, contrary to popular portrayals, fashion does not belong to the perpetual twenty-something alone. In issue 23, which we call “Aged,” we evoke an expanded narrative of growing up and acknowledge style’s capacity to age alongside us— we grow with it, rather than into it. In “Young Adults,” we dress children in oversized workwear and adult attire, reflecting the child-like interest in appearing older while remaining under a guardian’s supervision. “It’s Just a Phase” juxtaposes a contemporary focus on self-branding with the timeless challenge to adhere to high school norms. We address ourselves in “Ready to Work,” depicting feigned comfort and confidence while we transition into the workforce as college students. “Matriarchs” accentuates the gracefulness of aging, placing middle aged women in an introspective and reflective space that is more routinely assigned to the millennial generation and its dominion of the “selfie.” Growing up, to me, means learning and remembering what makes me feel powerful and authentic. Between ages three and six, this was evident in the strawberry patterned dress that I insisted on wearing for as many days as I could wrestle it from my parents’ hands. Something about this dress, maybe its worn corduroy or brass buttons, rallied my boldest and brattiest self and was inexplicably linked to more unnecessary fits of juvenile strife than any other ensemble. Although I outgrew this outfit and, naturally, my tendency to tantrum, years to come would warrant new iterations of my strawberry dress in different forms. Now, when I am feeling bold, I am likely adorned in red lipstick. The choices I make, with regards to style, have always been informative of my sense of self. However, I do not intend to simplify this publication’s portrayal of growing up as an evolution of confidence through self-presentation. Growing up is learning to take care of yourself, it is adaptation, it is loving. If any of this speaks to you, issue 23 is yours.
T
he Nocturne in Black and Gold (The Falling Rocket) by James Abbott McNeill Whistler was first shown to me when it was displayed on a screen in a classroom in Los Angeles. I liked its ambiguity, how the more you looked into the black, blue, and yellow of the haunted landscape, the more you questioned what it was you were seeing. One moment there is a beach and figures that stand looking away from you towards a decrypted metropolis; the next it is fireworks in the middle of a dead night; the next an intangible mess of matter in a sea of space. I have found myself going back to it at various points in my life, only to be surprised how it still hits me in a way that something every once in awhile should. It reminds me that certain things have the ability to wake you up to what your personal perception of beauty is. It is hard to ignore the ways in which the existences of certain things affect you. When I think about the art–the films, paintings, and literature–that surrounds us over the course of our lives, I think of the varying degrees of impact these pieces have on who we come to be. Although the social view of what is beautiful changes, typically our appreciation for beautiful art does not. Maybe this is due to our tendency not to challenge the generally accepted notions of what is deemed significant or good or important; perhaps conversely, the beauty of the greatest works of art are simply undeniable. Maybe it is because the figures, the way they look, the way their bodies exist amongst their surroundings, or the landscapes themselves, project something that humans have and always will gravitate towards. Therefore, it is because of this inherent effect on
The recurring portrayal of the same colors and genders and ages and stories prevents us from experiencing the full spectrum of what art should accomplish: the universal articulation of sentiments both intimate and personal. 6 • spring 2018 • baremagazine.org
culture, and therefore the individual, that we must challenge the works of art that surround us, drawing into question the accuracy of their representation. Most of the art we see is depicted through the Western lens, featuring the young bodies of those that society has deemed most beautiful. These subjects are mostly white and young, mostly men, or women whose sole purpose is either to find love or exist as objects created by and for the male gaze. These figures and themes hang on the walls of museums and play upon screens in theaters, displayed to people who are expected to connect to tired tropes of human nature. We receive stories that depict small moments of life that are not necessarily the best, but the most documented. We are presented with ideas of beauty, fictional notions of love, and philosophies on life that make true connection hard to accomplish, and accurate representation a beautiful rarity. When we— the women, people of color, and other marginalized groups— are finally able to see our own experiences articulated, through films or writing or even the rare portrait in a museum, the existence of such art is significant to us in a way most art can never be. The recurring portrayal of the same colors and genders and ages and stories prevents us from experiencing the full spectrum of what art should accomplish: the universal articulation of sentiments both intimate and personal. Often times, the persistent gravitation towards idealized standards of beauty undermines the complexity of identity. This stems from a long-lasting trend of representation that either fails to acknowledge the minority, or presents them as one-dimensional beings designed to please tailored narratives. For example, female subjects in Renaissance art exhibit the impossible expectations of the female role. In renditions of the Madonna and Child, Mary holds baby Jesus, her blue cloak signifying the virgin’s innocence, while her red garments signify her passion. These symbols of Catholicism present the contradictory pressure placed on the female figure to be both innocent and passionate, pure and fertile. These contradictions of femininity bind, trap, and hurt us today through the expectations and standards set by
en.wikipedia.org
The Beauty of Representation Good art is powerful, and people deserve to see themselves in something they love.
those who didn’t have any of their own restrictions to navigate. Even in spheres where women seemingly have a considerable amount of influence, there still lies a history of underrepresentation and a surprising amount of room to grow. In the world of fashion, a study from the publication Business of Fashion found that out of 371 designers leading 313 brands, only 40.2 percent were female. This contrasts with the 85 percent of women who graduate from the Fashion Institute of Design with the hope of obtaining power within the industry. Although these facts may seem far removed from the matter of how women are represented in art, the very implications of works such as the Madonna and Child have normalized the one-dimensional narrative of what a woman can accomplish. The steps away from inaccurate representation have been slow, but their occurrence has welcomed spectacle. At the Met Breuer in New York City in 2017, the retrospective of Kerry James Marshall aimed to counter the stereotypical representation of the Black community in art. He revealed the joy, pain, and realities of life in these communities, placing them near Rococo swings and arranging
them in the manner of French Impressionism. He gave his community agency by depicting POC in scenes reminiscent of various artistic eras where they have been historically excluded. He represented leisure and laughter, while also showing the heartache and pain that is unique to the African-American experience. I witnessed the impact of this exhibit in person. I was struck by what it meant to have these paintings shown on the walls of the Met, waiting among the crowds who spent money to be there, crowds that wanted to be there, were told by friends and family to come. I saw the visceral reaction of a room that was collectively amazed: all of us viewing something spectacular and long overdue, some of us hit hard by the power of being represented. Moments like this remind us why representation is important: if not for its political and social ramifications, then because it is simply beautiful, enjoyable, worthy of presentation. Good art is powerful, and people deserve to see themselves in something they love. As much as the conversation surrounding representation can be empowering, it inevitably unearths the frustrating history of artistic narratives. It requires us to go back, survey what we love and ask ourselves what those works of art are trying to convey and why we love them. It requires us to think critically about what we consume and attempt to apply these critiques into the next round of things created. Personally, when I do this, I think back to The Nocturne. I try to see it beyond its surface physicality and I wonder if I like it because I can project into it what I wish to see. I like it because of the way it can represent everything, because in essence it is nothing. Because within its beautiful ambiguity I have the power to create my own story. Micaela Stanley issue 23 • baremagazine.org • 7
Young Adults
Photographer: Sunny Young Production: Dylan Gee, Leah Hotchkiss, Alexandra Li Hazell, Enrique Lopez, Regina Madanguit, Meili Wang Models: Theo, Lucas, Christine, Davey, Lauren, Key’toya, Jalayah Special thanks to Enrique Lopez for editing assistance Key’Toya wears top, blazer, skirt Mars Mercantile, tights, boots, stylist’s own, earrings model’s own
Jalayah wears jacket, jumpsuit, shoes Mars Mercantile, socks stylist’s own, earrings model’s own
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Theo wears jacket, pants Mars Mercantile, turtleneck, shoes stylist’s own Lucas wears jacket Mars Mercantile, pants, shoes model’s own
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Christine wears leather jacket, skirt Mars Mercantile, blouse stylist’s own
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in spaces of labour. In fact, femininity was relationally constructed against the image of the “inherently hardy and robust, often masculinised working class woman.”
“There was this one woman, I thought she was beautiful and, you know, she had the peroxide hair and she had it all piled up on her head and had red fingernails and red lipstick and, you know, wore her powder. And I just thought she was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. And Mama said, 'Oh, quit looking at her. She ain’t nothing but trash.' And I thought, Ooh, that’s what I want to be when I grow up—trash.” – Dolly Parton, 2014
T
here’s something tantalising about Dolly Parton’s longstanding story of how she came to acquire her image. It’s comical because it is simultaneously ridiculous yet strangely challenging. It plays with the assumption that “trash” is undesirable. “Trash,” by its very definition, implies an expiration of utility or a distinct lack of value; a material good now only fit for the gutter. The unashamed desire to be socially and publicly undesirable is what makes the blonde bombshell a subversive megastar. Thus, Dolly Parton resets the rules of an acceptable standard of femininity: what is deemed trash or respectable, real or fake, tasteful or tasteless. It is hard to think of Dolly Parton and not conjure up diamante-bedazzled images of peroxide blonde wigs, bionic breast implants and polished acrylic fingernails miraculously twanging along to “Islands in the Stream” or “9 to 5.” These features are so pronounced, so distinctly “Dolly,” that they almost transcend reality. Her trademark features illuminate many of the paradoxical assumptions regarding what it means to look like a woman.
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Illustration by Sophia Swedback
Trash: Authenticity and Aesthetics of the Feminine
Firstly, as she states herself, “It costs a lot of money to look this cheap.” Most women can tell you about the costs of cosmetic goods; a recent study showed that they burn a gut-wrenching $3756 hole in the average woman’s pocket every year. The sheer financial costs of achieving mainstream “femininity” are enormous, without even factoring in the costs in time and labour. Considering this, it becomes clear that femininity is an investment. Femininity has societal value; it can be exchanged for cultural, social and even economic capital—a way in which women can “play the game.” Yet, as we should all know by now, the game is rigged. It’s rigged against women, but even more so against working class women and WOC. Shocker. Beverley Skeggs traces the historical construction of “femininity” and finds that its foundations lie in the 18th century, when upper class women began to increasingly associate the social conception of the “lady” with the ability to physically embody luxury aesthetics. Working-class and black women, by nature of their need to work, were specifically excluded from embodying this femininity as cosmetics, silks and laces had no place
Alongside this class-based development was the increasing attachment of moral value to feminine aesthetics. Where the achievement of femininity became considered reflective of a woman’s moral worth, failing to successfully embody femininity signified deviance entailing ostracization and shame. Hence, if only rich white women could achieve femininity, and femininity equated to morality, working class women and women of color were considered morally deficient. This narrative hasn’t gone away. It remains insidious within everyday culture, and governs the way we judge and treat women who “fail” at rich white femininity. Yvonne Tasker’s Working Girls assesses the representation of working class women in Hollywood. Take the classic rom-com Pretty Woman, for example. The ultimate thrill of the plot is “the tension and pleasure generated by the risk of the women being exposed...discovered and then ultimate redemption and escape.” It’s this recurring Pygmalion narrative that promotes the notion that working class women can shed their tacky backwardness and flourish into a fully-formed, middle-class ladies through the help of a nice, rich man. Thus, dominant societal narratives promote the notion that for the working class or woman or color to achieve this class-infused standard of femininity, she must shed her cultural identity. With all the irony of the exhausting effort necessary to look effortless, this standard promises that she can become someone worthy of respect and acceptance if she can just achieve this “look.” Yet, when she attempts to embody what is sold to her at every turn, she becomes “trash.” There are other synonyms: ghetto, trailer-trash, whore, gold-digger, or bimbo. You can take your pick. The colourful array of degrading language used against underprivileged women presents a symbolic mechanism used to shame and mock, but importantly preserves the system of those who benefit. If femininity is relational, its constructed order, status and capital are threatened when the “other” adopts it. Hence, the trashy woman is a deviant. It is too easy to think of such “trashy” women as victims, naively seduced into the promise of status, condemned into living in an inauthentic body and desperately trying to achieve the unobtainable. However, this misperception and misrecognition conceals possibilities for subversion. The cardinal sin of these “trashy” women is being out of line and out of place; they traverse the boundaries
Dolly Parton resets the rules of an acceptable standard of femininity: what is deemed trash or respectable, real or fake, tasteful or tasteless.
traditionally used to subjugate them. In the paradox of establishing systemic obstructions to power, alternative sources of power grow. Nowhere is this more glowingly evident than in Dolly Parton. There is arguably no greater example of a working-class woman who has forged her decadesspanning career on taking expectations of femininity and rhinestone-encrusting them into something dazzlingly self-empowering. The clear constructedness of her image paradoxically gives her authenticity, whilst providing her with privacy. By making it undeniable that her look is not natural, but a fruit of her labour, she nurtures pride in her achievements. Her aesthetics are a collage of all her own capabilities, rather than a subterfuge for a lack of talent. Yet, her image also serves as a form of protection. Her outlandish and artificial presentation conceals her privacy in an industry that perpetually seeks to breach personal boundaries. Thus, her self-constructed, feminised image is an integral part of the larger-than-life public persona she uses to legitimise and protect herself. There can be no greater sign of a powerful woman than one who can create her own agency not only against, but using, symbolic and cultural systems of subjugation. Thus, the ironic product of “trash” is that, despite its name, it produces something new, unashamed and powerful.
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T.O.
it’s just a phase T.O.
L.D.
Photographers: Teresa Ortega, Lieyah Dagan Production: Chantal Herrera, Jacqueline Wlodarczyk, Olive Curreri, Joey Levenson, Johanna Saunderson, Chanea Smith, Miguel Angel Correa Guevara Makeup: Sarah Kersting, Camilia Kacimi, Chanea Smith, Olive Curreri Models: Ciara Kosai, Hannah Cornejo, Mila Sutphin, Juliao Ocampo, Finbar LaBelle Juliao wears turtleneck, vest, pants stylist’s own, glasses, shoes model's own Mila wears top Mars Mercantile, dress Mercy Vintage, boots stylist’s own Finbar wears turtleneck, top, overalls stylist’s own Hannah wears dress, jacket, shorts Mars Mercantile Ciara wears coat stylist’s own, blouse Mercy Vintage
T.O.
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Juliao wears dress Mercy Vintage, pants stylist's own Finbar wears blazer Mars Mercantile, both trench coats stylist's own, pants model’s own
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Ciara wears dress Mercy Vintage, socks model's own, sandbags stylist's own
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Mila wears blouse, belt Mars Mercantile, dress stylist’s own Hannah wears pants Mercy Vintage, blouse stylist’s own
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The Premature Midlife Crisis
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n the cobbled streets of Milan, a young man gently placed his fingers around the cigarette between his lips, ready to exhale the stress of the day. As the smoke danced out of his mouth, into the air above his head, his eyes focused on the way it lingered and twirled, going higher and higher until it disappeared into the dark unknown. But, to him it was not just thoughtless smoke: he saw fabric, yards of cloth flowing and twirling to create beautiful shapes. He closed his eyes and that fabric wrapped itself around a silhouette and became a beautiful dress; one that would hang on a mannequin in the upcoming weeks in a studio at his fashion school. His professor would see it and smile, telling him that he held great promise.
Fashion is art and art is powerful. It makes people want to know what the creator of such beauty was thinking, enduring and feeling at the time the art was created.
Who is this person, you may ask? What if I told you this person was a young Alexander McQueen, before his Savage Beauty collection was prominently featured in the Met, back when he was simply referred to as Lee? But, what if I told you this was not him? What if I told you this was simply an up-and-coming fashion student called Nikolaj? Someone who is currently studying at Instituto Milano, who dreams of creation and aspires to one day have his vision become a reality; one that is displayed at the Met, in the same room where Alexander McQueen’s clothes once proudly stood. I asked Nikolaj, “If you could ask Alexander McQueen one thing, what would it be?” Without hesitation he said: “What does it take to make it in this cut-throat world?” Is there a right answer to that question? Alexander McQueen is often associated with names like Christian Dior and Coco Chanel. “They are legends. Absolute, stunning, marvelous fashion geniuses,” said Rhea, a 22-year-old student at the Fashion Institute of Technology, who recently left a popular college in Boston where she was studying Law to pursue her passion for designing clothes. “Why are they legends?” I asked. She bit her lip and replied, “Because they reached that point where it is not just about the clothes anymore, they are celebrated cultural icons!” Rhea’s words struck me. Are legends in the fashion world really more than just people? With Fendi selling small Karl Lagerfeld keychains for over a thousand dollars, advertisements for The Assassination of Gianni Versace TV show constantly popping up on my computer and Coco Chanel's iconic “Classy & Fabulous” quote being used as the standard Instagram photo caption, it is evident that the power of these designers extends far beyond their body of work.
Coco Chanel, French Riviera, 1923
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“It is a strange phenomenon really. I think it is because when a person’s work is just so absolutely stunning, it evokes emotion out of the those that see it. Fashion is art and art is powerful. It makes people want to know what the creator of such
I feel like I am having a midlife crisis in my twenties because I dream of entering the high fashion world with no idea of how to do so.
beauty was thinking, enduring and feeling at the time the art was created,” said Nikolaj. In interviews, Andrew Bolton often says that Alexander McQueen’s Savage Beauty exhibit at the Met in 2011 was the best display of the designer’s career. “I studied it in a class...that was McQueen’s last collection, you know...before he hanged himself,” said Rhea, “The collection is beautiful, but full of so much sorrow. People want to know what was going on in his life, the turbulence, the pain, and that collection is the purest reflection of it. The clothes tell a story, the beauty captures the attention of all, but the thing that really fascinates me is McQueen’s ability to transform pain into beauty; it is dark, violent and breathtaking.” Individually, I asked Nikolaj and Rhea, “Do you see yourself as a legend one day?” Rhea looked away and cryptically responded, “Who knows?” Nikolaj on the other hand paused, furrowing his eyebrows, as I had caught him off guard. “Do you?” I continued, “Do you see your name above a beautiful runway at New York Fashion Week with famous models wearing your clothes —visions that were once in your mind now materialized into lovely garments? Anna Wintour in the front row, later giving you the standard double-cheek air kiss and you realize she is not only praising your work, but celebrating you.” Eventually, Nikolaj replied, “Well, that’s the goal. I am still in my twenties; people can only reach ‘legend’ status after decades of success in the fashion industry. Of course, I want to make it one day, but I don’t know if it is pragmatic.” He has a point, in this day and age. With social media and venture capital funds becoming an integral part behind the success of many luxury brands, it is difficult for a newcomer lacking followers and funds to enter the game. Karl Lagerfeld is a notable employee on the payroll of the LVMH venture fund. A 2015 New York Times article attributes the start of his success to the high praise he received within the Paris fashion world in the 1970s for the work he did for the label Chloé. “Before I made the decision to leave law school,” said Rhea, “I did an internship at a really big fashion house, and while I was there, I saw the large emphasis the label had on the people that were wearing their clothes. There was always talk about getting ‘social media influencers’ to wear the clothes, tag the brand on Instagram and sell the clothes to their followers.” Has the focus in the fashion world really shifted from the clothes to who is wearing them? At the end of the day, fashion is a business. You cannot be a legend without being noticed and you cannot be noticed without high sales. “That’s one of my biggest drawbacks,” said Nikolaj, “I have a weak business sense. I would go as far as saying I have no real interest in the accounts and funding, but my clothes are nothing but sketches on paper without it. It really worries me...I feel like I am having a midlife crisis in my twenties because I dream of entering the high fashion
world with no idea of how to do so.” After speaking to Rhea and Nikolaj, I wished them both the best of luck. I hope that decades from now, when they receive immense success, they can look back at this article and smile at their thoughts and worries. While they both hold different attitudes and views, they are strikingly similar in terms of their thirst to have their clothes become more than just garments, to become emotion-evoking art. People often cite anecdotes from the lives of legends, repeating them over and over until the individual tales of many merge and reduce into a singular formula. “Work hard and have vision. Let the clothes do the work because it all comes down to natural talent,” Nikolaj said. However, when I recited those words to Rhea, she pursed her lips. “Maybe that was the case at one time, but now, you need funding, the approval of magazine editors, the Instagram tags and likes... it is all of this that sometimes makes me question my decision to leave law school to be totally honest,” said Rhea. While the future is unknown, my thoughts begin to focus on the new dynamics in the modern fashion industry and if the new rules of this constantly-evolving game will allow for an individual to join the league of fashion legends. All names have been changed in this article for anonymity
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Photographer: Lieyah Dagan Production: Michelle Chen, Yasmina Hoballah, Teresa Ortega, Kim Romero, Diego Jiménez-Palacios, Campbell Docherty Makeup: Diego Jiménez-Palacios, Sarah Kersting Models: Isaiah Paulino, QG Cerabino-Hess, Chanea Smith, Khaled Bekhit Matar, Michelle Chen, Joey Levenson
Q wears sweatshirt stylist’s own Joey wears top stylist’s own
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Michelle wears blouses stylist’s own Khaled wears blazer, blouses, shoes stylist’s own
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Suburban Silhouettes Monsanto House of the Future
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he turn of the century brought about many things: namely, a lot of cars, a lot of babies, and a demand for the mass produced home—homes designed and sold like the Model T, cheap and easy, quick and cheap. In order to house all of the babies, of course. Designers everywhere took up the call and ultimately produced some of the most deeply impractical yet shockingly innovative versions of domestic space in the history of design. The average American consumer ultimately deemed Levittown and its progeny the winners of this rat race—piture rows of identical homes filled with identical golden retrievers. Nevertheless, the question of what our nation could have been had it given its business to the more alternative proposals remains. The facades of these ideas stay forever extraterrestrial, otherworldly. They exist in an inbetween, a space in which they are both deceased and distinctly of a future that never existed.
could produce its own power: heating, cooling, and all that jazz. Additionally, the construction materials used meant that the Dymaxion House did not require the constant upkeep of a standard home—no painting or reroofing. The house itself conformed to a radial hexagonal plan, with one central steel pole from which fans of sheet metal fit together to form the exterior structure; it looked not unlike a large aluminum umbrella. The floor plan could be adjusted according to personal needs. Closets rotated, living rooms expanded, bedrooms shrunk. Aesthetically surprising now, it was certainly a shocking proposal in the 30’s, and in fact experienced little to no commercial success. People just weren’t ready. Fuller, already hyper-aware of the way his creations would age, referred to his own designs as “artifacts.” In a way, the Dymaxion House— unbeknownst to it—came into this world pre-fossilized. Never to shelter an actual family, its purpose from the start was to act as a monument-like tribute to Bucky’s vision of the average American life.
The 20th century encounters the first ready-made home as early as 1930. This inThe Monsanto House of Dymaxion House troduction was conducted, of course, by the one the Future, on the other hand, never once and only Buckminster Fuller. Affectionately known intended to lend itself to real life. A joint endeavor as Bucky, this is the man who proposed an installabetween the Monsanto Company, MIT, and Walt tion of a massive dome above Manhattan. His designs Disney Imagineering constructed in 1957, this home seemed, and still seem, to be centuries ahead of their was a spectacular, theoretical representation of dotime. Fuller’s mind was occupied with affordable, acmesticity in the distant year of 1987. Its four distinct cessible, distributable housing long before most of wings spent their days bolted down to Disneyland’s America’s. His readymades predate Levittown by the Tomorrowland, and saw over 20 million curious visiexpanse of an entire world war. tors from 1957-1967. This Disney-fied version of the home entirely embraced its oddness, its otherness; it The creation and distribution of Fuller’s Dymaxion dove headfirst into its role as a spectacle. House (Dynamic Maximum Tension) was modeled after that of the automobile; it could be leased or sold Having received corporate sponsorship from the for the price of a standard car and could be completely Monsanto Company, the house served as a standing paid off within the first few years of ownership. Addiadvertisement for the hot-new-fresh material on the tionally, its engineering and materials made it possible scene: plastic. Walls, ceilings, floors, tables, chairs, for the home to arrive, upon order, in a kit inside of even dishes, all found themselves fabricated in the maa metal tube. The house could then be assembled onterial that took the world by storm. Additionally, the site in assembly line style. Quick and easy. Monsanto House predicted with Jetson-like accuracy many appliances that would eventually become comThe Dymaxion House was designed to not just house monplace. At the time, a wall-mounted television and its occupants, but to assist them in every aspect of the a microwave were worthy of lining up to see. act of living. Essentially a home that could be put together by connecting the dots, the Dymaxion House This remnant of an era never to arrive ultimately 34 • spring 2018 • baremagazine.org
Illustrations by Cailin Greenburg
closed in 1967, but certainly did not go without a fight. Wrecking balls made not a scratch on this plastic monster. Torches melted themselves, chainsaws broke upon contact, and jackhammers were rendered mere playthings in the face of the House of the Future. Steel reinforcements relented to demolition crews before the structure itself, but the house was eventually successfully removed. It lives on today in its new role as an under-the-radar planter in Pixie Hollow.
The facades of these ideas remain forever extraterrestrial, otherworldly. They exist in an inbetween, a space in which they are both deceased and distinctly of a future that never existed.
Both the Dymaxion House and the Monsanto House never made it into mainstream consumer culture, and have therefore not creatively aged like so many of their technological contemporaries. The unconsumed idea remains fresh, and therefore retains its air of innovation. Physically removed from their original locations, and therefore physically deceased, they remain ideologically in the future, and therefore alive. In the context of today’s world—the world these homes intended to represent—they act more as a mirror than anything else. Looking at them is like looking at a long lost twin who happened to grow up in outer space; this is an alternate you, an alternate life.
Grace Schimmel
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Photographer: Lieyah Dagan Production: Anissa Rashid, Dylan Burgoon, Hannah Rasekhi, Natalie Abber, Noelle Forougi Makeup: Sarah Kersting Models: Veronica Forougi, Janette Lysaght, Kalpana Prashar Special thanks to Enrique Lopez for editing assistance
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Veronica wears sunglasses stylist's own Veronica wears dress MAC, coat, jewelry, shoes stylist's own Kalpana wears coat MAC, shirt, skirt, jewelry, shoes stylist’s own
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Veronica wears dress MAC, coat, jewelry stylists own Janette wears coat MAC, jewelry stylists own
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kind of gossip also reminiscent of high school. “I went away one time and I came back and Jean and George had broken up, and now George was dating Fran and Jane’s dating somebody else and then I’d say, ‘What’s Glen doing?’ ‘Oh, he and Angela broke up, and he’s with Francine…’ and I’ve only been gone two weeks!” She ends her sentences with a rolling, infectious laugh. Hurst is brimming with stories of sex, dating, and relationships in old age, and she didn’t show any qualms about discussing cultural taboos. She says younger generations wouldn’t believe some of the stuff that happens here. Of course, she described activities that you expect from a retirement community—bridge games, water aerobics—those sorts of things. Then, she detailed antics that you might associate more with a swinger’s club—affairs and rumors of a bartender at Rossmoor’s restaurant-bar-combo who’s been “servicing” the older women.
The dating at Rossmoor would be considered rather banal in other circumstances, so why is it surprising in the context of a retirement community?
“Viagra has changed things for older people,” she said with a sly grin. “My gynecologist told me, ‘Be careful because you can’t believe how many women I treat with venereal diseases.’” This is true. According to the Centers for Disease Control, STI rates among senior citizens are surprisingly high.
Illustration by Chanea Smith
I Don’t Want to Marry You, I Just Want to Dance
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ossmoor is an upscale retirement community in Walnut Creek. It resembles other upscale retirement communities, if you’re familiar with them. Once past a security gate, you drive by a sprawling, well-manicured golf course speckled with geese and punctuated by the occasional man-made pond. It’s actually one of two golf courses. Other amenities include three swimming pools, multiple tennis courts, a ceramics studio, a woodshop, and a newly renovated multi-million dollar fitness center. Of all the things I expected to find, a vibrant dating scene wasn’t high on the list. Rossmoor’s almost 10,000 residents are, by requirement, all over the age of 55, and they maintain—sometimes lurid—romantic lives. Jo Hurst moved to Rossmoor in 2001. In that time, she has dated, broken up, and repeated the process, but now she is mostly looking for a steady dance partner. “People are surprised when they find out that people here are still so sexually active,” she told me.
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Hurst was born in Salt Lake City in 1932, which makes her almost 86, though you wouldn’t guess it from her disposition. Her pointed cherry-red nails match the hue of her lipstick, not to mention her coat and dangling earrings. Her eyelids are a striking shade of blue. She doesn’t dress like an old woman—her words not mine. “I still have a figure, might as well show it off.”
As much as Americans hate to discuss aging, the idea of sex in old age is an even more uncomfortable subject. We grow squeamish at the idea of our own parents having sex, lying to ourselves about the realities of our own creation. We tend to think of libido as a finite resource, diminishing to nothingness with age. Can older generations not have sex, date, and fall in and out of love like the rest of us? The dating at Rossmoor would be considered rather banal in other circumstances, so why is it surprising in the context of a retirement community? I asked Hurst this question. She said it’s stereotype. American popular culture is obsessed with the young and their glamorous sex lives. Likely because the 18-49 demographic has a death grip on advertisers and media makers. The trend is particularly troublesome for women whose shelf-lives as desirable actresses tend to be much shorter than men’s. A University of Southern California study of Oscar-nominated films between 2014 and 2016 found that 78% of the films had no older female actors in leading or supporting roles. Kathy Bates, only 69, recently said, “one of the worst things you can be in Hollywood is old.”
We met at Rossmoor’s event center. From the outside, it has the exaggerated craftsman style of a luxury ski lodge. It’s a rainy Friday afternoon. Inside, they’re setting up for a cabaret night in the same hall where Hurst attends ballroom dances. As a teenager, she was an avid dancer; decades later she holds that “nothing has really changed.” These senior dances are remarkably similar to the high school variety. There are snacks and drinks, cliques and some awkward bashfulness; women wait around for men to ask them to dance and plenty of singles meet and mingle.
Americans collectively spent over 16 billion dollars on plastic surgery in 2016; the lion’s share is spent trying to look younger. It’s been like this for a long time. Hurst reminisced that during the “hippie era,” anyone over 30 was as good as dead. Whether this meant the ‘60s or the ‘70s I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter—ageism is still an uncomfortable reality. Yet ageism, formally defined as a prejudicial attitude based on perceived differences of age, garners less attention than other forms of discrimination. Federal law has protected workers from it since 1969, but older Americans can find it difficult to break into the social-media saturated, start-up culture that places an arbitrary premium on youth. The pace of technological innovation is only exacerbating the problem. Wired, the veritable expert on Silicon Valley, reported that, “as of last year, the average age at Google was 30; at Facebook, 28; LinkedIn, 29; and Apple, 31.”
She’s quick-witted and evidently prone to gossip—the
Fashion, too, is not exempt. In an industry that defines pop-
ular notions of beauty, the paradigm seems to be getting younger with each season. When Sofia Mechetner opened the Dior 2015 couture show, she was just 14 years old. There are a lot of ageist assumptions made about the elderly—senile, slow, close-minded, dependent, sickly, resistant to change, bad drivers, and more generally, not valuable to society. Pop culture tends to portray older people in two extremes: surly curmudgeons or lovable grannies. That older people can’t be, shouldn’t be or aren’t having sex is yet another manifestation of ageism. When Hurst first moved to Rossmoor, people asked if she still drove and responded with surprise when she said she did. 17 years later, she’s still unapologetically driving a swanky black Cadillac that still has that “new car smell,” a distinct mix of leather and plastic. The frame of her license plate reads “I’d rather be shopping at Nordstrom’s.” She drove me up a set of winding roads through green hills spotted with oak trees that led to her house. It’s filled with photographs, flowers, and an impressive collection of candles, most of which don’t look like they’ve ever been lit. She has three closets worth of clothes, one is completely dedicated to dancing clothes. Hurst told me people tend to see her cohort of retirees as stagnant, just waiting around to die. But her personal philosophy is one of constant learning and forward motion; she’s not waiting around for anything, least of all a man to ask her to dance. A member of five different dance clubs, Hurst dances every week all around the Bay Area. She’s proof that the perceived differences of age are largely imagined. “What do you wish younger generations understood?” I asked. “We’re not dead yet,” she shot back. Josh Perkins issue 23 • baremagazine.org • 43