BARE | i21

issue 21

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Alexandra Pink BUSINESS DIRECTOR Audrey Linden CREATIVE DIRECTORS Noah Chantos Lieyah Dagan EDITORIAL DIRECTORS Hannah Felfe Megan Lee EVENTS DIRECTOR Vanda Saggese LAYOUT DIRECTOR Jiani Hou MARKETING DIRECTOR Christine Oh WEB DIRECTOR Diana Tu SPECIAL THANKS Far and Few MAC - Modern Appeal Clothing Mercy Vintage Mars Mercantile Down at Lulus ASUC SPONSORED

THE STAFF Hanna Biabani Abby Blaine LeAnne Chan Michelle Chen Elaine Cheng Kylie Ann Cosmo Cherin Cindy Cho Michelle Cho Rachael Cornejo Emma Hager Alexandra Hazell Yasmina Tarek Hoballah Aurora Josefina Jiminez Maiah Johnson Marley Loveman-BRown Laine Kendall Sarah Kersting Ava Mora Charlotte Muth Maddy Nimmo Maya Ofek Carlin Praytor Maddy Rotman Matthew Sater Emma Sayiner Grace Schimmel Ayesha Shaikh Jasmine Sheena Medha Somayaji Jake Trambert Christina Vaccarello Uthara Vengrai Lillian Wedbush Belinda Yan Jessica Yanc Sara Ye Sunny Young Viola Yuan CONTACT baremagazine.org facebook.com/baremagazine @baremagazine

Table of Contents

6 Masking 14 The Hippie Home 16 Catalyzing 22 Unifying 28 Making Scents out of Suffering 30 Capture the Flag 32 Flowerful Shades of Timelessness in Berkeley 34 Insulating

Editor’s Note Issue 21 of BARE engages with the idea of fashion as self-defense: how we use clothes as a form of resistance and protection in times of fear. Here, we propose four realities: “Masking,” in which we attempt to deflect and redirect; “Catalyzing,” in which we harness color, motion, and growth; “Unifying,” in which we imagine a future where wearing and relating are encouraged by our garments; and “Insulating,” in which we bundle and cushion. Each is a proposal for a coping mechanism, suggesting paths to take in the face of an advancing dystopia. My own hope for the future is nestled within our vision of Catalyzing.

When I feel helpless, I find my power in ruggedness: I embrace simplicity, I embrace dirt and manual labor. I pull my hair back, anoint myself with tea tree oil, put on my work pants and tan boots, don my straw hat, and set off outside. Rather than bolstering myself with layers, I am interested in clothes that are unadorned and leave me vulnerable. I am interested in the clothes that take in the dust and the dirt and are worn in the knees from crouching and creating.

I am interested in the clothes that are so simple that they become extensions of my bodily experience, absorbing my history as I move through the world.

Masking

Creative team: Kylie Cherin, Ayesha Shaikh, Aurora Jiminez, Maiah Johnson, Yasmina Hoballah Models: Zeek Paez, Crystal Dawana, Sam Borghese, Xylia Willow, Inika Sharma Photographer: Lieyah Dagan 6 Spring 2017 • baremagazine.org

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What is Elegance?

Elegance. A nebulous term. My desire to become more acquainted with the definitions and connotations of this pesky phrase has led me down some unexpected byways.

Nevertheless, my trip commences at a predictable juncture – everyone’s favorite dusty old book: the dictionary.

Elegance has two imminent definitions: 1. the quality of being graceful and stylish in appearance or manner; style.

2. the quality of being pleasingly ingenious and simple; neatness.

Queue a mild nod of general agreement and perhaps an eye roll at the clichéd tactic of referencing the dictionary.

But, my dear reader, forgive my stale style and relinquish your complaisant attitude! Upon second glance, you’ll come to realize that these two characterizations actually differ greatly and that the first definition does not necessarily lead to the second. If this “elegance” is the epicenter of fashion, does that mean that the pinnacle of style is simplicity?

orange ribbon. Tippi Hedren, blonde hair as crisp and neat as her technicolor lime green suit trimmed and tailored to her slim body, finished with nude patent leather heels. And, of course, the immaculate Audrey Hepburn – the picture of grace and equanimity, clad in a long-sleeve black jumpsuit, tied at the waist, accented by delicately patterned black flats and circular earrings – for what is more comprehensible than the very geometry of completion and unification?

I refer back to the assumption that beauty is subjective.

Yet, the elegance of the 1960s proves strikingly uniform.

Every example thus far has been a young, Caucasian female dressed in a minimalistic outfit with simple hair and makeup, garnished (optionally) with a safe piece of jewelry. Quite clearly, this adheres to the second definition to a tee.

Perhaps these examples do not point to a universal acceptance of elegance, but instead reflect a small, elevated class, revered and idolized in the golden age of advertisement, propagated by the beginnings of daily bombardment of images meant to prey upon the subconscious.

These examples exhibit a pleasing conformity – a demure docility, an “elegantly simple” solution to appease underlying social problems. While the 1960s could be called a summer of elegance, a burgeoning counterculture arose in a winter of discontent, as revolutionaries sought to respond to the façade of perfection.

"Fashion is a field rife with subjectivity, daring to challenge the notions of beauty and conformity, innovation and idolization."

Fashion, however, is not a quantifiable affair; it’s a field rife with subjectivity, daring to challenge the notions of beauty and conformity, innovation and idolization. Is the concept of elegance at war with ideas of counterculture and maximalism, or have we merely come to accept an overtly narrow definition? The question has arisen – what is elegance? – and I plan to traverse the realms of history, lifestyle and sociology to reach a flavorful, enriched, reimagined understanding.

The 1960s were an essential period in establishing pervasive views of elegance. Figures on the silver screen towered above the general populace as gleaming pillars of high fashion and elegance. Movie stars and famous public figures donned expensive, monochromatic garments, defined by brands such as Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, and Chanel. If I could describe the essence of the era’s fashion in a few words, I would choose “matched,” “comprehensible,” and “sleek.”

Jackie O in a tea length, yellow gingham dress, a single gold bracelet encircling her wrist, dark hair perfectly coiffed to frame a wide-brimmed straw hat with a sunset

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The counterculture rocked the boat of the ever-referenced “Man”: the symbol of power and avarice – an intolerant, buttoned-down oppressor, lounging comfortably on the breaking backs of the hard-working. Free-loving bohemians marched throughout much of the Western world, testing the waters of experimentation. The American Dream became a loud, narcotic hallucination, swirling in fits of color and activism, combatting constriction of gender, sexuality, and mindset. This counterculture embraced an ideal outside of the widespread, advertised norm. They challenged social constructs by promoting individualistic self-expression. This mindset can translate to all aspects of culture, as it parallels the modern unrest, pervasive throughout the entirety of our turbulent, globalized society.

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"Can dynamic self-expression live in unity with composure and simplicity?"

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At this point, my dear reader, you may be wondering if I have lost sight of my initial goal. But, fear not! My studies of the hippies of the “Swinging Sixties” have led me to ponder the modern definition of elegance. Can dynamic self-expression live in unity with composure and simplicity? Despite the innumerable social and technological changes over the past half-century, has our conception of elegance actually changed at all? In order to arrive at a more holistic conclusion about the current conception of this torturously complex term, I asked a slew of humans for their opinions on the subject.

I began by speaking to a group that I know can be equal parts creative and honest – Berkeley elementary school students, aged third through fifth grade. In describing elegance to me, they offered an image of a woman in a white, silk dress wearing a big hat. “Very rich.” “Famous.”

“Like the olden days.” Even for children that have only been alive in the 21st century, the perception of elegance is deeply influenced by the notions of celebrity, wealth and a nostalgia for better times. This is an interesting point, that rings hauntingly true from the tightly wound string that is social tension in America. Unhappy people imagine a great era, a time of green-grass-nostalgia, in which life certainly could have been more sweet. While elementary schoolers’ answers may point to some flagrant sociological influences, they were devoid of judgment: they simply hoped to get the right answer to help me write my article.

In contrast, I received the perspective of an 84-year-old woman, who immediately cited a favorite Ralph Waldo Emerson quote: “Self-command is the main elegance,” bringing me back to the notion of control and composure. Her understanding of elegance contained no ties to superficiality: rather, she understood the term to apply to a mental state. This helped me to justify the “simplicity” definition. Elegance needs not pertain to outward appearance alone. Perhaps the minimalism of the 1960s was an optimistic attempt to create an appearance of tranquility – an extension meant to appease the uneasy minds of people in a complex era. Simplistic neatness has its merits in comforting, but it fails to create tactile change, and tends toward idealization and exclusion. Solving one problem so easily creates another.

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"Elegance is in fashion and self-expression, and manifests itself in countless ways."

Quite possibly, I have not asked my mother to define a word for me since my youth. Perhaps I should ask her to do so more often. As parents so often do, my mother posed an explanation that felt complete, that could sew together all of my jumbled findings. Through all of my sifting and searching, I have managed to come to terms with this goddamn fiasco of a word.

From my findings, history may seem to be in perpetual regression: a tame, demure, beautiful woman wears a flowing garment, batting her eyes, signifying nothing.

Yet, when I asked my mother to define elegance, she supplied me with a definition that moved me to tears, and I am not a crier: “Elegance is the way a rich, deep purple velvet curtain sweeps to the side of the window before flowing down to the floor. Elegance is the way a vine wraps around a fence with its flowers artfully hanging down as if planned. Elegance is a waterfall or the ebb and flow of a fast moving stream. Elegance is the curl of a woman's beautiful hair or the curves of her body. Or a man's proud stance when standing at the altar with the woman he loves. Elegance is musical like the Canon in D by Pachelbel. Elegance is a mousse au chocolat or a beautiful glass of champagne or rosé. Elegance is the dignity of an elderly person sitting by their beloved while they are dying. The opalescence of a string of pearls.”

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Elegance is greater than two sentences on a dictionary page. Elegance can be understood in two ways – by the denotation of words, and by lived experience. Printed on a page, words are black, white, and oh so serene.

True elegance is not static. It is not judgmental, nor is it exclusive. Elegance can be found in nature and society, in the voicing of one’s discontent. Elegance is a state of mind. Elegance is loud, and has colors and shapes.

Elegance is in fashion and self-expression, and manifests itself in countless ways.

Yes, elegance is greater than two sentences on a dictionary page.

Charlotte Muth

Xylia wears jacket, turtleneck, trousers Mars, jewelry stylist’s own.

Crystal wears jacket, blouse, trousers stylist’s own.

Inika wears jacket, trousers Mars, blouse Mercy Vintage, jewelry stylist’s own.

Zeek wears jacket, dress, tights Mars, belt Versace.

Sam wears dress, turtleneck Mars, trousers Mercy Vintage. issue 21 • baremagazine.org 13

The Hippie Home

To use the words of BARE’s creative team, hippie architecture “achieve[s] protection/ comfort/disguise/amusement/delight in difficult times.” Countercultural builders in the 1960s and 70s held unique attitudes towards home design. They thought of architecture as an agent of self-discovery and community creation; a continuous process as opposed to a means towards a final end.

Ignoring conventions of design at the time, hippie builders drew inspiration from and found influence in the rat bastards and the beatniks, adopting the practice of taking discarded things and transforming them into something new.

Above image from wholeearth.com Title image from “Handmade Houses; A Guide to the Woodbutcher’s Art”

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The driving ideology behind the construction of these collage structures can be understood in terms of Sym van der Ryn’s thoughts on guidance and repair. “We have few rituals that celebrate our unity of body, mind and spirit...Thus, one of our tasks is... to unite the division between the inner and outer man, a division nurtured by the machine metaphor, by the separation of one’s work from one’s identity...Getting myself together started with getting my time and space into one place…” (Foreword of Handmade Houses). The bringing together of a

person and their environment, the creation of seamless continuity between the two via hands-on construction, serves as an iteration of meditation; the sort of enlightenment, wholeness, and wellness thought to arise from this kind of architecture is not separate from prayer.

Construction as process and as performance is reminiscent of 18th century German writer Goethe’s words: “Music is liquid architecture; architecture is frozen music.” This is an architecture that grows, swells, quiets down, speeds up, performs, and influences.

Hippie architecture, though often disregarded in professional and academic settings, has changed the world of high design, from the College of Environmental Design at UC Berkeley all the way to the California government.

For the sake of visualizing and conceptualizing the aesthetics of these ragtag homes, it is helpful to, as Greg Castillo does in his essay “Hippie Modernism,” look to Rat Bastard artist Bruce Connor’s (1933-2008) assemblages for a smaller scale and therefore more consumable metaphor for the home as collage. Connor scavenged materials from abandoned homes in San Francisco, gather-

ing quite literally piles of other people’s trash with which he created his work. He used scraps of wallpaper, bits of clothing, old toys, and so forth—essentially, whatever he could find. In a 1999 letter to a gallerist, Connor, wrote “My work is described as beautiful, horrible, hogwash, genius, maundering, precise, quaint, avant-garde, historical, hackneyed, masterful, trivial, intense, mystical, virtuosic, bewildering, absorbing, concise, absurd, amusing, innovative, nostalgic, contemporary, iconoclastic, sophisticated, trash, masterpieces, etc. It’s all true.” The same pile of adjectives can be applied to hippie homes.

Art Boericke and Barry Shapiro’s 1973 publication Handmade Houses: A Guide to the Woodbutcher’s Art, serves as a comprehensive catalog of these remote and entirely unique constructions. The rise in popularity of “handmade homes” led to a need for documentation of the phenomenon, “For, no mistaking it, building their own place had become the four-square gospel for scores of young rambunctious dudes” (Art Boericke, Preface to Handmade Houses). Shapiro’s photographs provide absolutely no indication or hint of location; inspectors therefore could not use it as a demolition checklist.

“And if the inspectors come around, call your place a ‘potting shed,’ a ‘summer camp,’ or ‘mining claim’ -anything that pops into your head. And when they keep on shoving, call it a ‘firehouse,’ a ‘briar patch,’ a ‘commune’ - whatever riles them most...For remember, they can’t disconnect you from the utilities you’re not installing- you being an ecology freak, a joyous monk [emphasis mine]…

And remember, too, property is sacred” (Art Boericke, Preface to Handmade Houses).

The natural light that streams into the homes pictured really does render them in a religious fashion; the suspended teahouse, the tree stump home, etc. invoke a sort of personal spirituality specific to each construction. A handmade house has all of the energy of the hands that made it; “I hope you feel their presence, as I will always feel their presence in every beam and rafter, ev-

ery latch and piece of hardware” (Barry Shapiro, “A Word” from Handmade Houses).

Many of these builders were not trained architects, designers, or engineers, but rather people with a patchwork of backgrounds and skills looking to build themselves into their environ ment. One valuable resource of theirs was the Whole Earth Catalog, first published in 1968, which provided essentially a guide on how and where to access building materials with an emphasis on sustainability. The cover reads, “The flow of energy through a system acts to organize that system.” MoMA’s website provides the following description of the catalog: “[Whole Earth publisher Stewart] Brand’s goals were to make a variety of tools accessible to newly dispersed counterculture communities, back-to-theland households, and innovators in the fields of technology, design, and architecture, and to create a community meeting-place in print. The catalogue quickly developed into a wide-ranging reference for new living spaces, sustainable design, and experimental media and communi ty practices.” It is now available in eBook form for $5 on the Whole Earth website. Contents Sun Dome: The most readily available plans for a geodesic dome are these. The $5 cost includes construction license.”

Where and how did hippie architecture manifest itself in high design education and practice? The answer, according to Castillo, lies with Sym Van der Ryn, now professor emeritus at the College of Environmental Design at UC Berkeley and the author of the foreword to Handmade Houses. During the 1971-1972 academic year, he co-taught ARCH 102 ABC, “Integrated Synthesis of the Design Determinants of Architecture,” a graduate student construction workshop that took place on a hillside in Marin. Students used back-to-the-land techniques to construct their own eco-friendly village, using salvaged materials to build workspaces, sleeping spaces, cooking spaces, and so forth.

They attended daily workshops on handcraft. Students surveyed at the end of the

course held opinions of their experience that mostly echoed the founding spirit of collage structure; “In Outlaw Building News — a final report authored by the studio and printed on cheap newsprint — the assessments ranged from enthusiastic (for one student the course was the first ‘where community and environment were not contradicted but constructed’; for another it was an opportunity ‘to build a house in which my physical self could exist … and a consciousness where my spiritual self could exist’) to qualified (‘my social conscience tells me I’m playing elitist games,’ said one student).” (Castillo, “Hippie Modernism”) In the late 1970’s, California Governor Jerry Brown appointed Van der Ryn as State Architect, a position from which he could enact his “radical planner”1 scheme; he had the ability and the power to affect the change fought for by smaller and less powerful pro-environment “hippie” groups. As State Architect, Van der Ryn had the means to truly introduce sustainability to urban planning and design on a large and accredited scale. People trusted, and still trust, the voice of Van der Ryn; he can speak the hippie ideology and count on being taken seriously.

Essentially, he is respected in a way that the builders featured in Handmade Houses simply aren’t, but they share the same working idea of what a building means, what a building is and can be.

That is to say that buildings are things that breathe, “not objects but organisms” (symvanderryn.com), and the nature of a building and the space it creates and contains has a profound impact on the people that move through it and exist in it. The end goal: “to recover the soul of architecture and reconnect with our natural surroundings” (symvanderryn.com) and to overcome the pervading design practice of creating buildings as barriers.

Grace Schimmel

1 The term “radical planner” comes from his 1968 co-written paper (with Robert Reich), as quoted in Greg Castillo’s essay, “Hippie Modernism.”

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Catalyzing

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Creative team: Sarah Kersting, Alexandra Hazell, Yasmina Hoballah, Jessica Morgan, Sunny Young Models: Emma Hager, Derrick Duren, Camilia Kacimi Photographer: Lieyah Dagan issue 21 • baremagazine.org 17

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Derrick wears trench coat, dress, shoes, jewelry stylist’s own.

Emma wears blouse, trousers, shoes, jewelry stylist’s own.

Camilia wears dress, boots, jewelry stylist’s own.

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Derrick wears pants Far & Few, blouse, jewelry stylist’s own.

Emma wears turtleneck, dress stylist’s own.

Camilia wears peignoir Far & Few, dress stylist’s own.

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Unifying

Creative team: Michelle Chen, Jake Trambert, Abby Blaine, Rachael Cornejo Models: Aaqilah Brown, Harrison Geong, Lauren Gagnon, Zach Brown Photographer: Maddy Rotman Lauren, Harrison, and Zach wear communal poncho by Michelle Chen, pants, shirt, shoes stylist’s own.

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Lauren and Harrison wear plural persons pant by Michelle Chen, shirts, shoes stylist’s own.

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Aaqilah and Harrison wear infinity turtleneck by Michelle Chen, pants, shoes stylist’s own.

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Aaqilah and Zach wear double-sleeved blazer by Michelle Chen, tops, pants, stylist’s own.

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Making Scents Out of Suffering

Perfume provides people with the power to find solace in the frantic and fleeting. The seemingly ethereal and innocuous liquid, when sprayed, does anything but dissipate. Its name, derived from the latin “per fumus,” gives note to its ability to prevail “through smoke.” Since memory is so closely linked to smell, perfume marks every moment it touches. As your signature scent follows you throughout the day, you have the comfort of knowing that its jewel-adorned bottle still sits at home, serving as a permanent physical memento. The plethora of scents in the world provides the key to a soothing nutmeg nostalgia or a hopeful floral future when experiencing the present. Perfume acts as the ultimate form of self indulgence. While people often pay exorbitant prices for an ornate bottle and a familiar brand name, perfume itself is typically applied to the most intimate places, weaving together the experience of comfort and materialism.

Whether we want to indulge in our nostalgia or completely escape it, perfume’s notable effects on the mind and the body allow us to do both. Evidence of the fortitude of fragrance is scientifically concrete. Our brain’s olfactory bulb, which processes scents, passes directly through the amygdala and hippocampus, both responsible for

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emotion and memory. Meanwhile, our senses of touch, sight, and sound do not pass through these areas. Additionally, different combinations of chemicals are shown to have different effects. Aromatherapy operates based on this principle, utilizing potent essential oils to manipulate one’s feelings. Jasmine relieves anger, lavender soothes anxieties, citrus scents ease depression, and peppermint oil alleviates headaches.

Perfume has long created good from the bad. Some of the first known perfumes were born out the needs of the wealthy to mask body odors.

As far back as the sixth century, Islamic culture considered weekly bathing and using perfume to be part of religious duties. During that time, perfume’s place in religion and ritual served to provide a sense of comfort through consistency. Similarly, during the Great Depression, Jean Patou created a perfume, Joy, and sales skyrocketed. The perfume itself supplied joy to customers during troubling times. Similarly, in the 1960s, perfume makers sought comforting smells associated with calmer times. They transitioned from artificial fragrances to natural, earthy scents of musk and patchouli, whose aromas were reminiscent of incense filled rooms.

Chanel No. 5, perhaps one of the most iconic scents of all time, was released in 1921. At that time, perfume was divided into two categories: single-note, “innocent” floral scents, and sensual, musky aromas typically associated with more provocative women. Chanel No. 5 was the first perfume to combine notes of jasmine and musk, epitomizing the sexual and social liberation of the flapper. This new scent encouraged self expression for women and challenged the notion of the mutual exclusivity of purity and sexuality. The lasting impact of this perfume has not weakened over time, and its logo is emblazoned on t-shirts and iPhone cases today.

Perfume is also often used as a symbol of sensuality. While the sexualization of perfume advertisements grows repetitive at times, perfume has its own powers of attraction. Perfume, as an artificial pheromone, acts as a catalyst to bring people together. Be it in attracting a potential mate or reminding a passerby of an old friend, perfume is powerful. Intentional or not, perfume serves to connect people. It can be the basis for finding love and comfort when you’re feeling alone.

The strong connection between scent, memory, and emotions allows perfume to have a distinct impact. Perfume can be used to escape a current reality or enter a different one.

exorbitant prices serving to validate them. The strong marketing behind the priciest of perfumes serves not only to solidify the name of the brand, but also to bolster the product. Companies are continuously trying to outdo each other by creating the most outlandish, jewel encrusted, anthropomorphic, lace-adorned, or shockingly minimal bottles. As a result, there is an overabundance of unique objects to choose from. This abundance places more importance on a customer’s personal choice. This hand-chosen quality makes the tangible object become that much more treasured. A bottle of perfume fulfills the desire for both a personal aroma and a beautiful keepsake, each providing long-term satisfaction.

Perfume is a symbol of resilience. Though perfume is often thought of as an excess with no direct function, it serves as so much more.

Perfume is power. It provides liberation, strength, and alliance, working to reveal the beauty in bad situations. It strengthens your personal identity and your ties with others. It gives you the ability to access old memories or create entirely new ones, your fragrant notes lingering far after you seem to be gone.

Hanna Biabani

There is a strong relationship between comfort and self-indulgence – just take a look at the leading principles behind the “self-care” move-

“Perfume is power. It provides liberation, strength, and alliance, working to reveal the beauty in bad situations.” ment. The purchase of fine perfumes acts as an example of self-indulgence at its finest. It is comfort in its most personalized form.

Different perfumes have been shown to have unique reactions with different body chemistries. Perfume is quite literally tailored to the user; it’s purchased for the individual, not the masses. Perfume’s intimacy strengthens its associations with comfort, as only those who are close to you can experience your scent of choice. Unlike with clothing, which is always on display, outsiders may not catch more than a whiff of your favorite fragrance, unless they happen to be spending extra time behind your ears, your inner wrists, or behind your knees.

You, however, will experience the scent throughout the day. Others may not know the perfume’s brand and worth, but you do.

Why is it that we are so willing to shell out hundreds of dollars for a couple fleeting fluid ounces? The high prices of brand names are so often scoffed at, but even so, customers continue to purchase name brand bottles that are half the size and double the price of generic perfumes. The omnipresence of famous brands creates a strong sense of familiarity, the lofty and luxurious becoming a source of comfort.

Rather than coming off as cold and unattainable, big brand names have become associated with reliability and assumed quality, their Model: Adonis Brooks Photographer: Lieyah Dagan Adonis wears turtleneck, slip skirt stylist’s own. issue 21 • baremagazine.org 31

Capture the Flag There’s a photograph from 1976, taken outside Boston City Hall. You’ve probably seen it. In the photograph, there’s a crowd of people, and in front of the crowd of people, a white man brandishing an American flag like a spear.

He’s wearing a suit. So is the black man he’s preparing to spear, a civil rights attorney named Ted Landsmark. Contrary to popular belief, the man holding the flag did not spear Landsmark.

It only looks like that’s about to happen because of the angle and moment at which the photo was taken.

In actuality, the man was in the process of swinging the flagpole around like a baseball bat, using the sturdy base of the makeshift weapon to smash the attorney’s face in, breaking his nose.

Benjamin Franklin Perkins was a US Marine, then an evangelical preacher, then a painter. In the entrance to his home, he kept a replica of Jesus Christ’s open tomb, which he’d painted in broad strokes of red, white, and blue. During the final years of his life, Perkins painted dozens of American flags, always in the same basic style, never identical. He’d paint the iconic stars and stripes, and then a portrait of Lady Liberty on the right side of the canvas, inscribed with a short message. These messages were simple and straightforward: “Our flag protects our liberty to pursue health, wealth, happiness,” “The flag is a cimle [symbol] of law local state and federal, protects our liberty happiness worship [sic],” and the like. His words dictated that America’s iconography was, in the most literal sense, the embodiment of America’s values.

Perkins died in 1993 at the age of 88. Shortly afterwards, his abandoned home studio was looted and burned to the ground.

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At the age of 17, American teenager Whitney Smith invented the term “vexillology” to describe the study of flags. Smith, hailing from the small town of Peabody, Massachusetts, had been uniquely obsessed with flags of the world from a very young age. At 20, having never visited the South American nation of Guyana, Smith designed the national flag of Guyana. He simply wrote a letter to the leader of the Guyanese independence movement and attached an example of his flag design. His mother had helped him sew red and yellow triangles onto a green cloth. Three years later, that design was flown in the capital of the new Guyanese nation.

Smith was married twice, and divorced twice; vexillology was his only true love. In 1985, he told People Magazine that his obsession with flags had limited his life in tangible ways: “I’ll probably never get into music or drama. I have no television set in my house. I don’t go out to eat in expensive restaurants. Those things aren’t important to me...I work [with flags] nine hours a day, seven days a week, 52 days a year. I never take a vacation.”

This man, who probably loved flags more than anyone else has ever loved flags, absolutely loathed laws that attempted to protect the objects of his love. He once famously said that he likes to consider himself “a Martian, one who has no prejudices, who comes to earth and sees some cloth on a stick and notices that if you step on it, people get angry.” He once testified in federal court on behalf of a teenager being prosecuted for wearing an American flag on the rear of his jeans. Smith’s sole televised interview, aired on C-SPAN in 1997, included a long section in which he carefully explained the extreme misguidedness of any politician

In that same interview, Smith makes sure to display a small selection of flags from his extensive personal collection. His choices for display made statements in their mere existence and appearance on national television in 1997: a rainbow LGBTQ flag, the flag of Tibet, and a selection of flags from various Native American nations.

All of these flags were symbols of communities that needed a symbol to rally around, especially at the time this interview aired, but, as with any symbol, their flags’ designs had no inherent significance to them. As Smith pointed out on the broadcast, the popular LGBTQ rainbow flag had been previously used as the flag of Sri Lankan Buddhists, as factional flag in the 16th century German Peasant’s War, and as the flag of the Inca civilization. The meaning of a symbol belongs to (and is determined by) those who use the symbol; far more depends on a flag’s usage and intention than on a flag’s actual design.

With that said, it’s apparent that there are right ways and wrong ways to design flags. In one classic pamphlet, the North American Vexillological Organization lays out their five basic principles to creating a great flag:

1. Keep it simple: the flag should be so simple that a child can draw it from memory.

2. Use meaningful symbolism: the flag’s images, colors, or patterns should relate to what it represents.

3. Use 2-3 basic colors, and make sure they contrast well.

4. No lettering or seals, no writing of any kind.

5. Be distinctive or be related: avoid duplicating other flags, but use similarities to show connections to other nations.

These rules are all helpful in creating a quality flag, but none of them can explain the intensity with which so many venerate their nations’ flags. Is it the basic color scheme that has caused so many people to have fought and died in their flags’ names for so many centuries? Is it the simple, distinctive design that sears iconic images of flags, such as the 1973 photograph of Ted Landsmark’s spearing, into our collective memory? It seems that there’s more to a flag than just the elements of its design.

Here’s one possible explanation: the modern era of democratic nationalism — post-colonialism and post-monarchism — emphasizes, more than anything else, the supremacy of the national ideal. In today’s world, what unites people isn’t religion, political ideology, history, or dynasty; it’s an ideal, and a flag is a very convenient way in which to represent that ideal.

So what can we say about the United States?

The American ideal can be loosely defined as the principle that the country belongs to its people. Thus, the flag of the United States has become the undisputed centerpiece of a sort of civil religion. While citizens of other nations often view flags a symbol of the government, Americans view the flag as a symbol of the people, as a mirror reflecting the values of every person living under it. Even the American flag’s nickname, “Old Glory,” contextualizes it as an object to be worshipped, an embodiment of everything we were and all that we will become.

It seems corny and absurd, but in a country of so many religions and no single heritage, the only common American mythology is that of the nation’s founding. The flag is a convenient channel for that spirit of self-determination exhibited by America’s rosy, occasionally accurate view of its revolution.

With these factors in mind, it’s not surprising that a majority of Americans support a constitutional amendment banning “desecration” of the flag. It’s easy to see that a law like this would be used to prosecute flag-burning protesters, but its wording has always been unclear. What, exactly, would constitute flag “desecration”? The American flag is printed on napkins, on board shorts at American Apparel, on dog toys, on yoga mats; is this sort of cheap commercialization of the flag to be considered “desecration”? Or is it just when the flag is set on fire by unpopular minorities? The flag is often held as a semi-holy, nearly mythical object, but many people who claim to protect the flag will quickly turn a blind eye to this sacredness when it comes to the commercial use of its iconic design.

And in the end, that’s all a flag is: a design.

Devoid of controversy and removed from context, flags are just an art form based on group expression, part of a tradition as old as humanity itself. Populations have always rallied around symbols of their identities, whether they be totem poles, tribal masks, etched shields, or coats of arms.

Sometimes, they even rally around ridiculously large fabric rectangles, stitched with brightly colored stars and stripes.

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Flowerful Shades of Timelessness in Berkeley: An Interview with Alfred

The overlap between retro/bohemian clothing choices and aficionados of hyper-liberal Robert Reich’s political commentary is no coincidence. The technical approach to social justice is fine and dandy, however after a conversation with local designer, social activist, artist and co-oper Alfred, the union of culture and political thought can prove very beneficial in embracing ideals and furthering change. Our conversation on Lothlorien Co-op’s sundeck one Sunday afternoon touched upon topics of environmental sustainability, gender, race, coop lifestyle and reinventing the self and others, all stemming from Alfred’s seemingly unique style mixing colorful prairie dresses and simple sandals. I came into the interview with the ignorant expectation that I would receive an anecdotal tale of the strive for authenticity and the liberating co-op lifestyle. But I came away instead with a new cultural perspective of social justice, and a new appreciation of how special our Berkeley homes really are.

Maya: Hi Alfred.

Alfred: Hi Maya.

Where are you from?

I grew up in New Jersey.

When did you move to Berkeley?

2002.

For what?

For college.

Did you move into Loth immediately?

Actually, that happened 5 years later when I came back for graduate school.

And you said earlier that your clothing wasn’t very distinct before Loth.

Yup, I was a generic Cal student. I was doing architecture, which is so busy. Architects are so interesting because they have their own kind of style. There’s this stereotype that all architecture students wear black with black rimmed glasses. I never did that because that culture didn’t really click with me. While I was in undergrad doing architecture, my friends were Asian and we’d hang out and get boba and play videogames. And I think at that point, I really wanted to connect with other Asian people, because before coming to Berkeley there weren’t many Asians where I was from. When I came to college I was first very culturally Asian and I needed that experience. But I never really fit into Asian culture, either, because I grew up in a very non-Asian community and I was very integrated in American culture.

That said, my typical layered dresses and long sleeves is perhaps a semi-conscious mix of ancient China meets old time California.

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So I’m interested in your style. What are you wearing today?

It’s a warm day and spring is here so I’m wearing bright colors.

I see you’re wearing a lot of layers. Is it because you want to be warmer?

Mhm, and I’m wearing blue and gold since this is a magazine out of UC Berkeley.

(Laughs) That’s so sweet. And the brown, is that a sort of apron?

Yeah it’s an apron. Workshift gets pretty dirty.

And it has pockets!

So when you’re doing other activities like hiking, biking, or work shift, does your style change at all to accommodate?

No, I’d say it’s pretty accommodating. (laughs) That way I don’t go home and change all the time. This style of dress is really practical.

What shoes do you wear?

Just flip flops.

Every day?

Yes! With socks when it gets cold. (laughs) I started wearing this sort of clothing when I moved to Loth. It felt more in character with this sort of space.

And what did you wear before? This kind of stuff?

I’d say more normal things.

What drew you specifically to dresses?

They’re comfortable, beautiful, reasonable, and practical. For the temperature we have in the Bay Area it’s quite nice, and I’ve added pockets to mine.

And the hat is good for the sun?

Yeah, the sun and also the light rain, a bit.

Where do you get your clothes from?

Mostly from thrift stores in the city. I think most were made in the 60s and 70s. Rarely from freepiles; I feel like people at Loth would really hold onto something good like this.

That’s so true. I love the delicate care you take in washing your dresses. I remember living here and seeing your dresses hanging from the clothesline above the sundeck and thinking “Wow, I’d be so bad at this.”

No matter what the tag says you can always wash it in cold water and line dry.

So what about moving into Loth changed your style?

I just think Loth is a very…(laughs) you could write this entire article about what Loth is!

Loth is like the Berkeley that people who aren’t from Berkeley think all of Berkeley is like.

I studied architecture and we always talked about place, and how different places should have a more distinct personality. If you live in one place you should really be a part of that

place. Someone once said I looked like Loth, personified.

So do you feel like your style has always melded with Loth’s? You’ve been here for so many years; has there ever been a semester that you didn’t feel that vibe?

Not really. This house hasn’t changed that much. There’s a joke that you could take the house portrait that we take at Special Brunch wouldn’t really be able to tell what year it is.

I’m sure some of the clothes are the same and have gone through the free-pile a few times.

That’s so funny. Did you always aspire to dress differently? Or was it more dependent on your surroundings?

A bit of both. But place has a big impact.

Would you say being in Loth and the comfort of Loth has allowed you to tap into this new side of yourself or explore a new creative form of expression? Or maybe there isn’t as much conscious thought.

I’d say moving to Loth is kind of like moving to a new country, and you can decide whether this is a place you’re going to assimilate to or whether it’s a place you’re just passing through.

And this is definitely my kind of place. One thing they say about the co-ops is that they are pretty white compared to the university as a whole. It’s getting better, but there’s still a ways to go. But if you are an outsider to that culture, the co-op is one of the few entry points.

Can you speak more about that?

Other things like music festivals are a much larger commitment. Culture is largely associated with social circles. What makes co-ops so unique is that they are also an economic and political organization. It’s easier for one to enter.

Have you wanted to enter those circles in the past but found that co-ops were the easiest access point?

I didn’t even know what existed. I still haven’t been to any music festivals, if you don’t count Clochella (a day of bands playing at Cloyne Court Co-op).

Co-ops are easy access points. You didn’t even know that this world existed, and if you’re not in these often white social circles, you don’t even get to know about this other world. So, I’m curious.

Do you identify as a hippie?

Yes. Why? I think at Berkeley there’s always a cultural center of hippies, and people make fun of hippies, but they had a lot of great ideas like environmental and social issues before a lot of

a society caught up. Vegetarianism and sustainbility are a lot more mainstream now.

Were those ideals always something that resonated with you? I know you’re very politically and socially active. You do so many things for the city and county: you were a big campaigner for Bernie Sanders and environmental issues. Was that something that you always cared about?

It’s definitely always been something important to me, starting in late elementary school.

I first wanted to come out to Berkeley when I learned about the 60s in high school and how Berkeley had started this whole movement. It’s important that all these environmental movements don’t lose sight of their original cultural values. There’s this concept in energy, this paradox, an example of which is in transportation: the goal is to use less oil. So they make cars more efficient, but then people just drive more and they end up using the same amount of oil. So the technical approach to sustainability is not connected to the cultural approach. Without the cultural side of sustainability, we make things more efficient but then we still use a lot of it. The book Stuff White People Like had a section that said, “Recycling is great! We can keep buying a lot of what we already got. And now we put them in a lot of different bins and, boom. Environment saved.” So the cultural side of sustainability is not endless growth, and that’s why the hippies adopted this style of fashion. They wanted something more timeless, that wasn’t based on buying new things every week. Hippie-ism never really caught on, though. Then came the 80s. I guess now Hippie-ism has come back into style in the mainstream.

Now the irony is that it has come back into style when it was intended to be timeless.

(Laughs) Yeah. It’s great - I never have to worry about things going out of date.

Yes, you are timeless. Has your style changed at all in the last few years?

One of my friends said that people outside the gender binary often have style that is outside of time.

What do you think of other people’s styles?

I like that in our current time period there are a lot of different types of styles. No one wears the same thing like in the past.

One of my friends said that people outside the gender binary often have style that is outside of time — I never have to worry about things going out of date.

Maya Ofek Photographer: Lieyah Dagan All Clothing Alfred’s own.

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Insulating

Creative team: Yasmina Hoballah, Maddy Rotman, Ava Mora Models: Bennett Martin, Joel Mayorga, Kaan SolakoÄ&#x;lu, Theo Snow Photographer: Lieyah Dagan 36 spring 2017 • baremagazine.org

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Kaan wears jacket, sweater, jumper, turtleneck Mars, pants, boots stylist’s own.

Theo wears poncho, jacket, sweater, turtleneck Mars, pants, shoes stylist’s own.

Joel wears sweater, turtleneck Mars, skirt Mercy Vintage, boots stylist’s own.

Bennett wears shirt Mars, jackets, scarf, pants, boots stylist’s own. issue 21 • baremagazine.org 43

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