Childs Play | Issue No. 2

Issue No. 2

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. STRENGTH FORCES OF NATURE UNITED STATES OF ABUSE CRASH AND BURN

II. BEAUTY TRUE COLORS THROUGH THE YEARS WHAT OUTFIT MAKES YOU FEEL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL? IT COMES NATURALLY

III. INTELLECT THE YIN TO MY YANG TEXT IT LIKE IT IS

All photos, edits, and words were created by Emma Childs.

Childs Play Three Components of a Woman: Beauty, Strength & Intellect

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR ops!... I did it again. I created another issue of Childs Play because the original, lonely 44 pages just wasn’t enough for the world. he world needs more of my wordy rants and Photoshop experiments!

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Ater I inished my irst issue of Childs Play, I was illed with a sense of pride like I’ve never experienced before. I had accomplished a dream of mine and felt unstoppable. But I also felt like my inner Miranda Priestly was not satisied. I started pondering the possibility of another issue and that idea ruthlessly pecked at my brain for months. So, eventually, I caved in. I let my Miranda loose and started on the second issue.

And with the chic, Prada-covered Devil as my spark of inspiration, I started to recognize all the strong women in my life (the real individuals--not the ictional Meryl Streep characters with beautiful, grey hairdos and ruthless vernaculars). I thought of my grandmother, my mother, my sister, my friends, my teachers, my boss, etc. and from there, my vision bloomed.

At this juncture, so much relies upon who I am and who I will be in the future. My brain is constantly ping-ponging back and forth about my identity and in times of trouble, when I feel lost inside myself, I turn to the women around me. Every single one of them is uncontrollably powerful, incredibly stunning, and terriically bright. hey are profound role models and I strive to be like them as much as possible. his issue is my take on what I see in a remarkable woman: strength, beauty, and intellect.

It explores a woman’s powerful capacity, her explosive beauty, and examines the importance of gender equality in our society. hank you to everyone who helped me with this issue and I am extremely grateful for each and every one of you.

Emma Childs

I. STRENGTH

forces of nature

Models: Ady Ragucci, Megan Dombrowski & Heather Lewis

y life has been shaped by strong women: my mother, a vivacious and loving woman who consistently amazes me with her perserverence; my sister, a bold young woman who refuses to let others enforce limitations on her life; Taylor Swit, a talented woman who globally empowers girls by being herself. Some have affected my life more directly than others, but nevertheless, I would not be who I am today if not for the ierce women who have inluenced my life. (Swit’s “Fearless” singlehandedly helped me get through middle school.)

Observing these powerful women, I found one common thread in the way they live their lives. hey make their surroundings it to them; they do not concede to the boundaries others have created. Instead, they shape the environment around them so they can accomplish their

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goals. hey are goddesses, uninhibited by restrictions.

Knowing this, I try my best to live my life as powerfully as they live theirs. I write opinion columns, and even though they have a very low readership (like abysmally low), I still speak my truths and feel good for doing so. When I want to sing Taylor Swit, I blast “Blank Space” and scream it as loud as I can, much to my father’s dismay.

And when I wanted to create my own magazine, I made my own independent study and was able to accomplish that goal. And then I did it again.

For this shoot I focused on showcasing the power of a female and her ability to control her surroundings.

Because when a strong woman has something set in her mind, she will stop at nothing until that goal is accomplished.

United States of Abuse: Domestic violence’s devastating presence in America hile entering your favorite restaurant, you pass clusters of people, maybe even spot an old friend in the crowd, and then head towards an available seat. You look over the menu, decide what you want, and place your order.

In those clusters of people you passed while on your way, he National Coalition Against Domestic Violence reports that 1 in 5 women and 1 in 7 men will become victims of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime. While you were settling into your seat, in those nine seconds, one woman in the United States was assaulted or beaten. And in the minute it took you to decide what to eat, about 20 people, men and women, were physically abused by an intimate partner in the U.S. Domestic violence is not an out-ofreach issue. In a recent U.S. News article, Lindsey Crook, data editor at U.S. News & World Report, stated that domestic violence is becoming “as American as apple pie.” It may not be happening inside your home or in your immediate perspective, but in terms of our country, it is incredibly domestic and has been habituating for far too long.

With the news of abusive football players and reality show stars, domestic violence has made headlines numerous times. Oten times, in response to the discussion of abuse, many individuals, who feel themselves entitled to judge, ask, “Why didn’t they just leave?” his question never has a simple answer.

Nicole Beverly, a domestic violence survivor who was interviewed by he Hufington Post in a series investigating domestic abuse, was repeatedly beaten and threatened by her husband. “He jumped on my ribcage and cracked my rib. He strangled me until I saw stars. I was sure I was going to die,” Beverly said. “He pulled me into the living room and pointed his gun at me for hours. He loaded and unloaded it, ranting about what was wrong

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with me.”

“Finally, I came to an epiphany. I realized that either he was going to kill me or I was going to kill him,” Beverly stated. She told her mother, who helped her gather the resources to leave, iled a protection order, and led to Canada. She escaped but only ater putting up with years of abuse.

“People always say, “Why don’t you just leave?” hey fail to understand that leaving doesn’t necessarily stop the abuse,” Beverly said. Beverly’s husband ruthlessly stalked and threatened her ater she escaped. And years later, when he inally was put behind bars, the threats continued and he found ways to ensure her fear still existed. “Since he’s been inside, he has told inmates that he is planning to kill me as soon as he gets out and that they will see him on the news one day soon. He was also caught trying to solicit inmates to murder me for $50,000,” Beverly said.“Women are at the highest risk of being killed when they leave their abusive partners. Leaving means opening yourself up to incredible danger.”

Domestic violence is a fully consuming trauma and in order to understand the actions of survivors, the complexity of the issue must be comprehended because harmful situations never have easy solutions. “I live in a constant state of high anxiety,” Beverly said. “I let him, but I’m still terriied.”

Domestic violence is running rampant throughout America and all victims are members of our national family who need support and justice. Due to famous celebrities, domestic violence is receiving lots of news publication attention but that focus needs to be shared with the victims and survivors who sufer without the illuminating nature of the spotlight.

By standing up for those without voices and grasping the intricacy of the epidemic, we can come closer to permanently disrupt domestic violence’s comfortable stay within our nation.

Crash and Burn How I rose from the ashes ater a scorching injury have never broken a bone. I have come close many times and have even been tossed out of not one, but two diferent tubes in the middle of roaring water rides, but my bones have, somehow, always remained intact. Many of my friends waltzed into elementary school with recently-snapped wrists adorned in neon blue casts but mine always remained plaster-free. Chalking this up to luck and caution throughout my youth, I thought I was in the clear when it came to imminent danger due to childlike carelessness. But oh, how quickly I learned that anyone, regardless of age, can experience fate’s completely random selection and method of cocking, aiming, and shooting her arrow of destruction.

It was late at night, around midnight, on a summer Monday. Before bed, I decided to make a hot water bottle to ease my period cramps. Ater illing up the entire rubber bottle with boiling water, I laid in bed and placed the bottle on my stomach.

Within milliseconds, the bottle burst and every drop fell onto my lower torso.

Ater very loudly disrupting my family’s slumber, I laid on the loor in my hallway with icepacks on my thighs and tears in my eyes. “Why had this happened to me?” his thought pulsed through my brain for several hours while I convulsed in pain and cursed the heavens.

Why had destiny chosen to target me in such a harsh manner, especially when I had almost escaped the clutches of foolish youthood and the childish blunders that come with it? Why did this happen to me, a mature young girl who was scheduled to take her driving test, a monumental event when transitioning into adulthood, in less than thirty-six hours?

I soon realized that the top wasn’t screwed properly onto the bottle and the blame settled towards my foolish, idiotic self.

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But I had a date with Fail Gail (the famous and itting nickname for the driving instructor) and destiny scheduled for the next day. And since I didn’t plan on standing either of them up, with medical supplies purchased from CVS and a decent dose of pain relievers, I then attempted to take my road test.

Great idea, right? Let the kid who can barely walk attempt to parallel park between the cones! No, terrible idea. Please do not let a traumatized girl enter that stressful situation because it will end exactly as predicted: poorly. You need full mobility and complete emotional capacity to pass your driving test, both of which I lacked at that time.

Standing outside the Yarmouth, Massachusetts RMV (aka “Hell on Earth”), sobbing profusely, clutching the wrinkled road test application with “Failed” glowing in blue cursive, my unraveled bandages slowly spilled out of both pant legs and began whipping in the wind like white lags declaring a dramatic surrender to life and all of its harm. My mother, who frantically started running across the parking lot upon seeing my disconsolate tears, credits this image as one of the saddest things she has ever seen.

I was certainly a sight to see.

Not only was I a seventeen year-old girl with shredded thighs that resembled dried, peeling layers of Elmer’s glue, I was an unlicensed seventeen yearold girl with shredded thighs that resembled dried, peeling layers of Elmer’s glue. My life had taken a sharp turn (almost as sharp as the turn I took during my test that my examiner did NOT appreciate) into a horriic, unrecognizable nightmare in a matter of hours. I found myself wondering once more, “Why?” Why had this strange and painful freak accident happened to me? Why had my life gotten to this pitiful point?

I know destiny doesn’t give a damn about how old you are and will act on its own accord. And, I know to not get too deterred by the mistakes I will undoubtedly make because they’re just an irrevocable part of existence.

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he blame I had towards myself then settled into a very spiteful anger against life as a whole. I had served my time as a youth and worked vigilantly to emerge injury-free yet, harm had viciously cornered me anyway.

I thought I was better than all my fourth grade friends who had tripped during doubledutch and ended up with their older brother’s hand-me-down crutches. I was an upperclassman in high school. I was aging into my heightened self, like a ine wine. But there I was: scorched, humiliated, and without a license.

Ater the driving iasco, I then had to go to Shriners Hospital for Children, a specialized burn center, for a brutal skin debridement procedure. And while my wounds started to heal, my mind refused to start the process. I was burnt, illed with resentment, and unable to let go of “Why? Why? Why?” With enough time to process, my anger eventually did cool. I was able to recognize the incident as what it was, an honest mistake, and eventually move on. It was never easy but I continuously reminded myself that it was all caused by an accident and wasn’t worth becoming a dejected, anger-illed human who had severe contempt for life. With that in mind, my healing process fully began.

Ater both my physical and mental scars healed, I eventually did pass my road test and am now a seventeen year-old girl with detailed scars, a horror story to tell if desperate at sleepovers, and a license proudly secured in her wallet.

From my battle wounds, I learned several valuable lessons. I know that you must double,

triple, quadruple check that everything is properly secured, especially when dealing with boiling liquids. I know destiny doesn’t give a damn about how old you are and will act on its own accord. And, I know to not get too deterred by the mistakes I will undoubtedly make because they’re just an irrevocable part of existence. he incident is still raw in my memory and painful to revisit but with time, I was able to let go of the blame and just accept that there is no reason as to why it happened. It just did.

Life is unpredictable and there is no methodical pattern to it. here is no answer-key that will magically appear if you shake your ist and scream,“why?!” towards the heavens at a loud enough decibel. here is no answer to that question. Hot water will burn you if it gets the chance and bad things will inevitably occur. No one is immune, no matter your level of maturity. Life has its own way of dishing out misfortune and while that is diicult to understand, once accepted, the skies will clear and the good things will eventually arrive. And that’s when life will inally give you some deserved room to breathe.

II. BEAUTY

True Colors

Models: Michaela Cornwall, Madelyn McCartin, & Laine Delaney ’ve seen a lot of things in the Barnstable High School girl’s bathroom. I’ve read inscriptions such as, “Life sucks but you gotta live it,” scrawled sloppily on the stalls. I’ve come across a lone chicken patty resting on the ground on one particularly sad day. And every time I head into the bathroom, I will usually ind one girl in front of the mirror either putting makeup on, or doing her hair. Maybe she is really loving her look today and wants to touch up her lipstick. Maybe she was running late and didn’t have time to put her hair up into her go-to, messy bun at home. Regardless, they are doing what they like to make themselves feel beautiful.

I love spotting these girls making themselves up. hey are choosing how they want to present them-

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selves and by watching them, I gain a little more insight into who they are as a person. hey accept their surroundings and allow anyone who walks into the bathroom, a peek into their carefree routine. his comfort in who they are and how they look became my inspiration for this photoshoot.

To me, someone is the most beautiful is when they truly let loose of all inhibitions. When they showcase their bold, explosive personality without caring how others will react. heir beauty cannot be contained and they are uncontrollably themselves in those moments. When someone is being themselves and enjoying doing it, that is inarguably stunning.

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Through the Years ou’re twelve when the school nurse shakes her head ater the mandatory scoliosis test in gym class. Months later, you receive your new back brace and a sentence of 18 hours a day, everyday, until you stop growing and your spine learns how to control itself. Before your new contraption, you were unguarded and free.

You lived life with arms open and an attitude for peace but now that threats exist on your radar, you’ve been forced to change your strategy.

With one piece of armor already in place, you begin crating a sarcastic layer of protection to complete your impenetrable warsuit. he metal hinges on your contraption squeak with every breath so you turn up your clever quips to drown them out. Built of rigid plastic and a venomous verbal shield, you walk the halls of middle school like a twisted Joan of Arc. Even still, a narrow, beady-eyed boy challenges you. With a hollow gufaw, he uncreatively brands you “scoliosis girl” in the middle of math class without raising his face to meet yours. You pine for the day you’ll be able to leave him, middle school, and all the warfare behind.

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Fourteen and on the night of your irst Homecoming dance, while waiting for your friend to arrive, you drown your nervous butterlies in stomach acid. Wearing a newly purchased Macy’s dress and a Bobbi Brown makeover, you tell yourself that you’re excited.

Your mom drops the two of you of at the school and you enter the poorly decorated cafeteria with trepidation. A girl in your graphic design class squints at you and tells you that your new appearance is barely recognizable.

Within an hour, your feet blister and your mascara lakes down your face. he DJ turns on an acoustic hit and shouts the dreaded words “slow dance.” You don’t see any boys seeking a pair and knowing it will end poorly if you linger, you, in your too-small heels, quickly rush to the edge of the dance loor, away from the couples.

You look around for your friend but ater concluding that she is nowhere to be found, you ind an empty spot against the wall and press your cheek against the cool brick. You count down the minutes until the chaperones turn the lights back on and the night is over.

his time you’re iteen and in your friend’s backyard. You sit in a lawn chair that’s a reasonable distance from both the people you don’t know and the burning bonire in front of you. hrough the smoke, you make eye contact with a boy who goes to a diferent school. He starts singing along to the music while twirling a charred marshmallow next to the glowing embers.

Later on, ater everyone else has gone inside to the warmth, it starts to rain. He pulls you to him and shoves his tongue down your throat.

He’s rushing--as if he has places to be and you’re nothing but an opportunity that fell into his lap, an obligation to take care of.

Minutes later, he walks away without a word and you stare into the once-glowing ire pit, watching the last spark disappear. His lips made your mouth taste like burnt marshmallows and you decide you want to go home.

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he irst thing you notice about him are his eyes. Laughing before his lips, they barely gave his smile a chance to catch up. With every conversation and every glance, his golden-hazel pools tell you “this the beginning.” At irst, you don’t know what beginning they’re referring to but later on, with hindsight, you understand it all.

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Sixteen and illed with wanderlust, you’re sitting on a bench in an airport, waiting to begin the exchange program that will submerge you and some other lucky students in France for two weeks.

You turn to look at your fellow students and all of a sudden, there he is. he irst thing you notice about him are his eyes. Laughing before his lips, they barely gave his smile a chance to catch up. With every conversation and every glance, his golden-hazel pools tell you “this is the beginning.” At irst, you don’t know what beginning they’re referring to but later on, with hindsight, you understand it all.

He gives you a grin you’ll never forget.

With this look and his presence, you sense the warfare of your past declare an order to cease and desist. Feeling a change within you and knowing it’s time, you unshackle your cynical armor and store it away. Unguarded and free once more, your heart contentedly rests.

Months aterwards, while waiting for him to pick you up for Prom, your butterlies soar.

Wearing a custom-made dress and a smile, you’re nothing but ecstatic. He arrives and with exuberant joy, hands you a purple corsage.

You arrive at the ballroom and before entering, he looks at you, your dress, your smile and tells you that you’re beautiful.

Later that night, you ind yourself barefoot in the center of the dance loor without any desire to leave. he DJ decides it’s time to slow things down so you look to your let, and there he is, right beside you. You press your cheek against his and let time tick onward without your concern.

Seventeen now, a year ater meeting him, you comfortably sit on his couch and ater not seeing each other for a couple weeks, you enjoy each other’s company. In the sunlight, he lightly hums a Folk song and twirls a piece of your hair between his ingers. With a grin, he lets out a whispered “wow.” You, confused, ask, “Wow, what?” Without removing his eyes from yours, “Wow, you,” he simply replies.

He gently takes your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you without haste, as if he is grateful for both you and every moment spent together.

You separate and stare into each other, watching the world turn. His lips make your mouth taste like sweet sugar and as you look into him, you feel nothing but an overwhelming desire to stay.

what outfit makes you feel the most

beautiful?

amanda, 37 “I would describe my style as fashionable, slightly rock nʼ roll, and trendy, but also comfortable and easy to wear. I am wearing a recycled polyester tunic from my shop Shift, bamboo leggings from local design label Devinto, and a pair of fringe booties from Mass Bay Co. All locally purchased, all the time. I feel beautiful when I am wearing something that is a beautiful piece of clothing, highlights my best assets, there are no buttons jabbing into my stomach, and I have on a pair of killer shoes.” tunic from Shift, leggings by Devinto, booties from Mass Bay Co.

maddy, 20

“Iʼd definitely say my style is classic and preppy which really reflects the Cape Cod vibe. I try to add color and trendy pieces where I can (sometimes with a Kate Spade bag, financials depending). And I just really like clothes! I love feeling put together and wearing looks that are both comfortable and stylish. This look is one of my favorites because itʼs a classic style with a bit of my own personality thrown in. The shorts are an amazing color and the top is very flattering on my small torso. I look and feel great in it!”

shorts and blouse from J. Crew

sarah, 16 “Like almost everyone, Iʼve struggled with my body image. I used to worry about what people would say and imagined them thinking, “Her butt is way too small for those pants,” or “Why is she wearing THAT? Doesnʼt she know her stomach is sticking out?” I went through a very tough time where my depression, anxiety, and OCD controlled me. I lost weight but soon found out that I was not happier 25 pounds lighter (surprise, surprise!). Through my therapist, my parents, and my friends, I realized that American beauty standards do not define my personal beauty. I started wearing the clothes I wanted to wear and I refound my beauty through clothes. My style is funky, independent, and I would describe it as something a hip grandma would wear. I feel beautiful in a jean dress because I LOVE denim. Jean dresses are easy to move around in and I can style them for any season (tights and a sweater in the winter for example.)”

dress from Goodwill

shauna, 48 “I am now 48 years old but, I swear, I feel like I could still be in my thirties and I like to have this reflected in my style. I always try to dress how I feel on that day and choose looks that make me feel like Iʼm portraying who I want to be. I love rocking boyfriend jeans, an easy, white tee, and wearing silver, spiked heels to give some ʻwowʼ factor. I feel great in this look because its simple and perfectly exemplifies the chic style I want to portray. Iʼve learned that fashion is never effortless but style always should be. Dressing with confidence makes me feel beautiful and it should always be the most important thing when choosing a look. I always ask myself “Do I look like me?” before I leave the house and if I can answer with a proud “Yes!”, I know Iʼm ready to wear that outfit.

Confidence should be what we all wear and thatʼs beautiful to me!” shirt from Garnet Hill, jeans from Gap, heels from White House Black Market

It comes Naturally

Cape Cod businesses focus on natural, organic beauty products ike the fashion world, the evolving beauty industry deals with fads and trends. In recent years, the push for natural beauty and a more mindful relationship between an individual and their products has become an appreciative trend that has had many rethinking their beauty regime.

But for some standout local businesses on Cape Cod, organic beauty is not a passing phase but a mission worthy of dedicating an entire business to.

Anya Messina, founder of Anya’s Herbals, crats efective and organic beauty products out of a healing formula of powerful herbs and botanicals.

Each ingredient Messina uses is organic, responsibly wildcrated, obtained by fair-trade and without illers, parabens, fragrance chemicals, or any other questionable toxins. “Anya’s Herbals ofers highly efective organic skin nourishing products that are beneicial to the planet & it’s producers/growers, while upliting the spirits and daily joy factor of our customers with each use,” Messina said. he beauty industry is a complex and competitive business yet Messina always strives to hold quality over quantity and to make sure with each product, someone, somewhere is beneiting out of its production. “he world doesn’t really need another bar of soap, as gorgeous as that soap may be, does it? But, if the purchase of that gorgeous soap directly beneits a woman and children in Africa, or allows organic farming methods to be an economically viable option for growers locally and around the planet, I believe the world does need that bar of soap,” Messina said.

In addition to focusing on the signiicance of her products, Messina holds the distribution of her proceeds to the same meaningful standard. “Anya’s Herbals donates 10% of all proits to organizations working for positive change, locally, and globally,” Messina added.

Messina stated that, “Natural beauty products are one of the fastest-growing segments of the highly proitable, global cosmetic business, and as such, the term is being exploited. “Natural” is strictly a market-

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ing term, and unfortunately there are no regulations in place governing the use of the term “natural” on beauty products (or any product).” Many companies are simply slapping “natural” on their bottles without fully researching what it truly means to be natural and are monoplizing on the buzzword.

If you are feeling lost or overwhelmed on how to start the relationship with your beauty products, local businesses like Green Goddess Herbals, a herb, spice, and tea shop in East Falmouth, ofer instructional lessons to inform the community about the importance of mindful products. “he classes we ofer are natural soap making; making moisturizers, creams and lotions; and how to make herbal oil infusions that can be turned into your own lip balms, lotion bars and salves,” said Andrea Lawson, owner of Green Goddess Herbals. In addition to instructional classes, Goddess Herbals sells skin healthy alternatives to the harsh commercial soaps and beauty products that can be found on corporate store shelves. “Our products are made in small batches, with love. We use organic herbs, high quality oils and skin nourishing butters in all our handmade soap, creams, lotions, balms and salves,” Lawson said. he mission behind Goddess Herbals is to spread the importance of getting back to basics and becoming mindful of what goes into our bodies.

“Choosing natural beauty care helps cut down on the overload of toxins that cross the skin barrier entering our organs and nervous system. Just as we choose to eat healthy foods for optimal health, we feel we should nourish our skin by choosing what we put on it,” Lawson shared.

Dedicated, authentic businesses that commit fully to their missions are gems in the corporate world we live in. Located on Cape are two of the many businesses that stick to their cause of natural and organic beauty, and we are lucky to have such dedicated and powerful individuals within reach.

Anya’s Herbals and Green Goddess Herbals are exhibiting the power local businesses can have when motivated and devoted to a mission.

III. INTELLECT

THE YIN TO MY YANG Models: Maggie McNulty & Ben Falacci

Oh God, you’re not a feminist are you?” spat an obnoxious boy in my Pre-Calculus class last year ater I had asked why he was wearing a bold, sexist tee-shirt.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. You should take of your “Go make me a sandwich!” tee because it’s stupid and so are you,” I said. In my head, of course. In reality, I think I let out a combination of a groan and laugh, a “graugh,” if you will, and then bent my head back down to my worksheet.

I knew what I believed in and I had passionate feelings about those ideas yet once he threw out the word “feminist,” I shrunk down to the point of silence. he image of a man-hating, outspoken she-beast lashed into my head and I was scared to be associated with such an extreme.

Now, one sage year older, I realize that the stereotype of an estrogen-illed, lunatic with a female superiority complex goes against the true deinition of feminism.

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Anyone who acts that way does not correlate with the accurate values of the movement and should not be called a feminist. he exact deinition, “the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes,” mentions nothing about one gender being better than the other yet the word “feminist” continues to be misinterpreted as a slur for a man-hating female. Now if I was confronted with a similar scenario like the one that occurred last year, I would proudly speak my mind.

I set out to capture a photoshoot that emphasized the necessary balance of the genders. Because, yes, men and women are two separate genders, but when coordinated together and given equal chances, they make a whole human race working eiciently together. And only until our society views this concept as a priority will we be able to reach harmony and achieve true progress.

text it like it is Oh no, you can’t respond to his text yet, you have to wait at least 30 minutes.” Right, because that makes sense. You wouldn’t want the boy that you like to think that you like him. Being cool has always been something to strive ater (there has, and always will be, an “In” crowd) but in our current times, with the interference of technology, it has reached the point of being recognized as an art form. Teens are striving to rid the stench of desperation by acting as unphased and emotionally detached as possible.

Not only is distancing yourself from your emotions diicult to do, that highly-sought-ater vibe of nonchalance directly grapples with normal, human behavior. hese bland and fake projections some people are desperately trying to portray contradict something that we just cannot change–we are emotionally complex human beings.

I understand that people don’t put themselves out there out of fear of appearing too eager or getting hurt. So instead, some either wait what they think is the appropriate amount of time to appear casual and then respond, or answer with vague and overworked answers that are crated in the hopes of appearing unbothered. (Is that lowercase “o” in your ‘okay’ really gunna project the easygoing vibe that you want it to?)

If we are constantly pretending not to feel and prancing around what we want to say instead of actually saying it, we become a bunch of emotionally and physically mute zombies getting nothing accomplished. I understand that putting yourself out there is risky, but isn’t not saying what you feel as big of a risk too? If you never say what you truly wish to, you’re demeaning your own thoughts and character.

I am sick and tired of this textual, masquerade dance in which we engage. Ater one incident last year that involved a lot of tissues, an appalling amount of chocolate, and an obvious silence from

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the boy I liked, I vowed to take more control over the communication in my life. When I wish to talk to someone, I now make an efort to talk to them and say what I want to say. Instead of shrugging of my feelings and pretending like I don’t care, I now have more control over my communication. his seems like an incredibly obvious thing to do (John Mayer has been preaching for us to “say what you need to say” since 2006) but before the night of the chocolate-induced coma, the sheer thought of texting someone irst, possibly bothering them, sent my psyche into a downward spiral of anguish.

Reaching out to someone can seem bold and scary but we deserve for our words to have value and we should respect ourselves enough to demand to be heard.

So much efort is spent in trying to not be desperate, when, in reality, our desperation is a representation of our pure and honest selves and needs to be held in a higher regard. With these pure and unadulterated actions, we show who we are, what we’re actually feeling. hese moments are honest glimpses inside our brains to observe our emotions acting without inhibitions.

When he texts you and you want to answer him, don’t count to a certain number of appropriate minutes before replying–just answer. When your partner in a group project goes AWOL, text them to make sure their work gets done. If you have something you want to say, don’t wait for others to initiate–start the conversation yourself.

Be bold in your conversational habits because you deserve to have the upper hand in all your communication. No one should inluence your voice and if you feel the urge to speak, pull out your metaphorical megaphone and declare your thoughts. Say what is on your mind and be as unapologetically bold as need be, because we owe it to ourselves to make our voices be heard.

For any questions about the clothes worn in this magazine, please just ask any of these wonderful models. hanks again for allowing me to put all my years of watching America’s Next Top Model to good use.

Ady Ragucci, Megan Dombrowski, and Heather Lewis enjoy the warm, tropical-like waters of Cape Cod in April.

Madelyn McCartin, Michaela Cornwall, and Laine Delaney enjoy this moment before I threw powder in their faces.

Ben Falacci and Maggie McNulty look of into the sunset together.

IV. AND MORE

Sunshine On Her Shoulders -For my Nana-

s the sun iltered through the ivory blinds, the little girl slowly roused. Rubbing the slumber out of her eyes, she noticed the sea-foam walls and her brain sleepily grasped at the memory of her location. Suddenly, she remembered and with a grin, slowly rolled out of bed as to not wake her older sister who was curled up next to her. Tip-toeing out of the room, she smelled the sweet, crisp smell of fried dough and shuled her way to the end of the hallway.

Hearing a light, melodic humming, she made her way to the kitchen, turned her little head, and saw her grandmother standing in front of the stove with tongs in hand. he little girl paused and looked up at the sunbeams that fell through the skylight overhead. he sunshine rested on her grandmother’s shoulders, creating a consuming, angelic hue. Her cropped, dark hair glistened in the sun and her tan, freckled skin glowed with reminders of her past. he little girl then teetered out from her hiding spot with a loud giggle. Hearing her visitor, Nana spun around and her luminous eyes surged with kindness. “Oh, look who’s up!” she said with a beaming grin. he little girl, overlowing with joy, simply smiled and charged at her grandmother with arms wide open. Wrapping herself around her grandmother’s knees and burrowing her face in her navy nightgown, the familiar clean perfume illed the little girl’s nostrils.

“Hungry?” Nana asked and in response, the little girl enthusiastically nodded. he two of them then each

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got a “doughboy,” the family name for the carnival food classic, sat down at the kitchen island, and shook several snowfalls of powdered sugar onto each indulgent breakfast.

With lips covered in sugar and a smile, the girl looked over at her grandmother. Seeing her mother, her sister, and even a little resemblance to her own relection, the girl marveled at the transcendence that beamed out of every line, pore, and curve. Both simple and striking, her grandmother’s face held the promise of adventure and a contented respect for her past. he little girl was overwhelmed at the pleasure of having her Nana all to herself, a seldom opportunity, and mentally catalogued the image of her familial goddess. he two of them inished their meals with full stomachs and began to plan the luxurious day ahead of them. Settling on an adventurous plan of manicures and ice cream, the two of them then turned on the radio, agreeing it was time for her sister to wake, and began to clean up ater their shared meal. his is how I’ll remember my grandmother: powerful, radiant, and clever. She is unable to be categorized into a single category of strength, beauty, and intellect, for she was all three and so many more. Every act came from a place of profound generosity and this memory of our breakfast together exempliies her kind legacy. his issue of Childs Play was inspired by all the wonderful women in my life but is soley and irrevocably dedicated to her.