issue no. 5
the communication issue
the communication issue
like mother, like daughter
4
by Emma Childs
BODY TALK
14
Through My Grandfather’s Lens
36
Conversations on Privilege
44
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS
66
the art of the double text
78
FLESH & BLOOD
80
notes on a relationship i wish could happen
82
Letter to a Dear Friend Not Friend
92
by Emma Childs
by Emma Childs and Teresa Travnicek
by Keely Fravel
by Bessie Rubinstein
by Sophie Guimaraes
I was a relatively silent baby. My parents said it initially was a relief since my older sister, a rambunctious toddler at the time, gurgled and rambled enough for the four of us. As time passed, I kept my lips carefully zipped; rarely a “goo goo” and only on special occasions, a “gah gah.” I was just a quiet, little girl who chose to exist within her own bald head. I eventually ended my vow of silence and began to engage with my surroundings, but I always maintained a sense of careful consideration when it came to expressing myself. Communication is a fascinating, calculated exchange, and I felt that there was no way Childs Play could continue to share an abundance of perspectives without examining how and why we share them. Communication is at the inherent core of all of us— in the novels we read, in the way we kiss, or in my case as a young tot, in the way we choose to refrain from speaking all together—and it’s time we explore it. Over these past months, I have had a fabulous team by my side, and I am immensely grateful to all those who contributed and worked on this issue with me. A profound thank you to Sophie Guimaraes who, despite living 3,000 miles away, answered every single one of my frantic 2 am emails with the poise of a seasoned editor and the counsel of a precious friend. I am overjoyed to see how Childs Play has grown into a safe and encouraging space for creators to experiment with their voices. A utopia of selfexpression has always been my intention and now that we are making that dream a reality, I have a task for you, my dear reader. Whoever you are, I hope that once you finish perusing through this issue, you reflect and feel some sense of agency within yourself. Whether that is to text your mom and tell her you love her (actually, you know what? Just text her now anyway) or to analyze the bubbles of privilege we live in, just do something. Take whatever ideas this issue inspires and communicate them to the world any way you know how and in any way that feels right. Thank you,
Emma Childs Founder & Creative Director
like mother, like daughter by Emma Childs
4
14
B O D Y
DIRECTED by Emma Childs, @emmachilds4 PHOTOGRAPHED by Kyra Conroy, @kyraconroy MAKEUP by Cameryn Martin, @cosmobycameryn MODELED by Abigail Miller, @a___millz & Ebon, @abstractnights
L A N G U A G E
BODY T A L K
Through My Grandfather’s Lens by Emma Childs
In sixth grade, I won second place in a school-wide photography contest for our local newspaper. The photo was a blurred close-up of a dewy, blue chicory flower in a hotel parking lot. I showed my grandfather my work, as photography had always been the one bond besides blood that we truly shared. He told me he loved it and I knew he meant it. To this day, the photo remains framed in my grandparent’s dining room. He died this past spring. We had been expecting it, as he was old and had a particularly nasty disease that left him with lungs that worked too hard to find oxygen that wasn’t there. He relied on a tank to breathe and for the last year of his life, his days mainly consisted of watching the birds make a home for themselves in his overgrown
36
backyard. Then one day in late April, just as spring was settling into itself and the birds were finding their voices, he fell. And that was it. He and I were not particularly close. We lived ten minutes from each other and saw each other frequently, mainly for holiday dinners and family gatherings. When I was younger, I was scared of him and would flee the room when he’d approach me. A few years ago I found an old home video he shot on his camcorder. He’s filming me in the foyer, I can’t be older than three, four tops, and he’s calling out my name. You can see his fingers waving out to me, eclipsing the lens. I stare back at him, as if he’s a stranger, and run into the kitchen as fast as my chubby legs will fly.
When news came that he died, I was 200 miles away from my family living in a city that he hated. I came home for a week in May and we had his memorial service at his favorite church, the same church he used to take my sister and I to for Sunday mass when we were little. It smelled the same: must, stale perfume, and Catholic guilt. My father asked me if I’d like to say something during the service and I declined. I was the only grandchild who didn’t get up and speak. I watched my newly widowed grandmother start to sob and the heavy, cardboard taste of communion wafers choked my throat. Afterwards, several elderly strangers gave me too-tight hugs and shared stories of how they used to play baseball with him. How they were his down-the-street neighbors back in the 80s. How they worked with him many years ago when he used to wield a chainsaw and run his own tree care business. We called him Papa and he was a funny man. Not in a joke-telling sense, but in a way that meant he had his own secret language and his favorite food was peanut butter. He loved to wink and reuse Dunkin Donuts coffee cups for other purposes. He put the word “Loo” upside down on his bathroom door. He cared for enough stray cats to create a neighborhood problem. And above all, he was most comfortable with a camera in his hands and his eye behind a lens. My father, his son, went through his things a few months after he died and found two film cameras; a Pentax Super Program and an Olympus Stylus Epic. He told me that Papa would have wanted me to have them and I knew he was right. I took them to a photo store eleven blocks from my apartment in New York City. I was overwhelmed with the complexities of film photography and needed someone to look me in the eye and tell me what to do. The store broadcasted itself as the “largest non-chain photo and video equipment store in the US” and it felt like a
shopping mall on Mars. There was a conveyor belt on the ceiling that zoomed processed film around the store and security guards manned every corner. The aisles were filled with birkenstock-clad couples holding hands and all the employees were smiling too hard in their emerald smocks. No one can possibly be that happy when wearing a smock. I found my way over to the film section of this odd world I had wandered into and waited in the queue. Every worker in the film department was a man and they were all wearing yarmulkes. A man named Joseph asked what he could do for me. I lifted the two cameras out of my tote and explained my situation. These were my grandfather’s and I have no idea what I’m doing, I admitted. He eagerly scooped up the Pentax and his face became iridescent. This is a marvelous camera! If you don’t want it, I will buy from you! he offered with a toothy grin and a slight accent I couldn’t place. No, no, I repeated with a slight smile myself, I want to learn. After giving the two cameras a physical examination, Joseph broke the news. The Olympus was unfortunately very, very broken. I saw this coming as it was clear that my grandfather had, at one point, dropped the device and shoddily attempted to tape it back together with packaging tape: a very Papa-like attempt at surgery. This one however, he said gesturing to the Pentax, is in perfect condition! A wonderful camera. Film is like cooking, Joseph offered, you have to try and try, even if you don’t think the flavors will go together. He gave me another of what I gathered to be one of his signature grins and I could tell he was pleased with the simile he had just created. I watched him operate on the pieces and observed him resuscitate this machine that had been collecting dust for years in my grandparents’ attic. Joseph tilted his glasses onto the top of his head, careful as to not displace his yarmulke, and peered into the viewfinder.
Guess what? I am looking at your eyelashes! He exclaimed with the joy of a child peering into a telescope, ogling the moon. They are so sharp, so, so sharp! Perfect. I looked back at this man, his one free eye squinting at me and his curly, grey hair spilling out from behind the black box. I thought back to how many times I’d seen Papa do the same. All the times he’d settle behind the camera, documenting the world according to his own lens. Now, this different, funny old man was holding the very same device with such delicate, sweet care. And then I couldn’t breathe. My lungs grasped for oxygen that was nowhere to be found. I watched Joseph’s thick fingers skillfully dance around the lens and I began to cry. He noticed the wetness appear on my lashes, since the camera was, as he had told me earlier, perfectly and sharply focused on them. Joseph paused. He lowered the camera and placed it safely, gently back into my hands. He offered my fingers a soft squeeze and grinned at me once more. Just experiment! And guess what? In many years, you may even be able to give this same camera to your own grandchildren! Now, huh, think about that! I left the store and wandered uptown. It started to rain. I sought shelter under a bodega’s sun faded awning and my fingers itched. I reached into my bag, careful as to not get any water onto
the recently revived camera. I held the piece up to my eyes and looked through the window. I didn’t press the shutter; I just quietly peered around at the dancing umbrellas and the grey sky swirling above me. I thought back to the last piece of wisdom Joseph gave me before I left. Buy a little notebook and every time you take a photo, write down the settings, lighting, location, everything! Document it. You will only learn by experimenting and growing from your mistakes. On the corner of 39th and 9th, I began my quest into the terrifying world of film. With the guidance of Joseph and a handme-down Pentax, I’m going to try to see the world differently. I’m going to try and see the world through my grandfather’s lens. This camera has a heartbeat. I hold it up to my ears and can hear its circulation. It contains the blood of my grandfather, of my father, of my own, of my future children, and of their future children. Not every photo will be good. I’m quite sure actually that my first few photos will be promptly thrown in the garbage but one day I’ll get something good. One day I’ll capture something that Papa would have loved. Maybe even something that he would have framed and hung on the dining room wall, next to my blue chicory.
Conversations on Privilege: Race, Gender, Womxn’s Health, Social Media, etc. by Emma Childs & Teresa Travnicek @emmachilds4
44
@teresatravnicek @sweet.t.archiv
Nairobi Hilaire @melanin.monro @two.point.art
How would you describe the privilege of non-POC individuals in terms of self-representation through social media? I believe that we are in a more self-expressive era than ever before. Social media is inspiring an autonomy in individuals that effects how they wish to be represented in a pseudo-public sphere. The only difference is that non-POC groups are now in closer contact with true POC culture than ever before; the HOW-TOs that we often circulate within our own community. There are more examples than one of these non-POC individuals feeling privy or entitled to don these HISTORICALLY BLACK AND BROWN CULTURE MARKERS. i.e. “laying edges”. Although more open and free culture-based conversations ideally would result in an increase of cross-cultural intellectual sharing, this STOPS being the ideal, this STOPS being okay when one culture (white individuals) has historically (if not, entirely) centered their own culture around the theft and violation of POC cultures. Do you see the implications of social media as more ‘pro’ or ‘con’ for womxn as a community? When used correctly, a pro. For the first time, we now have connection and communication channels between distant people at the tips of our fingertips; instantaneously. How are we using it to perpetuate love over hate, acceptance over expectations, growth over decay?
In what cases, if at all, do you feel it is ‘appropriate’ to ‘call out’ someone? What should the ideal approach to this conversation be? Is there one? I believe if you feel as if you or your people were called out by the act then it is appropriate. And your people may be an expansive term because I believe that includes all the people that have your love and you have theirs. Education should be free. If you see somebody that is misusing their autonomy, then education should not be repudiated. Has social media influenced/facilitated the acceptance of performative allyship? I believe that every human WANTS to be good, WANTS to help those in need. Now that we’re aware of mass and constant injustices and we talk about them, the only thing we have left is to DO something. Politeness in the way of progress is problematic. Apathy in the way of progress is problematic. So I believe performative allyship is a sign that people want to help but now there needs to be a revolutionary few that create spaces and places for DOING something. This must become the norm. In what ways has the increased incorporation of social media into daily life redefined ‘femininity?’ Has it made breaking away from “what is expected/accepted” in terms of self-representation & expression more or less difficult? Rule #1, expect nothing. Rule #2, accept nature. There is a quote that Maya Angelou cites: ‘Homo sum, humani nil a me alienum puto. I am a human being, nothing human can be alien to me.’ Human nature is human nature and in our nature is homosexuality, there is queer and trans expression, there is unity among races perceived as different. Donning another individual’s skin as if it is your own is quite another thing though. It stops being self-expression and almost reverses the aggressive need to assimilate that so many POC communities were forced to do in earlier times. Black women used to hot-comb/perm their hair to be accepted into white spaces. Now as the culture/power pendulum swings in favor of POC, white people feel a need to assimilate to be seen as talented, beautiful etc. This only perpetuates a neverending game of catch up when in reality, we are all beautiful naturally. And in earnest, black and brown people have been the basis of culture and economy since the birth of this country. Yet for the first time, less and less do we need a white man to give his seal of approval for profits to be procured.
Lyn Slater @iconaccidental
In your astounding career, how have you witnessed and experienced privilege interacting with society? Mainly in the way that privilege becomes institutionalized in laws, education, social and health services and that consistently non-privileged groups have disparate outcomes. In your opinion, how do you think white guilt interacts with white privilege? Usually, people who are having these conversations are very caring. When they become aware of privilege it makes them feel guilty because they do care about others. Guilt is a useless emotion. It is better to accept the privilege you have in any situation and learn how to use it to become an ally to someone who may not have it. What are the circumstances that we can create that give us the capacity to have the conversation on privilege? How and where can we have this conversation? It is always challenging to have conversations about privilege. People need to feel safe to take the kind of risks that go along with talking about this topic and it always makes people feel guilty and then they get defensive. The key is you have to accept who you are and be okay with it. Modeling a facilitator who has done their homework on this topic is one technique that could be helpful. Regarding the current way we think about privilege, does it work to help individuals understand the concept? What are some of the pluses and negatives of how we currently think about privilege? I think that positionality is a more inviting way to have these conversations along with the idea that power is fluid and even if one is privileged so to speak, they may not have the means or opportunity to act on it. You can be powerful in one situation and oppressed in another. Positionality is also fluid and changes across a lifespan as well as by certain situations.
Ellie Kim @elliegracekim
As a young woman of color entering a creative field, have you noticed your experience is different than your nonPOC peers? Out of the 6 internships I’ve had in creative realms so far, 5 of my bosses have been white. While I have looked up to and respected all of them, this fact has shaped my career goals and perspective of the fashion industry. There are barely any Asians or any people of color in major leadership positions within the industry, and that is something I plan on changing. I want every girl to know that she can achieve whatever she puts her mind to, and I also want to catalyze an inclusive and diverse fashion environment for my industry’s future. I have been fortunate enough to not be treated differently from my white peers thus far, and my internship now greatly celebrates diversity. How is the concept of being ‘color blind’ harmful? The concept of being ‘color blind’ is harmful because it discounts the beauty that comes in differences. We are all unique and have different stories to tell—and by ignoring race, we ignore identity. How does being a WOC affect how you present yourself? Do you feel a certain pressure in regard to your identity? Being a WOC makes me proud. My Koreanness is such an important part of my identity, and it helps me carry myself with confidence and dignity. I don’t feel pressure in regard to my identity, but I think that’s because I am half white. No one has ever held me to Asian stereotypes, which I think are what would have put pressure on my identity. But, it may also have been the liberal environment I have been raised in. What is the first step necessary in order to understand privilege? Things just like this. We need to start discussions and discuss privilege with each other. Without speaking, we can’t learn, and without learning, we can’t enact change.
Frankie Ciannavei @wtfrankie_
“can you check me?” I have never had to choose between buying tampons or food, or missed class because I didn’t have access to menstrual products. If something feels wrong with my body, I can go to a doctor. I have period privilege. Like many privileges, those with period privilege often don’t realize, or refuse to acknowledge, that their situation is not the norm. But period inequality forces too many people around the world to jeopardize their education, work, and health every month. “why are you taking your bag to the bathroom?” Different cultures and communities view menstruation with varying degrees of respect, from seeing periods as purifying and sacred to dirty and isolating. In the United States, periods have long been regarded as shameful and something to remain silent about. In the last few years, there has been a growing “#PeriodPositive” movement on social media, with the goal of eliminating the stigma around periods by normalizing conversations and images about menstruation. While posts with the hashtag raise awareness about period positivity, it’s important to understand where the necessity for this movement comes from and who it affects. “my boyfriend/dad/brother would never buy me pads!” Period inequality comes in many different forms and is oppressive socially, physically, fiscally, and environmentally, with many of these oppressions intersecting. Menstrual products are not covered by social assistance programs in the United States. Some states tax menstrual products as “luxury items.” Some country’s sanitation systems don’t provide proper methods of disposal for menstrual products. Pads, tampons, and tampon applicators end up in oceans and landfills. Menstrual products contain harmful toxins. Periods are still used to dismiss a woman’s emotions or define womanhood.
“why isn’t it blue, like in the commercials!?” It’s disheartening that so many people, young and old, don’t understand the biology behind menstruation. Being confused about what is normal and abnormal for your body can lead to embarrassment and health issues. Women’s pain often goes untreated, by themselves or medical professionals. Some women will suffer for years with undiagnosed conditions, like endometriosis or ovarian cysts, because they’re never taught that excruciating pain is not the same as normal discomfort. Even worse, doctors have a history of assuming their female patients, especially women of color, are exaggerating the severity of their symptoms. “blood coming out of her wherever” Just like all other movements for gender equality, the push for period positivity needs to be intersectional and inclusive. Menstruating doesn’t make someone a woman, nor does one have to be a woman to menstruate. The issue of menstrual health affects a wide range of individuals around the world, not just cisgender women. Often, period inequality effects those who’re already ignored by society, like individuals who are homeless or incarcerated. It’s crucial to acknowledge that for white women who don’t struggle financially, being period positive can be a privilege within itself. Some may want to take part in period positive movements, but feel like they can’t, because of how they will be perceived. For those who are able to do so without jeopardizing their health and safety, there are many ways to practice “period positivity:” What you can do for yourself: • Research menstrual products to figure out what you’re most comfortable with (alternatives to pads and tampons that can be more budget and environmentally-friendly include period underwear, menstrual cups, etc.) • Educate yourself on menstrual health • Participate in “#PeriodPositive” on social media • Support organizations and individuals that promote period positivity • Embrace, don’t shame What you can do for others: • Talk to your school/work about providing free menstrual products in all bathrooms • Hold a drive for menstrual products to donate to local shelters • Educate others on menstrual health • Embrace, don’t shame
Lola Love @love_lola_rae
Do you see the implications of social media as more ‘pro’ or ‘con’ for womxn as a community? Honestly a con, in a lot of ways. It can still seem like we have to meet so many attainable standards that healthy human beings cannot attain. No matter what it is, whether it is a beautiful ad or music video, there really is almost always some sort of detectable message or one moment in which womxn are represented in a questionable way. Even if it’s held in the back of your head, it is a consistency, and then that becomes a norm. And that is what freaks me out. In what ways has social media affected how individuals express their identity? [Social media] is not the same as it used to be. At the start, maybe it did serve as a genuine platform to express yourself. Now, though, there are so many companies that really have come to rely on it for their marketing, and that influences so much of what we see. For example, plus size modeling has been on the back burner for a long time and even if it is blowing up now (particularly on Instagram), it is impossible for most to succeed unless they know people in the industry or have money. It can seem like there is a pressure that you have to surround yourself with people with visibility to make your career happen. Using social media really has become a competition to look like you know people and that can make people try to achieve this same ‘ideal.’ It used to be really just a way to share pictures, but it’s really become some other shit.
Naicha Mercier @bbymercier
How can individuals use their source of privilege to create change? Being vocal without speaking over POC is one of the first of many steps. Many times supporters may want to use their position to evoke change, but can easily overshadow the people they are trying to aid. Also, it is important to be a person of action in more than just words. In addition to speaking up for necessary change, it is also important to know when to take a step back and decline certain roles in order to push the entire industry forward. There are many times we see actors or artists speak up for certain platforms, yet they take on roles that would aid POC, LGBTQ+, the disabled, and various communities. If you could offer one takeaway for any individuals of privilege reading this series, what would it be? Individuals must learn to embrace how uncomfortable it can be to talk about racial, social issues. Change cannot be made by simply ignoring an issue, you must be willing to be put in situations that are outside of your comfort zone and prepare to be a listener. Just as change does not happen overnight, becoming a genuine ally takes times. But by going out of your way to further recognize where POC. come from, it can help develop a better understanding in how you can help change the community. In the future, what would you like to see for the advancement of WOC? I would like to see WOC congratulated for their art and not simply because they are a WOC making art. WOC should feel as if they are receiving praise for content before anything else. When I make art, I never want to be roped into a specific category. I don’t want to be glorified for simply being a black content creator. I am very proud of my blackness and there is no doubt it has influenced my art. But I also want people to be aware my work may not always be created to touch certain communities but instead, simply created to impact those involved.
Olivia Toups @babyface_banshee
How would you describe the privilege of white/non-POC individuals in terms of self-representation through social media? All of social media involves packaging yourself and branding, but I feel that white people are more easily able to/free to represent themselves in a way that people will find consumable. People of color have the additional burden of packaging themselves in a way that is palatable, particularly for the white audience. In order to gain the same status, POC often have to represent themselves in a way that’s digestible or that doesn’t make [white people] uncomfortable. In what ways has the increased incorporation of social media into daily life redefined ‘femininity?’ Has it made breaking away from “what is expected/accepted” in terms of self-representation more or less difficult? Men are taken more seriously than womxn and femmes, no matter what they look like. Womxn and femmes are taken more seriously when they’re conventionally pretty, or package themselves in a way that’s attractive. The idea of having to post selfies in addition to your art to keep your following or ‘likes’ is evidence of this. Success only comes with rebranding and choosing a box that is appealing to everyone. The majority of female/female-identifying creatives who are famous or successful on Instagram have to be pretty and smart. Compare this to men on the Internet, who many times do not have to talk about personal things or experiences, or assert an attractive appearance. He just has to show he has a brain and his intellectual contributions are considered ‘enough.’ Whereas we are largely expected to seem pretty all the time and be willing to share that in addition to our work to meet this expectation. In order to be taken seriously or to be understood as multifaceted, we have to/are expected to be willing to expose all these parts of ourselves and on a frequent, regular basis.
Has social media influenced facilitated the acceptance of performative allyship? A lot of people who are liberal/socially progressive and are trying to align themselves with ‘being woke’ or whatever, have the privilege of doing so only on the occasion they feel compelled to, or in ways that are more complacent or easily digestible. Media platforms may value social justice as a whole, but it is a rigged game. People who are actually affected by certain issues can express their views on these platforms, yet someone that is pretty (or creates aesthetically pleasing) content can only engage with the same issues on a surface level but will be given more attention. A lot of people can feel like social justice warriors and social media makes it easy to become that. Your entire brand can revolve around feminism or a commitment to social justice but social media makes it so you do not have to really talk about difficult or uncomfortable things. Additionally, those who have platforms on social media can sometimes appear to have reached this state of completion, which is not true. The systems of racism and misogyny interact in so many ways that you could spend a lifetime dedicated to untangling these relationships. For any of us to think we have completely untangled how these aspects affect our subconscious prejudices is egotistical. We cannot act like we are done doing the work. No one has ever finished doing work on themselves or on the people around them. In what cases, if at all, do you feel it is ‘appropriate’ to ‘call out’ someone? What should the ideal approach to this conversation be? Is there one? It is complicated in terms of who you are, but when you do have the privilege of having white skin, the burden is on you. Your voice is taken more seriously than others in many contexts. But that is not to say that it is okay to use that privilege to speak over someone. The voices and experiences of those most acutely affected should always be considered most highly and at the forefront of dialogue. But when you have the occasion or opportunity to say something, it is your burden. At the same time, if you are using a movement that doesn’t necessarily affect or pertain to you [as a white person], you need to be tactful. That requires a certain amount of care and an effort to be informed, and listening as much as you speak.
We are two white women. We recognize that the experiences of individuals who are most acutely affected by certain oppressive facets are the most valid. We acknowledge and aim to respect the space of many truths within this dialogue. In this series, we explore gendered and racialized traditions of privilege—and their translation into the sociocultural landscape of the Internet and social media platforms—by having womxn and individuals of color share their experiences and opinions. We aim to catalyze reflection about the realms we inhabit and the ways our multifaceted intersections of identity afford and constrict us with the opportunity to have a voice in social dialogue, be it online or in real life. Pay attention to any feelings of discomfort that arose as you looked through this series and learned about the facets of oppression, as those feelings often point to the sources of your own privilege. Examine this, understand it, and go forward with this newfound realization by making space for those that are oppressed by a system that supports you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for reflecting. Emma & Teresa
the language of flowers
62
Creative Direction & Text Photography Makeup Styling Modeled
by Emma Childs, @emmachilds4 by Eva Zar, @evazar by Vienna Skye, @viennaskye by Jalil Johnson, @babinaomi by Autumn Greco, @autumngreco & Jovel, @itsjovel
Inspired by the Victorian tradition of floriography, the cryptological communication of flowers and their assigned meanings, this is a love story that uses flowers to tell its tale.
They had known each other—or, well, known of each other, that is—for several years. They lived across the street from one another and often shared quick, curious glances when they happened to peer out their windows at the same time. On one June day, they locked eyes from within their corresponding homes as the sun’s rays beamed through the glass, promising warmth and ushering the two children outside. They ran out their front doors, exchanged delicate waves, and toothy grins bloomed across both of their faces. They shouted their introductions across the way and just like that, as children often do with masterful speed, a friendship was formed. To the left of the asphalt that separated them was a patch of baby’s breath.
baby’s breath = innocence
On Jovel Dress & Accessories are Stylist’s own Shoes by Suecomma Bonnie
On Autumn Floral Corset & Pants by Miaou Shoes by Carel On Jovel Floral Pants by Miaou Shoes by Carel
The summer continued on and the pair grew more and more intertwined with each passing day. When they were together, absent was any shred of discomfort. On one particularly humid July afternoon, a bout of sticky rain interrupted their daily exploration of the neighborhood. They leapt up the road, scurrying their way through the wetness and cackling with cheer. After a few minutes of frantic jogging, they sought shelter under the awning of a neighboring bakery, both their sides aching from laughter. On the windowsill of the bakery was a pot filled with gerbera daisies, the bright petals contrasting starkly with the grey sky.
gerbera daisies = cheerfulness
On Autumn Blouse & Gloves are Stylist’s own Shorts (not pictured) by Morgan Lane
Despite all their other young friendships disbanding as the whimsies of childhood withered away, these two remained extraordinarily close. Things certainly had changed though. Their baby teeth were long gone and hair was growing in new places and sometimes their cheeks would flush if a glance was held for too long. They went for a walk on one afternoon when they didn’t know what to do with themselves, both of them acutely aware of when their arms would brush together. They paused to say hello to an older neighbor who was arranging a flower box in her front yard. She remarked on how much the two of them had grown and how wonderful it was to see them blossom into young adults. They both smiled, a slight blush glowing in their cheeks. The neighbor stood up, brushed the dirt off of her knees, and handed them one of her recently plucked flowers: a white chrysanthemum. The two of them looked down at their new floral gift, inhaling its earthy, sweet scent, and reflected on what their neighbor had just shared. The bond they shared was something bigger than themselves and they could not run from the truth of it anymore.
white chrysanthemum = truth
The years trickled on and soon the circumstances changed. They would no longer live across from one another and they would be forced to encounter the unfamiliarities of the world. On the eve of their separation, they held each other and listened to the seconds tick onward, their bodies content to be side by side. Next to them rested a single allium flower, its purple hue providing an aura of hope. The young couple listened to their words echo in the heavy air: remember me, think of me, wait for me.
allium = patience
On Jovel Dress & Gloves are Stylist’s own Shoes by Carel
On Jovel & Autumn Tops, Gloves, & Tights are Stylist’s own Shoes by Carel
During their time apart, they remained in close contact and would share adventures and updates over late night phone calls. Eventually, however, the phone calls became less and less frequent and life continued on. They both found others to occupy their time and were happy with their new partners. But often times when night fell and the memory of their childhood companionship popped up, a twinge of “What if?� plagued them both relentlessly. Neither of them were able to shake this pestering question and after several years of navigating life without the other, conditions were generous enough to reunite the pair. What they had between them, what they have had since they were children, was too beautiful to risk to chance again. They were married on a warm summer day on a tropical beach halfway across the world. During the ceremony, hibiscus petals floated in the wind, creating a swirling flock of pink and red on the horizon.
hibiscus = delicate beauty
Countless seasons had come and gone since their younger years, leaving behind a long trail of wilted flowers. The pair eventually returned to the street where it all began and bought a house together. They no longer galloped up the road to escape the rain since their joints now protested against long spurts of activity. Instead, they spent most of their time working in the garden that they had cultivated throughout the years. Their yard was a technicolor dream, a colorful landscape composed of a wild assortment of flora. The two of them always agreed, however, that their favorites were the two blue hydrangea bushes that framed their entryway. Every time dusk fell, the couple would watch the cerulean clusters of the hydrangea reflect their white and blue hues in the fading sunlight. This was how the old couple liked to end their days; the two of them, side by side, watching these flowers transform as night took hold. Neither of them ever spoke in these moments, as their peaceful silence expressed more gratitude for each other than their words ever could.
hydrangea = grateful
On Autumn Blouse is Stylist’s own Shorts by Morgan Lane
the art of the double text by keely fravel Maybe it’s the ever-present Middle Child Syndrome that keeps me yearning for attention (sorry mom and dad), or maybe it’s the way that I think too much about the relationships between time and space and punctuation. If you know that I am indeed eighteen, and if you crunch the numbers, it’s natural and necessary to reach the conclusion that I was born with a slide phone in my hands, clutched in my weird macaroni noodle baby fingers. Having spent my formative years laying on my stomach with my feet kicking behind me, eyes glued to a lackluster keyboard, I navigated the treacherous waters of waiting for boys to text me back. In the years following the advent of the iPhone, there are several things that I knew to be true: • It’s super sad to be excited every time your phone lights up. • Too much of my time was spent trying to radiate the energy of my matte black doc martens and my numerous playlists containing—but not limited to—The 1975, Two Door Cinema Club, and of course, Arctic Monkeys. • Being insecure about the number of exclamation points in any given text is goofy! You can unleash a round of !!!!!!! in almost any context and it really might be alright. • :) :( and :/ are more powerful than any emoji will ever be, and that power is increased exponentially if you add a + or a - in between the eyes and the mouth. • There’s a weird bubble on a weird Venn diagram where desperation, loneliness, and being sixteen bump into each other. By the time I turned sixteen, I was the self proclaimed Queen of Double Texting. Triple Texting. Quadruple Texting if I like you That Much. Or maybe just put me on do not disturb.
78
It was a title that I was ashamed of, my very own Scarlet Letter. Except this time it was worse because unlike Hester Prynne, I was left with something far more grotesque than a bastard child. I had a crush on a boy. I wanted to talk to this dude all the time. All the time. He was (and still is) a couple of years older than me but in all of the good ways. I was sixteen—have I said that enough?—and I thought I might have known everything, but he was nineteen, and he made me realize that I had so much left to learn. The most obvious lesson being that I did not know how to get him to text me back. From my entirely fragile perspective, double texting was a form of mutually assured destruction. I was positive that I was annoying both of us. But I want so badly to hear about his day! But I’m being so fucking obnoxious! I cycled through a summer of a war waged against myself. My very own civil war! Except for this time, it was different because unlike the 1800s, I’m still not sure who won. But now, given the passage of time and a lot of deliberately omitted details, I am a decently experienced eighteen. The two years between my days of then and my days of now have brought me gifts of new truths: • You are allowed to be excited when your phone lights up, especially when it’s someone that you’ve been waiting to hear from. • There are circumstances in which you do not owe your conversational partner a response. • The aforementioned circumstances also apply to the aforementioned conversational partner. • Double texting is absolutely not the end of the world. Neither is triple texting. Quadruple texting might be pushing it. • Phone calls are the superior alternative anyway.
by emma childs
80
90
Letter to a Dear Friend Not Friend Ayuka, Hey. It’s your friend from kindergarten, Sophie. I was going through boxes of old stuff—or putting old stuff in boxes, more like it—and I came upon all of your letters from, like, fifteen years ago. I thought I’d write to your old address. I tried searching you on Facebook, but there were so many Ayuka Hayashis it made my head spin. I’m sure you felt the same.
92
Anyway, I’m in college now and actually about to head off to Paris for a semester abroad. I would’ve gone to Japan if I could. I’m leaving in three days and my stomach hurts. It feels like getting pushed into a really deep lake at night—inevitable and vast and something I’ll never be ready for. I hope I’ll leave a ripple or two. I hope I can still see the stars. Does that make any sense to you? It doesn’t to me. I’ve been reflecting on how it feels to be lost without really being lost at all. I’ve kind of felt that way for all of summer, and maybe all of college, and maybe just any time I haven’t been rooted in the town we both shared for a brief, fleeting year. I’m the last of the Avon folks to leave, and I’ve been driving down streets I can map like my veins singing Billy Joel songs at the top of my lungs. I always find that I’m pushing a smooth 30—no matter how fast I think I’m going, no matter how many times I look down. Inadvertently, I’ve been gravitating back to beacons of my childhood. First, Pokémon. Then, One Direction. And now… you. A person so foundational to my growth and existence and I don’t know where or even who you are anymore. Are you still in Nagoya? Are you at university? Are you married? Do you still like Disney characters? They’re on some of your letters. I still have stickers to trade, you know, if you’re down.
A little about me and my current life: I live in New York. I go to Fordham University. I’m a comparative literature major. I’m pretty sure I want to edit books and write for a living (see—doesn’t this dramatic ass letter make sense now?). I like to sing. I have a handsome boyfriend named Prince. I have awful handwriting. You can clearly see that.
I should be going now. I need to pack. I’ve been on a manic caffeine high since 11 p.m. that has seen me dancing horribly to ABBA, in circles, for thirty minutes straight. And writing this! I hope this gets to you. I promise I’m not creepy. Just in my feels. Until next time, Sophie, the girl who talked your ear off for half of first grade
free your inner child and let them play @childsplaymagazine www.childsplaymag.com
