INDEX FW21 by Emerson Fashion Society

INDEX

MAGAZINE

FALL / WINTER 2021 EMERSON FASHION SOCIETY

INDEX MAGAZINE EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Meera Singh

DEPUTY EDITOR Tayla Dixon

MANAGING EDITORS

Jane Moritz

PHOTO DIRECTORS

Anna Arriaga Maya Seri

STYLING DIRECTORS

Lauren Dillow Emily Hughes

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR

Riddhima Dave

ART DIRECTORS

Jo Malicdem Julia Smith

MARKETING DIRECTORS

Michael Isaacs Carina Pray

ADVISORS

Nadine Grant Jordan Mackenzie

Mercer Whitfield

EDITORIAL TEAM

Will Percarpio Olivia Cigliano JT Breaux Elizabeth Borg Audrey Silalahi David Shird Chloe Shaar

PHOTO TEAM

Rosamond Chung Langley Custer Johnny Fort Ian Hamilton Carys Hirawady Erina McSweeney Jenna Triest

STYLING TEAM

Jennie Greco Jonathan Lopez Julia Magdziak Pieper Meccia Abigail Stanicek Claire Talbott

MARKETING TEAM

Jimena Alvarez Kaitlin Curtis Ananya Dutta Theodor Holm Caroline Morrow Isabella Peralta Melody Smith

ART TEAM

Kresha Sewani Lucy Solomon

BUSINESS TO SUPPORT IN BOSTON

OKW FASHION

LADY OF LIZARD

RASPBERRY BERET

custom fitted wear

handpicked vintage

vintage clothing

@okwfashion

@ladyoflizard

@cambridgeraspberryberet

DUNAMIS

COVET

HOODLUM COLLECTIVE

professional development

sustainable fashion

clothing, design, music

@dunamisboston

@covetboston

@hoodlumcollective

BULLSHIT BOUTIQUE

PHINISTA

ARDZIR

vintage clothing

coffee, pastries, desserts

boston-based designer

@bullshitboutique

@phinista.cafe

@ardzir

SARAPHYM’S BLESSING

ANDALA COFFEE HOUSE

PASSION PAIRS

handmade arts & crafts

palestinian-owned coffee shop

handmade earrings

@saraphyms.blessings

286 franklin st., cambridge

@passion.pairs

All stores are located in Boston, Massachusetts. They can be found via internet or social media. Please show them your support!

E M E R S O N F A S H I O N S O C I E T Y

LETTERS FROM THE EDITORS

We have relearned so much over the course of this year. Rebuilding, reconnecting, reacquainting, reinventing… … you get the picture. This fall saw us through the re-do’s of many firsts: first in-person team meetings, first productions with a larger crew, first time working face-to-face with one another. For the past year, we have been privileged to be able to work together virtually, but I can’t emphasize enough how grateful I am for us to finally be able to meet in-person again. One of the most important parts of fashion is being able to be physically present with one another. I understand that there are elements which some may find materialistic: who is wearing what, where did they get it, but there is a beauty in putting together outfits and being able to show off your ideas to the people around you. That energy will never go unnoticed! I hope that you can feel and see it in everyone’s work. The INDEX FW2021 issue aims to highlight the idea of reinventing, focusing on fashion’s future, while giving credit to your

surroundings. You will see our team’s unique takes on numerous themes within the fashion world that resonate with them, many of which examine nature, culture, and all of their complexities. Fashion is so personal yet universal at the same time, and our team has done a beautiful job at expressing themselves and what they are passionate about within fashion. INDEX would never be what it is without our incredibly talented team. Thank you to all who have contributed their time and effort. As a final reminder, we want to make sure that everybody sees themselves in the fashion world, and we are committed to working towards making that happen. Love, INDEX Magazine

MEERA SINGH

Our team finally left the virtual realm and returned to in-person meetings this semester. We got to laugh together, express our visions, and actually see each other’s outfits outside of the rectangle Zoom camera. This did just as much for our mental health as it did for the quality of our work. I’m so thankful that I got a sense of normalcy for my last semester on

INDEX. I’ve been here since Freshman year when I was just a bright, overlysmiley face looking up to the people in charge of this operation. And then I became one of them!? I still can’t believe how lucky I am to create things that prioritize fashion and inclusion and I will miss working on this magazine so much. This issue explores the future of fashion. But it also considers all the different subcultures that make up the everchanging aesthetic ecosystem. In some ways, they are all in conversation with one another—even in subtle ways. It’s indicative of INDEX itself; no two team members dress the same or take the same classes or come from the exact same place but we all found our way into these pages. We not only made things in response to what we saw people wearing but to how we saw people feeling. I think this blend reveals the uniqueness of our publication. It’s not just about the shoes...well sometimes it is. I don’t only speak for myself when I say that the future looks scary. Especially in a time where the trajectory of the world feels off-kilter. Despite that, I go into the future with confidence I gained from my time here. INDEX facilitates growth so when we reach less supportive places, we enter them ready to make an impression. When you turn the pages of this magazine, you get to see this blossoming in all its glory. Enjoy!

JANE MORITZ

Wow, another semester of COVID-19! Slowly, we are getting back to a place where we can be in the company of other human beings and not feel as much of a tug of fear in our chests. This semester, it was so nice to be in the physical presence of those who worked on this magazine, and remember what it felt like to be in a room full of people who wanted to pitch their ideas to their team. The laughs, the oohs and ahhs, the silly little moments, and the grace of it all even on days where we were quiet with fatigue from being in classes and other projects. I realized how much I had missed seeing into the minds of people through the projects they wanted to pursue and the eagerness of everyone in the room to contribute in any way they could. What this semester has shown me is that it is so easy to take for granted being surrounded by people who love what they do and want to work to put out a communal project. From my freshman year, I have been able to watch INDEX shift and curl and spit and hiss and invent and reinvent - and it has been such a whirlwind of nuance and charm. Even in the failures and the missteps, I have learned so much about myself, those around me and the work that I enjoy doing. I have been able to work amongst friends and feel supported in work that really scratches that itch inside my brain. Thank you for reading our magazine, I hope it does something for you. Even if that is just a heavy sigh or small smirk on your lips.

MERCER WHITFIELD

As society has been transitioning

into a new normal, I think as

individuals we have transformed into new versions of ourselves. We’re functioning in a version of society that we’d never thought we

would see and we’ve had to adapt by learning how to be uncomfortable.

It’s interesting to see how we have redefined ourselves and how we’re manifesting the society we want to

live in. Although some things, like

pandemics, are out of our control.

That isn’t going to stop us from being ourselves unapologetically. In this issue of INDEX you can

see exploration of identity in

“The Old Me Can’t Come to the Phone” and “Redefining Identity: WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO

ME NOW?” Shoots like these

and the rest of this issue reflect the inner work all of us did during the past two years and showcase how we’re applying that reflection to our lives now. In the future when

we look back at ourselves and see the change we went through we will be proud of who we became,

I’m proud of who I have become and the friends who came with me.

This issue of INDEX is the result of our pandemic reflections.

TAYLA DIXON

TABLE OF CONTENT 1

KAIN

IT’S THE REAL THING

REDEFINING IDENTITY

PRETTY IN PINK

SATURATION

REPLICA

DIY

MODERN LIFE PRINCESS

WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE ME?

SK8R BITCH

THE OLD ME CAN’T COME TO THE PHONE

FALSE NOSTALGIA

THE GEMINIS

101

VEGETABLES

107

TAXONOMY

117

MODERN RENAISSANCE

125

A MEDIUM FOR MENTAL HEALTH

137

CANVAS

MAXIMALISM:

PSYCHEDELIA:

involves the comparison

an aesthetic of excess,

art and culture

of two astrological charts

characterized by the

spawned by psychedel-

to determine areas of

“more is more” men-

ic drugs

strength and weakness in

tality.

a relationship.

FUTURISM:

PHOTOSYNTHESIS:

IMMERSION:

captures the energy

a process used by plants

a perception of being

and dynamism of mod-

and other organisms to

physically present in a

ern technology.

convert light energy into

non-physical world.

chemical energy.

BOTANY:

MORPHOLOGY:

SUBCULTURE:

the scientific study of

a branch of biology

a culture with beliefs

plants.

dealing with the study

that are at odds with

of the form and struc-

the larger collective.

ture of organisms.

TAXONOMY:

LANDING BOLTS:

SPECIAL THANKS

the branch of science

to land your trick perfectly, tech-

Thank you Flagship

concerned with classi-

nically with both your feet on

Press for caring deeply

fication, especially of

the bolts of your skateboard.

about our vision and

organisms; systematics.

always helping us make it into a reality.

INDEX OF INDEX

SYNASTRY:

direction

AUDREY SILALAHI

photo

ROSAMOND CHUNG

assist

ANNA ARRIAGA CLAUDIA MULKEY JUSTINA THOMPSON

models

ANANYA DUTTA ARIES FUNG JO MALICDEM ARIANA TURALBA

kah-

EEN 1 INDEX

RECONSTRUCTING THE DECONSTRUCTED

EFS 2

Kain (kah-EEN) is a word often thrown around in the contemporary Indonesian fashion indusry. If translated to English, Kain– textile or fabric– loses its meaning. And yet, in the Indonesian context, it is a word loaded with transnational history and that to understand its significance, one has to back up a few centuries.

Kain Now:

Kain’s use in the Indonesian fashion industry is ever changing. The more traditional uses of Kain that are still in use range from wedding attire to clothing for spiritual practices. While the more orthodox modernisation of the Kain into fashion pieces are those sewn into ready-to-wear clothing items like shirts, skirts, and blouses. Only recently has Kain garment become utilized in its Indonesia is located strategically along borders with China in the most raw form and tied into differing shapes and silhouettes.

northeast and India, Middle East, and Europe in the northwest. The development of Kain has to do with countless socio-economic, political and cultural changes that have happened throughout history. These range from trade opportunities to visits from missionaries, as well as the ever-present influence of colonization. Brief History: In the eighth and second century BC, China’s military pressure in Vietnam triggered massive panic resulting in people migrating to Indonesia. Not only did this bring more people into the archipelago, but along with them, the Dong Son culture. One very major technique of fabric-making that was believed to be adapted from the Dong Son culture is the backstrap loom weaving method. Indonesians know this as warp-ikat. Its impacts do not end at methodology, but in their patterns and designs, including geometric patterns illustrating nature and the tree of life.

Chinese migration in the 13th century also had a significant influence. The Late Chou culture played a role in developing the asymmetrical designs in Indonesian fabric, especially in the island of Kalimantan. South Asian influences from India were prevalent as well. In the second century AD, people in the archipelago had already been in contact with Indian traders, which introduced new forms of fabrics as well as the establishment of the Srivijaya Kingdom— the first Hindu kingdom in Indonesia (then, Nusantara)— during the seventh century. The transnational aspect of cultural assimilation through trade brought about a range of fashion influences even in the early centuries. This is present even today. With trade among Asian countries, a few European countries eventually found their way in, which brought the Dutch to Indonesia. This became the start of Indonesian colonization. The Dutch invasion in Indonesia did not begin politically. The Dutch East India Company, a Dutch company that first established themselves in the archipelago, invaded Indonesia for economic gain. The company’s trading business was huge, and one industry they partook in was fabric trade.

The more raw use of Kain as a garment to reconstruct and customize according to the needs of each individual is the framework of this shoot. Despite its traditional and gendered roles of both its pattern, color and method of use, Kain, in its core, is for everyone. I’ve styled four models using eight different raw garments from different parts of Indonesia; all four models are wearing these textiles by tying them, supported by brooches and pins. The incorporation of modern silhouettes, including the one shoulder dress and underbust corsets were an essential aspect of the styling process. One model is wearing a custom Kebaya, an upper garment traditionally worn by women with a Kain and a corset underneath, only this time, he is wearing it as outerwear. Another model, heavily inspired by Balinese tradition, is wearing a Kain tied around her waist with an Obi, a garment tied around the waist to accentuate it. The Javanese batik was heavily influenced by Chinese and Indian culture through migration and trade. During the colonial period, their influence was taken over by the Dutch. One significant influence was the Dutch art deco, which heavily impacted the designs in batik patterns, especially in Northern Java. At the end of the 18th century when the Dutch East India Company collapsed, the Dutch government took control of the business. This began the Dutch colonial empire, which catalysed their exploration of the Batik business. The demand for batik rose and resulted in the introduction of one of the first methods of fast-fashion production: the cap (stamp) or block-printing technique. The introduction of the block-printing method did not only catalyse a more inexpensive technique of creating batik, but boosted batik’s presence in the Indonesian fashion industry from a ritualistic and cultural practice into a more business-driven, capital-oriented industry. While this became a positive impact in an economic stand-point, it is important to remember that most of the money that came into the batik business went to the Dutch and not towards the native Indonesians. Moreover, many were left with a tinge of disappointment as they realized that the cultural practice of batik as a textile became slightly diminished by the Dutch.

Kain Now: Kain’s use in the Indonesian fashion industry is ever changing. The more traditional uses of Kain that are still in use range from wedding attire to clothing for spiritual practices. While the more orthodox modernisation of the Kain into fashion pieces are those sewn into ready-to-wear clothing items like shirts, skirts, and blouses. Only recently has Kain garment become utilized in its most raw form and tied into differing shapes and silhouettes. The more raw use of Kain as a garment to reconstruct and customize according to the needs of each individual is the framework of this shoot. Despite its traditional and gendered roles of both its pattern, color and method of use, Kain, in its core, is for everyone. I’ve styled four models using eight different raw garments from different parts of Indonesia; all four models are wearing these textiles by tying them, supported by brooches and pins. The incorporation of modern silhouettes, including the one shoulder dress and underbust corsets were an essential aspect of the styling process. One model is wearing a custom Kebaya, an upper garment traditionally worn by women with a Kain and a corset underneath, only this time, he is wearing it as outerwear. Another model, heavily inspired by Balinese tradition, is wearing a Kain tied around her waist with an Obi, a garment tied around the waist to accentuate it. X

9 INDEX

EFS

The idea of reinvention within this shoot is not to pioneer a new use of the Kain.

Many Indonesians have recreated their own definition of traditional contemporary fusion, even earning the hashtag #BerkainBersama (wearing Kain together) on Instagram. The goal is to further emphasize the idea that the preservation of culture, especially those impacted by centuries of colonialism, is still possiblein the face of decolonization and modernization.

11 INDEX

EFS

i t ’s t h e r e a l t h i n g 13 INDEX

direction

MEERA SINGH

photo

MAYA SERI

layout

JULIA SMITH

assist

TAYLA DIXON MERCER WHITFIELD

style

LAUREN DILLOW

models

OLIVIA TRAN DEVIN TURCOTTE

EFS

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EFS

redefining identity

what does it mean to me now?

direction

JUSTINA THOMPSON

photo

ELLIE KOO

models

ANNA ARRIAGA VALENTINE CARR AMYA DIGGS JAYLA GROSS SERGE GANTHIER KIMSTELLE MERISMA SIOBHAN O’BRIEN SHAYMAA SAUNDERS CHLOE SHAAR AUDREY SILALAHI

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EFS

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EFS 30

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EFS

direction

TAYLA DIXON

photo

IAN HAMILTON

assist

MEERA SINGH

models

FELIPE CAMPANO BEN HOFMANN GREG GAGER

style

LAUREN DILLOW TAYLA DIXON

35 INDEX

JONATHAN LOPEZ-AMAYA

EFS

39 INDEX

EFS

S a t u r a t i o n

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editorial

David Shird

The resurgence of the 2000s aesthetic now dubbed Y2K has led to the bold colors and glittery outfits to return. Many condemned the bright neons for being too flashy and bold. This caused fashion to move away from bright colors and more towards flesh-tone nude colors. The fashion of the mid-late 2010s were defined by these nude colors as many found them more grounding and professional. There was this new sense of glam and poise that came with nudes. They were easy to style as one did not have to worry about making a bright-colored piece of clothing fitting to an ensemble. Nude colors were warm-toned which made it easy for people to find shades that complement their skin tone. While this era is defined by elegance and simplicity, it lacked the flair of previous eras. Even so, in the undercurrents of mainstream fashion, people expressed themselves with bursts of color and patterns. Throughout the mid-2010s streetwear had a huge influence. Absurd patterns and colors reigned supreme once more. The popularity of streetwear brands such as Supreme, Bape, and Obey was very much reminiscent of how people idolized brands like Juicy Couture in the 2000s. Street fashion has always heavily influenced pop culture and fashion and during the 2010s it brought back many of the trends from the 90s and 00s marketing them to the young generation. From this point the 2000s aesthetic slowly began to make its way back into relevance. As little by little the generation slowly began to reclaim trends of the era. It started with the return of tinted colored glasses around 2017-18. Then followed accessorizing and playing with colors, especially in the latter half in the 2010s. Bold patterns made their way back into the mainstream and neons became popular again. Vibrant make-up and face glitter accompanied glossy and sexy outfits which were still fun and expressive. Much of what made the 2000s fashion so appealing were elements such as these. So it makes sense that a generation so free-spirited, bold, and daring would latch onto an era so iconic for not shining away and taking risks with fashion. The pandemic is also a major factor as to why this aesthetic has come back so rapidly. With nowhere to go, people became bored of their existing wardrobes. I put on fashion shows in my high school bedroom trying to create new looks from clothes that didn’t feel like me anymore. I realized that the best way to look for fashion inspiration would be by looking into the past for ideas. Coupled with this is the fact that kids solace in their old TV shows and movies as they were quarantined. Suddenly, there was a nostalgia for the time of our childhood and a need to recreate those memories through fashion. The elements were already at our fingertips and once we put the pieces back together, Y2K launched back onto mainstream fashion. Influences and commoners alike have been dripping in bright colors almost appearing oversaturated as the sparkle and glam have all returned stunningly. The return to these bright colors and bold statement pieces show how people are having fun again dressing up. People want a chance to have fun with style and fashion and want to play with trends. This is why vibrant colors and the Y2K aesthetic have such a grip on Gen-Z. Coming out of a very minimalist era of fashion, there is this obsession with the past fashion era which embodied boldness and creativity. Fashion is something that shouldn’t take itself too seriously and really should be personal to the wearer. The Y2K aesthetic creates an empty canvas for people to let their personality and creativity thrive. It is heart-warming to see people wearing what they want and expressing themselves through being eccentric and loud. X

EFS

Replica

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direction EMILY HUGHES model

ERIK WAXDAL

EFS

49 INDEX

EFS

51 INDEX

EFS

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EFS

Modern Life Princess

direction

RIDDHIMA DAVE

photo

JIAWEN NI

models

HALEY MACMILLAN DAMARIS RIZZO VANSHITA AGRAWAL

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Fairytales in 2021 look a tad different than they used to. What does a modern-day princess do?

Big cities and access to 24 hr convenience stores has made her prone to mid-night cravings.

EFS

A modern princess rushes to class and work through her new age carriage: the subway.

America runs on Dunkin’ and so do American princesses.

61 INDEX

Modern princesses work and waste time on the new age cursed apple. They also blow all their gold on these little devices.

Big cities and access to 24 hr convenience stores has made her prone to mid-night cravings.

EFS

The Cursed Apple distracts princesses and leads them to employ procrastexting.

Princess Tinderella dreams of finding her prince charming online.

She stills finds ways and time (at the expense of poor drivers) to exhibit some peace in her surroundings

65 INDEX

And above all, a modern-day princess uplifts, elevates, and supports other modern-day princesses.

EFS

Why Do You Want To Be Me? editorial

Elizabeth Borg

We all know and are tired of hearing about cultural appropriation. But what about the little things that go unnoticed? Things you didn’t even know you were accidentally appropriating from someone else’s culture. It could be as innocent as a jewelry trend or hair style. You saw someone on Instagram a white influencer with the cutest necklace that had their name on it and you just had to have one too. What you don’t know is that 30 years ago, Black women were ridiculed and called “ghetto” or “cheap” for wearing the nameplate necklace. This lack of acknowledgement of Black pioneers who risked loss of fame for wearing what they wanted, is swirling all around us, and so many people don’t even know it. Before this issue can be resolved and we are able to give credit where credit is due, we must first learn our history to understand where these trends come from and honor those who pioneered the way for us. It was March 1966 and Donyale Luna was the first ever woman of color to appear on any Vogue cover. Ever. As part of her history making British Vogue cover, the American model wore acrylic nails painted white. While the acrylic nail had been invented 15 years earlier in the 1950s, they didn’t have widespread popularity. In fact, it wasn’t Donyale Luna who popularized the acrylic nail at all. The acrylic nail didn’t really rise to fame until R&B artists like Missy Elliot and Lil’ Kim were seen wearing and promoting them in the 1990s. A pair of Lil’ Kim’s acrylic nails became so iconic that they’re now on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. Often, Black women who followed this trend weren’t regarded as stylish or classy. Now, in 2021, many women who are into nail art, regardless of race or cultural background, wear acrylics with little to no regard of the foremothers who wore them in the 90s. Women who were chastised and criticized for wearing these “ghetto fabulous” nail extensions. Celebrities like Kylie Jenner wear acrylic nails and show them off on their instagram story whilst having Teen Vogue articles written about how they’re “starting a new nail trend” for the season. We must remember the days when acrylic nails were not seen as worthy of having articles written about them or becoming a trend to mainstream white audiences. Similarly, there has been a trend, a small, nearly unnoticeable piece of jewelry dominating the fashion scene for decades now. Worn by white celebrities and praised for the new unique way in which they wear these little pieces of jewelry, the gold hoop has been taken from the streets of Harlem and put onto influencers, runways and more. The history of the “gold” hoop can be traced back to 4th century Sudan, where they had small bronze hoops as earrings. A more recent example of a Black woman starting this “trend” is Josephine Baker, a famous jazz dancer from the 1920s who brought rise to the gold hoop earring within the Jazz subculture. Later in the 20th century gold hoops became a part of the attire for the Black power movement, along with a gravity defying Afro. The Black power of the 70s movement was very interested in reverting back to its African roots. So it stands to reason that wearing hoops earrings, which originated in Sudan, would become a staple for the movement. Later on in the 90s, R&B icons (which seems to be a running theme for trends white people would later steal) like Lauryn Hill, Aaliyah and Eryka Badu were all known for wearing some form of oversized gold hoop earrings. Bamboo hoops seemed to be one of the more popular styles among these R&B legends. Fast forward to the early 2000s, celebrities such as Kim Kardashian can be seen wearing bamboo earrings and gold chains on the red carpet. While one 67 INDEX

can not claim that this is “cultural appropriation,” it is blatant hypocrisy amongst the fashion industry. They called hoop earrings and nameplate necklaces “ghetto” until Sarah Jessica Parker’s character was styled in the exact same way in the iconic tv show “Sex in the City.” After that, all of a sudden these were some of the must have trends of the season. While having articles of clothing or jewelry colonized by the white dominant culture without any credit to the Black street style they took it from is inappropriate, there is an entire new level of incredulity when you realize that not only are they stealing clothing trends, but now they’re making body shapes, hairstyles and skin color trends! The things that you naturally have no control over are now trends that women are surgically adding to themselves. Braids, for example, have deep cultural roots not only in African traditions, but also dating back to American plantations. Enslaved women would do elaborate braids on each other to either tell hidden messages or hide grains of rice in their hair in case the slave master denied them food. Since then it has become a part of African American culture. Far too many times in fashion history have we seen white women attempt to mimic these hairstyles that are not only not built for their hair texture, but are also deeply culturally rooted. Bo Derek, a white American actress, was styled wearing cornrows with beads at the end in her film 10. Since then many white women, including Kim Kardashian, have worn similarly styled braids claiming they are “Bo Derek” braids rather than calling them what they are, which are cornrows. While street style is full of it’s hypocritical ideals and stolen credits, the high fashion world is not without fault. John Gailliano, the former head designer for Dior, had an infamous spring 2000 runway show which he claimed was inspired by Lauryn Hill. This show, while having some interesting and almost intriguing looks, featured white models styled in “Kinky curly” wigs as part of their runway looks. Another example, all too recently, is Marc Jacobs’ spring/summer 2017 runway show. It had non Black models like Gigi Hadid and Taylor Hill styled in wigs with colorful dreadlocks as part of their ensemble. Marc Jacobs had another moment of cultural insensitivity when he had his white models styled in Bantu Knots for his spring/summer 2015 show, in which he claimed the hair style to be “mini buns.” And of course, the piece de resistance, the notorious Comme de Garçon 2020 show in which white male models were dressed in ill fitted wigs which had elaborate cornrow braid designs on them. The wigs began in the middle of the forehead and were so obviously wigs that whatever the designer was attempting to accomplish didn’t come across. While it’s hard to unequivocally say that Black people “invented” these styles, it is important to remember that so many lower income Black people were wearing many trends we love today with no recognition and often slandered for it. Today so many people are capitalizing off of low income Black culture, and it’s getting dangerous. Not only are white people doing this, but people like Virgil Abloh and his brand Off-white are taking from people who aren’t in the same position as them, and making millions off of it. Where does appreciation end and appropriation start? Whether these were just ignorant mistakes or blatant disregard for Black culture, the fashion world needs to be more thoughtful with how they appreciate Black culture or they just end up appropriating it. It could be as simple as remembering that these earrings you’re wearing weren’t invented by the white owned brands who are capitalizing off of them, but rather popularized by Black women from inner cities who decided to ignore the status quo and go against white culture to wear the thing she felt good in. So the next time you wear a pair of gold earrings or think about putting your hair into two braids, just remember there was a long line of Black women who may have been chastised before these trends could ultimately become what they are, trends. X EFS

direction

MAYA SERI

editorial

JT BREAUX

style

PIEPER MECCIA ABBY STANICEK

assist

CARINA PRAY JULIA SMITH

model

MILANI GOSMAN CLAIRE LEE GIANNA SCARPA RAYVEN TATE

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SK8R BITCH

ecently, INDEX had the opportunity to converse with some women of Lonely Bones— a local skate collective making waves within the subculture and without. We met with them at Velosolutions Pump Track, a public park and skate park in Allston. The group was founded by Northeastern University graduates Claire Lee and Rayven Tate as a way to unlock the traditionally barred gates of skateboarding for those who would be otherwise unable or simply afraid to participate in the sport. The group meets regularly at parks and draws large crowds of marginalized skaters from across the Northeast to skate, to show off gear or to just hang out with like minded folks.

onely Bones meet-ups have also attracted Emerson College Visual Media Arts students Milani Guzman, Gianna Scarpa and Pieper Meccia. Guzman has been skating since she was five years old, being raised by a pair of experienced skaters. Scarpa learned to skate growing up on the streets of New Jersey. Meccia, who is not pictured, began skating in 2019.

All these women hail from across the United States, from the frigid pump tracks of Minnesota to the balmy curbs and three-stairs of Florida. However, all five of them describe similar experiences within skate culture throughout the country. The following quotes are all from real, sit-down conversations from the day of the photoshoot at Velosolutions Pump Track. So what exactly is Lonely Bones? Rayven Tate: It’s a group for marginalized skaters. I’d say everyone who felt like they never had a place in the skate community, I think we catered towards them. We just want everyone to feel very comfortable and safe and let them know that you can take up space and you

should be proud of that and have fun. It’s all about just letting loose and hanging out, and I think that’s our big thing, just making sure that everyone feels comfortable and can have a community. I didn’t have anyone to skate with, that’s how I reached out to Claire. We just want to foster basically that feeling— like you can take the leap.

“We want everyone to feel very comfortable and safe and let them know that you can take up space...” EFS

You have people here to support you, and you have a support network. You can come and meet someone new. Being able to see friendships blossom and see people progress to like they come to meetups has just been so rewarding and makes us like… I don’t know. Very happy. (laugh) Milani Guzman: It’s an all non men skate Alliance, but it’s just a group and a safe place for people of all skate levels. Skating is a really intense sport, and it’s also traditionally one of gatekeeping and exclusion almost. So being a beginning skater you can feel very on-the-outs, very unwelcome, and you might not know how to hold yourself. And this is a safe space to learn and to learn more about the culture because so many people are interested in it and want to take part of it but feel like they’re not welcome. Claire Lee: So we really stress that we’re not a club. We don’t want people to feel obligated to participate at any certain level. So we call ourselves a collective. We’re both really into you know clothes and music and art, and I think there’s like a lot of value in the intersection between those things in skating. And like there is a little bit of stigma, I think around like being into that stuff and also skating, you know, people kind of associate that with whatever a poser is. Where does “poser’’ come from? CL: Insecurity, that’s where it comes from. Tate: It typically comes from cis-het men. If you don’t look like them and don’t rock like them, then you’re not part of the club. And I hate that. And that’s why so many people are scared to get into it. PM: It’s just this thing that you’re not entirely welcome. If you look different, you might be like a “poser” or “you suck at skating” or something like that. It’s just these weird standards that are created by people that think skating needs to be a certain thing. RT: Once you show that you’re passionate about

something else like art or music or anything that’s not just just this whole dude-bro mentality, then it makes you like you’re “just doing it for the aesthetic,” and you don’t actually care about skateboarding and that’s very much not true.

“Skateboarding is just really freeing, and that fashion and feminity and skateboarding can all be one thing. It doesn’t have to be separated.”

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PM: I think skating is meant to be a form of self expression. Skateboarding is just really freeing, and that fashion and femininity and skateboarding can all be one thing. It doesn’t have to be separated. Skating is such a creative medium. I feel like a lot of people don’t realize that. Like the way that you skate, like the way I designed my griptape, like what board I use, you know? This is just how I express myself and the way that I skate. It just feels so free. It’s cool to see people just feeling themselves doing what they want with cool style. Some people treat it like a sport and some people treat it like art, but I think it’s both. MG: I think for a lot of people it’s like a sport. I feel like a lot of people who skate may have not traditionally considered themselves athletic or into sports growing up. It’s the kind of sport where you feel like there’s enough space to foster self expression. You get to decorate your boards and you get to pick your deck. There’s an inherently visual element. I grew up skating. I’ve been skating since I was six. That was something that my dad and I bonded over, and even though my mom did it, she would teach me how to hold myself when you’re the only girl out on the ramps, because you’ve got to hold yourself differently. Like I never grew up skating in skirts, like it was like, “You wear long pants You don’t even wear shorts to the skatepark.” She was just adamant about that. She was very over protective. So, I don’t know, I guess as a culture it is kind of very traditionally masculine. But recently it’s been changing, which is good.

The skate spaces here are more intersectional. You can feel open to be yourself, and like be open about the fact that you’re queer. There are definitely more like black skaters here, and black female skaters. A lot of the female led spaces for skate back home I felt like were really whitewashed. RT: It’s still very like white centered. I never saw POC in skating, and if I did, it was a few. Even then it would be men. So truly there was no one that looked like me that skated. I had no one I could look up to. CL: In the 90s and early 2000s there were a lot of white men and even some white women in skating. But we kind of grew up without any representation or anyone to look up to. Gianna Scarpa: I think it’s just a very male dominated thing, especially white male dominated thing. So just mainly seeing only that kind of representation makes it feel unwelcoming.

PM: I know this one little girl named Lulu, and she’s like four years old and she’s shreds. And I want to give a shout out to Lulu because she learned how to drop in this summer and she’s like, maybe 40 pounds, and it’s lit. I just really like seeing little girls skate. They’re the future, you know, and she shreds so hard. She’s gonna be so good. MG: I come from Florida. I mean skate culture in Florida is pretty big. EFS

PM: One time I was at a skatepark and a man came up to me and he goes, “What are you doing here? Women don’t come here to skate alone!” And then I left. (laughs) RT: I feel like there’s so many unspoken rules of a skate park and you never really know where to even learn them from. Everything I learned about skateparks is either from Claire or like Reddit, cuz I couldn’t find it anywhere else. MG: At a certain point, if they don’t see you at a certain skill level, they’ll kind of just see the park as their own and don’t give you a chance. You almost feel silently judged. Like they may not say anything, but you can almost feel a sort of pressure. RT: They do give you this look CL: They will run you over. RT: Right in front of your face, they’re like “Why are you guys here?” People are making strides in the right direction, but we’re still not encompassing everyone who likes to skate. Because I mean, truly, everyone likes to skate. You just don’t see the representation, even now, we’re working on it. I think it could be a lot better. PM: Even just in the 80s or 90s women didn’t skate. Like that wasn’t a thing, that wasn’t even like a concept. Especially women of color, that’s still a big deal. CL: There’s a resurgence of people who didn’t typically have that kind of representation and role models in the industry. They’re starting to come out of the woodwork and say things like ‘Hey I’ve kind of wanted to skate too,’ and ‘I’ve never felt like it was even an option for me.’ We’re kind of trying to capitalize on that and encourage that growth. X

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EFS

The Old Me Can’t Come To The Phone

81 INDEX

direction

CARYS HIRADWADY

style

LAUREN DILLOW EMILY HUGHES

models

NYATCHÉ MARTHA SHAYMAA SAUNDERS

EFS

85 INDEX

EFS

editorial

OLIVIA CIGLIANO

art

JULIA SMITH

89 INDEX

“I

was born in the wrong decade” – but make it fashion. So far, early 2020s trends are almost exclusively defined by the past, as Gen Z plucks aesthetics from old media that pops up on their “For You Page” or styles they find in thrift stores to build their personal style. Vintage aesthetics are romanticized as they circulate on social media and fuel the increasingly rapid trend cycle and fast fashion economy. Despite the wider fashion industry’s apparent embracement of sustainability, it seems every “new look” or “fresh take” is a direct reference to a rediscovered decade, where, instead of boosting vintage and tapping into the actual archives, much of fashion is focused on mass-producing artificial representations to appeal to young people’s nostalgic interest. The tsunami of early-2000’s trends proves this generation’s powerful base in social media, where they connected by seeing their first decade of life come back in style. It hit a warm and fuzzy spot to step back into motifs that defined childhood and the pop culture they consumed. But Gen Z-ers were born between 1997 and 2012, and a lot of their representation online is driven by teenagers who were barely grown for most of the aughts. This generation roots themselves in a past they barely remember, though absorb it digitally, creating a culture and style identity based on false nostalgia. “Nostalgia” comes from the Greek words nostos (return) and algia (pain, suffering) and describes a throbbing desire to revisit an experience. “False nostalgia,” refers to the interaction of memory and identity, based on stories we tell and hear. It reminisces on a time one did not experience or does not hold original memories. Rather, the appreciation or romanticization of the past comes from experiencing it through media, whether music, movies, TV, or photographs, and store as false memories. Nostalgia as a human emotion, true or faux, stimulates metabolic activity and blood flow to the brain, and instead of inciting depression or melancholy, is linked to an overall trait of resilience. It is a subconscious coping mechanism because it is a place of familiarity and comfort when the future is uncertain. And it is an undeniably successful marketing tactic. The “Nostalgia Economy,” coined by Quartz, exploded in the 2010s, whether in the rise of Urban Outfitters-like brands who resurged turntables, polaroid cameras, and cassettes, countless television reboots, and exciting band reconciliations. Bringing up the “good ole days” creates a deeper hype because it’s an irresistible return to the classics. Fashion, of course, reflects this, but it’s always been a medium that thrives from the past. Clothing has a rich back catalog of creation, so it’s commonplace for designers to revive beloved periods in new ideas. Fashion designers, though, also are tasked with predicting and dressing the future, since the next season’s collection is imagined far in advance. Today, they now predict which parts of the past will exist in the future. Decades come back around every 20 years, so it makes sense, for example, that we’re reliving the 2000s now, as we did the ‘90s in the 2010s. But fashion in the ‘80s and ‘90s wasn’t mainly inspired by the ‘60s or ‘70s, it was evolving and forward-facing. The recycling of the past has been exacerbated in recent years by an overwhelmingly over-stimulated, self-referential, #ThrowbackThursday society. EFS

Older brands have come to rely on their own heritage to remind a new generation of customers of its significance in pop and fashion history. Familiar brands like Levi Strauss and Doctor Martens stand the test of time for their quality and timelessness, and they bank on the appeal of their respective histories rooted in utility and counterculture. Other brands revert to their glory days when they’re needing a comeback, like Steve Madden who recently reinstated their signature ‘80s bobblehead editorials with Gen Z stars like Euphoria’s Sydney Sweeney and (rebooted) Gossip Girl’s Jordan Alexander. Calvin Klein routinely replicates their classic ‘90s underwear campaigns, once modeled by iconic sex symbols like Cindy Crawford and Mark Wahlberg, with the likes of Justin Beiber and the Kardashians. 2000’s celebrities are even capitalizing on old spectacles, whether in Skim’s remake of Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton’s infamous velour tracksuits, JLO’s multiple revivals of the green Versace “Jungle” gown she wore to the Grammy’s, or Ariana Grande’s appearance in the 13 Going On 30 dress on The Voice, signaling one of many Y2K romcom characters she assumed in her “Thank U, Next” music video. Nostalgia is a strategy to reestablish legacy and create conversation from collective memory. Thrifting evokes a different type of nostalgia. Vintage shoppers can source an artifact from a past decade, shape and connect their identity with the unique piece, and cherish it from an emotional, yet detached appreciation. Gen Z is due credit for shifting the narrative around second-hand shopping, not only for its aesthetic value but as a sustainable practice. It is now common for high school and college kids to go thrifting because it’s more affordable than mall brands, . Not without noting that outsiders pulling from a community’s supply of hand-me-downs becomes problematic when people who rely on the resource face empty racks, lesser-quality pieces, and inflated prices, due to an established privileged behavior of overconsumption. At stores like Goodwill, prices are comparable to fast fashion companies, and Gen Z apparel, in a way, found itself polarized. Two market movements exploded at parallel, both ethically flawed, but not equal. Thrifted styles like sweater vests, gogo boots, baguette bags, sheer mesh, jelly accessories–even unassuming styles like Champion hoodies, “dad sneakers,” bike shorts, and trucker hats–are widely reclaimed in fashion “fit pics” shared online. It’s an easy tip for fast fashion companies to replicate, because why only focus on developing new trends when they can capitalize on both? Companies like Shein, Dollskill,

Brandy Melville, and Urban Outfitters base a majority of their inventory in a repurposed past, meanwhile the original styles still hang on the racks of thrift stores, or worse, sent to landfills. Marc Jacob’s Gen Z-positioned label Heaven vies to recontextualize subculture street styles defined by the likes of Hysteric Glamour and Fruits Magazine, feeding into alt-punk trends that are coming back alongside pop-punk. Creating a sense of history in a garment is even seen in longheld casual staples like factory-distressed denim and vintage-looking band tees (can the wearer name 5 of their songs?), where mainstream fashion now relies on symbolic iterations and a perhaps hallow appreciation. It’s not a point to gatekeep the past from the younger generation because false nostalgia is pervasive and attractive – it’s a symptom of post-capitalism and globalization, which makes for a muddled, oversaturated world. Even this year’s Met Gala theme relied on American nostalgia to remember a common identity postpandemic, specifically in “sartorial narratives” of “complex and layered histories,” though most attendees glossed over its diverse and abundant heritage, failing to honor it in a meaningful way. #Nostalgia sits at 18.9 billion views on TikTok, as a romanticization of the past only serves to entertain. Romanticization can be dangerous when the context of original creation is lost. Fashion is not only a documentation of a time but also of community. Ways of dressing that once signified a shared identity, particularly of groups that are oppressed and the social movements they shouldered, are co-opted as disposable trends in watering down and appropriation of culture and history. 2000’s babies can’t get enough of today’s trends that are related to happy memories like Bratz Dolls and the Disney Channel golden age. But the fashion industry, like the post - 9/11 politics at the time, was toxic and bigoted. It allowed for the success of Victoria’s Secret’s fatphobic campaigning, the publication of that racist May 2008 Vogue cover, and glorified shows like “Sex and the City,” which upheld countless stereotypes and themes of biphobia, racial discomfort, and heteronormativity. The last time low rise jeans were in, the world was a lot different, and fashion wasn’t able to be enjoyed the same way it is today. Where each decade of contemporary fashion is uniquely defined by its aesthetics, Gen Z’s appropriation and reinvention of every period at once raises an identity crisis. Interestingly, they’re also a generation highly concerned with identity. Gen Z makes a point to celebrate individuality, the importance of diversity, and a willing fluidity. It’s reflected in genre-blending music trends, their understanding of intersectional politics, and an inherent mission to upend constructs and stigmas their parents endured. The fashion they wear is both replication and reinvention of the past. X

93 INDEX

THE GEMINIS

direction

CARINA PRAY

photo

LANGLEY CUSTER

style

LAUREN DILLOW CLAIRE TALBOTT

assist

MEERA SINGH

models

TONY BATEY SOFIA CALVO PALMA HUTTER TALIA SMITH

EFS

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EFS

Gemini [jem-uh-nahy] noun. The third zodiacal constellation that is pictorially represented as the twins Castor and Pollux sitting together, that is visible in the sky on the opposite side of the Milky Way from Taurus and Orion.

101 INDEX

direction

JULIA SMITH

style

LAUREN DILLOW PIEPER MECCIA

models

CODY TU NAMI YAMAGUCHI

EFS

102

105 INDEX

EFS

106

Direction Photography Editorial Style Layout Photo Editing Models

107 INDEX

Jt Breaux Roz Chung Jt Breaux Pieper Meccia Claire Talbott Jt Breaux Roz Chung

Pieper Meccia David Shird Lucy Spangler David Staats

EFS

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eople love the plucky and rebellious subculture. To use the dictionary definition supplied by Oxford Languages, a subculture is “a cultural group within a larger culture, often having beliefs or interests at variance with those of the larger culture.” This, however, is a broad spanning definition that encompasses any and all groups from your high school’s Dungeons and Dragons club to the entirety of the Catholic Church. For the purposes of this less-than-academic examination, a subculture will be defined by three composite attributes; a shared music taste, a shared underlying philosophy, and namely, a shared taste in fashion.

Subcultures fitting this formula seemed to dominate the cultural landscape of the latter half of the twentieth century. This endemic spread of distinct self identified groups spans from street racing greasers of the 50’s to the mad revels of club kids in the 90’s. And of course any discussion of the history of subculture would be incomplete without mention of the various individual lifestyles of goth, punk, grunge, metal and so many more that proliferated across the world stage in the gilded 1980’s. These cultures weren’t just patterns of repeated aesthetics in music, fashion and art— far from it. They were fully fleshed out youth ideologies, with tenets that rivaled the status quo but often in contrasting ways (such as punk’s abrasive vitality in contrast with goth’s central fixation on death and decay).

These subcultures are well documented, both in the archives of pop culture and academia. A quick google search of “Kurt Cobain and Grunge” reveals scores of articles speculating on the exact origins of the genre and its use as a term, as well as Cobain’s lasting influences on music, fashion, politics, and queer expression. Entire books have been written on the subject, such as Mark Yarm’s Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge, a hefty tome coming in at a whopping 599 pages focusing on the history of the genre as a musical movement as well as a subculture, and also its relationship to the cultures surrounding it such as punk and metal.

In short, these subcultures have been taxonomized, a biological term meaning to classify an organism (think back to early high school science class mnemonics and “Dear King Phillip Came Over From Germany Stoned”). This is to say that, simply by existing, these subcultures invited further documentation and study.

The first use of goth to describe modern rock music comes from the 1967 headline Four Doors to The Future: Gothic Rock is There Thing, an article by John Stickney for the LA Times describing his encounter with Jim Morrison. This came almost two decades before goth would become a fully fledged subculture under our working definition, and even by the late 1970’s, the term goth (yet again short for gothic, in this as well as many other early cases) was used by Joy Division manager Tony Wilson to describe the band he represented while on BBC television. In both the eyes of the people consuming the music as well as those of those producing it, the coming of goth as a lifestyle and subcultural niche was heralded long before its ultimate heyday. However, viewing the music and fashion landscape of today, no recently developed subcultures seem to have staked such a claim, nor are any appearing to gather their hosts over the edge of the hill. Recent years have brought with them their own fashion trends and musical libraries, yes, even at a greatly accelerated rate compared to those of the past. That being said, however, the quasi-ancient titans of goth, punk, emo, their ilk seem to be the only subcultures that subsist upon that oh-so holy trinity of a distinctly united sense of fashion, music, and philosophy. Which brings us to the central question:

Is subculture dead?

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Of course, this is not to say that the aforementioned groups have gone the way of the dinosaur altogether, nor to say that culture itself has stopped dividing and progressing. In some circles, goth and punk are still alive and well, and some methodologies even consider various newly partitioned cultural groups to be merely post-punk or post-grunge in a new shape and form. I will argue, however, that new niches within culture seem to have abandoned the beloved music-fashion-philosophy formula set in motion by their predecessors. Skate culture makes a fine simulacrum of the subculture for modern times. Skating has certainly carved its own cultural niche, but one that it stands alone in. “Skater boys” and skater fashion have been discussed widely on social media platforms such as Instagram and TikTok, and this discourse has made its own indelible ripples in collective youth culture as we know it. Skate culture, for the most part, is how it always has been. It possesses a certain uniformity to it’s way of dress, yes, and can even be said to carry a certain laid back philosophy with it, but does not stem from a collective music taste in the same way that the subcultures of the twentieth century did. Furthermore, skate culture stems from the very activity of skating, a sport that has persisted for decades and experienced (sometimes needed) great aesthetic change over time. The culture does not exist for its own sake as punk, grunge, and goth did, and therefore may satisfy the Oxford Language definition of a subculture, but yet not ours. So where have all the subcultures gone? The answer may lie not in any fault of culture itself but in how partitioned cultures are propagated. The latter half twentieth century was the era of radio, and even after video killed the radio star, MTV was king. It was an epoch molded and characterized by top-down authority over media. That is to say that, in contrast with modern times, the branding of a particular artist or style was authored by those at the top of their respective industry. Managers like Tony Wilson and designers such as Vivienne Westwood were able to exercise well thought out and specific artistic vision of what they believed their products should be and how they pleased to have those products shape culture in their image. Conversely, response to and criticism of these cultural trends was relegated only to the journalistic elite, who would observe trends through an expertly trained bird's eye view and confer their findings to newspapers and magazines. EFS

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Today, cultural criticism is largely relegated to the masses. Any aspiring critic of music or fashion with access to TikTok and an iPhone can share their thoughts on a work of art. The media landscape has been turned on its head from top-down to bottom-up, with the flow of opinions and information taking the shape of a discussion, rather than a presentation. This brings with it a myriad of new voices and perspectives, but also the loss of the immediate legitimacy conferred to artists, managers, and designers. This creates a phenomena much like that of cancel culture, the much discussed boogeyman of the Twitter era, although it is in no way as contentious or insidious. In the same way that actors and producers careers can be made or broken overnight due to direct criticism from the populous (for a positive example of this, see the rise to stardom of Doja Cat and Lil Nas X), the way that the aesthetics of music and fashion interact is no longer based on a small group of individuals guiding the market, but by millions of voices crying out in response to it. This lack of modern Vivienne Westwoods and Kurt Cobains telling consumers how to think and what to wear as an adherent to their product ultimately leads to an increased degree of customization among personal tastes and aesthetics. This increased customization has other ways of manifesting as well, namely the advent of streaming platforms growing to dominate the music distribution industry. In the early 2000’s and prior, the practice of having a defined musical taste was a buy-in activity. Individuals had to take the hike down to the nearest seller of wares to purchase a record or CD or cassette tape or what-have-you in order to invest themselves into any stylings of music that were not presented on the radio. This leant both an opportunity cost and a social aspect to any and all music. As a buyer of a record, you had to develop discretion as well as a certain amount of personal investment into the record you were purchasing. It was necessary to consider patterns based on one’s own taste, largely revolving around specific artists, in order to feel satisfied about a purchase, before any listening even began. After all, money doesn’t grow on trees.

So, is the subculture dead? Sadly, it seems that all answers point to yes. Gone are the days where you could expect to encounter a group of pale and wan teens clad in black and immediately pick up a conversation on Bauhaus and the horrid dismalness of life.

This led to a culture where artists and their affixed genres had a certain way of being more important than the music itself. Kurt Cobain could form a cult of personality around himself with much more comparative ease than modern artists, because while his albums and his persona had to grapple against those of other artists, his songs as products did not compete with other songs on an individual level. This is not to say that platform streaming listeners do not exercise curation of their music libraries based on patterns presented to them, but that modern listeners can now simply afford to have more diverse libraries. This diversification leads to more power of curation being placed in the hands of the audience, which in of itself leads to further diversification, and to

the cycle feeding into itself ad nauseum.

However, as with all things, this absence leaves space for things that are bright and new. This obfuscation of popular culture is not a sign of homogeneity, far from it. While this specific brand of subculture may be dead and gone, it leaves in its wake a culture that leaves more room for diversification of personal and artistic taste, as well as what we all seek in the end; opportunity for a more legitimate and authentic standard of personal expression.

modern modern

117 INDEX

direction

ANNA ARRIAGA

style

LAUREN DILLOW

models

CLARISA CARRILLO QINGSHI MENG

assist

CLAUDIA MULKEY AUDREY SILALAHI

RENAISSANCE Reniassance EFS

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EFS

122

Fashion: A Medium for Mental Health direction

WILL PERCARPIO

photo

JENNA TRIEST

style

WILL PERCARPIO MEERA SINGH

editorial

WILL PERCARPIO

makeup

ASHLEY ONNEMBO

model

AJA WEBBER AUDREY CAI ELOISA DE FARIAS SOREN BERMAN

125 INDEX

ashion is individuality, freedom from restrictive societal chains, or it’s supposed to be at least. We let clothes drape our carefully carved silhouettes to protect us, inaugurating us into a world of fitting in. It’s to avoid ostracization. But is that fashion? Fashion is our innermost desires materialized. There is a struggle in desire; what is pleasure without pain anyway? Trauma surfaces on our bodies after years of practicing to hide emotional scars. Clothing is a medium that lets our hurt blister on the surface. We wear our pain. It’s the ultimate form of self-expression. We don our emotions on our sleeves; each article of clothing is a deliberate decision to represent our past, our current state of being, our mental health. To represent us. Mental health binds us to our clothing choices, our identities formed from our pasts. Ghosts from a time of struggle that float through our minds, a tug-of-war between healthy confidence in style and low moments of self-loathing and wishing to be anyone else. Audrey Cai, Soren Berman, Aja Webber, and Eloisa de Farias share their personal demons, fashion’s detrimental effects on their mental health, and vice versa. A cycle of toxicity reigns today despite body-positive, queer acceptance, and mental health movements. Their identities intersect in a generational way, nodding to early punk movements commenting on societal failures and the need for change. Clothing is more personal now. Fashion represents the person we want to be, the person we are, and the person we struggle to deal with. EFS

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Audrey Cai A Divide Between

, Shanghai to Boston

TWO WORLDS

udrey Cai is a 20-year-old Communications major at Emerson College. Originally from Shanghai, Cai decided to go to school in America. Culture shock hit her hard. No longer could she blend in Shanghai, letting her body talk for her; she had to up her style at Emerson. “Coming to Emerson, I was like fuck like I gotta step up my game like I cannot fall behind here I’m not gonna be looked down upon [and] everything in college,” her candidly silver-tone letting the conversation flow into how she thrifted and shopped all the time to find her niche, trying on clothing item after clothing item, letting all the misses slide away into an eventual Goodwill donation bin. Inside the Emerson bubble, there is this pressure to succeed in all your fashion choices, glaring gazes strike you down, and without another second, they’re gone as fast as they came. This competitive circle indulges in the idea of borrowing outfit inspiration from each other, which Cai gives a knowing nod to, tucking her hair just behind her ears, latching them into place. She’s one of many to use other Emerson students as inspiration to help her fashion journey. “Some of my outfits [I wear] here, I would not wear when I go home.” Cai went home this past summer for the first time in two years, altering and restricting her fashion growth. With the Chinese fashion standard opting for a more conservative style, Cai was at odds with her parents and her home. “I first I went back home I kind of wore whatever the fuck I wanted to, I brought pieces from here back home. But then I got into an argument once with [my mom] because she commented on what I was wearing in a negative way. And then that kind of pissed me off,” Cai recounted, no venom laced on her tongue. Mother-daughter disputes aside, Cai mentioned that being back in Shanghai, she explored the indie designer scene, finding affordable designer pieces for much less than any European designer or American designer. Delving into niche fashion circles, sizing became an issue. Frustrated, Cai said, “when I shop online back

home, I have to sometimes wear a size large and, a lot of times, you know, like clothing stores would only have [one] size.” The Shanghai beauty standard favors slimmer women, creating this narrative that women have to be petite to wear clothing. There are limitations in Shanghai, championing the slimmer body type, perpetuating a fatphobic narrative to women all over China. Those sizing restrictions planted seeds of self-destructive tendencies during high school. She worked out excessively to fit the slimmer build. Eating less and working out more, Cai needed to fit in; everyone wants to, but how can you with such rigid beauty rules. Growing up isn’t easy for anyone, especially when you don’t fall into the conventional beauty standard. Cai’s modulated voice turned gruff as she said, “Dude, growing up was rough. Okay, because everyone would comment on how big my face was. Yeah, it was like the worst thing in the world apparently to have a rounder [face]. It made me super insecure about my face. I would always try to cover up. And growing up, people would say that I’m too tan because being tan isn’t that big of a thing back home.” Yet, she is the American beauty standard, prominent jawline, and has a honey-like complexion. For a kid, she dealt with the pressures of being beautiful, having to fit this conventional attraction meter. In talking with Cai, the Chinese beauty standard praises sameness and demonizes any differences. The constant mantra of not being enough is something everyone knows about. Cai faces this duality; she is cherished for her body in America, but her identity struggles to escape the Chinese beauty standard’s nagging criticism. She’s growing to unlearn the self-loathing that resides in her brain, relying on friends as a support system. She recounted how American friends are the ultimate hype man, commenting on fashion and how great everyone looks. There is this process to unlearn everything from childhood, those formative years that either praised or criticized you and there’s never an in-between.

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Soren Berman

What Even is a BALLERINA Anyway?

oren Berman is an 18-year-old Communication Studies major who transferred from her city community college back in Santa Barbara. The former ballerina turned androgynous surf rocker is still finding herself. After years of dance, the conditioning to conform to an ideal brand of beauty is still in the back of Berman’s mind. Berman wanted to excel in ballet. She didn’t have a ballerina-esque build. “I grew up as a ballet dancer; there is so much femininity being the peak of fashion. Long lines and long silhouettes were ideal; that was everything; when you’re dressing for ballet, you’re dressing for your body to accentuate your body,” Berman exhaled, her words lifted her tension from her shoulders as they drooped, and her smile rested back on her face. What even is femininity? Ballet is a gendered dancing style that focuses on the masculine and feminine, creating a box on its dancers. Berman struggled with the long silhouettes, standing at only five foot one. Her ballerina build was not favored. Her femininity was negated because she didn’t have the ideal feminine form. Hyper-femininity reinforces the binary that gender is only between men and women. Ballet is an example of this hyper-femininity. Is that social pressure too much for children to have these ropes confining them to a particular lifestyle? Disavowing a world beyond this hyper-binary world of dance. Berman speaks to that, “ Once I left the dance community. I was like, oh my god, I am five foot, and I can wear long baggy

clothes, and it doesn’t affect anyone but me, and I feel ten times better in baggier non-feminine clothes than in leotard tights or a beautiful ball gown.” She leaned closer to the zoom camera as if making sure I could breathe in every word, emphasizing the importance of androgynous dressing styles. Berman left a community of dance, comradery, and supposed love, and that’s when she found herself. She discovered that the baggier look accentuates her femininity, self-expression, and love of comfort. “I love Billie Eilish and her style. I see a lot of myself in the way she dresses; you can still feel feminine, cool, and sexy without showing the parts of a woman stereotypically. I’ve learned to dress for my body in a sense for me personally, not what makes me feel [cool to society].” Critics of Eilish say she hides her femininity because they can’t see her body. But she’s not hiding. Like Berman, they are rethinking their relationship with their bodies. After coming from a dance background that highlights tight clothing that shapes the body and reveals it, Berman is now reconfiguring how she perceives her body. How she wants the world to see her. Whether conscious or not, Berman’s fashion choices comment on the gaze, the lens through which people perceive you, and like Eilish, she isn’t appeasing the male gaze; instead, she hones in on her personal lens. Let fashion be an anthem. Just as Berman realized after years of struggle with conforming to the grueling ballet lifestyle, wear whatever you want. EFS

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Aja Webber

A DUALITY of COLORS

ja Webber is a 20-year-old Journalism student at Emerson College delving into the various opportunities offered, dipping her toes into producing a show for Emerson College, interning at Boston Fit Magazine while just trying to be a junior in college. The day we met for the interview, Webber’s clothing, while meek and dull, still showcased her personality, layering a turtleneck under a graphic mushroom tee and some jeans. Although normal to the public eye, to her, it’s a sign of struggle. She lives by her philosophy of colors. Wearing bright colors when she has confidence versus muted ones when she’s having a hard or off day. “I have a duality to my personality where I am very energetic - extroverted introvert - homebody, when I go out, I love engaging with people and having fun. That bright style of clothing reflects me.” Confidence is king in terms of color schemes. Bright colors are her extroverted personality, while her neutral or more mundane color palate exemplifies her introversion. Society mocks introverts for not being excited or prepared to be adventurous or happy all the time, disregarding the emotionally draining turmoil it causes. Webber allows herself not to force a facade. Wearing less colorful uniforms, it’s a moment of honesty, one that we all struggle to make. Webber struggles with body dysmorphic thoughts as she talks about these thoughts, coping with her looks or how her body fits into certain pieces of clothing. She tells me that the day before the interview, she wanted to wear pink corduroy pants, yet they didn’t fit right, not accentuating her body the right way; everything from there felt off. That moment threw her whole day into a spiral. We discard pants when we come home from a long day, tossing them on the floor before we crawl into bed; we never talk about fastening the pants before the day starts, staring in the mirror, hoping the pants hug our bodies the right way. And just for a second after recounting her story, Webber’s chiseled smile faded, receding back into her lips. “I have been very insecure about the way I look and how I didn’t have the body to wear certain clothes. At Emerson, people are always dressing cute, and it is so easy to compare yourself to them; I fall into the comparison part a lot - it’s not social media, it’s the real world.”

The real world isn’t as deceiving as the false narrative social media tricks us into believing. Forming an identity in a digital world makes it that much harder because you’re competing with everyone around you, trying to be true to yourself in the process. Webber opens up about her struggles with staying honest to herself, admitting, “I had been struggling with an eating disorder since senior year in high school, I feel like I still have clothes from when I was really struggling, a part of me doesn’t want to give that up, part of my identity, on the other hand, I feel like I have come so far and I should give that up. So it does play a role in my clothing choices.” Clothing from a time that everyone might want to forget is cathartic in an identity-forming way. Webber’s struggle with an eating disorder binds her to the clothing choices she makes daily. She continued on about how being at a lower weight gave her more confidence because she looked like the celebrities on social media; she felt more modelesque, more like the person the world wanted her to be. Not only is there a lack of transparency in the world about people struggling with eating disorders, but there is also a lack of representation for Black people in the media in general. Webber describes these hardships, not knowing her place from elementary to high school. She said, “Racial identity had been something hard when I was younger because I felt that I never fit in with either group completely like I wouldn’t fit in with all of the white crowd or Black crowd. Those fashion decisions, music decisions, and culture were so different. I fit somewhere in the middle, a lot of the things that I like wearing; I don’t see a lot of Black people wearing what I wear.” Isn’t that what we all want, to fit in, to be in a crowd that resembles who we are and feel comfortable around them? Webber’s singsong voice lifted through the air, remarking that she is confident now in who she is, joining Emerson’s Black Organization with Natural Interest (EBONI). This on-campus organization dedicates its time to highlight the political, professional, and cultural enlightenment of students of African descent in the Emerson community. Webber’s easy smile rested on her face, her shoulders relaxed, as if to silently tell me that she’s finally found herself.

Eloisa de Farias: An IDENTITY,

a FUTURE IN FASHION HOPEFULLY

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loisa de Farias is a 21-year-old Emerson College student, finishing her Journalism degree this December. Originally from Hawaii, she talks about this sense of nostalgia for home, surrounding herself with her family back on her parent’s farm. A place that now inspires some of her most fashionable looks. I asked her about tying fashion into nostalgia. Over Zoom, she leaned back in her bed, clutching her pillow close to her body, saying, “I have a great weird answer,” her smile widened at each corner of her mouth. She talked about how her parents are immigrants from Brazil, moving to Hawaii where they own a farm that harvests coffee and strawberries, “it’s not conservative,” she laughed. Since she is a daughter of immigrant parents, she “wanted to be homecoming queen with a football boyfriend, and then do nursing or something and live in a white picket fence house and like, have a horse, that was my idea.” She wanted the socalled American dream. Soon de Farias realized that this ideal dream wouldn’t happen the way she wanted, struggling with her queer identity. She let go of this dream to live in comfortable American suburbia. Her queer identity marked the end of this white picket fence home furnished with ease. Now de Farias arms herself in dichotomy, popularizing an offduty prom queen going back to her farm, which is now a form of satire for the once wannabe all-American girl. “It’s funny that someone can look at me and think, Oh my god, like, that looks really country. But in reality, I’m like, holding hands with my girlfriend. So it’s like a dichotomy. That [dichotomy has] always been a thing for me, with fun, and being [with] friends, it’s very prevalent in my style [and] how I perceive myself.” Perception is the only currency that matters in fashion. De Farias recognizes that value. Her external appearance is a window into her. She wants people to perceive her style, hoping that they understand her personality each time she struts in her Doc Martens or in a dainty black kitten heel. Style and personality go hand and hand in her mind. De Farias talks about how comfort in her environment affects her mental health, insecurity rising in her chest, an ever-lasting panic of not being enough. Unfamiliar settings and people are stressors for self-esteem, thinking she needs to “compensate [for] people, I’m very chameleon sometimes when it comes to that, because if I’m hanging out with a group, and this is very evident with like, people [who] are into fashion because you collect so much with your closet that you can kind of camouflage to whatever group you’re hanging out with.” Blending in with your surroundings or hiding from yourself? Having a deep closet that lets you dabble into different aesthetics at ease only covers up those insecurities, those feelings of not being enough. De Farias camouflages

into unfamiliar settings, wrapping herself into a carefully crafted closet. The Emerson fashion scene cultivates a competitive landscape: “people that like fashion [at] Emerson are competitive, in my opinion, like that subculture is scary.” Shifting in her bed, de Farias mentions how detrimental it is to always be trying your best; sometimes, it takes a toll on her because there is someone that she tries to impress whenever she puts on an outfit, whether she knows it or not. She dresses for acceptance, to have complete creative freedom in her body and what she cloaks herself in. In receiving her invitation to New York Fashion Week this fall, she found Tik Tok stardom in her signature black cowboy boots (a nod to family history), a white corset enveloping her, what looks to be a pink sheer balloon sleeve top, and letting a pink sheer and lace short peek out the bottom of the corset accompanied by a pearl necklace. The videographer of the video never asked her for permission; she was flattered all the same till the creator “had to turn off the comments because people were so mean [about] what I was wearing, and what other people were wearing. And it was really toxic. I can’t stand [it]; I don’t have any tolerance for that.” Like any art form, critics tear others down out of jealousy or even out of their egotism. Someone can only take so much hate from anonymous users, fingers typing away in a frenzy to hurt someone they will never meet, to collapse their confidence in mere seconds. “When you’re in fashion, what you wear is like your art, and then when people like shit on that expression, it’s painful because that’s not something I would change; I liked [that outfit].” Fashion is the ultimate form of expression for de Farias, “I like wearing something that I feel like others will like, which is part of the reason I like fashion, to begin with.” Fashion is storytelling in its purest form. There is a tale within everyone, and clothing is the medium that brings it out. It’s the way we see ourselves and how the world perceives us. Fashion explains everything about de Farias. It’s her escape into a different world where she can be anyone she wants, depending on her mood. Delusion or hope? Fashion covers our bodies. It’s the first thing someone notices about us. Confidence can evaporate in minutes, though, depending on bad skin days or hair, anything that alters the aesthetic of our clothing choices. De Farias mentions how her skin affects her ability to pick clothing if it breaks out and she can’t change it. She douses her face in concealer to cover up all for the sake of fashion. For the sake of her art form. How can someone show you who they really are through clothing without being perfect? X

Fashion is everything. Fashion tears down our bodies, sawing away at our confidence to fit in or to be ourselves. Chipping away at the edges of our mental health, our clothing choices are the ones that matter most. It’s how everyone sees us, looking at us through the lens of our clothing. It’s the first opinion they have of us whether they know it or not. Audrey Cai, Soren Berman, Aja Webber, and Eloisa de Farias understand that fashion is a cultivated image; it’s a story based on emotions, moods, and experiences. Yet why is it never enough?

canvas

direction

TAYLA DIXON

photo

JOHNNY FORT

layout

HENNA JAMAL

models

ALEXIS EDMONDS KEELY VENTRESS

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EMERSON FASHION SOCIETY

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