Etre Volume XI: Reverie

REVERIE

ÊTRE STAFF

2023-24

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

HANNAH SMITH

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

ELIZABETH HUTSON

ART DIRECTOR

JILL HORNER

CREATIVE TEAM:

LEAH WISENER

CATE SIMMONS

MICHELLE DASCHBACH

CONTENT

EDITOR

PAYTON BROWN

WRITING TEAM:

CAMILLE BULLOCK

KATIE GARCIA

JULIA PATRICK

JOSIE BAKER

ABBY JEMISON

KEEP UP WITH US

ON INSTAGRAM!

@etremagazine

FASHION EDITOR

MEG KARNER

STYLIST TEAM:

LARA UNDERWOOD

HARPER EVERS

KAIT JOHNSON

KATIE ROSE MILLER

MADEE LINK

SARAH SMOTHERS

GABRIELLE BRIDGES

SOCIAL MEDIA DIRECTOR

SYDNEE DURHAM

SOCIAL MEDIA TEAM:

JORDAN JACKSON

MAY EKUWNE

ANNA ELISE BREAZEALE

ZORRIA SANDERS

DIRECTOR OF PHOTOGRAPHY

MICHELLE DASCHBACH

PHOTOGRAPHY TEAM:

CORINNE ELLINGTON

MARIAMA HAWKINS

MARY VIRGINIA MILLER

GABRIELLA SUTHERLAND

EMMA LIDDEL

PRESIDENT

As I wrap up my term as President and my last year on fashion Board I look back with pride. Not for myself but for the people who work so hard and are so dedicated to this organization. FB means the world to me. It has been my favorite part about being a student at MSU. Fashion Board is not just a club but a home for me and so many other people on campus. I truly believe that there is nothing like Fashion Board on the Mississippi State campus. We are a diverse group of students who all have different aspirations, majors, and backgrounds but we come together to produce the most amazing pieces of art. Each member is so instrumental to the execution of our photoshoots, fashion shows, and this magazine. Our members work so hard, juggling school and part time jobs, it is so important to not let their sacrifice go unnoticed. We have members that work in makeup, hair, graphic design, social media, set production, writing, styling, and modeling. Each of these roles are building blocks to what makes Fashion Board not only successful but most importantly something to be proud of. Fashion Board is not just about the clothes but about the stories we tell through what we wear. So as you read through this volume understand that these students have donated their time, energy, and creative to write and tell an amazing story. I hope the work we do spread joy to everyone who sees it.

With all my love,

President Cale Upton

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

I never imagined being here. Signing my name on an Editor’s letter had not even crossed my mind walking onto campus 4 years ago. From being a girl in search of this perfect box where I could become the perfect student, peer, and person, to now, as I stray as far as possible from any kind of mold. My life has been completely altered and that is largely due to a great deal of incredible people, specifically, on this staff. We have shared many wild thoughts led by crazy passions, and mind-altering creative visions that blind you in the most immaculate way. Every small original thought made by 30 incredible people has brought you these perfectly, imperfect pages. They saw the challenge of redefining this magazine and pushing it a step further. I am honored to be a part of Fashion Board, I am honored to be here in this position, and I am especially honored to work with this incredible team. As grateful as I am for everyone who came before me and helped put me in the position I am in now, I am also incredibly grateful for those who will follow. I hope they lead by example and are never afraid of bringing their unbelievable ideas to fruition. Thank you for all that you have given me Être and thank you for all that you will! Enjoy our step outside the box in the XI Edition: Reverie.

Missing you already,

Hannah Smith, Editor-in-Chief

CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Dear our beloved Etre,

You have given us power. Power to be able to express our creative freedom and knock down the dull boundaries. Être has done so much for me, and when I say Être, I really mean the team. I was able to be listened to, acknowledged, and inspired by other powerfully talented women; Creative women that can bend things most people see as a straight line. Through this team I learned how to push towards the lines I was scared to cross. The times when I was styling for photoshoots and my ideas kept falling through, my team was there to resurrect me from the fall and assure me that everything would be okay. I’m so grateful to be working for Être, I have worked here as a stylist for two years and it really has changed the way my creative mind thinks. It’s given me opportunities to show the world what I can do and express the crazy ideas that form in my head. This year’s issue is one for the books. We really pushed outside the box to create a fun, interactive way to enjoy the magazine. I remember at the beginning of the year when me and Hannah were forming the theme for the magazine and we thought “Why not do something totally different from past issues,” I hope we have done just that. With the help of the team’s creative input and hard work, this is our XI edition, Reverie.

Lots of love,

Elizabeth Hutson, Creative Director

ART DIRECTOR

With this being my final volume as Art Director for Ê tre, I just want to say how grateful I am for this experience. Being able to see how every member’s ideas can come to life on a spread is something so special that not everyone is able experience. Ê tre is made of of so many beautiful minds that I have been beyond blessed to come to know and form friendships with. This magazine is a unique process, and has allowed for a lot of real-world experience getting to work as a whole, while being in different creative teams. I have loved my time with Ê tre, and it is bittersweet to see my time come to a close. Throughout my journey with the magazine, there was never a shortage of good times, great conversations, and a constant flow of creativity. As Art Director, there is a huge responsibility of being able to take everyone’s individual work and craft it into something so much larger: a narritive. With this issue, the creative team strived to capture a dream-like state of mind for the visuals throughout the magazine. As you read through Volume XI, allow your mind to release from reality and see where these amazing shoots will take you.

Wishing nothing but the best,

Jill Horner, Art Director

REVERIE VOLUME XI

Each new season brings a reimagined series of puzzles to be solved; absurdity and balance walk hand in hand. Behind what we see, another layer unfolds. Mysteries wait to be explored and unraveled by an observant eye. Behind symbols and signals, remnants of ourselves long to be rediscovered.

To notice them is to become conscious of the unconscious.

Each starry night awakens new dreams of inspiring, distant lands or rattling nightmares we distance ourselves from. Together, the connection between the real and the subconscious fiction blend together to bring: expression. Expression of self and emotion demand to manifest itself in both waking life and in the nonsensical dream realm.

In our eleventh edition, we strive to portray the overlap between the land of dreams and our conscious reality. As you journey through our boundless visions of reality, know within our fantasies lies a morsel of truth for you. Behind every imaginative shoot is a realistic opportunity to enhance the human experience through reflection of the illogical. Creative thought takes us beyond our modern perceptions and breeds a new wonderland to discover.

Embrace the unknown and slip away with us into Être’s world of Reverie.

Dreams are something that no one chooses to have in life but everyone experiences. These universal experiences can show us our wildest imaginations or most mundane realities. We fall asleep every night not knowing what scenarios may visit us: Will they be happy? Will they be scary? Will we realize it if we even slept at all? Dreams catapult us into unfamiliar spaces that run parallel to our lives. Sometimes we do not even realize we are dreaming. We go through the entirety of our morning routine only to be woken up by an alarm clock. Many have tried to discover why we dream and where the idea comes from, but all have failed to learn specific causes.

Lucid dreaming is one of the most interesting psychological components of dreams. This phenomenon occurs when we become aware that we are dreaming and can control the dream. While lucid dreaming can give us the chance to curate our personal dream landscape, it leaves other dreamers in a void because they have unintentionally entered this state. The dreams can elicit a strange, eerie feeling in the dreamer and cause one to panic. They may wonder, “Why do I feel awake?” “When can I wake up?” “When will this be over?” The sensation of seemingly existing in this false reality before grasping onto awareness is an exhausting feeling. It coincides with waking up and feeling like you have not rested at all because you feel as though you’ve already wandered through the everyday motions of life. We may find ourselves yearning to be awake to escape these moments, wanting to go back to the familiar comfort of our room, reaching for the light switch.

Yet, we were made to dream.

Have you ever spent a night dreaming about the day you just completed? From start to finish? With every little detail included? Maybe you dreamt of going to all of your daily classes or the eight hour work shift you triumphantly completed. Or, have you ever dreamed about someone you know in real life? Except, instead of them being the person you know, they acted nothing like themselves and left you unsettled with their mysterious behavior? Even though you tried to forget about it, a part somewhere deep down inside of you reminds you when you see them.

Yet, we were made to dream.

When we sleep, our minds should be asleep with our bodies, but dreams reflect the opposite. The mind remains active. Our brains are like a lightbulb, ever-flickering and ever-glowing. So, we allow our brains to dictate our sleep by placing us in new environments, with new people, and new experiences.

We were made to dream.

Photographer: Gabriella Sutherland

Writer: Katie Garcia

Makeup: Hali Hollman

Stylist: Lara Underwood

Model: Naomi Ellis

WHAT DO YOU DREAM OF?

(A SPACE FOR THOUGHTS)

DISTURBIA

Photographer: Emma Liddell

Writer: Camille Bullock

Hair: Davie Townes

Makeup: Hali Hollman

Stylist: Madee Link

Models: Amya Sanders, Elizabeth Nichols, Macy Davis

Every time I close my eyes, it becomes difficult for me to drift away. I fear what awaits me when I do. There is no such thing as rest for me. As soon as I am able to drift away... far away from reality, the true trial begins.

There is something that haunts my dreams and creates my nightmares. Every night when I close my eyes, I am in grave danger.

I feel it as I drift away. I can feel it behind me, and yet I have never seen it. I am running. I am terrified, and yet I do not know what to be terrified of. I just know that I must run. I know that there is no time for rest. I must keep running. I must stay away. I am growing weaker and weaker everyday. It is growing stronger everyday.

I am trapped. Trapped in a never ending chase. Trying to escape the trials of life only to fall into a deep never-ending nightmare. I am barely holding on. I feel like I am being suffocated by my own self.

I can’t escape. I can’t escape myself.

I am suffocating. Help.

DREAM SEQUENCE

This current state of being is a blur. It is agitated in its condition, searching for a chance to become a familiar entity that resides in unfamiliar places. This sense of becoming can be visualized, but it hides in skepticism and uncertainty that taints the desires to follow down this path. I remain idle in my own path like a stone forever set in its ways. This stone watches as the leaves prance towards the end and the water trickles down willingly. The light promenades across with no hesitation, unraveling all the little secrets and the big opportunities.

Transcending my own body, I watch myself walk down this path. Freely. Without being set in stone. There is something telling me to become. Something is telling me that I do not need to wait to become. I do not need to find the right time

and the right ingredients to become because I already have. At the same time, something is telling me to stay where I am. That something is a capsule of myself that floats around this path like a ghost of who I am and who I want to be.

Nothing ever seems to come easy to those standing on that path. There is too much to get through and too much to experience with a means to an end. There is too much water and too many leaves blocking the direction. There are too many stuck stones to avoid. As it turns out, the hardest task is to believe that it is easy to overcome. The hardest part is turning that uncertainty into an accepted challenge.

All it takes is the first step over that set stone. The only thing required is the dignity to accept the journey and the courage to trip over a few stones. I follow the path. I stumble across some stones and the water occasionally gets in my way, but the path grants me a beautiful journey. It grants me the chance to take the scenic route of my being.

I finish my path triumphant. Empowered. Reconstructed. The water subsides, and the stones are smoother.

Glancing back, I admire the shell of my former self, still skeptical but grateful. Although I have stepped into this new being, the shell of myself remains with me. I need this shell to continue down the path, as smooth or as rigid as it may be. I appreciate my being as it gives me the resilience, courage, integrity, and grace to stumble down this path and emerge into what I have and what I will become.

Stylist: Kait Johnson, Harper Evers

Model: Jennilynn Hall

Photographer: Mary Virginia Miller

Writer: Josie Baker

THE RUNAWAY

It’s getting late now. Around 5:00pm. Usually, he’s home around five-thirty with the expectation of a homecooked meal and a display of modest affection at his return. Every day, I waste the day away, wasting my purpose away on his dream of a picket-fence life full of nourishment and security. The cycle of breakfast, laundry, vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing, dinner, and sleep. No time for dreams of my own. Only time for the fulfillment of his wishes. Only time for his purpose.

The first year of marriage flew by with ease. I flourished in the cyclical mundanity of my maternally-based path. I made our bed every morning with a grateful beam, and scrubbed the floors like a work-horse on an eventful quest. To be chosen by someone was enough to satisfy me and the expectation I had for my life. I thought I was blessed to be living so comfortably with only my own home and my loving husband to care for. What a fool I was to believe this would be enough for me for years to come. I wish it was plenty, and I wish I could be who this world wants me to be. However, a subservient woman is not me.

It’s been six years of the same empty purpose. A purpose that does not belong to me nor provides me with the independence my soul craves to experience. The second year, my beam faded into a tight-lipped smile. By the fifth year, it transformed into a grimace. Over and over, I repeated my daily tasks to be who he needed me to be and to be what I so desperately wanted to be. To be content with repetition and courteously soaked mannerisms, I wanted to merge into this simplicity without getting lost in the aching of my own autonomy.

Today was the last day. As I prepared his last supper, something from deep inside the burrow of my own essence split. My soul begged for the cycle to end, and I could no longer hide behind my need to please nor behind the expectation to fulfill the man who plucked me from my pre-marital adolescence. The fantasies of neatly packing my vinyl suitcase with my best cocktail dresses and polished Mary Jane’s screamed with a jolting assertion that I could no longer evade. The vision suddenly consumed me: calmly strutting through our suburban streets, taking in the final joy of the dimly lit street posts, and allowing my feet to stride in the direction of the nearest bus station.

In actuality, my final act of order was to faultlessly dress our dining room table with the appropriate cutlery and with the vibrantly, comforting meal I had created. After this last act of submission, I felt the adrenaline rush kick in, so I threw what I could fit into my suitcase without a care of what it held within it. I grabbed a wad of cash from his dresser drawer and the escape began. Out the door of civility and into the wild unknown I go.

Stylist: Meg Karner

Model: Malana Shettles

Photographer: Michelle Daschbach

Writer: Payton Brown

Makeup: Ariel Hayes

Venue: Andrew Bynum GMC Inc, Fayette, AL

IN ANOTHER LIFE

IN HONOR OF MILLIE GRACE HAYNES

Remnants of your spirit are sprinkled across little puddles of water. You carry yourself with the undeniable presence of the wind, performing across tall grass. Your legacy is everywhere, I acknowledge that. But, it can only be pieced together in the setting of dusk—a time when wisps of tales are transported to archives of connected souls. These dreams are almost cryptic but vivid. Distinct colors piece together the vessel of your being like an illustration designed to awaken. I can see you but a different version of you. A peaceful version that has so much to unveil and so much to learn from. These dreams are reinvented memories. A reincarnated déjà vu. You have been here before. I have never been here before, but the familiarity resides deep within me and through you.

We spend this sacred time together as if nothing ever interrupted us. Revisiting. Recreating. Reconnecting. Perhaps even revealing. The exchange of word is absent, but you share new stories as illuminating as the sincerity of sunlight cascading down upon our faces. Our movements are fluid and cohesive, painting new memories. Our expressions are clear; we stare at the happiness and curiosity in each other. We do not mourn where we were, but instead, we invite what is happening. There is so much to tell you, but you have experienced it with me. You have so much to tell me, but in these dreams, I can see your story. Although it is a dream, those blissful memories will carry me through my reality.

The time here has no bounds. There is no morning or night. There is only time to be spent admiring this unique experience. Our existences coincide with each other creating a comfortable loop. This time creates a transformation. Everything around us changes, but the endearment remains the same. I have so many questions, but the unspoken answers were clear. We giggle the way we used to. Why we are giggling is undefined, but we giggle because we know each other.

You embrace me constantly through the pleasant heat that never cools, through the water that never dries, and through your own being that never really left me behind. You granted me this new connection. One that bonds us between realms. You granted me comfort in knowing that your spirit is present and that our connection is the same.

The serenity lingers and blends with the warmth of where my soul resides as I am returned to my reality. There are still so many questions, somehow comfortably answered by our encounter.

The gift of this dream creates an ending. It seems like an abrupt ending, but I know this is the beginning of a new chapter for us. Dreams can mean so many things, but this dream gives me the signs I need to acknowledge your spirit as an eternal entity. Your spirit dances in the tall grass. Your spirit wades in that clear blue water. Your spirit flows with the tempo of the wind. This dream gives me the same. The same dances in the tall grass. The same wading in the clear blue water. The same flow with the tempo of the wind. You appeared in my dreams, but your spirit will forever and always be in reality with me.

BE IN REALITY WITH ME WILL FOREVER AND ALWAYS

Stylist: Katie Rose Miller, Lara Underwood

Models: Natalie Magee, Julia Patrick, Jenny Vong

Photographer: Corinne Ellington

Writer: Josie Baker

CROSSWORD

DOWN

1. n. the act or process of forming a general notion or idea

2. v. begin (a course of action, especially one that is important or demanding)

3. n. pl. a natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.

ACROSS

1. n. a solemn promise, often invoking a divine witness, regarding one’s future action or behavior.

2. n. pl. a way of avoiding an unpleasant or boring life, especially by thinking, reading, etc. about more exciting but impossible activities:

3. n. a sentence or verse that contains all the letters of the alphabet.

4. v. speak in order to give information or express ideas or feelings; converse or communicate by spoken words.

5. v. to fill with wonder

REVERIE

After Wonderland, nothing was ever the same.

Dear Alice, you never escaped your fantasy. You simply returned deeply intertwined in your wishful thinking.

Every morning, I sat by the riverbank in hopes of another glimpse of him. I missed the sight of a frantic, elaborate rabbit. I missed my own naive curiosity. If I could see him once again, perhaps I could sneak back through his rabbit hole, if only to reassure myself of its existence.

It could not have been a mere dream. Could a dream be this vivid? Could it be nuanced with such a plethora of emotions? Euphoria, confusion, amazement and fear.

I spoke of the adventure with bright sentiments and wondrous joy to my mother. The thought of flavorfully-noted tea with the Hatter and the nonsensical riddles of that violet-hued cat made me boil over with excitement. My words became a piping teapot, the journey was the pouring of hot tea. Yet, my mother would only ever say, “Oh, Alice, a child’s imagination is a very mysterious thing.”

If it was only a figment of my own creation, I do not think you would impact me so, my old friend. You were too fantastical, too magical. My juvenile mind was incapable of conjuring such a creation, isn’t that true?

Wonderland, even now, I can see you. I dream of your whimsical scenery and your marvelous creatures. I think of the deep red of your Queen’s roses. A world so close yet so far away, I never wish to escape you.

I awoke to a world so different from you, but if I look closely, I can see you in between the lines, underneath the surface. The incessant ticking of my family’s grandfather clock reminds me of the beginning. Of the pocket watch, the rabbit, the escape. As my father smokes on his pipe, I think of my encounter with the illustrious caterpillar. The shuffle of cards reminds me of the Queen’s court and her strange anthropomorphic minions.

As I grow, I have come to realize that you exist within these cracks of physical reality. As I continue to grow, I will keep searching for you in my mundane landscape. Perhaps I can slip back through and find you once more.

Nothing is ever as it seems, and so it will be more than a simple dream. Sweet Alice, your fairytale is within your grasp.

Stylist: Hannah Smith

Models: Sydney Denton, Amari Monget, Taylor Modom

Photographer: Michelle Daschbach

Writer: Payton Brown

Makeup: Ariel Hayes

Venue: Hunter Henry Center

Featuring original top created by Elizabeth Hutson

I AM A RICH MAN

Good morning all,

I am sorry to bother, but I am pleased to announce that I am officially resigning from the obligation to be anything other than myself. I am so sick of only being respected and admired when I am assertive or loud or dominant. I have decided to recognize the strength that exists within being feminine. I have decided to admire the courage that it takes to be vulnerable, soft, and compassionate. When I push away the things that come naturally to me and put on the mask of masculinity, only then do you ask me, “When did you become so wise?”

So, I have to remind you that I have always been this way. You were just too busy noticing all the other parts of me that make me who I am. The physicality of my humanness. That is what you are most concerned with. Ask me about my mind. Ask me about my goals and my dreams and my aspirations. Those things, along with my elegance and grace, coexist now, just as they always have. I am so sick of feeling like I need to be invited to have a seat at the table. Constantly waiting for someone else’s approval. If I built my own table, then would you allow me to sit with you? The conception of being a woman is far too often viewed as a solitary thing. It is complex and multidimensional. It is vivid, deep, and bold. I will no longer allow you to deem my dreams unimportant simply because they are different from yours. Women are brought into this world and already befriended to the ideas of pain and guilt. Being constantly compared to other women, worrying about outshining my sister, trying not to take up too much space, the list goes on. These things are built into our biological makeup. Men have to make up their own demons and gods and wars in order to understand guilt. Even when a woman is naturally assertive, blunt, or authoritative, she is still criticized because women can’t do a single thing without being ridiculed or corrected. We are fighting a timeless battle. It is exhausting. I am exhausted.

I’ve got ambition, and I’ve got talent, but I’ve also got beauty and elegance and grace. I am gentle, but I am strong. I am compassionate, but I am resilient. I could be the moon. I could be the sun. I can be all of these things because being a woman is not just one.

Thank you,

Julia Patrick

Stylist: Elizabeth Hutson

Models: Elizabeth Hutson, Cobey Brantley

Photographer: Michelle Daschbach

Writer: Julia Patrick

Venue: Lloyd Ricks Photography Studio

ONLINE

The dullness of the day has led me to you, my sanctuary of solitude. My place of peaceful purpose where I can prosper in pursuit of my passions. I lay my backpack in its designated corner before approaching my comforting canopy.

This bed passes for a setting of stillness, but in actuality, it becomes my canvas for creation.

I lay upon the bed, and all of my previous convictions, inquiries, and conceptions flee in the presence of my beloved accessory. My mind has become accustomed to the process. The journey.

As I close my eyes and melt into the plush pillow, I know what awaits me.

A mirage of color awakens from within, and with eyelids closed, I can finally see. After trudging through the day yearning for this moment, at last, I have become the sculptor of my reality once again. From behind these eyes, I see what I wish to be, what I am, and who I was. I see the woven tapestry of possibilities that lay before me. This bed becomes my magic carpet, this room is my worldview. My map.

At times, I choose the destination. On other occasions, the destination picks me. I ebb and flow through each adventure, letting the experience overtake the expectation. For the control I lack is only a catalyst for renewal and reinvention. To decide the path, however, is a gift. A luxury.

Even after lifetimes spent dancing in tulip fields and gazing at city skylines, my fortress remains an unwavering shield. As I wander my way across the galaxy, my home envelops me in its arms. Its barriers stand firm against interruption and ground me to the performance in my mind. The bed is my stage, and the nightstand lamp is my spotlight. The show must go on, and so it does.

Roses in hand, standing ovation; I take my bow. Before the curtains close, before I return to the setting of my physical reality; I bask in the glory of my own lore. The cycle repeats, but the story is never the same. The magic of this bed, these walls, that door, and this room is found in its unpredictability. It’s chaos.

Stylist: Meg Karner

Model: Lara Underwood

Photographer: Corbin Jones

Writer: Payton Brown

THE BEAUTY IN UNFAMILIAR FACES

I went to see some friends of mine. Look, there they are now.

Though I cannot recall where I met them, I remember their presence most of all.

They hold the door for me.

They linger in the bathroom as I finish washing my hands. They loom over my daily thoughts.

Lovely, beautiful, and strange, these people have laid their hands on many lives, not just mine.

They whisper the faint sound of friendship in my ear. They breathe life into the dull parts of my life.

Oh, what a lovely dream it was.

Now, I am left to wonder who waits for me as I sink into sleep. They are always so sweet to me.

Their light shines in through the window of my mind.

It is warm and comforting. I can still remember what she was wearing, the smell of her perfume, the bubble-gum pink nail polish she wore, but the look on her face, that,

is what I cannot seem to grasp.

But she isn’t the only one.

The way he keeps his arms around me, the heat the rolls across my face when he pulls me in, it is burned into my skin. I can still feel it all. The way it used to be.

I store the memories away in a little jam jar, as if I were a bug collector, in hopes that one day, it will come to me. Someone will pass by me on the street,

and all the pieces will fall into place.

The story will unfold.

The door will open.

Who is it for?

I had to kill a part of me to keep them alive. But, it is good.

It is growth.

It is all worth it because

I realize I will never know what it is like to be lonely.

Because I carry them with me.

I am a mosaic of all those lovely people.

WORD SEARC H

WHO IS IT FOR?

Stylist: Harper Evers, Kait Johnson

Models: Aden Wright, Bayli Manning, Mia Patridge

Photographer: Harper Evers

Writer: Julia Patrick

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

I often think back to the little girl I once was.

The girl who spent every moment playing dress up in her mom’s clothes. The girl who ate everything she wanted. The girl who was unapologetically herself and had the world at her fingertips.

I used to imagine all of my future possibilities– all of which depicted a version of myself who was successful and loved. As a young girl, I looked up to the teenagers I saw on screen and wanted to be just like them. Then, when I was a teenager, I wanted to be even older. All that time passed me by in the blink of an eye, and I am now left with nothing but reality. Dressing up is not the same anymore, dieting is trendy, and a silent woman is polite. I long for the moments of carefree, childlike wonder that I once possessed– how I lived more in my imagination than in the present. If I could go back in time, I would tell that young girl to cherish the moments of her youth while they last.

I wonder what that little girl would think if she could see me now. Gradually, she lost bits of herself.

The fire that lit up inside of her and interested those around her was something so special, and so unique.Somewhere along the way she was told to quiet her voice and change her style.

At my adult age, I find myself reverting back into these activities as a way to confront what is ahead of me because I still relate to my younger self. The one who fears the uncertainty of the future. At times, it is necessary to surround myself with the people who knew me then and the things I used to love. I need to visit that part of myself to remind myself why I am doing what I am. These moments allow me to escape from what is weighing me down in the present, even if just for a moment.

Though I miss that little girl, she is not gone. She never was. She still lives inside of me, the same way my present manifested itself in her ideas of the future–a future where we are successful and loved. While time may have worn her down, she has grown into a powerful woman. We are who we always wanted to be, and we have made it this far. My inner child will forever live inside of me, and she is in awe of the incredible person we have become. I will continue to make her proud.

Stylists: Sarah Smothers, Madee Link

Models: Ansley Clark, Maison Stanley

Photographer: Mary Virginia Miller

Writer: Katie Garcia

Hair: Davie Townes

Makeup: Hallie Holliman

Venue: Rose Garden at Technology Park

SURREAL

I love to sleep

I love to sleep

I love to dream

I love to dream

Dreams are funny

I love funny things

I love to dream of funny things

Dream of funny people

Funny people with their silly clothes

Funny people with their silly clothes doing silly things

Though this only happens when I shut my eyes

The real world is so dull

I love to slip away

I love to slip away from reality

I love to sleep so I can dream

I love to dream silly dreams

I love to sleep so my dreams become reality

It’s not quite reality though

But it is my ridiculous reality

Stylists: Elizabeth Hutson, Gabrielle Bridges

Models: Ellie Berlioz, Cambrie Rogers

Photographer: Mariama Hawkins

Writer: Camille Bullock Makeup: Ariel Hayes

X O X O , MY RIDICULOUS REALITY