Hyperreality: Haute Magazine's Fall 2022 Issue

Dear Reader,

EDITOR- IN CHIEF LETTER

FROM THE

You are now entering THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE. Forged by none other than you, reader.

“Hyperreality,” for the lack of better words, is an amalgamation of things. The issue builds upon Baudrillard’s philosophy on how we experience postmodernist hyperreality. It focuses on popular culture, aesthetics, and other things we perceive in this reality, tinted through the lens of technological acceleration and avant-garde sensibilities. How has technology with escapist undertones of the digital age influenced modern pop culture, and how do we experience that reality through technology? How do we continue to build new realities characterized by cultures that riff on old and existing narratives?

“Hyperreality” aims to capture how we feel about these questions. It’s about how we approach this new reality — the hyperreality — and look into its contributions, consequences, and speculate on its future.

I’m absolutely honored to have led the seventh rendition of Haute Magazine. “Hyperreality” definitely posed an innately creative challenge with its ambiguous concept, layered subthemes, and freewheel of interpretation. It is, by far, the most abstract issue Haute has released to date, but our hope is that it makes your experience all the more intimate — as it did ours — as our first issue to be completely open to your interpretation with no precursive assumption.

I want to now take this time to thank my dearest Creative Directors, Shreya and Ally: teammates who make work not feel like work; brilliant individuals for whom I would not have met if not for Haute; and good friends to keep for a lifetime. Thank you to the rest of our devoted Executive Board, both old and new — it is the biggest honor to lead the most talented and devoted group of people I know, adore, and love; I can’t recount a time I haven’t enjoyed their presence not once. Thank you to our Haute staff for bringing together yet another unimaginably spectacular issue. And of course, I can’t miss my biannual thank you to the readers for the immense, overwhelming support. Without you, we’d be nothing: friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers alike.

Without further ado, let us present our Fall 2022 issue, “Hyperreality” — get ready — and always remember that your reality is the one you choose to see for yourself. Cheers and many congratulations,

CREATIVE DIRECTORS

“Hyperreality” is the issue that exceeded all expectations. Ambitious in every way, this issue seeks to highlight popular culture and aesthetics through the lens of technological acceleration. We, Ally and Shreya, are honored to work on Haute Magazine’s seventh issue together as Creative Directors. There are no words to express the amount of raw passion and time poured into this issue, driven by the words and visuals of our campus’ most elite group of artists. Driving forward the way we experience the world through an obsession with acceleration, we are honored to finally present to you: “Hyperreality.”

It cannot be overlooked how devoted our creatives are to the creation of our issues. To our counterpart, Alice, our Editor-in-Chief: your immense, multi-faceted talent elevates not only our issues but also our team chemistry. To Bryan, Director of Writing, and Camryn, Director of Copy: your devotion to your team and the sense of community you foster is so apparent through the high quality of the writing Haute produces every semester. To Xyla, Director of Photography, Mercer, Assistant Director of Photography, and Katherine, Director of Multimedia: the experimental and exploratory visuals you’ve traversed this issue are unbelievably beautiful and inspire us all. To Anoushka, Director of Visual Design, Bubba, Assistant Director of Visual Design, and Borja, Director of Content: only designers of your caliber could coax such beauty and cohesion out of the variety of assets given, and do it flawlessly time and time again. To Katelyn, Director of Fundraising & Events, and Josh, Director of Finance: you both exceed our expectations every single time, topping your performance last semester with grace. All of your passions, strengths, and talent work together so beautifully, and it’s our individual differences that come together so cohesively that make us a dream team.

We are so honored to be a part of a publication that is not only run for the USC community but is solely run by the USC community. Creating something bigger than ourselves is truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience that we have the joy to share with our fellow members. Thank you for supporting our magazine, our wonderfully talented team, and our creative expression — publishing this issue has been a gift and a blessing. We hope you enjoy this issue as much as we do.

NATALIE DARAKJIAN

SEGMENTED REALITY

Xyla Abella is an artist based out of LA and Houston. She is inspired by the human condition and her own emotions. Xyla is a sophomore studying Fine Arts at the University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Photography for Haute Magazine.

Natalie Darakjian is a Los Angeles/Orange County-based designer with an interest in form-making and visual design. Coming from an architecture background, she seeks at finding ways to merge her various creative interests together. Natalie studies Architecture at the University of Southern California.

Model Trenyce Tong

SEGMENTED REALITY

OBSCURA

MICHAEL CASTELLANOS

The practice of photography has been married with and entangled in the elusive construct of reality since its advent in 1839. And the day that LouisJacques-Mandé Daguerre, a romantic painter and printmaker, revealed his invention that fixed one-of-a-kind images onto polished, silver-plated sheets of copper was the wedding day. His invention met his burning desire to make the fleeting images that graced his vision permanent by wielding light and chemistry. The photograph’s existence is thus steeped in the duality of art and science, of abstraction and realism, of the original and the copy.

Romantics like Daguerre were fascinated by the power of nature to explode our senses and inspire moments of overwhelming introspection. They viewed nature as our closest connection to the divine, rejecting values of logic and reason from the Enlightenment period and instead devoting themselves to beauty and human emotion. They blanched their knuckles white as they grasped pens and paintbrushes straining to capture feelings of spontaneity and freedom imposed by sublime nature. But Daguerre was able to capture the real thing. Daguerreotypes print the exact moment of liberated inspiration and enable it to be shared. Now, as we scroll through Instagram posts and click through Snapchat stories, visual culture clogs our way of seeing the world.

Photographer Joel Karppanen dedicates his practice to exploring how our concept of nature now rests more on “the adopted paradigm of images” rather than “real natural experience,” raising the question as to whether the Romantics were the last to know the rawness of nature.

When Karppanen set out to capture the unspoiled, mythical nature of Finnish national parks, he carried with him his Polaroid camera and a sense of wonder struck within him by the Visit Finland Instagram page. This friendly page that punctuates almost every caption with an exclamation point features vibrant pictures of lush Finnish landscapes seemingly untainted by human impact. He lamented how these pictures, as beautiful as they were, felt generic compared to the hills and lakes of Koli and the tree lands of Enontekiö that he knew so well. But something else inspired his project: Karppanen was determined to understand the power of images in portraying his country’s national identity to the curious world.

“[The Visit Finland Instagram pictures] reminded me of national romantic paintings of the late 19th century where artists depicted Finnish nature in order to elevate our national image worldwide,” Karppanen said. “Nowadays the same purpose is behind that Visit Finland Instagram page.”

The photographer and filmmaker is no foreigner to these landscapes,

MICHAEL CASTELLANOS

however. Karppanen is a self-taught Finnish photographer who was born and raised in Northern Finland, suspended between its densely forested woodlands and its urban cities. “Simulacra,” his photographic series exploring Finnish national parks, grapples with how mass media perverts the “original” places that we flock to take pictures of, in Finland and beyond.

“I have never been to New York, but it is a city I know well by images, photographs, and films. If I traveled there in person, I would immediately search for those ‘images’,” he said. “It would be impossible to just look [at] those sights without thinking of pictures I’ve seen before. One cannot have immediate immersive experience, one cannot be totally present.”

There is a disappointment that ensues when one realizes they cannot reconcile real experience with what we see in images. We are disappointed when the real sight in front of us does not match the calculated, filtered, and enhanced images that mass media has inundated us with. Professor and author David Ulin wrote in his personal essay ‘Street, Haunting’ that the appeal of photographs lies in their ability to mold “vernacular public record: they operate as windows allowing us to see, almost to enter, what would otherwise be lost. And yet, the key word there is almost, since no matter how a photo moves us, it also leaves us feeling disconnected.”

The phenomenon of simulacra—representations of reality that simulate the original entity to the point of entirely superseding it—has been meditated on by many writers, artists, and philosophers alike. Plato thought of a simulacrum as a “corrupt” copy that has severed all connection with its original while Plotinus believed the simulacrum rather distorted reality, revealing an invisible truth. A caricature is a simulacrum, Disney’s Magical Kingdom is a simulacrum, and a model train set is a simulacrum—just as Karppanen’s images of Finnish nature are simulacra.

To create his series “Simulacra,” Karppanen photographed Finnish Romantic paintings and generic nature photographs like the ones from the Visit Finland Instagram with a Polaroid camera and then used these images to create collages. He also used a technology that transfers images printed on a specially coated film on an inkjet printer to a gravure printing paper using an alcohol gel. This multistep process buries the original image underneath multiple treatments and manipulations that effuse new meaning through layers of originals.

The work that inspired Karppanen’s fascination with simulacra was author Don DeLillo’s novel ‘White Noise.’ The novel, published in 1985, tells the story of two friends, Jack and Murray who drive to visit what is known as “the most photographed barn in America” only to realize the barn is not real. When they reach

the site they find hordes of photographers taking pictures of absolutely nothing. Together the photographers become immersed in this hyperreal aura that simulates the barn. As mindbending as this story is, it galvanized Karppanen’s understanding of simulacra: an image of a physical space replaces the original, and when we share that image, that simulacrum with no tether to reality, we mask the absence of the original existing at all.

So where does the idea of simulacra leave the marriage of photography and reality if its inherent nature perverts reality and our perception thereof? The photograph still intends to document reality, to capture some raw essence of the world we live in and trap it in this permanent time capsule we call a ‘photo.’ After all, a camera’s mechanics are fashioned after the anatomy of the human eye. The camera sees what we see, maybe even better than how we see it with our modern technological advancements. But these advancements have also granted photographers the ability to warp that time capsule which arguably imbues the photo with more meaning than it originally carried. It is not only an image of the world as we see it but also an image of the world as we experience it. Our perception of Finnish national parks, for example, can no longer remain simple prints of trees on sheets of copper; that perception is now bound to all the images we have seen on Instagram or any of the paintings we may have seen in museums. Our obsession with capturing and sharing reality means we cannot extricate our perception from the next person’s. We are stepping into a new collective consciousness, an aura of aesthetic perception, that we share even with someone as seemingly distant as a Finnish photographer.

“It is funny how even an artist and photographer like me whose special skill is to “see differently” really cannot see that much different after all,” Karppanen reflected. “My vision is colored too. But the question is how to come to terms with that and make something meaningful out of it.”

Joel Karppanen is a visual artist and writer from Finland. He concentrates on making personal, long-term documentary photography series and experimental films as well as writing essays. Karppanen has received recognition including New Photo Journalist Award and Young Hero Grant in 2017, and his works have been exhibited in Museum of Contemporary Art Kiasma, KunstHausWien and Mänttä Art Festival among others.

Camryn Brewer is a Los Angelesbased writer specializing in long-form essays and creative non-fiction that investigates how popular culture reflects collective conceptions of cultural identity and historical foundations.

Camryn is majoring in Narrative Studies at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences. She also serves as the Director of Copy for Haute Magazine.

Michael Castellanos is a Los Angelesbased designer specializing in graphic design. He allows empathy to inform his design and drive his creative direction.

Michael studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, as well as Architecture at the School of Architecture, University of Southern California.

fehres carl

fehres carl

Carl Fehres is an American photographer based in Paris, France

Jared Tran is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in graphic and visual designer. His work exemplifies a strong understanding of composition and form. Jared studies Design at Roski School of Art and Design, University Of Southern California. He also serves as the Assistant Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

CARL FEHRES

Model Katelyn Gray

CARL FEHRES

CARL FEHRES

capture

40 RILEY LEVINE + ALAN PHAN

nostalgia (noun) nos·tal·gia

a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Here they don’t sell products. Here they sell freedom.

we buy dust, dancing into red rock canyons, to the song of fluttering cottonwood groves, we wander

suspended between rose-hued rays hoisted atop horseback pioneering, a path unadulterated by those who came before.

Here they sell memories. Here they sell desires.

here, we buy painful return to a curated self, with a limited shelf-life because we want to evolve, to out do.

here, we camp out, awaiting new packaging identity, cradled in faded billboards’ neon light, prostrate, contorted on concrete, a congregation awaiting a-new release.

fraying fingernails, pry packaging, longing to ensnare heaven beneath cellophane skin, clawing nails cling to styrofoam, eager to engrave fresh emblems into dying flesh, vandalize bodies with names which are not our own.

Here they sell problems. Here they sell lifestyles.

so here, we peer into, pixelized packaged perfection, algorithm boxed memories, smile, beneath the weight of this undying moment, this endless connectivity, between uncontrolled synapses, refresh, refresh, refreshing this picture, refresh this instant, bask in another’s’ sunset from the asylum of our beds, we learn to want what we will never become.

Here they sell identity. Here they sell dreams.

so, here i have been dreaming, alone, faded light falls through blinds’ slats, desaturated rays invite me to learn the time of day, but suspended in this darkness, i am addicted to dreaming, to transforming, to melting beneath the glare of this LED nightmare.

i peer into glistening plastic personas, praying their pressure chisels my form, enough for me to smile, to be captured in the photos we take, that we watch, and watch, and watch back to celebrate this instant, watch it, before it too fades like the light on my floor.

i have lost sight of moments, too busy choosing the most perfect exposure to encapsulate the way it would have felt had we stared into each other’s eyes

instead of using our song as the wrapper to reveal this rebrand, so that they know - we exist - beyond calculated chance constructed compatible connections. look at us existing beyond, behind the fortress of our phones.

I am tired of trying to be seen of trying to see of trying to see myself

Here we sell freedom. so here we journey, befriend endless horizon, rose-hued light envelopes us, as we dance with dust into red rock canyons, to the song of fluttering cottonwood groves, we are reborn, hands reach into the sand beneath, grains slip between fingers, we cannot hold onto this postcard perfect pilgrimage, refresh, watch it back, look up, the only expanse before us is our rooms’, and

even the light bars between blinds have retired. we did not have a moment to bid them goodbye too busy, longing to return to a person, we’ve never met, evolve into a person, we never will, and we love it. refresh

watch it back, do we? tossed in the thrill of the unending tides, surfing, digitized drowning.

there is no shore to return to. there never was.

We just rendered it for an instant and we liked its endless ibiza blue sky.

Riley Levine is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in poetry, screenplay, and critical essays that explore the natural world, consciousness, and sociopolitical issues. Riley studies Film and Television Production (BFA) at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Jaden Young is a Los Angeles-based designer with an interest in product and visual design. Coming from a fine arts background, he seeks inspiration from paintings, street art, and photography. Jaden studies Business Administration at the Marshall School of Business, University of Southern California.

48 RILEY LEVINE + ALAN PHAN

Alan T. Phan is a creative based in Los Angeles and the DallasFort Worth Metroplex. He has always loved incorporating loud and vibrant colors within his work. Alan is most known for his concert and portrait photography; however, he is planning to step into the conceptual world with this piece. Alan studies Psychology and Music Industry at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

AZZOPARDI CHLOE

SARAH CHAN

SARAH CHAN

TISSUE PAPER

TISSUE PAPER

This body of work observes ways in which the male gaze is enabled or enhanced through technological advancements. Facetune, boob jobs, BBLs, social media — these technological breakthroughs often create artificial standards for mostly women but also men to live up to. In a style reminiscent of Toilet Paper magazine, bright colors and cartoonish props create an evident satire from which to reevaluate modern beauty standards.

Mercer Meeks is a Los Angeles-based street and model photographer from New York City. He aims to observe and comment on culture through photography. He studies Music Industry at the Thornton School of Music, University of Southern California. He also serves as the Assistant Director of Photography for Haute Magazine.

Rohit Dsouza is a Los Angeles-based designer with an interest in graphic and visual design. He seeks to combine a rigid, architectural style with his more fluid, painterly approach. Rohit studies Architecture at the School of Architecture, University of Southern California.

Models Emily Nobel

ORIENTALISM THE FUTURE OF

ORIENTALISM OF ANTIQUATED

“Reality erupts within the spectacle, and the spectacle is real” says Guy Debord in The Society of the Spectacle where he criticizes society in which he deems to have become overly preoccupied and consumed with appearances and impressions and increasingly dismissive and negligent of real experiences and truths. To him, society is at a point in which the spectacle — the representation of something — whether accurate or not, has superseded reality. In the same vein, Jean Baudrillard wrote in Simulacra and Simulation that “from medium to medium, the real is volatilized.” Baudrillard examines simulacra or hyperreal copies as having essentially replaced what is actually real. Put differently, Baudrillard identifies the blurred lines between reality and the mere recreations of reality — between the representation of something versus the very thing that is being represented. As a result, one can no longer distinguish reality. Debord and Baudrillard’s works can serve as foundations for a discussion on representations, portrayals, and stereotypes of Asians in western media, particularly through the lens of techno-orientalism, and how through such a representation, Asians who live in the west are often reduced to nothing more than just their stereotypes.

Orientalism used in today’s society is commonly recognized as the patronizing and condescending perception of the East through Western eyes and attitudes. Often, Asian societies are depicted as subordinate to their western counterparts and incapable of growth and development; from these notions, the Yellow Peril, or the Yellow Terror, was born where the West became

concerned with the infiltration of “Yellow” people who were deemed vastly different from westerners. Along with the Yellow Peril came the model minority myth which was created for the purpose of driving a wedge between Asian-Americans and other minorities. Though on the surface seemingly a favorable stereotype, it does nothing but divide. This is where the phenomenon of techno-orientalism comes in. In short, techno-orientalism is the imagining of Asia as overly technologically advanced. It operates to arrest Asian spaces as entities that are unrighteously powerful and thereby in need of being ‘pacified’ by the West because of their inherent goodness and virtuousness. Despite being technologically innovative, Asians still lack individuality and identity capable of creating change and growth. This is one of the most common and longstanding forms of Asian representation in western media. Techno-orientalism, at its heart, is the tangible visualization of the West’s anxiety towards the growing powers of the East that threaten the West’s standing as the hegemon of the world. From this, one can clearly see techno-orientalism as having originated from the Yellow Peril and the model minority myth.

Through techno-orientalist portrayals of Asians in pop culture, stereotypes of Asian people are perpetuated and reinforced so incessantly and frequently that society’s perception of Asians becomes so “invaded by the contemplation of the spectacle” that it “ends up absorbing and aligning itself” with reality, as Debord posits. In other words, those who are not Asian can no longer separate inaccurate and overstated Asian

tropes from Asian people in real life. Over time, the two eventually evolve to a point where Baudrillard conceptualizes “reality is incorporated into the simulative dimensions of hyperrealism” with hyperreality being the inability to distinguish reality from a false reality. This is why flawed Asian representations in the media can be so harmful and damaging. Some common techno-orientalist stereotypes include the geeky math nerd (Kevin G from “Mean Girls”), the wise martial arts master (Mr. Miyagi from “The Karate Kid”), the seductive cyborg woman (“Ghost in the Shell”), or the ‘Dragon Lady’ (Lucy Liu in” Kill Bill: Volume 1”), just to name a few. From here, I will enter the discussion of “The Matrix” and “Big Hero 6”.

The most explicit reference to Asian culture in “The Matrix” is the incorporation of martial arts. The first we see this is when Neo is programmed to learn a myriad of different fighting styles all with origins tracing back to Asia. On Tank’s computer, the following terms flash across the screen: Jiu Jitsu, Taekwondo, Drunken Boxing, Kempo, and Kung Fu. Each of these styles was developed in either China, Japan, or Korea centuries ago. Additionally, during Neo’s fight with Morpheus, both characters are dressed in what is obviously meant to be martial arts uniforms, but does not lend itself to align with any specific fighting styles — the costume design is ambiguous. Not only is their uniform ambiguous but so too is their fighting. The action scenes between Neo and Morpheus as well as between Neo and Agent Smith cannot be identified as any singular style and cannot be attributed to

72 CATHY CHEN + FIONA CHOO

FUTURE OF ANTIQUATED ORIENTALISM

just one form of martial arts. Once more, the differences between Chinese, Korean, and Japanese martial arts are conflated into one amalgamation of movie fighting that removes all uniqueness. Whether deliberate or not, it still has negative implications for Asians. By virtue of combining all three very distinct fighting styles that hail from three very different cultures, it perpetuates the widespread stereotype of all East Asians being the same and looking the same when in reality, each country all have their own rich history and customs to offer. This is a prime example of “the real and the imaginary [being] confounded in the same operational totality” (Baudrillard 1019). Though I can admit that recognizing differences in martial arts is not considered common knowledge, it still speaks to the larger issue of western perception of Asia as being just that — Asian; all the while, the wonderful and various cultures of the different nations that make up Asia are diminished.

“Big Hero 6” is set in ‘San Fransokyo,’ a futuristic interpretation of a Japanified San Francisco. Beyond the name, one could easily infer the story takes place there through the animation of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the inclusion of cherry blossoms, bright neon signs, and billboards covered by anime, all of which are characteristics of Japan. Additionally, the main characters, Hiro and Tadashi Hamada, are ethnically Japanese both with fervent passions for robotics and inventions, and unsurprisingly, both with exceptional intelligence. Here, the stereotype of the geeky math nerd and the genius youngster is personified. Despite being the protagonists and heroes of the

movie, they are still reinforcing the model minority myth that is used for destructive purposes. If those who watch “Big Hero 6” leave with an understanding that all Asians are like Hiro and Tadashi with their intellect and love for technology, then the stereotype of Asians being the model minority is again upheld resulting in different attitudes towards Asians versus other minorities. Put differently, society and social relationships continue to be mediated by images as opposed to real life experiences and interactions people have with Asians. Moreover, despite techno-orientalism being presented from a more encouraging angle in this film, it still contains remnants of negative techno-orientalist tropes. For example, it is revealed that the antagonist is a man wearing a mask who has been secretly producing micro-robots which he later uses to attack people. Although initially anonymous, the man is still portrayed in a kabuki mask — a mask worn by traditional Japanese theater performers. This quite clearly implies that an Asian is the villain. Therefore, it seems even in films that are perhaps attempting to “dismantle” the techno-orientalist stereotypes, the stereotypes seem to be too deeply ingrained into society to completely be teared down.

FUTURE OF ANTIQUATED ORIENTALISM

As a Chinese-Canadian, I have experienced first hand the effects of stereotypical representations. Through these high-profile depictions of us, we are diminished to nothing more than just those common tropes and cliches — I am no longer just a girl, but I am that Asian girl who is terrible in math, that Asian girl who has crazy strict parents, and that Asian girl who places incredible pressure on herself to excel in school. Through techno-orientalism and popular portrayals of Asia and Asian people, we become nothing more than the ‘spectacle’ of ourselves to others. We are living Debord’s words: “all that once was directly lived has become mere representation.” For those who aren’t Asians; how they see us in the media becomes how they see us in real life. When Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Hollywood” was released, some friends and I went to watch it. After the movie, one friend asked me whether when I was younger, I had ever studied martial arts (having just seen the character of Bruce Lee). Although harmless and from a place of curiosity, the question meant something more. To me, it meant that my friends, at least to some extent, viewed me as what they saw in the movie. To them, their understanding of who I am, at least to some extent, was just an ‘Asian’ and nothing more.

Cathy Chen is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in long-form essays that analyze pop culture through a feminine and Asian lens. Cathy studies International Relations and the

Fiona Choo is a mixed-media photographer based in Southern California. From traditional painting to digital illustration, she strives to present a diverse range of media in her work which explores the study of people. She hopes to pursue art directing in films that bring light to social issues that remain prevalent in modern society. Fiona studies Media Arts and Practice at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Jackson Epps is a Los Angeles-based designer whose passions lie in typography and the visual experience. Jackson studies Public Relations and Communication Design at the Annenberg School for Communication, University of Southern California. Models Ziran Qi Emma Lu Cecelia Mou

Lighting Assistance Katie Kim

JHALIN KNOWLES

KNOWLES

Jhalin Knowles is a photographer based in Atlanta, Georgia, who desires to capture the beauty and joy of life. Through his usage of warm tones in his portraiture, he romanticizes the way we view reality.

Model Jhalin Knowles

JHALIN KNOWLES

Anoushka Buch is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in brand, graphic, and visual design. Her creative process synthesizes visual aesthetics and communication, and she seeks to excite and inform with her practice. Anoushka studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

GINGER GORDON 88 GINGER GORDON

Ginger Gordon is a New York-based photographer and actor. They study Theater and Cinematic Arts at the School of Dramatic Arts, University of Southern California.

Rohit Dsouza is a Los Angeles-based designer with an interest in graphic and visual design. He seeks to combine a rigid, architectural style with his more fluid, painterly approach. Rohit studies Architecture at the School of Architecture, University of Southern California.

My flesh sinks into the plush comforter, the presence of its matter and energy curving spacetime. My boyfriend, however, is soaring beside me, defying Earth’s gravitational field, catapulting into the air while firing a rifle at a man tailing him.

We are five feet apart but experiencing separate realities. I watch languidly at him fixated on a glowing monitor. Flashing graphics limn the contours of his face and his pupils flicker like a Kit-Cat Klock to the rhythm of his pattering fingers on a keyboard. Occasionally, he’ll mutter flatly into his headset to a stranger on the web.

He and other players scattered across the globe are glued to isolated glowing boxes, united in their discreteness, immersed in a world where virtual characters facilitate their interactions. I picture wires sprouting from the napes of the gameplayers’ necks, electricity pulsating and assaulting their senses. These artificial neural networks would lead to a central hub powering their augmented reality experience, perhaps one resembling a brain.

I imagine wrenching out this feigned piece of flesh.

The electricity surging through the wires would short-circuit, players’ eyes would roll back, they’d jolt uncontrollably, asphyxiated, momentarily caught between cyberspace and physical reality, until they return to the physical world where everything is less saturated, less spectacular, more mundane.

He takes off his headset, powers off the monitor, pushes his swivel chair back, and stands up. The wire has been unplugged. I watch him yawn and rub his bloodshot eyes as he shuffles to the bathroom to alleviate himself of stale piss that’s been rotting his

insides for hours.

Unlike TV or news articles, video games are a form of mass media to be experienced, not passively consumed. It is the ultimate form of immersion — players are placed in an inconsequential, sensorial world where death is escapable, fate is tempted, and life is a liberal individualistic fantasy. While 80s retro games like Pacman feature a chomping wheel of cheese that could only traverse a two-dimensional digital plane, the introduction of three-dimensional graphics in the 90s heralded a new age of virtual possibilities. Now, players could escape into an immersive fictional world embedded with thoughtfully orchestrated narratives and endorphinboosting quests.

The gaming landscape is continuously evolving, and a growing variety of genres and subgenres now burst at its digital seams, making their imprint on our relationships, development, and society. Extricated from material roadblocks, role-playing games (RPGs) are empathy machines and an equalizing force where everyone can be anyone. Its hallmark feature

of personalization allows players to engrave their identity onto digital avatars or, wearing a cloak of anonymity, explore different genders in a safe space.

With a child-like sense of exploration, gamers can perform various non-linear tasks and express their architectural prowess in sandbox adventure games like Minecraft. Some construction projects, so elaborate, necessitate teamwork. Take Westeroscraft, an expansive community-based Minecraft server dedicated to recreating the continent of Westeros from George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series: in order to become a potential in-game “Builder,” interested players must submit a portfolio of their Minecraft builds, like applying for a job.

And first-person shooter (FPS) games are somehow caught in the sticky webs of politics; sanitizing virtual violence is an endeavor complicated by constitutional values upholding free speech, and a long-standing debate about whether video game violence causes real-world aggression has not reached a clear conclusion.

But what we’re more sure of is the technoscape becoming increasingly ubiquitous and inescapable. Once only available at arcades, video games are now easily accessible on handheld consoles, mobile devices, and computers. There are even cybercafés, spaces designed solely for the human, spatial, and technology to intertwine.

Hidden in a plaza with squat buildings and dilapidated roofs is a local cybercafé I’d frequent for late-night studying. In contrast to the café’s lime green walls decorated with kitsch knick-knacks, neat rows of monitors equipped with high-speed bandwidth and powerful hardware line the room. Gamers are provided noise-canceling headsets to ensure full auditory immersion and to facilitate a seamless gaming experience, even breaks from the virtual world are optimized — patrons can order food to their desks, efficiently tending to their human needs without leaving their seats.

Within this enclosed sphere, I witness people transcending the material walls, beyond Silicon Valley, and into cyberspace. A collective trance seems to wash over the players and their consciousness becomes blissfully imprisoned by a realm unblemished by real-world stressors.

However, such readily-available hedonism may breed addiction. Because pleasure rests in the distortion of time and pleasure is profit, game developers only induce this “flow state,” a mental phenomenon characterized by full immersion and focus on the activity at hand. Players become physically and emotionally invested in an altered state of consciousness, neglecting their responsibilities, face-to-face relationships, and basic needs. While escapism is harmless in healthy doses, video games are programmed to prolong escapism and it becomes too easy for players to overdose on

JULIE WAN + AARON WILSON

THE ULTIMATE FORM OF IMMERSION

pleasure. This form of technology is a powerful force that can emancipate players from the shackles of reality yet ironically strip them of agency to break free from unreality.

As of now, gameplay has not crossed the juncture where machine and human experiences blur and implode into the simulation — it’s only momentarily that we become immersed in a more fantastical mediated experience before eventually returning to our daily lives situated in the corporeal world, one where we feel the truthful sensation of pavement beneath our feet and experience connections grounded in reality. However, as we trek further into an age dominated by post-industrial communications technology, at what point along the accelerating pace of technological advancement do we draw the line and protect the human essence? If the video game flow state engulfs our reality and becomes our only reference point, what would this physical condition entail for the human experience?

Self-proclaimed video game fanatic and USC student Mitchell Dambrowki believes game developers are incentivized to inhibit players from crossing this juncture. He explains the uncanny valley, a phenomenon where humans experience an eerie, repulsive feeling when faced with hyperrealistic figures pretending to be human. Our affinity descends into a disturbing void of strangeness as we attempt to find kinship in humanoid robots or computer-generated characters, figures so similar but not quite like us. This means game avatars that are authentic enough but undeniably fake would illicit deeper emotional connections from players. However, in Mitchell’s rather optimistic opinion, “I think we’d eventually be able to get past the uncanny value and make something virtual that looks completely indistinguishable from a human.”

Despite our ability to recognize the unreal quality of virtual avatars and landscapes, video games wield enough power to dampen our lived experiences. Mitchell describes an instance where his digital affairs bled into the crevices of his reality: when visiting the Colosseum in Rome, he “wasn’t really in awe of it” because his field of vision was instinctually stuck within a screen, causing his mind to conflate the historic stone amphitheater before him into a flat, digital emblem of the 21st century. In fact, he confessed that seeing stock images of the Colosseum would have offered a comparable — even preferable — experience, given how natural it felt for him to exist “mentally and spiritually” in a medium absent from the physical plane.

While people with minimal exposure to video games likely stay bound by the images projected on a screen, Mitchell was able to transcend the polarized glass before him, letting video games engulf his consciousness. He became a hyperrealist undergoing a semiotic condition where he accepted the unreal as the real, more real than the real.

Now as a musical theater major, Mitchell has been rooting himself in the real world as

a corporeal human and distancing himself from encounters with hyperreality. “I don’t think my experiences with virtual reality are invalid — they have had actual effects on my character growth,” he recollects fondly. Growing up in a heteronormative environment, Mitchell’s interaction with same-sex RPG characters “who were pretty fucking hot” exposed him to LGBTQ+ relationships and themes. As an insecure, introverted youth, Minecraft provided him with a safe space to foster social relationships and nurture his creative visions one virtual Lego block at a time. And with financial circumstances that left him little opportunity to physically explore places, Mitchell used Sims 3 to soak in, albeit pastiche, worldly views of China’s Forbidden City and Temple of Heaven.

In retrospect, Mitchell believes that video games subconsciously filled an emotional void for him. “It was a source of escapism…I was powerful, I wielded magic.” But to conclude our Zoom-mediated conversation — a strikingly meta medium — he gives his final verdict on his life-long virtual-physical dilemma in resounding confidence: “I think the real world is better. Now that I’ve lived in it.”

One could argue for both. Video games are simulations of fictional realities and representations of human behavior that allow players to develop soft skills, interact with sentient humans, and experience emotions of awe, elation, euphoria. And at the core of this unconventional media form constituted by aesthetic spectacles of images, sound, text, and motion is the primordial desire for human connection.

But in defense of the real world, forming unmediated connections and not having infinite lives may be more rewarding. Although we can’t redo a level in our real lives, we can rewrite our narrative by moving forward with an understanding that precarity creates meaning and embrace our fleeting existence. In a postmodern society increasingly dependent on technology but with our existence still bound by time, it’s up to us to decide whether we want to live in a virtual utopia or an unpolished reality.

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THE ULTIMATE FORM OF IMMERSION

Aaron Wilson is a Los Angeles and Houston-based portrait and sports photographer. He explores the juxtaposition of the presence and absence of color through selective editing choices.

Aaron studies International Relations in Global Business at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

Arya Tandon is a Los Angelesbased graphic designer focused on visual design and user experience. Her designs navigate the intersections between accessibility and aesthetics.

Arya studies Cognitive Science and Designing for Digital Experiences at the Iovine and Young Academy, University of Southern California.

112 JULIE WAN + AARON WILSON

THE ULTIMATE FORM OF IMMERSION

Julie Wan is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in creative non-fiction and introspective personal essays that explore her bicultural experience. Julie studies Business Administration at the Marshall

Model Motheo Mine

ALVARO DEPRIT

ALVARO DEPRIT

Alvaro Deprit was born in Madrid and resides in Italy. He focuses on the idea that the weave of the world comes from relational processes — that reality is less solid than it appears. He is interested in the narrative nature of identity seen as an emerging process. Alvaro is the author of three books and his work has been exhibited in festivals and galleries in around the world.

Nishka Manghnani is a Los Angeles and Mumbaibased graphic designer and digital artist. With a knack for public art, she creates work that intends to mobilize social change. She has a deliberate design style that incorporates aesthetics with functionality. Nishka studies Design at Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

OVERGROWN THE HUMAN

OVERGROWN HUMAN EXPERIENCE

To preface, let’s speak about the hyperreal: the larger theme at hand. The postmodern semiotic concept of “hyperreality” was contentiously coined by sociologist and theorist Jean Baudrillard in “Simulacra and Simulation.”

Simulacra — copies depicting things that either had no original or that no longer have an original — and simulation — the imitation of the operation of a real-world process or system over time.

In short, society has become so reliant on models and maps in the postmodern culture that we have lost all contact with the real world — the previous reality — that preceded the map. It has merely begun to imitate the existing models, which now determines the reality we know now; hence the precession of simulacra.

There are three “orders of simulacra”: the first order of simulacra, associated with the pre-modern period, the image is a clear counterfeit of the real. The image is easily recognizable as an illusion and only serves as a placeholder for the real. The second order of simulacra, associated with the industrial revolution, is the distinction between the image and original breakdown due to mass production and proliferation of copies. This leads to misrepresentation and

masking of underlying realities by imitating it so well in forms of photography, politics, ideology, and the like that threatens to replace reality. However, there is still a belief that via some thorough critique, one can “still access the hidden fact of the real.” The third order of simulacra, associated with the postmodern age — the now — we, as a society, are confronted with the precession of simulacra: the representation precedes and determines the real. This is a new era of simulation where social reproduction dominates and replaces production. No longer is there a distinction between what was once reality and its representation: there is only the simulacrum.

This is the new age of hyperreality.

And not only is postmodern culture artificial, the concept of artificiality still requires a sense of reality to recognize the artifice. But in the “hyperreality” that we live in today — of simulations where images and the play of signs substitute for the real — the physical and virtual worlds converge with the rise of virtual propositions where we can no longer distinguish between the two realities. We have lost all ability to make sense of the difference between nature and artifice.

A simulation of reality without origin.

So let me ask you: is the reality we face the true reality?

As technology advances and the online world expands, the digital world embeds itself as a permanent fixture of our modern life, increasingly blurring the line between what is real and what isn’t. We as individuals constantly flee from the “desert of the real” for the short-lived ecstasies of hyperrealism and the new realm of media and technological experience. Subjectivities are fragmented and lost, and a new terrain of experience appears that eventually renders previous social theories and politics obsolete. The territory we are barely conscious of today may completely disappear as the map we create finally precedes it.

To quote Marshall McLuhan, “We shape our tools, and then our tools shape us.”

OVERGROWN: THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

SHREYA GOPALA

In part, even the rawest of the human experience falls victim to the hyperreal.

We have two humans: one wearing the mask of a plant, the other a butterfly. At the end of the day, you are looking at mere representations of something on a face of a magazine, crudely mimicking something unhuman to get across a point.

Girl and boy. Human and human. Thing and thing. Agent and agent. Symbol and symbol. Two widely disparate modular concepts yet so strikingly similar.

Humans are naturally drawn to the possibility of fostering newfound connections; they drive intimacy up its valley, craving every touch of skin and peeling back layers of vulnerability. They seek out similarities, sometimes even forcing the pieces to fit when they don’t, but more often than not also revel in their differences and eventually leave wondering how two beings can be so different and the same all at once.

Girl glances at boy with a hint of curiosity gleaming in her eyes, and they exchange a silent eye of mutual interest. She’s reeled in by the fact that something about him feels

refreshing, like a new perspective; to him, something about her feels like home.

In a past life, maybe they found each other to be deeply loving, entwined soulmates — or the greatest archenemies with all the differences in a parallel universe — or the best of friends who complement each others’ very existence — or perhaps, their meeting wasn’t profound at all.

Fascination, then eventual demise.

They toy with each other until one, or both, eventually grow out of such relationship. It doesn’t even necessarily have to be boredom that drives the wedge down, nor does the ending have to be heartbreak, or even have a singular reason tied to the circumstance: time just waits for no one.

Regardless, they bask in each others’ presence for a time, a moment so short-lived in their grander scheme of things called life. But as the budding relationship delves deeper, they both have passing thoughts that maybe the other is their forever. They learn from one another, one opening newer, wider perspectives for the other and vice versa. They continuously plant new thoughts and new ideas in each other, until suddenly, they themselves aren’t so different from each other anymore.

Instead of growing together, they begin to grow apart. Because that is just the way it is — each individual so focused on the fast-paced nature of life, continuously pushing forward. Yet, they have made a clear impact on one another. There are touches of growth. They are almost unrecognizable beings from what they were preceding their encounter.

And there is constant growth to be witnessed in a lifetime. So much, so often, in all different directions that our connections, and even us, begin to distort into a new reality, so different from the precession of our reality before the encounter that it becomes almost indistinct. The journey isn’t always linear.

132 ALICE HAN + ALLY WEI

OVERGROWN: THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

They finally decide to say their goodbyes and let go.

Constant birth, death, rebirth.

People outgrow habits and preferences — so what’s not to say people outgrow each other? And even themselves? If I asked you if you consider yourself to be the same person you were five years ago, six months ago, or even a few weeks ago, would you say yes?

For girl, boy was only like every other person she met in this paced lifetime, regardless of how special and new she sought him out to be in the beginning; the veneer of his surface uniqueness ultimately wore off, and their similarities began to clash. For boy, girl was only a learning lesson; the initial comfort he felt and what he believed to be harmonious chemistry was a mere facade, with grating differences to come.

But after all, nothing matters; it was a mere passing encounter. The only purpose the other served was to advance and cultivate their own identities and henceforth the realities they perceive. They met. They experienced. And they move on as new people.

No human is uniquely them. Every person, thing, agent, or even concept you encounter leave the slightest of demarcations on you and pushes and pulls your growth in directions you couldn’t imagine before.

So push forward and don’t look back; don’t let the momentum dull and embrace the accelerating reality. Because, in the end, the reality you create — through cycles of relationships, experiences, rinse and repeat — is the one you choose, the one you choose to see, a world none other than your own.

OVERGROWN: THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

OVERGROWN: THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE

Alice Han is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in think pieces and creative long-form essays, especially centered around technology and cultural identity. Alice studies Computer Science/ Business Administration (CSBA) jointly offered by the Viterbi School of Engineering and the Marshall School of Business and Cognitive Science at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts, and Sciences, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Editor in Chief for Haute Magazine.

Ally Wei is a photographer with an emphasis in the fashion and music industries. Her work promotes themes of empathy, community, and self-love through the lens of dreamy, colorful imagery. Ally studies Media Arts and Practice at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Creative Director for Haute Magazine.

Shreya Gopala is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in graphic and visual design. Her signature aesthetic approach integrates intentionality and elegance. Shreya studies Art, Technology and the Business of Innovation at the Iovine and Young Academy, University Of Southern California. She also serves as the Creative Director for Haute Magazine.

CHANNELING n

r

CHANNELING YOUR I c l

h

CHANNELING YOUR INNER CHILD

Emi Yoshino is a Los Angeles/Orange County-based photographer who specializes in portrait and production photography. With her experience in Stage Managing and Photographing, she has gained a passion for storytelling and entertainment. Emi is currently pursuing a BFA in Stage Management at the School of Dramatic Arts, University of Southern California.

Model Emma Kwan

Jaden Young is a Los Angeles-based designer with an interest in product and visual design. Coming from a fine arts background, he seeks inspiration from painting, street art, and photography. Jaden studies Business Administration at the Marshall School of Business, University of Southern California.

CHANDELIER THE

“I think there’s a couple up on the mezzanine.”

“Hmm. I see them.”

“Behind the booth, too. Look.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you check behind the bar?”

“Yup. Three or four.”

“Jesus.” Boris stepped over the corpse of a young man in a white suit. It was stained through with blood, his vest ripped apart by shrapnel. He crouched over the body and peeled the eyelids back with gloved fingers, holding his hand terminal’s camera over the blank pupil. The terminal buzzed and the display lit up. RODRIGO STOLT, 19. GRAPHIC DESIGNER. 432 RIVER SIDE TERRACE, WEST BEACH, it read. He scrolled through the records on his terminal. Fifty-nine entries so far. He looked through the profiles. College students, socialites, street kids, designers, models. He looked up and saw the bodies covering the dance floor. “Kids. They were just kids,” Boris said.

Dave shrugged. His partner was covered in the same forensic suit as him, his tall frame stretched against the clear material of the suit, dimmed club lights reflecting off the plastic. He looked around at the blasted remains of the hall. It was an abandoned warehouse on the western edge of Blue Port, converted into a nightclub. Neo-Buddhist decorations of swirling deities and laughing faces were stenciled into the walls, lit from behind by neon tubing and holographic projections. A massive chandelier swung on the warehouse ceiling, untouched by the shooting and the blasts. It was in the shape of a great coiled serpent eating its own tail. It cast a pale green glow over the dance floor. Dave looked around at the decor. “Hip place,” he said.

“Feed says they were having a launch party. Some sort of magazine,” Boris said.

“Kids still read magazines?”

“They read this one. Lotta of big names on the floor here. Newsfeeds are going crazy. Even offworld. They’re holding a vigil on the Promenade tonight.” Boris stood up. He looked up at the chandelier. The serpent seemed to be grinning down at him. The way its green light bounced off the clothes of the dead dancers made him shiver. “They’re beefing up security on the Strip.”

“That’s good.”

“You ever seen anything like this?”

“Yeah. On campaign. This is different, though. Gives me the fuckin creeps. Let’s get out of here.”

Dave walked toward the exit. The robotic forensics teams shifted in the cavernous glow of the warehouse, scrubbing surfaces and collecting samples. He took one last glow at the chandelier and sighed. He followed him through the door.

The night was cool, fresh breeze rolling in off the sea. The warehouse was on the outskirts of West Beach, close to the Strip. It was right on the shoreline, concrete docks with stalwart industrial buildings, all converted into nightlife haunts. He leaned against a railing and looked out to sea. Dave stood next to him, lighting a cigarette. In the distance they could see the lights of the island chains that ringed the port. The night was in dead silence. Curfew was in place ever since the shooting. It would end soon. Business always carried on in Blue Port. The horizon glimmered for a moment as a ship took off from a distant island. He wondered if it was a passenger ship. His family had come here on one of those, years ago. Laborers, destined to wrangle steel and breathe radioactive dust, to construct grand corporate towers. They never left. He watched the spacecraft climb across the night sky. He turned to Dave. “Think people will leave because of this? Forever?” Boris asked. “Maybe. More will come, though. Replacements.” “Yeah,” Boris said, looking down at the waves crashing against the dock, “This place runs on bodies.”

The Strip glittered in the dark as the police ferry churned through the murky waters of the port. The police station was located on an island to the south of Blue Port, a short jump by boat. Most of Navau was made of up of archipelagos, chains of islands extending for thousands of miles across the planet’s oceans. Blue Port was the biggest

154 VIJAY DALAL + MORGAN BROWN

city on the planet’s only continent. It was a young colony, by interstellar standards. Its contract was bought by a banking conglomerate that turned the tropical planet into their headquarters. An sudden influx of capital and inconceivably wealthy residents manifested in the creation of the Strip. An unbroken line of nightclubs, casinos, lounges, pleasure houses, simulation parlors that extended for dozens of miles along the coast. Celebrity manses and villas dotted its beaches. It was the vacation home at the end of the known world.

Virtually unlimited cash flew through the beaches of Blue Port, and soon there were hundreds of thousands of little mouths poised at the edge of the table, grabbing whatever scraps fell off. The dispossessed masses of spaces colonized the West Beach of Blue Port, carving out their own niche just outside the corporate sprawl. Artists and bohemians, junkies and pimps all blew across space to Navau. The banks let them squat in their beachside slums. They always needed fresh meat. Employees, workers, and drones. The masses churned through the Strip and imbued it with the manic abandon only available to people that owned nothing. Their bodies drove the pulse of the strip. Kept the machine running. Human lubricant.

Boris gazed at the skyscrapers on the east side of Blue Port. The towers of the financial firms loomed on the horizon, great steel pillars ringed with corporate imagery, bright images dancing off projected screens that could be seen from miles away. Hundreds of thousands of bank employees lived there, a city of managers and auditors, an executive colony. Mankind’s largest company town. The city west of the Strip was a slum. Half the squatters on West Beach were the descendants of the people that built those towers. Every weekend they watched the salarymen take the tram to the Strip to blow their week’s earnings. Cash sucked back into the belly of the beast. Life in Blue Port was a cruel circle. Boris was a victim. Raised in the shanties of West Beach, now he patrolled the streets, looking out for company interests. He thought of the chandelier again.

The halls of the police station were empty, cubicles silent as Boris and Dave stalked down the hallway. They had finished meeting with the chief. It had gone poorly.

“Nothing,” Boris said. “We got nothing. No leads. The gunman just disappeared.”

“City full of surveillance drones and he just walked away.”

“Forget that he walked. He shot it up with an automatic. You can’t find guns like that here. It’s all imported. Everything gets tracked.”

Dave grunted. “We’ll have to hit the Strip.” His bald head glistened in the harsh lighting of the station.

“Yeah. We should talk to Jubio.”

Dave frowned. “Fuck Jubio.”

“Necessary evil, Dave,” Boris said. Boris pushed his way through the packed streets of the Pleasure District, Dave in tow. Curfew had been lifted the night before, and now a deluge of bodies poured into the pleasure houses for comfort. Dancing holographic images projected high into the sky advertised amorphous figures of flesh and hair. The street of flesh extended as far as the eye could see. An incomprensible array of screens and neon signs on the doors of the brothels lulled the pedestrians into sensory overload, an intentional paralysis, a complete hijack of executive function. Pornographic wasn’t enough to describe it. It was a flesh carnival.

Dave hawked and spit on the street. A gaggle of salarymen brushed past them, hysterical, lifted off narcotics. A street vendor shouted into the night, hawking his wares. Dave used to be in the Marines, born to a much harsher world than this. It was hard for him to conceal his disgust. Boris didn’t mind. He had played on these streets as soon as he had been able to walk. He blew everything he had in one of these houses on his thirteenth birthday. They pushed their way through hundreds of prostitutes, patrons, passing drug stores, street carts, bars. They finally reached the meeting place, a tiny lounge tucked into a street corner, between two pleasure houses. Inside, Jubio was waiting for them in a leather-bound booth.

Big Jubio was the fourth or fifth biggest pimp in the P.D. His head was comically large, rendered disproportionate by his shrunken, diseased body. He was the victim of a modification surgery gone wrong, experimental steroids that were supposed to give him bulging muscles and a wide frame had instead shriveled him, turning him into a wheelchair-bound imp. He gave them a lopsided grin as they took a seat in the booth. “OFFICERS,” a digital voice barked from his wheelchair. Jubio’s botched surgery had rendered him mute. “IT IS A PLEASURE TO SEE YOU IN THESE TROUBLED TIMES.” His virtual voice was distorted and monotone. He had enough money to buy a perfect voice modulator but he refused to upgrade his antiquated voice-box. The veneer of authenticity was everything in Blue Port. Jubio owned a massive chunk of the brothels

in the P.D. He was their informant on the street. Whispers seemed to accumulate like dust in the pleasure houses, and little escaped Jubio’s ears. “HOW CAN I BE OF SERVICE?” he droned.

Dave leaned forward, placing two thick hands on the table. He stared at Jubio’s beady eyes. “What do you know about the shooting?” he asked. It was hard for him to hide his distaste.

“AH. A DREADFUL AFFAIR. I LOST GIRLS IN THAT BUSINESS. BEAUTIFUL GIRLS. YOUNG TOO. WHAT A SHAME.”

Boris frowned. He pulled a photograph out of his jacket and set it on the table. It was a picture of a blond man with sharp features and a sardonic grin, wearing sunglasses and a stark black suit. “Randall O’Hearn. Goes by Mr. O. He’s the owner of the club that got shot up. Missing since. Seen him around?”

Jubio blinked. Boris thought he looked like a like an amphibian. “RANDALL IS A FREQUENT PATRON OF MINE. MY GIRLS TELL ME HE HAS ECCENTRIC TASTES.”

“Like what?”

“THEY DO NOT KISS AND TELL, OFFICER.” Boris knew he was withholding something. He could hardly force it out of him. The proprietors of the Strip dwarfed lowly detectives in Blue Port’s unspoken hierarchy. Law enforcement was second to its whims. Business must carry on.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“I SAW HIM IN THE LOBBY OF THE BULGING ORIENTAL. MY BIGGEST HOUSE. HE WAS EXCITED. CHATTERING ABOUT THE RELEASE OF A NEWSPAPER.”

“Magazine. They were launching a magazine that night.”

“YES, YES. THAT WAS THE LAST TIME I SAW HIM. I’M AFRAID I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM SINCE THE SHOOTING. IT SEEMS TO ME THAT HE PERISHED ON THE FLOOR THAT NIGHT. I WOULD STEER CLEAR OF THIS FELLOW, MY FRIENDS. HE IS NO GOOD. GOOD BUSINESS FOR ME, YES. NOT FOR YOU. MY APOLOGIES, OFFICERS. THIS IS THE EXTENT OF MY AID.” He flashed his twisted smile, revealing a set of deformed teeth. “I HOPE AND PRAY FOR THE RETURN OF PEACE, OFFICER. SUCH VIOLENCE IS UNBECOMING OF OUR PRISTINE CITY.”

JACKSON

THE CHANDELIER

Boris sighed. “Thanks, Jubio,” he said.

Dave tightened his hands into fists.

Dave lit a cigarette, feet dangling over the concrete lip of the dock, the sounds of the Strip fainter now. It was late. They had left Jubio’s establishment hours ago. They were in West Beach, having spent all day trawling the slums. They had been talking to the friends and family of the victims. Searching for a through line, a lead. Something that could crack it open. Boris sat next to him. The surf was quieter here. They looked out at the glimmering line of islands. It had been days since the shooting but the Strip had come alive again as if nothing had ever occurred. The machine churns on, he thought. He looked at Dave. His face was disturbed, unusual for his stoic features.

“They all have the same story,” Boris said.

Dave nodded. “Artsy kids. Talented.”

“This Mr. O. They were obsessed with him.”

“Yeah. Feeds say anything about him?”

“He’s some kind of creative director. Probably an alias. Warehouse was under his name. Can’t find anything else about him.”

“Dead end.”

“Yeah. Nobody knew anything else. I’m telling you, Dave. Nothing like this ever happens on Blue Port. I’ve spent my entire life here.”

Dave exhaled the cigarette smoke. “I hate this fucking city.”

Boris shrugged. “Only one I’ve ever known,” he said.

“It stinks. Everything stinks here. Something hangs heavy over this place. I don’t know what it is. I’ve been to more systems than I can count and this one just fucks with me the most. This place is tainted. Sick. Freakish. I hate the way the streets look. I hate the way the people look at you. Empty. There’s nothing here, Boris. Nothing.” He stood up.

“Listen, Boris,” Dave said, “I’ve never seen anything like the floor that night. It’s sick. Unnatural. I’ve seen cities bombed into crumbs. I’ve seen bodies piled taller than your head in places that don’t even have a name anymore. This was worse. The way those kids lay on the floor… like toys. Like someone just set them down. And nobody knows. Nothing. You ask someone and they just give you that same look. Empty. Nothing but dead ends. This case is a dead end. Planet’s a dead end. I’m getting out of here.“ He stomped his cigarette out on the concrete. Then he turned and walked off into the night, his scalp shining under the pale yellow light of the street.

Dave had been his partner for two years and he had never spoken that much. Something had broken him. He was a grizzled veteran and yet Blue Port was getting to him. Boris was used to that. If you walked around the Strip at night and looked at the faces of offworlders, you saw it. The overstimulated, bugged out eyes. They brimmed with panic. When you could afford anything your flesh could desire it warped you. He remembered seeing some old, famous star out on the Strip one night, decades past his prime. His body was bulging with fat, his body almost spherical. He couldn’t even walk. Wheelchair bound, like Jubio. Blue Port ate you up and spit you out. Every year the Strip grew longer. More clubs and brothels and casinos. It gorged itself on flesh. One that line would reach past West Beach and swallow his home, pave it all over until it was a parking lot for chubby pensioners. Boris thought about the green chandelier in the warehouse. He thought of its pale neon glow, the tail coiling round and round and being consumed in the serpents mouth. Dave was right about what they saw in the club. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He took one last look at the lights of the port and started walking west, toward the warehouse. He had to see it again. When he arrived at the warehouse the door was padlocked shut. Its walls had been covered with graffiti, the entrance piled high with memorial flowers and photographs. He walked up to the door and inspected the padlock. He tried it with his station key. It clicked. He swung the door open and entered.

It was dark inside. His eyes took a moment to adjust. The bodies were gone, the floor scrubbed clean. The lights were off. The decorations on the walls looked empty without them, drained. It was a burned out husk, walls still scarred by the bomb blasts. Boris stared at the ceiling. The chandelier was gone.

“Looking for something, officer?”

Boris whirled around. There was a tall, thin man standing beside him. His hair was straw-blond, parted down the middle. His cheekbones were sharp, his features pointed. It was as if the skin on his face had been pulled tight. In the dark it was hard to see what color his eyes were.

“Mr. O,” Boris said.

The man smiled. His teeth were long and narrow. “Yes. My street name.” His accent was peculiar, impossible to place.

“Thought you were dead.” “Hmm.”

“What’d you do with the chandelier?”

“It’s been moved. Would you like to see it?” “Yes.”

“Come.” Mr. O started toward a corner of the building, near the bar. Boris followed. The man was wearing a clean suit, a black jacket with a white shirt. “It’s really tragic, you know. What happened.”

“Any idea who did it?” Mr. O didn’t respond. They reached a door on the side of the building. He swung it open, revealing a stairwell. He gestured down the steps.

“After you, officer.” He smiled again, revealing his long teeth.

Boris fingered the pistol on his belt. “You first,” he said. Mr. O nodded. They walked down the steps. They went down longer than he expected, two flights, before emerging into a large storage chamber. In the center, between piles of boxes and deconstructed decorations, the chandelier. The serpent, coiled, eating its tail. It was beautifully constructed, meticulously carved out of glass and neon tubes.

“It’s a shame, really. You wouldn’t believe how much that cost. Now we’re done. Moving out,” Mr. O said. “It was really supposed to be a gorgeous night. I spent a lot on that magazine. Artists. Designers. It was a beautiful crowd. You should have seen how they

looked. They were all so young.”

“Listen,” Boris said, “I want answers. This doesn’t happen in Blue Port. Nobody wants to shoot anything up here. There’s no reason. So someone shows up at a club, kills everyone. And then they’re gone. Thin air. Nobody comes forward, nobody knows anything. I’m sorry your fucking arts and crafts project fell through, but I need answers.” Mr. O just gave him a placid stare. “You’re a local boy, aren’t you, Boris?”

Boris frowned. He didn’t remember telling him his name. “Yeah. Born and raised. West Beach.”

“Why did you join the police force?”

“Bored. Didn’t wanna work on the Strip.”

“Hmm.” Mr. O clasped his hands behind his back and walked to a corner of the storage room, stopping in front of a door. He opened it and gestured inside. “My office. You want answers, yes?” He grinned. “Please, have a seat.”

The office was sparsely decorated, with only a single painting on the wall, a man with an apple in front of his face. The only furniture was a wooden desk with two chairs, and a single antique computer on top. He sat down in one of the chairs, across from Mr. O. His angular features looked eerie in the dim light of the office. His skin looked translucent.

“Where did you get that chandelier?” Boris asked.

“I had it commissioned.”

“By who?”

“Your people. Young artists from West Beach. It was part of the magazine launch. Our centerpiece. It’s quite stunning, isn’t it?”

“What was the magazine about?”

“Oh, you know. Fashion. The arts.” Mr. O grinned. “Youth culture. I suppose we have to forget all that now.” He giggled.

Boris realized that there was something deeply wrong with this man. He had made up

his mind. It was time to leave. He would come back with more officers. He stood up.

“Alright, Randall. It was nice meeting you.”

“But Boris,” Mr. O said, “Wouldn’t you like to see the magazine? They worked very hard on it, you know.” He giggled again. “They’re your people, Boris. They gave it everything they had.”

Boris sighed. “Okay. I’ll take a look.”

He sat down. Mr. O’s fingers flew over the keyboard. He hummed a tune. Boris thought it sounded like a lullaby. O turned the monitor around.

On the screen was a photograph of a young man and woman dancing under the green lights of the club. It was a glamorous picture, edited to make them look perfect, skin gleaming, angelic. Mr. O hit a key. The page shifted.

On the screen now were the same dancers. Now their bodies were mangled, riddled with bullet holes and shrapnel. Mr. O looked at him and smiled. He hit the forward key again. Another photo of a dancer. He hit the key again. Now the dancer was on the floor, the top half of his head completely missing. Click. A dancing girl, beautiful, hands held toward the ceiling. Click. Now she was on the floor, missing an arm. Mr. O clicked over and over again. The scenes flew by in front of him, meticulously photographed images of hundreds of bodies on the dance floor. Boris reached for his gun.

He was too slow. He looked up and there was something in Mr. O’s hand. The bullet took Boris in the shoulder, knocking him back over his chair onto the floor. He fumbled with his holster but he couldn’t pull his gun out. Now Mr. O was beside him, crouching, gun held at his side.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” he murmured. “All those bodies, one moment free, uninhibited. Now they lay dismembered. They left behind gorgeous corpses, didn’t they? Did you not see the stunning array of their limbs? Were they not totally, utterly transformed before death? What art could they produce greater than the sum total of their negative bodies?” He giggled. “I love your city, Boris. It completes itself. Here on the end of the shore, they came from the slums, the sewers, to be siphoned back out, in, out, in once again. The rhythm and bob of the dance floor. Up and down. Four to the floor. And to the floor they returned. This is the logical conclusion, Boris. I’m simply doing my part. It’s only natural What a gorgeous city. What alluring people. What a wonderful spread they have made. Remember the chandelier, Boris. The ouroboros. I’m doing

what I’m supposed to do. Soon they will be aerated into digital strand, blown across stellar wind. The soil that they sunk under will burst from under them and take them across the stars. The ouroboros, Boris. I don’t want you to forget it.” He smiled. “You understand, don’t you?”

Boris gurgled blood. He couldn’t speak. His vision was fading rapidly. Mr. O leaned over him. He saw what was in his hand. A long knife, wickedly sharp. He choked, mouth full of blood, tried to get up but Mr. O slammed him back down.

“We are all the tail, Boris. It’s our job to be eaten. Don’t fret. You’ll be dancing across the shores soon enough. Even serpents must shit.” Mr. O giggled and plunged the long blade into his right eye.

The last thing Boris heard was the soft crashing of waves against the pier.

Dave woke up in the middle of the night to the buzzing of his terminal. He saw a message from the Chief captioned URGENT. He wondered what it could be. His partner had been missing for four days now. He opened the message, a photograph of a news headline. EL COMEDOR MAGAZINE RELEASES FIRST ISSUE. The magazine’s cover was a man with a pale, haunted face. His eyes were missing.

Vijay Dalal is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in short fiction that illustrates narrow hallways, lights in the distance, and things in the dark you can’t see unless you squint. Vijay studies English at the Dornsife College for Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

Morgan Brown is a Los Angeles-based photographer. She practices fusing and blending her life experiences in music, painting, literature, human research, and observation to create her own style. She believes that knowing the “rules” of photography would lead to pictures that look just like everyone else’s. Morgan studies Psychology and Business at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

Jackson Epps is a Los Angeles-based designer whose passions lie in typography and the visual experience. Jackson studies Public Relations and Communication Design at

GENTLE MON

GENTLE MONSTER

GENTLE MONSTER

Jared Tran is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in graphic and visual designer. His work exemplifies a strong understanding of composition and form. Jared studies Design at Roski School of Art and Design, University Of Southern California. He also serves as the Assistant Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

ICARUS

It silently rests in my eyes and soul. It can be seen in how I walk and talk.

I observe my most fragile self pass me. The feeling is similar to how the potential of the morning quickly fades by the afternoon. The distinct stillness is overcome by passing visions. Images are embedded in my palms, pulling my eyes in their direction like a permanent magnet.

“Why this? Why me?” I truly want to ask. It could be because the escape is inevitable—that is not true. This is the one and only age of sight. Today is the renaissance of vision. Tomorrow I will rise like the Phoenix, and be able to see my true self. Maybe I won’t have to hide anymore, or run from the cloud of perfection, but I also know that is a lie.

The impact is always in the mistakes. It is a restless journey navigated through comparison and shame, leaving an unshakeable shiver in my spine. My eyes can not help but reorganize this reality and my identity.

I manifest the past’s greatest desires. and the present is always forgotten. There is never a logical balance; it is never what it will be.

There is a blur between my existence and The Existence I should and must live. The days are a cycle of forgetting and reimagining all interactions.

A face-paced daydream that suffocates my

being. Seemingly uncontrollable and unnatural, the pursuit of something better runs madly rampant in my bones. Satisfaction remains a foreign idea — I plead with it to connect with my soul.

Every day I dejectedly sit in class with my heavy head resting on my hands, I have the same dream — a nightmare, perhaps. “Please take me to the sun,” a voice demands. Out emerges a figure, an older version of me. I grab a set of wings. I am then labeled the great beholder. I fly to where The Nightingale sings. O, I shiver. Up here feels much colder. But at least I can witness Saturn’s rings.

I begin to feel the warmth of the sun, and with it comes every hope and desire. The internal struggle comes undone. My ambition is lit by The Fire. I consider if I finally won, Is it possible I hang by a wire? But my happiness has just begun. I hear the voices of the Holy Choir. I am flying faster than cheetahs run, so I decided to migrate much higher.

When I wake up from this dream, life follows a familiar theme. Windy grass or a turbulent plane, the theme is all the same. I want to jump into TV shows and wear the same clothes. I can never truly forget, and this cruel world remains upset. I see there is not a single escape, and perfection takes but one shape.

The course to the sun is now hard to embrace. A never-ending and brutal race. I want to quit, but I am not a disgrace. I am done with this hard and grueling chase. These images are so hard to erase. False hope lies in this current space, and my reality shows little grace.

I can’t slow down, I can’t remove my trace. The memories are tough to replace. These eyes don’t belong on this face.

Olivia Mooney is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in poetry and short stories that explore the intersection between perception and reality. She is fascinated by how different we see ourselves relative to how others view us. Olivia studies Business Administration at the Marshall School of Business and English Creative Writing at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts, and Sciences.

Mercer Meeks is a Los Angeles-based street and model photographer from New York City. He aims to observe and comment on culture through photography. Mercer studies Music Industry at the Thornton School of Music, University of Southern California.

Maxim Marshall is a Chicago and Los Angeles-based designer focusing on graphic design. His design philosophy focuses on incorporating techniques from both his creative and technical skills to generate work which bridges the gap between art and science. Maxim studies Art with a minor in Computer Science at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

PETE DOBOZY DOBOZY

PETE

190 PETE DOBOZY

DOBOZY

Pete Dobozy is a photographer who intends on capturing the essence of wherever he happens to be at the moment. His work revolves around the quintessential nature of life and its colors.

PETE DOBOZY

Sarah Chan is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in visual design. She specializes in a minimalistic yet deliberate aesthetic approach. Sarah studies Human Biology with a minor in Health Care Studies at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

MANIFESTO GRID

198 ARJUN BHARGAVA + YUKIN ZHANG

grindr, or as we call it, the grid. it’s the dirtiest place in the world – and yet, within it, we find moments as fresh as water from a clear blue babbling creek. picture a meadow in the backdrop as you imagine this refreshing water revitalizing your parched lips. that’s the duality of an algorithm that facilitates queer and trans people f*cking each other… don’t get it twisted, though. it’s not just sex; it’s the place to work. it’s the place we go to be on display, to make ourselves cunty, to be inundated with flattery, to live out our cute little complexities. on Grindr, we experience time as we like it. we cut her up and forget the means, remembering just a glimpse. a glimpse of seductive social satisfaction, or the imprint of a soft kiss. it’s crazy how such complicated technologies work by offering us a taste of what we always wanted, in the most convoluted way. we hate it and we love it, we say we don’t need it — oh, how we pretend the mild temptation doesn’t linger. we slither to the bathroom, itching for a break from the classically reductive cishet lifestyle—even if it’s within the confines of a crusty stall. we hide behind our lonely shadows, cower under the shame and the fear that our wounds are oozing, staining, and contaminating the other facets of our lives. my secrets have unraveled. it’s written on my face. i’ve become a fiend for just a sliver of dopamine. the grid has become indispensable.

maybe we like the grid because it provides a reprieve from the ways that time is experienced under the forces of heteronormativity and capitalism. we open the grid after work to forget how brain-dead we feel, how badly our feet ache, and how much our souls yearn. dopamine expedites our lives and smooths out the edges that have become jagged.

However, the painful truth is that we never actually forget. rather, we willingly agree to ignore and become entrenched in the very oppressive forces which caused our isolation to begin with. queer and transgender people have been robbed of technology, capital, and power for centuries. we have been made to feel unbeautiful, our bodies medically pathologized. we’ve been marked as deviant, tainted, and unworthy. we’ve been called sissies and fags, so of course when we stumble across a space that provides us visibility and the illusion of sexual autonomy we run toward it. we are filling a void of nothingness, a void of deprivation. can you blame us?

after spending years perpetuating the very same algorithm, we wonder what it might be like to destroy it. or rather, hijack control. in many ways, the algorithm is incredible. we want more and we can’t have enough. we like that the algorithm collects us, and puts us in a shared space. it creates a network under which each person who is operating accepts themselves, as well as their desires—at least for a short period of time. it facilitates constant exploration of our desires. it removes the barriers between us and what we might want. it makes love and intimacy accessible, and as queer bitches,

we love easy access. it even helps some of us pay our bills. on the surface, the grid facilitates a near-perfect facade of togetherness, of radical acceptance of our queer identities, of intimacy, and of social currency.

and yet it is highly impermanent.

within the grid of 100 faceless torsos, we find an algorithm that uses our position in space to find others near us. interactions happen based on distance instead of connection. they can feel soulless, and robotic. the more time we spend on the grid, the less we come to understand real intimacy. our love becomes preoccupied with our place in space, our minds flooded with logistical stress, our bodies brimming with anxiety–and then, release.

after each transaction, we become focused on the next, then the next, and the next. ever ephemeral, it flees before it ever really arrives. some of us like it that way.

the grid gives us a platform, a narrative, a story, a one-inch box that we use to escape our everyday realities by sinking within it. we love the grid because we believe we might be able to use it for our own benefit, as a means of creating space for ourselves and our sexuality.

isn’t the grid a means of infesting the world with our queer politics?

November 16th, 2025

after three brief years of research, we propose that the technological apparatus of providing us with visibility and a platform is only an illusion. we are not being seen outside of our own community. we are accepting love on conditions that we haven’t agreed to. we haven’t been integrated into the process of designing our own platforms, they’ve been taken over by large companies that haven’t looked at a real queer or trans person in years. how is the grid going to keep us safe if the people running in don’t even use it?

it is not that there’s anything wrong with our experiences. they are what they are. shame has no place in our sexuality. rather, we believe it doesn’t offer us all that we deserve and we remain militantly unwilling to settle.

The current technology fails to extend caution to the seriously addictive nature of the grid. we believe we must protect those who have been disproportionately harmed

by technology which perpetuates desirability norms and capitalism. minors. people of color. disabled people. people with large bodies. people with non-normative bodies.

one of the things that make the grid addictive is the tactile motion of using it. the grid becomes an axis of movement, flow, and power. one which humans can actively change and engage with. we wonder how we can recreate this, perhaps with the help of queer engineers who are willing to backstab the corporate monsters that remain complacent in the disproportionate harm to our communities.

november 20th, 2030

after careful thought and reflection, our team of dopamine extraordinaires, consisting of former addicts of every kind, has come to the consensus that the grid only operates by dumping unhealthy amounts of dopamine in our minds. they state that the amount of dopamine uptake, once increased to a certain threshold, will only result in addiction to technology which only renders queer and trans beautiful, desirable, and worthy in certain instances. this creates a binary between who is desirable and who isn’t – and such a binary is damaging to both ends. our collective of experts believes that trans & queer people as well as other members of marginalized groups – anyone deemed undesirable – should turn their attention to a different type of dopamine and politics. we agree more natural dopamines require astronomical amounts of patience yet we assess these forms bring flow, energy, and motion– authentically so. these forms of existence do not seek to exist within the politics of desirability. Instead, they seek to destroy the hegemonic and dominant structures which have created them. we plan to do this with the miraculous agents of ART. POP. DANCE, & CULTURE. these high-level concepts may obliterate the minds of those who cannot understand them but we seek to create a new type of hyperreality. one which embraces the ugly, one in which time becomes so radical, we embrace that it isn’t real. one where we no longer conduct life on the arbitrary and constructed measures of having children, working, and getting married. we’d prefer to dress up and dance or eat and have communion.

we advocate against the use of the grid because it rewires the way dopamine and time are processed, speeding it up and smoothing it out. while this is a convenience that allows for smoother assimilation, we believe that it is ultimately damaging to the way our beautiful souls exist. we believe in the lady gaga Beyonce telephone quote “shoulda left my phone at home cause this is a disaster”

we believe that the true substance of hyperreality is the art and color that comes out of it.

through paint, through a flowy dress, through thick, blocky chunky heels, and glitter. we believe that technology has a place in our lives, particularly when it is the convenient thing to do in aiding us of our self-obsession.

it may not wield the same dopamine instantly, but over time we will become a monument in challenging the classist structures which have deemed us undesirable and unworthy of capital.

as the world continues to be capitalistic, patriarchal, white-supremacist, and heteronormative –operating on the apparatus of assimilation and technological superiority–we believe we can establish our power as counter-hegemonic forces. Instead of engaging in the dominant structures of media and tech, we want to become leading forces in art and culture. we want to use the power of strutting, the freedom of dancing, the movement of striking a pose and eating it down. the language of drag and ballroom. we believe that the true resistance to an app like the grid is through reading someone to filth in person. reminding them that queer and trans people do not need to do technology. we have our vocabulary.

furthermore, we believe the consumption of theory, particularly from black women, trans people, and other people who have been at the forefront of experiencing oppression should be centered in our creation of art. we believe a radical theory can be injected into our pop and pop culture to reshape our society and build a pathway for dopamine that is both sustainable and conducive to our own empowerment.

we believe the following theorists should be injected into dominant spheres of media, pop, and culture: José Esteban Muñoz, Audre Lorde, Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa, bell hooks, Adrienne Rich, Kimberlé Crenshaw, Angela Davis, Patricia Hill Collins, Kimberly Nicole foster, Stuart Hall, Karl Marx, Antonio Gramsci, Edward Said, Walter Benjamin, Theodore Adorno. Once each of these theorists has been consumed by each non-normative body in this nation–at least in some capacity – that is when queer and trans people will have a true grasp on the meaning of time. we also believe it is important to distinguish how theory is inherently elitist in the way it is often written. thus it is also our goal to make the messages and meanings of these writings accessible and understandable to all. not some, ALL.

august 24th, 2035 we believe that there is nothing more radical than writing the words down, then creating art in a room full of other queers. we believe there is nothing more radical than taking theory and twisting it for a collective benefit or exploration.

after beginning an artistic revolution of creating queer and trans-centered media and dismantling the grid, we feel it is critical to end our manifesto by paying homage to those who created the whole blueprint. as masters of intimacy, beauty, and glamor, – the original queens of the streets of New York were also the ones who invented radical transformation. when society deemed them homeless, confined them to only sex work, refused to rent to them, offer them jobs, and treat them as ordinary civilians they utilized the power of art, pop, and performance to do exactly what we aim to do now. they declared ferocity and power.

they change the way time is experienced, creating their own queer hyperreality. it was one of noise, unbothered existence, and manifestation.

it was a revolution of fearlessness through ordinary acts like taking up space, demanding energy, and dancing. a queen with character, regardless of her material conditions, could be anyone she wanted. that is just the type of energy we seek to emanate, one which selfproclaims our collective autonomy and power over oppression.

we also admire their informal networks of providing maternal love and support, and their use of coalition-building through the formation of houses to protect each other, feed each other, and infest each other with the scarce emotion of joy, laughter, and love. we believe this historic contribution is exactly what defines our future and we believe true hyperreality replicates the visionary informal structures of the past.

we believe hyperreality is only the intersection of activism and art – through thick and thin.

The AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power said it perfectly:

VOICE THROUGH A MEGAPHONE: We also need some more Quilt volunteers and some people for the ACT UP snake.

MALE: ACT UP snake? CROWD NOISES

[BREAK]

GROUP: NO MORE BUSINESS AS USUAL, NO MORE BUSINESS AS USUAL.

GROUP: THEY SAY CUT BACK, WE SAY FIGHT BACK, THEY SAY CUT BACK, WE SAY FIGHT BACK. THEY SAY CUT BACK, WE SAY FIGHT BACK, THEY SAY CUT BACK, WE SAY FIGHT BACK.

[BREAK]

GROUP: ACT UP, ACT NOW, FIGHT AIDS.

We end our manifesto honoring the following CEOS, founders, mothers, & visionaries.

The Royal House of LaBeija (founded by Crystal LaBeija, co-founder of ballroom culture; and chiefly run by Pepper LaBeija in the 1980s and 1990s)

The Gorgeous House of Gucci (founded by Gorgeous Jack Mizrahi Gucci, Kelly Mizrahi Gucci, Marlon Mizrahi Gucci and Trace Gucci)

The House of Amazon (founded by Leiomy Maldonado)

The House of Aviance (founded by Mother Juan Aviance)

The House of Balenciaga (Founded by Harold Balenciaga)

The House of Dupree (founded by Paris Dupre)

The House of Ebony (founded by Larry Preylow Ebony and Richard Fears Ebony)

The House of Ferré (founded by Milan Christopher)

The House of Garçon (founded by Whitney and Shannon Garçon)

The House of Ladosha (founded by La Fem LaDosha and Cunty Crawford)

The House of Latex

The House of Maison Margiela (founded by Vini Margiela)

The House of Mizrahi (founded by Andre Mizrahi)

The House of Lanvin (founded by Meechie & Kenny Lanvin)

The House of Mugler (founded by David, Raleigh and Julian Mugler)

The House of Ninja (founded by Willi Ninja)

The House of Xtravaganza (founded by Hector Valle, and chiefly run by Hector Xtravaganza and Angie Xtravaganza in the 1980s)

The Royal House of Nina Oricci (founded by Gillette and Omari Mizrahi Oricci)

The Undeniable House of Basquiat (founded by Dashaun Wesley)

The House of Revlon (founded by Tony Revlon)

The House of West (founded by James West and Anthony West)

The House of DeMure Versailles (founded by Aaliyah Du Mure Versailles and Scott Alexander DuMure Versailles)

The House of Balmain (founded by Rodney Balmain)

Arjun Bhargava is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in short stories that explore ordinary existence and radical utopia. Arjun studies Communications at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, University of Southern California.

Yukin Zhang is a Los Angeles and Shanghai-based artist. With a fine arts background, her strength lies in combining photography and visual elements to achieve a surreal atmosphere. Her works are published at the online gallery The Artling. Yukin studies Fine Arts at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

Maxim Marshall is a Chicago and Los Angeles-based designer focusing on graphic design. His design philosophy focuses on incorporating techniques from both his creative and technical skills to generate work which bridges the gap between art and science. Maxim studies Art with a minor in Computer Science at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

This is a discussion of the sexualization of young girls in the age of social media.

As the prominence of technology increases in our lives beginning at such a young age, girls’ lives have become accelerated and made to feel like they are losing a sense of childhood that previous generations had more of. The school-girl-esque outfits and lollipops poke at the innocent details of girlhood that become over-sexualized, while the darkness and grit of the shoot portrays the underlying sadness to this loss of childhood.

210 ELIZA BARR

LOST GIRLS

Eliza Barr is a Los Angeles-based photographer from Connecticut. Eliza gravitates towards portraiture and fashion photography, and she draws inspiration from photographers such as Tim Walker who push the boundaries of reality in their images. Eliza studies Classical Guitar and Law at the Thornton School of Music, University of Southern California.

Arya Tandon is a Los Angeles-based graphic designer focused on visual design and user experience. Her designs navigate the intersections between accessibility and aesthetics. Arya studies Cognitive Science and Designing for Digital Experiences at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

LOST GIRLS

It’s hard to imagine a reality without sound, and music harnesses a power far greater than one may think. Often, when one has their earphones on in public, it almost acts like an unspoken signal of “do not disturb”. As we embrace the power of music in our daily lives, we are allowing ourselves to be more in tune with the songs that help us revisit past memories than to create new social interactions in the current time and place.

This reality sparked me to think more deeply about the role music plays in creating a hyperreality as it associates with the formation and interpretation of memories. As I am typing down this very sentence on my laptop, I am sitting on the lawn of McCarthy Quad watching people laughing, jogging, or passing by. But as soon as I put on the song playing in my headphones, I am immediately placed in a vacuum, separated from the soundtrack of reality. The melody and lyrics make me aware of my own train of thought and feelings despite the ongoing physical distractions nearby. For me, music offers the possibility to remove myself from

a real-world situation and focus on the emotions and memories that create a greater sense of familiarity and comfort. However, I do wonder whether we are now reaching a point where plugging into music during our commute or walk to class is so habitual that it has shaped our reality, sans headphones, into mundanity.

Hyperreality is a phenomenon that happens when real-world situations and fictional moments are seamlessly blended together, leaving one unable

to see a clear distinction between where one ends and the other begins. In a world dominated by digital, on-demand music, we find ourselves more engaged with a world whose ambiance is music.

Many of us often associate memories with music. Perhaps a song happened to be playing in the background, or maybe a specific beat or melody always reminds us of a certain person or interaction. The ties between music and memories are strong, yet invisible. We no longer question how our own perception of the present reality is shaped by the artificial auditory environments that we are in. Hence, we sometimes find ourselves unable to consciously distinguish between the actual facts and the emotions and meanings granted by music at the moment. As we allow music to fill up the perceived voids in our lives, we pay less and less attention to our real lives and become more ignorant and unappreciative of the little things that take place around us.

So why is it that we would rather spend the time in our day immersed in music that brings us back to the past from the present? The chaos and confusion in the world we live in today have slowly granted reality a negative connotation. The real, present world has become something that no one wants to face,

but rather something to run away from and escape from. Music creates a hyperreal fantasy land of the past where an individual can find refuge and comfort and lean into an escapist daydream. A memory of a lazy afternoon listening to songs from the record player by the poolside is always more pleasant than the stressful reality of sitting in the basement of a library trying to prepare for a business presentation.

Music is the portal through which we create a hyperreality where we can meet distant strangers

who tell their stories of love, heartbreak, and growth. Music transcends all types of barriers through the common thread of melody, harmony, and rhythm. It is capable of setting off a flood of memories of family road trips, hot summer nights, and wintertime misery. Unconsciously, we as humans have developed a level of reliance on music to process our emotions or feelings, forming an understanding of our own physical reality based on sound hyperreality. When we find greater intimacy with the idealized versions of the past compared to our present, we escape the current reality and distance ourselves from the real world. Nostalgia in itself is only a melancholy act of remembrance, and reality is only unpleasant if you choose to ignore rather than experience it. When we take out our headphones and look around at the world around us, the aches of facing reality might prompt us to revert back to music for remedy. But tomorrow morning, walk without music and bear the discomforts of a raw reality.

Rebecca Feng is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in short stories and profile feature pieces that explore the intersection between entertainment media and minority voices. Rebecca studies Communication at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism and Business Administration at the Marshall School of Business, University of Southern California.

Kaila Espiritu is a San Diego-based photographer with a foundation in photojournalism but has ventured into the field of editorial and fashion photography. Kaila studies Environmental Studies at the Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences, University of Southern California.

Michael Castellanos is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in graphic design. He allows empathy to inform his design and drive his creative direction. Michael studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, as well as Architecture at the School of Architecture, University of Southern California.

MICHAEL

Mia McCarthy is a fashion photographer who enjoys juxtaposing beautiful subjects with contrasting environments, often provoking a feeling of unease from the viewer. Her creative process is heavily influenced by music and other other art forms such as painting, writing, and cinema. Mia studies Art, Technology, and the Business of Innovation at the Iovine and Young Academy, University of Southern California.

Anoushka Buch is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in brand, graphic, and visual design. Her creative process synthesizes visual aesthetics and communication, and she seeks to excite and inform with her practice. Anoushka studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

To practice proper hygiene protocols and prioritize the safety of patients, surgeons will sterilize the post-anesthesia care unit following a major procedure, but to the girl on the bed, awakening to the reek of sanitizer and synthetic aromatics feels sickening. From the blinding lights beaming onto white-washed walls to the mess of machines and equipment looming over her body, the intensity of the surrounding atmosphere overwhelms her senses as she floats into consciousness. While the girl on the bed can’t see it yet, her replastered face now reflects her most desired features, a perfect look the procedure allowed her to purchase.

Distracted by the drone of indistinct chatter, she catches blurred glimpses at people passing by, all of them inattentive to her presence. Laying here, she feels like an experiment: not a person, just another statistic saved in the hospital records alongside similar cases. However, her mind at the moment isn’t occupied with the context of her operation. Rather, the girl on the bed contemplates transition: wondering if she has become a new person and, if so, how she would cope with it. Would the world react differently to her? Before even looking in the mirror, she fixates on the opinions of others, the thought of her reputation bubbling in her mind.

Humanity has long since evolved beyond the laws of nature, overcoming the need for the force that drives survival: competition. Teaching us the value in communicating a shared purpose, civilization promotes a community identity so that people not only support themselves but also collaborate and build relationships with each other. Essentially, working together allows us to enjoy the comfort of mediocrity. No longer are we forced to vie for dominance when cooperation provides more productivity. However, this doesn’t mean our lives are sunken in complacency: if anything, the absence of competition makes adherence to societal standards even more challenging. Without the need to fight for survival, everything–intellect, looks, status, and more–has become a criteria for evaluation, contributing to a cutthroat world demanding cohesive perfection. Measuring an individual’s worth by characteristics out of their control only convinces them to doubt themselves and obsess over perceived flaws and outward image. This issue is particularly prominent with physical appearance, where natural change is unrealistic, leaving people anguished over an illusion of inferiority.

The emergence of aesthetic perfectionism traces back to the early 1960s, when the expression ‘picture perfect’, referring to the elegance of photos on film, was coined as a statement of beauty.

The catchphrase gained traction as an advertising buzzword after the 35mm camera, one of the world’s most recognized portable cameras, became more ubiquitous, skyrocketing its popularity among general consumers. Producing grainy but detailed pictures, print photography served as a way to capture life in suspension, an authentic memento of a cherished moment. But entering the twenty-first century, something changed: due to the spreading influence of the post-trust era, where first impressions decide an individual’s worth, desire for work, fame, and sexual appeal reached an absolute peak. Furthermore, the rising relevance of social media exacerbated the intensity of this competition by providing a platform where personal portraits, staged for perfection with lighting and post processing, have become a currency for developing an online presence. Blurring the lines between reality and the make-believe, performance on social media is almost formulaic: content creators that conform to popular trends tend to garner the largest audiences. With the help of photoshop, airbrushing, and other digital manipulation techniques, internet culture overflows with influencers flaunting their exaggerated appearances, twisting the meaning behind ‘picture perfect’ by trademarking attractiveness and abandoning appreciation for natural beauty.

Idolizing unrealistic and unhealthy expectations, social media deceitfully suggests that good looks indicate success and self-fulfillment, pressuring us to emulate trending celebrities and models. Blinded by this empty promise, some begin to lose focus on their internal values and turn to plastic surgery, a practice that aims to achieve a perfection that doesn’t even exist in life. This reckless motion embodies the unhinged nature of hyperreality, a pursuit of indulgence that trespasses the limits of human capability and stops for nothing in

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order to reach the desired result. Although there is no longer one correct way to look, hyperreality emerges in social classifications of beauty: certain features are more desirable than others, which develops a hierarchy of rigid standards. Equating their position in this imagined construct to their happiness and well-being, people resort to procedures to become artificial stock copies of trending influencers, sacrificing their identity to be a part of media uniformity. However, while this transformation carves a desirable appearance, the abrupt change can backfire, inducing insecurities beneath the facade of a perfect face. Centered around the permanent loss of their natural image, patients trap themselves in an unending loop of depression, unable to embrace their decision and move on from the past.

It’s been like this for months. Curled up in a nest of crumpled tissues and torn polaroids, the girl on the bed reaches into a pile of old pictures for yet another memory to shred from existence, a monotonous cycle with no closure. As for dedication, even Narcissus pales in comparison, yet instead of self-obsession, she mires in selfdeprecation, drowning herself in a wave of hopeless bitterness that doesn’t seem to ebb away. But the girl in the photo glows, face lit up with an innocent exuberance that nearly bursts out of the film. How could someone be so happy looking like that, so far from ordinary? Envious of the ignorance, the girl on the bed wishes to understand. Maybe if she knew the answer, she could finally be content with herself too.

It stings that the face in the picture, wearing a real smile, looks so familiar.

But those emotions are long gone. Her only catharsis is ripping it up, forgetting it ever happened.

She’s tired of suffering silently beneath the veil of her appearance, where perfect flicks and follower count are meaningless. She feels enslaved to the insecurities that latch onto her inner monologue, parasites keeping her prisoner in her own skin. Yet all she’s done is disconnect and disassociate: refusing to embrace reality and mulling pointlessly over memories. Clinging to denial, her insides are hollow, an empty house for a soul that has moved out; in this state, acceptance seems so distant, like an obscure dream lost in her headspace. The girl on the bed wonders what she’ll have to do to finally be at peace with herself, how far she would have to go to silence this self-hatred.

Saturated by social media promotions and digital advertisements, the internet presents an endless stream of images and videos that worships perfection without ever revealing what goes on behind the screen. The growing influence of this hyperreality shapes unrealistic beauty standards and pressures people to fulfill them by any means necessary, even if they must rely on operations to purchase an idealized look. This quest for perfection leads to a dark path of self-doubt, anxiety, and even depression, and succumbing to the allure of plastic surgery only inflates this toxic culture. To resist these urges, we must shatter our addiction to chasing the impossible: through a mental reset, learning to love our imperfections is the first step in embracing uniqueness and celebrating individuality. Internalizing these core values encourages us to be more compassionate not only to ourselves but also to those around us, dissolving harmful competition in mainstream media. The key to a better future is to not only acknowledge diversity, but also to welcome it: we don’t need to shun our differences when we can use them as an opportunity to expand our horizons. Accepting and upholding this mindset sets us free from the chains of hyperreality and establishes a world that inspires people to appreciate their uniqueness, one where we can all love ourselves for who we truly are.

Maya Zingaro is a Los Angeles and Sacramento-based portrait and street fashion photographer. Her work often incorporates the metropolitan area as well as different media such as crochet. Maya studies Business Administration at the Marshall School of Business, University of Southern California.

Sam Koog is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in poetry, short stories, and think pieces that explore the intersection between creativity and business, the ethics and behavior that drive social values, and the influencer market. Sam studies Communication at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, University of Southern California.

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Nishka Manghnani is a Los Angeles and Mumbai-based graphic designer and digital artist. With a knack for public art, she creates work that intends to mobilize social change. She has a deliberate design style that incorporates aesthetics with functionality. Nishka studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

GRACE ALEXANDER

Grace Alexander is a photographer based in Austin, Texas. She gravitates to soft colors and lighting, capturing her subjects in a psuedo-natural state that encapsulates their energy. Grace often finds inspiration in people, places, and fashion to transform the mundane into one of a new, exaggerated reality.

Anoushka Buch is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in brand, graphic, and visual design. Her creative process synthesizes visual aesthetics and communication, and she seeks to excite and inform with her practice. Anoushka studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

SAY MYNAME IN VAIN

MYNAME VAIN

Vanity is anything but fair.

It’s relentless in the mission to undermine our waking moments, bending and shape shifting into any medium that it can. And maybe you only catch a glimpse of its power as your eyes trace your figure in the mirror for too long, but I can assure you that it is ever-present, always silently urging us to succumb to the pressure of comparison.

It’s in the window you linger in front of to tug at your shirt collar before an interview, and it’s in the sly right swipe you take during an Instagram scroll to check your face in the story camera, but, most of all: It’s skillfully woven into the fabric of our beings as humans.

You see, to be human is to be in a constant state of compartmentalization. When we look around

“Vanity working on a weak head, produces every sort of mischief.” — Jane Austen, Emma, 1814

and try to understand the world, everything becomes a question of, “Who am I in relation to that?” We inadvertently view ourselves as extensions or exclusions to what we can label about our reality. And to be honest, it’s because we have no other choice in the pursuit of understanding ourselves fully.

In a world that consistently upholds the pillar of appearance, there comes a crucial point where what’s left to learn about yourself lies in the hands of others. We are naturally inclined to wonder about how we are perceived by the external eye. And the only feasible way to gauge that perception is by altering the subject of its attention — your reflection. But this proves itself difficult as we navigate a digital age where everything exists at once: past, present, and future.

We are exposed to a never ending catalog of human existence through the realm of media. And although the experience of flipping through magazine pages has adapted into scrolling through For You pages, whatever was trending in the past is still bound to be trending now and once again in the future. Nothing is off the table, so everything can only be relevant for a limited time before it’s resurfaced at an accelerated pace. And yes, that notion of everything includes you.

With rapidly increasing rises and falls in trending content, any compulsive desire you have to lean into individualism will always be left unsat-

SAY MY NAME IN VAIN

isfied. The second you see yourself as cool and different, suddenly everyone is doing exactly what made you feel that way in the first place. And the cycle of feeling perpetually unoriginal continues.

That said, the quickening pace at which we deconstruct and reconstruct our societal mirror has made our personal reflections equally malleable. Ever wonder why you feel the pressure to undergo an aesthetic rebrand so often? Well, it’s because we rely on the extreme evaluation of relevancy that social media provides — you’re either a nobody or a somebody, and nothing in between — so much so that vanity utilizes the digital sphere as a vessel to make its true home in our realities.

We no longer operate on a “to know you is to love you” basis, but the opposite — to be loved is to be known. Whether we explicitly admit it or not, we believe our value is based on external opinions, which ultimately bolsters a marriage to our online persona during our offline experiences.

Collectively, we are inclined to operate as if our every move is being assessed. Think about it: Is the notion of romanticizing your life truly for you? Or is it the social commodification of little moments that once provided us with gratitude but now fuel our insatiable greed to be somebody worth perceiving? Even if your finger never reaches an app to share when these favorable moments happen, the passing thought that your actions should warrant visible attention means that vanity still has its hold on you.

However, there is no objective metric to accompany how much more perceivable someone is than you. Sure, follower and engagement ratios may steer your vanity compass, but overall, the social evaluation of who gets considered a somebody will always remain subjective and unequal.

That leaves us with only two ways to provide an answer for our vain ego. We can build ourselves up by emphasizing what makes us feel more valuable than others, or we can exhaust ourselves trying to play catch-up with whoever we think is outdoing us. Either way constitutes a comparison process that yields wildly inconsistent results — results contingent upon the context we choose to frame our reflection with and the extrinsic validation we receive from it.

As much as we lay claim to capturing the moment through social media, we’re more so acknowledging how much we’ve fallen victim to allowing casual mundanity to become curated memories. We’ve moved from being the protagonists who drive our plot to the main characters that are just impacted by it. This is why efforts toward gaining the nostalgia of a “postable authenticity’’ have ultimately rendered themselves hypocritical.

Let’s BeReal here, strategizing your day to align a perfect moment with a notification is the antithesis of authentic. A photo dump is just as it sounds: ephemeral scraps of memories in the wasteland of your profile until vanity is on your side again. And stalking your main feed from your finsta to see yourself from a third party perspective? That’s peak self obsession.

But that’s just it. This is exactly when it creeps in. It’s in these hyperaware, albeit normalized, moments where our heads have become the weakest. So, in an irrevocable attempt to feign interconnectedness, all we’ve actually done is play into vanity’s mischievous game. And what’s our unintended prize? We can’t seem to validate our internal perceptions until they are outwardly affirmed.

So, if we all continue this pattern of living as if we are the center of the universe, then is there really a world that we’re all fully present in? Could we survive if we let what people think about us remain their prerogative instead of trying to redirect their perception with any given opportunity?

Luqman Abdi is a Los Angeles-based interdisciplinary photographer and filmmaker. Luqman has rooted his career in an authenticity and storytelling embracing sociopolitics, community, and arts regarding the past, present, and future. His work often holds an emphasis on modern Black culture through cultural aesthetics. Luqman studies Computer Science at the Viterbi School of Engineering, University of Southern California.

Kassydi Rone is a Los Angeles-based writer specializing in features and think pieces that explore the intersection of entertainment, fashion, and lifestyle. Kassydi studies journalism at the Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism, University of Southern California.

Natalie Darakjian is a Los Angeles and Orange County-based designer with an interest in form-making and visual design. Coming from an architecture background, she seeks to find ways to merge her various creative interests. Natalie studies Architecture at the USC School of Architecture, University of Southern California.

SAY MY NAME IN VAIN

NATALIE DARAKJIAN

ALEKSANDER BABARIKIN

ALEKSANDER BABARIKIN

Aleksander Babarikin is a New York-based photographer originally from Belarus. His photography set was inspired by the lyrics of “The Spell (Burial Mix)” by Charles Webster and Ingrid Chavez.

Borja Schettini is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in graphic design and creative direction. His acute understanding of the principles of design makes way for his experimental style to push those boundaries while creating artwork. Borja studies Communications at the Annenberg School of Art and Design, University of Southern California. He also serves as the Director of Content for Haute Magazine.

BEHIND HYPERREALITY HYPERREALITY HYPERREALITY

HYPERREALITY HYPERREALITY HYPERREALITY

BEHIND HYPERREALITY

Aria Li is a Los Angeles and China-based filmmaker specializing in screenwriting and directing. She seeks to tell moving stories about underrepresented communities. Aria studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Katherine Han is a Los Angeles-based creative specializing in videography. She seeks to continue pushing the boundaries of multimedia storytelling. Katherine studies Communications and Cinematic Arts at the Annenberg School for Communication and the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Multimedia for Haute Magazine.

Joanna Song is a Vancouver-based film student who seeks to pursue different avenues of storytelling. Joanna studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Alysha Wang is a Los Angeles-based Indonesian creative who specializes in producing and set photography and videography. With a focus on POC and LGBTQ+ narratives, she’s passionate about exploring human connection and shedding light to underrepresented stories through her work. Alysha studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Tyler Tang is a Los Angeles-based filmmaker who seeks to stimulate the mind and evoke emotion through jarring and intimate imagery in an attempt to create meaning from human existence. Tyler studies Cinema and Media Studies at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Josey Cuthrell-Tuttleman is a New York-based filmmaker specializing in directing and cinematography. She strives to create films that generate empathy. Josey studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Mateo Garcia is a Los Angeles-based artist specializing in fine art, design, and film. He seeks to tell moving stories, in any medium, though bold imagery and careful craftsmanship. Mateo studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California.

Sam Socorro is a Bay Area-based photographer and videographer who specializes in 35mm-film and analog video. Sam seeks to capture his memories with his friends, his travels, and concerts he attends. Sam studies Business Administration with a minor in Cinematic Arts at the Marshall School of Business, University of Southern California.

BEHIND HYPERREALITY

Eilythia Penati is a Washington, D.C.-based artist specializing in interactive film production. She seeks to create environments and tell stories in ways where her audience is fully immersed, highlighting mundane beauty. Eilythia studies Film & TV Production and Digital Studies at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Cecilia Mou is an Orange County-based filmmaker who loves to tell authentic stories of human relationships, through narrative or documentary form. Cecilia studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

Sea Gira is a Los Angeles-based filmmaker from St. Louis who specializes in writing and directing. She seeks to tell stories from her own experiences that are authentic and vulnerable and that empower Gen-Z and marginalized communities. Sea studies Film & TV Production at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California.

For the “Hyperreality” theme reveal, we wanted to capture the essence of our accelerationist culture by creating visual bombardment through the mixing of different medias and techniques, such as projection mapping and intermixing digital formats with VHS. Our story dives into a journey of nostalgia, glamor, and techno-futurism which we hope captures the glowing aesthetics of the “Hyperreality” issue , while also pushing viewers to consider why we feel a need to continue progressing and how our acclerationist culture may have trapped us in a never-ending loop of recycling trends.

Ally Wei is a photographer with an emphasis in the fashion and music industries. Her work promotes themes of empathy, community, and self-love through the lens of dreamy, colorful imagery. Ally studies Media Arts and Practice at the School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Creative Director for Haute Magazine.

BEHIND HYPERREALITY

Anoushka Buch is a Los Angeles-based designer specializing in brand, graphic, and visual design. Her creative process synthesizes visual aesthetics and communication, and she seeks to excite and inform with her practice. Anoushka studies Design at the Roski School of Art and Design, University of Southern California. She also serves as the Director of Visual Design for Haute Magazine.

HAUTE MAGAZINE

Based at the University of Southern California Los Angeles, CA

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