by hoot
fall 2017
Adele Austin, Anisa Tavangar, Annie Bryan, Caitlin Lent, Carolina Dalia Gonzalez, Devon Ham
We urgently need to bring to our communities the limitless capacity to love, serve, and create for and with each other. We urgently need to bring the neighbor back into our hoods, not only in our inner cities but also in our suburbs, our gated communities, on Main Street and Wall Street, and on Ivy League campuses. - Grace Lee Boggs, BC ‘35
Follot Hoot on Instagram @hootmag Like Hoot Magazine on Facebook Send Hoot and email at hootmag@barnard.edu For more Hoot Magazine, visit hootmag.org/blog tafson
s Hogan, Maria Adetunji, Mia Ciallella, Nadia Carrillo, Nikki Shaneer-Bradford, Paloma Raines, Paris Parker Loan, Pascale Bell, Phoebe Jon
mmond, Elle Wolfley, Emily Kimura, Jacqueline Klein, Kaeli Streeter, Layla Alexander, Marcu
es, Rachel Tsuna, Rebecca Siqueiros, Riley Swain, Sarah Hilligoss, Sarah Kashef, Sloane A. Gu
nothing blue directo r Carolina Dalia Gonzalez ph otogr aph e r Caitlin Lent mod el Rachel Tsuna makeu p Nikki Shaner-Br adford h air Carolina Dalia Gonzalez beau ty Captain Blakenship, Milk Makeup jewelr y Far r adas Knits
untitled poem
by annie bryan
because titling things makes them too real and this one hurts to admit is too true, please read it, it’s ok if you don’t, I’m sorry because I just woke up and... (8 am) Today I think I might burst into tears or just burst and get everything done that I said I would and maybe do the things I have to but NEVER never the things I want to over what I thought I should (might not) (probably won’t) do. (11 am) If I keep the anxiety at bay, I’ll at very least make a few compulsive lists in my notebook and impulse-pick my nails until they bleed. But that’s better than letting a freeze-up come out and convincing myself I don’t have a pulse in the first place. But in the case that I can’t keep it down, and I don’t text on-call Mark or Jamie at the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, I might have a panic attack. For the purposes of this conversation, we will call them freeze-ups, because that’s what I called them when I was little and convinced myself I had ______ immediately pressing terminal illness. My brother and I used to cough in the middle of the night to let each other know we were both still in our bedrooms and hadn’t been kidnapped. The weirdest part is that we never talked about this strategy to comfort one another— it just happened. (2 pm) At this point I might leave all my emails in my inbox or read them and feel spiders everywhere when I think about replying so I might flag them as unread because responding is too stressful because what if I say the wrong thing.
(5 pm) Today I think I might just stay in bed since my shit self already let most of it go by and my “to-do”s turned into “what-if ”s
so instead I’ll think about all the things I’d do if I could | would | will | might | should do. I probably won’t get out of bed for the things I’ll get passive aggressive emails about later Asking me where I am Am I ok? And why am I so irresponsible. Is communication really that hard.
Today I think I might be triggered but not know how to say so. “Triggered” doesn’t sound quite right and feels too strong to use and my therapist said it’s valid but I pay her to say that and I’m on meds so I should be ok by now I thought I’d be ok by now. And if someone asks if I’m stressed out since I haven’t gotten a job yet I might say (7 pm) This evening I think I’ll go to the Laundromat while it’s emptier and I might have a silent freeze-up. It’ll look like I’m sweating and shaking and I’ll probably tap my foot so it looks like that’s why my body is reverberating And the gasps will make people around me think I’m just out of shape. The feeling after you have a freeze-up is kind of like when you wake up from a bad dream and have a sinking feeling in your chest like you swallowed a massive brick of ice and you know the dream wasn’t real then, and isn’t real now, but you still don’t feel quite right anyway. The feeling before a freeze-up is more like you think you’re actually in your last moments of life. But unlike the post-attack feeling, you still think it might be real.
(9 pm) I probably won’t eat anything because only caffeine makes me feel like a person. I probably won’t call home because I just can’t pretend I’m okay tonight. Not with people who know me like that. (11 pm)
(1 am) I’ll give up trying to sleep and write in my journal until it’s light outside.
warp & woof directo r Sloane A. Gustafson ph otogr aph e r Elle Wolfley stylist Sloane A. Gustafson, Anisa Tavangar mod els Marcus Hogan, Sar ah Kashef, Riley Swain makeu p Anisa Tavangar assistants Mar ia Adetunji, Layla Alexander cloth ing Han , I n e xc ls v, a n d M a t i e re
new (york) sensibility by adele austin
Whenever I return home to Miami, my aunt likes to remind me how “New York” I’ve become—always starting with my change in wardrobe. She often talks about how difficult it is to find presents for me now that my style has evolved to match my new city. See, Miami is often considered an extension of the Caribbean, with its island-influenced culture, food, and languages; it’s no surprise that the region influences our style, too. Back home many people wear what Haitians call sandale bata, our version of flip-flops, or guayabera, flowy linen shirts that are a staple in tropical climates. As someone who’s been immersed in both Miami’s vacation vibe and New York’s bustling utilitarian energy, I’m learning to balance the sartorial differences between these two cosmopolitan cities. Coming from a place where the typical temperature is an oppressive 80 degrees, my wardrobe staples were shorts, skirts, and loose dresses in light fabrics and bright colors. When I arrived in New York, however, I noticed that classmates who grew up here were partial to muted tones, understated cuts, and jeans—no matter the temperature. Since the way I dressed allowed people to instantly discern that I was new here, I decided to mirror the locals’ wardrobes in order to assimilate. For example, pairing a Miami outfit with a black leather jacket tones down the look and keeps it weather-appropriate when the inevitable city chill creeps up. I’ve also learned to appreciate a good pair of sneakers. Up here it’s all about what’s useful, and nobody treks through subway tunnels in the 3-inch lace-up heels I’d wear at home. As my sneaker collection grows, so does my fondness for them—being able to walk for miles and still be comfortable the next morning is a luxury I never thought I’d need. Miami is unique precisely because of its focus on slowing down to enjoy one’s surroundings; there’s a reason one of our slogans is “it’s so Miami”. There, taking breaks and being late aren’t taboo—they’re the norm, and it’s easier to experiment with less-practical trends when you’re not as rushed. On the other hand, as we all know, New York offers no rest for the weary. We’re always in a hurry to get to the next class or meeting, and wasting time is seen as a sign of weakness. Our obsession with efficiency is reflected in the city’s uniform. When the fast pace gets overwhelming, I’ve found that fashion can be a great way to transport myself to a different headspace. I often gravitate towards outfits with brighter colors or more daring cuts when I am homesick or stressed, as I tend to feel less tense and more confident when I wear clothes that remind me of Miami. Though I once had a specific idea of what it meant to dress like a New Yorker, I now realize that maintaining my personal style can actually make me feel more at home here. Sure, I’ve made a few practical compromises—swapping bold patterns for simple monochromes that make me feel put together no matter how crazy a day I have ahead—but I still love my dresses and skirts. No matter how cold New York gets, the Miami girl in me can’t resist showing off a little leg. What can I say? Old habits die hard.
ophidia directo r s Mia Ciallella, Emily Kimur a ph otogr aph e r Emily Kimur a stylist Mia Ciallella mod el Nadia Car r illo, Devin Hammond makeu p Pascale Bell h air Sar ah Hilligoss h aiku s Kaeli Streeter cloth ing AWO K E V i n t a g e a n d s t yl i s t ’s ow n
The crisp, starless night Let’s her send a guiding shine. Oh, how she loves me.
From blue to black rests Artificiality With no consequence.
Blue disappearing Street lights communicating The night’s conquering.