Hoot Issue 23

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I UE 23 SS

Dear Reader,

Welcome to this Spring edition of Hoot, where we are tending to the practice and process of getting dressed. Inspired by the friction of play in our Editor-at-Large’s personal style manifesto, this issue focuses on taking pleasure in the practice and how to ﬁnd it.

In an age of identity, accessories of the everyday become something hyper-meaningful and surreal. Before you is a symphony of seven style stories, each textured by their own ﬁctions, desires, aesthetics, and histories. This issue welcomes you with “Bound”, a love letter to pleasure, and critique on the hypersexuality of race. Exploring the antithesis of getting dressed, “Morning After” is a comedown of the primping and plucking, relishing in smeared makeup and heels in hand, while “Dressing in Mushrooms” is a collaborative organic art and fashion project that rethinks the meaning of decomposition and celebrates the beauty of decay. We turn to cooking as an act of a ection and communion in “Convivium”. Closing this issue, New York’s queer nightlife takes ﬂight in “DRAGged”, a celebration of the camp and cunty.

Getting dressed is the final outfit and all of its fifteen drafts; the pile of clothes littered across my bed, and the alchemic brilliance of sporting that belt as a necklace. Against the world’s harsh rhythms, there is comfort in knowing that I can begin every day with an exercise of agency and self-hood. To be a part of Hoot is to take part in a community that understands style as both the medium and the message. A surrender and reflection.

With Love, Erin

BROWSE BROWSE BROWSE DRESS ME ME ME ME ME ME

MORE BROWSE ME ME ME > >> << >> >> > > << << > >> << >> > << > >> << > >> << > >> << > >> << > >> << > >> <<

Tin Marín de Dos Pingüé Cúcara Mácara T ítere Fu é

Peace moan delicates mornings of love making breath and wishing the love (making) could save us

Epic takes energy

What barren field still hopes for cow shit holds out tightly for the nuance of fertilizing it’s deadness still capable of outlasting the beast of time rides horses against culprit manifestos of clementines staining only the inseams of lips bold enough to be the goth manhattans

I still hope I would have seen you sooner Kissed you later

Boredom tells on the field finds cascadas strong enough to riptide fuck with the currents

I devil myself a mustache

This river don’t freeze me sonnet don’t take for granted the sun me ‘till my best knowledge is bronzer dripping down downside the boat of caribes itching my patience find me a poodle heart bulldozed from ant teeth sucking me dry ‘cuz I got things to say to my faces the east strides an ocean not meant for made efforts to see the stars all the often outlanding the edge of nothing save a wound where the light enters that curious north shelters my worst habits to wish you even forgiveness like

Human is barely the word for the mornings

Vanessa Tasé Sueiro

MORNING AFTER

3:32 am

going out an act of vulnerability. often, one reduces oneself to an ideal in the name of “fun”. for “fun” and her children see: disco, debauchery, disgrace, dissipation, disorientation, and disillusionment

3:52 am

17

intimacy

debilitating, often toxic, and beautiful. intimacy can last a minute or a lifetime. for these two, intimacy lasted 3 hours and 41 minutes

3:52 am

glitter the physical manifestation of the disorientation in a soul released by drugs

3:52 am

nylon stockings those clothing pieces which track either the violence or fun of a night

4:47 am

5:27 am the 70s a period of sartorial upheaval and chemical dependency

DIRECTOR & WRITER

Sadie Hornung-Scherr

PHOTOGRAPHER

Andee Sunwoo Lee

BEHIND-THE-SCENES

Sungyoon Lim

STYLIST

Simone Swersky

MODELS

Savanna Rust, Yonel Gonzalez

MAKEUP

Arden Pochna

PHOTOSHOP

Kendall Bartel

PRODUCTION ASSISTANT

Isabella Flood Wallin

GARMENTS

Stylist’s Own, Model’s Own, Olivia Treynor, Olivia Sharp

SPECIAL THANKS

Alpha Delta Phi Society, Lucas Pasquina, Tommy Scherr

7:12 am

morning the baptismal dawn, which reveals reality and ugliness. contrary to popular belief, morning is not the period of possibility. friday at 9pm is

C0nvivium

LET’S BREAK BREAD TOGETHER. LET’S PUT ON FUN OUTFITS JUST TO TAKE THEM OFF LATER. LET’S MAKE CAKE & CORNBREAD & CURRY AND EAT UNTIL OUR PLATES ARE CLEAN. LET’S WEAR ALL WHITE, LACE & LINEN & LIPSTICK ON THE GLASS. LET’S DO SOMETHING WE WILL DO AGAIN, SOMETHING WE’LL DO EVERYDAY. LET’S DECORATE OUR BODIES AND OUR PLATES. MAKING NEW SHAPES WITH OUR MOUTHS, NEW STAINS ON OUR DRESSES, NEW FRIENDS. LET’S DRESS UP. LET’S HAVE A DINNER PARTY.

Q 3

ZUCCHINI AND CHEESE GALETTE DATES WRAPPED IN BACON SPINACH DOSA WITH

ROSE AND LEMON CREAM

VEGAN SPINACH VANILLA CAKE WITH MISO CARAMEL POACHED PEAR

KARPATKA

CAKE WITH ORANGE CURD AND BROWNED SPRING

CORNBREAD

CORIANDER, MINT CHUTNEY, AND CURRIED CHICKPEAS

VEGETARIAN AMATRICIANA WITH ROASTED BROCCOLINI

LAYER CAKE

CARAMEL BUTTERCEAM

PAVLOVA

KARPATKA

BROWNED BUTTERCREAM LIBATIONS

DIRECTOR Olivia Treynor

PHOTOGRAPHER Olivia Wein

PRODUCERS Cate Mok, Romy Levin

DESIGN Abby Foster, Kiahra Read

GASTRONOMICAL CREATIVES

Lorenza Bartu, Gianna Bianchi, Kate Miller, Penelope Leibovich, Maddie Madsen, Nichi Pandey

Q 7

DRESSING IN MUSHROOMS

Fungal spores of forgotten, untouched realms break free with the wind and drift into the dark corners of urbanity. The mycelium incepts our synthetic realities. They spread and sprawl through the decomposing confines that we’ve imposed on ourselves just as they consume deceased bodies under the cover of moonlight.

What comes after death? Religions tell us the soul is transcended to a higher realm or condemned to a nether world; fungi tell us that rebirth happens right where you die.

The art of dressing comes in organic forms. We adorn our bodies with garments made after the teachings of micro-organisms and fungus, juxtaposing the ever evolving human bodies with ultra-urban spaces. After the lights are dimmed and signifiers of civilization become mere decoration, what remains?

After decomposition and decay arrives another awakening, the nirvana, the rite of spring. The celestial mycelium whispers. The body breaks down; the organic chaos ensues; the cycle of life continues.

29 DRESSING IN MUSHROOMS

You, Time, as well as envious Old Age, devour all; with gnawing teeth, with slow and lingering demise, you two destroy, consume all things.

But if we turn to things that we ourselves can test and trust, you’ll see that any corpse which-through long lapse of time or else because of liquefying heat-has decomposed, is transformed into tiny animals. If, after precious bulls are sacrificed, you set their carcasses within a ditch, you’ll see (it’s a familiar happening) that everywhere among the rotting guts, the pollen-gathering bees will soon spring up; and like the bulls from which they’ve sprung, those bees are fond of fields, work eagerly, and wait with patience for the fruits their labor brings.

–– Pythagoras, On the Transmigration of Souls

31 DRESSING IN MUSHROOMS

DIRECTORS Siqi Deng, Grace Jung

PHOTOGRAPHER Siqi Deng

MODELS Joe Lesher-Liao, Riley Rodriguez

STYLIST & DESIGNER Grace Jung

PRODUCER Em Sieler

MAKEUP ARTIST Mason Harper

BODY PAINT ARTIST Penny Shapiro

SET PRODUCTION Madeleine Ragunas

STYLIST ASSISTANTS Lily St Remy, Yonel Gonzalez

PRODUCING ASSISTANTS Isabella Flood Wallin

PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTANTS Lucia Cao

BEHIND-THE-SCENES Natalie Cheng

33 DRESSING IN MUSHROOMS

Two Days Before I Try Not to

My birth month continues to feel like an open secret, until Duolingo wishes me happy birthday in the same breath as an ask to return to the only language my great grandmother spoke. I consider deleting the app, I cook soup that’s hers as much as its anyone else’s, the beets stain my hands red but only temporarily. After awhile I look down and find I miss their lingering touch.

Whose womanhood is this?

Andie Tappenden

My 21st Birthday, Live in the Past

She used to evision she had children that she didn’t actually have, take the train to the city, walk around looking for a bakery. She reveals herself to me accidentally, in anecdotes. I turn the corner and she is still there, searching. While she is looking for lineage I eat beets, but not enough of them. My hands are red, but it’s my own stain. Mine and all of these torn-up roots. My great grandmother and her million sons.

Tappenden