Off The Cuff Magazine | Issue 18 | The Unknown Issue by Off the Cuff Magazine

CONTE NTS 64

WHAT SH O U L D I DO?

WH E R E AM I?

WH O WAS I?

WH E R E DO I G O?

102

WHAT HAPPE N S N EXT?

126

WH O WI L L I BE?

LETTE R FROM TH E E DITOR “How can I possibly put into words what Off the Cuff means to me?” I’ve been saying this the entire semester, putting off this letter—I promised I would be done with it weeks ago. Yet, as I sit writing this, I still have no idea how to encapsulate everything this magazine and community means to me, and more importantly, how much it has given me. The summer going into freshman year at Boston University, I met someone who told me that he thought I would like Off the Cuff. He was right; I fell in love with what I saw before I even arrived in Boston, I had my mind made up. However, in September 2018, I was rejected. Despite this, I knew I had to be a part of this magazine. I reapplied in Spring 2019 and was accepted as both a Stylist and Writer. I remember (and always will) going to my first shoot with two of my best friends. It was raining and cold, the fifth floor of 808 felt like it was miles away, and I had gotten four hours of sleep. I had never been so excited for anything in my life. I wore a pink leopard print tank top and neon barrettes in my hair and loved every minute of my first shoot. I watched from an uncomfortable classroom chair as models posed in front of tinfoil, upperclassmen directed and photographed the shoot, and we all laughed and danced, nursing headaches from the night before. I styled another shoot that semester with one of my best friends again, and wrote a poem that was featured in the print issue. I thought that the seniors were the coolest people on the planet, and I still do. Off the Cuff was everything to me then, and it is even more so now. I have spent every semester since then on the Executive Board—first as Assistant Creative Director, then Creative Director, and now as Editor-in-Chief. When I was asked to come on as Assistant CD in 2019, I accepted, and was overjoyed. I learned from two brilliant individuals as I prepared to step into the role, reveling in every second of being a part of this magazine and being thought of as capable enough to lead Off the Cuff into the future. We finished half our shoots for SS20 before we were all sent home because of COVID. I was devastated, as we all were, but timidly optimistic to help oversee the release of our first digital issue. When we arrived back in Boston in the fall, I was ready to nurture a creative space that we had all been lacking for the last six months. Instead, I spent nearly a year suffering from intense imposter syndrome, wondering if I was worthy of helming this magazine, and what would have been if I hadn’t accepted. The challenges I—and our entire staff—faced when COVID hit

felt implausible and insurmountable. There was never a print issue in Fall 2020, and we had never not had a print issue before. I was terrified of the unknown: would Off the Cuff be in better hands with someone else? Was I failing the thing I loved most? Was I worthy of my title? But as I grew into my roles as both Creative Director and later Editor-in-Chief, I also grew to realize that this community could never be failed by someone who loves it so much. By people who love it so much. My entire college experience has been defined by this magazine and my involvement in it, the friends and family I have made because of it. I know I am not the only one. I started to run the very same style shoots that in the spring of freshman year changed my life, and I can only hope that I have created the same sort of space for our present day staff. With the help, guidance, and expertise of so many others we pushed this magazine to become something even more incredible than when I found it. I gradually shed my insecurities as I realized that Off the Cuff was never reliant upon an individual, but a community. And it was truly a community that created Issue 18, “The Unknown Issue.” We landed on this theme for a variety of reasons; the unknown is frightening and exhilarating. It’s challenging and engaging, a true test of character and resilience. I myself, along with many of my beloved E-Board members and staffers, are graduating in the spring, and face a whole number of unknown trials and thrills in the coming months and years. We have learned so much from Off the Cuff and loved so strongly because of it. We are endlessly more prepared for the unknown than we would’ve been without our experience working in this community and will hold tight our memories of this space for a lifetime. It is so difficult for me to say goodbye to something that has shaped me so profoundly. But I, along with every page in this magazine, have to explore the unknown. We have no other choice. There is a lot I do not know, but I do know my job here is finished because I can look back at all we have accomplished and feel nothing but pride and gratitude. And while a lot of things are uncertain, I have no doubt that Off the Cuff’s future will be nothing but brilliant. I can’t wait to see this magazine and community continue to shine. All my love, always,

E-BOARD GOODBYES

Creative Director — Shereen Kheradyar Off The Cuff has given me so much more than I can describe in words. From weekly office hours at Pavement to early mornings in 808–I have learned more about myself and my future through working in OTC than anything else in my life. OTC has given me the outlet to express myself through every possible medium and avenue as well as the tools to start my career. I can confidently say that I have put more hours into OTC than any other endeavor and I would not have it any other way. I started as a Videographer with OTC, then moved to Videography Director, and finally, Creative Director. I never thought I would ever be in this position and I feel so incredibly lucky that I get to experience my dream position everyday with insanely talented people who work together to make beautiful pieces of art. The Unknown Issue is an ode to moving forward through all the unanswered questions we have throughout every cyclical stage of our lives and embracing that mystery. This issue is brought to you with literal blood, sweat, tears, but most importantly, so much love. Thank you to everyone who played a part in my experience over the last three years, especially everyone who contributed in any way to make this magazine possible. You make my dreams come to life and I am eternally grateful.

Senior Art Director — Ken Rudolph It feels like just yesterday I was putting my name on a sign up sheet at the Off The Cuff splash booth, I can’t believe it’s actually over. OTC has truly been a highlight of my time at BU. It’s been such an incredible experience to be able to do designs I’m actually passionate about, and be part of such an amazing community. It’s been a wild three years—from being sent home halfway through a semester of shoots, to designing half of the magazine myself, to staying up all night editing spreads before going to print—but I’ve enjoyed every second of it. It has truly been my pleasure to be Senior Art Director for such an amazing publication. Much love, Ken

Managing Editor — Sebastian Porreca It’s super surreal to be leaving Off the Cuff after having been working on it most every semester for three years. It’s truly been an amazing experience being able to witness the OTC community grow and change, and to also to see and appreciate the beautiful creative work done by so many people. I’ve met so many beautiful and talented people who I am lucky to be able to call friends, and I am always inspired by their creativity and their passions. In my time as both writer and managing editor, I’ve had so much fun working and collaborating with so many talented people. I am also forever grateful that I’ve been able to help facilitate a community where people can freely express themselves and grow creatively. I hope I’ve been able to leave OTC better than I found it and I can’t thank the OTC community enough for making it everything that it is.

Managing Editor — Guen Dunstan Thank you Off The Cuff for providing me with an amazing outlet for creative expression at BU these past 4 years. The entire staff of Off The Cuff is so talented and unique, and it has been such an honor to be a part of this community. During my time as Managing Editor and as an Art Director, I have been able to explore my love for writing and design, and I feel so much more equipped as a creative because of my experience on OTC. I cannot wait to watch this publication continue to flourish and grow, and I will always be cheering this amazing group of creatives on.

E-BOARD GOODBYES

Marketing Director — Kayleigh Schweiker In deciding where to transfer after my freshman year, I was intent on choosing a school based on their editorial photography program. Most of my choices were art schools, with a few liberal arts choices sprinkled in; pretty shortly thereafter, though, I settled on the idea of a more general degree, with the exception that the school I chose had a fashion publication I could work for. Many Google searches later (cue a swarm of phrases including “university fashion publications,” “editorial photography universities U.S.,” “student-run fashion magazines near me,” etc.), I found Off the Cuff’s online publication and fell in love. It feels weird to say that Off the Cuff was a factor in my decision to transfer to BU among other schools, but it’s true. Two years later, it feels even weirder to say that I’m graduating after five semesters as a photographer and three semesters as Marketing Director for a publication I’ve admired since even before my time at BU. Being a part of Off the Cuff has given me so many opportunities to grow creatively, meet so many talented people, and create lifelong friendships. I am so grateful for the amazing people who founded this publication, for laying the groundwork for what has been such an integral part of my college experience. I’ll miss this talented community more than anything, but can’t wait to see how this incredible staff inspires more people like me who are looking for their place at BU.

Online Content Director — Izzie Collier Off The Cuff has been such an integral part of my time at BU. From becoming a stylist on the team in freshman year, to joining Eboard in my sophomore year, to this final semester of amazing shoots. The experiences I have had and friends I have made will be with me long after I leave college. This staff and the incredible E-Board members I have worked alongside are truly one of a kind, and I feel blessed to have been a part of this team. I know I will be keeping an eye out for all of the amazing work to come from Off The Cuff! Thanks team!

Finance & Events Director — Zander Slayton When I look back at my time at BU I am met with many regrets. Originally from Brookline, I spent my first three semesters so frustrated with the fact that I was still in Boston that I refused to let myself enjoy anything that I was doing at the time. I felt as though the experiences and opportunities that I was longing for simply didn’t exist in Boston and I was overcome with the feeling that I didn’t belong here. I joined Off the Cuff as a makeup artist in the second semester of sophomore year, and as cliche as it sounds, I finally felt as though I had found my people. I immediately felt a sense of love and pride for the work and community we were creating, and those feelings have only gotten stronger throughout the 21 shoots that I have had the pleasure of working on since then. Having the opportunity to serve as a makeup artist, a stylist, Director of Events, and Director of Finance for this magazine has taught me more than any class or major ever could and I am so grateful for all of the incredibly talented and inspiring people that I have had the honor to work with, many of whom have become my closest friends. Being a part of Off the Cuff has truly been the most rewarding, magical experience that I have ever had and I am so excited for others to be able to find their home at BU like I did.

Photography Director — David Haetty Leaving Off The Cuff is a little jarring for me. Being a part of OTC every semester since my freshman year has been an unforgettable experience that will be hard to leave behind. From shooting BTS to coming up with my own shoots, I have worked with more talented creatives than I could have possibly imagined. Thanks for the great times and the great pics!

Remembrance By Anna Thornley

childhood. she y pp ha a d ha e if I y mum asks m m , n e t of so Every ial rt of existent so e m so he ot so and needs to swer is ashamed of r. I try to an he ot m a s a ance o her perform guilt related t in mind. I did s g lin e e f r he eping I can while ke hese as honestly as ood mother. T g a o ls a is e nd sh ppy childhood, a a not have a ha e asks, I give sh e im t ch a E . ve mutually exclusi r. truths are not ver satisfy he e m he t of e non nt answer, but slightly differe happy. hood was so un ild ch y m hy w rstand She can’t unde 19

e I ntrums wher a t t n e g r u am oler, I had om and scre As a prescho o r y m f o t ou all the toys ould would throw cleaned, I w s a w e s u o h r ess. When ou out about the m oved an inch m g in e b l a nim a stuffed a its panic about thing was in y r e v e il t n u t ould not res or of place. I w om age five r F l. o r t n o c f I felt out o ld proper place. night, I wou h c a e d e b o t mum put me sked why, a e so, when my h s n e h W ad. hat I was s t r e h ll are e t d cry an nd depression a y t ie x n A . w I didn’t kno mpI would say en display sy r d il h c n e h W . dult illnesses ilconsidered a ly. Anxious ch t n e r e f if d t ften presen n be toms, they o d children ca e s s e r p e d d n controlling, a en off as t dren can be it r w n e t f e o symptoms ar e s e h T . le b unpleasant n irrita a f o s t r , pa rown out of g ar e b o t s ie spectively cle o qualit r t e r is it ile hood. And wh d il h c f o he e s a ph se, I think t a h p a h g u o r not going th x. that I was more comple e r e w s s e in p my unhap reasons for

I’ve been told many times that I read

as a child of divorce. That could say something about my adjustment or affect or

general disposition, but it is definitely true. Without getting into too many details

about what went down, I will say that

my childhood was full of dysfunction: from

custody battles to step-families to addic-

tion and estrangement. While these events were certainly traumatizing, I think the main issue was my level of awareness of

my position in the world. From a young age, I was aware of my powerlessness.

In an old journal I kept when I was nine,

I found pages and pages of lamentations. The journal starts with this sentiment—

“I am keeping this journal because I want to save it and see it when I am older. I

want to remember my childhood when I am older.” I remember documenting my childhood, hoping one day, I would look back on it from a great distance.

Credits Models

Jayda Bonnick, Xuan Yifan, Alya Zouaoui, Eva Cami KIDS: Lycie Tanasio, Lucas Foster, Lydia Risch, Caroline Elevado

Makeup Artists Zander Slayton, Tanvi Sethi, Izzie Collier

Stylists Carter Eidson, Jeanette Frazer, Aria Bitan, Shereen Cohen Kheradyar, Angela Bywaters

Photographers Lily Fousse, Kayleigh Schweiker, Sally Zheng, Ella Lopez

Writer Anna Thornley

Art Direction Ken Rudolph, Nataly Winter

Set Design Naomi Cohen

Art By Lycie Tanasio, Lucas Foster, Lydia Risch, Caroline Elevado

When

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it is im hom possibl e fro e m sc to mea su hool agai re them n: on e an without dah t alf m aking tim iles, e twel into co ve m n inute sideratio s by n train . I am on . the

way

back

S.1

Small enough S.3

S.2 42

S.4

to separate.

I have taken this journey countless times over the years. But it is still measurable. One and a half miles twice a day multiplied by several hundred days is still a tangible distance. What the distance does not take into consideration, however, is the time that has passed inside me. I can multiply the time of a one-way trip by the number of times I have ridden, but the seconds pass differently when you’re trapped inside yourself. With no real space to fill and no more minutes to measure, I may as well not exist. And if it is still dark when I open my eyes, I will still be gone.

That is w h

e re

tim e

an dd i

an st

S.1a 44

et me

, hand

hand. M

My b

And maybe it was all worth it.

be me co

sac lean shell when I fl y

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light years away, and when I come back, it is decaying and six feet under: another hybrid measure of time.

This is the place where I changed. I have not merely lived a lifetime here, I have created it. I pulled the pieces from the ruins of a bygone self, digging through the remnants to find something salvageable.

This is the place where have created it. I pulle through the remnants

e I changed. I have not merely lived a lifetime here, I ed the pieces from the ruins of a bygone self, digging to find something salvageable.

This laundromat wasinbuilt in 1984, This laundromat was built 1984,

and you can see it in the walls. This is where childhoods come to rest–climbing into machines to hide but not daring to close the door, vision distorting against scratched plastic.

Unlike most children, I used to like small spaces. When everything is so confined, you know what your hands will touch when you oustretch them. I was always the best at hide-and-seek because I could crawl into the tiniest spaces and I knew how to hide my breath. 51

en wh

ar k ss

The re’

ng hi

e the void feeling k i l e of uit d

You’re trapped inside for who-knowshow-long, hollow breaths brushing against the smooth wood. For a moment, you are the only person in the world, and the world is contained in the cupboard. Your heartbeats become seconds, the blood-rush in your ears muffling sounds from 52

t in. y fi re l

eh idi

you’r

id ins

cupboard that a y e

another universe. And when enough seconds have passed, you begin to wonder if you were forgotten. There is only so much space you can fill [in another’s mind], but if you really wanted to, you could hold eternity in an hour (so says William Blake). 53

S.2a

S.2b

S.2c

S.2d

S.3d

S.3c

S.3a

55 S.3b

Psychologists used to think that your mind was like a library,

an endless collection of memories and sensations. The truth is that it’s much more malleable than that. Memory is fluid: every time you pull one out, it becomes vulnerable and subject to change (our purest memories are the ones we never recall). Experiments show that we are especially vulnerable to suggestion— we are constantly at the whims of desires.

So if the self is only another memory, that means we are just as temporary.

S.4b

S.4a 58

S.4c

S.4d

S.4e

think about it: how often do you think of yourself? And when was the last time you felt unchangeable? As long as you are still breathing, you cannot remain in suspension forever. When too much time has passed, you will be pulled back down. Maybe you’ll be in a different place, a different time. And if you desired it strongly enough, maybe you’ll have changed.

S.4g

Maybe I’ll have changed too. We are all victims of temporal erosion. But as long as you don’t think of me too often, I’ll still remain. Here.

CREDITS Models

Photographers

Hannah Halford, Brian Park, Ellie Kwon, Zeynep Ozturk

Kayleigh Schweiker, Ellie Watson Ella Lopez, Emily Chiu

Stylists

Writer

Michael Tran, Joseph Luis, Jami Hamman, Mia Metni

Han Oh

Art Direction Makeup Artists Izzie Collier, Serina Gajarawala

Asjha Malcolm, Tim Nessel

What Should I Do ?

There is no easy answer: What should I do next? By Jessie Yang

During the summer of my senior year of high school in 2019 (arguably the last good year), my mom sent me on a solo trip to Busan, South Korea, to meet my extended family for the first time since I was a baby. She sent me alone because she wanted me to be alone. Form my own opinions, create my own memories. For the first time ever, they’d be able to see me in clothes I chose to wear. They could talk to me in Korean and I’d be able to respond. I was finally fully equipped to take in the history of my family. All I had to do was take a 21-hour flight by myself. There was a three-hour layover in Shanghai, but that’s nothing. Just a quick pit stop before true enlightenment. Fingers in my mouth, I sat, eating the speckles of polish I dressed my nails in the night before. Airport security has always made me nervous. I come out of the metal detector unscathed, half-hoping this experience would fix the fears I had grown to develop. It didn’t, because I wanted someone to validate what I had been through because it needed to mean something to more than just me.

I’ve been told all my life what to do. These airport decisions felt like the first time I realized I had autonomy over my decisions, and it felt like cheating. Every choice felt too weighted. Every moment had felt like I had eaten something too quick, nauseous from the physical and metaphorical forks in the road. A race against time, I walked through the terminals feeling like I had cake smeared on my face, the damning evidence that I had done something wrong and I was running from the people who make things right. I was en route to Korea, I could do whatever I wanted. In those moments without a phone or a mom, I felt ravenous, harnessing this newfound freedom and fake identity. What should I do next? When I got to Shanghai, it was 4am there, but 1pm in my internal clock. I’ve come to realize traveling bends the rules of time; it is irrelevant for the day. There, I had gotten the first taste of what it was like to be around people that looked like me. With the last name “Yang,” I was welcomed home with phrases I didn’t understand. My American passport meant nothing compared to the history of my last name. My mom told me my phone wouldn’t work until I changed my SIM card in Korea, but I didn’t consider how disconnected I would feel for those short hours. I sat alongside other families and found that people traveled for all sorts of reasons: bereavement, pleasure, cultural insight. They could be going home or leaving, and it was an overwhelming experience to have to guess.

Before I knew it, it was time for my connecting flight. The hypotheticals vanish. The density of my life is heavy from the threads that can’t be unstitched. What is life after the death of naivety? I fear there is no easy answer. I’ve held the funeral for my childhood but I’m afraid to leave. I can’t keep punishing myself for the things I did yesterday and today, playing over what could’ve been in my head. I want to navigate this fear in my heart and see what threads there are left to pull. In Korea, I mourned for a girl that I will never know.

Credits Models Stephanie Ortega, Gayané Kaligian, Espeana Green, Rachel Liu

Makeup Artists Zander Slayton, Arlo Ramoutar, Eva Fournel

Stylists Rebekka Fulton, Grace Bruty, Laura Bockelmann, Kelsey Brown, Shereen Cohen Kheradyar

Photographers Lina Levein, Ruofei Shang, Natalie Ng

Writer Jessie Yang

Art Direction Ken Rudolph, Asjha Malcolm, Wendy Tang, Becca Benoit, Campbell Morin

Set Design Naomi Cohen

WHERE D

DO I GO?

As the once distant idea of college graduation becomes a looming reality, I find myself frozen at the precipice of an ambiguous future, willing time to slow long enough for me to make a move. Empty spaces spread before me, a boundless checkerboard begging to be explored. Whatever move I make will set in motion this alien concept of “real life,” an unscripted venture into grueling selfawareness. My feet fixed to my own color, paralyzed by the gravity of the situation, the gaps around me dilate and yawn, mocking my impotence. The autonomy I’ve sought after my entire life is suddenly suffocating in its breadth.

ed n some predetermin rules in orde r to play…

lear I’ve heard. I have to

The game of chess requires the manipulation of power dynamics through calculated movement. The Queen is the most powerful piece on the board, able to move in any direction so long as her path is clear. The Pawn is the weakest and most restricted piece, often limited only to a single move forwards. Paradoxically, however, any piece in any game lacks all agency, and so the Queen and the Pawn ultimately have no distinction of power—they are both instruments in a greater scheme; they are both pawns. If my hand was already dealt, if my move was controlled by a greater power, I could find solace in my lack of control, but fate plays no part here. I am both a pawn and the player of my own game.

apt, to adjust my ad to y it il ab y m I have to rely on e endgame. I must bl ea se re fo n u e m ience in strategy for so pects of my exper as g in ll se f, el ys market m and my suffering le ab iz gn co re is e hopes that my valu when I . But what do I lose gh ou en e iv elf at cr is lu tity, molding mys en id y m of ts ce fa spaces commodify erly fit the empty op pr t h ig m at th into a form me? pulsating around

ing forwards means l I’ve realized that mov is the right one to fil am I e ec pi e th at th trusting my tion is only buoyed by ta si he y M . es ac sp e thes rely on f. As a player, I must lack of faith in mysel chever piece I need hi w e m co be to y m my autono n. It is the only way I io at tu si n ve gi y an to be in s nant self-expectation ag st e th h is qu lin re may . ace for fear of failure that glue my feet in pl

CREDITS MODELS Jami Hamman, Jaimie Ludwig, Jonny Leonidas, Rosy Gu STYLISTS Joseph Luis, Ella Stonich, Jami Hamman, Jaimie Ludwig MAKEUP ARTISTS Zander Slayton, Teesa Manandhar, Arlo Ramoutar PHOTOGRAPHERS Elena Poyiadjis, Kayleigh Schweiker, Alex Bradley, Ella Lopez WRITER Lexy Pickering ART DIRECTION Faith Garcia, Asjha Malcolm SET DESIGN Naomi Cohen

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What Happens Next? By Charlotte Howard

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It was September of 2007. We were at a funeral for a relative. I looked around the room, and everyone was wearing dark colors, specifically black. It was a morbid atmosphere, accentuated by low lighting and dripping tears.. Not many conversations were happening. It was a celebration of someone’s life but felt more like a scene from a movie. “Mom, dad? Why are we here? Where are we?” I asked. My parents replied, “We are at a funeral, honey. Please be quiet.” As a young child, what parents say to you either clicks or goes straight over your head. This one clicked. Obviously I wasn’t having these in-tune thoughts at such a young age, but the idea of

death and funerals crossed my mind. Unfortunately, we have all known someone who has died before in our life. Whether that was for a close relative or a distant co-worker, someone always knows someone who has died. That sounds morbid and dark, but in reality, it’s quite true. Yet, we commonly find that most funerals and death practices differ depending on the culture. The service for North American and European funeral practices tends to be similarly planned out with lots of dark colors, possibly an open or closed casket, lots of seating, and usually a reception afterwards. Death makes people act weird.

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Death is not quite talked about in our society, and when it is, people get uncomfortable. We act as if death isn’t a common thing. Is it because we are all mortified that we will all die at some point? That’s reality, though. Death is a scary thing. We don’t want to think about it, talk about it, or even acknowledge it. The ironic part about this is even at a young age, we know right away that we will die. Lots of us look at death from a religious lens, where your afterlife is planned out for you and what you do during your life will determine your afterlife. Others may look at death as a cycle, where we are all carbon and return to earth in some form of another whether that may be in spirit, or in physical means as ashes. For all of humanity, people have questioned what happens to us after we die, though no one really has the true answers. Lots of people refer to religion as an outlet to help people feel good about their time here. The real question is who is right and who is wrong? Is there a right and is there a wrong? Just because millions of people follow something or believe in something, does that make it right? American anthropologist Ernest Becker believes that humans love to deny death. “The irony of man’s condition is that the deepest need is to be free of the anxiety of death and annihilation; but it is life itself which awakens it, and so we must shrink from being fully alive,” said Becker. So much of people’s lives are consumed by future means.

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We, as a society, are very focused on what happens next, but shouldn’t we be focusing on what happens now? If we spend our whole lives preparing for the afterlife, then we miss the whole point of the only life we know to be true. Becker said, “It is fateful and ironic how the lie we need in order to live dooms us to a life that is never really ours.”A lot of us are consumed by the next steps moving forward and love to follow a ritual or “right way” that was chosen for us by other people. It’s easy to follow. We are built to go along with what’s happening, and there is usually a level of comfort within belonging to a group. There is a preconceived notion that the afterlife is grim, eerie and dark. No one actually knows what happens after we die; though, we have theories, ideas and groups telling us otherwise. This can give people hope and meaning in life, but should instead entail lots of room for questions. I think all of us should tap into our curious 5-yearold selves. We need to be asking these questions about ourselves, our current lives and our afterlife. Humans have perfected the denial of death in society today, though we should be perfecting the normalization of it. 117

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Credits Models Shelby Aguilar, Gabe Beckford, Alex Knies, Rhea Bandaru, Gwen Liu

Makeup Artists Zander Slayton, Serina Gajarawala, Arlo Ramoutar, Tanvi Sethi

Stylists Carter Eidson, Michael Tran, Jeanette Frazer, Ella Stonich, Shereen Cohen Kheradyar

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Photographers Julia DeSantis, Natalie Ng, Ella Lopez, David Haetty, Alexis Murad

Writer Charlotte Howard

Art Direction Ken Rudolph, Asjha Malcolm, G Tate, Mei Asada

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By Me

in a physical sense, i am pretty good at letting things go. i’ll get rid of clothes i don’t wear anymore and never miss them. i’ll expunge my room of any trace of an ex before the breakup is even over. but just when i start to think i’m the detached, composed woman i try to portray, something slips through and reminds me of my innate impulse to hold on. a reminder of this clingy instinct came to me a few weeks ago when my roommates and i cleaned out our pantry. when i got to the back of my shelf, i found an unopened box of cinnamon apple cereal i bought in august. i remember buying it in a grocery store with my mom right before she helped me move into this apartment, and i remember telling her about my intention to become someone who ended every night with a bowl of cereal. one thing led to another after moving in and somehow i ended up deeply afraid of the caloric value confined to the cereal flakes. i forgot about the box until cleaning out the pantry. on account of it having stood dormant and untouched on the shelf for months, it was a perfect time to

finally throw it away. instead, i put it back on my shelf. i was not ready to sacrifice the imagined version of me who ate cereal as a nighttime snack. since then, the box has maintained a place amidst the rotating cycle of soup and peanut butter that are truly the stars of my grocery stock. what the box of cereal, the remnants of an eating disorder, and the romanticization of the one food i’m scared to eat are here to tell me is that i’m not as good at letting go as i thought. in a way, i still hold onto all the things i’m not. i carry with me the statistics major i briefly entertained the idea of becoming (simply because i was eighteen and pleasantly surprised with my score on the ap exam), the singing career that would be my destiny if not for my complete and total vocal inaptitude, the teenage girl i used to be. she no longer gets to breathe through my body but her handprints are immortalized in my shape. those years sculpted so many things about my identity. i really did think at one point that being a teenage girl was infinite.

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lately, i’m two things above all others: 1) about to graduate college, and 2) a believer in reincarnation. there are so many opportunities for generation and invention that come with being on the precipice of leaving undergrad, but there are also so many mutually exclusive choices and so many things to which to say goodbye. the belief that we have been here before and will be here again is one way i have found to navigate the overwhelming limitations of being human and leading an existence bound to finity. alongside reckoning with letting go, i’ve been thinking about what i hope to take with me from college and this overall phase of my life into whatever phase comes next. more abstractly, i’ve been thinking about what i hope to take from my life experience as a whole into whatever form i embody next. it’s valuable to learn to let go, but i’ve also been taking stock of everything i’m holding onto. one memory i hope i never lose grasp of happened on the kitchen floor of my family home. in june of 2020, my dog, ellie, passed away. it was relatively the beginning of covid quarantine, during a phase of my life in which i was obsessed with baking oatmeal cookies. i remember one night, a few days before she died, she was laying on the tile floor beside me while i put the cookies into the oven. while they baked, i laid there with her face in my hands. our knowledge that the end was near felt mutual, and i was crying so much i felt like i could fertilize a garden. so many times, grief is enhanced by its abruptness. this was different. i remember realizing in real time what a privilege it was to have that moment to say a preparatory goodbye, to understand the transition that was about to happen. still, that peace was accompanied by helplessness. i wanted forever.

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the day i sat with ellie on the floor, i wrote in a journal: i couldn’t hold onto that moment forever but i wanted to. the oven buzzer went off, and we watched a movie, and the night continued past me like it was never even mine. i’ll always be thankful that she was here. eventually, i got up off the floor. i have so many pictures of ellie and i have one hung up in my bedroom. i have comfort in remembering that the same legs which carry me everywhere today once sat there with her. through photographs and memory, i feel like she comes with me everywhere. i love the idea of soul ties, and of connections that make things like death and geography and time into minute details. when i think about love that transcends all of that, i think about the grief i experienced for my uncle and how going through it felt like it would be the worst thing i was ever capable of feeling, and about how now the letter “g” perpetually reminds me of him in an emotional, but calming way.

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i think about how when i was in elementary and middle school, my mom would pack me lunches everyday and put colorful toothpicks into my sandwiches and how i thought it was the coolest thing in the world that by the time i got to the cafeteria there would always be a little ring of blue or orange stained into the center of my sandwich. i understand the beauty of impermanence, but i often wish i could make moments tangible so that i could more safely preserve them forever. i tend to reject notions that grief makes love more valuable because i am of the fundamental belief that people should get to live long lives. still, as i am trying to hold onto the parts of my life right now that i know i am going to miss, there is something that seems beautiful to me about the fleeting nature of everything. i have recognized that my fears about the future and everything that lies ahead are symptoms of my position as i prepare to leave college, and that they are shared by an expansive community of people in that position with me. but still, i tend to reduce a lot of the emotions i experience out of concern over their justification or validity. especially amongst women, i see things like this happen all the time: overwhelming sadnesses or anxieties are compressed into silences or saying “i’m so tired” or chalking it all up to being the branded “sad girl” whose very existence is used as a punchline. but, like mitski said in a recent interview, “the sad girl shtick is tired.” (mitski said it, so it must be true!) in general, the reduction of emotions into personality traits or overreactions misses the very point of experience itself. as much as i believe in some variant of reincarnation, i also know that i will never have this day in this body in this life back once it ends. i will lose this body someday and i will lose all the nuances in which i have come to know it and forgive it and all the journeys i have taken to someday love it.

i know that the relationships i have lost will never be experienced through the same set of circumstances again, even if my soul is tied to theirs across spectral lifetimes. nothing will ever feel quite like this again. i am not sure whether or not i believe in some perseverant eternity. if there is one, its permanence and stability would hugely alter the severity of human emotive experience. the love we would feel in eternal relationships would not rely on presence and memory the way our human relationships do. that is not to say one is better than the other, but that there is something sacred and special and worth trying to grab onto about the love that we are capable of here. if we were limitless, we would never have to miss anyone. we would never know the feelings of yearning and loss and overall intensity that characterize humanhood. i know that i will graduate college and that i will have to let go and that eventually all of the ins and outs of my everydays will be different. for now, i am holding on. i am holding onto any extra weight my body carries lately because that is what it decidedly needs. i am holding onto all of the sadness and heaviness i have experienced and i am refusing to commodify or delegitimize it. i am holding onto the birth chart i have right now because i love feeling cosmically aligned, and i’m secretly hoping i get to be a gemini again in the next life. i am holding onto all of the friends and family and people i know who i love so much that i cannot imagine ever getting through an experience of the world without them. anyways, if in another life you’re in new jersey in 2008, and you come across a younger version of me and have to listen to her talk about her raging indecisiveness, please tell her that her 21 year old self is out there and that i haven’t changed my mind. and if you come across any of my old dogs, please tell them i miss them.

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Credits Models Adora Mehala, Janelle Williams, Becky Bian, Amy Bocos, Ashley Nifah

Makeup Artists Zander Slayton, Teesa Manandhar, Tanvi Sethi, Ella Stonich

Stylists Bridget Garner, Zoe Allen, Mia Metni, Jaimie Ludwig, Kelsey Brown, Shereen Cohen Kheradyar

Photographers Vanesa Stoynova, Bella Bohnsack

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Writer Melissa Boberg

Art Direction Ken Rudolph, Asjha Malcolm, Nat Mak, Julia Brukx, Morgan Broadhead

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CONTRI BUTORS Editor in Chief Creative Director

Zoe Allen Shereen Cohen Kheradyar

Models

Jami Hamman, Jaimie Ludwig, Jonny Leonidas, Rosy Gu, Stephanie Ortega, Gayané Kaligian, Espeana Green, Rachel Liu, Hannah Halford, Brian Park, Ellie Kwon, Zeynep Ozturk, Adora Mehala, Janelle Williams, Becky Bian, Amy Bocos, Ashley Nifah, Shelby Aguilar, Gabe Beckford, Alex Knies, Rhea Bandaru, Gwen Liu, Jayda Bonnick, Xuan Yifan, Alya Zouaoui, Eva Cami

Stylists

Joseph Luis, Ella Stonich, Jami Hamman, Jaimie Ludwig, Rebekka Fulton, Grace Bruty, Laura Bockelmann, Kelsey Brown, Shereen Cohen Kheradyar, Michael Tran, Mia Metni, Bridget Garner, Zoe Allen, Carter Eidson, Jeanette Fraser, Angela Bywaters, Aria Bitan

Makeup Artists

Online Content Director Web Editor Web Designers

Marketing Director Marketing Team

Zander Slayton, Arlo Ramoutar, Izzie Collier, Teesa Manandhar, Ella Stonich, Eva Fournel, Serina Gajarawala, Tanvi Sethi

Izzie Collier Nick Kim Grace Snow, Avani Mitra

Kayleigh Schweiker Ana Rico, Mollie Smith, Miri Chan, Laura Bockelmann

Events and Finance Director Events and Finance Team

Zander Slayton Luka Maric, Jessica Sindel, Grace Handler

Senior Art Director

Ken Rudolph

Junior Art Director

Asjha Malcolm

Art Directors

Photography Director Photographers

Videography Director Videographers

Set Designer Managing Editors Writers

Timothy Nessel, Morgan Broadhead, G Tate, Julia Brukx, Faith Garcia, Nataly Winter, Jami Hamman, Mei Asada, Wendy Tang, Becca Benoit, Campbell Morin, Nat Mak

David Haetty Elena Poyiadjis, Alex Bradley, Lina Levein, Ruofei Shang, Natalie Ng, Kayleigh Schweiker, Ellie Watson, Ella Lopez, Emily Chiu, Vanesa Stoynova, Bella Bohnsack, Julia DeSantis, Lily Fousse, Sally Zheng

Jaqueline Lo Elizabeth Kostina, Emily Puglisi, Vanesa Stoynova, Jewel Lee, Reagan Sanborn, Riley Gatz Splan, Grace Handler, Jewel Lee, Julie Lee Naomi Cohen Sebastian Porreca, Guen Dunstan Jessie Yang, Melissa Boberg, Charlotte Howard, Han Oh, Anna Thornley, Lexy Pickering