Fall 2018 Print: Lost Youth by SHEI Magazine

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Stanford Lipsey Student Publications Building 420 Maynard St, Ann Arbor, MI 48109

LIV VELARDE SERENA PERGOLA Editor-in-Chief

Creative Director PAIGE WILSON

Publisher

Marketing Director

Accounts Director CONNIE ZHANG

CHRISTI SUZUKI

Print Design Editors KATIE BEUKEMA XINYI LIU

Print Fashion Editors ELENA ODULAK ALANA VALKO

Features Editor AMBER MITCHELL

Print Photography Editors MACKENZIE KING BECCA RUDMAN

Digital Design Editors ALIYA FALK MANDA VILLARREAL

Digital Fashion Editor ALEXA DEFORD

Video Editor ROSALIE LI

Digital Photography Editor FRANCESCA ROMANO

Managing Photo Editor BENJI BEAR Advertising Coordinator CLAIRE DICKERSON

Distribution Coordinator COLLEEN JONES

Outreach Coordinator ELLERY BENSON

Street Style Editor EVAN PARNESS Finance Coordinators SAVANNAH KLEIN ELLA RADICE

Social Media Coordinator MOLLY SHULAN

Design Team Eliz Akgun, Carly Lucas, Elizabeth Marics, Mackenzie Schwedt Fashion Team Anish Basavalingiah, Cassidy Caulkins, Rachael Curry, Nick Farrugia, Jenny Gryka, Elizabeth Hayley, Amreen Kanwal, Olivia Keener, Harsha Kishore, Krit Kosoltrakul, Grace Lees, Lily Marks, Juan Marquez, Lily McCann, Susie Meaney, Paris Morris, Jessica Peterkins, Alexandra Plosch, Jenny Ruan, Jasmine Smith, Sean Tran, Abby Ziemkowski Features Team Chloe Becker, Lauren Champlin, Bridgette Conniff, Phoebe Danaher, Matisen Douglas, Katherine Feinstein, Lauren Florsheim, Hannah Harshe, Caleb Hogeterp, Romain Hufbauer, Madelyn Kantor, Lane Kizziah, Calder Lachance, Grace Lees, Lily Marks, Susie Meaney, Sophia ReVeal, Morgan Rubino, Jamie Schneider, Maxine Taskin, Eric TerBush, Sean Tran Photography Team Eliz Akgun, Alex Anderson, Maya Ballester, Michael Barsky, Molly Bokor, Lucille Carpenter, Ananth Chillarige, Katie Corbett, Julia Dean, Dana Dean, Sam Goldin, Natalie Guisinger, Amira Hassan, Sophia Hughes, Taylor Kelly, Anurima Kumar, Alex Leav, Michelle Lin, Juan Marquez, Ryan Mcloughlin, Sam Plouff, Andy Regos, Robina Rranza, Jenny Ruan, Hannah Siegel Videography Team Hayley Danke, Emily Koffsky, Warren Lee, Romir Sheth, Iyah Youssef

Events Coordinator COURTNEY O’BEIRNE

Digital Content Editor EMILY BENDEROFF

Sales Team Julia Barofsky, Amanda Daniels, Audrey Doherty, Hannah Lee, Kira Mintzer, Daphne Patton, Emily Phuong, Dorothy Qi, Lauren Rhodes, Katy Trame Events Team Rukshar Asef, Paige Dobies, Alicia Nicholas, Dorothy Qi, Rachel Rock, Sydney Someck Finance Team Kate Burns, Vib Das, Jack Kim, Jennie Peteka, Divya Sabu Outreach Team Leah Cohen, Lauren Genender, Drisha Gwalani, Kristen Hiser, Rachel Schwab, Rachel Simon Social Media Team Sophia Friedman, Kristen Hiser, Julia Kaplan, Isabella Malatesta, Katie Mercer, Kira Mintzer, Payton Moore, Maya Tinoco, Arin Yu Digital Content Team Lily Cho, Emily Deehan, Mallory Demeter, Natalie Emmerman, Alice Huth, Chloe Linkner, Stef Matza, Tess Perry, Gabrielle Tabachnik

IN THIS ISSUE 8

Editor’s Note

Theme Piece

Pitch Blonde

A History of Hip Hop Fashion

The Nightcap, Performed

Lessons I Learned on Beauty

Youth in Movement

Art in the Age of the Internet

Run Away & Flourish

K-loset Case

Dreary Daze

The Heavy Price of Validation

Prophet vs. Profit

90’s Revamp

Floral Eclipse

EDITOR’S NOTE “We oscillate between beating ourselves up for not moving fast enough and crossing our fingers that some day soon we’ll be able to slow down.”

This issue is about us. How we feel existing in the world in this peculiar moment in time. The pressure to succeed, to be unique, to come up with the next viral thing feeds into an unwanted sense of competition, when deep down we’d rather compassionately connect with our communities. As the newest generation transitioning into adulthood, the weight of the future is being placed onto our shoulders, yet no one is willing to take our training wheels off. It certainly feels unstable. Many of my friends, myself included, often feel adrift, in our motivations and our goals. What’s worth doing? What makes something worth doing? We’re told that we don’t have any power because of our youth, while simultaneously being told that we’re all running behind. The goalposts of our parents seem laughably unattainable. Rather than babies and a white picket fence, all we want is to comfortably pay rent and have wine nights with our friends. We oscillate between beating ourselves up for not moving fast enough and crossing our fingers that some day soon we’ll be able to slow down. Our youth is supposed to empower and inspire us, so why do we feel a crushing obligation to wish it away in favor of a stability that might not even be possible? Our grasp on reality feels thin as we’re forced to come to terms with the fact that the digital world is our real world. It’s been clear for a while now that the things we do and say online have ramifications that go far beyond the like button. Hate easily transfers into the real world. An online insult digs almost more than a real one. Navigating that means confronting the nuances of our intimate, isolating experience with social media. It’s so intertwined with our everyday that many of us are getting jobs borne out of the industry and for many more it’s hard to imagine just a few days without Instagram. We’ve become addicted to the connection it fosters, but it’s yet to be seen the consequences it might bring. It’s completely uncharted territory. How can we plan for the future if we have no framework or past experience to inform our vision of what the future will look like? Maybe one solution is to find ways to experience joy with your community. On page 34, our Youth in Movement shoot is an embodiment of the effervescence that I hope every young person has the opportunity to feel, as they let go and enjoy the company of their friends, even with the knowledge that the future of the world really does lie in their hands. Our editorial board got together to simulate a party atmosphere for this shoot and it turned out to be more fun than an actual party might have been. We visited an old theater turned parking garage in Detroit on page 76, to photograph abundant contrasts. Irreverent sneakers, emblematic of our streetwear obsession, paired with timeless floral gowns. Many of our writers decided to address the irreality of our reality, since it has become so intertwined with the internet. Our social media identities are projections of empowerment even when we may feel anything but. “Art in the Age of the Internet” on page 46 profiles an exhibition that’s coming to campus which will display art inspired by the fusion of our physical identities with our digital presence, the boundary between which grows thinner every day. Page 72 features an article about the intentions of corporations when they’ve tried to integrate themselves into our lives by using the internet and appropriating language originally employed to effect change in order to sell trendy clothing. All of this cultivates into a floating feeling. We’re overloaded and underestimated. We present a fierce front but the insecurity of the future comes swiftly behind it. This is our age, and with time and technology relentlessly marching forward, we’ll have to be our own guides. Let’s ease up on the pressure and focus less on the times we feel like we’ve lost ourselves and concentrate on the joy we feel when we’re lost in something we love.

Liv Velarde Editor In Chief

LOST YOUTH This summer, during my internship at a small bridal company in New York City, I watched as my co-workers took carefully staged Instagram pictures and scrolled through thousands of professional wedding photos to choose the ones that were worthy of being posted on our social media. As a brand, we aimed to reflect the care-free spirit we believed our customer embodied, and worked to speak to this type of woman in each of our posts. Today, with the orangeish-purple hue of the Instagram app punctuating our daily lives and access to industry news and trends at our fingertips, it’s hard not to notice the ways in which fashion has shifted in response to the growth of modern technology. In this semester’s issue, my team set out to consider this changing landscape by engaging with popular culture in a variety of compelling ways. In her piece discussing the upcoming exhibition at the University of Michigan Museum of Art titled Art in the Age of the Internet, 1989 to Today, Matisen Douglas explores what it means for internet to impact visual art and the physical space of art museums. Looking at the era of social media beauty standards, Hannah Harshe contemplates the ways in which teenage girls may struggle with self esteem based on their interactions with these platforms. We reflected on music as well, with Sean Tran getting personal about the ways that K-Pop has given him a voice, and Lily Marks discussing the popularization of brand logos and their connection to early hip-hop. Although it’s hard to say where fashion will turn next, what’s happening now is worth a closer look. Digital media has provided space for new forms, whether that be in relation to music, art, or contemporary marketing. In order to truly maximize these opportunities, we must take a step back and observe what we see occurring. Only by doing so will we be able to see what needs to be critiqued and what is prompting creative growth and innovation. Amber Mitchell Features Editor

PITCH BLONDE

models: nikki benson, allison fedler

layout design: katie beukema

photographers: mackenzie king, becca rudman, jenny ruan

concept & styling: elena odulak, alana valko

all hairclips from h&m

photo editing: mackenzie king, becca rudman

A HISTORY OF HIP AND THE INFLUENCE OF NAME

“

…Whenever humans come together for any reason, music is there […] weddings, funerals, graduation from college, men marching off to war, stadium sporting events, a night on the town, prayer, a romantic dinner, mothers rocking their infants to sleep and college students studying with music as a background….1

Music changed the course of politics and proliferated the hippie movement of the 1960s. It empowered voices of the post-Black Power generation during the 1970s, giving hip-hop its birth. It has helped us distinguish right from wrong, helped people find hope in religion, and has helped us recall good memories. Music artists have inspired countless individuals on many levels, but perhaps the most significant influence besides their music is their personal style. Hip-hop culture, a prime example, has paved the way for a plethora of trends in fashion that not only reflect the music of the different eras of hip-hop, but also of the historical context of those time periods. The rise and popularization of hiphop fashion has had a lasting impact, both good and bad, on the industry as a whole, and can be attributed to many influential artists who have helped push the culture into the limelight. Hip-hop often includes four crucial elements: DJing, MCing, breakdancing, and graffiti. During the 70s, the combination of these factors provided an escape from life on the streets and a way to let loose in a time of hardship and societal tensions. Hip-hop’s founding in 1973 in the

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South Bronx, New York, is attributed to the rise of the disc jockey, or DJ. DJ Kool Herc is known as the father of hip-hop due to his innovations as the first famous DJ who made his name through his legendary block and house parties. If you mention the address “1520 Sedgwick Avenue” to a hip-hop fanatic, it will send a chill down their spine; this was the spot where Herc made his name. His parties, where he was the first to experiment with scratching, mixing, and breaking, were the start of a brand new sound and culture. He studied the high school kids on the dance floor, figured out what made them go crazy, and then played those break portions of two identical records consecutively, which made this point in the record last longer and therefore made people dance longer. The term and practice of “breakdancing,” which is unique to hip-hop culture, refers to dances during extended breaks played by Herc and other DJs to come after him.2 The rise of hip-hop occurred adjacent to the disco fad in the 70s which naturally led to an overlap in fashion trends. Animal print, leather, platform boots, and bellbottoms dominated the wardrobes of DJs, as well as disco

HOP FASHION BRANDS ON THE INDUSTRY

lovers. The culture of DJs and the fashion sense of disco created the context from which hip-hop was borne out of. 1979 was perhaps the most crucial year to hip-hop’s commercial popularization. “Rapper’s Delight,” the first hip-hop song to become a record, spread like wildfire. It dominated the radio, played at weddings and birthday parties, and most importantly, introduced rap music to the mainstream. This hit marked the first time that the white suburbs heard hip-hop, due to its prior containment to the South Bronx. Shortly afterwards, a record label got their hands on this “new” phenomenon. This was a bittersweet moment in the history of hip-hop and of Black culture in America. Although this created a boom in exposure for the genre, that exposure came with complicated ethical issues. “African-American contributions that have been accepted by the mainstream culture are eventually absorbed as simply ‘American’ or found to be ‘universal.’ Other modes associated with African-American culture that resist absorption remain distinctive and are either ignored, or dismissed as deviant.”3 This definition of cultural appropriation spans beyond the typical way that it is often discussed today; one that revolves around Halloween costumes where we make sure that we stay in our lane, instead of focusing on its tangible impact on society. The legitimate concerns over cultural appropriation stem from the pattern of white mainstream culture absorbing an aspect of another culture that they deem desirable, while rejecting other parts that they would rather do without, namely the people that actually started the trend. The widespread nature of hip-hop in the following years introduced mainstream (white) culture to hip-hop’s evolving beats, artists, and fashion trends. The late 70s and early 80s saw the rise of Run-D.M.C, a group known for their popularization of Adidas and subsequently for their emphasis on brand names, which was a major influence on future trends.

Run-D.M.C.’s straightforward lyrics and sound focused on the competition aspect of rap. Much of their unforgiving confidence inspired other members of the post-Black Power generation to find their voice when black Americans had been silenced up until this point. Run-D.M.C. introduced a new level at which hip-hop artists bragged about their rap “skillz” as well as a focus on “downing the competition.” This new sense of undoubted confidence and swag was physically manifested in their revolutionary fashion sense. They introduced bomber jackets, Adidas Superstar sneakers, tracksuits, and thick gold chains, which still exist and dominate hip-hop fashion today. They were the first group to be open about the realities of their personal lives, whereas others often put up a fake persona. They were able to combine “white outlaw music” (referring to rock) and “black outlaw music” (meaning rap), which put them at the forefront of mid 80s counterculture. Run-D.M.C. were the “ambassadors” of the post-Black Power era constituency and the beginning of a continued voice for black youth in the mainstream.4 Their contribution to hip-hop’s fashion culture cannot be overstated. They introduced brand names to the game, a phenomenon that Daniel Day, known as Dapper Dan, simultaneously utilized in his mid-80s legendary Harlem boutique, where he popularized designer brands with hiphop as the soundtrack to his creativity. Dapper Dan’s Boutique in Harlem, New York was open from 1982-92, which is largely viewed as Harlem’s Golden Age. According to an interview with Nas, Dapper Dan’s early designs—one of his trademark moves was turning en-vogue logos (Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Fendi) into patterned looks—helped define that era of rapper chic as well as a broader trend of hip-hop fashion.5 Word spread through New York City, and before long hip-hop legends including Eric B. and Rakim, Big Daddy Kane, and LL Cool J frequented the store.

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Dapper Dan Harlem closed in 1992 due to a lawsuit brought by Gucci because he used their logo in his designs without permission. However, in 2016, Gucci incorporated an exact replica of Dapper Dan’s garments in their Florence runway show. Their theme was “renaissance fused with streetwear” reflecting the nostalgia of the 70s and 80s, but in executing this theme, they appropriated a black artist whom they themselves put out of business, without asking permission or announcing an official collaboration. This was hurtful to see for those who lived in late 80s New York, especially for those who lived through hip-hop’s birth and saw what Dapper Dan added to the Golden Age of hip-hop culture. In a victory for Harlem and for hip-hop, Day proceeded to partner with Gucci in 2017 and reopened a new version of his Harlem store, now referred to as an “atelier,” adding luxury and suave with the appreciation Day’s brand deserves for what it brought to hip-hop culture and to Harlem. The popularization of brand names in hip-hop culture was furthered in the 90s as the culture took form

and showed that it was here to stay. Hip-hop took preppy brand names like Tommy Hilfiger and Polo, which had an all-American, exclusive feel to them, and popularized them overnight. The day after Snoop Dogg wore a Tommy Hilfiger striped shirt on SNL, it sold out of NYC stores the next day.6 With the rise of women in hip-hop, such as Aaliyah and TLC, Tommy Hilfiger’s tight tube tops paired with baggy pants was what any woman at all touched by hip-hop culture needed. This trend that arose in the early 90s took masculine elements from pre-existing baggy, name-brand apparel and added a feminine, form fitting component. It was consistent with the emphasis of brand names, a trend that has lasted up until the present. In the late 90s, Baby Phat was born. Created by Russell and Kimora Lee Simmons, Baby Phat emphasizes urban women’s wear with legends of the time, such as Lil’ Kim, repping this brand proudly. The brand produced oversized pink hoodies with rhinestones and their logo adorned in glamorous glitter, and with such legendary women artists sporting this style it became a must-have

Courtesy of Daniel Day; via Pinterest

label. It is an iconic symbol of the late 90s and early 2000s and represents the oversized nature of what hip-hop fashion became. The brand’s iconic pink font alongside an illustration of a pink cat is a logo among dozens that came to be associated with a specific era of hip-hop and specific artists that contributed to the culture overall. In a more thematic sense, it added to the adoration and emphasis of logos and brand names within the culture. Today, hip-hop artists have created their own brands that often build off of the nostalgic styles and logos of old-school hip-hop. Drake’s fashion label, October’s Very Own (OVO), consists mainly of oversized streetwear garments that all have a major emphasis on the brand’s name and logo. Bomber jackets with “October’s Very Own” written across the chest in a 90s-esque script font are emulative of Baby Phat era styles and aesthetics. Adidas Originals is another brand that continues to reinvent old trends while also staying true to its classic tracksuit roots, which have become a style symbolic of hiphop culture and its fashion beginnings of the Run-DMC era. Hip-hop artist Erykah Badu sports the classic purple

3-stripe tracksuit and shell toes along with elements of classic African-style colors of red, green, yellow and black as well as African-inspired accessories in her 2013 video for “Love of my Life.” She also chooses to accessorize with a thick gold chain, bucket hat, and the leopard print and leather boots that are iconic of the early 80s.7 The popularization of brand names and logos in fashion can be heavily attributed to hip-hop’s early days. From the height of disco to today’s social media frenzy, we’ve seen the power of this influence. Its impact on mainstream culture has been monumental, but it’s also important to acknowledge the true creatives behind the most fashionable genre of all time. By Lily Marks Layout by Eliz Akgun

“The Role of Music in Human Culture,” Thought Economics, last modified Aug. 29, 2017. Accessed Oct. 28, 2018. https:// thoughteconomics.com/the-role-of-music-in-human-culture/. 2 “The Social Significance of Rap & Hip Hop Culture,” EDGE - Ethics of Development in a Global Environment. Accessed Oct. 28, 2018. https://web.stanford.edu/class/e297c/poverty_prejudice/mediarace/socialsignificance.htm. 3 Kimberlé W Crenshaw, “Beyond Racism and Misogyny,” Boston Review, last modified May 24, 2017. Accessed Oct. 26, 2018. http://bostonreview.net/race-gender-sexuality/kimberle-w-crenshaw-beyond-racism-and-misogyny. 4 Marcus Reeves, Somebody Scream!: Rap Musics Rise to Prominence in the Aftershock of Black Power. New York: Faber and Faber, 2009. 5 “Dapper Dan on Gucci, Gangsters, and His Unstoppable Fashion Empire,” Interview Magazine, last modified Oct. 10, 2018. Accessed Oct. 28, 2018. https://www.interviewmagazine.com/fashion/dapper-dan-gucci-interview. 6 “Remember When Snoop Dogg Did ‘SNL’ Doggy Style?” Mass Appeal, last modified May 18, 2017. Accessed Oct.28, 2018. http://archive.massappeal.com/snoop-dogg-saturday-night-live-dailyop/. 7 ErykahBaduVEVO, “Erykah Badu - Love Of My Life (An Ode To Hip Hop) Ft. Common,” YouTube, Oct. 18, 2013. www. youtube.com/watch?v=dNk3R23Twgw 1

Fall 2018

The Nightcap, Performed

CONCEPT & STYLING Elena Odulak, Alana Valko SET DESIGN Paige Wilson PHOTOGRAPHERS Eliz Akgun, Mackenzie King, Becca Rudman PHOTO EDITING Mackenzie King LAYOUT DESIGN Xinyi Liu MODELS Elena Odulak, Liv Velarde

All thrifted Braclet with faces - From Mexico

Beads on hand - The Scrap Box Puff earrings - Tuleste Silver chainmail choker - Frasier Sterling Jewelry Heart long earrings - Tuleste

Yellow earrings - Tuleste Yellow ring - Corbo Jewelers Green Bracelet - Vintage from Mexico

Blue earrings - Baublebar Silver bracelet - Lucky Brand

Silver bracelet - Thrifted Earrings on bear - David Tutera Purple fluff earrings - Tuleste Rings - Nordstrom, Forever 21

LESSONS I LEARNED ON BEAUTY

I graduated high school in 2016, the year that Ashley Graham graced the cover of Sports Illustrated’s notorious swimsuit issue. This was supposedly evidence of a revolution. At just over a US size 12, Graham was the first “curvy” model to appear on this platform, and many viewed this as a sign that the impossible beauty standards imposed on women in this culture were coming to an end. That same year, Dove launched another branch of its “Real Beauty” campaign, this time featuring women of all different sizes, claiming that nobody could tell them they were “too fat” or “too ugly.” Barbie announced the arrival of “Curvy Barbie,” who has slightly thicker plastic legs than the Barbie of the 1960s, that used to come with a scale set to 110 and a weight loss book featuring the advice “Don’t eat.” And to top off the year of contrived body positivity, Aerie launched its #AerieReal campaign, vowing not to photoshop or alter any photos of its models. The entertainment and advertising industries are continuing to move towards body positivity and inclusivity. Now young girls can look in magazines and on television, see a diversity of body types, and understand that

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they, too, are beautiful. But that doesn’t mean that they aren’t still being pressured to be perfect. Unfortunately, the toxicity in the media hasn’t dissipated, it has simply changed forms. While the bodies on magazines are growing more diverse, girls are no longer flipping through magazines. They are on their phones, scrolling through apps like Instagram. I experienced this pressure firsthand. Social media was my savior from the tension I felt within the walls of my high school. In 2016, the same year that Sports Illustrated attempted to show me that curvy bodies are beautiful, I made an account on Tumblr, which was popular right before Instagram began to dominate the world of social media. My Tumblr was a “health account” at first, and I reblogged pictures of kale chips, Jillian Michaels quotes, and long-legged girls who were supposedly there to inspire me. These girls weren’t just nameless runway models; they were real people who posted about their families and dating lives and what brands of makeup they liked. I felt like I knew them and, therefore, felt infinitely more pressure to be like them. For example, Tumblr is where I first met Rebecca, a pretty girl my age who had big brown eyes and loved

cats. My introduction to her was a post announcing that she had been diagnosed with an eating disorder. She received hundreds of messages telling her how sweet she was, how she deserved the world, and how everyone hoped she would get better soon. Even though Rebecca is a pseudonym, I still remember her real name, and I think back on her as if she was a friend from high school who I hung out with despite my mom’s warnings. I wonder about her sometimes, how her health is, and whether or not she’s happy. I felt a connection to Rebecca that far exceeded the connection that girls fifty years ago must have felt about the girls they saw in magazines. I spent most of my school lunches in my hideaway on the second floor scrolling through Rebecca’s old posts. Most of them were about how sad she was and how much she loved polka dots and daisies and cute boys. She was cute and charming and so very skinny. Before she was diagnosed, she used to post diet tips. How to stifle your hunger. How to get energy without calories. I screenshotted the posts and used them as “health advice.” I knew it wasn’t a sustainable diet, but I wanted so badly to be like her. I checked Rebecca’s account every day for months. I watched her go through a breakup and transfer high schools. She was, in a distorted sense, my role model. One day, I typed her username into the search bar and nothing came up. She was gone. Her account was deleted, and here I was, having undergone a partial metamorphosis into becoming her, left alone and hungry. I am one of the lucky ones. I get to reflect upon this experience as a college student who still does and always will struggle with body image, but is overall healthy and

confident. Things could be a lot worse for me. In fact, the younger a woman is when she goes on her first diet, the more likely she is to experience several negative health outcomes later in life. One of the single biggest factors that determines whether a teenage girl chooses to diet is, you guessed it, media consumption. Social media isn’t inherently harmful. The danger, however, is that when we hear “media consumption,” we think of Seventeen Magazine and the Victoria’s Secret fashion show. The industry is changing these forms of media for the better, but girls are no longer consuming this form of media. They don’t simply look on TV and feel insecure because they see a nameless model looking beautiful. They’re scrolling through Instagram, and they feel deep, authentic relationships with the girls they’re trying to imitate. This is not to bash the efforts of brands like Aerie; they’re doing great work. But perhaps in order to truly improve the self-esteem of the next generation of young girls, we need to better understand the way that self-esteem is actually formed. They’re no longer flipping through pages of Seventeen Magazine. They’re on social media, longing for a place to fit in. By Hannah Harshe Layout by Eliz Akgun

Fall 2018

CONCEPT & STYLING Elena Odulak, Alana Valko PHOTOGRAPHERS Mackenzie King, Becca Rudman PHOTO EDITING Mackenzie King, Becca Rudman LAYOUT DESIGN Katie Beukema, Paige Wilson MODELS Melody Cutting, Nick Farrugia, Sharice Jones, Jenny Ruan

Sweatshirt - WEGO Pants - Ragged Priest Shoes - Nike Air Max 97 Hat - ASOS

White shirt - Fila Green Pants - Nike Shoes - Nike

Sweater - Merona Pants - Pleasures Shoes - Nike

Red shirt - Ferrari Snakeskin shirt - Ragged Priest Pants - Dollskill Red shoes - Nike SF Air Force 1, Stock X Yellow shirt - Tommy Hilfiger Plaid skirt - Burberry

Pink dress - Louis Vuitton

Dress - Urban Outfitters Fanny pack - Primark Jacket - Dollskill Pants - Adidas

Art in the Age of the internet For today’s youth, it feels nearly impossible to remember a time when technology wasn’t a part of our daily lives, or glued to our fingertips. We’ve grown up with the internet, cycled through each generation of the iPhone, and watched as MySpace became obsolete and the precursors of today’s social media began to take over. Most of our culture has become digitized, or at the very least, has an aspect of the digital. Since our culture has become so entwined with technological advancement—both in terms of cultural construction and replication—we might begin to wonder what this means for cultural products like art, or cultural hubs like art museums. What kind of questions might be posed, and what kind of answers might be offered to us within visual art that engages with technology and the internet, rather than visual art that was created long before the invention of the internet in 1989? What can it tell us about ourselves, our culture? This winter, to help explore these questions and many others, the University of Michigan Museum of Art (UMMA) will be hosting the exhibition Art in the Age of the Internet, 1989 to Today courtesy of UMMA’s director, Christina Olsen. The exhibition is curated by Eva Respini at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston, and seeks to exam-

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ine the impact of our internet culture on visual artists and the work they create. As the first largescale exhibition of its kind in the United States, it features over 70 works in a variety of mediums by 60 artists, including collaboratives and collectives. Perhaps the format itself is one of the many entry points into how art in the age of the internet mirrors the legacy of the world wide web. It is vast, and both vary similarly in mediums and ideas, and it continues to expand and shape-shift in the infinite space available. Within the exhibition, some of today’s most prominent artists are on display: Harun Farocki, Kate Cooper, Juliana Huxtable, and Penelope Umbrico, just to name a few. The exhibition explores the dissemination of knowledge and images; the reworkings of the economy and new economies via social media; ideas of new subjectivities; and the human enhancement that is made possible by emerging technologies. For many of these artists, their experience of the digital is deeply ingrained within their identity, and their identity is deeply ingrained within their art. For example, for Juliana Huxtable, a young, self-identified queer artist featured in the exhibition, the advent of social media helped her to feel “liberated” in her adulthood. In a descrip-

Kate Cooper, Rigged (still), 2014-15. Installation with digital prints and HD videos (color, sounds; 4:28 minutes). Courtesy of the artist. © Kate Cooper

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tion within the exhibition, she states, “. . . I feel like I am always living as a hybrid of my online presence and my IRL presence.” Within her work, Huxtable discovered who she was by choosing a medium as malleable as the JPG, and is able to represent herself as a green goddess in the work Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm) (pictured right). In a culture immersed in and intrigued by the lived experience of a multitude of identities, we accept that idenntity is not monolithic. We do not fit into existing racialized, gendered, or classed scripts. Through her work, Huxtable urges us to explore these ideas, and presents her identity as a hybrid of our so-called natural world, which includes the body she was born into, and the world of the digital. Not only does this representation of herself feel right to her, it is also fluid, and able to correspond with who she feels she is at any given moment. This is just one of many works with so much to say on the vast topic of identity construction within Art in the Age of the Internet, 1989 to Today. Of course, it is not only the works themselves that make an exhibition; it is the questions posed and explored by a curatorial team that places works in conversation with one another to build a fuller narrative with multiple perspectives. According to head curator Eva Respini, “the show is discussing the matter of fact that the digital is a set of social relationships, a social construct that profoundly changed who we are…” Like Huxtable’s Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm), the show draws attention to the hybridization, both in our immediate culture, such as within communication and interpersonal relationships, and within the visual arts as technology continues to develop and alter everything we do. More con-

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cretely, this means the exhibition features works of a variety of analog mediums, such as paintings, that convey the effects of digital culture in a kind of blended, visual arts display. This intentionally parallels the idea that the internet provides us with the ability to create hybrid and often highly malleable identities, like that of Juliana Huxtable, and even fractured identities, representing the notion that what we see of someone on social media is not the whole story. It is through the structure of the show, the conversations between individual works, and between their artists that some of today’s most important and haunting cultural questions are posed: Who are we? Where are we heading? Is someone watching us? Should we be worried? Sure to be a thought-provoking exhibition that’s as chilling as it is intriguing, Art in the Age of the Internet, 1989 to Today will be exhibited at UMMA from December 15th, 2018 through April 7th, 2019.

By Matisen Douglas Layout by Mackenzie Schwedt

Juliana Huxtable, Untitled in the Rage (Nibiru Cataclysm), 2015. Inkjet print. Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. Purchased with funds contributed by Stephen J. Javaras, 2015. Image courtesy of Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. © Juliana Huxtable

CONCEPT & STYLING Elena Odulak, Alana Valko PHOTOGRAPHERS Mackenzie King, Evan Parness, Becca Rudman PHOTO EDITING Mackenzie King, Evan Parness, Becca Rudman LAYOUT DESIGN Paige Wilson MODELS Eliz Akgun, Avery Friedman, Chris Posada

Sweater - Free People Belt - Pull and Bear

Jacket - Kensie

Short jacket - Zara Belt - B-Low the Belt Long jacket - Nordstrom

Yellow shirt - Tommy Hilfiger

K-loset Case My favorite room in my apartment is a coatroom that I’ve turned into a walk-in closet. Of course, a gay boy would love his closet more than anything else. Once I close the door, it becomes a personal refuge. Looking around, I notice how much I’ve changed since the beginning of college. A poster of GOT7’s JB adorns the wall above my dresser, colorful YesStyle purchases from Asia take up the majority of my hangers, and Baekhyun’s sweet voice on “바래다줄게” (Take You Home) fills the confined space. Strangely enough, since falling in love with K-pop a year ago, I’ve found out more about myself than I had throughout the entire rest of my life. Not only have I been able to connect to who I am as a gay, Chinese and Vietnamese boy, but I’ve also grown closer to others through our shared fandom. Although I don’t understand Korean, K-pop has given me a voice to be myself. I’d be lying if I said my original draw to K-pop wasn’t the cute boys. After my eighteenth birthday, my return to school coincided with NCT U’s “BOSS” music video dropping. “BOSS” wasn’t the first K-pop video I had ever seen—many of my friends had been fans for years—but this was the first to really impact me. The members were all young, handsome East-Asian boys, yet they were strong, dynamic, and in charge. Until this point, I never realized how much representation affects how we view ourselves, especially those of us who

are marginalized by dominant Eurocentric society. While their beauty was obvious, seeing this manner of representation of East-Asian men was something that I had never seen within Western portrayals, where these men are often looked down upon as awkward academics or scrawny sidekicks. Here, I saw NCT as leaders at the forefront of K-pop. More importantly, in them I saw myself, a sense that made me believe I could actually take on their example. Even my attraction to these idols became a subconscious display of my heightened self-esteem. Prior to this year, I had rejected East-Asian men as romantically undesirable. In hindsight, I attributed this perspective to a denial of my individual appearance. Since then, however, these similarities have helped me embrace who I am. My love of idol boys is a form of self-love. By seeing the beauty in those who resemble me, I am able to see my own beauty. Within K-pop, I learned the importance of my own intersecting ethnic and sexual identities that I had spent my life turning away from, due to their perceived “otherness.” For the first time, I knew I could be a BOSS. As this realization began to dawn, I looked to my closet, a familiar source of comfort, to express my newfound confidence. At the beginning of my first year of college, my clothes consisted of button-up shirts and bow-ties. As I became bolder, so did my fashion. Inspired by K-pop boy groups such as NCT, Wanna One, and GOT7, I implemented

trends into my own style in ways that enhanced the clothing that I already liked to wear. Button-ups were left halfway untucked or layered over turtlenecks, while bow-ties became ribbons paired with berets. The difference between Korean fashion and its Western counterpart captivated me. Idols were styled in ways that were complex, but never overwhelming, always pushing the limits of “too much” with each accessory. Within fashion, there are contradictions of tight and loose, delicate and edgy, as well as feminine and masculine; K-pop dances around and in between these spectrums. As someone whose effeminate habits are always pointed out, this style allowed me to playfully push this extreme further, alongside my exploration of a more mature, masculine aspect of my fashion sense. Beyond just clothing, I even emulated my idols in physical ways by piercing my ears and dyeing my hair. Now, when I look at pictures of myself from a year ago, the changes are drastically obvious, yet still very me. I haven’t lost who I am in my style, it’s evolved with me. Despite my intense identification with K-pop, some of the most meaningful memories that I’ve had surrounding the genre have been with other people. My friend Kevin, who I met last year, actually showed me NCT U’s “BOSS” video. K-pop has given Kevin and I a way to form a deep connection, from talking about our favorite idols to

going together to see Wanna One in Chicago. Alongside him, I’ve gained personal confidence and have grown into a much bigger K-pop fan. The essential role that fandom plays within the K-pop industry is a uniquely engaging one. Sometimes, these fans’ treatment of idols can be outrageously indecent, with their invasions of privacy and inappropriate profanity. More often than not, though, it is a shared esoteric identity that brings wildly different people together within both fandom and friendship. As K-pop’s hallyu wave continues to visibly sweep the world, because of its rich cultural specificity, when I come across these other K-pop fans, our connections feel that much stronger. Standing in my little refuge, it’s impossible to deny the influence that K-pop has had on my life. JB’s sultry stare reminds me of how I’ve come to love my physical appearance and gay, East-Asian male identity. Each hanging or folded article of clothing is a piece of a specific outfit, often inspired by my idols. Every song is a living memory, drawing upon the times I’ve shared with friends and strangers and myself. There have been moments where I’ve felt embarrassed to display such vivid symbols of fandom on my walls, but I have grown to love that I am a living example of my favorite things about K-pop. After all, it’s only natural for a gay boy like me to love my K-loset and bring it with me, wherever I go. By Sean Tran Layout by Carly Lucas

D R E A R Y D A Z E

Jumpsuit - Boutique in Paris Red dress - BCBG Max Azria Earrings - Baublebar

Concept & Styling: Elena Odulak, Alana Valko, Photographers: Mackenzie King, Francesca Romano Photo Editing: Mackenzie King, Becca Rudman Layout Design: Eliz Akgun Models: Quinn Riley, Carlena Toombs

Red dress - BCBG Max Azria Earrings - Baublebar

Ribbed turtleneck - Philip Lim Pleated Knit Skirt - Derek Lam 10 Crosby Earrings - Sachin & Babi Accessories Shoes - Sam Edelman

Tank top - Forever 21 Scarlet Trousers - Galvan Suede Sandals - Via Spiga

Tank top - Forever 2 Scarlet Trousers - Galvan Ribbed turtleneck - Philip Lim Pleated Knit Skirt - Derek Lam 10 Crosby Earrings - Sachin & Babi Accessories

Earrings - Sachin & Babi Accessories

Ribbed turtleneck - Philip Lim Pleated Knit Skirt - Derek Lam 10 Crosby Shoes - Sam Edelman

THE HEAVY PRICE OF VALIDATION What makes an item worth purchasing? Is it the texture, the weave, the legacy, or something else?

SHEI Magazine

What makes an item worth purchasing? Is it the texture, the weave, the legacy, or something else? For every consumer, this is a personal choice combining both intrinsic and extrinsic motivations, from the utility of a garment to financial support of an artist one looks up to. However, the advent of social media has forced a shift within these motivations that have drastically altered the landscape of fashion. While extrinsic motivations still exist, their changes are slow and predictable. The key to understanding these multi-dimensional changes in motivations is within our new mindset: Who will see me in this, who will validate how much I spent, how will this piece increase my social capital? In the days before the prevalence of social media, the shoppers that could afford it flocked to high fashion brands in search of “investment pieces,” items one would purchase that would (hopefully) last for decades to come. Their closets were a personal repository, one that had a slowly changing rotation of pieces as shoppers saved and splurged on big-ticket items. Without social media, the transfer of fashion information was constrained to much smaller relevant geographic markets. The information now accessible with nothing more than a flick of a finger was once reserved only for industry insiders and the actual designers. Even though the crème de la crème fashion houses had global marketing and retail points, the styling of individual consumers was unique to both personal tastes as well as a reflection of the culture immediately surrounding the shopper. However, the aforementioned free exchange of information stemming from social media has permanently democratized this fantasy. Long gone are the days where one could publicly wear the same pair of shoes for months. Instead, a constant microscope of insecurity and doubt forces those who can to constantly rotate wardrobes in hopes of avoiding stale content. A certain mindset permeates social media platforms in which once an item is captured, it’s no longer fresh. Once a piece has made it to the ‘gram, it no longer has any capacity to amaze. This development extends to daily life, with “one in 10 men saying they would feel embarrassed for a friend to see them wearing the same outfit twice.”1 Further compounding this effect of “seen once, seen enough” is the unavoidable dominance of social media “influencers” as a legitimate form of industry marketing. Figures who have amassed large followings have become the new denizens of the fashion marketing machine, receiving hundreds of pieces pre-styled for public outings. Humans naturally gravitate to those they frequently have contact with, but what’s different is that a single figure can accrue hundreds of thousands of followers willing to mimic their every action. This mimicry spreads to all facets of life, especially clothing. In 2017, 46% of Instagram users said that an influencer was the primary motivation for a prior clothing purchase.2 A possible silver lining is that people finally have access to enough sources of information to make purchases that they actually want, right? Don’t give the lowest common denominator of fashion fans that much credit. According to a recent study from BBC, 17% of women age 18-25 have purchased an item of influencer-worn clothing that they personally disliked; the primary motivation for

these purchases being an OOTD [outfit of the day] post. Men fare even worse, with 1 in 10 US fashion shoppers age 15-25 buying a piece because a streetwear influencer had it first. So, what happens to all these “statement” pieces that people cop? Surely, no one would purchase something just to project wealth via an OOTD and throw it away, right? Not exactly. Some “savvy” ans rely on the classic “try before you buy” scheme and attempt to boomerang their tacky Off-White sweaters right back at brick and mortar retailers. As a result, hundreds of department stores have adopted policies banning the return of specific brands to help reduce the 8 billion dollars of unrecognizable sales lost to returns.3 For those who purchased from a store wise enough to instill this policy, they have been forced to adapt and find a new way to recoup their financial losses. The rise of the secondary (resale and second-hand) clothing market demonstrates that fallout of changing consumption habits. All of these unwanted purchases have coalesced into the development of the second-hand market of high-end clothing. No longer is this demographic of shopper stuck with their wealth-projection pieces, surrounded by once worn designer hoodies and box logos. Instead, these consumers now can sell their brandnew-with-tags items online on dedicated resell platforms such as Grailed and Poshmark. According to Women’s Wear Daily, the second-hand market is worth a monstrous 14 billion dollars with projected growth to 44 billion by 2022.4 Rather, the real shocker found within the explosion of secondary clothing markets is how the demographics of the average shopper have changed. As of 2018, 46% of active thrift shoppers have a net worth of $250,000 or larger, with 36% of all second-hand shoppers having an income above $125,000. The market for second-hand clothing has changed from shoppers who are thrifty by necessity to those that want to gain Internet clout. Suffice to say, hundreds of thousands of fashion consumers now rely on secondary markets to get those pieces necessary to project their imaginary wealth to their friends and followers. So, where do we go from here? Is fashion culture compromised? The easiest solution to advocate, but hardest to achieve, is merely using social media less. If brands embrace this model and experience success without the toxic Instagram crowd, it will create more freedom for organic expression. Outside of the hype machine bubble, genuine designers create works of art captivating enough to generate their own demand. Imagine a fashion culture where the likes of strangers yield less dopamine than purchasing an item you genuinely care about. Crazy, right?

By Eric TerBush Layout by Mackenzie Schwedt

Chelsea Ritschel, “Peope Are Buying Clothes To Post On Instagram And Then Returning Them, Study Finds,” Independent online. Aug. 10, 2018. https://www.independent. co.uk/life-style/return-clothes-online-shopping-instagram-outfit-of-the-day-retailer-uk-a8486471.htm 2 Emily Knightley, “20 Influencer Marketing Statistics that Will Surprise You,” Digital Marketing Institute. Accessed Oct. 25, 2018. https://digitalmarketinginstitute.com/en-us/ blog/20-influencer-marketing-statistics-that-will-surprise-you 3 Ritschel, 2018. 4 Kali Hayes, “Apparel Resale Market Expected to Hit $41 Billion by 2022,” Womens Wear Daily, Apr. 3, 2018. https://wwd.com/business-news/financial/apparel-resale-market-expected-to-hit-41-billion-by-1202642422/ 1

PROPHET VS. PROFIT Earlier, when I was scrolling through Twitter, Buzzfeed, and Facebook, I noticed that the only mentions of Nike’s endorsement of Colin Kaepernick painted it as the best thing since sliced bread, or a greedy move by a company willing to exploit the newest public ideological debate. As soon as the deal was announced, the mediasphere filled with people wondering if Nike made this move for the right reasons or whether they were being insincere. Was Nike backing a controversial figure because they believed in him, or did they see that they could make money off of feel-good advertising? Could it be both? I agree with the critics. The endorsement is not proof that Nike really cares. Endorsing Kaepernick does not mean that they believe in the Black Lives Matter movement. Could this entire deal just be for money? Nike’s stock did fall slightly following the release of the Kaepernick video, but then rose again sharply and they recently closed at a record high. Despite people burning their shoes or cutting the swoosh off of their (already purchased) socks, the company’s online revenue rose 31% after the ad came out.1 In short, Nike made good money off of the controversy. Using the right words does not mean that their actions were borne out of pure altruism.

SHEI Magazine

How can you judge how much a company means what it says? The sincerity of advertisers is frequently brought into question every June, when companies roll out their Pride-themed advertisements telling us consumers how much they love Love. Many of the advertisements do seem plainly exploitative of Pride’s hype. When my local mall put up rainbow banners for the month of June that lacked any real mention of LGTBQ individuals, it seemed more like a color study than a real statement. It’s almost as if a company will calculate the exact balance of Pride imagery that they can use, so that they can bring in the highest amount of revenue and alienate the lowest number of conservative customers. The truth is that companies rarely mean what they say. The whole point of advertising is to convince you to buy something, regardless of whether or not a company really believes it’s good for you. They have to make you buy chips and vodka and a tea strainer that looks like a deep sea diver to make a profit. You don’t need them, but you’re supposed to buy them to benefit the company’s bottom line. That’s where advertising comes in. Even when you buy something that you do need, like medicine, the package is designed to look more attractive and brand name pills cost much more than their identical generic counterparts. When you buy groceries, the package has been designed to make food look fresher and tastier. The raincoat you buy for utilitarian reasons still has a tag telling you about its many unnecessary attributes and why you have to have it. Marketing, as a field, is there to get you to buy something, regardless of quality. So when a company tells you about how much it supports the issue of the week, of course they can’t mean that. What they are really after is money. Individual people working at these companies may support those causes. Nike and the others who “do the right thing” with their ads aren’t faceless automata who just want your money, they are made up of people. However, it doesn’t matter if the individuals working at Nike believe in the cause.

Nike is a company that exists to make profit. It does not exist to convince the American people that Colin Kaepernick is doing the right thing. No matter how much they believe in their message, the message itself will never be the primary objective for any capitalist company. They might believe what they say, but they can’t mean it. I don’t believe that Nike as a company really cares about Colin Kaepernick. I know that they see him as a way to make money off of people who feel good purchasing a product that seems to have a moral behind it. But I also believe that if a company does the right thing, even for the most money-grubbing, capitalist pig, downright wrong reasons, it’s still technically the right thing. Nike has still made the choice to stand by a controversial figure who has been bombarded with abuse for saying that American institutions are racist. When a company runs an ad during Pride Month, no matter how bland and abstract it may be, they are still saying that LGBTQ consumers have a place in our economy. While it is still shallow to have your acceptance of a marginalized group start and end with saying that they should buy your product, the ability to participate in commerce is a sign of at least one kind of equality. This approach by corporations creates the possibility for us, the consumers, to ask more of that company. When Nike endorses Kaepernick, we can ask if they will donate money to Black Lives Matter. When a company makes a Pride advertisement, we can ask if they will cover gender transition in their employee healthcare. In the age of increased communication between companies and their consumers, now, more than ever, is the time for consumers to say that endorsements are not enough.

By Phoebe Danaher Layout by Elizabeth Marics

Kevin Kelleher, “Nike Shares Close at Another Record High After Controversial Colin Kaepernick Endorsement,” Fortune online. Sept. 14, 2018. http://fortune.com/2018/09/14/nike-closes-another-record-high-wake-endorsement-colin-kaepernick/ 1

Fall 2018

90’s Revamp

Nostalgic yet present—we reminisce on the spirit of the 90’s with a modern overhaul. Concept and Styling: Elena Odulak, Alana Valko Photographer: Becca Rudman

Photo Editing: Becca Rudman Layout Design: Katie Beukema

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1. Green leopard dress- Berska 2. Necklace- Urban Outfitters 3. Leather hat- Topshop 4. Overalls- Anna Sui 5. Belt- Pull & Bear 6. Jeans- Levi’s 7. Silver shoes- Rebecca Ninkoff 8. Sunglasses- Boutique in Venice 9. Leopard shorts- Thrifted 10. Crewneck- Champion 11. Hoop earrings- Primark 12. Fanny pack- Primark 13. Hat- Urban Outfitters 14. Dad sneakers- Fila Fall 2018

FLORAL ECLIPSE

CONCEPT & STYLING Elena Odulak, Alana Valko PHOTOGRAPHERS Sam Goldin, Mackenzie King, Evan Parness, Francesca Romano, Becca Rudman PHOTO EDITING Mackenzie King, Becca Rudman LAYOUT DESIGN Xinyi Liu MODELS Camille Burke, Harsha Kishore

Floral leather jacket - Sam Edelman Layered skirt - Viva Aviva Lace dress - Shoshanna

Red dress - Marchesa Notte

Floral dress - ML Monique Lhuillier

Editor-in-Chief Liv Velarde on the set of “Youth in Movement.”

BEHIND THE SCENES OF LOST YOUTH

Creative Director Paige Wilson laughing with Digital Photo Editor Francesca Romano at the Grand Haven State Park for “Dreary Daze.”

Editor-in-Chief Liv Velarde and Street Style Editor Evan Parness on site for “Run Away & Flourish.”