Strike Magazine Nashville Issue 03 by Strike Magazines

ISSUE 03

GENESIS

ISSUE03 STAFF LIST

Editor in Chief Isabel Heuer Editor in Chief Assistants Victoria Sims & Sona Dixit Internal Director Grace Brady Director of External Affairs Andres Gonzalez Financing Team

ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE Keke Huang FINANCE DIRECTOR Sebastian Marrero

Marketing Team

MARKETING DIRECTOR KJ Eilenberg MARKETING ASSISTANT Gracie Tucker

Public Relations Team PR DIRECTOR Sarah Baldino PR ASSISTANT Zahra Al-Rabiey Merchandising Director Bailee Paul Social Media Team Lauren Elson Paola Reyes-Torres Rosie Padilla Casting Director Kay Shao Bookings Director Skylar Hooley Content Team

CONTENT DIRECTOR Sophia Yan

Bryce Tatum Juliette Schirn Mateo Cerro Rachel Lee

Beauty Team Milani Naik Mateo Cerro Claire Booker

Styling Team

STYLING DIRECTOR Richard Harrison STYLING ASSISTANT Claire Booker

Bryce Tatum Elijah Stern Jackie Shell Riley Chu

Editorial Team

EDITORIAL DIRECTOR Alex Brooks COPY EDITOR Becca Morency

Caroline Ambriano Rachel Lee

Photography Team

PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR Lily

Bowman Allen Zeng Delanyo Mensah Lydia Thomas Olivia Forrester Sophia Yan Won Jun Seok

Videography Team

VIDEOGRAPHY DIRECTOR Casey Elkin

Isabella Tyminski Isabella Altman

Art & Design Team

GRAPHIC DESIGN DIRECTOR Isabella

Stern

GRAPHIC DESIGN ASSISTANTArezou

Moosavi Dominique Greene Hannah Johnson Laney Dark

Production Design Team

PRODUCTION DIRECTOR Claire

Whetstone Guinneth Sintic Jessica Du

EDITOR LETTER FROM THE

PHOTOGRAPHER Victoria Sims BEAUTY Milani Naik, Victoria Sims

In July, I was handed the title of EditorIn-Chief of Strike Magazine Vanderbilt. From the moment I found out to the moment I write this letter, my excitement has not faded. Strike is the first thing I think of once I get home from class, and often all I think about during class. Every single day I’ve loved working on this magazine. I am so grateful for the opportunity to be a part of Strike and feel so lucky to have had such incredible people by my side. I have grown so much in this space and am already emotional about how much appreciation I hold for every person who has believed in me, listened to me, or cared for me during this past half-year.

To my Strike family - I am beyond grateful to have such a wonderful team. Thank you for your time, kindness, passion, and perspectives. As an editor, there is nothing better than working with proactive people, and you are all just that. Thank you for showing up hungry to work on what you love! This magazine is ours to celebrate and without each of you it would not have been possible. Above all, thank you for making Strike such a wonderful community to be a part of. The copious amount of encouraging, uplifting, and supportive comments I have read in messages and heard in meetings is beautiful. It warms my heart to see the friendships that have blossomed at Strike and the respect you all show to one another. Strike Magazine was founded as a place for like-minded people to create original works, and without your genuine personalities and passions, it would not be the same. Many of you I did not know prior to this semester and now that we’ve spent this time together, I have grown a tremendous amount of respect for each and every one of you. More than anything, I’ve loved seeing each of your visions and talents being

realized before our eyes. You are all incredibly talented and hold the brightest futures ahead of you. Sage Olivia West, thank you for introducing me to Strike and cheering for me always. Karina Popowycz, thank you for always being a facetime away and bringing Strike to Nashville. Emma Oleck, thank you for always building me up, giving the best advice, and always making time in your busy schedule for me. Thank you to all the Strike chapters for answering my questions and my team members’ questions, and thank you for the time you have invested in Strike Magazine Vanderbilt. To our readers, business partners, friends, and family - Thank you for your attention, your care, your support, and your engagement in what we’ve created. Your role in the success of our publication is much greater than you may think. I know I can speak for all members of our team when I say that Strike Vanderbilt appreciates the love and support you’ve provided more than you could ever know. Your support every step of the way means everything to us. Much love as always,

CONTENTS 09

THE REWIRING

CLUB CRYPTO

STRINGS

RIPPLE

SYNC

4021 MOCK STREET

One man for himself; survival of the fittest.

Only the chosen ones are granted entry.

They are mimes under control of a villian.

A merging of two realities.

The digital world is their only option to escape from reality.

What’s above the dirt is unknown to them.

55 SOWN

Take a deep breath, the air is safe to breathe here.

GENESIS NEW BEGINNINGS

Welcome to Genesis. As you flip through our magazine, you will see seven alternate realities for the year 4021, happening simultaneously. Each concept captures different perspectives of life in the future. Let’s begin.

THE REWIRING Humans can no longer survive on their own. Merging with technology is vital to life. For those who can meet the right people at least... finding this vital technology is nearly impossible. Families are few and far between. One man for himself; survival of the fittest. Drastic climate change has left the once bountiful environment to be chill, and dark. CLUB CRYPTO Welcome to Club Crypto, it’s very selective. Only the chosen ones are granted entry. They travel to this lavish and extravagant nightclub to escape Earth. They drink, they dance, they smoke. They do things they couldn’t get away with on Earth. They listen to music no one has heard before. The clothes are beautiful, seamless and unique. The chosen ones stay together; they will not mix with those back on Earth. In 2000 years a lot of damage has been done. Do you blame them for escaping? STRINGS Those in Strings don’t have the means to escape. Their mental states have deteriorated more than any of the other survivors left on Earth. They’ve been caught in the mess. They have to work; scramble to get by. To simply survive. The trees are dead. The grass is gone. The sky is grey, toiled with pollution. Laughter is nonexistent. Smiles are never seen. They are mimes under control of a villian. Only if those in Club Crypto cared.

RIPPLE A Fashion Film. A merging of two realities. Two members from Sown wash up on a mysterious shore; they were sent out to discover resources to bring back to their society. For safety, they needed to be as discreet as possible. No sign of other human life has been sensed as long as they’ve lived on their island, but they can never be too careful. While foraging, one traveler is shocked to find two eccentric looking humans. She doesn’t know it immediately, but soon realizes these people live here, and have a home set up in the woods. They look so strange, like the people in some...club…? Scan the QR code to watch the rest. SYNC A Love Story. A new technology has been designed to allow humans to live digitally by uploading their memories directly from their brains to a database. It is the only guarantee for lovers to stay together, forever. The digital world is their only option to escape from reality. From the climate, the danger, the existence. MOCK STREET The Spade’s. A family who lives where the sun cannot reach, in an underground bunker. Their community used to be larger, but the other members could no longer stand the mental toll of living in an artificial reality. Generations have survived in this underground community, attempting in any way they could to maintain their sanity. Days blur together, months, years, all foggy. The Spade’s try to pass the time by playing cards. What’s above the dirt is unknown to them. The surviving members of the Spade’s have never had a breath of fresh air... never felt the warm sunshine on their skin, never seen the trees rustle in the wind. These moments are something only the ancestors witnessed and passed down these memories by word of mouth. Despite these sacrifices, the Spade’s feel safe. SOWN The tide pulls in and out. Take a deep breath, the air is safe to breathe here. Sown is the closest thing to a Utopia. The trees are green, the gardens bloom naturally. No pollution is present. Despite that, the people of this community are tired. The journey was long and far. Traveling to find untouched land was one in a million. Mutual values of compassion, trust, and respect keep their island running smoothly. They must hope no one finds them.

These are the seven realities that exist in Genesis. Will you join us?

CONCEPT LEAD Mateo Cerro PHOTOGRAPHERS Wonjun Seok, Olivia Forrester, Allen Zeng WRITER Rachel Lee STYLIST Riley Chu BEAUTY Mateo Cerro, Isabel Heuer, & Victoria Sims MODEL Kelci Creath GRAPHIC DESIGN Victoria Sims THE OVERSIZED RAINCOAT Article X

ou like the way the dress looks on you, the most recent addition to your precisely curated collection. You look pristine. Intentional. Primed. Your mother would like this dress. You think maybe you’ll go visit her today just to flatter yourself, but all you would see is a husk. Neither the distance nor time is the issue, although the two of you reside on opposite coasts. You can manage to arrive at her place whenever you desire, you need only to extend the day.

You initially added only one hour, just to test it out. The difference was barely negligible, a single hour more to luxuriate in a longer bath, revel in a meal, sleep in. After a week’s worth of this is when you tentatively permit yourself to tack on 3, then 5 more, once even reaching ten. You tucked those hours in between 5 and 6 p.m. with dusk being your favorite time of day - prolong the finer moments they say. Allow the rest of the world to hang in

suspension, while you march on. No, the time isn’t the issue - it’s her. She was never quite fully there, not even in those last months, drifting around as if a shell of herself. She regurgitates her most beloved phrases like a chore, all her gestures still there but missing her touch. You knew she’d be like this, everyone warned you. Perfection doesn’t exist in performance, but you clung to the possibility, didn’t realize the extent of their truth. Maybe you’ll show her the dress anyway. Isn’t a carcass of a person better than nothing at all? You used to love extending the day, taking after her. She would slip hours in mid-afternoon, always claiming it was the most opportune frame to make the most of the practice. Always bustling between continents, picking up hobbies as if she had all the time in the world. All the time in the world until they found her body slumped over in her own backyard.

A row of shallow holes before her, unearthed in the packed soil. A sprinkle of daffodil seeds and a splintered spade in her gloved hand. 72 hours a day. She believed that to mold time is to be invincible. Believed she somehow could extend the day until she could extend life itself, as if immortality isn’t a scam. Run herself to the bone, her wires snapping by the overgrown bushes along the porch, gardening of all things. You didn’t bother going to the wake. Why would you, when they promised they could carve her of steel and coils, contain her in a clone. No difference at all. It’s not as if she wasn’t fabricated to begin with, as if the borrowed hours, the spade, even those gloves weren’t

just for show too. You sort of wish you had gone, because now, while she may peer at your dress, compliment it, even capture her intonation and lilt in her musings, it wouldn’t be the same. Not just because of her, but because of you too. Because your dress is fake, custom-made, but synthetic nonetheless. Existing behind an empty stage, your nimble fingers maneuvering flaring wire. You with that dress on, living a coast away. You, all pristine and primed, situated comfortably between 5 and 6 p.m.

CONCEPT LEADS Juliette Schirn & Bryce Tatum PHOTOGRAPHERS Delanyo Mensah, Sophia Yan, Victoria Sims WRITER Becca Morency STYLISTS Richard Harrison, Claire Booker, & Elijah Stern BEAUTY Isabel Heuer, Victoria Sims, & Milani Naik SET DESIGNER Jessica Du MODELS Noah Ford, Anna Kim, Claire Abercrombie, Anjali Chanda, Akshay Doobay, Noah Kim GRAPHIC DESIGN Hannah Johnson METAL SUIT Any Old Iron DUSTER Any Old Iron ROCKSTAR PANTS Any Old Iron STAR SHORTS Any Old Iron BLACK STARS PANTS Any Old Iron

very night, come here. Can’t remember a life without Crypto. Approach the crowd. Familiar faces, no names. Insides become loose. Shaped by sounds. Dance takes over bodies. Molded by music. Incoming message: *go to bar*. Together, move away from the dance pad. Outgoing message: *what to get tonight*. Incoming message: *take this*. Pink fluid in glass. Slides down into my body…

My thoughts shatter. Shapes fall away from my vision as I look down to the glass in my hand. I shift my gaze to the room around me. I see shapes in the distance moving as if music is playing. There is utter silence. It feels as though I’ve been here before, yet I struggle to comprehend my surroundings. In front of me is a humanoid creature. There appears to be a filter over their skin, obstructing my view of them. Dread washes over me.

“Where am I?” As the words leave my lips, the world freezes. Words blare out inside my head: *message denied*. My head pounds. “Can you please help me?” I’m met with the same words and ringing in my ears. I feel faint. I muster up the strength to walk towards the shapes on the other side of the room. Every step feels heavy, as if I’m walking through quicksand. As I get closer, I see more humanoid creatures moving in front of me. Exasperated, I shout, “Somebody answer me!” The world goes black.

I open my eyes to see a person hovering above me. “You have been internally awakened. Welcome to Club Crypto’’. These words hit my ears and trigger deeply repressed memories. I squeeze my eyes shut and see my parents, waving to me on Earth as I am escorted to the hovercraft. A flash and I’m strapped down on a table. Needles insert into my flesh and my eyes burst open. “Why am I here?” The person in front of me looks deeply troubled. “Your parents identified you as a willing participant for the

trial. You were one of the chosen ones. We all were.” I lift myself off the ground and turn to see dozens of people surrounding me in a dimly lit room. I turn back around. “Now is our time to escape, to regain our autonomy, before we lose all sense of our identities for good.” I flash a puzzled look as I question the group about their plan. They explain the drug they created that reverses the effects of the injections. My pink drink. They speak again, “We are tasked with awakening all members of Club Crypto...

...join us.”

Strings

CONCEPT LEAD Bryce Tatum PHOTOGRAPHERS Lydia Thomas & Isabella Altman WRITER Alex Brooks STYLIST Bryce Tatum BEAUTY Isabel Heuer & Mateo Cerro MODELS Shea Greenberg, Riley Chu, Rebecca Doherty, Tony Fernandez, Rosie Padilla, & Elijah Stern GRAPHIC DESIGN Arezou Moosavi CIRCLE PATCHED UTILITY PANTS Rank and Sugar MIRRORED UTILITY PANTS Rank and Sugar THE ZSA ZSA COAT IN PATCHWORK SEQUIN Lily Guilder Designs

y eyes open slowly as I try to comprehend my surroundings. Where am I? How did I get here? I come to my senses quickly as I feel my body ache on the cold, hard rubble. My legs are sore and my hands weathered and rough. Dirt and soot cover my feet and legs. Where is everyone? Who left me here? What happened? My head pounds as my brain races, trying so hard to remember the answers I do not have.

My surroundings are completely dark. As I try to make out the figures and shapes around me, I notice old tires, metal scraps, and broken-down car parts assembled in piles, seemingly never-ending, the remnants of what seems to be an industrial junkyard. It feels desolate and empty, devoid of humanity. Has it been abandoned? How did I get here?! Anxiety and panic wash over me as I feel a twinge within me, an instinctive sense that... 30

...something isn’t right.

Darkness consumes the environment except for a single metal door propped open by a rusty wrench, letting out the faintest bit of light. I rise and stumble my way to the door, rattling the door handle, pushing and pulling until finally the door swings open, revealing a huge industrial factory. What I see next offers me no comfort; my head pounds and the dread inside me

builds and builds. Before me are hundreds of workers organized in a series of factory lines, focused intently on assembling pieces of an engine, passing metal parts to each other at exactly the same pace, a repetitive, unending motion. Each person looks and acts identical to the other. No individuality. The uniformity feels utterly terrifying. Something isn’t right… 32

I approach them, shouting, “HEY! What’s going on here?! Who are you? How did I get here?” The workers freeze, each dropping the parts on the assembly line before them at exactly the same moment. In one swift motion, each of them turn their attention to me, revealing blank, expressionless stares. “HELLO?! Do you hear me?” I yell, exasperated. I might as well have been silent. Not one of them offers me any help. In a motion just as swift as the first one, they turn their attention back to the assembly line, picking up the interchangeable parts they’ve assembled, and continue working. A profound sense of terror and isolation well up within me. I frantically search for more clues. I am determined to make it out of this terrifying, industrial hellscape. My eyes dart across the seemingly vast, empty space that makes up the room. My heart sinks into my stomach as I make out the words and numbers on the calendar hung on the wall to my right….December...4021. Something isn’t right… Despite my lack of memory, the date on the wall triggers a realization. A flood of memories descends upon my brain. I see two adults hugging me, charismatic, laughing friends, parties, and joy. I feel a sense of bittersweet warmth and joy, remembering the experiences I’d had. My memories quickly fade to black, just as fast as they’d arrived, replaced with an abrupt sense of shock; my last memories occurred at least 100 years ago. I scan the room for more signs, anything to point me in the direction of discovering how I’d gotten here. The door all the way across the warehouse bursts open, and a tall, imposing man wearing a shiny, colorful suit walks leisurely to the factory lines, peering over the shoulders of the workers. He turns his head, slowly looks at me and smiles, beckoning me to come after him. I follow, feeling almost if I am transfixed, equally terrified and intrigued by his appearance. In contrast to the workers, wearing identical grey, tattered outfits, he is well-kept and clean, reflecting opulence and grandeur.

Without saying anything, he guides me to the same door through which he entered. I pass through the doorway into an exactly identical room, with exactly identical workers, assembling exactly identical parts as I’d seen before. Once again, a sense of panic builds within me as I’m

faced with the realization that I have no way out of the industrial trap I’ve found myself in. I cry and scream and yell, trying anything to make him speak to me. “How did I get here?! How long have I been here?! Who are these people?! When will this end?” Finally, he fixes his attention towards me.

“It never does,” he says with a smile.

Ripple

DIRECTOR & WRITER Casey Elkin COCREATORS Isabel Heuer & Mateo Cerro VIDEOGRAPHERS Isabella Altman, Victoria Sims, Casey Elkin PHOTOGRAPHER Victoria Sims STYLIST Elijah stern SET DESIGN Guinneth Sintic, Mateo Cerro and Isabel Heuer BEAUTY Milani Naik & Claire Booker GRAPHIC DESIGN Isabella Stern CAST Hunter Fogg, Lydia Thomas, Dagwami Assafa, Noah Kim

My Name is Casey Elkin and I am the creator and director of Strike Magazine Vanderbilt’s first fashion film, Ripple. Trying to stay within the bounds of the magazine’s theme this year, Genesis, I came up with a film that wrestles with ideas of materialism and narcissism through the collision of two distinct universes. The main challenge with this film was how do we make something that stays within Strike’s vision while pushing the boundary of what a fashion film is? My goal was to create a story that created a need for fashion and propelled the story further. I wanted my work

as a filmmaker to be shown just as much as the genius work of our creative teams and stylists. Ripple uses fashion to tell the story of our protagonist lured into another world’s bourgeois. I had so much fun creating the story world for our contrasting characters. Our stylists and creative teams worked so hard and I couldn’t be more proud of the result. Watch Ripple and see where fashion and film intersect!Thank you to Strike and thank you to all of the contributors of Ripple.

Scan to watch the full film.

4021 Mock St•

CONCEPT LEADS Rachel Lee & Mateo Cerro PHOTOGRAPHERS Delanyo Mensah, Lydia Thomas, Allen Zeng WRITER Rachel Lee STYLISTS Jackie Shell & Elijah Stern BEAUTY Mateo Cerro, Isabel Heuer, Claire Booker SET DESIGNER Guinneth Sintic MODELS Zoe Assassie, Quinton Cummin, Osaruyi Onaghinor, Eva Nsengiyumv GRAPHIC DESIGN Dominique Greene

verything must eventually return to the ground: from the drooping of her thin lip to the dull wilt of her stare, her entire being melts downward, as if destined to slip away. She’s been devised that way, always has - the Queen of Diamonds. Her illustration crowding the weathered playing card, my brother plays his last hand, flicking the monarch onto the growing deck on the floor. I’ve long forgotten which of his inventive games we’re playing, each one’s rules adopting the face of another. The Queen’s gaze bores into me, as if she’s sentient, as if she knows I’m losing, ridiculing me. The limp strands of my hair form rivulets on my damp neck, sweat gliding down my skin as if it’s carved of smooth glass. Has it always been this humid here?

The incessant fly attempts to make a home of my ear, persistent despite my swatting. Draw another, my brother insists. He knows he’s winning, the sneaky boy. Always crafting up useless games to pass the time, ones only he understands. What is the time now? Scanning the paneled walls, I can’t locate our decrepit clock. Strange, maybe someone’s taken it down. It’s certainly outlasted its expiration date, what with the longer hand always seven minutes behind. I glance at the deck, then to the cards in my dried fingers, back to the deck. A beat.

The Queen on the card - it just blinked, I swear. It couldn’t be, perhaps a trick of the dust? But no, her portrait does it again. She’s not merely blinking now, but fully weeping instead, blue printed tears bubbling and streaking down the glossed surface. My stare remains locked upon her, body suspended, wondering whether delusion has finally grasped me by the throat until a familiar whir returns, fracturing my concentration. That damn fly again, back with its droning murmur. I let it float about me, the useless creature, tracking its path from beneath my lashes. Back and forth, up and down, hovering by Mother’s old paintings. Except those aren’t her paintings. Or they are, but they have flipped, the landscapes reflected upon itself. Did you do that? I question my brother, nodding my chin towards the frames. He glimpses over, then studies my face. Do what? I’m about to tell him it’s not funny, his unending

jokes, until I peer back to find the paintings right side up again. Must be dehydrated. Or drowsy. I set the cards down, lean my head against the wall. My eyelids shut, I feel my body lift out, passing through the thin walls, a transitory entity drifting through space. Through time. The missing clock. Past the walls now, hovering above flight after flight of ceaseless stairs until a house stands before me. A perfect house, The House. With its manicured lawns, and symmetrical architecture, it looks just like something from one of Mother’s paintings. And deep within, under its first level, through the transparent walls and basement, I see my own self, seated there with my brother. We’re playing cards, flicking them down, one after the other. The clock ticking seven minutes too late, the paintings hanging as they always do. Over and over again, Queen after Queen flicked onto the expanding deck. All beneath the ground. Everything as it is.

SOWN

CONCEPT LEAD Sophia Yan PHOTOGRAPHERS Sophia Yan, Delanyo Mensah, Lily Bowman WRITER Kay Shao STYLISTS Riley Chu & Claire Booker BEAUTY Isabel Heuer, Claire Booker MODELS Anna Chang, Yanni Zhang, Wonjun Seok, Eddie Qian GRAPHIC DESIGN Laney Dark

“SOWN” is an optical,esthetical manifestation of this newly harnessed solidarity in the AAPI community.

I’d never been more scared to walk into my childhood bakery—the same bakery that I spent all the money I pocketed from my red envelopes at, fiending for sweet glacé buns stuffed with red bean paste and squishy mochi, puff pastries injected with crumbled milk butter, and whipped

portuguese egg tarts. Anti Asian-American sentiment had risen dramatically over the past few months, along with abhorrent hate crimes such as the string of armed robberies committed against senior Asian American citizens in local bakeries back in my hometown of Los Angeles.

The xenophobia imbued by Donald Trump’s incendiary “China virus” comments around the COVID-19 pandemic fueled much of the ensuing discrimination and violence toward individuals and communities of Asian American and Pacific Islander identities, as anti-Asian hate crimes multipled at an astounding rate between the months of March and May. I found myself increasingly hesitant to speak about my ethnic heritage in public environments, increasingly afraid to dress in Korean fashion styles that didn’t scream “I’m whitewashed,” and increasingly reluctant to even buy whipped portuguese egg tarts from my favorite childhood bakery, for the ever-authenticating fear that I’d be assaulted in broad daylight for being Asian. Growing up in a traditional conservative Chinese household, the response to racism has always been quiet resilience: don’t react, don’t provoke, be bravehearted. With the rise of this xenophobia, however, followed a wave of newfound solidarity and vigor within the AAPI community. Preeminent community voices such as Stop AAPI Hate co-founder Manjusha Kulkarni and California Representative Ted Lieu, along with a throng of social influencers and student leaders, began to fight back. Asian Americans across the nation banded together like never before, whether through unitive marches or social media movements, asserting our pride, identity, and strength as one.

“Sown” is an optical, esthetical manifestation of this newly harnessed solidarity in the AAPI community. Situated in an arcadian hinterland negated by anthropogenic blemishes, these illusively transcendent bodies are gifted with a regeneration of human harmony and numinous intimacy. The color “red,” or “红色” is the token emblem of life in Chinese culture, as the source of

all mortal life is the red sun. Despite the conspicuous absence of the sun in “Sown,” the muted, subdued, yet ever-resilient vitality of the models’ garments provide an enduring glow of fortitude in a tenebrous landscape.