Strike Magazine Gainesville Issue 11 by Strike Magazines

design CHLOE GIROD RACHEL FRENCHMAN

Contents

06 Strike Staff 08 About The Issue 14 Bad Bitches Finish First 16 Remade 20 I Think I Colored Too Far Outside The Lines 25 Hot New Trends Have Entered The Villa 28 My Three Moms In Office #08 30 Replicate 34 The Girl In The Window 36 Apparel 42 Seduce Me, Reduce Me 46 Hollywood's Biggest Trophy 48 Céleste 50 Wishful Thinking 56 Girls Meet Shrooms: A Tale 66 Archive 68 Art In Motion 73 Contributors

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NICOLE BALLESTEROS JEFFREY CARMICHAEL BIBINA JOSEPH JEAN-STEPHANE LOPEZ CHADÉ NERSICIO photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

Strike Staff

Editor-in-Chief

Editorial

Creative

External Affairs

Assistant Editor-in-Chief Denisa Fluturas

Assistant Creative Director Nicole Torres

Assistant External Affairs Director Chloe Mazloum

Editorial Directors Olivia Hansen Sofia Ramos Copy Editors Bailey Korinek Luena Rodriguez-Feo Vileira Editorial Design Coordinator Anabel Dent Website Coordinator Melody Gu

Beauty Directors Ava Lodge Jena Poorman Makeup Artists Maya Hirsch Alexa Miller Lavonte Patterson Sasha Verma Arianna Yacoubian Hair Stylists Lola Sanchez Lindsay Stagnitto

Writers Daniella Alfonso Sofia Bravo Naina Chauhan Olivia Evans Penny Garza Abby Jones Naomi Patel Juliette Paymayesh Hailey Petriccione Ella Thompson

Jacob Wall

Creative Director Keegan Hannan

External Affairs Director Isa De Miguel

Casting Director Madelyn Cable Castings Assistants Alexa Craig Jason Hao Ashley Melero Mariam Sargsyan Design Directors Rachel Frenchman Chloe Girod Design Assistants Anabel Dent Rhythm Kumar Jordan Ragsdale Caswell Shamblin David Wishtischin Film Directors Camila Celaya Gabby Randerson Film Assistants Jaden Jerue Matthew Maykut Isabella Sangrador Mulan Yin

Photography Directors Katalina Enriquez Kat Rettino Photographers Grace Barney Matt Brown Anna Carrington Mary Kate Farrell Eden Hetzroni Sofia Lammers Annika Thiim Ian Alvarez Ward Production Directors Ben Apple Gabriela Donati Ben Robinson Production Assistants Colby Beech Sophie Brooks Elizabeth Clayman Jessica Ensel Krista Kilburg Cameron Relicke Valerie Samosky Julia Whitehurst Styling Directors Tabi Higgins Noah Sams Stylists Isabella Clark Mya Genuardi Devon Limcangco Jon Loferski Paris McKnight Jesse Pickel Hadley Susa Huntleigh Zhang Booking Coordinators Dylan Alfaro Nancy Pla

We are a group of students who are enthusiastic creatives, each holding our own vision, perspectives and ideas. We take pride in doing what has not been done before, coming together to break conventional standards in image, content and design.

Digital Content Directors Layla Dubreucq Stella Mazzitelli Digital Content Assistants Eden Layman Abigail Moretto Gabriella Scheiner Finance Directors Kate Bansmer Brooke Weinstein Finance Assistant Caroline Udell Marketing Directors Eden DePekary Kelly Rose Henning Zachary Venezia Marketing Assistants Ahmya Bullard Kenzie Chase Lexi Denowitz Reese Harper Chloe Leib Nate Lubow Christina Mackey Kaitlyn Masone Hunter Monson Kalina Pandelova Gaby Tryzmel Jessica Velez Merchandise Directors Katie Liang Maddy Porricolo Merchandise Assistants Sharon Bridgemohan Alexa Fennell Ava Powers Athena Veghte Public Relations Directors Jessica Freeman Marisa Greenberg Public Relations Assistants Raquel Alvarado Kerrigan Brown Melanie Herrera Sydney Kesselman Heather Parrish Caroline Rives Lauren Sachs Emma Tullio Emma Valdeon Meredith Workman

Sales Directors Mackenzie Logue James Robertson Sales Assistants Halle Burton Amina Khamitova Alexandra Sinkovich Georgina Tamburini Social Media Directors Audrey Baker Emma Donato Social Media Assistants Mia Chacon Ella Dang Mackenzie Kean Daniel Morales Aayushi Patel Emma Stankos Andrea Valdes-Sueiras Carly Weinblatt Brand Ambassador Director Sophia Johns Katie Perez Brand Ambassador Assistant Director Savannah Rude Brand Ambassadors Halima Attah Hayli Balgobin Emma Davis Elizabeth Froimzon Hailey Goldstein Stephanie Goris Emma Haedrich Alex Hames Olivia Huey Niamh Kennedy Roma Khanna Alexandra Kosoff Starr Martin Susy Mendez Amaia Morgan Gabrielle Ocasio Graham Oldershaw Ria Pai Erin Partlow Mariana Pimenta Jasmyn Reid Oliver Rodriguez Olivia Rose Nick Rymarz Madison Schioppo Sofia Sepielli Annika Singh

design DAVID WISHTISCHIN

About Strike Magazine

Strike Magazine Gainesville embodies the idea that we are all striking. As a collective, we strive to foster catalyzing experiences to push the bounds of artistic expression to yield dynamic interest and engagement in fashion, art and culture. Strike Magazine in Gainesville, Florida was founded in March 2018 as the first extension of the Tallahassee publication, which has thereafter broadened its reach to 13 additional campuses across the United States. Since then, we have grown to a staff of over 160 members per issue. Strike serves both as a creative outlet and source of professional experience for our dedicated and ambitious staff. We take pride in striking Gainesville as the first student-led publication of our kind and, now, as the nation’s largest student-run fashion and culture magazine.

As the editors, we are proud to lead a staff invigorated by such creativity, diversity and reformation. Each member works in their own way to contribute to our chapter’s bold identity. Guiding this community through evolving thresholds, we are excited to continue honoring Strike Magazine Gainesville’s legacy of empowering our readers to think beyond the horizon.

Strike Out,

Jacob Wall Isa De Miguel Keegan Hannan

About The Issue

Fall 2023

Throughout the last six years, Strike Magazine Gainesville and its audience have built a perception of who and what we are. The creative minds that have fueled our past laid a foundation of elevated, mind-shattering ideation that we will forever praise. Now, 11 issues in, we are imagining a new identity as we make way for our renaissance. Issue 11 materializes at the intersection of provocative professionalism and creativity. Aiming to solidify Strike’s name as a force in the collegiate fashion realm, this issue takes pride in being a tactical and cohesive representation of blended, young minds. Together, we have overcome the standards of our expectations to produce something ingenious. A deviant in our archive, Issue 11 encourages its readers to consider new beginnings in our creativity and in their own. Rather than evolving under the vision of our past, we have sought out a dream for difference. Issue 11 is no revival, continuation or simple anomaly: it is the first of many in a new era. LINNEA ALBORN makeup JENA POORMAN JOSHUA BLACKWOOD makeup AVA LODGE featuring CLEMENTINE & DISCO front cover photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ back cover photography ANNIKA THIIM fashion KEEGAN HANNAN JACOB WALL

Jacob Wall Editor-in-Chief 9

Gn design CHLOE GIROD

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Handle With Care

nv Issue 11

SANJANA IMANDI makeup JENA POORMAN hair LINDSAY STAGNITTO photography ANNIKA THIIM

Bad Bitches Finish First In a world that often demands women to conform to predefined molds of beauty and behavior, there are those who defy these rules with unapologetic and electrifying confidence. I consider myself among those people. I know I am sharp. Men say I am snappy, but I know I am quick-witted. I might just be the funniest motherfucker I’ve ever met. I’ll be the first to tell you if I think you are wrong, and I’ll start arguments with men just to call it “practice.” Men like to tell me I have too many opinions when I know I am simply outspoken. And if you are a driven woman reading this, we all know when a man says we’re “bossy,” we are just taking charge. These attributes, more often than not, repel men romantically. And I wouldn’t forgo a single one of them. I read a book called “Why Men Love Bitches,” and was disgusted at the behavior so-called “bitches” were willing to demonstrate for the sake of capturing a man’s attention. One tip suggested not to use tools around a man so he could feel needed. I nearly gagged at the thought of watering myself down for a man. There isn’t a single woman who should tone herself down for male attraction. Do men do that? Of course not. Another recommendation was to avoid boring men with details of your life. Imagine being anything other than authentic around someone for the sake of appeal. How in hell could anyone put up with someone who does not see them as their equal? This truly felt like a slap in the face to women. I feel compelled to include a brief disclaimer: this is not an attack on the male population. Rather, it’s the approach of capturing a man’s attention that rubs me the wrong way. I am a self-proclaimed, unapologetic motherfucking bitch. Put it on my tombstone. I curse like a sailor, I wear my heart on my sleeve and I can’t leave the bar without at least one guy knowing I’m smarter than him. Sue me! Any woman could vouch that the world would operate much more efficiently (and cuntily) if women ran the place. The fact I have single friends who are not pursued by men daily proves that it’s not strong-willed, intelligent and ambitious women who are being sought out. These are the capabilities that could potentially threaten men, so they typically avoid them. When I meet a man for the first time, my dry humor is paired with a demeanor devoid of the typical smiley and giggly feminine persona they adore. I am very hit or miss between being a crowd favorite or an immediate eye roll. If this could go on my resume, it would; the only reason I refrain is because a man will probably be the one reading it. After going months to years without men romantically involved in my life — no crushes to fantasize about before bed or to look for in my notifications — I realized that men in this sphere exist secondary to the abilities and ambitions of women. Men need women. Women are intelligent, sexy, nurturing, inspiring, capable and all-encompassing. It says enough that women naturally mature faster than men. The fact alone that men refrain from certain behaviors in fear of even remotely resembling a feminine demeanor should be disparaging enough. How telling of a man’s insecurity is it that outspoken girls are unattractive? And the fact that women feed this by abstaining from publicizing certain interests to retain male intrigue is most hurtful to womankind. Listen to the kind of music you want. Pursue whatever future you feel called to. Do as you wish with your body. Voice the views you hold and don’t suppress them just because it might annoy the boy sitting next to you. Beyond anatomically, women can do all things a man can, and then some, within the realm of the divine feminine. It’s time to become our own best friend because, let’s face it, the only guaranteed ride-or-die in our lives is ourselves! The patriarchy survives off the brainwashing of women into thinking a man must fulfill this. I don’t want to ride shotgun in a guy’s car, doing nothing other than playing dumb about sports or letting him mansplain trickle-down economics to me. I drive the car. And there is no aimless driving because I am a woman with direction who refuses to waste her time making a man feel good about himself. If good and submissive girls go to heaven, then bad girls get to stay on Earth, roll up their sleeves and fucking work. And if nice guys finish last, you better believe bad bitches finish first.

words JULIETTE PAYMAYESH

design RACHEL FRENCHMAN JACOB WALL

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Rema 16

design RACHEL FRENCHMAN

ade Issue 11

ANUSHKA MAHAPATRA design CASWELL SHAMBLIN

GABRIELLE DEBENEDICT design RHYTYM KUMAR

photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

JUANITA ECHEVERRY design ANABEL DENT

DANIEL HUANG design KEEGAN HANNAN

I Think I Colored Too Far Outside The Lines Hail Mary, full of grace — is the Lord with thee? My religion teacher’s lessons seemed to lack longevity. Getting older was much harder than I thought it would be, and the difference between the Lord’s interference and the cruel alignment of the stars is hard to see. A lifetime of Catholic schooling didn’t secure its lock with my key, and the tempting beauty of venial sins attracted me more than the misplacement I felt listening to the weekly Homily. Maybe I should go back to Bible study. I grew up hearing my teacher reiterate we must follow the hand Christ extends to us. Yet, I must’ve missed the class where cynical corruption was discussed. Her salient displays of fraud, praised by loud applause, built my disbelief brick-by-brick, and soon enough, I couldn’t ignore Judas’ tricks. I channeled my religious mistrust toward insatiable, devilish lust. Knowledge of Catholic controversies gave me an excuse to throw away its moral monopoly. Subsequently, my reasoning coincides with late onset infancy — I am not in my twenties, nor am I aware: I am a gullible child innocently batting my eyes and twirling my hair. Sins deceivably fill my newly hollow core where I previously had the Holy Spirit stored. I am granted the infallible liberty of free will, taking what the beautiful devil hides inside numbing pills. I equate myself with a beautiful daisy, one whose pretty petals cover up my questionable decisions that are hazy. I wish I could stand stagnant to be praised and admired instead of a lost girl whose own fall from grace I inspire. Destroying my values through dark desires, I didn’t realize the sacrifice of true happiness was required. Exquisite fun facilitated by rum falsely introduced by vibrant drums was followed only with a depressive slum. I can’t seem to figure out the tone in which to hum. One note too high, I crash in an attempt to meet angels in the sky. One note too low, I’m shaking hands with the devil in the depths below. I often ask, “If other animals don’t have moral codes, why should I?” Suppressing my cognitive ability to know right from wrong, in my fallacies, I’ll lie. Religion is imposed by society, anyway. It contains outdated, irrelevant policies that don’t apply to life nowadays. Saying I’m doing what’s best for me, cognitive dissonance rattles my brain as I knowingly violate my integrity. Not wanting to revisit the worn-out pew, I endlessly try to distract myself with something new. Catchy, deceitful chimes presented as sublime times that were only disguised moral crimes expedite my internal decay. I think of the dusty Bible on my desk while my hair turns gray. Remembering my teachers who saw me in God’s image, little do they know I only exemplified the Gospel for self-harming gibberish. I don’t know exactly where I went wrong, but I think I strayed too far. I lay on the grass, looking at the stars. Fucking up is the human experience, right? Am I able to go back to that first night? The one where I decided there’s no external meaning and used nihilism to kill my inner gleaming. I think I may need a permanent recleaning. I didn’t understand what was planned out for me, and I cursed it only to feel more suffering. I’m lost within the cruel crevices of the world, abandoning all I grew up on with no buffering. I may have dug myself too deep in this unholy sea, and I can’t tell what to believe in this manipulative odyssey. From now on, I accept my human ignorance of the universe’s will. May the Father, Son and Holy Spirit reconcile my cheap thrills and forgive me as I beg on this starry hill.

words PENNY GARZA

design RACHEL FRENCHMAN

design RACHEL FRENCHMAN photography GRACE BARNEY

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Questionable Fads, Bold Choices & Unconventional Rulings

The Answer Is No.

design JACOB WALL

Must All Good Things Return?

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Hot New Trends Have Entered The Villa If our society has taught us anything, it’s how to be trendy. The rise of social media has resulted in a constant flux of viral elements, bouncing us from one trend to the next. One thing remains true: Modern fashion is all about revival, bringing back the old with a funky twist. Recent fashion trends have been dominated by 80s and 90s reruns, especially with the return of slip dresses and baggy jeans. Though 90s fashion remains popular, mass media has moved into a Y2K obsession – known for low-rise jeans and questionable layering choices, the boldest trends of the early 2000s have established a foothold in modern fashion. Icons like Paris Hilton and Christina Aguilera popularized the low-rise skinny jean, and while we love the resurgence of lower waistlines, we’re happy to keep the skintight look a thing of the past. Current trends have elevated this trend to include baggy pants and micro skirts, often found paired with baby tees or cami tops. This fashion innovation is a fan-favorite, and we’re here for it. While the Y2K divas believed the lower the waistline, the sexier the outfit, today’s trends have proven that you don’t have to sacrifice your hip bones to pull off a low-rise look. Many of the boldest combinations of the Y2K age came in the form of excessive layering: we’re talking camis over long sleeves paired with those fingerless hand warmers that Avril Lavigne loved so much. Long tops stretching over jeans is the ultimate Elena Gilbert look, and we would’ve been completely happy if it had stayed in The Vampire Diaries. When done right, layering can take the best elements of an individual piece and unite them into a cohesive unit – but seriously, a lace spaghetti strap top over a striped long-sleeve? Speaking of individual pieces, let’s talk jewelry. The chic, petite jewelry of the “clean girl” aesthetic has ruled the internet recently, but statement pieces are making a comeback, and we couldn’t be happier. Accessories, a vital piece of style that can often be overlooked, are capable of elevating an outfit from a simple ensemble to an individualized expression. As festival season gets closer, the accessories get bigger – hell, even the 2016 choker trend has been making a reappearance. As social media continues to allow individuals to develop bolder and more expressive styles, it makes perfect sense that our jewelry choices will evolve to match. Some trends aren’t the result of evolution, though. Red elements have been a staple throughout fashion history: A versatile and adaptable color, red is one of the few colors that looks good on everyone. More than adding a pop of color, crimson tones can elevate an outfit to a statement. The flirty, feminine pinks of summer have matured into the strength and maturity of scarlet, perhaps representing the maturation of feminine society in the post-Barbie period. Though our society has been taking steps toward a more mature fashion sense, there are a few things holding us back. Namely, denim maxi skirts. They’ve had their time in the spotlight, but it’s time to retire them. We invite you to invest in boyfriend jeans, maybe a pair of cargos. (Low-rise baggy cargo pants. Trust.) Truth be told, there just doesn’t need to be that much denim as we move into the new year. Instead, we need order and stability in life and fashion, and we find it in office chic. Blazers, overt linework, micro belts – you name it, it’s in. There’s something so captivating about the dimensions of office attire, and incorporating these elements into common fashion is something we can absolutely get behind. For years, blazers and suits were associated with a strict corporate lifestyle, but this trend is proving that this doesn’t need to be the case. Office wear has evolved into streetwear, bringing a carefree attitude to a style so closely associated with stringent rules and deadlines. As the workforce continues to change, the culture around office clothing evolves alongside it, and we’re really hoping it sticks. The evolution of trends represents the places we’re going, inspired by the places we’ve been. Trends come and go, but fashion remains a mode of self-expression through it all. For new trends to rise, someone has to step out in a bold new combination that reminds others what fashion is really about: Your style is about what makes you striking, whether you decide to follow trends or step out in your own unique way.

words HAILEY PETRICCIONE

design JORDAN RAGSDALE

Strike Magazine Gainesville

BIBINA JOSEPH makeup ARIANNA YACOUBIAN hair LOLA SANCHEZ photography GRACE BARNEY

Issue 11

Strike Magazine Gainesville

My Three Moms In Office #08

“Good morning, Olivia! The copy machine is out of paper if you could please fill it up.” After I trudge over from my 8 a.m. class, I arrive just in time to open up the office and save the grad students from filling up the paper tray themselves. The fluorescent lights burn my eyes and amplify my headache. Every morning is the same: I grab the mail cart and struggle to open the many doors between the office and the first floor mailroom, deliver flyers and letters to professors, scan the thousands of syllabi stacked on my desk and answer the phone in my sickeningly sweet customer service voice. My one saving grace is wasting time chatting with my coworkers.

“Good morning, Lydia! How was your weekend?”

“It was a hoot. I sang at my trailer park’s annual party. We made a stage out of some old two-by-fours and my husband played the harmonica. I brought some smoked fish dip back with me and put it in the fridge if you want some!” The most mundane office job I could ever choose — a secretary for a college on campus. Yet, even though everything is beige and the pay is minimum wage, I love it. Lydia is my boss and the first friend I made in the office. She’s 50 years old and has the raspiest voice – oddly soothing, though. She wore prescription sunglasses at her desk for a week straight because she lost her reading glasses going to a party over the weekend. Every Monday, we debrief about our weekends — I find myself telling her things I didn’t even mention to my roommates. While her advice may not always be the most rational, it is always the brassest. For someone who cowers from confrontation, hearing the many places I should tell someone to shove it brings me a twisted sort of confidence I never knew I needed. 28

“Clear your schedule for next Wednesday. Office lunch at Chuy’s.” Marta is my boss’ boss. I’m pretty sure she just hired me for company — all of her kids are grown, and she spends at least half an hour a day talking to me about college life. She brings me bags of homemade cookies and cooked a meatloaf once for my friends and I to share. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no one wanted it. She has formed salient opinions about the fraternities on campus after my many explanations to her. Marta was, and still is, bewildered by the concept of woodsers. I find myself realizing how foolish some aspects of college life are when they’re contrasted with her real-world problems.

“Can we go to Sam’s Club after? I’m out of frozen chicken breasts.”

“As long as you’re driving.”

They pick me up from class in Turlington and we all venture out in Lydia’s SUV. Cara sits with me in the backseat. She is another person who works above me, although I have no idea what she does (or any of them, for that matter). Cara comes into the office only a few days a week, so most of what I know about her is through the loud FaceTime calls she makes in her office when the door is wide open. Her niece is an amazing tee ball player, from what I’ve heard.

Issue 11

“My son and grandkids are coming over this Sunday night. Should I try out a new recipe I found on Facebook for pineapple pork sandwiches or stick to my signature chili?”

When we get to Chuy’s, I sit in the middle of the long table and am quickly integrated into this makeshift family. I make small talk with professors who have written textbooks I’ve read for class. I share a basket of chips with the head of the department. Before long, Lydia is on her third drink and Marta promises to drive us home. Cara has been patting her head the whole lunch and complaining about her wig. The professors at the table laugh about political jokes while us office ladies mock their snobbery. We all engage in boisterous conversation while everyone runs up the company’s bill with apps and their own cards with margs.

“Maybe just a round for the table?”

“Let’s not scare off Olivia on her first company lunch. We wouldn’t want to lose our sidekick already.” When we get in the car, Cara rips off her wig and rides beside me in the backseat with her bald cap on. We are all laughing with the windows down as the wall separating us as boss and employee crumbles. We pull off at Sam’s Club and they treat me to family packs of Cheez-Its and protein bars. The rest of them buy ingredients to make dinners for their families. I role-play as a middle-aged woman as they all talk about their home lives. I feel such comfort in listening to the mundane highs and lows of real life — a reprieve from the insanity of college.

“You gotta stick to the chili. My husband still raves about it to this day. ‘Marta, why can’t you cook like that?’ And I just tell him, ‘If you want it done differently, do it yourself.’” They drop me back off at home and I call my mom in tears. I miss her so much. I miss my family and miss hearing about adult life. The days when I used to complain about my parents discussing taxes and ranting about zoning at the dinner table now have a nostalgic haze over them. When did I become so disconnected from the real world? I tell her how it felt like I was at home running errands. I tell her how much I regret not relishing every trip to the grocery store and not hanging on to every motherly piece of advice she gave me. I took this student job because I wanted extra cash for Friday nights and going-out sets. I planned to be as undetectable as possible and just clock in to do my homework. I did not plan to find pride in correctly distributing sweater catalogs to elderly tenured professors. I certainly did not anticipate that my place of work would become a sort of social club. Home-sickness in college is usually shown as missing your bed and your family and your dogs and your home-town eats. Never is it mentioned that the tedious, routine things would leave such a void in your life. The women I work with have provided me with such a feeling of comfort and hominess without even realizing it. Hearing about their grandkids and the office politics reminds me of life outside of this constricting campus. My three moms in Office #08 have adopted me into their own makeshift family. words OLIVIA EVANS 29

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Replic 30

design RACHEL FRENCHMAN

cate Issue 11

SLAYTER MAIGE SONALI VIJAY design DAVID WISHTISCHIN photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

design ANABEL DENT

The Girl In

Every morning I roll out of bed and walk by my mirror. And every afternoon and night. As I pass watching window sills or curious car doors or even the spying bath faucet, I see the girl looking back. She is sometimes smiling. People say they really like her smile. But in seconds she’ll be picking at her teeth or thighs or stomach. I know her ways. She’s beautiful. She is so flawed. There are hairs on her arms, and her stomach isn’t washboard flat like it was when she was 15. She is developed and has curves now – what all the boys want. And that’s what it’s all about, right? Appeasing to be the apple of man’s eye. I tell her that isn’t true, not these days. But it is already ingrained in her, subconsciously. It has been since before she even existed. Lucky for her, though, she’s got it – those parts. Yet as hard as she tries, there’s no way she could pull off the current low-waisted, tiny-top look that the titless girls can. To do so she’d have to be much thinner, but luckily she doesn’t go that far. She eats food because she wants to, but she beats herself up after, too. She has to stay skinny, or at least fit, and everything must have balance. A constant stream of simple calculations. She was good at math as a kid. She sees a new flaw every few months or weeks or days. She knows she is beautiful. But too often it is hard to believe. She cries for herself on occasion, during heavier times of each month. She cries for the existence of women. “Barbie” motifs and “Little Women” monologues circle through her head like the Roman Empire for men. We are so much more than what you make us out to be. We have minds as well as hearts. We can be lovely while also sexy, and we can be tough while also kind, and we can be attractive while also healthy. She really can do it all. Why do we have to do it all? She will always keep looking for more. A new fault of her reflection that only she could see. She doesn’t mean to or want to. It just is how she is. Some days, she will decide she looks perfect, how could she wish for anything more? But the next, she’ll look at herself and feel bloated, and she’ll forget about the days before. Who would I be without my mirror?

The Window It was a fleeting moment, a crossing through spaces, a brisk evening stroll. But I watched her pass the window of my drowsy workplace. She wore baggy jeans and a tiny white shirt. Her thick, nearly black hair cascaded perfectly down her chest. It swung as she walked, in sync with her entrancing energy. She looked at me, or past me; I’m not sure. And then she was gone. It was in that moment I found her. The woman I wanted to be. Her legs were long and her chest held high. And in a flash of her smile, I knew: she must win over every single soul she meets. She’s beautiful. She’s flawless. Her arms were long and graceful like a ballerina’s, and her body that of the classic models, the ones from Playboy. Those desired parts, perfectly curved and soft, contrasting from the rest of her that was toned and tight. What all the boys want. I run my hands over my flat mosquito-bitten chest and crumple to my knees inside. It’s ok, I can fix it. I will save $4,000 more, a few weeks for recovery, find a picture of her to show and then those too will be mine. Just as if they were real. Then I’ll be happy. I bet she has no worries, a girl as beautiful as her. Men, I mean shit, literally anyone, must drop at her feet in devotion. I wonder how many lovers she’s had, or maybe she’s too good for that. Maybe there’s only really ever been one. That would make sense, knowing her. She knows she is beautiful. She has no doubt. I’m only 18. I have plenty of time to change. I’ll get the gym membership, the hair and skin products, the baggy jeans, the tiny tops and one day the boob job. And then I won’t have to cry over who I am anymore. I will do anything it takes to one day be her. It will be my new game. My search for enlightenment in this mundane life of mine. And when I catch myself peering at watching windows or curious car doors she will always come to mind. Like a watchful guide, she will relentlessly remind me of who I am meant to be. She’ll never know I think of her like this. She’ll never even know I existed. But with one passing stride she gave me all I will ever see. Once I am like her, then I will be a true woman for sure. I will never again look for another flaw in me, just like the girl in the window. words ABBY JONES

design KEEGAN HANNAN

MAZIN SALEH makeup SASHA VERMA hair LINDSAY STAGNITTO photography KAT RETTINO

SHOP NOW STRIKEMAGAZINES.COM/SHOP

CEC WOOD-BARRON makeup JENA POORMAN hair LINDSAY STAGNITTO photography MATT BROWN ANNIKA THIIM

SHOP SHOPNOW NOWSTRIKEMAGAZINES.COM/SHOP STRIKEMAGAZINES.COM/SHOP

design CHLOE GIROD RACHEL FRENCHMAN

Seduce Me, Reduce Me As I walk him to the door, my gaze lingers on the crevice between the carpet and the cold wood flooring beneath my feet. I avoid the unnecessarily intimate eye contact that accompanies his departure and instead remember the excitement I once felt when my mother told me we could replace the carpet flooring in my bedroom with wood once I turned 13. A tangible transition from adolescence to adulthood — the allure of wood is just so mature. Now I am 20 and carpet graces my bedroom once again. But the wistful spirit of a 13-year-old girl, lying down and watching the fan, somehow didn’t stay with me. I suspect it wasn’t the carpet that inspired my horizontal repose, laying, dreaming of a world adorned with wooden floors everywhere. Now I wash my sheets for the second time this week. My unapologetic carelessness leaves him in the hall. He’ll find his way out. I revel in the authority of my autonomy — I do what I want whenever I want. Ironically, this was the mindset that inspired my youthful yearning to grow old. As he finally departs, I unravel the strings he sought to interlace. We spoke all night long, our darkest secrets, extrapolating the sincere, intimate connections only timeless companions can share. He had a terrible relationship with his mother. I wished I would have kept painting. Though I was only kidding. I left my capacity for vulnerability in my 13-year-old bedroom, embedded in the carpet floors. They turned into wood, and suddenly, I was too old for this, too young for that. And now I’m too emotional for him and too apathetic for myself. Navigating a balance between freedom and meaning is hard for a young adult girl who is too wrapped up in her own bullshit to pretend to care about a weak attempt to ravel her up in a pursuit of adoration. The next day comes. I have so much to do. So much to think about, and none of it involves you.

words OLIVIA HANSEN

KATELYN SPOHN makeup MAYA HIRSCH hair LINDSAY STAGNITTO photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

LINNEA ALBORN makeup JENA POORMAN hair LINDSAY STAGNITTO photography GRACE BARNEY

Strike Magazine Gainesville

NIRAJ PATEL makeup ARIANNA YACOUBIAN hair LOLA SANCHEZ photography GRACE BARNEY

Issue 11

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Hollywood’s Biggest Trophy Women — a formidable presence with a command to be heard. Their unwavering confidence is rooted in that of predecessors, in their spoken words and broken barriers.

airbrushed, skinny “perfection.” Cinematic shots zero in on women’s bodies in uncharacteristic situations, and screenwriting relentlessly depicts female submission to men, despite how independent they may be.

A dichotomy exists between society’s beliefs on how women should behave and the reality of their actions. Women are expected to be docile and unassertive creatures, especially in high-stakes industries such as film. In actuality, they leave no room for passivity or silence. Women of all fields in Hollywood let their voices be heard.

An invisible thread runs through Hollywood and the film industry, ever-present since the start of filmmaking — the male gaze. This gaze frames women as objects of pleasure for both male characters and viewers, often reducing them to physical attributes. It places women in a display box, with audience members watching each move in a sickly fashion. This is prime dehumanization, with every action written and rooted from the perspective and gratification of a man.

Hollywood is representative of more than its glitz, glamor and beauty; its women have maintained a reputation of quintessential feminist tenacity for decades. Women solidified their role in the media amid Hollywood’s Golden Age in the early 20th century, but their prominence in the industry began long before. The era of silent films first introduced women to the big screen as picturesque models. These films featured the most lavish women, whose jobs were limited to displaying the very beauty for which they were cast. This was the first time female popularity had superseded that of men in Hollywood, in the era when film failed to capture sound. Women first made a name for themselves in the industry during this time. Actresses like Mary Pickford amassed a popularity that rivaled even the biggest male actors. Others, meanwhile, acquired a popularity attributed to a single factor: their charm. Their unparalleled acting didn’t propel them to fame, but rather the fact that they were regarded as “eye candy.” This continued for decades, until female popularity in film plateaued with one simple addition to the industry: sound.

The glass ceiling is difficult to break through in the film industry. But even in a field seemingly against them, actresses persevere. Female directors have gained prominence and begun writing nuanced, multidimensional female characters who act on their own accord. Their actions do not depend on other people; their conflicts do not revolve around male protagonists.

Actresses, too, have not shied from going against the grain. The #MeToo Movement showed a groundbreaking rebellion against powerful men in the film industry. Most recently, women are spearheading the Writer’s Guild of America (WGA) Strike. The strike arose from demands for higher royalties and safeguards for jobs — though a driving force for women is gender discrepancies. The gender pay gap is widening and women are rarely awarded the same opportunities as their male counterparts. Female writers are historically underpaid, especially women of color. Their works are The height of the Golden Age was at best a patriarchal nightmare. Remove egregiously ignored, and the industry has underrepresented them for the thin layer of gold from this gilded era, and you can see the mistreatment of decades. So, they have taken to the streets. female actors in a space where they made up the majority. Men dominated the Big Five studios (Warner Bros., Paramount, MGM, Fox and RKO Pictures) that These forms of rebellion have incited change. The most revolutionary women controlled every aspect of the industry, and it seemed like any progression in history refuse to stand idle. They shout at the top of their lungs, throw the women had made completely dissipated. first punch and make controversial demands. For far too long women have stood behind a glass trophy case, on display for the world to critique. And There was no monumental case that changed the tides for actresses. In fact, though the similarities between Old Hollywood and today are uncanny in their women today continue to be portrayed as glorified visual attractions, often treatment of minorities, the women actively rebelling against the industry depicted as sex symbols. Their characters frequently lack substance beyond represent a new reckoning. Women are the token of Hollywood despite their the allure of their physical appearance. Decades of film have perpetuated the treatment. They are the indomitable human spirit. harmful notion that women must attract men to acquire self-worth, and it has words SOFIA BRAVO only dragged on since. Editors today alter women’s physical appearance to 46

MAYA IDICULLA makeup LAVONTE PATTERSON hair LOLA SANCHEZ photography GRACE BARNEY

Issue 11

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Céles 48

design CHLOE GIROD

ste Issue 11

Wishful Thinking We grow up with stories of three wishes, tales prompting temptations of the unthinkable — unlimited wealth, power and fame. As children, we imagine finding these genies and commanding them to make our dreams come true. How could we ever choose just three wishes? Kids want the world; they demand it. But at what point do those wishes become unintelligible? If you were offered anything and everything you ever yearned for at this moment in time, could you come up with one answer, let alone three? This confusion of desire… it plagues us. We pursue the studies, jobs, leisures and people that we were once so convinced we wanted, we needed. Then there comes a reckoning, some drawn-out dissatisfaction or burnout, and we’re pulled into this whirlwind of anxiety. Suddenly, we find ourselves confronted with the fear that we don’t know what we want. We question our structure of desires as a whole, reassessing our values. We wonder if we’ve ever truly known what we’ve wanted at all. Maybe it was always what the people around us wanted. It was only ever the things we thought we wanted. What we were supposed to want. Plato offers a seemingly simple answer to all our confusion. He held that human beings are essentially related to a reality that transcends our understanding. Our grasp of this reality is inchoate, but we have a desire to develop it. This striving towards understanding is our pursuit of happiness. What we truly want, and what structures our existence, is a desire for happiness. We always want what we essentially lack — and what we lack is sustained happiness. This desire for happiness is qualified as love. Thus, Plato considers us to be erotic beings committed to realizing happiness through loving beautiful ideas, people and structures. Beings with the singular desire for happiness, which we realize through loving. So where does it go wrong? After all, it’s an alluring idea: this image of us leading lives of loving, committing ourselves toapas a passionate existence. An existence that underlies our inherent aspirations for happiness. But we don’t always seem to want what’s best for us. In fact, it is overwhelmingly degrading the amount of times we are confronted with the realization that what we desire often brings us suffering. How many times have we loved people, ideas or activities that created anything but beauty and happiness? Importantly, it is axiomatic to the Platonic tradition that the realization of knowledge is happiness. And we 20-something-yearolds are notoriously ignorant. We are pursuing new experiences, constructing novel ideals and making terrible decisions. We are so brazen and brash that we move through this distinct stage of life cursorily. We are so inundated with realizations because we face the consequences of all our experiences so rapidly and at such high volume. Within a single semester you can change your major, fall in love, adopt a cat and get rejected from your dream internship. And as you live through these series of world collapses, your perceptions of yourself and others — your understanding of what desperately matters to you — is challenged time and time again. I’d like to think that this disorientation is not a fruitless confusion; it is perhaps the most productive form of fostering clarity. In the moments during which we feel most disconnected, we must confront the things directly before us. Our confusion is a vessel through which we build a new awareness. Maybe it is in the midst of what we have deemed as crises that we must listen to life telling us who we are. Our confusion is a symptom of a greater disconnect. It’s a call to action — an impetus for us to realize new knowledge that will guide further experiences. It’s a grounding in which we come into focus, where we can choose to reflect and see all the transient ripples of inner desire settle before us. The little whispering doubts, the glimmers of new hope — they don’t flicker in and out the way they do when we frenziedly pursue everything in the everyday. This disorientation frees us from remaining ignorant and becoming stagnant. We are always seeking to push beyond our current understandings and free our possibilities for being. Though in our normal everyday life, when we accept things as they are, we exist more passively. We exist less authentically. When we are in this state of confusion, however, unsure of what we want or why we want it, we gain an ability to reframe and change what matters to us. We unveil new possibilities. It is in those moments of confusion, where we seem to have the least bit of connection to our surroundings, when we are confronted with our innermost desires and they reveal themselves to us. What if we took these years to revel in the supposed confusion instead of becoming paralyzed by it? Commit yourself to the dizzying displacement from the everyday; celebrate the uncertainty. What if you could know everything you ever wanted? NAINA CHAUHAN

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NATHANIEL PARKES makeup LAVONTE PATTERSON fashion NOAH SAMS photography KAT RETTINO

VIJJEARA LONG makeup ARIANNA YACOUBIANN fashion JESSE PICKEL photography IAN ALVAREZ WARD

JEREMY LIU makeup AVA LODGE hair LOLA SANCHEZ fashion TABI HIGGINS photography ANNA CARRINGTON

RJ ELLIS makeup JENA POORMAN fashion KEEGAN HANNAN photography KAT RETTINO

NYAH COPPOLA makeup ALEXA MILLER hair LOLA SANCHEZ fashion HADLEY SUSA photography MARY KATE FARRELL

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Girls Meet Shrooms: A Tale Once upon a time, three girls took magic mushrooms and had the psychedelic journey of a lifetime. One August night, as summer was coming to a close, my best friends and I walked to the beach in our hometown for a sunset swim. The sand was cool against our skin, but the sun was bright in our eyes and warming our bodies. The typical brackish ocean water had transformed into a beautiful aquamarine. The mushrooms had kicked in. My two best friends and I had been inseparable since junior year of high school. We had lived most of our teenage experiences together, but this was a new adventure we were sharing. Tripping, as individuals, had always been a soulful experience, but tripping together was ethereal. It was particularly warm that night. I remember how encompassing the sun felt; it was humid, and the beach was busier than usual. A couple started a bonfire a few blocks down the beach. As the smoke blew in our direction and the smell of a summer flame filled the air, our bodies relaxed into what may have been the best psychedelic journey of our lives. The three of us, salty and sandy, sat beneath millions of stars, feeling minuscule compared to the vast galaxies. On this night, it was just me, Yazzy, Margo and the Universe. Despite people’s presence on the beach, no one was really there but us. At least, that’s how it felt. Then, we started to trip fucking balls. We came to several realizations, but the biggest of all was that we had found our platonic soulmates in each other. Through giggles and teary eyes, we delved into existential topics of love, internal acceptance and personal peace. That’s what mushrooms are all about — opening your mind and heart up to topics that otherwise may remain rigid in your head. We discovered our inner children needed some intense attention. The light-hearted laughter bubbling out of us and all of the nonsense that probably wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else were specks of the children we once were. These children were coming out again to play. The children we had buried with work and school are not gone: they’re just that — buried under years of stress, academic validation and hard-wired conditioning. Sitting under the stars with my friends, the world felt so big. It felt so endless. It felt so real. Throughout the night, the universe sent us signs that we were on the right path. Margo was talking about this unconditional love that she craves. As Margo talks more and more, she talks about her destructive behaviors keeping her from a pure love like the ones in the movies. Finally, Margo says, “I deserve to be loved unconditionally for who I am,” and the craziest shit happens. A huge, exploding shooting star zips across the sky. It’s so bright that, for a moment, the entire world is lit up in a pause. No one said a goddamn word. None of us had ever seen anything like it. Thirty minutes later, Yaz is talking about a mother’s love — how pure and primal it can be. She talks about how she feels her calling is to be a mother, how her children will be a product of unconditional love between two people. Another gigantic shooting star rockets across the sky. It was unbelievable. A star meant for Yaz — the universe was sending us signs. There’s just no other way to look at it. The timing was outrageous. Hardly anything separated us from the earth. Ocean waves blended with the dark sky, sand had worked its way into our hair and a lack of light made the stars shine like diamonds. A final shooting star came towards the end of our experience. She was mine. I told my friends if the universe didn’t trust my intuition, it would send me a lightning bolt (that was a pretty daring thing to tempt the universe with). If it did trust me, it would send me a shooting star. This motherfucking shooting star lit up the sky for what felt like 10 seconds. It was the biggest shooting star I’d ever seen. The shooting star trifecta was complete, and we could all walk away feeling like the universe heard and was with us. I felt weird for days afterward. We took a large amount of mushrooms; it was probably one of the most incredible nights of my life, and it’ll live on in our memories forever. The memory, now, feels intimate — delicate even — and I often reflect on it. I came out of this journey knowing more about my soul than I ever thought possible. I found what I needed to feed my soul — my mystic mushrooms, Margo and Yaz. If twin flames came in triplet form, that’s what we would be — to magic mushrooms, all their mystical powers and the best possible friends a girl could ever have. ELLA THOMPSON

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design KEEGAN HANNAN

Issue 11

JAIDEN BELMOND makeup ARIANNA YACOUBIAN fashion JON LOFERSKI photography MATT BROWN

photography ANNA CARRINGTON JOSHUA BLACKWOOD makeup ALEXA MILLER fashion ISABELLA CLARK

GISMAIRA MOTA makeup SASHA VERMA fashion DEVON LIMCANGCO photography GRACE BARNEY

KENDALL LAGANA makeup JENA POORMAN fashion HUNTLEIGH ZHANG assist. NOAH SAMS photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

JACOB FUHR makeup MAYA HIRSCH fashion MYA GENUARDI photography ANNA CARRINGTON

DOLENDA GEDEON makeup MAYA HIRSCH fashion PARIS MCKNIGHT photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

Celeste ,

by Strike

Strike Magazine Gainesville

Archiv 66

Issue 11

Intentionality in our styling was the driving force to our decision-making throughout Issue 11. Featuring cover models Linnea Alborn and Joshua Blackwood, Archive includes three silhouettes that we hope spark conversation to aggravate the standards and expectations of what defines fashion.

Art In Motion Runways are the dazzling nexus of the fashion world — a vibrant convergence of culture, fashion and innovation that constantly expands and challenges the perception of what is wearable and what is art. It is not only a gateway for both aspiring and household-name designers to unveil their boldest, most imaginative collections yet, but also for fashion trends that will define the hottest styles for years to come. Keegan Hannan, the current Creative Director of Strike Magazine Gainesville, is a runway fashion enthusiast. He is constantly inspired by the pioneering ingenuity of participating designers to think and be bold, an approach he has adopted not only in his outfit choices, but also in his approach to Strike Magazine’s creative direction. I spoke with Keegan to learn more about his passion for runway fashion.

What about runway fashion excites you?

I enjoy that runway fashion does not bind designers to restrictions, but instead encourages artistic exploration through performances and storytelling elements. I think it’s essential for designers to have a space where they can experiment with fashion as an art form free from the concerns of profitability; I think couture collections particularly present that opportunity. I also love how runways are great exposure for new and young designers alike — a viral moment at their fashion shows can be their breakthrough.

What do you look for when you’re evaluating runway pieces?

Uniqueness and innovation. I admire designers who don’t shy away from what’s considered different and atypical, but I also keep my mind open toward looks that might not be to my taste because an objectively good piece doesn’t exist. Fashion is subjective, so it’s entirely up to one’s perspective.

Does runway fashion influence your work as Creative Director for Strike?

I use runway shows, fashion houses and original sources like designer websites for creative inspiration because that helps me avoid using something seen a thousand times on social media. Also, I love seeing how fashion houses wield advertising, graphic design and runway performance to reinforce their brands and personas, which challenges me to continue expanding the limits of Strike’s creative direction.

What are some fashion houses you really like?

There’s Ann Demeulemeester, which does interesting layering and gender-neutral clothing that is very similar to my personal style. I would also say Jil Sander because its clothing is timeless but never boring. Timeless fashion can be oversimplified, but Jil Sander does it in a way that is always attention-grabbing. I also love Comme Des Garçons — the fashion house’s designs are always fantastic, and I constantly pull advertising and graphic design inspiration from their communications.

Are there any fashion events you look forward to?

I love tuning in to the Met Gala. Not only is it huge and many designers’ works are featured there, but you can also see how the personalities of the celebrities harmonize with the work of the designers to present compelling looks. For example, my favorite Met Gala look was Lady Gaga’s five-outfit performance for the 2019 Camp theme — that was fashion as performance art! It was big and dramatic, and I love anything super extravagant for no reason. I also enjoy watching runway shows, award shows and movie premieres not only to see how celebrities wear designer outfits in a way that reflects their personal style, but also because it’s exciting to see the muse-style relationship between a designer and celebrity.

Speaking of extravagance, people often question runway fashion’s potential to become commercial clothing. What do you think of these concerns?

I don’t care if it’s wearable. There’s a time and place for that, and runway fashion isn’t it. Wearability is not necessarily the point of runway fashion because runway fashion is an art form. There’s more to runway fashion than what meets the eye. It will always remain an enigma to many because it audaciously rejects practicality to embrace unconventional forms and functions of clothing. Yet, just like technological advancements and scientific progress, runway fashion is an indicator of our society’s innovation and evolution. Strike Magazine Gainesville celebrates the bold minds who transcend conformity and broaden expression to set new fashion precedents, because they inspire us to dare to dream and be whoever we want to be.

words DANIELLA ALFONSO

LINNEA ALBORN makeup JENA POORMAN fashion KEEGAN HANNAN TABI HIGGINS NOAH SAMS photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

JOSHUA BLACKWOOD makeup AVA LODGE fashion KEEGAN HANNAN TABI HIGGINS NOAH SAMS photography KATALINA ENRIQUEZ

Contributors

Thank you to our models and partners.

Models Linnea Alborn Nicole Ballesteros Jaiden Belmond Joshua Blackwood Jeffrey Carmichael Nyah Coppola Gabrielle DeBenedict Juanita Echeverry RJ Ellis Jacob Fuhr Dolenda Gedeon Daniel Huang Maya Idiculla Sanjana Imandi Bibina Joseph

Kendall Lagana Jeremy Liu Vijjeara Long Jean-Stephane Lopez Anushka Mahapatra Slayter Maige Gismaira Mota Chadé Nersicio Mazin Saleh Katelyn Spohn Nathaniel Parkes Niraj Patel Sonali Vijay Cec Wood-Barron

Partners How Bazar National Vacuum Print It of South Florida Rob Bailey, Center for Online Learning and Technology

design JACOB WALL