Rebirth

Shoot Staffers: Jaime Schmidt, Rose Jackson, Lexi Kreimeier, Marriana Gutierrez, Isabella

Dabage, Lalo Ambris

Beauty: Emily Rojo, Mariana

Avila

Model: Vanessa Grimaldo, Haley

Nichols

Photography: Lalo Ambris

Videography: Joelle Stressler

Layout: Taylor Kirby

While overthinking our “casual” social media posts has certainly become a symbol of our desire to conform, it can also be compared to the perceived “threat” of social liberties. In the 1300s, hoards of people would assemble to witness the heinous act of a public beheading, becoming numb to such atrocity. However, this method of public consequence that became mundane to us centuries ago has taken a less literal and less gruesome form: the “decapitation” of our public personas as a tenet of modern-day cancel culture.

This public disavowment of someone’s character online is born of our current standards for acceptable behavior, paired with the permanence of the digital sphere. When our historical counterparts chose to condemn someone so publicly, it served as a warning to all not to partake in any sinful behaviors. Now, deleted posts and old videos are all republished for all to scrutinize the controversial actions of the “cancellable” target. For some public figures, they lose brand sponsorships, work opportunities, and a chunk of their fanbase. Once the online persona is attacked and “killed,” the public searches for its next target. But, contrary to the permanence of a beheading, axing a public persona is not as withstanding.

Cultural trends tend to oscillate between extremes on the social spectrum, causing the temporary emphasis on holding one individual accountable to shift as the internet names the newest target to criticize. Not only does this delegitimize the cancellation of the initial target, but it allows them to rebrand in a warped attempt at trying to salvage their public image while people are distracted by the actions of others. This concept of “no one can say anything about me that I have not already said about myself,” trumps any calls for accountability or public apologies, as reposts only fuel the “cancelability” and just publicizes them more.

The shortcomings of these “virtual executions” have given the people who choose to rebirth themselves as controversial public immunity. Sheer volume alone makes it increasingly difficult to follow who is “in” and who is “out,” causing fans and artists alike to stop trying and curate a persona based off of whatever their platform is – wart, racist comments, and all. Like public beheadings going out of style, cancel culture no longer inspires the same fear that it used to. And with that, a new form of accountability will eventually take its place.

The irrational belief that the number thirteen represents bad luck, possessing the evil power to wreak havoc and cause psychological destruction to those who find themselves in its realm, has been a longstanding superstition in Western culture since… Well, nobody knows for certain. The number thirteen is typically seen as bad luck, cursed, or haunted, in American culture. However, some buildings utilize this floor for mechanical purposes, as to not waste space but also to keep up with the belief for the sake of others… or so they say. Others base their fear on conspiracy theories, such as the government using the 13th floor of its buildings to carry out secret projects. Thirteen is often associated with negative symbolism, such as the superstition that death falls upon whoever dares to be the thirteenth guest at a dinner party. The number in terms of dates, coincidentally, hasn’t been so lucky either. Haven’t you noticed that something sinister always happens on Friday the 13th? They didn’t make a movie out of it for nothing. Still, few strive to break down this superstition and prove to others and themselves that there is nothing to fear from a number, like Sarah, Anthony, and Amber. The group has checked into rooms on the hotel’s 13th floor. They are seeking rest from their travels, and hopefully, that is just what they’ll find, because it’s just a number, right?

The old floorboards cracked under the three pairs of feet as the group slowly crept from the elevator. The walls around them were unsettlingly dull, gray splits in the wallpaper littering the corners. On one part of it, big wooden letters boldly displayed the number thirteen, which stared back at them dauntingly, as if it was calling to them. Chills slowly crept down Sarah’s back, as her eyes darted from Anthony’s, then Amber’s, and then back in the direction of the wooden letters. Sarah didn’t want to be the one to make them turn back, they’d visited so many hotels and were visibly exhausted. Sarah wanted nothing more than to peel her sneakers off and lay her head on a cardboard pillow. Wanting to do just that, she edged forward, searching for their room number. As they passed beat-up doors in the dimly lit hallway, an ominous chill sailed through the air. The hair on the back of their necks pricked up in unison, and Sarah turned around to check on Anthony and Amber. For just a moment, rather than being met with the faces of her best friends, a flash of ivory white skulls with yellow teeth were staring back at her, slowly opening their mouths as if they were going to consume her whole. Fear washed over her entire body and she slammed her eyes shut. When she reopened them, Amber and Anthony were staring back at her with confused and scared looks on their faces.