ISSUE THIRTEEN: POWER by STYLO

No.13

STYLO is an online magazine based in Melbourne. Every issue revolves around a different theme. Contributions are always welcome and are open to anyone. This is the first issue to be printed. www.stylo.live stylocontributions@gmail.com facebook.com/stylozine instagram.com/stylomagazine

Published by Andie Phillips October 2018 RMIT University 25 Dawson St Brunswick 3056 VIC Australia ISSN 2209-878X No part of this publication may be reproduced without the permission of the author.

Contents Foreword

Contributors

Playlist

Finding Freedom in Exile

Power Hungry

There Are Absolutely No Gay Balinese People

Beauty is in the I of the iPhone

Open Up

CPHBER

Toxic Masculinity

Three Phrases Along Upfield Bike Path

Mxyomatosis

Flaneur

100

Drawing Resilience: Permanence Through Ephemerality

120

Observation Journal, China

126

Acknowledgements

138

P oi

â&#x20AC;&#x201D;

R ot te r

FI FR ND IN E IN ED G OM "What is evident in the music of the Brotherhood is their sense of freedom. As drummer Louis Moholo described, the concepts of musical freedom and personal freedom are inextricably linked."

FINDING FREEDOM IN EXILE

“I’ve been gone. Much too long. And I plan to say, that I’m home, I’m home to stay. Africa, Africa, I’ve come home, I’ve come home.” The South African singer Sathima Bea Benjamin sang her highly emotional 21-minute long Africa on her 1976 album 'African Songbird'. As the shouts of Africa, Africa grow, accompanied by a wild groove, the sense of yearning for her home country becomes apparent. The sixties proved a difficult time for many South African jazz artists, and for Sathima Bea Benjamin alike. The Apartheid regime had made life impossible for those who made a living of their music. As such, the South African jazz community was forced into exile. Indeed, Benjamin had been gone, for much too long. A multi-racial society was always the biggest fear for the leaders Opposite: Sathima Bea Benjamin in 1974 First page: Abdullah Ibrahim in 1959; Nelson Mandela

of South Africa. A multi-racial society could bring down the carefully constructed Apartheid state. It so happened to be that jazz in South Africa was a multi-racial community and brought down these racial structures. For instance, in the white suburbs of Johannesburg, Jewish families hosted African musicians. In this environment, African musicians enjoyed a friendly atmosphere where integrated groups could jam together: “in this milieu of social ambiguity and underground resistance even interracial love affairs were not unheard of despite the fact that under strict South Africa’s sex laws stiff penalties were laid down against all black and white 'shenanigans'.” Furthermore, jazz was cultivated as the music of ‘the hip’. Secret rendezvous were organised where a mixed crowd could enjoy the South African jazz scene. As such, jazz had been “threatening to burst the very seams of Apartheid”. 11

FINDING FREEDOM IN EXILE

In response, the South African men in power made life increasingly difficult for racially mixed bands and audiences. This became especially true after the Sharpeville Massacre in 1960. In response to the pass laws which would severely limit the free movement of large parts of the South African people and would increase the already existing segregation. A crowd of 5,000 to 10,000 protesters went to the police station in the South African township of Sharpeville to voice their anger. The police responded by opening fire on the group, killing 69 people in the process. After the Sharpeville Massacre the government called upon both the State of Emergency and the enforcement of the Separate Amenities Act that effectively barred Coloured musicians from playing in white venues. Less and less opportunities were available to jazz musicians in South Africa and some of them went 'into exile'. There is some debate about the term ‘in exile’, since these musicians weren’t ordered to leave the country, but left voluntarily. Artists like Sathima Bea Benjamin, her husband Abdullah Ibrahim — also known as Dollar Brand — singer Miriam Makeba and a loosely formed

Opposite: Louis Mohola and Dudu Phukwana Inset: Soweto Uprising led by youth, June 1976

group, The Blue Notes, consisting amongst others of Chris McGregor, Dudu Phukwana and Louis Moholo, all left South Africa for either Europe or the United States. They may have left voluntarily, but many of them had their right to citizenship revoked after they left. Only in spirit were they still South African. “We would either have to shut up completely or we’d have to leave. And that’s when we decided to leave, in 1961, because it became impossible not only do jazz but to do any kind of music. It became very repressive,” is what Benjamin would later say about her 'voluntary' exile. Jazz in South Africa already had a long tradition. It formed much in the same way as it did in the United States, musicians perfecting their art through performances in nightclubs, dances, and other venues. 13

FINDING FREEDOM IN EXILE

Uniquely South African was the emergence of artists who imitated popular artists as closely as possible. Since — for example — the real Dizzy Gillespie would rarely set foot in South Africa, local artists would imitate the music, the look and the style to form a fairytale universe where it seemed Dizzy Gillespie had come all the way from the United States to perform in South Africa. Another distinctive part of the South African jazz scene was the emergence of Cape Jazz. Originating in the most southern part of South Africa, Cape Jazz, spearheaded by The Jazz Epistles including Abdullah Ibrahim, incorporated a distinct South African voice within the jazz idiom. The 1974 composition Mannenberg is regarded as the definite Cape Jazz track. Mannenberg refers to a township in Cape Town.

Opposite: Basil Coetzee in Cape Town, 1970 Above: Miriam Makeba

Like many others, saxophone player Basil Coetzee and his family were forced to move to Mannenberg. The 13-minute long track starts out with Abdullah Ibrahim setting the theme before Basil Coetzee takes over on saxophone duty. A long, hauntingly beautiful solo awaits, backed by the constantly comping Ibrahim, joined by the small brass section who harmonise with Coetzee’s playing. What makes this track so remarkable is that it feels like hope, instead of anger. The seventies marked a brief return from exile for Benjamin and Ibrahim, who were by then married. Mannenberg immediately hit a mark within the South African community, being considered the 'unoffical national anthem', and the theme tune of the Anti-

“We would either have to shut up completely or we’d have to leave. And that’s when we decided to leave, because it became impossible not only do jazz but to do any kind of music." 15

FINDING FREEDOM IN EXILE

Apartheid movement. Ibrahim even reported that this particular song reached the ears of Nelson Mandela while being held captive on Robben Island. The story goes a lawyer smuggled the record with him to Robben Island, where music was banned, and played it over the loudspeakers in the control room. Upon hearing Mannenberg, Mandela reportedly said: “Liberation is near.” While Ibrahim had reached relative international recognition, touring his life extensively in Europe and North

Opposite: The Blue Notes before exile

America, a different part of the South African jazz community settled in London. The group The Blue Notes consisted of Louis Moholo, Johnny Dyani, Chris McGregor, Dudu Pukwana, Mongezi Feza and Nick Moyake. Only McGregor was white, the others black. In 1964, they left for France, but would not return to South Africa. Eventually, they settled in London where they would make their name within the striving free improvisation scene. Their artistic peak came within the formation of the Brotherhood of Breath. A big band created in the late ‘60s that integrated many South African jazz artists living in London, as well as many English free jazz musicians. It has been dubbed “among the more neglected major groups in jazz history” and their sound is described as “a big band as sophisticated as Duke Ellington’s, but as riotous as a New Orleans street parade.”

What is evident in the music of the Brotherhood is their sense of freedom. As the drummer Louis Moholo described, the concepts of musical freedom and personal freedom are inextricably linked.

Upon entering Europe, Moholo immediately felt a part of himself being awakened: “It was in me before then but I didn’t recognize it until I came overseas. I could feel freedom straight away.” The freedom experienced in Europe led to a period of truly free musical exploration for all the former members of The Blue Notes. What makes their music so remarkable is not only their sense of freedom, but also their sense of home. The township influence is always close to the surface. The South African jazz community found freedom in places without an Apartheid regime, a regime that would last until 1990. While not all South African artists used their music as a political tool, although some certainly did, the sense of freedom one gets while listening to a Brotherhood of Breath album, or the sense of hope one gets while listening to Mannenberg is what I think is the essence of South African jazz. Even though they escaped Apartheid, it would still remain a formative element within their music. As such, South African jazz forms an important chapter within the jazz history as a whole, and in protest music as a whole.

When Benjamin proclaimed that “she had come home to stay”, racism was still rampant, and eventually she would leave South Africa again. Only in 2011 would she return to Cape Town, before passing away in 2013, aged 76. On this soil, she will stay forever. OSCAR POIESZ

Power

Hungry Andie Phillips â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Melbourne

TARA SUAMBA â&#x20AC;&#x201D; MELBOURNE

THERE ARE ABSOLUTELY NO GAY BALINESE PEOPLE "THIS IS A STORY ABOUT THE POWER OF REPRESENTATION OR, RATHER, A LACK THEREOF."

Words/photos: Tara Suamba

Story telling is one of the most powerful tools we have. When I think of power, I automatically think of representation and story telling. The stories we are told of our history shape our understanding of the world we presently live in. The films, television programs, books and art we consume can validate the experiences we have had. They teach us, and the people around us, what we are capable of achieving and whom we may someday be — offering us anchors to our own identity. They influence the ways in which we relate to ourselves and how society relates to us, enabling communities to develop an understanding of themselves. When we see coherent narratives played out before us that reflect our own experiences and appearances, we are given the tools to better understand ourselves — validating our pains and joys. But what happens to our identity when the society we live in does not offer us that space? This is a story about the power of representation or, rather, a lack thereof.

When I first moved to Western Australia from Bali, I became unhealthily obsessed with the Spice Girls. I remember dressing up and performing sub-par re-enactments of their video clips but I also remember always being frustrated. I wanted desperately to be Lesbian Spice but I was only ever allowed to be Black Spice. My seven-year-old self grew tired of arguing with my screaming peers and would settle into the role they’d assigned to me. For book week the following year, my Dad made me a Hermione Granger outfit to wear. I looked fucking dope! I had a wand and shit, it was sick. One by one, the class took turns standing up and showing off our costumes. When it was eventually my turn, I didn’t get the response I so wholly deserved. Instead, I was told that I couldn’t be Hermione because she wasn’t brown and I had to pick a different character. I could maybe be Parvati and just fade slowly in and out of the background of the books narrative.

Flash-forward to 1999, the then-four piece Destiny’s Child drops 'The Writing’s on the Wall' leading with smash hit, Say My Name. I was pumped! I listened to that song over and over again, celebrating those beautiful women. When I announced to my classmates that I would go as Beyoncé to the celebrity themed Blue Light Disco, it was again met with disdain. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t black enough to be anyone from Destiny’s Child. For me, these are early moments in my development that marked a life long struggle. I realised that there were roles I could or could not play in our society based upon narratives we shared and it certainly was not up to me to decide whom I could be. I have many stories like this, where my identity either fell into the too dark or too white category at the mercy of those around me. Many times being told I am too white passing to claim racial oppression but living with experiences that are similar to people of colour's, like being called a c**n or n***** by strangers on the streets. I am half Balinese and half white. I am visually difficult to place, I confuse people and it makes them violent towards me. My racial identity is not allowed to exist in our society. I learnt that in my whiteness I could feel safe, when I was with my mum people never called us slurs but walking with my dad, people would be much crueller to us.

Growing up we didn’t have money so we watched a lot of mainstream television for entertainment. I didn’t see a single character that was dark skinned and portrayed positively in those early days. When I did see someone, I felt like I couldn’t idolise that person because I was not black enough and it left me without a role model. I could admire them, sure but I couldn’t aspire to be like them, I wasn’t allowed to but it was decided that I was white. To complicate things further I am also gay. Like just really, really, really gay. All my life I was confident that I would be with women forever. I absolutely loved them from such a young age and oh, how I continue to do so.There are no gay Balinese people though. I hadn’t seen gay people represented on screen but I knew about them because I’d met some tourists that were gay. It was different for Balinese people. The deep ingraining of the caste system meant women in my village were often shamed and exiled for marrying low caste men. High caste men are excused; they may marry whom ever they desire. If they take a low caste woman, she will bare high caste children but the same does not apply to women. The thought of what would happen to me if they knew I was gay terrified me. Would my family disown me? Would they spit on me if they saw me on the streets? Would they perhaps kill me? I couldn’t be a gay Balinese person - there are none? I remember thinking that I was definitely gay though, all of me was gay … but I was only half Balinese.

Female Asian sexuality is habitually represented as passive by our white society. We know the stereotypes perpetuated by the characters written for them to play on screen. We are shy virgins, money chasers searching for a white husband to embrace our subservient, eager-to-please domestic ways. We have no autonomous sexuality of our own. We have no masculine traits, oozing in the femininity of our traditional garments. We are certainly never gay! Gay, dark skinned, masculine Asian women? A ridiculous, nonsensical concept! How could I be who I was, while the narratives that bound my Asian heritage restricted me so much? It was then that I realised I was also half white. By embracing my whiteness I could embrace the endless freedoms it offered. I saw the diversity of white roles play out on every television show and movie. White people could do anything! I knew, that white people could even be gay. It was easy to box off and seal up my Balinese heritage. I stuffed it down deep, deep inside of me and locked it up behind layers of shame and fear. What did it matter? I was only half Balinese anyway. I left that part alone in total darkness; I hated it.

Over the years my queer identity flourished. I bought DVD’s with lesbian storylines off eBay. I stayed up late to watch The L Word on SBS every Wednesday night at 9:30. I obsessed over Emily and Naomi’s storyline from season 3 of Skins. Gay storylines moved onto mainstream television and that part of my identity felt so validated. I learnt how to become a very good gay. That’s not to say Perth is some kind of gay utopia quite the opposite really. I’ll never forget being spat on when I held hands with a girl on an escalator. It was a very hard and challenging time but it was valid. People didn’t question my sexuality in the same way they questioned my mixed race. They never said I wasn’t gay enough or that I was too gay. Through my sexuality, I had access to some kind of community. My sexuality existed where my racial identity simply couldn’t. I became defensive when people would ask me where I was from. The entitlement hidden within that question is an ongoing struggle and I was angry because I was doing my best to fit into white society. I’d hide from the sun so I never got too brown and spoke Australian slang. I was born here, my mother was white, I was white enough and everyone needed to stop asking me and just fuck off! But my skin colour and features continued to betray me. Some days, I’d struggled to look in the mirror — I was so foreign to me.

It took a very long time for me to understand the coping mechanisms I’d developed as a child. I moved around a lot in my early adult years, living abroad and distracting myself from unpleasant thoughts with fun new environments. Eventually, I settled in Melbourne. Last year a thought crept into the back of my mind — I may have done something terrible to myself. I couldn’t remember my family name, the name of the king we were descendants from. I couldn’t remember what my god was called. My panic attacks became very bad. I dreamt of Bali. I would dream of my Aunt - how we would go to the market together every morning, of flying kites and collecting tadpoles in jars, of my pet chickens and that one rooster that slept in my bed with me. In revisiting the memories I suppressed for so long, I could see all of the times my dad protected my masculinity from ridicule, allowing me to perform cultural rituals only for men. I would wake with tear stained pillows. Perhaps my fear was unjustified? My dad and our family had only ever loved and supported me.

"PEOPLE DIDN’T QUESTION MY SEXUALITY IN THE SAME WAY THEY QUESTIONED MY MIXED RACE. THEY NEVER SAID I WASN’T GAY ENOUGH OR THAT I WAS TOO GAY. THROUGH MY SEXUALITY, I HAD ACCESS TO SOME KIND OF COMMUNITY. MY SEXUALITY EXISTED WHERE MY RACIAL IDENTITY COULDN’T." Just a few months ago, I went back to Bali. I learnt about my culture - the complexities and beauty of Hinduism. I visited temples my ancestors built and spoke my language, my Balinese accent returning. My queer identity had feared my Balinese self but in its purest form, my culture only required me to love myself. I bathed twice a day with holy water, an exercise in gratitude for my body and meditated daily, an exercise in gratitude for my mind. One afternoon, on a pensive walk around my village the reality of what I had done to myself for all those years came crashing down — I was not half anything. My Balinese identity encompassed me in my entirety. I’d rejected all of myself in an attempt to validate my sexuality and to trick myself in believing I had the luxury of whiteness.

The power of representation is enormous and the lack of representation waged a war within me for some twenty years. I never even noticed until it almost killed me. It breeds disgust and self-hatred — I was inherently undesirable. Who I was didn’t deserve any space and my narrative was worthless. Because my experiences were never validated, I felt my struggles were completely alien … I was entirely alone. Those parts of myself are still learning to exist together and they’re trying but it is difficult. I have done a tremendous amount of work to make sense of them internally but the resistance around me, in both of the cultural contexts I move in still persists. I cannot be gay in Bali, I am expected to marry a high caste man to pass down my caste privilege otherwise I am selfish. I have certain liberties in Australia but I struggle with racism. Partners I have had do not want any potential future children to participate in Balinese rituals or customs and that rejection is so painful because it is all of who I am. Parts of my identity are constantly struggling to be seen and I fight just to feel whole. Regardless of what limitations society teaches me exists, I know gay Balinese people are real because that is who I am. Perhaps I am the first and only for now but I know that there must be others and I want them to know that they are not alone.

I understand that it is not that simple though, as saying I am wholly Balinese. I wish I knew what it was like to be entirely one or the other but I don’t and I don’t ever think I will. I exist in a third space where my experience and understanding of the world is neither entirely Eastern nor Western. It’s hard to make sense of and god damn it, I wish I had a role model to help me or knew that others struggled in the same ways I do. I have been taught so much shame and to constantly remind myself that that shame is not mine is exhausting, some days I am not strong enough and I dip into my old mindset. I want desperately to break the cycle of being forced to reject part of myself in the hopes of gaining and respecting the other parts of myself. To be a proud mixedrace gay woman in our society takes a lot of sacrifice. We learn from the stories we hear and those not told. They show us, and the people around us what we are capable of achieving and who we may someday be. More minorities deserve to share all the beauty, complexities and heartache that are entrenched within our stories because we deserve to exist in this society.

TARA SUAMBA

"REGARDLESS OF WHAT LIMITATIONS SOCIETY TEACHES ME EXISTS, I KNOW GAY BALINESE PEOPLE ARE REAL BECAUSE THAT IS WHO I AM."

Words/illustration: Camilla Eustance

Beauty is in the An exploration into the power of the digital self-image

'I' of the iPhone Camilla Eustance â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Melbourne

Digital You

There are many wonderful things about social media, from connecting and communicating instantly with friends and family regardless of location, to sharing memories, events, achievements and ideas. We use it to find jobs, homes, lovers and solace. But, as with any good thing, there’s a couple of drawbacks, and one of them is that you can’t quite be yourself. Instead, you need to manoeuvre around the digital world through a manufactured digital self. One key condition of social media is that the digital self needs to appear to be ‘better’ than your non-digital self. This is a problem because your digital self becomes a highlight reel, giving others the unconscious illusion that you live that life that you are that. Social media, with its glaringly visible ‘likes’ and ‘followers/friends’ system, makes the intangible tangible. When Gen Y was in the early years of high school, it wasn’t quite clear who was popular and who wasn’t. I seem to remember that popularity relied on loudness, sportiness, funniness, or attractiveness, and there was a vague consensus among the year - but it certainly wasn’t ranked explicitly (that would have seemed evil, summoning to mind ‘The Burn Book’). Now, you can see who is ‘popular’ and — you can even see the posts that help to make them popular. The numbers tell all, and in this straightforward world, 5,000 followers means that you’re more popular than someone who has 500 followers. (Sidenote: we really need to remember that popular on social media isn’t necessarily popular IRL!) Your classic Instagram influencer, for example. Do we really know what she’s like from the endless posts of her and her cleavage on beaches, in gym gear or sipping cocktails? No, that’s her digital self. But people do love her digital self! The 46.9K likes of her sun-kissed formation of pixels repeated in various settings, poses and outfits are clear evidence. But is her digital self the same self as she is offline? Unlikely. She might have a really tense relationship with her mother, or an embarrassingly silly sense of humour, but it’s likely that next to none of her two million devoted followers would know. Because she’s got the looks, the lifestyle, the aesthetic — and that’s what is important on this medium. The images are what count. However, the more we merge into a constant connectivity — the digital and non-digital self are hard to prise apart — they easily become one and the same. Our Insta influencer’s ego is tied up in her two-dimensional digital self, because it seeks to represent her IRL blinking, talking, smiling three-dimensional self. Especially if it is her full-time job to promote brands that reinforce her looks. But the digital and non-digital self are two separate things, in two different forms!

Selfies

For the millennials that we are, it seems that selfies are now comfortably ingrained into the texture of our everyday experience. Barely does a day go by on public transport that you don’t see a fellow commuter slyly bat their lashes or furrow their brows pensively at the small rectangle in their hand and snap an image into digital immortality. Likewise, barely does a day go by on social media that you don’t see the beautiful face of someone you know staring nonchalantly out at you from your newsfeed. Yes, we’ve looked with fascination into our reflections since long before Narcissus drowned in his own — but as many baby boomer conservatives warn, it seems clear that the ‘narcissism epidemic’ is going to persist, parallel to the increasingly gargantuan amount of data we see on our newsfeeds every day. A good friend of mine recently remarked that she was experimenting with her Instagram profile, with the explicit aim of seeing what most people like. Or, what people most like. (Or, what people are mostly like.) She discovered, inevitably, that when she posted a picture of herself, eyes flirtatiously directed towards the soul of the camera, wine glass in hand — her likes increased almost threefold. Three times more than her other more unique, more considered posts. What does this say about today’s social capital? Are we digitally sliding in on ourselves? And furthermore, what hope does a non-digital self have?

The Question

Why does social media reward narcissism? I’ll take a step back. Given that social media can be seen as a reflection of society, why then does our society reward narcissism? I’m not really going to answer the question, because this is just an exploration. Just a discussion with myself (..how apt). As we know, we live in a capitalist society, and this having an impact on our identities is unavoidable. If capitalism and its predominantly meritocratic, individualistic values mark out the way that we in the western world live, of course it’s going to shape everything about us, down to the way that we look at ourselves in the mirror. And if society is perpetually reinforcing ways we should be or ways we should look, then we’re not just looking at ourselves in the mirror — we’re looking at society looking at ourselves in the mirror.

Social Capital

Being beautiful, or cool, or super-fit, or body-positive, or etc., etc., is social capital. Though some of these categories are relatively new, things like this have been a form of social capital throughout history. (Is it the weird hybrid result of having merged the cold and hungry Brillo box world of capitalism with the very human, forgiveable need for approval?)

"Our identities no longer simply exist only in our threedimensional bodies and the minds of others. Our identities are also ever-present now up in the cloud of cyberspace with the image being the main currency of the medium."

So how and why is the millennial social capital different from the pre-digital past? It seems that what’s different now is that the ‘being beautiful, cool, etc.’ is displayed for all to see, all the time. I could jump on Facebook at 3:30am any night and still be able to view the entire contents of my coworker’s engagement party photo album from 2011. Our identities no longer simply exist only in our threedimensional bodies and the minds of others. We’re no longer just matter confined to a certain time, space or memory. Our identities are also ever-present now up in the cloud of cyberspace with the image being the main currency of the medium. So the idea of identity is emphasised through its omnipresence! No wonder it now feels so urgent.

The Image Society

Anyone out there who’s studied post-modernism in some form, you’ll probably have heard of Guy Debord’s Society of the Spectacle. Despite the fifty year disparity, his thoughts have some pretty clean links to this topic. One of the most significant notions in Debord’s 1967 book is “the obvious degradation of being into having… and from having into appearing”. He sees our identities as more than ‘who you are’ - it’s ‘what you are’, and therefore, ‘what you have.’ So he’s simply turning what you are into something that you have. You own your beauty. You have it, and so you can use it. And then the next part of the quote, ‘from having into appearing’, is directly addressing the power of the image. You’re using what you appear to have for social capital — all of which is communicated through an image. That’s the image of you having brunch with your girlfriends, or the image of you pouting with your new septum piercing, or the image of your new tattoo impressively high up on your inner thigh. They’re all spectacles - they incite something in the viewer through their message of identity. They’re showing the viewer “this is who I am (these are my assets)”. Here’s my identity; here’s my individuality.

Echo Chamber

Individuality could be considered to be in a bit of a pickle right now. If we take Instagram, for instance, we can see millions of people with millions of different posts. But because what’s popular is always endorsed by the app, and the people on it, users tend to gravitate to more popular content — the content that already has a large number of people posting. The algorithms, of course, control this even more. That’s how we can see trends, of course, but then there’s always the cynical guy who I overheard walking down Smith street the other day, who remarked whilst repeatedly wiping his finger down his phone: “There are two kinds of people on Instagram: those who are posting for themselves and those who are posting for other people. Don’cha reckon?” He’s got a point, and although the lines are pretty blurred (if I post an illustration which I’m proud of and want to share, but that I know people will find amusing, am I posting for them or for myself? ), what is individuality when it is so influenced by other people?

"Because what’s popular is always endorsed by Instagram and the people on it, users tend to gravitate to more popular content — the content that already has a large number of people posting. The algorithms, of course, control this even more."

Tit for tat, like for like. If you like this image of me and my baby at a café, I’ll like your image of you and your baby at a café in return. Like this image of me and my slightly less beautiful friend sipping mimosas in Santorini and I’ll be sure to like that throwback image of you and your girlfriend’s perfect beach bods tanning on a boat in Rottnest Island from Summer ‘17. #missthis Debord says (and we’ll have to excuse his sexist/cisgender pronouns here) that: “the more [the individual] accepts recognising himself in the dominant images of need, the less he understands his own existence and his own desires”. By subscribing enthusiastically to the prevalent ideal of — in this case — female beauty, you both look exactly the same. So in a weird way, it’s almost like you’re just liking yourself, when you like her pic from Santorini. The like-for-like thing then becomes an echo chamber. With the added element of competition; each echo wanting to resound louder than the last. Is this individuality?

Representation/Reality

The image is powerful. Debord also implicates it as having a kind of neo-religious quality. He thinks of it as “the technical realisation of the exile of human powers into a beyond.” Cool. Wait, what? Well, in the case of Internet narcissism, this could mean that for the viewer, the digitalisation of our identities overrides our actual identities. This particularly applies to people who ‘follow’ us but have never met us. And fair enough, because there isn’t anything else for them to create opinions about us from! Additionally, our digitalised identities are curated by us, through the frame of how we want to be seen. An example: You take a photo of your mates at a party, dressed up in 60s sci-fi space suits — someone is smoking a dart and the two others are drinking from red cups and it’s a damn good photo. When someone else scrolls through and sees the posted photo, they see a representation of your night/your friends/your life/you. And it’s a good one, but it is only one out of the ten photos that you took, anxious to get the perfect shot. Your friends were impatient and your favourite song was playing. Which you really wanted to dance to, but (though not consciously) the desire to add to the edgy but fun online representation of your life did not override. So the source (the physical, truthful reality of what we’re representing; the moment at the party with your impatient friends and your song running out) is subordinated for its curated representation. Reality is downgraded, dismissed in the hope that the viewer will see us as — let’s face it — better than we really are! But only if your identity is exclusively validated through social means.

The Lonely Crowd

However, because the definition of ‘social’ now has expanded to more than being in proximity with physical beings, I think it is a little more complicated. Yes, being social is being at a party. But it can also be when you’re alone in your bedroom scrolling through social media.

"As a society we’re clearly going through a fascinating shift. Personally, though, I’m concerned about how our collective sense of self will end up if the digital world continues so vigorously with its selfie-a-day fervour."

The spectacle, Debord argues, is a vehicle for isolation. It inadvertently constructs what he terms the “lonely crowd”. As people attempt to make sense of themselves through a selection of fragmented representations, they can’t coherently or peacefully live their own lives. And because the spectacle is everywhere, the spectator feels at home nowhere. Social media operating on a 24/7 basis doesn’t help this. As cyberspace is the huge digital city that never sleeps, chugging onwards, accumulating millions of gigabytes of data every minute, we feel a need to constantly chug along with it — to keep up. And because our Internet avatars are merging more and more with our physical selves, we too feel that we must keep developing. The problem, then, is that ‘developing’ heavily implies maintaining and improving. “I need to gain more followers before the end of September.” “I’m aiming to improve my network reach two-fold by the end of 2018.” The way to do this, of course, is by self-promotion. But this self-promotion isn’t promotion of our real selves — it’s the promotion of our manufactured selves. It’s the promotion of our best hair days, our funniest statuses, of the most artful photo from the party. The problem with this is that our real selves pale in comparison. We end up with incredibly high standards for ourselves and others and how we and our lives should look, and this does not make for an easily satisfied ego. The more omnipresent social media is, however, the more this representation and the actual reality merge. So it seems that the representation of reality is now just as ‘real’ as ... reality.

Where to From Here

The quest of this essay/article wasn’t really to explicitly answer why social media rewards narcissism. I’m just throwing ideas out there — there’s so much to explore and discuss around the matter before an answer is sought, and for me, the brainstorm is more interesting than the answer itself. As a society we’re clearly going through a fascinating shift. Personally, though, I’m concerned about how our collective sense of self will end up if the digital world continues so vigorously with its selfie-a-day fervour. Not that I’m also not stuck in the whirl of it, of course — I’m in no way a detached observer. Surely, though, that is the way to try and understand what’s happening; being inside and around the situation. Not that we have all that much of a choice these days, if Google, Facebook and Instagram are constantly thinking up new ways to keep us glued to our smartphones and if it is the predominant way that our friends and our families communicate with each other. And, indeed, it’s not stopping anytime soon. But is this really what we want? To be locked into our separate screens and our separate selves, our planet disintegrating behind us?

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ANDIE PHILLIPS â&#x20AC;&#x201D; MELBOURNE Words: Andie Phillips Photos: Andie Phillips/Karl Halliday

Vulnerability is an intuitive, personal sentiment that runs deep through the veins of anyone who has ever been alive. You can rarely have power without vulnerability, although that isn't to say that it is the antonym of strength; a form of weakness. The notion that vulnerablity is a sign of weakness stems from modern social constructs that are inevitably tied up with polarising definitions of sex and gender, where weakness, fragility and 'vulnerability' are seen as feminine traits, and power, strength and stoicism are masculine. Since the 20th century, ideas surrounding gender and sex have changed drastically, and with it culturally normative ideals and constructs are slowly fragmenting. We now understand that all beings can simultaneously harbour all or some of these such instinctual traits and oscillate between them. Humans are complex, emotional creatures, and gender is a restrictive mould embedded into the collective consciousness to maintain rigid power structures. Many feminist theorists agree on the fact that gender is an element of identity that is gradually developed and acquired. Existentialist Simone de Beauvoir eloquently summarised this theory in her epic book, 'The Second Sex' (1949), where she opened a chapter with "one is not born, but rather becomes, a woman". The true meaning of this line has long been debated, but if you were to take anything from it, it would be the idea that gender is a form of identity an individual grows into, which is constructed and assigned by social values and expectations. Basically, being born 'female' at birth and being a 'woman' are two different ways of being, where one concept is anatomical and the other is informed by cultural influences.

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To express vulnerability takes a subtle and profound strength.

In this culture, we have the privilege of living in freedom, making our own decisions and choices that are made relatively within our own control. This is not a luxury that most people in the world experience, and we have the activists and fighters that came before us to thank for our liberation. While we recognise those that came before us for fighting relentlessly and sacrificing everything for us to live as we do now, we still have our own work to do for our current and future generations. For the feminists that came before us, showing vunerability was dangerous and potentially life-threatening, and it still is for some women today. The fight for gender equality is ongoing, and the reason why we are still fighting today is so that everyone in this world can have the same freedom we do, to express themselves openly and to live without fear and shame. Gender should not be the defining point of a person, nor should it seal someone's fate, nor should it be used against people to make them feel weak, or unsafe, or insignificant. In our own fight for equality, we channel the resilience and power of those who came before us. At the same time, we can identify from our position of privilege that vulnerability and tenderness does not detract from this strength, but instead makes us more human and helps us grow and feel stronger in the process. These women you are about to meet are all pursuing very different lives and passions, but we share a common sense of strength, which sometimes manifests as feelings of vulnerability and doubt. Upon embarking on this photo series, I asked five of my girlfriends the same questions about empowerment and the responses resonated strongly with me, and I am sure they will with many others. Sometimes just making it through the day is a powerful feat in itself, and that is something to be proud of.

ANDIE PHILLIPS

I was surrounded by books, music and films that inspired me."

encouraged me to be self-dependent and fearless. I feel so lucky that during my childhood

"My parents have taught me to embrace who I am ever since I can remember, and my mum

Andie

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Editor of STYLO

How do you express your strongest beliefs? Talking with friends and strangers, and writing articles and making collages. Some of my strongest beliefs manifest when I compile this magazine.

What makes you feel most yourself ? When was the last time you felt empowered? Last week, I was enjoying uni and really feeling my outfit.

When Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m doing yoga or making art on my floor listening to records.

What do you feel most passionately about? Gender equality, the environment, health, media issues, music, art. When do you feel your strongest? While working on creative projects, when I get excited over ideas and feel bursts of inspiration. I feel most powerful when I am expressing myself creatively and setting ambitions.

What or what are your biggest influences? My parents have taught me to embrace who I am ever since I can remember, and my mum encouraged me to be a selfdependent and fearless woman. I feel so lucky that during my childhood I was surrounded by books, music and films that inspired me. As a girl, reading Anne Frank inspired me to write. Andy Warhol was my earliest artistic influence, and Roy Lichtenstein and Frida Kahlo.

Where do you draw strength from? Regular exercise, keeping journals, gratitude, book therapy (Gloria Steinem and bell hooks changed my life), my family.

What is the song that makes you feel most empowered? Deceptacon by Le Tigre.

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? You are already enough.

What makes you feel most yourself ? Feeling understood and connected. It feels very good when understanding/connection comes from someone I care about, but sometimes its just about giving that to myself. Here are my thoughts: I think humans are cute because we like to put pieces of their identity 'out there' through things like art and selfies and speech and 'success'. Then the world absorbs whatever we've put 'out there' and sometimes it will feed it back to us so we can be like 'cool! That's me!'. But sometimes we feel misunderstood. This is a long-winded way of saying I feel fully myself when I'm around friends who understand my awkward sense of humour.

Who or what are your biggest influences? Friends who are killing it, past experiences that continue to shape me.

When do you feel your strongest? When I'm doing something hard but it feels right.

Where do you draw strength from? Knowing that I've been through probably harder shit than whatever I'm facing and that I can keep going and growing and finding space to make things easier for myself.

When was the last time you felt empowered? My best friend and I have started running at night time along the Merri Creek with her horse (technically a dog). It feels empowering because a) I feel safe enough with my little clan to run in a context that us women are told to avoid, and that makes me feel like I can work around the dangers that come with being a woman and b) because we know that if one of us is feeling rough, we make time to get together and leave whatever bullshit we're going through on the track.

How do you express your strongest beliefs? My first thought was 'emphatically!' because I used to get myself into some pretty heated debates, but I think that's starting to change. I think my strongest beliefs get expressed in writing form, whether it be for something academic or personal. I refine my ideas by bouncing back and forth with friends that I trust, and if I'm feeling silly and safe, I get out my most controversial ideas with a laugh and a grain of salt.

What do you feel most passionately about? I have a steadily unfolding passion for philosophy, especially in the last few years because I've come across more and more amazing theorists working on feminist and minority issues. My main interests are in philosophy of language. Language is a uniquely human phenomenon. Studying our relationship with language has been a cool way to gain perspective on wider social dynamics, as well as gaining insight into my personal relationships with others and myself. For instance, how are some people easily able to do some things (refusing, asserting, promising) with their words, whilst others face more obstacles? What force does the same slur have across different contexts? Or in the hands of someone with social power versus someone without?

Which song makes you feel most empowered? Many songs by Erykah Badu, Saltfish and Sinnerman by SO.Crates, Space by 30/70.

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? Don't worry about what other people are saying.

"I think humans are cute because we like to put pieces of their identity 'out there'

through things like art and selfies and speech and 'success'. Then the world absorbs

whatever we've put 'out there' and sometimes it will feed it back to us so we can be like 'cool! That's me!'. But sometimes we feel misunderstood."

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Philosophy student/hospitality worker

Sakinah

get excited about that."

to understand, and trying to create relationships where the people I interact with also

"Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m interested in trying to understand experiences that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m seemingly not positioned

Dinu

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Law student

How do you express your strongest beliefs? With a lot of hesitation…they’re probably strong because they are close to my heart and I guess I’m probably reserved about that, even though I’m loud about most other things.

Which song makes you feel empowered? Moneybag – Cardi B

What makes you feel fully yourself ? Getting my nails did.

Where do you draw strength from? A bit of alone time…and being silly.

What do you feel most passionately about? Academically, I’m really interested in power structures and identifying and destabilising them, especially where they manifest inequitably. More interpersonally, I’m interested in trying to understand experiences that I’m seemingly not positioned to understand, and trying to create relationships where the people I interact with also get excited about that.

When was the last time you felt empowered? When I spoke to my mother and she felt comforted by how I phrased something — being able to give her something back of what she gave me (my language via my ridiculously good education) made me feel so powerful.

When do you feel your strongest? When I lay in my (ridiculously comfy) bed after a hard day where I’ve been useful and productive. Lol I am such a Taurus.

Who or what are some of your biggest influences? My family, they’re such a diverse bunch of kooks, I’m always learning from them. And whichever female hip hop artist I’m obsessed with at any given point in time (Cardi, girl hey)

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? Things will be confusing and tough but remember how beautiful you think all that confusion is! Keep enjoying the flurry of it all like you do now! 53

When was the last time you felt empowered? Around this time last year I went on a trip around California. I had just spent two weeks partying and having the best time with my best friend who had met up with me from Perth but she had to head home. So the day she left I hired a little car, it was the smallest and cheapest one I could get, but there was nothing more empowering than shifting my belongings for the next two weeks into it knowing that I could do whatever, drive wherever, stop wherever cause I was completely on my own. Doing things on my own at the moment is the only way that I can confirm to myself that I am a capable adult, at 24 I know that may sound a bit concerning but I get a real sense of how good I am at looking after myself while doing solo travelling trips. While on my own I could stop to take photos at every picturesque point along the coastal Big Sur drive. I could stop at little parking spots right by the coastline where the side of the road just drops off to crashing seas and sit there for a moment. It’s at places like this where I feel the calmest, without any pressure from a time constraint to quickly go somewhere else. Sitting looking down at these powerful waves crashing along the jagged rocks that I was acknowledging how small and temporary I am compared to these sweeping, beautiful landscapes. It helps me come back to the core achievements I want to at least try in my life, which sometimes can get a bit hidden by what I think others expect or want me to achieve. Having that clarity makes me feel a lot more empowered because it feels possible again, I feel like I could give it a real good crack when it is just one solid, clear goal.

What do you feel most passionately about? Music, nature and in depth conversations. How do you express your strongest beliefs? The clothes I wear, the close friends I choose to chat with freely and openly, finally the time that I put into choosing and talking about the music that I love. What makes you feel fully yourself ? Sitting in my tiny room, naked in my linen sheets after a day at work, listening to music, a podcast or watching a documentary or movie in a city far away from home. Who are some of your biggest influences? My mother and father — from their genetics, to observing their resilience, grit and constant work ethic. Music journalism wise, Gemma Pike, Myf Warhurst and Zan Rowe. Every single coloured person I’ve seen in some version of media — I’ve only realised over the last couple of years how much representation has made it possible for me to visualise myself in a media job. Special acknowledgement to Rihanna, Beyonce and Solange.

When do you feel your strongest? Which song makes you feel most empowered? I couldn’t just do one, so here are a couple for all go to songs that get me out of bed, help me sleep, get me in a happier mood, ponder life or dance around to: Claude Debussy — 'Claire de Lune'; The Strokes — 'You Only Live Once' (hand in hand with the demo version, 'I’ll Try Anything Once'); Dream Wife — 'Fire'; Allah-Las — 'Long Journey'; Kendrick Lamar — 'DNA' (these lyrics in particular: “I got loyalty, got royalty inside my DNA… I got power, poison, pain and joy inside my DNA… Immaculate conception…”); Amy Winehouse — He Can Only Hold Her; A Tribe Called Quest — “Electric Relaxation”.

Where do you draw strength from? My parents, their expectations and hopes for me to do well so that I can look after myself. Then the strength I draw from my parents comes through to myself. The things I want to achieve, my goals, my desire to travel and to experience more things in my life.

When I walk into the ABC building a little while before my show, through the security doors and up to the radio level. I always have a moment of awe at the space that I’m so privileged and proud to work in. This is a space that has produced some of the most influential music and news content I’ve listened to and watched growing up since I was a tiny kid watching 'Rage' with my siblings early on a Saturday morning. I know have the opportunity to come work in a really professional, creative space, linked with a listenership all around the country. I get to sit in a homey carpeted room with a microphone to share stories about the music I love. Some days I might get a bit rattled by that opportunity, but most of all it is the place I feel calmest and most sure that this is a part of who I need to be — at the moment this is the most important thing in my life.

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? Save your money, not for buying a house or investing or whatever everyone has told you to save it for, save it to travelling. Book flights ahead of time and save your money for the months inbetween. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do. Don’t hesitate, even if it seems like it might be worth it sticking around in a place that feels suffocating to your own path — you can always go back to a place you’ve been before. Get a film camera, baby-sized voice recorder and get a notebook for yourself and take photos, write down, all the poetic thoughts you have, the anger, frustration, infatuation, surprise and love that you feel and observe — document it all when you have some breathing time between those intense moments of life.

"Get a film camera, baby-sized voice recorder and get a notebook for yourself and take

photos, write down, all the poetic thoughts you have, the anger, frustration, infatuation,

surprise and love that you feel and observe â&#x20AC;&#x201D; document it all when you have some breathing time between those intense moments of life."

OPEN UP

Sales assistant/radio broadcaster at triple j

Tanya

a work ethic and fire within me that Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m very grateful for."

"My mother has been one of my biggest influences, she was a single parent and instilled

Holly

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Copywriter and editorial assistant for inkl

Who or what are some of your biggest influences? My mother has been one of my biggest influences, she was a single parent and instilled a work ethic and fire within me that I’m very grateful for. My best friend Sean is also a huge influence for me. He lives interstate but we speak on the phone most days — a lot of it is me doubting my ability to get shit done and him setting it straight. Finally, one of the bigger influences in my young adult years has been my former boss Eileen, who started selling used rags in Melbourne when most people wouldn’t touch them, and who taught me how to hustle from the first day I walked into her shop at 18.

How do you express your strongest beliefs? Mostly through writing and conversation.

When do you feel your strongest? When I can get through a day without having Which song makes you feel empowered? 'I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free' by Nina Simone.

anxiety — which usually comes from doing enough exercise and making time for myself. But that’s a balance I am ever searching for!

Where do you draw strength from? At the moment: exercise, time with myself, getting perspective on what I have, cooking

What makes you feel most yourself ? My family, writing, singing in the car alone, cooking for a table of friends.

after a long day and those closest to me.

When was the last time you felt empowered? I felt really empowered today when I was punching the life out of a lifeless bag at boxing.

What do you feel most passionately about? Though I work in a different industry now, I feel most passionate when I’m buying, selling and working with used clothing. There’s something magical about giving new life to a garment otherwise destined for a waste pile, and helping someone find a piece that they wouldn’t find elsewhere. Speaking with people who work in recycled clothing – from the market seller who hauls their stock out in garbage bags and dumps it onto a trestle table for customers to pick over, to the dealer at the top of the supply chain with hundreds of employees – always inspires me. In the midst of the modern fast fashion onslaught, it’s the resourcefulness and persistence of these people that excites me most.

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? Keep writing, don’t be afraid to knock on a stranger’s door for an interview or opportunity, be generous and present with others. 57

Who or what are some of your biggest influences? My grandma who I spent most of my childhood with, who has taught me so much, who was one of the strongest, bravest and most powerful women I have ever known. Which song makes you feel empowered? Everybody dance - CHIC

When do you feel your strongest? Where do you draw strength from? Good conversations, spending time with people, but also having alone time, writing, creating, yoga, dancing, reflecting on past experiences.

When I manage to face and get over my fears and anxiety, push myself out of my comfort zone. Also looking back on what I’ve accomplished and done in life already, even if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.

When was the last time you felt empowered? The process of answering these questions made me feel empowered.

What makes you feel fully yourself ? I feel fully myself when I can surround myself with people that know me well. When there is acceptance and no judgment for who we are.

How do you express your strongest beliefs? I express my strongest beliefs through my words.

What would you go back and tell your teenage self ? Whatever it is, it’s not the end of the world!

"I feel fully myself when I can surround myself with people that know me well. When there is acceptance and no judgment for who we are."

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Barista/studied psychology

Annick

Words/photos: Ben Riethmuller

CPHBER BEN RIETHMULLER â&#x20AC;&#x201D; BERLIN

CPHBER

BEN RIETHMULLER

There was a buzz around the streets in the days leading up to the event. The rumble of wheels on concrete echoed as seas of skaters flocked the roads and footpaths of Berlin for the CPH Openâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s final stop. The event moved across multiple locations each day in what felt like a marathon game of cat-and-mouse drawing an international crowd in itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s thousands. Just as one contest drew to a close, the crew of skaters and whoever else had a suitable means of transport were off on a wild goose chase to find the next spot. Amidst the chaos there was an enormous sense of community and belonging between all involved. Characterised by the people who make it, the CPH Open is a celebration of the city and its local culture, and what a celebration it was! As the sun went down after the final at Dog Shit Spot the masses were full of stoke on what had been an epic few days. Whether it was taking over a road, bridge, or an entire city block, the diverse crew all rolled together as one united power.

CPHBER

"As the sun went down after the final at Dog Shit Spot the masses were full of stoke on what had been an epic few days. Whether it was taking over a road, bridge, or an entire city block, the diverse crew all rolled together as one united power."

CPHBER

TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC

MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY MASCULINITY

Jack Arbuckle â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Melbourne

Words: Jack Arbuckle Art: Andie Phillips

I was 11 years old. The male elders in my family and family friends were absolute pinnacles of inspiration and I was in awe of them daily. Being surrounded by them as a young boy made me feel so apart of something, like an exclusive club perhaps, I felt protected. I’d hardly say a word midconversation amongst them, mainly because I didn’t understand half the topics they’d discuss. I’d laugh on cue when they laughed, furrow my brow when they all got aggressive, but I heard it all and digested it, even without understanding. At the time the words still stuck with me, as clear as my late mother’s risotto recipe. A particular occasion stands out in my memory. It was the usual glistening, sunny Perth morning down by the coast. An uncle of mine, Rick, was visiting from over east. We all adored him and looked past his aggressive alcoholism, a common trait amongst Australian families, and a very consistent one of my own. My mother needed some basics from the shops and asked Rick to go down to the forum and grab them for her, which he in his usual drop-everythingfor-everyone-else manner replied ‘yep of cawwse dahl back in a tic! Jacksta! You wanna come for a ri-?!’ I was basically half way through putting my seat belt on in the old blue merc as he was asking me.

We took off, and I really mean that, Uncle Rick was quite the lead foot. Driving with him was like driving with summer tyres across a frozen British Columbian lake midwinter. After surviving the first 5 minutes of the trip we approached the intersection before the entrance to the forum carpark. My uncle tried to sneak in to the carpark quickly past a closely oncoming four-wheel drive Jeep, (which was no more than 20 metres away and travelling at around 60km/h). I held my breath in fear… with a smile on my face of course (not wanting to seem soft). Abruptly, the intense soprano-on-helium tone of our wheels and the Jeeps wheels came to a climax screeching in a horrific duet. Immediately this followed by my Uncle leaning over me, winding my window down and explicitly berating Mr Jeep with: ‘Ya fucking stupid bastard, go fuck yaself cunt

"Turning a blind eye to a culmination of aggression and objectification towards different genders and sexualities in the presence of minors results in a continued violent rape culture and a constant instilled need for power and superiority."

fuckin piece a shit!’ Followed by much more repetition as I sat there looking straight ahead acting unfazed. Moving on into the carpark I tried to nervously laugh it off in front of my Uncle but his face was still full of fury, so I switched to swearing and saying how much of a dickhead Mr Jeep was. Which finally got a response from him, muttering the words ‘yeh… fuckin tosser mate’ with a slight proud smirk. I knew my uncle was the one who made the mistake and so did he, so why did he get so aggressive and defensive straight away? There was now an added intensity and jitteriness to our shop at the forum for Mum’s basic needs. He wasn’t as pleasant to the cashiers nor was he as talkative to me, so, picking up on his fury and frustration, I chucked on my frown and started walking with a Liam Gallagheresque assertiveness through the crowds in the Coles aisles towards the milk. Everyone better get out of our way cause we’re mad as hell. We powered out of the shops after paying and straight back into the car, he was starting to ease up a bit and so did I, gradually feeling like I could be my normal self again. The old blue merc started up once more and we began aggressively sliding all over the road on our way home, this time Rick had the steering wheel in one hand and a cigarette in the other, so it felt more like driving fast along Yungas highway in Bolivia rather than the frozen British Columbian lakes. We were about to hit the last roundabout before the turn off to our street when my Uncle uncharacteristically slowed down. I took a deep breath while I had the chance, before it was split in half by uncle Rick's overbearing shout once again. This time he wasn’t angry, the exact same level of aggression but with a smile on his face, and I was confused before registering what he was saying and where he was directing it. ‘Heya love, ya hot thing! very nice! Ha ha ha ha!’ he shouted while blasting his horn in the direction of a young woman riding her bicycle across from us. I locked eyes with the woman as she turned around looking extremely fed up as we

continued driving off back home. Her face had an expression of someone who couldn’t believe this was happening again. My Uncle was still laughing jovially and exclaiming how much ‘talent’ there was around here. I laughed nervously again, but feeling uncomfortable, went a bit quiet, overthinking in my head whether I’m soft for not making a comment or replying ‘she’s hot’ or something. Mum got her milk and bread and the usual day continued on. I went back to playing video games and Rick lit up a cigarette out the back. The reason I share this is to show that in one casual drive down to the shops, as an emotionally and mentally vulnerable 11 year old male, I was shown how to behave towards men and how to behave towards women by someone I considered an amazing role model. Other males = competition, and females = sexual object. Even after this (what would usually be considered a 'nothing' scenario) I still considered Rick an amazing role model. It was only until years later that I realised these little experiences had warped my perception of others as a young person, something that I think resonates with many people today. This experience/memory I had always bugged me in recent years. As I had mentioned it to people in my family before in years past, when ideals were so obviously different it was laughed off and forgotten. Rick was seen as ‘cheeky’ and excused. The fact of the matter is that these little experiences that are had on casual drives to the shops for young people in Australia over time shape who they become as an adult. Turning a blind eye to a culmination of aggression and objectification towards different genders and sexualities in the presence of minors results in a continued violent rape culture and a constant instilled need for power and superiority. This is one of many experiences I had growing up in a privileged, white culture in suburban Perth that embodied dated, disgusting values, and I feel lucky that through education and relation to alternative media, the people around me later in the Perth music scene, and my own feminist mother I somehow found a way out.

"We have the power now to instil a gentle, inclusive and aware way of thinking into the coming generations." As I was growing and constructing my own identity in my youth, the amount that I felt restricted through enforced ideals of the surrounding privileged white masculine culture was immense. I held back my (apparently) ‘feminine’ traits completely, I loved reading Mum's design, homewares and clothing magazines when I was by myself and the thought of nail polish and lipstick was so inviting. Shopping with Mum for her clothes was one of the most enjoyable occasions that would come around, and that’s not to mention the days spent shopping perfumes. As Tim Winton explained recently, “boys and young men are so routinely expected to betray their better natures, to smother their consciences, to renounce the best of themselves and submit to something low and mean. As if there’s only one way of being a bloke, one valid interpretation of the part, the role, if you like. There’s a constant pressure to enlist, to pull on the uniform of misogyny and join the Shithead Army that enforces and polices sexism. And it grieves me to say it’s not just men pressing those kids into service.” I never felt remotely comfortable in showing this side that was considered ‘feminine’. As I would be considered soft, or god forbid — possibly gay. Even with a feminist mother, as Mum would also hold back on her feminist views as those views just weren’t well received in many circles. So her downfall came in the form of silence and telling me ‘oh don’t be silly, shh’ when I, feeling comfortable, accidentally revealed my ‘feminine’ qualities around her. Her silence amongst groups was also a sad consequence of the toxic masculinity stranglehold on Australian culture. Why would I ever reveal my true self? It wouldn’t get me any emotional or social rewards. Unlike joining in on some hefty discriminatory banter with boys from school or causing some havoc at the local shopping centre. Obviously acceptance was much more easy to deal with over alienation.

I’d already been taught what type of person to be, my identity had been constructed before birth. What didn’t help was that I have always had quite a tall large figure and had a beard when I was fifteen ('man child', etc., etc., whatever). My physicality brought with it an expectation: a big, strong man who can lift this and push that, deal with this or stick up for you, drink a gallon or maybe two, and is emotionless — a picture of society's construct of ‘masculinity’. I struggled with being true to myself for years. I have not gone through what many other people have, who are tragically alienated in our society because of their sexuality, gender, race, religion or class. I had just been surrounded by people who looked like me, sounded like me and loved me but embodied values that I just did not want to be cohesive with, and the only person in my life who was giving me this ‘alternative’ view at the time was my mother. It was not a tough upbringing in any sense really, there was avid alcoholism everywhere, but that was normalised so those memories are not tainted with fear. I grew up in a privileged, middle-class white household and had food on the table each night with pretty well as many opportunities as I could have. I would not have to worry about being discriminated against in the slightest. Being surrounded by people who share so many physical and geographical traits with you positions you as a young person to feel as though the only way to behave is the way they behave. An obvious and simple point, but definitely an insight into how easily toxic masculinity has been continually filtered down through the generations. We also tend to look back at our families in wonder and awe, tapping into our mindset as a child in which our elders were such pinnacles of who we wanted to be. This is something that I think many males in Australia need to forget partially, or not so partially.

A huge responsibility now lies with young males and fathers to accept that a whole lot of what their own upbringing taught them was completely wrong, and to radically change the way we view ourselves and others in order to create a safer, more inclusive, diverse and comfortable space for generations to come. As progressively educated people, we have the power now to instil a gentle, inclusive and aware way of thinking into the coming generations, and that being said — ‘calling out your mates’ on any discriminatory, sexist, racist, objectifying behaviour you witness as many males still need to be educated on how they view other genders. Gender and sexuality restrictions need to be forgotten. Restricting certain activities, objects and colours to one gender is plain and simply dated. Children learn from our actions towards others and how we view them and ourselves, much more so than just what we tell them on the daily. So we must be gender, sexuality and racially neutral in our way of being in order for them to see no difference and feel no preference. Restricting them to certain activities in sport, clothing, colours, hairstyles, language, accessories, media — the list never ends — immediately begins carving their identity for them before they have even had a chance to construct it themselves comfortably and at their own pace. There is a shocking history in our country in relation to white males and their instilled toxic masculinity and treatment of others. To all males who practice feminism on the daily and are becoming aware of the problems facing our culture, I applaud you loudly, but we still have a lot of work to do, myself included. Learn from the people around you, embrace the many different perspectives and diverse backgrounds. It is positive to be embarrassed, it’s an indication that you know things have been wrong in your culture. The fact of the matter is that one male embodying toxic, masculine values is too many, so if you have the power to be at the forefront to do so then put an end to it. In reflection my condolences go to anyone affected by the consequences of a toxic masculine culture here in Australia. Particularly for all the female-identifying folk in my life - I hope you know I stand with you and by you and acknowledge the many struggles that this culture has brought upon you. Now, all this typing is really getting in the way of me doing my nails so I think I’ll quit here x

Jack Arbuckle 85

Words: Fiz Eustance Photos: Andie Phillips/Fiz Eustance

THREE PHRASES ALONG FIZ EUSTANCE â&#x20AC;&#x201D; MELBOURNE

THREE PHRASES ALONG UPFIELD BIKE PATH

Each phrase is an instruction for the COMMUTER, bringing them away from an artificial reality of THOUGHTS, INTERNAL NARRATIVES and SCREENS, into considering their own lives and the actual relationships within them (SISTER, MOTHER, SELF). Hopefully from this, the seed of a positive action is planted (some thought that it might be a good idea to SEE how your sibling is doing, ACCEPT the faults of your parents, FEEL the physical sensations of your own body). In making the piece, I was thinking a lot about how to make art that doesn’t scare people away by being shrouded in ACADEMIC LANGUAGE, and about how and where to present art in order for it to be ACCESSIBLE by people who don’t consider themselves interested in art. Hence the route of street/public art. I’m also really excited by TEXT - in terms of how direct a form of communication it is, but can be made provocative and new in different contexts. The works are located along the stretch of the UPFIELD BIKE PATH between Tinning St and Hope St and will be up until someone rips them down. FIZ EUSTANCE

Jamie Parsons â&#x20AC;&#x201D; London

Words: Jamie Parsons Photos: Daniel Ma

MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS MYXOMATOSIS

‘I was in the area so figured I’d hit you up,’ she said whilst placing our drinks on the table. I’d never drank red wine when we were together. All those times that we went for dinner, or to a bar, or simply lost ourselves to drink on an autumn’s eve under a cheerless sun with the lake stretching icily before us and not once would I touch it. I wonder if it’s strange for her to see me drinking it now. I wonder if she thinks I’m doing it to impress her. She’d be wrong in thinking I care about her opinion, I started drinking it to impress someone else. I was struck by the absurdity of the situation as I looked upon her face — she who had once thrown me into such anguish, such unflinching sadness — and felt nothing. I recalled the pangs of passion and angst with vacuity and wondered why I’d agreed to be here at all. 97

‘You never used to drink red wine,’ she smiled mockingly. How I’d missed that smile, that maliciousness. When Dostoevsky wrote ‘love us when we’re nasty; anyone would love us when we’re nice’ he must have foreseen our dangerous love. I really didn’t like her. How could anyone put up with that venomous tongue or those insidious eyes? ‘I know,’ I drank a slow, deliberate mouthful, ‘a lot can change in a few years.’

I once dreamt I was a bird. I looked in the mirror and with my bird eyes saw my bird beak. Nobody noticed. I tried to speak and only bird noises came out. We stumbled jovially into another bar and I dared compare us to Beckett’s Celia and Murphy. We reminisced over the long weeks with none but each other for company and ridiculed the excruciating toxicity that we once bore. We were young lovers drenched in jealousy and drowning in distrust. ‘Do you remember when we went to that pub, the one in Southwark, and you fucked me in the toilets?’ she laughed. She always had a great laugh, my pre-Raphaelite nymph, we used to laugh a lot, I’m sure. ‘Or the time we went to the beach in Norfolk and we did nothing but kiss and read whilst obnoxiously pretending we had any semblance of original thought?’ I said. That day was great. I remember the sun being so perfectly high in the sky that even the sea took on a yellow hue. She was the Marie to my Mersault.

We spent the night laughing at and with one another as the hours raced by. We parted friends, as the feelings of the tense animosity were obliterated in the mind by cannons of warm nostalgia. I woke the next day and saw a copy of A Certain Smile on my bedside table. I thought about how much I admired Sagan’s succinct prose and her ability to capture a single thread of life and weave it into a narrative that so beautifully proclaimed her existential ideals. Her volatile depictions of love and loneliness mirrored my own. I finished reading a passage of Dominique’s despair and thought of whom I’d spent last night laughing with.

Outside of the distorted haze of symbiotic nostalgia, I remembered more. I remembered the day in the library and how my ailing soul succumbed through tears and how I longed for suffering to end whilst she kindled fires of hopeless sentimentality. I remembered being under the influence of various wretched miseries whilst she frolicked aimlessly amidst the arms of others. The nausea, the sleepless nights sodden with sweat and desolation came flooding back to me in waves as I remembered that same toxicity with a shudder of fear. Nostalgia, in all its warmth and comforting familiarity, exercised its fatal power over me. Last night I swear I could have loved her again.

Jamie Parsons

FLÂNEUR

Rohan Golestani — Perth

"The figure of the flâneur — the stroller, the passionate wanderer emblematic of nineteenth-century French literary culture — has always been essentially timeless; he removes himself from the world while he stands astride its heart." — Bijan Stephen, The Paris Review

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Drawing Resilience: Permanence through Ephemerality

Brief To design a place within the setting of Shibuya Crossing, Tokyo relating to the Ise Shrines for the Shinto priests to inhabit Site Shibuya crossing

Frances Silberstein â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Zurich

Words/illustration: Frances Silberstein

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Preface Shibuya crossing has become an iconic image of the contemporary metropolis of Tokyo. Seemingly organic, the character of the inner-city district has been subject to the meticulous planning of two major rivalling companies; Tokyu Group and Seibu. With a monopoly over the real-estate, retail and transit sectors; the two companies have sculpted the city into the rich metropolis that it is today. Until recently, the vibrancy of the urban district has been fuelled by a predominantly young consumer culture. It has been a sanctuary for the many different sub-cultures that it cultivates. Distinguishable by various interests such as historical fashion or anime, the various groups are often viewed as part of a rebellion against the mainstream, in a way embodying a resilience within the people. In symbiosis these various sub-cultures have flourished and become embroiled in the dynamic urban fabric of Shibuya. The detrimental effects of an ageing and declining population in Japan is taking its toll on the life force of Shibuya. While the inner-city district continues to grow at an increasingly slower rate, the average household expenditure continues to drop. The individuals that have been elemental in the city spectacle are dominated by a tiered and overworked population. Those who attempt to retain their liberal cultures are cast aside as wasters and are shunned from society. The groups are pushed to the fraying peripheries and lose sight of the other. The spirit of Shibuya is fading.

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Intervention This project proposes a third player in the monopoly over Shibuya; Shinto Group. Due to the diminishing youth market â&#x20AC;&#x201D; once a primary focus of Seibu and Tokyu Group, there is an increase in the number of vacant retail spaces in the towering department stores. Here, the companies relinquish control of free-space to the Shinto Group in a collaborative effort to breathe life back into Shibuya. Shinto Group acts as a governing body over free-space. It disperses the control of the spaces to Curators, who choreograph the purposes of its use. Shinto Group devises physical and virtual pathways to guide the Curators around the district, to communicate and trade with one another. Knowledge is the currency of the Shinto Group Corporation. By way of protecting the communities from a societal backlash, the spectacle takes place behind the towering screens. The influence of Shinto Group is not seen or experienced if it is not sought out. However, the spirit of Shinto will be felt as it disseminates throughout Shibuya.

Glossary Wasters: Freeloaders, people who are viewed as wasting time and not contributing back to society, often shunned and tormented. Free-space: vacated retail space, usually in large department stores. Curators: elected from a group individuals to repurpose free-space.

Frances Silberstein

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“Tokyo is a puzzle, just throw yourself in the deep end and try to make sense of it.”

— Gilles Peterson, 'Real Scenes of Tokyo'

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Observation

Journal,

China Hannah Li â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Shanghai

Words/photos: Hannah Li

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Observation Journal, China

I stayed in the countryside for a month. In the morning, we walk up the hill to pick up some colourful stones and sand in preparation of making rammed earth walls for the garden. On the way back, we chop anonymous plants that the ducks like to eat. After lunch, we wander to the riverside for a quick swim â&#x20AC;&#x201D; this life is so real and ordinary, but at the same time, it seems so surreal.

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Observation Journal, China

This is a tool house built by the local farmers. I could see this building appear in an architecture magazine featuring contemporary regionalism. The choice of locally available bamboo as facade material, its passive solar design considerations, and its concept of form follows function would be thoroughly discussed in the article. Sometimes I doubt if I am in the right profession. How did architects become so selfrighteous.

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Observation Journal, China

Duncan came to visit me in China when Chinese New Year was just around the corner. We stumbled upon a sea of lanterns. I tried to cram as much as I can into his short trip to show him a little bit of what China is, the glamour and the grunge. I was glad that he was so open and saw humour in all the peculiarities of China.

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Observation Journal, China

Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Google are all blocked in China. People know that the news and the stories they hear are probably far from reality. I suppose it is kind of like in The Matrix, you can take the red pill or the blue pill. Neither option is more noble than the other one. Hannah Li

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Contributors: Oscar Poiesz Tara Suamba Camilla Eustance Ben Riethmuller Jack Arbuckle Fiz Eustance Daniel Ma Jamie Parsons Rohan Golestani Frances Silberstein Hannah Li

Acknowledgements: Firstly thank you to all contributors past and present who have trusted me enough with their work during this entire process, you are the reason why I make this magazine. Thank you to my family for everything, mum for penning the name, my friends for their enthusiasm and support that keeps me going, the teachers and mentors who have guided me along the way and shared their knowledge, to Tauel, Ben, Madi, Ayzia, Elle, Mathilde, Tilly, Laurie, Oscar, and to all the people I wouldn't have otherwise met if I hadn't started making this magazine, it wouldn't be here without you. References: Pages 8—17: Images labelled for reuse from NPR, Wikipedia

Photography: Henry King Karl Halliday Andie Phillips Daniel Ma

Commons, SA History, Alamy, Africa News, UCT Libraries Digital Collections, Electric Jive, Berliner Festspiele. Pages 18—27: Images sourced from Vice, Nine, Betoota Advocate, Huffington Post, Reddit, BBC, Daily Mail, CNN. Pages 38—43: Images sourced from Instagram and Aphelis. Page 127: Image free for reuse under CC0 from PXHere. Back cover image by Henry King.

Art direction: Andie Phillips

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