The Collective Magazine: Issue 011 by The Collective Magazine

Meet the Team

Victor Avitia

Lily Greenberg

Estelle Orleans

Anthony Gonzalez

Esther Phipps

Miriam Delgado

Graphic Design

Allen Chen

Mason Rousey

Lauren Peters

Ti’Andrea Jones

Ilan Elenbogen

Xiaoyi Zhu

Lauren Handley

Isabel Zhou

Charlotte, Watson

Multimedia

Lillie Ostarello

Will Escudero

Saturn Peppers

Bailey Witter

Abigail Cabrera

Francesca Dumitrescu

Ilan Friedman

Uros Tubic (Uki)

Saanvi Gupta

Rebecca Padilla

Writing

Christina Kivarkis

Annika Mandrekar

Paige Walk

Maher Adoni

Remi Keller

Juliana Damian

Julissa Rodriguez

Stephanie Mosqueda

Katelyn Barbour

Sofia Jasso

Nathan Langley

Rose Carlson

Caelin Muniz

Micah Austin

Jacob McGrath

Val Gabay

Nithya Kalwala

Elle Terrado

Creative Director

Editor-in-Chief

Multimedia Director

Event Planning Exec

Social Media Director Treasurer

Event Planning

Maggie Sanchez

Salman Khan

Gabriella Lopez

Della Griffin

Natalie Monroe

Jasmine He

Tessa Olson

Ellen Tuttle

Allison Oh

Rebecca Urrutia

Dhanai Haderaj

Arhan Rout

Nadine Trapp

Anna Ondrejckova

Chai Ivaturi

Gracelyn Sensibar

Ananda Sangli

Angela Pan

Pavel Paunov

Shagun Varma

Meghan Lu

Sam Pasquesi

A CONVERSATION WITH COVER ARTIST

William Hohe

BY: VICTOR AVITIA

Hello everyone. My name is Victor and I am the Creative Director and president of the Collective Magazine, and I’m here joined by our Issue 11 Cover Artist. William Hohe!

Hi guys. What’s up? thank you so much for having me.

Thanks for coming on here and joining us tonight. Tell us a little bit about yourself. What do you have going on? Who are you as an artist?

I’m William. I’m a sophomore in Photography and Advertising here at U of I and as an artist, what I’m up to, or I guess recently. I’m very interested in objects, in the manifestation of my memories and how they relate to my past with collecting, with archive, with the theory and thematic components that go into the memory, the loss of memory all through this lens that is very overtly queer and kitchy, but also tries to use color and obsessive compulsory collecting as a means of exploring my own, fumbled memory of youth.

That’s what I deal with conceptually with art, but it’s all through a medium of, not necessarily straight word photography, but a photographic lens. Um, I do a lot of sculptural stuff, a lot of mixed media portraiture. I don’t really like to leave one a space with negative space, so I’m much, very much maximalist when it comes to my work. I’m exploring that currently and I’m looking forward to just building up a portfolio of editorial stuff, but also personal projects and what not. That’s who I am as an artist.

Do you ever go in with a plan? Like what’s, if you’re starting a project, what do you go into it thinking,

Um, I think it depends, honestly, because a lot of the time in my life when I think I got most deeply, or I felt like there was a time when I woke up in my art as in like, I wasn’t doing it for a portfolio, a project to get into college. It was like a photo series that I kind of revisited earlier on last semester about my father. And it was like that project, the goal of that project was for me to, capture my childhood home and my father before he moved out and all these objects were gone. So it was kind of like, A personal need, a personal dilemma.

I’m really motivated in part by my own inner discourse and thoughts and what I need to get across in a therapeutic way. But at the same time, I also very much at all times, like to feel like a beginner, like a novice in what I’m doing. I don’t like feeling that I’ve ever mastered something at this point in my life, so it’s like involving textiles, involving different processes into my work, into my photography is something that really helps me out. It’s like, how can I push this a little bit more than I did last time?

I agree because when you feel that you’ve mastered something, you either plateau or you just like are at the highest peak you’ll ever reach. Which is such a scary thing to feel, especially as an artist, because you want to continually just feel like you’re growing and developing as a person and a creator.

It’s also kind of ignorant to think that you’ll ever master any type of media because photography is still so young in it’s development, like even though it’s like 200 years since the first camera, if you’re feeling like you’re mastering these skills, you’re not on pulse with what’s going on in the industry or you’re not on pulse with yourself, you could always be doing something more. Not in a way that’s like, you’ll never be good enough, but like that’s kind of freeing and liberating for me to be like, oh, I’ll never really reach that mastery cool. Or if I do I just need to shift my thinking.

Are there any artists or other creative people that are inspirations of yours ?

The three, like the Pop Art trio, Basquiat, Haring, Warhol, Will always be my top three, main three people that I’ll go to for holistic artistic inspiration in the way that they consume art, in the way that they think about art, and in the way that they just think about the world. But if anything, Haring is the most inspiring just because the way he thought about people, the way he thought about love, the way he thought about including people in his work and the impact and brevity, but also longevity of his career as we see now.

He just like, the way he was so ambitious in his upbringing. Like I was reading his biography over break and it was like he went to the school of visual arts. He was very like, not upset with the way they were teaching, but it was like he was trying to get as much as he could Out of school before he left. And I feel like I really relate to that, especially at this point in my years at Illinois. It’s like I’m not trying to come back to school. I’m trying to get as much as I can from this traditional academic setting and then apply it to my own outward exploration of art.

But anything from just seeing something on Instagram to like other peers’ work, I feel like I’m always looking for inspiration to like stick in both my mental or sketchbook as I’m working.

I mean that’s also how I approach life in general. You just kind of have to collect these nuggets because if you’re just looking at the same things all the time, you’re not really gonna do anything differently.

Exactly. And I think that somewhere a lot of inspiration comes from is people. Just everyone. I find people very interesting. I find interacting with humans very interesting and also like thinking about, oh, I’ll never see this person or I might see them again but I probably will never be as close to this person as I am noww. Or if it ends badly, if a relationship ends, et cetera, et cetera, This was kind of about the piece I made for Gwen’s final. It was like a self-portrait with all these fabric pieces of, um, scraps from different works this semester.

The way I think about people in my life is like, you take a little bit of fabric with you, or a piece of them and it’s personified in these pieces of fabric every time you interact with someone or if you meet someone at a deep emotional level, you take that with you and you can do whatever you want with it. You can leave it there, implement it into something but it’s those little bits of information that are so important from just everyone’s experience.

I’m so interested in that, especially here on campus, because you get the full spectrum of anybody. You know what I mean? So it’s like that. If you don’t look at it, cynically is so artistically beneficial for anybody.

In that way, I would say it’s even better than going to an art school because in an art school, everybody has the same vocabulary. For the most part It’s going to be in a major city so everyone is going to be doing the same things. Whereas living in the middle of nowhere and going to a state university, it’s such a big pool for you to pull knowledge from and inspiration.

And also it’s like this is such a scrappy place to be an artist. You really have to use anything and everything, because if you’re looking for a skyline, you’re not gonna find it. If you’re looking for this and that, you’re not gonna find it. Not in a bad way, but you’ve gotta make the most of what is going on where you’re at, you know? The best experiences aren’t gonna just come to you. You need to go out and find them, I feel like that’s a fun maze. You know, you feel like you’re an ant in an ant farm.

Find William @williamlenses on everything!

Jaeyoon Jang Untitled

Caelin Muniz

The Tenderness of Metal Mixed

Estelle Orleans

The Path

Lithography Print

Hanna Wootton Dalmation Dream Digital

Francesca Dumitrescu

Andy Warhol Inspired Kailey

Digital Photography

Written By Elle Terrado

Designed By Mason Rousey

Estelle Orleans

Tomorrow is Here! Quick as a Wink

Digital Collage

In the spirit of growth, I look at the nature of anxiety, despair, grief, and loneliness. A seemingly paradoxical relationship, sure, but nevertheless fertile grounds for inspiration and meaning. Why else does the best music come from desolate heartbreak? And why does crying feel so dramatically therapeutic? It’s a hard fact to accept; without such desperate times, life would be less rewarding.

A stagnant life is far from preferred for someone like me, who indulges low lows to gain high highs yet spends an ample amount of that time wondering when the high will end. At a time in which the highs seem out of grasp, I anxiously take inventory of the aspects of life that bring me joy. But I start to get worrisome. The aspects of life that will bring me joy are pending, such as a future career, a story-like romantic escapade, or buying my first house. Joy seems distant but I feel reassured by the idea that it will happen eventually...

It will happen eventually; I repeat to myself after another monotonous day. At the end of this day, I feel the weight of my schoolwork lifted momentarily but waiting for me the next morning. I mentally prepare for the responsibilities of tomorrow’s dreadful workday and trudging through classes that seem

all too long. I remember that the weekend is not too far and get excited for what’s to come. Unfortunately, I will have to endure the rest of the week before the unpredictable reward of Friday and Saturday.

I look at this repetitive weekly thought process and start to reevaluate the amount of joy it yields me. Waiting five days a week for two nights, where the search for joy proceeds at the bottom of a solo cup or in an ever-so-friendly stranger’s bedroom. In those two nights, I am surrounded by more people than I’ve seen in the entire week, yet I feel immensely lonely. I am desperate for the happiness that will happen eventually and grieve last week’s expectations of finding it.

Ultimately, this is what yields a critical epiphany: I yearn for happiness more than I ever experience it. The “joyous” milestones begin to feel like a generic outline for someone else’s life. The weekend escapades start to fill with hollow expectations — another weekday unappreciated.

The disappointment from cyclical weeks ruins the expectations for any weekend happiness, and now I wonder at what point the facets of my life, once youthful and childlike, shifted to days of disappointment and sleepiness. Do I exist in response of others? Is my life guided by what I think it should be, rather than what it is? If freedom in how I feel, think, and behave exists, why do the motions reflect a façade that I actively built as I’ve gotten older?

Whenever I stopped existing in the present, I excused myself with a thousand and one reasons: a difficult childhood, unfair experi ences, complicated relationships, etcetera. It got harder to cope with the problems of life, and perhaps existing in a utopic future took some of those pressures away. But that feeling did not last. One (long awaited) basic lesson that I am still learning is to trust in myself and trust in my experiences. I must stop time traveling to the past or future when the only moments that I can truly feel exist

internal, and self-definition is written by the feelings within yourself, trusting in the process of anger, despair, and loneliness. It is a long and treacherous road to return to present living, but it begins with the desire to exist here again and accepting the whole picture.

“People are just as wonderful as sunsets if you let them be. When I look at a sunset, I don’t find myself saying,

‘Soften the orange a bit on the right-hand corner.’

I don’t try to control a sunset. I watch with awe as it unfolds.”

- Carl R. Rogers, founder of humanistic psychology

Madeline Blair two slow dancers Photography

Blair love me love me nots

Photography

Madeline Blair maya and dean

Photography

Madeline

Julissa Rodriguez Silence Digital Photography

Julissa Rodriguez Survive

Digital Photography

Julissa Rodriguez Split Digital Photography

Charlotte Watson Strawberry Blues Collage

Charlotte Watson Spring of Youth Collage

Charlotte Watson Women’s Commune Collage

Uki Tubic Desire

Photography

DanielaPope, HJ Pratcher, Gabriela Plata, Trinity Lewis Leah Hall

Lean on Roaches

Clothing Photography

Alexandria Reardon Broken Together

Photography

Olivia Rebellón no title

Photography

Audrey Miller

My Stress Can Be Pretty Acrylic Canvas

Audrey Miller Meadow Of Condolence

Canvas Acrylic

Francesca Dumitrescu Rock n Roll for the Wicked Digital Photography

Audrey Miller My Imagination Sparked Canvas Acrylic

Cristina Ligon Wishful Thinking Illustration

Francesca Dumitrescu & William Hohe is this wonderland

Digital Photography

“Enter 21”

Poem

By: Sophie Mennega

Suddenly I like the color cream

And the taste of coffee

No longer bitters My palette

My clothes fit a little looser Than they did last year

Before I had a credit card And another piercing

Now I know the feeling Of heartbreak

And the smoothness of my teeth

Now that my retainer has fallen off

My favorite activity Is networking

And counting the number of times My professor talks about his children

Finding out that my peers are getting married While my main concern is upping my dosage

It’s funny how people grow up in different ways

Emma Haugh-Ewald Container 22

Colored Pencil and Pastel on Paper

Demarco Mayle Catacomb Painting

Hannah Wootton

Untitled Drawing and Collage

John Prince Empathy Acrylic

Hannah Wootton Shop Sustainably Collage

The Colors We Unremember

written by Nithya Kalwala

designed by Priscilla Mendez-Ocampo

This piece is a fictional story. It is inspired by my own life, and the real, raw emotions that came (and still come) with growing up and rediscovering my innocence.

“Green, Red” an old woman sat on the wooden bench next to me, gently placing her yellow purse on her lap. “Excuse me?” I turned to look at this stranger. She gazed intently at me, her dark brown eyes seeming to hide some mystery unknown to me. “Why are you angry?” She asked, her voice a soft whisper that faded with the cool October breeze. “I’m not?” I half-asked, slightly annoyed. A dragonfly whizzed towards my head, and I blinked quickly, losing my focus. A moment later, the silence resumed as the dragonfly buzzed its way to a group of toddlers and their parents happily playing in the park.

“Lying to yourself doesn’t help, dear. “ she said, shifting on the seat to face me. The sunlight hit her face, making every wrinkle look like a beautiful etched line. My chest tightened, discomfort seeping into my body. “I think you have the wrong person” I mumbled, wanting the conversation to end as soon as it could. I scratched the back of my neck, feeling slightly awkward.

“The colors, they don’t lie. That dark, dark red. It’s unmistakable. You’re upset. Angry. “ the woman patted down a fly hair on her head, smoothing her silver hair back to perfection.

A wave of irritation washed over me. “Who are you and why do you care?” I shot back, annoyed at her audacity. The truth was, it stung because I was angry. Today was the worst day of my life. REJECTED. The only words that had been playing in my mind for the last hour. The last thing I needed was a stranger reminding me. I twirled my long dark hair anxiously, my eyebrows scrunching together as the woman stared at me with an intense look in her eyes.

I was born to a poor family, and had to fight for everything I had my entire life. And just when I thought I’d found my way out through college, I got my rejection email. And then I found out that my rich friend got in. Because of her Dad’s generous donations to the university. It was so unfair. When I found out this morning, I cried for hours. I felt defeated. The anger, it came later. I had thrown my phone across the room, and the screen cracked after it hit my dark blue wall. I look down at the black broken screen of my phone tightly clutched in my hand, a stark reminder of today’s events.

“Envy. Green. Oh, and gray too… That’s normal. Anger is really sadness after all.” she softy said, tilting her head and shuffling her feet slightly.

This was starting to creep me out. She was right, I was envious. Jealous. My friend had everything I didn’t. Money, connections, comfort. I was so jealous that it hurt. “Respectfully, I don’t know you. Please leave me alone.” I said, mustering up what strength I could to fight back the tears at the memory of the day. I did my best to ignore the fact that this person I had just met knew how I felt.

“It’s okay, dear. The colors. We all have them.” She placed her warm hands over mine for a second, giving me a kind smile. She pointed towards a family in the park. “You see that family? They’re an interesting bunch.” I had no more energy to tell this strange woman to back off. I gave up, and decided to just hear her out so she’d leave me alone. “What about them? They look perfectly common to me.” I said, my voice unimpressed. It was weird how she could tell how I was feeling, but it would take more than that to believe this woman.

“That ginger haired woman? She’s very blue. She feels very peaceful with her son.” the young boy shrieked happily as his mother pushed him down the little red slide. The woman laughed loudly, her dimples accentuated by her wide natural smile.

“Her son is yellow. He feels safe and overjoyed. So playful.” she continued, pausing for a second to observe the scene unfold.

“Dada! Look at me!” the boy ran to his father and hugged his leg. The tall dark haired man stood to the side, holding a little moving bundle in his hands.

“Her husband, though…he’s a dull orange. That’s shame. He’s ashamed of himself. Why, I have no idea.”

“Anak! Is it time for the train yet?” the woman called out to her husband, from the top of the slide. “Huh. His color intensified. His wife’s voice makes him feel more ashamed of himself” she arched her eyebrow, pondering for a moment.

“What about that baby?” I asked loudly, the question slipping out against my will.

“Oh! White glow, of course.” she smiled, a her eyes sparkling. “Untouched, pure love.” a teardrop escaped her watery eyes. My heart clenched, the memory of something I couldn’t remember lingering inside me. “So only babies are pure enough to have that white glow?”

“No. Babies are pure. But they aren’t the only ones.” she said. “Come with me. I’ll show you something”. She got up from the bench and started to briskly walk, her long purple dress swishing with her silver hair. I didn’t know why I was following this woman, but some strange urge seemed to keep me going. I followed her slowly, crunching the orange leaves with every step.

After a minute, we arrived a few feet away from a beautiful willow tree. “You see that man?”

A homeless man sat on another park bench underneath, legs crossed in a meditative pose. “He’s incredible. I’ve been coming to this park everyday for the last year. The first time I saw him, he was all kinds of red. Angry, restless. Hungry. That’s all he was.” The scraggly clothed man had a slight smile on his face, and breathed in and out slowly.

“He’s still very hungry. But something happened a few days ago.” the woman’s placed her hand over her heart, like she was touched.

“What happened?” I was intrigued, my defenses broken down.

“The other day, a small bubbly child came up to him and handed him a tiny lilac flower. The child told him that he was beautiful and that she loved him. Ever since then, he’s been glowing white. Something changed in him that day. It’s not completely gone, but his anger started to fade away.” I stood quiet, stunned at what I had heard. The old woman turned to face me, slightly hunched over with age.

“Listen, dear. We all have colors. Sometimes we are murky like the bottom of the ocean. Most of us are. There’s nothing wrong with you.” her voice was reassuring, and it felt like my own grandmother was speaking to me.

My lower lip started to tremble, hearing the words that I wanted to hear. There was nothing wrong with me. I felt extremely vulnerable, like this funny old lady had broken down all my walls.

“Thank you…My name is Arina, what’s yours?” I held out my hand for her to shake, emotional and grateful for her words.

“Arina, what a pretty name!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my hand falling to my side again.

“I’ll have you know, I don’t have a pure white glow. I used to, but it’s hidden most of the time now. After my husband died last year, I’ve been overwhelmingly gray. Pink too. I loved him more than you could ever know.” and with that, she got up and started to walk away, like that was all of an answer I needed.

Hours passed, and I sat there in silence until the sun started to set over the park.

A baby started crying loudly, cutting through the dusky sky. I looked up. The colors, they were changing…

Charlotte Watson

Portrait from Memory

Graphite and Acrylic

Beckett Green

Self Maid Lemonade Acrylic

Audrey Miller

BTW I’m French Oil Pastel and Newspaper

Audrey Miller

I’m The Man On The Left Pen

Emma Haugh-Ewald

Fainting in the Dorm Shower

Acrylic on Canvas

Emma Haugh-Ewald

Painting John in the Studio Oil on Canvas

Emma Haugh-Ewald Portal

Ink and Colored Pencil on Paper

Emma Haugh-Ewald Gate

Ink and Colored Pencil on Paper

Francesca Dumitrescu

Self Portrait; Hard Light

Digital Photography

Emma Hong Limitless

Digital Art

Emma Hong Peace

Digital Art with Halftone Image

Written by Micah Austin Designed by Ilan Elenbogen

Duringthe early 1990’s, high school senior, Caine, does his best to survive the gang violence and drug culture in South Central Los Angeles. Kane was raised by parents who were heavily involved in the violence that came with gang and drug culture. It was this lifestyle that pushed Caine to stay with his grandparents, where they try to teach him that there is more to life than what he could find in South Central Los Angeles. Throughout the film, he must choose between staying in the questionable environment he was raised in or leaving in search of more opportunity.

In the first scene of the film, Caine and his best friend, O-Dawg, are at a liquor store buying beer. The owners of the store start constantly harass the two stating that Caine and O-Dawg must hurry and leave, suggesting that they do not want any trouble. After the two purchase the beer, the cashier makes an

offensive comment in which he states that he feels sorry for O-Dawg’s mother. This comment enrages him as he snaps, pulling out a gun and ending the store owner’s life.

O-Dawg subsequently murders the other store owner and proceeds to strip one of their bodies down for money.

The opening scene perfectly sets both the theme and tone of the movie, as it presents the audience with a glimpse into the world that the film takes place in --

Masculine traits are defined by the social expectations of men in society. This includes courage, independence, assertiveness, and leadership. These traits by themselves are non-toxic, however when they are taken to

As in the opening scene, there are many instances throughout the film where people choose the most dominant option possible in every situation. In the opening scene, for example, the store owners constantly do racist actions that agitate O-Dawg, however, disrespecting his mother was the last straw for him. In this situation most people would have walked away. In this world it would be seen as weak to do so and thus the liquor store owners had to lose their lives for the disrespectful actions they took.

Weakness was the worst trait to have in South Central Los Angeles in the early 90’s because respect that meant everything. If someone is always dominant no one can mess with them. The truth is that this thought process comes from the fear of being seen as someone who others can easily take advantage of.

The real root of toxic masculinity comes from this fear of being perceived as weak and sporting feminine traits. The thought process then becomes not about what is most masculine but what is least feminine, or weak. Associating traits with gender and power dynamics is unhealthy because it leads to poor decision making based on standards that rely on a selfish leader --

Beckett Green Waterfall Bust Digital

Beckett Green Rose Bust Digital

“Me

In The End”

In the end, there is no music. I can feel the drone of the violin. Crying, crying, screaming For me in the end.

The drums pounding

For me in the end.

The dirt flying

As they send Me deep down into it.

In the end, there is no music.

I can smell the cold of December snow Falling, falling, dancing For me in the end.

The wind howling

For me in the end.

The trees swaying

As the hold

Me deep down in them.

- Alexandria Reardon

Emilie Cooper Sloth Digital

Ambiguity

Digital

Emilie Cooper

Emilie Cooper Clutter

Digital

Rebecca Urrutia Glow Oil on Canvas

Rebecca Urrutia Warmth Acrylic on Canvas

Emma Haugh-Ewald

Birth of Embrace ; A Toor Botticelli Collage in Paint Oil on Canvas

Estelle Orleans Float Collage

Francesca Dumitrescu Color Theory, Personified Oil Pastel on Cardboard

Leilany Fuentes-Garcia Body to Flame Mixed Media

FASHION THE EVOLUTION OF “HOOD” FASHION ELEMENTAALIYAH SELENA TUPAC P.DIDDY NOTORIOUSB.I.G

Thick, heavy-set gold chain decorating an oversized Adidas jacket which swishes with every swing of the man. Baggy jeans thrifted–no–borrowed but still so fucking fresh. His six-year-old sneakers, which he still keeps at a pristine white shade, scuffing across the damp pavement. Maybe there’s music playing. Maybe it’s coming from his neighbor’s window six stories up. He doesn’t know. He only focuses on the angle of his chin, raised just high enough to earn the respect of the surrounding Westside natives. And the swing of the gold chain. The gold chain that elicits fear, intimidation from the outside, but power from the inside. This is his image. This is his hood. This is culture.

In a period of vibrant and confident dance, the genre of hip-hop exploded in the 1980s. B-boys or break dancers could be seen performing on streets or house parties. Relevant artists of the genre, such as the rap group Run DMC, popularized clothing dedicated to this style of dance, repping bold tracksuits matched with glistening chains. This fashion made a bold statement in the fashion world due to its audience: the Black and Brown youth of America.

During this time, communities of color were interpreted as a group of troublemaking, spontaneous juveniles. This was largely due to the rise of political unrest in California following a surge in cases of police brutality. At this point in time, Black and Brown youth began to revolt against what was perceived as the “normal.” This included whatever fashion or music was trending in mainstream media. No, this group wanted to form their own identity, something rebellious yet unique to who they were as both people of color and habitants of the “ghetto.”

Welcome to the creation of hood fashion. The rebellion achieved its peak in the 90s when RnB made its mark on Billboard’s Top 100 over and over. Artists such as TLC, Aaliyah, and Xscape appeared on the red carpet, adorned with baggy clothing and natural makeup. The look could have been considered a sin against fashion, but the girl groups of the 90s changed

the meaning of dress code. Meanwhile, rappers opted for the classier, more luxurious style. Walking into clubs with double-breasted suits, fedoras, and sunglasses (of course, all exclusively designer), artists such as P. Diddy, Notorious B.I.G., and Tupac dubbed the term “ghetto fabulous.” It was defined as a more of a lavish gangster style, and although it was not yet celebrated by mainstream fashion, the style was favored among Black creatives.

In the Southwest, Latinos emphasized glamor amidst the rise of Tejano pop queen Selena Quintanilla, known mononymously as Selena. The young Mexican-American woman was a beloved role model in “blue collar” Latine communities. Her specialty in Cumbia, a traditional dance and music originating in Colombia, transformed the style of the genre forever, adding an element of pop and glam. Along with her music, Selena was beloved for her fashion choices. In concerts, the singer wore bedazzled bodices with tight, flared pants. This style strayed away from the traditional look most Mexican artists wore. Selena favored glam in her stage presence, and that choice altered the shape of Spanish music for decades.

As musicians repped rebellious styles on the red carpet, their fans and fellow Black and Brown communities followed suit, shifting fashion to fit personality instead of a role.

The gold chain that elicits fear, intimidation from the outside, but power from the inside. This is his image. This is his hood. This is culture. “ ”

PHOTO COURTESY OF FLICKR

Long green nails brushing through long curly hair. A half ponytail that slightly touches her back, the back covered in sweat and velvet. Iridescent beads. Iridescent makeup smudged in the aftermath of track. Speaking of track, she remembers to switch her dirt-splattered Nikes with her fluffy, pink slippers. The fabric of her tight bell-bottom jeans touches the back of her ankle, but she doesn’t mind the feeling. She doesn’t mind how she stands like a flashy billboard on the Stevenson. She likes the attention. She likes the stares she gets from the pale-colored people with their wearing pale-colored clothes and their pale-colored eyes. Her eyes focus on the brown lip gloss she applies on her lips, the lips curving into a smile. Satisfaction. Confidence. Mystery. She feels all three and more as she walks along Lake Shore.

In a quick turn of events, the luxury vibe of the culture transitioned to that of relaxed comfort mixed with undeniable confidence. Clothing became more revealing with women opting for bedazzled tops and skinny jeans. Velvet jumpsuits blew up among teenagers following Disney Channel stars’ choice of fashion, including Raven Symone, Selena Gomez, and Brenda Song. Symone, in particular, spread her stylish influence among youth after appearing in Cheetah Girls,

Her eyes focus on the brown lip gloss she applies on her lips, the lips curving into a smile. Satisfaction. Confidence. Mystery. “ ”

a movie that celebrated bright colored velvet jumpsuits with cheetah print. On the opposite end of the gender spectrum, men were still adorning oversized clothing and glistening jewelry, particularly Black men. However, as the rap genre was placed on a pedestal in mainstream music, so did the clothes worn by rappers. Figures beyond the music scene, such as actors and socialites, began repping similar clothing, making the once “ghetto” style more favored among White audiences. In this era, the sleek, laid-back style became a symbol of comfortable masculinity. Akon and Nelly are just a few examples of the progression of the relaxed male persona. Akon initiated the statement with a white tank top and baggy jeans, usually matched with bulky aviators, on the red carpet. Later, Nelly added to the look–or stripped it–with a pop of promiscuity. The singer could often be seen performing on stage shirtless, dancing to sexual lyrics and fluidly (and shamelessly) hip thrusting.

In an age of discovering sexuality and celebrating the human physique, older and traditional audiences still placed a heavy stigma on promiscuity. Brown women, specifically, were ridiculed for their style, even if some groups were advocating for a more natural look. If anything, the “all-natural” faces of women could be considered

additions to over-sexualization in the 2000s. A tug-of-war between which feminine styles were socially acceptable led to the perfect compromise in the 2010s, starting with the explosion of Colombian singer Shakira. Shakira’s most prominent looks included bedazzled bodices and flared skirts. However, her casual style consisted of modest long-sleeve dresses or plain tees matched with skinny jeans and heels. Jennifer Lopez, another Latina singer, also celebrated this type of style, making the day-and-night personas an iconic staple among Latina communities.

Two four-feet long braids wrapped in black and white ribbons which they push in front of their shoulders. Spikey, rebellious eyeliner matched with an elegant white highlight. A tight crop top hugging plump skin. For the bottoms, the opposite: wide legged cargo pants slumped over baby blue Nike Jordans. They brush the small baby hair curls to the sides of their forehead and adjust the dainty jewelry on their neck. It’s trendy, but it’s personal to them. Their culture, their identity, their sense of self lies in the way they present themself, so when they look in the mirror, the neighborhood can catch a glimpse of how power rests in the youth. So they smile.