20 minute read
VISUAL ARTS
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The Gay Village No Longer Gay
KEVIN LOPEZ Contributor
There is a plethora of local businesses in the gay village situated in Montreal. I had the pleasure to work for one of them. Sadly, the part of the city that was considered a joyous place has now come to a downfall since the pandemic.
Before COVID-19, the gay village had its glorious days. As soon as you would get out of metro stations like Berri-UQAM, Beaudry and Papineau, you would make direct eye contact with gay pride flags hung on every lamppost. As you started walking down Sainte-Catherine, you would see these colourful spheres in the sky that would form a rainbow starting from Rue St-Hubert till Av. Papineau. You would feel like you were walking in a parade, surrounded by cheerful people who weren’t afraid to express themselves through their clothing.
As you continued walking down the street, you would be welcomed by local businesses such as souvenir shops, drag shows, bars, clubs and art galleries while simultaneously listening to loud pop music and watching people dance in the streets. By going further down Sainte-Catherine, you could smell all sorts of food from different restaurants. I worked at one of those establishments: an Italian dining place called Mozza.
And that was the last time I saw the gay village so colourful. More than two years have passed since the pandemic began, and the village still looks desolate, miserable.
My experience while working there during the summer of 2019 was nothing but excitement and entertainment. Customers would be interacting with strangers and building connections. We would receive tourists coming from all around the globe. The air was teeming with pure effervescence; there was never a day that felt like work. We were one of the oldest establishments in the neighbourhood and every day we would greet a considerable number of customers that would fill up the place. And that was the last time I saw the gay village so colourful.
In June 2020, my colleagues and I came back to work after months of unemployment due to Covid. We realized this magical area of Montreal was no longer the vibrant world we remembered. There were no more decorations on Sainte-Catherine Street. There were barely any people walking or enjoying the village’s charms. You would see many empty buildings due to bankruptcy. Luckily, our Italian restaurant stayed open, though it was not doing great. My colleagues and I would receive virtually a third of the tip that we would usually have gotten. We would attract fewer reservations. Our only busy days became Fridays and Saturdays. On days the restaurant remained quiet, a lot of employees simply got their hours cut.
Not only was the business at hands with financial difficulties, dealing with customers became problematic as well. A lot of them would react with aggressive behaviours over the fact that they needed to cooperate with safety measures that were given by the government of Quebec. On a daily basis, we would have to tell them there was a maximum of four people per table, to wear masks at all times except when seated, to write their names and phone numbers, to show us their vaccination passports with an identity card, etc. It was definitely a struggle. But it all stopped when our restaurant came to an end.
On October 29th, 2021, Mozza burned in a fire along with three other buildings. According to TVA Nouvelles, there had been four fires in less than a year inside the village, and two of those happened in our very building.
Coming back to the gay village months after the fire, I see no changes. More than two years have passed since the pandemic began, and the village still looks desolate, miserable. Walking there, I witnessed a conversation between a woman and her friend. Her words were: “It’s no longer an interesting place.” p p
Cabot Square’s Sapling: Through Gravel and Smog, It Will Grow
HANNAH DANE Contributor
A new tree has started to grow. From the rough, sharp gravel at its roots, its leaves sprout to the sound of students chatting between classes, a drunk man shouting at a woman beside him, cars honking, and metro doors swooshing open as people rush by the Atwater station on the corner of Sainte-Catherine and Atwater Avenue. With the statue of John Cabot towering above this freshly planted sapling, pointing out to the horizon and watching over Ville-Marie, for 10 years Cabot Square has stood as a beacon of hope in the city I love so dearly.
Cutting through the center of the park on my way to school, my feet pick up their pace as I near the station entrance, rocks stabbing my heels in my pink Hello Kitty Crocs. The women from the nearby Native Women’s Shelter greet me with their usual smiles as I rush through, barely avoiding a tree: “Love the blue, baby!” one shouts, coffee in hand, referring to my bright blue hair, hers jet black in contrast. “Have a good day!” I greet back as always, my mouth still bitter from my morning coffee.
Cabot Square isn’t a particularly remarkable park. With a small outdoor café, a few trees here and there surrounded by numerous benches, portable toilets, and a fairly small skating rink in winter, it barely counts as an actual park. A striking blend of marijuana, cigarette smoke, gasoline and urine, a scent that doesn’t get any less potent the longer you stay, infuses the crisp morning air. Unmistakablely, the imposing centerpiece depicting the Italian-born explorer John Cabot, resident of the square since 1931 as per the Art Public Montréal website, does little to brighten up the atmosphere.
For many, however, Cabot Square is much more than a dull urban green space. According to the Montreal Gazette, the Cabot Square Project has aimed to make this park a safe space for First Nations and Inuit people in the Ville-Marie area since 2014. As part of the project, designated officers can often be found in the park, checking up on its residents. “You guys get through the storm okay last night?” one asks two older men sitting by the station. Last year, a small orange ribbon was pinned on every tree as a symbolic gesture for the “Every Child Matters” movement in Canada, acknowledging the worth of every life affected by the Indian residential school system. Today, however, since the largest tree that once stood at the core of the square was torn down, not a tree in sight holds the ribbon it once did. Perhaps this too contributes to Cabot Square’s reputation: a ground for desperation and misery instead of hope and unity.
Nevertheless, I’d like to think the planting of a new sapling in that vacant space, with its shy, budding green leaves and frail branches, contrasting so heavily with the rugged gravel and the harsh smoke-filled air it breathes, could stand as an omen of what’s to come. Through hardships and suffering, surrounded by a city often too busy to care, the life in Cabot Square never ceased to flourish. Morning after morning, city gardeners come to water the tenacious, though mostly puny and shriveled plants, while workers from the Native Women’s shelter plow on, giving their all to provide better environments for women our country has failed to protect. Maybe it isn’t especially attractive or entertaining, but as Cabot Square’s spark refuses to wither, I’ll cherish every morning smile I can get from its occupants and stay confident pthat the Square will blossom again. p
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On Goth and Consumerism
The story of a subculture’s tragic transformation
SANAD HAMDOUNA Staff Writer
Goth—in the context of this article— is a music-based subculture that was developed in the 1980s, mostly in the United Kingdom but in other parts of Europe and the Americas as well. The subculture was composed mainly of gothic rock, an underground music genre that evolved from post-punk, which in turn evolved from punk rock. Influences from glam rock, Gothic literature, horror movies, vampire fiction, and various mythologies also played their part in the birthing of goth. These inspirations made themselves known in the aesthetic itself and in the lyrics of the music at its core. The 80s and 90s are commonly considered the goth golden age, but since then, the subculture has gone through radical changes thanks to the power of mass consumerism.
The aesthetic and fashion of goth subculture first developed as a way for committed goths to stand out from the crowd and identify each other. It was an underground community of like-minded people who shared musical tastes: many of them came from the 70s punk scene but had grown tired of its more violent and insurrectionary tendencies. Still, the two subcultures had a great deal of overlap. Many venues would host both punk rock and gothic rock bands, and some eventually became fundamental to the development of goth. A great example would be the F Club in Leeds, which first opened in 1977 as a punk rock club and later transitioned to a goth one. It connected potential band members to each other and hosted several bands that would later become influential in a myriad of goth subgenres, such as Joy Division for post-punk, the Sisters of Mercy for gothic rock, and Soft Cell for new wave. In the California scene, this overlap caused the birth of a new subgenre called deathrock, a form of gothic rock that had stronger connections to punk in both style and politics.
Goth’s aesthetic development was heavily influenced by this overlap as early goth fashion adopted many significant elements from punk. With time, the two scenes grew apart and goth started curating a more unique aesthetic inspired by Gothic literature, Victorian fashion, and glam rock.
Despite finding its own distinct style, early goth still upheld the anti-establishment values of its parent subculture. It displayed distinct D.I.Y and second-hand elements that were discretely displayed in the musical and social aspects of the scene, but obvious in its early aesthetical features. Most of the traditional goth ‘look’ was built around items of clothing that could easily be found second hand (or in your grandma’s closet) such as: old blouses, blazers, long skirts and dresses, lace, work boots, and much more.
When asked about their clothes in an interview at the Xclusiv nightclub in Yorkshire, a group of traditional goths described finding them at second hand shops and altering them, or even assembling them from foraged bits and pieces. A young goth man explained: “[I] buy dresses [from second hand shops] and cut ‘em up and just do anything with ‘em.” This serves as an example of how feminin-
ity was not only an accepted characteristic of men’s goth fashion but an encouraged approach, as it reflected a further middle finger to the establishment. All three interviewed youths also sported deathhawks, a hairstyle that evolved alongside the goth scene’s slow separation from punk.
In addition, many fundamentals of the aesthetic were built on the social changes that hippies and glam rock artists had explored through alternative sexuality and gender expression. Punks were already starting to experiment with this fluidity by including kink elements in their clothing, such as collars and leather harnesses, while goths pursued the trend and incorporated extra elements such as lingerie, heels, and platform boots. Glam rock was especially influential by bringing Punk’s low effort smudged eyeliner look to new levels with the addition of graphic liner, white foundation, and lipstick.
By the late 80s, the goth subculture was well established and thriving. As with every alternative aesthetic that gained too much popularity, the sharp teeth of capitalism were ready to tear it apart. The fast fashion industry proceeds by identifying growing trends before cheaply mass-producing articles of clothing and accessories associated with these trends’ aesthetics. Such items would’ve usually been DIYed or acquired from less reachable sources like sex shops. Some might argue this made the subculture more accessible, but from the perspective of traditional goths, it simply denigrated and deradicalized the aesthetic. What did it mean to be goth if the cost became spending two hundred dollars at a fast fashion store instead of the active involvement in the local scene and the hours of needlework early goths would put in? It wasn’t a welcomed change in the subculture, and people who bought into these aesthetics started being verbally attacked by older goths. They were called “posers”, “spooky kids”, and “mall goths’’, the last one clearly showing the implications behind these insults. This wasn’t very effective though, as most of these terms were either reclaimed or overused to the point of losing all meaning.
Ultimately, goth lost its battle against capitalism, and the subculture’s face has been forever changed. Nowadays, despite the name transcending time, goth is mostly perceived as a fashion style detached from any history, fetishized, and negatively stereotyped in the media. The goths of the 80s and 90s have now split into disjoint subgroups or adjacent subcultures, and although some active goth musicians remain, the local scene is still in desperate need of a necromancer.
Sources:
Goodlad, L., & Bibby, M. (2007). Goth: Undead Subculture. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Swallow, A., & Swallow, P. (Producers). Anonymous Goth Youth, . (Interviewees). (1984). THE HEIGHT OF GOTH: 1984 [Online video]. Batley, West Yorkshire, UK: Xclusiv Nightclub. Retrieved from https:// youtu.be/ix1ouhSPOxI. p p
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Aesthetics and the Manufacturing of a Curated Self
SIMONE BÉLANGER Arts & Culture Editor
I started to despise the word aesthetic. Truly, what I started to hate was not the word itself but the postmodernist definition we collectively harvested for it. How it resonates with fraudulent, restrictive, calculated undertones. How it allures to fast fashion and consumerism and all the bullshit social media normalized, comforted us about, or made us insecure about, especially in relation to the self and its projection. It is common knowledge that aesthetics are conditional to the question Who am I? as displaying an aesthetic is projecting a chosen identity. But I believe aesthetics portray another interrogation better: What do I reduce myself to? This is only the tip of the lugubrious iceberg that shapes the postmodern aesthetic phenomenon. Let’s now face what remained underwater for too long. In history, the saga of aesthetics can be traced back to our beloved Ancient Greece. Notable philosophers Plato and Aristotle cultivated a fascination for the notion of beauty, and especially for how it could be defined. As Aristotle described beauty by the “absence of all lust or desire in the pleasure it bestows”, highlighting the goodness in a beautiful object’s character, Plato defined beauty as abstract and timeless, as something absolute that does not stand in relation with the observer’s mind. Order, symmetry, and harmonious proportions were deemed as essential features as well.
As aesthetics is the branch of philosophy that explores the nature of beauty and of taste, it explores the duality of subjectivity and objectivity, the ecosystem that emerges from a coexistence between the observer and the observed. The Greek word aisthētikós is defined as the quality of a “perceptive, sensitive, or pertaining to sensory perception” reality. Accordingly, beauty appeals to a mysterious, intuitive sixth sense instead of a more rational reading.
Throughout the following centuries, aesthetics’ purposes and displays shift drastically. Although beauty lies within the Arts, the State, Church, and wealthy patrons parade pompously as its rulers. Religion becomes intrinsic to beauty and, for a multiplicity of cultures, aesthetic value now resides in sacrality. What is holy is spiritually appealing, and therefore beautiful.
Today, beauty still can’t be dissociated from wealth and privilege. As they decide of the inarguable beauty (while also having the means to buy it), taste is a mystical wisdom only the ones who carry a garnished wallet inherit. This statement, of overwhelming absurdity, tackles the wonders of trendsetting and the ability to partake in said trends. The essential ingredient, money.
Now, what of the promised postmodernist main course, the notion of aesthetic as offered to us by social media. I wonder, do the words Cottagecore, Dark Academia, Balletcore, Mall goth, Fairycore, Y2k, Cyberpunk, or even Clean Girl, ring a bell? I bet so. Though what mindsets do they unveil in our social media filled psyche? A goal, an inspiration? A display of your personality and interests? A sense of belonging through a shared style? And maybe a slight echo of online chronicity?
I only referred to a few mainstream aesthetics, but the list could have gone on an entire page. The number of aesthetics that one can adopt is exponential. This applies to microtrends that we watch vanish as swiftly as they appeared as well. The fashion movements, canalized by the screens on which our fascinated eyes rest for hours every day, have seen their lifespans drastically reduced in the last years. Trends that used to last from five to ten years die after three to five months. In 2019 only, single-use outfits generated 95 million kilograms of wasted, discarded clothes. Society and social media achieved to glorify wearing an item of clothing once before dumping it in the trash as if it never existed.
Fast fashion and aesthetics culture are indissociable. By definition, partaking in an aesthetic binds you to a promise of unnecessary consumption. The cycle repeats itself whenever a new aesthetic is adopted: a vicious pattern on a mission to wreck an industry already fucked up to the bone. When carried to the extreme, this cycle becomes a cult of novelty, of everchanging trends. Its temple, social media, its leaders, phony influencers who are more closely related to robots or aliens than to actual human beings.
The postmodernist aesthetics obsession can’t be examined without highlighting the inherent racism beneath it. I decided to play the game
How social media distorted our perception of identity and fashion.
and look up different aesthetics on Pinterest. I have two words: white and femme-presenting. And even when more diverse, aesthetics representations are dominated by Eurocentric features. The domination of such features over beauty standards advertised in most mainstream media is the lonely legacy of a colonial past. Many have also said not being comfortable engaging in a certain aesthetic as they didn’t feel accepted within the community.
Because aesthetics allow us to create a fantasy out of our dull lives. A fantasy that lies in romanticization obviously, but also in a much needed method of escapism. Notice the elements you want to embrace about the aesthetics that strike you instead of adopting the entire paraphernalia. Experiment with the wardrobe already in your hands.
Well, we’ve established that aesthetics kind of suck. But why are we so drawn to them? Why, even though I willingly claimed to dislike the term and its implications, does a part of my brain still wish I had the wardrobe to dress like a magical fairy every day without ever repeating the same look? Because aesthetics allow us to create a fantasy out of our dull lives. A fantasy that lies in romanticization obviously, but it also in a more than needed escapism. The world is sad and miserable and by creating a curated persona through clothing, we are allowed to escape it. Appealing, right? But as this crafted persona through a distinct style is often perceived as a means for creativity, I believe it is self-expression’s murderer. After all, by making aesthetics mainstream and marketable, what else do we express but the consumerist box into which we fit? Not only do aesthetics define one’s consumption, but they also often lead to the erasure of the culture, history or values originally associated with that very style. A classic example would be the paradox of the punk aesthetic, often stripped from the lifestyle it originated from. A core belief of punk is the refusal to partake in any form of consumerism. Therefore, the act of buying “punk” clothes and accessories completely defeats the initial purpose of the culture and depreciates the community.
Aesthetics associated with certain lifestyles often completely distort the meaning of that lifestyle. For instance, Cottagecore glamourizes a solitary existence in the woods and an independent lifestyle from societal influences. Many who experienced living on farms, etc. spoke up on how ridiculous was Cottagecore’s portrayal of what is in fact an extremely laborious and lonely existence. Sure, enjoying a certain style is awesome, but depleting it of its fundamental implications reflects a certain entitlement, especially towards the ones who witness their lifestyles being lightheartedly cosplayed.
Although engaging in an aesthetic is an individual decision often associated with self-expression, we can’t exclude the performative connotations of the phenomenon. In an article entitled “Aesthetic Consumerism and the Violence of Photography: What Susan Sontag Teaches Us about Visual Culture and the Social Web” written by Maria Popova, the importance of capturing and exposing the content of our lives is critical to aesthetics. A photograph freezes a moment in time, granting its author a sense of power and control. By posting on social media, we curate a persona, a fantasy available for others’ consumption.
“Everything exists to end in a photograph,” claimed Shanspeare, a thriving youtuber that also pinpointed the numerous red flags rooted in aesthetics culture. Time’s lack of tangibility creates a need for palpable moments, for grounding, for safety, for guidance. When aesthetics come into play, those needs get partly satiated but the deal remains pricey.
Aesthetics are not fundamentally bad. They are quirky, comforting, bring people together and solidify a sense of singularity. Still, I don’t believe in surrendering to the aesthetics of the hour. Notice the elements you want to embrace about the aesthetics that strike you instead of adopting the entire paraphernalia. Experiment with the wardrobe already in your hands. Don’t spend your entire bank account on a three-month basis as you oscillate between disparate styles.
Believe me, I understand all too well the societal weight to evolve alongside trends. Developing an identity through clothing or style is as draining as it is expected. From now on, allow yourself to be versatile, to be boring, to be eccentric, to wear the same outfit twice or a thousand times because it is a flex to reuse your old clothes and to be conscious that the fashion industry is a slaughterhouse on our cherished planet. Let yourself go (but please, don’t show up naked to Dawson), say no to this foul categorization process and to the infinity of tiny boxes that loiters on your Pinterest board. In a variety of ways, having an aesthetic is great, but sometimes, labels can simply go to hell. p p
Artwork by Elysia Da Costa Barros
@EDCB_ART
Artwork by Lulu Kaufmann Artwork by Alyssa Scotti
@ALYSSA.SCOTTI
