V Magazine UVA Spring 2016 by V Magazine UVA

SPRING 2016

V the

Beauty x Identity issue

the

Beauty x Identity issue CONTENT

JENNA WEIDA / 06 Beauty: Unattainable or Real? Where the Beauty Standard is Heading

MICHELLE MILES / 08 But First, Let Me Take A Selfie...Seriously

PETE DAILEY / 10 pg 26

Rhythm Control: Disco, House, and Modernity

KATHERINE DURHAM / 14 Culture Craze: The Social Media Stampede of Food

SOPHIE FIELDS / 16 How Thinking ““Dirty” Changed My Life

TAMAR ZIFF / 18 pg 36

Urban Reform

CULTURE COUTURE / 26 Interview with Lauren Maupin, Olivia Tritschler, Cindy Zhang, Kris Cody

PART II: STUDENT ART / 32 Identity

PART III: FASHION / 40 pg 40

Clash Talk

STAFF Editor-in-Chief Gloria Roh Features Editor Eric Leimkuhler Head Art Curator Sandy Hoang Fashion Directors Linda Meliani Meredith Wadsworth

Fashion Assistants Maelisa Singer Morgan Toliver Photographer Michelle Miles Student Artists Kara Adams Emily Anthony Whitney Wu

Writers Pete Dailey Katherine Durham Sophie Fields Kriti Gupta Sandy Hoang Michelle Miles Maelisa Singer Jenna Weida Tamar Ziff

Designers Caitlin Fischer Cindy Guo Michelle Miles Gloria Roh Priscilla Thai

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR This issue of V Magazine is truly a product of our time. In Part I, you will find a series of thoughtful reflections challenging what we fear represents a shallow and superficial culture – beauty standards as portrayed by the media, the appropriation of culture in popular music, modern self-portraiture (selfies), and that instinctive need to photograph our meal as soon as it arrives to the table. Within these modern forms of self-representation, are we building a sense of identity, or losing it? In Part II, three terrific student artists exemplify how artwork stems from a desire to better understand oneself, to feel connected to one’s surroundings, to reclaim space for each and every identity. Part III throws convention out the window to create our boldest and brightest fashion shoot yet. Four years ago, I passed by a single copy of V Magazine at Alderman Library and paused to take a look. The rest is history. It has been an absolute joy to feature so many unique and talented students every semester, and a privilege to have been part of this publication’s transformation into the artistic journal that it is today. V Magazine is special and so necessary at a University that offers few courses in journalism, fashion, and graphic design. To all on staff who enjoy and pursue these interests regardless of the limitations – I applaud and thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s time to take off the Miranda Priestly wig and pass it down to two fierce, creative minds that I know will continue to shape this publication for the better. Sandy and Morgan, I hope you will make V Magazine so phenomenal that anyone who picks it up feels the immediate urge to get involved. Happy reading!

Gloria Roh Editor-in-Chief

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torials P A R T

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UNATTAINABLE OR REAL WHERE THE BEAUTY STANDARD IS HEADING BY JE NNA W E I DA

ost little girls in America grew up looking to a certain standard for beauty. Beauty was what our mothers represented as they put on lipstick in the mirror, or what our Barbie dolls looked like when we dressed them in coordinated outfits. The teenage girls who lived across the street were always talking about some new, avant-garde trend – one that you had to try to garner a second glance. Our mothers and fathers told us that we were pretty just the way we were. Yet the girl on the cover of Seventeen looked nothing like us. In fact, she didn’t even look like a real person most of the time. The average American girl has at some point felt the inevitable, magnetic pull towards products advertised in the magazines; the ones that would make you look just like that model in the ad. “Try

this anti-frizz cream, it will transform your Mia Thermopolous hair into that Pantene model’s gorgeous locks,” they scream. “Buy this dress, it will slim out your muffin top and get you mistaken for Gisele in no time.” Just like that, entire generations of American girls were taught that beauty was not something inherent, but something to be crafted in themselves. Beauty could only come with the perfect concoction of products, clothes, and hours of meticulous styling. Likewise, beauty only existed within a certain realm of aesthetics: if you didn’t fit an image presented by the media, you just didn’t qualify as beautiful in the collective eyes of the world. Yet for so many women, this standard just didn’t sit right. How could beauty that was intended to look “natural” actually require hours of time and effort to cre-

ate? Why was the ideal of beauty a reality that only a small percentage of women could actually attain? Were the rest of “us” simply doomed to a life of always trying to measure up? No – women knew they were worth more than the media made them out to be. Recent years have seen a surge in media attention toward campaigns focused around body positivity, a woman’s inherent beauty, and the celebration of diversity in beauty. Dove created a series of videos designed to redefine beauty. They eschew the airbrushed images and impossibly high standards, helping women to embrace their uniqueness and stoke confidence in themselves. As Dove attempted to shift age-old standards, millions followed: the videos went viral, garnering support from women across the world who were fed up with unattainable beauty standards. They were women who wanted to embrace a new concept of their image, one that allowed every woman to embrace her own distinct “brand” of beauty. They became empowered by a voice in the media that was starting to push back – finally, real women could be celebrated for their “true” beauty, an inherent beauty that didn’t require hours of primping. Other voices began to push back as well, creating a sort of domino effect. Perhaps one of the most notable developments came from Mattel’s recent redesign of the Barbie doll. The Barbie brand doesn’t have the best track record in the eyes of feminists — there has been much criticism over the years for the doll’s perpetuation of gender stereotypes and promotion a body image that was unattainable. However, in 2016, even this decades-old symbol of femininity moved away from the traditional beauty standard with the release of the new Barbie doll body types. Barbie can now come in petite, tall, and curvy sizes (in addition to her original, slender form). The new development also introduces new skin tones, eye colors, and hairstyles, so every girl can find a Barbie that looks at least more similar to her than her predecessors would have.1 The “beautiful” Barbie doll doesn’t include just one aesthetic anymore – she opens up the perception of beauty, helping validate little girls’ own inherent, unique self-image.

So what does this mean for the future? Do these viral pushbacks mean enough to completely change the trajectory of beauty standards in media? It might take a bit more than a few well-intentioned marketing campaigns. For example, teens around the United States still submit to horrifying beauty challenges. The conversation over the coveted “thigh gap” is one example. Sparked by the idolization of several thin celebrities, many young women have set the goal of attaining this gap, which keeps their thighs from touching even when they stand with their feet together. Statistically, this is only attainable for a very small percentage of body types; still, young women will go to incredible lengths to achieve it. Viral videos have surfaced of girls saran-wrapping their thighs, or working out obsessively to trim their legs. Granted, these trends receive their fair share of ridicule in the media; but why do they remain important to a significant number of young women? Simply put, the pressure to look like a Victoria’s Secret model, or an airbrushed girl straight off of Pinterest, is still alive and well. The beauty standard conversation is just beginning. As long as a certain image of beautiful women is promoted in fashion, national advertisements, lifestyle magazines, and celebrity culture, there will inevitably be scores of women questioning their own worth based on how they measure up to that aesthetic. However, with each new event, there will be someone who decides they’re done with it, someone who decides they’d rather view beauty as an inherent gift to each woman. Perhaps one day in the future we’ll see an entirely different sort of woman in the media – a real, beautiful woman.

1 Giang, Vivian. “How the Barbie Doll Has Changed Her Body Over 57 Years (PHOTOS)”. Fortune. 9 March 2016. http://fortune.com/2016/03/09/barbie-doll-body-photos/

BU T FIRS T, L E T M E TAKE A

se l fi e by M ichelle M iles

“Selfie” – a term that elicits eye-rolls and ridicule from many, a word that often is associated with narcissism, embarrassment, and shame. It certainly doesn’t command the dignity we ascribe to the traditional, artistic self-portrait. Is it really so shallow and empty an expression? Fathers of self-portraiture Albrecht Dürer and Rembrandt van Rijn represent the early, more traditional, male self-portraits, producing masterful paintings and drawings of themselves that documented the different ages and stages of their lives. We admire other prominent artists as well, such as Vincent Van Gogh, Frida Kahlo, Pablo Picasso, who have added to the world’s collection of self-portraits, each poignantly portraying themselves through their own artistic styles in different stages of their own lives. The works of these artists took weeks and months to finish, allowing the artist ample time to make carefully considered decisions regarding the construction of their work. These portraits now hang in museums around the world and are open to the public to study, admire, and make of them what they will at their leisure. Self portraits are more than just art to ad-

mire on the wall, however; they can be tools of empowerment, as they bestow the creator with the power to define their own identity. Adelaide Labille-Guiard’s well-known painting of herself, for example, shows how a woman, faced with even more restrictions on the development of her “self” than women today, used self-portraiture as a way to establish her position as both a “lady” of society and as a talented artist. Romaine Brooks, on the other hand, liberated by her inherited financial stability, used her art to challenge social standards. She depicts herself androgynously in her self-portrait, boldly challenging conventional expectations of femininity. Both Labille-Guiard and Brooks established themselves in reaction to the social situations that surrounded them, making statements that are still relevant and valued to this day. So, are the works of these great artists “selfies”? How can we differentiate a “selfie” from a self-portrait? Both the “selfie” and the self-portrait are forms of self-representation made possible by human-made technologies. The selfie is attributed to smartphone cameras, the self-portrait to mirrors, paintbrushes, pencils, etc. The selfie, however, can be taken swiftly in a single moment (or

. . . seri ou s l y perhaps a few moments, at different angles, in different light), and is easy to manipulate, simple to share, and easily erased. The self-portrait is often more thoughtfully constructed over periods of weeks or months, and is designed with the hope that it will last. These elements lead me to wonder if “selfies,” could, in fact, be better representations of the self – representations that are constantly changing, ephemeral, and not restricted to only those skilled with a paintbrush. Yet, can a selfie posted by Kim Kardashian be considered next to the likes of portraits that have lasted hundreds of years? I don’t think so. Instead, the selfie must be considered as a new sub-genre of portrait art, which sometimes may qualify as a self-portrait, but is nonetheless as valid a form of art and self-expression as any other. While selfies may not embody the sincerity of art in the same way that Vivian Maiers, the photographer and self-portrait artist who never developed the majority of her work, does, capturing oneself in an image can nonetheless provide a sense of belonging and validation of experience. I’ve come to understand self portraiture in a multitude of ways: a way to make ourselves visible to others, to find our place among

them, or to challenge them. It is a way of seeing ourselves, releasing our inner bundle of self to find relief, or exploring identities to find understanding. Studying self-portraiture gives us perspective with which to approach one another and interact with these varying facets of identity, whether it’s another’s art, way of dress, way of speech, or other lifestyle choices. We use self-portraiture to gain information about societies past and present, revealing issues that we can approach more thoughtfully and with a developed understanding about the experience of others. Some self-portraits are made with the intention to present the self to others, to participate in a social conversation; other self portraits are innocent manifestations of one’s own sense of self, with perhaps no intention at all to be experienced by others. At the core of self-portraiture and selfie-portraiture, however, is ultimately the goal of defining the self, the ego, and grasping at the abstract notion of our individual identities. Note: this article is a culmination of my experience in Professor Lisa Russ Spaar’s Self-Portraiture in Visual Art and Poetry J-Term class (which I highly recommend!).

RHYTHM CONTROL DISCO, HOUSE, AND MODERNITY

merican mainstream music is shamelessly effective in its ability to appropriate, marketize, and disseminate the sounds of race, the music of the marginalized. From its inception in the early 20th century, popular music has been comprised primarily of noises which had their origins in places far from the mainstream. From blues to jazz, disco to house, corporate interests across the last century have been able to cherry-pick certain beats, certain musical notions, and re-contextualize them for a wider audience with deeper pockets. In doing so, messages of incredible strife have been lost in the sunny melodies of pop hits. Droves of loyal followers seeking the simple pleasure of transcendence have watched as their unique sounds have been transported–some might even say stolen – from their origins. Others, however, have seen their cultural beats mutate seamlessly into the mainstream as if they were somehow deeply intuitive. Why does this happen? Why does so much popular music of today, and of the past forty years in general, have deep and obvious ties to some of the poorest, most neglected parts of America? Is it that wealthier, more materially comfortable citizens see part of themselves in this music based on strife, struggle, and situational-transcendence to which they listen? Or is it the precise opposite, namely that the well-off look to the other side of town for a sense of purpose and meaning for their otherwise vapid and mundane lives? Moreover, at what point do we draw the line between an interest in another's way of life and outright appropriation–that is, stealing? How can we better balance the scales so that interests align, so that the mainstream can experience something novel and intriguing whilst simultaneously returning value to those who brought it into existence in the first place? Disco, the term distilled from discothèque (French for “library phonograph of records”), was born in the shimmer and sweat-soaked psyches of those seeking differentiation from the audio-hegemony of American post-World War II Rock n’ Roll. “It was very hot and crowded,” according to Vince Aletti, an earlier disco chronicler. He was speaking of “The Loft”, a private penthouse in New York City that served as an early incubator for disco music and culture. It attracted groovy

souls, rejects, lovers, and dancers all in search of a new sound, a new experience. Disco was pioneered by groups of African-Americans, Hispanics, Italians, Latinos, men, women, gays and straights. They sought a break in the humdrum

"Why does so much popular music of today, and of the past forty years in general, have deep and obvious ties to some of the poorest, most neglected parts of America? " of a homogenous popular music soundscape, and were inspired by Motown earnestness and groove. Their new sound featured a strong, thumping ‘four-on-the-floor’ bassline interlaced with intricate electric ornamentation. The result was novel sound, a new noise. Funky, suggestive, catchy, sexual; radically different from anything emanating from sound systems at the time. Aletti said that this new upbeat tempo was, “…completely mixed, racially and sexually, where there wasn’t any sense of someone being more important than anyone else.” It was designed to–quite simply–make people happy. Disco is unequivocal in its optimism, unapologetic in its desire to make you move, feel, dance. In the words of Nile Rodgers, “It makes you feel good!” This was precisely the message that disco’s pioneers were trying to impart. They were fed up with the coldness of American life– a culture fixated on conformity, where quiet obedience was prized over free thought and originality. With Saturday Night Fever came the suburbanization of Disco. The film transported Disco’s distinctly diverse aura into a world of white stereotypes and situations, with no acknowledgment of its history or meaning. Overnight, sound melded in the desire to differentiate, steeped in psychedelics, and drenched in sweat, became the soundtrack to a housewife’s gyration or a high school prom. The sound was appropriated to the mainstream with such to-

tality and rapidity that Rock stalwarts had to burn Disco records inside a baseball stadium and launch a nationwide media campaign against the new style before it was finally removed from the playlists of everyday Americans. This was the infamous Disco Demolition Night of 1979. Disco was dead. But the Stones and The Beatles had been – for a brief period in the mid-seventies – usurped as America’s contemporary anthem by an organic and deeply ethnic newcomer. Disco’s mainstream explosion enhanced its message, demonstrating to all that even in the depths of the Cold War, love, acceptance, and optimism could win the day. The heir apparent to Disco was House music. The sound, cut from the same stone as Disco, was pumping, charged, trance-like, with a vivid sense of motion and purpose. It made people feel like they were going somewhere. It got its name from rival but associated groups of young African-American music producers in Chicago and New York. They were intrigued by the cultural progress that Disco had made, transfixed by the now commercially available synthesizers and drum machines which would come to dominate the soundscape of the 1980s. House music would make its way into

underground clubs like “The Warehouse”, drug-riddled dens where hedonism was bred and encouraged in the name of transcendence. Frankie Knuckles, often considered the godfather of the genre, described these new clubs as a sort of, “church for people who have fallen from grace,” adding that House music itself represented an, “old-time religion in the way that people just get happy and screamin’.” For many marginalized denizens of urban America, House music represented a resurgence of communality and a sense of ethnic identity that Disco had done much to nurture.. Soon – almost as if by trans-Atlantic osmosis – the infectious sound would find its way across the pond, into the purview of the UK’s youth. They became captivated by this raw, utterly original noise which became the perfect accompaniment to a burgeoning rave culture. Fueled by a hatred of parental overreach, young Brits absorbed the sounds of House and found common ground with people whom they would never meet and with whom they shared almost no points of cultural similarity. This is not only a perfect example of the immense power and social cohesiveness behind rhythm, but also proof that musical genres, especially those born of hardship and perceived inferiority,

can resonate with a myriad of people the world over. What’s more, House music’s movement to the front of adolescent Britain’s psyche is representative of a musical appropriation which was beneficial to both sides. American House producers were enamored with the love they received from the UK, and, in turn, young Brits began to pay homage to their musical gods by massaging American house vibes into a new, more distinctly Britannic sound. In this instance, a mutual recognition and love for a certain type of music helped unite two seemingly different people. On both sides of the Atlantic, producers and party-goers alike shared in the enrichment of their art. And what of these beats today? Disco, after a brief hiatus in the early 2000s, has found a new market in contemporary music. Veteran producers like Nile Rodgers and Giorgio Moroder have collaborated with numerous modern pop stars, from Madonna to Britney Spears, in the perpetuation of their favorite genre. The Grammy Award winning album “Random Access Memories” by Daft Punk includes collaborations with both men. The album is a tour de force of cascading funky disco rhythms overlaid with guitar licks and soothing, Donna Summer-like vocals. Indeed, the album title itself points to

the willingness of denizens of the digital age to return to the past in order to pay respect to their musical inspirations. The most popular track, “Get Lucky” caused a massive stir in the music industry, recalibrating producers and listeners alike in their newfound love for optimistic, upbeat songs. Nile Rodgers described the development of the album as a process of rediscovery and reflection, a creative readjustment which saw the producers, “going back to go forward.” Pharrell–another collaborator on the album–took the lessons learned with Rodgers and Moroder and released his chart-topping global sensation, “Happy,” just one year later. The track, and the album in general, proved that global musical tastes were (largely subconsciously) geared to once again embrace and share in the “Good Times” that disco stalwarts had been immersed in since the 1970s. Personally, whenever I ask people if they like House music, the majority respond with a disapproving “no.” This is strange, given that the modern soundscape is flooded with the genre on a daily basis. Contemporary tracks like “White Noise” and “F For You” by Disclosure are nothing but classic, textbook definitions of great house tracks: a constant ‘four-on-thefloor’ beat-per-minute, intermingled with high-hats and oc-

casional vocals. The hallmarks of House can be found across the spectrum of modern dance floor fillers; people just don’t seem to realize–or, perhaps more pessimistically, they simply don’t care. Indeed, I feel this lack of care or interest in modern dance music has dealt the genre a serious blow. House has been diluted and debased, for years considered the armpit of music. Its potent and important cultural messages have been stripped bare as clubbers today seek a noise which is almost completely alien and devoid of its central humanity. The focus today is on ramped-up beatsper-minute and cacophonous electronic shrills. Attention spans are so short on today’s dance floors that any DJ who wishes to retain an audience must cue up tracks so that ‘drops’ fall one after the other. The result has been that, unlike with Disco, the cultural connotations associated with House have been lost to a short attention span and desire to escape as opposed to transcend. Modern music is characterized by a mélange of various different styles of original music. Mainstream production today is more concerned with appropriation, reorganization, and recognizability. In our unending quest for the authentic we have proven shockingly unoriginal in

forging our own unique sounds or creating musical zeitgeists. Sampling culture abounds in the modern popular music landscape. Kanye West, for example, has hit it big with samples of Daft Punk and Otis Reading, and his latest album contains a sample on almost every track. The line between stealing and artistic appropriation is proving harder to discern. But while many are quick to accuse my generation of outright theft, it’s important to note that remixing and reinterpreting is an important hallmark of our current epoch. Sampling is becoming a part of the modern DNA, as remixes and re-shares have become integral parts of our social meshing. But modernity’s penchant for the appropriation of the old or obscure is not stealing as long as new, genuine meaning is generated. For instance, Drake’s recent hit “Hotline Bling” (which samples Timmy Thomas’s “Why Can’t We Live Together?”) is not just blind theft, but instead a form of musical and artistic reinterpretation with distinctly modern sounds and social connotations. What is needed in popular music, however, is more reverence, respect, and acknowledgement for the people who created the beats and tunes of the past which have become the anthems and soundtracks of the present.

CULTURE

e craZ THE SOCIAL MEDIA STAMPEDE OF FOOD BY K ATHERINE D URHAM

On a rainy Monday afternoon during my spring break trip to Florence, I found myself sitting in a hip café – Ditta Artigianale. I excitedly awaited my avocado Croque Madame and Bellini. When it arrived I felt my hand almost involuntarily reach for my phone. The plate was a mouthwatering site, with avocado perfectly nestled between two delicate pieces of bread and an egg affixed on top. The Bellini, with its bright orange hue, complimented the dish perfectly. I began snapping photos that I would sort through later, hoping to find one that would do the meal justice. As I leaned my body back to get the perfect last angle, the man next to me tapped my shoulder. He began speaking Italian to me and I quickly apologized for not understanding. Speaking in En-

glish, he smiled and said, “when you put that on Instagram, use our restaurant’s hashtag. I am the owner and I love those posts.” I laughed and agreed that I would. Later on, I saw that his café had over one thousand photos on Instagram with the namesake hashtag “#dittaartigianale.” Other tags on the photos included #eatingfortheinsta, #foodstagram, and, unambiguously, #EEEEEATS. That is to only name a few. Suddenly, pictures of food are inundating the social media landscape. Whether they are individual posts from users, or entire accounts devoted exclusively to food photography, there is no escaping the trend, especially blogging platforms and Instagram feeds. This sudden phenomenon is inclusive of both the

amateur – who uses her iPhone 6 to take a quick photo of her meal – and the professional, who uses a high quality camera while meticulously staging anything from runny yolks to fluffy frosting. There are a plethora of blogs devoted to this art, including the college-centric Spoon University, as well as columns devoted to food on sites like BuzzFeed. Some accounts may be tailored to a particular audience, such as college students, to explore the best bites around various universities. Others may have the objective of identifying the next faddish food trend, like the now-immortalized “cronut.” Some food accounts devoted to Instagramming food have followings that range from the hundreds to the tens of thousands. These accounts can be particu-

larly alluring to college students, including those at UVA. Second year Francesca Brown created @Wahoofood to share photos of the food she makes at home, as well as the dishes she orders at restaurants. She’ll also repost images from other accounts if she finds them appetizing. One of the account’s latest posts is a photo of nachos from Boylan Heights, captioned “Super Bowl necessities.” As in many food blogs, the nachos are examined at a close angle to emphasize detail. The images fits in with the brightly colored and densely saturated photos that adorn her page. Location tags at UVA restaurants remind her followers that it’s all in easy reach. When asked on her take of the trend, Francesca cited the ubiquity of Instagram for college students. “[Instagram is a] leading social media site that people realized they could use as a platform, to not only advertise their food creations or others, but also provide people entertainment as they scroll through ‘drool-worthy’ and desirable pictures of food displays,”she says. Francesca’s posts range from colorful fruit salads to salted French fries. @Wahoofood is only one of the accounts that have transpired from this social media trend – a phenomenon that some call “food porn,” as it aspirationally captures massive portions that would be difficult for most diners to finish. Sometimes it feels like everyone is jumping on the bandwagon of posting their meals, with larger-than-life foods becoming the forerunner of this trend. One most successful accounts, Food In The Air, has gained over 300,000 followers by featuring desserts and greasy, carb-heavy foods in a majority of

posts. Some of the foods look too outrageous to even eat: bagel stacks overflowing with cheese, egg, and tomato; boxes bursting with glazed, powdered, and sprinkled donuts; towering

home to a wide variety of foods from various cultures and traditions – most of which are available at our fingertips. Capturing photographs of the varieties could help diversify taste buds,

HOW DOES IT IMPACT OUR CONSCIOUSNESS TO BE CONSTANTLY OCCUPIED WITH THE DIGITAL WORLD DEEMING OUR FOOD "LIKEABLE"? AND WHAT DOES IT SAY ABOUT OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE FOOD WE HAVE TO EAT TO SURVIVE? ice cream sandwiches piled high with cookies and confections. As the transition to digital media allows anyone to showcase their eating habits, our culture’s approach to food, and our expectations of what we eat, have changed. There must be a deeper implication with this trend, as we scroll through our Instagram accounts and see these outrageous creations. How does it impact our consciousness to be constantly occupied with the digital world deeming our food “likeable”? And what does it say about our relationship with the food we have to eat to survive? Ravindra Khare, professor of the Anthropology of Food class here at the University of Virginia, recognizes the deeper cultural impacts of documenting our food digitally. “Food is an integral part of Americans’ cultural consciousness and daily life. Food variety, ‘fluid’ free flowing social media, and increasingly ‘open’ American taste—all invite ever more visual view of diverse foods,” he says. The modern United States is

but our social media are simply becoming overrun with food. Is the experience of delicious taste stripped of us as we yearn to get the perfect photograph? Has social media detracted from the social element of eating? Have we started to see food as something to photograph, rather than a source of nutrition? Aside from my earlier experience in the Florence café, I felt strange when photographing my food in other locations around the city. The locals would enjoy their food and conversation without touching their phones. They allow food to be a primarily sensory experience, without the mediation that technology introduces to the process of eating. There is something to be said about enjoying the moment and not feeling pressured to produce content that will generate the maximum amount of likes. To what point does generating like from food photography become unfulfilling? For now, the best thing to do is put aside the phone and taste instead of look.

how t hinking “DIRTY” changed my life BY SOPHIE FIELDS

I was content and secure in my life, particularly with the products I used to wash my hair. That is, until the fated night when a friend texted to tell me about an app I should download that would “change my life.” I downloaded the app – ambiguously named “Think Dirty” – and almost instantly regretted the decision. Looking at the app, you would not assume it to be threatening: the platform uses a quick barcode scanner through your phone camera to rate any bathroom product on a point system from 1-10. The points are assigned based on how chemically loaded or harmful to your health the substance is. As I soon learned, many products that seem innocent enough are quite the opposite; a rather pathetic example was the “Organix” brand shampoo that I previously used, which, much to my dismay, received a whopping score of 8 on the chemical content scale – also known as the “Dirty”-O-Meter. Though the app had rendered me paranoid about my products at first, it sparked a sort of chemical revolution in my bathroom: it was me versus the sulfates, aluminum and artificial fragrances that are commonly found in nearly every product I used to get ready each morning. I began to read – actually read – the contents on labels to see what I was exposing myself to. My deodorant was the most logical place to begin, given the amount of talk I had heard in the media about the adverse effects aluminum can have on the body. Some studies have linked excess aluminum to serious chronic illnesses. After looking a little further into the issue, a PubMed article revealed just what I had expected: aluminum is shown to be linked to not only breast cancer, but also to Alzheimer’s disease, and even chronic kidney disease. According to the article, “Aluminium is absorbed by the intestines and is rapidly transported into bone, where it disrupts mineralization and bone cell growth and activity. Its toxicities result in or exacerbate painful forms of renal osteodystrophy… Because aluminium is sequestered in bone for long periods, its toxic effects are cumulative”.1 It was probably safest to steer clear of using deodorant with aluminum in it altogether. So, I then began making my own deodorant at home after finding a recipe online. It was quite simple to make, and much cheaper than the alternative! Though there’s still a presence of some healthy perspiration, there’s no odor, and I personally feel much less guilty knowing the exact ingredients that constitute my deodorant. After all, I’d much rather trade a little sweat for the risk of disease.

My next endeavor was to deal with the next dirtiest product: my shampoo. Many clinicians have already detailed the harmful effects of sulfates in common hair products...but what are sulfates, anyways? Functionally, they are the sole ingredient in the mixture that allow for suds to lather up when you wash your hair. Chemically, it’s another story: sulfates are also known to (depending on the amount/presence in your shampoo), be extremely drying and harsh on hair and skin, often stripping out too many of the natural oils that are beneficial to your hair. Some of my preliminary research laid out the functions of the many other unpronounceable synthetics that my shampoo likely contained. Some highlights: “Detergents: functions to remove environment dirt, styling products, sebum from the hair and scalp. Foaming agents: …allows the shampoo to form suds, as consumers equate cleansing with foaming even though the two are unrelated. Fragrances: added to give the shampoo a consumer-acceptable smell Opacifiers: Added to make a shampoo opaque as opposed to translucent for aesthetic purposes, unrelated to cleansing.”2 (Essentials of Hair Care often Neglected: Hair Cleansing; Draelos) Evidently, many of the added chemicals in shampoo are present for the sake of pleasing the consumer aesthetically: we’ve been somehow trained to think that the only way our hair is getting clean is if our shampoo is noticeably fragrant, foamy, and the right color in our hands. The best way to combat these chemicals seemed to be finding the real purpose of the unrecognizable ones already present in my shampoo, and avoiding the excess additives. My venture into just what exactly makes up some of my beauty products made me wary of all beauty products at first, but now I’m not paranoid about the chemicals; I just know I will take the so-called “organic” labeled beauty products with a grain of salt and look at some of the listed ingredients a little more (A good rule of thumb is that if you can’t pronounce the first three ingredients, it’s probably a bad sign). At the very least, this endeavor has shown that putting a small amount of time into researching about the chemicals in products you use every day can truly have a positive impact on your health.

1 “Aluminium and bone disease in chronic renal failure;” University of Kentucky, Division of Nephrology, Bone and Mineral Metabolism. 2002. 2 Zoe D. Draelos, “Essentials of Hair Care often Neglected: Hair Cleansing.” International Journal of Trichology. 2010.

URB AN R EF o RM BY TAMAR ZIFF

Above: “In what was once likely a deserted, gray lot, a model struts in front of a camera, exemplifying, with the background of murals on decaying architecture, a new commodified ‘urban chic’

In September, in anticipation of Paris’ annual nuit blanche (white night – in which the city’s cultural centers host events throughout the course of the night in a nocturnal celebration of art and life in the street – the city’s deputy mayor of culture, Bruno Julliard, declared that Paris has “become the capital of street art.” Speaking with Agence France Presse, Julliard stated, “There are a lot of people that appreciate the image of modernity associated with street art; street artists have made a massive impact in contemporary Parisian art

galleries. [Street art] has become a champion of contemporary art and Paris is an important place for it…We want to be on the track of modernity, of excellence.”1 Julliard issued a ‘carte blanche’ to resident metropolitan street artists and dedicated the 13th arondissement to an ‘open air museum’ of their creations. Although Julliard was explicit in his support of street art, France spends millions of euros on graffiti and street art removal per year. Street art is difficult to contend

with from the position of a city official: it is formally illegal – France has steep fines for the vandalism or defacement of public buildings, as do most cities – yet its aesthetic appeal, particularly when done well, is undeniable. The acceptance of street art into modern art discourse – though without precise acknowledgment of what place it will inhabit – was cemented with the popularization of Banksy and the growth of popular demand for street art as an affirmation of urban creativity. Many European cities have a designated street-art-

space (Rome2) where visitors and denizens alike can admire the artistic capacities of the city’s inhabitants in a safe, sanctioned space. There is a fine line between street art as beautification – an urban planning tool – and art as meaningful dissent or commentary, and it is the line drawn around the perimeter of these sanctioned spaces. Not all art must be political, or polemical: street art can and does serve as a legitimate expression of uninhibited thought and aesthetic, wherein the medium is the street. This may sound simple, but street art as a means for urban beautification – or, perhaps as a means for the introduction of different aesthetic forms into the everyday – is loaded with controversy, both practically and conceptually. Commissioned or purposed street art – that is, street art done not as a spontaneous interruption of urban drudgery, but rather placed in a particular place to serve or facilitate a purpose or process – would seem to violate the ethos of street art, and reduce it to a mere tool in the municipal

planner or developer’s toolkit. The public would probably admire Banksy’s works less if it were revealed that the placement were preordained as part of an urban reform scheme. Street art is therefore not just “art in the street.” A working definition is necessary in order to determine its place in both artistic and everyday discourse.

CECI N'EST PAS UN PIPE, (NI STREET ART) New York University philosophy graduate student Nicholas Riggle provides a definition of street art that is sizeable enough to accommodate the myriad forms that it takes, but narrow enough to encompass the attributes most essential to it. Riggle locates street art in the post-modern movement in the sense that it defied modern art’s “[separation] of art and life.” Until the 1960’s, modern art was dominated by the formalist stance, which required the abstraction of an object’s “aesthetic properties” from its “representational, social, metaphorical, or politi-

cal content” for true appreciation and critique. A piece of art should only be assessed by its formal artistic properties: as Maurice Denis, whose thinking influenced the progression of modernism, put it: “Remember, that a picture, before it is a picture of a battle horse, a nude woman, or some story, is essentially a flat surface covered in colours arranged in a certain order.” Art in its purest sense was thus forms that conveyed feeling, leading to the development of abstract art as part of the modernist movement.3 Andy Warhol’s pop art and Marcel Duchamp’s sculptures controverted modernism’s insistence that art need be inherently recognizable by bringing “everyday life into art,” thereby “collapsing the formalist distinction between the art and the everyday.”4 Rather than bringing the everyday into art, street art “brings art into the everyday” by introducing innovative aesthetic into the urban landscape. Not every piece of art in the street is street art: public statues, for example, would not count as street art, because they do not have the necessary criteria. Riggle identifies both material and immaterial requirements for street art: the material requirement is that it uses the street as a physical resource, and the immaterial requirements are that the street be an integral resource and that the piece be committed to a likely ephemerality. These qualifications are necessary in distinguishing street art from either publicly commissioned art (such as statues) or commercial advertisements (such as billboards or painted advertisements). Public statues use the street as a physical resource in terms of placement, but the street is not an incorporated element in the work. A public statue could, in theory, be placed anywhere in a city, whereas street art relies on particularistic placement – the artist chose a specific niche for his or her work, and no other would do. Further, a public statue is built to endure, whereas a street art piece cannot be expected to remain, regardless of eventual longevity.5 However, the most important characteristic of street art is its location in a non-“artspace.” Set in the already hectic cityscape, street art will not be noticed unless it “pops,” thereby extending a challenge to the artist to create visually stimulating

pieces that will impel passersby to take time from their routine to notice. Street art is not meant to be in a place where attention is explicitly directed at it, like a museum or gallery, where even non-exceptional or mundane works are in virtue of being framed and hung given a distinction that expects a certain regard. Part of street art’s aesthetic value lies in its integration in a layered urban context; without the latter, it looks cheap and contrived, and is rendered meaningless. Riggle concedes that street art did in fact satisfy “the ideal and instantaneous quality of authentic modernist art,” which was “to lift us out of everyday temporality.”6 Modernists conceived of this ‘lifting’ as an experience of pure decontextualized aesthetic feeling when looking at an artwork; street art can be seen as inciting a contextualized aesthetic feeling that also serves as a hiatus from the normal course of time. Street art should be creative, attractive, and surprising; there must be some element of happy accident in its viewing. This stands opposite to modern art, which, according to modernist giant Le Corbusier, “[seeks] beyond what is merely accidental.”7 Just as one’s encounters in the city are generally unplanned and variegated, such an encounter is essential for street art.

STREET ART IN THE "CREATIVE CITY” In 2005, economic theorist Richard Florida released The Rise of the Creative Class, which introduced the idea of a “creative class” of workers, “employed in the creative sector, engaged in science and engineering, R&D, and the technology-based industries, in arts, music, culture, and aesthetic and design work.” Florida affirmed that the creative economy formed almost a third of the U.S. economy, both the product and producer of an increasingly “open culture” that “spurred societal innovation, entrepreneurship, and economic development.”8 The role of the city in this culture was “to bring together and augment human [creative] capital,” that is, foster a sense of “creative class” community. As Robert Putnam’s Bowling Alone indicated, by the late 90’s, Americans were less inclined to be part of civic groups in the traditional sense: they were less likely to

join neighborhood groups, belong to churches, or fully immerse themselves in one interest or hobby group. This led to a weakening of social ties, which, in Florida’s point of view, was “more effective” in allowing for the burgeoning of innovation by an incipient “creative class.” Not being beholden to any particular community allowed the “creative class” to flock to metropolitan centers from everywhere in the U.S., especially to those which were the most tolerant: Florida found a “strong connection between successful technology and talent harnessing places and places that are open to immigrants, artists, gays, [and] racial integration.”9 The “creative class” wanted to move to “creative centers” that would provide “opportunities to validate their identities as creative people.” They therefore flocked to cities such as San Francisco, California and Austin, Texas, reinforcing the cities’ socially liberal character and reifying devastating socioeconomic inequality, which was often drawn along racial lines. As O’Callaghan points out, “the creative class concept is primarily tailored towards a core audience of urban elites and young high-earning professionals…the version of ‘creativity’ that is extolled… [exists] primarily within capitalist and consumer society and not in tension or opposition to it.” The rampant popularity of the “creative center” concept for urban developers was therefore its provision of a neat “rhetorical solution to the urban ‘problem,’” that is, the urban economic underclass and all of the negative stereotypes and urban ills attendant to it. “Creative class agendas…provide a continuation of the emerging model of post-industrial urbanism,” whose primary features include the growth of knowledge-based – i.e. tech – industries, the restructuring of urban form, and the “problems of increasing income inequality, social and spatial segregation, privatization of urban space and growth of defensible spaces.”10 The arrival of a “creative class” is therefore a boon to cities, in that the class will bring profitable work and concomitantly demand a lifestyle that justifies the marginalization of communities engaged in manufacturing, industrial, or low-wage service labor. The national profile of the city rises along with the rents and inequality index. The “creative class” concept therefore validates and reframes the “problems” of post-industrial urbanism as the unfortunate externalities of fostering true “cre-

ative centers.” Post-industrialism “implicated the increased collapsing of culture and economy… [and] a growing emphasis on urban branding.”11 Cultural spectacles became a “key economic activity,” and urban authorities were increasingly pressed to host cultural or artistic events as a means of “differentiating themselves, and sell themselves as centres of culture.” In order to appeal to investors and “creative class” workers, cities needed to commodify culture, or create a “glamorous, stylish” urban brand that could then be bought into. Commodified creativity was a reinforcement of, rather than a liberation from, “the confines of social structures;” it aimed to attract profit-making “creative workers” that would reaffirm socioeconomic hierarchies and expand the upper and upper-middle classes. “Creative class arguments allow neoliberal urbanism ‘to cuddle up to a soft liberal looking veneer,’” and serve as ostensibly mindful justifications of cities as “spaces of consumption and café culture.” Commodified creativity therefore becomes a “mechanism of social control” in that it determines the boundaries of acceptable “creative” discourse as well as who can participate in it. There is no room for spontaneity or accident, only the “safe and tasteful consumption of art.”12 However, the members of the “creative class” – in flocking to the most diverse and inclusive of cities – see themselves not as an elite and abstracted echelon but as fundamentally integrated in gritty, authentic, colorful urban culture. This culture must always be theoretically all-inclusive but practically exclusionary, enough to allow for the occasional wail of police sirens at night but not enough for a visible presence of economically disadvantaged, homeless, or unassimilated minority inhabitants. “Creative centers” therefore require a moderated urbanism, where the benefits of urban spaces – proximity and variety – exist without the reciprocal disadvantages – extreme population density or encounters with uncomfortable or threatening sights and opinions. Street art is an important facet of any urban paradigm, particularly one marketing itself as a “creative center;” however, its essential features are in line with a sort of “tactical urbanism” (TU) that stands at odds with profit-oriented urban renewal. Tactical urbanism refers to “small scale activi-

Above: An ironic rendering of sustainable transport in front of a lot created for the cars of yuppies and ‘creative types’

ties undertaken by local citizens that redesign their urban area to be more ‘liveable,’” or “community led, activist, unsanctioned and even subversive” initiatives to create a more engaging urban environment. “Guerrilla gardening” and pop-up events aimed at fostering a creative community are commonly cited examples of TU, and I argue that street art – which encompasses practices from mural-painting to “yarn-bombing” – is an essential TU activity, even if it is not specifically intended as such by the artist. However, “through political co-option and the desire for a creative or ‘cool’ urban aesthetic, [TU activities] are being…subsumed into the wider process of capitalism (despite being predicated upon a reaction against it).” Street art – as a distinctly ephemeral, spontaneous, and contextualized form of expression – has been incorporated into mainstream urban policy as part of a necessary urban ‘brand’ undergirded by a “creative, even edgy, PR-riddled narrative,”13 which serves as impetus for and justification of avaricious post-industrial urbanism.

There is no better example of the use of street art for purposes of neighborhood “revitalization” that of the Wynwood Neighborhood in downtown Miami into the “Wynwood Art District.” I had heard of Miami’s famous “Wynwood Walls,” a large permanent outdoor exhibit of street art. Naively, I believed that it was simply the product of a community initiative: a product of Floridian TU. Not exactly.

HIPSTERS & BULLSHIT: “REVITALIZING” WYNWOOD Right after World War II, the Wynwood area of north-downtown Miami was a popular nightlife destination for both white and black Floridians. Wynwood is adjacent to Overtown – which was called “Colored Town” during the Jim Crow era – as well as Liberty City, both of which hosted bustling and vibrant African-American owned businesses, social organizations, and nightlife venues in the 1930’s and 40’s. The area was a mecca for Afri-

can-American art, music, and culture: its hotels hosted such luminaries as Billie Holliday, Nat King Cole, and Ella Fitzgerald when they performed for white Miami society but were not allowed to lodge in the same places as their audience. After World War II, particularly after the expressway boom in the 1960’s, the area experienced a steady economic decline marked by a trickle-out of people and businesses and exacerbated by the effects of post-industrial urbanism. Race riots in the ‘80’s and 90’s led to a further dearth of investment such that, by the dawn of the 21st century, the population of 75% African-Americans and 20% Hispanics in the surrounding area lived in utter delapidation. In 2004 and 2005, a property developer named Tony Goldman – known for his “rejuvenation” of the Soho district in New York in the 1970’s14 began buying property in the area, in order to – as he writes in his book, The Wynwood Walls and Doors, – “[revitalize a] run-down, abandoned historic [community].” Yet Goldman did not want to bring back Wynwood as it may have been in the earlier 20th century: revitalization did not entail either the cooperation or consent of the commu-

like Julliard five years hence, Goldman gave the artists a carte blanche, allowing for the creation of huge, intricate, gorgeous pieces and collaborations by talented street artists. The catch was that what they were creating – although it resembled street art – was not true street art: it was an ersatz facsimile, cheapened by its purposing as a means for creating what Forbes in 2012 deemed one of America’s Top 20 “Best Hipster Neighborhoods.”16 According to Goldman, the walls allowed him “to expose the public to something they had only seen peripherally,” that is, street art. Yet the Wynwood Walls were not an exhibition of street art inasmuch as a gruesome display of “creative city” decoration and the gentrified bubble it creates as young urban elites and the businesses attendant to their lifestyle flock to the area. The painting of the walls brought in a cadre of urban entrepreneurs eager to cater to the “creative class” and their admirers by setting up expensive, artisanal clothing shops, restaurants, craft breweries, and other businesses retrofitted to belong to urbanism as a “look” and lifestyle that can be materially manifested and sold. The walls grew into a

“yet the Wynwood Walls were not an exhibition of street art inaSmucH as a gruesome display of “creative city“ decoration and the gentrified bubble it creates as young urban elites and the businesses attendant to their lifestyle flock to the area.“ nities in Wynwood and the surrounding neighborhoods. In order to draw the necessary interest – and capital – Goldman decided to use street art as an urban reform tool to transform Wynwood from “a desolate, mostly drab, and sometimes dangerous warehouse district outlined by working-class housing”15 to a veritable “creative center.” In 2009, after having purchased considerable amounts of property in Wynwood, Goldman invited hundreds of street artists from all over the world to use the facades of warehouses and abandoned homes as canvases for murals:

“Wynwood Art District,” a “must-see international destination”17 with robust media coverage and visitor revenue. The District is no more than a few square blocks, outside of which the sidewalks lie empty, sweltering and still: go too far north and you hit a formidable expressway, the same one that siphoned out most of the Wynwood area’s residents in the 1960’s. The website for Wynwood Walls promises that the walls “bring world class art to the community,”18 yet the community it refers to is not that

indigenous to Wynwood, but one that continues to slowly arise as a result of the Walls and the subsequent District. Last year, “Miami’s One Real Estate Investment “plunked down $15M on…North Miami Ave, a 400-plus% price increase from three years ago.” The “creative cities” concept has been the mainstay of urban developers like Goldman for far longer than it has exited as a product of Florida’s coining; it is well known that “an influx of artists has presaged a neighborhood’s mainstream real estate viability.” In using art as an urban policy tool to boost “real estate viability,” however, what becomes of the art? “It invariably feels dead and inauthentic.”20 In treating street art as a decontextualized and transferable “amenity” for real estate brokers to tout as justification for soaring condominium prices,21 Goldman perverted the ethos of street art as it exists organically as both an independent

art form and a part of TU activity. Wynwood Walls provides an example of how street art is being used as an avenue for unbridled gentrification and a callous tool of post-industrial urbanism. The murals on the Walls are undeniably beautiful, and the artists behind them are talented; yet in servicing Goldman’s real estate ambitions they were not acting as street artists, nor creating true street art, but rather participating in its neutralization into a deadened “urban policy mechanism for the repurposing of urban regions into ‘creative centers.’”22 Street art is a beautiful expressive form that occupies an important and legitimate place in both the discourse of art and that of urban community activism – its co-optation as an exclusionary force is sad, and should be combatted.

1 “Pour nuit blanche, Paris se voit en ‘capital du street art,’” Agence France Presse, October 2, 2014, Web. http://tempsreel.nouvelobs.com/ culture/20141002.AFP7366/pour-nuit-blanche-paris-se-voit-en-capitale-du-street-art.html 2 “Museo de Urban Art di Roma MURo,” M.U.Ro Museo Urban di Roma, David Vecchio, n.d. Web. http://muromuseum.blogspot.it/p/blog-page_12.html 3 “Formalism,” Tate Museum, n.d., Web. http://www.tate.org.uk/learn/online-resources/glossary/f/formalism 4 Nicholas Alden Riggle, “Street Art: The Transfiguration of the Commonplace,” The Journal of Aesthetic and Art Criticism, Vol. 68 No. 3 (Summer 2010). 5 This is not to say that murals or other pieces of street art that a city determines to be ameliorative to the urban environment and decides to protect stop being street art in light of their persistence; it is just that the idea of persistence is not intrinsic in the creation of the artwork. 6 Sven Olov-Wallenstein, “Space, time, and the arts: rewriting the Laocoon,” The Journal of Aesthetics and Culture, Vol. 2 (2010). Web. http://www.aestheticsandculture.net/index.php/jac/article/view/2155/5310 7 Le Corbusier, The City of Tomorrow and Its Planning, trans. Frederick Etchells, (New York Dover Publications, 1987). Google Books. 8 Richard Florida, “Cities and the Creative Class,” City & Community, Vol. 2 No. 1 (March 2003) 9 Ibid. 10 Michael Pacione, Urban Geography: A Global Perspective, (New York: Routledge, 2005): 5 Accessed through Google Books. 11 David Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity: An Inquiry into the Origins of Cultural Change, (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1989.) Online version. https://libcom.org/files/David%20Harvey%20-%20The%20Condition%20of%20Postmodernity.pdf 12 Cian O’Callaghan, “Let’s Audit Bohemia: A Review of Richard’s Florida ‘Creative Class’ Thesis and its Effect on Urban Policy,” Geography Compass 4.11 (2010), doi: 10.1111/j.1749-8198.2010.00397.x 13 Oli Mould, “Tactical Urbanism: The New Vernacular of the Creative City,” Geography Compass 8.8 (2014): 535, doi: 10.1111/gec3.12146 14 Leslie Kaufman, “Tony Goldman, SoHo Pioneer, Dies at 68,” The New York Times, September 15, 2012. Web. http://www.nytimes. com/2012/09/16/nyregion/tony-goldman-real-estate-visionary-dies-at-68.html?_r=0 15 Bill Kearney, “How Wynwood Earned its Street Cred,” Ocean Drive, Greengale Publishing, (March 6, 2014). Web http://oceandrive.com/how-graffiti-transformed-miamis-wynwood-neighborhood 16 “Wynwood Walls,” Goldman Properties, n.d. Web. http://www.goldmanproperties.com/Art-and-Culture/The-Wynwood-Walls.asp 17 Ibid. 18 Ibid. 19 Billy Gray, “How The Goldman Family Redefined Soho, South Beach and Wynwood,” Bisnow, May 11, 2015. Web. https://www.bisnow.com/national/news/commercial-real-estate/how-the-goldman-family-redefined-soho-south-beach-and-wynwood45687?utm_source=CopyShare&utm_medium=Browser 20 Riggle, “Street Art” 21 Ina Cordle, “Wynwood Condo Development Nearing Sellout as Area Heats Up,” The Real Deal, January 15, 2015. Web. http://therealdeal.com/miami/2015/01/21/wynwood-condo-development-nearing-sell-out-as-area-heats-up/ 22 Schacter, Rafael. “Street Art, Graffiti and the Creative City,” in Art & the Public Sphere, Vol. 3 Issue 2, (2014): 162.

Culture Couture Hosted by the Kluge-Ruhe Collection, Culture Couture showcased the recent movement of Indigenous involvement in the Australian fashion industry. BY SANDY HOANG, KRITI GUPTA, AND MAELISA SINGER

The doors open, the audience trickles in, and rhythmic music, a vibrant fusion of earthy dance tunes, fills the space. To the right is a bustling cocktail bar, to the left is a pop-up shop of beautifully woven purses and bright jewelry, and toward the front is a display of enticing hors dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;oeuvres (is that kangaroo meat?). At 7:30pm, the attention is brought to the center stage where a man dressed in a silky, eclectic red blazer introduces the show. Minutes later, student models emerge from backstage, one by one, flaunting colorful clothing that play with the fabricâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s texture, shape, and movement.

This fashion show was the vision of Lauren Maupin, the education and program coordinator at the University of Virginia’s Kluge-Ruhe Aboriginal Art Collection. Along with student co-manager Olive Tritschler, Lauren helped to showcase the works of three Australian designers and the works of student designers using indigenous Australian textiles. Here, she tells the story of how the event unfolded, the importance of the visibility of indigenous art, and the role of fashion in Charlottesville.

A CHAT WITH

Lauren Maupin, show manager Sandy Hoang: How did your vision for the show come about? Lauren Maupin: Well, (laugh) it changed a lot over time. I went on a fellowship to Australia in the summer of 2014. I saw a fashion show at the Cairns Indigenous Art Fair, and I was interested in bringing something like that to Charlottesville. I also wanted to involve students in a real way. There are fashion clubs at UVA that are great, but they didn’t have the funding and infrastructure to do a big professional event. So I wanted to help create a fashion event in Charlottesville that was as real and professional as possible. I also wanted to have a party vibe! So we had a step-and-repeat, Australian themed food, a VIP reception, and an after-party. With the graphic design, I wanted to make it feel chic. That was my vision for what I wanted for the night to be. That’s why we chose the Jefferson Theater as the venue too. We wanted to make it as chic and professional as possible. SH: Why do you think it is important for students to interact with Australian aboriginal artists? LM: Indigenous culture and people are highly overlooked in this country, definitely, but also in Australia too. I think learning about another culture makes you more self-aware, and makes you a more compassionate and understanding person generally. It drives a curiosity about the world that makes you see how things can be done so differently, and how something can be done even better. So learning about another culture has an inherent value. Also, when else are you going to have this opportunity [to interact with Australian aboriginal

artists] without going to remote Australia? Most Australians don’t get that opportunity to showcase their work. It’s a really unique opportunity, and why not provide that when you can? SH: In your opinion, what role does fashion play in creating culture? LM: Well, fashion is an art form. I think fashion, unlike other art forms, is in some ways more concerned with the body. That makes it feel more intimate and personal in some way than other art forms. I think there’s something about the association of fashion with the body that makes it important in culture. When you think about other cultural forms like cooking, which has to do with the body since you’re eating, a lot of other cultural forms have to do with the body, and fashion is no different from that. SH: Agreed, it’s different from fine art. When you have something like a painting, it’s put aside unless you draw attention to it, whereas with fashion, it’s always there. LM: Yeah, it becomes more like part of your identity in the world in a way that other art forms don’t. With music, someone can ask you what your favorite kind of music is, and it tells someone about your identity—but they have to ask you that question to get that. They can’t just look at you and get a sense of your sense of your personal relationship with art in the same way. SH: In other words, when you connect your body with your opinion of art, it becomes more intimate. LM: Exactly. SH: So you’ve mentioned that UVA has some fashion organizations but generally, as a whole, UVA isn’t generally conceived of as fashion-centric. LM: Well, UVA has interesting associations with fashion, because there are no fashion programs. From an academic perspective, UVA is seen as fashion-less. But from a socio-cultural perspective, UVA is known for popped collars and tall riding boots. It’s known as having traditional, conservative fashion sense, which generally is true. There are fashion clubs that are doing great things, but they’re on a small scale. I just wanted to contribute to the dialogue that IS happening by providing

something really unique. And because I work in a museum of Austrian indigenous art, it makes sense to do something in Australian indigenous fashion. I think there are some pockets of things in Charlottesville, maybe not necessarily at UVA, but there are small boutiques in town that are really pushing the limits of what most people wear in Charlottesville and at UVA. I was just excited to bring something different to that scene. SH: What impact do you think the show had on this scene? LM: I think, if anything, it’s just that wow, there’s more than just what we normally see. And just that indigenous people have something to offer to the fashion world. I think that was what I wanted people to walk away with. We don’t associate fashion with indigenous people at all in this country or elsewhere. When we think of indigenous people, we think of people in loins cloths, which is absurd, but the stereotype still exists. I just wanted people to walk away feeling, “oh, indigenous people are contemporary. They’re into fashion, and they’re making cool stuff.”

OT: Unfortunately, UVA is not a place necessarily for people with those goals in mind. You can definitely create your own major. The majority of the university doesn’t really focus on fashion. Outside of school, there’s the Fashion Design Club that people can get involved with. CRAVE and Fashion for Cause are also great clubs. Futures in Fashion Association is also geared towards helping students get a job in that industry. If a student really wanted to, they could find avenues to make it work. However, it would be a lot of work, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing if you’re passionate about it.

A CHAT WITH

Olivia Tritschler, co-manager, student designer Kriti Gupta: Have you always been interested in fashion? Olivia Tritschler: More as a hobby. I have always been invested in dressing myself. According to my mom, I refused to let anyone dress me as a child, so it probably started then. It isn’t something I spent a lot of time on. At UVA, it started with my involvement as a first year with the Fashion Design Club, which I later became the president for. I also took Marcy Linton’s Costume Tech class in the Drama department in which she goes over the sowing basics. Outside of UVA, I have thought about maybe one day designing and creating my entire wardrobe. It is more of a goal in the back of my mind, but it isn’t something I’m actively working towards. KG: Do you think UVA is a good school for students with fashion/design aspirations?

KG: What is your design process like? OT: The patterns were made for us based off of our sketches. Then, we made a version of our designs in muslin, so that we could have our original fitting with the model and then make adjustments to our design if we needed to. For example, my original design had a shorter sleeve, but when I created my first version of it, I realized that I had wanted it to be a little longer. Then, the pattern makers also made adjustments where they needed to. After that, we started working with the real fabric. That’s when it hit that this was all real. Don’t cut any giant holes in the fabric! I was making pants, which was very new for me. I had never done that before,

so just figuring that out was a challenge. I am also a perfectionist, so it took a little longer. Had I not focused on every tiny detail, I think it would have taken less time. KG: What are some of your career goals? OT: I’m not really sure what my long term goals are, but I will be working with the Kluge Ruhe Museum this summer and interning there. I have thought about working with museums in the future because it combines the respect for other cultures that I have learned through my Global Development Studies major and also the creative artsy side that I really enjoy. KG: Do you have a favorite designer or source of inspiration? OT: I tend to like one look from one designer and then be in love with another look from someone else. My interest is usually based on a single look rather than a complete collection. I try to think of my own fashion that way. I don’t have one particular style, but I will pick out anything I like and make it so that a single look will go. KG: What was your takeaway from this experience? OT: I have a huge respect for the indigenous artists who made the fabrics that we used and the garments that we showed in the fashion show. It was such an honor to work with their hand printed textiles that had so much meaning to it.

A CHAT WITH

Cindy Zhang, student designer Maelisa Singer: What sparked your interest in fashion design? Cindy Zhang: I was interested in sewing first. I’m self-taught. I enjoy changing original patterns and making little changes on personal items like wallets. Later on, I saw some online stores advertising their designers and I came to realize that maybe I can design clothes for my own as well. MS: Do you plan on pursuing fashion design as a career someday? CZ: I enjoy fashion design, but I will need

more practice and the right opportunities to make it happen. I’ll let nature takes its course. MS: How did it feel to model your own designs? CZ: I felt really comfortable and proud. For the first piece (the short red one), I almost felt too familiar with it after looking at it, touching it, and working on it for half a year to be extremely excited when modeling. However, the familiarity helped me truly own the piece and showcase it. The same applies to my second piece, although I only had a month to work on it. The fulfillment from carrying a project integrally from sketch to the stage was amazing. MS: Do you have a particular style that you channel in your designs? CZ: I would say it is a little early to talk about particular style. I see geometric shapes and sharp angles in my previous designs. Maybe these will become a style of mine? But I cannot say for sure. MS: What are some of your biggest sources of inspiration when designing? CZ: The geometry from nature really gets my attention. I love to extend from these shapes, using the

moon, stars, leaves, water drops, etc. to really nice angles and lines for garments. MS: What is the biggest lesson youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve learned about fashion design so far? CZ: Try everything. No ideas are stupid, and you might get some really nice outcomes from silly starts. MS: Who is your favorite designer? Do you follow the fashion industry and current trends? CZ: My favorite designer is Zuhair Murad. As a beginner, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t really follow the fashion industry, but I enjoy watching runway shows and current trends. I am currently following Zuhair Murad, Elie Saab, Dior, and Chanel. They have great designs and garments. MS: You are a double major in Financial Mathematics and Studio Arts. Financial Mathematics would seem to be very different from fashion design in the traditional sense. Do you feel that the two subjects can be connected in any ways?

CZ: There are numbers in fabricating, but not a lot. My Studio Arts major definitely takes care of my creativity, but Mathematics helps with my logic while making the garments. MS: Do you have any advice for people who want to explore fashion design? CZ: See, explore, and embrace anything that you like. From my experiences, there is truly no pre-requisite other than being eager to learn and explore. People I know are all very friendly. Be willing to make the effort, take risks, and be patient. Things will come to you naturally.

A CHAT WITH

Kris Cody, music producer Kriti Gupta: How did you become interested in music? Kris Cody: I grew up with a folk background. My father plays the banjo. I played the mandolin and the guitar. Those were the main instruments that

I grew up with. In high school, my music department had a studio where I first saw an opportunity to blend my acoustic background with the electronic abilities that we have now. The growing influence of electronic music on our generation also had an impact. From there, I got very interested in producing and started getting really involved with it during my senior year in high school. Since then, I have been continually producing every single second between classes and when I wake up in the morning. Collaborating with singers is what I love doing. KG: Have you ever produced music for events like the Kluge Ruhe Fashion Show before? KC: Producing is a relatively new interest of mine. I have performed with bands, but I have never really played electronic shows, but that is what I want to do. KG: How did you first get involved with the Kluge Ruhe Fashion Show? KC: I took an electronics class last semester called ‘Technosonics’. I believe the Kluge Ruhe Museum sent an email to the music department in search for someone interested in the project. My TA recommended me and that’s how I first got in touch with co-managers Lauren and Olivia. When they first briefed me on the project, I saw it as a cool opportunity. KG: Tell me about the process you went through when creating the music for the show. KC: I had zero aboriginal background to begin with. I mean, does anyone? It is such a unique culture. The Kluge Ruhe Museum is the only Aboriginal museum in the entire country. I visited the museum and was in awe of the atmosphere that they had created with actual Aboriginal music. They showed me paintings and textiles that they were working with. I did not know what to expect or how to approach it at first. I ended up starting by using didgeridoo and clap stick samples. I tried to fuse that with more electronic and vocal samples. It was very abstract to me in the beginning and then it somehow manifested itself into 50 minutes of music for the Kluge Ruhe Culture Couture Fashion Show.

KG: Did you encounter any challenges along the way? KC: I had difficulty finding a balance between what would be too mellow for the runway versus too rhythmic. Collaborating it with the vision that co-managers Lauren and Olivia had and getting on their same frequency was certainly a challenge. Because this was so new, it was difficult to get a sense of the atmosphere that we were trying to create. KG: Tell me about your career goals. Do you want to pursue music in the long run? KC: 100%! KG: What are your thoughts on UVA as a place for someone with musical aspirations, like yourself? KC: Charlottesville’s music scene is pretty spectacular, but not necessarily for electronic music. The jazz scene here is incredible. There are amazing musicians in this area and opportunities for music, but as far as electronic producing goes, that thrives more in a city environment whereas Charlottesville is perfect for jazz music. But in this technological day and age, anything is possible. For example, I am currently collaborating with a singer in LA. Just sending a track out is taking a step forward in the right direction. KG: Do you have any advice for people with musical aspirations? KC: A lot of musicians have not necessarily realized their potential yet and that comes from really listening to yourself and getting in contact with whatever creative outlet they choose to pursue.

Art P A R T

T W O

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m a second year Psychology major/Art minor who is fascinated by the human mind. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve had a lot of personal struggles (and ultimately triumphs) with my own mental health and hope to become a therapist someday. All of my art stems from a desire to better understand myself and others by expressing feelings and states in a way that words often cannot.

Second Year // Psychology, Studio Art (minor)

KARA ADAMS opposite page: Self Portrait, 2015 this page: Buddha Buddha Life, 2015

My pieces focus on identity and representation in art spaces. Growing up, it was hard to find figural sculptures in Western art galleries that werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t white people. My art is a series of self portraits and portraits of friends that reclaim space and subverts the expectation of figural representation in art.

Fourth Year // Studio Art

WHITNEY WU 37

I really enjoy using photography to formally capture places I feel connected to in some way. Whether it be the bright colors, or warm light, I took each of these photos because I felt drawn to the peacefulness of what I was experiencing at the time.

EMILY ANTHONY

top: Bathroom, 2016 bottom left: Window by Stairs 2, 2016 bottom right: Perfume, 2015 opposite page: Opal, 2016

CLasH TalK fashion director

Meredith Wadsworth

fashion assistants

Linda Meliani

make-up

Morgan Toliver models

Maelisa Singer photographer

Sarah Glatt

Michelle Miles

Julie Nolet

Yemi Kacoutie

Taronay Roohafzaii

V MAGAZINE