SPRING 2019 volume 12 issue 2 VASSAR COLLEGE
DUALITY EDITION instagram: vassarcontrast
www.contrastmagazine.org
Letter from the Editor
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Uniform
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Brewers Creek
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On Being “Totally Uncool”
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Peppa’s Party
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Beyond Binaries
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Dress Codes
30
Fraternal Style
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Deece Daze
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Exec Board & Contributions
Letter from the Editor
For this semester’s issue, still with questions asked about identity in the back of our minds from our last edition, we took this energy and asked ourselves and our contributors to explore the term, “duality.” We wrestle with conflicting feelings and attitudes towards the clothing habits we fall into. We take a dip into murky waters typically not entered on Vassar’s campus. We have some fun and create new landscapes for party time - using color, smiles and props to add fun to an otherwise mundane space. We consider the various ways of expressing gender binaries, ways that are no where close to monolithic. And we explore the boundaries of “appropriateness” in relation to structural codes embedded in clothing, place. The time and energy spent creating this issue was full of dualities. Feelings of happiness and sadness as I come to terms with this being my last ever contribution to Contrast Magazine. There is still so much more that I wanted to do, things I’ve dreamed up but never realized and most importantly, critiques I haven’t properly engaged with due to timing and my own faults. Contrast isn’t all-inclusive. It strives to be but often fails and though I’ve done some work to try to change this fact without being exploitative, I’ve had successes and failures. There is still so much more work to be done. Contrast is a space where any and all student body members are welcome to contribute towards. However, more intentionality needs to be done to include a wider variety of larger bodies, queer bodies, disabled bodies, trans bodies, POC bodies, gender-non conforming bodies, all bodies that have been erased and neglected by the visual culture catered by the fashion world at Vassar and beyond. I cannot and will not force anyone to pitch ideas for content or show up to castings, but I can encourage folks who see more for the future of this magazine to show up to future meetings, castings and calls for exec board applications. In the words of our Editorial Director, Sam Greenwald, “there is so much for any and all to come be a part of Contrast and share their piece to make the magazine reflect what they want to see in the world.” It is important that as a student publication, Contrast and the members that work to create the magazine, are continuously critiqued by itself and by others. Dana Chang
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DID MY UNIFORM EVER GO AWAY?
after graduation many of my friends spent the money they’d been gifted on tattoos, nose piercings, and pink highlights. I remember feeling powerful as I went to a meeting with my pre-major advisor in a crop top and ripped jeans, as I was never able to dress like this in front of my former teachers without getting a detention slip. Many private high schools adopt a uniform or dress code not only because they feel it instills discipline, but also allow students to cultivate their individuality exclusive from their outward appearance. (At least that’s what I was told during my high school orientation). However, there were always ways to “adjust” the uniform. This could include wearing socks that didn’t look exactly like the ones from the uniform store, wearing “modest” jewelry, or putting buttons on the required lanyard.
Confessions of A Former Catholic School Girl
I reminisced about my uniform days with my friend, Nina Salvatore ‘21, who also attended an all-girls catholic school with a similar uniform and dress code. We were amused to find that we both went well out of our way to distinguish ourselves in our appearance despite all of the strict rules.
Stephanie Madonna
Two summers ago, as I was preparing to start my first year at Vassar, there was one question on my mind more than others: “What I am going to wear?” I attended an all-girls catholic high school with a relatively strict uniform. A white cotton polo, grey kilt, knee high socks, a sweater (if it was cold), Sperry’s, and a lanyard with a student ID. In addition to this uniform, we were expected to present ourselves in a certain way: tattoos, piercings, flashy jewelry, headwraps, and “unnatural” hair colors were all prohibited. If a girl came in with an industrial piercing, she would be required to take it out (and was strictly monitored until she did so). If another girl came in with pink highlights, she would be required dye her hair back to her natural color. Coming to college, I was excited at the prospect of wearing whatever to class and getting as many ear piercings as I wanted to. In fact, even just a few days
“In my high school we weren’t allowed to dye our hair,” Nina said. “However I found a loophole around it by dying my hair black. I couldn’t get in trouble for it since it was a natural hair color. So, I continued to dye my hair black up until senior year.” In a similar manner, I bleached my hair the summer in between my junior and senior year, then spent my senior year dying my hair different natural colors (light brown, dark brown, and even a tragic auburn). Looking back on our high school experiences, Nina and I both agreed that dying our hair was just one of many ways we were able to control the dress code and distinguish ourselves from our fellow peers. And despite spending four years of my life confined to dressing in one specific way, I don’t find myself using fashion as a way to showcase my “individuality” on campus. Rather, I’ve found myself unconsciously dressing similarly to the majority of students on campus. There’s no denying the fact that there is a noticeable “Vassar uniform.” It is not a uniform in the sense that everyone wears the exact same thing, but there are definitely certain wardrobe essentials that most students
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No one played more with the conventions of the school uniform than our fave Constance Billard “It-girls.�
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here have: boyfriend jeans, oversized sweaters, chunky sneakers, Chelsea boots, and - of course - the classic liberal arts turtleneck.
sciously or unconsciously in dressing like the masses.
Simone de Beauvoir is quoted in the book Seven Sisters Fashion for her comments on the way she saw Vassar students dress. She described the typical Vassar style as a “studied carelessness.” Most students wore “blue jeans rolled above the ankles and a man’s shirt.” Although de Beauvoir wrote this in the 1960s, her observations still hold true today. These observations are a testament to the characteristic fashion of Vassar that I, along with many of my peers, assimilate to. Just as I automatically grabbed my kilt, polo, and Sperrys every day before high school, most school days I find myself unconsciously reaching for a sweater, high waisted jeans, and chunky sneakers. It’s obvious that what I wear here is very different from the uniform I wore in high school. However, my “Vassar uniform” operates exactly as my Catholic school uniform did: I look at it and I don’t think twice, but there is an unspoken expectation that other people will be wearing something similar to it. The execution of this uniform may be different from person to person (which is where one’s “personal style” could come in), but the concept is the same. There are many ways a student here can wear a black turtleneck and boyfriend jeans (and some ways may be more fashionable or flattering than others), but at the end of the day it’s still a turtleneck and jeans.
That said, there will always be some free spirits that dress to impress and standout. These unconventional non-conformists are part of appeal for a small liberal arts school like Vassar. As of late, I’ve wondered if I myself should be more like these people and take advantage of being able to dress in a nonconventional way. Maybe my unconscious assimilation to Vassar fashion norms makes me a hypocrite after complaining about my high school uniform. Although I genuinely like what I wear on campus, I wonder if I like what I wear because I think it’s genuinely cool or because I’ve been conditioned to think it’s cool. However, doesn’t this phenomena happen in fashion every day? In middle school were we not all conditioned to believe that wearing Silly Bandz and I Love Boobies bracelets were cool? If this is true, then I honestly shouldn’t feel unsettled at the fact that my style has ascribed to Vassar norms. So, to finally answer the question, did my uniform ever go away? The answer is yes but not exactly. Yes in the sense that I don’t have to wear a horrid plaid kilt, and no in the sense that my fashion isn’t something that is indicative of my “individuality” (but rather, that my fashion is something that is indicative of the fact that I go to a small liberal arts college). And honestly, after much reflection, I think I’m fine with that.
Given the duality of my former private school uniform and assimilation to Vassar fashion norms, there comes a sense of irony: when there was a uniform, I went out of my way to make myself distinct, but when there wasn’t I found myself dressing in a similar manner to the people around me. So, why is a classic argument against the uniform that it limits individuality, when people in the same geographic area or age range tend to dress the same (or, very similarly) anyway? I’m not trying to undermine personal style or poke fun at anyone, but rather present a question that I myself don’t really know the answer to. When I posed this question to Nina, her response was that most people can’t dress in a individualistic or niche manner because “it is a privilege to be able to find the time and money to curate a personal style and plan an outfit that embodies a certain style every day.” Another possibility could be that some people find comfort, whether con-
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Vassar Students all smiles in a phone booth, circa 1953. Image courtesy of the Vassar Digital Library.
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BREWERS CREEK Photography by Dana Chang & Jackson Hardin
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ON BEING ‘TOTALLY UNCOOL’: BARBARA KRUGER vs. SUPREME Lucy Posner
I was fourteen when I bought my first Supreme piece – a $25 bright green, ear warmer headband. It was winter, and although I’d bought the ear warmers with the intention of giving them to my brother for Christmas, I ended up wearing them way more than he ever did. Even more embarrassing than my ninth grade self trekking through the snow to school in jeggings, camo Roshe Runs, and a shamrock colored Supreme headband, was the fact that I made my mom wait in line with me for thirty minutes outside the store before I bought it. That being said, I’m of the belief that forcing your mom to wait outside the Supreme store with you is something like a rite of passage for any emerging fuckboy. And I was certainly no exception. In the six years since that fateful day, I’ve slowly but surely developed into a full blown drop-camping, re-selling, Grailed-obsessed Hypebeast. I cut far too many Thursday morning classes in high school just to go to the bathroom and get on the Supreme website in time for the latest drop. I couldn’t tell you how many hours I’ve spent waiting in pop-up lines, trying to get Yeezy bots to work, or filing Grailed complaints against people sending me Diamond Supply T-shirts instead of Bape cargos. It’s fair to say more than half my teenage years were a huge waste of money and a massive waste of time – at least what my parents think – but when it comes to Hypebae-ing it 24/7, there’s definitely more than meets the eye. I should start by saying that being a “girl who wears streetwear” is as equally legitimizing as it is frustrating. I’ve always found there’s a kind of power trip that goes along with – not just wearing – but pulling off clothes that seem almost exclusively made for egotistical, douchey f*ckboys who like wasting their parents’ money. That said, I’ll be the first to fight the stigma, and admit that places like Palace, Bape, Supreme, and Stone Island make a lot of genuinely nice, fine, quality clothing. It always feels good to be slightly subversive, especially if you genuinely enjoy what you’re doing in the process. And in a small way, wearing ridiculously hyped clothes has allowed me to do just that. But, like many things, the business of streetwear (and the fashion industry in general) has always been male-dominated. And has always been questionable. Whether we’re talking about Gosha Rubchinskiy’s recent pedophilia accusations, Karl Lagerfeld’s known hatred of plus-size women, or John Galliano’s blatant anti-semitism – those at the helm of fashion have
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always been problematic. On the consumer side, things are not so different. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard rando f*ckboys snidely comment on my outfits when they think I’m out of earshot. How many times I’ve been quizzed about all 33 Jordans, asked if I know who the guy on my bogo is, interrogated as to which designer was with what house before he started his personal line in what year. Stuff hypeboys with established clout would never ask their male counterparts. In the grand scheme of things, this is hardly a burden to have to bear. But the fact that women are rarely represented in the streetwear market only adds fuel to the fire. Ultimately, I’ve come to realize that when you’re “the girl who wears blank,” you’re always just “the girl who wears blank.” That is, of course, until you’re the girl who wears Supreme. Supreme is kind of like the Kylie Jenner of streetwear – an unavoidable, overly-hyped, physical embodiment of American capitalism you love to hate, who also happens to steal everything she does from a woman twenty years older than her (*cough* Naomi Campbell *cough*). In this case, though, Naomi Campbell is the seventy-four year old, New Jersey born artist, Barbara Kruger. It probably takes about half a second to realize that everything that is Supreme is entirely an appropriation of Barbara Kruger’s over forty-year art career. The brand’s immediately recognizable ‘box logo’ – a red rectangular box with stark white writing – is pretty much identical to the graphic motif used in almost all of Kruger’s work. It’s no surprise that Supreme – a brand with a reputation for releasing unlicensed “collaborations: via the appropriation of certain pop culture images (i.e. the CocaCola logo, Kate Moss’s photos, the L.A Kings font, Kermit the Frog, Picasso paintings, etc.) – blatantly stole Barbara Kruger’s whole spiel. What’s interesting, however, is that Kruger’s art stands for absolutely everything Supreme is not. Subversive, critical, and very anti-patriarchal, Supreme has essentially misappropriated Kruger’s work, taking what was supposed to be an incendiary anti-capitalist image, and turning it into one of (if not the) most recognizable labels we know today. On top of this, Supreme uses what Kruger originally intended as a pro-women emblem to reinforce much of the misogynistic ideology behind the brand. With few exceptions – Cindy Sherman (who designed skate decks for the brand) and Rei Kawakubo (the head of Comme des Garçons) who has worked with the brand in the past – Supreme almost exclusively collaborates
with men, many of whom have garnered pretty bad reputations surrounding their treatment of women. An obvious example is the infamous photographer Terry Richardson, who shot a calendar for the brand in 2003. Supreme doesn’t use women models. They’ve never released a female-targeted item. In all years I’ve visited their stores, I’ve never seen a woman working on the floor or behind the register. On the rare occasion that a woman is featured in any aspect of the brand at all, she is seen exclusively as a sex-object. The Kate Moss bogo, Supreme’s most successful “collaboration: of all time, shows the model in her underwear with the red box-logo strewn across her crotch – simultaneously censoring and commodifying her. More recently, Supreme collaborated with hentai artist Toshio Maeda. Together they released everything from pillows to T-shirts. All with images of anime girls not just undressed, but noticeably in shame. This, of course, does nothing to stop the brand from appealing to women and non binary consumers. In spite of the invaluable publicity female celebrities and influencers have generated, Supreme seems to completely ignore any, if not all, of the many parts women have played in its tremendous success. James Jebbia, who founded Supreme in 1994 (he also founded Stussy three years earlier), has been recognized for years among both plaintiffs and socially-conscious consumers for refusing to acknowledge neither Barbara Kruger’s influence on his band, nor his flagrant misogyny. Kruger, on the other hand, seems like she literally could not care less. In 2013, Supreme sued the clothing brand Married to the Mob for infringing on its red-and-white Futura logo. When Complex asked Kruger to comment on the lawsuit, she responded with a blank email including an attachment which read, “What a ridiculous clusterf*ck of totally uncool jokers. I make my work about this kind of sadly foolish farce. I’m waiting for all of them to sue me for copyright infringement!” However, in a more obvious retort to the brand, Kruger held a live performance in New York City as part of her work for the Performa Biennial. In November 2017, a recurring event, called “Untitled (The Drop),” opened outside what was once the former American Apparel store in SoHo. Security guards were hired to manage the crowd. The line swept all the way around the block. Once inside, performance participants sold beanies, hats, and even skateboards. All reading things like,
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“Want it buy it forget it,” and “Whose hopes? Whose fears? Whose values? Whose justice?,” just to name a few.
love my bright red puffer. And I love my embarrassingly large assortment of quirky stickers.
Supreme stands out in its particularly poor treatment of women and creatives alike – but labels that commodify, exclude, and appropriate are not exceptions in the world of streetwear. Everyone from Marc Jacobs, to Nike, to Gucci, to Gosha have been accused of exploiting certain groups in certain ways. Ethically consuming almost any kind of fashion is essentially unavoidable. But, where do we draw the line? I’ve spent a good six years trying to answer that question – and much to no avail. I hid all three of my Gosha sweatpants so I wouldn’t be tempted to wear them after news of Rubchinskiy’s recent pedophilia accusations broke. I stopped wearing my Gucci belt after the brand’s blackface sweater controversy. I won’t buy any Karl Lagerfeld or John Galliano. But, for whatever reason, I just can’t stop wearing Supreme. And I guess that’s just the point. At the end of the day, I suppose the hype has just kept me captive. It pains me to admit, but I love my bogos. I
In all the time I’ve tried to combat my wildly anti-feminist, patriarchal-capitalist affirming, unabashed hypocrisy I’m consistently reminded of a lecture on Kanye West that Yale professor Kathryn Lofton gave at Vassar back in October. In a similar wave of consumer guilt, I asked her why – in spite all my self-proclaimed feminism – I can’t stop listening to songs about f*cking bitches, abusing women, and forcing strippers to suck d*ck. An avid fan of women-hating rap herself, Lofton told me that, sometimes, it’s just really hard to stop patronizing the things we know are problematic but can’t help but love. Ultimately it’s not our job to stop Kanye West from supporting Trump. To talk Trippie Redd into not rapping about assaulting women. Or – in my case – change the entire institutional system that’s lead to the creation and success of the most iconic streetwear brand to date. All we can hope is that, in some small aspect of our hypequests, we can take back a piece of the power we’ve lost.
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PEPPA’S PARTY Photographs by: Hannah Benton
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BEYOND BINARIES Meghan Hayfield Illustrations by Austen Juul-Hansen
Femme and butch stereotypes saturate the queer community, reinforcing duality within the gender binary. But are these categories restricting or liberating? Are they open-ended or do they cement the need to define something more internal and personal? Arianna Brown, a first-year student who identifies as trans non-binary, said they associates butch and femme with masculinity and femininity, respectively. “When I think of those terms, I think activity and receptivity; masculinity being about playing an active role, being forthright, always being the one to do it first and think later. When I think of femininity I think of being receptive and intuitive, thinking before taking action, and absorbing energies and listening,” they said. Majella Martina, a first year student who works as an intern in the LGBTQ center, said, “In what I’ve learned, I associate femme with people presenting feminine, and butch with people presenting masculine. It’s not just gender binary but how it was taught was according to the binary.” Latoria Bailey, who identifies as queer and uses she/her pronouns, said she doesn’t use terms like femme and butch, as they exemplify society’s desire to categorize and box one another in. “I’ve never considered the definitions of those terms because I’ve never used them to define myself, or want-
ed to categorize what type of femininity I have,” she said. “Those terms enforce the insistence of wanting to categorize people, but it’s impossible to define everyone— that’s why I think certain categories, like butch and femme, make it hard to be yourself.” But this duality isn’t necessarily destructive, as Arianna Brown claimed, and , may even aid in defining one’s identity. “For me, I identify as trans non-binary, and I think the terms femme and butch help,” Brown said. “I think when I say, ‘I’m femme,’ it’s a little more freeing, and I don’t have to say, ‘I’m not a woman,’ and then get those questions: what do you mean, weren’t you born female? It’s a savior for me.” In figuring out one’s identity, the binary can enforce certain extremes to model in order to define oneself. Both Martina and Brown described how this duality affected their own self-perception . “When I first figured out I wasn’t straight, I identified as a lesbian for three years because I saw everything as binary: man or woman,” Martina said. “When I got to Vassar, it was the first time I was learning about gender non-conforming and gender non-binary, and I realized I was not just attracted to women. So right now I identify as queer, because I’m still exploring that, but [the binary] does affect how you perceive who you can
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be attracted to.” Brown shared a similar sense of liberation from the binary, once they realized they could not be defined by any external norms or stereotypes. “Because I thought I was straight, being hyper feminine, and identifying as a black woman, I was trying to find my femininity in an identity that’s already based in aggression and masculinity and is never seen as feminine,” Brown said. “It was really tough thinking I never had a chance of being feminine, and coming to college and remembering the fact that I am who I am, be that feminine or butch, and I don’t let anything define that for me.” This butch/femme duality can also allow for freedom and convergence of identity. As Brown mentioned, it can offer the opportunity to explore different sides of oneself . “As a kid, I played with my femininity and held onto it very dearly,” they said. “When that was taken away from me it was shocking and uncomfortable, so I’ve had a very interesting relationship with femininity. With duality I can dip into masculinity as easily as I can dip into femininity because I have honored them for so long that I feel like I house them all the time.” Bailey said she never had to think about redefining herself because the binary can be used freely. “I know that certain identifying as any gender comes with a stigma and I’ve always known that I don’t always fit what it means to be a woman, but I definitely identify as female. Butch and femme can apply to both someone who is male, someone who is female, and someone who does not have a gender identity,” she said. “The role of it is taking the binary but using it in a way that doesn’t subject you or restrain you.” Brown said that the gender binary enforces these stereotypes in itself. “Specifically for people who identify as lesbian, there’s more so this fighting to stay in the binary, so you have to be presenting really masculine in order to consider yourself butch or you have to be hyper feminine in order to consider yourself femme,” Brown said. “I think people who still play into the gender roles within the binary, they create that divide and enforce it.” Part of this may be because finding oneself outside of the cut and dry identities cemented in our minds is, as Martina said, scary. “For people who don’t identify within the binary that can be a very scary thing to work through because you’re raised to see everything as black and white,” Martina said. Bailey thinks differently: “ I don’t fit into this or that, and that’s why a lot of people create their own terms
but I think there doesn’t have to be a category for you to fit into. We’re all unique individuals, why do we want to be categorized into a group together?,” she said. But what was agreed was that gender is internal, and cannot be understood by looking at someone. “I think that’s where my heart is in terms of this duality: we have to remember that gender is not something that can be seen, something that people define within themselves, and they don’t have to explain that to anyone,” Brown said. “We’ve been raised to assume people’s genders,” Bailey said. “You don’t know how they feel or how they identify and it’s not your place to put an identity on anyone else.”
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DRESS CODES
Photography by Hannah Benton and Jackson Hardin
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What you wear has the power to express your character and encapsulate your identity. We all have style, it’s just a matter of finding it. But for twins, whose lives are already so intertwined, this proves to be easier said than done. In the case of Savannah Phillips-Falk, 19-yearold potential Film major here at Vassar College, and her fraternal twin, Olivia Phillips-Falk, who attends Bard College, the two try not to let their relationship interfere with their individuality.
FRATERNAL STYLE Gina Pepitone
When Savannah and Olivia were younger, their mother used her artistic eye to dress her daughters in different clothes and colors based on what suited them best. Unlike the classic stock photo of twins in identical outfits, the most they would match was for the sake of convenience, like having the same pair of pants or shoes. Any other clothes that were the same always had to be a different color. “Throughout our entire lives, my sister would wear pink and I would wear blue… for some reason I always wore blue,” Savannah mused, adding with a coy smile and a slight shrug, “Well, personally I think blue is my color.” Fast forward to middle school, Savannah dabbled in the tank top layering trend, but mostly stuck to the matching sweat suit look. She liked the idea of being a girly tomboy and confessed with a hint of amusement, “I distinctly remember thinking that jeans under like a summer dress was a really good look.” Olivia, on the other hand, gravitated towards athletic clothes. Her staple outfit usually consisted of leggings, a thick strapped tank top, and Ugg boots. Like most middle schoolers, Savannah and Olivia were just beginning to find their own sense of style. After graduating from eighth grade, Savannah and Olivia went to different high schools where they began to independently develop their own fashion sense. At Savannah’s new school, there was an unspoken style code among the girls. They would all typically wear mom jeans with a crop top and the trendy shoe of the moment. As Savannah put it, your typical “basic b*tch outfit.” For the first part of high school, Savannah focused on fitting in, shopping mostly at American Eagle Outfitters or Brandy Melville. Careful not to over dress and attract unwanted speculation for her outfits, Savannah stuck to clothes she felt comfortable in that were also accepted in her school’s social circles. At one point, she recalled buying rose gold Sperry’s because Youtu-
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ber Meredith Foster owned a similar pair. While she wouldn’t think of wearing those shoes now, Savannah was at a point in her life where she experimented with clothes worn by people she admired, including those of her twin.
artsy style. Her most current look is throwing on some scrubs with a hoodie and either her trusty Nike Air Force 1 or hiking boots. When it comes to how Savannah dresses now, her fashion style is all of the above. She gravitates towards unique pieces found at vintage or thrift stores. When asked to describe her own look, Savannah reflected for a moment. “A smattering of quirky-artist meets high fashion put-together business woman/film director,” she declared before adding hastily, “also farm girl.”
“I always thought that my sister was much more fashionable, and I feel like she started developing her own sense of style a little bit faster than I did,” Savannah admitted. “And I also think this was because her friends in high school were more artsy and a lot more into fashion as opposed to mine who weren’t really.” At this point, Savannah borrowed the occasional sweater or pants from her sister, but she would reimagine the articles and style them to seem more flattering on her body type. Leading up to college, Savannah felt most fashionable when she wasn’t in school, as she felt freer to be creative and more innovative, independent of social speculation and judgement. Because of this, Vassar was liberating for Savannah. In a more fashion-conscious community, she doesn’t feel as worried about over-dressing. As she put it, “[Vassar] has allowed me to embrace what I truly want to wear and allowed me to grow creatively.” And although it took Savannah a bit of time to catch up, both twins have gained the confidence to express their unique selves through their clothing. Since going to Bard, Olivia has only grown more into her thrifted,
Savannah is confident in the wardrobe she has cultivated, thoughtfully selecting her outfits each day. She no longer cares if people judge her avant garde clothes. “Fashion is, of course, an expression of self, so regardless of if I’m super confident in myself, why not be confident in the things that I like to wear? I think I’m awkward and quirky in a good way, hopefully—” she broke off into a light hearted laugh, “and I think that my clothes kind of convey that.” Since they were kids, Savannah and Olivia have always been their own person, expressing as much through the different clothes they’d wear. But, Savannah confessed mischievously, it’s still not beyond her to steal away to her sister’s closet and repurpose some of her clothes by adding her newfound stylistic twist.
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DEECE DAZE
Photography by Hannah Benton and Jackson Hardin
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executive board Editor in Chief & Creative Director Dana Chang Editorial Director Sam Greenwald Editorial Assistant Aiden Zola Blog Director Charlie Hobbs Blog Assistants Mercedes Hacksworth & Jamelia Watson Style Director Olivia Guarnieri Style Assistants Anna Grayson & Hannah Shwimmer Photo Directors Hannah Benton & Jackson Hardin Photo Assistant Emma Brodsky Layout Director Kristie-Anna Covaci Layout Assistant Makeda Johnson Film Director/Treasurer Noah Jackson
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contributions Cover Model: Larena Kang Photographer: Jackson Hardin Back Cover Model: Paola Castañeda Photographer: Hannah Benton Brewers Creek Models: Larena Kang & Xade Warton-Ali Photographers: Dana Chang & Jackson Hardin Fashion: Dana Chang, Anna Grayson, Olivia Guarnieri & Hannah Shwimmer Peppa’s Party Models: Latoria Bailey, Mat Mayer, Sam Left, & Clare Platt Photographer: Hannah Benton Post-Production: Dana Chang Fashion: Dana Chang, Anna Grayson, Sam Left, Clare Platt & Hannah Shwimmer Dress Codes Model: Paola Castañeda Photographers: Hannah Benton & Jackson Hardin Fashion: Dana Chang, Olivia Guarnieri, Stephanie Madonna, Lucy Posner, Danielle QuickHolmes & Sienna Ropert Hair & Makeup: Claire Murphy Deece Days Models: Stephanie Madonaa, Lucy Posner, Danielle Quick-Holmes, Sienna Ropert & Akili Walker Photographers: Hannah Benton & Jackson Hardin Fashion: Dana Chang, Olivia Guarnieri, Stephanie Madonna, Lucy Posner, Danielle QuickHolmes, Sienna Ropert & Akili Walker Hair & Makeup: Claire Murphy Layout Assistants: Dana Chang, Curtis Eckley and Makeda Johnson -43-
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