The Self Issue by Vassar Contrast

Contrast

Letter from the Editor

Storytelling the Self

Inside Out

Table of Contents

Don’t Need a Reason to Dress Up

Dinner Party

Diamonds in the Rough

Contributors

On Sharing Clothes With My Father

Executive Board

Letter from the Editor Dear Readers, I am so very proud to present to you the 15th volume of Contrast, our Self edition. With its many interpretations, the theme of “self” offers a compelling lens through which we can examine fashion, social identity, and performance. As an executive board, we were equally excited as we were overwhelmed by the countless ideas that we could explore through this theme. Ultimately, we set out to create a visual narrative through a series of photoshoots, illustrating the complex path of finding yourself. From our first photoshoot—featuring dark, monochromatic outfits and mirrors as props— we tell a tale of loss of self and fragmented identities. We end our series with a joyful shoot that celebrates unique expressions of individuality coming together at a lavish dinner party. In my eyes, “self” is centered around individuality, self-expression, and discovery—and we were able to explore these ideas outside of just the photoshoots. Our editorial articles feature personal essays that reflect on self presentation and our relationships with family and fashion. Additionally, the headshots taken for our executive board capture us in our personal spaces, offering a more intimate glimpse into each of ourselves, as observed through our unique physical spaces. Outside of the magazine, Contrast hosted our annual fashion show this semester. Inspired by ideas of creativity and self-expression, we styled a set of looks that sourced pieces made by students on our campus— whether they be up-cycled, sewn, knit, or crocheted.

Each look featured unique artistry and personality, and it was thrilling to watch them all walk down the runway. Throughout the past four year that I’ve worked on Contrast, my favorite part about this publication has been the opportunity to collaborate with so many talented and creative individuals across campus. It has been an incredible experience to bring our ideas to life with such an amazing and imaginative team, and I’m beyond grateful for all my fellow board members. Much time, love, and care has gone into this issue, and I hope you enjoy. Gina Pepitone

In Defense of the

“Internet Aesthetics:” Storytelling the Self By Anjali Krishna Illustrations by @_thinkill on Instagram

didn’t intend to go on a photo-journalistic rampage in UBS Arena. I was there for a concert—a K-pop concert to be exact. 9-member girl group TWICE was in the U.S. for a limited-time tour, and, of course, I couldn’t miss out on an opportunity like that. Aside from super catchy hit songs, flawless dance routines, and multi-million dollar music videos, K-pop is known for its visuals. I knew I was in for a fashion show from the girls, and I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when fans also rose to the occasion. It was like walking into candy land. Velour, satin, cowboy hats, bows, fishnets, hearts, platform go-go boots, skater skirts, plaid, impeccable makeup, did I mention platform go-go boots? And most importantly: So. Much. Pink. As I walked around working up the courage to ask people for pictures,

I noticed most attendees embracing one of two approaches for the night: referencing the group’s sugar-sweet concept as a whole in their looks, or emulating one of their specific performance outfits. I saw two people wearing full denim sets almost identical to those worn by two members in a promotion, and many embraced the broad pastel-academia theme of their latest video “Scientist.” After dragging my friend around to snap more pictures (the fear wears off after a while), I began thinking about how freeing it is to imitate someone or something. All these kids around me weren’t wearing flashy fits because there was a dress code, they were doing it to embrace the mood of the show, and because they wanted to communicate their fandom to others. Costume, cosplay, and even imitating your favorite musical artist: fully

committing to a look can be liberating. Lately, I see this in the popularization of aesthetics in the wider media. Cottage-core, fairy-core, (all the -cores really), academia, y2k, the list goes on. It seems a fascinating rebellion against the rhetoric of fashion media, which often emphasizes finding a unique personal style as the way to express yourself. But are people who channel an aesthetic not expressing their “true selves?” They’re just wearing what they like, isn’t that enough? The concept of an aesthetic is old, but the way the term is used today was born on the internet. In my highly professional and official research for this article, I stumbled across “Aesthetics Wiki,” which defines aesthetic as “a collection of visual schema that creates a ‘mood.’” In general, they are a motley collection of clothes, objects, colors, songs, and even activities

that together express some sort of identity. Aesthetics exploded into popularity largely through TikTok; Contrast has even done an article on the rise of “regency-core” in the spring of 2021, shortly after the release of Netflix’s Bridgerton. These types of lables for aesthestics have now begun worming their way into major fashion media, with Vogue referencing “ballet-core” in a recent article. As the entire concept is almost inseparable from Gen-Z, aesthetics have been critiqued for demonstrating the generation’s lack of originality, authenticity, and personal style. But I see it as some-

thing else—the development of a new visual language for fashion storytelling. Fashion has always sought to communicate a grand story. Haute couturiers have been inspired by everything from historical or current events, books, or even metaphysical concepts. However, after an outfit hits the runway, usually only certain pieces of it become mass-produced in a way that is accessible for the public. Without the other pieces, plus lack of accessories, hair, makeup, and general styling, much of the original storytelling is lost by the time it hits the

masses. In addition, ready-to-wear collections are almost always given less of a backstory than couture. To be fair to designers, you don’t generally assume the everyday dresser is thinking hmm, I think I’m going to channel the “magical beauty of the divinatory arts” in my outfit today (see Dior’s SS21 tarot-inspired collection). Or at least, you didn’t used to. With the rise of aesthetics, however, it seems like more and more people are using clothes to convey their own stories, moods and fantasies. The sweater vest is a sweater vest no longer; now it’s a key play-

er in the story of a university student studying gothic paintings in a stormy European country (à la dark academia). And although once upon a time it may have been considered “too much” or “too costumey” for daily wear to pair said sweater vest with vintage skirt, knee-high socks, a hair bow, and tortoiseshell spectacles, now it would just be considered part of the look. Doing more of my oh-so professional research, I found one YouTube comment by user Grace Loutzenhiser that put it best: “...I do like different ‘aesthetics’ because I like fashion and dressing

up. I’m one of those girls that like to come up with funny names for her outfits like ‘the really good art student,’ or ‘Fashion designer off duty on a rainy day.’ For that one, I would look up, ‘Model off duty aesthetic,’ ‘classy aesthetic’ and ‘preppy aesthetic’ to find the items I want or inspiration. I guess I use it as an easier way to find the style I’m looking for without knowing the exact item I want…” In short, aesthetics have allowed more people to tell stories through clothing, democratizing the language of fashion. And despite critiques of being inauthentic or deriv-

ative, using clothes to say what you want to say can only be self-expression, right? After all, who said your identity had to be limited by the bounds of reality? If you want your outfit to express your magical soul, consider giving Fairy-core a try. If you find yourself drawn to androgyny but don’t know where to begin, perhaps look to the New Romantic aesthetic of 1970’s UK rockers (notably David Bowie) or the decidedly more modern Techwear. It’s important to acknowledge that it’s not like aesthetics single-handedly spread the visual language of fashion. People out-

side of haute couture have been embodying “looks” since forever. As many YouTube commenters mentioned, before there was cottagecore, there was goth, jock, and prep. Many popular aesthetics are taken directly from Japanese street styles and subcultures—Lolita and Decora most notably. And there are people who have dressed in all decade-specific vintage for years. In other words people have been using clothes to create stories for themselves since the beginning of time. What’s changed is the explosion of options and how clearly deliberate it is today.

While the fans at the TWICE show may have just been channeling their looks for the occasion, my reaction to their recognizable and highly curated styles spoke to larger shifts in the fashion world. Instead of immediately assuming that the people around me concealed a true “personal style” under their winged eyeliner and pink velour, I was able to say, “wow, these people have such a cool aesthetic.” Their outfits, accessories and shoes were telling me the story they chose, and what could be more self-expressive than that? v

Inside Out Our first shoot takes on a somber quality, enabling us to begin a journey of self-exploration. Shot outside on an overcast afternoon, models were isolated against a background of barren trees and a fresh blanket of white snow. Face coverings and understated styling force us to come to terms with ourselves the way we are. Mirrors appear throughout, encouraging us to look within and consider how we move throughout space and time. Simultaneously, mirrors invite us to look towards the future to see what lies ahead. v

Don’t Need a Reason to Dress Up Illustration by @_15nachi on Instagram

xpression can involve everything from personality to beliefs, and it is greatly unique to each individual, being heavily impacted by personal experience. Many people’s sense of self is tied to expression—with everything from clothing to mannerisms—showing others how they think and how they want others to inter-

By Abigail C. Straus act with them. Bracelets can tell others our pronouns, pins can share our favorite fandoms to strike up a conversation. Clothing can even hint at how we’re feeling to those who know us well. Over the pandemic, many people’s methods of expressing themselves shifted due to the effects of isolation. Some switched to sweatpants while others began to

experiment in new ways including makeup, sewing, and bleach tie-dye. Personally, I began experimenting with new styles, completely free of outside pressures. As a child, I remember my peers and I routinely wore bright patterns with clashing designs, atrocious color mixing, and a wide variety of silhouettes. However, as we grew older, moderation

began to creep in. Dresses went from an everyday article of clothing to a special occasion outfit, like for concerts or dances. Skirts and nice shirts became more of a formal uniform; just like how athletes wear jerseys on game days, such garments were reserved for presentation days or other official events. Until recently, the last time I remember wear-

ing a skirt was in eighth grade. My mom had just gotten me a flowy, white wonder that fell just above my knees. I paired it with a shirt in my favorite color (purple, of course), and a jean jacket that was a hand-me-down from my sister. The bright spring day was a perfect companion to my clothing. I walked down the hall with my skirt swishing against my legs, smiling at my friends and repeatedly explaining there was no special occasion for my look. By the end of the day, I was apprehensive whenever someone looked at me because I immediately saw the up and down motion with their eyes before they asked why I was so dressed up. I don’t remember wearing that skirt again. After that day, I decided I’d rather go with stiff jeans and avoid any questions. Understated is often the norm in many school environments—think pants, t-shirts and baggy black sweaters. For instance, a friend of mine had told me that their high school’s unofficial uniform was an outfit with one tight-fitting and one loose-fitting piece of clothing. Anytime someone wanted to wear a hoodie and sweats, they were judged. People assumed that they were either having an awful day or that they looked like a disorganized mess.

This judgment went both ways. Leggings and a tight tank top? Then you would be seen as slutty. At my high school, the silhouette of the clothing wasn’t as important as the type. Specifically, everyone wore pants and t-shirts or hoodies. Every time someone wore a dress, they were accosted with questions of: “Where are you going?” or “Why so fancy?” Responding that you dressed up “just because” was never a good enough answer. There would be a questioning

sipate. Suddenly, I found myself with a closet full of barely worn clothes. I began to explore, forgoing my dresser with its jeans and drab shirts that I used to see as my only good option. Patterns and colors became brighter, and skirts swirled around my ankles daily. I dug old clips from my childhood out of storage so I could have sparkling butterflies on my braids and rhinestones floating by my ears. Before the pandemic, my hair lived in a messy low bun that

By the end of the day, I was apprehensive whenever someone looked at me because I immediately saw the up and down motion with their eyes before they asked why I was so dressed up. look and a “huh” before they looked away, and the cycle would repeat relentlessly. Undoubtedly, there was an unofficial uniform in high school, and while there were some variations, looking at a crowd, unplanned twinning was almost guaranteed. When the pandemic began, a break from the standard black tops and blue jeans meant that the unspoken fashion rules and anxiety began to dis-

rarely changed. It kept my hair out of my face and that was that. Being able to discover how my hair and accessories could add to my outfits gave me a whole new style to explore and more control over my appearance. Instead of being messy and unkempt, I became more put-together and adventurous with my hair styles. My current roommate went through a simi-

lar hair transformation, chopping everything off herself at the start of the pandemic. Styling her new hair gave her a feeling of freedom. She could control her appearance and change it however she wanted, whenever she wanted. Though my hair transformation wasn’t as drastic, we both discovered styles that were true to ourselves. As my isolation continued over the course of the pandemic, my experimentation began to settle, leaving me with a new appreciation for my clothes and a new confidence that came from choosing to wear what I love over what others thought was best. I was no longer as anxious wearing dresses and skirts, knowing that even though I might get questioned, the stress would be short-lived compared to the feeling of being true to myself and personal style. What we wear can be an integral part of ourselves—a work of art created by the multitude of materials we pile on. Our unique, dynamic modes of self expression show others a version of who we are, and the pandemic allowed for many to reflect and revisit ways of expression and how they can more closely align with their inner self. v

Diamonds in the Rough

This shoot explores our relationship with materiality. Inspired by Daniel Roseberry’s work with costume jewelry at Maison Schiaparelli, models adorn statement jewelry as a means of intimate self-expression. Bracelets, earrings, and necklaces are windows into our worldviews. Makeup aids in this pursuit by accentiauting facial features, allowing for a colorful interplay between beauty and substance. As models take on a neutral mood, ornamentation connects us with our material realities and tells a rather romantic and elemental story of who we are. v

M On Sharing Clothes With My Father By Arlo Povill

y favorite item of clothing in my closet is a yellow button down shirt. There’s nothing remarkable about it. The color is pale and slightly faded from wear–not the most flattering for my skintone. There’s a ring of pink around the collar from when I wore it after dying my hair six months ago. Another splotch of hair dye adorns the front pocket. Although I’ve washed it many times, the smell of sunscreen seems to have permeated the fabric from wearing it almost every day last summer. It came to me the same way most of my favorite garments do: from my dad’s closet. The yellow button-down, the ridiculously soft Snoopy tee, the oversized corduroy jacket–all previously in the collection of my father. All hold a top position in my outfit rotation. Growing up, my dad was a physical presence in my life, but in the way that the boulders by the side of our driveway or the wheelbarrow rusting outside the garage were. They were always there, but I wasn’t necessarily going to have a long conversation with any of them. Some of my earliest memories are from when my dad used to wake me and my sister up before he left for work in the early morning hours. He’d carry us down the stairs and hold us up to the window, our eyes barely staying open long enough to take in the sunrise. Then he’d be gone for the rest of the day, working long shifts at a clinic an hour away. My mom drove us to visit him once. The car ride felt endless at the time. I’m still little and chubby-cheeked in all the photos in his wallet. His coworkers used to remark how much we looked alike. I wonder what they’d say if they saw me now. Though I never doubted that he loved me, my dad and I have never been close. Once I grew too old for him to swing me upside down and make up songs about bathtime, he wasn’t quite sure how to act around me. He showed he cared in his own ways: bringing back treats from the candy shop on his way home from work, asking to see pictures of my friends so he could keep their names straight, doing bad impressions of my teachers and coaches to make me laugh. But whenever it was just the two of us in a room, we’d fall into an uncomfortable silence, both of us fidgeting with our phones (or whatever else we could get our hands on) until the other left. We discovered new ways to connect during our first pandemic summer. I was full of teenage ennui during those months, equally anticipating and fearing the day

I left my tiny, conservative hometown for Vassar campus. I felt like my life was changing faster than I was, and it made me dizzy. My mom quickly grew tired of my habit of drifting aimlessly around the house, but my dad, who is also a vessel for large amounts of nervous energy, seemed to understand the frazzled state of my mind. At the onset of an oppressively hot July, he took me for a drive– our first trip together in as long as I could remember. We listened to 90s hip-hop, which he was delighted to find out I also liked, and crossed a bridge just because. With the windows rolled down and the music turned up, it was too loud to talk anyways. I closed my eyes and watched the backs of my eyelids turn scarlet as the sun broke through the clouds. From that moment on, I started to ride along whenever he’d go to the store or to pick up takeout. He played me more bands that he thought I would like: Wilco, Pavement, The Replacements, and others that I vaguely remembered hearing on the CD player in the living room when I was small. In return, I showed him Car Seat Headrest; Slaughter Beach, Dog; and Peach Pit. I never told him, but I made a special playlist for each car ride, no matter how short. I tried to pick songs that we’d both like, which wasn’t hard. A few weeks later, I was feeling hopelessly disillusioned with my image as a whole. None of the girlish, chain-store options in my closet reflected the way I wanted to be perceived as I got ready for the day. I complained to my dad, and he disappeared to his room for a minute. He returned carrying a long sleeve shirt in my favorite shade of forest green. I couldn’t recall seeing him wear it recently, but it carried the familiar, comforting smell of my parents’ room. I put on the perfectly baggy shirt and felt like myself for the first time in months. This is what I wore to accompany him to the record store in a college town 45 minutes from home. I stood perusing the CD selection while he chatted up the store owner. I admired his ability to make friends wherever he went. He was never the best conversationalist, but once he found someone who shared his passions, he could talk endlessly. Our next stop was the local music shop, where he purchased new drum heads and struck up a half hour long conversation with the man behind the counter. At one point, the man’s eyes lit up, and he disappeared into the back for a minute and returned with a beautiful curved didgeridoo fresh out of the box. “Isn’t it just the hippest thing you’ve ever seen,” he said, and he was right. I hadn’t touched an instrument since I decided

not to join the 5th grade band after the director told me that my lip shape would make it too difficult for me to learn the flute. But, as I stood there next to my dad, the man smiled at both of us like we were kindred spirits. I tried to return his shirt later, but he waved it away. “Keep it,” he said. “It suits you.” From then on, every so often I would walk into my room to find a pile of his neatly folded hand-me-downs on my bed. Whenever I thanked him, he seemed sweetly shy. Occasionally, I still miss the feeling of being small and having my dad carry me on his shoulders. I’ve never felt as safe as I did riding high above the rest of the world. But I feel a bit of that sense of security when I go out in one of his old sweaters. Our relationship is a bit more complicated now, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It came as a pleasant surprise when I introduced him to some of my Vassar friends and found out that they all thought he was cool. One of my friends later whispered to me that they wished they could look like him when they were older. I saw my dad through their eyes–a thoughtful, soft-spoken, salt-and-pepperhaired drummer who is constantly spouting wordplay and song lyrics–and I was as charmed by him as my friends are. When I come downstairs wearing something from his closet, I can see his eyes light up in recognition. It’s during those moments that I think maybe we still look alike. v

The Dinner Party To end our journey of self discovery, this photoshoot is an ode to being unapologetically you. Shot from the perspective of brighteyed youths, the models embraced their childish nature, unchained from adult vexations and were able to indulge in an evening of tomfoolery. Allusions to Alice in Wonderland are evident in the styling and set, as the rather traditional setting is juxtaposed with kitschy clothes and an extravagantly disheveled dinner spread. v

Contributors e

Style

Jane Lipper

Writers

Abigail C. Straus Anjali Krishna Arlo Povill

Photo

Abigail C. Straus Casey McDonough Emmeline Vickers Batzdorf Gwen Ma Lily Tarrant

Models

Athena Randall Cherrie Chang Darling Garcia Eleanor Happy Frederica von Siemens Henryk Kessel Isabelle Paquette Jasmine Perez Julia Colon Manal El Achraoui Naomi Young Nea Phoebe Davin Sophia Corwin Tajbiha Binte Faisal Tiara Coleman Willa Potter Zarina Guefack Zerah Ruiz

Gina Pepitone Editor-in-Chief

Zarina Guefack Style Director & Treasurer

Carissa Kolcun Style Director

Cherrie Chang Style Director

Lily Tarrant Style Director

Tiara Coleman Beauty Director

Darling Garcia Beauty Director

Parker Fairfield Photo Director

Andie Berkowitz Film Director

Jade Hsin Film Assistant

Natalie Colletta Media Director

Isabelle Paquette Media Director

Arlo Povill Editorial Director

Lauren Showalter Editorial Director

Nick Gayle Photo Director

Morgan Stevenson-Swadling Layout Director

Gwen Ma Layout Director

Spring 2022