STYLE

Business in The Front, Party in the back

Miley Cyrus. Joe Exotic. Even Maisie Williams. It’s safe to say the mullet is having a serious moment right now. And it’s here to stay. So grab your scissors and a little bit of chutzpah because it’s all coming off! In comparison to the increasingly popular shag cut, the mullet transitions from chunky layers to lanky backs. Mullets have always been a distinct look, so it makes sense that the trend would reappear in the era of “shock and awe” fashion, trashy for trend, and “what the hell, let’s do it!” The style has resurfaced since mid-2019, taking hold of the mainstream consciousness while DIY hairdos become a suddenly brilliant idea. Even Rihanna donned the look in her newest SAVAGE X FENTY campaign, the epitome of fashion and flawlessness. But how did we get here from shrieking in horror at the uneven locks for the last 20 years? The first written account of the mullet is in Homer’s The Iliad, where the Abantes were described as having “their forelocks cropped, hair grown long at the backs.” Roman youth cut their hair to look like their enemy, the Huns, for chariot races. And in the 16th century, Egyptians also sported the style. It helped to keep their necks warm and dry and assured that hair wouldn’t fall into their eyes during battle. During the 1800s, the Wallowa band of the Nez Perce Tribe wore long hair down their backs with spiky bangs in the front and a braid at each side. In other tribes, it was often combined with the mohawk in tribes like the Kanyen’kehà:ka, where their protectors wore exaggerated hairstyles to draw the attention of white invading forces away from the rest of the community. In the ’70s and ’80s, jumping to a bit more modern setting, there was David Bowie, Paul McCartney, and glam rock stars. They hit the mainstream with their newly trimmed locks, taking an edgy twist on the flowing shag styles that had long ruled “cool.” Lesbians also claimed the look. It’s traditionally masculine undertones were a protest against traditional beauty standards for the pleasure of men. Joan Jett and the Indigo Girls, who led cultural movements of their own through their music, pushed the boundaries of hair with their layered manes. Stars like Patrick Swayze and Billy Ray Cyrus showed the true complexity of the trend and the variety of people and styles that it expanded to. It could be anything from wavy and lanky to choppy and spiky. Nostalgic trends of the ’80s have risen again, so it only makes sense that the mullet would make an equally dazzling comeback, adding a fresh grunge edge to our at-home Zoom look. But what’s so different this time around? The ironic nature in which people are wearing them. In the age of nostalgia, the recycling of old trends in 2020 stands out because there are more intense takes on each style. A mullet provides the edge that those ingrained in the youth culture are really looking for. Something to sink your teeth into while also being ironic and extra as hell. And it’s working. YM

WRITTEN BY LILLIAN COHEN PHOTO BY OLIVIA CIGLIANO

WRITTEN BY TALIA SMITH ART BY REBEKAH CZUKOSKI

GAY BY MAY

The first time someone told me I didn’t look “gay enough” was the summer after I graduated high school. Looking back on it, they really weren’t that wrong.

This third-party proclamation of my sexuality was false—and not the only time my appearance led others to make assumptions about who I like to spend time in bed with—because I am queer, and I’ve self-identified as such for nearly four years. The way I dressed before, however, didn’t exactly make that outwardly clear.

In short, I looked like your average, everyday cis straight woman. Not to say that there’s anything wrong with slapping on a gray crewneck and sports leggings every morning; I just want to make it clear that my fashion sense was not at all impressive or notable. My taste extended as far as the discount rack at any chain clothing store, and I gave little to no effort into further shaping my style.

For nearly 12 years, I went to school with the same group of 300-or-so kids. My hometown was close-knit, and the people I went to kindergarten with ended up being the ones standing next to me at graduation. This made it almost too easy to maintain the normalcy our heteronormative town brought me— if someone dyed their hair an unnatural color or got a facial piercing, we all noticed and probably didn’t stop talking about it for a week. And if someone got a tattoo? It would elicit at least two social media posts and many comments. Anything outside of the box was either picked apart or not easily forgotten.

At Emerson, everyone seems to wear their sexuality on their sleeve, as they rightfully should. I, however, was hesitant to even tell my first roommate that I was attracted to women, and during the start of my internal style battle, I was dating a man. There was no room for me to express whatever internalized confusion, repression, and anxieties I was having about my sexuality through my clothing. Dressing in a confident, slightly outlandish, and expressive way came in dead last on my list of priorities. Nonetheless, when my queer friends disapproved of my lack of “gay aura,” I figured implementing some minor fashion changes would do nothing but good for me and my adventure towards “outward gayness.”

Two years later, here I sit with a completely revamped wardrobe, long blue hair, bleached eyebrows, seven tattoos, and a nose ring. I’ll admit that, yes, I do feel a lot more comfortable with myself now than I did two years ago. In a way, rethinking the conventionality of my looks has forced me into examining my sexuality: now that I’m “dressing the part,” I’m acting the part, too. But amid this newfound self-comfort and the serotonin-boosting rush of excitement that comes with getting complimented on my outfit by a stranger on the T, I can’t help but be hyperaware of the fact that I only changed my look because I felt like I had to.

Yes, when I get complimented on my style, it feels good. In a way, I feel cleansed, released from the confining walls that the box of normalcy I was placed into built around me. No one cares what color my hair is, if any of my jewelry matches, or if I wear every single color in my closet at once. My issue lies in this feeling that my fashion change is just a cover-up for some deeply rooted issues connected to “proving” my sexuality to anyone who might be doubtful of my identity. It’s almost as if I’m presenting a different “version” of myself—a hyper-queer, noticeably “different” woman—even if I’m still the same person who grew up presenting in a totally opposite way. Hello to the joys of external validation, goodbye to any and all sense of self-knowing.

This intersection of fashion and sexuality has slipped into my subconscious, and there it will inevitably stay. I have been convinced that the only way to really claim my sexuality is to show the world who I am—not tell. I’ll no longer be the punchline of heteronormative jokes, the token Barbie doll pinstraight blonde, or the friend who didn’t look her part in a group of proudly queer young adults. And although it was nice to trade in jeggings and volleyball sweatshirts for chic vintage St. Michael sweaters and torn Carhartt cargo pants, I can’t help but think about how I’d look today if I didn’t feel the need to dress the part. YM

Am I a Big Kid Now?

WRITTEN BY EL WILSON ART BY RICKI KALAYCI

In June 2019, I found myself stroking the peach fuzz growing beneath my chin, trying to decide between two girl’s bikinis. One was red, white, and blue striped with a razor back. The other featured the word “PARADISE” in white and gold lettering across the top. Deciding that I didn’t want to seem patriotic, I took the second one into the dressing room with me along with a pair of boy’s swim trunks I bought at the Dick’s on the other side of the mall. While packing to spend the summer living with my cousins in Maine, I discovered that my bathing suit no longer fit. A year on testosterone shrunk my breasts and hips. A bad breakup shrunk the rest of me. And I wasn’t particularly large to begin with. I’m 5’1½” and have never been plus-sized. My size-two women’s swim trunks rested halfway down my butt. There was no way I was going to wander the beach with a plumber’s crack for my ex to find on my cousins’ Instagram stories. I could have bought a women’s bathing suit, but all of the options made me uncomfortable. They either showed too much of my chest or were onepieces meant for people who actually know how to swim. Besides, this wasn’t the first time I had wandered Target’s children section. I am non-binary and present fairly androgynously. Like many transmasculine people, I’m too short for any of the shirts in the men’s section. In his video “Clothing Hacks for Trans Guys,” Jamie Dodger—a trans YouTuber with 581,000 subscribers, says, “Don’t be embarrassed if you need to go to the kid’s section. It’s better to get something that fits you right, and try not to worry too much about where it comes from.” I had never felt embarrassed shopping for boy’s clothing before. My height doesn’t cause me much gender dysphoria. I’m disabled and spend most of my time in a manual wheelchair. Most strangers try so desperately to remember their disability etiquette when they see me that they don’t notice how short I am. Besides, many stores cater to liberal parents who dress their first-graders like art school students. That is not an exaggeration. Art Class is one of Target’s major children’s clothing brands whose boy’s collection features “super skinny,” ripped, black jeans and denim, sleeveless, button-downs. There’s a variety of reasons why an adult may wander into the kids section when shopping for themselves. First off, it’s far cheaper. In her Buzzfeed article, “9 Ways To Save Money By Shopping In The Kids’ Section,” Sally Kaplan suggests buying girl’s socks from Target, jeans from Gap Kids, and girl’s boots from Zara. As of now, purchasing girl’s Zara boots instead of women’s saves you $24, and they have children’s sizes that will fit up to a 10 in women’s. Plus, there are aesthetic considerations. Aarathi Nirmalan, a 29-year-old Boston resident, shops in the kids section not only because she’s 4’11” but also due to stylistic preferences. She prefers gender neutral clothing styles, which she can more easily find in the men’s department. However, she usually shops in the boy’s department. She says this is not only due to sizing issues but also because “sometimes the men’s section is too restrictive in color (toxic masculinity?) so the boy’s section will have more fun colors.” Despite all of this, I sat in the dressing room for 10 minutes before trying the bathing suit on. It was a year after I graduated from college, and I was finally moving out of my parents’ house. Over that year I had lost the things that made me feel like an adult: my independence, my girlfriend, and enough weight to land me in the children’s section. But I needed a new bathing suit. I did what any young millennial would do. I posted a selfie of myself in the suit on my Instagram story and asked my followers, “Buying your suit from both kids departments? ‘YAY!’ or ‘Nah, bro.’” Two years later, I’m a graduate student who still shops in the kid’s department. I don’t weigh much more than I did when I bought the suit, and most of that is muscle mass gained from playing sled hockey. Every time I need a new winter coat, I venture to the kid’s section of the North Face website. I still purchase most of my shirts from Target’s boys section, and have a deep love of Old Navy’s girl’s sweatpants. Yet, I am an adult. Adulthood isn’t about what size you are or if you’re single or even whether you’re financially independent. Adulthood is marked by a responsibility to serve your community, which can be done wearing any outfit. As I watched my Instagram story, the results were clear: 97 percent of people voted “YAY!” I glanced up at the mirror. They were right. I looked damn good. YM

I Look Like A I Look Like A Highlighter

Ayellow T-shirt with plastic rhinestones on the neckline, yellow capris adorned with pink butterflies, and yellow bobby socks to compliment my Hello Kitty Mary Janes. This was my most-worn outfit in second grade. I loved this monochromatic fit because, in a way that I couldn’t identify at age 8, it made me feel like myself. Psychology tells us that color preferences are rooted in emotional response and association. I’ve always had yellow in my life. My house back home is painted yellow, and, according to my friends, it makes it feel like a more welcoming and friendly space. Yellow and blue were my elementary school colors, and pasta has always been my favorite food (that counts as yellow, right?). Psychologists say, “Having yellow as your favorite color says that you enjoy sharing with others, but are eager to emphasize your individuality.” That “if your favorite color is yellow, you are likely very energetic and happy.” My classmates in second grade probably would’ve said it meant I was annoying and talked too much. Once I started to feel people perceiving me as too big of a personality, the yellow had to go.

It’s not like I never wore yellow over the next 10 years of my life, but it was a color I was hesitant to have or wear too much of. I would thrift some yellow pieces here and there, and eventually at some point in college when I felt I was in a more accepting place, physically and mentally, I went for it again. I wore my yellow shorts, earrings, and Vans (not all together; I do understand coordination better than when I was 8). When I felt noticed for wearing something bright, it was never bad. I like the way wearing yellow makes me feel, and of course how it looks. I don’t really get the “these colors look best on this type of person” rules. I know certain colors compliment skin tones or hair color, but it’s about the energy someone brings to the clothing and colors that determine if they can “pull it off.” So for me, I felt my positive, spirited energy made it work. My collection grew as I obtained wardrobe basics and statement pieces, which both made any outfit a little more special to me.

Last winter, after a year and a half of experiencing actual seasons, I finally invested in a solid winter coat. I decided to go bold and get a yellow puffy jacket. It matches with nothing, and yet, has to match with everything. This jacket probably got people to start recognizing me for wearing yellow, and as I’ve been wearing even more pieces this year, I’ve been so flattered when people tell me “I thought that was you from across the street, I saw the yellow and I knew.” It’s also made me more comfortable to try pieces I would never have worn before. A friend started knitting bucket hats, so I decided to ask for one in yellow. Other than my mom telling me I should wear more hats, I had no personal courage about wearing this particular item. As cute as it was, I didn’t know if I could make it work. But when she finished it and gave it to me, in all its yellow glory, I was so excited to wear it. It paid off: I felt so cute, and people were complimenting it throughout the whole day. It’s not an everyday item, but it’s not off limits or too “out there,” like it might have seemed to me a year ago.

It’s exciting to have received such kind responses from my styling of this color, but I think it comes down more to the cycle of confidence. When I could tell myself it’s okay to wear what I like, regardless of how people may judge it, I wore it with confidence, and therefore people responded positively. That, in turn, helped me accept the fact that my personality could match my outfits, and I wasn’t going to be accused of seeking attention just because I had high energy. I’m not trying to be the “quirky yellow girl,” but I’m also trying not to overthink if people really assume that or not about me. Yes, wearing a bright yellow coat or hat is bound to catch the eye, but again, I can’t control how people are going to judge or perceive me. If I’m associated with yellow, I know to me that’s a good thing, and I really don’t mind at all. YM

WRITTEN BY LAURA PHILLIPS PHOTOGRAPHED BY XINYI XU