YOUR MAG
VOLUME 14 | ISSUE 1 | OCTOBER 2020
CONTENTS ROMANCE 3 STEALTHING
EDITORIAL STYLE
EDITORIAL LIVING
EDITORIAL ARTS & ENTERTAIMENT
YM ADVISES Y.MP3 ARTIST STATEMENT
5 7 9 11 19 21 23 25 27 35 37 39 41 49 51 53 55 57 59
YOURFAN ONLY BECOMING AN EX SUMMER’S EVE, DOUCHING, AND OTHER BULLSH*T WISPY WILLOWS THE SECRET OF THE STRAWBERRY DRESS RIOT GRRRL MOVEMENT AND ALTERNATIVE FASHION EYES HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE IMPORTANT THE LITTLE MUSTACHE AND ITS MOMENT SKATE DATE BARKING BACK: AN ODE TO CATCALLERS FROM BLACK TO WHITE: LET’S TALK CULTURE SHOCK SPIRITUALITY IS TRENDING PARADISE FOUND BOTTLE EPISODE SAPPHICS ON FILM: WHY ARE WE ALWAYS CRYING REDEFINING THE LITERARY CANON WHAT’S GETTING US THROUGH THE SEMESTER BAD BITCH PLAYLIST JULIET WALKER
YMEMERSON.COM | INSTAGRAM: @YOUR.MAG | TWITTER: @YOURMAGEMERSON
1 | YOURMAG
EDITOR’S
YOUR Mag
LETTER
VOLUME 14 | ISSUE 1 | OCTOBER 2020
LILLIAN COHEN
LILY WALSH
TALIA SMITH
MADISON DOUGLAS
MARIANNA REYES
TATIANA GUEL
OLIVIA CIGLIANO
MARIANNA REYES
AMANDA HAMPTON
ILEANA PEREZ
Co-Creative Director
Editor-in-Chief
Co-Creative Director
Managing Editor
Co-Head Designer
Romance Editor
Co-Head Designer
Style Editor
Assistant Designer
A&E Editor
MARYCATHERINE NEAL EMILY KING Living Editor
Photo Director
TIFFANY CARBON
PALLAS HAYES
JESS FERGUSON
NATASHA ARNOWITZ
ALLISON HUGHES
RICKI KALAYCI
SHAWNA KONIECZNY
ELOISA DE FARIAS
KATIE POWERS
LAUREN DILLOW
NEEKA BOROUMANDI
DELANEY BAILEY
LAURA PHILIPS
JULIA MALLON
Assistant Photo Director
Web Director
Art Director
Co-Copy Chief
Assistant Art Director
Co-Copy Chief
Editorial Director
Co-Head Proofreader
Style Director
Co-Head Proofreader
Co-Social Media Director
Marketing Director
Co-Social Media Director
YMTV Director
RANA SAIFI Talent Manager
COPY EDITORS: CATE HAYES, MEHER GUPTA, ALLISON CARAVELLA, MADELYN
MULREANEY,
THOMAS
GARBACK,
KATE
HEALY,
CHARLOTTE DRUMMOND, LEX GARCIA-RUIZ, ANDREA MENDEZ, LEISSA ROMULUS DESIGNERS:
AINSLEY
GABRIELA
PORTUGAL,
LILIANA
FERNANDEZ,
BASIC,
ANA
GUO
MADELYN
HEIN,
CHLOE
WILLIAMS,
YU,
HALEY
BROWN,
MULREANEY,
SEREN
CHO,
SHERRY MA, TOBY LICHTENWALTER PROOFREADERS: KAITLYN REBECCA
FEHR, LETTS,
MARYCATHERINE JESSICA ROSS
CAMILA
ARJONA,
KATHERINE MADELYN O’NEAL,
CHARLOTTE
HEALY,
MULREANEY,
AMARIA
DRUMMOND,
CHRISTINA
RAMIREZ,
HORACIO,
FIONA
MURPHY,
KATIE
REDEFER,
F
or so many of us, 2020 will be a decade of major changes. Some of us are living alone for the first time; others of us are voting in our first presidential election, or preparing to leave college and start our professional lives. By the end of this decade, we’ll have graduated, found careers, and moved to new cities. It’s an understatement to say that this semester has been a bit unusual. With 17 percent of students not returning to campus, the entire culture at Emerson has been reshaped. No more class trips to the MFA. No more off-campus Eastie parties or underground concerts in Allston. No more hanging out in the crowded DH with friends after class. And it doesn’t look like things are changing anytime soon, since the college announced that we will continue semi-online into the spring— if we’re lucky. But not all change is bad. Throughout the pandemic, it has also led to a huge social upheaval for the right to life and equality for BIPOC, as well as attention toward other forms of inexcusable hatred such as transphobia, misogyny, and antisemitism. And it has brought a theme of empowerment and self-expression to this issue. Melanie Curry [page 9] sounds the alarms for society’s toxic relationship with shaming women’s natural bodies. Anne O’Leary [page 21] lets us in on how the Riot Grrrl Movement and third-wave feminism has inspired many of the alternative fashions today. Georgia Howe [page 53] argues the dangers of the literary canon considering its lack of diverse voices. Nothing in life ever stays the same for long. I’m sure many seniors know someone who had been cast off to Hemmingway. They remember greasy burgers and shakes at Griddlers. They are too young to remember the old dining hall in LB or the Will & Grace shrine in the library. They are way too young to remember the Back Bay campus. Change is inevitable. So we adapted. We had all our meetings on Zoom. And beefed up our social media presence. And found new ways to connect with writers and creators. And it’s made us stronger. We hope you enjoy the issue. It is strung together with our blood, sweat, and tears. WITH LOVE,
YOURMAG | 2
STEALTHING I
was 17 years old when my ex-friend confessed that wearing protection was a major turn off for him. “Why?” I asked. My response made him weirdly chuckle and transfix his eyes on my confused expression; he seemed entertained. “Females are bad as **** when they’re not teasers,” he said with a wide smirk. “[Sex is] good when you feel it.” Needless to say, I wish our friendship ended there. It did a year down the line but at that moment, I ignored what he was implying. The nagging, unsettling feeling about his statement remained though. A year later, I found myself in a position where I stormed out of a room fuming after I caught the guy I was talking to attempting to “stealth” me. Stealthing was coined in 2017 by a paper published in the Columbia Journal of Gender and Law which defined it as the “nonconsensual condom removal during sexual intercourse.” This also includes purposefully damaging the condom. Alexandra Brodsky, the author of this publication, noted that the sexual behavior of stealthing is considered “rapeadjacent” because the perpetrator willfully does this without notifying their partner. At the time, I attributed my anger towards his blatant disregard of my wishes. I didn’t feel like he violated my consent but rather, he rushed things and lied to me in the process. A part of me rationalized his actions once he apologized and said it was just a misunderstanding. The other part of me felt like I was clear in what I wanted, but to avoid the situation altogether, I forgave him. Time passed since the incident and even though I felt involuntarily squeamish thinking about it, I still viewed it as harmless. But once I started seeing a therapist, I realized a larger part of me had internalized my trash-of-afriend’s sentiments. My desirability and agency in sexual relationships were defined by others’ wants, not mine. It took years before processing that what happened to me was not a “misunderstanding”— it was attempted assault. 3 | ROMANCE
Even though it’s a relatively new term, the experience is not uncommon. According to a survey led by the Melbourne Sexual Health Center, 32 percent of women and 19 percent of men reported having experienced stealthing. Intentionally removing or damaging a condom automatically changes the sexual encounter from consensual to nonconsensual, that much is clear. But initially, many may not identify their stealthing as a form of assault. Rachel Stanton, the Director of Counseling in Boston, notices that stealthing falls under a “gray area” because people tend to characterize sexual trauma as an inherently violent experience like rape. Therefore, stealthing may not be recognized automatically by victims. “Essentially, the person who wasn’t consenting is being treated like an object,” Stanton says. “When the person isn’t asking for your permission or consent, it can really lead people feeling dehumanized.” Personal sexual gratification is still largely used as an excuse to dismiss their partner’s health and wishes. Justifications for stealthing, because it’s not as recognized, can manipulate survivors to excuse their perpetrator’s behavior. Saying things like, “It slipped off,” “I thought you knew,” or “It’ll feel better” are common excuses to dismiss the assault. “Many of the victims and survivors will justify the perpetrator’s actions as a way to mitigate what happened,” Stanton says. “[Victims/Survivors] will take the perpetrator’s perspective, or what they think is the perpetrator’s perspective, into their own, kind of losing their own narrative.” Stanton says cases like this are often amplified by gaslighting. Nonetheless, it’s often left up to survivors to realize that they were violated. The act of selfreflection can feel devastating. The revelation of such a traumatic event can lead to a darker reality where survivors/victims contract STIs and particularly people with uteruses, can go through unwanted pregnancies. Conversations about how survivors can report stealthing and bring this into the justice system
WRITTEN BY DAMICA RODRIGUEZ ART BY ELIZABETH APPLE
are urging legislators in Wisconsin, New York, and California to criminalize stealthing. As it stands now, only one case of nonconsensual condom removal has made it to court in Melbourne in 2018, according to ABC Life. Some cases have appeared in Switzerland, Sweden, and New Zealand as it becomes more prevalent and recognized as a violation of one’s consent. Raising awareness about the dangers of stealthing can also be a chance to examine the ways we understand consent and how it isn’t always defined as a verbal, resounding yes. Stanton says that consent can be non-verbal and revealed through body language, emotional expressions, and clear indicators that both partners are aware and attentive during sexual and intimate encounters. “I think sometimes we can sort of go with the flow even though our body doesn’t really want to,” she says. “We walk out of a situation [stealthing] and
not feel really clear about what happened then we’re not able to name what it is except that it was really, really bad and I feel weird about it.” My encounter with stealthing left me feeling like I was overreacting because I couldn’t identify what was wrong. I was in a rut emotionally and mentally; seemingly never reaching a resolution. It spiraled me down a rabbit hole of doubts first, and mourning for the loss of my autonomy last. Coping with any form of sexual trauma starts with validating your experience and feelings. It takes patience, self-forgiveness, and constantly reminding yourself that your strength and resilience are unparalleled. Stanton says a large part of healing is validating your gut-feelings; if something feels off, honor it. “Fully consensual, safe sex is never going to make you feel bad after,” Stanton says. “In the age of gaslighting, always believe yourself.” YM ROMANCE | 4
YOURFAN ONLY WRITTEN BY MARIANNA POLETTI REYES ART BY REBEKAH CZUKOSKI
D
uring the beginning of the pandemic, many people worked from home, and the country’s economy saw a negative shift. Although many jobs could function virtually, sex workers had less work because of the lack of human interaction they could have while trying to stay safe. Their typical income of $1000 per night turned to zero when strip clubs and hotels shut down and the use of cash was restricted everywhere. Porn sites were changing, it was difficult to meet the increased demand for content safely. Amid the increase in numbers—plus the need for sex workers to make money—emerged the site OnlyFans. OnlyFans is the only site that works as a social media platform that doesn’t ban users for inappropriate content like Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. In 2016, OnlyFans started by opening a platform for people to produce content to share with their subscribers for a monthly fee. The founder of OnlyFans, Timothy Stokely, originally started the site after he created a sexual practice and fetish site GlamWorship.com in 2011. Little did he know, four years later OnlyFans would develop into one of the world’s biggest platforms for sex workers and pornographic content. OnlyFans became a site where anyone could sell their nude photographs and videos, leveling the playing field between your average person and celebrities (although social media influencers are the new celebrities in this era). Even the most unknown creator could make thousands in earnings with only one post. With 80 percent of earnings being paid to the creators in just seven days, OnlyFans surpassed any other porn site on the web with nearly 24 million users. Subject A, an OnlyFans creator in the top 3.5% of OnlyFans creators, has approximately 300 subscribers and makes an average of $3,500 monthly. Subject A started their account to pay for college. “The site does not limit me or anything unless it deals with violence and any other illegal acts. As a content creator, you can upload anything you want on there. It doesn’t have to be nudity, but that is what most
people go for,” Subject A says. Creating an OnlyFans account is simple, and people are making around $12,000 in three months working from home without even having a degree. It’s no surprise that the number of people joining the site has increased since the pandemic started. The number of people alone in their homes also has a lot to do with the rise in numbers. According to Psychology Today, “Porn searches are up, in part, because many people are at home with more time on their hands than usual. However, they may also be up because some people are using sex as a coping mechanism for dealing with their fear of disease and death.” Because of the increasing number of porn searches, the amount of OnlyFans account creations increased by 42 percent during the pandemic since it was at the reach of anyone with a computer and gave the creators the ability to make content from the comfort of their homes. As easy as it is to create an OnlyFans account, it isn’t as easy to maintain it. It has its own creative process in place to have a successful account with numerous viewers. “What subscribers don’t see behind the scenes is the amount of time and effort we put into creating content. We have to plan ahead to have content in bulk to post frequently. I usually try to post every single day. Also, we have to edit our content, which also takes time out of our day. OnlyFans takes into consideration how active and consistent you are and how many subscribers you earn per day, and that is how we get rated by percentages,” Subject A says. As the world continues to stabilize during the harsh conditions of the pandemic, OnlyFans is thriving economically, opening doors to an entirely alternative world of nudity and pornography. Anyone with access to a computer and a camera has the ability to make thousands in a year—possibly more than one would make at a 9-5 job. The demand for porn will never stop rising, and OnlyFans is meeting its expectations, even through a pandemic. YM
ROMANCE | 6
Becoming an EX
WRITTEN BY MEREDITH STISSER ART BY MADELYN MULREANEY
I
t’s your big day. You’ve been waiting for so long. It happened to all of your friends first, at least all of the cool ones. Your mother comforts you (even though she’s secretly very excited about it). Weird, you always felt like this was something other people had to deal with, you never thought of yourself like this. You have become…an ex. I had you for a second with that “first period” stuff—you thought this article was going to be about reclaiming womanhood or tax-free tampons or an analysis of how your first menstrual experience dictates the way you’re able to accept love from others—no. A relationship changed, and you’ve gotten a rebrand that you didn’t ask for. You own a label that you don’t want to identify with. You’re not dating anymore; you used to date. The timeline is demarcated with a beginning and end. So obsessed with time and so addicted to categorization, the human mind had a field day developing the concept of an ex-lover. Cognitive neuroscientists at Columbia University completed a study and took brain scans of people who had experienced an unwanted breakup in the previous six months. Participants looked at pictures of their ex-partners while thinking about shared experiences. The researchers compared the scans to when participants looked at pictures of a friend, or when they were exposed to pain. The scientists found that the same parts of the brain lit up when individuals looked at the ex-partner pictures or experienced physical pain. “Ex” is painful.
7 | ROMANCE
It has an essence and connotation that dehumanizes and often makes a villain out of the wearer of the name. It is a strange practice in which we accept such a label and give it out to another person. This way we can neatly squeeze them into a compartment of the past so as not to let them interrupt the future. That will make it easier to explain at family dinners. That keeps one from having to reckon with the idea that relationships have no beginning or end, that the present is ephemeral, and we are never truly without anyone. This of course can be dangerous, an ex who deserves the title and is unkind to you may linger, disrupting your growth or ruining your day. This is when it is unfair to be “from” someone else. In Latin, “ex” translates to “from.” This is worth considering. Another person that you are from, someone who in turn is from you too. As if they go hand in hand with your mother, or your hometown, or your first job, or your university. Part of you, maybe a wonderful part of you, maybe a painful and sore part of you, is from someone else. That reminds you that you are alive. You have related to another person in a deep way, a way that inspires poetry, war, pregnancy, music. You are an ex. Maybe you are glad to be, maybe not. Regardless, to have been vulnerable with another person, an ex-friend or an ex-lover, is bold. It bottles the essence of being. A far kinder way to regard a fellow traveler who may have made you feel very at peace with your place in the world, even if for a few fleeting weeks or months, years or minutes. YM
SUMMER’S EVE, DOUCHING,
AND OTHER BULLSH*T...
WRITTEN BY MELANIE CURRY
I
never felt ashamed of my vagina until my exboyfriend texted me and said I needed to “smell better.” I wanted to reply, “What are you, 12?” But I was just too embarrassed and ashamed, so I said nothing. In the next few days, I researched intimate cleansers such as Summer’s Eve and Vagisil. I kept thinking that something was wrong with me and the way I smelled. While none of my past sexual partners had told me I needed to freshen up, I couldn’t erase his messages from my mind. I became obsessed with trying to smell like strawberries, lavender, or some other unnatural scent. I didn’t even want to tell my mom or my female friends in fear of being laughed at. With descriptions such as “Island Splash” and “Delicate Blossom,” I was immediately hooked to Summer’s Eve washes. Their marketing and advertising were geared towards my internal shame. I thought I had found the perfect product to “beautify” my vagina until I began researching the ingredients in the washes and their reputation. Turns out Vagisil, Summer’s Eve, and a plethora of other feminine washes are harmful to vaginas. But why would these companies promote these products when they do more harm than good? Senior Danielle Jean-Baptiste says feminine washes and the intention behind them are geared towards men and the sexist perspective of how women should smell and taste. “I’m sure if you looked up the founders of all of these brands, they’d be gross white dudes,” she says. “It’s about presentation over pleasure.” I’m not the only woman who’s been ashamed of how they smell, taste, or look. According to PR Newswire, nearly two-thirds of women have felt ashamed of their vagina scent. Why is that? Jean Baptiste believes the lack of conversation surrounding women’s health and their bodies adds to this discomfort. “I feel like in the healthcare system, there’s such a lack of personalization and an expectation that women are going to take care of themselves,” she says. “Everybody’s vaginas [are] completely different [like a] fingerprint, so I think there definitely needs to be a lot more personalization.”
ART BY FRANCESCA POLISTINA
To reassure women’s fear of not smelling good enough, Summer’s Eve advertises their washes and wipes as the perfect solution to becoming more “feminine.” Until our vaginas smell like strawberries or coconut, we are not clean or fresh. Why else would Summer’s Eve use “Blissful Escape” to label their washes? These advertisements are rooted in the feminine identity and normative standards of femininity, perpetuating the sexist notion that we have to smell or taste a certain way. “I also think that [these] are very sexist forms of ads because ‘delicate?’” Riddhia Dave, a journalism junior, says. “Is it really delicate if a baby comes out of it?” I would have known about the harmful effects of these products if my mom or aunt sat down and talked to me about how to clean your vagina. However, I understand why they did not. Having conversations about women’s health and our sexual desires are still taboo topics in society. My mom never talked to me about sex, UTIs, or my vagina’s health until I began having sex at 17. And even then, she never mentioned how to properly clean my vagina or what products were harmful to my vagina’s health. It wasn’t until I started doing my research—three years later—that I began to understand how to properly care for my genitalia. Conversations about women’s health need to be normalized. Women shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of their vagina’s smell or taste. “With Summer’s Eve, I think it’s to make [vaginas] more attractive,” Dave says. “If you’re going on a date with someone, I guess you just want it to taste and smell better. Women have this additional pressure of looking nice, smelling nice, [and] putting more effort into everything they do.” The pressure to use these products are only a small part of a bigger issue. Why is there a standard for women to shave our legs, do our makeup, or smell good 24/7? Rooted in these expectations is the sexist ideology that women are inherently here only for men and their pleasure. But I’m not a doll, and neither is the female population. My name isn’t Barbie, so don’t expect me, or any other woman, to be one. YM
ROMANCE | 10
DIRECTED BY LILLIAN COHEN PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNIE WOODBURY MODELED BY JESS NIAZIAN
wispy willows
THE SECRET OF THE
STRAWBERRY DRESS
WRITTEN BY ALEJANDRA CUELLAR PHOTOGRAPHED BY PALLAS HAYES
I
bookmarked the Lirika Matoshi website about a year ago, after discovering the most beautiful piece of clothing on models Bree Kish’s and Tess Holliday’s Instagram pages. I stared at the piece in question: a pastel pink midi-length dress with puffy sleeves—completely covered in glittery strawberries. It was the ultimate fairy tale dream. And it was available in my size. For me, a trip to the mall could either end with an armful of bags or frustration and tears. An inviting Google ad could result in a full cart or a misleading sizing chart. Since my body isn’t the most commercially common, and finding clothes that are both trendy and flattering is extremely rare, I was instantly on the lookout for the “Strawberry Dress.” After months of saving money (as well as the “irresponsible-impulseshopping-due-to-the-current-global-pandemic” streak I was currently on), I finally felt ready to make my purchase. As soon as the dress arrived, I rushed to open it, snapping dozens of photographs and frolicking in the garden to watch the skirt flow. The feeling that comes from perfectly fitting into a piece of clothing can change my mood for the entire day, as well as my perspective on my body’s self worth. Moments like this are few and far between, so I tend to cherish them. Plus-size model Tess Holliday walked down the red carpet at the Grammys this past January, becoming one of the first celebrities to be documented wearing “Strawberry Dress.” Naturally, the fantastical, almost childlike design drew a lot of attention and opinions from the press. Holliday was promptly added to ‘Worst Dressed’ lists and criticized for wearing something both unappealing and unflattering. She and the dress both were hastily dismissed. Enter TikTok. “Strawberry Dress,” as it is now lovingly referred to on just about every social media platform, is a creation of New York-based Kosovar fashion designer, Lirika Matoshi. At only 24 years old, Matoshi has gone from running an Etsy page for handmade chokers, to the designer of this year’s “dress of the summer.” Even at its hefty price tag of $490, “Strawberry Dress,” and the rest of Matoshi’s designs, are still gaining massive popularity, having now been featured
in The New York Times, Vogue, and Forbes, to name a few. Matoshi has even expanded the same pattern featured on “Strawberry Dress” into other strawberry pieces, including a black version of the dress, face masks, and a button-up shirt. From the influence on fandom culture (including a large amount of emerging original fan art, fanfiction, and viral tweets), to various “cottagecore” style TikTok videos of magical dwellings in the woods, this dress seems to provide a form of escape for those who admire it. Especially now, seeing your favorite character in something far out of their canon, or short and sweet videos that depict a calm and detached life, can bring a lot of peace. We all want to be the beautiful fairy princess without a care in the world, so we’ve gotta make sure we look the part, too! So why did Tess Holliday get the short end of the stick? The answer is both very simple and highly upsetting: fatphobia. On Twitter, Holliday expressed that: “...now bc a bunch of skinny ppl wore it on TikTok everyone cares. To sum it up: society hates fat people, especially when we are winning.” And unfortunately, she’s right. Our current fashion trends gravitate toward applauding those who put minimal effort into their outfits. Biker shorts and oversized T-shirts are praised when seen on skinny bodies, while simultaneously viewed as lazy when on a bigger person. Fat women in fashion are at a huge disadvantage simply because they are fat. They forever find themselves playing catch up. As someone who’s always had to put in twice as much effort into every stage of my appearance, whether that be searching tirelessly for honest sizing or having to be as eccentric as possible to be viewed as stylish, it’s impossible not to notice the hidden double standard. Matoshi’s entire line of creations breaks the typical “one size fits all” designer clothing. She offers sizes ranging from XS to XXXL (as well as offering customization for specific measurements), which is an enormous break in the pattern. True to its appearance, ‘Strawberry Dress’ embodies a million different things. Not only could it be pulled directly from a childhood dream, the dress also breaks multiple boundaries, checking every box of craftsmanship, allure, and inclusion. YM
STYLE | 20
THE LITTLE MUSTACHE AND ITS MOMENT WRITTEN BY MEREDITH STISSER ART BY RICKI KALAYCI
F
acial hair—a delicate intersection of style; a cultural signifier, a self-sustaining accessory. Facial hair for men has long been a symbol of manhood and masculinity, yet also of refinement and status. For women, it is yet another mode through which they are told what may naturally occur on their bodies is not for them. Facial hair on women is mocked or exoticized, while men boast as much as possible— whoever most easily grows a beard is the unspoken “alpha male.” Those were the days of old. The little mustache is in, and it is in part due to the cyclical nature of the American political and countercultural scene. As tides shift from a strictly binary world to a nuanced and elastic reality, the mustache has renewed in pop culture—and it no longer boasts machismo. You’ve surely noticed a tiny stache as you walk through campus, Trader Joe’s, or any bookstore in Portland or LA. This stache is not a new iteration of facial grooming but rather an homage to the mustaches of old such as the pencil, the shaggy goatee, and the chevron—three distinct styles from the 1930s, 1960s, and 1980s respectively. The ‘30s saw people inching along through the age of anxiety, but that term had yet to be coined, and everyone was simply confused, sound familiar? The ‘30s are home to the pencil stache. Famously worn by surrealist Salvador Dalí, it is dainty and unafraid to appear too exacting. The ‘60s counterculture introduced images of shaggy rock stars and beatniks, mistrust of the government, and communal philosophies from the “radical left” clashing with the establishment. The ‘80s belong to Freddie Mercury and his thick-chevron style ‘stache, as well as an epidemic fumbled by the US government and increasing challenges to traditional gender roles. Is there some sort of unconscious connection that facial hair transcends time via an invisible thread? Is facial hair a reaction to culture or is facial hair grooming culture itself ? Are we all just waiting to see what the ‘stache decides, as pawns in its wire-y game? Perhaps. The re-emergence of the subtle mustache may be a result of genders blurring and the expression of the masculine, feminine, and non-binary qualities of each individual. Drag queens and frat bros alike don the tiny ‘stache. One wearer of the stache jokes, “I could only ever grow this much hair, so I’m glad it’s in style. I can finally see what having a mustache is like...people respect you more!” There is hope in the solidarity of these new mustaches. They do not rely on size to assert dominance or impress, they can mean anything from “I skateboard” to “This is the first time I’ve been able to grow facial hair, and even if it is simple, it is something!” Frivolous? Of course, but in this moment, of much pain and unrest, it comforts one to know that there lies an unexplored camaraderie in the world of facial hair. YM
STYLE | 22
EYES HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE IMPORTANT
WRITTEN BY SOFIA OLSSON PHOTOGRAPHED BY LILY WALSH
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yes are the window to the soul, the most important sensory organ, and the dominating feature of the face. Before your first job interview, eye contact is what your mom reminds you of, and locking eyes with a handsome stranger in a bar is how you are supposed to meet the love of your life. The eyes have always been important, but within the context of the whole face. The coronavirus pandemic has altered life in countless ways, one of the most notable changes being the emergence of face masks. Gone are the days of taking social cues based on someone’s facial expression. Now, with half of the face hidden behind a piece of fabric, the eyes are all that show. Many cosmetic lovers are abandoning face makeup and lip products because the reality of maskwearing means facial sweat and breakouts. Freshman marketing communication major Mireya Zellner used to reach for foundation and lipstick. “Now it’s about the eyes,” she says. “It’s a whole new world of possibilities because with face masks, it’s all you can see, and you really need to let your personality shine through with eye makeup,” Zellner says. Walking down the halls, she found herself smiling at people she passed before realizing it probably looked like she was squinting or staring at them. Not being able to communicate with facial expressions is a struggle for everyone, but with a simple pop of glitter, Zellner uncovered a new form of non-verbal expression. Try introducing some sparkle to your daily life and highlight the twinkle in your eyes by reaching for any shimmering or iridescent pigment. As social creatures, human brains are wired to interpret facial expressions of others because n o nve r b a l c o m mu n i c a t i o n p rove d t o b e a n evolutionary advantage. People even seek out faces that aren’t there. This is called Pareidolia, the human tendency to see recognizable patterns or faces in otherwise inanimate objects. The point being, people really like seeing faces, and in the current COVID climate, faces are 50 percent of what they used to be. Prior to the pandemic, freshman visual and media arts major Kerri Stephenson casually enjoyed cosmetics, but once face coverings became mandatory, she adopted a new routine.
“I started doing eyeliner every day because it’s the one part of my face that everyone is going to see, so I might as well make it look good,” Stephenson says. With half of her face covered, Stephenson adopted a “go big or go home” mentality that fuels creativity in her daily eyeliner routine. Bold eyeliner looks are not new to the makeup scene, but recent trends are challenging the traditional cat-eye look. Try swapping the black liner for a color, or opt for a glam moment and create a wing with rhinestones. Makeup and creative expression go hand and in hand. For years, people such as Amanda Kornfeld, a freshman business of creative enterprises major who wrote her college essay on makeup, flocked to the possibilities of brightly-pigmented palettes and the allure of sleek liquid eyeliner. Kornfeld sacrificed lip gloss in the name of face masks, but she’s exploring the possibilities of what’s visible. The only difference now is that eye makeup is the only visible makeup. “Now that you can’t see half of my face, I feel like I have to go harder with my eyeshadow,” says Kornfeld. “I want people to see my makeup because it’s how I want people to see me and how I want to present myself—I want to draw attention.” Kornfeld views makeup as an art, and much like a painting at a museum, your eyes are on display. With the rise of brightly-pigmented shadows, don’t be afraid to embrace your inner Bob Ross and use your favorite work of art as inspiration. Although face masks may feel like barriers, eyes are the most expressive feature of the face, according to a study published in Psychological Science. Even when the rest of the face doesn’t communicate the same emotion of the eyes, or when the rest of the face is not visible, the eyes are still able to communicate complex emotions more effectively than any other facial feature. Eyes really are the window to the soul, so don’t worry that face coverings are inhibiting communication or stifling self-expression. Instead of viewing masks as a hindrance, use them to enhance the natural power that your eyes possess by brightening your next eyeshadow look. Better yet, embrace the pandemic style and match your eye makeup with your face mask. YM
STYLE | 24
RIOT GRRRL MOVEMENT
AND ALTERNATIVE FASHION TODAY WRITTEN BY ANNE O’LEARY PHOTOGRAPHED BY ABBEY FINN
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yed hair, band tees, girlish dresses, thrifted items, punk music, and no tolerance for bigotry. Depending on your age and influences, you could either be thinking about alternative trends today or the early ‘90s Riot Grrrl movement. Both share similarities and differences, however, the movement of feminist punk bands and alternative styles has made a resurgence due to the political climate and popularity of youth activism today. For context, the “Riot Grrrl” movement started in the early ‘90s in the Pacific Northwest when punk music was a white-male-dominated music genre. Female punk was already established in the late ’70s-’80s with artists like Joan Jett and X-Ray Spex, but women in independent punk bands decided to take a do-it-yourself route by not only producing music but also creating fanzines—zines created by nonprofessional enthusiasts of certain topics. Zines were not only fun projects, but these specific zines helped unify women from all over. Theyreated a safe space for women to talk about taboo subjects like sexual assault, the patriarchy, and women’s issues. The Riot Grrrl movement’s politics were antiracist, anti-sexist, anti-homophobic, anti-rape culture, and anti-capitalist, as shown in drawings of women armed with guns, defying the patriarchy in zines. Controversial song titles also emerged like “Dead Men Don’t Rape” by 7 Year Bitch and “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill. The RIOT GRRRL MANIFESTO, written by Kathleen Hanna in BIKINI KILL FANZINE 2, declares, “I believe with my wholeheartmindbody that girls constitute a revolutionary soul force that can and will change the world for real.” Despite the big criticisms of the Riot Grrrl movement lacking racial diversity, the Riot Grrrls message embraces individuality among women, much like today with the #MeToo movement. There’s still a prevailing message of women having a platform to express their pain and frustrations of a patriarchal society that wants to keep them silent. So what does this have to do with style? Well, the Riot Grrrl movement used aesthetics to convey their messages. In a simple Google search you can find images of Kathleen Hanna, frontwoman of the most iconic Riot Grrrl band, Bikini Kill, with dyed black hair and wearing a plaid bra with the word “slut”
written on her stomach or a red A-line dress with the phrase “Kill Me” in white letters. You see Courtney Love, lead singer of Hole, in a classic red lip and frilly, girly dresses. Riot Grrrl zines and fanzines were also covered in symbols and messages of their politics as well as aesthetics. The Riot Grrrl movement paved the way for women to enter the independent punk world, but it also influenced a culture of alternative fashion and values today. Many of those trends from the ‘90s we see today in alternative intersections. For example, today’s “E-Girl” is a subculture that has gained in popularity since the viral explosion of the app, Tik Tok. The excessive blush and knee-high socks trademark resembles the “Kinderwhore” trend that was popularized by Courtney Love. Riot Grrrls used a combination of grunge and lolita style to defy the “good girl” look, set to raunchy, angry music they sang on stage. Trends of dyed hair and baggy clothes could be traced to the streetwear of the ‘90s, but Riot Grrrls created a subculture. With low funds and independence inspired from the movement, Riot Grrrl got creative and took a DIY approach to pretty much everything. Now, girls taking styles into their own hands by upcycling and thrifting is in total Riot Grrrl spirit. T he female punk subculture is still alive and well. Women today in the punk scene don’t necessarily follow the same style but they incorporate much of a classic vintage style of the late ‘90s. The styles still deviate from the male gaze and can range from hyperfeminine to total androgyny. Many of the same messages in female punk bands reflect those of the Riot Grrrl movement, with more relevance to today’s social issues, such as LGBTQIA+ rights and Black Lives Matter. Same tune, different lyrics. The pro-feminist trends are still as popular as they were back then. The idea of subverting the male gaze into a rebellious, shocking explosion of anger and oppression is still alive in music as well as art, essays, and clothing. Alternative style and values are trending now in our current political climate. From pussy hats to baggy jeans, women and girls dressing how they want is punk rock. YM
STYLE | 26
SKATE DATE DIRECTED AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY TALIA SMITH MODELED BY KENDALL BOSIO JULIA MALLON
BARKING BACK: AN ODE TO CATCALLERS WRITTEN BY MADELYN MULREANEY ART BY MADELYN MULREANEY
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was 16 years old the first time I was catcalled. I was wearing a new pair of high-waisted shorts and walking through town with one of my female friends when a car full of teenage boys drove by, yelling and honking and gesturing crudely at us. Neither of us knew how to react, so we just stared back at them, processing what happened. We were frozen in place by surprise. By the time either of us had recovered from the shock, the car was long gone. Growing up, I assumed that I would be the type of womxn that wouldn’t take crap from anyone— especially from a man. I thought that I would be the womxn that yells back at catcallers, but when the time came to prove myself, I choked. After that day, I became self-conscious in a way that I had never previously been. Every outfit I wore went through a careful analysis of all the possible ways that a man could objectify me. Those highwaisted shorts were shoved into the back of my closet, unofficially labeled as harassment-worthy. Sixteen is already an age full of insecurities, and being made to feel like a slab of meat was icing on the selfloathing cake. Nearly five years later, I understand that wearing different shorts wouldn’t have stopped those boys from harassing me and my friend—nor would yelling back have taught them a lesson. I’ve had enough experience with street harassment to know that it’s never my fault for being harassed. And yet, the feelings of shame, anger, and fear don’t go away. I’m always left wondering: Did I do the right thing by keeping my head down? Should I have yelled back at him? Or, if I had yelled back, was I assertive enough to make him get the message? No reaction ever feels like the right reaction, and my self-criticism only ever works to fuel my anxiety and rage.
35 | LIVING
These feelings and experiences are certainly not unique to me. According to a study published by Stop Street Harassment, a nonprofit organization dedicated to issues surrounding sexual harassment, 81 percent of womxn have experienced sexual harassment in their lifetime, and of that, 65 percent of these instances are street harassment. In my lived experience, I know more womxn who have been catcalled at some point in their lives than those who haven’t. During my sophomore year, I took a college-sponsored self-defense class, and the instructors asked everyone why they were taking the class. Every single womxn in the room answered, “Because I want to feel safe in public.” To me, this proves that even womxn that haven’t experienced sexual harassment personally are aware of the constant threat it poses, and are constantly looking for ways to protect themselves against it. As you might guess, living under the constant threat of harassment is not good for womxn’s mental health. A study from Cornell University shows a direct link between street harassment and intense feelings of anger, depression, fear, and low self-esteem. Over half of the respondents also reported changing their clothing, refusing to attend a social event, choosing a different transportation option, or feeling distracted at school or work due to harassment. Several of my femme friends—including myself—have designated “invisibility” outfits that help us avoid men’s unwanted attention. Unfortunately, these security blankets don’t eliminate the chance of catcalling—and when it happens, it can be even more jarring. In a world riddled with such traumatic experiences, it can be hard for womxn to feel like they have agency; however, there are ways that womxn have reclaimed
their voices in the face of harassment. Some womxn find power in confronting the catcallers when they feel safe enough to do so. Others find comfort in sharing their stories and building communities—both online and in-person—with other womxn and male allies. Personally, I’ve found solace in creating art. After a particularly frustrating catcalling incident, I realized that I have too much pent-up anger and fear because of catcalling, so I started drawing the
event and depicting the way that I wish I had reacted. The act of reframing harassment on my terms has been cathartic and has allowed me to let go of some of my residual shame and anger associated with various catcalling instances. There’s no right or wrong way to handle street harassment, but I hope until the day comes when catcalling is no longer the norm, womxn can find comfort in finding creative ways to bark back. YM
LIVING | 36
ART BY NATASHA ARNOWITZ
WRITTEN BY MELANIE CURRY
LET’S TALK CULTURE SHOCK
FROM BLACK TO WHITE:
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he first time I felt different at Emerson was when I moved to Boston in the fall of 2018. As my Uber turned on Washington Street and pulled up to Paramount, I saw several white girls in tutus and starred sunglasses dancing to pop music. It felt like a Katy Perry music video. I immediately felt out of place. I did not know what I was experiencing at that moment. While that feeling of aloneness only continued the longer I stayed at Emerson, I could never define what I truly felt until a few weeks ago. I was in my friend’s room, and we were talking about the differences between our homes and our school. Suddenly, she says to me, “You know, you’ve 37 | LIVING
experienced culture shock, right?” I looked at her, stunned. She was right. Let me be clear—I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. There are plenty of differences between my hometown and Boston. But to me, this idea of culture shock was reserved for white people. I never thought I could experience this feeling because, unlike some white students, I have interacted with people of color in a school before. The amount of times I have heard a white student say “[Emerson] is the most diverse school I’ve ever been to” is astounding. This thought process made me deny the truth: coming to Boston and attending Emerson was a huge culture shock to me. This initial culture shock
continued during my first-year orientation when I participated in ice breakers as the only Black person. I kept asking myself, “Where are the Black students? I know they exist somewhere.” I know Boston is a predominantly white city— there are predominantly white cities in Georgia too— but the lack of Blackness anywhere around our campus was startling. Where are the beauty supply stores that sell natural Black hair products? Barbershops? Black hair salons? African-American restaurants? It didn’t make sense to me why there was no sign of Black culture or Black people anywhere. I am not the only person who feels this way. Junior marketing major Jilly Towson, a Washington, D.C. native, says the absence of African-Americans in Boston was hard to get used to. “I would just see people who look like me, and I never realized how much that affected me and how important that was to me until I came to Boston and didn’t have that anymore,” she says. During my first semester at Emerson, I joined Emerson Black Organization with Natural Interest (EBONI), the only space where I felt comfortable being myself. There’s just something comforting about being around people who look like you. When I went to EBONI’s meetings, the overwhelming feeling of culture shock disappeared, and my doubts about my purpose at Emerson vanished with it. But not even the comfort of being around other Black people could protect me from the microaggressions and subtle racism that dominates our white campus. I often joke with my friends about how I never experienced in-person racism until I moved to Boston. This is mostly due to my limited exposure to different backgrounds. Back home, I was constantly surrounded by Black people. There was not a single white person in any of my schools, grocery stores, or even in my local movie theater. My hometown was a bubble of Blackness, our own safe haven where white supremacy and micro-level racism (mostly) did not exist. You can only imagine my surprise when a student said to my theater class that Black hair was “unkempt” and “needed to be confined in a ponytail.” The amount of ignorance in this statement was staggering. As one of the only Black students in that class with natural hair, I felt singled out. Did my classmate know anything about Black hair or the historical cultural context of our hair and its
importance to our community? I remember this moment so vividly because it was the first time I realized the main difference between my home and my school: the subtle, lowkey racism embedded within our school and city that I never experienced in Atlanta. Towson feels privileged to have taken the time to understand inclusivity and racism, unlike her white counterparts. “I wasn’t expecting people to not have this general understanding of inclusivity and this drive to make change,” she says. “I was expecting more people to have that type of motivation and to want to be more inclusive.” Despite only being on-campus for two weeks, firstyear visual & media arts student Justina Thompson, a Philadelphia native, says she is already experiencing culture shock. From being the only Black person in her honors class, to seeing the lack of Black people in the city, and encountering subtle racism from white students, Thompson says she is struggling to adjust to the cultural differences between her home and Boston. “I’m definitely one of two only Black people in the honors class, and that shows a lot,” Thompson says. “I kind of feel like there’s a pressure on me almost to kind of represent at the same level as the other students.” It has been two years since I experienced my first microaggression, and while the cultural shock has dwindled, it has never gone away—a sentiment Towson also shares with me. The microaggressions I’ve experienced have come from friends, faculty, classmates, and even random strangers. From touching my curly hair to the repeated attempts to racially gaslight me, it continuously feels as if I will never belong here. “I don’t really expect [this] feeling to go away at Emerson because there’s kind of a lack of the school making a genuine effort to diversify,” Townson says. She’s right. Black enrollment has continuously stayed under five percent since 2015. And while there are some efforts from the college to welcome different racial identities such as the student of color preorientation, it’s not enough. Students of color will never feel as if we belong here until our campus is a true melting pot where everyone’s race and identity is represented equally. YM LIVING | 38
SPIRITUALITY SPIRITUALITY IS IS TRENDING TRENDING WRITTEN BY FIONA MURPHY PHOTOGRAPHED BY XINYI XU
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ust as millennials are credited for the surge in the popularity of astrology, Gen Z seems to be bringing spirituality into style. Some instances of this spiritual embrace have been extreme. An app called Randonautica, designed to lead users to a unique location based on what they “manifest” (adventure, love, excitement), gained popularity in early July. It then quickly made headlines when the coordinates it provided led a group of Seattle teens to discover a dead body in a suitcase. Other examples are more subtle. TikTok creators organize mass meditations for their viewers, and recently the term “manifestation” has entered our everyday language. Even non-spiritual people talk about “manifesting” things like a negative COVID-19 test result or fun Friday night plans. Short-form Tarot readings, a practice dating back to the 14th century, have also become popular across social media. Traditionally, Tarot decks are used to read fortunes or predict an individual’s future. Videos displaying numbers like 333 and 222 often find their way onto the Tiktok ‘For You’ page. These numbers, called angel numbers, are believed to have divine significance. The idea of making a wish at 11:11 is the most well-known practice that developed from angel numbers. Each one has a unique meaning. Often, 111 is tied to manifestation; its appearance is believed to be a sign that you are closer to what you desire. At its core, manifestation is the idea that your energy or thoughts can influence your reality. This concept was reflected in the earliest writings across cultures, most notably in Buddhism. Buddha said, “All that we are is a result of what we have thought.” Today, there are many ways people manifest. Practices vary from writing down desires, creating vision boards, or simply speaking things into existence. Claire Rodenbush, a junior creative writing major and vice president of Emerson Mystic, has been practicing Norse paganism for the past four years. She primarily manifests through runes, small handpainted rocks that represent a desire, or the energy she wants to create. Rodenbush defines manifesting as “putting a good amount of mental energy into an idea or a goal that you want to get out of life,
but also working to make it happen.” Rodenbush believes spirituality becoming mainstream is primarily a positive thing. Due to its lack of a central religion, Tarot readings and manifestations have greatly evolved over time and today are largely unique to the individuals who engage in them. Because of this, it can be more difficult to learn about these practices. Social media offers a unique space for these “unorganized religions” to gain popularity and exposure to an audience that may be unfamiliar with them. However, Rodenbush does believe some practices are just too personal to be legitimate on social media. “One of the biggest criticisms people have of Tarot readings is that it’s a very generic thing that can apply to a lot of people. If you do it in the right setting, it actually is very personalized,” she says. “But when you see it on the internet and it’s being made by a stranger, for complete strangers, I think that’s just the algorithm.” Rodenbush advises being cautious in the way you may use spiritual imagery. She finds that there is often a split between those who engage in these belief systems out of genuine faith, and those who want to exploit them for an aesthetic. She mentions that metal bands often appropriate pagan imagery for “the anti-establishment, anti-mainstream vibe that it gives off.” “There’s a respectful way to like the aesthetic. Most of the people who are into aesthetics are also part of the faith, and they’re putting their faith into their aesthetic; that’s fine. But if you’re just coming in, and taking an aesthetic of a religion, because that’s essentially what it is, that’s an issue,” she says. Whether you believe in the Tarot reading that pops up on your FYP, telling you that you’ll soon meet the love of your life, or believe that always seeing 3:33 on the clock is a sign, it is ultimately up to you. But if you’re intrigued by these practices and want to learn more, Rodenbush advises always doing your research. “Taking in surface-level information and running with assumptions is not the best. If you truly want to get involved in spirituality, you have to know what you’re getting into. You don’t want to mess it up, because it’s a pretty big thing to mess up.” YM
paradise found PHOTOGRAPHED BY TAINA MILLSAP MODELED BY ELOISA DE FARIAS
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BOTTLE EPISODE
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WRITTEN BY RORY WILLARD
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egin flashback sequence: you’re in your hometown bedroom, surrounded by a chaotic mess of clothes and neglected water cups. You’re comfortably flattened out on your bed until the cracks of light seeping through your window force you to pull back the covers. The clock reads 12:00 pm; you’ve slept past your Zoom class. With a shrug, you log into your streaming service of choice, crawl back into bed, and let the theme song to your favorite TV show lull you back to sleep—thus beginning the infamous “quaran-summer” of 2020. What was expected to be a three-week vacation full of home workouts, bread making, and bullet journaling became a six-month marathon of idleness. Many of our quarantine bucket lists ended up collecting dust as we gave into hedonistic laziness: one that, in this era, heavily consists of media consumption. If you couldn’t tell, that flashback sequence was a distinct reflection of my own “quaran-summer.” I spent my days—and nights—in a routine cycle of Broad City, Futurama, Community, and so on, ignoring my to-do list of filmography deep dives & filmmaking ventures. In the spirit of my prolific TV bingeing, I’ve chosen a new name for my experience in quarantine: my own personal “bottle episode.” This refers to the TV industry code for an episode that uses only the bare minimum of resources when it comes to cast, location, special effects, etc. I clenched tightly onto that to-do list towards the beginning of my bottle episode, more focused on my impostor syndrome than the prospect of actual fulfillment. But here’s the thing about bottle episodes: although they exist out of necessity, they challenge their respective writers to compensate with deep character exploration. I tore up my list after months of letting it shame me. I wanted to make sense of the feelings and habits I’d been viewing as roadblocks; I wanted to make use of my “resources.” Finally voicing these insecurities, I quickly realized I wasn’t alone. Like myself, Olivia Cigliano ‘22 praises TV as a safe haven during her quarantine. “My favorite binge shows during quarantine were Big Little Lies and Normal People. I definitely reverted to my comfort shows too like Gilmore Girls, The Office, and Parks
PHOTOGRAPHED BY OLIVIA CIGLIANO
and Recreation, and returned to old favorites like New Girl, Community, Scandal, and Black Mirror (when I could handle it).” Like Cigliano posits, a balanced mixture of genres makes for a universally ideal quarantine recipe: a recipe for escapism, that is. So, what is the phenomenon behind this need for escapism? The force that makes even the most menial tasks—e.g., beginning a new TV series instead of rewatching—seem impossible? Like several other large-scale crises in the past, COVID-19 has generated something called collective trauma: trauma experienced on a group level that produces significant changes in dynamic. Responses to collective trauma can include identity crises, individual & collective fear, financial anxiety, and of course, xenophobia, to name a few. Contrary to the “great equalizer” theory of COVID-19, is experienced to different degrees depending on one’s privilege—but speaking broadly, it has created a shared trauma response in the population at large. One major facet of collective trauma is the insatiable desire for normalcy. Christopher Santos, a screenwriting professor at Emerson College, notes escapism as being deeply tied to the TV medium itself. “In a way, I think that comfort viewing and the rewatching of old episodes has helped many people maintain some sense of normalcy [and] nostalgia for an easier or more familiar time than the one we’re living in right now,” says Santos. “It also seems to be a fairly typical viewing response to any hardship— and it seems especially true of comedy. It can provide genuine relief and distraction from anxiety.” The pandemic doesn’t entail a specific set of obligations (except health regulations) for all of us to follow. It’s not a competition. I’m not as caught up on film studies in the ways I intended, but rather than chastising myself for a lack of discipline, I am choosing to accept my reality. The notion that there is a “right” way to do things during the pandemic stems from the aforementioned “great equalizer” fallacy: it fails to account for individual circumstances. Holding onto something that comforts you in the face of trauma is not a failure, but a method of survival. YM
ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT | 50
SAPPHICS ON FILM:
WHY ARE WE ALWAYS CRYING WRITTEN BY LEX GARCIA RUIZ ART BY REBEKAH CZUKOSKI
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arlier this year, I frustratedly took to Twitter to mourn the fact that there were no happy, romcom-esque, women-loving-women (WLW) films for me to devour during quarantine. My queer friends and I have repeatedly whined about the “quiet” nature of most WLW films. We yearned for loud, fun movies about girls falling in love. While some do exist, the sapphic film canon is overwhelmingly driven by tragic narratives. So what does the sapphic film canon look like today? In recent years, there has been a rise in onscreen depictions of lesbian period dramas. Much of this trend can be attributed to the success of 2018’s The Favourite, which set a precedent for the success of lesbian films of its kind. It raked in not only 10 Oscars nomintions, but also two Venice International Film Festival Awards and 10 British Independent Film Awards. While The Favourite certainly was not the first sapphic film of its kind, with giants like Carol (2015) and The Handmaiden (2016) preceding it, the film’s success marked a turning point for the future of WLW in film. The popularity of period films within sapphic communities, particularly those set in the 18th and 19th centuries, makes perfect sense when we examine the history of lesbianism and WLW relationships. In a 1982 essay entitled “Sexuality in Nineteenth-Century America: Behavior, Ideology, and Politics,” historian Estelle B. Freedman explores the history of lesbianism, citing that intimacies between women in the early 19th century were “casually accepted by society because there was no lesbian presence to taint them with the charge of a deviant sexuality.” In other words, because there was no true lesbian culture, there was no shame surrounding the culture either. This historical tidbit is huge for filmmakers, in that it allows for sapphic narratives that do not necessarily center around shame surrounding WLW relationships. Most recently, Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) takes advantage of the time period in which it’s set, crafting a delicate, heartbreaking depiction of a love that is forbidden—not because of shame, but because of circumstance. It exists outside of hate, and deals with the intricacies of navigating a sapphic relationship before lesbian culture even truly existed as a canon. And yet, despite the opportunity to depict
two women in an unashamedly loving (while still secretive) relationship, most of these period dramas share common themes of tragedy that many WLW find frustrating. No matter how much we might love the movies we do get, we find ourselves wondering why we can’t get one happy, sapphic romance. I t i s a t o p i c o f d i s c u s s i o n a m o n g W LW communities each time a new sapphic film makes its debut in the movie world. Most recently, discourse surrounding the upcoming release of Ammonite (2020) has revived the question yet again. Set in the early 19th century, the film is based on the life of Mary Anning, a British palaeontologist, and focuses on a romantic relationship between Anning and Charlotte Murchison, two women from completely different worlds. The film has been the subject of great controversy from the beginning, as there is no historical evidence supporting the fact that Anning had any such relationship in her lifetime. Of course, that part of the controversy is easily shut down by the fact that the addition of a fictional, male romantic interest in her story would not turn heads. However, since the film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September, many critics have alluded to the fact that Ammonite’s ending is less than happy. For many queer women, this put a damper on the excitment for the film. The thing to consider when we have conversations about the sapphic film canon is what exactly it is that makes a good WLW movie in today’s cultural context. Sometimes, that is a question about how big a role queerness plays or whether the relationships portrayed are healthy. Some people feel that we need to move past dated coming out and secret affair tropes. For me, I think the most significant argument, in favor of centering happy queer stories, lies in the simple fact that young sapphics deserve to see themselves represented in films that are not tragedies. By no means does this imply that harsh portrayals of the very real struggles that come with queerness no longer have a place in the sapphic film canon. It is just that it becomes exhausting and even damaging to only see the ways in which people must suffer and be punished for being queer, especially without lighter stories of sapphic joy to balance the narrative. YM
REDEFINING THE LITERARY CANON WRITTEN BY GEORGIA HOWE ART BY NATASHA ARNOWITZ
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n an academic setting, when attempting to define the slippery thing that is the literary canon, you usually only have to think of the “classics.” Books, plays, and poems by authors like Dickens, Shakespeare, and Poe are all examples of pieces of fiction that would make up the canon, as they are not only wellknown, but also widely taught to students of literature. If you have taken any English classes throughout high school, you’ll recall many of these works being taught to you as “revolutionary” texts, with ideas and structures that established the “foundation of literature.” The distinguishment of these writings comes from generations of assertions of their importance by the general academic community, but that is now being questioned. Because of a plethora of biases and dated ideologies, these renowned authors are almost exclusively straight white men. As a result, the narratives that make up what is considered the cornerstone of literary academia are severely lacking in representation. Adam Spry, an Emerson professor of American Literature specializing in Native American Literature and a member of the Anishinaabe Nation, believes accepting the idea of the literary canon, or any canon, is problematic to teach because all cultures interpret the value of texts differently. He observes that prioritizing “one kind of storytelling that focuses on realism [a Western value] has the potential to create a standard against which other stories will be judged.” In addition to this, many books and plays in the literary canon taught are simply old, and often express outdated ideas. Patriarchal thinking from the past still impacts the canon today, as it is the white male voice that most often determines what is “good.” T he dominating voices of those who are privileged, whether by gender, race, or class, have influenced over time exactly what texts are to be viewed as academically superior, and which ones are to be cast away. Some women, such as Harper Lee, Charlotte Brontë, and Mary Shelly, have gained recognition as authors of literary merit, but so many still remain erased from the academic scope. This too, however, doesn’t begin to address the lack of LGTBQ+ people, BIPOC, and others who are not part of the
hegemony. “We have a lot of power as professors to frame people’s understandings of texts,” Spry says. It’s not that powerful pieces from diverse authors don’t exist, it’s just that they are simply often overlooked in the classroom, in favor of well-known classics. Herein lies the importance of redefining the literary canon. If we think of it as including only the classics, we think of it as a collection of works almost exclusively written by cisgender, heterosexual, white male authors, effectively erasing the stories of thousands of authors who are, and write for, minorities. Then, since the canon is a core part of learning and digesting literature in an academic setting, thousands of students are only exposed to a very limited set of perspectives in literature. They are taught that quality compositions are almost solely created by white men, and that all other pieces are not essential to their learning. So what literature should be taught in the classroom? Acknowledging the importance of feeling represented in texts, Spry says, “If I can offer students opportunities to have that sort of encounter, to say your experience is legitimate and worthy of attention and art, that’s great.” Spry understands the significance of this on a personal level, because he, as an indigenous man, never encountered any of the literature of his people until he was in college. He also believes that simply mandating diverse texts isn’t enough; “It’s a bigger systemic problem that we don’t have the capacity to teach diverse literature … if we continue to hire non-diverse people … that literature, even if it is present in that classroom, is going to be marginalized.” Diverse literature, as Spry explains, should be taught by experts of the subject for students to truly understand it. The literary canon has shrunk to only promote the most privileged authors. Western academia, as a whole, will benefit from expanding the canon to welcome diverse narratives, and to become enriched with new ideas, perspectives, and cultures. Stories have power—of that there is no doubt. We must reexamine the way we teach literature, so that everyone, not just those with privilege, can have their stories heard, respected, and shared. YM
YM ADVISES “Looking at my kitten, petting my kitten, sleeping next to my kitten, talking about when I’m gonna see my kitten next, and watching my kitten sleep.” - Talia Smith, Managing Editor
“My roommates. Living off-campus and making home cooked meals. That’s probably been the best. Late night cooking and listening to music and dancing around drinking moscato. A place that feels like home has been so nice amid the pandemic.” - Lillian Cohen, Editor in Chief
“Cooking and binge watching shows and movie series with my roommates.” - Julia Mallon, Co-Social Media Coordinator
“Seeking out new opportunities and being rewarded! Ivy-covered rooftops. Warm tortillas. Bella howling with my dad. Exchanging weird dreams with my brother. Voice calls with my teammates. Getting closer to friends. Meeting new ones. Knowing that this is only temporary and equally worth savoring.” - Tatiana Guel, Co-Head Designer I’ve become someone who finds comfort in doing
“Watching my comfort shows on Netflix has single-handedly gotten me through the semester so far. My favorites are Gilmore Girls and New Girl.” - Jess Ferguson, Co-Copy Chief
laundry. I think it’s because it’s something within my control, and I can count on doing it around the same time every week.” - Katie Powers, Co-Head Proofreader
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“My guitar lifesaver this semes a pro at it yet, bu jam with my ro sweet and fun play is “H “Coming home after class and Taylor Sw getting to see my cats.” - Pallas Hayes, Assistant Photo Director As
“Sitting outside with friends wh the weather is still pretty and warm has been really nic I also love spending time in my room listening to music watching tv with my roommate - Tiffany Carbon, Web Direct
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“Sitting outside with friends while the weather is still pretty and warm has been really nice! I also love spending time in my room listening to music or watching tv with my roommate.” - Tiffany Carbon, Web Director
“Going on walks around my neighborhood gives me time to decompress and clear my head, and is a great way to listen to new music, which has also helped me stay sane during all of the chaos.” - Lily Walsh, Co-Creative Director
“Taking some time to just do nothing. I’ll give myself an hour a week where I either go for a walk and listen to One Direction or I just lay in bed playing Animal Crossing.” - Shawna Konieczny, Co-Head Proofreader
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“Taking time to turn off my devices and stay off social media to bake something or read. I just finished Euphoria by Lily King—I highly recommend!” - Emily King, Photo Director
“Periodically having full-blown jam sessions by myself in my room.” - Marianna Poletti Reyes, Romance Editor & Co-Head Designer
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ARTIST STATEMENT:
JULIET WALKER
When did you start doodling? And when did you start putting your doodles on other items? ⁃ I started drawing my freshman year at Emerson because of an on-going assignment I was given in my mask making class. Our professor asked us all to draw as many faces as we could as a way better understand the form of the human face so we had some sort of understanding of faces when diving into making theatrical masks. I struggled with this assignment a lot because I never considered myself a visual artist, in fact it was a running joke that I was absolutely garbage when it came to painting or drawing or creating things with my hands, but I am inherently a perfectionist and always want to “get things right.” When I brought my concerns to my professor she introduced me to blind single-line contours (this is where you don’t look at what your drawing but rather keep your gaze on the subject you’re drawing and don’t lift your pen from the paper so its all one continuous line.) This technique helped me a lot because it took me out of my head. I wasn’t worried about each face looking like someone or being photo realistic or in anyway “perfect.” I knew going into each face that it wouldn’t look even remotely like the subject I was drawing because I wasn’t looking at what I was doing. It made each piece about the feeling of the face and shapes that I see when I look at a face as opposed to a photo realistic portrait of someone. I got into trying different mediums because I bought an oversized sweatshirt from a thrift store one day and when I got home I realized it had a bunch of stains on the front. I tried to wash it but none of the stains came out so I figured id try drawing over the stains just to make it wearable and I liked how it turned out. I wore it the next day to school, a bunch of people asked me where I bought it and when I told them I actually made it they wanted one for themselves. The rest is history I guess.
What inspired you to start making this artwork? ⁃ I guess the simple answer is my mask making class assignment but the more complicated answer is the fact I just simply adore people. Two of my best friends once told me that it is funny watching how I interact with the world because I have a crush on everyone I meet and I think that’s true to some extent. I really do find something special in everyone I talk to and that’s why I love doing these faces so much. I try to draw people as I see them, each one a piece of art. That sounds so cliche but I swear it’s true.
Could you describe your style? ⁃ I spent a really long time looking at this question and trying to come up with an answer, literally any answer, and I couldn’t. Maybe it is because I am so new to the art world and don’t know enough about artistic styles to label myself but the honest answer is I have no idea what my style is. I just have a good time and draw people - people on the T or in Star Market or my roommate or my mum haha. Minimalism maybe? My pieces are truly just simple lines used to express my infatuation with the humans around me. Is infatuation a style?
I noticed you started making more artwork specifically to raise money for those affected by the pandemic, can you tell me about that? ⁃ I actually started selling my work over the summer after the murder of George Floyd to raise money for various organizations connected to the Black Lives Matter movement. I ended up raising about $4,000 which feels crazy to say because I never would have guessed it would have been that high of a number. I just wanted to contribute what I could and am beyond grateful that my work aided me in doing that.
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