Your mag
Recognized in Spring 2012, YOURMAG ’s goal is to promote knowledge of the magazine industry by giving students the opportunity to be responsible for all aspects of a monthly lifestyle publication. With an audience of urban college students in mind, members create content across a broad range of topics and mediums, including style, romance, music, pop culture, personal identity, and experiences. YourMag’s overarching aim is to foster a positive, inclusive community of writers, editors, and artists.
volume 23 | issue 1 | March 2025
HAILEY KROLL
Co-Managing Editor
Siena Yocum
Creative Director
Emilie Dumas Photo Director
REBECCA CALVAR Co-Art Director
Sienna Leone Co-Art Director
SOPHIE HARTSTEIN Copy Chief
PAYTON MONTAINA
Asst. Copy Chief
Anna chalupa Head Proofreader
VIVIAN NGUYEN Social Media Director
SASHA GAYKO YMTV Director
Izzie Claudio Editor-in-Chief
LAUREN MALLETT Co-Head Designer
MOLLY DEHAVEN Co-Head Designer
Briana Cordon Asst. Head Designer
Emma Bowen Co-Editorial Director
Natália Oprzadek-Vodilková Co-Editorial Director
Mckenna Smith Asst. Editorial Director
ANNA BACAL PETERSON Head Stylist
Emily Hamnett Asst. Head Stylist
NATHAN KAHN Marketing Manager
Lily Brown Co-Managing Editor
SOFÍA ATTAWAY-JIMÉNEZ Community Chair
VARA GIANNAKOPOULOS Romance Editor
Molly Peay Asst. Romance Editor
ELLA MORDARSKI Style Editor
Kat Boskovic Asst. Style Editor
ISABELLA CASTELO Living Editor
Olivia Flanz A&E Editor
Lucy Latorre Co-Web Editor
GRAY GAILEY Co-Web Editor
Copy editors: Aylin Isik, Kai Etringer, Madison Lucchesi
GRAPHIC designERS: Abigail Tangonan, Audrey COleman, Hailey Kroll, Annabelle Kump, Mckenna Smith, Zack Yen
Proofreaders: Isaiah Flynn, Bella Nordman, Madison Lucchesi, Sophie Hartstein, Izzie Claudio
LettersfromtheEditors
New year, new issue!
I can’t believe I’m back at YM for my final semester and as Co-Managing Editor, no less. Talk about a full-circle moment. Four years ago, I was a freshman flipping through these pages, and now, as a senior, I’m creating and shaping them. This semester, we’re all about sepia—nostalgia, timeless style, and that golden-hour glow we’re always chasing. Senior year is a sepia filter: everything feels a little softer, a little dreamier, and just the right amount of bittersweet. It’s the in-between of holding on and letting go, of looking back while moving forward. So here’s to capturing the moments before they fade, to making them last just a little longer.
Best, Lily Brown
Sepia is a moment to take a breath and reflect. We daydream, take risks, craft a visual identity, call out issues in the artistic world, reflect on childhood, ask questions about family, and find solace in music. I’m so grateful to be taking on the role of Editor-in-Chief and present a beautiful issue to kick off our 2025 season. All of these stories remind us to never stop questioning, celebrating, and loving; that’s what life is about. Enjoy the ethereal atmospheres of the sepia issue! A big kiss for YM and a big kiss for you <3
Hi, readers!
Last October, you adored our first ever black-and-white issue. This semester, we decided to bring it back—with a twist. Welcome to the Sepia Issue!
Originally created to increase the longevity of print photography, we embrace Sepia as a lens to explore storytelling, preservation, and transformation. Whether reflecting on personal histories, reimagining the old in a new light, or capturing the in-between spaces of past and present, these pages hold work that speaks to endurance and evolution. Sepia isn’t just about looking back—it’s about carrying those stories forward. We hope to provide a space that extends the longevity of our voices, acting as a safe-haven to return to when times get tough.
I hope you enjoy this issue as much as we enjoyed creating it. Happy March!
With all my love, Hailey Kroll
Love, Izzie Claudio
Help! Is He Staring at Me or Just Lost in Thought? A Modern Crush Mystery
WRITTEN BY SOPHIA HOROWITZ
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MAEVE HANLEY
Have you ever been in class and the guy you find cute is staring at you again? You immediately dart your eyes to your email inbox to avoid it? Well, I have.
In classroom settings, the experience of receiving an intense gaze can evoke a whirlwind of emotions. This uncertainty may lead people down a path of exploration—seeking social media accounts or piecing together a fuller picture from class rosters. This digital sleuthing reflects a modern tendency to seek validation through online profiles, but it can also deepen the cycle of overanalysis, especially among women who feel the weight of societal expectations regarding their appearance.
We navigate digital landscapes that promise interconnectedness, yet often retreat from authentic interactions when opportunities arise to reveal our true selves. The common saying, “The eyes are the window to the soul,” speaks to the profound ability of eye contact to communicate unspoken truths. A glance from a close friend can convey distress in an instant. With one gaze from your dog, you know what they hunger for. However, in contemporary crush culture, where visual appraisal often supersedes genuine connection, this intuition can become clouded by insecurity. Is my forehead too big? Does my wavy hair look messy?
I identify as a retired wallflower who often found herself on the sidelines of love but has watched When Harry Met Sally more times than I can count. While I occasionally yearned for inclusion, my need for deep conversations and understanding from others set clear limits. I valued people who looked beyond my appearance and recognized my many facets. As a woman, I value everything I bring to the table, and I encourage others to uphold this principle as well.
Each individual represents a unique blend of love passed down through generations, and it is essential to recognize that love is embedded in our very DNA. Everyone deserves to experience the healthy qualities they seek in future relationships.
For those who, like me, navigated high school with little romantic attention and are now exploring these dynamics in college, I offer some actionable insights. These strategies helped me transition from feeling constrained on the sidelines to actively engaging in the game of love. I hope they can help others avoid a few of the mistakes I once made on the road to my current relationship.
Tip 1: Stop Molding Yourself
Repeat after me, ladies: “The right person will like YOU— the true you.” I know, cliche. This includes the one who orders enough takeout to warrant triple the amount of chopsticks and who has more Tumblr threads memorized than your social security number. Be YOU loudly so that all these new, lovely people can meet the real you.
Tip 2: Start With What You Want
Know what you want and what makes you feel confident. Write down your non-negotiables because this relationship is for you. You need certain qualities to feel strong and comfortable.
Pro tip: Include “makes you laugh.” After a year and a half in a relationship, I’m so grateful to have someone who keeps me laughing!*
Tip
3: Be Bold and Go on Dates
Going on first dates boosted my confidence in talking to guys and helped me embrace my needs without shame. Plus, getting ready with friends was a fantastic perk to singleness! Remember, you owe them nothing; you can leave without a hug or a kiss. I’ve declined or waited months to kiss people because I wasn’t ready. If a guy has a problem with that, goodbye.
Apps can help you get dates if you have the right intentions. Other options include being bold and striking up conversations with guys in class, clubs, or work. Build a friendship first, then ask for coffee. We want a partner who looks good but also makes us think positively when they speak.
Tip 4: Trust Their Actions
The right person will pursue you wholeheartedly. If their actions confuse you, it’s time to move on. Your time is incredibly precious; don’t waste it on someone who sends hieroglyphic messages at 3 a.m. then won’t talk to you in person. Remember, you are already whole. Instead of seeking someone to complete you, redirect that time and energy into loving yourself.
Tip 5: Get Good At Communicating Your Feelings
Taking the first steps into dating is daunting. Remember to check in with yourself, adjust your pace, and communicate your feelings as the relationship progresses. Don’t worry; I’ll help you with that later!
Trust yourself, step forward, and let love surprise you! YM
WRITTEN BY HEATHER THORN
Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her… Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater… You know the story, even when it’s embellished: it starts with two people in love and ends in disaster like some good things do, often leaving one person heartbroken and the other responsible.
Somewhere between heartbreak and questionable crushes, selfpreservation kicks in, revving its engine in a desperate attempt to save you from devastation again and again for the rest of your life. Repeated and seemingly unstoppable relationship patterns in media (such as Nick Dunne’s affair with his student leading to Amy’s disastrous disappearance in Gone Girl, the multiple infidelities in Yellowjackets, and Ross and Rachel’s on-and-off relationship in Friends) often perpetuate the idea that behavior cycles are never-ending. In short, it’s not just Peter who eats pumpkins; cheating happens all the time. There’s a reason why Ross and Rachel’s “We were on a break” argument is so infamous—people can’t seem to agree when it comes to cheating and all of its byproducts: mistrust, tension, and dirty laundry that will never be clean.
How much weight does the phrase “Once a cheater, always a cheater” really hold? In February of 2024, I asked 18 Emerson College students if they believed the statement wholeheartedly. 47% of the answers were “Yes” while the other 53% of participants said they “don’t believe a cheater will always be a cheater.”
The question is how to avoid these relationship patterns… but are they even preventable?
Pumpkin-eating Peter teaches a lesson to all: give in to outside desires and expect to lose everything you once had. People cheat for a multitude of reasons: to fulfill unmet needs, satisfy themselves outside of their relationship, feel appreciated, get revenge on their partner, fearing commitment or unresolved childhood trauma, or reflecting prior exposure to cheating in their family. However, considering these factors is much different than accepting them at face value. While these desires or external factors should be addressed, the reason a cheater musters up is ultimately irrelevant. Let’s be clear: there’s no excuse for cheating. But it can be helpful to understand that there are many factors leading up to an extramarital kiss or even a secret mistress or two.
Like a bell that’s been rung, one can’t undo the act of cheating. Although it can be apologized and repented for, cheating can never be undone. Atonement is the first stage of healing following the unfaithful occurrence and offers the betrayer the opportunity to be honest and transparent and express remorse for their affair. While the cheater can try to atone, the decision to reconcile the relationship is nevertheless made by the betrayed partner only. The resultant mistrust between partners requires extensive effort and repair, involving rebuilding trust, processing emotions and betrayal, prioritizing communication, and ultimately deciding if the relationship can continue. Emotional scars from cheating occur regardless of whether it was a one-off occurrence or continues as a pattern.
ART BY LUCY LATORRE
The cheater can avoid repeating this action, but they did cheat and still carry with them the ability to hurt a loved one. Cheating even once can be enough to earn the title of being “a cheater” because the act completely changes the way people perceive them.
People are creatures of habit; the best predictor of the future is the past. Repetitive behaviors indicate a deeper problem such as a lack of impulse control, the need for external validation, a fear of commitment, or compulsive and self-destructive behavior.
Rules, especially concerning relationships, aren’t strictly black and white. Bel Attenberg (they/she), Emerson Class of ’27, said, “Once a cheater, always morally corrupt.” But, they added, there’s an undeniable gray area: “Cheaters can be capable of changing.”
Black and white rules such as “Once a cheater, always a cheater” help us feel safer due to the boxes they put people in. The belief in these rules, however, stems from the fear of betrayal and uncertainty in relationships, that anyone is capable of cheating. The phrase is not an absolute truth, and is especially limiting because of how it overlooks people’s capability to change.
“Once a cheater always a cheater” is not an absolute truth. A cheater’s ability to change their behavior depends on the person. While personality traits such as impulse control (or a lack thereof) and selfishness play a role in creating patterns, they don’t entirely dictate someone’s behavior. Cheating may not stem from a person’s character. Oftentimes, infidelity stems from specific circumstances such as immaturity, relationship issues, or personal problems that cause someone to seek outside affection. A cheater may be more likely to cheat again than someone who hasn’t cheated, but that doesn’t mean that they will.
Ultimately, a person’s ability to change relies on the person themself: change is possible only if actively pursued. It requires work, reflection, taking action, and therapy and can only happen if the cheater recognizes the detrimental consequences of their unfaithful behavior. The cheater must be committed to changing in order to successfully transform themselves.
“Once a cheater, always a cheater” does not strictly define a relationship or the outcome of a cheater’s future relationships. Love is complicated, brutal, and messy. While it’s important to consider a love interest’s past relationships and possible infidelities, it is also necessary to understand that every relationship is different.
So, dear reader, if you happen to be dating or pursuing someone who has cheated in the past, it doesn’t mean your relationship is doomed or destined to end the same way. While the phrase, “How you get them is how you lose them,” points out the cyclical nature of relationships regarding their beginning and endings, it’s important to remember that love is always a gamble. That doesn’t mean you have to put your heart on the line, though: keep an eye out for indicators that your love interest may be dishonest, unfaithful, or incapable of change. By removing your rose-colored glasses, you can have more control over your life and decide who deserves to be in it. YM
How Far is Too Far?
WRITTEN BY LILY BROWN
College is the ultimate playground for figuring out your sexuality, testing the waters with different partners, or finding a sneaky spot for some extracurricular fun. But at what point does “fun” start feeling less like a thrilling memory and more like a public service announcement? Let’s talk about sex in college: where it happens, how it happens, and when it’s time to set some boundaries (and no, not just for your RA’s sanity).
Maybe you were feeling bold. Maybe it was the thrill of almost getting caught. Maybe it was a locked dorm room and some bad planning. Maybe you got carried away. Whatever the reason, college hookup culture thrives on spontaneity, risktaking, and some questionable location choices. Testing limits is part of the experience. So, how do we find the line between an unforgettable story and a “maybe don’t” situation?
Let’s talk logistics. The roommate situation? It’s a classic dilemma. You’re either the person trying to be sneaky, or the poor unfortunate soul pretending to sleep through it. Then there’s the “I’ll be gone for an hour” text, the awkward post hookup eye contact, or, worst-case scenario: the walkin. It’s all fun and games until someone feels forced to sleep in the common room to escape the vibes lingering in their bed. Nobody wants to be the person deep-cleaning their comforter because their bestie “borrowed” their bed while they were in class.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ELIANA VEGA
using someone else’s space without them knowing, maybe... don’t. There’s a fine line between a wild college memory and straight-up disrespect.
College has those high-risk, high-reward spots—public bathrooms or even your friend’s couch. And people love to test the limits. The stairwell rendezvous? Done. The unlocked study room? Risky. The frat house laundry room? Questionable. The library? Being hidden between the stacks doesn’t mean people don’t know. College is one big shared space. While spontaneity is hot, the aftermath of a couple desecrating the student lounge couch is not. We get it. These things happen. This isn’t an endorsement of public escapades or a PSA from your favorite RA—it’s a gentle reminder that a little common courtesy goes a long way.
As you navigate the chaos of college life, it’s key to think beyond just your own thrill. Consent doesn’t end when things go down behind closed doors; it extends to the spaces you share with others. Don’t kill the mood by being a disrespectful roommate or friend. If it’s a shared space (even if it’s your friend’s dorm), it’s always worth checking in about the vibe beforehand—even if it’s just a heads-up text. Boundaries aren’t just a courtesy; they’re the foundation of creating a community where everyone feels respected, safe, and like they can be their truest selves.
Speaking of borrowing: you’ve heard the legendary stories— the ones passed around with a wink and a laugh. You know, the one where someone thought it’d be a great idea to christen the communal laundry room late into the night. Or the daring escapades in places never meant for intimacy. Sure, these tales make for great gossip, yet at what point does the joke turn into a boundary issue?
We listen and we don’t judge; however, if you’re thinking about
What’s the takeaway? College is about making memories, pushing limits, and figuring things out, including when and where not to hook up. We love a good story. We love the thrill. Maybe, just maybe, we can also appreciate boundaries not only for our dignity, but for the general peace of everyone coexisting in this chaotic little ecosystem. Hookup, have fun, make memories—just, you know, keep it classy. YM
DIRECTED BY ELLA
MORDARSKI
PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMMA BOWEN
STYLED BY ANNA BACAL PETERSON
MODELED BY
SYDNEY HOFFMAN, AMELIA DUVAL, GRACIE
ROBLES, AND TY COOPER
WHEN A BALLERINA SOFTLY ARE WEARING IS JUST AS FABRIC ADORNING THEM ACCESSORIES SHOWCASE THIS NATURAL CONNECTION ON STAGE AT A WORLD-CLASS THE FABRIC YOU WEAR APPENDS
OnPointe
SOFTLY GLIDES AROUND A BARRE, WHAT THEY IMPORTANT AS HOW THEY ARE DANCING. THE THEM IS AN EXTENSION OF THEIR MOVEMENTS AND SHOWCASE THE INDIVIDUALITY. “ON POINTE” EMPHASIZES CONNECTION BALLET AND FASHION POSSESS. WHETHER WORLD-CLASS THEATER OR IN A QUAINT PRACTICE ROOM, APPENDS THE MOVEMENTS YOU EXECUTE.
Fin.
Fin.
H∞PININITY
WRITTEN
BY
ISABELLA CASTELO
PHOTOGRAPHED BY CELLA
LABARGE
The day I shaved my head the first thing I noticed were my silver hoops. They hung from my lobes, pulling at the old, loose piercings, stretching them open. I didn’t notice my two ponytails of hair lying limp on the table in my backyard, or my chia head, or the scratchiness the micro hairs left on my back. Those came second, runner-ups to my silver, dangling hoops that were too heavy for my sleazy earlobes.
I shaved my head the summer after my freshman year of college, May 21, 2023. I ran a half-marathon with my mom that morning and when I got home—half drunk on runner’s high, half sick of imagining what I’d look like with a bald head—I fished out my father’s clippers and some kitchen scissors.
My parents rarely push back on the things I do to express myself—what I wear, my piercings, where I go at night, who I call a friend. They may not approve but they understand that it is my clothes, my piercings, and my friends, so they have no jurisdiction there. But when I wanted to shave my head, they “advised” me against it. I fought back, pushing their own lack of hair against them—my dad is skin bald and my mom’s had a pixie cut since before I was born.
“I’ll only have a little less hair than mom.” I shoved this fact at my father after he refused to tell me where his clipper set was.
“That’s different, you know that’s different. A pixie is still a woman’s style.”
There it was. They were scared of me losing my last ounce of femininity. They worried I’d regret it once I looked in the mirror and saw it was all gone. Maybe they were scared my head was weirdly shaped and it was all their fault. They were dramatic because when I finally found my dad’s set hidden in the back corner of his bathroom and did the thing, I felt more beautiful than I ever had.
I finally felt like a woman. Before, I used my hair as a shield, hiding behind the greasy curtain whenever I felt someone’s gaze. I never felt beautiful with long hair and definitely not like a woman. I looked in the mirror and saw an insecure child, someone who was hoping to grow into themselves even years after finishing puberty. I equated this growth with the growth of
my hair, and as the dead ends conquered over half that length, I felt, and looked, out of control of my body.
When I shaved it, I took control. I put lipstick on for the first time and slid hoops into the piercings I got when I was two years old. Seeing myself for the first time and noticing the hoops, I saw they looked bigger, more prominent, they captured your attention. They meant something now. Without hair they couldn’t hide behind anything anymore either, we were the same. We both were shinier, prettier, and took up more space. At that moment, they gave me the confidence that I made the right decision. They whispered in my ears, telling me that in shaving my head, I had not shaved off the last of my womanhood.
Putting on my hoops has become a ritual. The final step every morning. No matter how late I am, I’ll scramble around my apartment searching for them when they’re lost. Without them, I feel exposed, nude, like I forgot to put my boobs on. I still question my looks and how others perceive me, maybe that’s my real sign of womanhood, but seeing my hoops dangling from my ears eases these thoughts.
Now, two years later, I’m flirting with the idea of growing my hair again. I want to see it long when I have nothing to hide, when the inches softly frame my face rather than obscure it. I’m confident I won’t revert to quivering behind strands of thin, dead hair because even on days I feel my ugliest, I’ll at least have to show off my shiny, silver hoops. YM
the designer diagnosis
The year is hardly underway, and already Paris Fashion Week has confirmed much of what careful aesthetes feared—fashion still has no direction.
In recent months, the world of high fashion has experienced a clear game of musical chairs; countless creative directors making unexpected departures from longtime mainstays in the industry. Hedi Slimane will no longer reign over Celine, Haider Ackermann has assumed a new directorship at Tom Ford, and Chanel has now welcomed Matthieu Blazy’s talents. All over, from Antwerp’s Dries Van Noten HQ, to Loewe’s Place Saint-Sulpice, the scene appears focused singularly on one concern—what is the next move?
But if this really is the pressing question on everyone’s minds, then the fashion world is clearly going about it all wrong. Instead of welcoming unsung talents, luxury houses have been turning their attention to the red carpet. A recent string of A-listers have been appointed at historic maisons, marking a sharp turn away from true craftsmanship. Any good fashion-head can easily diagnose the clearest symptom of the current limbo-restless-state-of-inaction. All these celebrities have got to go.
Of course, it’s never been uncommon in fashion, or in any space for that matter, for celebrities to wield a near-divine command over brand-name clout. But consider that the celebrity culture of past decades relied mainly on endorsements above all else. The supreme weight of a celebrity cosign used to satisfy corporate demands. Now, the culture has unavoidably shifted away from this older model. Audiences have witnessed, in real time, the fall of the influencer and the rise of the blessed content-creator. The culture now demands some bizarre personhood from the favorite brands; no matter how warped, or otherwise insincere.
The age of the celebrity creative director is upon us. Pharrell Williams succeeds Virgil Abloh at Louis Vuitton. Jack Harlow surprises all with a new directorship at New Balance. Left and right, fashion houses are embracing the allure of celebrity and that possibility of a viral headline. It’s irresistible. This is exactly how we find ourselves watching helplessly as seasons pass in a slew of unchanged trend cycles.
This is not to say that celebrities are innately uncreative. It’s true that Pharrell is an undeniable genius, a vanguard musician, and an intensely driven creative. It’s also true that Pharrell is, and has always been, one of the best dressed men in music. But the truth of the matter lies in artistry—fashion is an art rather than an attitude.
Virgil Abloh’s historic rise paints perhaps the clearest case for earning your stripes in the world of fashion. Abloh first studied architecture, transforming his mastery of shape and spectacle into a string of falsestart brands, one-off projects, and even brief stints as a DJ. Only after this formative run through the underground did Abloh break finally into prominence as one of the most eminent designers of the 21st century.
Through his tenure as Off-White creator and Louis Vuitton creative director, Abloh handedly reinvented the scene—reshaped the very landscape that luxury houses thought they knew.
Only a year before his untimely death, Abloh sent ripples through the industry, claiming that streetwear would soon be dead. It seemed unthinkable at the time—impossible to imagine that there would ever be a moment when Off-White sneakers, and luxury hoodies, would ever
go out of style. Yet, in the year 2025, we are certainly living in Abloh’s prophecy. Virgil Abloh is now a name synonymous with fashion itself—a true testament to what happens when luxury brands put their trust in young inspired artists.
Conversely, though Pharrell still manages to draw star-studded crowds, the designs coming out of the new Louis Vuitton are, in one word, unremarkable. A superfluous 84 models stalked the runway in familiar Louis Vuitton checker-print logos—more of the same silhouettes, and none of the intrigue. The clothes are tailored, wearable, and trendy, but at the end of the day, they lack any of the fashion-forward thinking that actually moves culture in any sort of direction
Here, the question of fashion as a skill versus fashion as an attitude arises once again.
Celebrities are well within their rights to develop certain tastes, aesthetics, and interests, but this does not automatically mean any A-lister is ready to assume the sole voice of an art based largely in craftsmanship. Merely curating an aesthetic isn’t enough. What makes fashion a genuinely unique art form is its ability to bring out the most prescient among us—those who see five steps ahead and aim to predict the next five after that.
Look no further than the grassroot designers—not classically trained, but more in touch with the art of fashion than any career celebrity could ever hope to be. Often these independent designers are one-person acts: designing, producing, and distributing. Working night and day to pursue a higher creation. These are the types of creators that can put the fire back in fashion. These are the designers who actually know how to sew and stitch, who study how proportions set themselves about the body, who find themselves lost in the beauty of creating.
As if to show their own inept hand, uninspired fashion labels are often caught stealing from these grassroot designers. In 2020, a New York designer, Romeo Hunte accused Burberry of directly ripping off his own line from a year prior. Similarly, Scottish designer Mati Ventrillon found his products directly copied by Chanel, after they purchased his clothing “for research purposes.”
It would seem that most of these noxious business practices can all be chalked up to a renewed corporate interest in the fashion industry. Courtesy of the visionaries that helped propel high fashion into the mainstream, businesses now see a way to double profit margins and expand commercial empires. So, it is entirely unsurprising that we will continue to see young, aspiring designers, passed-up, cheated, and poorly copied.
For those panicked that they may soon be seeing Justin Bieber’s name leading Balenciaga, or Drake at the helm of Dior, there is still hope. Fashion is still very much unsure of where it is meant to go, and reshuffling creative directorships can only bring about so much change. The dream of any like-minded creative should be that this perpetual winter will open the industry’s eyes. Celebrity status can only bring so much buzz. Real fashion—the fashion that moves culture—demands undeniable skills, ongoing work ethic, and a vision built through experiencing life through art. YM
WRITTEN BY JAGGER VAN VLIET
ART BY REBECCA CALVAR
STEP u P
WRITTEN BY LAUREN
MALLETT
PHOTOGRAPHED BY OLIVIA FLANZ
There’s no denying the fact that I’m short.
As a full-grown adult, I have maxed out at a wonderful height of five foot two inches, which is far below average and, to me personally, very frustrating.
As someone who was born female and tends to present femininely, my height is often a topic of discussion. Whether it’s a fleeting comment from a passerby, or the use of my head as an armrest by someone taller than me, it’s nearly impossible to go a day without being reminded in some way that I’m vertically challenged.
Growing up, I was always the shortest of my peers, with many of them towering over me by more than a foot. My size was always a looming subject, always there and always present.
Whether it was being unable to reach something on a high shelf, or someone—whom I thought was my friend—calling me a leprechaun, a sense of shame around my height was instilled in me from a young age.
I have always felt that people underestimate me because of my size. People told me I couldn’t carry heavy items because I was too small, that I couldn’t be intimidating or authoritative.
I was too cute to be taken seriously, too girly to be a leader.
In fourth grade, I wanted to play the trumpet more than anything, but my parents thought I was too small and told me to play
the flute instead. Of course, I didn’t listen.
I was treated as if I wasn’t able to care for myself because, well, look at me. My height became conflated with my ability to exist as my own independent person, and people began to treat me as incapable because of it.
Flash forward to me at 20-years-old. I’m never not wearing platforms. Whether it’s the two added inches on my Koi Footwear sneakers, or the massive seven-inch hunk of a sole on my Demonia Stacks, I’m always going to be elevated. To be lifted off the ground in such a way feels to me like power With just a pair of shoes, I am able to completely change not only the way that I carry myself, but the way that other people perceive me. Suddenly, when I’m measuring closer to 5’7”, people seem to think I’m a lot more capable of handling myself. And it feels that way for me, too.
I feel strong when I’m in my platforms, like a bad bitch who could kick anyone’s ass, both literally and figuratively. I feel cool, I feel sexy, and—most importantly—I feel confident. When I’m towering up above, my eyeline raised far higher than normal, I can feel every inch of myself grow louder and prouder. My shoulders push back, my chin tilts up, I walk with such purpose in my stride that people move out of my way. All this comes from a pair of shoes, a few inches.
Don’t get me wrong, I have come to love my height—most of the time. But there’s something unbeatable about the way I feel when I walk into a room and notice someone’s reaction to me being a hell of a lot taller than I was the last time they saw me. Especially when it means I’m taller than they are.
So I’m going to throw on my platforms, and I’m going to be as tall as I want, because I’m ready to lift myself up and rise above how people view me for being short. YM
YOUR CLOSET
INTERVIEWED BY ELLA MORDARSKI
JR (he/him) YOUR CLOSET
How would you describe your personal style in three words?
Impulsive, colorful, dynamic. If you could only shop at one place for the rest of your life, where would it be? Levi’s but that answer changes, like, every month.
What are three pieces in your wardrobe you can’t live without?
My black denim jacket, my Beyoncé concert t-shirt, and my Doc Martens. Are you team fold, hang, or both? Why? Both!!! It entirely depends on the article of clothing, I hang shirts but fold pretty much everything else. I keep sweaters in a drawer so they don’t stretch on the hanger.
Three favorite accessories to add to an outfit?
Fragrance, my Tiffany necklace, fun socks.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMILIE DUMAS
YOUR CLOSET YOUR CLOSET
INTERVIEWED BY ELLA MORDARSKI
Riley (she/her)
PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMILIE DUMAS
Where do you typically get outfit inspiration from?
I get outfit inspiration mainly from my friends! They’ll wear an outfit I like and it inspires me to put similar pieces together with my own spin. Because of that, I feel like what I like to wear ebbs and flows a lot, which I think is pretty cool. I can’t lie though, Pinterest can also be a godsend. What movie character’s wardrobe do you identify most with?
I always get told that I remind people of Sophie Thatcher, specifically her character Natalie in Yellowjackets. Between the hair, the makeup, and the black and muted tones she wears, I totally see and love it so much.
A unique story about a piece of clothing in your closet?
My girlfriend and I have a knitted sweater that we share. Whenever we travel or go somewhere for a fun experience, we add a pin to it from wherever we went! They do fall off often, I can’t lie, but it’s a little tradition that I hold close to my heart.
Three favorite accessories to add to an outfit?
My black “eye” purse, a scarf (a sheer scarf when it’s warm and a thick scarf when it’s cold), and my green emerald ring from my grandpa.
What is your favorite color to wear? Why?
Definitely dark green. Basic, I know, but everyone loves it for a reason. For one, I think it brings out my eyes. But it’s the perfect match to all of the other earthy tones I wear (all of the browns, blacks, and grays). This is sentimental, but it also reminds me of my mom. It was her signature color all throughout high school and college. It’s her favorite color and she wears it all the time.
CAN YOU
IN A STATE OF SURVEILLANCE AND CENSORSHIP, COMMUNICATION IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN EVER. “CAN YOU SEE ME?” AIMS TO CONVEY SIMPLISTIC VISUALS OF CENSORSHIP AND SURVEILLANCE, INVOKING THAT “BIG BROTHER” FEELING THAT WE ARE BEING WATCHED.
SEE ME?
BY LAUREN MALLETT
PHOTOGRAPHED BY NATÁLIA OPRZADEK-VODILKOVÁ
STYLED BY ANNA BACAL PETERSON AND EMILY HAMNETT MAKEUP BY LAUREN MALLETT AND GEORGIANNE TEN EYCK
MODELED BY ISAIAH FLYNN, RYAN PORIO, GEORGIANNE TEN EYCK, AND RIYA PATEL
DIRECTED
What Brotherhood means to an Only Child
WRITTEN BY CONOR O. LONG
I’ve often been surprised by how people react when they discover I’m an only child. There’s usually an initial shock, the revelation that I’m more visibly well-adjusted than the stereotypical one. Then, a frown forms as they discern my childhood must have been rather lonely. In elementary and middle school, I was the only student who had no siblings. That was a big reason I didn’t have many friends, particularly other male friends. Where I was lacking in friends, or brothers, I made up for with superheroes. After a long day of school, when other kids were roughhousing with their siblings, I was reading the adventures of the Hulk or the X-Men.
Luckily for me, the majority of my idols were also only children: Spider-Man, Batman, Superman, Daredevil, even Ghost Rider (until they revealed he had a secret estranged brother). Through these modern myths, I learned what it meant to be bound to someone beyond blood.
The characters who showed this most were none other than Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. Regardless of how often writers wanted these characters to face off, there was a history of brotherhood between them. The duo at the center of the series World’s Finest displayed what loyalty can look like for someone who never had siblings to stick up for them. Superman has Kryptonite in his chest? Don’t worry, Batman will carry the incapacitated Kryptonian all the way back to the Batcave to perform surgery. They may not be related, or even the same species, but the two are brothers and would risk anything for each other.
I was raised by these pillars of masculinity (tights and all), and it instilled in me that to care about someone is to be willing to do anything for them, even if it puts you in harm’s way. Without real brothers or friends, I struggled with this sense of compassion and love that never had an outlet.
But finally in high school, I met another only child who was in a similar position to me. We found ourselves as social outcasts, finding ways to create art through amateur film or as part of our school’s chorus. Like my heroes, we were both passionate, siblingless, and looking for some solace. For the longest time, we did everything together. We would go on road trips, get tattoos, perform in concerts, explore haunted hospitals, and even traveled the world together.
BY HAILEY KROLL
The August before our junior year of college, we went hitchhiking in Iceland and our friendship was tested the most. Whilst dealing with a last minute mononucleosis diagnosis (on my part) and having to help a driver resecure the underbed of his car in the middle of the highlands, we were bickering like the most elderly couple on the planet. The worst tribulation was when my best friend left his phone in someone’s car after they dropped us off at a campsite. That’s where others would have scolded him; I rushed to the rescue and used Life360 to discover his phone was 18 miles outside the village we were camping in. With no car and no way to contact the driver, we should have given up, but I refused. I proposed that we rent electric scooters, take them on the highway, and ride into the countryside like we could fly. The journey was lengthy and complicated—the scooters died halfway through the trek—but we got his phone back.
It didn’t matter to me how dangerous our quest was, he was the Superman to my Batman, and I knew I had to trek through the sewers in order to get that Kryptonite out of his chest.
Today, he and I are no longer on speaking terms.
Years after our notable hitchhiking quest, we’ve had a falling out. After eight years of friendship and adventures aplenty, we had different definitions of what it meant to be a brother. It’s still rather fresh for me: my living situation has been upended, lines have been drawn amongst our childhood friends, and suddenly it feels like I have my own Kryptonite shaped hole in my chest.
Comics taught me a lot about love, but they didn’t teach me how to accept that kind of rejection from someone I’ve shared so much history with. Life’s not a comic book, we can’t feud one issue and then fight side by side in the next.
If I had siblings, like those I clashed with growing up, perhaps I’d have been taught how to forgive him. I’ve always wanted to be a brother, and for eight years I was. Now I’m alone again. I may not want to be, but for now I have to press forward.
I think that’s what everyone fails to understand about Batman. He doesn’t work alone by choice, in fact any chance he gets he leans on his butler or one of his many Robins. He works alone because sometimes you just have to.
One day I’ll find my Superman, but for now, I work alone. YM
ART
Can You DIY a Family?
WRITTEN BY KAT BOSKOVIC
My father is a narcissist. That’s the simplest way to put it, though it took me years to reach that conclusion—a conclusion the rest of my family still struggles to accept. He showed up to all my orchestra concerts. He coached me from the sidelines at my soccer games. He once even hassled every employee at the Graz International Airport for an earlier transatlantic flight to catch the opening night of a play I had written. Physically present, financially supportive, yet fissures in our relationship widened as I matured to detect his blatant manipulations, control disguised as care, and affection that came with terms and conditions. The very person who was meant to love me unconditionally was the very one holding me back.
After three years of high school littered with periodic depressive episodes and anxiety attacks, I chose to cut my father out of my life entirely. Coincidentally, the mental illnesses that had festered within me since I could remember, that plagued my every thought and behavior, dissipated into thin air. For the very first time since elementary school playground shenanigans, I could confidently say I was happy. And not a forced happy, where I incessantly analyzed the occurrences of my day and convinced myself that it was, in fact, a good day despite the growing pit of existential dread germinating within the very core of my being—but genuine delight with my life.
But my renewed joie de vivre quickly became infested when relatives learned that I had cut off my father. In my eyes, I had merely ended an abusive interrelationship—one that was no different than a toxic friendship or romance—but people who didn’t even know the sweeping history of my father’s manipulations and grandiosity thought differently. I had become a villain tearing apart a happy family. I was selfish. Dramatic. Unforgiving. I simply did not understand the extent of unconditional love a parent feels towards a child, and my cruel actions had supposedly broken my (emotionless) father.
The shame and judgement that develops after such a decision is hardly an anomaly. While society has long propagated the ideal of family as an unassailable bond and a foundational pillar of unconditional love, an increasing number of individuals are recognizing that these very relationships—particularly those marked by manipulation, control, and emotional exploitation—can not only be damaging, but downright abusive. The decision to sever ties is not a betrayal, but an act of selfpreservation that 27 percent of Americans have made when choosing to cut off a relative (Pillemer 2019). Estrangement, though still laden with societal stigma, is becoming an increasingly viable choice for those who have faced the harsh reality that maintaining such familial ties can come at the cost of their own emotional well-being. In a modern society that combats mental health stigmas and places psychological health at the forefront of personal welfare, it’s no surprise that the concept of “no contact” has gone culturally viral. Through buzzwords like “gaslighting,” “guilt tripping,” and “generational trauma” that have flooded our social media feeds, we’ve metamorphosed from prioritizing traditional families to prioritizing self-care. If our families
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ALEXA LUNNEY
fit into our self-love agenda, we embrace them as a cornerstone of our well-being for comfort and continuity, but if they only evoke negativity, we have the grace to step away.
Especially as society progresses to embrace non-nuclear families such as single parents, LGBTQ+ couples, and second marriages, blood ties are rendered less consequential. In the twenty-first century, we have redefined family.
I didn’t speak to my father for fourteen months. The silence was both a relief and an epiphany. The absence, rather than creating yet another fissure in our complicated relationship, revealed to me that blood alone could not bind one to a meaningful connection. My friends cared for me much more than my father ever did. “Dad” was a word that always lingered on the tip of my tongue but never seemed to break out of my mouth, yet the words “best friend” spilled right out of my lips with no resistance. Saying “I love you” was no longer a challenge. Hugs were easy, not awkward. I discovered a chosen family, bound not by lineage, but by a mutual care that unveiled the futility of prioritizing biological ties over authentic companionship; after all, while family is built-in, friends are people we choose, over and over, to be with, without any obligation to do so. I had found true kinship.
Yet, as liberating as this realization was, severing ties with a parent, no matter how fraught, remains a profoundly challenging decision. The very act of cutting off blood family, regardless of their toxicity, pulls at the very threads that constitute identity. The adult understands the necessity, yet the inner child, with knuckles white from desperation, clings onto deep-seated ties to the past. After observing close-knit families who eat their meals together and share stories over dinner, I can’t help but ache for that unconditional love. I may hold my father at an arm’s length, but there will always be a five-year-old girl who asks her dad to do her pigtails in the morning, and a twelve-yearold preteen who smiles with all the brackets of her braces when her dad is on the sidelines of her soccer game. My father has both been heavily involved in my life, and cut off entirely, but both courses of action felt inextricably at odds with my sense of self, each fraught with its own unresolvable paradox.
Perhaps, our relationship exists in an ambiguous gray area, a limbo of irresolution. Perhaps, there is no way he can be entirely on my good side, or entirely on my bad side. He simply must permanently reside in a purgatory between absolutes, for there is no neat resolution where I can tie up all emotional complexities into a neat little bow. And so, I move forward, not in the certainty of a clean break, but in the messy, often painful understanding that sometimes, we must live with the tension of things unresolved, knowing that some relationships are too tangled to ever fully untangle. And for my eighteen-year-old self, that will suffice. YM
The Waiting Room
WRITTEN BY ELLA MORDARSKI
In the least deranged way possible, I’m a people watcher—have been since I was a child. I enjoy looking through townhouse windows and listening to dinner conversations. I’m by no means doing it to be creepy, in my mind, it’s an anthropological study into the lives of people around me. An innate trait I use to connect to and understand the world.
When I was 13 years old I got my first period. The menstrual cycle is one of those experiences women talk about with both pride and horror. “It means you have become a woman…but it fucking sucks.” I distinctly remember my stepmother-to-be handing me cheap grocery store flowers to congratulate me. I was both confused and embarrassed by this gesture. Why would I get flowers for bleeding?
Within 24 hours of my first cycle, the “normal” symptoms I had been taught about in health class, turned dire. Lying on the floor, screaming in pain, I felt terrified and confused. Was this it? Is this the magical female experience I had been told about my whole life? Am I being overdramatic?
A few months later, I sat in an OB/GYN’s office for the first time. I was diagnosed with endometriosis: A reproductive disease where tissue, similar to the lining of the uterus, grows elsewhere. It’s commonly associated with pelvic pain, irregular periods, and infertility. For many, it takes an average of seven years to receive a confirmed diagnosis. However, with a strong family history and even stronger symptoms, I was lucky to receive mine early. I left my first visit with life-altering news and a fresh prescription for birth control.
My teenage years were often spent in the waiting room of an OB/GYN’s office. Stiff chairs, a strong smell of hand sanitizer, and dated magazines kept me company. I
ART BY ELLA MORDARSKI
would watch the staff and other patients as entertainment. In the years following my diagnosis, providers helped me find interventions to control my endometriosis. While there is currently no cure, thanks to modern medicine, there are many ways to ease symptoms. At fourteen, I underwent laparoscopic surgery to remove some of the endometrial tissue and boost future fertility chances. Before moving to college, I had an IUD placed, which aided in significantly reducing pelvic pain.
Although I spent a fair amount in waiting rooms, the actual waiting never got easier. When anxiety got the best of me, I always turned to my familiar comfort of peoplewatching. I began to notice just how diverse the waiting room population was. The room was a perfect example of all the unique facets of women’s reproductive health. Some were there for pap smears, abortions, and contraception. Others were weeks away from becoming mothers or seeking fertility treatments. All of these people are waiting for different things, yet all of them have something in common—reproductive healthcare.
March is Endometriosis Awareness Month and for me, this year, the recognition seems more poignant than ever. Reproductive healthcare is becoming harder to receive. I look back at all the essential care I have received from the moment I was diagnosed and am nothing but thankful. There are women all over the world who need this care, but don’t have access to it. This is not just a healthcare issue, and it’s not just a women’s issue. When reproductive healthcare is restricted, human rights are too.
So in honor of Endometriosis Awareness Month, I challenge you to watch people. Look around and note every single person who may need any kind of reproductive healthcare during their life. If you do the exercise correctly, you should notice, it’s everyone YM
moths to a flame
PHOTOGRAPHED BY MCKENNA SMITH
MODELED BY LIBERTY ICE AND ANASTASIA PETRIDIS
“MOTHS TO A FLAME” SHOWCASES THE INSTINCTUAL OBSESSION WITH OUR DESTRUCTIVE DESIRES. THROUGH SHEER VEILS, LIKE A MOTH TO A FLAME, INDIVIDUALS GRAVITATE TOWARDS WHAT HURTS THEM. THIS ALLUREMENT ULTIMATELY CAUSES THE MOTH’S DEMISE, WHETHER
NEPO BABIES Do We Have an Issue?
WRITTEN BY ALYSSA CLARK
The discussion of nepo babies has been on the rise when it comes to the entertainment industry. Now, whether you like them or not, they are having their own kind of takeover. Just in the past few months, some famously known nepo babies have been in the media. Lily-Rose Depp is a common example since her parents are Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis, and she was in one of the most anticipated films of last year, Nosferatu. As for music, Gracie Abrams has been often talked about in this regard, and people have fairly versatile opinions when it comes to her talent. These instances are what leads to people debating whether or not nepo babies should have a place in the entertainment industry.
As a whole, I can say that I believe nepo babies are a topic I feel neutral about. While there are some individuals of questionable talent, a majority have proven themselves to be worth our time. Jack Quaid has been seen in films more and more within the past few years. His parents, Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid, are both incredibly well-known film stars, and evidently their son is following in their footsteps. He was in the new movie, Companion, as well as having a role as a killer in Scream. It is hard to say if I believe this is well-deserved since I do not have the highest of standards when it comes to movies. What I can say, though, is that it has become increasingly obvious that nepo babies are not leaving anytime soon.
Gracie Abrams is a largely debated nepo baby since many disagree on whether or not she is inherently talented. Her start itself was without a doubt helped by her dad, J. J. Abrams’ influence, yet the discussions do not stop there. There are often arguments of her not having a worthy voice of all this attention, yet I feel that most arguments disguised as valid criticism are rather simply misogyny a majority of the time.
The question of talent when it comes to these individuals does not just fall on their work, but also how they present themselves to the media. With this, I want to focus on a nepo baby some are not exactly aware of, Ryan Murphy. Murphy
ART BY LILY BROWN
is an incredibly well-known producer for camp shows like Glee and American Horror Story. His mother is an author, writer, and director, and while not all may be aware of J. Andy Murphy, she is an essential part of his access to the industry. He is known for his shows that often circulate in the media, especially when it comes to his questionable character in real time. Recently, many fans were upset with his stance when it came to his show Monster. It is important to mention that this has already occurred when it came to the show’s first season surrounding Jeffrey Dahmer. This goes to show that, while nepo babies can arguably be talented in their fields, they can still do more harm than good in the end.
I have noticed that, on various media platforms, people tend to feel pretty strongly about nepo babies and their place in the entertainment industry. Whether it be criticisms of their talent, or simply them pointing out their family members, it all often comes from a place of dislike. I have realized among this that I truly do not always see the issue people take with these individuals strictly on the question of their talent. I remember lots of people took issue with Lily-Rose Depp’s performance in The Idol, and immediately started questioning if she was worth being in the industry. This took a turn when Nosferatu came out, and many had taken back what they originally said regarding her abilities.
I am not arguing that nepo babies are a good thing for the entertainment industry, but I do believe they deserve a fair chance to succeed regardless of how they may start. It is hard to criticize someone for something that many others would likely take as a chance if they were in the exact same situation. It feels almost unfair to constantly make remarks against these individuals when there are many untalented individuals who are not even nepo babies, yet still have success. This isn’t to say that I don’t necessarily believe nepo babies are an issue, I just believe everyone should be held to the same standard to allow for those who deserve success to get where they want to go. YM
It’s a strange thing to step into a new country, thousands of miles from home, and find that the soundtrack to your travels sounds an awful lot like your daily walk to class.
In a far-too-crowded club in Prague, my friends and I dance to I Love It by Icona Pop, Pitbull’s Hotel Room Service, and American oldies we ourselves haven’t heard in years. We know every word, of course. But so do all the people around us… from the fellow U.S. exchange students we met minutes ago to the Italians forming a dance circle or the teens from Madrid grabbing drinks at the bar.
Back at our “home base” in Well, Carnival nights rotate between unfamiliar songs in incomprehensible—to us—Dutch and popular English hits like Let It Be or Sweet Caroline, and every Wednesday, you are likely to find half of the castle’s student body at De Bunn for “American Night,” where we control the playlist. While everywhere I go, I encounter new experiences, new sights, and new languages, the one thing that doesn’t feel so new is the music.
It’s 2:00 a.m., but the night is just getting started in Madrid. Unfortunately for me, I’ve already been up for 24 hours. Deliriously, I stumble into a karaoke bar. The bartender is yelling at me in a language I barely understand as I try to order a drink. As I think back to my subpar Spanish education (where they never taught us how to reason with an angry bartender), I hear something that shakes me out of my sleep-deprived stupor. Heart of Glass by Blondie is playing over the TVs, and tens of drunk twenty-year-olds are slurring the lyrics out. A song I’ve heard played a thousand times by my mom on the way to school, or my dad while doing yard work, or while getting froyo from the mall. Even all these miles away, something reminds me of home. It’s a simple song. It could’ve been any English song. But it was more than a song at that moment, it was a slice of home.
While I’m sure I was the only one in the bar feeling deeply homesick and nostalgic listening to ’80s hits, it had me questioning why? Why in every establishment, in every Uber ride and bar, was the only thing I could understand the music playing from the speakers… Why, in countries steeped in their own rich musical histories and culture, does English music dominate? Does it stem from the need to accommodate entitled American tourists? Is it a genuine interest–or even preference–in our music? Or is it simply
the sheer reach of American pop culture? What was with the keen interest in American and British music? And the variety was endless. Paris loved Sabrina Carpenter and Madrid was a big fan of Nicki Minaj. There seemed to be no discernable pattern, just one thing tying them all together–English. I’m not sure if I’ll ever truly figure it out. Maybe it’s just as simple as they enjoy the music. Maybe there is no greater meaning. But it brings me a sense of comfort knowing that even when those headphones run out of battery, I’ll still be able to hear something that reminds me of home.
American companies of all kinds—be it record labels, food chains, clothing, or TV—have long pushed American cultural narratives worldwide. But beyond that, English music is a shorthand for a certain mood. As musicians started gaining global fame in the 20th century (see Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Elvis…), American and British music not only garnered popularity but were associated with rebellion, self-expression, and foreign “coolness.”
But while for some, it’s the idea of elsewhere, for English speakers, it’s the bittersweet reminder of home. Music abroad for an inexperienced American isn’t just a habit or path to feeling good, it’s a critical tool for maintaining your sanity. Full days of stumbling into museums and dissecting hundreds of signs filled with gibberish weigh heavy on the mind of someone who hasn’t touched a car in a couple of weeks, let alone called their grandma.
Music doesn’t just come in the form of reliving your summer anthems as you stare down a building from the 1100s; you’ll find plenty of surprises from home while traveling the unknown. Your ears will perk up at the American music that courses through the bars, clubs, and restaurants in Europe. The notes create a lifeline tying you to something that previously seemed impossibly far away. On your third pint of sludge, see how your goosebumps hop around when you hear All Star. And God forbid you hear a song you like one evening—karaoke on the streets just might be included in your travel package. Then, after another day limping ten kilometers, tumble into your cheap hostel bed, lay down, and reach into your pocket. Your trusty headphones serve as a guardian, comforting you. Open your playlist, press shuffle, close your eyes, and consider calling your grandma tomorrow. YM
WRITTEN BY GRAY GAILEY, MEGHAN BOUCHER, SAM SHIPMAN
PHOTOGRAPHED BY ZAHARA TRENT
The Universal Language of Music
How I was Radicalized By How to Train YourDRAGON
WRITTEN BY BENNETT SHORT
My whole life, my older brother Samuel has been the smart one. It’s not to say anyone in my family is stupid, he’s just always been the cream of the crop. He’s fascinated by history and politics, and has been his whole life. From the minute Samuel could read, he was learning about warfare and statecraft, and when he wasn’t doing that he was calling our grandfather, a former Marine, to ask him questions about being a soldier. My grandmother kept every voicemail my brothers and I left her from when we were really little, and on one of them a six-year-old Samuel is whispering questions about ICBMs (Inter-Continental Ballistic Missiles) because he’s worried talking about missiles over the phone was illegal.
Most of the time, kids who are interested in the military from such a young age are right wing gun nuts, but it was the opposite for my brother. He developed a strong sense of anti-authoritarianism, and a healthy outrage towards the American military-industrial complex. When Samuel was seven and I was four, we were helping pack sandwiches for homeless people at church, and according to my mom we had to leave early because Samuel kept talking about how the government should be doing this instead of buying new battleships. He was right, but we’re from Norfolk, home of the largest naval base on the entire planet, so this was not exactly a popular opinion.
Once I started to read, my mother was anxious not to have another kid with radical views, so she kept me away from the historical stuff. My mom inundated me with fantasy, and I became a Harry Potter/ Percy Jackson kid. She also got me into the How to Train Your Dragon books, and for those who haven’t read them, the books are nothing like the movies. The key difference is that the Vikings already have dragons for hunting and riding at the start of the books. The dragons are captured as babies and raised to fear their masters so that even when they grow up to be stronger and deadlier than the warriors that own them, they’re still afraid and won’t rise up.
The series is 12 books expanding upon the profound immorality
ART BY HAILEY KROLL
of such a system, and taking on the defense of “this is how things have always been done.”
Hiccup has to fight against the established system of violence not with the iconic Toothless we know and love from the Dreamworks movies, but with an exceptionally disobedient dragon roughly the size of a Jack Russell Terrier.
These books, more than any experience in my life, shaped the way I see the world.
Not because they were the most impactful, but because they were the first. The very foundation of my belief system is a small boy with a small dragon, facing the enormity of the world’s injustices, armed with his conviction that the way things are is wrong. There’s certainly a lot of that in Samuel, who took down a fence put up to stop homeless people from sleeping in the alcove of a building near our house when he was in high school. I didn’t have his nerve when I was 12, so I just stayed up late waiting for him to come home and making sure our parents didn’t find out. Then, after Samuel had moved up to Vermont for college, I staged protests at my high school over the lack of a gender neutral dress code, and wore a dress to prom. Not as cool of a story, but I couldn’t find any fences.
Even though my brother and I don’t quite see eye to eye on politics these days, at the end of the day, my mom’s plan never ended up working out. She still ended up with two staunchly anti-authoritarian kids, who are less than satisfied with the amount of money spent devising new ways to blow people up. The irony of the situation is that even if my mom let me read the same books as Samuel, they would’ve been nonsense to me. Not to mention the fact that I probably would have never read the How to Train Your Dragon books at all if it weren’t for my mom buying them. So I guess the thing that really radicalized me was my mother’s attempts to keep my political opinions from being like my big brother’s.
YM
YMP3
artist statement naia
statement naia driscoll
Describe your work in one sentence.
“Beauty resides at the intersections; the space inbetween.”
How and when did you get into art and photography?
“I’ve been taking photos for about nine years now, but I always had an inclination towards photography. I remember begging my parents for a camera and then eventually saving up to buy my own. After that, I don’t remember a time where I haven’t brought a camera with me anywhere.”
What inspires you?
“The little things that make me smile are what inspire me. The first flower you notice when it begins to turn to spring, or the happy old man walking his dog, or a pattern of bricks that seem to be smiling. The things that don’t call to be noticed but are uniquely beautiful, that’s what inspires me. Because everything has a story if you care to notice.”
Why do you create?
“I create because I would cease to exist if I didn’t. Whether it be photography, literature, or art, it’s going to come out somehow. I think I might explode if I didn’t create or have that as an outlet.”
Who are some of your favorite creators/ artists?
“One of my favorite photographers was Helmut Newton but one of the most influential photographers for my personal philosophy of photography was Cartier-Bresson. I take the decisive moment to heart when I take pictures. Every moment is meaningful, just like a brush stroke in a painting.”
Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
The dream would be to stick with photography and get recognized for my work or my photos making a difference somehow. That would be really cool.
Where can readers see more of your work?
https://naiahawaii.myportfolio.com
What is one of your favorite pieces you’ve made? What makes it special to you?
“There is a photograph I took senior year of high school for a friend’s senior portraits. There was something about this photograph, the way the light was falling, and the composition of her dress and the landscape; it made me feel like I had done it. It was the first photograph that I was proud of and I could say to myself confidently—I could actually do this, ya know? Photography and art is difficult because it’s all subjective and I’m always questioning whether I’m actually good at what I do or if it’s just me who thinks that. When I take a photo I’m proud of, I get this feeling of accomplishment or relief that it’s not all in my head and I am pretty good at this.”
What advice would you give other/new creators?
“It’s the photographer, not the camera or the lens. Your equipment doesn’t define you.”
