The Sad Issue by Sister Magazine

#8 The Sad Issue A Magazine For Girls Spring/Summer 2018

Illustration courtesy of Lucie Madelaine

S CONTENTS

THE SAD ISSUE 30

5 EDITOR’S LETTER 6 CONTRIBUTORS 8 MEMENTO MORI: MARGARET CROSS 12 SMASHING THROUGH THE CELLULOID CEILING 16 YRSA DALEY-WARD 24 THE ULTIMATE TEENAGE HEARTBREAK PLAYLIST 26 CAN WE RECONDITION OUR TRADITIONS? 29 I KNEW A MAN 30 MILK TEETH 34 “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” 36 TIME’S UP 38 OH! YOU PRETTY THINGS 40 ONE WOMAN’S QUEST TO LET ALL HER EGGS DRY UP IN PEACE 43 BLACK HOLE / 38 SWALLOW ME WHOLE 44 MY CHOICE 45 WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF WE TRADED IN SHAME FOR GUILT? 48 CAUGHT BETWEEN TWO WORLDS 52 GRIEF ON BOARD 56 SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER 59 VISCERAL PLEASURE 60 REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH 62 TECHNOLOGY AND THE HUMAN CONDITION 64 ONE IN FIVE 67 ROMANCE IS DEAD 70 SAD GIRL 3

BECCY HILL beccy@sistermagazine.co.uk JAMES UDEN james@sistermagazine.co.uk LAURA SUTTLE laura@sistermagazine.co.uk ROSIE FAYE ELLIS rosie@sistermagazine.co.uk

GET IN TOUCH - WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU! SISTERMAGAZINE.CO.UK IG @SISTER_MAGAZINE TW @SISTERZINE FB SISTERZINE #THESADISSUE 4

FROM THE EDITOR Welcome to the eighth print installment of Sister. In the process of making this issue, unfortunately the theme of Sad took on a whole new meaning for me. My dad died of a sudden and unexpected cardiac arrest nine days into the new year. He was fit, healthy and just 57 years old. Apparently his kind of death falls under the term SADS - Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome. The irony couldn’t be more bitter. It’s hard to describe the turmoil of the past couple of months, and the complete devastation felt by me and my family. However, the words of jewellery designer Margaret Cross from Rosie Ellis’ interview on page 10 ring true “There is a C.S. Lewis quote, ‘The death of a beloved is an amputation’. That always stuck with me, it is not a wound that heals, it’s a new way of learning to live, a lifelong project.” As bereft, heartbroken and distraught as I am in my grief, I am not alone. Megan Conery writes about the loss of her own father on page 60. Whilst our situations were very different, I can’t help but relate “I’ll always think about all the things I didn’t say. I don’t think you can ever lose someone and not feel that way. There’s always something else to say.” I want to thank her for sharing such a painfully honest piece, and some wonderful memories with us. More words which I saw myself in were Grace Jackson’s description of her project ‘One In Five’ on page 71. Started after she was raped to reclaim power over her body and mind, she writes of mourning the old her. “I found solace in a Moleskine notebook - it never judged me and I could spill all of my feelings without pity or judgment. I would write in it most nights… Mainly it just had a bunch of questions that I couldn’t answer, yet haunted me. I hated when people found out what had happened, and there was just silence… If I could have changed the events somehow, I know I couldn’t, but I agonise over those minutes most days to see if something could have been changed.” I initially chose the theme of Sad because it is as big a part of life as being happy - you cannot have one without the other. It was to celebrate and recognise that good things can come from bad. Whilst I am finding it extremely difficult to regain that perspective right now, this issue does give me hope. Our cover star - the poet Yrsa Daley-Ward has had anything but an easy ride. She is an extremely fascinating and driven woman who I had the pleasure of interviewing. I hope you find her story as inspiring as I do. Another reason for this theme, was in support of last year’s #MeToo movement and the subsequent #TimesUp. Unsurprisingly, since the birth of Sister, we have had women consistently reach out with stories of abuse, harassment and inequality, for which we have always provided a platform. This issue is no different. Just like the first issue of Sister I ever made back in 2012, I would like to dedicate this to my parents. I will never be able to thank them for everything which they have done and continue to do for me. Thank you for making me the person that I am today, and for being such great people yourselves. The world will be a much sadder, and a much harder place without my dad in it. To quote Margaret Cross once again “None of us are immune to tragedy.”

BECCY

Mum, Dad and me a few days after I was born in 1991. If you would like to find more out more about SADS, please head to sadsuk.org.uk

WHAT MAKES YOU SAD?

ELLE DAINTREE

GRACE JACKSON

KIRAN GREWAL

“The systematic enforcement of gender roles for children from a super early age.”

“Anyone or anything being mistreated, along with not having the freedom to do as you please or being true to yourself.”

“The convenience-led lifestyle we adopt as human beings which is detrimental to our beautiful planet and its inhabitants.”

ERIN WILLIAMS

SOPHIE KIRK

TANIA SWIFT

“It makes me sad when people discredit art degrees and also when I run out of hummus.”

“It’s difficult to pinpoint one thing that makes you sad when that’s your default emotion. My mental health makes other feelings a struggle or a bit overwhelming, but I’m learning how to survive the worst days so that the good ones are really worth it.”

“What makes me sad overall is selfishness and people who do not respect others and their stories as we all have them.”

RISAKO MATSUSHITA

VICTORIA FLEMING

DAN LEWIS

“When NY summer is over.”

“The drive home from the nights that only happen once.”

“Donald Trump and his numerous lackeys.”

WHITNEY HARRISON

ANNA SAMPSON

SASKIA ROBERTSON

“What makes me sad is when I haven’t even started a meal and I already miss it!”

“Old men who wear suits to the pub, tuna sandwiches and contemplating my own mortality.”

“That not everyone believes in a happy ending.”

MEGAN CONERY

ADEOLA AJI

SAMUEL SIMS

“Fucking everything. I’m an emotional person, and ... I know that my own mental health relies, in part, on experiencing the full spectrum of feelings. I’m the person that cries during a toilet paper ad. But, in general, I’m quite cheerful.”

“Not a lot of things actually make me sad... I guess memories can make me a little sad sad because nostalgia is so bittersweet - there are so many points of my life that I’d love to relive, but that’s just how it goes!”

“I’m about to finish watching Gilmore Girls for the second time and that makes me feel really sad but mostly it’s the complete arrogance of humanity and the bizarre need to tell others how to live their lives. Oh, and mass torture and murder of innocent and defenseless animals.”

DESIRÉE CREMONA

VENUS LIBIDO

CHIDERA IKEWIBE

“What makes me sad is that I struggle to find one answer to this question - but if I had to; other people.”

“Animal cruelty, plastic pollution, inequality, homophobia, sexism, racism oh and of course Trump!”

“Even with over 3000 years of human advancements we still question what qualifies as human.” 7

MEMENTO MORI: MARGARET CROSS ROSIE FAYE ELLIS After suffering a great personal tragedy, Margaret Cross found the need to create pieces of jewellery inspired by her experience. Whilst learning to navigate life after a profound loss - the sudden death of her best friend she formed a deep affinity to mourning jewellery. Rosie Ellis talks to the Brooklyn based designer about creating treasure forever pieces for those coping with their own grief. Hi Maggie, it feels like I’ve been a fan of your jewellery designs forever. For those who don’t know, could you sum up who you are and what you do? My name is Margaret Cross and I design and create mourning and sentimental jewellery in New York under the name Goldengrove Jewellery. Did you always know you wanted to make jewellery for a living? I’ve always enjoyed making jewellery but never thought of it as a way of making a living. I took Metal Arts classes in college as a fun reprieve from my Major, and after graduating with a BFA in printmaking I had a full time production job as an artist’s assistant. I started a personal Instagram account, and I was making jewellery in most of my free time for fun and posting it on there. Friends who saw it started requesting pieces, then friends of friends started placing orders so I made a website to make things easier. A year or so later it became hard to balance orders with my job, so I quit my job of seven years and my jewellery hobby became a business.

No, the response to the work is really strong and well received. With exception to one or two unintentionally insensitive comments on Instagram. Usually when posting a memorial piece and talking about issues like addiction or suicide. These comments come from a place of not understanding drug addiction or mental health issues and I don’t feel personally attacked by it. When I post a picture of a mourning hair work piece that gets a lot of engagement from people who don’t follow my account, there’s always one comment that simply says “creepy” or “gross” at the sight of a woman’s hair not attached to her head. The disgust at the sight of hair when seen in an unexpected place really fascinates me. There is so much emotion tied to hair. It’s such a huge part of our identity, it has so much power, it’s so sentimental, and it can really freak some people out. What’s your favourite piece of jewellery? I love rings. I wear stacks of them on a daily basis. I had a ring that I never took off for years, it was the very first piece of mourning jewellery that I made for myself to honour my best friend after his death; a solid gold and rose-coloured enamel version of my ‘Urn Signet’. The inside was engraved “Jamie Aged 25”. I wore it every day as a way to carry a piece of him with me and take him places he never got to go to in life. I visited India this past October and the ring never made it back with me. I like to think that a part of him is there now. Or at least that’s how I console myself. Do you have a piece you wear every single day? If so, why?

What’s your favourite part of your job? The custom work. From diamond engagement rings to mourning hair work pieces and ashes reliquaries. It’s such a privilege to connect with people who like my aesthetic and trust me with such important pieces that will become a part of their family history. You have a huge Instagram following. How has this helped build your career? Being that I sell online and I don’t have a brick and mortar shop, I don’t get to see my customers face to face. With Instagram I can get a sense of who they are and talk directly with them, get feedback and answer questions. Instagram is how people find my website, and tell their friends about it, so it’s helped me grow immensely. Have you ever received negativity towards your work or you as a person online or offline?

I have my uniform, a heap that comes off at night and is piled back on in the morning. A few that stay in heavy rotation for years and are swapped out for a bit while I test wear a new design. I wear all the pieces before their release to ensure that they’re comfortable and durable, as my customers tend to also be people who work with their hands. My ‘In Memory Of’ ring with a teardrop shaped peridot (his birthstone) never comes off. I made his mother an identical one that she now wears as her wedding band. It makes me feel close to her and our relationship is really important to me. Who are your favourite jewellery designers? I love eyeing antiques and museum collections. As a child of immigrants, there are no family heirlooms to speak of, everything was scrapped for gold years ago, but as a mother now I’d love to have pieces to give to my daughter one day. I’m drawn to pieces with existing histories. Not mourning related, but I love the

contemporary jeweller Communion by Joy, she posts process videos on her Instagram account which show her wax working ritual. Although I have no current spiritual affiliation myself, her practice appeals to me. To be honest I don’t buy much jewellery (I like to do trades with other designers) but if I did it would be antiques. Fiat Lux has an amazing collection of Victorian and Georgian pieces, as well as very knowledgeable staff and their own house line. You’re based in Brooklyn and I read you’re a native New Yorker. Would you ever want to live and work anywhere else in the world? I’d love to, and I have. I love Oakland. I’ve moved to California three times in my life. It’s pretty ridiculous, but New York has a pull on me. I studied jewellery as an exchange student for a semester at the California College Of Arts & Crafts and I’m still in touch with my professors and friends. It’s the only other place that’s ever felt like home. I’m also a triple national, and I’d love to do extended stays in my parents’ respective homelands (England and Italy) to do some jewellery related studies, each place has such a rich jewellery history. You also source the most amazing stones, I love your opals. What’s your favourite stone to work with and why? I love going to the big gem shows every year. I always come back with a new favourite stone. Opals are a customer favourite. They’re too delicate for me to wear on a daily basis because I’m really rough on my hands while I work, so I prefer harder stones like rubies and sapphires. I love figuring out ways to make birthstones like amethyst, citrine, garnets, etc., look cool and not cocktail or costume. Coming back from the last gem show one of my favourites was Jet, which inspired a collection of mourning bead bracelets and necklaces. Most people aren’t familiar with Jet so they’re really surprised by just how lightweight it is, and its historical connection to mourning jewellery is important to me. I also brought back Spiderweb Obsidian, which I’d never seen before, and use them in my coffin rings. I also found this really amazing stuff mined in Alaska by a young couple. It’s called Copper-in-Quartz and it’s exactly just that, natural occurring veins of copper running through quartz. I had been on the hunt for an opulent stone reminiscent of marble to set into my ‘This Too Shall Pass’ tombstone necklace, it’s perfect and exactly what I was looking for to finish the piece. You went through a very personal tragedy of losing one of your best friends which you’re very open about as it inspired your jewellery path. What made you want to channel your sadness into jewellery? It was an avoidable death, just before the holidays, which I couldn’t fathom celebrating. I have so many years of photographs of him. The idea that there were never to be any more photos of him was so painful. I

knew that I wanted to gift his family something special for Christmas, but photos can be hard to look at in the beginning, so I went into the jewellery studio and made them all memorial necklaces. I kept myself busy that winter in the jewellery studio. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was also a way of letting friends and family know, I’m okay, I’m working through this, I’m facing this reality. There is a C.S. Lewis quote, “The death of a beloved is an amputation”. That always stuck with me, it is not a wound that heals, it’s a new way of learning to live, a lifelong project. I think that’s why I was drawn to jewellery. It’s physical, tactile, something to be worn closely and clutch on to, it becomes an extension of you. You describe your jewellery as ‘modern morning, memento mori and sentimental jewellery’. How is it working with some of people’s most treasured possessions like ashes, hair and clothing? It’s a lot of pressure, it can be anxiety inducing and I don’t take their trust for granted. A kind of ceremony has emerged in the process. No one else touches these pieces, I’m always alone while I work on them. I light a candle, listen to music. Without asking questions I tend to glean information about what that person was like in life, and I think about them while I’m working on their piece. Is it a therapeutic process or can it get quite overwhelming emotionally? Both, and I let myself feel both fully. It’s heartbreaking and it’s cathartic, and it’s life. None of us are immune to tragedy. It stirs up a familiar melancholy but it’s important for me to remember this isn’t my loss to grieve and that this piece will bring great comfort to this person’s loved one. It will be cherished for generations and I have a small role in keeping that person’s memory alive, that’s really gratifying. Do you hear a lot of personal and heartbreaking stories in your job when asked for custom orders? Every story of loss of life is heartbreaking. Personally, when I was in the throes of grief I wanted to tell anyone who would listen, and after a few strange looks I became self aware. I think my customers know that it’s a safe space to talk with me because I’ve been there too. It can be part bereavement group/part jewellery design but It’s mutually beneficial. You speak a lot about mental health and grief on Instagram. How do you keep yourself mentally healthy and does your job take a toll on your mental health or does it help you? It’s humbling. I’m reminded of mortality on a daily basis and it helps me appreciate waking up every morning. I’m a big proponent of therapy and support groups. But basic things like solitude and sleep are key for me, though I still fight it every night. Night time is when I’m alone with my thoughts and ideas, and I love being

alone. Reading, watching shitty television, sketching new designs, Googling symptoms of rare diseases on my phone, etc. But getting a full night’s sleep and physical activity help me feel my best, as hard as it can be to motivate myself, just walking my dog keeps me on track. What advice would you give to people battling with grief and loss? I can only speak from my own experience, I would say, if the loss is recent, there will be a lot of friends or family who will surround you and console you and express sympathy, and as time goes by there will be fewer and fewer and it will be easy for you to isolate yourself, so it’s important to remember to reach out. People don’t know what to say, so don’t be hard on them if they say something insensitive, they don’t understand the loss that you’re feeling and their intentions are good. Speak the person’s name and when you feel ready, don’t avoid the things, music, or places that remind you of them. Those painful revisits help with healing, isolation and avoidance can lead to complicated grief. Let yourself grieve, even if it makes others uncomfortable, don’t worry about helping other people with their discomfort with your situation. Make sure to continue to take care of yourself. If someone were to describe themselves as “battling” grief, or describe the pain of loss as feeling persistent or interfering with their daily life (depending on how recent the death was and the relationship to the person who has died) I might suggest seeking professional help to restore them to a healthy grieving cycle. Be it from a therapist, grief counsellor, or bereavement group. There are websites to help you find a local sliding scale doctor or support group. When are you at your happiest? I love being in the ocean, making my three-year-old laugh, drawing. Hearing the opening theme song from The Office makes me so happy. I really love my work, as cliche as it sounds, I’m very happy while I work, even if I’m sad. Finally, as this is the Sad Issue, what is something which is making you sad in the world right now? The opioid epidemic and our inability to talk openly about it because the stigma with addiction is beyond sad. The criminalisation of addicts and the lack of addiction programs that focus on treatments rather than punishment is upsetting, however I find hope in seeing the veil of secrecy in the US being lifted around other rampant epidemics in recent months. I’m hopeful that making quality addiction treatment more accessible will happen soon.

Check out goldengrovejewelry.com and make sure to follow @margaretcross

Photography courtesy of Margaret Cross & Heather De Toma

SMASHING THROUGH THE CELLULOID CEILING DAN LEWIS

Last year served as a stark reminder that the foundations of Hollywood are rotting. The abuse of women in the industry has always been the elephant in the room, whether it be the pay disparity highlighted yearly by actresses or the disgusting stories of sexual assault and intimidation which have been dripping out daily. If Hollywood is rotting, Harvey Weinstein represents the maggot. Over 30 women have now come forward with accusations of sexual assault, intimidation and rape against a guy who was once the most powerful man in Hollywood. Somehow, in a career spanning nearly 50 years this went unnoticed, or more than likely ignored (here’s looking at you Quentin). But as we all know, he is not the only man to have been accused. Oscar winners Dustin Hoffman and Casey Affleck, James Franco, Jeffrey Tambor, Louis C.K. and Pixar president John Lasseter have all got allegations to their names.

Illustration courtesy of Chloe Swayne

Unfortunately, this isn’t anything new. You can go back as far as 96 years ago when ‘Fatty’ Arbuckle, one of the biggest silent film stars of the era, sexually assaulted and consequently killed 26 year old actress Virginia Rappe. Child actress Shirley Temple, whose talent and success at a young age meant she was once accused of being a 30 year dwarf, was sexually assaulted at the age of 11. Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe and Joan Collins all endured endless ‘casting couch’ assaults. The elephant isn’t just in the room, it’s gathered dust over the decades, and now Donald Trump is riding it. However, with every awful story that comes out of Hollywood, the message is now clear - women will no longer be ignored.

Be that as it may, this is not the only challenge that women in film face. For 20 years Martha M. Lauzen, director of The Center for The Study of Women in Television and Film, has studied women’s roles in the industry. Her annual paper The Celluloid Ceiling documents the numbers and percentages of behind the scenes employment of women on the top 100, 250, and 500 films of the year. It is one of the most important and

revealing documents of research on cinema, and one that does not get the spotlight it so thoroughly deserves. But before I delve into her findings, I think it is important to recognise some of the more positive steps made in the industry last year. The number three box office film of last year, Wonder Woman, is probably one of the more important cultural touch points of recent times. For years Hollywood could not figure out how to transfer the empowering comic book figure to the screen. Since 1996, male directors Ivan Reitman and Joss Whedon had at one point been attached to the project, and George Miller and Paul Feig both wanted the chance. Thankfully the job landed with Patty Jenkins to direct Gal Gadot in the titular role. Jenkins, who directed Charlize Theron to an Oscar with her debut feature Monster in 2004, was labelled as a ‘gamble’ by The Hollywood Reporter. Yet somehow Rian Johnson, a man whose first two films earned under 20% of the box office that Monster did, landed the role of directing Star Wars: The Last Jedi, a decision met with exaltation by Hollywood. Double standards yet another hurdle for women in film. The superhero genre is a landscape where, more often than not, the woman’s role is to be submissive to the powers of the male hero, and ultimately fall for them romantically or be saved by their wondrous powers. Here however, was Gal Gadot leading a film which fights against many of the stereotyped sexist tropes that its very own genre had encouraged. It’s no surprise that cinematic comic powerhouse Marvel Studios are pushing along a Captain Marvel movie starring Oscar winner Brie Larson, and are in advanced talks to finally give Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow the standalone film she so thoroughly deserves. The frustrating conclusion is that it needed evidence to do so. The power of Wonder Woman also led to a shattering of the fourth wall. Brett Ratner, the sleazy Hollywood director of Rush Hour fame, a producer on Wonder Woman, has been accused of numerous accounts of sexual assault. As a consequence, rumours started to surface that star

Gal Gadot refused to sign onto the sequel unless he was removed from his role. Whilst she may have said in subsequent interviews that this was not 100% true, soon after these rumours, he was removed. I only wish her lasso of truth had played a part in the removal. Wonder Woman would be only be the second female led superhero movie, since the noughties boom of the genre, to go into production (2005’s Elektra being the other). It went onto become the third highest grossing film of 2017, the 20th highest grossing film of all time domestically, 63rd highest globally and has gone onto be the fifth highest grossing superhero film of all time. In an industry and genre dominated by men this is no mean feat, but its success should come as no surprise. The only surprise was the lack of Oscar nominations. Last year was also the year where Ava DuVernay (of Selma fame) completed filming on the Disney produced A Wrinkle in Time. Off the back of her imperative Netflix documentary The 13th, DuVernay, who prior to signing onto the film turned down the chance to direct Black Panther, has become the first woman of colour to be given a +$100 million budget and only the second woman behind, you guessed it, Patty Jenkins for Wonder Woman. The film starring 2020 presidential candidate Oprah Winfrey, Reese Witherspoon and relative newcomer Storm Reid in the lead role will most likely be one of the biggest films of 2018. Proving once again that Hollywood’s sexist trepidation is archaic. We also recently saw Greta Gerwig receive the plaudits and potentially much deserved accolades for her semi-autobiographical film Lady Bird. Having been an actress in over 40 productions, Gerwig has achieved so much success in her 34 years of life yet is often labelled as an ‘indie darling’ or referred to as the ‘queen of mumblecore’. Both are characterisations that somewhat undermine her success, putting her in a box in which she can be defined, assessed within the walls and regulated. Alongside her 40 acting credits, she has produced three films, and written on five, including critically lauded films such as Frances Ha! and Mistress America. With Lady Bird, a film she both wrote and directed, Gerwig has become only the fifth woman ever nominated for best director. The fifth woman in 90 years of awards. To reduce the numbers even further (I apologise for inducing a depression), if she wins she will 14

become only the second woman to have ever won the award. The last few years have also seen a rise in female directors producing stellar and critically acclaimed work in horror. Recent films such as Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook and Ana Lily Amirpour’s A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night are two superb examples of this. But last year also saw one of the best modern horror films of recent years released - Raw. From first time film director Julia Ducournau, Raw is an unsettling tale of cannibalism in a veterinary school. A film released to the overblown storylines of people fainting at festival screenings and the like, the film is evidently not for the faint hearted. At times funny, and at times gross, Raw does not hold back and nor should it. Horror has often been a genre where the woman’s role is to be violated, and often murdered in increasingly sadistic ways. Here, Ducournau wants to prove the point that in the same way men get pleasure out of horror films, women can and should experience this too. When speaking to Rolling Stone Magazine she told an anecdote that illustrated her point brilliantly: “A young guy in a festival audience told me that it was nice to have women in the genre because it brought some ‘softness’. Softness? Have you seen my movie? When you make horror, it’s the expression of a form of violence that you feel inside of you – and it’s important we recognize that women feel violence and anger as well.” So now in 2018, where do women stand? Going back to The Celluloid Ceiling makes for some disheartening reading. Last year, women comprised 18% of all directors, writers, producers, editors and cinematographers working on the top 250 domestic (American box office) films. Whilst this is an increase of 1% on 2016, this increase means we are unchanged from the year 1998. So 20 years on, and very little has changed in the industry as a whole. I’ll delve even deeper. Last year, only 1% of these films hired ten or more women in those roles. To put that number into perspective, 70% of the films hired ten or more men. And even deeper. In 2017, 30% of these films employed 0-1 women in those roles, whilst 0% hired 0-1 men in those roles, meaning that out of 250 films there was at least two men hired, whereas in 75 films a woman may not have even been on the production. Most worrying is that 83% of the films had no women writers on, and there was a 2% decline

“Greta Gerwig has become only the fifth woman ever nominated for best director. The fifth woman in 90 years of awards. To reduce the numbers even further, if she wins she will become only the second woman to have ever won the award.”

from 2016 to 11% of female writers working on the top 250 films. This makes it difficult to tell female stories on the screen, and even more dangerously leaves the role of writing female parts nearly solely to men. Don’t get me wrong, some men can write great female roles (see: Fargo, Alien), but the disparity is incredibly discouraging and it is no wonder that the female audience struggles to truly see their representation on screen. How many times do you roll your eyes at the woman’s role in a sex scene? Their role in a horror film? There are numerous examples, and Laura Mulvey’s brilliant essay ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ otherwise known as ‘The Male Gaze’ will continue to be fact until we see an increase in female writers. When Lauzen expands her research to the top 500 films, you can see the disparity widen in terms of genre. The genre that mosts represents women behind the scenes are documentaries with 30%, but in comparison the action genre is at 13% and horror is at 18%. Working with facts seems to be permissible, but apparently we daren’t let women have an imagination. If this has you suitably sad, then I want to now end with the positives. The numbers above show that in the last 20 years the industry has consistently fluctuated back and forth, whilst never actually committing to a permanent change. However, with the current

state of the industry and each brave story that comes out of the shithole that currently is Hollywood, change should be on the horizon. Last year directors such as Patty Jenkins and Greta Gerwig meant that women accounted for 11% of directors working on the top 250 films, which is up 4% from 2016. Within those films, the roles of producers and executive producers accounted for 25% and 19% of women working off screen respectively. It is these roles, along with that of the director, who possess the power to instigate recruitment changes for roles across the board. But more importantly, they need the plots and the opportunities to do so. The hunger for female led stories is evident. The top three films at the domestic box office last year were all led by a female protagonist - Star Wars, Beauty and The Beast and Wonder Woman. So perhaps through all the shit and all the negativity we are finally going to see a positive change in Hollywood. Women’s roles in the industry are not the only battle of course - there is a major diversity struggle that must be addressed but hopefully we are moving away from celebrating the first woman to be nominated for best cinematography (Congratulations Rachel Morrison), and instead we can begin to smash through the celluloid ceiling. After all when you apply pressure to glass, it breaks.

YRSA DALEY-WARD BECCY HILL MEETS THE SHAPE SHIFTING STORYTELLER “I love to get rid of things. I don’t have a lot of personal possessions, and I like to move through the world with as little as possible.” I don’t know Yrsa Daley-Ward, but this isn’t something which surprises me about her. As someone who is speaking to me from LA, heading to New York next week, hails from Lancashire and spent three years living in South Africa, I guess it must make life a lot easier to not be bogged down with stuff. “I try to keep the load light so I can attract new things and new possibilities.” A self described storyteller, Yrsa’s collection of poetry ‘Bone’ was published by Penguin books in 2017. After originally being self published and posting the poems on her Instagram page, her work has become a literary sensation. “If it wasn’t for that support, then I wouldn’t be so visible. I do have social media to thank, but not for my writing. My writing would be the same if I was on social media or not.” Because of this, she is often dubbed an Instagram poet by the press. Whilst she admits she does find that title “a bit lazy” she muses “they can call me what they want, I’m not precious about that. What I’m happy about is that my work travels.” She continues “It’s still reading. Reading is reading, and literature is literature. It doesn’t matter if you read it on a smartphone.” Considering the recent rise of poetry on social media, from the likes of Rupi Kaur to Nayyirah Waheed, it’s a noticeable movement. “There seems to be a literary canon of people of colour, so it’s a lovely time to read authors that perhaps have been, up until now, largely underrepresented in publishing. And I relish that, I’m really happy about that. Because it’s also bringing poetry into the here and now, when it’s been hiding.” Yrsa always knew that she wanted to write - it just wasn’t a smooth path to get there. Leaving Chorley, North England after finishing college to pursue a modelling career, she headed to Manchester. “I got there, and then all my agents were saying ‘You have to be in London, cos you’re a black girl!’ It was a really commercial market in Manchester.” She’s still modelling now, hence her trip to New York the following week after we speak. I wonder

about her thoughts on modelling as an industry. “I did this interview which I will not name, where they totally misquoted me, which I’m starting to understand happens...but yeah, I think it’s really a two pronged industry.” I imagine she’s talking about a feature which the Guardian ran online last September, where the interviewer probes Yrsa about modelling and sex work. “This is the same with acting by the way, which we know because of what’s happening in Hollywood. There’s also a shadier part to it. So you really have to know what you want, and have your wits about you.” She continues “Knowing what you want, whatever that might be, because there’s no judgement in how you get the things you want, but I think you really do have to have a clear idea in these industries what it is that you want to gain.” However, she says she enjoys modelling now more than ever, and wouldn’t be doing it if she didn’t. “There are so many political reasons why I enjoy it. It’s diversity and race and queerness, and I love to be able to express myself in this way. I’m just grateful that I get the chance to do it.” Cape Town was where she begun the poetry which would eventually make up Bone, and rediscovered her love of writing, after the grind of London. “I might have had a tricky time when I first got to Cape Town, but when I look back at it now I don’t really see that, I just see that change and how important it was. I literally moved there on a whim, with no real money.” A weekly poetry meeting was where she wrote one of mine, and many other people’s favourite from the collection, Mental Health. “I wrote Mental Health when I was feeling like, at sea, and then happened to find this poetry evening where we had to write poems every Monday. So every Monday I came with a poem.” What I didn’t know, is that Yrsa wrote most of the poems with the intention of performing them, not with a published book in mind. “What I find cathartic is just the act of speaking these poems out, usually at an event and reaching people who have had the same thing happen to them or similar, because we can all relate, we all have similar emotions at the end of the day.” Does she see Bone as autobiographical, I wonder? “Um, 17

largely yes. A lot of the poems are true of me, but I like to think that they’re quite universal.” She then goes on to say “They are autobiographical, I guess. Some of them are, and are not at the same time.” From speaking to Yrsa, I realise there’s rarely a straight answer, or at least one side to an answer. She likes to give the whole picture, or the full “spectrum” to use her own words. Being raised by her Seventh Day Adventist grandparents, naturally religion comes up in our conversation. “It’s not all so negative you know, it helped me to understand people and what they say and what they do, and the difference between that. There’s also something really beautiful about organised religion. There’s the community, there’s the fellowship, there’s the stories and the love that’s shared. Then there’s the fear, there’s the fear of the devil and all those bad things which are going to happen to you but at the same time it’s covered with so much tradition, grace and humility, which is sometimes really beautiful.” She continues “There already you’re seeing the light and dark in something and it’s helped me in many aspects of my life to see the spectrum, and not just this is good, this is bad. It really stood me in good stead for a lot of things that came to be afterwards.” For someone so liberal, she’s never dismissed the idea of religion. “I accepted it from the beginning, which was what my grandparents told me, and they were my parents, so to speak. I didn’t ever reject it, I just knew that my feelings were different.” Whilst she knew it wasn’t for her, she does say “I believe in energy and doing good. I’m not saying that people who are agnostic or atheist don’t, but there’s a spirituality in me that I think came from the church. It leaves a residue.” Yrsa is someone who, from what I’d read prior to us talking, is open about her feelings and emotions, and the ups and downs of life. I ask if this makes her feel brave. “Not really. I just feel like I’m someone that’s talking about something that matters.” She continues “All this talk of spectrums, well that’s a spectrum. Mental health. It’s not like you’re fine or you’re really not. It’s a sliding scale and one day you wake up and you’re closer to one side, the next day you might be all the way on the other side. It’s something you need to work on daily.” Yrsa’s next book, The Terrible, is due out in June this year. “Initially I wasn’t going to write a memoir, I was just writing this magical story about these children and what they’re experiencing, and then I was like, oh, I’ve basically just written a few 20

pages of exactly what happened, so I’m just going to carry on writing it.” She continues “I had a very interesting early life, and life now I suppose. It just came out as this memoir and I couldn’t stop it. As private as I think I am, it’s just so weird, sometimes I’m like what am I doing exactly? And why? But I don’t like to argue with what’s coming through me because this is what’s happening now and this is what I’ve done.” One thing Yrsa doesn’t strike me as is private, however she tells me she has experienced light doses of terror when she thinks about the book’s release. “I’m at real extremes with it, I really am. Sometimes I’m just like I’m really happy that I get to do this and I feel really lucky to be able to do this, and I always feel that gratitude. But yeah, there are other difficult moments as it’s a really gritty and explicit book, and it spans a good twenty, twenty five years. So there are moments of like ahhhhh!” She recalls receiving a one star review of Bone. “People say it’s a very personal piece of work and that sometimes they weren’t prepared for it. One of my favourite critical reviews was like, “This was too deep for me at this time in my life.” I was just like okay... I like that, it’s good!” She explains “That’s all you hope for as an artist, that you provoke something. I tell you what, there’s some films which I absolutely love, but the first time I saw them I thought you know, that depressed me, like oh my god, and it sits heavy in me, but I love that! Because it’s shifted me.” As someone who has made a name by putting themselves out there, I wonder how she deals with negativity. “I don’t really pay it any mind, it doesn’t bother me particularly. It’s just somebody’s opinion - for some people the work resonates and for some it won’t. But that’s really none of my business. There’s so much more positivity than anything else.” I envy Yrsa’s ability to see the light and the dark in everything. It’s something that she clearly works hard at, as she tells me she meditates and maintains her emotional health “like you would eat healthily, or like some people would go to the gym.” I do feel however, her bohemian attitude must come naturally. “I don’t overplan. I don’t overplan my work, I don’t overplan my life. I know that something can happen, and I’m very open to it.” She tells me “Everything’s changing so rapidly and I’m just going with the flow, but I hope I’ll be writing for a long time.” She’s undoubtedly inspiring and uplifting, in a way that can only come from experiencing great sadness. She mentions how her mother teaching her to read from a very young age is what sparked her interest in poetry,

and how she now has some of her belongings in a storage unit out in LA, but we never speak about her passing. I feel like I know some of her experiences, and her pain, from reading Bone. It makes sense that when I ask what makes her sad, she says “When anybody isn’t able to express themselves.” With her work influencing the next generation of writers, it seems certain that there

will be more people expressing themselves than ever before. The Terrible is now available for pre-order through Penguin Random House, and released on 5th June 2018. You can follow Yrsa on Instagram @yrsadaleyward

Concept + Art Direction - Beccy Hill + Eva Zar Photographer - Eva Zar Make Up - Risako Matsushita All underwear and jewellery - Yrsa’s own

THE ULTIMATE TEENAGE HEARTBREAK PLAYLIST ANNA SAMSON PATCHES UP THE HOLES IN YOUR POOR, MISTREATED HEART I call bullshit on WikiHow. When you type in how to get over a broken heart, it tells you to ‘Change Your Look’, ‘Do Exercise’ and ‘Find Things To Laugh About’. This is all wrong. Anyone who has ever been a suburban teenager, half cut on three Smirnoff Ices and weeping Barry M mascara down acne-prickled cheeks, knows that the only way to mend your bruised heart is to slam your bedroom door, throw yourself face down on the bed and jam on your headphones. Press play on these six tracks, then allow the sadness seep out through your tears. I Know It’s Over - The Smiths Cast your mind back, way back, to a time before Morrissey was a synonym for “racist old cunt”. Back to a time when he was known more for self-hatred than hate speech, when he was king of the outsiders with a hearing aid in place of a crown. And there, nestled in the third album released by The Smiths, is one of the finest songs about heartbreak ever written. There’s doom, there’s gloom, and plenty of whispering misery in this tortured monologue: “As I climb into an empty bed / Oh well… Enough said.” Plus it explores the tragedy of relationships that are doomed from the beginning, so it’s perfect if your romance didn’t last the bus ride home. Plump up your pillow and sob uncontrollably. Your new MSN name: And it never really began / But in my heart, it was so real All Too Well - Taylor Swift Nobody does wallowing in self-pity better than Redalbum-era Taylor, but you probably have more in common than you might think – throughout All Too Well, it sounds like she’s constantly on the verge of tears, and so are you these days! If you feel like you’ve been a little indulgent about your breakup, at least you’ve not written a six minute long ballad (apparently the first draft was over ten), then put on your sparkliest dress and performed it at the Grammys. That said, you also probably weren’t dumped by Jake Gyllenhaal on your birthday so… Scribble on your maths jotter: You call me up again just to break me like a promise / So casually cruel in the name of being honest Dancing On My Own - Robyn Welcome to the one of the most painful situations in the world. You’re out, maybe it’s your first night out since the breakup, and you’re feeling pretty optimistic. You’re surrounded by your best mates, you’ve hardly checked your phone, and then suddenly you’re being ushered towards the smoking area so briskly that you spill your pint. “Let’s just go get some fresh air yeah” they mutter, a tangle of arms around you. “What’s the rush?” you ask,

shrugging away, swivelling round to see a scene painted from the watercolours of your nightmares. That person - and someone that’s not you. Put this on your Bebo: I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her / I’m right over here, why can’t you see me Dope - Lady Gaga Many songs about heartbreak are double entendres for both love and addiction; scientists have long agreed that the physical and emotional responses evoked by a breakup can be similar to withdrawal. We all know Lady Gaga writes objectively banging pop songs, but this minimalist number has it all – a belter of a chorus, a piano part soaked in sorrow and plenty of naughty references to drugs. Plus Dope is one of those rare tracks that actually sound better when you slur as you sing along. It’s time to wean yourself off love with Gaga as your therapist. Write this on your pencil case: My heart would break without you / Might not awake without you / Been feeling low from living high for so long Blame Game - Kanye West ft. John Legend Blame Game is a nifty rhyming way of describing the end of every relationship, ever – that painful ping-pong match of “you did this” and “you did that” that ends with the ball bouncing off the table with no winner. Kanye’s lament pulls back the curtain of celebrity, inviting you into his most intimate moments. There’s baring your soul, and then there’s etching it into an epic; snapshots of beauty are played against moments of grotesque ugliness, all the whilst toeing that all too thin line between love and hate. Quote for your MySpace: On a bathroom wall I wrote / “I’d rather argue with you than to be with someone else” I’m With You - Avril Lavigne It’s 2002, you’re at a primary school disco and the cutest kid in your class has just told you that they think you’re ugly. So what does that little girl do? Well, she loosens the pink and black tie she is wearing over a string vest, gulps down some Fruit Shoot, shrugs and goes off to practise putting on kohl eyeliner in the bathroom. Now, I’m, not saying you should start hanging around with nine year olds, but if you focus on channelling that Avrillian mentality, then before you know it you’ll have moved on from the moping lament of “I’m With You” to screeching “C U L8r Boi” instead. The words to carve into your locker: It’s a damn cold night / Trying to figure out this life

Illustrations courtesy of Laura Rod

*If all else fails, marinade in your feels for 68 hours listening to Frank Ocean as advised by our talented illustrator Laura.

THE FUTURE IS VEGAN

CAN WE RECONDITION OUR TRADITIONS? SAMUEL SIMS I decided to be a vegetarian nearly a year ago, when, on a train to Leeds I threw down my empty sausage roll wrapper dramatically and decided that would be it. The whole train looked on and applauded, so in awe were they at such willpower; such heroics. I mean, it was a Tesco sausage roll and I wouldn’t eat one EVER AGAIN. All that gristle and who knows what hidden inside some bloat inducing pastry. I mean, my, what inner strength. I cut out milk and cheese soon after because I had a sneaking suspicion they were a factor in some stubborn stomach issues (turns out they were a major factor), before adopting a vegan lifestyle nearly six months ago. Not gonna lie, it’s hard. Of course it’s hard! It’s going against so many things that people all over the world are brainwashed into believing is normal - eating animal flesh, milk and eggs making us stronger, enabling better skin, teeth, bones, etc. It means checking the ingredients on the vast majority of products you would like to but probably can’t eat, being unable to pick up a packet of tangy cheese Doritos from the shop because you’re hungover and really fancy them and similarly, having to say no to a lot of very delicious looking desserts. It’s a complete lifestyle change. I cannot and will not speak for those that have been vegan all of their lives, nor will I attempt to speak for the huge number of different cultures and societies all over the world where perhaps this, right now, is not a viable option for them. I am speaking as a former omnivore and a westerner who is, whilst definitely struggling financially, still privileged in the ability to have choice. With that in mind, it’s really easy to be ‘preachy’ to those with similar privilege and even more so for others to accuse you of being so. I could go on and on about how disgusting eating meat or rather, animal flesh/carcasses is, but people don’t see what they are eating for what it actually is. We are and have been blinded by traditions, passed down through generations of our own families and others, as well as through our shared cultures, but these traditions are becoming more and more excessive and inclusive of animal consumption. Subsequently, the more we consume, the less we connect.

Take a 2017 Christmas advertisement by a well known fast food chain: a little girl is taken on a drive-thru by her father and becomes attached to a carrot which she saves for Santa’s reindeer. Aww sweet. But how can you treat one animal with affection and another with heinous disrespect? It doesn’t make any sense. This goes for TV programmes too. Shows you may have grown up with and are now re-watching, only to discover that they go on about meat ALL THE TIME. I’m currently re-watching Gilmore Girls and whilst I am still completely in love with the show, it is getting increasingly hard to ignore its attitude towards eating animals. Goddammit it Sookie, goddammit. Once a vegan lifestyle is adopted, it becomes more difficult to ignore the fact that death is being promoted and the human race is, even if it’s not always on a conscious level, ignoring it. Eating animals isn’t just to do with food and the very deliberate act of eating; rather, it is about tradition and identity and what it would mean to us if we lost all of that. It’s a difficult and heartbreaking notion to acknowledge and mostly because it is so ingrained in us that we very rarely - if ever - do recognise it. What are we without our habits? Our memories? When we really think about it, do we know how much of this is really linked to what we eat? Take Christmas, the West’s most valued tradition. Would Christmas be the same without a turkey shared out between a room full of people? Would Christmas be the same if much of that turkey was wasted because it is just too big? What would we be without that selection box or the M&S Belgian Chocolates? Trifle? Cheese and crackers? How about the ‘need’ for a cake on your birthday; one that has, most likely been made from the eggs laid by a hen that has never seen the light of day. BBQs in the summer aren’t just about the burgers devoured by happy, bare legged people so relieved to be well into their weekend, they are also the place for socialising, for meeting up with friends and family; for losing that late night game of Heads Up to Mum, who will never let you forget it. For many of us, eating animals is inclusive of all of this. It means nostalgia, success in your work life, success in your personal life; 27

Illustrations courtesy of Alexis Andrews

it could mean the happiest day of them all and the photograph of you and your spouse clumsily cutting the five tiered cake. It means everything. But it is worth it? Can we and should we change or is just too sad and difficult?

The ‘process’ by which meat eventually lands in humans’ mouths is riddled with the worst kind of torture you could ever imagine; with sentient, intelligent beings that need space and light (just like we do) being deprived of this and of other basic rights (like happiness, for instance). There’s also the huge amount of antibiotics these animals, and subsequently us, are riddled with and the faeces that is not washed off before arriving at your nearest supermarket. Are our traditions really worth more than the sad, violent and very short lives of animals? More than our own health? Are cups of tea or coffee before, during and after work with just a dash of milk worth more than the dairy cow that is forcefully and brutally artificially inseminated repeatedly so she and the industry can keep up with consumer’s needs? Is that huge turkey at Christmas or Thanksgiving worth the drugs it was injected with to get it to its unnatural size? The list could go on and on but the main focus of my point here is that we have a choice to eradicate these traditions and to start new ones. One of the most inspiring programmes I have watched on veganism (and there are loads, as I’m sure you’re aware) is BBC’s Carnage, which aired last March. It envisages the UK in 2067 and the

country is made up entirely of vegans – a profoundly Utopian idea to many with this futuristic society and us, the viewers looking back at the history of eating animals and the traditions that were so firmly planted in us. If such a thing as an epiphany exists, this certainly inspired one in me as Carnage makes the very notion of not being vegan, utterly deplorable and other, just as the opposite could be said now. This programme shows that it really could be possible for us to make change and to prevent not only the loss of millions of innocent lives but the prevention of mass, diabolical cruelty. A quote from Jonathan Safran Foer’s book, Eating Animals, a mustread for anyone wishing to be more informed and to follow the journey of a new father with endless questions, Friends sums up perfectly: “We can’t plead ignorance, only Not indifference. Those alive today are the Food generations that came to know better. We have the burden and the opportunity of living in the moment when the critique of factory farming broke into the popular consciousness. We are the ones of whom it will be fairly asked, what did you do when you learned the truth about eating animals?” For more information on the huge amount of options available on a vegan diet, visit: @theVeganSociety on Twitter, read the Vegan Food & Living Magazine, Veganrecipeclub.org. uk or follow on Facebook, or pop along to the weekly vegan market collaboration between Fat Gay Vegan and Eat Work Art at Hackney Downs Studios.

I KNEW A MAN CHIDERA IKEWIBE

I knew a man who, in his later years had left his wife and child For a new family and in his absence the child grew Sad and bitter The child raised on a diet of hate filled words and slept on a bed of sharp white lies, Would rake her brain raw to find the answer to a question: How could the love which had once run sweet and plentiful from the spring of my parents’ lips now run dry? The old wife who had been raised to cry in private Now woke the town with her wailing. Banshee her own daughter called her The same child who the doctors had ripped out of her and had placed bloody and wailing in her then young arms The old wife, when she was a young girl was, Beautiful Like a teacup And smart Like a teacup, one could fill her with whatever the owner wanted Now she was chipped and cracked But not broken, She was beyond being broken She was shattered Her world hammered into a fine powder and placed in an urn Which her daughter had fastened shut with the word Banshee, Witch, Hag Sealing her own fate when she learned it’s best to cry behind locked doors I knew a man who, had left his old family for a new one I met him again when I married him.

MILK TEETH JAMES UDEN MEETS FRONTWOMAN BECKY BLOMFIELD Putting 2017 - a year of real highs and lows behind her, Becky Blomfield, singer and bassist in Milk Teeth is on a mission to make 2018 a statement year in more ways than one. A year for more music and touring, seeing more women working in the music industry and finally getting to quit shitty jobs… Listening to Milk Teeth’s music, sadness isn’t necessarily the first association that comes to mind based on the energy levels and intensity behind the majority of the band’s growing catalogue. That isn’t to say however it isn’t a driver behind their attitudes, material, or performances. This is a young, definitely frustrated (and definitely fun) band, who quite rightfully have social agendas to sing, shout and scream about. Looking back over the year just passed, Becky describes 2017 as being “Rough during the down periods, but the highs have been great.” Focusing on said highs for now, Milk Teeth’s headline tour for the Be Nice EP was a personal highlight for Becky. 2017 was also the year that saw the band sign to a major label (the mighty Roadrunner just to name drop in rejoice). Signing to a label with the stature of Roadrunner is not something that happens to young British bands every day. This is a huge achievement for Becky, Billy, Chris and Oli to have earned in the ever-challenging climate of the music industry and Becky naturally regards it as a huge moment. “It meant people had faith in what we were doing and gave us such a boost having that validation from a label that’s been home to a host of our favourite bands growing up. It’s been a big step forward - they really give a fuck and work as hard on everything as we do to make our crazy ideas feasible.” Supporting the band on creative projects such as video shoots, merch designs and possibly the most vibrant and playful band website ever, it’s safe to say the relationship so far has been positive “They’ve been super supportive of where we are at with our music and as I said, giving us a little more self-confidence as a band that we’re doing okay.” It’s so encouraging to see that the right people 30

have been on the pulse with this foursome from Stroud. Having had the pleasure of seeing them play through several amazing live sets, none was more memorable than in Camden a few years ago in support of punk royalty Against Me!, a performance that at the time Becky reveals wasn’t the easiest to get through. “That tour tested me personally in every way. I was going through a break-up and there was a lot of negativity, a lot of tension, a lot of hurt and anger.” Valuing this experience as so much more than just an opportunity to perform under an iconic band, Becky took something really quite special away from it. “To be out there every night, stood watching that band play so effortlessly with high energy and to hear that back catalogue of songs that is still so relevant now. That gave me drive. They make me love music.” This sentiment rang so true in Milk Teeth’s own incredible performance. I immediately became a fan that night just like so many others in the room who weren’t already. As a woman in an industry with “still much outdated attitudes,” Becky has discussed and written about her position and experiences in great depth and without holding back. In a fantastic article written for Huffington Post, she posed the question “Why would women want to put themselves into a scenario where, if they do what they love in a male-dominated industry, they just get treated as an object?” Since the article was published, the subject of objectifying women has come only further into light publicly across highprofile industries and society on the whole. Politics, music, film - it’s finally starting to feel like there’s nowhere for those bearing guilt to hide anymore. “I think all the allegations that have been made public in regards to the abuse in government and the Harvey Weinstein case have really brought the subject right to the forefront of public attention. That awareness is great,” says Becky. Awareness aside though, the ongoing revelations still leave a sour taste “It makes me equal parts incredibly sad and also angry that it’s taken until 2017 and we are only now as a public forum speaking out and shedding light on sexual harassment, abuse and the general day to day treatment of each other

“It wasn’t so much that I looked up to anybody. I just knew what I liked and which songs made me feel that thing. That craziness. That primal thing in a song that would connect with me so deep and make me FEEL something.”

and what’s appropriate.” Progress is steady, but attitudes are changing and people are gradually becoming so much more aware of what is right or wrong and not afraid to speak out. Becky herself is currently working on a campaign for her jewellery store (Dork Squad) to support charities who themselves support public education regarding what is socially acceptable. Also charities that take sexual harassment cases seriously, as well as those that provide victim support for any form of sexual harassment and abuse. “It’s something I’m very emotional about and I truly give a shit about,” she describes, “but I want to launch the campaign correctly and really try to make some sort of difference as well as raising money. This is literally the start. We are in very early days to seeing change but baby steps is better than nothing at all and I try to remain positive.” It’s inspiring to see Becky already showcasing role model qualities for younger musicians and fans alike to seek advice and guidance from, be it in regards to wider public issues, or indeed concerns on a more personal level. Feeling intimidated or anxious about starting a band for example? “Like Nike said, ‘Just do it’.” Becky asserts. “Fear shouldn’t keep anybody from doing anything. If anything, come out into this world and have something to say. Write a song telling the world how you feel and what needs to change. Turn that into something purposeful like music or art or a sculpture or a charity or just give yourself some empowerment to not be victimised by other people’s bullshit.” Words to truly live by. Considering based on her own experiences how the music industry could improve for women in the future, Becky - like most of us - wants to see more women taking on roles to close the minority gap. “I’d like there to be more of a legislation or a HR type committee that is there to report incidents of harassment and inappropriate behaviour. Somewhere where it’s taken seriously. I’d like there to be more education amongst all individuals as to how to treat and respect each other. Also teaching people which day to day behaviours we may have grown up thinking ‘aren’t that bad’ or ‘That’s just Joe, that’s the way he is’ aren’t actually ok. Education is everything.” There’s no doubt the flame has been lit. It’s taken a long time to get here, but we now find ourselves living in a progressive climate. Women - and men - are finding new sources of encouragement and 32

inspiration to speak out against abuse and have their voices heard. Having a platform to speak out from is something that should be owned responsibly and utilised to inspire and that is exactly what Becky is going to continue to do. Sadness may never be the easiest subject to raise in an interview - particularly with someone you’re not sat face to face with, however Becky openly and honestly explores what it means to her, acknowledging it as something of a two-headed beast; “I think it’s necessary at times when sadness can strengthen us and make us thrive long term,” while further considering its darker side, “I also see its hands wrapped tight around the necks of people including myself at times, where its presence becomes damaging and futile and allencompassing of everything that is negative. That is one of the most deadly things on this planet, the power and detriment of our own minds.” Considering what - if anything - can actually be gained from sadness, Becky concludes, “I think sadness shapes you more than any other emotion can - it’s one of the most powerful things we as humans can feel.” I couldn’t have interviewed a more inspiring person to reinforce this notion. Lose yourself in the aforementioned Milk Teeth site at milkteethpunx.com and be sure to grab the Go Away EP while you’re there. Follow the band @MILKTEETHPUNX and Becky @jeanxgenie

“I’m hoping we will be back in the studio putting an album together and all get to finally quit our shitty jobs!” Becky shot at Brixton Academy ahead of Milk Teeth’s show supporting Good Charlotte by Charlotte Patmore @voteforpatmore. All clothing Becky’s own.

“WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” TANIA SWIFT

“Where are you from?” Is it ever okay to ask this question? What does it imply? The literal intrigue as to where someone is from, in terms of his or her heritage? Or is it a more loaded question, quizzing where someone is from and why are they living in the country they are? Frequently I get asked “Where are you from?” And depending on who is asking, it stirs very mixed feelings. Sometimes I know there is general curiosity, other times I am not so sure. My responses have changed over the years but now I favour “Where do you think?” As the onus is on them to guess. It’s a bit of a titillating game for me and in some ways a personal survey - a census of sorts. One that I am going to start documenting as I want it to feature in my art work or fashion brand somehow. Interestingly the usual response is Latin American or Spanish, but there are a whole lot of other guesses ranging from Bengali to Mexican. I guess I have one of those ‘hard to place’ faces. Over the past few years I have been reflecting on my own mixed heritage and experiences as a child. My mother was born from an Indian mother and White British father during the early 1960s. Sadly for her this was a time where interracial relationships were not the norm and frowned upon. As a result, she was adopted by my Nan who was from Germany, and my Granddad who was a Londoner. They were the pioneers of their day, also adopting a son from Singapore and another daughter from the Caribbean or Africa, again with mixed heritage, possibly German but she is still not sure. So here they were, the United Colours of Benetton family, which on the surface was so forward thinking and progressive of them. Sadly due to the time, cultural education was not at the forefront for adopted children. As a result there were no links to India on either an emotional, physical or cultural level for my mother to connect with in terms of her own identity and acceptance of that. This resulted in shame and denial, an issue 34

I am sure many adopted children have had to deal with, and still do to this day. Obviously I am my mother’s child, so I also have Indian blood, which was diluted some more due to her relationship with my white British father. Growing up in a small, white, working class town and being mixed race was significant, especially as I was only one of three children in school that came from a ‘different’ background. My dark brown, almost black hair, olive complexion and brown eyes were too much of a contrast to my light haired, blue eyed counterparts, especially during the summer months. Growing up in the Midlands, there was mass migration from India that led to a lot of racial divide and tension. I remember being called ‘Paki’ and feeling very confused by this term, as I was not Pakistani and did not identify as anything other than British. That was what my immediate role model was showcasing. My mother, cloaked in all of her shame and lack of education (which was not her fault), could not equip me with any of the tools to navigate this questioning world growing up. She was not given the tools herself. Luckily for me I embraced my ‘mixture’ when I went to university and finally felt comfortable in my own skin, discussing my family’s history and celebrating it for what it was - diverse. The paradox I am in now, especially living in ethnically diverse London, is that my dilution is even more apparent. So I have gone from feeling embarrassed, to embracing the ‘I am mixed race’, to now being told I am white. Being referred to as ‘white passing’ has thrown up a whole new set of questions emotionally, as there was so much time invested in embracing the difference, only to be told that I am not. Comments such as “You look so white!”“Oh, I didn’t know you had mixed heritage, I just thought you were British.” “Even your mum doesn’t look Indian?” These have been very tricky to navigate. People see what they see, I have no control over that, but it is still hurtful nonetheless. And because

“I remember being called ‘Paki’ and feeling very confused by this term, as I was not Pakistani and did not identify as anything other than

there is new confusion around my identity and how I perceive myself, it’s a difficult conversation because I am no longer confident about how I self identify. So, at this juncture it is about balancing what people see, how I am treated, the white privilege I encounter and how I perceive myself. I’m starting to think about the label being ‘I’m just me’ and embracing that notion. We will see it is a work in progress. Funnily enough this is a topic that is being written about more and more. The articles are wonderful to read as there are so many people navigating a world that is somewhat conflicting and judging. It is also helpful to read about other people’s experiences and meet with others who identify as ‘mixed’ as it is a space in which you can empathise and share stories; it helps to talk with people who understand you. Another interesting element is the term in which

people self-identify. For some the term they choose can be political, like mixed race or bi-racial. For others, they cannot choose as it feels like you are neglecting one side of their cultural heritage. For me, another issue is the cultural side. There was nothing to assimilate us with my mum’s Indian heritage due to her being adopted. No parallels to identify with. It is so confusing, so conflicting. On one hand you’re called a racist term, and on the other there is nothing to attach yourself to, to claim as your space. It is a bit like being in no man’s land - no space to navigate, you look and feel one way and you have been culturally educated another. There are no clear conclusions here. The only one I can summarise with is that identity is a personal journey and one in which I need to personally embrace, to discover and question. I cannot change how people perceive me, but I can change how I feel about it.

Illustration courtesy of Magdalena Hart

British.”

TIME’S UP

ROSIE FAYE ELLIS

Illustration courtesy of Venus Libido

Men are afraid after #MeToo? Think about what it’s like for women. Time’s Up.

Exactly a year ago in The Strong Issue I wrote about how men in the public eye get away with sexual assault, how damaging this is for victims and how this MUST change. I ended my original article with “So as Trump takes up his residency at The White House this week we must remember that 2017 will not be another 2016. This year we will ‘Grab Patriarchy By the Balls’ because guess

what? PUSSY GRABS BACK!” Two issues later, I can’t quite believe how much has changed. In the wake of a series of allegations of sexual harassment, assault and rape against film executive Harvey Weinstein, we watched as a problem most were already aware of reared its ugly head, and the full magnitude was revealed. Women in Hollywood didn’t want to be silenced any longer. They came together and declared to the world the awful things that had been done to them at the hands of men in power. This paved the way for other accusations and opened up a

dialogue about widespread sexual harassment and assault in the media industry followed by the viral #MeToo campaign. We saw an explosion of reckoning – and recognition – of endemic sexual assault and harassment in all kinds of industries, as we watched more and more women feel empowered enough to speak out against gender based violence. It truly felt like something huge had shifted and we were finally having open and honest conversations about things that had been suppressed for years. In other words, we no longer felt alone and we no longer felt ashamed. However it was short lived and the fight we’ve been fighting to be heard and believed continued because, as usual, all the questions kept being directed to the victims. Commentators have questioned their stories, their motives, their timing, their responses, their actions, their inaction, their silence and even their clothing. I wanted to scream because this is exactly why most women don’t report workplace sexual harassment or any other sexual harassment for that matter. The result is a barrage of ‘buts’ carefully designed to pin the blame on the victim herself. One in three women between the ages of 18 to 34 have been sexually harassed at work. Yet we never ask why, or how, or with what possible motive men sexually harass and assault women. The focus is solely on their victims as if the abuse fell on them by chance rather than by design, and could have been avoided with just a little more effort on their part. The more women who came forward, the more men became fearful and we had to put up with comments such as “You don’t want it to lead to a witch hunt atmosphere, a Salem atmosphere, where every guy in an office who winks at a woman is suddenly having to call a lawyer to defend himself.” Thank you, accused sexual abuser Woody Allen. I can’t even try to explain the rage I felt upon reading that, followed closely by BBC radio host John Humphrys, who raised his concern that Westminsters sexual misconduct allegations may risk making people nervous about asking someone on a date. “Is there a danger that we could go too far in the other direction and people will be afraid to ask somebody else out for the evening, or indeed ask them out for a proper date, maybe even eventually to marry them or something? There are risks in this aren’t there?”

KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HARMLESS FLIRTING AND SEXUAL ABUSE. But do men? The underlying themes in these sexual misconduct allegations included being trapped in private spaces, non-consensual nudity, masturbating in front of someone and propositioning co-workers and employees for sex and when the answer was a no, threats to ruin careers would follow. The fact that anyone could confuse these allegations with flirting points to a deeper misunderstanding of consent that stems from men feeling entitled to women’s bodies. Flirting is used to subtly show your interest in someone and try to gauge if they feel the same. Sexual harassment, on the other hand, constitutes total disregard for the other person’s feelings and autonomy over their body. What makes me so angry is that as women we spend our entire lives learning how to prevent unwanted attention and physical contact from men, so the majority of us are now experts at determining who is crossing a line and who is harmlessly flirting. So by assuming women don’t know the difference between the two is just plain insulting and the issue is not one of imperfect victims, but of power imbalance and deeply ingrained misogyny. Perhaps the problem is that powerful men have not been afraid enough. Maybe the incredible sense of entitlement that’s allowed men to treat women so horribly without consequence is something that can be killed with a nice dose of fear. If men want to help women in this moment, they could start by sitting with whatever discomfort and fear they have, however misplaced it may be. They could understand that what they’re feeling is a fraction of what women deal with. And instead of panicking, or overreacting, they could listen as we are now providing some very clear guidelines on appropriate sexual conduct and anyone confused by the matter ought to be paying better attention. There is a stark difference between flirtation and sexual harassment. All survivors of sexual harassment, everywhere, need to be heard, need to be believed and to know that accountability is possible. So for every person who asks ‘Why didn’t she?’ there is a woman who can answer ‘I did.’ Criticising victim’s responses will never solve this problem. It is time to stop asking ‘Why didn’t she?’ and start asking ‘Why didn’t we?’

I feel like I’ve repeated myself so many times these past few months, but I’ll say it again - WOMEN 37

OH! YOU PRETTY THINGS

ERIN WILLIAMS PHOTOGRAPHS THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY OF LEEDS

Meet Hollie What is your gender, sexual orientation and involvement in the LGBTQ community? I’m female and queer. My involvement in the LGBTQ+ community is that I run a queer art collective called AGEOFTHE. We run events in Leeds to promote queer emerging artists. Please share a small background story of your involvement in the drag community. My involvement in drag started when I started running queer art nights in Leeds about two years ago. From this I have developed my own drag and started to perform. Do you feel you have ever been wrongly treated whilst performing or being in drag? As a female I do encounter negativity towards my style of drag due to my privilege

Meet Adam What is your gender and sexual orientation? I never really know. On one level I would say I’m gender queer/gender fluid because I don’t conform to what’s expected of a man in appearance and interests, but at the same time I also don’t think that stops me from identifying as male. My sexual orientation is pansexual but I will often state bisexual as it is more commonly recognised and understood. Please share a small background story on you discovering your sexuality. My sexuality is something that I suppressed for a long time and only recently accepted a year or two ago. Previously, I completely disregarded bisexuality as people who were ‘confused’ or ‘curious’. I feel so guilty and ashamed of how I used to act, but I now realise this was a defence mechanism I had built up from my own insecurities and suppressed emotions.

as a woman. I understand my privilege, but drag isn’t about being female or a woman, its about deconstructing the constructs of gender and playing around with it in a humorous way. The negativity has occurred at commercial drag clubs in Leeds, and also in conversation with people who don’t have a vast knowledge of queer theory or drag itself. Have you ever felt inspired by seeing people of the LGBTQ+ community involved in fashion campaigns or pop culture? I’m mainly influenced by blonde starlets such as Anna Nicole Smith and May West. Two very contrasting popular culture icons, but both in control of their sexuality. With campaigns I would say when it gets to the time of pride and many commercial businesses say they are for gay rights and use the rainbow flag as a way to show they’re accepting. I feel that these companies should constantly show their support, not just five days a year.

Meet Ruby What is your gender, sexual orientation and involvement in the LGBTQ+ community? I am biologically female and identify as so. My sexuality is open; I am more interested in the person rather than the gender. My involvement in the community has been a recent development, I see my drag and performance as a way to advertise inclusivity and diversity. I like to hope that by breaking as many boundaries as I can see in my personal life, I can inspire others to express who they are just as freely. Please share a small background story of your involvement in the drag community. Again, the performance side of my drag is a new development, but something I have always in some way been grasping for. For a long time I would dress up in my room and just take selfies and dance around, but I had a fear that I wasn’t ‘allowed’ to do drag, as I wasn’t a gay man. It wasn’t until my foundation year when I stumbled across a short documentary on Broadly that I realised I wasn’t the only woman in this position, and that bio queens were as valid as traditional drag queens. My drag personality and burlesque Do you think your sexuality has had an impact on your personality and identity? Since discovering and embracing my sexuality I have been a much happier, and a more open minded and confident person. Being more accepting of my own sexuality has also allowed me to explore my identity in ways that I would have previously felt ashamed of, had I still been in denial. I’ve always been sensitive and never been very good at acting stereotypically masculine - my sexuality feels partly connected to that. Have people ever treated your differently because of your sexuality? If so, please tell me what happened. When first expressing my gender and identity in new ways (e.g. wearing make-up and ‘women’s’ clothing, shaving body hair), I found that people (usually heterosexual men) would avoid eye contact and conversation with me, even some I’d known for a while. Given time, most people have accepted and supported this change. Last week it was brought to my attention that people I’d known for a long time had been making hurtful remarks about me, commenting that I was a mess, implying that I wasn’t well and that I was a woman now.

performances are very personal to me as I see them as a close extension of my own personality. I have tendencies to be very extroverted and I love taking my clothes off and challenging the social boundaries of female sexuality and power. In everyday life I feel restricted. I often feel I can’t be opinionated or powerful, or in charge of my own morals in fear of being labeled a bitch. It’s incredibly freeing how exaggerated makeup, a wig and some heels can excuse your behaviour. Do you feel you have ever been wrongly treated whilst performing/ being in drag? I have never experienced any concerning abuse whilst in drag. I have had the occasional man come up and ask me to prostitute myself for them and offer me a degradingly small amount of money for lap dances etc. However, it has never escalated past that. I find the environments I am in when performing in drag are incredibly welcoming and supportive, the LGBTQ+ community has a phenomenal sense of togetherness. I would note that in my personal life I have been subject to heavy sexual assault, catcalling, huge amounts of judgment and have been constantly disappointed by the lack of respect and support I have received. I find it interesting how I receive none of this backlash on stage, but as a woman in my day to day life I am constantly subjected to it. Have you ever felt inspired by seeing people of the LGBTQ+ community involved in fashion campaigns or pop culture? I have immense respect for any LGBTQ+ person or ally in pop culture or the entertainment industry for speaking up about any issues. It’s also inspiring to see transgender fashion models such as Hari Nef or transgender actresses/ actors such as Laverne Cox doing so well. A personal idol of mine is Brian Molko from Placebo who often challenged people’s perceptions with his androgynous appearance and by speaking to the press about the fluidity of gender and sexuality back in the 90s. Has there ever been a time when you felt the LGBTQ+ community has been negatively represented in fashion campaigns or pop culture? I can’t think of a specific campaign, but I think it’s all too common for the LGBTQ+ community to be painted with the same brush in the media, placing us into easily digestible and distinguishable categories. Though it’s now largely acceptable to be gay in western culture, it is often only acceptable by heteronormative standards. Gay men are assumed to be camp and feminine, lesbians are assumed to be butch, bisexual women are used as an object of sexual fantasy for heterosexual men and bisexual men are perceived as half-closeted gay men or non-existent, while transgender individuals are usually only shown if they can ‘pass’ as their gender.

ONE WOMAN’S QUEST TO LET ALL HER EGGS DRY UP IN PEACE REBECCA SANDER

I had started a new job working evenings at a cafe that had decided to extend its opening hours, and mark itself out as a wine bar amongst the tall Georgian houses of Kennington. The owners had decided not to advertise their late evenings so as not to be overwhelmed. This was so effective that the first few evenings were spent lazily polishing cutlery, and arranging and rearranging the window displays to coax in the small amount of foot traffic on the high street. On Halloween night the cafe was filled with children, the sons and daughters of the owners and their friends, sprinting down the aisles, shouting in the street outside, jittery from the excitement of the evening and the overindulgence of sweet things. I was in my own personal hell. I have been a waitress for a long time, and most of that time has been spent under tables wiping up the mess of red faced, angry babies who throw tantrums over imperceptible factors. I’ve lived through battlegrounds of screaming and wailing, of demands and fussy eating, and having to read the same fucking book about some fucking poppy cat for the thousandth fucking time. I use this as an easy excuse when the idea of children comes up. “Oh my god I deal enough with that at work, I’m basically scarred for life!” But the truth is, I just don’t have any interest in children. I don’t care. They don’t bring anything to my table. I didn’t enjoy children when I was a child myself. They were all far too noisy and I just wanted to sit and read. I’ve evolved through introverted child, to cynical teen, to a just-about adult who still has no warm fuzzy feelings about babies or teaching someone how to ride a bike. Aside from a brief Baby Born phase as a toddler this has basically remained my unwavering outlook for coming on a quarter of a century. However I have to treat it like my guilty secret, like I would a habit for kicking puppies across a room. A life without children is my beautiful dark twisted fantasy, too filthy to let out into the light of day. Back to the aforementioned Halloween night, 40

and I was working with a Portuguese girl who was my exact antithesis. She loved the children. One of them reminded her of her sister, and even a young boy who was actively goading her by pretending she didn’t exist, instead directing all communication through me (barking up the wrong tree there, pal) she took with good humour and a wry ‘boys will be boys’ mentality. I actually have so much respect for this ability to take an emotional beating from the underage and to remain happy - it is a patience I do not possess. I don’t even have the ability to talk to children coherently, as none of my favourite conversation topics are child friendly (1.The prevalence of rape culture 2.The cultural impact of The Simpsons 3.The Zodiac Killer). In an attempt to make some conversation and look a little less tense, nervous and unhappy, I decided to disclose to her my lack of passion for anyone too young to legally buy alcohol. The colour drained from this girl’s face as if I had admitted that I had an appreciation for Josef Fritzl architecture. I had made a grave mistake. I had disclosed to a Kid Person, and I was about to face the consequences. It begins with a blank, non-understanding face, like a robot trying to process feelings. This is then followed by a repetition of what you said with an incredulous tone “You’re not into children? You just have no interest? You don’t think you’ll ever have kids? Ever?!” When I stand my ground, a legion of excuses explode justifying my opinion; I am young, no one is thinking about kids at my age, I am not financially stable enough yet for that to be a possibility (that one is a double whammy insult - I’m both incorrect and poor, thanks). It seems not wanting children is the last opinion someone can talk shit about to your face. And that just makes no sense to me. Everywhere you go you see people who are struggling to raise children, who don’t have the patience or the finances to make the cohesive happy family Kid Person’s have in their heads. In the last few years, parents have been emerging to start a dialogue about regretting having children. There are now forums for parents

Illustration courtesy of Alexis Andrews

“A life without children is my beautiful dark twisted fantasy, too filthy to let out into the light of day.” to discuss the taboo - just Google ‘parents regret having kids’ for a whole community of people who are not there to complain about difficult children, but to engage in healthy discourse on the pressure they felt to make huge life decisions that haven’t turned out the way they envisioned. For so long, particularly women have had to convince ourselves that family is the ultimate goal, but why in 2018 when there are so many other opportunities for us is it still unacceptable to leave motherhood to the truly committed? I have the utmost respect for people whom having children is their motivation. I don’t think my choices are any better, I just think that they are better suited to me, and surely that’s a better way for me to live. It’s worth pointing out that the Kid Person judgement isn’t exclusive to women. Although we do deal with the brunt of society’s pressures, my boyfriend Alex recently mentioned to some coworkers his lack of interest in fatherhood and a man responded by implying Alex’s life was devoid of meaning while trying to show him pictures of his children as a means of persuasion, as if this man’s kids were so above and beyond the realm of what my boyfriend had seen before that he’d immediately be converted. It did not work. The eye-roll inducing response along the lines of “You’ll change your mind!” makes my choice into a point of protest. As if making a conscious choice to free myself of the expectations of motherhood is my attempt to position myself as ‘radical’ and nothing else, and therefore if I ever change my mind and end up giving birth I am proving all of the Kid People right. Women without children aren’t proving a point, that’s other people projecting meaning onto their purpose. Likewise they aren’t necessarily sad, barren spinsters or lesbians. Men who don’t want children are also not bachelors with a heart of sadness waiting for the ‘right woman’ like every Matthew McConaughey movie of the early 00s. We’re all just trying to live our best lives out here and not harming anyone in the process. I have a supportive partner who 42

also lacks the child rearing passion, and we have a great relationship and a shelter cat with no eyes. That’s enough for me, and if you are reading this and you love kids, that’s great, but just be happy for me too. I am. Whilst doing research for this piece, I posted on Instagram about my views on motherhood, and how it should be okay to be disinterested in children. The response was overwhelmingly positive, with lots of my friends coming forward and engaging in a conversation with me about how people can make you feel so uncomfortable when you admit motherhood is not in your life plan. However, I also got a comment saying “I used to think that when I was your age and now I have three daughters”. So the struggle to have my opinion taken seriously goes on, even when I’m starting a conversation about how much of a struggle it is to have my opinion taken seriously. Go figure. But I will still be vocal about my opinion, and if you feel the same I’d encourage you to do the same. It’s not the most pressing issue women are struggling with, but maybe it’s the easiest one to start with. Lower people in with a rejection of motherhood, then ramp up to abortion services, gender pay gap, gender-based violence, LGBTQ+ rights, whatever takes your fancy in the patriarchy rainbow. If people are going to roll their eyes at rejecting outdated traditional female values, then go all in. “You don’t want children? But what about when you get a little older?” Well I’m waiting for the NHS to make menstrual products freely available, and for sexual harassment to be taken seriously, an equal representation of women in parliament, Ireland to repeal the 8th Amendment, proper research into the long term effects of hormonal birth control, and the ability to walk home at night by myself without feeling the need to hold my keys between my knuckles like a DIY knuckle duster. But the second all of that clears up I’ll let someone use me as a human incubator so I can finally be happy in some otherwise unachievable way. I feel like that’s a good compromise.

BLACK HOLE / SWALLOW ME WHOLE ELLE DAINTREE Today is a dark day. I feel myself sinking Into the earth. The gluttonous floor Swallows me whole. I reach out my hand Instinctively, No one there to take it. I am now neck deep In numbness.

Illustration courtesy of Hatti Rex

Oblivion is calm and empty, Yet there is no peace. Tinnitus amplifies, Buzzing engulfs me. Today is a dark day.

MY CHOICE KIRAN GREWAL

Yesterday, after trying to digest as much information as possible, and being taken from one consultation room to another by a nurse who spoke of Christmas with her grandchildren whilst scanning my belly, the gel a little too cold, her touch a little too firm, I signed a form and was handed pills, and aborted my seven week and six day old baby.

was not the right time for that, but I know deep down it was the right choice for me. One day I hope, a little hand will grip my finger and I’ll hold that hand for as long as they need me. Their first birthday, first Christmas, the first time they walk on their own, their first day at school, their first love and every time in between and after that. But, not just yet.

Funny, this was meant to be about how I haven’t cried at all since it happened, but as I wrote that last sentence my hands began to shake and out came the tears.

To the little one I have just lost, I’m sorry I gave you life in a moment of weakness. I will always remember that you have taught me that small actions have big consequences. You taught me that I could love someone who hadn’t really come into being yet, that such strong emotions are possible over someone you have carried for just about eight weeks.

They weren’t supposed to show me the scan, but the lady didn’t do too good a job of hiding it. My all too curious eyes poured over the image gripped in her hands for as long as they could, trying to memorise the obscure shape printed there - the least I could do is remember it, right? But even now, just a day later, I can barely remember what form that photograph took. I can tell you the exact shade of green that the nurse’s eyes were though. Isn’t that strange?

Illustration courtesy of Sophie Kirk

Even now, as I write, the process is still happening, but it was yesterday evening that my baby passed and I just stared and stared at it. It didn’t resemble an embryo or anything like that, and yet it had the potential to form a life that was a little bit of me and a little bit of the man I love.

The pain was excruciating, nothing like the ‘similar to period pains’ I was told I would experience. The fever, the sharp stomach shooting pains as my cervix contracted, the dizziness and the overwhelming sense of guilt, sadness and just wishing it was all over, was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. Now thinking of it, it’s probably fitting. I feel I deserve that pain - my choice to deny that baby life should only come with pain that will never really leave me. I’m not ready to have a child, although I love all the children in my life, and I have always felt a very strong maternal instinct within me. I know one day I will love every single aspect of being a mother, and I am absolutely devastated that now

To my boyfriend who hasn’t really asked me how I am, or had a real conversation about any of this, I hope one day you won’t be a coward and leave me to pick up the pieces of a consequence of a decision that took two people to make. To my sister, mother and best friend, thank you for being the most amazing women I know and being my crutch during this overwhelming time of deep and utter sadness.

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF WE TRADED IN SHAME FOR GUILT? A USEFUL LIFE HACK FOR THE TIMES WHEN YOU ARE CRUEL TO YOURSELF FROM KIRSTY ROBSON

The most damning indictment of all. I remember having this bellowed at me as I sheepishly stood; legs buckling, cheeks flushing and eyelashes dampening before the sniggering gaze of my year six Maths class. I had, quite daringly, attempted to pass a note to my best pal, who was sat three seats away from me. The note contained a concise critique of the lesson content, (a drivelly hourlong snooze-fest devoted to long division and multiplying fractions.) It read, ‘Maths is sooooooo boring.’ I didn’t think I would get caught. Heretofore I had earned a reputation as an infuriating goody two shoes. On the fringes of adolescence, I was seeking the thrill of small acts of rebellion, and

I was starting to realise I could ‘get away’ with minor bouts of cheeky behaviour. In this instance, I was not so fortunate. The execution of the pass across the table was poor, and I watched in anguish as it hastily sped across and fluttered towards the carpet. Target missed. The teacher saw. She made her away over to the note. My operation was about to be uncovered. I’m sure none of us will ever forget the feeling of having to simply wait on a good chiding – the anticipation; the frantic search around your mind for an excuse; the eventual explosion. It is one of the worst feelings in the world. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” An expression that my teacher probably thought little about. But

Illustration courtesy of Kirsty Robson

“You should be ashamed of yourself!”

it stuck with me. It confirmed what I’d feared all along – that I was a bad person, and that I’d been found out. Cut to twelve years later and I am on the other side of the equation. In 2013 I got a job as a Learning Support Assistant in a secondary school. It was during some ‘behaviour management’ training that I had a sudden flashback to my own experience in primary school. The main message of the training was that if you ever found yourself having to address poor behaviour with a pupil, that you should separate the action from the person. This is called ‘separating the deed from the doer.’ For example, rather than calling somebody a ‘thief’, you could instead say to them ‘you took something that belonged to somebody else, and this behaviour upset them.’ This is why it hurts so much when somebody tells you “You should be ashamed of yourself.” The phrase literally instructs you to feel bad about who you are as a human; there is no separation of action from personhood. Having analysed the aftermath (pun intended) of my minor year six trauma, I have come to a few conclusions. Firstly, that simply expressing myself is not something in itself that deserved to be scorned. I don’t like Maths – and that’s okay. That’s part of who I am. I don’t need to be made to feel that I am a bad person for not liking Maths. Having said that, the fundamental act of passing that note was not okay; it isn’t surprising that my teacher felt upset about my behaviour. Rather than waiting until after the lesson to bitch about maths in private, I had behaved in a way that ran the risk of getting caught. I hadn’t considered that the teacher might read the note and if she did, it could hurt her feelings. After all, writing a lesson plan is an act of care – a significant act of care, actually, thoughtfully put together for a tough crowd of thirty little muckers. Any teacher will tell you how much work is involved with preparing a lesson plan, and most people go into teaching with a desire to help others make sense of the world, to equip them with skills they will need to navigate their way. In short, delivering a lesson of any sort is an act of kindness. And essentially, this is why my teacher reacted so strongly. In rubbishing her carefully thoughtthrough lesson, I had hurt her feelings.

But what is interesting about this is that my teacher had taken the note very personally. I hadn’t written ‘Mrs. X is so boring’ – I had written ‘Maths is so boring.’ But she was unable to separate herself from ‘Maths’ and then when she told me off, she was unable to separate ‘Kirsty’ from ‘Kirsty’s behaviour’. If my teacher had been able to take a step back and think, ‘Okay, Kirsty isn’t attacking me personally but she is attacking my lesson,’ perhaps she would have had a more reasonable response. Rather than saying, ‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’ she could have instead tried, ‘I spent a lot of time preparing this lesson and when I read the note you wrote my feelings were hurt.’ The first response invites shame; the second response invites guilt.

“Shame is about the self: guilt is about things.” Helen Block Lewis wrote this in her book ‘The Role of Shame in Symptom Formation.’ I am currently training to be an Art Therapist and I am working predominantly with adults who suffer from depression. And time and time again, shame is brought into the therapy space – it seems inseparably entwined with the condition. ‘I am a bad person’ rather than ‘I behaved badly.’ ‘I am stupid’ rather than ‘I did badly on that test.’ ‘I am unlovable’ rather than ‘I had a relationship that didn’t work out.’ Well, I’ve got a comforting news flash for you – if you feel bad after you’ve behaved badly, you’re probably a pretty good person. Guilt is actually a really useful emotion. It’s what helps us to become caring, thoughtful beings; it’s what helps us to create better and stronger bonds with other humans. If you fuck your friend’s boyfriend and feel unbearable, crippling remorse about it – you’re probably not a bad person. (If you don’t feel that sense of unbearable, crippling remorse, I would recommend a solid course of therapy to figure out why that is.) Guilt is useful in this particular scenario because it helps you to recognise that your behaviour wasn’t okay. It can help you to make better decisions next time. It can help you to make amends. Guilt starts to become a problem when we hold onto it for

far longer than is necessary – when it turns into shame. Shame is much more problematic. In the same book, Helen Block Lewis describes shame as ‘a relatively wordless state.’ When we experience shame, we silence ourselves, for fear that nobody can handle our shit. This is precarious territory. As we are increasingly being told, open and honest conversations are really important with regards to mental health. If we give in to shame and remain silent, not only does it fester within us, it also prevents connection with others – if we can’t talk about it, we start to feel isolated, as if nobody else could possibly feel the same way. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. And if we can’t talk to each other about difficult things, we won’t ever be able to put two sides of the story together, and ultimately work towards making the world a better place. So many of us wrestle with permanent feelings of shame. My example about being told off in school is, admittedly, a pretty tame scenario – but a relevant one all the same. Severe cases of bullying or abuse are common experiences, that can lead to us feeling ashamed about who we are as people. If you are constantly criticised, not just for your behaviour but for your mere personhood, it doesn’t take long for you to start believing it. If you are bullied by others, it won’t take long for you to start bullying yourself. If you are abused by others, it won’t take long before you start abusing yourself. Recently, I was upset with the way somebody in my life had behaved and in the heat of passion, I described him to my friend as ‘not a nice person’. This wasn’t fair of me. (I didn’t say it to their face, but in hindsight, I feel guilty about it all the same.) Their behaviour wasn’t nice, but

that doesn’t mean that they are not a nice person. Often, when we want others to understand how hurt we are feeling, we get personal in order to convey the depth of our emotions. But we don’t need to do that. I am of the opinion that if we could transform guilt into shame, we could really start to work at so many of society’s problems. If we could start talking about the untalkable; shine light on hidden depths – we could start to change things. I believe we have a responsibility to be less personal in our damnations of others, but also, perhaps even more importantly, of ourselves. Remember – the personal is political, and empathy and kindness towards yourself is actually really important for stimulating social change. So the next time you beat yourself up about something, ask yourself – is this guilt, or is this shame? If you’re telling yourself – ‘I shouldn’t have called her a bitch’ – you’re probably experiencing guilt. And yeah, you probably shouldn’t have called her a bitch. If you’re telling yourself – ‘I am a piece of shit’ – you’re probably experiencing shame. And you’re not a piece of shit. So don’t call yourself a piece of shit. I’ll leave you with the words of Aldous Huxley, from the foreword of Brave New World: “Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment. If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time. On no account brood over your wrongdoing. Rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.”

CAUGHT BETWEEN SDLROW OWT

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GRIEF ON BOARD MEGAN CONERY

Jim and Megan, Somewhere in Washington State, 1990

Sadness Sadness. I’m the master of sadness. I’ll take your sadness and throw in a 17 year misdiagnosis of bipolar, crippling anxiety, self loathing, hallucinations and the kind of depression that results in pissing in your bedroom sink (you only have a sink, no toilet … just this weird, very large sink) to avoid leaving the room. When I wasn’t running naked through the streets, depression… well ... it’s just like those videos they make these days … a big fuck off elephant or depression dog or whatever. Hanging out with me all the time. Being a negative Nancy. Fucking with my self worth, value, destroying my confidence … and reminding me repeatedly that I have no reason to be depressed or sad. But, it’s not sadness I’m supposed to talk to you about. It’s grief. Grief is a different beast. 52

People don’t like to talk about it, don’t want to hear about it. They use weird voices when they talk to you – they make eyes at each other in your company, eyes that say ‘Ooooo, be careful, don’t say that, we don’t want to upset this tiny, fragile, pixie child.’ We, as a species, don’t like to be reminded of our own mortality and we’re taught that crying equals weakness, irrational behaviour and a whole host of other 20th century hysteria bullshit. You’re not supposed to cry in front of people. A challenging feat when someone you love has just exited your life forever. Death. It sucks. All the emotions get turned up to 11. And, don’t even talk about the paperwork. It is endless—and at least in the US of A—there’s some hardcore deadlines, and if you’re late you have to

pay extra tax or don’t get pensions or some other crazy shit. It’s insane. You start dealing with death paperwork the next day. Did you know you need more than one death certificate? How can you possibly know that? Why isn’t there a handbook? Why do we spend so much time talking about the miracle of birth? When you have a baby, there’s so much preparation these days, right? I don’t really know, I don’t have kids. Why isn’t there death prep? I mean, it’s a stupid question to ask why. We know why. We don’t want to die, we don’t want to think about dying and we certainly don’t want people we love to die. Death I remember my first death—it was a cat. I was nine. His name was Kirby (my Mom named him after the vacuum cleaner she bought the same day that he turned up). He was 18, that’s like 88 in human years, so he was old as fuck. We let him live too long, to appease our own inability to let go (we didn’t make that mistake again with a cat). But people are different. People, the ones we love with our whole beings – it’s hard to let them go.

It’s weird how you remember really specific details when people die. When my Grandpa died I remember I was at the pharmacy with my dad getting my monthly prescription refills. Mainly I remember my inhaler because mine was empty and I was wheezy. My Grandpa was a great guy. He used to play army men with us in the living room. At his funeral everybody told me what a great guy he was. ‘Shut up’ I thought. ‘I know he’s a great person. He’s my Grandfather. What could you possibly know—you 88 year old man … who definitely doesn’t know more than I do about anything’ (thinks 14 year old Megan). Then I shut up (for once) and I listened to what people said. They spoke of his goodness and kindness during the terror that was 1930s middle America. They spoke of the joy that he brought them, how much the community loved him. It was wonderful knowing that this person I adored, was adored by others. Lots of other people died in my life between 1998 and 2016—some hurt worse than others. Some we knew were coming, others we didn’t. And I learned a valuable lesson. Death happens … but still, I think I’m safe. Then Dad got sick Then Dad got sick. Then Dad got sick. Then my dad got sick. I remember where I was. When I got the call. We were supposed to talk on the phone a day or two before. But mom said he had a kidney stone and had to go to the hospital, we’d talk the next day (I live in London, my parents live in Everett Washington. GOOGLE IT). But then we didn’t talk the next day. And I knew, I knew something was wrong, it was weird. My family take scheduling and itineraries very seriously. If we say we’re going to call you at 17:00 GMT, goddamnit, that’s when we’re gonna call—we might call at 16:59 and 57 seconds, to allow time for the phone to ring.

Jim juggling, Illinois 1983

My mom called me around 20:00 GMT (12:00 PST) and told me. Dad had lesions on his liver. He had a tumour in his esophagus. Dad got the cool kind of cancer. The kind that you don’t know you have until it’s too late. The kind they can’t fix. Leave it to my father, to get the unfixable one. They said nine months, he said NAY, I’ll take your nine months and raise you three years. He was determined, he defied odds. He never seemed sick. 53

And I had hope. I’ve never hoped for anything so hard in my life. And on that day in August, after I hung up the phone. I began what I thought was three and a half years of grief preparation. Spoiler alert it wasn’t—you can prepare, but never in the way you want to. He responded to the treatment better than most. He was handling a cocktail of chemo that could have put three grown men on their ass and he was doing it while remodelling our house, going to the gym, yoga, meditation, acupuncture, Traditional Chinese Medicine. You name it, he did it. I held onto my hope like a life jacket in the middle of the Pacific.

or cough, so your spit pools in the back of your throat and every time you breathe … gurgle … It’s intense. The sounds, the smells, the emotion in the room. The last conversation we had, he told me ‘If you’re not over this by 2018, you’ve got some fucking problems.’ And we laughed. People don’t like it when I tell them that part, they think it’s morbid or something. I love that. I still giggle when I

Then the chemo stopped working. Then the chemo stopped working. Then the chemo stopped working. ...then the chemo stopped working. Dying They said ‘you need to come home now’. So I went. I had just started a new job. I was weeping in the lobby of a very fancy building, while my new boss ordered me a taxi. The airline bumped me to business class, because I said ‘I’m flying home to be with my father while he dies.’ They regularly refilled my glass. I got the perfect amount of drunk for the situation and then passed out. On my way there I prepared my ‘goodbye speech’. I was ready to atone for all of the sins of my youth. But most of all, I wanted to know if he loved me and wanted him to know that I love him. But, death doesn’t happen like it does in the movies. Over the course of the next week(ish), I didn’t give my goodbye speech. I didn’t sit next to his bedside day in and day out. Nope. I went to the grocery store three times a day, cooked dinner, went to the pharmacy, called hospice, got medical supplies. Because, it wasn’t about me. It was about my family, it still is. All of us. Together. No grand gesture was going to change anything. And, all that shit I wanted to say, all those words and carefully constructed sentences, didn’t matter. I’m very lucky in that regard. Because we’d been saying that stuff our whole lives. A death rattle isn’t so much a rattle but a gurgle. It happens when you’re physically unable to swallow 54

Jim digging bamboo barriers at home, 2002 think about it, cuz that was my dad! That was pure Dad, and that’s what happened. We never said the word goodbye. I’ll always think about all the things I didn’t say. I don’t think you can ever lose someone and not feel that way. There’s always something else to say. I remember saying to my partner ‘I wish I had just one more sentence from him’. He could have said anything, I just wanted one more. The Aftermath And he died. He’s dead. He didn’t pass away. He’s not ‘no longer with us’. He’s fucking dead. And guess what - it’s 2018 and it still sucks. I feel like I’m searching for him. I realised, that I only knew him as Dad, and not as a person. And I think I missed out on that … cuz he was great. We didn’t have a funeral. We were exhausted. I stayed for a few more days then I flew back to London and went to work. And proceeded to be 110% of myself. Which resulted in me becoming about 10% of myself. How can I be the best version of myself, when so

much of my ‘self’ was gone. People there didn’t know me pre-grief. And, I didn’t know me postdeath. I was consumed with absence. With the lack of ______. A slight breeze could topple me, Jenga with a one block base. It felt like the top layer of all my skin had been removed and everything was just so … raw. I started to get physically ill, was hospitalised twice, had a minor mental break down, had panic attacks in the bathroom at work every other day. Was super constipated … not sure if that’s related or not, but it’s true. All because I had to be OK, right? I had to be better than OK, the rules of society demand it. You get two weeks after someone dies, right? To sort yourself out? Shit, two weeks? You’re still in shock. The reality of the situation hasn’t even hit you yet. My two weeks were up, so I was ‘OK’. People always say ‘Let me know if you need anything’ Um … my fucking dad just died, I don’t know what I need. A hug, a tissue, a casserole … do you know what would be great? Is if you just

Jim, somewhere in Washington State, 1987 asked me how I’m doing. Like REALLY ask, not general pleasantries ask. People don’t say the C-word around you when someone you love dies from cancer. For me, there was only one thing I wanted to talk about - my dad. But no one wants to. They don’t speak his name, for fear of ‘upsetting you’. Probably because I’ll cry and tell you some fucked up shit. Like, when people die, their eyes won’t close. It’s

not like the movies. They just pop right back open. It’s creepy as fuck. It’s been one year, two months and five days—and I’m crying right now. Pain is inevitable and necessary. You can’t push it into a corner and forget about it. You gotta be present. Being present means feeling the pain. And, guess what? It fucking hurts. Holy shit does it hurt. [I wish I had known that it was OK to not be OK.] God, writing this whole thing has been a real head fuck. You know, three of my friends have had a ‘death’ since I started writing this. Two of them were C-word deaths. That sucked. I’m still sad, I’m still a little bit pissed off and I’m still not over it (sorry Dad). But, I’m kinda happy about that. I don’t want to ever be over it over it. Over it means you forget that person ever existed. Like some dickhead from highschool, whose name hasn’t crossed your mind in years. Why would I want to be over it? I’m quite happy to be in it. Because, all that pain and anger and sadness and fear means that I’m incredibly lucky. That amount of hurt can only come from the incredible, overwhelming emotion of love. If you’re lucky enough to feel the love, you can’t hide from the pain. No death is the same. This is my experience with one death, it was a big one for me, but my experience won’t be yours. I’m not a doctor, I haven’t done like a load of research into the psychology of grief and death and blah blah blah (that’s a lie, I have a little bit), I’m not here to give you advice (even though if you ask me, I so totally will ... and do have a few tips and tricks up my sleeve). Maybe your experience was/is the opposite of mine, I don’t know, I can only speak for myself. And, the whole point of writing this wasn’t to be like ‘when someone dies, you are gonna be fucked up forever’. Because you won’t and you shouldn’t. Strive for happiness (even when you feel like you don’t deserve it), keep living, not just existing. Be in the world. If you’re grieving, tell your friends and work to cop the fuck on, not to be dickheads. And that you expect them to take the initiative. And don’t, ever, apologise for not being OK. 55

SEASONAL AFFECTIVE DISORDER SO MUCH MORE THAN ‘WINTER BLUES’ BY KIRAN GREWAL

“In September when the shadows become subtlety exaggerated, I ride my bike home, a small seed of sadness growing inside me. I begin to project the cold, long, winter approaching, and my mood slowly shifts to a sadder place. I tell myself, ‘I better hold on to the sunny, warm days extra tightly this month before they vanish into the Australian outback.’ I suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder; it can be contributed to a lack of vitamin D, because of the less amount of sunlight in the winter months. They are for me always a time of dread, depression, and negative thinking.” We’ve all been there before - the clocks go back by an hour and before you’ve managed to say goodbye to summer, the darkness of winter creeps in. You wake up when it’s pitch black and by the time you get home it’ll be gloomy and dark again. The cold weather makes you sink into your snoods and grip your morning coffee that little bit tighter, soaking in the warmth of a hot beverage. Sure, for many of us, it will affect our mood in one way or the other, making us become a little more ratty and tired, but Seasonal Affective Disorder, otherwise known as SAD, isn’t quite the same. It’s a very real form of depression that is more severe and apparent during the winter months. The problem with this disorder is that it isn’t very well recognised, and when the symptoms become apparent, speaking up about this form of depression can be very daunting, making it easily dismissed as something conventional. I began my research by bringing up SAD to a few co-workers. Many hadn’t heard of it before, and when I went on to explain, I was met with a lot of them exclaiming, “Is that even a real thing?” You’d think I’d just told them that there’s an animal hybrid of a monkey and a dinosaur coming to steal Christmas, but that’s beside the point. I took to my favourite journalistic tool, Twitter, to find those who had some experience of SAD and would be willing to give me a better understanding of how they have learned to deal with the disorder, and how it has impacted their lives. It was here that I 56

came into contact with Brandon, who told me that most days he “can’t get out of bed because [he] just didn’t have any motivation to move.”

Brandon continued “During June, I find myself to be extremely productive, maximising everyday with bike rides, work, hiking, socialising, making trips to the beach and just trying to take advantage of every moment. Right now I just feel sad, literally. I’m trying to go through the normal routine of going to the gym, riding my bike, reading a book, but nothing is really giving me much hope. During these months the concept of existentialism and suicide seem to be a little more prevalent. Feeling my feelings is rigorous when vitamin D is deficient in the body. I have also spent the past 22 months sober from alcohol, a toxic trick I would use to numb my feelings. Last October, about 10 months into my sobriety I had the fortune of being in a relationship and moved into an apartment with my then girlfriend and her dog. My disorder was not very apparent, but even my newfound love and relationship suffered the burden of my struggles during the change of the weather and sun’s low horizon levels. She moved out in April, right near the tail end of all the dark, colder months. 12 months later, my relationship had ended and my feelings have become extremely difficult, more so than I can ever remember. My birthday is in December - I mostly find it tough to get excited, and often lose the desire to celebrate it with my friends and family. Most nights I just lock myself in my room, watching TV, trying to get a grasp on something to hold. It’s difficult. My mind just doesn’t want to get happy. I am craving alcohol and a cigarette more than I have in a very long time. Last night I put myself into a trance with a psychosomatically mind, believing it was carousel drunk. As winter approaches I must be proactive in conquering this disorder. I’m considering buying a plane ticket to Australia during January just to get a taste of long term heat and sunshine. I typically avoid travelling or living north of

Beth Allen, 21, a mental health YouTuber also spoke of her experience. “It’s the same most years - January to March feels like an absolute age. I’ve suffered with SAD for three years consecutively now. Getting that diagnosis was actually a huge relief. After being told it was just the ‘winter blues’ and that everyone feels the winter change, I felt really isolated from everyone at this time of year. It was only until I searched the term on Google that I realised how prolific this illness is. And that is what SAD is… an ILLNESS. It is real. And, boy does it feel real! The loss of appetite, trouble sleeping, added anxiety. I’ve learned ways to cope. I try and plan things to look forward to as well

as getting out in the daylight as much as possible. It’s the little things that really make the difference with SAD.” Laura Armstrong, a 28-year-old web editor from Worcester recounted her experience of SAD as a young teenager. “I had my first experience of SAD when I was fifteen and studying for my GCSEs. I remember suddenly feeling very down out of nowhere and nothing could lift my spirits. My symptoms included loss of appetite, difficulty concentrating, lethargy and an overwhelming feeling of sadness. It was early October and mock exams were looming. My parents took me to see my GP and I was diagnosed with moderate depression. The doctor believed it was the stress of exams behind my low mood and I was prescribed beta blockers which helped to mask the symptoms in the short term. There was no mention of SAD. The following year, my symptoms re-appeared out of the blue in both February and October. “This time, I was prescribed a longer course of antidepressants. My mum thought there was something strange about the timings. I had experienced none of these symptoms around the time of my actual exams in the summer so that

Illustration courtesy of Saskia Robertson

central California, because I know the cold and the shorter days will defeat me mentally. I am going to explore the concept of using a vitamin D supplement to help aid me until spring. If the sun is out I need to sit outside and just let it consume me. I’m finding it difficult to write about a disorder that makes me depressed because my motivation is completely zapped from me at the moment. I wish I could expand on it but it’s more difficult than I anticipated. I am hopeful that I figure out a practical and safe way to tackle these depressing winter months.”

didn’t seem to be a logical cause. She did some research online and that’s when I discovered SAD. The symptoms read like a checklist of everything I was feeling. We bought a SAD lamp and I used it for 15 minutes each morning. Since finding out about SAD, I’ve become increasingly more aware of how a lack of sunlight affects my mood. The difference in my mood after a series of cloudy days is pretty noticeable. Before I knew what SAD was, I could go for days without leaving the house. I know now that is really bad for me - I have to get outside in daylight every day, even if it’s just for ten minutes. Exercise has long been my main remedy for a low mood, so I make sure to get to the gym regularly in winter, even if it’s the last thing I feel like doing. I’ve found prevention is better than cure, so I try to take the necessary steps from August and September to keep my mood stable - exercise, a regular sleep pattern, good diet and light therapy from my SAD lamp. The diet aspect is still something I’m figuring out. A key symptom of SAD is craving carbohydrates, which doesn’t mix well with my naturally sweet tooth! I aim to fill up on warming, nutritious foods to avoid pigging out on sugary snacks in the evenings. Company also helps. Spending time with my friends and family stops me withdrawing into my own world.” Laura also told me how a good portion of her therapy has come from furry friends. “It’s not just human company, I’m mad about animals and this year, I’ve started volunteering at my local Blue Cross rehoming centre. There’s nothing like getting to cuddle lots of cats and kittens to brighten my mood!” I was also contacted by Ales Zivkovic, a psychotherapy counsellor who had previously written about similar topics for a variety of online platforms. I asked for his opinion on how seriously SAD is taken in comparison to other mental health illnesses, and whether the condition is really as prominent as we think it might be. Ales gave an interesting perspective. “In my work,I do not diagnose people and label them. You would need to talk to a psychiatrist in that case. However, what I can tell you is that I do see a rise in depression and anxiety related referrals especially in early spring and late autumn. Maybe to the surprise of some, referrals actually substantially decrease in December and January, which actually contradicts the very popular notion of rising depression during holiday season. However, the referrals that are made during this time often have to do with the fact that holiday 58

season is a time of slowing down for many. It is the time when people are less busy with work and even when at work are often constantly reminded of the shift in priorities of their co-workers—from focusing on the job to focusing on their families. Someone that avoided and neglected these personal and relational aspects of their lives and has resorted to work for compensation is now left without the main distraction they had to cope with their loneliness. Hence, this is the time when people start reflecting on their private lives, thinking about their future and thinking about what their current ways of living have got them to. And this can often result in despair and hopelessness—when one sees that they have nothing in their lives apart from the everyday running around and the job they do; that they are trapped in a destructive and toxic personal relationship which they have avoided on daily basis; that they are in the career that is going nowhere and is not fulfilling their inner needs. When people start reflecting on such things it brings about feelings of powerlessness, anger, despair, resentment, feeling lost and disoriented. And this is what often brings them to therapy. As with any other disorder, SAD also can be indicated on the spectrum of severity. One does not need to be psychiatrically diagnosed for them to be suffering from traits of SAD. Myself, as you can see from my opinion above, I regard the condition as a phenomenological emotional issue that can be well dealt with in therapy. I am not saying that the condition has nothing to do with season since we know that deprivation from light can result in lower mood, however, I think that attributing the depressive symptoms only to the lack of light would be a bit undermining of the condition,” Ales concluded. Laura Armstrong finished speaking to me with a hopeful message for people who are currently dealing with SAD, and her wise words, which have prominence to everyone, whether you have Seasonal Affective Disorder or not, have rang in my ears ever since. “I think we’ve come a long way in understanding SAD in the thirteen years since I was self-diagnosed. We’ve still got far to go however and I think my biggest tip to anyone suffering with SAD is to take care of yourself. Pay attention to your specific set of symptoms and work out a plan of action to deal with them. We all experience SAD differently and it’ll be a different set of techniques that helps each of us through. The most important thing to remember is that, it can be done.”

VISCERAL PLEASURE WHITNEY HARRISON

“Art to me is a physical form, its size and textures hold so much emotional power.”

When I first moved closer to the city a couple years ago, I made it a personal mission to immerse myself in art galleries and spaces of creativity. During my studies as a Fashion Journalism student, I have met and spoken to writers, photographers, curators and people who experience London and its culture first hand. Recently there have been a number of gallerists that have openly spoken about how less and less people are coming to visit their public spaces and see the art, as people would rather stay within the comfort of their own home and view it online. This year, London alone has seen five galleries close their doors, with the main factor being the lack of people coming in. This fills me with sadness. Art to me is a physical form, its size and textures hold so much emotional power and unless it’s been specifically created to be viewed online, experiencing it shrunken on a phone or computer screen is not ideal. Let’s not forget the curator’s efforts into setting up these public spaces and presenting us with unique visual conversations. However, looking at art online does have its pros. We are now seeing more and more art collections digitising their exhibitions and contributors works, creating a database and a platform for those who are unable to access or witness it. My only concern is whether it’s becoming a substitute for the real deal. I remember the first time I saw a painting by Henri Rousseau in the flesh. It was during the winter, in Paris, at the final home of Jacques Doucet at 33 rue Saint-James, which then became Pierre Bergé’s and Yves Saint Laurent’s apartment

many years later. Various works by Andre Derain, Henri Matisse, and George Braque among others passed through both collectors’ apartments and using a selection of masterpieces they owned, the exhibition seemed to pay homage to both artistcollectors. I walked through the entrance hall and vestibule that was linked by an impressive staircase sculpted by Joseph Csaky, into the hushed saloon and finally into the studio. Decorated by furniture that Doucet commissioned from young and talented designers. There displayed above a sofa by Marcel Coard was Henri Rousseau’s The Snake Charmer, 1907. Despite being over a hundred years old, it couldn’t have been more alive. When I recall back to this particular day it isn’t just the painting I remember but the intense beauty of the whole building. I remember the tour guide saying for both Doucet and Saint Laurent, their aesthetic stance could be summed up in a single phrase “The search for the perfect place.” They composed living museums for themselves, making their homes artistic installations that were works of art on their own. There is something so intimate about looking at art. You’re emphasising and trying to understand an artist’s mind. Amongst our digital lives, galleries are allowing us to stop and take a breather, they are spaces made for a daydream or an occasional debate and a lot of them are one of the few places you can visit for free in a city. Why would you replace such an engaging thing for something so removed? It’s like reading a food menu online and seeing pictures of the food, rather than going to the restaurant to try it.

Model & Styling - Kaguya Makeup - Laura Shynn Photography - Bao Ngo

REACH OUT AND

TOUCH FAITH

TECHNOLOGY AND THE HUMAN CONDITION VICTORIA FLEMING

The question of technology has marked, dogged, and guided art, intellectual thought, and human behaviour since the inception of the industrial revolution. We have shifted, adapted, and merged with the technological objects invented to ‘disrupt’ life, making living easier. By now, these objects have become seemingly indispensable appendages interceding in almost every aspect of our lives. We swapped out the unpredictable, occasionally irrational and myopic human for the reliable, the consistent, the efficient and artificial human-made for predictable regulation and networked systems. Spontaneity, irrationality, and human error poses too large a threat for such a regulated society. It becomes an almost criminal act (‘We can’t leave room for human error!’), a violation of the rational technological systems put in place (‘Don’t worry, there’s a system for that!’). Technology as the panacea for the untamed wildernesses of the human condition. It’s 9:00 AM. My quiet room is hostilely taken over by the incessant beeping of my phone’s alarm. I slowly and begrudgingly pull my sleeping mask above my head, turning to look at the fresh morning light slipping through the blinds. I reach down, grab the phone, turn my alarm off and scroll through the dozen emails sent from marketers, branders, and companies masquerading as individuals. No-one’s messaged me. I open up Facebook messenger. “Good morning,” I type to my friend. As I prepare myself for another day working at home, I know my connection to the outside world, to human beings, is regulated and managed by and through the screens I’ll stare blindly at until the night begins creeping back in through my windows. As we dimly forge ahead with our lives lived through screens, keeping ourselves busy devising new apps and programs to streamline our activities and beliefs, we must stop and wonder what consequences our quest for this pure reason, precision, exactness, and efficiency brings. 62

One concern is the formation of an objective personality. Originally coined by historian Lewis Mumford, the persuasive concept inspired other writers, philosophers, and intellectuals, including Herbert Marcuse. In Marcuse’s essay, ‘Social Implications of Technology’ he writes that an objective personality is “one who has learned to transfer all subjective spontaneity to the machinery which [they] sew, to subordinate [their] life to the ‘matter-of-factness’ of a world in which the machine is the factor and [they’re] the factum.” Technological regulation reduces human behaviour to a set of specified tasks, a learned and limited response to the machines and devices they’re working with. In other words, the efficiency of the individual to complete their monotonous and repetitive work, like the machine, is rewarded. As Marcuse writes “Human behaviour is outfitted to the rationality of machines.” And while Marcuse and Mumford are discussing the impact of machines in the 1940s, an earlier technological period, their critique still applies to the modern era. Whether you’re working the till at a fast food chain or local business, working at an industrial laundry facility, or tinkering with Facebook’s Ad Manager, your work is diluted to a set of predetermined tasks regulated by either technological machines or platforms. Work days are imbued with mind numbing to do lists with little space for non-mechanical engagement. I can’t help but feel an irrational craving for this absence – a space for spontaneity where I could inoculate myself from becoming one of the ‘working dead’. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen one of my closest friends, yet only five city blocks separate us. We chat often, sending messages back and forth online for the better part of each day. Still, a nagging anxiety takes hold of me whenever we communicate. This persistent fear hovers over me as I type out my long-winded rants, crude jokes, and perfunctory witticisms we use to remind ourselves

But it’s not my friend who’s causing this anxiety. It comes, unannounced, whenever physical distance needlessly encroaches on any of my relationships. A longing sadness creeps in; I feel disconnectedlyconnected. Everything we say to each other crosses through a series of electrical currents, wires, and glass barriers before we hear that ‘ding’ notifying us we have a new message. What we write is drafted, revised, censored. Our words are mechanically manufactured. Our minds may be constantly connected but our bodies are kilometres apart. I can feel her through her words but I cannot see her. While we chat each day, I find myself missing her more and more as time passes. Maybe if we spoke less online, we would see each other more. I can’t help but notice that this matter-of-factness and omnipresent regulation rampant in the workplace has trickled down into our personal and social lives. From developing our own manicured personas on social media, to relying on text based apps for the bulk of our communication with friends, families, partners, or co-workers, we are regulating our every word and move. And we’re doing it through the devices that have seemingly become the point, rather than the course. We are still existing within the parameters of the objective personality. Subjective spontaneity and irrationality are either sidelined or used as tools to prop up the image(s) we’ve created (and by manipulating the alleged spontaneity, it’s effectually cancelled out). The artificial and human-made still reigns, sacrificing a part of the human in the process. Canadian intellectual, Marshall McLuhan, refers to the development of new technology in a rather peculiar, yet fitting way. Similar to Marcuse, he warns that we become or conform to the technology we embrace. Once we adapt to this new technology, we perceive it as an extension of ourselves – we are reflected in the technological medium we use. With this extension, we engage

in the act of self amputation (we numb our perceptions through reflecting ourselves in a new material – you cannot actively be your human self and the reflected self at the same time). We become, what he terms, a ‘closed system’. But what does he mean by a closed system? McLuhan compares it to the ones described by doctors and medical researchers. In order to maintain a physical equilibrium, whenever the body notices an irritant or change, it ‘autoamputates’ – closes it – until the equilibrium is restored. With technological developments, we engage in the same process. We become over-stimulated by the new technology (it changes how we live and work) and in order to return to our equilibrium, we adapt, extend, and self amputate.

“I prefer to stay in. Going out makes me tired and it’s boring,” my friend blasély says to me. “Why?” I reply. “I’m tired of the spectacle,” she says. If we are constantly closing ourselves off in order to adapt to the endless stream of technological developments, whether it’s the industrial machine, a personal cellphone, or an online communication platform, how can we differentiate between our reflected self and our true self. You can see how we compartmentalise ourselves in the way we interact with each other, the objects we desire, and how we structure our lives. We fixate on how we look on a stranger’s screen yearning for social approval through a system of likes, comments, or reactions. We lust after the next big technological item to add to our collection. We let efficiency regulate our days, asking ourselves how we can ‘better manage our time,’ mirroring the efficacy of the machine. And when we indulge in our artificial persona, the identity we’ve made, does it eventually subsume who we might really be? Do we become completely engrossed by our objective personality, self amputating and isolating parts of ourselves in hopes of adjusting to the efficient, precise, and regulated technological world we live in? A profound sadness looms over my every day. This disconnected-connectedness I feel with my friends stretches beyond them and into myself. My mind is mired in wondering who I truly am. Perhaps this disconnected loneliness is a product of having too many closed systems (organs) without a body.

Illustration courtesy of Kati Kirsch

that we went to school. We’ve been friends for almost three years. I still find myself wondering, and stressing, over whether or not she’ll actually receive what I have to say, or what I mean to say, through the preciseness of my text and the exactness of the machines sending it.

ONE IN FIVE GRACE JACKSON

20% of women will experience some form of rape or sexual assault in the UK, and these are just reported cases.

‘One In Five’ was a project I started a long time ago. I started it without ever intending to share it, or for it to become what it has. After being raped, those who were closest to me made me feel like it was my fault, and like I had somehow caused it. I found solace in a Moleskine notebook - it never judged me and I could spill all of my feelings without pity or judgment. I would write in it most nights. Letters of anger to those who said they would never leave me and did, letters of anger to the men that did what they did. Scribbles of how I now looked at myself, and how I felt about myself. Mainly it just had a bunch of questions that I couldn’t answer yet haunted me. I hated when people found out what had happened and there was just silence. It felt like I had done something wrong, and this has been my main battle. If I could have changed the events somehow, I know I couldn’t, but I agonise over those minutes most days to see if something could have been changed. After one of my closest friends experienced something similar, went to the police within 72 hours and received no justice, I wanted to do something. I knew it didn’t matter how many times I told her it wasn’t her fault, my words would never change how she felt - I could see the pain in her eyes. I saw how she struggled with everything I did, the blame and the self hatred. I realised I had to use my photography to change how we perceive ourselves after we have been raped, and give ourselves back control and power. That notebook saved my life, and although I still struggle on the daily, it has helped me and I wanted to give that help to others. In the last few months, I have lots of positive feedback and met incredible women who refuse be silenced. All I wanted to do was help one person to not feel as shit as I did, and in all honesty if I just change one person’s mind, I feel I will have accomplished what I set out to do. I have big dreams as well, and hope that we can end the victim shaming and the rape culture we live in, and that as a society we can stand together and change the future for the next generation. I think the problem solving begins with education. We teach our teenagers all about sexual health and how to put on a condom, but consent is never spoken about and that baffles me. If you would like to be a part of the project please contact on info@gracejackson.co.uk and keep up to date with it on Instagram @gracerosejackson

ROMANCE IS DEAD

Photography, Creative Direction, Styling + Set - Adeola Aji @adeolaaji Make Up - Sukhy Bhandal @sukhyb_mua Model - Cheznay Diore @cdiore

SAD GIRL VICKY KEAR

I’ve always been a sad girl.

a way to fix it.

Growing up, I was that girl listening to Linkin Park at ear blistering levels, in big baggy hoodies, considering ever word as gospel. I would stay up late downloading A Perfect Circle tracks off LimeWire, I would cry in the mirror, I would walk the long way home in the rain on purpose. I was that bloody obvious.

And so, I went to the doctor: “I’m depressed, anxious, useless. I count things, I can’t leave the house without a routine of checks. I’m a miserable mess.” “Ah I see. Sounds like OCD. Have some therapy and have some drugs.” “No drugs thanks. But I’ll try the therapy.” “No meds? Are you sure?” “Oh yes”

I was at times depressed, in the typical Tumblrpoetry-razor-blade teenager sort of way, and I was always infuriatingly anxious (though I never gave a name to the shadow that I dragged around) and I have always checked everything. Checked electrics, checked doors and checked myself. Everything in threes, chewing equal times on each side of my mouth, counting stairs. I have an obsessive nature that is so inherently me, that I never considered was anything but normal. I never questioned my sad girl persona, in fact at times I guess I sort of liked it. I was that weird girl, and my self-involved-self clung to that in a world where I didn’t come up cool. In a strange way, I was happy to be that doleful girl, and I’m embarrassed to admit it made me feel special. I listened to music that told me so (shout out to Staind) and I watched myself reflected in Kerrang TV and MySpace profiles. To find a gap that fit me well was a relief – that weird sad girl. But, as we are prone to do, I grew up, and ‘sad woman’ doesn’t really have the same ring to it does it? Things escalated, rituals kept me awake at night, I struggled to go to work. I fell in love and found I had to explain to someone who I wasn’t prepared to lie to, why it took me so long to leave the house, why all the plugs were off when he came home. I had someone in my life who noticed when I left the pub hyperventilating, to go back home to make sure the oven was off, for the second time. I was forced to address the irrational behaviour I presented daily and I saw, for the first time really, how complacent I had become and how little control I had over myself - an uncomfortable reality reflected in his caring, certain, unmovable eyes. I realised I was hurting us, hurting this good thing, by being interminably sad. For the first time, I found myself looking for 70

Well, that’s the shortened version, but you get the picture. I was applauded. No meds? Well aren’t you brave. Usually everyone says yes to the meds, well done you. Utter bullshit of course. I didn’t want them for the right reasons, such as pouring unknown chemicals into my body to fix something I didn’t fully understand, but the bad reasons. I didn’t really want to change. I was afraid, afraid that I would take these miracle drugs, and stop being sad. Because, what was I without the sadness? Without the crippling anxiety? I wasn’t special that’s for sure. Who would I even be, if I wasn’t sad anymore? Identity is something that fascinates me, and something I’m still learning how to truly grasp. The sad girl is so steeped in my soul, she was intrinsic to the self I had created, and I was afraid of what would be left of me if I took her away. Sometimes when I was happy, I felt like a traitor to myself. I felt fake. The letter came through my door with the date of my appointment, and I (typically) cried. I was fucking scared. I don’t really remember a lot about those sessions now. They were a blur of 12 Thursdays of difficult talking therapy, of pulling apart bits of me and finding things underneath I didn’t like. My therapist was amazing, as was Croydon IAPT. We talked and tested and trialled and I really, really tried. But 12 half an hour appointments to change a lifelong practice, maybe my very nature, it’s just not enough. I was a lot better, I was back at work every day, but in some ways the talking had only made me more aware of my coping mechanisms, and how to develop shiny new complicated rituals to avoid getting better. I was depressed, because I now felt I was

failing at being happy too. And so, after much gut wrenching consideration, I went on the medication. Oh Sertraline, my tiny new friend. Getting used to you was hard, nauseating and weird. For a week I felt empty, all my worst fears realised - maybe without the sadness, the compulsiveness, I really was nothing. A void. They asked if I felt better. “Yes” I said, so much better. But did I? I just felt different. And though the emptiness wore off and normality followed, I still feel different.

Illustration courtesy of Sophie Kirk

Who am I now? The fuck if I know. I know I’m not sad all the time. I can leave the house, but I do still check, check, check. Now, I can see my anxiety coming a mile off, and find a way to breathe through that runaway train. I’m in a new job I love, though I can tell you exactly how many stairs there are down to our office, because I count them daily. Dare I say I’m happy? Yes. But I’ve learnt that it is all about balance. There isn’t something to ‘fix’. Sometimes I’m sad, and that’s okay. My emotions do not define me, and that sad girl in me isn’t going anywhere - I’m just learning how to keep her in check.

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