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A plastic army of perfect size 8’s stand dormant in the shopping centres, Their impassive faces stare in all directions against the battle song drone of funnelled elevator music, And their power grows with every passing inferiority complex projected onto the blank canvas of their wipe-clean skin. They are the undead icons of the cathedral of the cash registers, They feed off our desires as we visit them on weekend pilgrimages, As we pledge our allegiance to their new world order by exchanging paper offerings for their latest seasonal uniform. We make ourselves in their image, In our unrelenting lust for the stasis of silicon symmetry, we try to disappear. To become invisible as we cruise from purchase to purchase on bloodless autopilot, Towards a nirvana of inhumanity.

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Long, long ago, in a land far, far way, I’d sit by my grandmother’s side while she read me fairytales.

I’d duck under my blanket in fear from the monsters she conjured in my mind and burrow into the safety of the nook of her arm. Some nights I wonder if I am still that child. Only now I hide from the terror of the unknown under a threadbare blanket of economic security and perpetually attempt to snuggle into the arms of an unloving mother state. I feel like we are all imaginary characters. That we’re all caught in the paralysis of a global metropolis of images, wandering like ghosts past billboard after billboard of unattainable happy endings. The fictions on which we built this kingdom are becoming muddled and the old stories are turning on us. Perhaps it’s time we stopped telling tales.

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Ding Dong the Wolf is dead! Wake up sleepy head! Rub your eyes, Get out of bed! Wake up! The Wicked Wolf is dead!

The poacher got him in the head,

His coat will be a new bed spread, Or perhaps a lovely coat instead. Beasts be careful where you tread! Man’s out for nature Blood will be shed.


Mirror mirror on the wall,

Who’s the fittest of them all? In Snow White’s death the dwarves had changed, They’d nipped and tucked and re-arranged. So when Snow White awoke from sleep, With princely kiss so staid and sweet...

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She took one look at him and gagged,

Said “I don’t want this posh old bag!”

The dwarves looked on expectantly Snow White turned and squealed with glee, “Wow, Seven buff lads, all for me!” And they lived (for a while) happily.

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Text: Holly Lucas Layout: Jiaxin Zheng Page 2-3, 17-18, 21, 26 Photographer: Simon Eymann Page 4-5 (Clockwise from Top Left) Photographer: Hyung Lee, Jiaxin Zheng, Hyung Lee Model: Daphne Lazarus Page 6 (Clockwise from Top Right) Photographer: Hyung Lee, Jiaxin Zheng Model: Daphne Lazarus Page 7 Photographer: Jiaxin Zheng Hair & Makeup: Angie Chen, Eugenia Toh Model: Angie Chen Page 8-9 Photographer: Hyung Lee Art Director: Doh Lee Hair & Makeup: Angie Chen, Eugenia Toh Model: John Schwenzer, Angie Chen, Hyung Lee Page 10, 19, 20 Photographer: Yoon Kyung Kim Makeup Artist: Chaewon Seo Models: Maya Littman, Hyo Gyoung Jeon, Svetlana Lebedeva Page 11-16 Photographer: Holly Lucas Stylist: Sam Voulters Nails: Jen McColl Models: Rosy Cherrington, Dora Miller, Rosa Burgess Contributing Design Editor: Kai En Tan, Jocelyn Fong Contributing Video Editor: Seong Young Lee

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PASSÉ IS A COLLABORATION http://passemagazine.tumblr.com Hyung Lee Jiaxin Zheng Yoon Kyung Kim Simon Eymann Holly Lucas

http://www.raysoda.com/pemi http://cargocollective.com/bjebjeyiaxin http://www.ohsomeshow.com http://www.simoneymann.com hellohollylucas@gmail.com 25


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PASSÉ