Bloom I05: Spring 22, Think Pink by bloomxmagazine

contributors

editor's note

lauren lauren x x 5

contents BLOOM I05 Fashion & Beauty

Film

Creative Writing

Think Pink

Music

Love & Relationships

Health & Wellbeing

PHOTOGRAPHY: MOON IMMISCH,@MOONIMMISCHPHOTOGRAPHY, BRISTOL DESIGNER & MODEL: SQUID, @SQUIID.S 9

f a s h i o n & b e a u t y

PHOTOGRAPHY:KASEY, @KASEYSPHOTOGRAPHS DEVON

f a s h i o n & b e a u t y

PHOTOGRAPHY: MCKENZIE, @MCKENZIEFITZX,CHICAGO

ART: LAUREN BURNS,@LAURENELBURNS, GLASGOW 14

How 2000s Chick Flicks Changed Our Perception of Pink Pink. Delicate, sweet, cute, romantic, charming, feminine. Before the likes of Sharpay Evans, Elle Woods, and The Plastics emerged onto our screens in the early 2000s, society’s perception of pink was one of softness, reserved for ballerinas and princesses, things that were deemed vulnerable and in need of protection. This out-dated perception of pink stems from the years after WW2 when the colour was reserved for women, encouraging society to perceive them as weak and vulnerable to reestablish pre-war gender norms – the homemaker and the breadwinner. This connotation of pink seemed to stick until the surge of chick-lit films in the early 2000s birthed icons donning a rainbow of pink. Powerful female characters wore every shade from baby pink to bubblegum. Whether they were a trio of school bullies or a misunderstood law student, it was undeniable that each character held a certain power, mirrored by their favourite colour. They weren’t afraid to tap into the femininity that the colour pink held and used it to fuel their power – winning court trials and running schools. Whilst some of our favourite fuschia wearing characters held the mean girl title, most of them served us valid learning lessons while twisting our perception of pink. Elle Woods held her own when a sleuth of Harvard Law students snickered at her monochrome hot pink leather skirt suit. Sharpay Evans taught us that it’s fine to fail. She turned heads in a pleated pink snake print mini skirt and matching fringed knee-high boots as she marched into school determined and sure of herself - despite losing the Lava Springs talent contest just weeks before. Regina George showed up to the Spring Fling in a gorgeous blush-coloured satin gown after being hit by a bus, learned from her mistakes, and started to work on herself. Despite being fictional characters, the 2000s teen movie queens put new power into pink, and we haven’t looked back. Pink. Delicate, sweet, cute, romantic, charming, feminine – and

powerful.

WORDS: LIZZY SWINERD,@LIZZYS1302 / @LIZZYSWINERDJOURNO, SHEFFIELD 15

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The Timelessness of Midnight in Paris O

ur protagonist, Gil, gets lost one night while strolling in a dim-lit city street, only to be saved by

a 1928 Peugeot that drives up out of nowhere and takes him to an eight-decade-old party in the past. If this setting alone is not inviting enough, Gil ends up dancing with Fitzgerald, venting to Dali, and sharing his novel with Hemingway and Gertrude Stein. As happened in The Purple Rose of Cairo, the only way to escape an unsatisfactory reality is the dimension of the dream. In the 1985 film, Mia Farrow sought refuge in a suburban cinema to forget her miserable daily life, whereas Gil plunges into the magic of the Parisian golden age. Midnight in Paris is a lovely movie. It is heartwarming, funny, and features Marion Cotillard! But with its release over a decade ago, what makes it memorable? In my opinion, there are three aspects to it: comfort through art, the soundtrack, and romance.

Gil travelling back in time represents us as viewers, not trying to escape time but seeking consolation. Art is difficult to define, yet most of us tend to turn to a form of it for comfort. Midnight in Paris understands this by focusing on our feelings of alienation from reality and our yearnings for fulfilment. Setting the time jump in Paris, a city overflowing with art and literature, the film begins by outlining its nostalgic route. Many films have done this before. Although Midnight in Paris stands out, offering viewers joy and selecting parts of the past to highlight. It focuses on works from the 'lost generation', the writers who impacted contemporary society during the 1940s and revealed the effects the first war had on most people.

Let's take Hemingway's introduction as an example, a man's man who speaks as he writes, in assertive, tyrannical sentences that contrast hilariously with Gil's wavering tone. During his first scene, Hemingway asks Gil if he can box, and in his last, he is drunk and pleading for someone to fight him. Then there was F. Scott Fitzgerald's tenderness, although the film does not get too into his bleak marriage to Zelda. Gil meeting them is one of the funniest scenes. Not yet knowing he has time-travelled, he's baffled over the coincidence that a person named F. Scott Fitzgerald also happens to have a wife named Zelda. To Gil, each conversation he had with one of the notable artists was a form of consolation, whether he was speaking to Fitzgerald over broken relationships or to Hemingway about his fear and vulnerability.

As viewers, we are encouraged to reflect through the conversations, like the table scene with photographer Man Ray, filmmaker Luis Buñuel and young Salvador Dalí. Every instance makes you want to be a part of it more and more because, ultimately, their art existed to lighten a sense of disillusionment and satisfy a craving to return to a simpler past. Much like our protagonist does, and much as we do.

As it was also the golden era of jazz, the soundtrack played into the viewers' senses. With catchy songs like (my personal favourite), 'Si Tu Vois ma Mère', a charming tone is set that can attract a wider audience. The viewer only requires a basic knowledge of literature, architecture, cinema, and art to catch the numerous nods to 19th century culture. Midnight in Paris, unlike previous cases, does not demand a prior familiarization with all the artist's characteristic trademarks. Midnight in Paris had a scope large enough to capture a city and its artistic figures. It's not a surprise this film works as well as it does; it's goofy, pompous and sentimental to a fault. I'm a total sucker for everything it's about, so it won me over. If anything, setting the tone of the vintage city with jazzy hits speaks to nostalgia.

Midnight in Paris had the perfect balance of romance, poetry and irony. However, the romance in this film didn't feel like it was between the protagonist and the women he met. It felt like it was between the protagonist and time, which is such a beautiful concept. I've always liked movies that defy our general perception of romance, and Midnight in Paris did just that. It wasn't a love story between two people per se. It was a story of a writer learning to love where he was. Something I feel most of us fail at as we tend to look at the past with rose-tinted glasses. Even though we weren't any happier five years ago than we are now. Midnight in Paris was a surreal and bittersweet fairy tale where love is -once again- seemingly the cure. In the end, this obsessive desire for 'somewhere else' only averts us from seizing the prospects of a present time that - like any other era - can give us surprising opportunities and urges for change.

It is up to us to perpetuate and receive joy as it was up to Gil. 'Adriana, if you stay here though, and this becomes your present, then pretty soon, you'll start imagining another time was your... golden time. Yeah, that's what the present is. It's a little unsatisfying because life's a little unsatisfying.' The ending is as whimsical as one would assume it to be. Gil decides to stay and meets a woman with the same name as the woman he met in the 1920s. It's surreal even for Parisian culture, yet it still works. Midnight in Paris is a movie to be viewed lightheartedly. It is a simple, charming fairytale for literary lovers.

by Nakshatra, Sharjah, United Arab Emirates

. Creative writing

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Creative Writing . Creative Writing. Creative Writing. Creative

Creative Writing . Creative Writing. Creative Writing.

art: Izzy Lawrence, @izzylawrenceart, Falmouth

h m o a t e e r l d by Jess Roses, @vvitchprincess,Encinitas

PHOTOGRAPHY: SHIRAZ KOOK, @SHIRAZKOOK,LONDON

inside me is a hotel with walls painted pink a chandelier glittering above me, as i perch on a velvet settee and watch the ghosts check in and out at the courtesy counter of the grand hotel. men in suits too big for them, opaque against the gilt; a woman in a polka dot dress with a red kiss, her saturation drained as she dabs on lipstick hoping for a technicolor smile; a small dog on a thin leash, trotting briskly behind a matron dressed in a fur coat and a glower, the dog does not seem bothered in the least as the matron shrieks at yet another bellhop; no one knows they don’t exist in the grand hotel. but Others lurk in the foyer ragged and clutching at themselves, halfway to understanding they aren’t real in the way that they believe in and terrified of what lies behind the doors of the grand hotel. so they linger in the shadows a thin girl in a flannel nightgown holds herself as if to keep her ghostbones together wandering the hallways in the night and looking for an unlocked window from which to fly as history repeats with a shatter, scream, crunch ; a man with a beer belly and a ruddy face overflows on a barstool and orders Just One more while his blood begins to boil and the rage froths at his mouth again violence is a cycle ; hair pinned up without a strand out of place, an old lady with a bun the color of silver and eyes the color of milk strums the harp in endless song lost in the wilds of melody ; there’s never a quiet night at the grand hotel as it fades to the back of the mind. 25

I Call Myself a Poet poetry always seems to find me when I need it most in the soft pastels of the wildflowers that only bloom for themselves never seeking validation from others the way we constantly do the gentle breeze of the ocean following close behind as the waves crash against the shore their strength rising and falling just as mine at times does too it wraps its comfort around me as I walk home the rain hiding the tears that fall ever so slowly my feet sinking deeper into the puddle of anxiety before me the golden light flickering through the trees dancing on the pages of the navy blue journal I’m writing in and I call myself a poet because stringing words together from my deepest emotions is how I make sense of the world and if I ever feel lost as if I’m wandering aimlessly poetry will always find me by Esther Gonzales, @esther.poetry, Cranford 26

Milk Tea’s Rainy Daydream little teaspoon hearts, pouring sugar into tea more than she really needs, she likes her tea milky and sweet. little pink roses, blooming on the hedge a sure sign of golden suns to come a sure sign that her heart begins to bloom too. when the boy walks with her to class third period her mind was singing third period his nervous thoughts and hopes and plans were ringing she can’t quite fathom the fact, the small secret hovering unspoken in sping rain between them. they’re drenched and she can’t quite grasp why she doesn’t mind mascara dripping black into her eyes when she stands three inches too close for friendship by his side. behind building C, he touches her hand cold skin shivering eyes widen, deer in headlights both sweetened and soaked and when he kisses her he tastes the sugar in her milky tea. Jess Roses, @vvitchprincess, Encinitas,

Segall Sanchez, @segallsanchez, Carlstadt 28

PHOTOGRAPHY: CARA BARBOUR, @CBARBOUR.MEDIA,GLASGOW 30

Downtown Doll california winters, inbetween the cold and the crash crash crash of the sea on the beach see the golden roses hang suspended from the heavens as the sunset gilts their angel-wing edges pink and tingling. dance in the bloom of that dying sun you reckless beast you are no beautiful creature, no celestial being. how many stars have you wished on to become something soft and and small and sweet i’m sorry, god cannot change human nature only create, only watch us succumb to fate. downtown doll, you are wide-eyed red-lipped, swinging hips palest skin on the outside but your bones hold a secret that nobody knows if you break that hollow skeleton open you’ll find violence and war, terror and gore in vogue here, at the end of my beautiful war. not the pretty thing in the mirror but a Trojan horse. not just a princess but a warrior.

by Jess Roses, @vvitchprincess, Encinitas

Lines for Strawberry Fortune Cookies after Frank O’Hara Thank you for watching Food Network with me all night. Please leave a sticky note whenever you go to the bathroom. Sorry for hiding behind your legs during fire drills. Do the Stitch voice and I won’t burn down my Sim’s house. Teach me how to palm strike before we Eskimo kiss. Look through my nostrils like an airport scanner. Flying would be easy if I could sleep under your seat. Working would be easier if you could email me your breath. I have been saving the chocolate tips of my Cornettos for you. I have been heating up your Play-Doh heart to make it soft again. There’s nothing weird about browsing the NHS website together. There’s nothing wrong with sharing the same worry tree. Am I the only man you’d choose over a weighted blanket? You’re the only man I’d stop picking my cuticles for.

by Italo Ferrante

Had Enough of Love

i’m drunk on you and it’s destroying me. i search for the answers in places i don’t believe my mother’s cupboards paperline fortunes in their sweet-crunch shells. i can’t place our conversations. i think they’re the butterfly nebula in my big bright book about space the pages flap like wings i would sew to my shoulder blades fighting the tightest kitestrings to heaven’s gate, to let the flood out, break Shakspeare down not into pentameter but pieces like me. my rhythm is the s-s-scatter of the thunderstorms that curl my hair soaking the page at the edges you run like ink. i gave up more than my pink lipstick for this. enough is enough. but i need to believe in it first.

by Jess Roses, @vvitchprincess, Encinitas

PHOTOGRAPHY: CARA BARBOUR, @CBARBOUR.MEDIA,GLASGOW 35

summer's day Remember when we spent all summer Traveling from one coast to the next Spinning tales about a witch In the east of the east Amber glow of fire light and tequila Radiate from your face You spin another tale We trade dreams like currency Like figs in a tree That rot by the time they land at your feet Exchanged over dollar floats at The Dr. Pepper factory On grainy distant shores Where the sky is pink On the slanted grey roof by your window Over sips of stolen peppermint schnapps We watch the sky burn From red to gold Basking in the hue Until it fizzles to black Again and Again and Again Dreaming of every possible reality Until it times to go back again

by Simran Bhakta, @ MyFriendsCallMeSim, Texas

dandelion Somehow when I’m with you my every thought seems to float from my mouth like the seeds from a dandelion ‘til I feel like a stem without my head. I don’t know why. Perhaps I want you to know everything of me. Or perhaps you make me wish I could somehow be empty. by Sean Paul Connolly, @seanpaulconnollypoetry, London

PHOTOGRAPHY:JOLEE MALLMANN@JOLEE.JPG 38

90’s Baby Take me back to Too long summer days spent by the lake Hot pink beach towels and Sunkissed skin The wind through my hair as I sit on The handle bars of your baby blue bike Screaming that we’re going to fast Only to do it all over again

Take me back to Stolen nights where we crawled Out of open windows or Strategically placed ladders Shrieks of laughter Running down dark streets With stolen liquor bottles

Take me back to Staying up until the dawn spills Over the horizon like a broken egg yolk But we pay it no mind Keep trading dreams like We’re exchanging currency Stars in our eyes and love on our mind

Take me back to When I saw you everyday When we had no responsibilities When the biggest concern was hypothetical When everything was possible When we were full of potential When we were everything

by Simran Bhakta, @ MyFriendsCallMeSim, Texas

th i

nk pin

PHOTOGRAPHY: MOON IMMISCH,@MOONIMMISCHPHOTOGRAPHY, BRISTOL DESIGNER & MODEL: SQUID, @SQUIID.S

thi

p i k n n

Pink [Fashionable] Pink Things (pink is a concoction of red and white). The following are pink: azaleas, butterfly-bushes, cherries, dragonfruit on their outsides, elephant ébauches, flamingos, grapes, humans, ice skates, jellyfish, kaleidoscopes, lollipops, macarons…and sometimes the sky; is awash with—and in— pink!

The cotton candy a teenager shares with her sister; the tutu she wears for her performance at the Sleeping Beauty recital; the roses she puts in a friend’s bleached and dyed hair; the hot pink bubblegum she absolutely cannot blow bubbles with; the russet tones she must have expected. In adulthood, when emotions are wistfully the same as those of childhood but without the simplicity - pink is the blush of nastic nostalgia; of opulent optimism; of passion and pain; of quarrelsome quintessence; of rain and rage; of sadness and sehnsucht; of temperament and triumph; of unquiet and uneasiness; of vain vigour; of worrisome wonder; of xenophobic xenomania; of yielded youth; of zest and of zeal. Of zen.

by Sriya J. N., @sriyajnaik, New Delhi

he 1950s. The decade after the

Audrey’s ‘Thinking Pink’ attitude

second world war which prohibited

dismissed these thoughts and

a colourful wardrobe palette.

standards by letting women feel

When women could only afford

assertive, expressive and bold,

black and beige, Audrey Hepburn

securing femininity in the finest

reinvented and re-defined

way. The colour perpetuated its

femininity with one colour - pink.

way through high-fashion brands,

Hepburn once said,

“I believe in

including Dior and Vogue.

pink.” More than a mere

As Maggie Prescott said in the

statement, it alluded to a greater

film, girls were to

Hepburn ensured these traits and

“Banish the black, burn the blue, and bury the beige. From now on, girls, think pink!”

feelings were available for mid-

Although, throughout the decades,

century women to achieve and

this explosion of femininity and

obtain.

expression has, arguably, become

She did this through various looks,

stigmatised. The idea of ‘Thinking

but Hepburn’s outfit in Funny Face,

Pink’ Hepburn once pioneered has

which saw her wearing a jewelled

turned into being 'girly' in

crown, bold makeup accompanied

contemporary society and has lost

by a pink cape-let and a white silk

its passionate meaning.

dress, was amongst her most

When speaking to friends, they

iconic.

admitted to not knowing about the

I believe this breathtaking

historical themes attached to the

wardrobe choice showcased the

colour pink. I wasn’t aware of them

pink spirit in the best possible way,

until watching the infamous film

for it was a projection of female

myself. You definitely do not need

confidence. Therefore, this 1957

to wear (or like) pink to identify as

American musical played a

a woman. But, Hepburn

dominant role in cementing the

reappropriated the colour to show

colour’s association with women in

women they shouldn’t be

1950s society. Historically, women

submissive to anyone. Throughout

of the time were confined and

her career and lifetime, she proved

submissive, arguably mirrored in

that beauty means more than the

their generally plain fashion

physical, saying:

meaning. Pink connotes nurture, power, love, and desire, and

choices. I feel this is a product of

“I believe happy girls are the prettiest girls.”

conforming to the societal

So, ultimately, thinking pink is to

standards plastered across the

find confidence.

world at the time.

by Sophie Kelly, @_sophie.kelly 45

PHOTOGRAPHY: MOON IMMISCH,@MOONIMMISCHPHOTOGRAPHY, BRISTOL DESIGNER & MODEL: SQUID, @SQUIID.S

22 48

F*ck Pink

pink pink to make the boys.. forget them, forget pink wear what you like paint your bedroom bright

yellow because it reminds

you of the flowers in the gardens where you walked in lockdown in your one hour of freedom paint your nails bright green and your hair orange because f*ck what they say all that matters is that when you look in the mirror you see the person you feel not who they want you to be pink or not

by Abbi Smith, @ab_smithers, Scarborough

PHOTOGRAPHY: SIEANNA ROWE, @SIEANNAPHOTO,CHICAGO/ARIZONA 49

finding femininity Courtney Kerrigan-Bates

PHOTOGRAPHY: MOON IMMISCH @MOONIMMISCHPHOTOGRAPHY BRISTOL DESIGNER & MODEL: SQUID, @SQUIID.S

hen I was a little girl, there wasn’t much I knew for certain. I knew my name, I could

see my features in the mirror, I knew, from school, that I was better at reading and writing than adding and subtracting. But I didn’t know much about my personality, who I truly was or who I wanted to become. All I knew for certain was that I wanted to be strong and brave, like Bugsy Malone and Sharkboy. In the playground, I’d attempt to climb the shed until I split my stomach open, a stupid act of ‘bravery’ that I’m still scarred from. In the swimming pool, I’d spend more time underneath the water, showing off how long I could hold my breath, than above. In the streets of my neighbourhood, I’d play with the boys, and I wouldn’t flinch when one of them pulled out a BB gun (but I’d scream like a girl when I was accidentally shot with it). The older I got, the desire to be brave and strong only grew. I started to reject all the pretty dresses, skirts and boots my mum had dressed me in for years and leant towards traditionally masculine clothes. In year six, I turned up to a non-school uniform day in jeans and a hoodie from the boy’s section. That same year I visited my cousin’s house and called out to him, ‘I have that hoodie!’, to his confusion and probably disgust. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I was brainwashed by the idea that to be brave and strong, you must be a man. Or, at least, you have to be as close as you can get to masculinity. Honestly, I rejected femininity for longer than I realised and longer than I’d like to admit. As I entered high school, and realised wearing boy clothes and cutting my hair short wasn’t exactly socially acceptable, I moved from one outdated idea of strength and bravery to another. I convinced everyone around me (and myself) that I was not like other girls. I dyed my hair, winged my eyeliner and wore baggy graphic t-shirts. I played Band Hero and watched Scott Pilgrim vs The World. I had sleepovers with my guy friends and pretended not to feel physically sick as I stared in hidden horror at The Human Centipede, silently wishing we could just put on Wild Child. Realistically I was incredibly insecure that my femininity was a huge weak point, whilst painfully aware that I wasn’t - and wasn’t sure if I’d ever be - genuinely brave and/or strong. I was letting myself be a victim to a patriarchal society and to my own silly little brain, and I didn’t wake up to that until I was directly called out on it. If my task to appear as this unbreakable girl had gone on much longer, my confidence would’ve kept shrinking, my view of the world would’ve stayed stagnant, and I’d have missed out on an incredible amount of joy. On my twenty-third birthday, I wore a big pink dress that made me look like a cast member of Toddlers and Tiaras and a marshmallow simultaneously, and I’ve never looked back. I’ve fallen in love with women being typically feminine and vulnerable and open. I’ve watched films like Emma, Little Women and Midsommar to teach myself that being any kind of girl isn’t weak. I read books and essays and listen to podcasts that help me unpick why I was so sure that, as a little girl in a little white dress, I could never be taken seriously, even by myself. And this quiet revelation has made me so much happier than I can begin to explain. The majority of us have to do work to feel at home in our bodies. And I acknowledge the work I have done is a lot easier than some of my friends, family members, colleagues, etc. But peeling back this layer of disguise and disgust has been the first step in a mountain of work I have to do to unpick the beliefs I’ve been sold since childhood that act to my disadvantage now. So, take this as your reminder that we can be rom-com loving, pink handbag swinging, hairflipping, ditzy, silly little girls and still be the brave, strong women that our younger selves dreamt of becoming.

The rose colour of my eye Sees deep into the pores of your milky white skin And into the Galaxy that lies deep within, The bloody star of your heart beams Colour to Your cheek Magic - don’t you think? Look you’ve turned tickled Pink. Icy cherry blossom Bloom through cracks in cement, crevices of skin. They see candy coated pink clouds And eye taste the blood sugar Rush through the Red vines of The veins. My other eye - the colour of Blue seas Water to wash away Each way of life Flesh turned to pink From the heat of The light A blue light to uncover every Human stain and a Blue mouth to whisper Is it too late For change? One eye is a gift and the other’s a curse. If I picked them out Could I see better Or worse?

by Sean Paul Connolly, @seanpaulconnollypoetry London PHOTOGRAPHY: DENADA KUKA, @DENADAKUKA , LONDON

I was born under a bubblegum sunset. Pink was my haven, Blushing bedroom walls the same shade as the pastel rose bush in my neighbor's yard. Pink was my nature, The root of my spirit matching the carpet of cherry blossom petals flattened by the training wheels of my hot pink bicycle. Pink was my taste, Red fruits blending into strawberry pink smoothies that my mom made for me every Tuesday after kindergarten. Pink was my expression, Outrageous smears of neon lipstick temporarily transforming me into a pop star, a princess, a party girl. I still live in a state of spring.

by Segall Sanchez, @segallsanchez, Carlstadt ART: NAOMI KARSUDJONO, @NAOMIKARSUDJONO, BANJARBARU, INDONESIA 55

PHOTOGRAPHY: SAM GIARDINA,@SAM_GIARDINA 58

[Bottom] Growth

Prune the plumage — Lush pinks, purple hues Wrapped in petals of power A blooming flower — Mother of Pearl Plump with desire: Dewy droplets Dream only at dawn. My watered garden Guarding its green — A most beautiful truth I ever did see: it is me Same melody, lower key. K

by Kayden Vargas, @drkmv2021, Moxee WA

PHOTOGRAPHY: @SARAHROSEPHOTO_ 60

Speaking Pink

Grace King, @gracelouiseking, London

nce upon a time, in a magical land where handsome princes rescued fair maidens from burning buildings, there lived a beautiful princess who lived in a castle in the woods. She wore dresses of fine silk and satin, with full skirts, and delicate lace. Her rich dark brown skin that shone in the golden light was the object of many a suitor's desire, a divine jewel that none could earn. She spent her days reading poetry, composing symphonies, learning Greek, marvelling at the world around her, not knowing how it marvelled back in return. And without fail, whatever day of the week, she dressed purely in pink. Rose gold, gentle shades of blush, or shocking splashes of flamingo, bold, flirtatious yet discreet. It was the colour that sang each time she draped a new dress across her bed or held it against her shoulder. Pink was a language she danced in and for those who didn’t understand, it wasn’t her job to translate fabulous to commoners. So you see, although countless suitors were smitten by her twinkling pink trimmings and deep magenta shawls, there were a fair few degenerates who sought to discredit this princess’ reputation. In fact, outside the castle, through the woods, past the stream at the end of the valley and along the craggy mire where the goblins lived, dwelt the princess’ arch enemy. An evil fiend who sought nothing more than to destroy and take away all that was good. He was called Male Spite. He decided that her wealth, spiritual, emotional, educational as well as financial, was something to hate. Not fear but hate. The most insecure form of disregard. Her days spent eating strawberries and musing about the origin of thought, he deemed wasteful. Male Spite presumed her mind was empty and her heart insipid, because he didn’t see volumes on their shelves with her name on the spine. But he himself was the spineless fool who decided, because there were no cities founded in her name, cures for diseases, or machines she had invented, her intellect and her beauty was cheap.

And so the language she spoke became a slur used against her. Pink sheets he called “sl*t”, pink dresses he called “prude”. He placed taxes on all that was pink, making her poorer by the day. Her hand woven pink garments which read ‘elegance and skill’, he rewrote to be ‘childlike and boring’. Reams and reams of fabric varying from exquisite depths of coral to outrageous shades of watermelon, were banished from polite society by Male Spite’s fiery insistence that a princess’ joy was no longer permitted anywhere he was near. As this princess watched all that she loved be torn to shreds, she wept many a tear and was saved no scorn as Male Spite threw scented pink tissue at her with cruel mockery. Years went by and our fair maiden had not a penny to her name with the forever growing taxes on pink. Her dresses were in tatters, her bright pink braids became matted, and the only sparkle that the wore, she wore in her eyes with a decided frenzy. Pink was no longer language that whispered sweet nothings through the trees, it roared outside the castle, through the woods, past the stream at the end of the valley and along the craggy mire where the goblins lived. Pink echoed throughout the land and wrapped itself around Male Spite with a grip so tight, he quickly realised would not be relinquished until he gave up his wicked ways. You see, our princess had never listened to the awful things Male Spite had said about her language anymore than she listened when he told her not to wear a taffy miniskirt with bubblegum slippers. Our princess wore pink come rain or shine, whether it be dignified or rebellious, simply depending on how she might feel. Monday for board meetings, Tuesday for visits to the library, even more on Wednesdays, Thursdays to study the inner workings of the male mind, and Friday for drinks by the river with all her other princess friends. Quite simply, wearing pink is pretty. It is magnificent, bold, drastic, and considerate. Hot pink is what you wear on first dates and first days of work. Blush at weddings and a flush of fuchsia when waiting for trains. Pink is for marches and for newborns, for evenings at the Met Gala, and fluffy pjs during winter. And as a language, well, you best sit quietly and listen now, before we stand up and scream.

The Road To Peace Does Not Seem So Far Away

I should be happy. I should be smiling so hard my cheeks and their chubbiness would no longer represent an insecurity which has haunted my youth. I should laugh so hard and so loud I forget the search for the truth. However, there is an emptiness which I dare let define my lively spirit. Perhaps I can pass the blame onto never having a place to call home. The constant fear which still lingers when my mother decides to speak out loud in our native language in case people turn their heads. I know I should not care but there are glimpses of moments when I still do and it leaves me rather furious. Perhaps I could blame it on how difficult people have found it to pronounce my name over the years, with some not even trying to say it right. Perhaps the blame also can be placed on the girls who used me and witnessed my presence as an experiment and a fun thing to try while my heart was being ripped into pieces. There are so many things I believe can be the reason for this emptiness which never wishes to leave . For all I know it could be that the cause of it all was my father and the rollercoaster of emotions he represented. He was my first heartbreak. I experienced it at such a fragile age, leading to the start of my search for love . Love in a flower , in a stranger’s smile, the warm sun , love in everything. It is difficult to think of such a desperate version of myself whom begged lost souls who did not even know how to offer love to their spirit , to cover mine in delight . Despite it all I do believe in a day when I will walk the road to peace and arrive. The days defined by pink skies and love. They are set to arrive rather soon. I can feel it. I really do, and I know my inner child , the little girl who felt abandoned and undesired , I know she feels it too. "Why am I so happy ? Because I say you are" ( Funny Face , 1957)

by Ioana Aurelia O, @wordsleftunsaidloveletter, Hull

PHOTOGRAPHY:KASEY,@KASEYSPHOTOGRAPHS,DEVON

contemporary society, from greeting cards to imbos, Barbie, and hyper-femininity have long been associated with the colour pink. Thought to depict weakness and heightened emotion, most teenage girls aspire to break away from the colour during their rebellion from traditional youth and stigmatised ‘girliness’. However, the colour pink has been reclaimed by the feminist movement to highlight the legitimate power and freedom that women have gained over the last century. Pink represents unity within the sisterhood, celebrating all things feminine it embraces the ‘girliness’ that women have been told for so long, signifies vulnerability and over-emotionality. Throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, the colour became symbolic of the bond between mother and child. Perhaps thought of as a symbol of the rawest emotion- love. The colour can be seen in ‘Madonna of the Pinks’ by Raphael, with a depiction of Christ giving a pink flower to his mother. The connections between femininity and childhood are historically embedded. When combined with white tones, the colour links to innocence, with a pastel pink representing baby girls at gender reveal parties today. We see the rigid dichotomy between pink and blue everywhere in

children’s clothes. The notion that pink is for girls and blue is for boys is all-encompassing. Yet, the heavy stereotypes that confine the colours to the genders are actually fairly new. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, boys dressed in pink clothing as it was considered the diluted version of red, the colour of military uniforms. Curator Michelle Finamore writes about

'late 18th-century portrait of two children, both wearing dresses,' shown in the Museum of Fine Arts Boston's exhibition, 'Think Pink': 'One is a pink brocade satin dress, one is a yellow dress, and they have these pinafores over them, and you can't tell if they're boys or girls.' a

Furthermore, Jo B. Paoletti, Professor at the University of Maryland and author of Pink and Blue: Telling the Boys from the Girls in America, explained that, for centuries, gender-neutral clothing was in favour. Both boys and girls were dressed in white as it was a practical matter rather than one of fashion, as the colour was easier to bleach. Paoletti found that our adoption of gender-specific colours was a very gradual process. During the twentieth century, the emergence of gender-specific colour assignment grew in

popularity and rose to an increased prevalence within society. As we recognise today, pink became attached to the female gender, partly due to the post-war period when the gender

‘For this reason, it is not advisable for women to wear it to work in the corporate world or the city, as they are less likely to be taken seriously.’

divide in society heightened with men returning from war. Throughout this time, gender division

Yet, despite generations of women feeling as if

firmly entrenched itself in the public

pink has been an oppressive force, confining

consciousness. The iconic suit donned by Leonardo

gendered stereotypes, a new movement of

DiCaprio in The Great Gatsby is shockingly pink.

feminism encourages women to reappropriate

The other characters speculate about Gatsby’s

the colour and understand that having a

‘An Oxford man! ... Like hell he is! He wears a pink suit.’ past, exclaiming,

heightened sense of femininity is not a negative but something to celebrate. The colour is

Thus, the assignment of colour depending on

currently undergoing reappropriation by the likes

gender is carved into our culture. Art curator

of Roxane Gay in her collection of essays ‘Bad

‘we think of pink as such a girlish colour, but it’s really a post-World War II phenomenon.’ Michelle Finamore further explains,

Feminist’. Gay writes about the evident contradictions of labelling herself with the

Kennedy. It has also been used by fashion

‘I am a bad feminist because I am … a woman who loves pink.’ Gay writes, ‘I used to say my favourite colour was black to be cool, but it is pink – all shades of pink. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink.’

designers like Elsa Schiaparelli, whose pink clothes

Femininity and ‘girliness’ that have, for so long,

Pink was championed by stylish first ladies, including Mamie Eisenhower and Jacqueline

‘feminist’ word.

became a signature. Pink quickly became a colour beloved by movie stars and fashion-conscious women in the 1950s and 1960s. It embedded into popular culture, fashioned by the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Twiggy. As women were beginning to be influenced by the influx of media rising on television screens, movies and magazines, the draw to fit in with the socially acceptable trends may have attracted the growing number of women who desired to dress in pink. The colour also aligned with the overtly feminine housewife, and, overall, pink dominated the roles of women in the 60s.

"I believe in pink." -Audrey Hepburn

been stigmatised

and

negatively

used

now reclaimed.

In a celebration of pink, artists like Nicki Minaj work the colour to their advantage. Minaj

does

this

enforcing

her

recognisable image and through her lyrics, renowned for confronting the battles she faces as a woman in the music industry. Minaj told Fader magazine that her new 'The Pinkprint', would be 'the blueprint for female rappers to come', album,

simultaneously

subverting

herself

lineage

the

and

placing

Jay-Z's

2001

release, 'The Blueprint'.

Throughout the last century, pink has taken on dirty connotations. The colour belongs to heavily gendered toys. They are plastered in pink, from Barbies and playsets to thousands of chick-lit

There

covers specifically aimed at girls. The colour pink

celebrating everything girly. Whether you accept

has traditionally indicated a certain level of

it or reject it, there should be no shame, stigma

feminine experience. There has been a

or stereotyping to stop you from embracing the

backlash against the colour, with politicians

power

within

the

colour

pink

and

colour pink.

and parents debating the effect on young girls of playing with pink-hued toys, with research connecting them to career choices and body dysmorphia.

Laura Bates talks about the ‘Pinkification’ enforcing the notions that ‘women cook while men work.’ Pink has also been interpreted as inappropriate to wear in the workplace, with the juxtaposition of femininity and power causing too much confusion pink

‘weakness and a lack of intellectual rigour’, says style and colour represents

consultant Angela Weyers.

confine women into a stereotypical box are

@emmarandall__ Cheshire, England 65

music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music HIGH SCHOOL AT O2 BRIXTON ACADEMY

music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music music PHOTOGRAPHY: RACHEL WONDERS, @RACHELWONDERSPHOTOGRAPHY,LONDON

What Harry Styles’ ‘As It Was’ Taught Me About Letting Go

e draw influences from the things,

Harry’s songs. Watching the music video

people, and environments we surround

around the bridge is interesting. I felt the

ourselves with. For a while, I felt my mentality

video finally aligned with the song's lyrics,

toward many things; health, love,

speed and intentions. As the muted track

relationships, and societal expectations kept

vocal and fast rhythm said, “Go home, get

me withdrawn and away from being truly

ahead, light-speed internet, I don’t wanna

myself. So, I have camouflaged my life with

talk about the way that it was Leave

Harry Styles since I was 7. At 19, this is what

America, two kids follow her I don’t wanna

his newest single taught me.

talk about who’s doing it first.”

In the opening verse, Styles describes

Styles in red and Mathilde Lin in blue running

someone as a force. Although they’re no

in an endless circle, physically going

longer in his life, he is pulled backwards to

nowhere, is almost a direct visualisation of

them. In the last line, he recognises: “And I’m

being stuck in a rut. The last clause of each

the one who will stay”. I feel somewhat

line, “I don’t wanna talk about the way that it

validated by his words. There are many

was,” and “I don’t wanna talk about who’s

people I’ve longed to bring back into my life,

doing it first”, are doorways into mindsets for

and, up until recently, I thought it was weird

letting go.

to miss them, even relationships which ended

Styles recognises how a situation unfurled

emotionally brutally.

and accepts leaving it ‘as it was’. Knowing

Verse two sees Styles explore self-reflection,

you cannot change the past but recognising

isolation and heartbreak.“Harry, you’re no

how much you’ve progressed matters. Not

good alone” is probably my favourite line. In

wanting to talk about others who have

5 words, he self-reflects on his situation from

accomplished things you wish to do is fair

an outside perspective, which can be

enough. But it's helpful to remove thoughts

tremendously difficult when you're in a lonely

such as, ‘there’s no point because they’re so

headspace.

much better than I am' and replacing them

I spent a weekend in limbo – trying to reflect

with ideas such as, ‘I don’t pay mind to their

on my own life, what I want from it and who I

progress because it’s not a competition and

want beside me. I worked on forgiving myself

I’m doing this for myself.'

for grasping onto unhealthy relationships,

After the bridge, both in the video and on the

accepting self-forgiveness and making

track, Styles is free. He dances and enjoys a

peace with relationships which may have had

new lightness to himself. I find myself starting

potential but fell through.

to do the same. Validating my worries,

The ability to ‘let go’ is not learned through a

allowing them space to settle and

song or music video just because the lyrics or

acknowledging that it’s all going to be ok. I

visuals validate your own experience. I

remind myself that emotions can be

understand that. But I also feel influences

temporary, and I do not have to let them

can emerge from anywhere, and, personally,

become me.

my place of inspiration happens to be

WORDS: JESSICA PALMER, @PALMERJPHOTOS ART: LAUREN BURNS, @LAURENELBURNS,GLASGOW 69

THE LIBERTINES AT MANCHESTER ACADEMY

GABRIELLE APLIN AT O2 SHEPARDS BUSH EMPIRE PHOTOGRAPHY: RACHEL WONDERS, @RACHELWONDERSPHOTOGRAPHY,LONDON

W A E AK ID W

LI S

SHI

REA

OU’

R E IN A T O XIC

A L RE

e may be sweet and kind, but he might also

Everyone I’ve told about it has told me I was

make you feel like you’re losing your mind.

lucky to get out when I did, as if it were a

Realising the person you love is hurting you is

ticking time bomb. Then there was Instagram.

extremely difficult to come to terms with. It

I saw more and more Instagram posts raising

took me several months to fully accept it. We

awareness for abusive relationships, and all I

don’t want to believe our partners are

saw in them were checklists. I would sob into

capable of harming us. We think that only

my pillow over the realisation that my

happens to others when it can happen to

boyfriend was checking off a list of abusive

anyone.

behaviours. I’ve cried since. It’s a horrible

Maybe they make you feel low about yourself

realisation that somebody who loves you,

or like you can’t make a simple comment or

could hurt you. It left me numb.

complaint without an argument, or they’re

Skip forward a couple of months, I began

jealous and possessive. All of these are signs

working for a women’s charity. On my first

of an abusive relationship.

week, I attended a virtual conference about

My first signs were when I asked others if it

domestic abuse. Within the first ten minutes a

was normal when he'd say or do things I was

professor spoke about a timeline she’d

unsure about. Things like talking about the

devised on how an abusive relationship

future too quickly, saying he loved me after a

progresses. I sat there staring at a list of

month and even trying to get me to consider

behaviour: possessiveness, pushing the

moving out of my parents'. Everyone I knew

relationship further, demanding commitment,

said it wasn't normal. If I wasn't comfortable

and all I saw was another checklist. I saw my

with it, then it wasn't normal. Like most

relationship in a single slide, and my heart

people, I ignored the voice telling me it wasn't

broke again.

working because I wanted it to work. He

This was researched and factual, and it

treated me right, I loved him, and, for a while,

confirmed that I was right to walk away and

that was enough.

put myself first. I wasn’t making things up or

But the love bubble burst early. I found myself

blowing them out of proportion. I was right,

defending him to others for making me feel

but it didn’t stop things from hurting.

like a horrible person. I was so convinced he

This feeling is just from two months, so I can’t

would dump me over little things, and soon

imagine how it would feel if I had stayed

spiralled; crying on my bedroom floor as I

longer. Although, one thing I do know is that

listened to him berate me over the phone.

the day after I left him, I felt like I could

Perhaps part of me wanted him to dump me,

breathe again, and nothing could take that

like I deserved it. I struggle with self-

away from me.

confidence, so to me this was justified. I was this horrible girlfriend, and I was lucky he stuck around. However, that’s not what love is. Love is kind and forgiving, so what was he thinking? That I

SOPHIE HUTCHISON

was his and his alone. That sounded and felt

@sophiehutchison7797,

wrong to me. But how did I realise this was a

Birkenhead

toxic relationship I needed to leave?

health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea health & wellbeing health & wellbeing hea

ART: HOLLY/PREZ PRINTS, @PREZPRINTS

Me Don’t

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I own this 'self-belief' journal, and one of the questions is: 'What compliment do you get the most?' My answer is 'you're smart' or 'you're so good at thinking' or 'you've got an excellent brain!'. They're always about my mental game. My ability to conjure up ideas and be creative or how many books I read. It's never 'you're so pretty' or 'you look great in that top'. To be known as 'the smart one' means you must always be smart. To constantly be the one with the answer, because people become disappointed or surprised when you don't. Shrouded in the isolation of my room, the locked door, the pulled curtains, and the layers of blankets I hide under on my bed. I feel safe. In a box many call a bedroom, I can be me. Whether sad, scared or insecure. I am not the smart one here, but the one who has it all. I can become beautiful in the melodic fantasy of my brain. I have complete control over how I want to share my emotions. The troubles of the outside world seemingly miles beyond the edges of my closed eye lids. Begging, please don't judge me. Please don't hate me for who I really am. Please don't see behind the facade at who I really am. For I fear I will be disappointing. And what makes it harder is that I know I'm not the only one who feels like this. There are many of us out there. Who pretends to be this well-rounded person, someone who has everything together? I commend you! You're doing amazing. You're going at your own pace, which is the best pace to go at. Everyone is on their own path, and although it can feel shameful to reach out for help, there is nothing wrong with it. Start with a friend. They won't judge you.

Me Don’t

I won't judge you, if you don't judge me.

Me Don’t e dg 83

The Deception of Spring: Dealing With the Continuation of Winter Blues There is an obvious sort of beauty in the emergence of spring. It is a reminder that all is not lost in winter. Flowers thought to be long gone subtly make their show-stopping reappearances. Pink peonies, daylilies, coneflowers and hollyhock decorate the landscape and remind us that nature always finds a way to be beautiful. However, the more subtle evil of spring is that we often struggle to come out of our winter blues. The cold and dark days of winter don’t serve some of us. The winter blues can take their hold and negatively impact how we think of ourselves. So, why don’t we come out of it when spring rolls around and the days get brighter and warmer, the scenery gets prettier, and the birds start singing? The myth that spring is the cure to winter blues does our mental health a disservice. It diminishes the tangible, lasting effect that shorter, darker days can have on us. Mental health is complex, and one-for-all cures can misguide us in the journey of healing. Mental health is a continuous act of care we gift to ourselves. Expectations often set us up for failure. So be kind to yourself and allow yourself to have bad days, even if the sun is shining. The idea that spring always rids us of winter blues is a mindset that must be subverted. Use the light, beauty of the earth and joy of spring to guide yourself to better mental health, but be gentle with yourself if it doesn’t work as well as you hoped.

by Allyson Cochran, @allysoncochran, Texas PHOTOGRAPHY: BETHAN EVANS, @BLODEUWEDD.FLOWER.FACE,MERTHYR TYDFIL 85

I06 COMING SOON

ART: HOLLY/PREZ PRINTS, @PREZPRINTS 86

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