Issuu

MODERNFEUDALISM. wealth, power, and the new industrial elite

photographed by Gina Slavin modeled by Amelia Ferguson and Harmonie Chang

written by Daniel Barrett layout by Harmonie Chang

If you’ve ever wondered why Jeff Bezos has a yacht that requires its own yacht while you’re debating whether Buldak ramen or cereal is the more cost-effective dinner, welcome to modern feudalism. Billionaires today function as feudal lords, hoarding unimaginable wealth and power while the rest of us grind in a system designed to keep us stuck.

In the feudal era, lords controlled land and resources, forcing peasants to work for a meager living. Now, tech moguls, corporate CEOs, and venture capitalists are the new nobility, controlling industries that dictate modern life. The new peasants navigate skyrocketing tuition, low-paying jobs, and an endless hustle to survive.

This dynamic plays out in the physical world. Brutalist architecture, dominating corporate campuses and urban skylines, resembles modern-day castles: built to house the elite while intimidating the rest. High-tech fortresses

like Amazon warehouses prioritize profit and efficiency over humanity. Beyond architecture, billionaires exert outsized political influence. At Trump’s inauguration, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, and Mark Zuckerberg weren’t just spectators, they were power brokers. Musk’s actions, in particular, illustrate how billionaires reshape not only physical spaces but democracy itself.

This isn’t just inequality, it’s industrial-age exploitation. Feudal lords maintained control by making peasants dependent on their land, and today’s billionaires do it by monopolizing housing, healthcare, social media, and even governance. The system doesn’t feel broken; it feels deliberate. Yet, just as peasants revolted, we have tools to challenge it. Gen Z is already questioning these structures, demanding change, and reimagining power. The question remains: will we wait for these concrete castles to collapse—or start dismantling them ourselves?

A Vehicle for the Future

Written by Margaret Mihalick

Brutalist architecture is raw, cold, and indifferent to human presence. In media, dystopian spaces reflect this—vast, empty, and unwelcoming, as if conversations and community aren’t meant to exist within them. Brutalism prioritizes function over comfort, reducing design to its bare essentials. It is not made for people, but for efficiency, technology, and order.

And that is exactly what the Tesla Cybertruck embodies.

Like Brutalist architecture, the Cybertruck rejects organic curves and familiar comforts of traditional automotive design. It’s a jagged, unfeeling slab of metal—less a car than a steel monolith on wheels. It looks more suited to a low-budget ‘70s sci-fi film than modern streets. Its design suggests longevity and utility, but is it really about function over form? Despite its stark appearance, the Cybertruck is its weight strains efficiency, and its size makes urban driving impractical.

Historically, Brutalism was tied to socialist utopian ideals, common in government buildings and public housing. It symbolized collectivism over individual comfort. The Cybertruck, however, emerges not from a socialist vision but from Silicon Valley—a hub of hyper-capitalist ambition. Why, then, does it borrow from a design language linked to state control?

Could its aesthetic signal more than just a bold design choice? The Cybertruck, like Brutalist structures, exudes institutional power rather than human-centered innovation. If Musk’s vision of the future is embedded in its design, then it prioritizes technology, efficiency, and control over human presence, comfort, and agency. Is the Cybertruck a literal vehicle for Musk’s political agenda? Whether intentional or not, it mirrors a world where people are secondary to progress. And if this is the design of the future, the real question is: what kind of world are we building for

Layout and Illustrations by Genevieve

Vanston

There were several areas in my hometown with tree-lined, picturesque streets filled with sprawling lawns and massive, elaborate homes. I would pass beautiful Queen Annestyle homes with wrap-around porches and enthralling Tudor revivals with ivy trellises. These homes were one-of-a-kind, and even from the backseat of my parent's car, I could feel the character, love, and history that filled these neighborhoods.

But then, one fall, I noticed that one of the homes was for sale. It was quickly sold, and just a few weeks later, it was torn down. I was shocked and disappointed - I couldn’t believe anyone would want to tear down such a beautiful structure. In its place now stands a classic Modernism-style building with sharp edges and gray walls. It lacks the character I had once loved in the house it replaced. As time went on, I started to see this everywhere - not just in my hometown.

Featured homes in

Architectural

Digest and Open House New York once included impressive, egregiously expensive houses dripping with character and filled with history. However, they too started to become bleak, boring, and grey, just like the ones in my neighborhood.

Progressions in technology have undoubtedly made the design and construction process more streamlined than ever. But somehow, this has led to architecture becoming more and more boring. How is it that these brutalist, modern buildings have become the pinnacle of affluence with all our progress? Why do we value simplicity more than ever in a time when we can create so much? The age of modernity and technology has diminished our collective creativity rather than facilitated it. From the popularity of modernism to the rampant expansion of AI, this move toward simplicity is seen everywhere - and itW is causing society more harm than good.

Written by Harmonie Chang

INNOVATION CREATIVITY

at the cost of

Illustrations and Layout by Harmonie Chang

THEY ALWAYS COME BACK...

BY KELLY CIMIGLIA

The week before the alleged TikTok ban, the app was filled with celebrities airing their secrets, influencers having hysteric breakdowns, and people saying their goodbyes to the laughter, community, and inspiration they found on the platform. Allegedly, we only had a few days left on the app, and we wanted to make the most of it, right? It was a chaotic time to be a TikTok addict – because, face it, we all are.

On the night of January 18th, TikTok users received a pop-up notification alerting them that the app was unavailable due to a government-imposed ban. We knew it was coming, but the truth hurts! I spent the night clicking on the app repeatedly, only for it to give me the same pop-up I had seen several times. Don’t blame me – it’s muscle memory!

I woke up the following day ready to begin my new lifestyle. Honestly, I was prepared for a TikTok tolerance break. I needed to lower my screen time and fix my scarily short attention span. One “accidental” click later, I see TikTok is back! Well, there goes my lifestyle change. The app is sure to tell you who “saved” the platform – Donald Trump, of course. I guess the same man who sought to ban the app in 2020 changed his mind.

While everyoe was rejoicing that TikTok was back after a lengthy fourteen hours, others started noticing some things were off. Specifically, Taylor Swift’s The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived came up as “The Smallest Woman Who Ever Lived” … Weird, right? My once liberal, optimistic algorithm was ridden with a more conservative, Trump-loving tone. Censorship is running rampant, and everyone is scared of what this means for the future of social media and politics. Could this lead to even more mistrust in social media as a reliable source of free expression? 2025, what a time to be alive.