Please [W]e are born devout. Our senses, our urges, our beating hearts heavy with the appetite of desire. To yearn is inescapable, visceral — synonymous with breath, humanity. To want is raw, bloodied yet to ask for it, Please?, is polite, intentional.
/plēz/ noun adverb
Our polished limits unravel in the face of wanting’s infinitude.
A sickly sweetness tangles the line of giving and receiving. Pleasure hungers within us, consuming our passions, ambitions, relations until all that is left is the lust for life itself.
GILDED
Success glows like gold, but beneath the shine lie cracks — sacrifice, struggle, and solitude. When the final cut is made and the applause fades, what remains?
Fixed In Fur
What’s best: Vintage fur? Faux fur? No fur?
What Do You Beg For?
A collection of confessions.
The Paradox of The Tradwife
Are social media tradwives just modern breadwinners who make their money selling the idea of tradition?
God Save Our Bare Queen
Reinventing burlesque’s art of the tease for a new audience.
The Seductive Power of Intention
Erogenous zones and their development throughout modern fashion.
Giacomo Casanova
What hides between the lines of the infamous playboy's vanity.
Off The Grid
In the digital age, is the reprieve of the “cabin in the woods” only a fantasy?
Shirley Jackson: Horror in the Home
The pioneer of a genre that spills fear into everyday life.
MORPHED
When you’re lost, and you will be, you might search for yourself in other people. Be careful for what you look for. You might just find a mirror.
Pin–Up Propaganda
How the U.S. military fashioned morale from the pin-up girl during World War II.
Growing Up, Growing "Other"
On the liminal space between youth and adulthood
Hunting Harlots
What the women who died in the early slasher genre tell us about the social attitudes towards women in the 1970s and '80s.
Got Sexy?
How milk has come to represent cultural fears and desires around women’s bodies — especially the mother’s.
Archetypes In Storytelling
A psychological look at the archetypes of our stories.
What Do They Call Me?
How Nina Simone’s “Four Women” explores and critiques stereotypes of Black women.
The Chemistry of Attraction
Pheromones are thought to influence attraction. Can synthetic perfumes replicate this?
Joie De Vivre On the Runway
Blumarine’s espousal of the authenticity of romance and femininity, from ethos to design.
JADED
To chase ambition so relentlessly that fulfillment turns to fatigue, for what once made you shine now wanes your light. Jaded explores the weariness hidden in pursuit.
Alex Kelly, Angelina Sharifi, Bailey Shropshire, Elisa AlvarezRosenbloom, Elizabeth Scholl, Francesca Aureus, Harriet Wells, Holland Haeck, Jenna Ory, Kevin Theodat, Lauren Violette, Maya Solanki, Mimi Fallon, Mukki Gill, Paula Chung, Priya Malempati, Siena Lum, Sierra Desai, Ūla Bitinaitis, Wesley Chapman
DESIGNERS
Alexa VanSuch, Ana Urrutia, Charlotte Makepeace, Christine Cho, Devina Mogha, Eden Voss, Ellie Fulkerson, Jenna Ory, Lauren Violette, Martina Simone, Maya Solanki, Sammy White
SET DESIGNERS
Alexa VanSuch, Bella Gunther, Jenna Celestin, Juliana Kim, Natasha Sortland, Nimi Shoyinka, Nisarga Ramesh, Zula Westendorf
VIDEO TEAM
Anne Wang, Anvi Rakshe, Caitlin Lam, Ella Wang, Emma Buzgo, Kitty Tran, Maya Solanki, Nimi Shoyinka, Sierra Desai
Celine Plaisir, Chasé Holness, Clara Kierce, Devyanshi Chandra, Kaydence Lin, Madi Moore, Michaela Creel, Molly Lane, Sarah Waggoner
MODELS
Aaria Patel, Aidan Roy, Alejandro Gonzalez, Alexa VanSuch, Ana Costa, Andrea Gertrudis, Andy Mejia, Angelina Sharifi, Ann Thomas, Anvi Rakshe, Arath Seckin, Arista Neave, Aundré Hamilton, Biff Tran, Bridget Boehlke, Caitlin Lam, Caitlyn Vergara, Carolina Vittoria, Cecilia Lanir, Celine Palisir, Charlotte Makepeace, David Armstrong, Denz Abesamis, Devina Mogha, Dion Choi, Ellie Kim, Erin Lee, Faelan Kennedy, Fatou Kané, Gabriella Mbaoua, Gianni Diarbi, Greta Magendantz, Hailey Mahon, Hillary Nana-Adeji, Jenna Celestin, Josh Habib, Jordan Bailey, Kalika Reese, Karie O’Donnell, Keaton Parkin, Killian Mak, Kimora Peters, Lauren Violette, Lina Petronino, Lucy Lu Cahill, Madeleine O’Neill, Mariame Gueye, Misha Kennedy, Nandini Chalamkuri, Nandita Jain, Nileena John, Nimi Shoyinka, Orion Douglas, Rachel Chen, Raquel Sousa, Samantha Lioanag, Samantha Min, Sarah Waggoner, Sonia Deb, Tanaya Edwards, Tèmi Bademosi
Dear readers,
PLEASE. A rawness and a politeness. A statement and an interjection. A grasp at progression and a clutch of conservatism. “Please?” as a question restrains, “please” as an action; with asking for what we want a sort of barrier to taking what we desire; with begging’s taboo-ity second only to pleasure’s.
As we at The Avenue have evolved, so has the contents of our (maybe not so) humble publication. At first, the common and weighty word felt overwhelming with potential and intimidating in its vastness and intensity. We all say “please” a number of times throughout the week, the day even, yet we glaze over the weight it carries. The power surrounding pleasure and the vulnerability surrounding asking for it felt like an integral juxtaposition of our beings that we were eager to explore. The sovereignty pleasure holds over our actions, intentions and emotions is one, we feel, that is not readily or honestly discussed in the public sphere.
Why must we absolve the lifeblood of our souls? This is something our team wanted to explore through our writing. Our concepting revolved around the overlooked contrast that exists throughout our lives: What is on the other side of the coin?
For PLEASE, nothing was off the table — if we exercised too much restraint, we would be falling victim to the same inefficacies that we attempt to explore and critique. The more controversial, provocative and introspective, the better. Not every moment is experienced with ease; not every topic idyllic or resolutionary. We wanted this issue to explore how this binary and freedom of pleasure is expressed in our culture, our media and ourselves, something I am proud of my team of editors and writers for achieving.
When we first started concepting and creating the issue you hold in your hands today, there were worries that PLEASE as a word rang “too feminine.” In reality, wanting is androgynous, inherent in all of us. It was this worry that allowed us to examine the preconceptions of pleasure and how it is mislabeled, misrepresented and misused.
That being said, this issue explores how we in The Avenue experience and explore the notion of pleasing. We want to thank every person who worked on this issue. Every mind together synthesized and actualized a piece of art worthy of a museum, a snapshot of who we, the next forward thinkers, are, and what we stand for. I want to thank the editorial team especially, whose hard work and dedication brought you a range of topics to explore yourself through. Editors, your passion and intellect is evident in every article we are running.
An Interlude from Lily:
I spent this issue in Germany, but the magazine was in the best possible hands.
An Interlude From Izzy:
PLEASE is a special issue to me as it is a concept that pervades my creative, intellectual and personal life. Pleasure, in every sense, is a topic under constant scrutiny and up for frequent moral debate despite its inescapable prevalence in every aspect of our being and our connection with one another. The same ribbony knot that binds us to ourselves ties us together. The same dainty elegance of asking pounds with the intensity of the chokehold of visceral wanting. I have never gone a minute of life without feeling a sense of desire for everything within and just past my grasp — this is what makes our time rich. I would suspect many of you may feel the same way.
The longing imbued in us exists not to be ignored. So go on. Take what you want.
co-editors-in-chief
Dear readers,
An invitation, a desire, a question. PLEASE, much like The Avenue, serves as an exploration of ourselves through our work. Our goal for this issue was to explore the intersection of discomfort and the allure of pleasure, ultimately developing an aesthetic that resonated with all of us — emphasizing the inherent contradiction of human desire: where pleasure and discomfort coexist, and where beauty and the uncanny are inseparable.
PLEASE, to us, was about refinement, cohesion, and intention — building on everything learned from the past issues while challenging both ourselves and our team to reimagine what The Avenue can be. To realize this vision, we pushed creative boundaries, drawing from fashion photography and art books to refine our aesthetic. A Leica store brainstorming session set the tone, emphasizing contrast, spatial tension, and intentional design. Despite tight deadlines and setbacks, we collaborated to create a cohesive visual direction true to our team and vision.
An Interlude From Lauren:
I joined The Avenue six semesters ago as a photographer. Since then, I’ve explored nearly every facet of this publication —writing, designing, directing photography, and now, stepping into the role of Creative Director. Each issue has shaped my approach to visual storytelling, and with PLEASE, I wanted to push that even further. On a personal level, PLEASE became an exploration of my own artistic curiosities and identity. It was an exercise in trusting my instincts, embracing collaboration, and refining a vision that felt both bold and deeply considered. This issue is just the beginning.
An Interlude From Jenna:
Taking on the role of Creative Director was a transformative experience for me. Having worked on The Avenue as a photographer, set design director, designer, and associate creative director, this was my first chance to dive fully into every aspect. I was able to bring together all my different passions while working closely with our talented team and learning from their unique creative processes.
This experience taught me to trust both my instincts and the expertise of my team. Watching our vision come together was incredibly satisfying. Looking back on this issue, it feels deeply personal—a mix of discomfort and beauty in the creative process. As I say goodbye to The Avenue and Northeastern, I’m filled with the same bittersweet feeling: grateful for all I've learned and excited for what’s ahead.
As we step away from PLEASE and our roles as Creative Directors, we are filled with deep gratitude for this experience and the hard work of every contributor. Getting to collaborate with The Avenue’s largest team to date, as well as growing as both individuals and creatives has been an invaluable experience. We are proud of what we have created, and hope you are left feeling just as introspective, challenged, and pleased as we are. It has been an honor to work on The Avenue PLEASE SS25 issue.
Jenna Ory & Lauren Violette co-creative directors
creative direction & photography PAULA CHUNG creative direction JENNA ORY & LAUREN VIOLETTE asst. direction GIANNI DIARBI & HAILEY MAHON design CHARLOTTE MAKEPEACE set lead ALEXA VANSUCH set assist JULIANA KIM styling ANUSHKA CHANDIRAMANI, CHINMAYEE LATKAR, NATALIE KLEINBERG, & TY ORLANDO hair & makeup CELINE PLAISIR, MICHAELA CREEL, & SARAH WAGGONER modeling ALEXA VANSUCH , BIFF TRAN, KIMORA PETERS, LUCY CAHILL,NANDITA JAIN, & RACHEL CHEN
THE PURSUIT
OF PERFECTION AND TRIUMPH IS BLINDING, ITS SHINE CONCEALING THE WEIGHT IT CARRIES. THE FIGHT TO THE TOP IN UNFORGIVING, LEAVING BEHIND MORE THAN JUST COMPETITORS.
The fear of failure grows heavier with every step forward, every name left behind.
When the final cut is made, only one remains. Isolation lingers where triumph should be, and the weight of winning is heavier than it seems. Success glows like gold, but beneath the surface, there are cracks, proof of the struggle, the sacrifice, and the cost. In the end, what is left after the applause fades?
FIXED IN fur
writing DYLAN BEAUDRY photography MUKKI GILL
design SAMMY WHITE styling LINA PETRONINO hair & makeup KAYDENCE LIN modeling ANN THOMAS & TÉMI BADEMOSI
More than just a fabric, fur embodies a unique tension — a visceral connection to survival that has been transformed into a symbol of status and luxury. Though challenged by ethical debates and shifting trends, fur continues to exert its cyclical influence on the fashion industry.
While contemporary debates revolve around ethical and environmental implications, fur's original place in society began as a vital resource for survival. Early mankind relied on animal pelts such as deer, bison and bear for warmth and protection in harsh climates. With the expansion of trade routes and advancements in craftsmanship in the 1800s, fur shifted from a survival necessity to an ornamental accessory prized by the elite.
An emerging fashion staple, fur coats and jackets adorned the shoulders of stars in feature films and musical performances in the 1920s. Fur became tied to the jazz and swing movements of the 1930s as it clad musicians like Miles Davis and John Coltrane. The trend continued into the 1940s with Hollywood icons like Elizabeth Taylor, who showcased extravagant mink and shearling coats, further cementing fur as a visual indicator of affluence.
Among the wealthy, mink remained the ultimate symbol of sophistication, prized for its silky texture and luster; bold fox fur, often adorning collars, exuded an untamed elegance coveted by the public and the celebrities they adored. The socialite monopoly on fur contributed significantly to its drastic price increase, rendering it unattainable and unaffordable for the middle and lower class. Fur’s scanting affordability coincided with growing ethical concerns as activists began to challenge its long-standing allure.
The 1970s marked a turning point as animal rights movements, most notably People for Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), ran high-profile campaigns challenging the ethics of fur production and consumption. Public discourse on animal welfare gave rise to the passage of the Endangered Species Act (ESA) in 1973, prohibiting the trade of endangered species’ fur. Simultaneously, advancements in synthetic textiles offered viable alternatives, making faux fur an accessible substitute. As public perception shifted, brands and celebrities distanced themselves from real fur, positioning it as morally questionable rather than a status symbol.
Today, the debate over fur is not solely an animal-rights issue — it is also an environmental issue. As vintage fur becomes less common, flimsy synthetic alternatives has taken take its place as apparel conglomerates shift to faux production to reduce costs.
The net-virtue of these synthetics remains a subject of controversy due to their environmentally hazardous production processes. The production of synthetic fibers like polyester, acrylic and nylon relies on petrochemicals that shed microplastics into waterways and release fumes from burning coal and natural gas into airways. Usually cheaply made, faux fur has a short shelf life in the closet of the consumer, finding itself in thrift stores and landfills. Ultimately, these pitfalls indicate the transition toward synthetic fur is not a simple solution but a complex trade-off.
Genuine versus synthetic fur is the fashion industry's modern-day trolley problem. Proponents of faux fur argue that it offers a cruelty-free option that aligns with modern ethical standards, while critics point to the heavy environmental toll of synthetic fiber production. Some
rationalize wearing real or faux fur while others argue that avoiding fur altogether is the only ethical choice. With the subjectivity of compassion and self-justification at its heart, can the dilemma of fur production truly be resolved or will it always be subject to fluctuating moral frameworks?
Despite concerns on both sides, such controversies have not been strong enough to fully dismantle fashion's love affair with this luxury symbol. The influence of fur persists despite moral objections, as it is deeply embedded in historical and societal ideals.
In this light, every fur garment becomes a testament to the tension between moralities and aesthetics. As fashion continues to navigate these ethical gray areas, the choice to wear fur — real or faux — remains as much a statement about values as it is about style.
*This photoshoot features fur garments that are exclusively second-hand. No new fur was sourced or purchased for this spread.
I’m begging for a sunburn across my nose. I want to watch you fan the heat. I’m craving a pigeon-wing green and purple gem to make contact with my skin. I don't mind the grime or a drunk look in your eye: A question mark in the shape of July and a red Toyota parked outside.
How about a few hours where the dimples on my knees burn; where my education dissolves in sweat and salt.
Don't get me wrong—I dragged your name in fishing lines you could never read between. I don't mind the hypocrisy, if you don't mind me, slipping out the screen door while you sleep.
At one point I wished I could be this one guy’s cat. He treats his cats so well it’s actually adorable. I just want to do nothing but sleep all day and be pampered by a gorgeous dude, like is that weird? I would definitely beg god to let me be reborn as his cat. 1. 2. 3.
I have begged just to bring her a cup of coffee: We would sit and she would drink it, telling me whatever she needed to get off her chest. I could hear her crying over the phone. This early in the morning I knew what she needed, first, was coffee. She didn’t want me to see her crying, or feel like she was complaining. So I begged her to let me listen. I think I loved her. I begged to bring her that coffee.
Everything else can wait. 4.
Hey, can you please come over? I need you in a way that nails me to the wall by my wrists.
Baby, I've got this shame like stigmata and you're the only cure. I don't need much, just all you've got. Your beating heart in my hands, your brain from your open mouth.
I look at you and feel like a cracked egg yolk. Broken open, bright yellow, sunny-side up. The two of us, cleaved down the middle. Like a clamshell, just halved. Come on, just stay for one more minute.
6.
Call on me. You know I know the answer. Do you know you’re my mentor? I care about what you think more than anyone. You’re so intelligent and accomplished and impassioned — I am too!
I use words like “perfunctory” and “voracious.” I need you to think my greatness entirely demolishes that of others. I don’t sleep, I don’t see my friends, I don’t speak to my parents, I’ve started throwing up a lot — but that's okay! I work the hardest; I love it the most; don’t you see that?
I need you to think my understanding is the deepest. My writing is the clearest. My voice is the richest. My ideas are the profoundest. I need you to think my work is matchless — in a class of its own. You must think I am exceptional, or I am nothing. You’re at the top of your field, but don’t be fooled. I don’t beg to be you. I beg to best you.
I went to bed last night wearing the Valentine's Day gift I bought for my ex-boyfriend, a purple sweater that I couldn't bring myself to return. I'm still convinced that someday I will fold it into left-over Christmas wrapping paper and gift it to him, adorned with a carefully scripted note that reads: "Sorry for the snot on the sleeve." We'll laugh together over my misery.
I asked him to tickle me after we broke up, hoping that something in my squeals of pain and delight would make it easier. It worked for a moment, and I thought to myself, "Maybe this is the key to getting dumped: Just make them tickle you."
THE PARADOX OF THE
Tradwife
Draped in a baby-pink crystal-embellished Miu Miu gown, with an elegant blush manicure to match, in a pristine bright white kitchen, Nara Smith makes raspberry lemon rolls. The model has become increasingly popular on social media over the last couple years for her made-from-scratch cooking in her straight-off-the-runway apparel. While some label her a “tradwife” due to her content, there’s more than meets the eye to her domestic projection.
The tradwife, a term coined by author and blogger Alena Kate Pettitt in 2020, refers to a woman who values maintaining the home and raising a family. By Pettitt’s definition, the tradwife is a model of traditional female roles in the marriage and household, with her nostalgic white picket fence supposedly a self-selected cage of domesticity. This narrative paints the husband as the breadwinner, and the wife as the homemaker.
But, the social media tradwives are far from complacent dependents to their money-making honeys. Social media has morphed into a profession, and tradwife-style content can generate a lucrative income for those popular on apps like TikTok, Instagram and Youtube.
While Pettitt is one of the earliest internet personalities being dubbed a tradwife (by the media and by herself), her influence and content style is seen across the internet with users like Smith, Hannah Neelman (@BallerinaFarm) and Estee Williams. Their social media content, which
includes videos of them cooking homemade meals or completing housework, is successful, but it is misguided to interpret their idealized life as the reality of being a stay-athome wife.
While social media bolstered the progressive “girlboss” in the 2010s, the current infatuation with the tradwife seems like a 180 degree flip. But, does the tradwife-versusgirlboss dichotomy actually even exist? Or are tradwives just modern breadwinners who make their money selling the idea of tradition?
In actuality, Smith is a successful model who makes regular appearances at various fashion weeks. Neelman runs a website selling cooking materials, kitchen supplies and apparel. Williams has hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of likes on her social media profiles. Even the women of the Mormon TikTok group called “#MomTok,” have launched their own businesses and reported being offered brand deals worth tens of thousands of dollars per video.
This dichotomy does not go completely unnoticed: The influencers’ comment sections are filled with hate comments, fan comments and comments calling the content one large joke.
It's clear that tradwife influencers are innovative marketers — with millions of followers across popular platforms — and businesswomen in their own rights.
But, what’s being sold is the fantasy of tradwifery, not the substance of the traditional wife.
The tradwife’s projection of domesticity and motherhood is seemingly aspirational for their followers, like a comforting relief of sorts in the current state of economic recession and political fatigue. The difference is that those influenced often do not have the same privilege as the influencers themselves, and this craving for community and security in the replicated lifestyle often alienates or reduces autonomy.
With the price of eggs seemingly insurmountable, the quality of affordable clothing decreasing and the pleasure of leisure hard to come by in this modern capitalistic landscape, there is an understandability about the fantasy of a simple, natural, homegrown life. But, the cost of the content’s influence comes from its inaccessibility to the average woman. This social media mirage is not always transferable to everyday life; the online tradwife is not the same as the 1950s housewife nor the modern stay-at-home mom who feels she is missing out on a career nor is the woman who feels relegated to the four walls of her home.
writing JOHN CHRONOPOLOUS photography HOLLAND HAECK set lead
JENNA CELESTIN set asst. NIMI SHOYINKA design ALEXA VANSUCH styling SAGE TOOMRE hair & makeup
CREEL
The curtain draws. At center stage: a glittering, life-size martini glass filled with gin (or water), complete with a melonsized olive. Enter stage left, Dita Von Teese, dripping in crystals, cinched at the waist, dons her signature 1940s pageboy hairdo. Von Teese floats across the stage, gradually removing each article of clothing with a wink and a smirk, until suddenly, she is wearing nothing but crystalized pasties and a matching thong. She finishes the number by dipping into the glass, posing triumphantly on the rim. Ladies and gentlemen, the Queen of Burlesque.
Burlesque is a type of theatrical performance characterized by its use of striptease. Popularized in the 1920s and extending its life into the 1960s, burlesque's "golden age" diminished during the emergence of adult films. While burlesque was traditionally performed in gentlemen's clubs, the women's liberation movement of the 1960s
put a halt to the craft as it exposed the industry for its frequent exploitation and abuse of performers. With that, burlesque closed its curtainsand took its final bow.
However, backstage, the art form underwent a nearly three-decade-long metamorphosis to fit a contemporary, third-wave feminist context.
Nostalgia for glamorous costumes and the art of the tease allowed burlesque performances to slink back into New York City nightlife in the mid to late 1990s. Only this time, the art form mainly catered to audiences of women and queer people under the moniker "neo-burlesque.”
Though still considered far from highbrow entertainment, the movement arose to honor tradition while pushing boundaries of who could and what it meant to perform burlesque.
Von Teese pioneered this movement and turned the traditional understanding of burlesque performance on its head. Having missed the opportunity to attend performances during the golden age, Von Teese based her style almost exclusively on still images of posed burlesque performers. Among them, perhaps the most notable burlesque performer of the golden age, was Gypsy Rose Lee, often adorned in crystal headdresses and concealed by oversized ostrich-feather fans.
"I had to imagine what I thought it would be like… The absence of too many influences allowed me to develop my style," Von Teese told The Creative Independent in 2021.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Queen
of Burlesque.
At its core, neo-burlesque is self-authorship. In "Embodied Transformations in Neo-Burlesque Striptease," dance professor Sherill Dodds details her first personal encounter with the art form. She recounts that seeing herself in a sexual light had long been an insecurity of hers. However, burlesque was an avenue for transformation. Choreographing herself in erotic display in front of an affirming crowd offered a sense of empowerment and the ability to command the audience “in the dialogue of tease.”
Humor has also long been an intrinsic quality of burlesque. While comedians once played a crucial role in these shows, the performers have now taken more agency over their show’s run. Neo-burlesque performances invite laughter. They make light of physicality, politics and the act of undressing, whether explicitly or sensually removing the veil of solemnity through a wink and a nod.
"Sometimes I'm letting them in on something… give them a little knowing look, you know, letting them in on the joke is a big part of it," a performer told Dodds.
In her journal, Dodds delineates the lengths performers will go to in the name of prolonging the "big reveal." Burlesque dancer Darlinda Just Darlinda's “Teddy Bear” performance is a perfect example. Alife-size teddy bear slowly gliding across the stage, Darlina gestures to the audience to earn the removal of the bear’s body and reveals what's hidden inside — a glittering silver gown and showstopping opera gloves.
Just as performers are highly self-aware of their bodies, so are they of their politics. Burlesque offers a medium for an audience to laugh at, comment on or escape from the suppressive binaries that bind the world through its comedic yet politically informed performance of gender.
Much like drag performance, neo-burlesque seeks to deconstruct and comment on the gender binary. Assuming the role of a matador or the "Prince of Boylesque," male burlesque performer Jett Adore tells his audience to find humor and drama in our society's traditional notions of femininity and masculinity. However, some critics have challenged this idea, saying that while the performance of gender may be read as commentary by some, others may see it as embodying clichés, rather than dismantling them.
These questions only propel artists like Von Teese, Darlina and Adore to break the rules previously established in the lascivious gentlemen's clubs of the early 20th century. The polymorphic nature of the neo-burlesque movement removes itself from binaries and promotes the inclusion of all bodies, performances and politics that exist outside of what is considered "ideal." Neo-burlesque permits us, the audience, to embrace our bare skin.
ZONES. EROGENOUS
writing CHLOE DASILVA photography FRANCESCA AUREUS design CHRISTINE CHO styling SAGE TOOMRE & TIMOFEY ZHILIN hair & makeup CLARA KIERCE
modeling ELLIE KIM & AIDAN ROY
The Seductive Power of Intention
Fashion is flirtation — a silent game of attraction played through fabric, cut and silhouette. Throughout history, designers have skillfully drawn attention to select areas of the body, transforming them into sensual focal points: the erogenous zones. But as fashion moves forward, do erogenous zones still exist in the way they once did? Or has the collective exposure to skin and flesh rendered erogenous zones obsolete?
Women’s fashion no longer shocks in the way it once did; off-the-shoulder tops, plunging necklines and sheer dresses are so omnipresent that they feel more ordinary than provocative. In fashion, erogenous zones move with trends, constantly shifting, often dictated by what’s deemed socially appropriate to reveal.
In the Victorian era, corsetry emphasized the bust and waist, pushing the female form into an exaggerated hourglass. At the same time, covering the body was paramount, with gloves concealing hands, high collars obscuring necks and sweeping dresses hiding bare ankles.
Fast-forward to the 1920s, and suddenly, women were flaunting arms, legs and dropped waists in loose-fitting flapper dresses. By the 1950s, the hourglass was back, but this time, cleavage and décolletage took center stage. The 1970s loved high slits, while the 1990s and early 2000s brought bare midriff into the spotlight. The logic of the erogenous zone has always been to highlight what was once hidden, making it instantly desirable.
Women’s fashion has reached a point where nearly every part of the body has already been claimed as an erogenous zone and exhibited into triviality. Exposed shoulders? Commonplace. Bare midriff? A daily uniform. Sheer fabrics? An expectation on the red carpet. Even cutouts, once scandalous, are now a staple in everyday wardrobes. The shock factor is gone.
Social media plays a role in this shift. When every trend is instantly accessible, constantly visible and endlessly replicated, nothing stays exclusive for long. What was once risqué now circulates unfettered until it loses its original impact. The erogenous zone as it was once known is fading, not because the body is no longer considered sensual, but because sensuality is now democratized.
As women’s fashion moves past the idea of “strategic exposure,” men’s fashion is starting to lean into it. Once bound by rigid expectations of modesty with suits, structured silhouettes and an aversion to anything considered “too revealing,” men’s clothing is finally embracing showing skin.
The recent surge in short shorts for men reflects a clear nod to the thigh-high slits and mini-skirts that once dominated women’s fashion. Designers like Jacquemus and Prada have introduced dangerously high hems in menswear, playing with proportions that emphasize the legs in a way that was previously reserved for women.
This shift speaks to broader cultural changes. As gender fluidity and androgyny becomes more widely accepted, so does the idea that sensuality in fashion isn’t just a woman’s game. Men’s bodies, once largely ignored in discussions of desirability in fashion, are now being styled with the same intentionality that women’s bodies have been for centuries.
With both men and women now toying with exposure, is the idea of the erogenous zone even relevant anymore? If everything is visible, does anything still hold allure?
There’s an argument to be made that a new era has emerged where exposure itself no longer carries the same weight it once did. Sensuality in fashion is no longer about hiding and revealing: It’s about intention. A garment is provocative not because of what it exposes, but because of how it frames the body and tells a story.
Look at designers like Ludovic de Saint Sernin, who crafts slinky, gender-fluid garments that emphasize bare skin in a way that suggests sensuality rather than overtly displaying it.
His collections invite the viewer to reconsider the narrative behind exposure, crafting an emotional response that feels personal and reflective. Or, look at Rick Owens, whose draping creates silhouettes that both conceal and exaggerate the body in unexpected ways. The conversation around sensuality in fashion is shifting away from simply “showing skin” and more towards how the body is presented and perceived.
The erogenous zone isn’t gone, it’s just no longer limited to the traditional places it was expected to be. Fashion is evolving beyond the binary of modesty and exposure, moving into a space where sensuality is about presence, not just skin.
For women, this means reclaiming fashion as a tool for self-expression rather than just allure. For men, it means embracing body-conscious clothing in a way that challenges outdated norms. For fashion as a whole, it means the erogenous zone is no longer just a whispered secret, it's a conversation open to everyone. Maybe the true power of exposure was never in what it revealed, but in who it allowed to be seen.
Henriette, an older woman hoping to escape her tumultuous marriage, was one of the earliest embodiments of “the one that got away.”
The modern-day egoist barely holds a candle to one 18th century man: Giacomo Casanova. Though often romanticized, Casanova was, in many ways, a failure — an unsuccessful diplomat, dishonorable soldier and profitless musician. Yet, despite his professional shortcomings, he remains widely remembered today for his infamous memoir, “Histoire de Ma Vie.”
In his early years, Casanova redefined the term “libertine,” embodying a man who pursued pleasure without moral restraint or responsibility. His memoir detailed numerous sexual encounters, often framed as conquests, that reduced women to trophies in a manner reminiscent of a sexual and emotional masochist. Frequently exaggerating his wealth and accomplishments, Casanova masterfully engineered an image of superiority, dominance and inflated self-worth.
However, what makes Casanova truly enthralling is not his boastful accounts of seduction, but rather the moments he came undone. Despite his efforts to present himself as untouchable, certain women emerged from his narratives as figures of power, capable of challenging, and conquering, his ego.
Henriette was everything Casanova believed women could not be — educated, witty, adventurous and opinionated. He was instantly intrigued by Henriette’s demeanor,
allowing a woman, for the first time, to take the reins of their relationship. She was a worthy opponent during their debates over philosophy and music, ceaselessly reminding him that their relationship would always exist on her terms. Casanova accepted these conditions, finding himself in love for the first time.
Quicker than Casanova caught her, Henriette wriggled free — leaving only a letter in her absence, where according to his memoir, she asked Casanova to forget her. In the three months they spent together, Henriette had successfully dismantled Casanova’s carefully crafted persona, exposing the raw, unguarded man beneath. He didn’t chase her or try to reclaim what was lost; instead, he faced the unfamiliar sorrow of genuine love, brief as it was. No matter how many women laid beneath his sheets, Henriette remained in his thoughts.
"I had lost her forever; she had vanished like a dream, and I felt that I should never see her again. Never again should I find a woman so perfect in mind and body," he said in his memoir.
Henriette led him down a path of desire for the unknown, prompting him to chase the tails of other women who connected with him intellectually. That is, until he met his colossal torment in female form.
La Charpillon was a young con artist who seemingly sought to make a fool of Casanova the second he met her gaze.
She lured him into dark corners yet rejected his every advance. She relentlessly humiliated him — mocking his failures and dismissing his attempts at seduction, portraying him a desperate fool to her friends and family.
La Charpillon’s constant degradation made Casanova angry, yet this didn’t push him away from her. His vulnerability took a new form of groveling; he was no longer the opulent man who could take what he wanted, but rather, as he describes, a body craving fulfillment.
After multiple altercations, La Charpillon used her wits, status and network to take legal action against Casanova, exiling him from the city. Casanova did not realize that Charpillon had not only wealth and connections throughout Europe, but also trust, which Casanova lacked.
Henriette and La Charpillon altered Casanova’s pretentious playboy status, a shift that often goes overlooked in his writing. They reshaped Casanova from a man who thought of love as a conquest to one who believed in the complexities of curiosity and seduction Casanova’s shift is seen throughout his book in various
statements. "Love is three-quarters curiosity," Casanova wrote. This sentiment further supports the idea of communication as seduction. For Casanova, love, or the process of falling into it, stemmed from an insatiable curiosity. The desire to uncover the intricacies of a woman only deepened his sense of attraction.
“Heart and head are the constituent parts of character; temperament has almost nothing to do with it, and, therefore, character is dependent upon education, and is susceptible of being corrected and improved.”
Love exposed Casanova’s flawed perception of women as nothing more than an egotistically crafted mask. One who reads his memoir can easily cherry-pick his more progressive insights: his occasional reflections on the intelligence and independence of women, his flirtations with enlightenment ideas or his moments of genuine affection.
However, these insights cannot be divorced from the malice of Casanova’s past or the raw humiliation that forced his mask to slip. His legacy, or the skewed image of it, serves as a reminder that even the greatest seducers are not immune to the very games they play.
Modern society is drowning in connection yet starving for genuinity. The more technology is integrated into our lives, the more we lose touch with the world around us and ourselves.
Reclaiming humanity might be as simple, and as radical, as getting outside and rediscovering the physicality that the digital world has led us to abandon. But who wants to do so when the cure for boredom is right at our fingertips?
When “going off the grid” feels more like a fantasy than a choice, we find ourselves searching for peace by cutting down screen time. The radical act of retreating to a cabin in the woods has been reduced to simply removing social media apps from a phone. But, deleting Instagram isn’t sufficient as the modern-day escape; it’s a hollow gesture that barely scratches the surface of our detachment from the physical world.
The digital age forces us into a relentless state of mental overload, which is why the idea of a modern-day cabin in the woods is more appealing than ever. It seems to be the case that we have used our phones to the verge of exhaustion, with the endless scrolling, swiping and streaming coming back at us in unexpected ways. According to a recent study by Reviews.org, 43% of Americans admit to feeling addicted to their phones. If modern society can hardly stand twenty minutes without a phone, it might not survive in an unplugged cabin.
Due to the endless stream of entertainment pouring through our screens, overconnection has become a silent burden, leaving us overworked, overstimulated and simply over it. The most connected generation to date might also be the loneliest. A study published by the Cigna Group reports that 71% of Gen Z adults reported feeling lonely. If we continue to avoid carving out time for quiet contemplation, we risk losing the ability to be alone without loneliness creeping in.
Thirty years ago, our interaction with technology was intentional. Today, we wake up, reach for our phones and turn the alarm off. If we want to engineer a good mood, we put on a podcast or play some music. Can’t decide what to wear? Check the weather app. Then doom-scroll for an hour since your phone is already in your hands.
In the past, we would have used three different mediums in the morning: an alarm clock, a radio and the morning weather report. Before the mainstream usage of smartphones, the prevailing sentiment of technology was that it was a tool. This experience is now lost, as our phones and tablets have become an extension of ourselves. Being "off the grid" is a pipe dream when your whole life fits in your pocket.
Our hyper-connectivity has only deepened our sense of disconnect. By simplifying going off the grid to mere social media deletion, we do not solve the problem. If technology is not a tool, but a way of life, a true mental and physical escape from the digital world may no longer exist. However, we can still create moments for ourselves where peace feels tangible.
The first step to get there is not deleting Instagram — it might not even be just putting down our phones for a day. We need to re-boot how we engage with technology by returning to deliberate choice rather than mere reflex. Perhaps the solution has been hiding in plain sight: grounding ourselves through intentional use of technology might be as close as we can get.
writing AVA KNIGHT photography MIMI FALLON set design NATASHA CORTLAND & NIMI SHOYINKA art & design MAYA SOLANKI styling ANN THOMAS & LAUREN KOELSCH hair & makeup CLARA KEIRCE modeling
Shirley HORROR IN THE HOME Jackson
The ghost lurking behind the shower curtain is vanquished with the flick of a light switch. The monsters outside, with fangs and knives, are defeated by a bolted door. The worst of them, however, have their initials on the doormat, crawl inside the bed and lay next to those they hold close during the night.
American author Shirley Jackson was the pioneer of the domestic horror genre: distorting the home, family-unit and safety of daily life to reveal the horrors that fester beneath.
Horror in the 1940s and '50s typically showcased fictional ghosts, ghouls and monsters, easily locked away in the pages of a book. Jackson took a different approach: forging the cracks of fear within mundane daily routines. Instead of looking over their shoulder for Frankenstein’s monster or Dracula, Jackson’s readers grew to fear their once safe and secure lives. After World War II, the public was made aware of the violent and unspeakable side of humanity that existed outside of stories. The years immediately following WWII were branded with McCarthyism and the Red Scare as the Cold War came to a head. Jackson preyed upon this comfortable security, introducing horror into the home
Jackson’s first published work was “The Lottery,” a short story in The New Yorker in 1948. The story stirred some readers to threaten cancellation of their subscriptions, while others were ready to her as the new master of horror.
“The Lottery” tells of a small town’s yearly tradition of an ambiguous lottery. The scene opens with children playing, women chatting and men preparing for the drawing: a peaceful and ordinary day for the townspeople. Families are called up one by one to draw slips of paper out of a box until only one is left holding the winning lottery ticket. What they’ve won is unclear, but the town shifts back and forth in anticipation. As each family member draws a new slip of paper from the box, the town goes quiet. The mother’s slip, with a large black dot in the center, is ripped from her hands. The townspeoples’ eyes darken; then, each friend, neighbor and child, gripping a stone, lunge at her.
Jackson holds a distorted mirror to modern society, where ordinary neighbors switch from light-hearted gossip to deadly competition. A slip of paper marked the difference between friend and foe. The story proposed this question to the readers: the townspeople in the story look, sound and act just like your neighbors, so what’s to stop them from turning on you in the same way?
Jackson’s novel “We Have Always lived in the Castle,” published in 1962, solidified her throne in the horror genre. It tells the story of two sisters living in isolation after the unsolved poisoning of the rest of their family.
Villagers run at the sight of Constance, the alleged murderer, and taunt Merricat, her quiet sister, on her weekly trips into town. Upon the arrival of a charming yet connivingly untrustworthy cousin, the sisters watch
the fiery destruction of their home, community and family, revealing the charred skeletons of their damning secrets. As bloodthirsty villagers hunt the girls, Merricat wishes she could kill them all, just as she had to her family years before, the story’s unnerving, emphatical twist.
Jackson juxtaposes innocence and villainy, faith and deception, acceptance and rejection: dismantling the readers’ perception of familial trust and imbuing a haunting pit of betrayal in their stomachs.
Through the lens of her fictional horror, Jackson reflected the political and social suspicions of the Red Scare in the '50s. The political climate peddled the distrust and fear Jackson illustrated: the public always looking over their shoulder for who might secretly turn on their “American ideals” — imparting that the people around them are capable of horrible things. The fear was: one’s family might be murderers, or worse, communists.
Perhaps Jackson’s most famous work, “The Haunting of Hill House,” paints the clearest picture of the mistrust and paranoia felt at the time of its release. The fictional Hill House, famous for its slue of mysterious deaths and haunting entities, was the perfect setting for Jackson’s character Dr. Montague to conduct a study on those who experienced paranormal events.
The house echoes with classic ghostly banging and cool breezes. Strange writing on the wall begs one of the study’s participants, Eleanor, to “come home.” As the group discovers more eerie references to Eleanor around the house, they grow suspicious of her, then angry. Slowly, Eleanor feels herself slipping away from reality and intertwining herself with the house. She is finally convinced to leave for her own safety, and gets in her car to drive home. As she turns down the driveway, a switch flips as a sinister rictus smile spreads across her face. Rather than live without the house, Eleanor whips the wheel around, and crashes into the tall oak tree at the end of the driveway.
This paranoia and outcasting was the root of social suspicion during McCarthyism and the Red Scare. In a haunted house, much like American society at the edge of the Cold War, everyone is hunting for someone to blame for the unnerving and inexplicable things going on around them. When their scapegoat is caught and cast out, only then are they safe.
This new brand of horror brilliantly strayed from what had been seen before in the media, void of the fictional creatures and fantastical monsters that had historically separated fantasy from reality. Jackson’s political influence on horror dominates the best of the genre today; with movies like “Get Out” and “Parasite” depicting the state of the world and those living in it with a psychological excellence. When horror mirrors daily life, readers find themselves entrenched in the same fear and paranoia as Jackson’s characters, stuck in their own scary story of reality, trapped in a book with endless pages.
Morphed
When you’re lost, and you will be, you might search for yourself in other people.
Be careful for what you look for.
You might just find a mirror.
You might find a person in which you can see yourself — or rather, some better version of yourself: Everything you have been, everything you will be. Everything you could be.
The differences between you fade like some tired memory, and morph into undeniable likenesses. Soon there is no more of them, no more of you. You are one, the same. Interlinked, intertwined.
You might leave traces of yourself on them, hidden in plain sight.
Copy their phrases, mannerisms. You’ll forget which parts of yourself are truly yours. They’ll do the same for you, forever leaving unspoken memories etched onto your being.
If you find a mirror in a person, be careful not to break it.
A broken mirror brings bad luck, and it will only reflect some shattered version of your loving evolutions.
Treasure your mirror.
Hold it dear, but do not be surprised when you no longer recognize your own reflection.
Blonde curls cascade from towering victory rolls to frame Betty Grable’s shoulders in her preppy portraits of the 1940s. The actress and model was bubbly, bright and beautiful — her legs dubbed their own “major Hollywood landmark” by Life Magazine in 1943. Grable was America’s sweetheart, but not for her feature films or melodic musicals. She was the pin-up girl: a gleaming beacon in a tumultuous time.
Reserved for alluring actresses, performers and models, the '40s pin-up vogue was defined by its subtle eroticism and romantic untouchability — it was not a style worn by the everyday woman; it was a sanctity for the stars.
But behind pin-ups prevalence hid a sly political force: the United States military. Commandeering the style with posters, prints and dancers, the Armed Forces utilized the pin-up as a tactic to boost soldier morale during World War II. The title of “pin-up” a reference to how soldiers would physically hang photos and drawings of attractive women on their walls.
While the popularization of pin-up fashion emerged in the early 1940s, the style’s origins date back to the burlesque performers of the late 1800s, as well as illustrator Charles Dana Gibson’s drawings of the “ideal woman” in Life Magazine. The Gibson girl, as these drawings were called, was the new woman; the man’s feminine ideal. She was tall but not large, risqué but not raunchy, her face youthful but her body mature. She was the playful and teasing companion of young men — sensual but not for sex.
writing ISABELLA BERNSTEIN photography and styling ALEX KELLY set design BELLA GUNTHER & JENNA CELESTIN design MARTINA SIMONE hair & makeup MOLLY LANE modeling ANDREA GERTRUDIS & NANDINI CHALAMKURI
Girlish in nature but womanly in presence, the Gibson girl morphed into the pin-up girl during the onset of World War II. With the familiar s-curve stature and rosy-red cheeks, the ideals of femininity were not only showcased on stage, in movies and in drawings, but were paraded for an unlikely audience: the American troops. The pin-up was not just a woman, she was the woman “back home” that men could treasure.
Iconic pin-up models, including Grable, Rita Hayworth and Veronica Lake, modeled slim fit bodysuits, bathing suits, bullet bras and wiggle dresses with slight smiles and sparkling eyes. Magazines such as Esquire and Walker distributed pin-up images to young men — the U.S. Army even circulated their own publication, Yank, in 1942, which featured a pin-up of the week. These images were plastered on planes, tanks and barracks by soldiers.
“Army morale: It must be kept high to turn soldiers into good fighters,” published Life Magazine in December of 1940, alongside a picture of a pin-up performing a strip tease. Symbolic of the women back home yet sultry enough to garner allure, the pin-up girl signaled to soldiers to “remember what they are fighting for.”
The pin-up leapt off the page and onto the stage for the troops with United Service Organization’s introduction of the U.S.O. girl: dancers to perform for and keep the company of drafted men. Famous pin-up models and actresses would visit military camps and participate in Bond Rallies to encourage treasury bond sales. In 1943, Modern Screen magazine called Grable the Army’s “one man morale division,” as she regularly toured Army camps and once auctioned off her nylons to raise money for the war effort.
By 1945, there was scarcely a tank or plane that wasn’t adorned with the iconography of the female worth fighting for.
The pin-up frenzy was not a product of coincidence or chance. Sex sells; or, in this case, the sense of sex satisfies soldiers’ spirits. The Armed Forces transformed pin-up style into a tacit tool to garner support and elicit excitement for the war efforts.
Grable and the other pin-ups represented more than just a sensual symbol — they became an object of obligation for soldiers and the American public. To work, fight, kill and die was no longer a political duty: It was a moral one. In a paper published in the John Hopkins University Press, history professor Robert B. Westbrook argued that void of a compelling rationale for political obligation, the U.S. military used the pinup girl as an “attempt to exploit private obligations in order to convince citizens to serve at its defense.”
Behind closed doors, pin-up was a fashion morphed by men, for men. Despite the common notion that the pin-up was a tool of women’s empowerment, mainly seen in the 1950s, its popularity was born and bred for the barracks. Nonexistent was the pin-up’s early days as a style for women — an era of picturesque propaganda inaugurated the fashion phenomenon.
“Sex sells; or, in this case, the sense of sex satisfies soldiers’ spirits.”
GROWING UP, GROWING "OTHER"
writing JANIRA SKRBKOVA
photography or art PRIYA MALEMPATI & ANGELINA SHARIFI set design NISARGA RAMESH
It’s one thing to look your age — it’s another to feel it. As we transition from teenagehood to adulthood, we reconcile our internal identities with the external passage of time. We are always becoming, but never quite arriving. A commonly expressed sense of stagnation arises in coming of age; a perpetual feeling of being frozen in adolescence.
In her 1970 book, “The Coming of Age,” French existentialist Simone de Beauvoir, writes, “When I was a little girl I was amazed and indeed deeply distressed when I realized that one day I should turn into a grown-up. But when one is young the real advantages of the adult status usually counterbalance the wish to remain oneself, unchanged.”
Even as we age out of adolescence, adults claim the identity of the “twentysomethingyear-old-teenager.” The obligations of adulthood can be so exhausting that we are left with little time to simply be. It can be difficult to remain oneself without as much leeway to indulge in our hobbies and lean into self-exploration. Across the internet, people well into their twenties and early thirties want to shirk adult responsibility and enshrine the wonder and gossamer freedom of youth forever.
On Nov. 6, 2016, the eve of her twentieth birthday, singer-songwriter Lorde posted on Facebook, “All my life I’ve been obsessed with adolescence, drunk on it. Even when I was little, I knew that teenagers sparkled. I knew they knew something children didn’t know, and adults ended up forgetting.”
WHAT IS IT ABOUT ADOLOSCENCE
THAT STRIKES
THE CHORD TO WANT TO REMAIN UNCHANGED?
TO NOT SUCCUMB TO ADULT FORGETTING?
Our culture is grief-stricken with nostalgia. It’s not youth as a metric that we marvel at but the sense of unbridled potential that comes along with it; the firsts, the rites of passage, the formative experiences. There is a carefree effervescence to youth — a drunken sparkle — that we fight tooth-and-nail to cling onto. “The reason why the emotional memories that restore childhood are so treasured is that for a fleeting instant they give us back a boundless future,” Beauvoir writes.
Acclaimed by the New York Times as “the definitive study of the universal problem of growing old,” Beauvoir’s “The Coming of Age” explores the disconnect between physiological and mental age. Whether we are on the cusp of adulthood or in the midst of it, “old age” doesn’t necessarily feel like our natural condition. A 2022 study published in the National Library of Medicine polled “community-dwelling older people” on whether they felt their biological age aligned with their internal perception of self. A staggering 86% of participants reported feeling younger than their biological age.
Beauvoir describes her older self as the “Other,” secondary to her younger self, yet another symptom of our culture’s over-infatuation with adolescence. “When we look at the image of our own future provided by the old we do not believe it,” Beauvoir writes, “An absurd inner voice whispers that that will never happen to us — when that happens, it will no longer be ourselves that it happens to.”
In the face of this self-alienation, growing up is bittersweet. It’s why birthdays, rather than feeling purely celebratory, twinge with a strange melancholia — an annual confrontation with the passage of time. Beauvoir reflects upon the solemnity of landmark events in our lives.
"NOT ONLY HAS THIS PAST'S FUTURE CEASED TO BE A FUTURE, BUT IN BECOMING THE PRESENT IT HAS OFTEN DISAPPOINTED OUR HOPES,"
Adolescence dazzles with promise, yet the older secondary-self we become does not always fulfill those expectations. Whereas adulthood was once distant and theoretical, the passage of time confronts us with certain hopes remaining unrealized.
Coming of age is a complex, ongoing metamorphosis. Adulthood, while fraught with uncertainty, also grants independence and possibility. “Can people see it, I wonder, that I’m about to cross over?” Lorde continues in her pre-birthday post.
There are new charms and wonders in growing older; glory years yet to be had. Growing up is growing into yourself. Young people do not lose themselves in casualty to the older “Other,” but, rather, gain adult autonomy, self-determination and perspective. We don’t have to freeze time to reconcile who we are with who we are becoming.
HUNTING
There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie...
writing EMME TRAUGOTT photography Ū LA BITINAITIS set design NISARGA RAMESH & JULIANA KIM
design ALEXA VANSUCH styling LINA PETRONINO hair & makeup MADI MOORE & MOLLY LANE
modeling LINA PETRONINO
“You can never have sex… Sex equals death, okay? … The sin factor! It's a sin.”
– Randy Meeks,
“Scream”
HARLOTS
The moral embedded into the classic slasher film of the 1970s, ‘80 and ‘90s taught viewers one thing: Sexually provocative? Prepare to die.
The 1970s and ‘80s marked the origin and rise of the slasher film. The genre exhibits mismatched groups of attractive characters that are brutalized by knives, chainsaws, hooks and drills — usually by a male killer, probably acting alone, definitely in a mask.
The 1974 film “Black Christmas” is widely considered the first slasher film, inspiring the holy trinity of the genre: “Halloween,” “Friday the 13th” and “Nightmare on Elm Street.” These franchises wrote the rule book for staying alive.
Whether it be wearing revealing clothing, alluding to nudity or even sighting the slightest sexual innuendo, slasher characters, mainly women, who promote promiscuity are more likely to meet their bloody end. However, the deaths these films propagate stem from more than just scare tactics for viewers: They were a reflection of the rising political conservatism in the United States during the time of the slasher boom.
A study published in sociology journal Sexuality & Culture found that slasher characters who are portrayed in a sexually explicit light, either on camera or in dialogue, are more likely to die. Characters that engage in “sinful” or promiscuous acts were to be punished, therefore subjected to a gruesome death. The killer is not just coming after women — he is hunting harlots.
The ‘70s through ‘90s were times of sexual revolution, revolving around the idea that the struggle for sexual liberation was a powerful political motivation for social change. The ‘70s saw increased access to contraception and the legalization of abortion. Separation rates boomed after no-fault divorce was introduced into the public strata. Women gained financial freedom with the Equal Credit Opportunity Act and increasingly pursued higher education. The sexual revolution of the ‘60s continued gaining traction, now with women’s liberation at the forefront.
However, conservative U.S. presidents, such as Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan, maintained traditionalist attitudes toward women and sexuality. Despite the societal sexual revolution, some popular media was infiltrated by these dated political philosophies, with slashers at the forefront of perpetrating sexual shame for women. The subliminal messaging of slasher films, the innate correlation between sexuality and gore, reinforced the ideology of punishing promiscuity for women. The madman, riddled with resentment, stabs the women who possess power in themselves, restoring his own through this deathly penalty.
The killing of these characters is often through stabbing, an act only done at close range. Stabbing requires more intimacy with the victim, than, say, being shot or poisoned. The killer must stand vis-á-vis with the victim, physically penetrating her with the blade. The Journal of Interpersonal Violence found that those with an intimate relationship to their killer are more likely to be stabbed; media often imitates this with the use of stabbing as an allegory to sexual penetration.
The pioneering slashers’ killers represented the patriarchal subconscious of the times, doling out the rightful punishments to women who dare claim their sexuality.
The “final girl,” the horror trope of the “one who lives,” has had her time in the spotlight. By focusing on what the “final girl” did right to survive, it is implied that the girl who faced the blade of the killer did something wrong. These female characters’ sexual casualty when it comes to embracing their bodies often signifies their death later on — the film may as well paint a target on her bare back. In a swift stab, the harlot dies.
Covert conservatism during the genre’s peak presented a platform for the resentment towards women’s empowerment — taking on the role of the promiscuity punisher. The killer delivers the most extreme of repercussions for sexual progression: red, hot blood.
HOW ARE we SUPPOSED
HUMANITY DERIVES PLEASURE FROM BINARIES. Nothing is quite so stimulating to Western culture than the ability to sort, label and tidy the world into neat categories of right and wrong. Milk, a staple American household product, ought to fit easily into one of these pre-ordained slots, yet doesn’t. Perhaps that is what makes milk turn sour on so many people’s tongues: How are we supposed to feel about it?
feel TO IT? ABOUT
American culture has come down with a bad case of lactose intolerance — we simply can’t seem to emotionally process milk. Society has projected fears and desires upon milk, through media, cultural conceptions and marketing schemes. Milk, quite fittingly, is the blank slate on which we can visualize both sensual desire and a deep underlying fear of the female body, particularly that of a mother.
On the one hand, it symbolizes all things pure. In JudeoChristian culture, the Promise Land is named “The Land of Milk and Honey;” milk is heavenly. However, beyond representing metaphorical virtue, the substance itself is imbued with innocence.
From childhood, we have drawn associations between milk and the nourishment tied to the mother’s body. A baby is reared on breast milk. Thus, it is familiarly comforting and inherently virtuous; an anatomical necessity vital in the infantile state, the stage of personhood deemed “untainted” by society.
Milk persists throughout childhood as a symbol of purity. Dunking a warm cookie in milk or downing a cold glass on a hot summer day are nostalgic comforts. Milk is a reminder of the dependence on one’s mother and, by proxy, it erects itself as a sentimental emblem of childhood. This image of milk will never expire: eternally unblemished and infused with all the charm of adolescence.
However, through extensive marketing campaigns, milk distanced itself from childhood and rerouted toward a different dimension of youth: sexual libido.
The “Got Milk” marketing campaign launched in 1993, and the iconic “Milk Mustache” followed suit in 1995. Zoomed-in shots of glossy celebrities like Naomi Campbell and Vanna White were plastered on ads, commercials and billboards with pearly white tresses caressing their lips. “Got Milk” scored big at the 1997 Super Bowl, showcasing both team’s quarterbacks — Brett Favre and Drew Bledsoe — during commercial breaks. What a devastating shock it must have been to walk through the supermarket aisles and realize that Favre didn’t actually come with the milk carton.
An association with health threads through each ad. Milk, the cornerstone of the American diet, was already heavily correlated with nutrition before these fit American icons came to wear the mustache. School lunches are equipped with miniature milk cartons and, although milk-men are a thing of the past, it is still very much an essential household product. Perhaps, our parents were right; the trick to achieving that jubilant, effortless glow of each “Got Milk” celebrity was right under our noses the whole time: Drink your damn milk!
MILK REFLECTS A CULTURE THAT IS CONSTANTLY TRYING TO TEAR THE MOTHER’S BODY IN TWO.
Overnight, milk got chic. Milk’s fashionability leaked into makeup and skincare brands, which inherently promote youth as a beauty standard. Milk Makeup Cosmetics — with the tagline “Juiciest Skin Ever” — capitalized on this perceived sensuality of milk. Hailey Beiber recently marketed her company, Rhode’s, new Glazing Milk by dumping a bucket of milk over her glistening shoulder.
Not only does milk embody health, but it also represents celebrity-esque luxury: Milk baths, milk & honey spa treatments and milk body lotion saturate a market built upon the allure of youth. These items became venues to revere fresh, conventionally attractive bodies, engineering an inextricable sex appeal.
Bieber isn’t the first figure to capitalize off the seductive quality of milk. Marie Antoinette and her court dressed up as milkmaids in a cowshed to titillate a male crowd, as the “milk conjured erotic associations.” Years later, the popularization of the milkmaid in fashion trends, gingham patterns and the coveted “milkmaid dress,” points to a fresh incarnation of the Madonna-whore: the sexualized milkmaid imbued with all the innocence of milk.
However, while it’s encouraged to smear milky skincare treatments on your face and normal to costume as a milkmaid, the actual consumption of milk is judged. Walk into a restaurant and order a glass of milk — see what looks get shot your way.
Although made desirable through marketing campaigns, milk denotes a certain deep-seated discomfort in our bodies, displaying an extreme disconnect between milk’s positive associations and the squeamish sense that milk is not for public consumption. If it embodies natural health, why does it feel so unnatural?
In the 2024 erotic thriller, “Babygirl,” Nicole Kidman’s character, Romy, chugs a glass of milk as a way to initiate a sultry affair with a younger man. This caused immense discomfort in the theater, perhaps more so than the incredibly intimate sex scenes later on. Viewers either had to laugh, look away or shift in their seats, all with the gut feeling that they shouldn’t be watching milk consumption on-screen. However, that is not to say they were disgusted.
Halina Reijn, the film’s director, told CNN that the scene was inspired by her own experience, where a younger man ordered her a glass of milk at a bar and she drank the entire thing, which she found to be “one of the most arousing moments of [her] life.”
That eroticism certainly translated positively through the screen, with the film’s earnings exceeding $50 million at the global box office. Amid all the orgasms, kinks on full display and hotel-room rendezvous, Kidman drinking milk is the image that flashes before your eyes first.
Both Kidman and the character she portrays are mothers and older women. Considering milk symbolizes a healthy, youthful body with a sex drive, Romy's decision to drink the milk represents a willingness and an ache to return to or rediscover a sexual state. Watching a mother unabashedly claim her sexuality through the conduit or milk, representing her state of motherhood, raises the question: Are we allowed to be aroused by it?
The theater itself — at that moment — felt the conflicting push and pull of milk consumption: They recognized that the scene was meant to be erotic (and perhaps they did find it to be seductive), but immediately a discomfort crept in. The arousal itself was what felt wrong.
Our culture finds it particularly difficult to stomach the idea that the female body, especially a mother’s, is both pure and impure, decent and indecent, a site of maternity and sexuality. Operating along binaries that sort our feelings and impulses into two buckets — moral and immoral — stretches and compresses mothers to fit into this homogenized female form. Adult female bodies are expected to simultaneously be maternal and nurturing while also sexual and vigorous. Similarly, milk imbues the nostalgia of nourishment yet embodies the seductive qualities of youthful beauty. Milk reflects a culture that is constantly trying to tear the mother’s body in two.
ARCHETYPES IN
Storytelling
Recurring themes are not isolated to movies, books and other artistic forms — they exist in our lives, revisiting us as familiar characters across cultures and eras. Think the freeweiding, bright-eyed innocent, the valiant hero that charges into the unknown for a worthy cause, or the sage who whispers guiding wisdom and prophecies to a journeyer. They enrich and drive the plot of fiction and real, human history alike.
Psychologist and theorist Carl Jung spent years mapping these patterns, theorizing the existence of what he called “archetypes.” Jung defined archetypes as innate structures of thought embedded within the collective unconscious. He identified specific archetypes, including the hero, shadow, devouring mother, anima and animus, which he believed were universal, but could only be experienced indirectly through cultural expressions.
Jung’s approach is widely debated, even among his contemporary followers. The universality of the specific archetypes he outlined has also been challenged, and derivative concepts like Joseph Campbell’s “monomyth,” or the hero’s journey, are criticized for being Eurocentric and lacking empirical support. Despite these critiques, however, the essence of Jung’s theory remains valuable: At the heart of all stories lie fundamental aspects of the human condition. While ideas of family, sexuality, gender and religion vary, every society embeds these institutional themes into their core of their tales.
Jung primarily focused on myths, viewing them as the ideal medium for examining archetypes. Myths exaggerate; they reflect a society’s values, fears and beliefs in bold terms, transforming abstract archetypal patterns into vivid, culturally specific forms. A modern equivalent is the telenovela, a melodramatic genre popular in Latin America, which often portrays traditional family dynamics, gender roles and class structures. Beauty standards and moral principles are typified. In classics like “Simplemente María,” where a single mother rises from poverty, and “Los Ricos También Lloran,” where a homeless woman is saved by a wealthy man, archetypes of gender roles, class and self-fulfillment become clearly visible. Even contemporary telenovelas, while more nuanced, still reflect evolving cultural prototypes of these fundamental archetypes.
WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF A STORY WERE TO
FROM ARCHETYPES ENTIRELY?
What would happen if a story were to break free from archetypes entirely? It's true that the result might be unique. But, rather than invoking nuance or inspiration, it leads to agitation and discomfort. For instance, incest remains one of the few universal taboos, as it disrupts the fundamental boundaries between family and sexuality. As a result, stories that depict incest in a positive light tend to alienate readers, regardless of cultural or historical context.
In the novel “Kafka on the Shore” by Haruki Murakami, a young boy named Kafka willingly embraces his Oedipal fate, a prophecy predicting he will one day kill his father and sleep with his mother. While the novel never clearly confirms whether Miss Saeki, the adult love interest, is Kafka’s mother, he confesses his love for her and initiates a sexual relationship, firmly believing that she is. This relationship is deeply unsettling and creates a barrier to empathy, making it difficult for readers to fully connect with the narrative.
Nevertheless, “Kafka on the Shore” is undeniably thought-provoking. The themes and concepts it explores are remarkably original, to a degree few other narratives manage to achieve. In fact, Kafka’s Oedipal prophecy lies at the core of one of Murakami’s most intriguing ideas. He suggests that unresolved emotions and unfinished business persist through genetic inheritance, passed down to one’s children. In Kafka’s case, his father’s unfulfilled longing for his mother, who left shortly after his birth, becomes his own, sealing his fate to fall in love with her as well. “That prophecy is like a timing device buried inside my genes,” Kafka says to Miss Saeki. “Nothing can ever change it.”
Such a concept wouldn’t have been possible without Murakami’s willingness to question the archetypes, to unravel what they are and do. Stories like this are a necessity, even if we don’t entirely know what to make of them.
What do they call me?
Nina Simone and “Four Women”
writing GABRIELLA MBAOUA photography KEVIN THEODAT & ELIZABETH SCHOLL
Aunt Sarah, Saffronia, Sweet Thing and Peaches
are not to be thought of as characters, but rather reflections of the realities of labor, privilege, sexuality and rage.
Singer-songwriter Nina Simone transformed the love, fear, hope and rage she felt as a Black woman into powerful anthems that scored revolutionary movements. She depicted the beauty and darkness of the Civil Rights era’s effect on women, brilliantly entwining artistry and activism; her creative consciousness deeply rooted in her experiences.
Simone’s 1966 song, “Four Women,” weaves a narrative that depicts haunting perspectives of Black womanhood through four archetypes: “Aunt Sarah,” “Saffronia,” “Sweet Thing” and “Peaches.” The song offers allegories of the burdens inflicted on Black women throughout history while highlighting their resilience and empowerment.
Her name is Aunt Sarah, and her persona represents labor, suffering and resilience. She reflects depictions of enslaved and working-class Black women in history who've experienced hardships while supporting their families and communities. Aunt Sarah portrays the weight of enduring exploitation and oppression, projecting caretaker stereotypes, particularly the “Mammy” archetype, that undervalue the work of Black women in society. These narratives persist from domestic to corporate spaces as Black women are expected to silently endure systemic barriers. With the lyric, "Strong enough to take the pain," Simone expresses the constant emotional and physical hurdles Black women meet, and their perceived capacity to withstand these hardships.
Her name is Saffronia because she represents the struggle of navigating racial identity in a racially hierarchical society. Saffronia is described as a mixed-race Black woman who is caught between two worlds, dealing with tensions of her privileges and her alienation from both communities. Contemporary media often exoticizes mixed-race people or portrays them as struggling with identity crises. Simone writes in the voice of Saffronia, “Between two worlds, I do belong.” Mixed-race women’s ambiguity awards them advantages over darker-skinned individuals due to colorism, but not enough to fully access white privilege. Categorizing multiracial people remains a complex issue, and society’s persistent attempts to define these individuals reinforce our racial hierarchies.
Her name is Sweet Thing because her title supports the pervasive hyper-sexualization of Black women. Dating back centuries, harmful narratives suggest that Black women are reduced to sexual objects, defined solely by their ability to attract and be commodified. This rhetoric was used to wrongfully justify their subjection to exploitation. When
Simone sang the lyric, “Anyone who has money to buy,” she showcased the dichotomy between Black women’s agency and exploitation. The line between reclaiming their sexuality in a way that shows empowerment and sustaining generational objectification is often hard to define. The Sarah Baartman effect — referring to a South African woman who was exploited as a freak show attraction in early 19th-century Europe — continues to influence how the media views Black women. Whether in film or television, Black women’s sexuality is emphasized while neglecting their character depth. Although Black women’s bodies are still commodified, more narratives are being pushed of them as multidimensional people with value, exceeding sexual presentation. Simone addresses a deep-rooted discussion of being burdened by a hyper-sexual label and the journey toward reclaiming autonomy.
Her name is Peaches, and she embodies all the rage and empowerment that exists in Black womanhood. Rather than suppressing the pain and suffering she's experienced, she chooses to embrace her anger, using it as a tool for change. "My life has been rough" is a line from the song that resonates with many Black women who feel radicalized and impassioned by their trauma and suffering. Though often demonized by society, Black female rage has been the necessary reaction to challenging injustices in society — from the Civil Rights to the Suffragettes, their voices have continued to back numerous activist movements. Simone reflects a very strong message of acting in defiance in defense of oneself, demonstrating that rage is crucial for liberation. Why expect sweetness when resistance makes change?
Since its release, "Four Women" has remained a powerful anthem with provocative yet imperative messages about the intersectional truths of race, gender and identity. Many have criticized the piece, arguing that the song reinforces stereotypes rather than picking them apart. However, Simone's intentional personification of Black women’s struggles gave a voice to the realities that have been historically belittled and ignored.
Aunt Sarah, Saffronia, Sweet Thing and Peaches are not to be thought of as characters, but rather reflections of the realities of labor, privilege, sexuality and rage. Each of these themes cut just as deep today as they did in 1966, proving Simone's work to be potent and timeless — pushing society toward reckoning with the past and examining how things have changed. Simone’s admired, unflinching honesty continues to inspire the artists of today who wish to hold up a mirror of their own.
THE CHEMISTRY OF Attraction
ARKIN SAWHNEY photography MAYA SOLANKI & SIENA LUM
For centuries, the art of seduction has ensnared human interest. But where does one turn when traditional temptation falls short?
Pheromone perfumes provide potential promise to ignite attraction by harnessing chemical signals: Are the subtle, scentless compounds replicable for marketing?
Pheromones are naturally occurring chemical messengers that are exuded by the body through sweat and other secretions that subtly influence behavior, mood and interpersonal interactions. Recognizing their allure, the fragrance industry has synthesized similar compounds into commercial perfumes, marketing them as potent enhancers of magnetism and sexuality. Despite the appeal of instant attraction, the scientific community remains divided on whether these perfumes truly have an effect for users or if their power is simply a placebo.
Research on pheromones favors validity of their effect. A 2015 study published in science journal Frontiers in Nutrition explored the pheromone estratetraenol, a compound posited to facilitate female-to-male signaling. Additionally, a 2016 study in the journal of Psychoneuroendocrinology revealed that exposure to androstadienone, a chemical compound found in male sweat, was linked to changes in physiological responses and mood in women, sparking conversation surrounding its role in social communication.
Expropriating the research of natural chemical signals, the cosmetics industry has long tried to harness this phenomenon by creating synthetic pheromones that mimic nature’s design. Chemical analyses reveal that many synthetic compounds used in modern perfumes are carefully engineered to mirror the molecular structures of natural human pheromones. “Original,” a perfume by Pure Instinct that tries to mimic the pheromone androstenol, found in male sweat, is often socially associated with increased approachability for the wearer.
Patented methods for incorporating and stabilizing synthetic pheromones are included in fragrance products. Such innovations suggest that the industry is committed to crafting scents that not only appeal to the senses, but also tap into primal biology.
However, despite these technological strides, the behavioral impact of simulated pheromone perfumes remains the subject of ongoing debate. Meta-analyses and reviews of experimental studies present mixed findings regarding the ability of these scents to enhance attraction. Controlled studies often yield inconsistent outcomes, with many experiments failing to replicate their results.
Some studies indicate that any perceived boost in attractiveness may be attributed to the wearer’s elevated self-confidence, rather than to a direct chemical influence.
When comparing active pheromone formulations to placebos, researchers reported similar outcomes, suggesting that the power of belief might be just as influential as any chemical action.
While researchers continue to unravel the mysteries of chemical communication, the fascination with a secret scent language endures and advances. While the science may be inconclusive, perhaps the real magic lies not in an elusive chemical trigger, but in the confidence this chemistry can evoke.
ON THE JOIE DE VIVRE
writing SOPHIA NAUMOVSKI photography JENNA ORY set design ALEXA VANSUCH & NIMI SHOYINKA
design CHRISTINE CHO styling ANUSHKA CHANDIRAMANI & CHINMAYEE LATKAR asst. direction GIANNI DIARBI
hair & makeup MADISON MOORE & MOLLY LANE
modeling ANVI RAKSHE, BRIDGET BOEHLKE, HAILEY MAHON, & SAMANTHA MIN
Blumarine is a fashion label that transcends materiality. It’s a woman discovering her desires and coming into her own; it’s the tenderness of a first kiss, the tears of first heartbreak and everything in between. Blumarine is a celebration of the duplicity endemic to the female experience in all its beauty, grandeur and defeats.
Founded by husband and wife Anna Molinari and Gianpaola Tarabini in 1977, the Italian fashion house Blumarine is an artistic lovechild in every sense of its being. Designed to evoke the intimacy and continuity of the sea, the name Blumarine originated out of the couple’s infatuation with the movement and colors of water. The decedent romance that Blumarine promises is the label’s lifeblood — its beating heart.
After promoting her designs to boutiques around Milan, Molinari finally broke into the luxury fashion scene in 1980. She debuted Blumarine’s first collection at Modit, an Italian luxury trade show, earning her the “Designer of the Year” award and securing a coveted spot in Milan Fashion Week
Although dubbed the “Queen of Roses” by Italian Chamber of Fashion founder Beppe Modenese, Molinari is no blushing flower. She quickly established the ethos of Blumarine as more than a clothing brand: Blumarine was a feeling, a heartbeat, a reflection of femininity in all its rawness, imperfections and bliss.
Molinari and the brand’s trademark rose motif reveal such complexities through the imagery of a supple flower paired with precarious thorns. In her biography, “Anna Molinari Blumarine,” Molinari said,
“To me, [roses] symbolize feminine beauty, grace and energy, encapsulated in a single, marvelous entity. Every woman is a bit like that: fragile and strong at the same time.”
Florals are a cornerstone of the brand. Blumarine doesn’t shy away from such a traditionally feminine emblem but embraces the convention as a multidimensional symbol of the softness of femininity and the sensuality of womanhood, seen in designs like the 3-dimensional applique bra cups featured in their S/S 1997 show.
Blumarine embraces rawness and sexual desire as a natural component of romance and expresses sensuality on a woman’s terms. These garments aren’t made to objectify but to embellish and accentuate. A runway offering both revealing sheer blouses and knit turtleneck dresses provides diverse levels of exposure that don’t pigeonhole sexual expression. The Blumarine girl feels in control of her perception and is imbued with confidence as the label bends to a woman’s whim.
Blumarine’s timelessness is attributed to the feminine truths encapsulated in its designs; however, it is also defined by its status as the epitome of luxury Y2K-style. After Nicola Brogano took over the reins as creative director in 2019, his focus on the hyper-femininity of the Y2K-aesthetic earned him a cult following among Gen Z. The denim butterfly top, fur-trimmed cardigans,
micro shorts and bedazzled “B” moniker belts are not only memorable trademarks of Brogano’s time at the Maison but are homages to the brand’s identity established 20-30 years prior.
Today, the brand continues to celebrate the joys and frustrations of girlhood with new creative director David Koma at its helm. Koma is evolving Blumarine and honoring its history with his debut, the tongue-in-cheek Pre-Fall 2025 collection. The models in Koma’s campaign are fitted with both Catholic rosaries, pussycat panties and a smize that asks, “So what?” Beauty and elegance aren’t lost in these on-the-nose designs though, as Koma also includes embroidered skirts, flowy floral frocks and sumptuous pops of fur. With a wink and flair for irony, the brand is subverting the elitism of luxury and imbuing its designs with girlish charm.
Flirty and fresh, Blumarine prioritizes the joy of dressing over pretentiousness. At the precipice of a new era, Blumarine will continue to serve as a time-honored feminine tradition. The brand faces the challenges and contradictions of femininity head-on with a carefree flippancy that truly expresses the joy of girlhood.
photography, creative direction, styling MUKKI GILL creative direction JENNA ORY & LAUREN VIOLETTE asst. direction ALEX KELLY, GIANNI DIARBI & HAILEY MAHON set lead ALEXA VANSUCH set assist JULIANA KIM & NISARGA RAMESH fashion director TY ORLANDO design ELLIE FULKERSON hair & makeup CELINE PLAISIR, DEVYANSHI CHANDRA, & SARAH WAGGONER modeling AARIA PATEL, ANDY MEJIA, CAITLYN VERGARA, KILLIAN MAK, & MARIAME GUEYE
JADED
WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO PLEASE YOUR HIGHER SELF?
To chase ambition so relentlessly that fulfillment turns to fatigue, for what once made you shine now wanes your light. Jaded explores the weariness hidden in pursuit.
IN BRINGING VISIONS TO LIFE
Life can feel so clear, but at times they linger too sharply until it stings; the burden of seeing so much and still not knowing what’s to come.
BY PLEASING THE HIGHER SELF
There is a constant push and pull between passion and exhaustion — pushing forward with insatiable drive, yet pulling back by holding on too tight.
THE FIRE THAT FUELS IS THE SAME ONE THAT BURNS OUT.
Reaching for the next step, wondering if you’re rising or burning away.
THE MOUTH, THE GREATEST WEAPON
Words shape and define, feeding a relentless hunger to do more, to be more. Until it devours, ripping raw, will you realize that more has been bitten off than can be chewed.
JADED, FADED, ALMOST GONE.
Like the moon in the morning — "Jaded, faded, almost gone*." Yet, the sun rises again, and the tides will wash in.
* Lyrics from 070 Shake's Guilty Conscience
The Avenue Magazine is student run and created. We put our heart and soul into this project each semester, and we thank you for taking time to spend it with us between these pages.
This issue of The Avenue Magazine SS 2025 was designed using Adobe InDesign, Adobe Photoshop, Adobe Illustrator and Adobe Lightroom. The typefaces used are Pangram Pangram Neue Montreal and Pangram Pangram Playground.
Printed by Puritan Capital, Hollis, New Hampshire. The magazine is printed in full color (4/4 CMYK) using an Indigo press on 80# silk text paper. It is 136 pages plus cover, sized at 8.5" × 11", and perfect bound.
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PAULA CHUNG
design ELLIE FULKERSON
creative direction & styling
ALEX KELLY, HAILEY MAHON, GIANNI DIARBI makeup KAYDENCE LIN
