Writer: Niko Lopez
Designer: Aily Valencia Cervantes
The word millionaire does not have the best reputation today. With Elon Musk making increasingly polarizing moves in the interest of profit, such as his recent acquisition of Twitter, now known as X, the general public is sharpening their pitchforks and beginning to share a common sentiment more than ever. Devour the empowered. Bridge the gap. But in our witch-hunt to destroy the Musks and Bezos of the world, we turn a blind eye to a certain brand of the rich. Celebrities, pop stars, musicians, actors and influencers. They are designed to be lovable, and lovable they are. With this adoration going hand-in-hand with the public’s constant exposure to every aspect of their favorite celebrities’ lives, it might be easy to feel like there is some connection. However, there is something that slashes a celebrity’s perfect image into shreds—being lovable is their job. They are not being held accountable for their actions, fiercely protected by the same victims they profit from. But are we to blame for our innate urge to connect? Why do we not realize there is not a personal relationship flourishing from both ends?
Celebrity worship has gotten out of hand, but neither party does anything to stop it.
Pop stars are not going to because they benefit from it, minus some privacy breaches and tightened security details here and there. We will not stop it either because any crumb of attention boosts our dopamine levels. We think there is a close bond, but these parasocial relationships only harm us. It is nothing to be ashamed of or hide. Studies show that about 51% of Americans have engaged in parasocial relationships at some point in their lives. However, a lot of us are not aware of it. Think of your favorite music artist. Chances are, you have looked into their personal life to some degree, even as trivial as following their Instagram or looking up interviews of their music. When we favorably engage with celebrities and consider ourselves fans, we subconsciously create bias and build an emotional connection with their music. We pay for their concerts, buy their merch and preach about how great they are to our friends. Sound familiar? People have done this since celebrities became a thing, and with the internet and social media’s infinite offering of information, there is no sign of it stopping soon.
While holding parasocial bonds is not our fault, nor wholly negative, celebrities possess a big chunk of the power in this dynamic. They may feel a connection to their audience, but at the end of the day, each fan is indiscernible from the next. A check is a check, no matter who signs it. We brush our favorite celebrities’ wrongdoings under the rug and forgive them for their missteps. As a result, their seemingly god-like status makes the sins of other cultural figures seem huge in comparison. It is a venomous cycle known as cancel culture that ostracizes anyone who challenges the ever-changing status quo. ARMY, K-pop supergroup BTS’ self-named fanbase, is infamous for going on Twitter crusades to protect their favorite K-pop idols from anyone who stands in their way. To some of them, BTS is incapable of making any mistakes. However, BTS has made cancelable moves with little negative feedback or ac-
countability. Several members have faked a blaccent, misused AAVE (African American Vernacular English) and worn culturally-appropriated hairstyles. While people judge these offenses at their discretion, it is inter esting to note how every single one of these incidents has been forgotten about, or even ignored, by the general public. BTS profits from their perfect image, and their team will go to no bounds to hide any information or mishap that contradicts it.
We tend to take things too far with our heroes, but we should not bang our gavels at dedicated fans so quickly. Most of the fault still lies on the celebrity. It is worth asking whether cancel culture would even exist in the first place if celebrities did not cling so tightly to their perfect im age. Take Kim Kardashian, for example. At this point, she is the Queen of Cancel Culture. People have attempted to cancel her time and time again, yet she remains standing as one of the most influential celebrities of the 21st century. She is uncancellable , and although perceived as a representation of society’s ideal appearance, Kim Kardashian is a narcissist and egomaniac to the tabloids. However, she remains at the top because she sticks to the script, not more or less of what she already is. This Kardashian got her fame from a sex tape and broadcasted her messy family life on a reality TV show, capital izing off her sex-icon status instead of the all-American flawless Barbie dreamhouse life. Yes, she does have her share of fans who want to be just like her, and after being thoroughly criticized by audiences worldwide, she still retains her comfortable throne at the top of pop culture stardom.
We tend to take things too far with our heroes.
Let us face it—some of us love to hate it.
But we have to consider: Are celebrities not people too? Should they be able to do things at their leisure, have personal relationships and live their private lives? Are we to blame for willingly falling into the trap? That would be easier to believe. The idea that we are at fault for parasocial relationships is not new. But it is impossible to escape feeling a connection to the maker of our favorite things. When we have a favorite song that resonates, we want to hear it more. Eventually, we will want to know more about the artist, which is how we fall into the trap. It is a diametrically dystopian idea.
Celebrities must give themselves wholly to their audience and put on a face of flawlessness to stay relevant. However, accountability must fall on them for taking advantage of this natural connection to gain more money and fame. If parasocial relationships were all our fault, they would not try so hard to appeal to us and satiate our hunger.
Photographed by Tiana Cohen
Designed by Christa Wickman
We all have images in our head of what that means—a persona, a way of life, a public appearance. Often enough, it is the saddest people that are the ones struggling to keep up with the lifestyle that social media and society expects those living in luxury to have. This is a dark, twisted fantasy masked by happy faces and shiny jewels. I present to you, XS.
Photographed by Zachary Allred
Designed by Christa WickmanModeled by Michelle Cho, Sanura Ezeagu, Akshi Kumar, Saina Macha and Souroja Sen
Makeup by Sanaura Ezeagu and Krishma Indrasanan
Before 900 A.D., pre-colonial Philippines dressed itself in the finest royalties, gold dripping from its fingertips laced with the vines of abundant agriculture. Across the Indian Ocean, pre-colonial Africa rejoiced in the vibrancy of its dynamic cultures, diverse art and glimmering minerals. When these two places are mentioned presently, they share the same image: a poor, pitiful land in desperate need of a wealthier country to play hero and save them. This is American morphology —the tendency of this country to define the culture of other places by their inferiority in economic standing. The ideological oppression of these beautiful worlds reduces the culture at the heart of these lands to nothing more than one of scraps and beggars. These people are painted as victims of their shortcomings just so the bald eagle can swoop down and save them from themselves.
We are only fragments of whatever stained glass narratives our ancestors chose to glue together. In my family, this narrative always projected an image of a less fortunate, third-world country. Being physically disconnected from our home country was all I knew of the Philippines for some time. I chose not to look too deeply into our history, trusting the spoken word of my parents to provide me with telescopic insight. It never crossed my mind that the pre-colonial Filipino world was much wider than had imagined it to be.
Written by: Rey Dizon Designed by: Sarah Carson
The best ocean navigators in Southeast Asia. Gold gracing the feet of those who came before us. A society free from patriarchy. Women holding political and social power— being called warriors. Leaders. An old Philippine tradition called them Babaylans, or female mystical healers. They served as intermediaries between the spiritual and material worlds in their communities. Being a matriarchal society, husbands respected their wives to the extent of always walking behind them. Women were given the power of naming their children, keeping their maiden names and even being able to choose to get a divorce without the internalized shame that comes with doing so today. Now, the Philippines boasts about being the only Christian nation in Asia, though these religious seeds were nowhere to be found before colonialism. Instead, natives explored religion as a way to navigate the seemingly frightening uncertainties of the future. They believed in animism, characterized by an interconnectedness with nature based on the belief that the world had an individual consciousness—that the very ground they stood on was not one to extort resources for profit. It lived and breathed alongside them. They held the bark of trees and the edges of stones and felt power. The mountains, sun and moon were spiritual entities, encompassing a hidden power that could only be respected profoundly through the worship of Mother Nature herself.
You can imagine my surprise when I learned this through a TikTok video as I scrolled through another sleepless night. Learning about this forgotten world brought me to tears. A whirlwind of emotions pulsated through the blood in my veins that shared with people I knew so little of. felt betrayed that something this beautiful about my own identity was hidden from me. For 17 years, my self-worth amounted to the norms sewn into me by the oppressive, patriarchal society I was raised in. As a little girl, was force-fed subliminal messages that my place in society was already pre-established.
was born into a man’s world, and that is what it will always be.
could not wrap my head around the idea that in my past heritage, amounted to more than a subservient counterpart to a man. To my surprise, it was not unnatural to know very little about the pre-colonial Philippines and the values it held. Very few Filipino people continue to dig up the jewel that is our mystical beginnings, and those of us who try tend to give up on research because of the extent of the erasure. Even now, there are very few resources that give insight into the divine societies of our predecessors. Why is there not more interest in the people who used to walk these islands and sail these seas before us?
"Colonization drove a splintering fracture between us and our ancestors "
Colonization drove a splintering fracture between us and our ancestors, the new culture forced onto us separating what long-standing traditions we held. The organic Filipino experience was stripped from us, erasing what we used to know about our roots. The papers that documented the colorful tribes and passionate lifestyles untouched by Western influences were disintegrated, and burned to ash by the colonial powers of richer countries. When the topic of pre-colonialism was brought up, there was not much to add to the conversation. Other than the general knowledge that we were colonized by Spain, no one cared enough to delve into our native culture. After all, we were conquered by a first-world country. Most people learned to be grateful for that fact, because where would we be without a wealthier nation to revolutionize our savage ways? Our history was suppressed further and further. Eventually, the gold encompassing our culture was too far buried for us to pay any mind to. Little did we know, this was only the start of the distortion of Filipino culture.
Think about the foreign cultures we are usually exposed to in the media. Chances are, you think about shows that highlight British culture, such as “Bridgerton” and “The Crown.” At the same time, a rise in the absorption of Korean dramas has also transpired. These two popular cultures in American media share one thing in common—they present foreigners indulging in a surplus of fortune and glamor. Popular British shows center around royalty and all the fancy quirks that come with inheriting the crown, such as the balls and gowns that only exist in our dreams. Popular Korean shows tend to follow the same narrative over and over again, where a girl from a poorer family catches the attention of a well-off man who can throw his money around carelessly. These cultures are deemed as worth paying any mind because they are more economically well off. On the other hand, we seldom see any shows that dive deep into cultures from third-world countries. Instead, we are exposed to pictures of people from these countries knee-deep in polluted waters, surrounded by trash or barely clothed in scraps. These distinctions are not an accident, but instead meticulously strategic. Only focusing on the scarcity of resources in these countries allows such projections to encompass their entire culture. We are constantly fed the single story of these places to uphold the American savior complex. The manipulation of storytelling gives the wealthy a purpose: to save foreigners who are less fortunate by donating to them and spoiling them with their abundance of money. The direction that their money goes is irrelevant to them because being able to say they donated is simply an act to boost their ego and reputation.
This distorted narrative has even influenced the way people from these countries view themselves. Christianity was nowhere to be found in the Philippines before colonization, but it is now one of the values the country is most proud of.
The Christian religion is tied to a more luxurious Western culture, where elegant cathedrals are built with the utmost attention to detail and design. People argue that Christian influence would not have taken hold without the destruction that came from colonization. I often come across others who claim the same statement: “Shouldn’t we be thankful? They saved us.” Last time I remembered, saviors do not run cultures dry of their resources and values.
So what do we do now? To preface, it is okay not to have all the answers. It is valid to feel disconnected from cultures we have never been exposed to in-depth. What we cannot do is continue to stand by and let American morphology distort the way people view foreign cultures just to uplift their pride. We do not need big-headed saviors to shower the people they pity with blood-stained riches. We need a genuine interest in other cultures and a certain thoughtfulness in the way we not only tell stories but absorb information from the media. When young girls ask about their culture, tell them they were queens in their past lives—that they were powerful and no one had the liberty to take that power away from them. The next time we think we know everything, let us take a second to ask ourselves: Does this reflect the reality of the culture, or is this feeding into the strategic distortion that serves no one but the wealthy?
" When young girls ask about their culture, tell them they were queens in their past lives—that they were powerful and no one had the liberty to take that power away from them. "
Chaos consumes the world we commit to our day-to-day lives—it has grown accustomed to trading creativity for less effort and more money. Art is a voice that records experiences, stories or dreams for an innovative tomorrow. These commercial habits remain at the forefront as artificial intelligence (AI) plants the seed for a not-so-new normal.
Creativity, the crux of the film industry, and technology have graced film screens through many decades. Beginning in black and white images on silver screens and transforming into a dazzling epoch of glamor and cinematic excellence in the 21st century. Artists could express themselves by challenging barriers and capturing their views of the world through films ranging from The Great Depression, which documented the suffering and economic unrest worldwide, to blockbuster movies like “Star Wars” and “Jurassic Park.” Technology’s evolutionary touch began in the 1990s with computer-generated images (CGI). As the digital age evolved, filmmakers embraced high-definition cameras and editing programs to captivate the senses of their viewers. Now, we navigate popular streaming platforms like Netflix or Disney+ to indulge in such media from the comfort of our homes.
The 21st century has revolutionized the intersection of art and technology by blending the worlds of storytelling and special effects. AI, a computer program created to think like humans, has become increasingly prevalent in areas dominated by human-generated art. To Destiny Bridgers, a first-year student at UNC Charlotte studying theater to become an actor, understanding the impact of AI in film is a preemptive measure all aspiring actors should take. “In short, human content has the human touch, something that can never be copied by a machine. AI is always the same up to the point that it will get predictable,” stated Bridgers. AI combines computer science and data sets; it enables problem-solving by improving various aspects of learning, reasoning, self-correction and creativity. Similar technology commonly revolves around eliminating human errors and efficiently producing desired products. We see this in film productions like “Terminator” and “The Matrix” which showcase realities where machine-learning computers attempt to control most, if not all, aspects of humanity. AI is generally accepted today as a helping hand in improving various everyday lives, which creates a seemingly perfect world.
Is this the preview for the next “The Matrix” franchise installment? I sure hope not.
Although hard to believe, the use of AI in the film industry has positive impacts, but there is a much bigger problem here. From the standpoints of writing, directing, producing, and marketing, AI has made the film industry more efficient and effective. However, this technological advancement generates potential risks of creative loss and homogenization of art. Many production houses before were reluctant to announce their involvement with AI, as film is a creative field that relies heavily on human ingenuity, expertise and ambition. It was not until 2015 that we saw the startup of ScripBook, a high-tech company with a vision to revolutionize storytelling through AI. It analyzes movie trends and scripts to predict movie success. This form of data collecting sets has impacted the decision-making of film productions across writing styles and directing visions. On the other hand, it is noticeable that many fear job displacement as AI will replace specialists such as film engineers, editors, writers, directors and actors.
AI, a double-edged sword, generates ideas, dialogues and storyboards, potentially being a tool and hindrance for the future of film. ChatGPT, a language processing tool intended to replicate human communication, debuted in November
2022 and highlighted risks for the writing industry. Although reported as doomed to fail by film and technology journalists, looming cautiousness remains for the chatbot in the screenwriting industry. Such technology was in the hot seat in March 2023 when the Writers Guild of America (WGA) announced that 99% of its members voted for an increase in compensation, residuals, staffing requirements and protection from AI job interference. Wrestling amongst themselves, writers were fed up with the struggles of making a living as a writer. Hollywood’s writers went on strike, stopping all production of late-night programs and big-time streaming shows like “Stranger Things.”
the 21st century has revolutionized the intersection of art and technology technology has the potential to create a hyper-reality that will be the “new” normal
In October 2023, the WGA struck a deal with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers to protect themselves from AI like ChatGPT. They agreed that AI would become a tool for writers, but AI could not write or rewrite scripts. Why did it take a Hollywood shutdown to receive these conditions? What could it mean for the future of film? We understand that screen media shapes the views of people through visual representations of culture, but with the use of AI, there is an exponential rise in anxiety. Algorithms will change based on trends that are predominantly white, conservative, and patriarchal. Such technology can create a hyper-reality that will be the new normal. If analyses and data produced by AI are heavily relied on, then bias will present itself inside the industry, outing minority ethnicities and emerging talents. BIPOC creatives, like myself, will not only have their opportunities diminished but their voices silenced.
Deep fakes showcase the use of AI technology best. Digital avatars or deep fakes could harm the casting of actors or create characters without authentic human interpretation. Producers can use deep fakes to create ideal characters to perfectly match voices, gestures, facial expressions and personalities. Actors can become the next disposable asset as digital avatars emulate real-life representations of personas. Kamdyn Burns, a theatre student at Charlotte, expressed, “If the future of film is controlled by AI, eventually it will become boring. Films, a lot of the time, are written based on experience or a sprout of imagination.” AI is limited and will recreate content, like the next
“anybody can become disposable
“
installment of another unnecessary “Fast & Furious” film, diluting any creative elements left of the film industry. Automation technologies have increased so much that industries like manufacturing and retail have reduced the need for workers. “Anybody can become disposable,” Burns commented, “As we see today, many [grocery stores] have sustained themselves through self-checkout. Technology can replace people to achieve efficiency and save time.” Automation in the film industry promises efficiency while challenging the loss of creativity, intellectual property and societal balance. Sacrificing the creative control for AI tools in the film industry would not only change films themselves but generate the quantity over quality dilemma, depersonalization and standardization of the film industry.
Amidst the swirling sea of technology, the question lingers: Could AI be considered art? Film and media production has evolved, providing canvases for artists to craft their visions digitally. Yet, under this digital veneer, AI has established itself as a collection of algorithms meticulously trained to mimic human knowledge. “Although art can be created by AI, I feel it can never be considered true art. AI, in context, builds on the ideas of others which can be expected when it creates art,” suggested Bridgers. Art, in short, is a social behavior that helps unite people through different forms of display and communication. It is not just a painting, building, or monument— it is a time in history that allows us to understand what we face as humans. Through art, we can voice the triumphs and disparities of our communities. Some assert that a computerized machine is a non-human artist. Despite this argument, art is not solely a product of human creation. Art from nonhuman ability exists in natural landscapes such as the Grand Canyon, Tatras Mountains, and Yosemite National Park. However, the question relies on individual perspectives, whether society will accept it for what it is or defame it as another social divider.
AI is a tool incapable of reaching the depths of human cognition. As automation increases, it may never achieve the same level of awareness as humans, the creators of ingenuity, about the real world. So, should AI be feared for replacing artistic expression? Or should we fear what humans are capable of creating? Look around, practically everything is human-made, even AI.
By: Isabella Goulet
Photographed By: Abbas Omotosho
Designed By: Tiana Cohen
Outwardly disgusted, the patriarch of the Roy family, Logan, marches into the room with the food you spent countless hours working on and demands that it all go in the garbage. You took it out of the kitchen merely 15 minutes ago. He waves his hand with stern authority, commanding you out of the room. Painstakingly, you pick up a massive tray of lobster and march over to the trash can. They were not going to eat it anyway. You are seething, though you already knew it was all going to waste. What a twisted sense of restraint, as if they are too good to eat the food. It should not matter, you are not paying for it, but the principle still stands. Food means something to you, but it means nothing to them.
If you have watched the show “Succession,” you probably know what scene I am referring to. If you have not, will make it quick. The plot’s inspiration comes from the
Murdoch family, who founded “FOX News,” and the same people who are worth at least $17.3 billion. The scene, as you can imagine, was incredibly unsettling to watch. Food has a notable presence in “Succession,” and it is no accident the Roys constantly disregard their food. They ensure they are always served the most expensive dishes and do not touch any of them. “Succession” showed me that how rich people eat is carefully engineered to fulfill one purpose: separating themselves from the poor.
By eating the way they do, the wealthy reinforce a historical pattern – the rich can eat what they want, and the poor cannot. The only change in the pattern is the food they choose to eat.
There has always been a vast interplay between food and wealth. When we think of the elite, caviar, lobster and foie gras come to mind. We think of white tablecloths, perfectly placed silverware and napkins tucked across laps. We do not envision grits, tacos, or rice and beans. It does not make sense; all these foods are refined and culturally significant. So what explains it? Why do the rich choose to eat the way they do? It is not just a meal; it is a performance.
Keep your backs straight.
Hold your silverware correctly
Take small bites, and don’t eat too quickly.
Make sure you look a little bit bored.
If you get too excited, everyone else might think you are not used to such decadence.
The American elite has consistently endorsed the idea that being poor is something to be scared of, and the one percent’s focus on wealth has removed the meaning behind food. No matter how multi-faceted a cultural cuisine is, wealthy Americans only want to indulge in expensive foods to reinforce the status quo.
What would the price tag on caviar be if it was not an indicator of social currency? It makes you think about the connotation of ethnic foods like tacos or grits and why they fall so low on the social hierarchy.
There are privileges reserved for the rich
A book published by Krishnendu Ray, an associate professor at NYU, showed that people usually tie the luxuriousness of food to the economic status or influence of the country it comes from. For example, authentic Japanese cuisine generally carries a high price tag. If you look up “most expensive restaurants in New York City,” a Japanese restaurant is at the top of the list. Japan is a wealthy nation, so its food has a connotation of wealth. Although, this has not always been the case. Less than a century ago, Japanese food was not just unpopular but taboo. Remember Pearl Harbor? Remember how quickly Americans turned on the Japanese? The government locked thousands of Japanese-Americans away in internment camps. You would think that the relationship between Japan and the United States would not recover. But, after World War II, the Japanese economy went through a period of unprecedented growth. Its GDP rose approximately 7% each year. The U.S. shifted its spotlight from Japan’s previous transgressions to its shiny, new economic potential. Now that the Japanese were from a rich country, they were worth considering.
The directors of “Succession” deliberately showed the family members disregarding their decadent meals as soon as something superficially important happened. I have found that this pattern reflects how many wealthy people eat and how those who aspire to such affluence eat. In the U.S., hustle culture is the idea that working hard and making money is essential; it strongly influences how people perceive food. Think about millennials: they are endlessly chastised for spending too much money on seemingly meaningless things, like lattes or avocados, and silenced when they try to explain how difficult it is to save money.
Hardworking Americans don’t waste time cooking when they do not need to.
Hardworking Americans eat breakfast in their cars and lunch at their desks. There are privileges reserved for the rich—money buys the time to sit down and eat lavishly.
Someone living paycheck-to-paycheck should not sit down at their table to eat. They have not earned that luxury. Curiously enough, this attitude is prevalent in the middle class, specifically those trying their hardest to climb the social ladder. They do not realize that something else is at the top of the ladder: a stage to act in a play they did not get cast in, reciting lines in a language they have never encountered. The main objective? Who can pretend the best.
money buys the time to sit down and eat lavishly.
There’s so much more to life...
This perception of food and wealth has caused many Americans to look down upon those who appreciate their food, especially if they are not actively working towards upward economic mobility.
I grew up in Brazil, where cooking and eating together are the most important things a family could do. In Brazil, the kitchen is a holy place. Food is made with love. Some recipes have been passed down from generation to generation. In my house, there is a journal that my great-grandmother, Julieta, used to own. Its pages are filled to the brim with different Brazilian recipes, all carefully written out in cursive, with meticulous steps, ingredient lists and little notes to the reader, now my family and myself. Somehow, she anticipated anything that could go wrong, any questions that we would have.
Do not forget! You can never add enough garlic.
Do not stare at the rice when you cook it. It can tell you’re watching. Put the lid on and pretend it does not exist.
Make sure you put the timer on for exactly 14 minutes. That is the golden number.
Julieta wrote this recipe book to keep track of her recipes. She also knew that the food she made would persist through generations, and it was vital to know that she was there. To feel that she was cooking alongside us and that her love for us was there in her recipes. Its presence manifested in the food we created from them. Brazilian immigrants are part of the poorest population in the country, meaning there are significantly fewer high-end Brazilian restaurants than Japanese in the U.S. But, as I have said, we always make room for food. There is an unspeakable intimacy in talking with someone over a huge bowl of rice and beans. Harvesting that intimacy by buying, preparing and serving food takes time. It is a different luxury, but it should be something that anyone can partake in without feeling ashamed.
To be well-off in the U.S., appreciating food must be put on the back burner. There is so much more to life, right? Wrong. If the rich cannot understand that, we might as well eat them too.
It’s been one hundred years,
yet here we are in the same era we once were with an economy on the verge of collapse, a lower class growing larger than ever before and a longing for a time pre-pandemic. Over the past three years of the 2020s, these cataclysmic moments have altered our individual expression into escapism. Between political unrest and social revolution, we yearn to devise a reality opposing our own. Transformative shifts in fashion have taken place, from the modern nightlife of bold makeup and drop-waist dresses from the 1920s to the resurgence of retro styles in the 2020s such as Y2K and thrifted vintage. And while the 1920s are categorized as ahead of their time, the 2020s have seized past fashion trends by the throat. Every social movement and cultural shift has led to the clothes we once wore and what we wear today. We may believe we have some choice over the clothes we wear, but perhaps our nonconformity is still a structure of society. Our reactionary period to a digital age was already predicted. By drawing parallels between two seemingly distinct decades, we shed light on the impact fashion has had in times of adversity, and how the past is terrifyingly closer than we think.
Imagine, you’re a woman in the 1920s. The city lights are set ablaze at night, the streets filled with people and cars moving in chaotic fury. And you are wearing a flapper, not the tight corset you once wore, but a loose flapper dress with fringe, embroidered beads and a necklace of pearls. Fashion has thrown off the shackles of Victorian restraint and is unapologetic for it. So are you. Free of coercion, you are so defiant against your society that you are about to break the law, actually quite a few of them. It is the height of jazz and nightlife. You are about to enter a speakeasy.
Through an alleyway, the entrance to a dimly lit door is blocked by a guard with a tilted black fedora and cigarette. To enter, you whisper the password to him, and he obliges, opening the door to a staircase. As you descend into the club, jazz music weaves through the air, and you move with the crowded room. Smoke fills the forbidden establishment, welcoming you into a warm, dark haze as wandering eyes shift back and forth across the bar. A place where men and women of any race, class and sexuality sway in one rhythmical movement.
In reality, Prohibition is at its height, driven by the belief that al cohol is the root of societal issues. The government, Protestant
groups and other religious organizations support the ban, and the Prohibition movement seems unyielding with no end in sight. White women have the right to vote, but Jim Crow laws, anti-immigration sentiments and sodomy legislation against LGBTQ+ individuals are still all the more prominent. After World War I, the idea of returning to some disillusionment of normalcy prompted extreme political conservatism. Young people of the 1920s were eager to escape into the lawless nightlife, thereby introducing the flapper. It featured a stylish and freeing hemline where women could move without restriction. When I think about a woman going places now, I think of the upper east side maxi skirt style. Instead of the night, you are taking on the day, trudging through the city with a tight-fitted top and a loose belt with some boots to pair. Like the flapper, the maxi skirt is versatile, but while the 1920s became more luxurious, we got more comfortable. Both era-defining garments have one thing in common: the freedom
It is a time of both progress and regression, heightened social rebellion and extreme injustice mixed with the coexistence of liberation and oppression, setting the stage for years to follow.
Speakeasies were an escape from a society forcing the politics of division and hatred. Thereby, speakeasies, women’s liberation, the Harlem Renaissance and the Art Deco movement inspired fashion. With the display of rebellion, styles followed suit. In the 1920s, fashion was not just about clothing but a statement of liberation. Clothes were an artistic expression of a generation that had emerged from the shadows of war and Prohibition, wanting to escape.
In the fight for civil rights, African American dandyism, a style that incorporated refined clothes blending African and European aesthetics with men such as Philip Randolph and Hubert Harrison, was used as a means for challenging racial stereotypes with tailored suits that countered the derogatory views of Black men. In Harlem, they wore trousers with hats and cufflinks for their self-expression. It was about vibrant colors and detail, and by making it personal, Black men and women could show they were economically empowered and self-assured in their fashion.
For all women, the bobbed haircut of the 1920s served as a rebellion against the long traditional hair that had plagued them. They entered the era of the new woman.
Fashion became a cultural expression, with many Black women incorporating African motifs and patterns into their clothing and accessories. The flapper style challenged traditional gender norms and rejected societal notions of femininity. Female fashion broke away from once-restrictive clothing and offered women solidarity and empowerment. While LGBTQ+ individuals had to conceal their identities because of legal persecution, clothing choices or accessories could be coded to signal to others their sexuality. Colored handkerchiefs, oversized bow ties and the adoption of more feminine or masculine clothes were all ways they could share their identities.
Fashion grew with purpose and affected how individuals fought against their oppressive society. So, if 100 years ago there was meaning to fashion, is there a suggestion behind our clothes today? Even if it is a form of escapism, there has been an overarching theme of our ideals manifesting into fashion and impacting our culture. Today, it is difficult to see under the guise of exploitative clothing giants where marketing and aestheticism grasp our attention. In a meaningless void of digital capitalism, how can we ever find our creative meaning?
Perhaps young people in the 1920s had no idea what their clothes signified to individual human rights. I would like to believe our clothes affect cultural movements in ways we cannot yet see.
Perhaps young people in the 1920s had no idea what their clothes signified to individual human rights. I would like to believe our clothes affect cultural movements in ways we cannot yet see.
In the wake of digital advancement, Generation Z has been pushing back against a society that tells them to constantly move forward when they truly just want to sit still. Fashion has become individualistic, focusing on comfort rather than societal values. We have witnessed a resurgence of interest in mindfulness, mental health and a desire for a sustainable future. People are embracing slower lifestyles, quitting the jobs that do not serve them, and unionizing against the ones that need change. Surely, our fashion has changed with the rejection of a fast-paced and futuristic lifestyle.
The 2020s began with life-shattering global changes, including the COVID-19 pandemic and instabilities in our economy with social and political tension. The present was a horrific loop of chaos, and the future held a nightmare of uncertainty. Naturally, our first reaction was to focus on the past. Everything from the 1990s to early 2000s fashion trends came flooding back. Streetwear, crop tops an chunky sneakers were on the rise as people scavenged in their parents’ old closet for ‘90s fashion in peak quarantine, and social media only worsened the feeling of nostalgia. The ‘80s and ‘70s even made an appearance with similar athle-isure and chunky accessories and then bohemian styles such as flared pants and earth tones. We traveled back to the ‘60s with tight-legged boots and androgynous styles. Then, we jump to the corsets of the Regency era, and now we are simply grabbing for anything to reinvent from the past.
This obsession for resurging past fashion cannot just be for a lack of forward-thinking, but rather a symbol of reclaiming empowerment. Like the 1920s, today’s era has presented a coexistence of extreme conservatism and our rebellion against it. It seems that all we do is react, oscillating between the past and an improbable vision of progress. In the 2020s, our politics and society have felt like we are going backward, with the banning of books, the elimination of affirmative action in college admissions, threats to transgender rights, the overturning of Roe v. Wade and much more. The future has become an uncanny, profound pit of desperate uncertainty.
Our fashion today is a testament to our innate desire for self-expression, autonomy and the assertion of our sense of self in a society that constantly seeks to homogenize us. By incorporating elements of the past, we do not hope to change it but to own up to what it was and declare we will not go back. Just as the flapper dresses of the 1920s embodied the spirit of liberation, our eclectic choices in the 2020s project the unwavering determination to carve out an inclusive future. As we continue to fight for human rights, our past liberators inspire us to move forward. Our reinterpretation of the past does not romanticize it but shows us what it truly is – a valuable lesson in the triumph and struggle of previous generations. 2020s fashion serves as a bridge between eras, a reminder of how far we have come, and a symbol of our commitment to a more equitable future. So, what can the past give us? A connection to individual expression and a promise to keep moving forward.
To answer simply, yes. If we become aware of its importance in our time, our clothes can be an emblem of individuality in a culture that seeks to dwindle that. It is a conversation between what we have and what we truly desire. Fashion trends are not merely aesthetic choices but a symbol of our nature.
The cyclical nature of fashion over the last 100 years has shown us that it is a societal response, a grounding connection to history and a representation of humanity. Human nature is the circular movement of rediscovering its purpose and identity, repeating the experience time and time again. Perhaps we will never learn. But if that means we repeat fashion history, standing against an oppressive society and holding to our individualism, I say give me the pearls of the ‘20s.
What comes to mind when you think of revolution? Perhaps you think of social change, the Industrial Revolution or some heinous act of warfare that prompted bloodshed and destruction.
You are getting close, but not quite close enough.
Imagine something less macrohistorical and probably less violent. Think of cultural revolutions. Say, the hippie movement of the ‘60s and ‘70s and grunge culture of the ‘80s and ‘90s. These profound
Written by Ilysia Pitzer
DESIGNED BY Steven Thompson
PHOTOGRAPHED BY Christi Montes Castro
Yi-Ja Wright
Lance Bolos
cultural shifts were organized as deviations from the more widely accepted culture at the time—as acts of counterculture. With the established beliefs, styles and attitudes in place, society could not understand the hippie and grunge scene, or should say would not. They did not fit the cultural standard, so they made their own, paving the way for the social and political world of young activists now. The seemingly controversial nature of such movements against authority, excess and injustice created two eerily similar cultural revolutions for reform.
Hippie culture prevails even today, but what it meant to be a hippie in the ‘60s and ‘70s does not carry the same weight. Unsurprisingly, the movement was not just about peace signs, rainbows, bell bottoms and sexual liberation. Hippies sought to ignite a political rebellion against the Vietnam War, an already unfavored war among Americans; however, paired with the unpopularity of the hippies, anyone could see it was not intended to be understood by the unenlightened. Peace and love were pivotal elements of the movement, promoting tranquil anti-war symbols of balance and spiritual enlightenment. Psychedelic drugs, most commonly marijuana and hallucinogens, were believed to ignite a spiritual and individual transformation, elevating one’s consciousness, which is what the movement is most well-known for. Hippies’ promotion of drugs prompted Nixon’s War on Drugs campaign, which directly targeted hippies and African-American groups. The counterculture openly rejected the social and political moves perpetuated and praised by the United States government, creating a strained relationship between the youthful, radical hippies for change and the old, conservative white men in power. A completely new culture birthed by socially unconventional means. Followers of the movement opposed commercialism and social norms, making it a progressively intriguing display of counterculture when we consider how commercialization led to the death of the culture. The Museum of Youth Culture describes a hippie as anyone drawn to the counterculture rejecting the mainstream. To be part of the movement was to be a vehicle for freedom.
It is the same with modern-day grunge culture. It began as a fusion of the alternative, punk rock and heavy metal music of the ‘80s with the grunge style embodying cynicism for materialism, conformity and capitalism. Popular heavy metal musicians of the ‘70s like Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, and AC/DC influenced grunge’s punk roots. Like hippies, grunge culture had a widespread impact, ranging from fashion to politics. The movement aimed to combat the social corruption of the world through a progressive societal transformation. Some of the prominent themes drawn on in grunge music were neglect, betrayal, addiction and trauma among others. The mix of angsty, “I don’t care” attitudes and introspective lyrics, commonly promoting equality or human rights, developed grunge as an emerging counterculture. Nirvana, Soundgarden and Alice In Chains often come to mind as models of original grunge culture catering to the young adults of Generation X. Grunge music served as a protest of nonconformity to the social order, drawing on personhood and freedom in popular tracks. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana, the unofficial anthem of the culture, is still largely popular today, perpetuating the heart of the movement. It started as an underground music subculture, and the grunge scene flourished as a counterculture revolution.
Looking back at what the hippie and grunge scene has become, both are now well-integrated into mainstream culture. Look around at any university campus or music festival. Society swallowed them, spit them out and smacked on a shiny, brand-new label. They have become the culture. They are no longer a crusade to challenge the dominating cultural ideologies and standards.
It makes you wonder—what is left of the skeleton of co-opted counterculture?
Symbolically, hippie fashion was not directly bought retail but through thrifting, a form of counterculture itself, and refurbishing to reject materialism and embrace sustainability. Today, it is a trend for Generation Z to embody a modern-day hippie through fashion, yoga and a connection to nature, aligning more with the boho, or bohemian, aesthetic. Boho focuses on natural, earthy palettes and free expression of fashion through a combination of old, vintage pieces. Some elements of hippie fashion were derived from the boho aesthetic, though boho has no political roots. The hippie movement re-popularized the bohemian style, and somehow, there was a mix-up. The commodification of boho fashion watered down the essence of the hippie movement, leaving only fragments of the counterculture through common fashion staples like bell bottoms and platform shoes.
Were you born in the wrong generation, or did you romanticize a trend out of its historical context?
We leave behind a degraded reputation of monumental influence when we only consider the parts of a culture that benefit us. When younger generations think of the hippie era, images of groovy Halloween costumes and rainbow tie-dyed tees come to mind. Ironically enough, the same people initially against the movement bask in the profit from its imitation. The unorthodox nature of the counterculture publicized the potential for a larger market audience spotlighted by its integration into mainstream culture for corporations.
When we began to see the culture on the shelves and not in the streets, it was clear that consumerism had swallowed up what remained. For many, the counterculture died when corporate America began capitalizing on hippie culture, states Jeremy Guida, a historical researcher in the digital archive
“The Summer of Love Wasn’t All Peace and Hippies.” In 1967,
the Death of the Hippie March in California denounced the commercialization of hippie culture, and the march served as a funeral for the cultural richness lost at the hands of a capitalist society.
Components of the original grunge movement have become disconnected from the present-day rendition of the era. TikTok and Pinterest users perpetuate grunge culture as an aesthetic clothing style. Like hippie fashion, the fashionable looks of grunge culture outweigh the core elements of what the movement stood for. Any addition of flannel, spikes or fishnet can transform an outfit into an authentic grunge look from the ‘80s, right? Not so much. The culture was commodified, becoming what it initially protested in its music, such as the appearance-driven world of the mainstream. Nirvana’s
Eliza Cyriac
Michelle Cho
token smiley face graphic tee is a stylistic element of prominent fashion trends—especially if it is oversized or tucked into mom jeans. Most of its frequent wearers probably do not know that it represents rebellion against conformity. Or the faces people made at grunge concerts as their favorite musicians performed. Does it matter? Maybe not, but all the history behind an enticing symbol on a silly piece of fabric does. In “Grunge ‘R Us; Exploiting, Co-opting and Neutralizing the Counter Culture,” authentic counterculture is spotlighted as necessary to the larger society as the rainforest is to the planet. However, we see how rainforests are looking today, so it is no wonder what the grunge scene has become.
In the evolutionary process of culture, counterculture is just another stage in the cycle. Such revolutions regain control of the narrative written by the mainstream until it is ultimately co-opted, leaving only remnants of liberation. But what is a revolution without some rebellion?
Photography: Ivory Galloway
Design: Christa Wickman
Models: Journie Armstrong, aminata cham, haddy cham, Jada couthen, Samara Hawkins, ALAYA HOLMES, Khai Reaves, ashyla streeter and ahbrionna williams
If you want to pick the brain of the world at any given time, you have to look at the stories it is telling. Stories act as a mirror recounting the experiences of their tellers for both cathartic and social purposes. Stories pass on lessons or at least allow you to step outside yourself and into the shoes of another for some time. There are several reasons we find ourselves fascinated with a particular narrative, whether it depicts struggles familiar to us or because it paints the world in a way we would like to imagine it.
Recently, tensions have been high on several planes, especially regarding class. It is a tale as old as time, where one group dominates over another, leaving the other group to deem said treatment unfair and search for liberation. Does that sound familiar? It is the basis of perhaps thousands of conflicts in our media, seizing our television screens and filling the pages of our books. This basic structure is prevalent because of the emotional value for an audience. And how frighteningly relieving it is to follow a character as they free themselves from their weaknesses and overthrow whatever or whoever has spent the story holding them down. We like to imagine ourselves in their shoes, envisioning a future where our real, heavy dilemmas reach such a conclusion. The class struggle rages on, but we tell stories of a faraway happy ending, seeking refuge from carrying the weight of the pyramid of class.
Yet, we have turned away from the traditional good versus evil narrative we have learned to lean on. We have found solace in another slightly overlooked story that strikes both fascination and fear in the hearts of those who observe it. What is it with the rich and powerful using their power recklessly that has us on the edge of our seats? Do we find some karmic satisfaction in witnessing satirical takedowns of antagonists, or are we secretly indulging ourselves with a thinly veiled fantasy of wealth and power? To answer these questions, let us observe a few instances of this narrative on display.
“Their ignorance is paradoxical, made to be grating for viewers while simultaneously being presented as something to strive for.”
A particular zone of interest is South Korean television and film. Unlike in the United States, Korean media focuses on more melodramatic and outrageous storytelling and tends to have a wider reach, achieving some degree of global success. It helps that these particular stories are known to focus on class struggle in some form or fashion. With film, we have sensational examples such as “Parasite,” a movie on the futility of class mobility that has gripped American audiences. Television shows like “Penthouse: War in Life” focus on the lives of the uber-wealthy and their various exploits, dramatizing class struggle to enrapture the audience. Each of these examples takes its unique approach to the universal mythos surrounding the rich.
Plenty are likely familiar with the dark comedy thriller “Parasite,” at least having heard of it in passing. Its international success is undeniable as it is the first non-English film to win the Best Picture Award at the Oscars, acting as the perfect window to peer into the world of fictional class wars. The story sets the stage as many stories do, with impoverished characters searching for a way out of their poverty and richer characters living blissfully unaware of the danger to come. It follows a family of four as they infiltrate a wealthy family’s home, plotting to get rid of their staff and replace them one after the other. While their initial escapades border on humor and absurdity, their actions begin to have fatal consequences, eventually resulting in an epic fall from grace in which they suffer both legal punishment and separation. In the meantime, the well-off family they work for spends their time indulging their money in ways that earn them a reputation amongst audiences as out of touch. Their ignorance is paradoxical, made to be grating for viewers while simultaneously being presented as something to strive for. It is a nirvana-like state of unawareness, achieved only through wealth. They can afford to ignore their surroundings.
Look at “Parasite” as if it were a blueprint. Even beyond Korean media, stories put much effort into painting dual images of the rich. One moment, they act like caricatures we perceive as base and foolish and the next, we are enchanted by their riches and inclined to follow them. Nevertheless, this makes it hard to decipher our motivations when consuming this kind of media, as we are unsure what keeps us coming back. “Parasite” is not a movie that gives its impoverished characters any sort of justice. They are deceitful and conniving in how they chase after their goals, and their efforts result in their reduction to a state lower than their status quo. Their poverty condemns them to an unfortunate fate, and although they try to escape it, their class constrains them in one way or another. It is important to note that it is not just in this film that a lack of money indicates a lack of control. This particular thread is fleshed out further in the next piece of media.
“Penthouse: War in Life” is an admittedly less sophisticated example than “Parasite.” The show uses a rather heavyhanded method to handle extreme wealth disparities, utilizing three main characters to comment on various perspectives. Shim Su-ryeon leads an enviable lifestyle through her money and kindness, while Cheon Seo-jin is just as wealthy but fueled by petty jealousy and greed. The third lives in poverty, struggling after having an opportunity at success stolen in her youth. This character, Oh Yoon-hee, spends much of the first season yearning for wealth while simultaneously concealing this desire. She befriends Shim Su-ryeon, admiring her elegance and affluence, while engaging in a vitriolic rivalry with Cheon Seo-jin and threatening to steal everything she has as payback for past harm. She takes a unique position between two symbols of towering riches that one likely assumes she is the center of the story whom the audience can identify with and root for. But that is not the way this story goes.
“What is it with the rich and powerful using their power recklessly that has us on the edge of our seats?”
Within the context of the first season, she does not grow into the hero one might expect. Instead, she gives in to her buried social-climbing instincts and balances between good and evil, toppling her enemies and going so far as to backstab her allies—all in pursuit of the alluring promise of security in overwhelming wealth. The show severely punishes her for this, both legally and socially, having characters refer more than once to her greed and the crime she committed to coveting what is not hers. Ultimately, her journey spins in a positive direction as she spends the rest of the story trying to make up for her wrongdoings. But it is impossible to forget the violent rain of criticism that fell upon her for daring to dream of upward class mobility. The show is a satirical drama centered on revenge, so naturally, the rich characters do not get away with their crimes. But much of the drama is driven by the power money grants them, painting it in a glamorous light and almost pushing the audience to want to identify with them. Even the other heroic figure’s wealth is on full display, creating a free-for-all that might as well be the characters throwing wads of cash at one another. Oh Yoon-hee eventually amasses the fortune she yearns for, but even then, no one lets her forget her roots.
Have you noticed a pattern? In both examples, pursuing wealth is an effort to supersede one’s previous circumstance. And if you think this formula applies to just these stories or even just a handful, you would be shocked to find how wrong you are. In Korean media alone, it has been applied endless times in recent years with similar effects. Without fail, the audience loves it every time. What about this narrative is so compelling? One can point to more obvious things, such as the over-the-top showcases of opulence and the general aesthetics of luxury, but there seems to be much more beneath the surface.
In “Parasite,” the poor protagonists are placed directly opposite their wealthier counterparts, while in “Penthouse: War in Life,” two of the three protagonists are well-off. Both stories portray the ups and downs of life, letting these characters pursue their desires, meet conflict along the way and experience change. This formula simulates life for the audience by asking them to feel victimized when the protagonist does so they can feel the thrill of empowerment. With all these pieces in place, there is a clear picture: Stories about the rich and revenge seek to have us experience those things because they believe some elements draw us to them. It is a formula for success!
“It is a formula for success!”
“Character agency: a character’s ability to affect the outcomes within the story through their actions.”
So, what draws us in? Agency. More specifically, character agency is a character’s ability to affect outcomes within the story through their actions. It mirrors the control that we feel when we successfully move our lives forward through our efforts. What differs between fiction and reality, at times, is what gives us our sense of agency. In fictional stories, a character’s agency often increases as they develop in a positive direction. There is an implied link between grappling with one’s flaws and achieving more power, leading to a resolution of events in which the protagonist closes the conflict. Then, what does this say about class tensions in fiction? If we continue to parallel reality, fantasy and the role the audience plays in it all, it becomes apparent that audiences wish to simulate agency by simulating wealth.
Money stands in for power, and power is a drug no audience will ever get sick of. We want to imagine ourselves not with so much power that we are untouchable but just enough to maintain some semblance of control and direct the flow of events. How else could this manifest unless through the demonization of poverty? We see it in stories like “Parasite” and “Penthouse: War in Life,” where being poor equates to a social death sentence and a massive loss of control over your fate, especially when social climbing is rampant and acts as a means of survival. Perhaps we have hit the nail on its head. The relationship we hold to wealth in narratives leads us to condemn poverty in search of some ideal and financially abundant world. It is a hard sentiment to swallow, but it is not the end of the story. While the details reveal cannibalistic tendencies of the middle and lower classes, pulling back to look at the bigger picture reminds us that the goal is agency, and wealth is not the only path we can take. We make a choice when we tell these stories about wealth, poverty, class and conflict. Remember, stories serve a social purpose just as much as a personal one, and just as we use them to imagine the worlds we wish for, we do so to further our awareness of the one we live in.
Storytelling pushes this world forward, whether or not the direction we move in is one we would like. There are no concrete answers when it comes to what happens from here. Recognizing this pattern and its prevalence in our culture is significant as it hands us the power to decide what comes next. For some, knowing that we have gained that power is enough. I will leave you with this: what story would you like to tell?
Writer: Eliza Davis
Photographer: Ivory Galloway
Designer: Aily Valencia Cervantes
Would you believe iconic styles such as Mary Quant’s invention of the mini skirt in the ‘60s, grunge minimalism of the ‘90s, and branded velour tracksuits and oversized handbags of the 2000s are, in part, psychological reactions to the socio-economic climates of an era? There are many paradigms to observe and understand the world — fashion has always been intuitive for me. Throughout history, political and cultural revolutions have echoed in the style of the times. On a macro-level, it is typical for people to act more conservatively, in a social and financial sense, during chaotic and threatening political times. This concept may hold even when applied on a micro-level to a subgroup of society when we observe consumer habits as a signifier of macroeconomic movement. The fashion industry undoubtedly impacts the economy, but how does the economy influence fashion as an institution of society?
Abbas Omotosho
Ariah Fletcher
group’s demand in the commercial market, and this demographic has brands listening.
Fourth-year Charlotte student and Alpha Kappa Alpha sorority sister Camryn Lee voiced passion for her identity.
“I am an African American woman. To me, this means to be unapologetically outspoken, educated, and beautiful,” stated Lee. The community has staked claim to an ever-growing corner of the internet led by fashion influencers like @virginiasanhouse @monetmcmichael, @anokyai and @Jasmeannnn and traditional celebrities such as Zendaya, J-Lo and Selena Gomez.
Throughout history, the media has managed to capture the enormity of the zeitgeist in an aesthetic digestible of a few photos and iconic pieces. The practice of social media presence has created a virtual index of the masses’ varied and diverse perspectives, making it overwhelmingly accessible and, at times, pervasive. Rather than deriving inspiration from the pure source of pop icons, movie stars or supermodels of the late 20th century, today, our mental mood boards are flooded by an influx of content from all sides. For Generation Z, platforms like Instagram , TikTok and Pinterest provide a catalog of aesthetics from the most notable fashion influencers to peers you rub elbows with on the bus. “I see on social media that people are honestly trying to show an iden-
tity through their clothes. Our fashion choices are a reflection of who we are as people, so in a way, believe that Gen Z, specifically, is more self-aware and can translate that into their style,” said Ivana Rivadeneira, a fourth-year student at Charlotte and sister of Lambda Theta Alpha Latin Sorority.
Fashion is a manifestation of culture and identity, shown through personal style and popular trends to signify self-expression, social status and group belonging. Students described the Generation Z student fashion scene on campus as creative, unique and self-expressive. Multiple interviewees shared a retrospective approach to style inspiration, taking a personal spin on the familial and cultural styles of women they idolize. “I really love the ‘90s looks that fashion icons like Aaliyah and Selena had during that time,” Rivadeneira stated. Charlotte OAS (Organization of African Students) member and proud Hijabi Fatima Kakay shared how her faith is at the core of her style. She draws her greatest inspiration from family ma-
triarchs, “I would say who inspires me the most with fashion would probably be my mom and aunty.”
The interviewees within this niche microcosm branded their look as modest chic, comfy-cute and elevated basics, emphasizing neutral, fitted and athletic-chic fashion. These elements of casual elegance and effortless affluence are the golden means of the viral clean girl aesthetic, a counterculture response to the pandemic era of maximalism.
A possible explanation for the mutually desired aesthetic among women of color at Charlotte and the greater community, as reflected through personal perspectives in various narratives, could be a communal reaction to the present atmosphere of social unrest and change. Amid an intense decade of socio-economic whirlwind, the country has endured the vicious political polarization of the 2016 election, attempts to terminate DACA, the Black Lives Matter movement, the #MeToo movement, economic and social instability brought
Our fashion choices are a reflection of who we are Our fashion choices are a reflection of who we are
on by the pandemic, the overturning of Roe vs. Wade and an onslaught of legislation targeting Latinx and immigrant communities. Individuals’ experiences are unique; a unified psychological reaction to these events is inevitable.
While many of these events appear to have purely imprinted social or political scars on the surface, they also have expansive economic ramifications. Political instability hurts the economy, indicated by a dip in GDP and increased unemployment or inflation. Communities have experienced job loss, educational disruption, increased cost of living and displacement, loss of bodily autonomy and closure of small businesses.
The gravitational pull towards the clean girl aesthetic may have derived from something more than a For You Page; the desire for simplicity, femininity and effortlessness is likely a response to the chaos, aggression and strife that the communities have faced. Abstract forces find tactile manifestation through fashion as a medium of self-expression. After having their identities questioned, debated and threatened, many women within this microcosm may find themselves searching for solace and security within their communities – strengthening their communal belonging and unity through such aesthetics. Thus, it would align that a clean, minimal look would satiate the natural psychological re -
sponse to a desire for simplicity. Amidst the fussy noise of today’s fashion, quiet confidence exudes from pared-back looks grounded in self-assured identity and cultural expression.
Generation Z women of color exist beyond stereotypes, headlines and statistics to show up as their authentic and unique selves. Fashion, an industry and vehicle of culture, maintains a symbiotic relationship with the economy. When young women of color use their style to express their femininity and cement their presence in society, we see the raw impact of political and economic forces on fashion. Consider how your #OOTD may be a snapshot for the storybook of history one day.
Imagine this: a canvas stretched tightly to a larger-than-life-size dominates the far side of the salon. Over towers of gleaming croquembouche and platters of petit-fours, the upper echelons of French society flit from gallery to gallery with ornately decorated walls.
Amongst that divinity and luxury was the brutal honesty of Theodore Gericault’s "Raft of the Medusa" (1819). The behemoth paints the story of 150 lower-class passengers abandoned to one rickety raft while the bourgeoisie safely made their escape as the ship sank. Hard-pressed by weeks of hunger, dehydration, murder, and eventually cannibalism, only 10 people survived the raft.
This summer, was lucky to see the "Raft of the Medusa" up close and personal, when two days later the missing OceanGate Titan sub hit the world on pause. As the Coast Guard launches into a full-fledged rescue, CNN flicks headlines memorializing the seven victims who opted into a 250k joy-ride (talk about buyer’s remorse), and X (formerly Twitter) explodes into far-fetched conspiracies and closely-held anger: where was all of this for Syrian refugees abandoned in the Mediterranean?
In our attention economy, the spotlight given to these seven victims must have been worth its weight in gold. Why do we open our time, attention, and purses to those who have everything but pinch pennies for those with nothing? Is it not “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”?
The onus for this issue of Midas spurned from this moment—amidst the sea of student loans, the never-ending housing crisis, cost of living, to protests (a la SAG-AFTRA), to the minute of paying a convenience fee for the inconvenience of paying online (ahem, Ticketmaster), we could see the issue you hold now with one thought crystallizes: how much does it cost to be free?
Let Us Eat Cake, as jarring as it sounds, is an inverse of Marie Antoinette's famous last words versus repurposing “let them eat cake”, we wanted Volume 4 of Midas to reflect the collective anxiety, fear, and anger at the price we pay to live in the present. Money is not a moralizer, nor an equalizer and I hope as you flip through these pages, you too are yearning to breathe free.
Krishma Indrasanan Editor-in-Chief
Can be completely honest right now? As we developed this issue, I was feeling somewhat off as if my vibe and aura shifted tremendously. But why am I feeling this way? What is affecting me so much about this issue? When I sat down to decompress, realized that the topics we hit and the numerous meetings we had to discuss the direction of the magazine, were a new playing field. For the first time since I started working with Midas, am finally seeing that push of rebelliousness. This issue travels back to controversial art pieces and cultural icons while bringing us to the present topics of new art movements and the risks of AI. This is the first time we have taken a contentious approach but in a good way. We have published six issues to introduce Midas and what we represent. I am here to let you know it is time to make some noise. truly believe we have pushed ourselves to think about what we should talk about and how we can authentically represent it. It is time to put our voices to use.
While you sit and read through our issue, I implore you to not just read but to digest the content you are absorbing. Think about how we determined the division between the wealthy and powerful and everybody else. Think about how both partners in a household have to work to keep their home. Think about why the minimum wage is still $7.50 in N.C. And if another senior citizen tells me how they owned a house by nineteen, how to write a check or mail a letter, courtesy of the red queen—off with their heads!
Sanura Ezeagu Managing Editor
Editors
Krishma Indrasanan • Editor-in-Chief
Sanura Ezeagu • Managing Editor
Directors
MICAH • Creative Director
Christa Wickman • Design Director
Ilysia Pitzer • Writing Director
Coordinators
Bethany Collins • Event Coordinator
Jaylen Harrell • Talent Coordinator
Sydney Howard • Media Coordinator
Design Team
Sarah Carson
Tiana Cohen
Steven Thompson
Aily Valencia Cervantes
Photography Team
Zachary Allred
Ivory Galloway
Christi Montes Castro
Abbas Omotosho
Writing Team
Eliza Davis
Monique Delagey
Rey Dizon
Isabella Goulet
Tarik Liassou
Niko Lopez
Sonia Pacheco Mejia
Founded in 2020 by Claire Hambrick in her freshman year, Midas Magazine is UNC Charlotte's premier arts and culture magazine. Drawing inspiration from the ancient mythos of King Midas and his golden touch, Midas Magazine seeks to highlight the four pillars of artistry, identity, community and life-style. Our mission is to illuminate the talents of the UNCC student-body population as well as the burgeoning arts and culture scene found in the greater Charlotte area. Since 2020, we have released seven issues amplifying the authentic voices within our community.
Midas Magazine is a nationally-award winning production that is entirely student-led and created, with the support of Niner Media's professional staff and the funding from the Student Activity Fees Commission. As part of UNC Charlotte’s Niner Media, Midas Magazine joins other student organizations such as Niner Times, Nova Literary Arts Magazine and Uptown Audio. You can visit @UNCCMEDIA on Instagram to learn about Niner Media as a whole and our upcoming events.
In order to get involved with Midas Magazine, you can join our Writing, Design, Creative, and Promotions department. For questions and concerns regarding applications or involvement, please make sure to email us at midasmagazine@uncc.edu.
We look forward to visiting you soon—see you at our next launch party!
Love, Midas Magazine
Midas Magazine Volume 4 Issue 1: Let Us Eat Cake was printed by iTek Graphics on 8.5" x 11" 80 pound satin cover with gold foil and 80 pound satin text. This issue was created through Adobe InDesign, Adobe Illustrator, Adobe Photoshop, and Adobe Lightroom.
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