MUSE Issue XXIV

ISSUE XXiV

Contents.

lifestyle

save a friend, talk shit that girl

10

why yolo is unironically my resolution

18

taking it back to the city

arts

12

selling nostalgia

22

is music my toxic ex?

26

light painting

entertainment

queer-coding disney characters

goodbye to the manic pixie dream girl the case for movie musicals

fashion

in defense of tabi boots

24

33

34 36

40

counterfeit poverty

42

hello stranger

44

muse’ings pretty, shiny people the laws of sex

„ how a soul says “hello

2

08

46

54

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letter from the e d i t o r.

At 18, I held my first MUSE Issue. A 20-somethingyear-old girl approached and handed me a glossy magazine; 64 pages of creativity that rapidly filled me with curiosity and excitement about the possibility of working for this magazine. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t help push away these looming feelings of not being creative enough, cool enough, or inspired enough to be part of such an effortlessly chic group of people. Up until this moment at the intersection of University and Union Street, and admittedly, for many months afterwards, I perceived myself as this IR-obsessed straight girl– the thought of adding ‘creative’ to the mix did not suit the one-dimensional box I squeezed and morphed myself into.

At the risk of sounding utterly tacky, MUSE changed this.

The past three years with MUSE enabled me to slowly unravel the narratives I constructed about myself, to peel back layers of myself I had long-neglected, revealing the complicated, messy truth that I believed didn’t fit the mould of who I was. MUSE forced me to confront my most authentic thoughts, feelings, desires.

MUSE pushed me to accept the fact that I am

PHOTOGRAPHY: KIERAN TURNBULL MAKEUP: CHELSEA ROBERTS

who I present myself to be, and not. I am outgoing and witty yet reserved and, on occasion, a homebody. I am a writer and storyteller yet the thought of putting ink on paper boils anxiety in me. I am calculated and meticulous yet the rewards of unpredictable moments have proven to be greater than anything that rigorous routine forged.

I am a contradiction. MUSE is a contradiction. Issue XXIV is a culmination of the raw, confusing, very real–often unglamorous–contradictory inner workings of the creatives at Queen’s. Whether it’s an examination of selling nostalgia, rejecting the trope of being ‘that girl,’ or reclaiming your power by talking shit, our creatives embraced their innate contradictions. Allowing themselves to play with their competing feelings in their art, culminating in 64 pages of joyous chaos, experimentation, passion, innovation, and growth.

Thank you to the 100+ creatives who brought Issue XXIV to life, and to our readers, for embracing the chaos of MUSE with us.

Yours Creatively,

Megan Fanjoy Editor-in-Chief JANUARY 2022 - APRIL 2022

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CREATIVE DIRECTOR: AVERY SIMARD & GRACE LU CREATIVE ASSISTANT: CHANEL ROMEO PHOTOGRAPHY: KIERAN TURNBULL LAYOUT: MARTHA HILLEN HAIR AND MAKEUP: STEPHANIE CRIMI MODEL: MEENAKASHI GHADIAL

lifestyle

april / 2022

revolution

Save a Friend , Talk

Shit.

BY: SOPHIA YOUSSIF

Gossiping is widely considered a social taboo, one we all shamelessly partake in. Whether it’s quiet whispers in a crowded room or a spirited conversation on your best friend’s bed, gossiping is a historically and culturally significant practice that we can no longer pretend is inherently bad.

The word gossip originates from the old English word “Godsibbs” which referred to the friends and midwives of women in labour. Giving birth used to be a social event in which women would gather to support the mother and converse about other people in town, and so the meaning of Godsibb changed to “rumour.”

The act of gossiping is human nature and traces back to early sociological practice in which 8

lifestyle

april / 2022

revolution

female gatherers would talk about their personal lives and exchange information. Men began to resent this because their faults were being exposed. Gossiping was an act demonized by men to shame women from forming bonds and meaningful connections.

Gossiping is still seen as a feminine practice, framed as an inherently immoral act. The reality is that gossiping is a means of social security, holding others accountable, solving conflict, and bonding with people you trust.

Talking to a friend about how your roommate is driving you crazy is a good way to release your anger so that you can go home and have a rational, emotionally controlled conversation. It’s a good way to receive a neutral opinion and provide insight and advice to a problem you may be having. Gossiping can build or reaffirm a sense of trust amongst participants, making their overall relationship stronger. Who wants to discuss surface level pleasantries all day? We have the instinctive urge to feel close to one another, to show ourselves as we really are, with all our thoughts and emotions included.

Gossiping can also warn us about who to stay away from. It provides women with the opportunity to confide in their trusted social circles about negative experiences they’ve encountered. This can, in turn, warn other women about potentially dangerous or harmful situations. In this way, gossiping is an act of social protection and solidarity. The villainization of gossiping is a flawed male-induced notion, and it’s time to shamelessly reclaim its power.

When we share stories with one another about how a person we know plagiarized a classmate’s essay, made a racist comment, or put zero effort into a group project, we are holding members of our shared society accountable. If you don’t want people knowing about the shitty things you do, that may be a sign you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.

Gossiping, like most things in life, must be done responsibly. We must know when a secret is too personal to share, when we are crossing a line, or when it is done with the intention of causing harm. The bottom line is that gossiping is not the crime it’s made out to be; it’s a human act that brings us closer together and has numerous social benefits.

So, the next time you’re dying to get something off your chest, don’t think twice, it’s only natural.

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THE UNACHIEVABLE TROPE

Liz Gonzalez

The last thing I want to be is “that girl”.

There, I said it.

If you’ve been on TikTok in the last year, you know about “that girl”. “That girl” wakes up at 6:00 am to work out, she is productive, motivated, and she looks “clean”.

Her makeup is curated to look flawless yet natural. She enjoys meals of only whole foods and matcha, and she is in bed by 9:00.

To put it bluntly — she is better than you.

Better than all of us, really. It feels like she has more hours in the day. But no, “that girl” just finds a way to efficiently use all 24 hours, while looking like the ideal beauty standard and alienating herself from anything unhealthy; booze, boy drama, and binge watching Netflix.

The trend doesn’t seem like it invites competition. Truthfully, I see the positives to this trend. There is a motivating facet to the girls who gua sha and do yoga before most of us have even rolled out of bed. In a post-quarantine world, the idealization of routine may have helped a lot of people find hope in a dreary time.

However, it is practically impossible for any trend surrounding women to arise without putting other women down. “That girl” subsequently shames her foil — the girls who drink excessively, who put off exercise, who eat poorly; these girls are not treating their bodies right, and their laziness is a reflection of their inability to self-care and ultimately, their poor self-worth.

have a lifespan of months, at most. Yet this trend is a manifestation of pitting women against each other. It thrives off of self-hatred: the immense guilt we feel when we scroll past videos of girls who have accomplished more things in one day than we have all week. We like, comment, and follow these girls who make us feel like we are wasting our days away.

What’s more is that we buy what they’re selling. This trend has surpassed romanticizing routine and self-care, and is now reflective of material items and hyper consumption. There are things you can buy to be “that girl”: Aritzia sets, gold earrings, vitamins, and home decor. Influencers share their Amazon wishlists and the people flock, hoping that in the self-commodification they too can find their It sounds dramatic. A trend better self. is a trend; they fluctuate and

OF BEING “THAT GIRL”

and why I don't want to be one The capitalist facet of this trend is a large part of why it’s so disappointing to see it flourish. Ultimately, the trend only survives on the insecurity of other women. The reality is that it’s much easier to throw our money at pretty objects than to confront our shame over our imperfect lives. Each purchase feels like we are one step closer to achieving that dream life, despite how far our internal self may be from “that girl”.

The commodification of “that girl” allows this trend to stray away from motivation and into the realm of surface-level self-help. If it comes down to skincare and looking put together, this trend isn’t as beneficial to young women as it may have intended to be.

Whatever happened to being a real girl? To being messy, sleeping in, and eating ice cream straight out of the

tub? As much as I try to be my best self, it feels cruel to not allow myself to indulge and enjoy these precious years of my life.

I’m not looking to be inspirational. I find that while prioritizing my mental health and seeking self-love, there is more joy in the belly-laughs watching reality TV and eating take-out dinners than there is in early mornings and forcing myself to exercise. Don’t get me wrong — I see how the latter is arguably “better” for me, but is it so wrong to live my early 20’s according to what makes my heart sing rather than what’s trendy?

Maybe one day we will all be “that girl”, when we’re 30 and have the money to overindulge in items that make us feel put together. If attempting to be “that girl” makes

you feel good about yourself, more power to you, but I deeply disagree with feeling shame every time I open TikTok because I slept in that morning.

This trope, just like all others, is simply a figment of the capitalist imagination that seeks to see us work hard, spend money, and repeat this cycle in an attempt to find fulfillment. We hate the influencers we see doing yoga and making smoothies and reading self-help books — but only because they make us hate ourselves. I have nothing to say to “that girl” because she doesn't truly exist.

So, to the girls who are still just ordinary themselves, messy and imperfect, reading this with last night’s mascara dusted over her cheekbones, — I raise my glass to you.

Taking it Back to the City

ALISA BRESSLER

Weaving between tent-hoppers and star-gazers are whispers: “Did you hear he wants to date her when she goes back to Queen’s? Did you hear they’re going to take it back to the city?” At the summer camp where I grew up, both romantic and platonic relationships never fell short of the electricity of summer joy; people I was barely friends with never failed to voice an opinion on how my summer romance should progress after camp. It was here where I first heard the term, “take it back to the city” – “the city” being your hometown or university, far away from your partner or best friend, and “it” being the euphoric, carefree, and picture-esque relationship that began that summer. As I grew up, the end of summer was met with an age-old question: if I bottle up this summer ecstasy and pack it in my luggage, will it withstand distances, time-zones, and real-life responsibilities? There is no correct answer; there is no blueprint of how to make a long-distance relationship work. When you are blinded by sunshine and unwavering presence, it is hard to imagine the days beyond “I love you’s” under starlight and sharing songs over a canoe trip. When it is time for the fairy-tale bubble to burst, it seems inconceivable that your last sunset spent in each other’s arms also means forfeiting the afterglow of your relationship; you can no longer spend days upon days together, maybe even long stretches of the year. This is not only true for situations like summer camp romances. In our late teens and early twenties, we meet people in environments that are unlike everyday life, where you may be engulfed into a dreamy relationship. Say it’s an incredible friend you make on vacation, or the stunning foreign love you encounter while studying abroad; accepting that this person, with whom you feel your souls are entwined, does not fit into your life anymore, is extremely saddening. In these formative years, we graduate, we go home for four months, we work, and we travel in search of opportunities and experiences. The friends you make at university will not always live blocks away from you, but that does not expunge the beauty of the memories and moments created. Choosing to “take it back to the city” may result in seamless communication and a consistent relationship, or you may move on with life and the connection dwindles. While my summer love eventually faded, it was not because we took it back to the city.

It may be instinctive to regret the choices you made, seeing as it did not work out, but I had to learn that the memories from our perfect summer are not meaningless, they are just no longer meant to blind me. They no longer illuminate my daydreams or cloud my decision making. They exist in the distance, making way for new moments and memories, and to me, that is pretty special.

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CREATIVE DIRECTOR: MAYA GINZBURG PHOTOGRAPHY: CAT ROSE HAIR AND MAKEUP: MAYA GINZBURG MODEL: MAYA GINZBURG

Why YOLO is Unironically My New Year’s Resolution.

Posted by Amy Newnham.

I know what you’re thinking; “Really?

YOLO? I thought we were finally past that?”. To be honest, I thought so too, but before you turn the page in hopes of finding something a little less 2012, allow me to set the scene.

You’ve had a long day exchanging silly bandz, wearing your most trendy pair of mustache glasses, and covering every last square inch of your bedroom with One Direction posters.

You log onto your Facebook account and upload a new cover photo. Naturally, you pick a photo that says: “AmaZAYN, BrilLIAM, ExtraordinHARRY, FabLOUIS, PhenomiNIALL”. After posting, you sit eagerly at the desktop awaiting your first comment. As the notifications roll in, you’re not met with the adoring audience you had expected; instead, someone comments: “enuf with the 1d it’s annoying XD”.

In that moment, my life quite possibly changed forever. While 22-yearold me might agree with the haters, 13-year-old Amy decided this was a perfect opportunity for a status up18

date: “I’m still going to talk about whatever I want through my statuses, so if you get annoyed by that too, then just delete me… YOLO”.

She was ahead of her time.

I constantly overthink things: my previous interactions, the fictional scenarios I invent before falling asleep, and perhaps most notably, the fast-approaching future.

So, when New Year’s rolled around, YOLO was practically begging to be my resolution.

Since then, YOLO has become an avid part of my vocabulary that responds to every scenario perfectly: violently hungover, lifeless in bed, but “Kiss Me Thru The Phone” just came on in the living room? YOLO looks like you’re going out tonight. CoStar tells you to send a risky text? Potentially problematic, but nonetheless, YOLO. While the word may spark memories of snapbacks and lens-less movie theatre glasses, it has challenged me to live like there is nothing promised but the present.

I saw a video recently that said: “Whenever I am lonely I remember I am 22 and one day I’ll be 32. I know there will be one morning where I’ll stretch out on a shared bed, wishing it was all mine, rushing downstairs to cook breakfast reminiscing on the days where I went on coffee runs and ate chocolate croissants alone.”

Although this should fuel my fear of aging, it reminds me to appreciate the little things, find peace in what I have, and take a page out of my middle-school survival guide.

I’ll admit it, 13-year-old me may have been a little quirky, but I think she was onto something. She, and YOLO, remind me to live for myself, say what I’m thinking, make mistakes, and try new things. Maybe what’s even crazier than my 1D Facebook status or growing up, is the idea that one day I might regret all of the things I didn’t do. After all, life is a simulation and I’d rather live by a 2012 meme than forget to cherish the now.

REEF REEF REEF

CREATIVE DIRECTOR: MICHELLE BLAHO-MELO CREATIVE ASSISTANT: CHANEL ROMEO PHOTOGRAPHY: SARAH REESE MAKEUP: CLAIRE MATTHEWS HAIR: LOGAN CLANCY MODEL: ALEXIE COMES

Selling Nostalgia By: Alisa Arkhangelskaya

Our world moves fast. The growth of social media has shaped a society that is perpetually connected. Along with the positives that come with an interconnected world, there are certain drawbacks that influence the rising generation. For a young person, it is difficult to construct an identity in the age of mass communication. We are exposed to constant scrutiny with no compassion for the mistakes and blunders that characterize adolescence. Performing in the little spotlights cast by Instagram, Twitter and TikTok profiles, young people conform to the polarizing trends broadcasted by the media. Overwhelmed with fabricated ideals, our generation strives towards authenticity.

To find it, we turn to the past, a time that is seemingly less complicated because we were either not born yet or too young to remember any complexities; the past presents simplicity. Compared with the buzz of information pouring from different directions, the past is enticingly still. Our childhoods were filled with stories of relatives flowing through the free-spirited decades of the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s. From the days of bell-bottom jeans and disco, cultural revivals, big hair and neon windbreakers, what we have left is the shadows of a moment captured on film.

Alas, the world of film photography took a blow when the digital camera came onto the household market. Back in 1989, Fujifilm released the FUJIX DS-X, the first fully digital camera to be commercially produced. About a decade later, digital cameras became more mainstream as they catered to a world changing towards instant gratification. Society was speeding up, and digital photography was keeping up with the demand. A person no longer had to spend $30 for a roll of thirty-six photos or wait for the light-sensitive emulsion to be chemically developed.

However, within the last ten years, film photography had an unprecedented revival. An industry once on its last legs now takes a stance against its digital competitors. According to Time Magazine, Harman Technology, a leading manufacturer of black and white film, has admitted to seeing an industry “growth of 5% year-on-year globally”. Similarly, due to the rise in demand, Kodak has more than doubled its production of still film since 2015.

The resurgence lies not in the convenience but in the experience. Film photography is associated with the warm, fuzzy feelings of nostalgia. In a world overflowing with information and possibility, it is difficult for a young person to ascertain their identity. The photoshopped, high-resolution photos on social media leave no margin for imperfection, or for reality. Our search for authenticity resurrected the film industry as young adults seek out sensory experiences in the desensitized world. Film promises to capture the ghost of a real memory: a photo that rings with the sound of your friend’s laughter, or the buzz of a dinner party where someone stained the white tablecloth red. This is why we rush to take film photos— to prove that we too are real, and our memories are just as beautiful as those stored in the shoebox beside the Christmas lights.

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LIGHT

by: freda li

PAINTING The Summer of ’21 was marked by a phenomenal starry night that swirled across cities in North America. At every turn it captivated audiences, dancing across social media and even appearing on Emily in Paris. Maybe you were there to see the 600,000 cubic feet of projections, 60,600 video frames, and 90,000,000 pixels that comprised the Immersive Van Gogh Exhibit, engulfing the viewer in the life and work of the artist; maybe you didn’t get the chance.

In any case, immersive art has undoubtedly captured our collective admiration through creating a space where art and science outwardly coexist.

Immersive art merges creative vision with projection technology and computer programming to generate an “immersive reality”.

Through this form, viewers are not separated from the work.

They do not gather behind a velvet rope and peer through shoulders trying to catch a glimpse. Rather, the visual field explodes around the viewer, in 360 degrees; the viewer steps into the piece and gets to engage with the visionary. The experience is not passive, but participatory.

For immersive art, optics science is the paint; 3D surfaces are the canvas. In Paris, 140 high-power laser projectors were used to display the works of Gustav Klimt in L’Atelier des Lumieres, the city’s first all-digital art museum. Behind `

each immersive display, fibre-optic cables communicate light from one projector to another. The image is fitted onto a pre-production 3D model using projection mapping software before it is projected by laser light onto the surface. Almost anything can be a canvas – buildings, runways, water – and the result of this freedom is the ability to create an ambient new universe within the confines of reality.

Immersive art is not restricted to physical modifications. Since the viewer must receive the art in ways that differ from traditional art, artists also optimize sensory engagement, using knowledge of the human body and brain. For example, understanding vision has allowed artists to select wavelengths of lasers in colours that reconcile with the human eye to produce the most brilliant images possible. The physics and sensory aspects combine to welcome the viewer into the story and to foster a deeper appreciation from this vibrant point of view.

Science has developed this artform, but the sheer possibility of immersive art also presents new opportunities for science. Just as immersive art helps us access the minds of visionaries such as Van Gogh, it has the potential to facilitate new understanding of psychological altered states, as is currently being explored through the research venture Senscape.

Immersion envelopes the participant in a panorama that promises reflection, self-discovery, and a captivating experience of art and nature. Scientific progress has allowed us to approximate this vision of immersion and reinvent our traditional experience of art. In the future, we will continue to marvel at scientific discoveries that help us see, feel, and appreciate art in inimitable ways. For now, I will book my ticket to see Immersive Frida Kahlo in the Spring of ’22.

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IS MUSIC MY TOXIC EX?

By: Sadie McFadden

Intimidation. Jealousy. Victimization. Control.

TW: This article includes themes of sexual harassment

Toxic relationships with these traits too often become life-altering experiences that change the way you interact with others and the world. My toxic relationship felt like holding up a shield against the enemy in a battlefield, only to be stabbed by a sword in the back. I used to wake up with tears in my eyes, wanting to scream until my lungs were empty “I trusted you! I loved you! Why did you enjoy making me sad?” I never thought music would be my toxic ex.

Music made me feel intimidated, promoted jealousy through competition, and threw a lot of mean girls (and childish men) my way, all while saying I would never be enough. I would never attain the gorgeous tone the other girls have or be pretty enough to “make it”. I am not sexy enough, feminine enough, or tough enough; I am not enough.

Music did this to me without remorse.

It put me through constant sexual harassment from powerful men, threats of “never working again” if I spoke up about misconduct, causing waves of anxiety and de-

pression. Although I had so many amazing opportunities to chat or play with incredible artists like Lorde, Post Malone, and The Arkells, those joyous moments were jaded. At times I laughed so much my heart hurt, but too often the next day was fake smiles. I can still feel the blinding, bright, and warm lights caressing my body as I step to centre stage at the Much Music Video Awards. The excitement in the air as the euphoric rush seamlessly seeps in through my pores, causing my entire body to move to the beat of the drums at the Boris Brott Music Festival. This was why I stayed.

At the age of 17 I decided to take a break from being a professional musician for three years because I could not take the heartache, pain, and rejection anymore. I felt like Icarus, as though I had flown too close to the sun, the structure of my wings melting away and leaving me helplessly falling.

The aftermath came to fruition in mid-2021 when the first person I had ever fallen in love with broke my heart in the midst of COVID lockdowns.

I was alone and utterly numb. I almost checked myself into the hospital, but thanks to my amazMy mother put me in music lessons because stud- ing support system and my non-toxic (real) ex, I ies proved that I would have better cognitive was okay. After this all time low, I began asking function and higher self-esteem. Instead, I was myself what brought me joy. met with crippling anxiety. In my teens, I had the talent and money to be taught by a vocal It was music. teacher who had travelled the world singing opera and built a repertoire of students with successful It had hurt me before, but knowing this allowed careers in the industry. “If I could make it in his for a different approach this time: to focus on eyes, maybe I could have a career in music.” what I wanted, rather than what people wanted Within the first few weeks of being coached by from me. So, I cautiously got to know Kingston’s him, I noticed he liked his alcohol a little too flourishing arts scene. First, it was interviewing much. But hey, this is the music industry! It’s local artists at my new job at CFRC 101.9FM, just how it goes. Until he started commenting on then seeing live music, and, eventually, returning my clothing choices… and the look of my chest. to the stage in October of 2021, singing lead for He found a favourite in a girl that was bubblier, a local rock band, named Hinterwood. Eventually prettier, and of course skinnier; that was his ideal. those euphoric feelings returned.

I thought this was supposed to be fun. I thought this would make me more confident.

No, music was not my toxic ex, but it was one of those “right person, wrong time” situations.

This isn’t the only negative experience faced by In reality, it was the people who surrounded me women in the music industry. Too many times I during my early years in this industry that were saw women being scrutinized, undermined, over- toxic. Now as we move into 2022, I have fallen worked, and underpaid. A mirrored image back into music, fallen in love with myself again, of my own life that I still wonder and gained confidence from the same industry if I purposefully ignored or was that once tore me down. And this love is the epic too young and excited to ac- romance of a lifetime. knowledge.

PHOTOGRAPHY: CHANEL ROMEO

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CREATIVE DIRECTOR: BRENDAN REID CREATIVE ASSISTANT: MAYA GINZBURG PHOTOGRAPHY: TARYN RESENDE HAIR AND MAKEUP: STEPHANIE CRIMI MODEL: MOMIN SAJJAD

QUEER CODING DISNEY VILLAINS CORDELIA JAMIESON

Favouring Snow White over the Evil Queen or Jasmine over Jafar is not an organic sentiment, but rather is manipulated by Disney.

Queer-coding, the process by which characters are assigned traits typically associated with the LGBTQIA+ community without specified sexual orientation, is a well-worn trope in the Disney universe. Male villains typically inhibit conventionally feminine traits, whereas female villains showcase traditionally male ones. Villains are routinely queer-coded because their defeat by the heroes illustrates punishment for their ‘sins’, which moulds the minds of children to believe that the concepts of queerness and evil are affiliated. Villainous mannerisms are also laced with similarities, suggesting queerness is unoriginal or typecast, but there is no one way to be queer, as queerness is a facet of an individual’s positionality and not a provocative personality trait. This damaging binary re-enforcement appears subtle but is in fact intentionally designed.

Hades, the villain of Disney’s 1997 film Hercules, is a visible example of an effeminate villain who highlights the association between

evil character traits and deviation from heterosexuality. He rules without a queen, drinks fruity cocktails, and is comedically scared of his counterparts and surroundings. The Queen of Hearts from Alice and Wonderland’s Disney remake in 1951 is another stellar example of a queer-coded villain. She represents the butch lesbian trope, with a deep voice, a muscular physique, a hot temper, and a feminine husband. In contrast to their counterparts, Disney heroes are noble, hyper-masculine, and fearless while the male villains are weak and feminine.

Meanwhile, heroines are wholesome, innocent, and conventionally beautiful, while their villainous counterparts are corrupting and sexual.

The first question is, why villains? The first thing to keep in mind is that Disney productions are targeted towards children. By queer-coding villains specifically, it reinforces the idea that queerness and evil are affiliated, while the heroes are in opposition with clearcut hyper-heterosexual idiosyncrasies. To those with such impressionable minds, these insinuations position the heroes as their idols and the queer-coded villains as those who should be resented and scorned.

Many chalk up villainous similarities to animator crossovers within the industry or mirrored plotlines, but most do not realize that these similarities are the direct result of queer-coding. This can manifest itself dangerously when exposed to the impressionable minds of children. As the characters aren’t explicitly queer, there is a lack of positive queer representation in Disney films, but even these representations are entirely based on stereotypes and tropes as old as time. Assigning interchangeable traits and mannerisms to insinuate queerness throughout a world-dominating franchise suggests there is only one way to be queer.

Advocacy for better and greater representation of LGBTQIA+ people in the entertainment industry, and the children’s media market in particular, is vitally important. It is long overdue to end the stigma of reinforcement at such a young age that queerness is laughable, wrong, or even evil.

SAYING GOODBYE TO THE MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL The grandiosity and exhilaration of mania has long intoxicated the imaginations of creatives and their audiences. The manic phase of bipolar disorder has been conflated with creativity and genius in volatile artists from van Gogh to Ye. In young adult media, the manic pixie dream girl is a familiar presence: she’s as beautiful as she is troubled, and her spontaneous instability only adds to her intrigue.

Though tropes like the tormented artist or the manic pixie dream girl may seem flattering, romanticized depictions of mental illness can be problematic. Whether we glamourize or condemn them, every time we focus on a person’s mental illness as the most sensational or salient aspect of their identity, we dehumanize them.

Striking aesthetics alone do not equal “glamorous” representation. The glamourization of mental illness reveals itself more substantially - and more insidiously - through storylines and character arcs which cheapen mental illness as a plot device and churn out stock characters that resemble flat caricatures.

Never has the distinction between beautiful visuals and problematic glamourization been clearer than in Euphoria, starring Zendaya as Rue - a high schooler struggling with narcotics addiction and bipolar disorder.

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Central to Euphoria’s sweeping popularity is its stunning visuals. A quick scroll through Twitter on Sunday nights, when new episodes air, reveals how Euphoria encourages viewers to ponder how elements like costume design can enrich and advance storytelling. Fan theories dominate Twitter trending topics, and viewers are just as invested in fashion and music choices - and what they reflect - as they are in plot events. Euphoria is undeniably beautiful, and it uses its inventive visual storytelling to craft a portrayal of mental illness that is nuanced, sympathetic, and realistic.

Like Rue’s glimmering, metallic sticker-studded makeup look in the Season 1 finale, Euphoria proves that some things - mania included - are only beautiful through the deception of distance.

Up close, all that glitters may just be sparkling fragments of debris, and Euphoria isn’t afraid to zoom in on the ugly dysfunction of Rue’s illness.

In the third episode of Season 2, Rue is blissfully high on narcotics, dancing around the sun-warmed glow of her room. She sings along to Bobby Darin’s velvety rendition of “Call Me Irresponsible,” a lilting instrumentation which makes her whimsical waltzing seem almost natural. However, as Rue twirls into the kitchen, where her sister, Gia, waits, the non-diegetic music slows and stops.

As the music fades, Rue’s idealized visions fade into grim reality. We see Rue as Gia does: di-

sheveled after days without sleep, stumbling and spilling milk in the wan fluorescence of the kitchen, singing hoarsely and off-key.

Gia is horrified, concerned for Rue, and traumatized by her past overdoses. Sequences like Rue’s narcotized kitchen antics immerse audiences within the volatile ecstasy of Rue’s inner world while playing her expansive feelings against the sobering realism of the consequences of her actions. They allow us to empathize with Rue without excusing her destructive behaviors. You root for her, you despise her. Rue is not flattened into a heroine or a villain: she’s a dimensional, flawed protagonist.

Euphoria does not focus exclusively on Rue’s episodes of mania and relapse, refusing to fetishize tragedy for shock value. It provides a far more comprehensive and realistic portrayal of mental illness through its exploration of the build-up and aftermath of mania. Unlike the manic pixie dream girl of say, a John Green novel, Rue’s unpredictability does not manifest as a charming spontaneity which enlivens the people around her. Instead, Rue’s manic impulsivity marks her downfall as she solicits her doctor for painkillers and asks Jules to run away with her, triggering her relapse and sabotaging her relationships.

Though shows like the third series of Skins, which highlights Effy’s hypersexuality and increasingly unhinged party girl lifestyle, tend to concentrate on manic or psychotic episodes themselves for their sensational drama, many of the most painful challenges of living with bipolar disorder only reveal themselves after mania subsides. As you return to reality, the slow, difficult work of regaining trust and repairing relationships which mania shattered begins. Some of Euphoria’s most tender and impactful moments highlight Rue nurturing her sisterly bond with Gia. Euphoria resists the temptation to use Rue’s traumas as a punchline, devoting attention to her attempts at healing, coping, and recovering.

To dismantle stigma, we don’t need more glamorous portrayals which dramatize and distort reality; we need authentic representations which make people living with mental illness feel authentically seen and supported. The best representations of mental illness can be the most boring. Show me bipolar characters working to reconcile relationships, fumbling with awkwardness and sincerity. Show me love interests who ask bipolar characters about their condition so they can better understand them, not idealize them. As a person living with bipolar disorder, I don’t want another juicy story. I want hope.

THE CASE FOR MOVIE MUSICALS by: alisa bressler When Donna Sheridan fell for her longlost love on a mystical Greek island, audiences across the world fell for an all-time comfort movie, set to beloved ABBA hits: Mamma Mia. It is a classic that my high-school friends and I bonded over, but as someone who grew up dreaming of the Broadway stage, my obsession with Mamma Mia was rooted in more than a desire to move to Greece; it came from my admiration for the movie musical genre and any film to fall within it. Storytelling through music is a practice that I have always adored and there is a new layer of brilliance when it is done on the big screen. However, this sentiment is lost among many audiences.

Many have called 2021 the year of the movie musical, with box-offices saturated by films such as Dear Evan Hansen, West Side Story, and In the Heights.

As it turned out, many of these adaptations turned out to be revenue flops that warranted valid criticism. 28-yearold Ben Platt was undoubtedly too old to reprise the 17-year-old Evan Hansen in the remake. Some of these films also suffered from representation flaws, such as the lack of dark-skinned Afro-Latinx in In the Heights. The genre in general has shortcomings when weighed against Broadway productions: why go see a musical without the electric thrill of live theatre, especially if the plot is already widely known?

The genre is far from perfect, which is expected for complex projects that commonly cast A-list actors who are not natural vocalists (ie. Pierce Bros-

nan in Mamma Mia). Movie musical productions should aim to be well-received and address issues of representation and appropriate casting. However, despite their criticisms, there is still so much beauty behind them. In its truest form, the movie musical is a spectacle of bright colour and unkept joy; imagination runs free, and all the world’s problems can be solved through song.

Sure, the romantic comedy is escapism for the hopeless romantic, as horror is for the thrill-seeker, yet no other genre matches the intoxicating, upbeat ecstasy which has emanated from its very core for decades. The surrealist nature of Zac Efron performing a circus lovesong for Zendaya in The Greatest Showman is so out of reach that it creates a perfect escape.

This joyous take on reality becomes more accessible in cinematic form as Broadway audiences are no longer restricted to those in geographic reach to New York or those with the means to travel there. The movie version of Hamilton, Broadway’s highest-grossing musical in history, championed diverse representation in a masterful production, and is now conveniently accessible to many from the comfort of their own living rooms. While we can wince at Amazon’s Cinderella or analyse the box-office failure of Spielberg’s West Side Story, there is no denying the appreciable mark that movie musicals have had on the entertainment industry. Even in a supposed “flop-era,” these projects can still encapsulate a Broadway-dreamer like myself into a world that is largerthan-life and unapologetically optimistic.

i kinda did it for you

CREATIVE DIRECTOR: CHANEL ROMEO & MAYA GINZBURG PHOTOGRAPHY: MAYA GINZBURG HAIR AND MAKEUP: CHANEL ROMEO MODEL: NICOLA KOROKNAY

TABI in defense of

B Y : K AT E LYN B ATT A D

B O OTS

There are few items in fashion that evoke as strong an emotion as Martin Margiela’s Tabi boot. When I express my love for this shoe, I am more often than not met with disgust, confusion, and laughter from my peers; but it is precisely in its unusual appearance and deep history where I, and many others, find its appeal.

When the Tabi boot first premiered at Belgian designer Martin Margiela’s inaugural Spring/Summer 1989 show, it rocked the world of fashion. Located in the seedy Cafe` de la Gare, common people watched as models stumbled down the uneven runway in healed, split-toe boots. The soles were dipped in red paint to further accentuate the shoe’s unique footprint. In a time where sleek stilettos were on the foot of every fashion critic, these masculine, chunky leather boots with the animalistic toe were a shock to all.

Though they have become central to the Margiela brand, the original Tabi design was derived from 15th century Japanese culture. The cloven-toe silhouette originated as a cotton sock to which rubber soles were eventually added to create the Jika-Tabi. The shape had both a practical purpose for physical labourers, but also a spiritual one. The separation of the big toe was thought to provide the balance needed for a clear mind. In playing with these concepts, Margiela adapted the Japanese worker shoe to a high fashion context, creating waves in the stagnant, Eurocentric world of fashion.

Margiela’s split-toe Tabi bore an eerie resemblance to an animal’s hoof. While it disturbed some, it intrigued many. On first glance the Tabi looked unassuming; shaped like a regular heeled boot. On closer inspection it reveals its unconventional and bizarre cloven-foot. For those that know the lore behind the shoe, it represents

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a convergence of Western and Eastern aesthetic and an exciting stand against traditional ideas of beauty.

The Tabi boot is not the first instance of opposition to Japanese-inspired fashion. Though we may recognize Japanese influences in our clothing today, the initial reception was not without controversy. The trademarks of Japanese fashion included baggy silhouettes, unfinished hems, monochrome colours, and chunky footwear. In contrast, European fashion houses were stuck on recreating and reinventing the symmetry and perfection of the Renaissance Era. High fashion of the early to mid-20th century was seen as haughty and rigid. The prevailing message was that Haute Couture belonged solely to the French and select “foreign” houses, all of which were European. French brands created garments that were pretty, colourful, and feminine.

Collections from Japanese designers were dark, cerebral, and raw. These designers did not sacrifice quality of construction, but did provide a contrast to the Eurocentric beauty ideals that had long plagued Haute Couture. They carved out a space for the odd, the controversial, and the eccentric that went on to inspire a new generation of designers.

It is within this newfound space that Margiela found his niche. He was not only inspired by the 15th century Jika-Tabi, but also the overall aesthetic of the Japanese anti-fashion and avant-garde movements. He gravitated towards the unorthodox and took to the ways in which these designers were challenging Western notions of beauty. His collections incorporated aspects of wabi-sabi: a traditional Japanese worldview that emphasizes the beauty behind imperfection and flaw. Margiela’s desire to create the illusion of a barefoot walking on a high, chunky heel played on the idea of natural simplicity while also paying homage to the original split-toe Tabi.

Instead of creating form-fitting clothing to highlight the female figure, as was expected from dominant fashion houses, he emphasized androgyny with exaggerated silhouettes. The masculine leather Tabi boots were an extension of his rebellion against traditional gender norms in fashion at the time. The portrayal of Tabi boots at Margiela’s inaugural show cemented him as a contrarian in fashion, more eager to commit to his vision than conform to the style of the era.

Nearly 33 years after its debut, the boot’s appearance still sparks dialogue and divisive debate. This piece has the rare ability to evoke a visceral reaction among fashion enthusiasts and apathetic people alike. It manages to be both innovative, yet timeless. Whether you believe Margiela’s Tabi is pretentious or a stroke of genius, no one can deny its significance to conversations around fashion. The Tabi does not allow for indifference, it demands you to feel.

The continued infatuation with the Tabi style shows that beauty can be found in the unconventional. Traditional “ugliness” can be alluring, exciting, and even endearing depending on the person. Margiela’s Tabi should not be popular and yet they remain wildly compelling. Regardless of personal opinion, these split-toed shoes show that fashion is not about objective beauty. It is sometimes in its oddity and subversiveness that fashion is able to be so captivating.

PHOTOGRAPHY: MAYA GINZBURG

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COUNTERFEIT POVERTY Excessively ripped holes, fabricated dirt, and the wrong size can cost you hundreds of dollars. Numerous brands, artists, and designers rely on the appearance of poverty or lower-class status to rake in far more money than those below the poverty line hold. Most often bought by settlers on North American land and Western travellers to the global South, the visual appearance of tattered clothing has become a costume that the ultra-wealthy don in an attempt to extract themselves from the class of the wealthy.

Countless musicians, actors, and influencers attempt to appear as if they come from penniless backgrounds when, in truth, their families funded their rise to fame. In the stowing of their wealth, these members of the upper-class swap their closets out from visible brand-name pieces to invisible brand-name pieces. As Kimberly Chrisman-Campbell noted in a 2017 essay, those of the upper class tend to adorn the clothing of the poor in a failed pursuit of fitting in with common society. Historically, the clothes we wear reflect one’s desired social class, whether or not the visual appearance represents the truth. In the continuation of falsifying your class, fashion works as a tool for those42

BY: MEGAN TESCH

in positions of power to conceal their privilege. Marie Antionette can be pinned as the mind behind this trend, as her wardrobe was once inspired by the clothing of the rural women she held power over.

Whereas counterfeit pieces of brand-name lines continue to saturate the common consumer market, the high fashion world has become involved in counterfeiting in an entirely different way. Often found in the realm of deconstructivist fashion, the look of poverty saturates today’s market.

N.Hoolywood’s Fall 2017 menswear collection was inspired by designer Daisuke Obana’s neglectful perception of western poverty, mixing streetwear with the distressed and tattered appearance of deconstructivist fashion. Models held plastic shopping bags as they walked across the runway, insinuating the state of carrying all you own in one bag. Similarly, Balenciaga opted to release a knock-off Ikea tote bag for $2,145 USD in 2017.

Most infamously, Golden Goose designers Francesca Rinaldo and Alessandro Gallo have been pinned as the main perpetrators of selling the look of impoverishment at a high price point, hitting upwards of $700 USD per sneaker at the brand’s

peak. Golden Goose offers consumers a wide range of sneakers, however all come with some combination of a yellowed sole, worn-out colouring, tattered holes and tape to match. Shortly after Golden Goose primed the market for the high-price point of counterfeit poverty, similar sneakers from brands on the scale of Gucci and Maison Margiela gained critical attention.

This trend isn’t exclusive to high fashion, as participants also include lower-priced brands in the likes of Adidas and Yeezy.

In the reselling of lower-priced distressed items, these brands’ lines skyrocket to above a thousand dollars. Despite uproar in the few years since the infamous Golden Goose sneaker came to fruition, Nike, and in extension Converse, continue to sell versions of their shoes with yellowed soles. New, worn-down versions of brand’s original pieces have carried on permeating the market, making it potentially difficult to find a t-shirt that isn’t pre-distressed from a high-end store.

The harm in pretending to be poor comes when those that fall below the poverty threshold find it harder and harder to bring their heads above water. Thrift and consignment stores have come to capitalize off this trend, increasing prices on specifically worn-down clothing by two to three-fold. Resellers contribute to this problem when they take second-hand clothing with visible ‘flaws’

and offer them for sale at an unethically high price point. The need for conscious consumption coincides with the need for class consciousness. Affordable housing in urban centres is increasingly diminishing, while over-priced homes and gentrified condominiums are popping up on every corner. University neighbourhoods have historically co-opted the term “ghetto” to describe an area of largely young adults with the funds to afford expensive housing and tuition.

Aestheticizing poverty is not to be blamed for inflation or changing neighbours; however, it is to be blamed for perpetuating western culture’s seeming disdain for class consciousness. Where you spend your money matters. To fund a business that capitalizes off counterfeit poverty is to fund a business that has an entirely fabricated sense of class consciousness, one that plays into a system perpetuating the wealth gap.

When the wealthy adorn the look of impoverishment without recognizing the need for poverty reduction, relief, and alleviation, the gap of understanding class difference only increases in our communities. Pretending to be poor neglects to recognize the reality of poverty, the trauma associated with impoverishment, and the crucial need to support those trying to step above the line.

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HELLO STRANGER BY: ASHANTHI FRANCIS Once you’ve spent enough time alone, you’ll notice an unwanted houseguest. She wasn’t always this annoying. In fact, you only really saw her in fragments of mirror or a passing window.

She was quiet for the most part, kept to herself, and only really made a fuss after three glasses of wine or a sequence of embarrassingly bad dates. Besides, you were never really paying attention.

You were caught in the motions of life: moving through streets, cars, people, and 44

things, but as the world went into hiding and people were forced back into their private enclaves, she came out.

She is a terrible roommate.

She is critical, nosy, and never shuts up. She leaves dishes in the sink, clothes on the floor and honestly, she’s kind of a bully. She takes every opportunity to bring up things that you don’t want to talk about.

She creeps into your bed and recites her monologue: what if you’re meant to be alone?

What if it’s all your fault?

What if it’s just us forever?

Once you’ve spent enough time alone, you’ll wonder how you ever got stuck with such a monstrous guest. The quiet figure you barely knew is now rampant and unrecognizable. Your dislike for her codes everyday life. Most of your conscious efforts are spent actively trying to avoid her, doing anything to drown out her noise: meditation, drinking, binge-watching, sleeping. Yet, the bed still creaks with her weight ILLUSTRATOR: EILEEN RAISBECK

at the end of each night.

You can’t help but look outwards to those who have spent these last years nestled away with someone else.

You wonder what kind of fate lottery you must have lost to be deprived of that kind of love. The feeling of knowing every part of someone and someone knowing every part of you. You can’t even remember the last time you felt the thrill of a curious touch or the sweet rapture of romance.

ie. You’ll wobble your way around compliments and stolen glances in the bathroom, like a little girl with a kindergarten crush. Sometimes things become difficult and you push her away, but she doesn’t storm off. She stays.

And suddenly, there you are.

Once you’ve spent enough

time alone, you’ll learn to really spend time alone. You’ll find comfort in your own hand against your cheek and laugh at jokes made for one.

Inside yourself you’ll find a confidante — someone exciting, familiar, and new; once you’ve felt that spark of electricity, a chemical reaction that only you can ignite, others will want to feel it too.

Once you’ve spent enough time alone, there’ll come a moment when you grow tired of fighting. You will move towards the door and unlock it. You will finally face the stranger. She is shivering and pathetic — smaller than you ever imagined her to be. You invite her inside.

Things are awkward at first — you don’t really know anything about each other, but you learn. You learn to love the inflection of her voice, the asymmetry of her lines, the way her eyes well with tears when she watches a romantic mov-

THE PANDEMIC

MOST LOVE

IMPORTANT STORY 45

:

J ha

e t t uliheas a

n u G

CREATIVE DIRECTOR: MARTHA HILLEN CREATIVE ASSISTANT: CHANEL ROMEO PHOTOGRAPHY: ASHLEY COWIE HAIR AND MAKEUP: LALIQUE ALLAN MODEL: JULIETTE VAILLANCOURT

As an ancient field with a complex and involuted history, sex work is essential work for many. Sex workers across all realms are demanding a legal, safe, consensual, and most importantly, self-directed avenue of work, whether it be occurring non-contact or full service.

Canada’s sex work industry is complicated; various avenues hold different degrees of legality. The online pornographic industry, similar to that of full-service work, has become strife with illegal materials in the years since the industry first flourished in the 1980s. It cleared the path for abusive, non-consensual, and trafficked content to be spread widely and, consequently, normalized. Sites on the scale of OnlyFans and Pornhub have only recently and timidly acted on banning illegal materials and harmful interactions. Regardless of any efforts, the vast majority of pornographic websites do not do enough to prevent survivors’ and workers’ harm.

In November of 2014, Bill C-36, the Protection of Communities and Exploited Persons Act, received Royal Assent. This bill altered the landscape of sex work in Can-

The Laws of Sex ada, prohibiting the procurement and purchase of sexual services, as well as turning the act of gaining material benefit from the sale of other’s sexual services into an illegal offence. Canada’s current legislation targets third-party involvement and sex trafficking by applying the material benefit offence and the documents offence to sex trafficking; the latter being the act of withholding documents related to a trafficking offence.

Bill C-36 attempts to protect sex workers, notable in the amendment of the definition

of a weapon to include a wider array of harmful objects.

Despite the few commendable amendments, the bill’s communicating and advertising offences, in addition to the purchasing offence, have been flagged by Canadian sex workers as harmful to their safety and livelihood. Ultimately, Bill C-36 has complicated the lives of sex workers, placing a roadblock in between themselves and selling sexual services.

Consumption of sex work is an occurrence often hidden by clients; however, the online pornographic market ex-

By: Megan Tesch

hibits how the majority of citizens are accessing an online industry that harms marginalized sex workers regularly. As Rebecca Saunders explores in The Labour of Sex in the Digital Age (2020), capitalist and economic goals have a harmful link to sex work, in which the powers of the industry prioritize profit over safety. Legislation needs to protect sex workers safety and security without infringing on their rights in both non-contact and full-service sex work, as well as any work in between.

The reality of sex work today exists in a grey area of legality, wherein despite steps towards safe decriminalization, abuse and assault continue to pervade the industry and go unaccounted for. Whilst the stability of sex workers’ legality fluctuates, those in specific positions of privilege are granted leeway. Workers with social, racial, and classbased privilege have tended to have their rights respected to a higher degree. With-

in the online industry, many sex workers have inquired for their content to be removed from websites with little success. Workers with social, racial, and class-based privilege have yielded more success in this regard, as well as have held the ability to falsely advertise content without repercussions.

Efforts to decriminalize and reform sex work not only aim to grant workers the power to control their industry, their autonomy, and their choices, but also seek to recognize the rights of marginalized individuals within the industry.

Arguments against decriminalizing and destigmatizing sex work offer strong oppositions. There lies an increased risk of sex trafficking and illegal transactions occurring when the legislation is not enacted. Abusive and non-consensual interactions continue to harm marginalized workers at an increased rate, despite any amendments to Canada’s Criminal Code throughout legislative history. Unfortunately, implementing legislation doesn’t mean those enacting it will follow through.

In the Fall of 2021, Canada’s most pronounced sex worker organization, Maggie’s, became the first group of sex workers to unionize under the Canadian Union of Public

Employees. Efforts like these remind non-sex workers, as both clients and community members, that the legislation surrounding someone’s work shouldn’t be based on individual privilege, but instead a group’s collective needs. Maggie’s unionizing has demonstrated how individuals involved in sex work cannot be decisively exiled from their rights.

In addressing the normalization of abusive and non-consensual encounters in the sex work industry, Canada’s common culture must recognize that the presence of sex work in someone’s life should not negate safety and security needs nor the ability to express their rights. While decriminalization is the first step to recognizing and understanding the injustice sex workers endure, the government alone cannot hold the responsibility of deciding the legality of interactions between sex workers and clients.

The future of sex work should not be determined by those who treat workers as objects of monetary value. Workers themselves should be granted the power and autonomy to dictate legislation that applies to them.

I’ve never liked the thought that nothing happens after you die. The concept of what life after death looks like wasn’t something I thought about in depth until it affected me personally.

The events of June 9th, 2021 would change my life forever and make me absolutely dread the 9th of every month to come. It was that morning when one of my best friends died suddenly. Her name was Kamila, and she was the most beautiful person I had ever met.

One of our favourite things to talk about was spirituality and life after death. I never imagined I’d be thinking about her death when I reflect on those conversations.

sentiment, but didn’t think much of it. I was just trying to make conversation in an effort to distract myself. Seconds later, a tiny shard of soft blue-green glass washed up at my feet. It was as if she was looking down at me, stunned that I hadn’t taken her previous attempts to connect more seriously. I knew that if messages from the dead were real, she would quickly learn to master the art of sending them.

howA

Soul Says

”

H

After losing Kamila, it became harder to hear people say they don’t believe anything happens after you die. I spent the first few days almost exclusively searching for any sign from her.

Ello” By: Eilish Brennan

The natural process that occurs for sea glass to exist is incredibly symbolic of loss.

Something that was once whole, becomes littered and shattered into the abyss. It gets beaten down by waves and sand but comes back to find us in its most pure form. Over time, the waves of grief wash over the shattered pieces of my heart, softening the rough edges. Something that once had the power to cut you so deep you’d bleed, turned soft, beautiful, and collectable.

I felt like I was just convincing myself that everything I saw reminded me of her. I wanted to see her in the flowers I passed on the side of the road, the eclipse I saw the night she passed, or the silent lightning storm I watched mere hours after my phone rang with the news that she was gone; but felt all too coincidental. Despite my desperation to feel okay, I couldn’t accept the signs.

Learning how to continue without someone I thought I’d always have will be a lifelong Three days after her passing, I went to the lesson. Although it hasn’t gotten easier, my beach with a friend to watch the sunset. I life has slowly started to grow around findoffhandedly mentioned that despite my val- ing little moments of Kamila. Much like how iant efforts, I’d never found sea glass at that people collect sea glass, I collect stories of beach. the beautiful ways she comes to find me. Her manifestations were hard to accept at first, My friend told me that since I spoke it out but I look forward to them now, and I will into the universe, Kamila would send some forever. I am eternally grateful for my little to shore as a sign. I smiled, appreciating the sliver of sea glass.

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CREATIVE DIRECTOR: CHANEL ROMEO PHOTOGRAPHY: VICKY ZHANG HAIR AND MAKEUP: CHANEL ROMEO MODEL: CAITLIN JOHNSON & PAIGE SCHELL

ISSUE XXIV

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ISSUE XXIV

MUSE MAGAZINE AT QUEEN’S E D I T O R- I N - C H I E F Megan Fanjoy

DIRECTORS Creative Director Chanel Romeo Business Director Matt D’Alessandro Marketing Director Erin Healy Online Director Katherine Lidtke Print Director Thalia Anobile

HEADS Head of Layout Maya Kotsovolos Head of Photography Kieran Turnbull Head of Editorials Maya Ginzburg Head of Events Siena Caridi-Ross Head of Videography Zoe McCormack

Head of Finance Stuart McNaugthon Head of Development Aaryan Chaudhury Head of Initiatives Stephanie Crimi

Chief Technology Officer Dylan Langan-Smith Podcast Production Manager Claudia Beattie

ONLINE

Online Intern Margot Dent Online Editors Allie MacGregor Megan Tesch Ben Jeffries Reilly Kennedy Katelyn Battad Carly White Online Music Editor Tiana Lam Online Music Contributors Paisia Warhaft Gabriel Korth Ben Keresteci Jack Selby

Online Contributors Emily Hargrave Alysha Mohamed Makaila Atsonglo Lakshmi Anandaraj Kris Sanchez Talia Bell Élyse Willan Sadie McFadden Fiona Meeson Victoria Noon Julia Harmsworth Sierra Jones-McLeod Caitlin Parkes Joanna Petropoulos Margot Dent Isabella Crysler Rachel Salem-Wiseman Cordelia Jamieson Katarina Bojic Liz Gonzalez Online Illustrators Sadie Levine Maddie Yule Eileen Raisbeck Teagan Kirkey-Manning

Podcast Production Assistant Jaimie Frank

Technology Interns Sophie Goodman Dallin Whitford UI/UX Designer Sari Pagurek van Mossel

PRINT

Print Intern Annabelle Matifat Fashion Editor Jenny Zhu

Videographers Abby Boyd Amanda Restano Ashley Cowie Francesca Lim Keon Smith Photographers Amanda Restano Ashley Cowie Taryn Resende Cat Rose Sarah Reese Vicky Zhang

Lifestyle Editor Arden Goodfellow

BUSINESS

Arts Editor Rachel Dunn

Sponsorship Coordinators Freda Li Amy Newnham Ruby Luhtanen

Entertainment Editor Alisa Bressler

Muse’ings Editor Joanna Petropoulos

C R E AT I V E Creative Intern Rida Chaudhry

Creative Assistants Avery Simard Brendan Reid Grace Lu Martha Hillen Michelle Blaho-Melo

Hair & Makeup Artists Chelsea Roberts Mariangela Casarella Lalique Allan Claire Matthews Logan Clancy

Business Interns Mariam Guirguis Rhea Matharu

Events Coordinators Amanda Malowney Shruti Goyal Sierra Holas

MARKETING

Social Media Manager Tara Vujosevic Marketing Coordinators Emily Gwin Ellie Horning Sheetal Goyal

Layout Designers Armita Dabirzadeh Azzedine Fong Nadisha Gautam Matthew Nguyen

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