Raw

FALL 2019

VOLUME 10

the avenue RAW

Semi-Nudity in Fashion — Popping the Suburban Bubble — Wild Embrace — Interviews About Love & Heartbreak Slow Like Honey — Discovering Your Rawest Style — My Skin & Bones — Jessica Brite — Non-Standard — Is Online Dating More Real Than a Meet-Cute? — Frenzy — Scars and a Smile — Being Raw in a Society Overpowered by Image — The Raw History of Modern Self-Care — Party — Bare With Me — Drugs Are Thicker Than Blood — Building a Real-Life Online Presence Deconstructed Design — How Finsta Gave Us a Chance to be Real Online — That's Why There's a Titty on my Ankle

PRESIDENT Maddie Casey

MANAGING EDITOR Kelly Fleming

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Madelaine Millar

FASHION EDITOR Annie Koessler

CREATIVE DIRECTOR Halley Husted

BEAUTY EDITOR Naiem Yusuf

JUNIOR CREATIVE Tova Lenchner

LIFESTYLE EDITOR Kaela Anderson

PHOTO DIRECTOR Simran Gvalani

WEB EDITOR Amanda Dupell

DESIGN DIRECTOR Phoebe Lasater

COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR Allie Kuo

WOMENSWEAR DIRECTOR Casey Martin MENSWEAR DIRECTOR Alexa Portigal VIDEOGRAPHER Tyler Dolph

the avenue

COMMUNICATIONS ASSOCIATE Muylin Loh TREASURER Tomer Zilberman SECRETARY Sara Chen

WRITERS Julianne Lombardi, Medha Shah, Ellie McMurtrie, Allie Kuo, Petrina Danardatu, Donatella Mancinone, Leah Cussen, Annie Koessler, Sara Chen, Maxine An, Jessica Brite, Dana Dworkin, Husein Esufally, Cameron Barone, Emma Randall, Dip Chawla, Nia Beckett, Amaya Williams PHOTOGRAPHERS Simran Gvalani, Ellie MacLean, Kris Nevaeh, Olivia Robbins, Jay Brimeyer, Dalia Sadaka, Sydney Lerner, Lauren Walsh, Hanna Cormier, Leah Cussen, Angela Tzen, Katie Margiotta, Hillary Nana-Adjei, Alexandra Chua, Estelle De Zan, Aung Thant Kyaw, Kate Coiro, Angela Lin, Calem Robertson WOMENSWEAR STYLISTS Hillary Nana-Adjei, Nell Sweeney, Aya Albakoush MENSWEAR STYLISTS Jackson Wang, Jonathan Pereira, Avery Parker

DESIGNERS Calem Robertson, Hanieka Balint, Hanna Cormier, Juwon Lee, Franny Kuth, Olivianne Iriarte, Sarah Ceniceros, Halley Husted MODELS Elena Chivazde, Patrick Duffey, Corey Kershaw, Kathy Villa, Muylin Loh, Nate Brown, Patrick Luizzo, Tomi McGuire, Victoria Miller-Browne, Elise Minami, Aditi Lohe, Jay Brimeyer, Zenith Hakemy, Charlise Koch, Kaif Gilani, Nick Del Viscio, Miles Thompson, Robine Arami, Medha Shah, Alexa Portigal, Lynne Khouri, Allie Kuo, Sofia Cianca, Grace O’Mara, Petrina Danardatu, Donatella Mancinone, Aya Albakoush, Maya Puar, Sophia Clarke, Jodi Vuong, Husein Esufally, Erica Novelli, Luke Meininger, Victor Foster, Carley Deneen, Liana Greenberg, Sam A-Rahim, Sarah Beemer, Julia Aguam, Abbie Sedillos, Nicole Yukari, Julia Buckner, Anthony Fanticola, Bebe Landau, Kerri Beck, Casey Martin MAKEUP ARTISTS Dana Dworkin, Lucia Tarro, Vidisha Agarwalla

RAW // BEING IN OR NEARLY IN THE NATURAL STATE; NOT PROCESSED OR PURIFIED

RAW

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR We are under a lot of pressure. We wear suits to co-op interviews and present ourselves on our resumes.

We try to outperform each other in classes, and we post glossy photos of our uneaten, retouched foods on Instagram. We get caught up in having it figured out, and protect our insecurities with a layer of performance.

It’s easy to forget that we are still so young. The things we are doing right now really are the biggest, hardest, most spectacular things we’ve ever done, and it’s amazing that we’ve gotten this far. We may be more polished and more jaded, but we are still just taller versions of the children who used to explore the world headfirst. Down underneath the corporate-friendly social media accounts and the GPAs, we are tender and genuine and trying our best. We are raw.

To be raw is to be unfinished, and to embrace our rough edges as space for new growth. To be raw is to be vulnerable, and to let people help us by allowing them to know us. To be raw is to be unpolished, and to laugh and cry and exist without shame. To be raw is to be human.

I am blown away by the level of honesty and compassion that our writers have brought to this issue and to the topic Raw. I could not be more excited to present you with my first issue as Editor-in-Chief, and I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed creating it.

MADELAINE MILLAR, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Semi-Nudity in Fashion

012

Popping the Suburban Bubble

018

Wild Embrace: Accepting Natural Hair

022

Interviews about Love & Heartbreak

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Slow Like Honey

040

Discovering Your Rawest Style

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My Skin & Bones

048

Jessica BriteTM

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Non-Standard: Coming to Terms with My Own Beauty

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Is Online Dating More Real Than a Meet-Cute?

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Frenzy

072

Scars and a Smile

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Being Raw in a Society Overpowered by Image

082

The Raw History of Modern Self-Care

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Party

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Bare with Me: A Case of Going Makeup-Free

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Drugs Are Thicker Than Blood

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Building a Real-Life Online Presence

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Deconstructed Design

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How Finsta Gave Us a Chance to be Real Online

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That's Why There's a Titty on my Ankle

semi-nudity in fashion Raw and empowering or pressured to be sexual?

WRITING Medha Shah MODELING Alexa Portigal, Medha Shah PHOTOGRAPHY Jay Brimeyer

With runways and social media littered in scantily clad women, it can be hard to determine if seminudity is a message to society or a cry for attention.

Women are taught from a young age that showing more skin is sexy, but how much skin is too much?

Are sheer tops over little black bralettes actually making your outfit less scandalous? What about the tiny straps holding up your slinky backless dress?

There is a fine line between semi-nudity in fashion being raw and empowering, and the pressure to be seen in a sexualized manner. But as long as you’re dressing for yourself, you should feel comfortable showing as much skin as you want.

Fashion has always been about portraying a certain image. Up until the 16th century clothing was used to represent the social hierarchy.

Keeping up with fashion trends was reserved for the nobility who could afford to spend money on expensive imported fabrics. But as we moved away from monarchies, and into the 20th century, fashion became more mainstream. With women's rights came a decline in the restrictions of women's clothing. There was an increasing influence of

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naturalness which followed with shorter hemlines and bare shoulders to show off the female form as it is. In 2019, women continue to show off their natural beauty to portray their confidence.

The Naked Dress is a great example of this. Worn by every model or celebrity, it’s notorious for leaving little to the imagination. Its origins can be traced back to the ‘90s when a model for the Spring/Summer 1990 Yves Saint Laurent fashion show walked down the runway with one breast exposed. She was followed by prominent models such as Naomi Campbell and Christy Turlington, who similarly went semi-nude for fashion powerhouses Chanel and Karl Lagerfeld. It’s been a step towards women empowering themselves and reclaiming their sexuality. They show the raw, “taboo” parts of them as a fuck you to the patriarchy because they can and it feels good.

Women in fashion have continued to emancipate themselves through their sexuality. Lingerie and barely-there dresses are no longer reserved for the bedroom. Instead, celebrities like Emily

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...as long as you're dressing for yourself, you should feel comfortable showing as much skin as you want.

...embrace that plunging neckline or tight mini skirt.

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Ratajkowski and Bella Hadid have deemed them the “it girl” dress code for a night out.

They’ve become body positivity advocates for our generation, using platforms like Instagram and Twitter to spread their message of self-love.

However, growing up with social media can be confusing for young girls learning to dress themselves. They can feel pressured to dress in a sexy way because they think it makes them look more mature.

Our idea of what’s sexy has been influenced by society from a young age. We’ve constantly been surrounded by ads of half-naked women that hypersexualize everyday situations. Brands like Tom Ford and American Apparel have even come under fire for taking their campaigns too far. In 2007, Tom Ford placed a bottle of men’s perfume between a woman's breasts, while American Apparel similarly ran online banner ads with a fully topless model in just jeans. Yes, sex sells, but there are certainly less explicit ways to market products. Being constantly surrounded by semi-nude ads influences young girls to dress provocatively before they’re ready to.

stand out helped me fit in. The more covered up I was the more out of place I felt. But when random girls started complimenting me on my outfit, I realized I could wear these clothes and dress for myself. Switching my mindset helped me feel empowered and confident. I now love wearing tiny crop tops or short skirts because they make me feel free.

Girls everywhere are embracing the power of seminudity as the rawest form of beauty in fashion. No one bats an eye at sideboob and bare backs — because it means you’re comfortable in your skin and love yourself. I’m a huge advocate for wearing what you want and that also means not wearing something you’re not comfortable in. You should never feel pressured into wearing something revealing to feel sexy. Wear whatever makes you feel confident and look your best. Highlight the parts of you that you love, not society. So go ahead and embrace that plunging neckline or tight mini skirt. Flaunt the skin you were born with — or don’t, if that’s not your thing. Just remember that you’re the only person in charge of your sexuality.

I remember when I entered college I was beyond excited to wear clothes without the restrictions of a dress code. Before going out, my friends and I would try on countless outfits before finding “the one.” When I walked into my first college party I could feel this unspoken pressure to dress up and put myself out there. I kept tugging at my clothes, I felt raw and exposed. But ironically dressing to

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I CAN REMEMBER SO VIVIDLY THE FEELING OF MY YOUTH IN THE SUBURBS: BARE FEET RUNNING ON DEWY GRASS, CHASING AFTER FIREFLIES LATE AT NIGHT.

POPPING THE SUBURBAN BUBBLE

WRITING Sarah Chen MODELING Jodi Vuong, Maya Puar, Sophia Clarke PHOTOGRAPHY Angela Tzen

John Hughes was from my hometown and we went to the same high school that influenced his movies. The iconic scene in Breakfast Club at the football field, of defiantly raising a fist in the air to the closing lyrics yelling, “don’t you forget about me,” that was the same football field I went to watch Friday night games. The parking lot that Ferris Bueller drives from to ditch class is the same parking lot that housed my car every day of senior year. These stories of American suburban life didn’t feel that romanticized to me because I grew up in a John Hughes film.

From a John Hughes film to city life

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Not many people in our generation know the name John Hughes, but the legacy of his work irrevocably changed the way we view the American suburban experience. He was the film director and screenwriter for the genre that we coin ‘80s movies today. When asking my friends from college what they like so much about John Hughes, they respond that he was the first one to create the clichés we see replicated today — there is something special about being the first to bring something into existence. I never saw the big deal about his work because in my mind he wasn’t a special film creator. He wasn’t the first to paint this fictional experience because we lived in the same world and shared the same space.

If anything, I had fostered a complex relationship with the suburban experience in the latter part of high school. I felt like an expert on the suburban experience, but one that didn’t understand my ownership over it. It was as if Hughes’ credentials and his literary success somehow transferred to me through our shared high school experiences.

But there is some validity in knowing that someone who shared the same moments as you created something incredible out of it, because if you haven’t seen a John Hughes movie, he didn’t like high school that much. In all honesty, no one does.

Suburban America as a whole was not something Hughes seemed fond of.

The scenes of Ferris Bueller driving around my town in the ‘80s, vandalizing the water tower next to the library I worked at, still looks identical to Northbrook, Illinois today. The way he depicted the coming-of-age teenage suburban adventure always made me feel connected to something spectacular, even if suburban life was not always that.

As a self-declared specialist on all things suburbia, I had conflicting opinions and feelings towards the upbringing that used to make up my life.

Fundamentally, upper class people wanted to create homogeneous societies far enough from cities to feel safe, but close enough to reap the economic benefits of urban jobs. To commit to a life in the suburbs usually meant there was enough financial security to afford the commute, expensive McMansion, and distance from the urban, seemingly “raw” population.

I can’t fault my parents; they wanted to ensure that my brother and I had the chance to grow up attending well-funded public schools in an area where the grass was always trimmed perfectly by the neighborhood association, where houses were lined with white picket fences, and where community gardens were filled with ripe produce.

I grew up at the community park, playing tennis on the pristine district courts, and biking until all hours of the night. I can remember so vividly the feeling of my youth in the suburbs: bare feet running on dewy grass, chasing after fireflies late at night. Watching the sunset over roads that stretched out into the horizon made time feel like it stopped. There were certain liberties granted to me as a child that I would not have had the pleasure of knowing if I’d grown up in an urban environment.

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AGAINST IT ALL, I WAS STILL RAW. 16

The flaws with living in a suburb became increasingly undeniable as I grew older and entered high school. The homogeneous culture, refinement, and overall restriction became clear during senior year, for the suburbs guarantee safety and cohesion, often at the expense of individualism. What I don’t miss about suburbia is what happened when you were supposed to transition out of the innocence of youth. When you are supposed to grow as a person, make mistakes and learn, with a real sense of risk. In high school I remember feeling stuck, like I could get up and walk for a few hours and never end up anywhere. This feeling of restlessness infected my body as I wanted so badly to feel something not manufactured. The fundamental characteristics that make a suburb perfect for childhood safety are the exact pressures that drive young adults towards recklessness.

The main difference between a suburb and city is how their residents are allowed to explore the honest parts of life. Raw is emotion, it’s hurt and passion and unconfined feelings. Raw is growing up and the John Hughes movie I lived throughout my youth was raw. I came from an area that didn’t accept mental health issues with any merit. The externalities from feeling suppressed and stuck didn’t mitigate the validity of vulnerability and fear of growing up. It might not seem raw that I lived in a manicured perfect little world, where all we knew was the echo chamber of school.

Against it all, I was still raw. Suburbs are frustrating because they try to conform and force you to fit into a certain mold. But the problem is that when you are growing, there is no predictability in which ways or lengths you will change. Suburbs don’t account for unpredictability, which is why there are growing pains. Urban cities embrace what is raw about growth and promotes it: the unpredictability, risk, and ugliness of it all.

However, as I entered college, the resentment I carried for suburban life slowly melted away. Living in London my first semester of college, and then Boston the following year, I had a drastic change of environment. The space from my past allowed me to assess my past and present. I reflected on the fact that no one living in the suburbs is radically less “raw” than a city resident.

So many movies and TV shows follow the protagonist from a small suburb coming to the big city and show how they’ve become substantially different. While the common path from suburban high school to urban life sparks environmental changes, your experiences still compose who you are. I find myself today defending suburbs to many people at Northeastern who are from large cities.

Do you know how hard it is to explain to people that I am from the Midwest and my town is called Northbrook? Urban environments don’t have any ownership over the process of growth because their environment breeds an openness to chaos.

John Hughes depicted the coming of age teenage suburban adventure on film before anyone else did.

He saw the complexities from the growth in his life and made it into something meaningful for many people today. He was still a Northbrook kid. He married his cheerleading high school girlfriend. He moved back to the Chicago area after all his success. He was a suburb kid following the path of life I know many of my friends from high school and I probably will take too. And in all of his typically suburban traits, he created something raw. While it is so easy to characterize people on where they are from, the focus should be on the experiences they had. The growth in between each of these moments is a true testament to the authentic emotion that they bare. Out of the confines and boredom of the suburban life, John Hughes imagined worlds of his own, grew and exposed his true self.

People tend to leave the suburbs for urban populations in search of something. And while I do prefer Boston to the village of Northbrook at this point in my life, both are equally crucial to the cultivation of who I am. The person I was in high school, a bored girl in Illinois dreaming of living in New York City, was as much the “city girl” I am today living in Boston. The growth in each moment of my life, regardless of where I was, wasn’t defined or confined by my location, but by who I worked to become and what I decided to create along the way.

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wild embrace

accepting natural hair

I was also not yet overly concerned or conscious about my physical appearance.

WRITING Petrina Danardatu MODELING Grace O’Mara, Lynne Khouri, Petrina Danardatu PHOTOGRAPHY Lauren Walsh

This is the story of my long and trying journey in accepting and embracing my natural hair. Some of you may have read that sentence and thought “what is she talking about?” Others may read the same sentence and think, “I know exactly what she’s going through.” I believe that no matter what reaction this topic may spark in you, it’s a story worth listening to.

My family is Indonesian and Slovakian, an unusual combination, I know. Even more unusual, I’m the only one in my family with hair as curly as mine.

No one quite knows how this happened — I often like to joke that I must be adopted, but my family always tells me that is certainly not true. Now, I know, of course, people of color aren’t the only people who have curly hair. Personally, as a person of color, curly hair is tied to having darker skin and being an ethnic minority, and thus being more vulnerable to racism and discrimination in ways that white people with curly hair are not.

My father works as a petroleum engineer in the oil industry, so we often move from country to country.

I was born in Indonesia, then moved to Canada, Libya, and Saudi Arabia all within the first seven years of my life. All of this moving around, though, has become integral to my life because it’s allowed me to build my world view through experience, and to have the chance to meet and care for so many different types of people from all different walks of life. Up to this point of my life, I didn’t care much for my hair; both in the sense that I didn’t have anyone to really guide me through curly hair care, and that

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For most of elementary school, I lived in Saudi Arabia. Though at times, I like to say that I didn’t really live in Saudi Arabia, because I lived in an American company-owned compound that didn’t adhere to Saudi Arabian laws and regulations, and was a largely international community. The average summer temperature in Saudi Arabia at that time was about 115 degrees. How I ever survived through that heat, I will never know. The everlasting heat and humidity constantly made my hair all frizzy and wild. Tying it back seemed to tame the beast so to speak, so that’s what I did every single day. There is something that pervades much of Western beauty culture that portrays wild, frizzy hair as something bad. Many people with textured hair have had to deal with the negatively-charged language that refers to their hair as “unkempt” or “nappy” and have been told that it’s somehow a hindrance to their possible level of professionalism.

A countless number of students with textured hair have been sent home from school by their educators because of the way their hair looks. I would implore these people to take their role as educators with much more gravity, both in teaching academic subjects and respect for other people.

Luckily, my educators have never failed me in this respect as this is something I am fortunate enough to not have personally experienced.

In the middle of sixth grade, I moved to Copenhagen, Denmark. I lived there throughout all of middle school and high school. Even though I went to an international school, my school community was still predominantly white. I often

felt like the odd one out, the sore thumb sticking out of the crowd, at least in terms of my appearance.

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In little time I started to become overly sensitive and self-conscious about my looks. At that time in my life, I didn’t want to seem different, and I often felt that way growing up — for reasons I did not yet have the vocabulary or courage to openly express. Looking back on it now, however, I would say that this is when I began to become more cognizant about the ways in which racially exclusive beauty aesthetics is about more than just what’s considered pretty, as it is also bound to the structural relations of us versus them and included versus excluded rhetorics which pervade many aspects of our society, including our ideas of beauty.

I wanted so badly to feel like I belonged, that I was part of some sort of team. Based on what I knew or understood, if you were part of a team, there had to be a sense of togetherness, of unity. There weren’t a lot of things that I felt I could change about myself to better make me look like I belonged, to fit the mold of beauty that I thought existed. I couldn’t change the color of my skin, my body type, or my facial features that were the product of a much different heritage than most of my peers. My hair, however, was one of the very few things that I had a lot of control over. One day, at the end of sixth grade, I decided to straighten my hair. Doing so didn’t completely erase these anxieties from my mind, but it definitely minimized them to palatable amounts so I could go about my day relatively stress-free. I continued to straighten my hair every day for the next four and a half years. There were times when I couldn’t even stomach the thought of wearing my natural hair to school.

How could I let my peers see me like that: so crude, so unfinished, so raw?

It wasn’t until the middle of tenth grade that everything changed. I still have no definite explanation as to why it happened the way it did on that particular day. Self-acceptance doesn’t happen overnight, but for me, there was one morning where all the little steps forward that I look over the years toward self-acceptance and self-love, culminated into one big moment of courage. A big part of my ability to accept 20

myself was having such a strong, open, positive relationship with my family and my closest friends.

My biggest support systems consisted of my mother, my father, my sister, and my very best friend, Abby. By surrounding myself with such loving, caring, understanding people, I felt safe to be honest with myself and with others about how I felt and constructively work through my internal struggles. After a few years of self-reflection, and a lot of emotional labor, I was able to wake up that morning, get dressed, east breakfast, look in the mirror, and be genuinely happy with what I saw. On that day, I decided that I didn’t want to change the way my hair looked. Then, day after day, I continued to wake up and decide that my hair didn’t need changing — that I didn’t need changing. It felt good. I felt good.

One part of this story that I’ve kept hidden until now, is how the journey in accepting my hair was pretty much entirely parallel to my journey of accepting my sexuality. I identify as bisexual but for a long time, I was very unaccepting of it. I didn’t want to confront this reality, and I sure as hell didn’t want to let anyone else in on the secret. This likely was a huge driving force in my wanting to fit in so badly, to not stand out, out of fear of being deemed strange or horrible or wrong for being who I was, and still am. I believe my efforts to repress and change my sexuality manifested in the way I chose to present my hair and was why I refused to let it exist in its natural state. It was also around the time that I began wearing my natural hair that I was more content within myself about this part of who I am and became more and more comfortable sharing it with others.

At the big turning points of both of these journeys, I have always been met and received with a fully embracing and all-consuming love by my family, friends, and community. I recognize how lucky and fortunate I am to be able to be open and express this part of myself and feel and be safe in my environment. I am lucky to have been raised in a community that is so accepting and appreciative of diversity, one that celebrates all walks of life, and all people in all their forms and fashions. Because of this, I try to use my position of privilege to share stories that might resonate with people, whether because they relate with them and can confide in some kind of abstract camaraderie, or if they simply enjoy learning something from them. This is who I am, and this is why I write.

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INTERVIEWS ABOUT LOVE & HEARTBREAK

WRITING Dana Dworkin PHOTOGRAPHY Kate Coiro

LOVE

How do you define love? You can define familial/ platonic/romantic love differently if that helps.

Morgan: Familial and platonic friendships are just an unsaid, unwritten feeling where you both feel appreciated and respected. You don’t have to learn it, you don’t have to explore it, it’s just there. But I think love love, like romantic love… it’s so cringey, but it’s about baring every part of yourself and still feeling loved. I love very intensely, and it’s an overwhelming sense of care about a person and their wellbeing.

Anna*: The people who I tend to form platonic and romantic relationships with are the people who I feel the best around. They bring out the best version of me. I also think that those relationships have the necessary quality of letting both people be individual people and then sharing parts of their lives together. I don’t think romantic love is when you become one and the same. It’s when you grow together, but remain separate.

Susan: For me, love is about choice and acceptance. A lot of love is even when someone is your least favorite person, it’s the choice to stay. I have a strained relationship with my family, particularly my mother. I don’t feel like I have to

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love her, but I choose to. Because I could just hate, you know? Or I can choose to be understanding and empathize with what she’s gone through in life, and the fact that she may just be mentally ill and I will never understand what’s going on in her mind. It’s choosing to stay by her side and send her flowers on her birthday or answering the phone when she calls.

Have you ever been in love? If so, who was it, and did you tell that person?

M: Yes, my current boyfriend. I’m definitely a big believer in communication, and I love to talk about my feelings. I think there’s a lot of beauty and depth in being vulnerable. So it wasn’t a huge thing for me [to tell them]. I just told them because I wanted them to know how I felt. The first time I told them, we weren’t in a great place in our relationship. So not a Hallmark situation, but I felt like I showed up for myself by telling them how I felt and being honest with myself and the other person.

L: I’m gay, and it was my best friend. I loved her so much. And I’ve loved friends, but it was different.

You can tell love like that when you get really jealous of them being with other people. So no, I did not tell her.

Su: Yeah, it was something that started as a classroom crush, middle school relationship. I would describe him as a friend before I would describe him as anything else. An old friend who I once dated.

I think I’d known for a very long time that I loved him but it’s been very scary to say because of our strained relationship. I think I knew when I was like, “I don’t know how this is going to end, but if he tells me that he doesn’t like me anymore and is going to start dating someone else, I’m not going to be mad.

I’ll be genuinely happy for him.”

WHEN I HEAR THE WORD RAW, THE FIRST THING I THINK OF IS THAT FEELING WHEN YOU CUT YOUR NAIL A LITTLE BIT TOO SHORT. THE SOFT, PINK PART OF YOUR SKIN THAT’S USUALLY PROTECTED BY A LAYER OF KERATIN IS SUDDENLY EXPOSED TO THE WORLD. YOU CAN FORGET ABOUT IT MOMENTARILY, BUT EVERY TIME YOU ACCIDENTALLY PRESS IT AGAINST SOMETHING, THAT STINGING FEELING COMES RUSHING BACK. YOU MIGHT EVEN PRESS IT AGAINST SOMETHING ON PURPOSE BECAUSE THE PAIN STARTS TO BECOME COMFORTING — OR MAYBE THAT’S JUST ME. THAT EXPERIENCE, ODDLY ENOUGH, MAKES ME THINK OF LOVE AND HEARTBREAK. TO LOVE IS TO EXPOSE THE SOFT, EASILY DAMAGED PARTS OF YOURSELF WITH THE FULL KNOWLEDGE THAT IT MIGHT END UP HURTING YOU. SOMETIMES YOU’LL GO BACK TO SOMETHING THAT HAS ALREADY HURT YOU JUST TO GET THAT MOMENTARY FEELING OF COMFORT, OF THE FAMILIAR PAIN. FOR THIS ARTICLE, I ASKED MY FRIENDS, SOME OLD AND SOME NEW, TO OPEN UP AND SHARE THEIR EXPERIENCES IN LOVE AND HEARTBREAK. THOSE MARKED WITH AN ASTERISK HAVE ASKED THAT THEIR NAMES BE CHANGED FOR ANONYMITY.

What does it feel like to be loved and to love someone?

A: When I’m not in a relationship with someone I love, I feel like I’m floating in space. Having another person who feels so strongly about you and cares about your existence it grounds you.

L: It’s a need to be with them, and to be associated with them. So you really feel like they’re your pair, and even when you’re not with them, you feel like there’s a part of them with you wherever you’re going.

Su: You feel really accepted. Maybe I’m using acceptance because I don’t accept myself and I’m really insecure in a lot of ways, and so to know that someone loves you and accepts you for all those things you’re insecure about is huge. That feeling is so rare to feel like you can act however you want and to know that someone will still accept you and want to be with you at the end of the day.

Have your parents/grandparents/other family members influenced your views on love? If so, in what way?

M: Love doesn’t look like a cookie cutter.

Ultimately, I do think it’s true, what I said before about the core of love being respect for each other and having that undying sense of care. My grandparents have been married almost fifty years, and they are very different people. My grandma annoys the shit out of my grandpa, but you couldn’t separate them if you tried. Seeing that is funny, but also exciting because sometimes I feel like the most annoying person in the world but my boyfriend still happens to love me, somehow.

Su: Fujianese people specifically are not physically affectionate, at all. I remember once I tried to kiss my dad on the cheek and he was like, “No!” He was embarrassed. I’ve learned that a lot of the time, love is just [someone] being there for you.

There are members of my family who are not good people, and my parents will still help them. This was something I actually learned in a book I read about immigration and Fujianese people. It was talking about how Fujianese people are so deeply bound to their family where they would sacrifice anything for any of them. I think that has taught me a lot about love. My dad has gotten softer, but even though he used to refuse to kiss me on the cheek or hug me, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love me. He’ll love me by always supporting me and helping me when it’s inconvenient for him.

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HEARTBREAK

How do you define heartbreak?

M: When I’ve experienced heartbreak, it actually boils down to not being in control of a situation.

You can’t change how other people are feeling so you’re looking for a reciprocated feeling that isn’t there and you can’t force it. You could love someone to the ends of the earth but if they don’t feel the same way about you, you can’t do anything about it.

Su: Gut wrenching. You just feel so empty inside, It’s like a drug withdrawal, where you just want it. I remember, not that I think I was in love with this person, but I would just wake up and miss having his arms around me. It’s so sad and empty.

It sucks because you want this thing back so bad. You would do anything to have that moment with this person again but you can’t. I think to be heartbroken is to linger.

Have you ever been heartbroken? If so, who broke your heart and did they know they broke your heart?

M: In my current relationship I’ve had my heart broken. They definitely did know, and it wasn’t like I had to explain it to them, but I still made sure to explain it to them.

A: Yes, I was heartbroken after my first serious relationship. It’s funny, because looking back at my high school relationship, we were babies. We just broke up because we were going to college. There was nothing wrong, no cheating, no issues. It was weird, because I was still in love with this person and knew that I just had to get over it. It’s a weird feeling to know that in the present, you’re in love with someone but after a certain amount of time, you won’t be in love with them.

L: It’s funny, because I didn’t know I was gay for so long, But freshman year of high school, we basically dated. We both didn’t know [we were gay], and she figured out she was gay. I thought I wasn’t, so she started hooking up with another girl.

It was horrible. Same with the other girl. I never told her, so I can’t blame her.

Su: I have been heartbroken. It was just a person I was hooking up with. But no, I don’t think he knows he broke my heart. [I didn’t tell him] because I was scared of being vulnerable, and scared of letting him know how much he actually mattered to me.

How do you heal a broken heart?

M: For me, a huge piece is feeling the feelings, whatever that looks like. People have their own ways of coping, but bottling up feelings has never worked for me and I’ve seen it not work for other

people. I just think you’re doing yourself an injustice if you don’t let yourself be sad or mad. It’s not healthy for you to never deal with those feelings and have them rear their ugly heads in different ways in your life, because it will manifest. So for me, I have to sit in the feelings for a long time, and there’s no timeline. You just get sick of being sad at some point and you just do what you can. For me, that looks like starting a bunch of projects, reading new books, going to museums, doing a lot of things that relate to art because I do feel like I see grief and sadness and heartbreak are universal emotions.

A: I honestly just think time. I remember one of my best friends telling me that you get over someone after the equivalent amount of time as your relationship has passed, and that was the exact thing that happened to me.

I LEFT THESE INTERVIEWS FEELING DRAINED — A LITTLE NOSTALGIC FOR MY OWN LOVE AND SAD FOR MY OWN FOR MY HEARTBREAKS, BUT MOSTLY, I FELT UNBELIEVABLY CLOSE TO THE PEOPLE I HAD JUST TALKED TO. I’VE KNOWN SOME OF THEM SINCE THE FIRST DAY OF COLLEGE, WHILE OTHERS I HAD MET JUST MONTHS BEFORE, BUT THEY WERE ALL WILLING TO OPEN UP TO ME IN WAYS THAT WOULD HAVE NEVER OCCURRED IN OUR NORMAL CONVERSATIONS. WE DON’T THINK TO ASK OUR FRIENDS THE HARD QUESTIONS OR TO CREATE VULNERABLE SITUATIONS WITH PEOPLE WE’VE JUST MET, BUT MAYBE WE SHOULD.

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slow like honey

PHOTOGRAPHY & POETRY Ellie MacLean SENIOR CREATIVE DIRECTION Halley Husted ASSOCIATE CREATIVE DIRECTION Tova Lenchner CONTRIBUTING PHOTO DIRECTION Simran Gvalani STYLING DIRECTION Alexa Portigal Casey Martin MENSWEAR STYLING Jackson Wang Jonathan Pereira Avery Parker WOMENSWEAR STYLING Hillary Nana-Adjei Nell Sweeney Aya Albakoush MAKEUP Dana Dworkin MODELING Elena Chivazde Patrick Duffey In collaboration with Rent The Runway 28

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DISCOVERING YOUR

rawest style WRITING Ellie McMurtrie MODELING Lynne Khouri PHOTOGRAPHY Dalia Sadaka

young age. However, at the same time, we all seek to fit in, conform, and simultaneously be different, but not too different from the norm. In finding our own personal styles, we also struggle to find a balance between wanting to be similar to and unique among our peers.

Everyone remembers a time when they wore something regrettable. As someone who grew up with a collection of Paul Frank t-shirts and Crocs, I often wonder why I chose to wear these items which I now feel so detached from. Of course, back then they were a reflection of what I deemed “my style,” however, looking back I realize that this was never the case. For centuries, trends have had a way of dictating what society considers acceptable, and what we consider fashionable. Many people believe they have a unique personal style, but our ever-changing tastes are a testament to the restrictions trends place on our decisions about what we should and should not wear. While it’s okay to occasionally wear something that’s “so last year,” it’s also important to be in touch with your genuine sense of style as a reflection of who you are.

When contemplating my sense of style, I am often frustrated by my inability to separate trends from my personal identity. The common assumption that authenticity is something you’re born with contradicts how finding our unique style is more difficult than blindly following trends. Just as our identities are constantly evolving, so are our styles.

I can’t say I’ve completely found my own style but that is to be expected, as many of us are still trying to figure out who we are as people. Experimenting with fashion can be a great way to get in touch with yourself, and when you do, your raw, authentic style will reveal itself naturally.

We’re all born with a certain sense of self. We have natural preferences, aversions, insecurities, and fears that help us decide what to wear from a

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It is said that within our differences, we will find our similarities. The same is true in fashion. Some of the biggest fashion icons have been risk-takers, breaking loose of trends and, in doing so, setting them. Take for example Billie Eilish; her oversized puffy jacket and baggy pants look completely

opposes the expectation that female pop stars should wear tight, revealing clothes. At first, her way of dressing stood out as unusual and unconventional. However, as her fame rocketed over the course of a few months, oversized puffy jackets surfaced in designer stores and Forever 21 alike, solidifying Eilish’s influence as a trend-setter.

Trends will continue to dominate fashion whether we like it or not. Our choice lies in whether we want to set our own or follow existing ones.

Following trends is an easy option, so easy that it’s sometimes almost impossible to avoid.

Fast-fashion stores sell clothing trends almost exclusively because they’re considered popular and are therefore most profitable. These clothes can be eye-catching and buying them excites us because they fulfill our desire for conformity in what is considered “fashionable”. However, following trends too closely will lead us to become out of touch with our own unique style.

Adhering to a fashion trend may be easy, but there are ways to avoid this. Before you shop, decide on specific items you’re looking for instead of getting blindsided by what the store deems a “must-have”.

Often times, stores will sell things that you didn’t even necessarily want by placing their flashiest and most trendy pieces at the front of the store. Staying focused will help you sift through large racks of clothing with a more thoughtful eye, resisting

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WHATEVER YOU WEAR

wear it with confdence the temptation of a quick, trendy fix. A large component of American trends and fast fashion is the capitalist society in which they operate. These stores take fashion, an industry typically thought of as subjective, and turn it into a formula for cheaply made goods yielding the largest profit. Make sure to keep a level head and a strong sense of your own style when shopping to avoid falling for this trick.

Seek inspiration in unassuming places. If fast fashion is where trends go to die, then what are your other options? Designer clothing is not the only source of unique pieces. If you have the budget for couture, go for it, but if not, get creative.

Popular streetwear trends all originate from unique and not necessarily wealthy places. Kanye West’s YEEZY line is often mocked for looking battered, torn, or ill-fitting, while still being extremely expensive. Regardless of what critics say, the success of his line is undeniable evidence that fashion doesn’t necessarily have to be ostentatious to be unique. In Kanye’s case, YEEZY is a reflection of his raw style and draws inspiration from growing up in Chicago in the 80’s. Although we continue to shake our heads at the success of his brand, Kanye proves that authenticity is valued by any audience.

Our styles are appealing to others because they are proclamations of self — unique and interesting, just like us.

Whatever you wear, wear it with confidence. I know it’s easier said than done, but confidence goes a long way in fashion. There truly are no rules to what you can and can’t wear, so taking a fashion risk

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will only fail if you act as if you already have. Lady Gaga’s meat dress and Kate Middleton’s wedding dress have more in common than a surface-level

glance may suggest; they were both worn by powerful and confident women who knew exactly what they wanted and how to present that. In the end, we all just want to feel good about ourselves and this is the only choice we have the power to make. If you feel good, you’ll look good, and if you look good, you’ll be a fashion icon in no time.

Remember that you wear the clothes, not the other way around.

I can’t truthfully say that my style today is completely authentic; I still wear items that I would have questioned a few years back because they are considered “on trend” today. However, by bearing these tips in mind, I’ve learned that taking “risks” is not as scary as I thought it would be. Growing up in a place that valued uniformity, self-expression through style was limited to a few items of clothing considered acceptable among my peers. It took moving to Boston for me to realize that fashion and trends were two separate entities and it’s more important to value personal expression over societal expectations.

We can’t predict where fashion will take us in the next ten days, years, or centuries. What we do know is who we are and what we stand for. Our clothing is an extension of ourselves and we can choose how much we put on the line. Revealing your raw self to the world can be daunting, but freeing oneself from societal expectations, if only through a simple article of clothing, is a liberating experience well worth its perceived risk.

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I dreamt of skin and bones almost every night. On rare days, those dreams were alarmingly close to becoming reality. I expected an epiphany to occur as more weight was lost: that sweet moment when I’d burst into the toothiest smile and strut in the mirror because I was no longer ashamed. But on these days, I’d feel absolutely nothing because all I could focus on was the thickness of my upper arms, the accumulation of pudge around my hips, the rolls of fat piling up on my stomach.

WRITING Annie Koessler ILLUSTRATION Sarah Ceniceros

As silly as this may sound, mirrors scare the shit out of me. First thing in the morning, every morning, I belittle my body into pieces of flesh and fat. Mirrors have rejected me. I can’t ignore the way my body morphs and bends within the glassy reflection. I try my best to brush aside that feeling, but, of course, it always creeps back in: that burning itch of shame. The kind of shame that makes you want to cry and scream at the same time.

There was a time before any of this self-loathing festered and escalated into an obsession. I’d smile at my reflection, collecting freckles across my cheeks, always searching for a new one. It was absolute bliss when those little brown specks all over my skin were the only things I noticed — ten on my nose, five on my arm, four on my legs, two on my belly.

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Then I grew up, and I began to realize how awfully consuming the body can become.

I could easily blame the other stuff going on in my life when the bulimia first started — a confusing night in high school — but that’s a cheap excuse.

When my days consisted of shoving my fingers down my throat after everything I ate, the person I saw in those mirrors deeply embarrassed me to the point of anger. This anger — at myself, my body, my inability to lose weight quickly — only fueled my increasing mania. I punished myself with constant workouts, especially when I binge ate. I timed my puke sessions to the T, so that it was my own dirty secret. At my lowest point, I didn’t even care how hard the tears burned my skin when I forced the food out of me. And in the most perverse way, the tears made me proud because I knew how much closer I was to my misguided idea of perfection.

For so long, I thought my relationship with food was relatively normal. My memories of eating have always been uncomfortable, tracing back to when I was ten years old. Eating came with strict rules; snack time was only allowed at 3 PM. Those tiny 100-calorie snack packs were the only things waiting for me, but my body always craved real food: cherry Twizzlers, crunchy Cheetos, BBQ Lays chips. At the ripe age of ten, calories mattered and from then on I could never ignore that bolded number on the nutritional facts label.

These eating habits seemed like an easy solution to fix the way I perceived myself. My warped selfperception went beyond just the number I weighed, since there was always something I could find to hate about my body. At first, I’d criticize myself openly to friends as a means of seeking validation.

The comments about my weight loss made me extremely proud, especially the ones expressing concern. Unsurprisingly, the more the bulimia progressed, the more my self-hatred intensified.

At my most vulnerable times, when I felt like a stranger in my own body, all I wanted was for someone to genuinely understand my situation.

As you can imagine, it’s rare to find this and admitting to a problem was never considered

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because I believed it did not exist. The most frustrating part of opening up about this to someone is the immediate, defensive reaction of them complimenting you. Sure, calling someone skinny may seem supportive, but glorifying this idea of perfection can actually do more harm than good. More importantly, at least in my situation, it disregards the underlying issue at hand: a person struggling to understand their body dysmorphia.

There were countless times I wish I had confided in a friend earlier because that itching to self-destruct burnt like hell.

My envy of those who are able to live their lives without ever letting their body control them only escalates this frustration of feeling misunderstood.

I’m envious of those who can eat a whole plate of fried rice without ever feeling guilty, because the temptation of throwing it all up would still haunt me.

Even today, after having put the purging behind

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me, I’m still waiting for the moment when I come to peace with my body. Being at war with your own body is exhausting. And when you are alone in this war, it leaves scars that cut deeper than the ones on your knuckles.

For two years, I kept telling myself that only stick-thin girls could have eating disorders. When I Googled eating disorders, those people didn’t look like me. When I took those tests determining whether or not you had body dysmorphia, I lied to myself with every click: Do you deliberately check your features more than 30 times a day? No. Are you unhappy with the way you look? Sometimes.

The moment I broke away from my denial and saw my habits for what they truly were remains a bittersweet memory I’m grateful for. I’m thankful that the ounce of self-love I held onto encouraged me to end the excessive workouts, purging

sessions, and unnecessary punishments for eating more than 700 calories a day. And for the very few people in my life who didn’t make me feel as helpless and unlovable as I made myself out to be, your love has made light of such a suffocating part of life that I thought would never escape me.

I’ve found the willpower to not act upon them, it does not mean they are forever erased from my conscious — it’s a part of me that I’m still learning how to balance with everyday life. My struggle with body dysmorphia is one I know will take a lifetime to overcome, if that’s even possible.

I’d be lying if I said I’ve come full circle from this tumultuous ride. It’s an everyday battle fighting off each hurtful comment I attribute to myself, and gaining the weight back has shattered a substantial amount of my self-confidence. While I acknowledge that these thoughts are part of an unhealthy illusion, it simply cannot dismiss my persistent dissatisfaction with my body. Even after stopping the bulimia — a milestone I expected to spark selfacceptance — I still pick apart every inch of my body. As my ribs and hipbones have become less prominent, I still find it impossible to fully ignore the “easy” fix my old habits produced. Just because

Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. Every 62 minutes, at least one person dies as a direct result from an eating disorder. Please take the time to learn more about disordered eating. Please learn to be patient with a problem you may not fully understand. And if you find yourself in that hopeless, isolating place, please confide in a loved one. You have no idea how grateful they’ll be.

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WRITING Jessica Brite MODELING Jessica Brite

JESSICA

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BRITE

PHOTOGRAPHY Katie Margiotta

™

As first year students, we are all given the chance to reinvent ourselves. It’s one of the many appeals of attending a school in a new city and dorming with a roommate you’ve never met before. It’s in all the college brochures and interest meetings; college is where you get to shape your own future. It’s a given that you shouldn’t be nervous about speaking up because all your peers are in the same boat. Still, it doesn’t really hit you until you step on campus and see unfamiliar faces everywhere you look.

I thought that coming from a big city, I would have no problem with meeting new people. I thought it’s got to be simple, right? I’d practiced my introduction speech in my head before arriving on campus: Hi I’m Jessica! I’m a journalism major from New York City. So what are you studying? I figured that from there the conversation would flow naturally, and I could let my personality shine. Once I got to Boston, what little preparation I thought I had done quickly flew from my brain.

I was no longer just “the younger Brite sibling” or “the funny friend.” I was able to be who I wanted.

Being a first-year allows your raw personality to shine, free of the baggage and history that was lugged around back home. That night I sat in my bed thinking about what I’m proud of myself for doing.

I made lists in my head of who makes me happy and what goals I wanted to accomplish in college. I wanted to be known as the aspiring fashion journalist who was always up for a good laugh.

Although I was able to carry conversations naturally, I found myself carefully choosing each and every word that came out of my mouth — when I didn’t, I was paranoid that I might’ve said the wrong thing or given the wrong impression. I quickly realized that the struggle of being in a new social environment is not so much about meeting people, but rather presenting yourself in the way you want to be seen.

It’s important to understand that reinventing yourself does not mean that you have to act like someone you’re not so that others will like you or want to be your friend. You should feel comfortable being yourself; the focus is more so on defining who you are. Breaking yourself down to the basics and really taking time to identify what qualities make you proud is truly essential to finding yourself in college.

After spending a couple late nights sitting in my bed thinking about who I was as a person, I thought that I had invented my perfect self. I wanted to highlight my confidence, determination, humor, and most importantly, my kind-heartedness.

What I didn’t really take into consideration was my 49

For the first time I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

tone and attitude. Coming from New York City, I can be a little too headstrong and blunt. But by no means did I consider myself rude, even when I wasn’t afraid to hide did not hide my opinions or thoughts.

One of the first people I spoke to was a girl from suburban Massachusetts. Her voice was light and delicate, strongly contrasting my fast paced one. When I made a sarcastic comment, she faked a laugh and quickly looked away, seeming uncomfortable. Soon after my comment, rapid spews of “sorry” flowed out of my mouth followed by a quick, “Nice to meet you, I’ll see you around!”

The next conversation I had, I paid careful attention to my tone of voice and the comments that I made. Though I may have seemed nicer, that person talking was not me. I toned down my laugh, giggling instead of laughing how I normally would. All I could think about at the end of the conversation was why did I just do that?!

While analyzing your key qualities can help you appreciate the best parts of yourself, it can also force you to face the negative parts that you try to hide. In moving forward and presenting yourself in the best light, it is important to come to terms with things you may not like without obsessing over them. Personally, I had to deal with my insecurities about my appearance and ethnicity.

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Everyone always tells you that first impressions are everything, and I thought that people’s first impression of me was all about my appearance.

For the first week that I was on campus, I tried to dress my best everyday — making sure my makeup, hair, and outfit were in the best shape they could be without looking like I tried too hard.

If I walked into the bathroom and noticed a mascara smudge under my eyes, I would stress about who I spoke to that day, wondering if they thought that smudge indicated that I was a mess.

On top of stressing about my appearance, I worried I would stand out from my peers because of my cultural background. Coming from the diverse city of Queens, New York, I was surrounded by people of many different cultural backgrounds. Coming to a campus with much less diversity, I thought that my anecdotes of Filipino culture would make me seem weird. On my first day on campus, I was sitting in the dining hall with a group of kids and we were talking about our favorite foods.

Everyone was saying things along the lines of baked chicken, lasagna, noodles. I quickly tuned out of the conversation and began stressing over what I was going to say: Should I say beisteak?

No, probably not because nobody is going to know what that is. Ugh, I’m going to just go for it — I know Filipino food is the best. Once I snapped out of my own conversation I chimed in and said “Oh you know what’s so good? Eggplant parm.”

While that is one of my favorite foods I remember being upset with myself. There was no reason for me to be obsessing over my culture; everyone was coming from a different background and we were all fascinated in learning about each other’s hometowns and home lives.

While the idea of reinvention may seem glamorous, it is a very personal experience which can force one to face unspoken issues of confidence. For the first time I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I was wary that my New York City slang would make me sound less educated, my bluntness would make me sound rude, or even that my laughter would make me sound obnoxious. After ditching my failed attempt at altering my voice, I sat on the only open spot left on the couch in the lobby and talked to the girl next to me. The conversation flowed freely and we bonded with the group of kids sitting around us. That group is now my closest friend group on campus. So don’t worry, because you’ll meet people naturally, you’ll click after one conversation, and you’ll realize that these are your people.

Re-inventing yourself and breaking yourself down to the basics is all about your willingness to be truthful to who you are. If you are confident and comfortable with who you are and what you want to be, people will see you in the way that you portray yourself. Look at college as a fresh start, and take time to really home in on your true characteristics and aspirations.

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non-standard 52

Coming to terms with my own beauty WRITING Donatella Mancinone MODELING Donatella Mancinone PHOTOGRAPHY Hanna Cormier

Our generation embraces inclusivity and believes that everyone was created equal and should be treated equally. Our society caters to the expression of your individuality, but I have found myself struggling with this concept as there is so much hidden underneath the surface of the word “beautiful”. I have found myself battling with finding the definition of beauty, and have found there is no definite answer. It is often said, “if only our eyes saw souls instead of bodies, how very different our ideals of beauty would be.”

Our society is becoming increasingly dependent upon social media, which has created the infamous era of the influencers. On one of my nightly scrolls through Instagram, I noticed something rather peculiar; all of my favorite Instagram beauty gurus have a lot in common, even if I wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what that was. Casey Ho, award-winning fitness instructor and founder of the brand Blogilates, came to the same realization.

She went so far as to conduct an Instagram analysis on what exactly the new beauty standard that our influencers have generously created for us looks like. In her research she compiled a list of the top 100 female Instagram stars, based purely on their followings. Then, along with a local researcher, she came up with 22 attributes on which they would each be judged, including hair color, neck length, and chest size. She then compared all of these attributes to find the dominant features. In her findings, she found that the most common attributes were, a heart-shaped face, a small nose, an hourglass figure, a long neck, and long brown hair.

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...there is no harm in breaking tradition when it begins to have detrimental effects on society.

I decided to compare Ho’s findings to my own attributes to try and find out how I measured up against this beauty standard. I matched only one of these Instagram beautiful attributes: brown hair.

I am 5’0”, as opposed to the ideal height of 5’7”; I have a rectangular-shaped body, curly hair, small eyes, an out of proportion Italian nose, and a short neck. Growing up, I believed that these attributes placed upon me were a curse. I would look up at my taller friends who loved the idea of makeup, and become increasingly jealous. Nobody ever told me I wasn’t beautiful, but they didn’t have to.

I would watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians and Victoria’s Secret commercials, and form a misguided definition of beauty by idealizing women who were my physical opposites. I remember that I couldn’t wait to be old enough to do the things that they did to make themselves beautiful. I couldn’t wait to be able to enhance my beauty through makeup, self-tanner, and hair tools.

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I know that possessing certain attributes doesn’t necessarily make one beautiful, but if they don’t, why are we so obsessed with beauty standards?

2,400 years ago, the ancient Greeks developed The Golden Ratio. This ratio defines their idea and discovery of the physical perfection of the beauty of nature. They believed that perfect proportions were the key to beauty, a concept that is still prevalent today. The ubiquity of The Golden Ratio in beauty today demonstrates how beauty standards rely on tradition to grow and expand.

Though I do believe that tradition is important, there is no harm in breaking tradition when it begins to have detrimental effects on society. We have become so obsessed with this tradition that it has transformed into something toxic.

My revelation began with my hair. I grew up believing that curly hair took away from my beauty, as all of my heroes had straight hair. I loathed how crunchy, frizzy, and mangled my curly hair was. When I was old enough, after years of believing I needed straight hair to be pretty, I took it upon myself to get Keratin treatments. I had previously read of the “dangers” associated with the treatment but it didn’t really faze me. I mean yes, I was dreading going bald, but I was just so convinced that I had to get rid of my curls. So convinced that I went through with the treatment twice. My hair swallowed the treatment and showed no change. Then I tried the next best thing: a flat iron. I would drench my hair in heat protectant and attempt to tame the beast for two entire hours.

I straightened my hair every day for a year, and every day I thought to myself, “I am going to have to do this forever.”

That simple word ‘have’ is so incredibly powerful. It has taught me so much about myself over the past few years. I used to wake up every morning and ‘have’ to straighten my hair to go to school. I ‘have’ to, not for myself, but to satisfy the yearning of wanting to fit into society; I ‘have’ to straighten my hair to look like my friends and heroes; I ‘have’ to straighten my hair to ward off bullies and protect myself.

Eventually I started to phase out the straight hair.

At the time, I will be honest, it was due to pure laziness. Who would have thought that the laziness of not wanting to straighten my hair would have brought me to where I’m at today? I have realized that it is never too late to redefine beauty. I was able to do this by realizing the flaws in our society.

Social media is a dominant force and enables us to express ourselves. However, when I find myself idolizing “beautiful” light-skinned, large-chested, big-eyed women, I can’t help but feel as if I am becoming a disciple of a beauty standard that wasn’t made for me.

I have found that my pure, raw beauty means that I don’t need to fit in to feel beautiful.

When did one flaw like my uncontrollable hair become detrimental to one’s beauty? I have learned that this attribute isn’t the flaw I thought it was. I have found that my pure, raw beauty means that I don’t need to fit in to feel beautiful. I am at a time in my life where I am discovering who I am and what my place is in this world of ours. On this journey, I have begun to accept my body and features for what they are. I understand that I will always have the pressures of society pushing down on me, but this is the excitement of being naturally beautiful. This is the excitement of being free.

I will be the first to admit that I have fallen victim to the belief that I don’t measure up to current beauty standards. Every day I am learning different ways to express myself, to push society’s boundaries. We have to learn to be accepting of ourselves in order to accept others, and I believe that this is where the beauty standards fall short. Our beauty standards fail to mention the inner beauty that resonates in us all, this truly makes us who we are. I feel some resentment towards the culture that taught me that my attributes were undesirable, but I also feel a tremendous amount of pride. I am proud of myself, and proud that I have been able to learn to love and embrace every part of me.

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more real

is ONLINE DATING

than a

WRITER Maxine An PHOTOGRAPHER Calem Robertson MODELING Anthony Fanticola, Julia Bucker

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meetcute?

Traditional dating has a few clear steps: meeting someone at an event, asking them if they would be interested in having dinner with you, and if the date goes well, a romantic relationship develops. I feel that this way of establishing a relationship with someone has been seen less and less these days, especially within a college environment. As young adults, we have other ways of getting a date via our phones and the Internet. Tinder, Bumble, Hinge and so many other online dating apps are the most common ways in the 21st century to meet new people with common interests.

Matching online with someone is much easier than in real life because of the amount of information we can obtain simply from their profiles. We can automatically say that we don’t like a certain person because of their appearance, interests or anything in between. This new way to date allows people with busy schedules to find “the love of their life” without interfering with their normal dayto-day events. However, this ease of use raises a question: do online dating apps remove the real, emotional, and open connection that two people have when they meet face-to-face? This could be a reason why some people prefer traditional dating, while others would rather establish an online relationship first and then move on to meeting their partner in-person.

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In a Washington Post interview by Roberto A. Ferdman, sociologist Michael Rosenfeld says that the rise of online dating apps gives everyday people more potential partners than they could meet at college, work, or in their community. It also allows people to decide what kind of connection they want; from hookups, to friends with benefits, to serious relationships. Online dating even creates room for a process of elimination without confrontation. Because there is no risk in swiping left on someone online, it makes the dating world more appearance-based than personality-based. It is easy to judge others based on their appearance or certain interests on their profiles. This gets rid of a lot of the communication that can happen if two people were to talk in-person and get to know each other that way.

With the transparency of having your information online for everyone to see, anyone is free to judge.

Anyone can put just about anything they want in their bio, giving people the freedom to lie about their age, height, and other kinds of details that make them sound more attractive and appealing to others. That may be the biggest disadvantage of dating online as we can never really know who we are talking to. Tone and nonverbal cues are removed through instant messaging, making it almost impossible to know how the other side truly feels.

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Huffington Post says a pro of traditional dating is that an individual can determine if they like the other person more quickly. It involves connecting with the person at an emotional and personal level in order to discover if there is chemistry between the two. Seeing and talking with the other person will give us a sense of who they are and if we like them. Unlike a face-to-face meet, the real meaning behind messages can sometimes get lost through the screen.

Dating apps provide convenience, an endless number of choices, and confidence for every individual because they can pretend to be someone they want to be while hiding behind a screen. There is nothing wrong with traditional dating today even though online dating has taken over the phones of the current generation.

Nevertheless, going out to dinner with someone special and spending time with them is a great way to meet someone new.

I started using dating apps about six months ago. I was not particularly looking for something serious but at the same time, I was curious to see what was out there. At that time, I was pretty sure that college guys on dating apps were not looking for relationships but rather something short and sweet. But I still wanted to take my chances. I’d never had a boyfriend before, and had only been on a few dates. I was curious about dating apps.

When my friends suggested that I should just make a Tinder and Bumble profile, I didn’t see a reason not to. Because I was hiding behind a screen, if I disliked who I was talking to, I could stop messaging them whenever I wanted and there would be no guilt for “ghosting” them.

WITH THE TRANSPARENCY OF HAVING YOUR INFORMATION ONLINE FOR EVERYONE TO SEE, ANYONE IS FREE TO JUDGE.

Swipe right for “like” and swipe left for “don’t like”.

It is as simple as that, but online dating takes away from the face-to-face interactions that allow people to get to know each other — what dating used to be. Many would argue that planning a date, dressing up to meet each other, and actually learning about each other is the best way to form a connection.

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I vividly remember the day I created Tinder and Bumble accounts. I had spent that night just switching between the two apps and non-stop swiping through guys. I quickly realized that it was very easy to get addicted to the app because it provides a seemingly never-ending list of guys in my area who were in my age range. It was hard to put down once I got started.

Eventually, I found out that it was only fun and exciting to me when I matched with someone on one of the dating apps. It was a confidencebooster when someone I thought was out of my league actually matched with me. After being matched, I never really wanted it to go further than that. Most of the pick-up lines the guys used were not respectful and they usually just wanted someone for the night, at least in my experience.

For example, I clearly remember a guy opening our conversation with, “You up for a cuddle?” I decided to not respond to that particular message.

However, I have matched with guys that wanted a conversation and actually wanted to get to know me as a person. I believe this shows that all different kinds of guys are on dating apps, from guys who are genuinely interested in a conversation or ones that just want a pick-me-up.

I haven’t found any real benefit or disadvantage to using dating apps. They are a way to pass the time if I’m bored or just see who is available at my university and in the Boston area. I don’t know the likelihood of actually meeting and developing a relationship with someone that you match with on Tinder or Bumble. In my opinion, it seems unrealistic, but maybe that is because we are in our late teens and early twenties. Dating apps are probably more practical for older adults who are having trouble finding someone to connect with. As college students, we have so many more opportunities to meet people at club events, parties, and through friends, without needing help from dating apps.

How dating is addressed today is very different than decades ago. The idea of a meet-cute tends to be considered more raw and real because it allows two people to actually create an in-person relationship. With the rise of online dating apps, the traditional date is less frequent. With an unlimited amount of potential relationships on our fingertips, it is way easier to find our other half. Even though dating apps break the in-person connection that two people can establish, the benefits tend to outweigh the disadvantages.

I think that the most unfavorable thing about online dating is that there is less of a chance for two people who matched to meet, either because they don’t agree on what they want from each other, or that they might be frightened to meet a complete stranger for the first time in person. Anonymity is one thing I wish could be changed about online dating – I wish I could see exactly who is behind the screen. Making the act of meeting them in person wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking.

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PHOTOGRAPHY Kris Nevaeh SENIOR CREATIVE DIRECTION Halley Husted ASSOCIATE CREATIVE DIRECTION Tova Lenchner CONTRIBUTING PHOTO DIRECTION Simran Gvalani MAKEUP Lucia Tarro Vidisha Agarwalla STYLING DIRECTION Alexa Portigal Casey Martin

MENSWEAR STYLING Jackson Wang Jonathan Pereira Avery Parker WOMENSWEAR STYLING Hillary Nana-Adjei Nell Sweeney Aya Albakoush MODELING Corey Kershaw Kathy Villa Muy Lin Loh Nate Brown Patrick Luizzo Tomi McGuire In collaboration with Rent The Runway 63

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scars and a smile

WRITING Husein Esufally MODELING Husein Esufally PHOTOGRAPHY Angela Lin

The loudest criticisms were their hushed whispers that forced me into society’s dark closet, and I almost locked the door. The community I was born into was one that was conservative of the highest order. This “coming-out” story is not another gutsy tale of how a little gay boy overcame social obstacles and was openly embraced. This is a story about someone who braved the storm of self-discovery and came out with both scars and a smile.

From as far back as I can recall, I have possessed a demeanor that emphasized traits people would conventionally call “feminine.” While other boys my age would eagerly await the time they could go play outside, I wanted to stay inside with the girls — it was simply more comforting. To me, this was normal. Until, at a certain age, I began to realize that other people were judging me for the apparently disproportionate number of female friends with whom I surrounded myself. At that tender age, my biggest fear — apart from people misspelling my name — was fitting in. Even though I preferred activities that are typically feminine, I forced myself to go out with the boys, plastering on a convincing smile in order to prove that I was just like my peers.

In retrospect, I am relieved I pretended as I did not truly understand the gravity my revelation would hold; I did not have the experience or words to justify who I was.

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My community embraced the toxic norm that “boys will be boys”. They always thought that men who operated with a splash of feminism were prey. As the new generation, we grapple with the concept of change and reform freely. However, the society that existed before us had a lethal addiction to tradition.

To them, hypermasculinity is tradition, and tradition is power. My society openly accepted crass men who spat betel on the street, cat-called women, and violently dealt with conflict. However, men who dabbled with heels and cosmetics were stuck with a more negative label. The men who pushed the envelope of individuality were not seen as brave, but provocative. People like myself were perceived as some twisted threat to the social harmony. As a consequence, I discovered that I was constantly constricted in the social flurry I tried so hard to enjoy. My participation in events solely depended on the stranger’s interpretation of my actions — one raised eyebrow alone was enough to shatter my confidence; my will was not as strong as the rustle of the social opinion.

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Suddenly, being myself was not all that simple.

I had started confining myself to a dark closet where my options became so limited that all I could do was seclude myself in order to guard my untold stories. Stories that showed my discontent with the monotonous social etiquette that I forced myself to follow: to walk like a man, to talk like a man, and to act like a man. I wanted to share so many things with so many people but I could not bring myself to say I was different. I was less afraid of the violent repercussions than I was of not being loved.

Although who I was to society was a costumed personality, I was adored because I was deemed normal. People are scared of the abnormal because they are scared of the unknown. Questioning norms in Colombo will give you glares, so you can only imagine what breaking them would entail.

However, the image of being painted with all the colors of the wind was so alluring that it made me take a step into the circle of individuality. I started to change the way I spoke, dressed and carried myself. I would tell myself that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought because even if they hated me, I would at least be me. Even though I forced myself to believe that simply being me was enough, there was some part of me that knew it was a superficial idea. Despite my better judgement, I started to scratch off the mask society molded for me behind closed doors. I started to build self-confidence, which was something I never had before. I started to operate as though society was ready for an individual such as myself, but as I began to dive into the worlds of fashion, literature and politics, it proved me wrong—and an unwelcome thought started to haunt the back of my mind. A thought so strong that it, like a magnet, drew me back to the dark closet I had tried so hard to escape.

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The smile I wear today is my own, not society's constant tug at the corners of my lips.

This dark thought was manifested in the form of my family. They would drill into my mind that I could do anything with the right mix of hard work, luck, and support, as long as I did not spark any social taboos. Knowing that I was crossing the threshold of what is accepted in society, how could I continue to live a life so full of light and yet ignore the vicious shadow that it generated? Until this point, I never truly understood that being myself was a unilateral endeavor. As much as I would tell myself that it was unfair to not do whatever I wanted, it was equally unfair to ignore the implications of being a trailblazer and how this would affect my family. Unfortunately, our position in Sri Lankan society was too complex for me to understand all on my own; while one side of my family was liberal and less sensitive to change, the other side was too closely tied to religion. Suddenly, being myself was not all that simple. A balance had to be struck. I had to find the sweet-spot between not stepping on anybody’s toes and being my true self. I was pressured to conform simply because it was easier, and so I did.

By cloaking myself in that black haven of secrets, I had hoped the darkness would conceal my “distorted” thoughts, but it only did the opposite.

It reaffirmed my innate differences from society. It resurfaced my drive to be a more unique, engaged and colorful individual that my society could cherish.

The overpowering voices of criticism that subdued my personality suddenly became my driving force in accepting my true, quirky self. I finally learned how to scream “I AM DIFFERENT!” I found the beauty of being what my society would otherwise classify

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as strange. Just as I opened up to life, life opened up for me. My friendships not only deepened, but they expanded. I finally found my second familythe people who cradle me on the bad days and dance with me on the best days. Other people who faced the same fear of acceptance that I did started to lean on me for advice. I began to dabble in industries I never thought I would venture into. I was noticed by people who would not pay attention to anyone normal. I finally became the rawest version of me, and I love the absolute Queen he is.

Like I said, this is not a story of complete happiness in overcoming adversity; it’s about the journey to find a perfect compromise. I may be the drizzle of a rainbow on the white sheet of my society, but I still need to mold myself into a form which harmonizes with both societies. I’m beginning to understand that there are certain circumstances that restrict my expression. However, this problem isn’t exclusive to me, rather it is simply a human condition: every individual is constrained to certain bounds which they cannot unchain themselves from. Instead of trying to tear and to weave certain taboos, I choose to navigate the social storm and discover the pockets of jubilee in which I can thrive. I can be my best, most beautiful in the right time and at the right place. The smile I wear today is my own, not society’s constant tug at the corners of my lips. My dark closet’s doors are finally forever sealed — this time, from the outside.

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BEING RAW IN A SOCIETY OVERPOWERED BY IMAGE WRITING Emma Randall MODELING Erica Novelli, Luke Meininger, Victor Foster, Carley Deneen, liana GreenbergNielsen, Sam A-Rahim, Sarah Beemer PHOTOGRAPHY Hillary Nana-Adjei

What happened to thinking your Uggs and miniskirt were a look? When did we stop thinking these high fashion outfits would compel our crushes to ask us out immediately?

It feels as though once we hit the 2010s, having a personality or sense of individuality was suddenly no longer a viable option.

Everyone is constantly caught up with what the person next to them is doing, and to be honest, it’s sad. Of course, there are those who are trying to repave the way for the wild, chaotic energy that was the ‘80s, or the rebellion that accompanied the ‘90s, and of course the rowdy yet happy-go-lucky persona of the early 2000s.

College is a great example of the struggle for individuality. There are two paths: fit the mold of what the “general” college student does, acts like, and looks like — or choose to explore the new collegiate you. I’ve walked a combination of these two paths in my time at school. This past semester I joined a sorority, and while it’s been great overall, not every moment has been fantastic.

If you’re unfamiliar with Greek life traditions, bid day is one of the many events that take place as a member of the Panhellenic community. Everyone sits in a room waiting for a countdown so that you can all open your envelopes at the same time and see which sorority has extended you a bid. Hence the term “bid day.” From there you all run out to your new sorority and mingle with your new sisters

and take a ton of pictures. As excited as I was, I had also never felt so uncomfortable in my time in college. An overwhelming sense of anxiety came over me, as I began to question if this was the right choice for me. Nonetheless, I continued to post Instagram stories, displaying my (faux) excitement, in order to fit in. It was like I was convincing myself that this was going to be great and everything was fine, through posting about it.

I only just now feel comfortable and happy with my decision, but that’s not to say that I still don’t sometimes feel like an outsider — and that’s ok. What helped me get to the point of feeling comfortable? Being myself.

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Social media has allowed the idea of maintaining an image to exceed what it should.

Social media has allowed the idea of maintaining an image to exceed what it should. Let’s be real, a person’s social life in college can be pretty detrimental to their college experience, and a lot of people like to display it on social media. Did you really have a good time at that party as your pictures portray it? Or, did you only stay for thirty minutes because some sweaty frat boy spilled his drink on you? More often than not, people talk about how crowded the party was, or how gross the people were — but everyone loves to show people that they were there because they want everyone to know that they have an active social life.

I saw no need to act interested in things I wasn’t and by doing that I’ve found a lot of girls that I naturally mesh with which is great. There will always be people who share similar interests with you, no matter how outlandish you think it may be.

Being authentically you only leads to good things.

While I’ve found plenty of genuine people, being in a sorority kind of goes hand in hand with maintaining an image. There are strict social media rules, for good reason. You have to maintain involvement in philanthropy. You have to achieve a certain GPA. Girls are expected to be presentable, charitable, and academic. While these are all great traits to have, they don’t come as naturally to some girls, myself included, but we still have to portray that it does.

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I have certainly fallen into this trap one too many times just because I felt the need to maintain my “image” and show that I was at all the most soughtafter social activities for the weekend. These nights usually start off with high hopes, taking mirror pics in a cramped bathroom, and end with someone tripping and cracking their phone (me, I’m someone). I’ve looked back on my freshman year self and am trying to only put things on social media that actually makes me happy. Alongside this, I am trying to wear and do things that I like versus what everyone else thinks and wants.

So, what exactly does it mean to be raw in a society overpowered by image? To me, it means saying yes whenever you question yourself, even when the thoughts of other people creep in. At the end of the day, everyone just needs to do them. So, I’m doing me, and I’m going to stay doing me, and you should too.

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THE RAW HISTORY OF MODERN SELF-CARE

Seek authentic self-care in your daily life and pave the path as you please.

Self-care and its commodification, often neatly wrapped in minimal organic packaging, has largely contributed to the contemporary understanding of the term. Historically, self-care was medical activists’ response to societal shortcomings and inadequate mental health coverage — Audre Lorde said, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” The radical roots of self-care were soon shadowed by its blossoming evolution. This “evolution” of self-care is reflected in our physical and virtual attitudes. Today, everything can be #selfcare— from any meal, to seeing a friend. The present norm tends to highlight avocado toast and weekend getaways, and although these can positively contribute to one’s happiness, what is self-care at its core and what are some of its rather raw sources today?

WRITING Dipshika Chawla MODELING Julia Aguam, Corey Kershaw

The rise of this trend is supported by evidence about our activities on the Internet, such as the uptick in self-care as a Google searched term, with doubled searches between October 2014 and October 2019. Increasingly, we are exposed to the numerous versions of self-care that people seemingly count on, capture, and share widely in the 21st century. Popularly viewed as a luxury pursuit, in truth the focal points of self-care include recharging yourself, supporting your interests, and avoiding burnout. Though it can be argued that self-indulgence and retail therapy spark joy for many, it does not equate to self-care because of its inconsistent attainability. The rarity of extravagant purchases and much-awaited time off makes them, at best, a mere subset of self-care. Caring for yourself cannot simply comprise of a treasure trove or infatuating events.

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The radical roots of self-care were soon shadowed by its blossoming evolution.

As you continue to contemplate and dissect the term, identify sources of tranquility and contentment that you can easily incorporate continuously in your life. Actions that elevate your focus, interest, presence, and mindfulness are good candidates.

When you love something and commit to it as part of your self-care routine, your emotional wellness feeds on it. The idea of my “self-care routine” is very similar to “my skincare routine” – there is a sense of ownership in saying “my.” Both are highly personalized and address the diverse needs of different people.

PACE OF YOUR LIFE.

BEING ANNEXED BY THE HUSTLE AND

YOUR HEALTHY LONGINGS FROM

SELF-REGULATION, OR JOY. PRESERVE

MAY IT BE PRESERVING YOUR SKILL, 86

Once we view self-care as a path to self-awareness and self-love, we understand why the “treat yourself” mantra fails to help achieve these objectives. Seek authentic self-care in your daily life and pave the path as you please. Allow your source of self-indulgence to be continuously accessible.

Allow that to triumph the gush in your stomach at checkout. Strive to be a practitioner of self-care, not purchaser.

A study by Northeastern University revealed that Gen Z “demonstrated a strong desire to work for themselves,” and undoubtedly we notice a boost in societal beliefs around wellness and selfimprovement beyond the area academics. We are driven by the basic human desire to be better and are surrounded by a highly individualistic culture, wherein self-care could be the determinant of our long-term mental prosperity. There is no “one-sizefits-all” in the process but there are effective natural sources of self-care that you can implement or draw inspiration from.

There are several concepts that originate from the distant past and continue to prove themselves as effective stress-busters. Houseplants are undoubtedly an aesthetic and turns out they play a bigger role in our psychological wellbeing.

Interacting with and taking care of something other than ourselves gives us a bigger purpose.

Horticultural therapy is a time-proven practice.

Similarly, while the health benefits of tea are debated and tea drinkers possibly lead better lifestyles altogether, Harvard Health confirmed natural tea contains substances linked to better health. Plants and tea are at the tip of the iceberg.

Incorporating simple and small actions of wellness in your life on a ritualistic basis creates that form of stable and continuous self-care contended earlier.

Your ritual can be as short as twenty minutes and involve a set of complementary activities such as leisure reading, time outdoors, anti-digitization, long walks and much more. It could be as simple as singing melodramatic duets with your roommate, try to make it a ritual! The positive and de-stressing impact of leisure has proven to persist for hours after the activity itself. It’s the same idea as taking healthy breaks in the workplace – to refresh, reenergize and be more productive. The consistency and cognizance in self-care can be core to our lives.

If an earnest commitment, self-care will not be a fleeting trend for you. The self-care industry is criticized for cashing on our insecurities, but it is our duty to advance our wellbeing without necessarily denting our bank balance. We need not abstain from luxuries nor shall we depend on them.

Personal self-care in the home environment can be our regular contribution to life-long health, effective stress management, and cyclic rejuvenation. Its effects are apparent over time and trickle down to other aspects such as social relationships and professional domains.

In an article by Rachel Gillett for The Business Insider, 20-something-year-olds define success as happiness, good health, a strong social network, and a well-balanced life. She also states “how you spend your downtime plays a huge part in your ability to achieve these things.” That person who dedicates time to sit back and reflect, and rejuvenate in a simple yet meaningful way, is often the one with a relatively positive outreach and strengthened perspective. Perhaps this makes selfcare sound synonymous to self-reflection, and that too is an ingrained element in the process.

Regardless of our overfilled calendars, overdue tasks, and consecutive commitments, the so-called “me-time” often translates into something tangible in our attitudes and daily lives. While this is not supposed to be a prescriptive piece, I urge you to identify that source of accessible self-care in your life and practice it regularly. Practice not to be perfect, but to preserve. May it be preserving your skill, self-regulation, or joy. Preserve your healthy longings from being annexed by the hustle and pace of your life.

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PARTY

PHOTOGRAPHY Simran Gvalani SENIOR CREATIVE DIRECTION Halley Husted ASSOCIATE CREATIVE DIRECTION Tova Lenchner STYLING DIRECTION Alexa Portigal Casey Martin MENSWEAR & WOMENSWEAR STYLING The rules: come as you are MAKEUP Dana Dworkin MODELING Everyone

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bare with me

Ancient Egyptians painted a mixture of lead, copper, metal, ash, and burnt almonds known as kohl around their eyes in order to ward off dangerous spirits. Ancient Greeks and Romans ground up stones and minerals to make powders for their faces. By the late 1800s, makeup was commonly used to make the skin look paler.

As mirrors became more accessible, and portrait photography and movies increased in popularity in the 20th century, contemporary makeup became standardized. People looked at themselves and others more frequently, so it became more desirable to maintain a pleasing appearance. Makeup has been sold, primarily to women, as a way to enhance one’s features in a unique and beautiful way.

a case for going makeup-free WRITING Leah Cussen PHOTOGRAPHY Leah Cussen MODELING Aya Albakoush

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While using makeup to create a natural look seems counterintuitive, what many fail to consider is that makeup is not used simply to impress others. For many, it is a tool to feel confident and comfortable with themselves. Physically, makeup can cover blemishes and imperfections, or hide features that we feel make us stand out too much. Mentally, it has the ability to make someone feel more powerful. By providing a sense of security, makeup can encourage someone to be more outgoing and involved in situations where they might not have been otherwise.

The problem arises, however, when these insecurities are created as a result of external sources. In movies and magazines, we are forced to look at flawless people, never being reminded that an idealized version of someone is difficult to attain, and might not even be real. Technology has advanced in such a way that there is no way for the average consumer to tell that a model in an advertisement has been digitally edited beyond necessity. The cosmetics industry sees this desire to reach perfection and uses it to sell products they’ve convinced us we need.

Psychology proves that humans are wired to prefer youthful and symmetrical faces. Makeup is useful in that it can create the illusion of longer eyelashes, plumper lips, and rosy cheeks, attracting more potential mates. However, second-wave feminists argued that the use of makeup was a way in which women were allowing men to objectify them. They said that if women were wearing makeup, they were submitting to patriarchal demands that put women in an inferior position. But the majority of women today don’t wear makeup for men - they wear it for themselves.

Still, a large percentage of women find themselves unable to leave their homes without any makeup on. While many people assume that makeup looks are usually achieved by using an abundance of products, this isn’t always the case. What has been termed the “no-makeup makeup” look has become commonplace, creating a natural look using as many products as are needed. This style ranges from using minimal products and neutral colors, to being a little more creative to achieve the appearance of dewy skin and glowing features.

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It comes as no surprise, then, that upon finding out about this scheme created by the makeup industry to pit us against ourselves, people are angry. Millions of selfies are tagged #NoMakeup on social media, mostly featuring women who want to reclaim their faces and their beauty. But even when they proudly display their makeup-free faces, there’s no way to know if that represents them in a truly natural state. There is an abundance of apps available that make it easier than ever to fine-tune your face before posting it to social media. Even when we try to break out of the molds of beauty that have been formed for us, it is not always as simple as it seems.

Presenting your bare face in real life is to me the greatest act of rebellion in a society that demands women conform to a standard of beauty.

IN A SOCIETY THAT CLAIMS TO EMBRACE INDIVIDUALITY BUT LOOKS DOWN ON PEOPLE WHO TREAD TOO FAR FROM THE NORM, I THINK THE INTENTIONS BEHIND CHOOSING TO WEAR MAKEUP ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT FACTOR.

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I remember being at a pool party when I was younger when a girl a few years younger than me approached me and asked why I wasn’t wearing any makeup. I told her I just wasn’t interested, to which she replied that one day I would have to wear it. It was then that I decided I never would.

This does come with small perks like saving time in the mornings and not worrying about smudging or messing up my look. But for me, there also comes a great degree of empowerment from being able to feel beautiful in my most authentic state. I know that I have actively chosen not to conform to standards set for me and other women, and I hope that going makeup-free can serve as a reminder to others that makeup isn’t the only way to be beautiful. Being surrounded by girls who appear to be flawless can make it more difficult to really love the way I look, but knowing that I can feel confident in my bare face inspires me to keep proudly displaying it.

This isn’t to say that I don’t try to make myself look better. I still follow a skincare routine, use spot treatments on my acne, and put on an absurd amount of Aquaphor before bed. It would also be unfair if I didn’t note that I am privileged to have been blessed with good skin. Besides the occasional breakout, I haven’t experienced anything that would cause me a permanent sense of insecurity.

But even when you do have what you might perceive as imperfections, it is important to know that it is completely normal and human to have them in a society where everybody is imperfect.

As we push for diversity in media, it is equally as important that we push for natural faces that experience real, human problems – blemishes, skin conditions, facial features of different proportions.

I’m not saying it’s easy, but if change is what we truly desire, we must first become accustomed to beauty of all shapes and forms.

There is nothing wrong with wearing makeup.

Often times, I am jealous of people who are able to create such incredible designs and feel that I’m missing out on what is undoubtedly an art form. I wore makeup to my prom because I recognize how confident it can make someone feel, and how it can be the final element that completes a look. But in a society that claims to embrace individuality but looks down on people who tread too far from the norm, I think the intentions behind choosing to wear makeup are the most important factor.

Makeup can be an outlet of expression, but it can also enable us to hide our insecurities or even create new ones. All faces, no matter how imperfect or the amount of makeup on them, are beautiful. Our uniqueness is what we should be celebrating as beautiful. No matter your relationship with makeup, I think that it is important to know yourself authentically, both inside and out.

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I knew what heroin looked like by the time I was 12.

I grew up with addicts: my father, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the men my father kept around for cheap labor. My reality was pipes in the garage and cabinets full of Xanax and Vicodin prescriptions. I found crack pipes, needles, and aluminum foil with black insides strewn around my house and yard.

There was Narcan in the freezer besides my ice cream. At one point we ran out of spoons, as my uncles stole them all to cook heroin.

S G U DR THICKER. ARE N BLOOD THA

Scarred by the memory of walking in on my uncle overdosing in my backyard on a hot July day, covered in a pool of his own vomit and turning purple, my childhood was unlike many others. My family can be defined as a cousin overdosing on heroin and leaving a new wife and newborn baby behind, another living in a crack house, others watching their fathers deal and do heroin. Drugs run in my family more than any other commonality; we all have addictions like we have blue eyes.

When I moved out of my house and left my family behind, I left their problems behind as well. I tried to forget and instead see the world through an untainted lens. Now, walking along the streets of Boston, all I see are people with the telltale signs of drug addiction lingering over them like an aura of shame. People mutter about how addicts are dangerous, should be feared, and locked away, and I don’t always disagree.

growing up in a household of addicts WRITTEN BY Cameron Barone ILLUSTRATED BY Calem Robertson

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I know that addiction is a disease, but I can't help but think that the people who suffer from addiction are still responsible for following through with their usage. I feel an incredible amount of guilt in having these feelings because I am aware of the enormous impact that mental illness has on drug abuse.

Regardless, if I think to myself, “nobody made them take their first hit,” then others must too. This idea is erroneous and I feel as though coming from a family who abuses drugs, I should know better than to hate people for having a disease.

However, I don't. I try every day not to judge the people whose lives did not go as planned. No child dreams of becoming an addict when they get older, and nobody hopes that they'll rely on a substance to feel anything at all.

It is detrimental to grow up in a society that values numbing pain over feeling it. Don’t tell young people to take a Xanax when they're stressed or pop an Adderall to finish their assignments. Don't normalize using drugs as a means to deal with the world. I could have ended up like my family members if I had given into the offers: if I had taken my mom’s Xanax when she told me I looked stressed, or accepted my roommate's Adderall when the deadlines encroached on my sleep. I am grateful for my ability to choose not to take drugs and for my health that allows me to not need medication. I am afraid of flirting with the possibility of awakening addiction. It is too easy to escape, but I choose to feel everything. I am accepting the raw pain because with it comes raw happiness. I am learning to cope with my emotions.

I don’t propose that we should stop taking medication to treat mental illness and physical pain, but I think we should stop sharing our drugs like they’re candy. When people offer up their prescribed medication to others who do not need it, it feels a lot like they're doing so to justify their medical needs. As if giving somebody their medication will make their treatment and

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healing more accepted. It is as though taking medication when it isn't prescribed is more common than taking medication for its intended use. This does a disservice to people who have real medical conditions and must live and combat the stigma of taking medication, and it harms the people who are taking advantage of the easy accessibility of drugs.

I haven't spoken to my father in over a year and I don't see myself speaking to him again. I haven't yet come to terms with the choices that the people in my life have made, but I hope that with time I will learn to forgive them for choosing comfort over pain. Forgiveness, to me, does not mean letting my family back into my life; it means to be accepting of their pasts and hopeful for their futures. I hope to see them as human, rather than just weak. I wish for myself and others to be able to see people with addictions as people first and foremost. Everybody has somebody in their life who is struggling with addiction. Whether this person suffers in silence or wears their addiction on their sleeve, they are still a son, daughter, mother, father, cousin, or friend to somebody; they deserve the respect of being treated as one.

My past has led me to have feelings about addiction that I’m not necessarily proud of, but beyond the anger and resentment that bubbles on the surface, I am more angry at the systems that shame and alienate addicts. I am hopeful that with education and conversation, we can all move toward destigmatizing addiction without accepting its course of action. The issue of addiction is too complex to argue in black and white. There is emotion and pain, monetary and systematic intentions, and the fundamental reality that all people are deserving of compassion and empathy. Above all, we need to take care of one another.

It is detrimental to grow up in a society that values numbing pain over feeling it.

BUILDING A REAL-LIFE ONLINE PRESENCE 106

WRITING Nia Beckett MODELING Abbie Sedillos PHOTOGRAPHY Estelle De Zan

Social media has vastly grown the number of ways we express ourselves online. From Tumblr to LinkedIn, platforms exist for every type of digital expression. Constant connectivity allows us to use our experiences and feelings to brand ourselves online in real-time. There’s an incentive of social currency — and with the booming influencer industry, monetary currency — to successfully branding oneself on the Internet.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but as technology expanded the number of mediums for communication, my desire to experiment with other forms of media grew as well. In elementary school, I filled a single-page newsletter with my grades and weekly anecdotes and hung it up on the fridge for my family to see. In high school, I created a blog about fashion and culture filled with tips for staying out of drama and making the most of high school. Naturally, I used social media to promote my later work.

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The summer before my senior year of high school, I started a YouTube channel as my next creative endeavor. Outside of the occasional vlog on outings like museums or vacations, I didn’t post much throughout my senior year. I knew I wanted to make videos, but I just wasn’t sure what kind of content to create.

My viewership expanded last year when I started my studies at Northeastern and began documenting my college experience. I took viewers through my first day of school, walked them through my new dorm, and posted a couple of lookbooks. Dozens of ideas for videos I wanted to make swam around in my head, but I hardly made any of them. A lack of time was part of it, but another part of me didn’t want to show how busy and exhausted I always was. I was afraid people would see me as a mess if I showed them how scattered I was.

On the other hand, I was enjoying building an online presence. Many of my viewers were people getting ready to apply to Northeastern or people who were interested in videos about college life.

Prospective Northeastern students who had watched my videos began messaging me on social media with questions about the school. It both excited and terrified me to know that people

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watched my videos, but I loved being able to share bits of information to help others make an informed decision about their school.

Over the summer, I reflected on my channel and decided that I wanted to document my experience more authentically. I cast off the notion that I need to be a model student and young adult to have a valued online presence. Instead of waiting for the day that I “got my life together,” I wanted to embrace my process of building better habits by recording how I deal with the struggles I encounter, like having trouble learning French or anxiously preparing to conduct interviews for my classes.

At the beginning of the summer, I sat down with my camera and recapped my first year in college in a 20-minute video, discussing everything from my academic and extracurricular expectations to my social life and health. I admitted that I’d taken on too many responsibilities last semester, recommending that others know their limits and not make the same mistake. As the school year approached, I made a video about my personal goals for the semester, which mostly involved taking better care of myself.

Being more authentic and more vulnerable has been empowering. It doesn’t mean that I have

to show everything that goes on in my life, but I think it’s important to use my platform to share one version of what it’s like to be in college now.

A number of college YouTubers manage to stick to a schedule of polished videos while attending classes, and I admire them for that. At the same time, those polished videos often gloss over how demanding and draining college can be. Between increasing expectations for job candidates and adjusting to being a young adult in a rapidly changing world, it often feels like everyone around you knows what’s going on, although that isn’t the case.

On a small scale, authenticity for me means filming without makeup, which I often don’t wear in daily life. It means I will continue to make videos in which I reflect on juggling responsibilities. I want to be able to turn on my camera and contribute to a culture where people feel comfortable admitting when they’re not okay.

By coming to terms with my faults and being more candid about my hectic schedule in my videos, I hope to offer others hope and solidarity as I navigate the daily challenges of a frazzled college student.

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deconstructed design WRITING Julianne Lombardi MODELING Robine Arami PHOTOGRAPHY Olivia Robbins

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Maison Margiela and Comme des Garçons are fashion houses that have the incomparable talent of eliciting strong reactions from their audiences.

Google “Margiela” and you may stumble upon the recent viral video of Leon Dame stomping and writhing down the Spring/Summer runway in knee-high leather boots and a sailor hat. There is a deeply-rooted relationship between performance art and fashion that has been pioneered by brands like Comme des Garçons and Margiela. Their tendency towards rebellion stems from their origin in the late ‘80s and has remained integral to their ethos over the decades. What you may recognize as ‘90s minimalism came about as a rebuttal to the flashy, overstated styles of the ‘80s. The trend came as an extension of the work of designers such as Martin Margiela and Rei Kawakubo, that highlighted deconstruction and shape.

In its early years, Margiela would often disassemble pieces of clothing and re-work them into new pieces, an early and maybe accidental adoption of upcycling. One of Margiela’s signature styles has been leaving white stitches on the outside of their clothing to serve as a reminder of both their values as well as to emphasize quality craftsmanship by being reminiscent of tailors’ stitches. This intentionally unfinished aesthetic and affinity for reconstruction has remained integral to their ethos to this day. Anonymity is another brand element that has been with Margiela since its creation. Martin Margiela himself was the fashion world’s infamous recluse during his days at the atelier; his own anonymity working itself

into the DNA of the brand. From his first collection until recent years, models were often sent down the Margiela runway wearing masks to cover their faces. This sometimes off-putting practice gives emphasis to the quality tailoring, or rather re-tailoring, of Margiela garments rather than the faces wearing them.

Similarly, Rei Kawakubo’s work for Comme des Garçons is perhaps most infamous for her reimagining of the figure by creating garments that look more like sculptures than clothing.

Comme des Garçons translates to “like boys,”

and Rei’s womenswear has always followed that idea. In the middle of the ‘80s, an age of gloss and glamour, Rei launched her collection of shapeless, monotone clothing that startled the fashion industry. So radical it was almost considered anti-fashion, Rei’s collection rejected the beauty standard of the time. Comme des Garçons takes the idea of deconstruction to another level, putting together massive garments with dramatic proportions and impossible silhouettes. Rei’s work often subverts the typical ideals of femininity through her silhouettes.

It is evident that the idea of deconstruction in fashion is an overarching rebellion to expectations, especially within the sphere of femininity. The ateliers of Maison Margiela and Comme des Garçons have rooted their values in an anti-brand, arthouse aesthetic that has prioritized the construction and reconstruction of garments rather than trends. This has allowed

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them to establish a steadfast ethos that has carried them over decades of changing styles, all while remaining relevant and avant-garde.

The deconstructed nature of Rei and Margiela’s work is, in itself, an expression of rawness. The brands focus on self-expression and authenticity that is reflected by the raw elements in their designs.

Their objective is to dress people, like Leon Dame for Margiela, who present their raw and authentic selves outwardly and to reinforce that presentation through their clothing. After all, clothing is the most immediate form of self-expression.

I believe that Rei Kawakubo epitomizes this message in her own life. She has said, “the best way to know me is to look at my clothing.” Rei conveys her identity through her stylistic decisions and encourages her followers to do the same. To this point, she has said “what someone wears is an expression of oneself — I want people to feel something and think about who they are.” In a society in which we are constantly trying to present our “best selves” to the world, I believe Rei’s message is an important one. To present your most authentic self to the world, your strengths as well as your flaws, requires vulnerability that too many people do not access, especially in today’s social media-centric society.

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Comme des Garçons and Maison Margiela have long been advocates for raw and authentic expression, from their rebellious origins in the ‘80s through and up to their recent collections. Their push for non-conformity through their designs have inspired many other brands to follow suit in the movement for authentic expression. For example, Savage x Fenty encourages followers to embrace all forms of beauty through their use of diverse models and wide range of sizes. Mugler’s most recent collection for Paris Fashion week utilized models of all ages, sizes, and genders. They embraced the concept of rawness by including “real” people as opposed to models who often do not represent every form of beauty. This rebellious attitude was pioneered by Maison Margiela and Comme des Garçons in their remonstration of the glossy, put-togetherness of the ‘80s.

Throughout their tenures in the industry both brands have implemented deconstruction as a vessel for avant-garde self-expression. It is no surprise that they have been looked to by so many other brands for inspiration because they were the front-runners of the movement for authenticity through their designs.

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HOW the fnsta GAVE US A CHANCE TO BE REAL ONLINE WRITING Amaya Williams MODELING Nicole Yukari PHOTOGRAPHY Aung Thant Kyaw

I first downloaded Instagram in 2013 when it was on-trend to post deep-fried, heavily filtered pictures and we all had a strange obsession with mustaches, peace signs, and Domo. The app had been around for three years by then, and as an eager middle schooler who’d only recently upgraded to an iPhone, I was excited to be able to contribute to the growing platform. What I didn’t know then, however, was that the culture around social media would change quite drastically.

Over the years I deleted pictures from my feed a number of times. The reasons ranged from the fact that no one was using white borders on their pictures anymore, to how Kelvin was no longer anyone’s preferred filter, or perhaps due to an emotional breakdown or two. Regardless, in the years to follow my first post on the app, I would have nothing short of a hot and cold relationship with Instagram. Despite being completely uninterested in using it, I would open it as soon as I woke up in the mornings and check it right before I went to bed at night. I posted pictures and deleted them days after. It developed into something I loved to hate but refused to quit.

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I was not someone who obsessed over getting the “perfect picture.” There was no posing for hours or meticulously editing pictures until they were just right. But those fairly common practices only seemed to prove that there was immense pressure for users to create a fantasy of themselves.

With Facetune, our skin could be clearer and our teeth could be whiter. Influencers remind us what our profiles should look like. The amount of followers we had, the amount of likes we got, it all mattered too much. Instagram simultaneously became our resume, our brand, and our autobiography. I had consequently branded myself into oblivion, so much so that I lost interest in posting altogether. What was meant to be a way to share our most cherished moments shifted into the testament to an aesthetic, the curation of an image, and most prominently, a way to keep up and show off.

As engagement online snowballed, it quickly became common knowledge that social media was detrimental to its users’ mental health.

Researchers began to connect user engagement with increased rates of depressive symptoms,

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It was ironic, our finstas were expected to be more real than our rinstas.

such as fearfulness and fatigue, and studies from organizations like Psycom showed that the more they engaged online, the lonelier people seemed to be. In a report by the Royal Society for Public Health and the Young Health Movement in 2017, it was revealed that Instagram ranked the worst social media platform for young people’s health.

Perhaps a surprise to no one, the platform was linked to high levels of anxiety and struggles with self-expression.

Despite what studies have shown, user engagement on Instagram has not slowed. It would seem that users were fine to reconcile with the fact that their participation meant performance at their own expense, as long as it meant they could play their part in visibility politics.

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THEN CAME THE FINSTA. The rise of the finstagram, or “fake Instagram,” peaked sometime in late 2015. The idea was to create a space where Instagram users could reclaim their authenticity. Characterized by an ambiguous username, obscure profile picture, and a typical following of less than 100 people, the average scroll through one of these secondary accounts revealed content that is deemed unworthy of a rinsta, or “real Instagram.” Typically random photos with lengthy captions about things going on in life, niche memes that only a targeted audience could understand, screenshots of text message and ugly selfies and risky images from nights out. For many, the finsta evolved into a way to relive what they believed the app was originally meant for — posting freely, without the pressure of performing for an audience.

When they caught on, finstas were hailed for being the saving grace of an otherwise flopping platform.

Think pieces like: “My Finsta Saved My Life,” and “In Defense of the Finsta: How My Secret Instagram Saved My Sanity,” popped up on every corner of the Internet. In them, resigned twentysomethings told the stories of their tumultuous relationships with the app, and the stress and exhaustion that ultimately came with the upkeep of their online image. The pieces echoed what was becoming a popular narrative among users of the app. There was a fairly accepted notion that Instagram simply wasn’t as fun as it used to be, even though we refused to stop using it.

I created my finsta in 2017, after years of posting irregularly to my rinsta. Compared to the 800+ followers on my rinsta, my finsta was intended to be an intimate space where I could share my thoughts directly to my friends. The account was private and I’d accrued a carefully selected following of 30 people I knew in real life and trusted. It became a place where I could complain, share, and poke fun at myself without much of a second thought. My first series of posts were about the first few days at a new job and about how much I hated “adulting,” yet dreaded the prospect of having to start school again in the fall. The pictures got less than 10 likes, but for once, that really didn’t bother me.

For a while, it was fun to be able to share that type of content with my closest friends — this was before Instagram integrated the “Close Friends” list into its stories — but my posting habits, and the habits of the people I followed, began to exhibit some rather grim patterns. It seemed that I frequented the secondary account much more when I was feeling anxious or discouraged.

While some people use finsta to post provocative content that they don’t want their prospective bosses, sorority sisters, or family members to see, many more use it to rant about the inconveniences of everyday life and express destructive thoughts.

The personal, vulnerable posts came to be just as characteristic of finsta as the funny and inconsequential ones. Although the finsta can and does remain that lighthearted place to post memes and embarrassing photos, it has also become a place to have some of our most private moments in public.

Although this emotional content can act as a form of catharsis, once actualized as a set of photos or a lengthy caption, a moment of weakness can become perpetual and potentially damaging. The culture around finstas dictates an environment comparable to the adage “what happens in Vegas,” — posting to the account doesn’t mean that you’d necessarily want people to reach out to you neither does it mean that they will even attempt to. That doesn’t mean, however, that the content you post goes unseen or unnoticed.

That being said, there’s always a balance. Despite its extremes, the rise of finsta showed that we were all being fake online and gave us the chance to go back to the times when Instagram was fun, careless and utterly garish.

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THAT'S WHY THERE'S

“I never thought I would get a tattoo because the idea of having something on my body forever scared me. But after talking to people that have stick and pokes, I figured since I’m doing it myself it will eventually fade since it’s not being made professionally,” said Cianca.

A TITTY ON MY ANKLE WRITING Allie Kuo PHOTOGRAPHY Sydney Lerner MODELING Allie Kuo, Sofia Cianca

I’m sitting in the chair at the gynecologist, my legs right by her eyes, when she spots a figure of a woman on my left ankle. After asking whether my parents know about the tattoo (they do), I explain to her that it’s a stick and poke. She grimaces while I describe the process, then cracks up when I finish up my story with, “so that’s why there’s a titty on my ankle!”.

My stick and poke tattoo is a conversation starter, its abstract form a point of interest for those who notice it. Composed of a few simple lines and curves, the little lady has a leg propped up with her arm lying across her knee. And beside that knee is an exposed breast, a motif that resonates strongly with me.

I am an extremely avid proponent of “freeing the nipple” and removing the female anatomy from the male gaze. It’s an understated political statement, one that is unapologetically comfortable in its bareness. It’s why I was drawn to the flash piece and why I think the method of tattooing fits perfectly with the cheeky subject.

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While tattoos aren’t a prudent, cautious art form to begin with, stick and pokes have an edge of recklessness that traditional parlor pieces — done by machine — don’t seem to have. They are a way for broke college students to access this art, rebellious youngsters to get a piece without their parents knowing and artists to create their work in an environment with far less restrictions and barriers to entry.

These tattoos tend to be fueled by some combination of spontaneity, thriftiness, and rebelliousness. There is a casual nature to stick and pokes because of how accessible they are in terms of resources and process.

Commitment issues tend to hold people back from ever getting a tattoo, and stick and pokes appear to provide an option that feels more temporary (though if done professionally, they can last just as long). This can take the weight off of what may feel like a huge life decision, allowing the tattoo to be something that Aidan Evans-Strong describes as “low-key.”

After doing research on WikiHow as a not-yet legal adult whose parents were not exactly tattoo advocates, Evans-Strong tattooed a miniature version of Saturn onto herself. A tattoo that she still loves because of its imperfection and uniqueness.

“I liked the vibe of doing it myself and having it be less of an ordeal… and also that I had control over it,” said Evans-Strong.

The question I get most about my tattoo is about how painful it is. Compared to my other two — which granted, are roughly an inch in size — that took a little more than 20 minutes, there were two hours between the first and last poke of my ankle piece.

I was given a fair warning that while the first round of pokes wouldn’t hurt too bad, the subsequent ones would pinch more since the needle would be going over and over open wounds. Fun! The pain was more visceral than my machine pieces, but nothing shocking or unexpected.

After all, the name is rather self-explanatory, and getting stuck and poked is not exactly the most comfortable thing in the world. Of course, there’s a certain threshold of pain you have to be willing to put up with for any kind of tattoo.

“It honestly did not hurt that bad, the feeling is exactly like poking yourself with a needle over and over so it was pretty expected,” said Evans-Strong.

All you need to give a stick and poke is a sharp needle and ink, and these supplies are easily attainable. I’ve spoken to people who have used pigments ranging from pen or calligraphy ink, to the more common India ink. These materials will set you back around $25, tops. Compared to the minimums set at tattoo shops that can be at least $80, the price is reason enough for people to choose the stick and poke route.

For Sofia Cianca, the low cost was something she named as a reason for getting her tattoo.

“It was free for me since my roommate had previously bought the stick and poke kit from Amazon — probably around $10 dollars for her,” said Cianca. She also noted that they were “less legit,” explaining that the possibility that the tattoo would fade eased her mind about getting something so permanent on her body.

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low-key fun unique But you also can’t forget to factor in the experience of your tattooer. For Kayla Kirschenbaum, the pain of getting her stick and poke three-eyed cat was more than she had anticipated.

“I think my friend who gave the cat to me was going way too deep with the needle and that’s saying something because I have 11 other tattoos and I couldn’t sit still with her,” said Kirschenbaum.

My entry into the world of stick and pokes was rather professional, compared to the DIY nature of the ones my friends have gotten. After browsing #bostontattoos in a desperate attempt to find an artist who’d be able to tattoo me on the last night of my teenage years, I stumbled across the simple linework of @freddie_does_a_doodle and immediately knew I wanted one of her pieces on my body. I sent Rachael Molenaar a DM in the wee hours of the morning, and though I was unable to get my last-teen-hurrah tattoo, I had an appointment set up for two weeks later.

Getting a stick and poke wasn’t something I specifically sought out — it just so happened that Molenaar does them “hand-poked,” like it says in her Instagram bio.

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“It has a really cool history of being DIY and not done in shops run by people. There are more artists doing it themselves and less middlemen — it’s very direct,” said Molenaar about why she does stick and pokes.

While speed and scale are the only cons Molenaar names with this method, she finds more meaning and connection through the slower process.

“It’s a very meditative zone that you get into that’s quiet and subtle. I like that moment for myself, and I like it for my clients,” said Molenaar.

What I didn’t expect was that after our nearly threehour-long appointment, I would leave her living room a stick and poke convert.

The act of tattooing is one that is personal and vulnerable, whether it’s done with a machine or wellplaced pokes. There is an element of trust — you are allowing another person to permanently mark your skin.

Molenaar is extremely conscientious of this fact, which drives a lot of the protocols she follows in her work like testing every supply on herself before using it on a client.

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“This is especially given that I’m not learning as an apprentice in a shop where they already know the best supplies,” said Molenaar. “There’s a trust that the client is coming to me with, and it’s a very physical, sensational process.”

And

With the absence of a traditional machine’s whir, you are left with a silence. A silence that can be filled with the richest of conversations and connections, as a needle moves slowly across your body with the goal of creating a work of art. Or a reminder of your freshman year shenanigans. Or a permanent and personal mark that is for no one else but yourself.

that’s

why there’s

a titty

on my ankle.

“It seems like it’s just a needle being stabbed into you but it’s more delicate and intimate than that,” said Aditi Peyush, whose left ankle is home to a simple dove done by Jennifer Ilet of @mellowpokes.

In the same way that I was instantly struck by Molenaar’s pieces, Peyush said she was drawn to the delicateness and simplicity of Ilet’s work.

“Picking a tattoo artist is really like going to a museum and explaining why you like a work of art. Sometimes it’s really hard to explain to others, but you know why you like it, and that’s all that matters,” said Peyush.

This intense, intimate experience is really how tattoos were done before the electric machine was introduced in 1891. Anyone can order needles and India ink online and grab tangerines from the grocery store — or your willing friends — to practice on. And designs tend to be more minimalistic and simple because the technique translates better for linework than shading.

All of these things factor into my appreciation of this tattooing method. But most of all, I love the fromscratch feeling that stick and pokes evoke, not only in the final product but the whole process. It’s not just me either; I have never met a stick and poke that didn’t come with an anecdote on the side.

And that’s why there’s a titty on my ankle.

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