engender
march 2018
a production of the
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contents “A Love Letter to My Curls” Ella Feldman “Untitled” Diana De La Torre Pinedo “Pins” Zulfa Quadri “Untitled” Claudia Middleton “Standards” Jane Clinger “Playlist” Julia Reilly “My Hair Holds Memories” Manlin Yao “Gym Looks” Ishani Desai “The Airplane in the Clouds” Anonymous “Hair Down There” Anonymous Cover by Audrey Kuykendall
a love letter to my curls you’re different every morning at least you’re never boring through thick and thin (and tangles and frizz) my crazy, curly hair, i love you down with keratin and brazilian blowouts i don’t want you relaxed, i like you wild twisting and turning and jumping and falling growing and dancing and always evolving change can be fun for a friday night but don’t let the flat iron give you a fright come sunday morning, conditioner and cold water i once again feel like my mother’s daughter silk pillowcases and coconut oil you bring me back to that southern soil to the strong ladies with the curly locks to mi mamá, abuela, and the rest of the flock in a sea of perfect waves of blonde of my dark ringlets i am much more fond combs, never brushes, and sulfate free shampoo my dearest curls, i love you Ella Feldman
some boob facts: left boobs tend to be bigger than right boobs to protect the heart! some woman can achieve orgasm from nipple stimulation alone breastfeeding can have longterm benefits for moms, including lowering rates of heart disease and cancer nipple hair is natural
Diana De La Torre Pinedo
Pins Zulfa Quadri
“I don’t know; I kind of want to” is what you said when I asked you if you wanted to ask him out. Did it hurt when instead of my name I saw the slight curve of an “C” as you carefully spelled out his? I don’t know. What I do know is that there was a time when my head would’ve fit in the crook of your shoulder. Now it’s 7 in the morning I look in the mirror and realize that my head is only meant to fit in a 5’x2’ ft rectangle of cloth. Hijab, headdress, veil, scarf. A warning flag to all who wish to peek at the hair that is tucked beneath it. A slap on the wrist to the boy or girl who wants to hold my hand. A lense that perhaps prevents you from seeing me as anything more than a friend. As I push the final sewing pin in, as I pinch away the excess fabric, I wonder if carefully extracting each pin, if watching the fabric fall to my shoulders, would be enough to make you see me differently. But I pause, Turn my head left and right, See if every fold curves to my satisfaction. My mother tells me that modesty is beautiful, and so do you. Yet I’m not sure if anyone would dare touch my skin. I decide to blame myself first, then God then, finally, nobody. I can only keep pushing pins and hope to find another you who won’t be afraid of them at all.
Claudia Middleton
Jane Clinger
Dive
Beach House
Fear & Force Vagabon
Short Court Style Natalie Prass
Closer (Ode TO U) Ravyn Lenae
Just a Stranger Kali Uchis
Love Galore SZA
Don'tTouch My Hair Solange
Be Careful Cardi B
Diddy Bop Noname
U&I (feat. Dia)
Flatbush Zombies
Pynk (feat. Grimes) Janelle Monae
I Like It Cardi B
Anna Wintour Azealia Banks
scan this code with spotify to listen!
This playlist is a collection of recent songs from some of my favorite artists at the moment. Each track features a female artist, and the vast majority of the artists are women of color. Female artists are really having a moment right now, and it's great to see artists like Cardi B, Solange, and SZA really celebrate female power through music. The playlist starts off with some indie tracks and moves through R&B, rap, and some more dance-y tracks, so I hope there's something for everyone! Julia Reilly
Manlin Yao
Manlin Yao
My Hair Holds Memories
My Hair Holds Memories
Manlin Yao
I’ve grown old and tired, and so has my hair. My eyes, nose, lips, and body have, over time, become strangers to me, But my rough hair is an old friend. We’ve gone through a lot together. From multiple hands that used to run through the tresses To a single pair of weak hands That struggle through the knots and the tangles, I’ve lost a lot. My mother’s rough hands, weathered and hardened, Used to braid my hair in beautiful locks. Once she stopped, I guess I had to say goodbye to my youth. For a while, no one else touched my hair. Perhaps a friend would pat it lightly as consolation, Or maybe a girl friend would braid it And I’d think back to something I didn’t know anymore. I continued to grow, and so did my hair. Longer and longer, more beautiful with each passing day, Becoming heavier and heavier, Until I cut the dead ends to see a different reflection in the mirror. Fresh. Brushed out of my face to reveal my eyes, My hair is lucky to have known the touch of a lover that it won’t forget nor forgive. But we both remember when they said, “I like long hair,” And you replied, both times, that you don’t care. Now, I leave it be because I’m tired, Tired of other people, tired of the world and its harshness, Tired of remembering. I’m tired of my hair.
Ishani Desai
The Airplane In The Clouds anonymous The sky is grey today. Rain speckles my window Trees tousled by the soft breeze of a storm to come The muffled light of an airplane pulses through the clouds. To what destination. I look for you everywhere. I search for you in the drifting rainclouds. Grasping for meaning in their brevity They pass so quickly. Gone as soon as they came What happened to us. I sit in my room as the sky Sheds its memories Each drop of rain a harsh reminder Nothing is permanent. The memory of you sleeping under the sun, your hair blown by the gentle wind, A small prick of light struggling To shine through the thick fog Of a love lost. The airplane in the clouds.
Hair i haven’t waxed or shaved, ever i don’t watch porn anymore (too violent, too harsh, too fake) but i wonder if he does what does he think? (about hair down there) at the dining table, my pulpit, i sermonize for all BLOOD, i declare, is NATURAL BODY HAIR, i demand, is NECESSARY THE BODY, i cry, is SACRED the world can hear me knows my cycle like the lunar calendar i keep under my pillow knows i dyed my underarm hair green at the sweet age of 14 knows i think the feminine body is beautiful and that i drop whoever isn’t quite sure but still,
kisses don’t bring joy, they bring fuck – when the pants slide off fuck. my legs scream for a razor and shea butter when his hands reach down there i tense up and think fuck. the bush is gnarly twisted like a willow tree the words catch in my throat kissing eyes open i’m sorrbut he keeps going oh? it’s okay? the body unclenches i can let go i say that my revolution begins and ends with me but my pleasure begins and ends with him; and i’m not quite sure how both can be true.
--anonymous
Down There
see you in the next issue of engender! We welcome all original content, both visual and written. Anything from commentaries to comics to recycled academic papers. We want your thoughts represented! Submit to zine@rice.edu
Editors in Chief Jane Clinger Ishani Desai Sarah Torresen Contributors Jane Clinger Diana De La Torre Pinedo Ishani Desai Ella Feldman Claudia Middleton Zulfa Quadri Julia Reilly Manlin Yao
want to submit something to the next edition of engender? send your submission to zine@rice.edu!