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Co-Publisher/Marketing Director GRACE DONNELLY
Design Editors
MARGARET LAAKSO
YUNA HWANG
Video Editors
TAKARA WILSON
JOHANNES PARDI
Managing Photo Editor
TARA WASIK
DANA GRAY Editor-in-Chief
Creative Director BOBBY CURRIE
Print Fashion Editors
ELENA SHAHEEN
SOPHIA STRASBURG
Digital Fashion Editor TAYLOR STEVENS
Digital Content Editor HANIYA FAROOQ
Events Coordinator ERIN SEGUI
Human Resources Coordinators
CYNTHIA QIAN
ALIA GAMEZ
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Print Features Editor
MELISSA WERKEMA
Digital Features Editor MYA FROMWILLER
Digital Photo Editor KAELIN PARK
Print Production Manager CALLISTA BRAND
Public Relations Coordinators
OLIVIA WIMPARI
SUBIN PYO
Beauty Team
Miles Hionis, Ana Cano, Krystal Salgado, Ella Graeb, Marguerite Smith, Margaret Mckinney, Gretchen Brookes, Adrienne Feige, Camille Naves, Yun-Hsi Chiang
Design Team
Margaret Laasko, Yuna Hwang, Isabella Schneider, Lara Ringey, Avery White, Story Triplett, Katie Kell, Milcah Kresnadi, Erin Hobbs, Caroline Kegg, Ashley Turner, Chloe Bratton
Fashion Team
Sophia Strasburg, Elena Shaheen, Taylor Stevens, Micah Webster-Bass, Ceridwen Roberts, Sally Jang, Porter Selfridge, Jared Ruffing, Anika Lopes, Amelia Kocis, Ella Graeb, Gloria Yu, Hana Farooq, Kaavya Chavan, Christine Kim, Reagan Hakala, Janna Jacobson, Paige Tushman, Mary-Katharine Acho-Tartoni, Jessica Kroetsch, Juliana Ramirez, Subin Yang, Riley Neville, Temmie Yu, Samuel Cao, Jeffrey Wagner, Emilio Rodriguez, Jessica Au, Emma Blair, Caroline Chacko
Photography Team
Sory Keita, Anisha Chopra, Kaelin Park, Sureet Sarau, Maggie Kirkman, Vivian Leech, Emmanuelle Cubba, Mary Katharine Acho-Tartoni, Patrick Li, Niah Sei, Ava Muntner, Kamryn Washington, Chloe Kiriluk, Isabella Possin, Lane Liu, Zhixian (Zoe) Xiong, Margaret (Maggie) Whitten, Tai Livnat, Taryn Ryan, Sarah Bayne
Features Team
Melissa Werkema, Marxie Colliver, Jared Ruffing, Avery White, Isidora Purrier, Lane Liu, Avalon Ring, Wren Wilson, Makayla Whitsell, Mya Fromwiller, Emerson McKay, Emma Edmondson, Enia McLaughlin, Raymond Zou, Ana Sharshar, Ashley Turner, Bianca Done, Tessa Valera-Castro, Emma Blair, Caroline Chacko, Mimi Vu
Takara Wilson, Johannes Pardi, Sydney Seifert, Olga Brazhnikova, Chloe Kiriluk, Kaelin Park, Felicia Wang, Samridhi Sharma, Naimah Perez, Jasmin Rhymes
Human Resources Team
Alia Gamez, Cynthia Qian, Sathvika Ravichandran, Iliana Morgan Chevres, Hien Ha
Taylor Jones, Elena Reyes, Elise Hsaio, Emily Farhat, Teagan Hollman, Ana Liu, Megan Dobie
Fashion and film are constantly referencing each other. Both are incredible tools for visual story telling and striking images. What differentiates fashion and costume is context. Take Christian Dior’s “Junon” dress from the FW1949-50 collection, this gown became the inspiration for the iconic Glinda dress from the stage production of Wicked designed by Susan Hilferty, and thus reimagined once more by Paul Tazewell for the 2024 film by the same name, all inspired by the iconic film The Wizard of Oz in which there have been countless references to in fashion since its inception, think Betsy Johnson, Marc Jacobs, Moschino–the list goes on. Thus becoming cyclical by nature.
I found my love of filmmaking and costume design by way of fashion–specfically through SHEI, when my first year with the publication the at the time EIC asked in a SHEI wide group chat if anyone would be interested in costume designing for a student film. I jumped at the opportunity, and fell in love with the costume design process. Feels incredibly fitting for the last themed digital issue during my time as EIC to be Cinephile
Both fashion and film are inherently visual mediums. Dependent on the way they are captured by cameras to communicate their stories. They are both also powerful tools for marketing, advertising and trend setting. After Clueless premiered in the 1990s, there was a fashion industry spike in knee high socks and plaid. Product placement in cinema is often fashion items–think Cartier and the James Bond franchise. Fashion and what a character wears may even be evident at the inception of a script–while you will see iconic costume design pieces from cinema on the mood board of many a fashion designer.
I invite you to press play on Cinephile–an issue dedicated to creating iconic film inspired fashion shoots. From stop motion to the Hong Kong new wave–from cult classic to comedies–Cinephile continues the symbiotic relationship between fashion and film.
Dana Gray Editor-In-Chief
It’s often said that life imitates art, that we take elements of art and transform them into something of our own. The art we consume carefully molds us over time, shaping various aspects of our life such as the way we speak, act, and dress. Soon enough, we’ve become an amalgamation of all the art we have consumed, and in the littlest ways, our lives begin to reflect this art like a mirror. All mediums of art leave something with us, and movies are no exception, whether you claim to be a cinephile or not. Even those who have not found a home in cinema might admit that movies are much more than a visual representation of a story, and portray much more than just a plotline. Elements such as the fashion choices, character building, and language add depth and complexity to these stories, allowing the impact of the film industry to span across audience members of all backgrounds.
When the theme of cinephile was first pitched to me, I thought about all of the time I’ve spent watching movies and the way that those movies have influenced my life. I thought about the movies rented on trips to the video store, which turned into movies watched during trips to the local theater with my family, which turned into movies viewed with friends under the dim lights of my college apartment. I thought about the daydreams that resulted from my favorite romance movies and the outfits I stole from the characters of edgy, teen dramas. At each stage of life, I’ve found movies that resonate with me in some way. This manifests in feelings of comfort, as I identify elements that seem familiar to my life, but also in feelings of unease, as I’m challenged to look inward and relate to characters and plotlines that are less than perfect. Regardless, every movie I’ve seen seems to leave a mark on my life, whether it be a new favorite song, a new saying, a new feeling, or a new perspective.
CINEPHILE as an editorial concept encourages SHEI’s team of writers, photographers, stylists, and models to unveil how movies have influenced their lives as well. It explores how the silver screen has impacted the members of SHEI and allows us to reflect on the art that has shaped us throughout the years. Our lives imitate art constantly, and now we have an opportunity to share that journey with you, specifically as it relates to film. As you read through this edition, I invite you to reflect on how movies have shaped your own life and hope you can share our sentiments, whether you call yourself a cinephile or not.
Mya Fromwiller
Digital Features Editor
Thin Bottom Line the
SHOOT DIRECTOR
PORTER SELFRIDGE
PHOTOGRAPHERS
SARAH BAYNE
STYLISTS
ANIKA LOPES
ANISE KRUSE
BEAUTY
GRETCHEN BROOKES
VIDEOGRAPHER
SAMRIDHI SHARMA
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
MILCAH KRESNADI
MODELS
FARISA ZARIN
SUSANNAH TAYLOR
RUBY HOWARD
CHLOE CURLL
ANI SEIGEL
JAYDAN AUGUSTIN
ZACH WHEELER
s always, April catches me at my worst moments; as if the rain weathers away my soft and light exterior, leaving behind a heavy core, weak and brittle. I find myself longing for people who were never mine to begin with. Last April, I met a boy with hazel eyes who liked to lie.
I can’t exactly say what our relationship was like. We must have spent less than 2 days together in total: him, driving aimlessly through byways and backroads; me, up past midnight, tiptoeing out of my parents’ basement. He never kissed me, but he liked to talk about kissing me. As for me, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be kissed. Boys like him like to give kisses for free, but I knew there was no such thing.
We drove in the city one afternoon, winding lanes hugging the sleek black body of his ‘97 Mercedes. He tapped the wheel with ring-adorned fingers. I sat with my knees under my chin. I don’t remember where we were going, but what I do remember is talking about souls.
“...I don’t think soulmates exist, necessarily,” he said. “But I do feel like there’s something in the universe that connects people to each other.”
“Like invisible string theory?”
“Sort of. There’s certain things that tie people together. We’re all made out of the same stuff, we’re all from the same place. I feel like that’s what a soul is.”
I paused. “Have you ever seen Before Sunrise?”
He shook his head.
“It’s basically this movie about these two strangers, Jesse and Celine. They meet on a train and spontaneously decide to get off at the next stop and wander the city together.” I peeked at him. He was staring out past the highway, clear afternoon sun reflecting in his irises.
“There’s a scene where Jesse is talking about reincarnation. Everyone has to have a unique, individual soul for us to be reincarnated, right? But if our population exploded in this tiny blip of time, then where did all these extra souls come from? Are we just fractions of the original souls? Is that why we all feel so broken?” I stole another glance at him.
He was looking at me already—a searing look, as though he understood, as though it was the first day of my life and he was my introduction into the world. I turned my head towards the car floor. I liked to feel his eyes on me when I looked away.
I knew Before Sunrise would be one of my favorite films before Jesse and Celine even got off the train. I knew when I watched Jesse, after knowing her for
mere hours, say to Celine, “You should get off the train with me.” I knew it was just a movie, and I knew that if he didn’t ask, he’d get off the train alone and the credits would roll, but most of all I knew that if I were Jesse, I’d think of doing the exact same thing, only I would keep the words inside and never let them out. I would be afraid. I would be the one to spend the rest of my life wondering. But at fifteen, to see such an earnest grasp for love, to dream of finding love organically, was to see hope.
I can’t say that the boy from last April extinguished that hope. That would be giving him too much credit. When you’re a teenager, time moves by at lightning speed. You can feel yourself changing, and you feel others changing around you, too. By the time I met him, I had already experienced my fair share of incompatibility and half-romances. I had created some of my own. Like Celine, I felt like a general preparing for war, plotting prime strategies for the battlefield of love. Only, instead of scoping out the enemy with spies or surveillance, I put on one of my favorite films.
Watching Before Sunrise was like introducing a date to your friends or parents: what happened next was probably a clear sign of what the relationship would be like. Sometimes we would watch the whole thing, me lying comfortably in his arms. Sometimes, just bringing it up was enough for me to know it was doomed. Sometimes, he would get bored about halfway and we’d end up just having sex.
The thing about this boy was that he did none of these things. He didn’t want me the way I wanted him, and that made me want him more. But he understood me, and I understood him, the way a forest understands a fire. It wasn’t that the film portrayed a perfect romance—it nearly did the opposite. Less than a day into knowing each other, Jesse and Celine are unafraid to acknowledge each other’s faults, to embrace conflict and difference and friction. “Were we having our first fight back there?” Jesse asks, referring to his pessimistic reaction to a fortune teller. “No, I don’t think so,” Celine responds. “But even if we were, why does everyone think conflict is so bad?”
What devastated me last April was exactly this. I believed in imperfection, and in tenderness, but for him, I tried to be the complete opposite. He was the first boy I wanted to be perfect for.
So there we were. Two kids in a vintage car, spending time like money. One a wanderer, one a dreamer. We could have easily been Jesse and Celine, only we weren’t, because I never allowed myself to be as open as the space between us needed me to be. There’s a scene in the film in which the couple stops by a flyer for a George Seurat exhibition. The prints are grainy, depicting soft round figures dissolving like light into the air around them. Seurat didn’t know it then, but he was painting exactly what Celine defines as God—not a presence that exists in any tangible thing or person, but in the little space in between, in an environment stronger than its subjects. I wanted to be that God. I wanted to embody that soft and light exterior, malleable like molten glass, receptive to the vast reservoir of beauty and love and understanding that passes through us, waiting to be touched. But all that was left was a hard, brittle core—longing to be taken in, unwilling to be moved. All that was left was a fractioned piece.
SHOOT DIRECTOR
EMILIO RODRIGUEZ
PHOTOGRAPHER
MAGGIE WHITTEN
STYLIST
EMMA BLAIR
BEAUTY
CAMILLE NAVES
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
KATIE KELL
MODELS
PORTIA LYNN
BLONSKI
THE ART OF BEING A CINEPHILE
FROM A SELF-PRONOUNCED CINEPHILE
Ihave a confession to make. I am guilty of an everlasting addiction to movies and the world inside of them. Originating from my weekly childhood cinema trips with my parents and widening through the daily additions of movies to my letterboxd watchlist, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t at least thought of a movie or two. I crave to discuss the directors that inspire me, and my most recent watches with my friends whether they care or not.
From the lens of the Oxford English Dictionary, a cinephile - or cinemaphile - is “A film lover; a person who is enthusiastically interested in and knowledgeable about cinema”. The key word one must focus on is “enthusiastic”. As a cinephile, you’re not just intrigued by the topic, you’re enchanted by it, as if under a spell. It’s not simply a hobby. It’s a necessity. Whether it be as a way to escape reality, as a way to feel understood, or as a way to break free from boredom, movies are essential to routine.
The term cinephile comes from the word cinephilia, which both sounds like a disease and a religion. Some say it can be both. For many, cinema is more than an escape; it’s an attempt at connection almost like a spiritual sensation. Through the act of dedicating their life to film, cinephiles often sacrifice human kinship, and instead intertwine themselves with the world inside of whatever film they may be watching.
To be a cinephile, one must expose themselves to films, both willingly and fatefully - the films have to come to you, they have to choose you. This poses the question, can one be a cinephile without developing a deep infatuation with everything related to cinema? More importantly, can one make films without falling into a spiral of lunacy and obsession? Because of this, it seems logical to think that behind the curtain of an obsessed film lover, there must be an equally obsessed film maker, and from that conclusion comes the extremely popular “obsessed artist trope”. This trope continues to grow in relevance in the film world, and can be seen through the fictional, yet
extremely human, stories of Andrew Nieman in Whiplash, Pearl in Pearl, or Nina Sayers in Black Swan. These three characters are so deeply devoted to their craft that they strive to become one with it to achieve artistic perfection. Neiman breaks all ties with time and the outside world to solely focus on his dream of becoming “one of the greats”. Pearl risks her reputation as well as the lives of anyone in the way, including the ones she loves to see herself on the big screen. Nina descends into madness as she strives for perfection in her encapsulation of the character of the black and white swans in the Swan Lake ballet.
Similarly to the state of mind that these characters live in, to be a “cinephile” in today’s modern climate, you can’t just enjoy film, you have to know film, you have to thirst for film, you have to BE film. As a result of our every move being tracked through apps like Letterboxd, the art has become a competition, begging its audience to exclusively devote themselves to it. On social media, cinephile creators are shaming one another for not being able to name the last ten winners of the Oscar for best picture, or for not having watched all of Quentin Tarantino’s films, or for lacking a memorization of the entirety of the Godfather trilogy, making it seem as if a cinephile’s self-worth is solely dictated by the amount of film knowledge they’ve accumulated.
Like Neiman, Pearl, Nina, and so many other characters, I too have found myself willingly drowning in my consumption of movies. I schedule weekly cinema visits onto my google calendar, find myself quoting lines from my most recent watches, sometimes even mimicking the movements of my favorite characters in them, all with a feeling of steadfast desire to leave no movie unwatched. My nights are spent widely staring at my computer screen, thinking that if I watch hard enough I’ll somehow end up in the movie myself, leaving my reality for the technicolor world of moving pictures.
Now I ask you, dear reader, am I an obsessed artist? Did I pass the test? Do I have what it takes to be a cinephile?
The reckless driving of an unmotivated film student. The scramble of a man fighting against time to retain memories of his girlfriend. The instinctual reach of a writer for his phone as he flirts with his operating system. In movies like Striding Into the Wind, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and Her, the plot moves forward along with the characters. Clothing and props, while characterizing them and their world, do not quite take center stage. Kun’s decrepit truck is there to frame the halting pace of his own life. The notebook Joel always carries around becomes a representation of his love for Clementine. Theodore’s flip phone falls to the background as his OS girlfriend struggles to engage with the human world without a human body.
In a feature film, the spotlight is typically on people—clothes, accessories, and the other physical aspects of their world are there to illustrate important points about those who use them. Advertising, however, turns these background details into main characters. The people in clothing ads rarely have names, and in a couple of minutes, only the shadow of a plot can be constructed. Instead, the products that would normally characterize the people and setting are pushed to the center, as the characters exist to show off points about the items they wear. In this way, humans become accessories, and clothes become characters.
Wei Shujun, director of Striding Into the Wind, takes a slow approach to building the listlessness of its main character Kun. Over two hours, he waits for opportunities, and lets others slip right between his fingers. However, the singular minute of Shujun’s Miu Miu advertisement “The Encounter” does not allow the luxury of wasted time. As two girls go out to a tea restaurant to celebrate the Chinese New Year, the gentle buzz of surrounding customers and a nearby band quickly fall silent as they discover their drinks can pull them into an alternate world. One where it’s just them, the neon lights, and the true star of the show: their Miu Miu outfits. When the other people fall out of their surroundings, the Penny bag immediately takes up that space. As soon as it’s placed on a table, the girls are free to play the abandoned instruments, use the wide space as a dance floor, and add magic to the otherwise ordinary setting. The night only ends when the bags are lifted from the table. A feature film might not focus on these accessories, but here they demand the viewer’s attention. They beckon the start of a memorable celebration, allowing the girls who wear them to bend the rules of reality while elevating the scene with a touch of luxury. They, too, become participants in the celebration: fun-loving yet classy, willing to shake things up for a new spin on tradition.
Another director who uses his directing skills for advertising is Michel Gondry. His dreamlike imagery turns Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind from a standard story of a broken relationship to a surreal journey through the depths of memory. This same ability is displayed in Levi’s “Drugstore” as a young man embarks at night on a journey to his girlfriend’s house. Again, the people in this ad are not what’s most important; in fact, the face of the boy whose perspective guides the ad is not even seen until the last twenty seconds. Instead, the true main character of the ad is the jeans—specifically the watch pocket used to hide a tin of condoms from his girlfriend’s suspicious father. The ad, filmed in black and white with no dialogue, has an atmosphere similar to a silent movie, emphasizing the pants’ timeless nature. However, the use of jeans—or abuse, as the text at the end puts it—for a youthful, crafty scheme contrasts the dated filming style. Now, the pocket is more than a component of the outfit. The jeans are recognized by others both young and old for the duality of their subtle features: timeless, but with the potential to carry out a little bit of deception. Perhaps they even have a sense of humor.
Similarly, director Spike Jonze also brings the characteristic traits of his movies to clothing advertisements. He is known for absurd plots, as seen in the movie Her, where artificial intelligence turns from a personal assistant to a lover. His ad “Pardon Our Dust” brings this same absurdity to Gap to announce the revamp of their stores. It takes a slow start, but the simple act of pushing over a mannequin escalates into a conflict that culminates with a car crashing right into the storefront. Even for a rebrand, the advertisement of clothes via their destruction is unusual, especially as the entire town joins in to tear the store and the merchandise apart. But the violence is not just there to be eye-catching; it shows that in Gap clothes, you can do anything. From work to vandalism. As various people run into the store, jump onto shelves, and tear apart displays, Gap’s clothes gain flexibility and character. The solid-color polos and khakis would normally be considered no more than business casual. In this ad, however, the clothes prove themselves adaptable and fit for events far more unconventional than expected.
Advertisements, though they might disappear in a flash, are in their own right miniature movies—especially when it comes to clothing brands. The latest lines gain their own personalities, ideas, and plans when humans help them engage with the world. And in order to shift the spotlight from people to their clothes, brands often collaborate with movie directors to bring the gripping appeal of a character-driven movie to a productcentered commercial. It’s common to think of fashion as a means of selfexpression, but advertisement brings another side to the story: the clothes we choose for ourselves have their own backstories to share.
WRITER BIANCA DONE GRAPHIC DESIGN STORY TRIPLETT
WES ANDERSON
ANDERSON
SHOOT DIRECTOR
CHLOE KIRILUK
PHOTOGRAPHER
AVA MUNTER
STYLIST
PAIGE TUSHMAN
BEAUTY
KRYSTAL SALGADO
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
ERIN JANE HOBBS
MODEL
ELSIE ROGERS
SHOOT DIRECTOR
LANE LIU
PHOTOGRAPHER
LANE LIU
STYLISTS
MILLIE KOCIS
CAROLINE CHACKO
VIDEOGRAPHER
NAIMAH PEREZ
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
CAROLINE KEGG
MODELS
MARK NIKOLLAJ
ANIKA VISHWANATH
modeled after stars
Femininity has been shifted and shaped by the women of the silver screen. But just as these characters and stars faced their own experiences from within the plotline of the film, their influence danced out from the big screen and landed in my own discovery of femininity. While some women depicted in film exemplify an idealized version of girlhood and maturement, I found admiration in those with their own flaws and rocky storylines. In more ways than one, I was guided through each stage of life, learning to fight, love, lose, and lead like each of these characters.
In my childhood, princesses ruled my TV screen on Friday nights, effortlessly balancing both independence and heroism. The damsel-in-distress narrative held no space in my mind for its outdated interpretation of a woman’s potential. Rather, I dreamed of the auburn locks of a certain Scottish princess, who was tasked with returning her family to their rightful place as humans. Soon after, those fiery curls sat on my own head, as I embodied Merida from “Brave” at my second-grade Halloween party. The effect was just as substantial as my physical transformation. I learned the value in bravery, from being the first to go in a schoolyard game to then advocating for myself. She taught
me to be unapologetically myself as well as to take responsibility for my actions. In those moments, I would begin to seek my inner Merida, stubborn yet courageous, and I carried her with me as I transitioned from my youth into my early teen years.
As my childhood ventured into another chapter, so did my favorite female protagonists. At this age, my fascination with older films flourished, and shared movie nights with my family featured my constant request to watch The Breakfast Club. I saw pieces of myself in the two teenagers sharing a random weekend day at detention. I saw my internal struggle of a desire to please and the notion of embracing my own differences mirrored in the film’s juxtaposition of Claire, the branded princess, and Allison, the so-called outcast. The movie and its two female counterparts evoke comfort, the resolution being an assurance in the little relevance of cliques and popularity in school culture. I began to place a higher value on my friendships and strayed away from normalized exclusion.
While Claire and Allison bettered my values regarding toxic high school culture, I began to navigate the dynamics of a social life, college applications, and other coming-of-age experiences, I turned to Greta Gerwig’s “Lady Bird,” which nearly
stars
WRITER
ASHLEY TURNER
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
ASHLEY TURNER
perfectly captures girlhood in my eyes. It highlights all the struggles and successes a teenage girl faces. The movie guided me through all of my firsts: party, friend drama, kiss, theater performance, college decision. I coped with the highs and lows in the realism displayed throughout the film. I knew it was okay to be confused, nervous, and excited about all of these milestones, and Christine provided me with a friend: someone I related to, felt for, and learned from. Soon enough, just as Christine hung up her high school uniform and faced an unknown city and state, I followed her example and did just the same.
My love for films augmented into a hobby as I matured. In seeking out other powerful female protagonists, I found comfort in the characters who did not hide their weaknesses. The juxtaposition of the good and bad they practiced simultaneously gave them humanity even in a fictional world, because even the strongest women, on or off screen, faced that very internal struggle. In “Promising Young Women”, Cassie was the perfectly imperfect protagonist. She held the qualities of loyalty and intelligence all while she embarked on her tragic story. As she challenged toxic traits in our culture and gender roles, she remained diligent in her morals, instilling in me the lesson of remaining true to myself, where I came from, and the people that support me, even in the face of adversity. While Cassie may not be the idealized version of womanhood, her experiences and emotions as she navigates through her life bring realism to the life lessons, which I experienced there with her, as I watched her through the screen.
Each of these women–Merida, Claire, Allison, Christine, and Cassie–all deemed themselves essential to my development and frame important. Through their own personalities, behaviors, and arcs, they provided a point of reference, almost a guide in hard times. In their own ways, I continue to carry them with me as I sport their lessons, bearing their scars, living through their hardships, and basking in their triumphs, completely as if they were my own.
