Standford Lipsey Student Publications Building 420 Maynard St, Ann Arbor, MI 48109
Co-Publisher/Marketing Director GRACE DONNELLY
Design Editors
MARGARET LAAKSO
YUNA HWANG
Video Editors
JOHANNES PARDI
TAKARA WILSON
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
Co-Publisher/Operations Director ERIN CASEY
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
Aswe enter our next chapter after 25 years of SHEI, we have the opportunity to redefine our legacy. Following Ouroboros, our most narrative edition yet, FIBER OF BEING allows us to recenter from a fashion-dominant focus. This issue begs the question, do the clothes make the man? Clothing is more than just what we cover our bodies with; it can become a statement of identity, values, origins, and self-expression. It has the power to define our beings. Costume is a crucial part of cinema, defining who the character is by what the clothes reveal about their personality. What we wear can reinforce conventional and harmful gender roles—or dismantle these narratives. On a fundamental level, clothing quite literally keeps us alive, protecting us from sun damage or frostbite. Crafts and textiles are integral to many cultural practices as powerful tools for sharing stories. Do we embrace form and fashion over narrative? Over our stories and who we are? Or does form inform the self? Flip the page and you will see our explorations of FIBER–craft, fabric, fashion, and clothing, as well as BEING–life, identity, self, and community.
We begin the issue with an emphasis on BEING Dishabille strips the body bare, with the only “garment” being the model’s own hair—beautifully braided into a bodice, transforming a self-produced fiber into fashion. We then move to Farm2Fashion, where we start to explore the intersections of identity and fashion. Featuring three trans and gender non-conforming models amongst an artificial background with plastic vegetables, each model is adorned in clothing made with organic vegetable dyes that juxtaposes said background. This dissonance illustrates the idea that the cis-heteronormative world is what is artificial, and true authenticity lies in the identities and experiences of the models and the natural fiber garments they wear. The third shoot in this issue, Zoomorphia, explores the relationship between humans and animals in the fashion industry. Too often in fashion, an animal’s life is unethically taken. Fiber may be integral to life, but life should never be lost in the pursuit of style. Zoomorphia asks: what if
humans were the ones transformed into the animals used for fashion? Our model literally morphs into an alpaca, and lucky for her, alpacas are creatures whose relationship with fashion is symbiotic rather than exploitative, as its fiber producing coat must be sheared for its own well-being. Next, we move to Sewing Circles, a shoot that symbolizes the connection fostered through fiber craft practices that are traditionally considered “women’s work”—-sewing together the threads of community and sisterhood. Finally, we end the issue with Pattern Recognition, where we see BEING becoming FIBER, the two quite literally no longer distinguishable from each other.
I want to earnestly take a moment to describe my personal relationship to the themes of this issue. Without clothing, I know for a fact I wouldn’t be here typing out this letter. I don’t mean in the literal sense that my body would not be protected from the elements, or I would’ve been arrested for public indecency. I don’t even mean it in the sense that fibers and wearables are my academic focus which brought me to this publication. It’s much deeper than skin. If I had not discovered clothing and fashion as a form of radical self-expression and self-love, I would have very likely lost the nearly decade-long battle I was fighting with anorexia nervosa. Through experimenting with fashion in recovery, my body became a canvas for shapes, colors, silhouettes, and stories—-not something to hide, shrink, or make smaller. I detest the idea that we must shrink ourselves to fit a sample size, and it is not the legacy I intend to leave with SHEI. I started recovery shortly before transferring to the University of Michigan, and now I am graduating fully recovered. So in my final letter to the publication, I want to thank SHEI for providing the catalyst to explore fashion in a way that focuses on a narrative of diversity, inclusion, experimentation, and art practices over a beauty standard obsessed approach. I owe fashion my life. It is integral to who I am. With Every Fiber of my Being.
Fashion is present everywhere in our everyday lives, whether it’s the garments draped upon the shoulders of people, the curtain rods in a library, or even the inside of a scrapbook. It holds the remarkable power to determine perception, showcase creativity, and unite. Every article of clothing has the unique ability to make a statement, whether that be through the makeup of its fibers, the patterns and colors present, or its cut and style. While this may seem obvious, it compels us to question the origins of these elements and how they gained their social connotations. What is the significance behind these articles of clothing and accessories, and where does this significance derive from?
In addition to its literal timeline, there is a timeline of its popularity–a trendiness that continually shifts up and down as time marches on. Certain fabrics gain and lose traction as time passes. What once may have signified wealth, riches, and prosperity, may now signify something altogether different. Every object of apparel has its moment to shine and its moment to fade, rarely adhering to a strict expiration date. In this issue of SHEI, we are confronted with various forms of fashion, each eccentrically unique and bizarre, fueling our desire to understand just what makes fashion, fashion
Fiber of Being tackles these concepts and more, both visually and textually. In the feature From Runways To Rooms, the surprising connection between interior design and bodily fashion is explored in depth, introducing various ways that designers have attempted to blend the two. Spotted: The Rise and Fall of Leopard Print’s Symbolism delves deep into the history of leopard print and its social and cultural
connotations, and its potential trajectory for future years. Outside of the mainstream implications, fabrics, patterns, and even colors may hold personal meaning to individuals, as documented in A Chronicle of Red. Each of these features, along with the others present in this issue, provide a deeper insight into what exactly these fabrics can be to us.
Is clothing just clothing, or is it something more? Perhaps it’s an indicator of the subculture you belong to, or maybe it reflects your familial background. Perhaps you don’t give it a second thought, and it holds no deeper meaning to you. Whether you attach personal meaning to the fabrics you dress yourself in or not, every item has its own story and the potential to knit a new one. We have the freedom to choose what to wear, whether that be with the intention of displaying our culture with pride, of being perceived in a specific light, or even with the intention to not be perceived at all. We can choose to promote stability and long-lasting customs, or we can choose to recreate ourselves through simply a change of clothes.
Fiber of Being encourages us to question how the strands of our clothing are interconnected with the strands of our being. Clothing is a powerful tool, and the memories, cultures, stigmas, and emotions attached to every item in our wardrobe serve as priceless heirlooms in both our physical and emotional makeup. The fibers of our clothing begin to seep past the surface of our skin and into our veins, posing the paradoxical question:
How much of what we wear is shaped by our identity, and how much of our identity is shaped by what we wear?
Melissa Werkema Print Features Editor
d i s h a b i l l e
Braided Bodice - Sophia Strasburg
PHOTOGRAPHERS
MAGGIE KIRKMAN
SORY KEITA
STYLISTS
SOPHIA STRASBURG
ELENA SHAHEEN
BEAUTY
MILES HIONIS
VIDEOGRAPHERS
JOHANNES PARDI
TAKARA WILSON
PRODUCTION DESIGNER
CAMILLE CHIPPEWA
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
STORY TRIPLETT
MODEL
TENAY ROCHELLE
OUTFIT? Identity WHICH CAME FIRST, THE OR THE
There is such a subtle satisfaction when someone determines that I am a Malayali Christian simply from my name. It reminds me of the background and symbolism of each aspect of my name which allows my cultural identity to precede me. For example, my first name is uncommonly English as it is a remnant of British Christian influence in India, and my last name is a derivation of the Biblical name “Yaaqob” (Jacob).
Throughout history, similar patterns have intertwined cultural identity and clothing throughout history. Wardrobes were affected by the values and constraints that originated from a person’s community, religion, or even social class, including the protective necessities that geographical terrain and climate imposed on clothing. Essentially, every aspect of a person’s daily dress, such as the length, cut, or pattern had symbolic or practical significance.
I must start this discussion with the sari as the dozens filling my mother’s closet inspired my exploration of this topic. For anyone unfamiliar, a sari is a nine-yard strip of unstitched fabric that women drape to create a beautiful garment. It originally evolved from the tradition of unstitched cloth in India such as the unisex mundu (a cloth tied around the waist) and the dupatta (a long shawl often worn around the shoulders and head). Such attire was common in India as it provided an easy way to keep cool in the hot humid climate and could be adapted for different situations. A woman fishing, for example, could tie the sari into pants by draping it between her legs. The decorative patterns on regional saris also heavily demonstrated a region’s cultural values. My mother state Kerala has a cultural costume called the Kasavu sari. The cream colour represents purity and the traditional zari thread (made from gold) border is a symbol of wealth and abundance, making it a traditional choice for special occasions.
Apart from simply differentiating culture, a person’s wardrobe has also historically demonstrated their occupation, which served a community in its own respect. We often hear the terms “blue” vs “white” collar occupations, a blatant separation of the class of job using the clothing required. “Blue” collar describes men working in high-intensity labour such as farming or factory work. They needed to wear
durable and dark-coloured fabric to withstand the wear and tear conditions it would face - typically denim, hence the “blue.” On the other hand, “white” collar represented office workers who tended to wear white dress shirts to indicate the intellectual nature of their jobs, as their clothing was not at risk of being soiled.
Every piece of clothing and motif tended to have a reason behind it and this deliberation led to clothes being a demonstration of the wearer’s life. People’s identities were sharply defined by their community’s values, their occupations, and their position in society. Their clothing shared the sentiment and became a practical showcase of lifestyles people had, especially since they served to help people in their daily lives.
This wasn’t a permanent state though; later, a person’s daily needs and ethnocultural values had less bearing on their clothes. More specifically, the 20th century came with a rise in individuality and encouragement for personal choice of values. This freedom provided new avenues for people who felt stifled by mainstream society to “rebel” against it. To find reprieve, they aligned themselves with like-minded individuals, and shared ideas and traits, leading to their own small communities and cultures. And like any culture, an interesting phenomenon occurred where these subcultures took on physical form through the clothes people wore.
Jazz used to be THE major form of rebellion in the 20s, defined by its traits of individuality and, of course, its deviation from the mainstream ideology. The catchy music led to the high energy Swing dance, driving most major fashion decisions in the community. I dare you to try dancing the Charleston in a layered ankle-length dress and pinnedup hair. Instead, women of the time embraced the freedom of jazz and raised their hemlines, dropped their waistlines, and shortened their hair. Even the common prints included geometric motifs, reflecting the energy and improvisation of jazz music.
Yet another music-related example is Classic Rock. Growing up, I would wake up to Bon Jovi, Guns N’ Roses, and Eagles playing on the TV. Apart from the music, I was always entranced by the casual leather and crazy hair flipping. Rock music was all about boldness and attention.
Who could ignore the loud guitar, drums, and lights? The fashion, similarly, was all about the wow-factor, including the adoption of androgyny. Men wore makeup and blouses, women donned heavy shoulder pads, and everyone had long, large hair.
Clothing seemed to be losing its functional usefulness, but each feature still tended to have symbolism behind it. While a person’s station in life lost its societal importance, individual values and motives were becoming more defining characteristics for identity. Therefore, clothing became a way to identify yourself with your chosen peers, learn values, and a form of social change.
A huge shift has happened in recent times, where “style” and “aesthetics” have become the driving force behind fashion. The first thing I typically do each day is think about what shirt will look best with which skirt. When I get a compliment on the new sweater I bought, it puts me in a good mood for the rest of the day. Our wardrobes and outfits have become important decisions in our lives. The rise of social media, fast fashion, and similar influences have made it easier for people to experiment with different aesthetics, stay updated on trends, and even set those trends. It has even led to aesthetic movements and the popularization of styles like clean girl, cottagecore, and streetwear, making walking into a classroom a cacophony of styles even though we are all there for the same reason.
One often overlooked reason for this shift is that people today experience more variety throughout their day. In the past, since people’s lives were often occupied by the same tasks and jobs, they required similar attire day after day. Nowadays, whether going to a restaurant, having a day off, attending school, or playing sports, each activity calls for different clothes, allowing for a broader range of dress codes. Individual identity and expression have also taken importance in society. People are no longer solely defined by their culture, communities, or jobs but instead by a cumulation of it all. They are encouraged to carve out their own paths and make unique decisions for their lives, so why should their clothing not receive the same treatment?
WRITER
CAROLINE CHACKO GRAPHIC DESIGNER
YUNA HWANG
Farm2Fashion
PHOTOGRAPHERS
SORY KEITA
MAGGIE KIRKMAN
STYLISTS
SOPHIA STRASBURG
ELENA SHAHEEN
BEAUTY
MILES HIONIS
VIDEOGRAPHER
ERIC LESTER
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
MILCAH KRESNADI
PRODUCTION DESIGNER
CAMILLE CHIPPEWA
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT
MARISSA AUXIER
MODELS
TISH HAULTMEN
EMILIO RODRIGUEZ
TY COLLINS
SPOTTED : OF LEOPARD PRINT’S
THE RISE AND FALL SYMBOLISM
Since the beginning of human civilization, fabric has been a crucial signifier of culture, status, and power. Silk in ancient China was initially restricted to the royal family, while the designs of Native American moccasins signified tribal affiliations. No matter the pattern or style, clothing has always been significant in establishing distinctions between people in a society. Leopard print, in particular, has had a fascinating and complex evolution. From ancient African royalty to Y2K white trash, leopard skins and prints have been worn as symbols of status, class, sexuality, and power across time and cultures. But how did leopard print’s connotations originate, and what do they mean for the people who wear it?
Leopard print traces its origins to ancient Africa, where it was crafted from genuine leopard hides. In Egyptian culture, leopard or cheetah hides were believed to transfer the strength of the animal onto the wearer. Seshat, the goddess of writing and wisdom, was often depicted wearing some form of spotted feline; priests, too, commonly wore hides during funeral ceremonies so as to give strength to the dead. Conversely, Zulu culture believed that the power of leopard skins stemmed from the way in which it was obtained. The only way to receive a pelt was as a reward from the king, a tradition that was considered a great honor. Leopard pelts were symbols of status, bravery, and cultural identification; they were used in marriage ceremonies, given to courageous warriors in battle, and could instantly denote an individual as a part of Zulu culture. Overall, leopard print in its genesis was used as an overarching symbol of status, power, and culture, dynamics that were fundamental to ancient or communal civilizations.
Although leopard print originated as a status symbol, its meaning has shifted through societal and technological advancements. The increase in accessibility through mass production resulted in some status symbols losing the exclusivity that once contributed to their sacred importance. By the early 20th century, mechanical silkworms were spinning artificial silk out of nylon at faster and cheaper rates than ever before, and leopard print was no exception to these methods of automated manufacturing. Although remnants of its position as a status symbol remained, its increasing availability and the blurring distinctions between middle and high classes transferred the focus of its power onto a new audience: women.
One of the first signs of ferocious felines as a contemporary fashion trend was with Josephine Baker, a 1930s dancer and activist who often performed with a live pet cheetah.
From the ‘30s and onward, leopard print exploded in the fashion industry and public consciousness, from Christian Dior’s glamorous runway designs to icons like Marilyn Monroe, Jackie Kennedy, and Eartha Kitt donning the print in later decades. For Kitt, especially, leopard print meant selfconfidence and assurance: a bold statement to match an equally bold attitude. Leopard print came to be established as not only a symbol of status and power, but of feminine power, communicating an idea of both femininity and ferocity, both a strong sexuality and a liberation of that sexuality. Notably, former first lady Michelle Obama sported a bold leopard print pantsuit at a Kamala Harris rally in Michigan late last year. News sources reported her look as “powerful” and delivering a “fierce message.” At a time when the country’s political climate was fraught with tension, Obama’s statement look exuded confidence, determination, and feminine power—a vessel of hope and optimism that had been absent in Democratic voters for a long time.
However, these ideas of female power and domination inevitably come with negative connotations. Often, they vary based on the wearer’s youthfulness (or perhaps, simply their perception of youth). As women age, they are expected to subdue their sexuality and self-expression, thus making the choice of a loud animal print to be particularly offensive. One prominent example of this in media is character of Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate (1967), who is shown numerous times wearing spotted feline patterns. In the film, the older Mrs. Robinson seduces recent college graduate Benjamin Braddock, signifying leopard print as not only a symbol of her sexual power over young Benjamin, but also her predatory nature—a reference to the behavior of real life feline predators.
Negative connotations of leopard print can also be viewed through the lens of class and sexuality. Mass production and the invention of synthetic fabrics meant both an increasing availability to the working class as well as a decrease in the quality and inherent elegance once associated with the print. Its evolution to a cheap imitation worn by working class individuals, especially sex workers, combined with its connotations of overt sexuality and moral depravity resulted in an alternate image of leopard print as trashy, tacky, and culturally “low brow.” This example is not exclusive to leopard print; sexual availability, at least for women, has long been associated with corrupt morals and a decline in culture. Another way in which leopard print came to be interpreted in contemporary fashion was through its usage in queer and alternative cultures. The print’s highly gendered and sexually charged connotations were subverted by male rockers like David Bowie and Freddie Mercury, who flaunted it both in shows and public appearances. In addition to challenging rigid ideas about gender, these icons (and subsequently, their fanbases) also confronted established notions about taste and culture, turning the stylistic connotations of the print completely on its head. This inversion of traditional aesthetic judgments, also known as camp, has become cemented with queer fashion, music, and culture.
and even alternate versions like rainbow or pink leopard print all having been seen on the show.
Ultimately, leopard print’s evolution from a symbol of power, class, and status in ancient cultures to a marker of femininity, sexuality, and gender performance in contemporary times highlights the mercurial nature of meaning in fashion. Today, the print embodies all of the above connotations in complex and unique ways, and has even been embraced in new ways through the resurgence of Y2K fashion and culture. Whether it exists as a high-fashion staple, a feminist display of power, or an instrument of queer expression, one thing is for certain: our love of leopard print will never be tamed.
In addition to glam rockers of ‘70s and ‘80s, drag queens also employed leopard print’s distinct connotations to subvert expectations and assumptions about the performance of gender. For drag queens and the queer community at large, the print was symbolic of their aims to disrupt standards of beauty, gender norms, and mainstream conventions of taste. As performers, drag queens were especially significant in their use of leopard print as a tool to perform femininity—establishing that gender and sexuality does not necessarily function via the rigid definitions of a heteronormative society, but simply as a performance, an exhibit of the wearer’s own notions and ideals of gender. In queer media like RuPaul’s Drag Race, leopard print is embraced playfully and exuberantly, with dramatic gowns, capes, bodysuits,
ZOOMORPHIA
thanks to Gibralter Bay Alpaca Farms
PHOTOGRAPHERS
SORY
SOPHIA STRASBURG
ELENA SHAHEEN BEAUTY MILES HIONIS VIDEOGRAPHERS
JOHANNES PARDI
CLAIRE STEPHENS
PRODUCTION DESIGNER
CAMILLE CHIPPEWA GRAPHIC DESIGNER
ASHLEY TURNER MODEL
JACKIE VINSON
The idea of “fiber” has always made me think of two images: the unseen strands that nourish our bodies and the delicate threadlike fibers woven together to create an outfit. Although these are two very different concepts, we need both types of fiber to grow: one to grow biologically, and the other to grow your confidence. Our fashion evolves with our personal growth, perhaps from a love of themed princess dresses and brightly colored pastels to more practical, even-toned attire, or maybe extreme “tomboy-esque” outfits into a more balanced street style in young adulthood (as was the case for me). Even within just the last two decades, fashion trends have cycled their way in and out of style. While we may miss the simple choker and “mustache on your finger” trends, some things seem to have an expiration date, though we cannot guarantee they’ll be gone forever. Trends will circle in society with modern tweaks and changes, but one’s personal fashion evolution is different from that of society. It develops alongside us and helps us explore our creativity. Growing up with fashion being such a crucial part of my life forces me to question if I have to leave behind all those scratch-and-sniff Justice shirts in favor of bland, colorless shirts, but no, this is not the case. Growing up does not mean abandoning boldness: it’s about adapting it. Everyone’s fashion journey is unique, and although some outfits should never see the light of day again, they serve as a learning tool for future you. We weave the fibers of our youthful trends into more tailored, mature styles.
The things our eyes have endured from the Nike highlighter-esque shorts to the huge unicorn motif clothing that we would wear in our adolescence have shaped the fashion we have today. Children’s fashion thrives on maximalism with its big patterns, silly graphics, and loud colors that practically glow in the dark. The graphics often feature elements like cartoon characters, animal prints, or food, ultimately appealing to the whimsical sense of fun and imagination. Personally, I loved the 3D patches, especially the scratch-and-sniff graphics. I may or may not have had a glittery, multicolored, cupcake scratch-and-sniff shirt or two. Multicolored designs dominated the childhood scene, like rainbow-striped dresses and bright-colored polos. I specifically remember a photoshoot my family and I had where I begged to wear a metallic silver, star-patterned skinny scarf. That scarf lived around my neck for about two more years before my mom “lost it” while moving. These choices of clothing reflect the highenergy nature of childhood, which kickstarts a child’s world of exploration.
As we grow older, our approach to patterns and color usually shifts. The vibrant chaos of childhood is gradually replaced with more refined and subtle choices. Patterns become smaller and often more neutral, as seen with plaids, stripes, and polka dots. The consideration of different colors like pastels, earth tones, and different hues are carefully chosen to fit one’s skin tone and personal aesthetics. Adult fashion tends to lean intentionally toward sophistication and individualism. My current favorite pattern that I used to love when I was younger is stripes, specifically blue paired with any neutral colors. We shed our animated neon for something more polished, yet still deeply personal.
Crop tops, mini skirts, micro shorts– fashion’s boldest, tiniest, and youthful pieces that sometimes prove less is more. While I still reach for my crop top on a night out, as I age, I tend to feel more comfortable wearing full-length shirts. Playful fashion trends embrace shorter hemlines and tighter fits, giving a bold silhouette. These styles dominate wardrobes, emphasizing young energy and confidence. Bandeaus and bodycon pieces highlight the lively, carefree phase of experimentation, where showing skin and playing with proportions are about self-expression. As we mature, our fashion does as well. Proportions shift toward balancing and refining personal body types. Some will stick with crop tops, but others will gravitate towards full-length shirts and looser silhouettes, introducing peplum, babydoll, and oversized styles. I love a little skirt with a tank top here and an oversized, baggy jersey top and carpenter pants there. Midi and maxi dresses, along with longer skirts are alternatives to their mini counterparts while maintaining elegance and versatility.
This evolution is not linear. These adolescent trends are reimagined in modern ways, like low-rise jeans bringing back the retro Y2K aesthetic which pairs well with a full-length shirt. A pair of thrifted low-rise jeans and a cute, full-length top with boots and a purse never fails to look good. Backless tops, cutouts, and off-the-shoulder designs add a girlish element without the obvious boldness of bandeaus and minis. These changes prove that maturing fashion is not about abandoning playful trends, but instead about adapting them to reflect both our character and our age.
At the ripe age of 13, I would spend countless hours admiring Tumblr fashionistas and their ability to flawlessly construct outfits that were simultaneously edgy and trendy. Now, almost 10 years later (really aging myself here), I’ve confidently become someone my younger self would look up to as a fashion inspiration. Fashion can mirror personal growth. What once excited us as kids– whether that be My Little Pony graphic tees or micro shorts– transforms into a more selective and thoughtful approach to self-expression. While fresh-faced trends prioritize boldness and eccentricity, mature fashion leans into curation and experimentation. All fashion journeys are unique and take the twists and turns that follow an individual’s life. There is no correct way for fashion to grow, and no “true” definition of what modern-day adult fashion should look like. Anyone’s fashion choices can stray from what society deems as youthful and mature clothing. Fashion is forever dynamic, so embrace the variations but wear what you love. Amidst both struggles and triumphs, fashion remains a constant companion, evolving alongside you. Maybe this column can prompt some memories of your younger self’s style, and remind you of how far your fashion has evolved throughout the years. As we reflect, perhaps it’s time to take a look at how we can breathe new life into the precious pieces from our past.
Nostalgia Meets Sustainability
1. Thrifting!
2. Cut old dresses into cutie tops
The trend we swore we’d never wear again somehow finds its way back into our closets, whether it’s the rise of low-rise jeans or the resurgence of butterfly clips. But what if instead of just buying into nostalgia, we find easy ways to adapt, upcycle, and reimagine our childhood wardrobe for our current styles?
I love going to second-hand stores to buy unique and quality clothing. Stores like Salvation Army and Goodwill have a lot of gems when it comes to going-out tops and cute retro pants.
Hear me out, if dresses from your childhood are too short for you, try just cutting the skirt part off and making it into just a top!
3. Add patches to old denim or use old clothes as fabric and make patchwork items
4. Accessorize with throwback clips and jewelry
Using fun patches or patchwork that represent your interests or even your school and sewing/gluing them onto old clothing items can upcycle your clothes into pieces you reach for.
Accessorizing with Y2K butterfly barrettes and hibiscus-inspired claw clips is always something I gravitate toward when wanting to spice up an outfit.
WRITER MIMI VU GRAPHIC DESIGNER
KATIE KELL
Runways From Rooms to
From childhood, I was just like other girls. With all the free time I had on my hands, my favorite way to spend it was in elaborate games of dress-up. Equipped with clothing-shaped stencils, glittery stickers, and an army of colored pencils, I turned my sketchbooks into messy fashion shows, designing infinite outfits for my coloring-sheet models.
A gift I received upon entering third grade was in the same vein as these sketchbooks. Almost.
Instead of people, the sheets were covered in grids. Not too inviting for overly complex dresses and accessories—rather than forming runways, the pages contained the bare outlines of rooms within a house.
Upon the stark white paper, I could trace the outlines of couches, chairs, and beds. I could accessorize them with throw pillows, posters, or weird light fixtures and color them in to represent the characteristic shades of whatever era I wanted.
In other words, the tasks were the same. I was just dressing up rooms.
Forget about my amateur ideas of interior design. Take a look at your outfit. What were you thinking when you chose your clothes? Did you pick thick knitted fabrics to keep you cozy in the frigid Michigan winter? Perhaps something fleecy? Or maybe breathable materials, as to not sweat too much despite your layers?
Zoom out even more. Think about the fabrics not on you, but in the room where you reside. Place yourself in the mind of whoever picked them out. When adorning the space, what were they trying to say?
Fabrics are the basis of clothing; they also play a necessary role in upholstery. No matter the use, they shape the world we live in. But the same material can take on completely different uses when shaped for the human body versus the canvas of an interior.
Take, for example, the backdrop of this article: chintz.
The printed patterns and glazed finish of this fabric make it instantly recognizable. Yet to the modern viewer, chintz is often synonymous with dated. It brings to mind the floral couches and wallpapers favored by elder family members, entirely out of place in a modern room.
In clothing, its associations become more complex.
From its birthplace in India and Pakistan, this fabric gained recognition worldwide for its luxurious texture and appearance. Yet mass-produced copies of it in Britain lent it an association with cheapness in North America, leading to even the coinage of the word chintzy to describe low quality. Thus, the fabric gained a dual reputation: the real deal was widely prized and sought-after, but the stereotypical patterns of its copies were less than desirable.
Yet these were the mixed views on chintz in the 19th century. Today, experimentation with printed fabrics preserves chintz’s reputation for beauty and luxury. For example, look to the spellbinding dresses of designer Richard Quinn, covered in flowers of various intense shades. In the 21st century, chintz continues to evolve— not only in its visual aspect but also in its mode of production. Rather than hand-stamping patterns, Quinn’s studio uses Epson printers.
Just as views on chintz evolved over time, new uses for other fabrics—such as bouclé— gave them new reputations.
Bouclé originally gained popularity in furniture. Made from wool yarn, its characteristic feature is its varied texture. Interior designer Eero Saarinen helped contribute to its popularity with his rounded womb chair, complete with bouclé upholstery and a lasting influence despite its origin in the 1940s.
The presence of bouclé in furniture is everyday, friendly: it livens up interiors with its soft, varied appearance and feeling. In fashion, on the other hand, it gains an association with haute couture.
This material can be understated in interior design, but its presence in clothing is almost ubiquitous due to its use in the Chanel jacket. Moving away from the thin-waisted silhouettes popular in women’s fashion at the time, this piece gained popularity in the 1950s for its fusion of elegance and comfort. Even today, the bouclé jacket remains an icon of the brand, revisited by each new director of the house.
At first glance, they may seem distinct; however, furniture and fashion are not as separate as these examples imply.
For one, many designers and houses have ventured into the world of interior design.
Take Rick Owens; the brand’s approach to fashion bleeds into its furniture line. Just as Owens’ runway outfits take on unique silhouettes, the furniture created by him and his wife Michele Lamy is all about shape. Stripped down to the most basic materials, their streamlined designs are less intended for straightforward daily use than for altering the atmosphere of the rooms they are placed in.
On the more approachable side is the collaboration between Virgil Abloh, founder of Off-White, and IKEA. Their line of furniture contains both striking pieces—such as a green carpet boldly labeled “WET GRASS”—and understated ones, like a minimalistic wall clock. Again, in this collection, clothing and interior design blend together.
Still, these examples maintain a level of distance between the disciplines they combine: after all, the furniture lines are kept separate from the brand’s focus. On the runway, however, furniture has indeed been turned to clothing in Hussein Chalayan’s 2000 Autumn/Winter collection.
At the forefront of the stage: a set of chairs surrounding a wooden table. The models walked around them, leaving the furniture as a backdrop to their outfits. Only at the end did they gain a purpose, yet the models did not use them as expected by sitting around the table. Instead, they dismantled the chairs, forming new outfits from their covers in front of an awed live audience. To finish off the show, the solid wood coffee table revealed multiple concentric layers—and, once pulled upward, became a skirt.
To this day, this show remains legendary for how it bended reality, taking a commonplace scene and turning it into something that could literally be worn. But its lasting relevance is also due to its intricate storytelling: the transformation of furniture to clothing was inspired by how refugees would pack all their belongings with them, carrying them on their backs.
Again, take a look at your surroundings.
What choices were made for the materials—what were the considerations for cost and appearance? How were they put together to communicate the room’s use, the people who stay in it?
Clothing is often viewed as a vessel for self-expression. And this is made easier by one’s active participation; it takes effort, even if only the slightest amount, to get ready in the morning and put on something for the day ahead. But it is just as easy to pass through rooms focused on what you must do, rather than what you are surrounded by.
In the way one might admire and be inspired by the style of those around them, their surroundings have an equal—if sometimes more subtle—influence. In just one day spent on campus, the outfits and intentions of the rooms can prove just as diverse as those of the students milling around. The Parthenon frieze casts and velvet curtains that decorate the Hatcher Library provide a sharp contrast to the poster-coated walls and twinkling fairy lights of many a dorm. Yet if you listen, any building has its own anecdotes to share, regardless of its role.
What story does the room around you tell?
BIANCA DONE
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
CAROLINE KEGG
PHOTO
A Chronicle
As a kid, my favorite place to get lost in was my grandmother’s makeup bag. Whenever she stayed at our house she would always put her oversized blue and green flower print makeup pouch under the sink where no one knew to find it—or so she thought. When no one was looking, six year old me would sneak into the closet sized bathroom, stand on my tippy-toes to lock the door, and then crouch under the sink to admire whatever surprises would be waiting in the bag for me this time. My favorite item of hers was a classic tube of crimson red lipstick: her staple. To this day, I couldn’t tell you the brand name or its cost, but to me it was the most valuable object in the world. I would smear it on and stare at myself in the mirror for what felt like hours. It made me feel feminine, mature, and like I was properly representing myself and the women in my life. Eventually, I’d get tired of this and grab a handful of soaked paper towels to scrub the lipstick off my face. Once again I was bare. I’d put everything back in the makeup pouch, return it to its place of hiding, and dream of the next time I’d get to see my lips as red as my grandmother’s.
Age Eight
The scariest day of my life was the first day of third grade. I was entering a new school wearing a uniform that felt nothing like me. Red collared top, blue skirt, white tights, and black mary janes. I’d watched countless hours of television the night before, attempting to memorize the way the “popular” girls dressed and acted. I had wanted to shed off anything that made me different, anything that made me be perceived as “other”. I’d woken up extra early to have my mom braid my hair into two, and to carefully don a ruby red headband adorned with a matching flower in an effort to feel more like myself. The moment my parents dropped me off at school that day I immediately stood out. None of the other girls were wearing red: they all wore blue shirts with khaki skirts and sleek white headbands. I’d gotten it all wrong. The red made me stand out, the opposite of what I’d intended. I was now perceived as the new kid who would be new forever.
From that day on, I refused to wear red. I begged my mother to stop buying me red collared shirts and red flowered headbands.
Age Thirteen
My family took a trip to Spain this year. We spent days walking around sightseeing. One day, while licking an ice cream cone and exploring, I heard clapping and stomping. From the corner of my eye I spotted a glimpse of red, and after closer inspection, I realized it was a flamenco street performance. Mesmerized, I begged my parents to let me stop and watch it. The flamenco dancers proudly wore vivid red polka dotted dresses, their bodies extenuating up and down like a newly set flame. Some even had red flowers tucked into their hair or attached to a headband, nearly identical to the flower I had worn on my first day of school five years ago. Suddenly I felt ashamed, although it was a different sense of shame than I had felt at eight years old. Why had I felt so wrong wearing that red flower when these women wore it like a crown?
Age Sixteen
My junior year of high school everything began to change. As I was choosing where to go to college and what person to become, I became burdened with confusion. The world was telling me that I had to be like everyone else in my class, but the guilt living inside of me was turning me in a different direction. A few weeks before the semester ended, I watched Pedro Almodovar’s All About My Mother. In the less than two hour run time, I felt as if I’d regrown everything society had stripped away from me throughout the prior years. Almodovar’s story of womanhood and the role it plays within us and the decisions we make reminded me that every choice I’d made, every experience I’d lived through, was for me to understand my own identity. Just like the color red, femininity is a spectrum. There is no right or wrong shade, and that’s what makes it tower over every other color. Just as Manuela, the lead character in the film, believed her life revolved around the play A Streetcar Named Desire, I realized that my life revolved around the color red, every stage a different hue. My grandmother, a more traditional and classic red like her lipstick, but always belonging in my life. My mother, a more pinkish red, reminding me daily of my value and the liveliness I hold inside of me. And now, I’m beginning to flourish, I’m growing into burgundy, a new flower, a fresh ember, the beginning of a new generation of women.
Now
The red I now wear is both physical and mental. Physically, it’s something I use to stand out and supply confidence. Mentally, it continues to connect myself to the generations of women whose culture has shaped me. It’s a mentality I carry with me that occasionally shines through my outfit choices. The red garnet earrings I bear are my birthstone and the flaky, old red nail polish I wear just as the women in the Almodovar movies do. The red ribbon I braid into my hair was gifted by my best friend to represent the connection of girlhood. The red string bracelet I purchased in Spain ties me back to where my ancestors came from.
The other day I saw a mother and daughter at the library. I was tired, life felt colorless, and the trajectory of what I was doing felt nondirectional. The mother was older, with long black hair like my mother that was gathered together with a silk, ruby colored bow. Next to her was a small girl wearing a bright red turtleneck, her pale face adorned with a smudge of red lipstick. I saw them, but they didn’t see me. In truth, I only noticed them for a second as they walked past me, but they’ve stuck with me since. They seemed proud to be with each other, confident in what they were wearing, and most importantly, they were beaming with love.
Red is present at every corner of my life, surrounding me when I need it most. It watches over me, a constant reminder of the women who came before me and their influence on my life. But even more than that, it reflects my own identity, grounding me in where I came from and the unbreakable connection we share from generation to generation.
PATTERN
RECOGNITION
PHOTOGRAPHERS
SORY KEITA
MAGGIE KIRKMAN
STYLISTS
SOPHIA STRASBURG
ELENA SHAHEEN
BEAUTY
MILES HIONIS
VIDEOGRAPHERS
JOHANNES PARDI
CLAIRE STEPHENS
PRODUCTION DESIGNER
CAMILLE CHIPPEWA
PRODUCTION ASSISTANT
PORTER SELFRIDGE
GRAPHIC DESIGNER
ERIN JANE HOBBS
MODEL
TIM TSANG
DIRECTOR’S NOTE
With every fiber of my being describes the intensity and deep passion of believing or desiring something so strongly it takes every bit of your essence; every fiber of your being.
The winter ‘25 print issue of SHEI Magazine annihilates the structure and foundation of this phrase, only to build it back up again, stronger than before. At our most raw, our most vulnerable, we exist as nothing more than flesh and bone, exposed at the mercy of our surrounding environments in order to survive, live, and prosper. As we make our way through the journey of life, and consequently the magazine, we weave, sew, and fuse together our fibers to create our own fabric of life. We are transformed both artistically and literally into a form of ourselves so realized that we become every fiber of our being.
As a young boy, my own self-discovery journey mimics the timeline of our “Fiber of Being” print issue. I was plagued with insecurities and self-doubts that left me feeling exposed and vulnerable to the terrifying predators of everyday life. I wandered through life with a mindless numbness until I found my fibers. I came out as gay, I connected with the mixed ethnic and racial cultures of my ancestors, and I found a love for art, fashion, and creative expression. I began blending my fibers together, infusing my unapologetic queerness and my experiences as a man of color into my work; it was difficult, impossible seeming at times, but only then could I truly create my fabric of life. I stand here now reflecting on my time as creative director with SHEI Magazine, and I am filled with a plethora of emotions as I look at our Fiber of Being issue. I can’t help but see how each element connects with my own journey towards self-discovery to
I am eternally grateful to have worked with the incredible print team to bring this concept to life in the most gorgeous and artistic manner. I love y’all with every fiber of my being. I encourage our readers to follow through the magazine, and reflect on your own fiber/s of being; the pieces that made you who you are, even if your fabric is still being woven.
Bobby Currie Creative Director
Gibraltar Bay
WED-SUN 10:30AM-4PM
UNIQUE ALPACA GIFTS—AND YES, YOU CAN PET THE ALPACAS!
