Oddly Specific Places to Cry in Boston

I watched crocodile tears roll down my cheeks and knew that it was the end of an era and the beginning of a legacy. I realized that day that it hurt more to smile than to cry. As I grew up, my crying got more professional and moved from a one woman show in my mirror, to a five star performance surrounded by my adoring fans (uncomfortable pedestrians.) To me, crying in public is one of the chicest things a person can do. It requires commitment, over active tear ducts, and a sort of magic melodrama that you have to be born with. If you think you have what it takes to master the art of water works, visit my top picks and report back to me. Better yet, tell me in person because you will 100 percent find me at any of these spots telling you to never change.

1. BPL Outside Staircase on a Wednesday in the Rain

These steps are sacred. As I think about that hallowed ground, I get flooded with my French actress complex and I can only see in Sepia. Crying outside in the rain is one of the most melodramatic breakdowns a person can have, and after seven hours of watching videos of aggressive performance artists instead of actually writing a paper about them, you will be ready for a release. One tip is to never let the rain one up you. It is complimentary and there to transform you into the silent film star you are. If people say anything to you respond with “Pas s’anglais” and your chic points will skyrocket.

2.  The Third Duck in the Public Garden  

The third duck stands for everything a public crier believes in. She is original, real, and clearly also crying. Unlike the rest of the poser ducks, she doesn’t give a shit about what people think of her. Her stunning back arch and mysterious downward glance makes her the perfect pedestal for your catharsis. Even though she is beautiful, she also has an ugly duckling facade. It is so relatable that no one will even think it’s weird that you are 20 and dry heaving on a duck. However, if little kids ask if you’re okay, say no and run away because the third duck lives for the shock value (her butt is up in the air after all.)

3. Bathrooms with Codes You Memorized

Not only am I brilliant and perfect, but I also have 17 different bathroom codes written down in my planner (obviously I don’t have a planner, they are in my iPhone notes). This is the place you go when the cry is no longer aesthetically pleasing. This is for the snot trains, the coughing fits, and the face-into-the-hand-dryer-confidence-boost. The coded bathroom is your sanctuary; it is your hiding place and your temple. Only you can unlock the chamber of privacy with the codes you worked so hard on typing and because of your dedication, take your sweet ass time. Ignore every knock, every “ma’am are you okay in there?’ and every impulse to leave. This is your house honey, don’t ever forget it.

4. An Uber Your One Night Stand Paid For

You lock eyes with your driver and, for a second, you feel like you’re floating. First of all, ignore this‒you are just coming down from the one night stand high. You aren’t in love, you’re just a little overwhelmed. By this point, we both know that weeping is the only way to sort through your ~feelings~. He was cute, not psycho, funny (good funny‒like Jim from The Office funny), and called you an Uber. Your heels don’t hurt anymore and your driver can tell. You are both happy. WARNING: this moment can be easily ruined if you realize it's 6 a.m., you’re still drunk, and have 39 missed calls from your boss. Good job, you little hopeless romantic.

5. Into your Omelet at Brunch after Your Card Gets Declined  

Goat cheese, spinach, egg whites: everything is perfect. Boozy brunch is usually cute and gossipy, but today, it is pathetic. Your mom told you she transferred 30 dollars into your account so you could buy food (alcohol) and you assumed the money went through. You’re on your third mimosa when the waitress comes back and says the most common phrase in the entire dictionary of college: “do you have another card? This one isn’t working.” Silence, death, tears. As someone who is in this position every Sunday, I have the best advice ever: DO NOT REMAIN CALM. Weep, sob, scream, or make up some bullshit story about being robbed. All you have to do here is perform and if you have ever cried in public, I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.

Text by Jenny Griffin

City of You

You’ve moved to a new place and you’re completely lost. You’re glued to a map on your phone trying to find your destination, and you’ve never felt smaller.

After you settle into a new city, you know where you’re going based on the concrete landmarks that were installed years before your arrival. When enough time passes, you can read back the metro system like your own phone number. You can recommend restaurants to tourists and feel like a true local.

Then life spills over this perfect and informative map of the city you’ve learned, and you find yourself navigating around town, passing by the landmark experiences you have faced and remembering them either fondly or with a pang in your stomach.

“Meet me at the Thinking Cup on Newbury Street” falls out of your mouth when you can’t help but remind yourself it’s the coffee shop where you found out you were failing a class. Instead of hopping on the green line at Hynes Convention Center, you’re walking towards the train you caught at 6 a.m. after having spent the entire night with someone you love, your stomach still kicking.

It’s not just a stop sign, it’s where your backpack ripped and a bad day got even worse. It’s not a bridge, it’s what you drove by when you got the call that Uncle John died. And it’s not a dock, it’s where you kissed her for the first time. Your life in this town is now a never-ending loop of crystallizing and paralyzing experiences: your mistakes, faults, victories, and quirks are forever inked onto this city of you.

Slowly but surely you create your own little maps to help guide you in the right direction, both physically and metaphorically. This town is yours, and where you once felt out of place, you now feel omnipresent—almost like the memories you’ve left behind will stay there forever, and even though nobody will know, you’ve left your mark, and the city has marked you.

Text by Caroline Long

Illustrations by Katrina Chaput

The Creation of Dinner

I’m standing in front of my stovetop, holding a spatula and watching my beautiful omelet turn into a charred mess. I let the kale sautée for too long and I didn’t leave enough room for both eggs—I was impatient.

Cooking is not, and has never been, my forte. Luckily, growing up I was surrounded by great cooks who were happy to please my bottomless pit of a stomach. My childhood memories are swarmed with exotic dishes from across the globe that my dad prepared when I got home from swim practice, and gourmet twists on home-cooked classics that my uncle made at every family birthday party and barbeque.

However, now I’m alone in Boston, trying to take care of myself and maybe be a real adult. One integral step in this process is cooking my own healthy food. Every time I go to the grocery store, I analyze each item before placing it in my cart: is it organic? Should it be? What’s the difference between organic and free range? I like to pretend I know what I’m doing, even though I really just end up throwing random bags of spinach and tofu into my carriage.

After a series of omelet disasters and sad lunches comprising of Pop-Tarts and whatever else I could scrounge up from the back of my shelf in the fridge, I decided to step up my game a little. When other people cook for me, it becomes a piece of art‒even more so than when I order a dish at a restaurant. There’s an emotional response in the process of cooking for someone, and I’m trying to find that when I cook at home.

The first step is picking the ingredients. I choose tomatoes that are the brightest shade of ruby that Stop & Shop has to offer. Then, there’s the spinach‒deep emerald that creates a harsh contrast with the tomatoes and lend tones and shadows to my frying pan. Finally, I throw some tofu‒colored like sand on a tropical beach‒into the mix, and I find myself pleased with the trio of colors.

The second step is waiting. This is hard for me. As a person, I am a fundamentally impatient, so as a chef I’m hopeless. I can’t stand waiting even five minutes when I’m cooking (hence my love of the microwave,) but I’m trying to change that. While I watch the stir fry in front of me take shape, I am left thinking: when did everyone in the United States get so impatient? In other countries, making a meal is a key part of culture. This isn’t necessarily true in the U.S., where you can get anything fast and to-go. Here, an art form is slipping away. You can’t rush a masterpiece, which is what I’m trying to convince myself that I’m capable of preparing. Taking the time to choose good ingredients in order to make a meal that I’m proud of has become my goal this semester. Hopefully, with each dish I make, I get closer and closer to being able to express artistry and creativity in a new aspect of my life.

As an exercise in self-control, I try to take my time cooking this meal and notice all the nuances in my process. What’s the best way to cut these little tomatoes? How long should I sautée the spinach before adding the other ingredients? I let myself appreciate each different color of the vegetables and the shine of olive oil sizzling in the pan.

Eventually, my stir fry is finished, and the final product isn’t half bad. Sure, some of the spinach is burnt and I bought the wrong kind of tofu, but I’m still proud of it. I made this meal for myself, I took the time to thoughtfully choose wholesome ingredients, and I stopped my impatience in its tracks while letting myself sink into the rhythm of making a simple meal into an artistic experiment.

Words by Isabel Crabtree

Illustration by Julianna Sy

Our Privacy, Ourselves

In our private spheres we are ourselves. It is here that we take a deep breath free of societal pressure that leaves us on edge. It is in this intimate space that we express who we are. What is hanging on the walls? What is on the shelves? Are we scattered, are we in order? Personal space reveals so much, and it’s frightening. We fear sharing this space, letting others in, because we do not know how they will react, if they will judge us.

At the same time we can take the inside perspective, as we peer out into the world. We leave the comforts of our space every day, leaving behind the paintings on our walls and the books on our shelves. We leave this space and face the outside world, a place that can be overwhelming, busy, and chaotic.  At the end of the day, we have the pleasure of returning home once again to the calm personal space created.

The outside world can be scary, but it is in this outside world that we have the privilege and opportunity to find someone to share our space with. Someone who will love it just the same. In looking in and out of the door, we ask ourselves will we be alone, or will we find someone out there who wants to be here, too?

Text by Joseph Boudreau

Photos by Andri Raine

Skin Is In

If you follow me on social media, you know how much I talk about acne. Whether I’m weighing the pros and cons of selling my soul to Accutane, exchanging skin care tips with friends, or complaining about how my classmates’ dumb questions were “literally causing me to break out,” I have acne on the brain almost always. Like many people my age, I have spent nearly every morning since I was 13 staring at my reflection in the mirror and devising my newest plans to infiltrate enemy pores with harsh chemicals and drugstore soaps. However, in recent months, I have developed a much kinder, gentler approach to developing the healthy, glowing skin I’ve envisioned for years. The first step to adopting this approach was realizing that healthy skin and acne are not mutually exclusive.

When I first read “skin is in,” one of makeup/skincare line, Glossier’s, slogans, I felt my skin crawl off my body and slink away to the nearest Burger King, where it rightfully belongs. I was perfectly content with the contouring makeup trends that encouraged me to apply nearly obscene amounts of makeup in the name of fashion. Thousands of makeup tutorials taught me how to transform my face from Cabbage Patch Kid to Bratz Doll in 57 easy steps. I knew that makeup trend was a bubble doomed to burst; not only does it take approximately 1232 minutes and the dexterity of a child prodigy from the Renaissance to successfully apply, but it is also just unhealthy to stifle your skin with that amount of makeup.

Makeup/skincare brands such as Glossier and Milk are redefining makeup, emphasizing healthy skin over makeup. Their trademark looks are heavily highlighted, dewy, glowing skin, using minimal makeup and a precise skincare regimen to achieve angelic-looking skin. Though I do not own Glossier or Milk products (primarily because they don’t accept Board Bucks), their philosophies have permeated the makeup/skincare market. Brands including Lush, Sephora, and NYX have products similar to the ones revolutionized by Glossier and Milk, such as skin tints in place of powder foundation, highlighting sticks, and face glosses.

Though this emphasis on clear skin and minimal makeup initially made me break out in stress acne, I have come to appreciate the sentiment and my own skin more than I have in years. I also feel less inclined to cloak my skin in mysterious powders and instead let my skin breathe a sigh of relief. Now, when I am getting ready for bed at night, I treat my skin to some tea tree oil and natural moisturizer from CVS while my suitemate Emily plays the soothing Lana del Rey songs (not the ones about cocaine and joining a cult). My skin is certainly not perfect, but it is significantly less irritated than it was when I was at constant battle with it. I have actually come to embrace it.

I think it is time acne hires a new marketing team and rebrands itself. In recent years, other skin imperfections, such as freckles, have become fixtures in the beauty industry. Instead of being seen as physical reminders of all the times you didn’t listen to your mom when she told you to pack sunscreen, freckles have become an almost desirable facial feature. There are covergirls with hundreds of freckles speckling their noses. There are even songs that celebrate freckles. Though I don’t necessarily think Natasha Bedingfield needs to release a song about acne on her comeback album, I do think that acne would serve a subversive role in the fashion industry. Last spring, Malaysian fashion designer, Moto Guo, made headlines at Milan’s Fashion Week when he sent his models down the runway covered in artificial, exaggerated acne. When I broke out the next day, I claimed it was purely for aesthetic purposes.

Currently, my skin is my spoiled, yet rebellious, tween daughter who gets anything she needs from me in the form of serums and attention, yet constantly defies me in front of the cashier at our local Hollister. We may not have a Gilmore Girls-esque relationship yet, but I no longer want to commit filicide. According to the wikihow page on “How to be a Good Parent” that I read more than any childless 18-year-old should read, you must “love your children unconditionally; don't force them to be who you think they should be in order to earn your love.” Even though my spoiled tween defies me at Hollister, I’ll still pick her up at a sleepover party in the middle of the night when she gets homesick. Acne and all.

Text by Maggie McNulty

Photos by Noah Chiet

Raising The Bar

We’re not even far into 2017, and it’s becoming clear that it’s going to be the year that everyone remembers as “the year I became an activist.” In retrospect, this can be seen as both a good and bad thing. Now that everyone seems to have something to fight for, everyone is getting active, and with more people speaking, the message gets louder. Granted, there is, and always have been hundreds of issues worth standing up and speaking out for, so the fact that 2017’s overwhelming political situation (and various attached issues) might be some people’s first “cause” can seem a little delayed. But, there’s a first time for everything.

So now we’ve all had somewhat of a wakeup call. We’ve attended some protests, called our representatives, raised money, probably deleted (or at least unfollowed) a couple people on Facebook, and we’ve made sure that our core group of people is on the same page as us. This is a given, because at this point, you expect your friends to agree with you, to be fighting the same fight as you, to be preaching the same truths as you. If they’re silent alongside you the whole time while you speak out, you might feel like the fight is a bit unbalanced, or even unsupported. But if all of a sudden they speak against you? That’s a different story.

Open dialogue is good and can be highly productive if both parties are interested in the debate. But often, this is not the case. People end up talking in circles, getting angry, and driving a wedge between them and whoever else is involved. So why would you consider ending a friendship over ideals, but at the same time cheer on your fave celeb who spews anti-feminist, racist, or just ignorant statements without thinking? “Well they’re a great actor, so I’m really just a fan of their work, not their personality.”

What? We can’t be making exceptions.

We know the names: Amy Schumer, Lena Dunham, Shailene Woodley. We’ve heard them say ignorant things, both subtly and sometimes not-so-subtly, and yet, they are still getting jobs, still famous with millions of fans, and still saying ignorant things. At what point will we start holding our favorite entertainers to the expectations we would hold our own friends to? Yes, you can respect someone’s talent without respecting their ideals, but when we find ourselves in this debate specifically pertaining to those with celebrity status, the question changes from, “Can we look past a not-so-perfect personality and respect artistic talent?” to, “Who do we really want to give a platform to?”

With the rise of social media, being a celebrity today comes with way more responsibility than it used to. Brands are beginning to hand-pick models, actors, musicians, and athletes to represent their clothing, products, or just overall vibe, and for not just their looks, but for what they represent as an individual. Trans supermodel-on-the-rise Hari Nef was chosen in 2015 to represent a gender-neutral pop-up shop in Selfridges called “Agender,” and was also cast in a campaign for H&M-owned brand, & Other Stories, that featured a full cast and creative team of trans individuals. She also continued her acting career (the 24-year-old is a theater graduate from Columbia University) when she was cast in the second season of Amazon Prime’s Transparent, a show revolving around a family who’s father comes out as a transgender woman. Recently she’s made headlines as the first transgender model featured on the cover of Elle Magazine, the first trans woman featured in a L’Oreal campaign, and has been featured as a favorite in shoots and runway shows for brands like Gucci, Eckhaus Latta, Hugo Boss, and Vejas. Nef’s popularity is not only due to her spunky-sultry, soft, but androgynous looks, but also the way she has used her rising fame in the fashion world as an outlet to speak out about trans rights and representation, overall issues of diversity in the modeling and fashion industry, and simply the way that our society views “minority success stories” as something to be gawked at in awe. A triumph for activism! Now we can sit back and relax.

No, we can’t relax. It’s never the time to get lazy about representation. And for those in the spotlight, knowing that your words will reach exponentially further than the voices of others who are fighting for change, means you hold a responsibility to keep yourself informed. Nef is a prime example of someone who is using their air time or online space to bring important issues to the forefront of their industry, forcing brands and professionals to confront the problems and take a stance.

Nef’s candid opinions of society and her trailblazing role in the fashion industry make Amy Schumer’s claim that her racist jokes are okay because she plays a “dumb white girl character” on stage seem ridiculous and lazy. The biggest issue with celebrities like Schumer are that women around the world see her comedy and say, “Wow, she’s so likable and funny, I relate with all of her jokes, we would be best friends.” From there, Schumer gathers an alliance of women who relate to her and support her, and will keep supporting her, until they really, really can’t excuse her bullshit anymore. People are really ready to support and lift up someone who seems like them and is also successful, and in many cases, forgive them for being a half-there activist or just a lousy human. Not to say that people can’t make mistakes and grow from them, but a meager apology, in many well-liked celebrities’ cases, is all it takes for loyal fans to excuse someone who uses their time commercializing on stereotypical rhetoric and shutting down the voices of others.

These issues are complicated and activism surely isn’t easy, but it’s vital for us to support people that speak for us, and for everyone else who doesn’t have a voice. If we chose to only raise up voices of change with our money, likes, time, and conversation, we can begin to redefine the type of people who gain success in our world. This is how society is shaped, and we all have to play a role. We have to hold our icons to a higher standard, and hold ourselves higher. So make 2017 more than just your activist awakening, make it the year that you ditched your #problematicfave in exchange for someone who stands for what you do.

Text and image by Carina Allen

Unplug

When tsunami-sized waves of social pressure come crashing onto the once blissful shores of your consciousness, it may to time to make a change. In our little bubble of a world, anxiety threatens from all sides like a sharp pin—one wrong move, and POP! We find ourselves in over our heads, drowning in a FOMO-fueled nebulous of if-only-I-hadn’t’s and wish-I-had-just's.

You know what they say: Too much of a good thing...can land you waist deep in negative thoughts. Forget finals—the tempered glass screen in your hand might actually be stressing you out more than anything else in your life. Pop ups, push notifications and reminders tug at our metaphorical sleeve every moment of the day. Our small chirp from our pocket, and we’re itching to check our messages, unable to think of anything else until we know what it says. It’s as if our lives depend on having control over the endless minutia of daily technology.

As if affecting our mental health wasn’t bad enough, perhaps the worst part about our cell phone obsession is that it distracts us from what is most important. Instead of worrying about our responsibilities, we choose instead to fret over over latest Instagrams, Tweets and Facebook mirror selfies. Less than thirty likes, and our self-esteem takes a shot to the heart; we find ourselves staring at nothing, our thoughts running around in our heads like a rat in a maze. We wonder what we did wrong.

In a day in age when the majority of our social interactions occur online, validated only by the lucrative upvote, it’s understandable why Millennials seem to be falling prey to worse anxieties than any generation before.

This summer, I challenge you to unplug. I’m not insisting you quit social media altogether — quitting something cold turkey is more likely to leave you in a lurch than foster a healthy transition. Instead, try embracing moderation as a more long term remedy to a life controlled by technological vices.

It starts with a walk along a pebbly beach. Feel the wind trace the high points of your cheekbones as you walk parallel to the shoreline. Focus on the billions of grains of sand stretching along behind and in front of you. Close your eyes as it squelches between your toes. The more your fill your headspace with nature, the less room you’ll have in there for self-critical thoughts. Make peace with peace with ups and downs. Whatever criticisms get thrown your way only have as much power as you give them. With a little effort and a mind towards self-love, a garden of positive intentions will bloom in you.

As the balmy days we dreamt of in the throes of winter creep over the horizon of reality, test the reaches of your resolve. Can you make it a day without checking social media? If you have trouble, it may be time to take a break. You may be pleasantly surprised by how much perspective you gain.

Text by Margeaux Sippell

Photography by Sara Nagie

The Twenty-First Century Witch

Healing stones are on windowsills of college dorm rooms, candles are lit with new sparks of symbolism, and you can buy tarot cards at your local Urban Outfitters. Witch culture seems to be making a comeback, but this revival holds far more significance than a trinket or a tchotchke.

Movies and television shows like American Horror Story have reintroduced witch culture to a new generation. If you explore past representations of witches in popular culture, you are likely to see various tropes of witches and their spirituality. Anti-Semitic depictions of Jewish women, racist depictions of Romany people (gypsies) or black women, and depictions of women as "hags" or Satanists are unfortunately not uncommon. These stereotypes only further explain why witch culture and the Wiccan religion has been deemed necessary for a revival.

“To reclaim the word witch is to reclaim our right, as women, to be powerful,” wrote writer Starhawk, in her 1979 book The Spiral Dance. “To be a witch is to identify with 9 million victims of bigotry and hatred and to take responsibility for shaping a world in which prejudice claims no more victims.”

The revival of witch culture can be linked to today’s revolutionary age of feminism; To be a feminist is to carry a political ideology that looks to reject the oppressive structures in our current society, and many consider aspects of Wicca to coincide with the basic principles of inclusion and appreciation.The basic ideologies behind Wicca or pagan witchcraft revolve around the morality proclaimed in the Wiccan Rede, which states that "an it harm none, do what ye will.” Wiccans believe in creating as little harm to oneself or to others as possible -- a belief that coincides with their alternative medicinal practices. Crystals are used as amplifiers of energy and can be used for healing and magic, while tarot cards are viewed as powerful tools for transformation and communication. Viewed as a "mirror to the soul,” a tarot reading can also be used to communicate messages and facilitate emotional healing. This  belief in herbal, crystal, and medicinal healing for mental and physical health is practiced with the intent of dominating anti-feminist, inaccessible, or ineffective modern medicine.

Witches are most notably remembered for being burned at the stake in Protestant and otherwise conservative Western communities. The times of persecution went hand-in-hand with the rise of the church as a socioeconomic and political power. Because of this, the victims weren't strictly those who would have identified with the craft, but they were those whose views did not strictly align with the teachings of the Christian church, whether as a religious group or a political power.

For hundreds of years, to be a witch was to be an outsider. In today's tense political and social atmosphere, it is especially noticeable that more and more women are hailing difference not as something that should cast one out of society, but as something that warrants a new perspective and celebration.

Text by Caroline Long

Illustration by Katrina Chaput

Embracing Isolation

For an artist, thinker, or simply any human, isolation almost seems like a rite of passage—to create is to reflect and to reflect is to isolate. When we take to the pen, the brush, the camera, we must think of the muse that took control of our body. If we can have an understanding of its origin, then perhaps we can predict its future.

Maybe the muse was born out of our desire to show, like when we take pictures of our travels to share with friends. Maybe it came to us one night while we had no one to talk to, no one to connect with, no one to hear our thoughts and answer our questions. If such a thought came to us at that time - when we were seemingly isolated - people may cast it aside as nothing but emotional and personal; however, as creators and artists, we must not ignore these thoughts, but rather cherish their reflexive insights.

The history of art is nothing more than a record of human feelings, ideas, and achievements. We can often look back to art from times past and still derive meaning. To think that a person of the twenty-first century would tattoo words said almost three hundred years prior seems absurd. Yet, it’s rather common.

The people who originally created these works that still hold meaning today often did so in a state of isolation, while feeling that their voice was singular and unimportant. Just imagine if the poems you wrote, while adrift and anxious in a marriage, became the basis of another’s story fifty years into the future. It happened to Sylvia Plath. It’s beautiful and sad and ironic that a writer could be so alone and confused during life, but create work that has so much meaning for millions posthumously.  

The internal struggle of the artist is answering whether the creation of art is for one’s own benefit, or for the benefit of others. Of course it can be tempting to create for others in this day and age. For example, having a large Instagram following can give you reassurance or even money. It may even seem somewhat delusional not to compare yourself with the peers around you, since you can garner perspective from such comparisons.

This split is telling of your personality. On one hand, those who create for others are gregarious, observational, and attentive. On the other, those who create for themselves tend to be more introspective, resilient, and curious. While not always the case, the artists who create for others are doing so for some sort of monetary or emotional compensation. The self-creators, however, are free from such chains and can instead rely on their own intuition and isolation to properly guide them through the dark and lonely sea of creation.

Text by Joseph Boudreau

Photography by Andri Raine

Meet Your Favorite Cocktail

Meet Old Fashioned: a charming, gentlemen type. Always waits three days to call before asking you out. Has a generic, monosyllabic name. Has mastered the art of ghosting—thinks it hurts less. No matter how much he explains it, you’re not really sure what his job is. Maybe it has something to do with math, or with people. Went to a state school. Wears an unusual amount of orange. Interrupts his stories with his own laughter.

---

Meet Vodka Cranberry. She peaked in high school. Loves her Lululemon, loves her little. Hair always looks perfect. So unapologetically basic she doesn’t even realize it. Tinder is always open, but she says she uses it “for giggles.” Consistently reliable. Roar is #1 on her “Work That Booty” playlist.  You hate that you still like her even though she hasn’t changed since high school, though you only “found yourself” in college.

---

Meet Jack and Coke. Attractive in dim lighting. Brooding. Second drink of choice is “whatever IPA do you have on tap.” Doesn’t ever seem to blink. Never buys girls drinks, but always seems to leave with one. Great at listening, but you’re not really sure if he knows how to talk.  Is either “working on his manuscript” or just  “figuring out his sound.” Standard uniform: leather jacket, red flannel, boots. Never takes the jacket off, even in the bar, even in the summer. Talks about how Europe transformed him.

---

Meet Long Island Iced Tea. Good girl, with a secret bad side. You don’t realize it, but when you go out with her you end up forgetting large parts of your night. Really good at sneaking up on people, or sneaking into places––basically she is just sneaky. Walking contradiction, can’t be trusted even though you want to. Cute girl in a sweater, but loves her ripped CVS tights. Parents love her. Plus, she’s not even from Long Island.

---

Text by Courtney Major

Illustrations by Morgan Wright

Toddler Fashion

“You look stunning” said a blase voice from below my knees. I spun on my jelly heel to thank whomever was into outfits that didn’t match. “Oh, thanks,” I replied to a woman pushing a stroller and was in shock when she pointed to what had actually supplied the compliment that changed my life. Peering out from her oversized heart-shaped sunnies sat my newest style icon—a five-year-old named Poppy who didn’t give a shit that my leggings didn't match my bow. Her noisy pineapple bomber and uneven space buns contained a fashion freedom I had forgotten when I threw away my barbies.

In my mind, I looked like a hot mess, minus the hot part; I looked loud, immature, and silly. My outfit that day had resulted from a lack of quarters and a rebellion from trying. Yet in the eyes of someone who was not yet aware of how adults dress, I was stunning. That was the day I realized: not only did I secretly love dressing like a toddler, but I was accepted in a carefree community of expression by Queen Poppy.

I walked away feeling empowered. Yes, I looked loud, immature and silly, but isn’t that kind of… fun? My whimsical leggings screamed whatever and my bow was two sizes too big. When did women decide that dressing your age meant tailored neutrals, polite kitten heels and blunt bobs?  I remember in an episode of Glee when Rachel Berry was supposed to chill the fuck out and start dressing less like a toddler-grandma hybrid and more like a hot girl. They took away her Peter-Pan-collared-dreams and stuffed her into American Apparel disco pants. They took away everything that made her Rachel in order to fulfill the beauty standards set in that scenario—going against everything a toddler believes in.

If you think about it, this concept of “makeover” has been applied to every TLC show ever—perpetuating the noise-cancelling idea that the best way to signal adulthood is to only wear suit jackets, pair neutrals, and collect heels on heels. The briefcase into which women have stuffed their fashion sense has stripped away the ideology of childhood fashion in the name of “professionalism,” robbing personal style and ruining my life for a year. (Yes, I owned a blazer for one year and one year only.) A secret philosophy of the boring business lady is be “just right,” always looking put together and never “too much” in order to be noticed but not too bold.

In 2009, Leandra Medine helped open the flood gates to fashion freedom with her counter- cultural fashion blog Man Repeller.  She explained that “A Man-Repeller is she who outfits herself in a sartorially offensive mode that may result in repelling members of the opposite sex. Such garments include, but are not limited to, harem pants, boyfriend jeans, overalls, full length jumpsuits, jewelry that resembles violent weaponry and clogs.” Not only is dressing like a blithe lil’ kiddo fun, but it also fucks with the patriarchy. “Why is that kinda-adult person wearing overalls?” he might ask, and the answer is “because she wants to.”

Giving yourself permission to pair pieces that society says are reserved for people under three-feet-tall restores a childlike point of view that we accidentally lost. Nobody actually wants to dress like a sad corporate lady, but somewhere we decided that's what we had to do. Next time you have the choice between a terry-cloth romper and khaki trousers, think of me. Think of Poppy, and think of yourself making the most noise you can. Take up space and stand out because you owe the world nothing, and a pair of keds never hurt anyone.

Text by Jenny Griffin