Lately I’ve been uncomfortably confronted by the mantra “You can do hard things”. It pounds like a hammer against my skull most days — when I’m in yoga sculpt and the instructor says to grab the heavier set of weights (a bit too enthusiastically to someone dripping in sweat), when I’m parking next to the pillar I once hit with my car, when an intrusive thought enters my brain and I have to sit on my hands until the compulsion to make myself bleed passes, when I walk in heels, when I go to the pool and fight against sucking in my stomach, when my cashier at Trader Joe’s is chewing gum and they won’t stop making small talk while I’m fighting to breathe — there it is, all the time, the sweetly rhythmic sound of metal against bone.

My Bed, Tracey Emin, 1998, courtesy of the Saatchi Gallery

I was fourteen when I started taking SSRIs. I sat in my therapist’s office and said “I think I’m depressed” through tears and panting breath. I knew I was — that was the only explanation for the pain I was feeling. But in a way, saying the word “depressed” was harder than being depressed. Saying it meant I had something very wrong with me, something else to struggle with every day, something else people knew about me and my brain, something else people could label me as. I spent the next four years of high school in psychological turbulence, no one day quite like the last. I favored the phrase “I’ve survived 100% of my bad days” and repeated it to myself all of the time. I used to long for the days when I thought that phrase was dramatic and oddly confusing, when I naively thought “Well, of course I’ve survived all my bad days. Why wouldn’t I?”

I won’t say that I don’t still long for those days — those easier, lighter days. Those were days when “suicide” was a heavy, dark word that appeared in an episode of Criminal Minds — one that kind of startles you to hear, one that makes you sad to think about, and not something you yourself begin to confuse with respite. It’s impossible not to long for that. But at 21, I now favor the phrase “I can do hard things”.

At this point in my life, I’m lucky enough to use this phrase when facing “regular” (what a relative word) challenges, like long lists of chores and getting through the last set of my workout. I have the capacity to enjoy my life, not fight to make it through the day. I’m coming up on my eight-year “medsiversary,” as I like to call it (we have fun here), and I realize have done the hardest thing of all: I have survived 100% of my bad days. Only a lifetime to go. And I’m not so naive to say that I’m looking forward to every single one of them, but at least I’m looking forward to most.

I don’t know if I’ve necessarily learned to love the hammer — it can be a persistent dick. Persistently dickish or not, I do know that I prefer the combination of a hammer and a just slightly annoying, self-affirming mantra to having to fight to survive. If getting to live means dealing with the hammer, so be it. I’ve dealt with worse.

…

I haven’t tried knitting again, but luckily I have a few awesome women in my family whom I can custom order through. Softball and soccer weren’t for me (sorry Dad, you tried your best), but I started taekwondo and have a video of me breaking a wooden board, which is undoubtedly quite cool. This essay was one of those drafts only a few weeks ago, and I’ve read three books in July so far and am aiming to finish five. I’m only a few episodes into Silo, but I am hooked, and while I haven’t figured out the antidote to inevitably falling asleep during a three-hour-long Marvel movie, I’m chipping away at my Letterboxd watchlist. As I’m writing this, I’m listening to Audrey Hobert’s “Who’s the Clown?” — an album I refuse to skip any song on, and I think the problem was I didn’t like the coffee I was buying, so I’m going to try a moka pot. I have learned I have no portion control, so I’ll start halving my Pinterest recipes. I am a procrastinator, yes, but I like to think I still turn out halfway decent work. When I think my smile makes me look ugly, I roundhouse kick my brain (because yeah, I can do that now) and think, “Who in the living fuck is benefiting from my superficial insecurity”? Because it sure as hell isn’t me. If I’d honestly rather die than be slightly annoying, I’d be nearly 22 years in the grave. And while I do suck at singing, a Lady Gaga song and a microphone love to see me coming. I’m working to be braver, working to speak my mind even if my voice shakes. I say I’m bad at being there for myself, but I wrote this essay. And many others. And if that isn’t me being there for myself, I’m not sure what is.

Jenner is the face of Meta AI Glasses and Chalamet, the face of Kalshi. Like I said, lovebirds. It was a seemingly strategic choice. Get two of the biggest names in the world and use them as them to beautify the corruption and chaos that these brands cause. People like Jenner and Chalamet symbolize sex, especially to young women. Kylie is aspirational — her glamour, her riches, her beauty, and her access. Timothée is desired — his work ethic, his strive for greatness, and his bravado. Sex sells, right?

…

In an interview with Matthew Velasco for Elle, Jenner says, “Glasses have always been my thing. They’re the first thing I notice on someone, honestly. So when Meta came to me and said I could actually design a pair, not just show up for a campaign, I was like, ‘Wait, this is different.’” The interview consisted only of easy, PR-team-approved questions, with no mention of the glaring ethical concerns involved with a product and company like this. The marketing of Meta AI glasses is strategically banal — don’t bring the biggest selling point, the AI; instead, bring up the celebrity. The word “AI” was avoided like the plague, which I find ironic at best, considering the AI-powered features of the glasses are the singular selling point that differentiates Meta Glasses from your run-of-the-mill designer shades. And Jenner is no secret to invasions of privacy. On episode 120 of Jake Shane’s podcast, Therapuss, Jenner explains how she has trouble leaving her home because of paparazzi’s incessant invasion of her privacy, discusses how growing up on reality TV with a camera in her face more often than not affected her adolescence and adulthood, and overall draws sympathy from audiences who can only imagine what that feels like.

Courtesy of Meta

But audiences won’t need to imagine anymore, not for long. According to a BBC article by Kali Hays, “After workers in Kenya, tasked with watching videos made through Meta’s glasses to create AI training data for the company, said they were being required to watch graphic content like sex and bathroom usage, people who own the glasses filed two lawsuits. In one, people said they had no idea such videos had been made. In the other, they said they did not know their videos were being shared by the company for review”. People’s footage was being watched by others and used to train AI models without consent from either party. But hey, if Kylie Jenner, a woman constantly victimized by gross invasions of privacy, endorses them, I guess that’s that. Plus, her version is chic, and doesn’t that outweigh the surveillance of it all?

The other half of the duo, Timothée Chalamet, recently embarked on his own venture — gambling, brought to you by Kalshi. On the Kalshi app, users can bet any amount on really anything: Will it rain tomorrow, who will be voted off the villa in Love Island, who will win tonight’s game of the World Cup, how will this new movie perform at the box office, who will win the Senate runoff race? Go crazy, dream big — you can probably bet on it. As a subset of general gambling, sports betting has dug its teeth into the necks of boys and men across America. Danielle Boland for Birches Health, a gambling rehabilitation center, cites that “The demographic of sports bettors tends to be young, male and wealthy. According to Ipsos, 39% of bettors are under the age of 35, and 69% of bettors are male. Additionally, more than half (51%) of sports bettors are white and 44% have an income of $100k or more”. Sports betting and gambling at large have been issues since before Chalamet became the face of a market, but in the same vein as Meta x Kylie Jenner, a celebrity face further normalizes addictive or exploitative behavior.

Gambling and AI usage are not victimless acts. Gambling and sports betting have detrimental effects not only on the person committing the act but also on those around them. Gemma DiCarlo for Oregon Public Broadcasting writes that, “Research into domestic violence has found that when a professional football team has an unexpected loss, intimate partner violence in its home market can increase by 10%. A new analysis from researchers at the University of Oregon found that this effect is amplified in states with legalized sports betting”. AI surveillance methods disproportionately target women and girls with countless examples of them being recorded without their knowledge or consent. That footage is then uploaded to social media and other, more unsavory websites where sexual harassment, threats, and misogyny run rampant.

Despite the differences in medium, the common thread between these new Chalamet/Jenner ventures is that vulnerable communities, specifically women, are harmed. I don’t hold either Chalamet or Jenner to particularly high ethical standards. Whether or not women make up the bulk of victims of both AI glasses and gambling is moot to people like them. Where the world sees blood, they see dollar signs.

Courtesy of Kalshi

Normalization by the masses is what the ruling class, or the bourgeoisie1, needs to survive. People are too turned off by the likes of billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg and Tarek Mansour (CEO of Kalshi), to be the sole face of their products and companies. To circumvent this, brands outsource to another form of currency: popularity. But being a popular social figure only takes you so far. For brands like Meta and Kalshi, popular figures need to be both willing and wanting to add on to their own riches by selling out the working class, or the proletariat2.

Jenner and Chalamet are not the first celebrities to sell out, nor are they the first ones to tap into their “social sexiness” to advance their sellout. It’s a rather simple tactic; people like Jenner and Chalamet use said relation to sex in the public eye to disarm their fans and followers, helping them to overlook the obvious perils of the promoted brands. How much longer will the sexy sellout schtick last?

Said schtick relies on people’s ignorance and disregard for their fellow people. From recording strangers without their consent or knowledge to advertising a highly addictive practice, these brands and their spokespeople prey upon society’s ignorance and disregard. But I had a few good surprises when their respective ads came out. Their comment sections were full of two sweet, sweet words: “loser behavior”. And maybe I’m just trying to offset all the signs pointing towards the apocalypse, but I like to think that the more callous the world seems to be, the more hope there is to be found. The more billionaire losers act like, well, just that, the more people will come together to cyberbully them. And I have to think that’s a silver lining.

Sexy sellouts are a dying industry. Rather than elevating the likes of Zuckerberg, Mansour, Jenner, and Chalamet as they unravel, elevate your neighbors, your community, your friends and family, yourself. The surveillance state is alive and well and they shouldn’t get our help. They should get our resistance. As for Kylie and Timmy, they can ride off into the sunset — betting on Knicks games and exploiting strangers. And they say romance is dead.

Thank you for reading,

x Audrey

I lived downtown for my first two years of college and when rush hour traffic was bad, I drove on surface streets. On one of the routes I drove by is known as “Hooker Row”. Seedy motels with outdated paint jobs and rooms that probably stink of alcohol and, of course, the cars parked facing outwards. From Honda SUVs to Toyota sedans, Porsches to Cadillacs, each had a different story — maybe a starter car for the new family with an infant, maybe the carpool car for high school sports practice, maybe the player’s slick ride — regardless of the story, they all have their license plates and identifying stickers turned away from the street.

Parking Lot, 2017 by Jessica Brilli, courtesy of Jessica Brilli and Artsy.com

Most days of the week, I drive by two other strip clubs, each within a couple of blocks of each other. “The Dream Palace” and “Bones Cabaret,” each with an airbrushed, half-naked woman on its sign and bright neon lights. They both have a sign that says “PARKING IN THE BACK” with an arrow pointing east. If I drive by late enough, the parking lot is full and a sturdy-looking bouncer stands at the front door with red velvet ropes framing his stature. I can’t see inside, but I’ve seen enough TV to know what happens in there. In the shows, at least, the women who work at these clubs are subjected to customers who gawk, throw dollar bills, yell obscenities, and degrade, grope, and even assault them. Jim P. on Yelp says Sugar 44’s girls’ beauty ratings “Range from 5-9 (not so many of those, but there are some). One of them, though, is a world-class polerina.” Carter F.’s bachelor party was “Made!” because of the two girls he met at The Dream Palace. Good for you, Carter. Matthew M. has a problem with all the “Mid bitches who give terrible dances” at Bones Cabaret. Damn, Matthew. I’m sorry that those women you so kindly solicited were “Mid bitches”.

As a girl, my dad drove a blue Tahoe with grey leather seats and a musty smell that all these years later, I’ll admit I do miss. When my sisters and I were little, he always had a pink Disney princess antenna topper on the Tahoe. He told us that when that topper was on and we were driving in the car, it would transform into a carriage, just like Cinderella’s. He explained that the people on the road would see the carriage, even though it looked like a normal car to us princesses — that’s how its magic worked. Oh, how I loved going on drives in the princess carriage. Sitting in the backseat, I would gaze into the windows of passing cars, feeling pity that they too weren’t driving in a sparkly princess carriage pulled by horses with a Dad like mine as the coachman. I believed in Santa longer than the princess-powered Tahoe carriage, but realizing the carriage wasn’t real hurt more than realizing Santa wasn’t. That now-25-year-old Tahoe sits tucked away in our driveway, and the antenna topper has found a more protected spot in the garage. Even with its vanity license plate that reads, “YTRSHJP” (white trash Jeep), I still remember that Tahoe as the one where I learned how to be a princess.

In sixth grade, my mom and dad, two sisters, and I piled into our silver Chevrolet Suburban — the extra-large model — and drove to the inaugural 2017 Women’s March. I later posted a photo, a selfie, on my Instagram. I put a pink-hued filter on the picture and typed all of the pink heart emojis for my caption. I felt a fire in my belly and a smile on my face as I hit the “Post” button. The next day in school, I was told by multiple boys that I was “Crazy” and a “Crazy bitch” for going. That same day, my mom picked my younger sister and me up in that same Suburban. On the drive home, I deleted the post.

In seventh grade we had sex-ed (abstinence-based, of course). I was still a painfully shy kid, but I’d be damned if I didn’t perkily raise my hand and ask if we, the girls, were going to learn about birth control. After all, I knew the boys in the next room were learning about condoms, so why not us? I was met with a sharp “No”. I knew that would be the answer, and I knew my teacher would be annoyed with my smart-ass self, but during the drive home that day, I was proud of myself. Pride and self-confidence were new feelings for me then, completely foreign. But I liked it and wanted to chase it. A few hours later I saw my mom’s distinct SUV in the middle school turnaround. I hopped in and told her what had happened. She told me that we would talk about birth control and the importance of consent, and we did that same night. Now, years later, I realize that I hadn’t heard the word consent during public-school sex-ed, but I did hear it from my mom. In terms of the word “Bitch”, I heard it during my school days, but never from my mom.

When I was a freshman in high school, I told the kid who sat across me in art class that I was pro-choice. He called me a feminazi. I remained a feminist, of course, but I got quieter about it for a while. I got tired of driving home every day ruminating about being called a “Bitch” at school again — it was just unsustainable. But gradually I got louder and more outspoken about being a feminist. I browsed the Planned Parenthood website for a bumper sticker to put on my Kia Sportage, something simple and punchy to declare that the 5’2” blonde girl driving this car is a loudmouth feminist. When I was about to buy a sticker that said “BANS OFF OUR BODIES,” I ended up deciding against it and closing the tab on my computer.

…

I still drive by “Hooker Row” occasionally and my heart aches for those women. I think of all the beatings, rapes, and druggings that occur in those decrepit rooms — all the women who are brutalized for the crime of being women. When I drive by the strip, oh wait, sorry, “Gentlemen’s Clubs,” — because only a gentleman would go to a strip club — my heart continues to ache. That ache only grows when I drive by the Bikini Beans coffee shop near my apartment, filled with college girls, most around my age, serving men shitty coffee while they get off to their exposed cleavage. Same with the local Hooters and Twin Peaks. Most of the time, though, that ache is drowned out by something louder and more aggressive — hatred. Or loathing, or disgust, or sheer malevolence.

Women have autonomy and can make their own decisions. An employee at Bikini Beans chose to work there, and I both recognize and respect that. But what influenced that decision? Was it her need to pay tuition or her bills? Was it because she wants extra pocket money for an upcoming trip, or a rainy day fund? What about the sex worker in the motel? Does she need enough money to feed herself tonight? To pay the man who trafficked her into this business? To find shelter for the night? Does the dancer at the club have debt to pay off? Was she coerced? Does she need and/or want more money? I do not pass judgment on the women who participate in these industries. Even while acknowledging the fact that sex workers are some of the most vulnerable community members, some women in the sex and entertainment industries choose to do so, and that is their choice. Is it a feminist choice? Let me ask you this instead: Is the man soliciting sex from a woman making a feminist choice? I didn’t think so.

…

I drive my car almost every day. On the days I don’t, the patriarchy is still screaming and I am trying to scream louder. My vocal cords are stripped and bloodied, tired and aching, but I’m still screaming, and I won’t stop. I scream because, despite the obviously different lives every woman leads, I guarantee every woman, in any job, in any walk of life, has been called a bitch. Maybe it was because she went to the Women’s March, or maybe it was because she gave an unsatisfactory dance to a customer like Matthew M. Different lives, different situations, still a bitch. As a woman, you’ll always be a bitch. Whether you’re the woman driving down “Hooker Row” in her 2016 Lincoln or the woman working in those places, you’re a bitch. Maybe you got to ride in a magically transforming princess carriage Tahoe as a kid, maybe you had a different childhood with different parents. I got the luxury of transitioning from a princess into a bitch. Some women come out of the womb being called bitches. As a woman, in the ride of your life, whether you’re behind the wheel or sitting in the passenger seat, you will, one day, inevitably be a bitch. The word for the men who park outwards, hiding their license plates from passersby, doesn’t exist.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live... We look for the sermon in the suicide, for the social or moral lesson in the murder of five. We interpret what we see, select the most workable of the multiple choices. We live entirely, especially if we are writers, by the imposition of a narrative line upon disparate images, by the ‘ideas’ with which we have learned to freeze the shifting phantasmagoria which is our actual experience.” - Joan Didion, “The White Album”

My nervous system is, medically speaking, “shot to shit” — due to both personal reasons and uniquely American reasons. I wake up and check my phone, which, yes, I know it’s a bad habit, but hey — bigger fires, people. And on my phone, I see videos of people being murdered. And then I am reminded of a question an old coworker once asked me. The conversation went something like this: “Have you ever seen a dead body?” “Yeah.” “No, no, not like on a TV show. I mean like a true dead human.” “Oh. Then no.”

That conversation took place three or four years ago. A lot can change within three to four years. I don’t remember the first time I saw an actual dead body — or a video of someone being killed — on my phone, but I do remember the one I saw yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And the one I saw about an hour ago. Americans are executed in the streets, Venezuelan fishermen are blown up by drones, Palestinians are bombed relentlessly… there are countless more examples. I do not remember all their names; I simply cannot due to sheer volume and trauma.

I am a Junior at my university where I am studying English (Creative Writing). As one could probably guess, I write a lot. I write every single day — for my blog, for other publications, for homework assignments, work projects, and in my daily gratitude journal (which is becoming harder and harder to do). I also truly love writing. It gives me a release I didn’t know was possible and nurtures one of my most beloved passions. I would be lying if I said it hasn’t become more taxing to write. But that is true of most things in life right now, all things considered.

James Baldwin, photographed by Sedat Pakay, courtesy of the Northwest African American Museum

And no doubt, there is a lot to consider. Recently I have been thinking about something my high school history teacher said to my class — that our generation will not have one watershed moment. No, we will have thousands. In school, I read about D-Day and the JFK assassination, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Vietnam War, the Bay of Pigs, 9/11, and many more historic events. These moments were always described alongside phrases like “life-changing” and “Earth-shattering”. When I talk to my parents and grandparents about their watershed moment(s), they always remember where they were and what they were doing. They were paralyzed with the rest of the world. I have lost count of my own watershed moments, and I do not remember where I was or what I was doing when they all happened. There is a new one every day, and with each passing atrocity my brain becomes more foggy and muddled — I can barely see five feet in front of me.

It is in these hazy moments, when I toggle between entertaining the “Considering everything” question and just trying to meet a deadline, that I fall into the existential, painfully artist, painfully human pitfall of asking myself: “Is it trivial to write about fashion? Considering everything?” That then devolves into “Is it trivial to write at all? Considering everything?” “Is it trivial to do anything at all? Considering everything?”

No. It is not. What would be trivial is to write with blinders on — to review Jonathan Anderson’s highly anticipated Dior Haute Couture collection and pay no mind to the intense class disparity that exists in the world of haute couture and designer fashion, to write about winter fashion trends and pay no mind to how Minnesotans are keeping themselves warm in the harsh cold as they protest an occupying militia, to write about the best-dressed celebrities at the Oscars and pay no mind to the destruction that is taking place feet away. Sure, it would be a hell of a lot easier and arguably more fun to write with those blinders glued to my temples, but that would be trivial. I do not want my art to be trivial. To “Pay no mind” is not an option.

Susan Sontag, photographed by Jean-Regis Rouston and Roger Violett, courtesy of Getty Images

I do not extend the definition of “trivial” to art that exists to promote and incite joy — quite the opposite. Art, as a form of cultural resistance and survival, is multifaceted and complex and it is of the utmost importance that we treat it as such. To dismiss all seemingly “non-political” art as inconsequential, even trivial, would be arrogant. Because art exists for a plurality of purposes, we as artists and audiences should strive to approach joyful art with the same respect and dignity we give to overtly political art. Joyful resistance exists in tandem with other forms of resistance. The complexities of art for joy’s sake and joy as resistance are not lost on me, but I look at it like this: If I am going to write a piece about New York Fashion Week, I have a duty to my craft and to myself to entertain and explore the political happenings and implications of an event like New York Fashion Week, especially now.

Perhaps, most likely, I am too caught up in myself. Every writer, every artist, every person, did not, and does not, have the luxury of halting in their tracks every time shit gets really bad. And shit has always been really bad in one way or another, but right now, in this moment, it’s really, really bad. So, when I look at other artists, I remind myself that their art was not and is not trivial. It is anything but. And, even if I do write a “puff piece”, which I can almost positively say will happen, I will write with the intention of inciting joy, curiosity, creativity, and bringing momentary peace of mind. Art as a practice is not trivial, and I refuse to take part in stopping the creation of art to serve fascists. And please, keep creating and keep resisting.

Thank you for reading,

x Audrey

The Infamous So Kate Stiletto

“…She was hobbling to the finish line,” is how fashion stylist Law Roach described Zendaya’s first day wearing the infamous Christian Louboutin “So Kate” heels, which weigh in at a whopping height of 120 mm — a 4.7-inch stiletto. On the fashion podcast The Cutting Room Floor, hosted by Recho Omondi, Roach recounted telling Zendaya, “You will not take these shoes off.”

Roach seemed to regard Zendaya’s pain as a point of pride; he was simply doing his job. Alice Newbold wrote “When the young Disney star enlisted the help of Roach to select outfits for important popstrel events, like Justin Bieber’s Never Say Never premiere, Law saw an opportunity: to ‘come up with a plan to help an amazing girl show the world what I saw in Zendaya.’ Central to his “blueprint”— naturally — were excellent shoes, but when the bright young thing first did a full day of press in her 120mm tall So Kates, she was “...hobbling to the finish line.”

Image courtesy Christian Louboutin

The iconic, perhaps even infamous, shoe was created in 2012 and its title hails from supermodel Kate Moss. Louboutin named them after Moss herself because “Kate is a sharp style, simple, and very complex at the same time. If the line is not perfect, you don’t have any embellishment to hide it.” For reference, a 4.7-inch heel is 1.7 inches taller than the average heel height. The typical 3” heel can cause intense pressure, back issues, alterations to the body’s alignment, and more, so a 4.7-inch heel poses incredible risk and pain. A heel like the So Kate is indicative of so much more than a shoe — it is a politically charged statement. The So Kate shoes are not a unique phenomenon in women’s fashion, but rather part of a glaring pattern. For centuries, women’s health and basic well-being have been blatantly ignored, even maliciously worked against, in pursuit of glamour and art.

So, let me ask an obvious question with an even more obvious answer: Does fashion get off on women’s pain?

Elizabeth Swann and The Potentially Fatal Effects of Beauty

To this day, I remember watching “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” and seeing Elizabeth Swann (played by Keira Knightley) pleading with her dressers, repeating that she couldn’t breathe as they violently tightened her corset. Later on in the movie, the too-tight corset was almost the cause of her death, as she passed out due to constriction and fell into rock-infested waters. Jack Sparrow rescues her by undoing her corset, finally giving her the chance to breathe.

Still from The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, dir. Gore Virbinski, courtesy of Disney

It raises a complicated question: to what extent are fellow women responsible for promoting the patriarchal standards? Swann’s dressers are all women; they can hear and see her pain, yet they continue tightening the corset. Class plays a significant role in this scene — Swann’s dressers are subordinate to her and her family, meaning they are not really in a position to refuse and protest against the corset. Their hypothetical refusal could put their employment status at risk, and the domino effect takes place from there.

I think a fair assessment of this scenario is that both Swann and her dressers are victims of a misogynistic system, but their oppression takes different forms. In the society where the movie takes place, Swann is the Governor’s daughter, giving her social and economic clout and protections. Her dressers are presumably members of the servant or working class. Assuming that her dressers rely on the income of the Swanns, they do not have the job or social security to object to the corset — their self-preservation has to come before taking a stand. Despite Swann’s wealth and status, she, like her dressers, is in no place to object to a prescribed social symbol. That does not negate either’s marginalization; rather, it expresses how patriarchy works to harm women in different ways. Part of the confusion that comes with living under an oppressive system is how an individual goes about perpetuating harm that simultaneously affects them. It doesn’t make logical sense, but oppression doesn’t make sense. Patriarchy thrives on many forces, one of them being women themselves perpetuating it.

The Dilemma of Kim Kardashian and Patriarchy

Following her 2019 Met Gala look, Kim Kardashian said, “I have never felt pain like that before in my life.” She wore a custom Thierry Mugler dress and a corset by Mr. Pearl, a renowned corset maker. The theme of that year’s Met Gala was “Camp: Notes on Fashion,” an inversion and reference to Susan Sontag’s “Notes on ‘Camp’” (1964). In point 34, Sontag writes that, “Camp taste turns its back on the good-bad axis of ordinary aesthetic judgment. Camp doesn’t reverse things. It doesn’t argue that the good is bad, or the bad is good. What it does is to offer for art (and life) a different — a supplementary — set of standards.” By Sontag’s definition of Camp, Kardashian, Mugler, and Pearl were being Camp — they did not reverse patriarchy, that simply wasn’t what they came to do. Authenticity, for good or for bad, is Camp, but Camp is not a measure of morality.

Despite the grey areas within Kardashian’s Met Gala look, what remains clear is that she understood the implications of her gloating about her physical pain for the sake of fashion. The implications are the promotion and normalization of women’s suffering for the sake of “beauty.”

Photo by Dia Dipasupil, courtesy of W Magazine

Does Beauty Have to be Pain?

The phrase “Beauty is pain” is taught to girls almost immediately — it is said casually and nonchalantly, almost like a fact — for you to be beautiful, you have to be in pain, that’s just how it is. But in reality, the phrase is nothing short of patriarchal propaganda designed to psychologically condition women into accepting and promoting their “beautiful” suffering. Waxings, lasering, injections, plastic surgery, heels and other uncomfortable shoes, corsets, shapewear, waist trainers, and more. The sentiment itself is often pointed to superficial, albeit significant, alterations to the body, both permanent and temporary.

A Psychology Today article by Renee Englen, Ph.D., reported that “Women were between three and 10 times more likely than men to wear shoes that cause pain, and between four and 12 times more likely to wear shoes that leave them unable to comfortably stand.” Even worse, Englen writes that, “Most alarming was how often women reported wearing clothing that makes it difficult to breathe. Women were between three and six times more likely than men to report wearing clothing so tight that they couldn’t take a deep breath.” These figures are shocking but shouldn’t be unexpected — our culture pushes women to sacrifice their basic comfort and safety in favor of the patriarchy.

But it is important to note that beauty is painful in every sector of fashion. It is not specific to millionaire celebrities; it affects every woman working in the industry. The University of Washington reports that, “Approximately 85% of garment workers are young, female, and from poor rural backgrounds. Many millions of garment workers are children.” In fast fashion factories, laborers are consistently exposed to dangerous working conditions — dangerous machinery, toxic chemicals, and abuse, as “Women are frequently subjected to verbal and physical abuse, as well as sexual harassment, often in unregulated factories where workplace violence goes unchecked.”

Despite the differences in pain and discomfort, the common thread between women of any social class is misogyny. Because patriarchy relies on many different avenues for perpetuation, one of those being women themselves perpetuating it, women can exploit and inflict harm upon their fellow women.

The Question of Agency

How do individuals, specifically women, approach dressing to their taste in a uniquely compromised system? Speaking for myself, I love wearing heels, but I would be lying if I said my feet have never throbbed and blistered because of those shoes. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t feel a moral dilemma — I am well-versed in both fashion and patriarchy, but here I am, wearing heels, knowing that no matter how cute they look with my outfit, I am subjecting myself to pain.

Fashion sociologist and writer Joanne Entwistle tackles the tricky question of how we balance an oppressive system with individual autonomy: “Dress is therefore the outcome of practices which are socially constituted but put into effect by the individual: individuals must attend to their bodies when they ‘get dressed’ and it is an experience that is as intimate as it is social,” (Fashion Theory, Second Edition, “Addressing the Body”). Because, as Entwistle says, dress is as intimate as social, to what standard are women held to for their participation in their own oppression? I do not know. But I do know that we as a society will not move toward a better world if we condemn victims of oppression more than perpetrators.

Reckoning with the Imperfection of Fashion

I am a woman who truly loves fashion — engaging with it, producing it, critiquing it, learning from it, expanding it, and more. If I want my love of fashion to evolve, strengthen, and complicate, then I must condemn this industry’s disregard and hatred of women. I still wear heels, apply makeup, shave, and dress in objectively uncomfortable clothes, and perhaps that is hypocritical of me. However, it may be further evidence of the complications of existing in an oppressive system.

I have answered my own obvious question: Yes, fashion gets off on women’s pain. But I have one last question, one with a less obvious answer: How do we move toward a just industry? I have about a million answers to that question. But, as a fashion-loving, perhaps hypocritical, loud feminist who loves pink lipstick, I can confirm that a better, more just industry starts with burning the patriarchy to the fucking ground.

Thank you for reading!

x Audrey

And then I moved apartments. And I put all 100% of my gold jewelry, all the silver jewelry I wasn’t wearing, my wooden jewelry, some random bits and bobs, and some purses, into a bag that I will probably, but never say never, see again. Once I unpacked at my house (I moved from apartment A to my house to apartment B) I realized I had packed my gold jewelry in the bags I had given to the movers, meaning they were in storage for the next few months. Flash forward to July, and I was so excited to be back with my babies. I tore through every box and every bag and when I didn’t find my jewelry, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach — it was stolen and it wasn’t coming back.

Image courtesy of Pinterest, source unknown

I had long-hauled the entirety of that day. I woke up at 6 am to get a head start on my move-in, unpacked and organized for about 7 hours straight, and right as I was pulling out to run a quick errand, I ran into a pillar. And then I lost it. I was upset about the damage to my car, kicking myself for being dumb and parking too close to the pillar, and I was upset about my gold jewelry. I can’t emphasize just how much I loved those pieces —they were sentimental, souvenirs, and just things I truly cherished. It can come across as shallow to be so obsessed with material possessions, but I think it is anything but. I cared deeply for my art pieces, and I lost them, and that was upsetting.

Once I regrouped, I started a slow and intentional process to rebuild my collection. I have learned a lot during this process, and am sharing some of my tips here.

Learning to rebuild

Yeah, yeah, pretty obvious, but it’s true. The incredibly silver silver lining of me losing a majority of my jewelry is that I get to search for new pieces. Now, my tastes are more refined — I know what I like, what I don’t like, and what I would like to experiment with. For example, I have always been big on layering my necklaces. My old stack was a choker-charm necklace, filled with ornaments from all over the place, my Vivienne Westwood red heart necklace, an initial necklace, a horse-head pendant, a black pendant, a vintage bone (maybe tooth) charm, and then some. I wore two Greco-Roman style bangles on my biceps, picked up at a vintage store in Hoboken, 3-4 large bangles that clinked and clanked as I walked, a watch, and two dainty bracelets. I wore two thumb rings — one of them a studded vertical ring, the other a Georgia O’Keeffe-esque, floral, sculptural ring. On my index fingers — one emerald-colored charm, a thin-band stacking ring, and a bright magenta heart-shaped crown ring. My favorite fingers, the middle ones, sported gem-studded stacking rings and on my right hand, a vintage amethyst ring, picked up in Palm Springs, and on my left, the lavender ring my girlfriend gifted to me. My favorite fingers sported my favorite color. The ring fingers had an olive-toned jewel and a larger-than-life amethyst-encrusted beetle ring — it had antennas and little pearls for eyes. My pinkies each wore pearls — one from a flea market in Los Angeles and the other from a flea market vendor in Florence, Italy. For earrings, I wore two hoops, one big set and one small set, and a pair of Vivienne Westwood emerald studs my Mom got me on our trip to London. So yeah, safe to say I was devastated.

c. 1950, “A Los Castillo Bracelet,” courtesy of Heritage Auctions

Finding the silver lining (no pun intended)

It sucked and still does suck to be without the jewelry I loved and cherished so deeply. But I now feel so much more confident in building my collection. I know what quality I look for, what eras and designers inspire me, and what aesthetics attract me. This is all integral knowledge to building a collection of anything, especially in my case of jewelry. I know I felt such haste in the early days — I was buying, buying, and buying. If it struck me, I would buy it, regardless of the material or my actual liking of it. Now, I love the journey of jewelry buying. I love researching time periods and symbols, materials and techniques — it brings me joy. I wouldn’t call my jewelry being stolen a “blessing in disguise,” rather a shitty situation, but hey, at least I get to continue my jewelry hunting.

eBay is your best friend

Before 75% of my jewelry got stolen, I wasn’t much of an eBay user. I used Depop, Poshmark, Etsy, Vestiaire Collective, and The Real Real. I knew there were great things to find on eBay but the platform was intimidating. That was until I spent about 3 minutes learning how to use it — then everything changed. The platform has a learning curve, the same as any second-hand website does, and you gotta know how to use your search terms.

1. When looking for gold jewelry, I always utilize the word “vintage,” and I try to be as specific as possible. A “gold vintage pendant” or “gold vintage ring” will get you a lot of great results, but if you’re in the market for something mid-century modern, art deco, or retro, then specify that.

2. For silver jewelry, I don’t deviate from the following search terms: “925,” “sterling silver,” Taxco,” and any combination of those three. Those search terms will ensure results that are sterling silver and tarnish-free. 925 is a legally protected term, meaning the contents of the jewelry is 92.5% pure silver and 7.5% other metals, usually copper. Any item that is branded as “sterling silver” must be stamped “925.” Taxco silver jewelry hails from Taxco de Alcarón, Mexico, a historic city known for its silversmithing. Taxco silver dates back to the Aztecs but its production was accelerated by the Spaniards. Today, Taxco has a thriving culture of silversmithing — one that is informed by Indigenous Mexican arts and the modern day.

A 1920s era brooch, courtesy of Pinterest, source unknown

I still feel sadness when I see pictures of me wearing all my jewelry; it really did mean so much to me. But I won’t get anywhere if I wallow. So, I am rebuilding. Now, I have two cloisonné necklaces — one is a unicorn and the other, two pink lily flowers, a knotted choker, a brown fabergé egg charm (and my best friend has a matching pink one,) a ruby square pendant, and a ton of loose charms — included but not limited to: a horse, another horse, a heart, a horn, a carabiner, and a few others. I have two croissant rings, a floating stone art deco-inspired ring, a big square, ruby-studded pendant that is sure to do some damage, and a hummingbird. Oh, and some earrings, bracelets, and brooches. I am a strong believer that every jewelry collection needs at least a few brooches. I will continue to hunt on eBay, scour the thrift stores, learn to rebuild, and try to see the silver lining(s). But really, fuck those movers.

Thank you for reading!

x Audrey

Now, edge can mean many different things. Edge isn’t specific to the red hair dye and vintage metal band tee shirts you rocked in high school (speaking from experience), and it isn’t specific to weird, uncanny posing and avant-garde styling (speaking to my biases). To have an edge means to subvert something, anything.

I do not want to paint Vogue or the contributors and employees of the magazine as a monolith — there are interesting, thought-provoking articles and editorials present in the magazine. But for at least the past few years, American Vogue has been widely received as underwhelming. Because we live in such inequitable times, fewer and fewer people are wanting to buy a magazine where A) they don’t particularly care about the celebrity on the cover, B) they cannot afford what is being advertised and C) they don’t feel inclined to shell out $15 a year for a magazine that is just not enticing. In short, American Vogue needs to prove it.

There are so many levels to fashion; it does not solely exist at the upper echelons of society; rather, we all interact with fashion daily by way of getting dressed, going shopping, or dealing with the effects of fashion waste and climate change. But in a world as dysregulated (and even corrupt) as ours, it’s understandable that people have a bad taste in their mouths while witnessing events like the Met Gala, where a single ticket costs upwards of $75,000. A magazine like Vogue has every opportunity to further democratize fashion and make it a more equitable environment for people, but time and time again audiences are met with the same supermodel, the same designers, and the same ads.

Creative direction by Chloe Malle, photographed by Lachlan Bailey, courtesy of Vogue

Take the October 2025 issue as an example. It was Chloe Malle’s inaugural issue as the successor of Anna Wintour. Wintour has served as Editor-in-Chief of Vogue since 1988 and many, including myself, credit her long reign with the magazine’s lack of progression. Malle is a seasoned and accomplished industry professional as she was editor of Vogue’s digital publication and host of their podcast, “The Rundown.” Audiences had high hopes for her first issue as Creative Director.

The models featured on this issue are Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid, two of the biggest names in fashion. The two are posed rather awkwardly, holding one another, staring intently into the camera. The spread features the two pictured riding horses in pastel gowns, wearing flannels and blue jeans on the farm, at times sporting lace dresses in the stables, and representing the ethos: “Kendall Jenner and Gigi Hadid have a friendship forged in fashion — and share a love of the great, glamorous outdoors… .” The photos are visually appealing, but I couldn’t find much else to write home about, and the interview reads similarly to me.

The content of the interview and photos includes motifs and themes of “the great, glamorous outdoors,” as well as cowboy/cowgirl culture, female friendships, work-life balance, and more. All of these examples are briefly touched on and scratch centimeters below the surface, if that. In today’s social climate, there should have been more of a conversation. How does the threat of climate change and Trump’s crackdowns on National Parks influence nature and “the great outdoors?” How do Latino and Indigenous influences on White-American cowboy culture play a role today? Both of these communities are under vicious attack by the Trump regime — yet their culture plays a strong, yet silent role in the spread. What do female relationships and female autonomy look like under an increasingly conservative, patriarchal culture?

Creative direction by Chloe Malle, photographed by Lachlan Bailey, courtesy of Vogue

I understand that Vogue is a fashion magazine, not a space built solely for political discourse, but — and carve this onto my headstone — fashion is political. I also understand that while people like Hadid and Jenner may not want to or feel qualified to speak on political issues, they should speak to something, anything. There must be space for tyranny to be challenged, especially at the level of Vogue. If a publication with as much power and influence as Vogue does not explicitly push against fascism, then how will any of us, at any level?

After reading the story, I came away with one simple conclusion: There was no why. (Okay, maybe two conclusions because there was also no edge.) Why should I care about the lives of these people? Even if I don’t care, there should still be something I walk away with, and I just don’t have that. The photos were beautifully shot and styled, but failed to add tangible substance to the campaign, a campaign that was lacking substance to begin with. Similarly, there was no edge. Yes, edge is hard to define, but it requires some form of subversion, and this had none.

Fashion has a lot of boxes to check, and one that American Vogue just isn’t checking is the “Edge” box. If American Vogue stays gliding upon the surface, refusing to go even one level deeper, then they will never reach the actual substance that checks that box. Ever since I got into fashion, (American) Vogue has been the pinnacle. Unfortunately, the older I get, the more educated I become, and the more my tastes evolve, I don’t see it as that. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise — I will take what I can get from the magazine and look towards others when American Vogue lacks friction, edge, and complexity. Fashion is a deep, fascinating art, and it deserves to be treated as such. Just because American Vogue doesn’t necessarily follow those ideas doesn’t mean they don’t exist, we just need to find it.

Thank you for reading!

x Audrey

“You must not ever stop being whimsical.

And you must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.”

-Mary Oliver from Wild Geese

As you can probably tell by the title of my Substack, I really, really love fashion. I love experimenting with fabrics, textures, and silhouettes. I love learning everything there is to know about fashion. I love anything that even remotely relates to fashion.

Getting dressed is so routine that it may seem trivial, but I find it anything but. Every morning brings an incredible sense of curiosity and excitement fueled by the simple question of “What do I want to wear today?” That single question opens Pandora’s box (that is, if Pandora’s box were to release creative endeavors and not curses).

Party Girl (1995)

Dressing up has become “harder” in recent years. Around the time I started taking fashion seriously and implementing it into my daily life and practice, I developed depression and soon after started taking medication. I was also going through high school, which was its own shitty mess for its own shitty reasons. I experienced some really, really hard days in those years, and still do. But despite how painful high school in particular was for me, I got dressed (almost) every day I went. I can count on one hand the number of days I wore sweat pants to school, when people were audibly surprised to see me not decked out in my usual uniform of colorful tights and clashing patterns. Those sweatpants and hoodie days were equated to finals season, depressive episodes, snoozing the alarm one too many times, and the palpable exhaustion that comes from going through high school while having severe misophonia.

Getting dressed has also become harder because of the whole “the-world-is-literally-ending-and-I-don’t-know-if-I-have-a-future-to-plan-for” factor. I do not consider myself to be an accelerationist; I just read the news. My newfound sweet spot is “apocalyptic optimist,” coined by sociologist Dana R. Fisher. My apocalyptic optimist persona and preservation of my mental health require me to get up in the morning, make my coffee, care for my mind and body, and yes, get dressed. So, when I wake up in the morning and am hit over the head with 20 New York Times notifications - each a shitstorm on its own - I know I have to do something. I know from experience that I will not be doing myself a modicum of good if I let the horrors of the world overtake my psyche. I can not do the world any good if I am in excruciating pain. And one of my antidotes to the world’s atrocities is getting dressed.

It’s a tale as old as time, a therapy cliché, and something I’ve heard many times before in many different contexts: “Put your oxygen mask on first.” I think it’s a good survival instruction if I were on a plane plummeting through the sky, but I am not. I am standing on Earth with my two feet, where there are millions of tiny metaphorical plane crashes occurring every day around the world. I don’t know if the simple cliché is as applicable as I once thought it was. We’re all trying to, or we all should be trying to care for one another. I like to reframe the mask metaphor by multiplying it. Putting my own mask on and giving my neighbor a mask, or filling their cup, helping them swim, whatever metaphor you may fancy, it simultaneously makes the giver and receiver feel good. Because mutual care isn’t transactional, it is relational.

Brittany Murphy for The New York Times (2002), photographed by Jeff Reidel, styled by Elizabeth Stewart

Okay, back to the dressing up of it all. The act of putting clothes on the body, one we all must do if we choose to interact with the world, can seem inconsequential and even a selfish framing. How is the act of Audrey getting dressed changing the world? Well, it’s not. I am not enacting radical change through government oversight, and I am not . . . well, it’s probably not a good idea to disclose my protesting activity — surveillance state and all. But I am keeping my head above water. And I am playing mermaids in the pool, and I am looking at all the glorious beauty that surrounds me, and living in a world where I have the power to splash around in the water while making sure my neighbors can swim.

So, every morning when I get up, I look forward to getting dressed. Even if I’m depressed, even when the state of the world hurts my heart like no other pain I’ve felt before, I will get dressed — and while it may not change the world, it will change mine. And I have to believe there’s a greater purpose in that. And if not, then I can still prance around in fun outfits.

A $150 cab ride later, I arrived at my hotel. I settled in and stalled for about 20 minutes before going outside. I changed my outfit, touched up the makeup I had just applied, and charged my phone long enough for it to reach 200%. Once I forced myself outside the hotel doors, I walked for 30 minutes, aimlessly. Not in an exploring for the sake of exploring, Anthony Bourdain way, rather in a “Everyone here knows I’m a tourist, I don’t speak French, I don’t know what I’m doing here — like, philosophically, I’m traveling alone for the first time, blah blah blah blah blah,” kind of way. You know?

Eventually, I got hungry enough that I forced myself to walk into the nearest bistro and order. Just order. I asked the waiter “table pour une personne?” He sympathetically gestured to the tens of empty tables in front of me, inviting me to sit. I ordered a croque madame and a cappuccino. I had conquered breakfast, proving to myself that the years of Got Milk ads were right — breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

Prada heels paired with a vintage Italian dress. The dress resembles a watercolor painting with mulberry tones splashed across a backdrop of dusty rose. I bought the heels during my second week in Paris and the dress on a whim for a night when “I needed a dress!” Perhaps just an excuse to step into a store I had my eyes on, but a worthwhile excuse nonetheless.

As the days went on, I grew increasingly comfortable communicating in broken French and using Google Translate as a crutch. I still had to force myself to go into certain places, repeating the factually accurate phrase that “I am not the first American tourist this French person has encountered and I will not be the last. Okay, now go in.”

The easiest of buildings to go into were vintage stores, but even then, still a bit difficult. A clothing store, vintage especially, is where I find my solace. I get to listen to at least half of Doolittle by The Pixies and, if it’s a really good store, the entirety. A vintage store is my Disneyland, my candy store, my place where I walk out with a dopamine high and a few bucks lighter. So, while I listen to the sweet sounds of Black Francis accompanied by strange guitar riffs, I peruse the racks — the infinite possibilities, the collections of stories passed down, the intricate history that breathes life into a concrete room.

The relative ease of walking into a vintage store did not come naturally to me. Imposter syndrome is real, and it is something I have worked hard to get over . . . or at least get better at dealing with. I have always been marked by an intense feeling of anxiety that I don’t belong in whatever space I occupy — that I am a fraud and sooner or later I will be exposed. For what exactly? I don’t know. To my knowledge, I have never done anything truly fraudulent. (Therein lies the irrationality of it all.) In high school, I wore voluminous, brightly colored, pattern-clashing outfits that definitely stood out. People gave me dirty looks and talked about me on their Snapchat private stories, and I got through it. I wouldn't say I was bullied – just dealing with some bitches – and that’s part of life, or whatever. I exposure-therapied my way out of social anxiety, at least when it comes to clothing and clothing stores.

A circa 1970s coat, made in France, was found at a flea market among a pile of denim jackets. The seller talked me into this one and $85 later, I’m still thanking him.

Most of that anxiety management work was done in Phoenix, Arizona, where thrift stores are accessible and everyone speaks English. Paris was different. Thrift and vintage stores held a whole new level of treasures - including pieces from lines and designers I had only read about. I didn’t speak the language, and I was scarred by the aforementioned taxi scam upon arriving in Paris. Despite these realities, and no matter how intimidating the vintage stores were, I always went in. Being surrounded by beautiful relics, cool music, and smoke framing the store entrance was a sure-fire way to cure any solo-traveling anxieties, at least in my case. I got to know the men who worked at my favorite store, bonded over favorite designers with the nice Italian man who curated an amazing collection, complimented the jewelry of eccentric cashiers, and asked “Should I get this?” to passersby as I read off my Google Translate.

A leather-filled store with some of the best 80s pieces I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes and hands on. Purple lights shone down on Greco-inspired, erotic busts with sweet, sultry jazz permeating the walls.

My transitions — monetary and material — were driven more by a connection between myself and the garments, myself and the cashiers, and myself and the world that exists within the thread count of vintage tops.

Clothes have ways of bringing people together. Compliments made to or received from a stranger, honest input from a fellow traveler in a dressing room, shop clerks who look for just the right item — these connections occur in infinite, unique, and special ways. Paris taught me a lot of things about, well, a lot of things. And maybe loads of vintage stores don’t constitute an Anthony Bourdain-esque trip, but they sure as hell constitute an Audrey Treon-esque trip.

Thank you for reading! And don’t worry, all the killer vintage made up for the cab ride.

P.S.

Sorry for the hiatus, I went abroad ;)

x Audrey

Isn’t it ironic? We push women into getting Botox and filler then point our fingers and laugh when the effects of it — “it” being a chemical injected into your skin — manifest in a negative way. How fucking ironic.

Fiona Legesse, courtesy of The Cougar

The newest plastic surgery trend is upper eyelid or upper blepharoplasty. This surgery is one of those phenomena that makes you clutch your pearls and say, “Dear God, how did we get to this point?” Funnily enough, that feeling seems to extend to all facets of life, not just the plastic surgery realm. We are exposed to the craziness of the world every minute of every day, and it takes a toll on a person to be in a constant state of shock. The plastic surgery business is taking full advantage of that. Learning about another insecurity you’ll soon have to remedy is a shock to the system. It hits you quick and fast, yet lingers there. Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll think about that one thing, that one thing that could easily be fixed by a little filler, even if it’s just a passing thought. The hypothetical filler and plastic surgery will plague you every time you look at yourself, eating away at your sense of self, slowly but surely — and isn’t that exhausting?

Yet now, the tides are turning… sort of. People are now confidently calling out the aftermath of plastic surgery, but stop short at the real questions. Why do we feel a godly righteousness as we point our fingers at women who overdid it on the plastic surgery and Botox? Why do we have a problem with the effect and not the cause?

In recent years, plastic surgery and Botox have undergone a rebranding, making the invasive procedures seem as normal as brushing your teeth. Influencers vlog their days and mention getting procedures such as a lip filler, preventative Botox, and more. By talking about these surgeries and injections so casually, people will treat them as just that: casual.

But they’re not. According to the Mayo Clinic, possible side effects from Botox include pain, headaches, flu-like symptoms, and infections. In rare cases when the chemical spreads to unintended parts of the body, breathing problems, muscle weakness, and allergic reactions can occur. Similarly, filler is known to spread over time, giving us the phenomenon of “pillowface.” If Botox has so many negative side effects, how has it rebranded itself into an “empowering” and “preventative” procedure, and why?

The patriarchy gets off on punishing women, and Botox is the patriarchy's prescribed solution for a problem they created. The problem? Aging, growing visibly older, no longer looking like your 16-year-old self. A misogynistic system like the patriarchy malevolently pushes women into thinking there is no other choice — get Botox, plastic surgery, and filler or face the wrath of misogyny. That is the punishment for aging. At this point, what do we expect from such a system? Do we expect them to have our best interest at heart? The truth is, a “best interest” was never even near the equation. The framework is based on the idea that the younger a woman looks, the better. The skinnier, the better. The whiter, the better. We are set up to fail under this system — why do we try?

We try because we have to. Because it feels as if there is no other option, go under the needle or else. So, if there is no other option, yet we recognize our choice is flawed — coerced, even — what are we left with? Pillowface is what we’re left with — the consequences of the patriarchy’s own influence. Surprise, surprise. A system destined to collapse in on itself, well, collapses. And women are, yet again, the victims.

We have a problem with the effect of plastic surgery and not the cause because the effect is something we are able to gain pleasure from, we get to point our fingers and jeer at women with overly-filled cheeks and smile a happy smile. We see the pillowface in a celebrity but not the years of tabloid gossip and bullying they had to endure, pushing them to get filler in the first place. People are lazy and casual misogyny is easy — it is far more convenient to point to a woman who overdid it and say "this is her fault" than to look at the big picture and realize that it is not the fault of the woman, but of the society that pushed her to do it in the first place. The cause? It’s rather simple, our society loves to hate women for whatever reason they can find or manufacture. And, men are not the only ones guilty of this; everyone is — I mean, look at Shelley from Urban Dictionary. “Undoing” the cause takes deep critical thinking and a desire to dismantle the misogyny we all hold inside our psyches, but pillowface is easy to laugh at. A few thousand Instagram likes on a post poking fun at a random female celebrity? That’s a strong hit of self-righteousness. Societal reconfiguration and self-introspection don’t have the same kick.

Hold-It-In-Your-Hands Gifts

Linen pajama set

It’s a universal fact that Moms love pajamas, specifically a pajama set. This Quince set comes in four neutral options that work for any preference. ($59.90)

Courtesy of Quince

Customizable eye mask

Keeping with the sleep theme, this customizable Lingua Franca eye mask is simple, chic, high-quality, and a thoughtful gift. Embroider it with your Mom’s go-to phrase, and you’re golden. ($60 flat, $100 with embroidery)

Courtesy of Lingua Franca

Subscription service

It’s a vague recommendation, but that’s the beauty in it. I guarantee you there is a magazine service that will appeal to your mother, yes, even your mother! A great option is a subscription to The Paris Review — a literary magazine that gives you a front row seat to the current cultural happenings (DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?) Their quarterly issue is filled with prose, poetry, art, and so much more. ($59/year)

Courtesy of The Paris Review

The candle to end all candles

A Voluspa candle is a wonderful gift because they are high-quality and offer over 50 scents; there is a perfect one for every Mom out there. My mom loves the Goji Tarocco Orange. ($13 - $309)

Courtesy of Voluspa

Personalized cocktail napkins

These House of Gleason cocktail napkins come in 7 colorways and are sure to make your Mom’s hosting credentials go through the roof (although if your Mom is anything like mine, her hosting skills are already pretty damn killer.) ($48)

Courtesy of House of Gleason on Etsy

These vintage Zodiac charms from Your Story Jewelry Shop are bold enough to stand alone and small enough to go with a stack of necklaces. ($65)

Courtesy of Your Story Jewelry on Etsy

Non-alcoholic beverage + mocktail recipe book

Ghia drinks have an elevated and nuanced flavor profile, but you can take it to the next level with a mocktail tasting night. Mocktails by Caroline Hwang has impeccable mocktail recipes. ($40 - $253) ($22.99 on Barnes and Noble)

Courtesy of Ghia and Caroline Hwang

Reusable eye masks

These Dieux Forever Eye Masks make any morning routine feel that much more glamorous. The masks are compatible with any serum, cream, or gel your Mom may use, so they can cater it to their skincare desires. ($25)

Courtesy of Dieux

Self-watering pot

This terracotta wet pot comes in three sizes and adds natural zen to any space. Don’t forget to add the flowers! ($40 - $85)

Courtesy of MoMA

Watercolor workbook + paint set

Emily Lex has 10 themed workbooks to choose from that are filled with whimsical watercolor tutorials. ($24 for workbook, $16 for paints and brush)

Courtesy of Emily Lex

Glass coffee cups

Chances are your Mom already has a collection of coffee mugs — but does she have a Tom Dixon insulated glass coffee cup? These are so chic and elevate the simple pleasure of a morning cup of joe. (Make sure her cabinets aren’t already overflowing with coffee cups though). ($70)

Courtesy of MoMA

Hold-It-In-Your-Heart Gifts

A museum date

This is a wonderful gift because it’s a shared experience. Even if your tastes differ, there is something for everyone to love within the walls of a good museum. It’s a no-fuss family outing — no little siblings can bicker while looking at art!

A class

Maybe you’re feeling inspired after your museum day, and an art class is a great way to expand or start your skills. Local art centers, community colleges, and libraries are great ways to find a perfect class. Ceramics, glass blowing, sewing, musical instruments, dance, painting, the possibilities are endless. Even if whatever you try is not your thing, you still gained the joy of doing something with your mom.

A hobby

Along the same vein as a structured class, pick up a hobby together! I am going to start practicing Ikebana courtesy of YouTube University, and my mother (unbeknownst to her) will join me.

Thank you for reading! Oh, and give your Mom a big hug for me.

x Audrey

One part of me thinks, who cares? If people want to put something out into the world, then they should. The internet is a cruel place, so more power to them for having the guts to do it. Even if it’s not my cup of tea, it’s gotta be someone’s. The other, more critical part of me thinks that if someone is going to put a form of media into the world, there should be integrity behind it. Not “meaning” necessarily but a “why.” Why do I want to create a brand as an already rich and famous celebrity/influencer? Think of all the celebrity and influencer-owned alcohol brands. Is there a reason behind all of those besides adding to their wallet? I do not know these people personally and cannot speak to their unique business motivations, but I roll my eyes every time I walk past Ryan Reynolds’ gin and Kendall Jenner’s tequila in the grocery store. It reads as greed to me, not integrity.

We hold artists to the standards of integrity, meaning, and importance, yet we let those standards disappear when it comes to public figures like influencers and celebrities. Why? For example, take Alex Cooper, host of the podcast “Call Her Daddy.” The show started out as a space for two women hosts to talk about sex without shame, and it has evolved into an interview-style podcast. This shift in content style has earned her a lot of praise and fame, considering she has had guests like Chappell Roan, Monica Lewinsky, Ellen Pompeo, and even presidential candidate Kamala Harris on the show. The questions posed are good, but they would be a lot better if Cooper pushed her guests and made them go deeper, yet that rarely happens. The cultivated conversations have potential but fall short of going anywhere but the surface. This seems to be a glaring pattern in the current state of journalism: a lot of interviewers aren’t pressing their interviewees. They accept the answer they are given even if it is in bad faith, even if it is wrong or bigoted in nature.

Lately, there have been many scandals related to podcasters. One of the most recent examples is from Emergency Intercom, hosted by Enya Umanzor and Drew Phillips. They posted a highly distasteful and, if you ask me, misogynistic podcast episode where they “jokingly” claimed activists like Malala Yousafzai and Greta Thunberg have “fallen the fuck off.” They repeat these words over and over again with Phillips repeatedly calling these women “bitches.” “That bitch fell the fuck off! Where even is that bitch?” The episode was met with quick backlash for their remarks and one of the critiques that stood out to me the most is how their comments are indicative of a larger, cultural trend: People move to a city like LA and become just like everybody else. They refuse to learn or engage with people outside of their small influencer community, they become wrapped up in their own hegemony. Fitting into a strict binary of personhood too often makes people neglect the world around them — the parts of the world that are ugly, violent, and in need of changing.

Think of the Kardashians. They have been behind the camera since 2007, nearly two decades. As time goes on, the more inflammatory they become. They are now comfortable outing themselves as Trump-Musk supporters because they know their fans will stick around — or at least, most of their fans. The same thing can happen with podcasters. They become so comfortable making inflammatory claims and expressing bigoted opinions because they have a false sense of safety — they think that their fans will stick with them through thick and thin, through scandal and cancellation. But most podcasters don’t have the same social and cultural clout that the Kardashians do — well, except for Khloé Kardashian, who hosts her own podcast.

By Nicole Eisenman

There is also a glaring disparity in who hosts a podcast. According to data gathered by Josh Morgan, “85% of American podcasts sampled had at least one white host. As shown in the chart below, two-thirds (66%) had a white male host. Altogether, 18% of podcasts had a non-white host.” The lack of diversity within the podcasting industry speaks to who audiences are inclined to listen to — we dignify the words of white men more than those of minorities.

Why has there been a push to monetize and contentize conversations? There are great podcasts out there, ones that really have something to say about something or other. And there are podcasts out there where people simply record their conversations, (conversations that don’t really pertain to anything). That’s what conversation is so much of the time, just talking about whatever comes up. The trend of podcasting everything speaks to our desire to create content about anything and everything. But it feels like podcast success is more about who is talking, rather than what is being said.

People want to be witnessed, and that isn’t a bad thing; it’s a facet of human nature. Ironically, as we grow more interconnected through technology and social media, the harder it becomes to stand out and the more incentive a person has to grow their internet presence. It’s no secret that, generally speaking, the more fame a person gains, the more their sense of self-importance inflates — ego grows as pockets grow. In a world where content is monetized and money is king, how do we responsibly produce and ingest content like podcasts?

Podcasting has the potential to be a space for people to generate authentic, human conversation, and there are a number of podcasts that do that. Yet too much of the podcasting world is taken up by already rich, already famous people promoting themselves and their own brands. The solution? I’m not quite sure. I think it requires an investigation of how and why we consume the media we do. Why do some people prefer to listen to Joe Rogan and others prefer The Daily? Why do people flock to the Target aisles when their favorite celebrity releases their own liquor brand? Media infiltrates every part of our lives, and we shouldn’t move through our world as if it doesn’t. I think we would all be better off if we consumed our podcasts more productively and responsibly. As for whether or not I succumb to temptation and join the podcast epidemic… we’ll just have to see.

The unspoken theme behind my “sex education” class was one of loss — when I have sex with a man for the first time, I will inevitably lose something that was once sacred to me. There was no mention of grief, or on the other hand, celebration for this “monumental event.” The loss of one’s virginity is a grey area. It is a “rite of passage” to lose your virginity, but there is no why. Why is it such a big deal, why is it a life-altering event that I should be scared of to the point where I am abstinent from sexual activity but excited to the point where I need to do it, sooner rather than later, but “when you’re ready”?

This grey area had very specific constraints, though. I had to lose my virginity to the right man, preferably the one I would end up marrying. But wouldn’t that make me a prude? Only having ever slept with one man? Well I shouldn’t sleep with too many men, that would make me a slut, a whore. And the timing! I had to have sex for the first time at the right age — anywhere between 16-18 was acceptable, with 17 really being the sweet spot — not too young, not too old. It should be more romantic than sweaty car sex but not as choreographed as on a bed of roses with candles illuminating the room — you don’t want to come off as easy, undermining the big deal this is, and you don’t want to come off as desperate, overinflating this very human activity. There’s that elusive sweet spot — once you find it, you’re golden (ironically, it sounds like I’m describing the G-spot). This sweet spot is never verbally expressed — it’s understood through coded conversations and years of conditioning.

The Virgin Suicides, dir. Sofia Coppola. Photo by Ronald Grant

Long story short, I no longer desire sex or intimate relationships with men, not that I ever really did, but that all that pesky patriarchal conditioning still sticks in my head, despite my raging lesbianism. In my naivety, I felt that everyone had agreed that sex shouldn’t be taboo for one gender and celebrated for the other.

But along came the rise of tradwifery, a rise that quickly jolted me back into reality — a reality where patriarchy is the natural way of life and women are biologically inclined to be homemakers and a bunch of other bioessentialist and misogynistic bullshit talking points. But this time it was wrapped up in a neat little bow, with cows, milkmaid dresses, and skinny, upper-class white women. Not that it was ever wrapped up in something else, but rather that they are saying the quiet part out loud this time. “Yes, you’re right! We do want women in the kitchen and under the rule of patriarchy. Yes, we are misogynists! We do value the skinny white woman above all else!” Society defines “woman” and “womanhood” on said woman’s relation to men. The tradwife phenomenon has become so popular because the woman’s identity is based on her relationship with a man. In the title, she is defined by her status of “wife” with little else substantiating her identity. The label of “wife” automatically encapsulates all other duties wives are supposed to have — homemaking, motherhood, cooking, cleaning, the occasional milking of the cows and tending to farm life — there is no room to simply be a wife without kids, a wife who works, a wife who has a life outside of her own patriarchal prison.

Tradwifery undermines the push towards the embrace of female pleasure. Absolutely, some women find happiness and fulfillment in being mothers, making their own bread, and devoting their lives to the good of their families — that’s great, truly. However, the push of the tradwife lifestyle/aesthetic serves to advance the patriarchal narrative that that is the only righteous life for a woman to lead. Female pleasure is the antithesis of patriarchy. In this case, pleasure is not limited to orgasms and sexual fulfillment, it also applies to the basic daily pleasures that women under patriarchy are stripped of — time away from work, time for themselves, time for indulging in the things that are deemed “luxuries” but are truly simple delights that everyone should be entitled to. Yet factors like socioeconomic inequalities, gender-based violence, and the existence of systemic oppression forcefully prohibit women from experiencing these things.

Black Iris (1926) by Georgia O’Keeffe

Because I actively try to live my life in rejection of the patriarchy, I have been forced to re-examine female pleasure and the concept of virginity — why must I lose something? I mean really, is the status of my hymen that important? It shouldn’t be, that’s for sure.

So, do I need this “rite of passage?” That begs the question — what even is a rite of passage? While the term itself is defined as “a ceremony or ritual of the passage which occurs when an individual leaves one group to enter another … (involving) a significant change of status in society,” the perpetuation of it in this context is through the strict lens of virginity and the loss of it. Surely penis-to-vagina-penetrative sex should not be the one thing my womanhood depends on. I shouldn’t have to adhere to heterosexual-cisgender sex to be deemed a woman, nor should my “graduation” from girl to woman require a singular, life-altering experience. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a girl, a child — to base your whole life on the coveted experience of losing something. Boys and men get to gain the status of someone who has had sex while girls and women lose the label of virgin — a label they are taught to hold on to until the “perfect” time (which is, of course, determined by the patriarchy).

My sexual activity should not determine my womanhood. It shouldn’t be based on how many men I sleep with, how much pink I wore as a child, or at what age I “lost my virginity” at. My womanhood — and by association, my feminist ethos — is not defined by my proximity to men and it is not defined by one thing or idea — it is a constantly evolving reflection of the way that I view and participate in the world. Furthermore and most importantly, it is shaped and defined by me, myself, and I.

This video sparked outrage, with commenters saying, “This is a wild take on Hairspray that may completely miss the message…” and, “Try again with at least ONE plus-size model.” It is almost laughable that Vogue had the opportunity to hire a lesser-known plus-size model and give them the opportunity of a lifetime. Yet, they hired Gigi Hadid, who has been featured in the magazine more than 150 times.

Still from Gigi Hadid Can’t Stop the Beat, courtesy of Vogue

Vogue explains their casting decision by saying “To understand just why Hadid wanted to embark on this Hairspray-themed adventure, you have to go back to her childhood, and also understand a bit of where her head is as a parent. ‘I grew up doing musical theater,’ she told me when I visited her in Pennsylvania to report the cover story. ‘I love all things musical theater.’’ That’s a sweet sentiment but surely her love for musical theater could have been better portrayed through a different musical — one that doesn’t center around fatphobia and anti-black racism.

The first iteration of the story was John Waters’ 1988 film entitled Hairspray, followed by the 2007 movie-musical of the same name, directed by Adam Shankman. The story follows Tracy Turnblad in 1960s Baltimore. Tracy is a young, plus-size woman who auditions for a spot on the hit T.V. show the “Corny Collins Show” and is rejected because of her weight and her support of racial integration. To put salt in the wound, Tracy is given detention for skipping class in order to audition. In detention, however, she spends time with various Black classmates who all love dance and music. She becomes friends with Seaweed J. Stubbs, whom she recognizes because of Corny Collins’ monthly “Negro Day,” the only time Black people are allowed to be on the show. Corny Collins then hosts an open-call for a council position and this time, Tracy is accepted. Next, Tracy joins a local civil rights protest after the shows monthly “Negro Day” was cancelled. The story ends with Tracy winning the “Miss Teenage Hairspray” competition and the “Corny Collins” show is racially integrated.

Hairspray, 1988, dir. John Waters

The Vogue portrayal of Hairspray bastardizes the musical and everything it stands for. What does it mean for the industry as a whole if we keep producing these watered-down, apolitical versions of art? Fashion, specifically fashion at the level of Vogue, should be an outlet for improving our world and challenging social norms. Instead, we are seeing the same faces and body types time and time again. This erasure of plus-size bodies feels even more sinister in the wake of Ozempic and conservatism. The whole production reads as “Let’s keep politics out of fashion,” which is disingenuous and anybody working in the fashion industry should recognize that politics are ingrained in fashion, and vice versa. With that statement, it is important to recognize that like any company, Vogue isn’t a monolith and not everyone working for the magazine shares the same values.

Hairspray, 2007, dir. Adam Shankman

Maliha Shoaib reported on Vogue’s size inclusivity report for Menswear Fall/Winter 2025, saying, “Out of 2,579 looks across Milan and Paris, 94.9 per cent were straight-size (under EU 48), down from 98.3 per cent last season; 4.8 per cent were mid-size (EU 48-54), up from 1.3 per cent last season; while plus-size (EU 56+ or over XL) made up 0.3 per cent of looks, up slightly from 0.2 per cent last season.” Any publication, despite the size, should acknowledge their shortcomings and the magazine’s recent Hairspray production is hypocritical regarding body inclusivity.

To strip the deeper meaning away from art — whether it be fashion, music, theater, or film — is stripping away its significance. We are living through a time where thinness and conservatism are infiltrating every facet of life, so for Vogue — a publication with power and social influence — to negate the musical’s political importance and stance is wrong. How hard would it have been to cast a plus-size cast and acknowledge the anti-black racism and fatphobia that exists within our world and specifically, America? Vogue, do better.

I have misophonia. Therefore, I have a disability. It has taken me a while to get comfortable with the label of “having a disability.” It is something I resisted at first — I thought my condition wasn’t disabling me enough for it to be constituted as a disability. After confronting my own internalized ableism (which I still have to do, every day), I accept the label. I embrace it. I have a disability, I am disabled.

I was terrified to go into high school — not just because of puberty and growing pains and cute boys (queue a rude sexual awakening), but more so because I have misophonia. A classroom is my personal hell. People click their pens, bounce their legs, chew gum, eat snacks, drink water, and so. much. more. Every sound that happens within the four walls of a classroom hurts me. It hurts so bad. So bad, it’s a pain I can’t describe with words. A trigger is not the kind of hurt that stings for the first few seconds and then slowly goes away. A trigger stays inside of you. I remember every single trigger I have ever experienced and I say that without an ounce of hyperbole. My triggers tattoo my brain and scar my body. And I am triggered every single day, without fail. My skin is covered in wounds and my brain in ink. I am forever changed because of my misophonia. My 504 allowed me to access quiet spaces and other resources that were crucial to my education and well-being. A 504 is a document that outlines proper and necessary accommodations for students with disabilities. 504s are confirmed by doctors and therapists for the betterment and protection of children and adolescents in a school setting.

And now Republicans are trying to take away 504s by declaring them as “unconstitutional.” Do not fucking dare take my protections away from me. For the party that claims to care about “protecting children,” this action will directly harm children, both trans and disabled.

Photo by Stephanie Keith, courtesy of Getty Images

I most likely would have killed myself if I didn’t have my high school 504 plan. You may think that’s a blunt and harsh way of putting things, but I live that harshness every day, and trust me, living it is harder than hearing it. My misophonia was constantly invalidated — I was laughed at for eating lunch alone, I was in a state of constant isolation, always being triggered, and traumatized by a teacher for committing the crime of having a disability. My 504 did not ensure safety or protection for me, but at the very least it made it legal. I know we live in a deeply ableist society so having that reassurance was at least something.

It was something until today, the day I found out that 17 states are suing to declare Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act as unconstitutional. Let me back up. In May 2024, the Biden Administration added “gender dysphoria” to the working definition of “disability” according to the Rehabilitation. According to Legal Newsline, “This redefinition contradicts existing federal disability law, which explicitly states that “‘gender identity disorders not resulting from physical impairments, or other sexual behavior disorders,’ are not considered disabilities.” In their lawsuit, the 17 suing states said “Because Section 504 is coercive, untethered to the federal interest in disability, and unfairly retroactive, the Rehabilitation Act is not constitutional under the spending clause.”

Photo by Demetrius Freeman, courtesy of the New York Times

I do not give a damn about the Constitution — it was written by a bunch of white supremacists who I do not care about, like, at all — they can burn in hell. But I live in America and a majority of the population here cares about the Constitution. With that in mind, let me say this: I am not an “unconstitutional” person because I am disabled. I am deserving of proper accommodations and basic respect because of my disability, as is every other person who is disabled. Similarly, transgender people are not disabled because of their gender identity. Trans people are deserving of proper care and basic respect. I do not know why that has to be said, yet here I am having to say it.

Here is what disabled and trans people have to say about the news:

“… Honestly my 504 helped me [with] school so much.” - anonymous

“I had one [a 504] when I was in elementary school, it was a private school and they were trying to understand how to teach a kid with ADHD. That school didn’t handle it well, but when I transferred to a public school, it was much better. Helped me learn how to learn.” - anonymous

Photo by Heather Khalifa, courtesy of The Philadelphia Inquirer

I guarantee that you know a disabled person and you know a trans person. You may not realize you do, but you do. Those people, even if you can’t name them, are deserving of decency. They are deserving of life. Disability accommodations and gender-affirming care save lives. Having misophonia is debilitating and I barely survived high school — my support system, myself, and my 504 plan helped me survive. Survival has taught me that I am deserving of much more, I deserve to live and thrive in an accessible society, in an equitable society. My disability is not who I am, yet I would not be who I am without my disability. Do not reduce me to my disability and do not erase my disability. Disabled people and trans people exist, have existed, and will exist. Not only will we exist, we will prosper in a more just world. This fascist system is not entitled to our deaths or suffering. We will keep each other safe and keep each other strong.

Trans Lifeline

Transgender Rights in Every State

Disability Resources

I used to be a serial thrifter. Anytime I felt bored I found myself at the nearest thrift store. This became a habit, a morally neutral one — not necessarily bad and not necessarily good. After all, I work in, study, and love fashion — so why not shop? I learned the hard way that there are in fact many reasons to not shop, or rather, many reasons to shop more intentionally.

In recent years, I became familiar with a new approach to shopping and fashion consumption, introduced to me by one of Ashley aka Best Dressed’s YouTube videos. The video was a closet cleanout with four criteria for keeping a garment.

1. “Do I wear it often?”

Okay, fair. Who should keep something if they don’t wear it often?

2. “Does it fit well?”

Also, very fair. But still some resistance — I swear, one day, I will alter those pants in my closet that fall off my hips in their current state. But let me keep them, I will alter them one day. Maybe.

3. “Comfortable fabric.”

It's hard to argue with this one, but I still fought to rationalize my blister-causing heels and their place in my closet.

4. “Does it make me feel like myself?”

Well, what does make me feel like myself? I feel like myself in the vintage Mod dress I bargained for on Depop. I also feel like myself in the cheetah print coat that was a hand-me-down, the one that makes me want to practice my Jersey accent. I feel like myself in a lot of my clothes, isn’t that the point of them? Well, I said a lot, not all, so there must be some that I don’t love. Looks like it’s time for a closet cleanout.

Garment by Lydia Morrow via Pinterest

And so I cleansed my closet. It felt good, as does any decluttering activity. One of Ashley’s take-aways from her YouTube video was that she wanted to shop less and more intentionally. I was incredibly resistant to this approach because I saw shopping as a “shop more, have more, love more” mindset, not “shop less, have less, love more.” I chased the indulgence and dopamine rush that came with a new purchase — a brand new garment that I had free reign over and could wear every which way till Tuesday. My kind of high.

I recently broke my “no buy” streak for a score on The Real Real. A delicious cream Dries Van Noten blouse and a versatile navy blue Jil Sander skirt. These are pieces I will cherish for as long as I have them, and I have realized that that is the feeling I want to chase — not a fast dopamine hit that fades as fast as it comes, but a long-lasting feeling of appreciation, care, and infatuation.

In the past, I would walk into a Goodwill with all guns blazing, ready to scour those racks picking up anything and everything that caught my eye. This led to a lot of regretful purchases and a lot of trips back to said Goodwill to re-donate. This cycle went against everything I stand for. Now, I don’t beat myself up for this because I believe shopping is a learned skill, not something we come out of the womb knowing how to do. Capitalism pushes us to consume, consume, and consume — no questions asked. Why are we so resistant to asking those questions, though? Perhaps because those questions would lead to answers we don’t like, answers that result in walking out of the store empty-handed.

“There are no limits to consumption… If it was that which is naively taken to be, absorption, a devouring, then we should achieve…satisfaction. But we know that this is not the case: we want to consume more and more…If consumption appears to be irrepressible, this is precisely because it is a total idealist practice which has no longer anything to do (beyond a certain point) with the satisfaction of needs…” (Baudrillard, 1988:24). (From an academic essay by Nimet Harmanci)

Defeat quickly seeps in when leaving a clothing store empty-handed. Shopping has become an all-or-nothing approach, leaving with nothing means you gained nothing. Perhaps clothing consumption is not that black and white, it exists within hues of grey.

Shopping is more than a monetary exchange for goods and services — it is also an experience. From taking piles of clothes into the dressing room, FaceTiming your sisters to get their opinions on the dress you’re unsure of, feeling fabric on your body, observing what you like and don’t like, chatting with sales associates and fellow customers, and gathering inspiration all around you, shopping is an intimate and personable experience.

Art by Barbara Kruger

The act of consumption, specifically fashion consumption, is nuanced and it is time we treat it as such. It’s an unrealistic expectation that you will like and keep everything you ever buy, and it’s unrealistic and dangerous to consume fashion with haste and no regard for the impacts of it. We are all making imperfect decisions against the backdrop of an imperfect world, and it is wrong to expect and demand perfection from fellow consumers. If we acknowledge the complexities that come with something such as shopping, then we can grow and evolve as consumers.

I now do my best to shop more intentionally and at a slower pace to ensure I truly love and adore the pieces I own, but there are times when I decide to pull the trigger on a purchase. There is no right or wrong, but there are ways to improve, for the betterment of oneself and the world around them.

“Are there universal ways in which people react to beauty? No, because beauty is detachment, absence of passion. Ugliness, by contrast, is passion.” -Umberto Eco

“The fear of looking ugly will ruin your life and steal your joy,” (@im.an.adult on TikTok) is the opening line for a TikTok video I have saved deep in my favorites folder. This was a very tough pill to swallow. I knew it was true, but damn, did I hate hearing that — the fear that overtakes me every day, the fear that my under-eye concealer creases when I smile, that the folds of my body are visible to the outside world, that, well, we could go on for hours. You get the point. I woefully fear being ugly.

I’ve heard similar sentiments throughout my 20 years — most notably “Your fear of looking stupid is holding you back,” or something along those lines. I think I first heard this in a cheap self-help book — you know the kind, full of catchy mantras and shallow one-liners, the one you pick up in Barnes and Noble and walk out considering canceling your next therapy appointment. Nonetheless, this one stuck out to me, this one minute and 21-second video forced me to interrogate my feelings toward “ugliness.”

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Czardas dancers, 1908

I think, in a sense, I’ve gotten over my fear of looking stupid. Let’s put it this way: I’ve made a lot of stupid clothing purchases and have worn those stupid purchases, usually to high school. One day in junior year I wore a ruffled polka dot shirt, a plaid skirt, fishnet stockings, and rain boots (this was not a stupid outfit, nor stupid purchases. Rather, it was stupid in the eyes of teenagers). Two things happened that day. I got a dirty look from a girl during passing period, almost as dirty as the looks I give to MAGA hat wearers; she looked me up and down and grimaced. A different girl complimented my outfit, an interaction that ended with a big hug even though neither of us knew each other’s names. So yeah, I’ve done my fair share of “looking stupid” exposure therapy.

But looking ugly terrifies me to my core. I so deeply wish it didn’t, but here we are. The rational and logical side of my brain recognizes the fact that Western beauty standards are steeped in racism, misogyny, and fatphobia and that the beauty industry is capitalism and patriarchy at work blah blah blah blah blah. Yet that’s the thing about being human, rationality doesn’t always work.

“Unpleasant” and “repulsive” are the two most common words across various definitions of the word “ugly” — pertaining mainly to appearance but also personality. It’s a word tossed around haphazardly and a label to be avoided at all costs. “Ugly” is a dynamic title — what was once considered ugly 500 years ago may now be deemed as beautiful, and vice versa.

Leonora Carrington, Green Tea, 1942

A person’s value is dependent on their physical appearance. Fat people, people with disabilites, people of color, and every single person who doesn’t perfectly adhere to the current beauty standard is deemed as less than in one way or another. Their character is brought into question, as is their basic worth. But by our own standards of beauty, every single person has been “ugly.” So why are we so terrified of it?

There is a distinct division in the ways we perceive ugly art versus ugly people (hence the chosen photos — I Googled “ugly art” and the rest is history). Ugly art has intrinsic beauty. Even if the matter is ugly in nature or appearance, we as the viewers still find beauty within the integrity of the art — the colors used, the brushstrokes, the composition. Yet why can’t we find that same beauty in people? Why must we categorize people into one of two camps? If we looked at ugly artworks the same way we look at ugly people, we would simply dismiss the art as “Not worth my time,” because, what ugly thing is worth anyone’s time? Imagine how much art and culture we would miss out on if we refused to engage with things that challenge our carefully crafted capitalistic perceptions of beauty.

Beauty is a performance. You aren’t born with it, because natural beauty is somewhat of a myth — 50% of people may think you’re drop-dead gorgeous while the other 50% says there’s not much to write home about. Does that 50% vote qualify a person as being beautiful? Statistically, with eight billion other people on Earth, you’re not going to check the “beautiful” box on everyone’s ballot, and that is okay, at least it should be okay.

I want to embrace my moments of (physical) ugliness without shame. I want to look at objectively bad photos of myself and laugh while flipping off the beauty industry, I want to exist without constant fear of how I look, I want the freedom of simply being. “I know that I’m a good person and [that] I have value regardless of what I look like at the time” (@im.an.adult on TikTok). I’ve come to realize that the message presented in the video is not a one-and-done thing; it is an attitude I must practice. Societal conditioning is a hell of a drug, so moving forward, I will try to both embrace and accept the fact that my face isn’t perfectly symmetrical, that I have fat on my body, and that I get acne. Those facts shouldn’t affect the perception of my worth, from my perspective and the public’s. I am beautiful and I am ugly, as is everyone. It’s still uncomfortable for me to say that but I realize more and more every day that discomfort is a state to seek out — not to run from. So yes, we are beautifully ugly, uglily beautiful, and everything in between. As the quote by Umberto Eco says, “ugliness is passion,” — if ugliness is passion, then I want to bleed ugliness, I want every part of my life to be touched by the hand of ugliness. Since beauty is such a contrived force, then let us morph it, play with it, and distort it — let us move through the world not in spite of our physical appearances, but in appreciation of all their ugly beauty.

“Pick-me girl,” defined as “a girl who seeks male validation by indirectly or directly insinuating that she is 'not like other girls,’” has become the ultimate insult — so insulting that girls and women all over the internet avoid that label like the plague. And rightfully so. That title comes with the consequences of relentless cyber-bullying, alienation from fellow women, and a potential internet cancellation.

Girls

I once made the mistake of making a dry and wholly sarcastic joke and posting it on my public TikTok account. It was a few years ago but I remember it being along these lines: The original video said “How do you know you’re pretty?” and I responded by saying “How could I not? I mean look at me.” Let me add that the video was accompanied by a long and sardonic laugh. The video gained a few hundred views in 20 or so minutes, not millions of views viral, but enough to get me my fair share of hate comments and labeled as a pick-me. Granted, the people commenting on my video were almost positively 13-18-year-old boys, but at that time I too was around 16 or 17. I didn’t deserve to be bullied because my (fairly obvious) joke didn’t land. The use of the term is not specific to one gender. Yes, women use it as an easy takedown of other women but it is just as often used by men — a different, more subtle way of outright calling her a bitch.

With the rush of misogynistic hate comments came a larger rush; a tsunami of kind and complimentary women and girls. Those are the comments I remember more when I think about that post. At this point and with the advantage of hindsight, I laugh at the threat I imposed to the internet by calling myself pretty.

Try to have any ounce of self-confidence and you’ll swiftly be branded as a pick-me — take it from me. With that comes Internet ridicule and anti-girls-girl allegations. Considering how non-trendy feminism was at my high school — I was called a “Feminazi” by at least five boys after I attended the 2017 Women’s March — it’s strange to witness feminism, or at least this brand of “feminism” gain popularity.

Yet, like most Internet phenomenons, the “pick-me girl” epidemic folded in on itself. “Pick-me girl” went so “feminist” that it became… anti-feminist (one could argue it was anti-feminist from its inception). Girls-girl feminism and subsequently pick-me culture holds women to an unattainably high standard — no mistakes or slip-ups and absolutely no room for growth.

Barbie

Since its onset, “pick-me girl” has been somewhat of a dog whistle. If a girl is labeled a pick-me, that gives everyone a free pass to be as misogynistic as they please. And the term has been used by men since its inception — But what does it take to be a “pick-me girl”? Anything and everything. Like football? Pick-me. Like a cheeseburger and cold beer? Pick-me. Too confident in yourself? Pick-me. Dress up for a date? Pick-me. The looming threat of being labeled as a “pick-me” and all the consequences that come along with it leads women to conceal facets of their identity — which makes it unfeminist. To the women who enjoy football, a cheeseburger and beer, getting dressed up, or simply being confident in themselves, you are not failing at anything, rather you are succeeding at pissing off the patriarchy — good for you. Women should be allowed to express their likes and dislikes freely and authentically without fear of having a scarlet “PMG” sewn onto their shirts.

How though, did we get to the point where women are expected to uplift and agree with every woman ever? It could be argued that this invisible pressure has been on women since the beginning of time, but looking at recent years, there are potential culprits. The name presumably originates from Grey’s Anatomy in a now infamous scene where Meredith Grey (portrayed by Ellen Pompeo) says “So pick me, choose me, love me” to a male love interest. Then there was the Girlboss-ification of feminism where instead of collective and intersectional liberation, the sole focus is the (usually corporate) success of a singular woman — capitalism’s idea of equity. People need a scapegoat, no, rather, bigots need a scapegoat. And so the “pick-me” label was born and glommed onto women and girls, making misogyny even more palatable than it already is.

There is a broader issue behind women and girls being labeled as having “pick-me energy.” Why do they feel the need to seek male validation in the first place? Women adopt the “pick-me energy” for a reason, it’s not out of the blue. Attracting the attention and validation of a man is as good as currency when living under a patriarchy, and separating oneself from the solidarity of womanhood is one of the avenues to do that. Look, I get it. It hurts like hell when a girl you call a friend, or even a stranger, puts you down to appeal to a man. That action is a betrayal of the supposed inherent camaraderie between women and girls. I thought we were supposed to be in this together — I hoped for us to be in this together.

The Sex Lives of College Girls

Considering we exist under a system that thrives off of misogyny, more grace should be given to us for responding to that oppression. Is putting a fellow woman down a good or productive way to respond? Absolutely not, but that action should not result in a punitive and unrelenting punishment.

We also cannot pretend that every woman in life will be by your side considering that 53% of American white women voted for the white supremacist, rapist, fascist, all-around-piece-of-shit known as Donald Trump, in the 2024 U.S. Presidential election. I do not believe that those women deserve the consequences of a misogynistic system — no one does — but there must be an acknowledgment of the oppression they cause; a person can be oppressed and oppress others.

I love women. I love all the wonderful and authentic relationships I have with every woman in my life — I honestly don’t know what I’d do without them. I love myself. I want the freedom of calling myself pretty and posting that statement on the Internet without fear of being pitted against other women. The “conceited” angle comes with any expression of self-confidence expressed on the Internet, that’s just the nature of such a large platform with millions of people, but the double standard is glaring.

Girlfriends

I don’t have to utterly adore every woman I encounter. Rather I want to be able to disagree with, and hell, even dislike women I encounter. It’s an impossible standard set on us — approve of, love, admire, and agree with women, no exceptions. And if you don’t? God knows you’ll be met with the wrath of the Internet. It starts to seem like we as women, girls, and femmes can’t win. Perhaps we should stop trying to win a rigged game.

And as they lay, scattered across the barren sands, they truly believed that their arrival here was a matter of fate — that their ship had left harbour
under the light of a cursed star. But if I am to document this as a matter of destiny,
it is a destiny that could touch any person with eyes that see, ears that hear,
and a pulse that beats — that delicious curse of temptation that Eve unlocked when she bit into the apple’s flesh.

Flashbacks crackle like crashes of heavenly thunder. First, arrows,
shot by a randy Cupid; blood pulsed from the heart to the loins. Memories of who they were and where they were going melted away, supplanted by burning lust.

An ingenue bride-to-be, on her way to her betrothed, lifted her veil to touch lips
with the ship’s captain, their hands off the helm; two bare-breasted pirates
made off with a tartan-clad Celtic princess, while John Swann, their gay matey,
set his sights on the strapping sailor manning the rig. Sirens shrieked in ecstasy to the songstress’ bawdy ballad; krakens and crocodiles licked, sucked and snapped at the boat’s brittle bow.

As the chorus of moans rose and fell alongside the mounting waves, a bolt of lightning cracked down the galleon’s mast, breaking the vessel apart
and flinging a mass of spent bodies to the sea’s boiling foam. Even then — bobbing on
the open water with mouths full of salt, noses full of smoke — they still
believed they were the unfortunate victims of a fate that couldn’t have been avoided; that there was nothing they could have done…

Above reads the story of fantastically imagined protagonists and a haunting tale, the catalyst behind Jean Paul Gaultier Spring 2025 Haute Couture, designed by Ludovic de Saint Sernin (LdSS). Audiences saw sex, seduction, and sensuality intricately woven between the psyches of sirens and sailors on the day of January 29th, 2025.

Photo by Daniele Oberrauch, courtesy of Gorunway.com and Vogue Runway

Nicknamed L'Enfant Terrible of the fashion world, (a nickname shared by fellow designer Alexander McQueen), Jean Paul Gaultier continues to leave his mark on the world even after his 2020 retirement. During the semi-annual Haute Couture presentations, Gaultier chooses a designer to guest-design the brand’s collection. Since the inception of this tradition, names such as Chitose Abe of Sacai, Glenn Martens of Maison Margiela, Olivier Rousteing of Balmain, Haider Ackerman of Tom Ford, Julien Dossena of Rabanne, Simone Rocha of Simone Rocha, Nicolas Di Felice of Courrèges, and most recently, Ludovic de Saint Sernin of Ludovic de Saint Sernin have had the opportunity to guest-design.

LdSS had a unique task — as did his predecessors — to embody the spirit and codes of Jean Paul Gaultier’s designs while imprinting his own motifs and ideologies, all while appealing to the larger commercial customer base. Not an easy job, yet LdSS did it masterfully.

Photo by Daniele Oberrauch, courtesy of Gorunway.com and Vogue Runway

The collection, titled Le Naufrage (translating to The Shipwreck) saw grommets punched through fabric, binding corsets, hardened leather, delicate lace, feathers, sequins, and tulle. The model’s hair was wetted to their foreheads furthering the intoxicating oceanic scene. Viewers could practically feel the sirens pulling them into the water. LdSS’ designs conveyed the powers of the sea in the form of fashion. The oceanic scene was not chosen haphazardly, rather it reflected Jean Paul Gautlier’s history of maritime motifs and themes, as well as the strength of such a natural might. Destruction and rebirth are striking forces that, as we are witnessing, touch life beyond the water.

Photo by Daniele Oberrauch, courtesy of Gorunway.com and Vogue Runway

LdSS’ approach to fashion and Gaultier’s legacy are instruments of change, just as Le Naufrage is. An exploration of queerness, LdSSes genderless approach to fashion design blended seamlessly with Gaultier’s history of boundary-pushing. Sexuality and sensuality seeped through the garments, propelling the audience into a world of adventure through the vessel of the nautical world. Through the mysticism of the show, LdSS demonstrated that the vastness of human sexuality cannot and will not be contained by the likes of anti-LGBTQ laws and propositions. No, rather the beauty and resistance inherent to queer identities will prevail. LdSS and Gaultier masterfully and intentionally use the art of dress to do what every human should have the right to do, express their authentic self.

Ludovic de Saint Sernin taking a bow at the show. Photo by Daniele Oberrauch, courtesy of Gorunway.com and Vogue Runway

Hedonic and unapologetic, Ludovic de Saint Sernin’s collection for Jean Paul Gaultier Haute Couture silhouettes the true essence of the fashion industry. The vigor behind the humans and creatures who touch both land and sea is an attribute they can’t take away from us, and Ludovic de Saint Sernin further proved that with this enchanting collection. As the world sees a rise in bigotry and anti-LGBTQ policies, the robustness, artistry, and mysticism of this show are messages that we can all stand to hear.

Thank you for reading!

x Audrey

Photograph by Jason Merritt, courtesy of Term

First, let’s review. Who are the Kardashians? The pop culture references to “The Kardashians,” are to Kris Jenner and her six adult children. Kris Jenner was married to Robert Kardashian (well-known to GenX as O.J. Simpson’s criminal defense lawyer) and together they had Kourtney, Kim, Khloé, and Rob. After Kris and Robert divorced, Kris married Caitlyn Jenner (also well-known to GenX as a US track and field star Caitlyn Jenner who won the gold medal in the Decathlon in the 1976 Olympic games). The Jenners had two daughters, Kendall and Kylie. Why are the Kardashians famous? This is a good question. They have managed to be famous for being famous and with the help of Mom-ager Kris Jenner, they have cemented themselves as a part of American pop culture.

Through their social media presence, reality TV presence, and billion-dollar business enterprises, their influence is hard to escape. But how does that influence truly affect the rest of us?

Societal Impacts

The Kardashians have a laundry list of projects from their years of influencing — makeup brands, (fast) fashion lines, wellness blogs and subsequent supplements, tequila companies, even credit cards.

Their most recent business venture is Kourtney Kardashian’s so-called “wellness” brand which just released Ozempic — sort of. Their new product is a GLP-1 Daily gummy but the product does not actually contain any traces of the GLP-1 hormone (the one found in Ozempic). Instead, it uses three ingredients to mimic the effects of GLP-1. And for the low price of $72 for a month’s supply, this miracle gummy can be yours. I am not a scientist or dietician so I will not speak to the scientific claims made by their brand (I also don’t want to get sued), but the claim that the gummy will “reduce hunger cravings” is a bad, albeit unsurprising, claim. This is classic Kardashian. Both Khloé and Kim have promoted Flat Tummy Co. products which range from teas to shakes to lollipops, posting the products to their hundreds of millions of followers. Now, Kourtney is hopping on the promotion-of-weight-loss-products-and-diet-culture train.

Courtesy of Hulu

Why is it a bad claim? I agree that every person of every size should have the autonomy to do what they want with their body, but that statement comes with a lot of nuance. The promotion of weight loss through intentional hunger suppression is a slippery slope. As Equip Health defines it, “Diet culture is a system of social beliefs and expectations that values thinness above all. This system equates having a thin body with being healthy — and, consequently, assumes those in larger bodies are unhealthy — and puts the pursuit of thinness on a moral pedestal.”

The Kardashians have helped shape the beauty standard into what it is today: skinny, but not so skinny that you don’t have an ass or boobs, a small waist, big lips, full eyebrows, defined cheekbones (most likely due to buccal fat removal), I could go on. I do not want to put the blame entirely on people like the Kardashians who — even though they are the elites of American society — still face misogyny and ageism. I can’t imagine it was easy, much less fair, growing up and going through life with a camera crew in your face and the tabloids picking apart every inch of you. But to take that hatred and manipulate it into a brand, a brand that targets vulnerable young women, is wrong.

Moreover, the Kardashians have been appropriating Black culture as well as other cultures for about as long as they have been famous. From Kim’s infamous “Bo Derek” braids to treating Black men as accessories, there are truly countless examples of the Kardashians appropriating various cultures. People often excuse their appropriation with either “They didn’t know!” or “It’s not that deep.” The thing is they did know, and it is that deep. Cultural appropriation is not a victimless act, it reinforces stereotypes and cultural/racial hierarchy, usually with whiteness at the top. To give them the benefit of the doubt, most teenagers did not have paparazzi to deal with and tens of millions of Instagram followers in their adolescence — Kendall and Kylie did. Even so, it doesn’t excuse or erase the harm caused by their perpetration of appropriation.

So why is American pop culture so obsessed with this family? They have shown us who they are time and time again, and show no signs of changing, yet we still platform and worship them. Is it the desire to be like them (albeit a desire we would never outwardly express) — to have people fawning over your every move, a secured invite at the Met Gala every year, and all the access in the world? Is it the dramatic thrill they give us that feeds our parasocial relationship to their family? Maybe it is the simultaneous jealousy of their life and resentment for what they represent. They’re all “self-made” multi-millionaires and billionaires while the federal minimum wage is $7.25 an hour. Meanwhile, they’re promoting weight-loss supplements while eating disorders are on the rise. Perhaps we see them as an escape from our continually fucked-up world. They don’t speak on social issues because they don’t have to, we’ll keep liking their posts through their silence. After all, we live in an attention-based economy. We can unfollow them with the click of a button. So why don’t we? Why do we continue to worship at their face-tuned feet?

Photograph courtesy of Lemme

We Worship at the Altar of Kardashian-Jenner

The thing about the Kardashians is they have proven themselves as famous — for good reason or bad — they seem to subscribe to an “all press is good press” mindset. They have become America’s royal family if the royal family had a reality T.V. show and were cursing each other out every other episode. Nonetheless, we love them and continue to forgive them even through all their “missteps.”

The fandom that follows the Kardashians is strong. Try to criticize one of the sisters and you’ll swiftly be met with “Shut up, you’re broke,” which in today’s money-obsessed world is the ultimate insult. Americans have stuck with them through all the red carpets, explosive fights, screw-ups, and birthday extravaganzas. We’re a part of the family. They are together through thick and thin, and we as the viewer feel like we’re right there with them.

Whatever reason you may equate to the Kar-Jenner craze, the infatuation runs deep. They occupy our magazine covers, our social media feeds, and our minds. How do we move on from them? First, we must ask, do we even want to? What would a world without the Kardashian worship look like? Would that cultural obsession simply be replaced with the next family in waiting? Would we just end up obsessing over other celebrities? There was a time pre-Kardashian a faraway time. Now I can’t speak to the parasociality of a pre-Kardashian world as I was born in 2004, but I have to imagine our collective relationship with fame (meaning the ordinary citizen’s relationship with fame and famous people) as different. Social media has given us an all-access view of celebrities. With a swift movement across the keyboard, we know their astrological signs, favorite foods, their pet peeves — really anything you could want to know. The Kardashians are indicative of a larger social problem. We have a hard time moving past the celebrity and seeing the humanity. This problem leeches into everything – our politics, interpersonal relationships, music, and art.

Photograph by Kevin Tachman, courtesy of Getty Images

What would our days look like if we were able to interact with celebrities as humans, humans who just so happen to be famous for whatever reason? I think our consumption and connection with art as a whole would be more positive. I think to be able to see a famous artists’ humanity and attention to their craft, rather than just the celebrity gossip about them, would help us all.

In writing this I have determined my feelings regarding the Kardashians are still, well, complicated. I believe a healthy, symbiotic relationship between celebrities and “normal” citizens is possible and there are examples of it all around us. Perhaps moving forward, we can appreciate the robustness people have to offer one another and not the money they can make off of their fans.

I’m off my soapbox about the Kardashians, at least for now.

Thank you for reading!

x Audrey