MINT stanford university
fall 2018
style & culture
Stanford University, November 2018 Runoff smoke from California wildfires photo by William Marshall
LETTER FROM THE EDITORS dear reader, The conclusion of fall quarter requires a reflection on the tumultuous several months behind us. Around the world, the country, the Bay Area, and Stanford, things are changing -- for better or for worse. Our first issue of the school year grapples with these changes and asks questions for the future by focusing on what we call the politics of inversion. Throughout this issue, we ask you to challenge yourself, invert your reality, and envision a new world. Our photographers challenged themselves to visually portray the concept of political inversion. They flipped the script on frat culture and rejected conventional representations of East Asian women. They recognized and celebrated the diverse countries and cultures in Africa in our beautiful ‘Vogue “Africa”’ editorial. They juxtaposed skin tones with their complementary colors to complicate ethnicity in the ‘RGBOYP’ editorial. And they demanded a rethinking of fashion by exhibiting the child labor behind the industry of mass produced clothing. The direction of our writers in this issue is vastly different from our writing in previous issues. We delved deep into issues about socioeconomic status and thrifting and highlighted Carmelo’s fifty-seven year tenure at Stanford Hair. We discussed the emergence of ‘apocalyptic apparel’ in the recent wake of the California wildfires and juxtaposed the success of Brett Kavanaugh with the controversy surrounding Serena Williams, questioning whose emotions are under the microscope. Even this issue’s cover attempts to push the boundaries of MINT’s own artistic conventions. We’re excited to see what boundaries we push in more issues yet to come. As always, we hope you enjoy the magazine.
Mirna El-khalily, Eilaf Osman, Iman Floyd-Carroll MINT Editors-in-Chief
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MINT STAFF
editors-in-chief mirna EL-KHALILY eilaf OSMAN iman FLOYD-CARROLL
creative director annie NG
managing director alexa DAVY
design directors nova MEURICE phoebe YAO
events director yasmin ELTAWIL
writing director
creative marketing director sarah OHTA
social media directors carlos BUSTOS diana KHONG john OKHIULU
web directors kiara BOBOFF markie WAGNER
sponsorships directors lyndsey KONG serena SOH
financial officers
em WILDER
hannah PARK meghana REDDY
poetry director
makeup artist
maya SALAMEH
photography directors chloe PETERSON-NAFZIGER jessica YEUNG
modeling directors chloe PETERSON-NAFZIGER ryan WIMSATT
marketing director daniel SANCHEZ
web content managers ryane LIAO udani SATARASINGHE katie SMYTHE vanessa FELIX katherine WAISSBLUTH
em WILDER
designers isabella AMPIL isabel BENAK arkira CHANTARATANANOND eva HOFFMAN eunice JUNG caitlin KLAUER carissa LEE miranda LI annie NG ciera OKERE alex POPKE gopal RAMAN udani SATARASINGHE griffin SOMARATNE julie WANG kelsey WANG
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IN THIS ISSUE 8
16 20 26 34 38 44 50 60 66 cover and table of contents photos by Jessica Yeung modeled by Jianna So & Gunner Dongieux
swipe right i’m a catfish think before you thrift silencing anger vogue “africa” carmelo child labor in the era of fast fashion cultural confluence flipping the frat apocalyptic apparel rgboyp
cover clothing courtesy of bloomingdale’s 6
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swipe right, i’m a cat fish
written by Eunice Jung photos by Sarah Ohta modeled by Ting Ting Chang & Eunice Jung
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east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of mult potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an ass ultiplicities and potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a sta an assemblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the east asian a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplicities and potential asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplic ntialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assem plicities and potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis poi mblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the east asian woman is oint but an assemblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the e an isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplicities and poten ast asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplic ntialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assem plicities and potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis poi mblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the east asian woman is oint but an assemblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the e an isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplicities and poten ast asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplic ntialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assem plicities and potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis poi mblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the east asian woman is oint but an assemblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the e an isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplicities and poten ast asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplic ntialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assem plicities and potentialities. the east asian woman isn’t a stasis poi mblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the east asian woman is oint but an assemblage of multiplicities and potentialities. the e an isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of multiplicities and poten east asian woman isn’t a stasis point but an assemblage of mult
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written by Paula McCloud photos by Miranda Li & Kelsey Wang modeled by Miranda Li & Natalie Rockhold
The first time I went to the thrift store with my mom I don’t remember any glamour. She wore the same face and moved the same way she did when we occasionally picked up Holiday food bundles at the Houston Food Bank or those used backpacks from the Back-to-School drives. My mother’s face and body language carried a quiet shame mixed with retired desperation, you know, that kind you feel when you have approached your last resort. I mimicked her expression the many times we returned to the Salvation Army.
I would duck my head down when we got out of the car and turn my nose up at the store’s pungent smell as if I felt better than the others there. I remember the shame I felt when I had to put a stranger’s clothes on my back and my feet in their shoes. I remember being overcome with fear that we would run into someone from school donating their clothes, clothes that I could end up wearing.
There is no glamorous nostalgia in thrifting for me, only that memory.
Thrifting has been a long-accepted way to stretch a dollar, to get more bang for your buck, and to keep up with the fast pace of fashion. It has even been the basis upon which multimillion-dollar companies (i.e. Nasty Gal) were founded, buying clothes for a few bucks and reselling them for thousands of dollars. All the trendsetters are doing it and all the cool kids are eating that shit up. Even at Stanford, both in my experience and in certain student-run magazines, thrifting has been summed up to a
conversation on how students create their own “thrifty style.” They call it vintage. They call it aesthetic. They call it a steal -- that’s where we agree. While thrifting is resourceful, it contributes to a systemic fetishization and commodification of a “poor aesthetic” that inevitably shuts out the people who championed “thriftiness” -and need it most. It perpetuates an exploitative practice that capitalizes on the mimicry and cosplay of fashion and culture that was once pejoratively labeled poor, “hood,” and ghetto.
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These aesthetics are born out of last resorts. They are born out of not having access to money and mainstream fashion and eventually end with those who’ve had access all along claiming them as their own aesthetic. When people’s last resorts become “trendy” and thus more profitable, prices go up and the people who need them and benefit from them can no longer afford them. Shoes that were once $3 are now $15. This perpetuates a denial of a human being’s basic right to clothing. That’s the part Stanford students don’t talk about. That’s the part we try to quickly gloss over. We can’t have a productive conversation or appreciate thrifting until we stop ignoring thrifting’s history and politics. Thrifting in American culture has its roots in exploitation of labor, particularly that of poor and disabled bodies. Many popular thrift store chains, like Goodwill and Salvation Army, began as operations run on the backs of the poor and homeless; these chains are now praised for legitimizing thrifting or with making it “less poor.” According to the New York Times, chains would find people in homeless shelters and have them go around various neighborhoods collecting used clothes in exchange for food and shelter. Just another capitalistic ploy masked by the premise of “charity” and “God’s work.”
Thrifting is also associated with continued xenophobia in this country. The resale of used clothes was started by Jewish immigrants as one of the only ways they could make money; the first words against thrifting were blatantly anti-Semitic in nature. And again, thrift stores also felt that they were doing charity by allowing immigrants to buy American clothes and fully assimilate themselves in American life. Because politics of race and class are inseparable in a global context, these roots of thrift shopping, the exploitative impact of thrifting, and fetishizing the “poor aesthetic” disproportionately impact Black and brown bodies. As Black feminist theorist Evelyn Higginbotham posits, race is a metalanguage that informs the construction of class and all other social constructions of power. Wearing big hoop earrings was once seen as ghetto, and we don’t typically associate ghetto things with whiteness. Wearing dirty shoes or baggy clothes was once seen as not having enough money to buy new things, and we don’t typically associate this with whiteness. When we think of things like poverty, ghetto, or worn-out clothing, the first face that pops into our minds is one that is black or brown. But who do we typically see profiting from these things once they have been accepted into the mainstream? You get the picture. This is the cycle of exclusion that thrifting buys into.
These are the politics of thrifting.
So thrifting is not as simple as “an important economical choice” for some, or “sustainability” for others.
To reduce these politics to a single sentence like this, especially in a Stanford context, has important implications. It means continuing to turn a blind eye to the detrimental implications. It means making something that has exploitative roots more palatable and consumable for new beneficiaries; more sustainable for rich white kids to update their instagram feeds and
call themselves “thrifty” and “unique,” crediting Fran Fine from The Nanny or Rachel Green from Friends and erasing the Black women in the hood who did it first. It means contributing to a paradigm that makes thrift shopping more profitable and thus more expensive. It means adding clothing insecurity to the housing and food insecurity that many people in the Peninsula and South Bay experience. It is easy to forget and ignore in this Stanford bubble the larger implications of our actions. Even as someone who grew up thrifting as a method for survival, I still struggle with maintaining consciousness about how my decision to shop at Savers or Goodwill might impact those in surrounding communities. This should be intuitive, but I’ll say it anyway. You should always think about how anything you do impacts others, especially marginalized people. You should always consider the societal implications and politics of something before you publish an article glorifying it, especially in a super white and affluent context like Stanford. It’s not enough to sit ignorantly in the bubble. We need to educate ourselves.
One sentence ain’t enough.
silencing
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ANGER
written by Natachi Onwuamaegbu illustrations by Clara Spars
s e re n a W I L L I A M S vs b re tt KAVA N AU G H 21
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arly in September, Melbourne’s Herald Sunpublished a cartoon depicting Serena Williams as an angry Black woman having a temper tantrum, curly hair piled on top of a large, inhuman head and a pacifier at her feet. In the background, the umpire of the tennis match turns to Williams’ white opponent --though her actual opponent was Naomi Osaka, a Japanese-Haitian --and pleads with her to just let Serena win. Cartoonist Mark Knight drew this caricature following the 2018 US Open tournament, in which Williams racked up penalties that eventually cost her the game. After the match, Williams went public with her experience, arguing that her offenses --a hand signal from her coach, smashing her racket on the court, and arguing with the umpire --by no means elicited such severe punishment by the game’s officials. In fact, many men in the game had done what she had and worse without receiving such punishment. This was but one instance of unfair and unequal treatment Williams has experienced in her career, but this time, it cost her the most important game of the year. Many have made the compelling case that Williams is subject to such scrutiny because she is a Black woman. When the cartoon was run and quickly rocketed to international attention, it proved her point: Black women are not allowed to feel anger. Not before being labeled unhinged, sassy, hormonal, crazy, abrasive --anything but rightfully angry.
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In public imagination, Black women’s emotions are ridiculed -- even as responses to the injustices they are subject to daily. White men, in contrast, get to feel -- sometimes aggressively and violently -- without critique or interrogation. Even figures like newly-appointed Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh display this white male ideal. A picture of Kavanaugh taken during his September confirmation hearing showed an angry man: his face pulled and twisted in uncomfortable knots, eyes and skin reddening, mouth drawn up in a snarl. The photo, like the Williams cartoon, has gone viral. This clear lack of professional character it depicts is the face of America’s new Supreme Court justice. There were many people, however, that argued in defense of the allegation, recognizing Kavanaugh’s behaviour lacked judicial temperament. However, Kavanaugh’s outburst of emotion also gained many sympathisers. America has unfailingly coddled privileged white men like Kavanaugh even in the face of a credible rape allegations. Kavanaugh’s eventual appointment to the America’s highest court displays the lengths to which America will accomodate, put simply, excessive white male anger and angst. These are efforts the nation would never extend to a Black woman. The debate over his innocence, glossing over his ridiculous behavior in a court of law, shows that white male emotion is not even a topic of discussion, let alone ridicule, as it is for a Black woman in the public eye.
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HITE MEN ARE ALLOWED TO EXPRESS THEIR FEELINGS. WHITE MEN ARE ALLOWED TO GET ANGRY.
Kavanaugh was allowed to feel and express anger. White men are allowed to express their feelings. White men are allowed to get angry. Both Kavanaugh and Williams had reasons for their anger, explanations for the images. Kavanaugh said the credible allegations of rape offended him. They were painful for himto hear. His family was hurt, his reputation smeared. So Kavanaugh’s unprofessional response was written off as a reasonable reaction to an unfair system. The pictures of him were described as an unfair caricature of a man in pain. Williams, on the other hand, said she was a victim of sexism. She provided evidence in her defense --where Kavanaugh could not --and demanded a change in the system so that what happened to her would never happen again. But her response was seen as unprofessional and unnecessary. The drawing of her was viewed as an accurate portrayal of just another irrational Black woman. Kavanaugh is used to getting what he wants. Williams is
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MERICAN CULTURE IS GENEROUS WITH ITS STEREOTYPES... RACES AND GENDERS HAVE RIGID, USUALLY HARMFUL, DEFINITIONS.
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used to fighting for what she wants. American culture is generous with its stereotypes: unless it iscontinuously fought against, races and genders have rigid, usually harmful, definitions. White men are honest, brave, and valiant; black women are liars, erratic, emotional, and lazy. Both Kavanaugh and Williams --whether willingly or not --attempted tobreak those stereotypes. But they were trapped by them. Williams is the most astounding athlete of our generation and is still reduced to an emo-
tional Black woman. Kavanaugh was accused of rape and is still the brave family man. Validation is a constant debate in America: who deserves to be heard, who deserves to be seen, felt, understood, who gets written off. In this instance, like many others, these questions and the reality of racism collide. Kavanaugh would never be caractured in the same way as Williams because his anger means something. Hers, to America, does not mean anything. The emotions we choose to listen to, defend, advocate for, are so deeply woven in racial and gender stereotypes. America ignores voices and amplifies others. These two images, a cartoon and a photograph, are but reflections of that fact.
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Adesuwa Agbonile
Modeled by Ademi Adeniji, Adesuwa Agbonile, Karim Aloul, Leya Elias, Bibiche Keza, Mirna El-khalily, John Okhiulu, Eilaf Osman
Photos by Ryan Wimsatt
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NIGERIA
BENIN
Leya Elias
VOGUE “AFRICA”
ERITREA
EGYPT
Mirna El-khalily
Bibiche Keza
RWANDA
After the launch of Vogue Africa in April this year with the creative direction from renowned super model, Naomi Campbell, the world welcomed the new publication into the Vogue family. The covers, adorned by immaculate and artful bwlack bodies, exhibited black beauty on a global scale. Though the introduction of Vogue Africa is a step in the right direction, no doubt, this titling displayed the popular misconception of the African continent as solely such: a single, homogenous, and monolithic
continent. Like Vogue Germany, Vogue Japan, Vogue Italy, this series inspired by the historic publication highlights the many cultures, countries, and peoples on the continent of Africa. Each cover imitation displays a student with heritage from one of the many African countries and peoples accompanied by the country’s name and/or their ethnic group of origin. This is an attempt to enter the beautiful, diverse African continent into the fashion country club membership that is Vogue and Conde Nast.
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Eilaf Osman
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John Okhiulu
SUDAN
NIGERIA
ESAN
MOROCCO
NIGERIA Karim Aloul
YORUBA Ademi Adeniji
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CARMELO
He begins with the story of Charlie the bowling ghost. He adjusts the crinkled bundle of napkins in one hand while gazing at the clusters of tables that sprawl about the pavilion, a view Carmelo has surveyed for over half a century. He’s been working at Stanford Hair for fifty-seven years now, so he remembers that one clearly. Before Treehouse and FedEx, there used to be a fourteen-lane bowling alley. According to Carmelo, a mechanic named Charles was injured by machinery in that bowling alley and bled to death right where students now collect packages and chatter excitedly over fries. While Carmelo has not yet had the privilege to encounter Charlie, “over the years, there’s been half a dozen cases where people have been just awestruck, come out just upset or worked up that they saw something.” As for his own story? “I played keyboard.” Carmelo grins fondly as he begins to unwind the chaos of the 60’s, regaling us with stories of his sold-out concerts, chairs flying across the room, and the “free love,” as he likes to phrase it. “It was outrageous. Wherever we went, we were the headliner that night; they were in love with us. There were no
limits.” The summer of ‘61 materialized and Carmelo agreed to lend a hand to a friend in need, at a little barber shop at Stanford. “It was a decision made for me.” Decades later, Carmelo has watched the Farm evolve. “There were some rough times, though, here and there in the 60’s and 70’s. A lot of marching during the Vietnam years. It was the first time that people took it in their own hands to change, to change things, things that weren’t right.” Carmelo’s eyes crinkle joyfully as he discusses the cultural progress Stanford has made. “One of the things that started in ‘61, the one word that really sums it up is diversity. When I started, it was all pretty much white males, Caucasian males... And now, of course, it’s so diverse that the white male majority is probably the minority by now!” He expresses his frustration on the subject of tabloids and journalists, and the attempts they’ve made to grapple rare information about certain targets. But Carmelo does not budge - that information is sacred, key tidbits with which he can forever be entrusted. “I’d get
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calls all the time- “this is the London Wire Press, we heard that Chelsea is there, there’s been some uprising”, etc. I wouldn’t say anything! I wouldn’t report to you guys, I don’t know who you are, I wouldn’t do that to her.” He reflects on his past endeavors, describing the parallels formed between the chaos of rock and roll, and possibly the most hectic environment possible: a college campus. “What I did then [with music was not personal, I was doing something and there was an audience. I really couldn’t see them even, and what I do now is very personal. Some people I’ve been seeing for forty or more years. And I know everything about them, and their families, and they know everything about me,
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to a certain extent, of course. So that’s the big difference.” I gently inquire as to why Carmelo has not yet considered retiring. “I enjoy what I’m doing. That’s what it’s about! It’s not about my age and doing haircuts. I get to be around the smartest people in the whole world!” This has been the fourth time during our interview that Carmelo has reaffirmed his pride in the students at Stanford. I remark light-heartedly that a man like himself, overflowing with wisdom and anecdotes, is one of those people. He brushes the compliment aside, an action that perfectly summarizes the grace and selflessness with which Carmelo has conducted himself in his time at
Stanford. “To me, it’s been a total privilege.” Carmelo knows Stanford’s ghost stories, but in some respects, he is one as well. Like many others who work on this campus and provide services for students and others, he remains in the background, as a part of history, unacknowledged. But Carmelo is as embedded in this community as many of the structures we see as integral to Stanford. In fact, he’s often been here even longer, and he plans to stay.
Written by Gilare Zada Photos by Alisha Jani
child labor in the fast fashion era
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s a student at Stanford, it’s difficult to imagine the reality of child labor. Imagine being sent by your family to a garment factory when you’re twelve. It’s your first day, and the man in charge tells you your quota is to sew 60 pockets an hour. The others, all women like you, are already fast at work, speeding through the pockets at their sewing machines. You sit down at your station, hands shaking. You’re worried you won’t make the quota. For the past few months, there hasn’t been anything, even rice, for your family to eat. Without your salary, your family will continue to starve. So you quickly begin to work. A few minutes in, you see movement in your periphery. You look out the window, curious. There, walking in their blue and white uniforms, are girls your age on their way to school. They laugh
and skip; you watch in envy. You always wanted to be a doctor. But instead, here you are, working to survive. For a girl named Bithi, this story is her reality. Now three years older, Bithi still works in the same factory. According to the International Labor Organization (ILO), she’s one of around 170 million child laborers globally. But Bithi says her factory is a good one. Her boss is nice and the factory has no fires. She even got the rest of the day off once when she injured herself sewing. And it’s true, however horrifying her conditions, Bithi is fortunate among child laborers. In 2013, a building in Bangladesh that housed factories producing clothing for various Western brands collapsed. 1,127 were killed, and many more injured. Aanna, one of
written by Evan Peng & Griffin Somaratne modeled by Chris Iyer, Six Skov & Grace Wang photos by Amy Zhang
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the workers in the factory, was thirteen at the time. Her hand was amputated to remove her from the rubble. Although she escaped death, her life was still forever changed; she now has PTSD, severe pain, and a permanent disability that hinders her from returning to school. Stories like Bithi’s and Aanna’s are commonplace. 11% of the world’s children are working in situations that deprive them of education, fair
wages, and safe conditions. This epidemic can be traced to a shift in the structure of fashion. Since the early 2000s, a new form of manufacturing has taken hold of the industry: fast fashion. Fast fashion is clothing that is cheap, follows trends, and has a short turnaround time from runway to retail. The world now moves through trends faster, people buy more clothes, and the fashion industry is driven by consumer
demand. This created a race to produce, forcing popular brands like Forever 21, H&M, Urban Outfitters, and Zara to find cheap labor. Thus, child labor is rampant in many countries where textile and garment production take place. Each layer of the fashion supply chain (cotton, textiles, garments, etc.) is rife with child labor: from the cotton seed production in Benin and cotton harvesting in Uzbekistan, where children are
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subjected to long hours and exposed to pesticides, to yarn spinning in India and garment assembly in Bangladesh, where children work with dangerous chemicals and machines. But with child labor laws in place, why have corporations failed to curb this abuse? Essentially, their ignorance is to blame. Even with structures existing to regulate conditions in factories, it is still difficult to control every stage in the supply chain. In the fast fashion era, brands rarely consistently work with the same suppliers, making it harder to ensure they meet company standards. A common problem has risen in the supply chain, where work assigned by companies is subcontracted to other factories that the buyer may not even know about. In order to meet deadlines, many manufacturers subcontract certain parts of their production process to other factories without notifying the buying company. And these subcontracted factories often aren’t protected by labor laws, as they operate in the informal sector. The fashion industry has begun initial efforts to stop child labor. Organizations like the Fair Wear Foundation, which lists over 120 brands that have signed onto its code of labor practices, ensure that accredited brands meet standards and audit frequently. Yet even these attempts can be futile; audits are often flawed and ineffective. Suppliers find loopholes, and children continue to suffer.
Another option would be for people to call for a boycott, but history shows why this doesn’t work. In the mid-1990s, anti-sweatshop advocacy swept into mainstream American culture, and most major apparel brands faced a boycott campaign. For a while, it worked; some large suppliers formalized workforces, instituted better health and safety procedures, and paid above minimum wage. But behind a group of protestors, there is always a line of customers. Boycotting and “buying right” don’t affect the places in which these clothes are being made. Clothing tags rarely give insight into the manufacturing process. Companies’ investigations cannot penetrate the opaque supply chain. Thus, we must rely on companies’ reputations; reputation is crucial to a brand’s success. To ensure proper labor conditions and ethical production, reputation and corporate responsibility must be emphasized. It is in these companies’ best interest to address child labor in their supply chains as insurance against bad publicity. Brands should be forced to eradicate child labor throughout their supply chains through policies and laws. There is no room to be complacent. It’s important to remember that beneath this massive economic system, there are children. Children like Bithi and Aanna hold up an entire industry with their fingers, spinning, soaking, and sewing.
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CULTURAL CONFLUENCE photos by Ricardo Lopez & Kavita Selva
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nour aissaoui “I started wearing the hijab because it was a moment of awakening,” Nour said. She began wearing a hijab after the 2016 U.S. presidential election. “I know all those misconceptions were coming along. Yet, it was a powerful tool for self-expression. It was and is a way to show people that even though I wear it, I’m still going to succeed.” The hijab has become part and parcel of Nour's fashion and, to a larger extent, her identity. For Nour, it is a striking emblem of her mixed Algerian and U.S. nationality and a rejection of the binary categorizations that dog American culture. An avid fan of fashion herself, she merges the hijab with U.S. styles, creating a sleek blend of her two homes. The result has been a fashion sense inextricable with her multifaceted identity.
For both domestic and international students with strong cultural roots, how does their culture manifest in their fashion on Stanford’s campus and in the United States? For some, their culture has slipped to the background, their clothing instead an expression of their immediate personality; the style, American or not, is beside the fact. For others, they find their culture to be part and parcel of their identity, and thus their fash-
ion is a mode of cultural self-expression. This expression is outside normative or dominant American styles, carving its own space in the country’s world of fashion. Others yet fall somewhere in between, their fashion displaying a blend of cultural expression and American pop culture. Their style is a hybrid: simultaneously anchored in U.S. fashion and rooted in their cultural home.
james juuma “It is a unifying factor,” James said of his Kitenge shirt. “Regardless of where you come from, you still find someone wearing it. It is an expression of Kenya as a whole rather than an individual culture.” In day to day dress, James routinely gravitates to slate blues and beige undertones. His routine style, a hybrid between European and U.S. trends, displays the linchpins associated with ‘Western’ male fashion: khakis and wing-tipped oxfords. Yet, come special events like church, James puts on his Kitenge shirt. It is there where James is anchored culturally and spiritually to himself.
angie ruiz “Everyone around me was wearing Hollister, Abercrombie, Aéropostale, Brandy Melville, and Urban Outfitters,” she said of her Florida peers. “I told myself, ‘Well, let me wear something that no one else would wear,” said Angie. For her, fashion is a rebuttal to the white-dominated culture in which she has thrived. While those around her adopted mainstream, high-end brands, she mixed Hispanic styles in a fusion of the beach vibes of Cuba and the Dominican Republic, the brilliant colors of Peruvian fabrics, and the floral prints of Mexico.
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rojie hajjar
“It represents my identity in some way,” Rojie said of his scarf, evocative of the Iranian dastmaal yazdi scarf or the Palestinian keffiyeh. “They’re a story in it. Every culture is a story.” When Rojie and his family fled to the United States from Syria in the wake of the country’s civil war, new friends he made in Los Angeles schooled him on the ins and outs of American culture. One aspect of this schooling was through fashion in which his friends exposed him to U.S. clothing makers. Rojie’s style features dominant ‘American’ trends like L.A.-based Anti Social Social Club and Stüssy. Yet, Rojie is determined to keep close that aspects of his ethnic identity he cherishes. His scarf is a way of doing so.
david rodriguez “My culture shows up in the ideas behind the clothes. I also try to convey what I’m out for—that’s living in the moment and having a good time.” David’s day to day style is kaleidoscopic spectrum of color and fabric. From woven shirts to silk coats, much of his style, he says, reflects the lively spirit of Colombia festivals and carnivals.
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photos for MINT by Sarah Panzer modeled by Claire Dauge-Roth, Gunner Dongieux Sameep Mangat, Chloe Peterson-Nafziger, Lucy Zeng photos of male fraternity members from The American Fraternity, Daylight Books, 2018
FLIPPING THE FRAT
we recreate the elements of a traditional fraternity with the gender roles reversed
and question: does it make you uncomfortable? In this photo series, we bring attention to the disturbing or unethical behaviors of many American fraternities. Taking inspiration from Andrew Moisey’s 2018 project The American Fraternity, we recreate elements of traditional fraternity culture with the gender roles reversed to display the absurdity of these elements and question: does it make you uncomfortable? If so, why do we condone this behavior for men but condemn it for women? With this new perspective, we turn a critical eye on the culture of traditional American fraternities, often justified under ideals of ‘tradition’ or ‘brotherhood.’
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APOCALYPTIC APOCALYPTIC APPAREL APPAREL written by Allison Oddman
photos by Petar Hristov modeled by Zoe Brownwood & Julia Gordon As you saunter down a crowded street, the intense heat from bustling bodies noxiously mixing with the smog-laden air, you stumble upon a sales ad plastered on the front window of a desolate H&M: a 2 for 1 deal on 3M disposable masks. Your eyebrows quirk in intrigue as you pull down the cotton mask on your own face, eager to trade in its awkward fit for a higher brand that is a bit more chic and a lot more protective. Entering the store, you run your hands over the masks, impressed by their smoothness and durability. They vary in design: some bedazzled and some embroidered, a commodified homage to the people of Palestine who have popularized such imagery in their daily battles against smoke bombs and tear gas. Those freedom fighters, choked by chemical, will not see a dime from this transaction, but you pick one up to express your solidarity and proceed to the checkout, pleased with today’s purchases. Such are fashion and culture in the age of the apocalypse. With the UN International Panel on Climate Change reporting that we only have 12 years left before climate change conditions become irreversible,
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such an apocalypse doesn’t seem too far-fetched. In fact, this reality has already infiltrated several regions around the world, including East Asia and the Middle East. Sales of face masks and air purifiers in northern China have more than tripled during November 2017 and November 2018 as millions of people fight to survive the toxic air. In Palestine, artists and activists reckon with the environmental denigration that accompanies violent siege and occupation. But they are not alone. Changing environmental conditions have created a new normal, and with it, a slew of disastrous repercussions. Despite the apathy displayedby the United States towards the manner, and the failure of our commander-in-chief to realize the validity of this crisis, climate change has already forced millions of people out of their homes due to desert expansion and rising sea levels. Sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America have been the most vulnerable with countries like Bangladesh having thousands of people uprooted by coastal flooding and the disappearance of Lake Chad in West Africa leading to the movement of 4 million people into camps.
By 2050, 143 million people are expected to be displaced because of degraded environmental conditions with no determined safe haven. As of now, there is no international agreement on who qualifies as a climate refugee. Having no definition in place isespecially troubling considering the nationalist and anti-immigrant sentiment that has swept across Europe and the Unit-
ed States, obvious potential hosts for climate refugees. Such attitudes have made it hard for the UN to compel governments to adhere to international refugee protocol, thereby making any thought of including an entirely new definition of refugee highly unlikely. What is tragically ironic about this reality is that the populations who have faced the brunt of climate change are not the maincontributors to it. In fact, the United States has the highest average carbon footprint per resident. It’s a traditional case of us causing the problem, then turning away the victims who seek our help. But environmental conditions have started to deteriorate in the United States as well, a sign that we may be getting our due restitution.
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Hurricane Maria has displaced 2,300 families in Puerto Rico. Coastal communities in the U.S. states of Alaska and Louisiana have slowly been disappearing into the sea. Deadlier and deadlier wildfires surge across California and submerge Stanford’s campus in the most unhealthy air in the world. These climate conditions have also begun to affect our clothing brands. A number of popular American retail stores, like H&M and Gap, have announced declining sales in their winter clothes apparel. Many are shifting to trans-seasonal wear as a result. American companies are forced to accommodate trends brought to fruition out of necessity, rather than appropriation, but they’ll
do just fine. The wealth of the West has certainly afforded us a great deal of indifference. The cognitive dissonance of U.S. manufacturers being at the forefront of international face masks and respirator sales, but U.S. government officials deeming climate change as a partisan issue is telling enough. Inevitably, America will cope with becoming the victims of something we have long profited off of. But still, the most privileged will not be subjected to the worst of it. At places like Stanford, we are used to seeing the privileged don styles typically attributed to marginalized and oppressed communities. But what happens when this style of the world’s most disadvantaged --an apocalyptic fashion born of necessity --makes its way to Stanford’s front door? Will we welcome it, co-opt it, or turn it away?
RGBOYP by Jessica Yeung & Kelsey Wang
modeled by Nibha Akireddy, Abby Audet, Lenny DeFoe, Ethan Horoschak, Jesse Morris, Danielle Tang
Remember the color wheel? When you combine colors opposite each other on the color wheel, they create a shade of brown; these pair of colors are called complementary colors. A common trick painters use for mixing the right shade of skin tone is using one of the three different complementary color pairings for different ethnicities.
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Caucasian people are red and green, thus their common pink undertone. East Asian people are yellow and purple. African-descended people, Indian people, and Latin American people are orange and blue, thus their warmer complexion.
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As an experiment, each of the model’s hands were painted with one of their respective “colors,” and through interacting with one another, they leave subsequent marks on each other. Their actions of tension, curiosity, and in the end, empathy, are recorded through the imprints they make on one another.
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In the end, regardless of the makeup of our color/race, we should realize our differences make us unique, and this individuality should bring us together. After all, there is much more to gain when you love instead of hate.
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Stanford University, November 2018 photo by William Marshall
M stanfordmint.com
cover photo by Jessica Yeung modeled by Jianna So & Gunner Dongieux
cover clothing courtesy of bloomingdale’s
