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An interview with Tiffany Hua Tiffany Hua: Can you walk me through your final project and how it reflects this issue's theme of fear? Ahsea Kim: My final project is based on the idea of the mise-en-abyme . I wanted to approach fear through a more positive lens, [to use it] as a way to increase self-awareness and propel personal growth. Each layer of the mirror is a frame closer to the real me, revealing the depth of my identity. I believe fear can be used to discover myself, my triggers, what I am afraid of, and knowing these things can help me face & counter it meaningfully. When we think about fear, there's a natural negative connotation that is attached to it. Almost straight away, fear is seen as a bad thing. It is always treated as something that’s detrimental or harmful to you.  New Face of Fear (Informational Liaisons) by Ahsea Kim I was going through a season where I was reflecting on my own emotions, and I realized I am a very fearful person. I was very oblivious to it at first, but now I'm actually aware that that is kind of who I am. The epiphany was a really big moment for me. “I wanted to try to approach fear from a different perspective, where it's actually something that helps you realize who you are. For me, identity is a really big thing. I remember one of my friends saying, if someone really wants to break you, the best way to break someone is to make them confused about who they are.” T: I definitely think fear and identity are intertwined, and I love that your project is interpreting fear in a better light. Do you mind going more into detail regarding your technical approach to this piece?   A :  My primary medium is acrylic painting. With acrylic, it's more environmentally-friendly in terms of discarding [the paint]. I'm not calling myself a climate activist, but I do think about the climate as an artist.  I still do consider myself an emerging artist, and so I'm still figuring out the trajectory of my own style. The prominent motifs I incorporate in my artwork are the fish and the apple. Those two symbols are very important to me.  I love looking at fish. I just think they're so pretty; their colors, so vibrant and vivid, and so unapologetically flashy. Those are colors that you don't see on land. Fish are so mysterious to me because they all live under the sea. The other reason is because of my faith, my background as a Christian. The fish is a really important symbol for me, because it was a symbol of Christianity back in the Roman Empire. And fish in Greek are called ictus . If you get the spelling of ictus, which is i c, t, h, u, s, it's actually an acronym in Greek, that stands for Jesus, Christ, Son of God, Savior. That is my primary identity, being a child of God, living in love, by faith, and having this faith is really the foundation of who I am. Another cool thing about fish is they swim in schools. I read somewhere that fish perform the best when they're swimming with others. I don't really know the scientific part of it, but they survive because they have each other. And for me, community is a really big part of who I am as well.  The use of the apple motif in my artwork is also connected to my faith. Everyone knows the story of Adam and Eve, the bitten apple is famously used. But my apple is whole, and to me, it's like sanctification. It's a big theological word, but to elaborate on that, it's like us [humans] being more purified and becoming more like Christ. The wholeness represents what was made possible because of Jesus Christ’s sacrifice.  Apple motif from New Face of Fear (Informational Liaisons)  by Ahsea Kim T: In your initial application to Club Rambutan’s fourth artist cohort, you emphasized your tendency to question the role of art and how it molds the status quo in our society. How does your own artwork challenge social and cultural norms? A:  I strive to present works that help people question the meaning of life. It's such an important thing to question, “Why are people here? Are we just stardust? Where do we actually come from? Where are we actually going?”. In terms of challenging the status quo, I would like to encourage people who see my artwork, to start asking questions about what they're doing, their purpose or even question what comes after death. Maybe the status quo is that we no longer need to think as much because we have ChatGPT, and I include myself in that category. It is so convenient and comfortable for us not to think critically anymore. Overall, to encourage people to think more deeply about life and themselves. T: During your time at the University of Sydney as a bachelor's student of the visual arts, you began to lean more towards theory and started to focus on art history. What is your general thought process for creating your own work, both conceptually and in practice? A:  I'm not much of a planner. I just do what I like to do, just maybe that is part of the thought process, but I like to go on walks, just mindless walks, aimless destiny. I don't really have a specific destination when I go on these strolls. There's this word in French called flaneur , and it's when you go strolling in the city to observe. “I like to do that because I think those are the moments when something just clicks. When you think of wavelengths or frequency, it's kind of all over the place for me, but when I'm walking, there will always be one moment when I feel like the frequency just matches my next idea. The process for me is waiting.” I don't really go out of my way to rigorously look for what I want to work on. I also pray and meditate about what to paint next. My thought process is very passive in that I'm just sitting still or mindlessly walking around until I find that creative spark. T: I love that. Once you get that creative spark, do you just let your mind take creative control and just create in the moment? A: I have tried to do that, but it goes haywire, and I never liked the work. When I get that spark, that's when I sit down and start to think, “how do I want to build on this idea?”. Sometimes, I flick through Pinterest, I flick through books. I like to start to draw everything down, put everything together, and once I have that initial drawing, that's when I transpose it onto the canvas. My thought process when it comes to painting is very simple. It's not that sophisticated.  New Face of Fear (Informational Liaisons)  by Ahsea Kim T: Based on a pre-cohort interview you had with the team, the Bible helps you analyze both your individual purpose and relationships in this life. However, you've also mentioned an interest in the concept of desire and how we become what we long for, idolized in worship. How much of your identity would you say is attributed to the teachings of your religion, as opposed to your own growing interests and aspirations? A:  I think my own flesh and mind has had its opposition to the teachings of the Bible. It's hard because I have to essentially go against my own natural desires to follow what God has commanded me to do.  I would say it's always been a struggle. Most of my identity comes from the word of God, which is the Bible. Remember how I mentioned reflecting on your purpose in life? Like, “why are we here?”. I am constantly questioning things around me, there is power in being introspective. Always asking those questions is what makes me, me. If I don't have the word of God, I would go far as to say I don't really have an identity. My whole identity is built and based on the Bible, and I do have my fleshly aspirations, but I know how sweet it is to walk with God. I know that's an abstract term, but I just say I walk with God because He's always here with me. T: I love that your faith propels you as both an artist and person. What gravitates you towards acrylic painting as your primary medium?  A: It's the medium that I'm most accustomed to. It's fast drying. I like the speed and ease of using acrylic compared to other paints such as oil. It's not the idea of trying to get a painting done as fast as possible, because I've tried that and I always hated the outcome. So it's not that. But acrylic paint itself suits my pace, it's easy to use. It's easy to wash the paint off the brush. It's a very simple process, I love how practical it is and love how it looks after. I'm a very simple person.  Later in the future, I do see myself experimenting with other mediums as well, like oil on canvas or acrylic on linen canvas. T: I’d love to see you experiment with different painting methods, given how beautiful your acrylic paintings are. Lastly, what fears do you have as an artist, and how do you hope to overcome them? A : I'm just gonna be really honest. You know that cliche, the starving artist? It's a reality for me right now.  “I do have a passion for painting and I'm quite confident that I'll never give up, I'll never let this go, no matter how hard this road is. I think I'm quite determined in that way because I believe that this is God's calling for me, and I believe in myself and my talents as well. I have confidence in God.”  As of right now, I'm not really making a living out of it, so those financial fears are still there. Am I being too honest? T: No, I admire your vulnerability and this is a reality for many artists. It's very inspiring to see people still pursuing their artistic passions regardless. Financial fears, just as many other fears are the reality for many artists and your answer will definitely resonate with many. A:   Yes, you can’t deny it. I am still excited because I don't really know where this is going, but for me, it's just important to do the best with what I have. I think this season is for me to give my 800% in painting. It's my passion. I love it. It helps me feel closer to God, which is really important to me.  For me, what helps alleviate my fears is my faith. To trust the process, trust that God has what's best for me. I do believe that He has great things in store for me, but it's faith that keeps me going as an artist. I have faith in what He promised me, and that's it. That's all I have, but it's all I need. You can see Ahsea Kim's full final project by purchasing Issue 04: Amygdala.

Bre: What does fear look like to you, and how does this tie into your project for Issue 4? Sam: [My piece] is about the fear of identity/rejection. It’s centered on queerness, religion, and growing up in the South and how those [elements] intermix and intermingle, making it a really beautiful but also really frightening experience because a lot of those things don't necessarily coincide. This fear physically manifests in this form that I've made, that contains a face with multiple features. It translates this idea of being a lot of different versions of yourself that you want to honor, but [being unsure of] how to do that, and therefore being scared of how those different parts of yourself are going to be perceived by the people you love. B: If fear were a tangible material like clay, what would the texture be like? How would you work with it? S: I think that it would be this phase of clay called “bone dry,” which is after you’ve made something, it’s set out for a while, and right before it gets fired. It’s the most vulnerable state that the clay can be in. Whenever damage occurs, it’s almost irreversible because you can’t get the clay wet again to fix it. This relates to this idea of irreversible problems or cracking, or this weird intermediate phase of where you have to be careful. It reminds me of walking on eggshells, or the idea that things could go wrong at any moment. B: The vessels in your artwork are castings made of your face. Was this your first time doing life casts? Have you done this to others? What did you enjoy most about this process? S: Yeah! The cast that I did for this was my first one! In hindsight, I'm kind of like, “Oh, I probably should have known a little bit more about the process.” There was a lot of trial and error, and there were aspects of it that didn't really work the way that I wanted it to, which have translated into some modifications. What I learned from the experience was how cathartic it was to be so physically involved in making a piece. I use my hands all the time in sculpture, but to have my face completely coated in plaster, and also the experience of having my senses stripped, was really interesting. I ended up recruiting a friend of mine to help me because I didn't want to be alone whenever I was completely covering my face. So that was an interesting experience to be vulnerable, and relying on another person to make sure that I didn't suffocate. I had some extra materials so I ended up making one of her as well, mine got a little like fucked up in the whole process, so I'm glad to have hers as a little reminder of what we did. B: Your piece is fashioned after “biblical vessels”. Has religious iconography always influenced your work and life? S: I wanted to tie religion to this project because it felt like [it was something I had to] confront. I grew up super religious, very Baptist with a hint of Pentecostal on my maternal grandmother's side. This experience of realizing my queer identity, but also feeling really connected to my religious identity, was something that I wanted to honor. In a lot of art, it's really easy to completely reject religion and spirituality. For a long time I did, and my relationship with that is still tumultuous, but it was my way of confronting while also recognizing that it's still a very deeply ingrained part of who I am and how I came to be this way. I wanted to connect the fear, but also the familiarity of that. The religious imagery specifically I was drawn to, because there's just so much inspiration that I could take from, and the image that I was always going back to, is these paintings where it's a depiction of the Trinity through a portrait of Jesus, but he's got three faces that are interconnected. When I saw that, that's when I started to work on this idea of wanting faces on the pot. As I've said, it's evolved from that. At first, it was going to be almost an exact replica using my face, but the more I started working on it, the more I felt I wanted there to be less unity in those faces. To me, that expressed this experience of feeling disconnected. That was my main inspiration as far as religion, and then I did some research on biblical-era vessels. The shape of the pot itself is also supposed to be akin to an oil transportation type of vessel, that would’ve been used in biblical times. I wanted each piece to have a little bit of a backstory behind it so that it could all stay interconnected. B: If the faces on your vessel could speak, what would they say? S: I would like to think that they’d all say something different. I feel like this piece is so much about all of these other facets of yourself and who they are, what journey they’re on, and how fully realized they are …or maybe the lack of being fully realized. Some would discuss their childhood and growing up experiences, while others would explore being a young adult and redefine their relationship with religion and spirituality. And then some would talk about queerness and that being a different kind of religion or experience. Though I think they would all say something about still being the same person, even though each one brings a different side to the table. B: Is there anything you wish people to know about before delving into this artwork, and what would you like their takeaway to be? S: I think the main thing to know in receiving the work is that you may be afraid to be all of these different versions of yourself, but I hope that the viewer will find a little bit of solace in that all of us have this the same confusion, and it feels just as disjointed and dysregulating for everybody. The scary part is that maybe there's no answer, but in that, I hope that there's a connection there. There's this quote that I love: “Sometimes the fear does not subside, and so you must do so afraid,” and I feel like that's a pretty poignant message for this whole theme of fear. I've connected it a lot to this piece, and in working on it, I've been able to be afraid and start to be comfortable with the fear. Maybe the fear is starting to take on this new identity, as well as I'm taking on new identities. You can see Samantha's full final project by purchasing 04: The Identity Issue.

Welcome to Club Rambutan’s Breaking it Down (BID) series, where we shed light on the different areas of operations that make our organization the following three things: A Creative Collective (Event Planning, Social Media, Rambutan Roundup Newsletters) A Digital Residency (Cohorts, Artist Resource Group (ARG), Alumni) A Magazine (Formatting, Shipping Logistics, Packaging Design) This article will explain all the components of Club Rambutan’s Digital Residency . First, let’s start with terminology, with examples from Cohort 2’s slide deck for Onboarding Day: Cohort: A group of individual artists who are selected to join the Digital Residency. A cohort number is the same as its issue (i.e. Cohort 2 artists are in Issue 2). Also refers to the overall 6 month** timeline that it takes for our team to produce one magazine. A cohort officially begins on Onboarding Day and concludes with a “launch party". **For Cohort 5 and onward, this timeline will most likely change to accommodate an annual magazine as opposed to biannual. Cohort Artist: Each artist in a cohort must complete an original project within their time in residency. Their final piece must align with the issue’s theme** and meet our print standards in order to be published (at no cost to them). They primarily work with the Creative Director and Artist Resource Group (ARG). ** Each theme is purposely a broad, global topic decided by the Creative Director (EX: Issue 01 on multiculturalism , 02 on beauty, 03 on identity, 04 on fear). The magazine focuses on uplifting artwork made through an intersectional lens, given that we prioritize working with artists of marginalized /underrepresented identities.   Alumni: Once a cohort artist successfully completes their digital residency, they remain in our alumni network. The ARG runs a regular newsletter just for them, including a curated job board and spotlights to plug what they're working on now! We also do our best to continue including our alum in all our post-cohort projects, like: Jalen del Rosario & Angelina Byun (Cohort 1 alumni) - vendors at our NYC "soft launch" pop up GP Pabros (Cohort 3 alum) - led the photoshoot for Pyres of Desire Fashion Show (seen in Issue 04) GP Pabros on set with SF Event Coordinator Jules Agsalog and Founder Maria Manaog Destiny Montoya  (Cohort 3 alum) - curated Only My Honesty Matters , our first community art gallery. Destiny Montoya, curator for OMHM (August 2025) Wyatt Fields (Cohort 4 alum) - filmed and directed the concept video for The Pyres of Desires , our first our first fashion show. Next, let’s go over Club Rambutan’s selection process for Cohort Artists. Our Cohort Artist applications are always announced via our official Instagram account ( @club.rambutan ) and are integrated onto the home page of our website. We usually leave the apps open for two weeks, and then the Creative Director and Editor in Chief will review all the final submissions together. All applicants will receive an update afterwards, but those chosen for the next and final stage of the vetting process will be invited to a video interview with both leaders within the following week. Questions are not provided to interviewees ahead of time, but the final selections for the upcoming cohort of our Digital Residency are heavily influenced by how the artist aligns with our three guiding principles: ( learn more about them on our digital residency page! ) Skill Sharing It Takes a Village Creating for a Higher Purpose Overall, Cohort Artists are imperative to the production of each issue for the mag. Their physical artwork is more than just the content you’ll read in the magazine, but are powerful stories and experiences. This is the exciting part! Because we know that our Cohort Artists come from all sorts of intersectional backgrounds, by providing them with a very broad theme to work with, the magazine collects very different interpretations of what it means to each of them. Finally, here’s what our Digital Residency can offer our Cohort Artists. Unlike typical artist residencies, we are based completely online. Although our long term goal is to one day establish a brick and mortar studio, for now our co-working space looks like biweekly Zoom meetings with our Creative Director and Artist Resource Group (ARG). Here’s some things we’ve done so far, want to revisit and improve, and have plans to do… Hosted a professional panel for Cohort 1 with speakers Pacqui Pascal , Ana Peralta Chong , and Nidhi Naroth . Created a social media campaign in Cohort 2 for our artists to directly sell their work to our followers (and keep 100% of all profits!). Researched for and collaborated with our cohort artists to curate exclusive monthly job boards, which began in Cohort 3. Did we mention all cohort artists get a free copy of their magazine? Secure donations from art suppliers to send free welcome packages to our future cohort artists. Keep finding other ways to continue inspiring our cohorts! The overall org chart depicting Club Rambutan’s updated official team structure. Click here to view more. Interested? Cohort Artist Applications are always announced on our Instagram and on our site’s homepage, usually every 6-7 months. Stay tuned! For more questions, shoot us an email at hello@clubrambutan.com.

MAYA If you could maybe give me a quick breakdown of your project, that would be so wonderful. ISABEL: I ended up making a trio of self-portrait-like paintings–in oil and digitally–exploring some of my feelings about being (more) openly queer after a lifetime of not letting that aspect of my identity take center stage. MAYA: What is identity and how would you define it? Has it changed over the years for you? Has it been pretty consistent? ISABEL: For me, identity is what I create, the unique way I think, how I travel through the world, and how I express myself. The first time I realized, “I don’t feel particularly connected to the concept of womanhood–I want foremost to be seen through my art and ideas.” Centering my artistry, and strongly desiring to decenter gender, was key to my non-binary identity. When I was a teenager, being online was important and freeing for me because you don't have to be fully transparent online. You don't have to wear your own face. You don't have to use your full legal name. That was a core moment for me when I realized identity is what I choose and not what I'm born with.  MAYA: As you were talking, sorry, this is really terrible to say. But I was like, oh my god, Tumblr. ISABEL: Yeah, yeah, Tumblr was really important to me! The 2010s art community online was important to me and I think it's changed a lot. It's not really like that online now and I feel sad about that, but I'm sure that younger kids have their own good things that they're making in online spaces through. MAYA: I hope they can carry on the legacy.  Anyway, Issue 3 is centered on the theme of identity. What aspects of your own identity and your definition of identity are you looking to tie into this piece?  ISABEL: I'm focusing on my nostalgia for the freedom I described when I was a teenager and when I am online. I grew up in Auckland, New Zealand, and then I moved to America for college. In my senior year, I was done with all my technical degree requirements, so suddenly I had the free time to pick the classes that I wanted. I returned to creative writing, found more artistic and queer friends, and I finally felt like I had time to create.  I was returning to a version of myself that I originally liked better, that had been stuffed in the closet for me to achieve my girlboss career goal dreams.  As a teenager, I always knew I was queer, but I was from New Zealand, a country of 5 million people, basically a small US state.I'm a cultural late bloomer, in the sense that I was only really around vibrant queer communities after I moved to the US. My art is about that process of late blooming, through my more recent experiences about growing into my identity again. MAYA: Would you say you're coming full circle or you're blooming? From the digital age of the 2010s online, where you were anonymous, coming full circle to now…do you think that person you were online in the 2010s is now the person you are now in reality? ISABEL: I'm more of that person again, but now in a real space. Back then, I didn't have that; I had a couple queer friends in high school. At that point, the term GSA (Gay Straight Alliance) hadn't even arrived in New Zealand. We didn't know what a GSA was because we lived in a country with a small, limited, queer history. Now, I have all those feelings and intentions again, but I'm lucky that I'm in the Bay Area in California, where there's a really rich history that I can learn from and bring into who I was before. MAYA: I saw that you said your identity is defined by “falling into in-between spaces”. How did this play a role in your project?  ISABEL: Starting out, I made different drafts and compositions that are about facets of my personality or identity. For each person, there is so much across a cultural identity, where you personally grew up versus your heritage and your ancestry, gender, and even age and experiences, etc. So far, there's a gap between these pieces that I've made because I haven't been able to reconcile those things. The “in-betweenness” of it is that it's hard to neatly put them all together because they feel really disparate;  It's hard to say that I have a defined persona or path that's been trodden before. I'm trying to piece together these parts of me in languages or vocabularies that haven't existed yet.  MAYA: When I was looking through your portfolio, I noticed you use a lot of bright, eye-catching colors, even when the subject is not as positive. Traditionally, as a non-artist, I see bright colors as a sign of something positive. Do you think this is going to affect how people are going to view your work?  ISABEL: I love using bright colors and doing a lot of high contrast in my work. Sometimes, when I'm trying to do a more subdued piece or a palette-limited piece, I look at it, and I'm like, no, I'm gonna add all the colors back in. Some of this is my personal style. Recently my old roommate moved out and took all the furniture with her, so I ordered new furniture. When people stop by, they're like, this looks like a children's museum. I'm really excited by a work that evokes love and joy. If it's not necessarily a positive emotion that the piece is expressing, the vibrancy has a lot of intensity and impact, and that's what I'm drawn to. A long time ago, I did a series of works that was focusing on youth expression, and I was using really intense and bright colors to imply this need to be loud and audacious in that space to be heard. I can use vibrancy in a way that isn't necessarily positive. Overall, it's just for me, it makes me feel really intensely about the work, and I hope the viewer does too. M: When you say you're working in computer science, do you do UI/UX, or computer science?  ISABEL:  I'm a software engineer, but I've been continuing my research from college because I want to go back and do a PhD in the next two years. I grew up on the internet and the internet then is such a fascinating medium for me, for communities, for building a way for artists to connect with each other. I do research on how artists interact with the internet, how digital artists use software, etc. I'm also interested in youth on the internet, like digital safety for young people. The software engineering job is what I'm doing on the side to save up for when I make no money during a PhD.  MAYA: Do you apply any of this digital experience to your artwork? Does this affect you in any way or do you keep work and art separate?  ISABEL: Before I studied computer science at all, I was already interested in the internet. In some of my older works you can see these digital motifs, before I even knew anything about how to build software. I'm working on trying to use these skills to incorporate them into my art. Recently, a friend and I made a web story, a lot of text with some illustrations, and we hosted it on an interactive website because I know how to code now. I'm also interested in things like computational poetry, which people like because it's so interactive and  you can click buttons and generate new words programmatically. That's the thing that I've been trying to learn more about. So in some ways, it's coming together. MAYA: You talk about continuously experiencing growth and change throughout your life, right? So has there ever been a time where you were stagnant, where there was no change? And if so, what did you take away from it and how has it affected your perspective? ISABEL: It's hard to pinpoint a time that I felt stagnant because, inversely, I was changing a lot and I couldn't tell what exactly was causing it or what was the root cause. When I entered college, that's a point where people say, oh, you change a lot when you enter university. At the same time, I was moving to a country I'd never been to before where I didn't have any family and I didn't know anyone. All my New Zealand friends asked, do you feel America made you different? I didn’t know if it was America, or computer science, starting university, but everything was changing. I couldn't tell if it was good or inevitable. Now that I've graduated, it’s in my own hands to build my own schedule. You take a little more initiative to look for the communities that you want to be a part of and contribute to. This is the place where I could see myself, you know, taking a breather or having almost the opportunity to stagnate if I wanted to. MAYA: So do you want the chance to stagnate? That has a very negative meaning though . Do you think routine is now more important than change, even though maybe the change wasn't necessarily a choice? ISABEL: Recently, I've been feeling a lot of pressure from myself to continue doing the things I was doing before in college at the same rate, while also working a 9 to 5.I want to be putting out a lot of artwork or making a lot of artwork. I want to be writing more. I want to be publishing things. I want to be doing my research. But there isn't the rigidity of, oh, this is class time, this is college club time or whatever. I have my 9 to 5, and I'm trying to cram as many things in after work as possible. What I probably need is some kind of reset to look at what I'm doing and say, is this what I have time for? Is this healthy for me? That’s the benefit of taking a moment to sit and breathe. MAYA: For sure. I feel it's a pretty common experience after college to feel lost once you no longer have that community. I have one more question for you and it is a little bit of a broad one, so feel free to answer however you like. What drives and motivates you? What do you live for? ISABEL: I'm just really excited about the world. There are so many fun and beautiful things to look forward to in any aspect of life, so that's something that motivates me, one, to just get up every day, but also in my art. I'm very excited by other people's work. Not necessarily art made by other artists, but the art of someone leaving a note in a public space, or drawing a dog in the corner in wet concrete. What the world looks like, what it has to offer, and what people have to offer to each other I find really endearing. I spend a lot of time taking joy in as I move through the world.  You can see Isabel’s full final project by purchasing 03: The Identity Issue .

MAYA : Can you do a quick breakdown of the project? MARISA : Meet me by the pixel stream is a sculptural and digital project that I'm developing with Grace Wardlaw , a glassblower and artist. We have these glass pieces and metal lily pads that hold two different animations. The animation is what I've developed for Club Rambutan. The idea is to create this world where we’re questioning sexuality in a postdigital or postgender-based world. Below are work-in-progress images courtsey of Marisa Müsing and Grace Wardlaw. We're positioning the digital space as the future environment where we can explore our sexualities and concepts of gender. The inspiration came from this poem, “The Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti, which was written in the 1800s. The poem is a fairy tale of two sisters - it’s a little sapphic and queer coded - where one of them gets lured into this forest where these goblins have very desirable fruit for her to eat. When she eats them, she becomes ill, then the other sister has to go into the forest to get the fruit in order to bring her back to life. The second sister gets the fruit but refuses to eat it in front of the goblins, and they get nasty and creepy. There's this strange element of desire, then fear and danger that comes from the story. The actual history of the poem is inspired by Christina’s friend, a model who died of drug overdose, and was in the art world during the Pre-Raphaelite movement in the 1800s. Rossetti was drawing parallels between the desire and fantasy of the art world to the realities of it with drug overuse, starving yourself, etc. We wanted to create an updated version of the Goblin Market comparing it to the digital world today.  Are we ourselves the problem online? We have this very enticing space that we've built for ourselves and are acting within to portray our identities in a certain way, is it for ourselves or for the algorithm? MAYA : What would you say identity is and how would you define it?  MARISA : Identity is how you perceive yourself or want to be perceived in the world. I don't think it needs to be a marker of where you're from necessarily. That often ties into it, and feels like who you are as a person. I myself am Chinese and German and was born in Canada, so my parents and grandparents wereall from different parts of the world. Having a mixed race background and recently coming into my own sense of queerness, showed me that there's something strange about being part of these mixes of markers, not really fitting into any specific box and always kind of feeling very floaty. That's something that I have learned to learn; your identity is constantly something that you're editing and revising. I’m constantly changing, but I feel like myself. I'm often in this fluid world. It's like, what am I, where am I, who am I?  MAYA: What aspects of identity are you looking to share with your project? MARISA : Femininity is constantly changing. I'm quite interested in how it is explored online, with hyperfemininity like, “e-girls,” “girly pop,” spaces, and then also the trans, non-hetero, androgynous elements that we can play within ourselves. This idea of, I don’t know, seeing yourself as like a dragon online or something, there's so many variables as to how you define yourself in the digital space. We're very curious about how the influence of digital also changes how we perceive ourselves physically, too. There's this relationship between our own physical bodies and then what we present outwardly through these personas on digital accounts that we hold, or relationships we have with people online or offline.  Below are two memes Marisa provided as part of her references this project (lol). MAYA : You discuss cyberfemininity a lot. Is this what you're talking about and how do you define that?  MARISA : There's so many different types of cyberfeminism. I don't really know which one I identify with the most. Legacy Russell’s work is really inspiring to me, like Glitch Feminism , which she wrote in 2020. It describes the digital self as something that is meant to disrupt and distort, and she uses words like “haunting” or “creep” online, where you are actively opposing the system or fiddling with what is already out for us. We are constantly trying to play with what is the self and how we are being perceived online. That is a question always with cyberfeminism, especially right now. I mean, cyber feminism has existed since the 90s, but under different circumstances. It was a westernized concept for a long time for middle class white women within liberal arts or academic spaces, where it wasn't really accessible as a term for everyone. It's really changed and there's so many different variations now of what that can mean. There's, you know, indigenous futurisms, cyborg witches, transhackfeminism, ecofuturists and other guerrilla theorists that assert cyberfeminist practice in different ways. There's a lot to play with because of that. And that book makes it really exciting.  MAYA: To jump off of that, what do you think are the biggest differences between how cyberfemininity is used in like queer spaces versus heteronormative spaces?  MARISA: Both queerness and cyberfeminism are big buzz words right now, which is a funny thing. Sometimes I use them in ways where I think, maybe this isn't the right term to use, but it's the only one that I can find that makes the most sense. In heteronormative spaces, there's walls that are built up with limits on who can access it and why.  Like TERFs (trans-exclusionary radical feminist), how they're like, “oh, feminism is for everyone but these people,” and that doesn't make any sense. In queer spaces there's more access, especially for POC and marginalized communities, that allows for a more open, honest conversation and connection to others in very grounded ways. I've been looking into a lot of witchcraft recently, and there's so much that connects to indigenous practices of seeing the body not be the center of everything.  We are a part of a landscape of different beings and elements and it's not always just about us. It's about how that connects to everything else. There's a lot more beauty and nuance and weirdness within queer spaces than heteronormative spaces. Queer as a word means to be angled; it’s opposed to the straight line or the direct. It’s always following this other path, moving, meandering rather than going from point A to point B.  MAYA : Yeah, that's a really, really good way to put it. Another question I had is, there's a lot of intangible ideas here. How did you go about making them tangible?  MARISA : When we first started the project, it came from the poem and then we thought, “What do we do with this?” It ended up turning into a world building project, because we both work  through creating spaces or environments. My work personally tends to be within watery environments or dewy spaces; there’s something interesting about finding softness in a technological space. We wanted to create an environment where there were these lily pad structures that are holding glass seed pods, which are reflections of the body being absorbed or blossoming.  I started to look into hydrofeminism, which is another kind of subsection within feminism written by Astrida Neimanis, and the concept that we are bodies of water. As humans, we have water in our system. We ingest water, we expel water. It’s a part of us, but also what we do to the waters and pathways around us, which is something that we should put more care into. With the global infrastructure right now, there's so many toxins and industrial waste spilled into our ecosystems and destroying our habitats. As the fish start eating them and we eat the fish, the toxins become part of our bodies. All of our internet cables are underwater pathways that are the connections to all of us digitally right now. We rely on these resources to tie us together in very material formations. It's not just an ephemeral quality, it’s something very tangible and a real connection for us.  MAYA : So in your project, are you portraying Bas grotesque or beautiful? I was curious that if you're focusing more on softer environments, how are you going to bring the grotesque into it? Or are you going to lean more towards the beautiful? MARISA: It's grotesque enough that it's beautiful, or so beautiful that it's grotesque. With digital imagery right now, are really curious about this idea of creating these sexy digital watercolor goblins through this project. This environment is for these enticing, creepy, sexy trolls. Maybe that's what we are! I tend to stay within this beautiful space, and there's a lot of excitement when it strays into something weird or worse in some way. It's not just about aesthetics necessarily, it's a question of what is being said, and why is this character like that? What is that strange element in the scene that's changing how you feel about it? It ties into this idea of the uncanny valley , where it’s distorted enough that it makes you begin to question your environment and space.This uncanniness ties into the physical sculptural pieces, like the fact that these lily pads and seeds are made out of materials that aren't natural, industrial materials like glass and metal. There's always a lot more to work with when it starts to become gross or creepy rather than purely beautiful.  Below are a few final captures from Marisa and Grace’s exhibit. Image credits to Marisa Müsing and Alison Postma. MAYA : Yeah, the line is really blurred. Is there any context you think an audience would need before viewing your work, anything you would like to say beforehand before they see it?  MARISA : It would be good for them to read the poem beforehand. Maybe it wouldn't explain anything, but it would build the narrative for what we're working through with this new project. The question that we were asking ourselves is “how did we explore our own sexualities online?”. When was that moment? That's what drew us to these different parts of the project. That's an open question for people like, when was that moment for you? What do you remember? Who was it with or what thing was it with? I’d ask people to be open with the idea of what body and identity can mean for you. It's different for everyone, especially in digital spaces. You can see Marisa’s full final project by purchasing 03: The Identity Issue . It is also currently being featured in “I want you to see this”  at Xpace Cultural Centre in Toronto.

If any of our SF readers find themselves in Sac Town, or decide they want an excuse to go, I want to hook you up with one of the coolest spots I’ve been to in the City of Trees. Demo Art & Books  ( demo.spot  on IG) is a Sacramento-based “multipurpose space for experimentation,”. I initially thought it was an art bookstore, which it is, but it is also an independently owned art gallery, event space, radio station, and occasional host to underground raves. As you enter the space, you’ll find its bookstore front and center, stocked with curated books on fine art, design, photography, typography, fashion, and more. They also carry local artists’ zines, poetry, essays on social movements, and so much more. Its gallery space hosts monthly exhibitions, events, and art classes taught by local artists as well. I was introduced to Demo by my beloved friend Meg, and we were both in awe of their wide variety of reads I ended up buying two editions of a zine called Spillll , made by a collective of 4 ESEA (East / Southeast Asian) queer women creatives based in London. The zines are inspired by conversations around their own dining table on food, feminism, queerness, language and women, violence, feasting, and include personal recipes, comics, and essays. I’ve been so inspired and obsessed with what they’re doing, since I’ve also been hyperfixated on the intersections between language and violence, particularly toward women. If you’re interested, you can find them @ spillll.studio  on Instagram. Meg ended up with books on logos and anarchist design. We also found out that they have a radio station called DEMO RADIO , an online radio station that hosts both visiting and local DJs and artists. They go live pretty frequently and stream straight from DEMO, behind a glass screen right by all the books. Radio reruns  can be found on their website for listening any time. To the right of the store is the gallery space, which Meg and I ended up returning to only a few weeks later for a figure drawing class. It was perfect timing for both of us, because we had just talked about getting back into sketching and reconnecting with creative impulses, regardless of how long we hadn’t done it, or our anxiety about how “good” we are. The class featured a live model at the center of the room, and was led by Esther Wang , the founder of DEMO. She was really kind and encouraging, and the series of quick-time drawings she led helped us get in front of our fear and just do it. The class was packed and everyone was locked in on sketching the model as he moved from pose to pose, pencils rapidly scratching against paper. DEMO posts calendars  of all the art classes and events they’re hosting on their website and Instagram, with classes in pottery, figure drawing, riso printing, and more! I’ve been dying to go to a riso printing class, and it’s being hosted by a local artist whose style I really adore. Risograph printing is kind of like digital screenprinting, done in layers with eco-friendly ink! The zines made by Spillll are done in riso and you can see how the medium produces a distinguishably vibrant aesthetic. Demo is run solely by independent creatives and host a bunch of insanely cool events, so make sure to check 'em out and support them if you’re ever in the area!

If you’ve kept up with me via the Rambutan Roundup, you’re probably aware that I used to live in NYC. If not, well, I have a fun fact for you! Now, the MTA is a wholly unique transit system that cannot be found anywhere else in the USA. Its success is based on walkability. Here in Phoenix, Arizona, and surrounding suburbs, we have the Valley Metro System . Is it a great transportation system? No! Does it service a large portion of the Phoenix metropolitan area? No! Could we call it the backbone of Phoenix? Absolutely not! But it’s what we’ve got.  Version of the Valley Metro Map as if it was the MTA. Calcagno Maps. I am sure you’ve also seen photos of those hilariously large and red Hop on Hop off buses in cities like London or Paris. Hopefully you can put two and two together and see where I’m going with this. Phoenix (and Arizona in general) is generally car dominated, but there’s a few walkable pockets left hanging around. We might as well enjoy them while we have them.  The Valley Metro Light Rail runs through the heart of the Phoenix metro area, connecting Downtown Phoenix, Tempe, and Mesa. Trains come every 10 to 20 minutes, along a main route that links major spots like Roosevelt Row, ASU, and Mesa’s Main Street. To pay, you’ll need the Valley Metro app, where you can add money to your pass to tap into the train station. Some stations have ticketing machines, but they’re slowly being phased out (literally none of them work).  If you have a full day to do nothing but light rail around, start at 19th ave/Dunlap -> Mesa. This has the largest park n’ ride lot on the line. I’ll divide by neighborhood and topic so you can choose your own adventure. Encanto & Midtown There’s a quiet but shy demeanor around these parts. And a hint of a gay vibe. Parts of Central Avenue make you think Phoenix could possibly be walkable, and other parts make you realize just how little money you’re raking in. Land acknowledgements galore (for good reason). Food & Drink: Stop: Central & Highland Ave →  JL Patisserie  - of recent TikTok drama with Glamorama  please read it… Changing Hands Bookstore café Art & Culture Stop: Encanto/Central Ave →  Phoenix Art Museum Heard Museum Nature Stop: Indian School/Central Ave → Steele Indian School Park Weird Stop: Campbell/Central Ave -> Curious Nature  (oddities + taxidermy shop) DT PHX  This is the reason why people always forget Phoenix is the fifth largest city in the US. It’s small and unassuming, and the buildings and streets are as close as they’ll ever get in Arizona (not even that close). Many redeemable qualities, but none of them cheap.  Food & Drink: Stop: Roosevelt/Central Ave →  Songbird Coffee & Tea House The Churchill  - today at work my coworker’s dog came on camera and she said, “No Winston!” Of course I asked if he was named after Winston Churchill. He was not. He was named after Winston from New Girl. Central Records  - biased! My old roommate hosts a mahjong club here. Huarachi’s   Stop: V an Buren/Central Ave →  Ziggy’s Magic Pizza Shop  - fun fact! The business fraternity I was a brother of was banned from Stardust, the connected arcade bar. I assume we’re also banned here.  Cornish Pasty Co Art & Culture Stop: Mcdowell/Central Ave →  Burton Barr Central Library  - Phoenix Public Library put me on their IG story so I have to put it here. That and I love saving money and reading books.  AZ Opera  - check out Bold program for <40 yr olds. Go to opera for cheap. Stop: Roosevelt/Central Ave →  Roosevelt Row murals Modified Arts  - current exhibit by Katherine del Rosario Eye Lounge the Nash Stop: Van Buren/1st Ave → Heritage Square Nature Stop: Roosevelt/Central Ave → Japanese Friendship Garden  (tranquil asf) Weird Stop: Roosevelt/Central Ave → Hanny’s  (basement) (dolls) Tempe Huge college town, where no establishment has truly stood the test of time. Forks up, y’all. Food & Drink: Stop: Veterans Way/College Ave → Chuckbox  (cash only)  Stop: Dorsey Ln/Apache Blvd →  Khai Hoan Restaurant  - always got hungover pho here. Better than fresh alley!!! Haji Baba - cheap. good. off social media, so obviously very trustworthy.  Art & Culture Stop: Veterans Way/College Ave →  ASU Art Museum Gammage Auditorium (Frank Lloyd Wright–designed theater. Just to look at.) Nature Stop: Priest Dr/Washington St → Papago Park Stop: Veterans Way/College Ave → Tempe Town Lake Weird Stop: Veterans Way/College Ave → Casey Moore’s Oyster House - just kind of an odd vibe to this place.  Mesa Asiantown, USA. Also home to my favorite childhood museum. Better than Gilbert! Food & Drink: Stop: Sycamore/Main St → HMart , Mekong Plaza Stop: Center/Main St → Lost Dutchman Coffee Worth Takeaway Stop: Country Club/Main St → Tacos Chiwas  (not original location) Jarrod’s Coffee, Tea & Gallery Art & Culture Stop: Center/Main St →  Arizona Museum of Natural History Main Street murals   Nature Stop: Center/Main St → Pioneer Park (Old steam locomotive) Weird Stop: Country Club/Main St → Mesa Haunted Museum With the weather cooling down, I think it’s time for you to get on the light rail and walk around town, if nothing but to prove that the resources provided are being used by the people. I’ve basically curated a build your own light rail adventure. Don’t let all my hard work go to waste! Seriously! It lowkey took way longer than I thought it would and I take the light rail more often than most! Who to partake in this with: Friends Coworkers (team bonding) Roommates 3rd dates (DO NOT do this for a first date. What a terrible idea!) Romantic partners Your polycule or throuple Your sibling as long as they’re not a complainer Cousins within a 7 year age difference The trains run every 15 minutes and the city and its surrounding suburbs won’t explore itself. Bring water, low expectations, and smile. Worse case, you waste half a day and curse my name. Best case, you get to add something interesting to your IG story and people will think you’re interesting and cool. What could be better! *Here’s the adventure I would set off on based on the list above. Stop: Central & Highland Ave → JL Patisserie Stop: Mcdowell/Central Ave → Burton Barr Central Library Stop: Roosevelt/Central Ave → Hanny’s  (basement) (dolls) Stop: Priest Dr/Washington St → Papago Park Stop: Dorsey Ln/Apache Blvd → Khai Hoan Restaurant Stop: Center/Main St → Arizona Museum of Natural History , Main Street murals   Stop: Country Club/Main St → Mesa Haunted Museum

I’m writing this as we speak, with stacks of academic memorabilia around me. I wish I were joking. I’m really lucky to be able to have enough space in my house to even store all these documents from every year of my high school and college years. I’m sure other people would have wished the same, but may have already disposed of or lost them for one reason or another. At the same time, I wonder if there’s any point to holding on to all this stuff. I think about the time or a day when I’ll finally be able to sit down and take a long, hard look at the past and reflect on all the things that I’ve accomplished. But when? Looking back at yearbooks and assignments, the things that once had so much importance are no longer there—homework assignments with varying degrees of percentage, notes and doodles that I no longer remember who made them, and the people you thought would still be your friends to this day are just remnants in photographs. It’s a bit jarring to see how much I still have not figured out. I was doing the best I could during that time in my life. In the same way, I’m doing the best I can right now, figuring out things and learning as I go. But then I start to remember why I’m looking through all this stuff in the first place: I have to throw some of this away. It’s taking up way too much space. My chest tightens, and I start to zone out at the thought of it. Even though I know time has passed, it feels hard to release the essence of sentimentality, even the things that remind me of some pretty awkward and tough moments. A report card I hid because of disappointment. Photos with people in the past that I no longer talk to. Event flyers from prom and graduation reminded me of the good times, but also times when I struggled to fit in.  – I wonder if this is just something passed down from generation to generation—the hoarding habit. Sometimes, I complain about the absurdity of my mom stockpiling and buying so much food. But what else can she do? What other life does she know? To have everything taken away from you and to have to split food between family members is obviously worse than having a room stacked with food from floor to ceiling; it’s a luxury.  But you’re safe now , I want to say. You don’t have to worry anymore . But what if? What if the prices go up? What if there is an emergency? The fears come back, and my reassurance doesn’t mean much. Minimalism is a concept that is mostly attractive within affluent societies, because everything is in excess and easy to obtain. Minimalism only works when you don’t have to worry about your world changing overnight, or government and political upheaval, or food shortages, or environmental disaster. What good is design and aesthetics if you’re hungry? – I opened up my red notebook, which my friend gifted me in my first year of university. I read a journal entry from 2020, back when I was navigating the pandemic, talking to professors, playing board games with housemates, and worrying about hearing back from internships. Would I want to go back to that time? I don’t think I would; I think I’ve grown so much from back then. But to be back in that apartment one more time, watching my roommate play Splatoon on the couch, hearing the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, the smell of a lighted candle, and a housemate’s cooking in the air. That’s what I miss. I start sorting documents into two piles, one to throw away and one to keep. Going through the stack of papers, decision fatigue starts to set in. What should stay and what should go? I’m afraid of changing my mind and throwing everything back into the box and shoving it into its same corner in the garage, just to open it back up in a few years and repeat the cycle all over again. I am afraid that one day, I will look back and regret throwing these papers away. But what good is the memorabilia if you never look at them? What good is the stockpile of canned food that is now four years expired? They are no longer of use, and that’s okay. From "Goodbye, Things" by Fumio Sasaki These things were important in my life at one point, and at the same time,  they have served their purpose. It definitely doesn’t make disposing of them any easier, but I’m taking baby steps. I start by shredding a sheet of high school homework I have long forgotten.

I’m 10 minutes late to a family affair. Well, sort of. I spent a lot of time visiting Oakland in my childhood to see my mom’s family. They settled there in the 1980s and have been living there ever since. After years of looking out of the car window on the way to my grandma’s, it is surprising to see how much of the city has changed. Even though I was born and raised in the Bay Area, I realized that I hadn’t put in as much effort as I wanted to learn about my family’s past. Sure, there were the immigration stories that my parents briefly shared when asked, but pressing for further details was always met with resistance or questions about my preoccupation with the past. For my parents, it’s about looking forward and thinking about the now. Looking back at the past is a luxury. Additionally, Oakland has been a city used by media outlets as a scapegoat – an example of a city that could do better, one that has a higher crime rate. In reality, the people of Oakland cannot be reduced to a monolith; the people here have resilience and tenacity. They have stories to tell if people are willing to listen. Going to the Oakland Historical Center was my first step to take in diving deeper into the world that I grew up in, to learn more about my parents’ connection to the city’s history, and to learn more about the people that make up Oakland. I take the elevator to the second floor. There are two glass cases with posters and magazines from the historical center archives, such as the Festival of the Lake posters from the 80s and 90s. Rows of bookcases with books about Oakland line the walls, and a few tables and chairs are in the room for visitors to sit in. Emily, a librarian working at the OHC, greets me as I walk into the center. I apologize for my tardiness, but it looks like I’m the only patron in the center. Lucky me! She walks me over to the cabinet and a stack of books and folders that she prepared just for me. All the books prepared for my visit. Emily walks me through the material she selected and gives me a brief overview. I ask if I could see the household records mentioned on the website, to which she agrees and leads me to the Map Room, lined with shelves carrying giant books dating back to the 1800s. I give her the address to my dad’s old residence back in the late 1980s and she scans the sections to see the street it fell under. The Town has drastically changed, but some of the structures are still the same. For this specific map, Emily highlights the colors of each of the buildings and what they represent. Small symbols and icons represent the entrances and exits, what type of building they were, etc. I return to the history center to start reading through the documents. I read about the Pacific Renaissance Plaza, which was funded by a Hong Kong financial backer, and how there were disagreements about control and competition over the building. I see this photo of the family that ran Tin’s Market, one of the supermarkets in Oakland, Chinatown. As I am flipping through the articles, I spot one that mentions a businessman changing his last name from Ly to Lee to make it easier for American customers to pronounce. Same with my family. As I read more and more of the article, I realize that the businessman has a lot of similarities to my family history… the businessman arrived the same year as my family members, the businessman had the same number of family members arriving…Could this be a relative? I look in the folder to see a page left unturned; I forgot to check for other pages to the article. Flipping the page, I am greeted with my uncle’s picture. I feel goosebumps on my skin. I never would have imagined seeing a relative in a news article, but seeing it physically in front of me, the black and white portrait staring back at me, I feel a sense of pride and connection to not only my family but the historical center and the city. So, the conclusion to all this? I am really glad that I took the time to stop at the historical center, and I definitely received more than I expected. The visit left me wanting to explore the center further and raised many more questions for me. What about the other communities in Oakland during this time? How did different communities interact with one another during the 1980s and 1990s? Who were the people behind the newspaper that wrote about my uncle? I realized that there is still a lot more to uncover. It does take time and patience to sort through these papers and documents but… who knows? A spontaneous trip and a curiosity to learn may lead you to find out more than you expect. Learn more about the Oakland History Center here. https://oaklandlibrary.org/ohc/ Read Oakland’s Chinatown by William Wong .

In July my best friend, Adi, moved 800 miles away from sunny Phoenix, to the windy Bay Area. This move was very sudden and I was heartbroken! Someone that I talked to everyday about everything and nothing, is no longer a quick phone call for last minute plans away. I have never been in a long distance romantic relationship, but here I was entering my first long distance friendship. I am not someone who has had a close relationship with my family, my mom being the only one I talk to and see on a regular basis. For me, my friends make up the entirety of my life and my world. I am very proud to have multiple friendships that have over a decade of history, laughs, tears and memories built together. I go through great lengths to keep my tight knit community in my life.Though my friendship with Adi isn’t ten years worth of history, she is someone who I felt as though I’ve known my entire life. When Adi and I met, it felt as though my long lost sister had found me. I found someone who had the same little weird thoughts about how the world worked. Another person who couldn’t wait to try the new Vietnamese takeout spot around the corner and taste one of everything. Someone who I could endlessly giggle about how unserious life is, and didn’t mind a weird and off-putting movie night marathon.  Adi and I both work together at an office job which transitioned to a fully remote position around the time she had moved. Once she moved away, we started a routine of facetiming while we went through our morning workflows. These calls reminded me of our days in the office, our desks next to each other, yapping about our current life dilemmas and new hyperfixations. Her talking about her new favorite brewery she stumbled across on an afternoon walk, and myself a new pottery class I decided to start taking over the weekend. Even the moments of silence were so comforting knowing that my bestie was on the other side.  A major part of Adi and I’s friendship was our reality tv nights. There’s been countless hours Adi and I have spent discussing and dissecting the dynamics of the toxic Love Island relationships, the social strategies of the players on The Traitors, and if either one of us felt we had enough of a social game to win Big Brother. Those 800 miles distance couldn’t stop us from our joined reality tv obsession, and luckily the current season of Big Brother is the exact mess to be a new endless topic of discussion. We started a new tradition of each of us ordering takeout, and live texting as we watch an episode. It may sound silly, but these moments make my heart a little less lonely. My personal favorite remedies to stay in touch with long-distance friends: Keep your ritualistic hangouts alive . Order your favorite takeout meals and eat them together on facetime. Live reacting to movies/shows.  Start with any Big Brother or Love Island season. Send letters . Accompanied with little trinkets a la Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants Scheduling out a weekly call . Perfect for Type A personalities such as myself, and also extremely helpful with conflicting schedules and fast-paced lives.  Also remember these are your friends, you are never a bother to them for sending a silly photo of an object you found in an antique shop and it reminding you of them.

Whenever quality in fashion comes up, fast fashion is almost always at the center of the conversation. But what many people fail to realize is that the quality in new age luxury fashion has declined and could even be comparable to other fast fashion brands.  Just earlier this month, fashion influencer Wisdom Kaye, bought a sweater and vest from Miu Miu and both pieces arrived broken. Miu Miu quickly sent him a replacement for both pieces; Kaye filmed himself doing an unboxing for the replacements, and the button on the vest broke  on camera. Truly a PR nightmare, even for such a renowned designer brand like Miu Miu. But Miu Miu is not the only fashion house where quality and craftsmanship have worsened over the years. Many consumers report that designer clothing is less durable or well-made than ever before, even as prices increase. In a Vogue Business survey , a large proportion of respondents said that luxury “no longer means long-lasting quality product .” “You [the consumer] are no longer paying for the design or craftsmanship, but just the brand label.” Yet it wasn't always this way. Luxury was once aligned with artistry and detail, which is why buying second-hand luxury has seen such a resurgence this year. The contrast between the craftsmanship of a 2006 Miu Miu Matelassé and its 2025 edition highlights just how much quality has shifted over the years. A major factor behind this decline in quality is scale. Luxury brands are no longer small ateliers creating and designing exclusive pieces. They’re now global businesses scaling out thousands of pieces every week. Quality control becomes harder when garments are now mass-produced.  Everyone is buying their vintage designer on Depop now for a fraction of the price and  the quality is miles better. Shoppers are turning to e-commerce platforms like Depop, TheRealReal, and Vestiare Collective. I personally bought my 2004 Miu Miu Vitello bag from TheRealReal for $230 in 2023, and she is still pristine. And if it’s not vintage designer, people are favoring buying clothing from smaller, independent designers with more ethical ways of production.  Survey from Amy Odell's Substack I think there’s a magic behind scrolling through TheRealReal and just scrolling through the vintage pieces they have. This also applies to thrifting IRL. I was literally able to find an Issey Miyake Pleats Please  top fo r $4  at my local EcoThrift.  The hunt itself becomes a part of the experience, and I always get extra excited when I see a piece that resembles something I have on my wishlist or Cosmos board. It’s also how I discovered other smaller brands and just pieces I won’t be able to find today.  Also, the fact that everyone is thrifting now rather than going to the mall is a  recession indicator… but it’s also great because it’s a sustainable way of shopping (which we love). The amount of grails I have found thrifting has been insane, and it has made me feel much more connected to fashion as a whole. As someone who has been going to Goodwill with my dad as a child, I love that vintage and buying secondhand has become such a big shopping trend. It’s important to note that in the U.S. alone, about  11.3 million tons of textiles end up in landfills annually. Shopping second-hand is not only a fun way to shop for good quality vintage at low price points but it also reduces waste and extends the life of clothing.  Even though there is a quality decline in modern luxury, it has opened the door to more sustainable shopping habits and an appreciation for vintage luxury. More and more people are choosing to shop on Depop or supporting slow fashion brands rather than buying new, which is great for both the planet and curating personal style!

JK yes clickbait. ** is AZ. *** is NYC. In light of a few members of the CR Phoenix team moving away and beginning new chapters in their lives, I thought this would be an excellent time (as a self proclaimed Arizona returnee) to reflect on what I personally didn’t realize I would miss about this state.  When I was in college, I spent an absurd amount of time in New York City, entirely for stupid reasons. The first time I went was because a friend drunkenly invited me to visit for two weeks. The second time was a 3 month stint with two other people just as crazy as me who agreed to split a one bedroom in west Harlem (Do NOT do this). The third time was the longest at 9 months, for someone I thought I was madly in love with (I also would probably not recommend this).  This is not to say I don't miss NYC - I miss it a lot. I never cared that much about the dirt and grime of the city, or the rats scurrying around in the background. Nowhere in the US, in my opinion, is as walkable. A friend of mine always says, “You know how I love when exercise is naturally implemented into your day.” I was basically hitting the stairmaster everyday out of necessity with the subways. I miss the scrappiness too… I had many a weird job. Everything was a side quest. The friends I made were so different from anyone I’d ever met. Someone I met there is childhood friends with Amaya from this past season of Love Island, which I didn’t know until he posted, “Congratzzz cousin.” Another girl I met through a friend is Lil Uzi Vert’s piercer. There’s a lot of queer joy to be found as well, so loudly celebrated. I cannot say the same for Phoenix unless you know where to go. Below: Trader Joe’s On 96th Hero Cosmetics Internship Pretending To Graduate From NYU Very Gay Cow Themed B-Day Party Crazy Haircut After Breakup & Pink Lady In The Park Marketing Internship Where The Girl From The NYU Photo Posted This Goddamn Parmesan Cheese Graphic And They Caught Us Redhanded Arizona, by contrast, is a dusty Republican dominated state with old white people shaking their fists in the air as people forget to signal while merging three lanes over to the exit on the highway. The air pollution is probably just as bad as NYC. Sometimes, Congressman Eli Crane’s call-in town halls are routed to my phone and I pick up to listen in and see what the rest of Arizona has to say. Unsurprisingly, they’re usually mad about the border.  And yet… when I came back to finish out my senior year of college, and the heat enveloped me in its devilish embrace… I felt a rush of gratitude and awe that I had never truly felt before as an entitled bitch. Everyone says they can’t wait to leave Arizona, as one does when you’ve stayed somewhere most of your life and desperately want to experience something, anything! I would never say that you shouldn’t go and explore, but remember to leave space to return. You don’t know what you have until you’ve lost it. Ugh! I hate it when middle aged people reflecting on their youth are right! God, I missed the heat! When I landed in NYC, there was a BLIZZARD GOING ON! I went out in a BLIZZARD to locate the correct screws for my bedframe (my new roommate had somehow lost all of the screws) and after I had found and purchased them, I dropped them all outside of the hardware shop. That would never happen in Phoenix. Some people (Filipinos) sweat tremendously in the heat and hate it here. I (awesome lizard woman) do not sweat that much. That is why Maria Manaog, founder and Editor in Chief of Club Rambutan, moved to SF and I am still here. I love that we don’t have seasons. We have summer (extreme edition) and fall. Not many layers are needed and you save space on clothing in your bags and closets. I liked the layering for the fun, fashion experimentation aspect, but then why was I at the club looking like a grandma?  I can't even joke this was a terrible horrible day I hate admitting this, but I missed the pool. I don’t particularly like getting wet, especially not my hair, but there’s something so wonderful about clipping your hair up and wading around in a shaded pool in Arizona heat. Perhaps reading a book poolside, dipping your toes in. Hot tubs in the fall (weather is perfect for them for so many months of the year) with friends. NYC does not have easy to access pools, in fact, the Harlem pool was shut down when I lived there, to my roommate and I’s chagrin. You can go on TikTok  and see the military intensity they run their public pools by.  The valley is also known for the extreme intensity of its air conditioning. And I’m sure many have said, “But Europe doesn’t have air conditioning!” SHUT UPPPPP! This isn’t Italy! My NYC roommate and I did not even have window air conditioning because some man was supposed to purchase it for us. I got fed up at the end of June, hopped on Facebook Marketplace, found one for $50, carried it down 6 flights of stairs, reassessed my strength, and called an Uber. Then I installed it myself. Lesson learned - never trust your friend when they say a man will provide. He will not. I love central AC now with every fiber of my being. My dad keeps his house at 78 degrees in the summer and that felt like the greatest gift I had ever received when I returned. I have so many other aspects of Phoenix that I didn’t realize I loved so wholeheartedly… the dryness, how flat the city is, the highly praised street grid system, the library…having a reasonably sized closet… so many things. Most importantly, my brother was here. Frankly, I’m not a family oriented person, so this one surprised me. I don’t call my parents and they don’t call me. We’re not the sharing type. I had spent so much time away from my brother by this point - boarding school for the last two years of high school and almost all of college - that I couldn’t even fathom that he was 17. When I left for boarding school, I had been 17 myself, uncertain, horribly down in the dumps, and honestly? I didn’t give a fuck about anyone but me. The best and worst part about returning to Arizona has always been the realization that he had suddenly become a fully formed person without my consent or knowledge. If I had gone back to NYC like I originally planned after graduating early, I would have never truly known my brother. What a shame that would have been! He’s really quite a nice boy. He just turned 20 and is a much less selfish person than I was at 20, so I have high hopes for him at 25.  Below : My brother in 2017 vs 2023. I legitimately could only find this stupid photo where he was pretending to take a photo of me but instead took a selfie. I remember he stopped by my apartment sometime last year and someone told me, “You can tell that he really loves you.” And while I am sure he would have loved me even when far, far away, in a way you’re taught to love the family you don’t see very often, it’s much more tangible now. I know I can borrow his Subaru to retrieve a giant piece of furniture I found on Facebook Marketplace. He knows he can call me for things that don’t concern all of y’all. Not trying to air out his business in my article…  Anyways, heat, pools, AC and my brother - there’s my Arizona quartet that I didn’t realize I missed. One of my crazy and fondly remembered ex-roommates (I actually still live with her) said to add, “The rain in Arizona smells good. The rain in NYC smells like fish.” So, to all you Arizona rain lovers out there, beware New York City. It smells like fish (and dreams! if you believe Alicia Keys).

Happy Pride, everyone! This June, I've started a new tradition to watch more queer films. Whether the plot or the writers identify as queer themselves, I wanted to highlight cinema that celebrates the vast experiences of a community that I am incredibly proud to be part of. Here are five potential deep cuts to round out your Pride Month. Slight plot spoilers ahead! Stranger by the Lake (2013) dir. Alain Guiraudie Erotic Thriller Set on a popular rocky lakeside cruising spot in France, the story is told through Franck’s eyes as he befriends a lonely older man named Henri and becomes infatuated with the handsome Michel. While Franck is cruising late at night, he witnesses Michel murdering his boyfriend in the lake. Despite seeing this, Franck continues to pursue Michel romantically. A police investigation emerges and a detective starts questioning each of the men by the lake, “You have a strange way of loving each other. One of yours gets murdered and you keep fucking.” to which Franck replies, “We can’t stop living.” Stranger by the Lake is a quiet, minimalist film with no music; the gaps between dialogue are filled by crashing waves and rustling leaves. The confrontation of male sexuality, the quietness between scenes, and the foliage that surrounds the men offers the viewpoint that male homosexuality is natural. Cruising is an essential gay pastime, and gay men will continue to live their lives despite the world’s obstacles.  Adolescence of Utena (1999) dir. Kunihiko Ikuhara Fantasy, Romance Is it a sequel to the series? A prequel? A retelling of the anime? Who knows! Adolescence of Utena follows the anime series, Revolutionary Girl Utena , which is the story of teenage Utena Tenjou, a girl who wears a boy's uniform at her new school, Ohtori Academy. Utena quickly enters the world of sword dueling, the “prize” for winning the duels being engaged to the “Rose Bride”, Anthy Himemiya, Utena’s classmate. Being with Anthy, the bearer of the Rose Bride, can “revolutionize the world.” This film is riddled with visual metaphors and commentary on fairy tales, subverting the heteronormative stories we were privy to from a young age. Can a girl be a prince? Why must a prince always save a princess? Can a princess save herself? The anime series, as well as the film, had a profound impact on me in realizing my queer identity ( so impactful that I got my first tattoo to mark my 25th birthday: the sword of the femme lesbian duelist, Juri Arisugawa ). Seeing gender and sexuality addressed in such an abstract yet complex manner was liberating. Mulholland Dr. (2001) dir. David Lynch Neo-Noir, Romance, Horror Last but not least: my favorite film of all time. Lesbian crashouts, dreams, and a stinky rotting corpse of a mysterious woman are all rolled into this surrealist masterpiece from the late, great American auteur, David Lynch. The film follows Rita, a woman who nearly avoids a tragic death when her limo crashes on the windy Mulholland Drive. As a result of the trauma, she becomes amnesiac. She encounters Betty, an aspiring actress fresh off her LAX flight, and the two try to figure out who exactly “Rita” is and why she has stacks of cash and a mysterious blue key in her purse. I went into this movie completely blind at the ripe age of nineteen and had to rewatch it in less than 24 hours to make sure I didn’t make up this movie in my head. This was my first entry into Lynch’s catalog, and it truly changed my approach to engaging with and creating art. I didn’t think it was possible to create a piece of work that could revel in the ugliness of heartbreak and struggling with your identity, all while entrusting the viewer to come to their own revelations of each character and their actions. While a certain level of nastiness and horror is shown on screen, you can also feel the love Lynch has for women, and the delicacy with which he grapples with such complex women and their relationships with one another.

an interview with Sam Platten Have you heard of Sonidddo ? No? Then you are NOT up to date with what Club Rambutan’s been up to recently (make sure you’re following our Instagram where we’re the most active!). We tabled at their first event in May, and had a grand ole time. If you’re a real Club Rambutaner, then you’ll remember that our second magazine launch party took place in a warehouse in Glendale, and had a DJ lineup. Crazy coincidence, one of the DJs from that very launch party, Sam Platten , is the founder of Sonidddo.  Now that we’ve established the connection, here’s the rundown. I went to Sonidddo’s first event at Club Contact , and intended to go and ask questions and generally be a curious cat. Unfortunately, I got a little drunk and by the time Sam had finished their set, I no longer was thinking, “What interesting and thought provoking question can I ask about Sonidddo to get a convo going?” and instead was thinking, “Mmmm I love Midori Sours,” as seen below. So, instead we did an interview via Google Meet.  Interview edited for clarity. Maya: What’s the purpose of this event? Sam: I was feeling this general state of yuck with the Phoenix music scene. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s very disconnected and so many artists skip Arizona. We’re not as recognizable as LA or NYC or Chicago. I’ve lived here my whole life, and suddenly I was like, “What is happening here?” The collective output of Phoenix is so disappointing because there’s not a lot of visibility and the spaces that are meant for music and art and creativity have the same people and the same faces you see over and over again. It can become cliquey and you need to be in the know in order to get into those spaces.  I started to conceptualize Sonidddo around a year ago as a rotating club night, like where I play, some friends play, and there’s a rotating roster. It never turned into anything then because, you know, it was a random idea that crossed my mind. There also wasn’t a good space to host; I wasn’t going to pitch this to anywhere in Old Town Scottsdale or Mill Ave because it just wasn’t right. Then, Club Contact opened, posted that they were taking show proposals, and I realized that I could make this idea a reality.  I wanted to delve into the local Phoenix scene more, since people tend to congregate in their own groups. It’s so small in that way, and there’s not much crossover. There was an opportunity here to make an omakase of music for people to enjoy. M: I had a friend tell me that it was going to be mostly experimental EDM playing… is that an accurate description? Would you call it experimental EDM? S : Haha, it was definitely more electronic music. I know I give the vibe of experimental EDM, and I’m on the fence about that, about being outwardly experimental. Like, experimental music is awesome, but being experimental just to be experimental is a little annoying, like, “Oh, look, we’re different.”  Note from Sam: Electronic music and EDM are not contextually interchangeable, the acronym is usually interpreted as more commercial leaning electronic music. Typically people outside of that arena don’t use the term even if they are making/playing electronic music and it is danceable.  I tried to market this event in a more purposeful way. Club Contact really wanted us to feature our faces, and post a selfie, but I decided against that because it felt really unnatural to promote Sonidddo and myself in that way. To me, every facet of how this was perceived was important. I knew I didn’t want to bend on certain items since you can subtly turn people off if the appearance doesn’t match what’s being delivered.  M: Sonidddo - what does it mean? Why are there three D’s? S: It doesn’t mean anything really, “sonido” means sound in Spanish. (Maya note: this is SO arizona.) The three D’s are, (laughs), I don’t know if this will make sense to you or anyone else. To me, it rolls off the tongue. In my head, I hear the D’s as a kickdrum looping. I liked the sound in my head, kind of like a DJ tag. M: Is there a main central “sound” or is it constantly switching genres? S: I wanted everything to be somewhat danceable, to be a celebration of dance music. Of course, that’s very up to interpretation. In the future, I want it to vary, but the main component is music you can dance to.  M: How did you curate the lineup? What were your specifications?  S : Like the marketing, I was very particular about it. I was looking for a mix of different genres, different energies, vibes, etc. The night was intended to build into a crescendo, starting out slower and moving into higher energy as we went on.  LINEUP ! KILLTHEDJ - slower house  iraIRL - house SPIRITOROS - music producer, eccentric style, palate cleanser SAM - all over the place (music wise), ramped up the energy  ROBERCITA - latin techno, house, reggae EDRICS - electro house, indie 2010s pop The last few people were more established, to make sure the night would end on a high note. M: Follow up - how did you know them or find them? S : Three of them were friends, and two were people I’d played with before at other shows or venues.  M: Where do you see sonidddo going in the future? What’s the ideal? S : I’m still fleshing it out. I wasn’t sure if I’d even be able to have another Sonidddo night, because that hinged on the attendance of the first night. Ideally, I’d like to have one maybe once a month? Once a quarter? Either way, I’d have a rotating cast, probably have people back if they fit into the new “theme.”  For the future, I definitely want to take mix submissions so I can spotlight people who aren’t connected with me or my friends. That’s why I invited Club Rambutan and Envy Magazine to collaborate and table, I thought our missions were very similar in the creative world. The long game would potentially be workshops, DJ open play where people can hop on and play for fifteen minutes, spaces where people can practice music or share their projects and receive feedback.  M: Are you happy with how the event on Sunday turned out? Give me your rose - bud - thorn. (My apologies to Sam on this one. We had a bit of confusion here. Unfortunately, I can’t physically stop myself from asking people, “what’s your rose, bud and thorn for today?”) S : Rose of the event would be that there was a great turnout, around 200 people, great energy, people were dancing, and everyone was having fun. Bud (potential) is probably that we could have done more with the visuals, I’d like to do something different and more compelling next time. I didn’t have a ton of time to put a lot of visuals together, so we mainly had one up the entire time. The thorn was that the sound was super low for the first few people, and the lights were really bright in the beginning. Not a great environment for dancing. The house sound should have everything up on their end, and we had to redline ( M: What’s that? ), max out the audio. This can potentially damage the equipment, which isn’t… great. Overall, I’m really happy with how everything turned out. I wasn’t sure if it would do well, Club Contact wasn’t sure if it would do well, but suddenly there was a line outside at the beginning of the night. Thanks to everyone who showed up, we’ll definitely be having another Sonidddo night.

While city-wide Pride celebrations and promotions stick to the month of June, here are a few Queer Phoenix organizations consistently hosting safe spaces for LGBTQIA2+. Pride month is a time for the queer community to celebrate gender and sexuality, while also highlighting the history and hardships of LGBTQIA2+ communities. Commemorating the Stonewall Riots in June 1969, this annual and global recognition of LGBTQIA2+ existence and resistance is what makes June an empowering time for gay elders, baby gays, people figuring things out, and everyone in between. The commercialization of Pride month has risen exponentially as businesses use this time to maximize their marketing to LGBTQIA2+ consumers. June is a month when it’s suddenly okay for corporations to make space for queer people through events and promotions. But queer people exist beyond June. As a queer person, it comes more naturally to hang out with other queer people. Friends you make at school, work, or even just hanging out in similar spaces. I’ve branched out a little more trying to make the effort to be in queerer spaces. As a socially anxious person, sometimes it’s a little harder for me to enter a space where I may know little to no people there, but here are a few social clubs that have lessened that barrier for me as they have always been so welcoming and friendly.  Phoenix Queer Hoopers Whether you love ball or have always avoided a sport, this club is open to all levels of experience. Starting in January 2024, Phoenix Queer Hoopers holds weekly open gyms on Sunday mornings, indoors during the summer and in Encanto Park when the weather is cooler. Queer ballers come together to play a few rounds of half-court pick up basketball, followed by a full court game at the end. Donations to the club are required for paying court fees to reserve the time slots. Even Nike has taken notice of this sports club. Back in December, Nike gave some merch to the group to pass out to its attendees. Watch parties for the WNBA and Women’s NCAA tournament have been held, along with regular hangouts after the sessions. I grew up playing basketball, and though I have never been very good, it doesn’t really matter in a space like this since everyone’s here to play, learn, and overall, just have fun. Any anxiety from former coaches fades away in a space where everyone is encouraging and very eager to give everyone a chance to shoot the ball. By encouraging queer hoopers around the state to come and make new friends on and off the court, the club has grown over the months, with an increase of regulars attending each week. thems For the artists and art lovers, thems phoenix offers events such as various art workshops, exhibitions, and hang outs for queer folks in the valley. My favorite thing about thems is seeing friends you didn’t know were artists or watching friends explore their creativity. Their most popular event is their monthly open mic night, Fruity Poetry Night. Each event gives space for queer artists to express themselves through poetry, spoken word, and music. The event takes shape in different forms each time. Sometimes mixed with a larger vendor market, a night at the Phoenix Art Museum, and this past month, at Pemberton Phoenix’s newest pool.  Sign ups to read started at 6:45 p.m. Though there were only a few lined up to speak, each poet shared personal stories and their vulnerability was embraced and supported by the crowd. After the line up, the party resumed with music by DJ Joelie and the pool filled with dancing and laughter. Lezbe Friends As an opportunity to make more lesbian and sapphic friends, maybe even potential lovers, Lezbe Friends creates events all throughout the valley collaborating with queer vendors and DJs to make the hottest parties. Dancing, photo opportunities, and new connections can be seen at every event like Sapphic Sundays and the Lezbe Friends Sapphic Pool Parties. I’ve been lucky enough to attend both the Lezbe Friends Sapphic pool parties, in May and June, as each event sold out quickly. Giveaways, photobooths, twerk contests, and all the pool toys made each event such a fun party. With a group chat on Instagram of all attendees, it’s a nice way to reconnect with people you met, make plans with people at the events, or promote other queer events and vendors around the valley. I’ve loved finding new spaces for myself over the past year and these three social organizations have been my favorite places to find my interests and hobbies in safe spaces for the LGBTQIA2+ community.

Fashion has always been and is still political. A deeper dive into the OG uniform of unity and resistance: zoot suits. The political and social climate of 2025 has been overwhelming, to say the least. It’s unsettling to witness widespread unrest and chaos unfolding in real time ; it can feel like we’re on the cusp of something worse every day. As a child of second generation with Bay Area roots (an area rich in culture, food, and history shaped by the labor and love of immigrants ), the criminalization of our undocumented neighbors is disheartening and infuriating. The Trump administration's latest and boldest attempts to demonize Brown immigrants has been taking America by storm since the turn of this year . It's important to remember that this sort of prejudice is not new. The roots of conflict trace back to historical events that contextualize what is happening today. I recently fell down a TikTok rabbit hole and learned about the Zoot Suit Riots, an incredibly important piece of Mexican-American history. The Zoot Suit Riots are just another example of how fashion has always been and is still political . While zoot suits are an important symbol of Mexican-American resistance, the zoot suit started in Harlem and was worn by Black Americans in the 1930s. It was later revolutionized and adopted by Mexican Americans barrios of Los Angeles. Zoot suits, or pachucos/pachucas, was a symbol of cultural resistance and political rebellion amongst the Mexican American communities during the 1940s. The zoot suit was a fashion statement in its own right: defined by exaggerated shoulder pads, large lapels, long blazers, high-waisted, balloon-like trousers, often accessorized with flamboyant hats.  Zoot suits first became controversial because of the material used to make these suits. The composition of the zoot suits was wool, which was considered a scarce fabric at the time. This was all happening during World War II, when the American government imposed rationing on many resources, including wool. In time, it became illegal to manufacture these suits, but nonetheless, these suits were still getting made. The excessive material used in a zoot suit came to symbolize an act of resistance, given the wartime context. By continuing to wear the zoot suit, Mexican American youths were labeled as “unpatriotic”, rejecting the demands of wartime sacrifice. While the American mainstream saw the zoot suit as unpatriotic and wasteful, for Mexican Americans, it was not just an act of defiance but also a statement of asserting their presence and rights in a society that had largely marginalized them. The zoot suit was political because it questioned the cultural and social hierarchies that made Mexican Americans feel like second-class citizens.  For more historical context, racial tensions were at an all time high in California. There was a stark increase of Mexican immigrants who came for field work and railroad projects. The California government called upon Mexico to send workers, promising U.S. citizenship, housing, basic health care, and more. Unfortunately, that was not the reality for many Mexican workers once they arrived. Americans were not welcoming, marking the start of wrongful stereotyping and racial tensions. The start of the criminalization of zootsuiters (aka Mexican Americans who wore these suits) came from a murder case that happened in 1942. Famously called The Sleepy Lagoon murder , a young Mexican-American man named Jose Gallardo Diaz was found dead by a reservoir in Commerce, California. The murder remains unsolved; however, 17 young Mexican Americans were wrongfully convicted. This case was sensationalized in mainstream American media, used as propaganda to fuel hatred towards Mexican immigrants.  These cultural tensions led to the Zoot Suits Riots in 1943, a series of riots between Mexican American men and white American servicemen. Most of these riots took place in Los Angeles, as that was where many white American servicemen were stationed. The first riot of this series happened in June 1943, when a group of young Mexican men wearing zoot suits got into a physical altercation with a group of white sailors. This incident gained mass media coverage, where it was overly exaggerated and, once again, used to paint a false narrative of zoot suiters. This incident caused white servicemen, sailors and Marines to go into Mexican American barrios in East Los Angeles and physically attack anyone in a zoot suit. Evidently, it was Mexican Americans who were being targeted by white servicemen, where they were brutally beaten and had their clothing destroyed. The police often sided with the servicemen and would, in turn, arrest the victims (the majority were Mexican Americans and, to put this plainly, were hate-crimed ) who had been attacked, which worsened racial tensions. The aftermath of the riots led to greater political mobilization amongst Mexican Americans, highlighting the racial disparities and inequality they faced compared to their white counterparts.  The criminalization of zoot suiters in the 1940s reveals how deeply fashion and identity are intertwined with politics. The zoot suit was seen as an act of defiance, a form of cultural identity, but it was also weaponized against those who wore it, just as today’s immigrant communities are falsely painted as threats. The backlash against zoot suiters during the Zoot Suit Riots became a turning point, revealing how fashion, like immigration status, could be used to stereotype and stigmatize an entire community. Fashion has always been used as a powerful tool for self-expression and resistance. Just as the Mexican American youth in the 1940s wore their zoot suits with pride, rejecting societal norms and asserting their right to be seen, today’s immigrant communities continue to use their cultural identities as an act of resistance. This can be especially seen through fashion, as a means of not only self-expression but a statement. Fashion is not only political, but fashion is a statement of non-conformity.

Club Contact then v. now I’ve never seen something as anticipated as the opening of Club Contact . The owner of Gracie’s Tax Bar (guess what her name is) opened a club down the street to fill what seemed to be a gap in the Phoenix nightlife market - a place for alternative people to shake ass. Not that they weren’t before at Gracie’s, there’s just really not enough space to comfortably do so. It’s also outdoors, so the heat is a killer during the summer months.  Club Contact took over the space that was formerly Thundercat Lounge , an 80s inspired bar and club that had been open for around a year or so. I never had the pleasure of going, but when looking at photos, Club Contact preserved quite a bit of the unique parts that made it special - the mirrored ceilings and the basement lounge with leather couches come to mind. Never fear, they live on at a close by 70s themed bar, Thunder bird Lounge .  I didn’t realize I’d be doing a comparative writeup on the before and after of Club Contact, so I really only have one photo of myself from the launch where I look geisha white (I’m Japanese). The line for opening weekend? Insane. I think we waited for thirty minutes, realized we knew someone ahead in line, did the time honored tradition of starting a casual conversation in order to cut, and got in within an hour. Shoutout Brian - I hope you read our newsletters.  Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, an HOUR ? What a long time to wait in line at 9 PM on a Friday night. I hate to say it, but that was comparatively fast to what we could have endured. Y’all don’t even get it… this line was moving at a snail’s pace. Perhaps we took one step every 5 minutes… perhaps longer. Once at the front, we paid a $10 cover and headed inside. At least, I think it was a $10 cover. Social media coverage says $5 but in my heart it feels like it was $10. Not much to say after this… it was a good time. It was less crowded than I expected considering the massive line. I bought Brian a cocktail as a thank you for letting us cut. Unfortunately, this is one of the only other content pieces from this night. I don’t know why I decided a boomerang was the way to go. Now the second time I went, for article purposes obviously, it was Crunk and Chill night. There’s lots of jokes to be made here, and I’ll do my best to avoid them. They had Crunk Juice (vodka redbull) available for purchase, and it did in fact taste like straight vodka. Whether this is a great deal or not is really up for debate and personal opinion. This time, the cover was $5, and you know what? I’d rather get there late and pay $5 than show up at 9 PM sharp, but that’s just me. Embarrassingly enough, we did show up at 9 PM sharp, realized it was too empty, and popped over to Gracie’s for a few drinks beforehand. They’re approximately a 15 minute walk from one another. When comparing Gracie’s and Club Contact, Gracie’s had more people (or at least an equivalent amount), even later in the night. Why don’t more people go to Club Contact? Why do they still congregate at Gracie's? There should be a certain amount of social trust that the former will be just as much of a good time as well. It’s the same DJs and the same vibe, just with air conditioning, and a proper dance floor. There’s even the exact same amount of outdoor seating. ( The air conditioning is so intense on the dance floor that I actually need more people to come to Club Contact. Come heat the place up with your bodies so that I’m not as cold.) If I had to hypothesize… in an if/then/because format… If Gracie’s doesn’t charge a cover, then more people will go there, because people are . Down the line, my future hypothesis would be… If Club Contact has air conditioning, then more people will go during the summer, because Phoenix will be over 110 degrees. Honestly, there were all these expectations, and the line was so insanely long on opening weekend, so I get why people mentally crossed it off their list. People hate change or when something doesn’t live up to the fantasy! Myself included, and I feel like I’m a fairly spontaneous and open minded person. Just the other day, my work changed the software for something mundane and I got mad about it and avoided the new software for a few days. Turns out it’s literally fine and I was being dramatic.  Or, maybe everyone hates dancing now, which might actually be a greater societal problem. Everyone wants to sit and have a drink and chat with their friends and no one wants to join the 4 person twerk train. Too many people in their 20s are mentally fast tracking themselves to early forties with this glass of wine and puzzle nonsense.  Now, if that’s your vibe, I’m not mad about it. But, when’s the last time you had a conversation with someone random? When’s the last time you did something for someone just because? There’s so much to be gained from being open to connection. Support awaits in the discomfort of doing favors. And dance! It’s good for you.

As the last few days of Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month (APAHM) approach us, I need to confess one thing: I haven’t really thought much about being Asian in a while. That is, until I recently attended a screening for HAAPI Meal , which is a docuseries on Asian American chefs and their stories. I’ve been living in San Francisco for exactly two years now—one of the most densely Asian-populated cities in the United States–and never once did I fully unpack the baggage of a past identity crisis that I lugged from Phoenix all the way to here. But there I was, mentally sorting it all out again as I listened to Chef Nico de Leon ’s speak on his own cultural journey: “I didn’t not identify with my culture, but it wasn’t my first identifier...The Pinoys at my school, we were all friends growing up, but we just didn’t relate other than being Filipino… wasn’t something i was necessarily ashamed of, but i wasn’t necessarily proud.” The last time I consistently thought about “being Asian” was in college.It started at 17 years old, awkward, impressionable and eager to get to college and let it mold me into someone cool. I was clearly still figuring myself out, so I played it safe and joined a community that I was already somewhat familiar with: a Filipino club. I was already familiar with the customs and I came from a pretty traditional immigrant home, so why not? I quickly learned that there is a certain… energy that comes with being involved in student-led cultural orgs. It was a very intense experience. The enthusiasm in every meeting is always high, the determination to outdrink each other is even higher, and their members’ inner social dynamics were scandalous at worst, petty at best. Everything was dramatic and therefore exciting. And their events? It’s like a summer camp and a youth group had a baby on steroids and everything it did was about being Filipino. I ate it all up. Unlike Chef Nico, being Asian became my first (and for a while, only) identifier. It started when I attended my first Friendship Games in 2018. Every fall semester, Filipino college clubs all over California, Arizona, and Nevada hightail it to Cal State Fullerton for the weekend. For one entire day, they compete for an 8-foot tall trophy, the winning team determined by who exemplified the most S.P.U.F. (Spirit, Pride, Unity, and Friendship) through games and performances. It was overwhelming. All this to say, FG showed me what I thought was the prime example of how an Asian American should show pride in their identity: exuberantly, homogeneously, and relentlessly. The more I got involved, I saw how we all had collectively bonded through the same internet memes and forums over and over again, poking fun at the personalities and interests of our peers. The best I can describe this phenomenon is that it’s one big diasporic inside joke that we can refer to as the “American” part of our shared Asian American experience. As someone who wasn’t part of a close-knit community before, it felt really nice to be included for once (even for how ridiculous it might be). I was still a blank canvas, and I had internalized these attitudes into my own social performance. Then COVID-19 hit. I transferred universities and moved back home. All throughout 2020 and well into 2021, the nationwide trend in anti-AAPI hate crimes added a deeper level of trauma to our community during an already extremely isolating and anxiety-riddled time. Once the mask mandate was lifted and we returned to the classrooms two years later, it made sense why (primarily East and Southeast) Asian American young adults began to cling to each other a little more tightly. We sought out solidarity across our groups, and in the process we had revived a more vibrant, stronger sense of pride in our collective identity. I was one of those people. Shortly after lockdown, I became an intern-turned-president for my university’s Asian American student coalition. For a little over two years, I organized online and in-person events, advised 10+ cultural organizations, and guided a team of other students who were also determined to preserve the joy of our community, emboldened by the flames of adversity that we collectively faced barely one year ago. I received awards and gained a reputation that exceeded me. Needless to say, my self confidence soared to levels unimaginable to my freshman year self. The way I carried myself had fundamentally changed, and it clearly influenced the way I approached my personal relationships, schooling, and home life.  In some convoluted way, I had not only subconsciously bought into the idea that being Asian American is a social performance, but had begun to associate it as my primary source of individual power. It enabled me to become the person I had always wished I could be: a leader. My myopic (mis)understanding of what being Asian American meant had served as the unstable yet foundational step that I tried to build the rest of my self worth on. The dawn of my existential crisis arrived on the summer afternoon of a student-led Women’s March in 2021. It was three years after FG, and I had written and given my own speech on gendered and racial violence against AAPI women . At this point, I realized that I no longer had the luxury of being a passive member of a single cultural club; my thoughts were now consumed by everything relating to advocating, representing, and facilitating a sense of “Asian American pride” in my community. From the way I saw it, I couldn’t be a credible "change maker" if my work only focused on the surface-level, “digestible” aspects of our culture. The Asian American experience is not all fun and food and dance and play; there is a darker underbelly of struggle and resilience to acknowledge. Except, I could now barely understand myself. I had to seriously reassess what Asian “pride” actually meant and looked like to me, and not what the behavior of others influenced me to believe. What exactly about being Asian American are we collectively proud of? Other than the heritage that prior generations have passed down to us, what are the greater values and issues that actually influence our shared experience in this country? It wasn’t until I graduated college and removed myself from this impenetrable echo chamber of Asian American social life to understand this: I had fallen for the subconscious idea of Asians tokenizing their ethnicities as a way to both stand out and fit in American society. It was a problem that I couldn’t fix from the inside. It’s a wildly complex, multi-layered topic that is rooted in a history revolving around immigration, civil rights, and the role our community plays in the social hierarchy of other racial groups. There is no single straightforward answer to explain why modern “Asian Americanism” is portrayed the way it is today (but if we’re being honest, TLDR; capitalism and white supremacy are the usual culprits to blame).  The only thing I can do now is put the work into myself. Clearly, I’ve been procrastinating this self reflection for one reason or another - the postgrad reality of life hits hard and holds back on no one. It takes a lot of time to critically dissect dreams and ideas, which is time I don’t always have as an adult who is just trying to make ends meet. But still, I’ve made a lot of progress since then. I feel more secure in who I am now. I don’t look down on the spaces where I spent so much time trying to find myself in, but to Chef Nico’s point, sometimes we have nothing in common as individuals despite our ethnicity, which is completely okay. We can’t rely on a shared heritage to completely bind us as genuine friends, lovers, and partners - and that’s what I wished someone told me from the start. I haven’t thought about being Asian in a while - just not in that way.

Are we predictable commodities and consumers? How is fashion like the stock market, and how do our contexts shape our creativity?  Okay, okay. I won’t be the first to claim that I’m a fashion girlie (although one can aspire) nor am I anywhere near knowledgeable on stocks or the economy, but I think anyone (especially in creative spaces) understands that we express ourselves on the daily, with fashion and external presentation being some of our primary modes.  Anyone with style will tell you this without saying a word: this is who they are, how they’re feeling, what they’re excited about, what they’re inspired by, what mood they’re trying to evoke, what energy they’re choosing to present. Self-expression is everywhere and in everything. Hair, nails, jewelry, makeup, and of course, clothes. As someone who admires the expert curation of fabrics, textures, patterns, colors, and motifs in an outfit, hearing about the hemline index theory on Instagram sent me into a series of thoughts. What do these trends tell us about how self-expression is impacted by external and uncontrollable factors? Can our externalizations of creativity be that easily predicted?   But what is the hemline index theory ?  It’s an economic theory that suggests skirt lengths rise and fall in conjunction with economic trends, specifically the stock market. Most versions of this theory hypothesize that skirt lengths shorten during periods of prosperity and lengthen during economic recessions. I’ve heard various explanations of why this is, but many correlate feelings of liberation, confidence, and freedom (shorter hemlines) during periods of economic prosperity, and the opposite effect during periods of downturn. Some trace it back to one of the first observable trends in modern fashion history: the short flapper skirts of the 1920s shifting to the longer skirts during the 1930s and the aftermath of the Great Depression. Some theorize that it was cheaper to wear longer skirts because they would hide a lack of expensive silk stockings, which were no longer affordable. The theory has been debunked many times over many years, but is still often used to point toward more complex relationships between fashion, societal conditions, and economics.  In more recent times, some are using this theory to explain the comeback of maxi and midi skirts, and thread throughlines to how this may be part of a wider trend toward conservatism in the 2020s.  Some say this can be observed with conservatism and fashion for women in the 50s, for example, where traditional gender roles, conformity to domestic spheres, and expectations for homemaking dominated female life.  The Lipstick Index Theory functions similarly. It suggests that, in a period of economic downturn or recession, lipstick sales and other ‘affordable luxury’ sales are likely to increase. Vice versa, the theory also suggests that increased sales of lipstick and other lower-cost luxury items may signal an economic downturn. This was first observed by Leonard Lauder at Estee Lauder during the 2000s economic downturn following 9/11 . It is hypothesized that during economic hardship, many consumers still desire the feeling of being able to attain luxuries and indulgences, so they turn to lower-cost luxuries (e.g. nail polish and lipstick) rather than traditional luxury fashion and accessories. People may splurge on luxury cosmetics or ‘personal care’ items they usually wouldn’t rather than on bags and clothing that could break the bank. This allows feelings of wellness, security, and luxury in one’s life despite surrounding economic conditions.  We still want to feel like we have the breathing room to be creative and indulgent, which is difficult to do within the boundaries of our finances.  Both of these patterns make inherent sense to me, not because human creativity is predictable, but because, despite our creative efforts, we all belong within and are shaped by the contexts in which we live.  My easiest reference points are authors. We wouldn’t have the novels of Ernest Hemingway or George Orwell if the world didn’t experience the harrowing effects of war or fascism, nor would we have the novels of F. Scott Fitzgerald without the economic boom of the 1920s. This could be argued about art born out of many historical contexts, if not all: The Renaissance, the Counter Culture of the 60s, the Harlem Renaissance. Art is shaped by history and shapes history all at once. Artists always respond to the current moment and shape the next. They are defined by their present and their past, and pave new cultures and movements into existence.  All this to say: our self-expression and creativity are not cynically limited or predictable like stocks on an index fund. These are just theories after all, and nothing can predict human behavior with certainty. But yes, it’s crazy to think that the choices we make in private when we open our closets are affected by the great ol’ economy. However, it sure makes sense to me that in a capitalist *hellscape* our resources are scarce. And meeting our basic needs will influence our decisions. It’s a tool of survival. And this includes safety too–nobody (at least, I think) is intentionally choosing a maxi skirt over a mini because they are consciously thinking about an economic recession or a trend towards conservatism. But it feels safer to take fewer risks in our day-to-day lives when so much around us is uncertain and remains out of our control. A desire for stability, and even to rely on ‘tradition,’ makes sense in a time where most people have to watch their spending on food and basic needs. We can subconsciously choose to shelter ourselves or even conform to notions of ‘acceptability’ because we don’t want to lose our jobs, our homes, or our security–we can barely get those in the first place! But the way that creativity and self-expression survive throughout any historic or economic conditions, I think, is pretty predictable. I look forward to reading what they have to write in books about our current moment, in history, in fashion, in art, in everything. I thought I couldn’t examine any of these theories in my life at first, but my 3 maxi skirts and impulsively-purchased $40 lipstick could say otherwise. What about you? :)

I haven’t been to many shows in my life; I can count the number of concerts/shows I’ve gone to on one hand. I’ve lived in Midtown for almost two years and haven’t taken advantage of the music venues in my own backyard. I decided to challenge myself for May and attend three shows, all of which I do not know the artist. My only criterion for attending these shows was that they all had to be under $30 a ticket. I was mesmerized by La Luz and was pleasantly surprised when Shana returned for an encore. She performed a melodic and dreamy closer with just her and her guitar (I later found out this song was Blue Jay). Since the show, I’ve had their 2024 album, New of the Universe , on repeat. She alternated between an electric and acoustic guitar, her serene voice complementing each instrument. With each note she sang, I felt her pure heartbreak, love, loss, rage, and angst. During her performance of Fist, I began crying as the song went on. Her vulnerability and storytelling capabilities, combined with the ugliness that the end of a romantic relationship can take, touched me.  If La Luz felt like I was at a lakeside party with aliens, Miya Folick had transported me to the Bronze from an early season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer , swaying under the moonlight with both eyes closed and letting each note consume me. 5/15 Florist , $17 @ Valley Bar The last stop on my journey through Valley Bar’s showlist was the New York-based band Florist! Their sound was reminiscent of slow, folky, alternative music of Bob Dylan, yet with hints of contemporary experimental styles of bedroom pop. The entire venue swayed along to lead singer Emily Sprague’s sweet melodies. For an hour, I was in the clouds between awake and dreaming, and I didn’t want to leave. It was a bittersweet ending to my month of new music. I ended my journey of finding new music with a deep appreciation for live performances and fell in love with each of these artists, who I would’ve never discovered otherwise. Each of these artists were so different from one another, bringing a different energy on stage with them and crafting their own relationship with each audience. I danced, cried, dreamed, and laughed. This will definitely be a monthly occurrence.