read!

Your freckles are stars

That fade with one

It’s such a pleasant thought

Knowing that everyone has

A place with a kindred soul

When I was wandering through my last idea

I thought:

How could I ever feel lost

When everything is meant to be?

We sat on the edge of the world,

Overlooking it

You told me about how

You’ve never felt this way before

Your white carnation heart

Dreams solutions to problems

That don’t exist yet

All the buildings on streets

Move for your round, green eyes

And your canary coloured hair

I wish you loved me

Like you love the world

On my way to save you

My feet touched the grass

And my unfriendly neighbour,

Said hi back

My perception of the world, what matters and what doesn’t, has changed a lot with time. It only took so long into high school for me to realize that past dilemmas in middle school had little to no significance. What was considered popular or “cool” only came to be seen as cringey and stupid in not even a few years. Of course this is how I perceive the world, because this is how everyone perceives the world. Any pre-existing standards for how kids should act, look, and talk now seem futile, they came and then they went. But they mattered at the time, just like today’s standards matter now. Because today’s standards do matter- right?

People struggle with their self-worth because they compare themselves to other people’s standards. Because they don’t meet up with today’s “expectations”. They think that, if they don’t follow directly what the populus deems “acceptable”, they will not be acceptable themselves, and that’s all they really see, or care about. How they are in other people’s perceptions. Nothing much matters besides that to a lot of people. Their standards shift when the populus’ standards shift, and so on. Some individuals’ worldviews matter more than others because they are more representative of the populus’ worldviews. If the popular kids at school wear something, that’s the thing to wear. If a tweet saying “Why does nobody like ‘x’? ‘x’ is actually very good” goes viral, retweets and likes will exponentially increase, as the public opinion as whatever takes the place of “x” shifts, and as people see the tweet and go, “wow, ‘x’ I guess actually is very good!” People tend to walk on a tightrope in order to stay in line with what people expect of them, while any misstep results in immediate ridicule. When what they do or enjoy doesn’t fit into the tiny realm of “correct”, it ends up being detrimental to their self-worth. People will compare themselves to others, attempt to deduce a “standard” and apply themselves to it, because what’s the point if you don’t fit in? What’s the point if you’re not doing better than everyone else? I think these questions are, of all things, easily answerable. But first we need to establish something-

The world is defined by our perception of it. Everyone lives in their own consciousness and has their own biases, altered by their own experiences, surroundings, and lifestyle. Everyone has their own universe, and each is entirely different from one another- there is no objective way to perceive it. I think all this is essential to realize, because with this information, we can deduce that your universe is no more or less “real” than mine, or any other. What matters to other people, means nothing to others; where people see absurdity, others find joy. None of these perceptions are true, and none of them are false. There is no one all-knowing being out there, that has an objective view of the universe, that can tell you if what you’re doing and how you’re doing it is “good” or “bad”. Everyone sees through their own eyes, and that’s okay.

And what that means, is that the public is not a reliable source to set your standards to. If the public has a view on one particular thing, that only means that a lot of people tend to correlate in how they perceive that one thing. That doesn’t mean that the people who don’t correlate with the masses on their perception of it are incorrect. That doesn’t imply anything detrimental about the minority. The public has a long track record of changing their perception on a lot of things, and deeming the previous perception incorrect. What’s funny or cool can “die out” when overused. The public’s perception exists within the present moment. Everyone must be up to date and never miss a beat. But, it’s not really like that, and really, you don’t have to come along with it.

So what’s the point if you don’t fit in, or if you’re not doing better than everyone else? The point is how you feel about yourself, truly, free of the pressures or expectations of others. The point is whether you’re comfortable. The real question, I think, is, what’s the point of fitting in? What’s the point of doing better than everyone else? Because yeah, the public is not a reliable source to set your standards to, and, nobody is, actually. Not your friends, not your family. Nobody, but you. Your universe is the only one that should matter, to you. Just like anyone else’s universe is the only one that should matter to them. When you acknowledge this, you acknowledge that your worth isn’t determined by other people. It’s determined by you.

There’s no room in life to let your worth rest in the hands of how you compare yourself to others, when there’s so much to appreciate about how you view your own world. When you know that your universe is as real as any other, why would those other universes actually matter in comparison to yours? Don’t bend and twist yourself just to fit into the tiny hole that others want to see you go through. There aren’t any real expectations in life if you simply choose to ignore them. When you just, choose to not care what others think about you, because you acknowledge how far they are from your universe. Because you realize that, they don’t actually matter. Yeah, they matter to themselves, and that’s great. But that’s not relevant, not to you. Not to your universe. That experience is so, so freeing. And we can do this by just doing what makes us happy. Who cares if it’s weird? If it doesn’t seem “correct”? Literally, none of that means anything unless you, yourself, think it does. Embrace the weirdness, embrace that it’s nothing that anyone you know would approve of. Who gives a fuck, because there’s no time to worry about any of that. Just, be happy. Because you are the beholder of your own universe. You have the utmost power to do what makes you feel your worth, truly, without regard to what other people think. Realize that power, realize your potential, and do whatever the fuck you want to prove it. Prove it not to your mom, or your friends, or your crush. Prove it to yourself. I mean, it’s kinda what I’m doing, as I sit here, writing my fourth paper. So yeah, get out there and actually do shit. Do what makes you happy, what makes you fulfilled, what makes you comfortable, what makes you feel.

“The only true meaning of life is finding your own way to enjoy it.” -The Amazing World of Gumball, season 3, episode 28

A lonely flower

sat in wait.

Lying very still,

it hesitates.

It longed for the day

it could see its friend,

but the rain kept the forest at bay;

its friend never came.

It was pleasant at first,

the flower soaked it all in,

but as the rain continued on

the flower knew it couldn't win.

The rain hit harder,

and the flower grew smaller.

It was hard to exist.

The lonely flower needed an exit.

But soon, the spring showers faded;

the forest returned!

A ravenous rabbit saw the flowerbed

and, seeing the flower, consoled it instead.

They made new memories,

had new adventures

because the lonely flower hoped

for a better future.

There was once a time, maybe ten years ago, during the now-repressed early years of high school, when I read gossip magazines. It was the era of Miley Cyrus and Liam Hemsworth’s first bicycle-ride dates. I studied these stories – these ‘real lives’ so far outside my own – with forensic precision. Any outfits or products that I liked were cut out from the pages, and pritt-sticked into a blue exercise book that I kept under my bedside table. These celebrities became part of the crowd of people I wanted to be like – personalities and lifestyles I would try to replicate.

A year or so later, at a key pivoting-point for my personality, I found a copy of ELLE Magazine in a hotel. Having never been able to afford the high-end magazines, I now poured over this second-hand issue with a diligent curiosity. The weight of it alone commanded respect, padded with adverts for designer brands I had never heard of – it was an entirely different creation from the £1.70 weekly issues I had bought at newsagents. Dakota Fanning was on the cover, and I can still remember her photos, the poses in head-to-toe Marc Jacobs and the quotes she gave in the article – about acting, about her family, about the outfit she wore on her first day at NYU. She seemed dignified, desirable and interesting. The entire magazine, so precise and considered, presented a new kind of role model that was both graceful and aloof. I wrapped the magazine up carefully in a scarf, stole it from the hotel and took it home for further study.

The pages of ELLE quickly became a source of fuel for me. I asked my parents for a subscription for Christmas, and when each issue arrived in the post, I would study them just as I had the first, before returning it to its plastic wrapping and placing it neatly on my bookshelf. As if revising for an exam, I would memorise snippets of lives that were spread across glossy pages and try to re-enact them in my own routine, suburban existence.

From the age of eleven, I would read in magazines the fairytale stories of being grown-up, living alone and being able to present my body and house and life however I wanted. These publications were like bibles to me, with their messages of hope, and I treated them as such. I can still remember reading and re-reading a story about a jewelry designer and falling in love with her dark blunt fringe, green plastic snake ring and giant, yellow Macdonald’s ‘M’ that hung in her otherwise sophisticated hallway.

These publications gave me a constant source of new faces and stories, each with different facets of desirability. I was able to try on and experiment with new personalities, never at a loss for inspiration. In the moments when I would look in the mirror and want to change everything, I could look at my stack of magazines and feel confident in this representation of myself, at least.

Then, when unbelievably, time in the suburbs passed by, I grew from a prepubescent child to a teenage girl. As the ferocity of my self-dissatisfaction flared, I gradually realised that this effervescent ‘thing’ presented by magazines – the version of a human that is desirable enough to covet and accessible enough to aspire to – was a marketing strategy, as much as it was a work of art. I noticed, with great alarm, that I had genuinely, unironically started to stress about not having a signature perfume. I withdrew from the pages that I had once adored, telling myself sorrowfully that I was simply not confident enough for this kind of self-improvement.

In the later years, when I acquired more gumption (or maybe just an awareness that not doing what everyone else was doing could also be considered cool) and had stopped being able to fall asleep at night without listening to the Sunscreen Song (“Do not read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.”) I took a stand. ‘Out!’ I cried to my stack of bibles, carefully stored in their plastic wrapping. “You are no longer welcome here!” And these pieces of my personality’s history were gone.

My love for magazines was re-purposed. I practiced aesthetic joy in decorating my room – rearranging furniture, collecting postcards, creating mood boards. I looked towards fictional characters for motivation and drew fashion inspiration from shop displays or outfits at non-uniform days at school. My experience of curation and inspiration became incredibly insular. I spent more time ‘taking myself seriously’, falling in love with politics and historical works of literature. And this continued for about a year or so – until I discovered, years later, ‘magazines’ on the internet.

At this point, my solitary rebellion crumbled. I realised – gloriously – that I was not alone in rejecting traditional publications. There had, in fact, been thousands of talented creators laughing in tradition’s face this whole time. At home in my (still) routine, suburban existence, I discovered the myriad of zines, blogs and online magazines that had existed without my knowledge – from Rookie Magazine and local zine fairs, to crafting Instagram profiles and Pinterest accounts. I found joy and intelligence in fashion, as well as lifestyle and pop culture, and I found there were places that included these conversations alongside discussions on literature and politics. New bibles – thousands of them – appeared by my side, to carry me forward. My list of inspirations became un-listable and continued to grow.

While I have learnt to appreciate traditional magazines without being cut down by them - studying the work of André Leon Talley and Lucinda Chambers has made me appreciate the genius at play - I will never be able to worship them the way I once did. And I wish eleven-year-old me had placed her faith elsewhere. Last Summer, on holiday in Amsterdam, I found an independent magazine store, two-stories full, housing pages and pages of individuality and joy. The range of the publications on sale was astonishing to me, and I realised that, had this been available to me at the time, an escape from the single narrative of high-end fashion magazines would have been only too easy. I felt physically sick with the realisation that magazines like these could have rescued me, all those years ago.

The impact that a magazine (or zine or blog or website) can have on a teenage girl should never be underestimated. I’m not sure the responsibility is often carried carefully enough. The publication world has to understand that in the teenage years, inspiration is oxygen. Finding a role model or aspiration is virtually inevitable, but finding worth is allusive. For the creations that, in my later years, saved me, my gratitude is endless. Those publications did something for me that ELLE Magazine never did – they provided me with inspiration without taking anything else away. They didn’t require self-esteem to read – they build it up. And that made all the difference.

let's roll down this mountain

off the edge

get covered in wildflowers, dandelion fluff

(make a wish)

you can worship me in my bikini

each sliver of skin softer than the next

do i take up enough space for you?

let's drink in the sunshine

(hot, forbidden nectar)

wake up the next day with sunburns

patchy tokens of our time together.

I lost myself

Pressed between pillows and puppets,

A dark blurred memory,

Scented of male’s sweat and fresh lavender’s bedding.

Biting my lips,not to scream, as you told me.

Erasing my face with the sheets

Wishing I wasn’t there.

Keeping my stained soul and bloody underwear

Hidden, as you told me.

There’s no place in my heart, for milk and marmalades, anymore.

Blood and tears are the Infernal rivers dividing

The land of the innocence and the land of the sin.

I am not guilty of any perverted viciousness,

I simply want to die.

Nautics is a band located in New York City. It is a four person band with Levitt (drums), Van (bass), Kenzo (vocals and guitar) and Amir (keys). The band was started in 2016. According to an interview they did with “strwbryjeanzine” (on insta), Amir, Levitt, and Van met each other at a music program and had a band. Then Van met Kenzo and they started their own thing and in 2016 the full band got together. The genre of this band’s music can go in all different ways, although I would say it is mostly pop-rock. They tend to try and perform in all 5 boroughs. Currently they are working on some new songs but a classic is “Thoughts on the Ceiling”.

“Thoughts on the Ceiling” came out May 21, 2020. One of the best bands that I’ve listened to this year. I asked the band members what the lyrics meant to them and Kenzo said: “I think that lyric is supposed to represent the moment in an argument when one person is distracted, looking up at the ceiling, and you are trying to get their attention. It’s a literal moment that I wanted to expand on”. Although they mainly agreed that the song’s lyrics are up to the listener’s interpretation. I personally believe that the lyrics are about being frustrated about something and looking up at the ceiling while letting your thoughts come over you. It's definitely more than the “head bop” level of a dance song. The chorus is fun and different while the verses are catchy. All the proceeds from “Thoughts on the Ceiling” are going to the Food Bank For New York City. You can stream their music on all music streaming platforms!