Dress By Design

John Hughes has taught me many lessons: we’re all a pretty bizarre but some people can hide it better; if your parents forget your birthday, it’s not because they don’t love you, they just have a lot going on; and, lastly, your Prom dress says a lot about you. Ever since I watched Andie Walsh craft her bubblegum pink dress in a Dr. Frankenstein-esque manner in Pretty in Pink, I’ve known that the gown you choose to wear on Prom is crucial. It’s your chance to show off who you are in one final, dramatic move to cap off high school and, yes, Andie’s dress was astonishingly hideous and a rough reminder of the wacky style choices of the 80’s, but the dress represented her.

From that moment on, I knew that was exactly what I wanted for my Prom look (the originality, not the gaudy, tear-inducing dress). Like Andie, I wanted to dress in a way that would stand out amongst the others and be homogenous to my identity. I didn’t want to tap into a fantastical, Princess persona; I wanted to fully unleash my own personality.

Andie’s unique and iconic dress.As I entered my senior year of high school, Prom constantly danced in the back of my mind. I roamed Pinterest for hours on end, searching for any dresses that I identified with but sadly, only found hoards of rhinestones and desperation. I trekked into Macy’s in hopes of finding a unique diamond in the rough but was only met with taffeta tornados and decrepit dressing rooms.

My mind tripped over itself with visions of gowns but deep down, I knew they’d be impossible to find on any rack. And that’s when it hit me. If I can’t find a pre-made gown that will represent myself, why don’t I take a leaf out of Andie’s book and just create my own.

The merlot-colored bamboo silk that was chosen as the fabric for the gown

Since my sewing skills are laughable (all I have to show for my designing career is a crooked pillowcase), I reached out to local up-and-coming label, DEVINTO. Created by designer Aiste Zitnikaite, DEVINTO is an eco and ethically conscious label that was established in Montreal, Canada and then relocated to Cape Cod. After going through the gallery of DEVINTO’s collections and observing her pieces in person, which can be found at Shift Eco. Boutique in Hyannis, I instantly knew that both her ingenuity and my personality would blend fabulously well. “DEVINTO designs are equally focused on comfort,  glamour, and fair principles when it comes to the creation and production of garments,” Zitnikaite said. Using natural and eco friendly fabrics, DEVINTO sticks to a devotion of conscious clothing without compromising their unique style.

I scheduled a meeting with the inventive Zitnikaite and when that day came, I had two ideas in mind: a swoop back and tiers. I produced some examples but stressed that although I liked these details, I wanted to give her some creative room to work her magic. Upon seeing the pictures, Zitnikaite’s eyes sparkled and she said “Oh, yes. We have to.”

Zitnikaite then produced three beautiful sketches that incorporated a bit of my essence that she had masterly captured and her intriguing touch. “The starting points are definitely key when I conceptualize custom pieces because I want to make sure the client is getting a design that is made for them,” she said. From then on, we tweaked one design, chose it, and before I knew it, what was once just a pipe dream, was soon on its way to becoming a physical reality. We agreed on a deep red color, a high neck, a swoop back, and two pieces.

“I took in the fact that you wanted ruffles and low droopy back, always kept in mind your body shape, and the intended use of the garment. Since this was a prom dress, I was envisioning an evening gown on a red carpet,” Zitnikaite added. “My inspiration was old Hollywood– especially once we had picked the fabric. The deep satin red was definitely calling for glamour and after that it’s pretty much a collaboration between you and I where we finalized the details.”The process was a collaboration between the two of us and having Zitnikaite’s fresh design perspective helped me unleash my true style potential.

Aiste tweaks the bodice’s hem.

Over the next few weeks, we had several fittings where I was able to try on the piece, fix any sizing issues, and continue to brainstorm styling ideas. I started out in a two-piece muslin prototype with just a merlot-colored swatch to help envision the final product and that then in mere weeks, the dress transformed into a glamorous gown crafted in a decadent bamboo silk.

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When the highly-esteemed day finally arrived and I put the gown on, I saw my reflection and couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, after weeks of frantic fittings in Shift’s dressing room, after fixing last-minute bra issues (if you have a small, cooperative chest, take a moment to be thankful), after responding to people asking what my Prom dress looked like with “It’s a work in progress,” I was able to look into the mirror and see an enchanting piece of clothing that felt like my second set of skin.  In addition to fitting my body like a glove, the dress captured my personality effortlessly and I knew wholeheartedly that this dress represented me

This dress was everything I wanted because it was a mixture of everything I loved. It was my taste mixed with the input of an ingenious designer and that was exactly how I always imagined my style to be: a collaboration of fresh, fashion ideas.

Me (Emma Childs) and date (Gabriel Rourke) are clearly very excited about the special day and the special gown.

With makeup done by Eden Salon and hair done by Salon in the Mills, I was all ready to fully let loose in a look that felt 100% myself.

If you need a piece made and shopping has proven to be futile in finding your perfect look, I encourage you to consider custom pieces, especially with the unfathomably talented DEVINTO. “In the past (Montreal) I did quite a lot of custom pieces. On the Cape I’ve done only a few– people don’t always realize that’s an option. But when I mention it at the shop, people seem very responsive and I hope to get more,” Zitnikaite said.

The Coast is Clear

Ever since I was in eighth grade, I’ve been envisioning a life for myself outside of high school. A time to break free of my adolescent chains and be able to grow up and into myself. Now that I’m a high school senior and at the time where my fantasy is quickly approaching, I’ve been able to contemplate about how many things are actually out of my control. I can hope for the best and try to plan to the best of my ability, but there’s only so much I can do.

We look to the future with uncertainty because there’s no way of knowing the absolute occurrences of these next few years. But boy, do we hope we are doing everything we can to ensure they play out how we want them to. We can study for the SATs, we can apply to colleges with a fitting acceptance rate, we can check our emails furiously, awaiting a response, but the rest is out of our hands. We are not seers (no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be Professor Trelawney) and there is no way to control what will happen directly to us.

With the acceptance of this ambiguity comes a sense of calming maturity. Beside the obvious of what is within our feasible grasp, our future is out of control. There is no absolute way to ever determine the exact happenings of these upcoming years so it’s important to revel in the obscurity and try and have faith that all will work out how it should. In this photo shoot I tried to encapsulate the calming nature that occurs when accepting a lack of control and the serenity that follows with this understanding.

Mirror, Mirror On the Wall

Once I turned 13, things changed in ways that my The Care & Keeping of You American Girl Doll book could not prepare me for. My world (which once included my family, friends, and pets on equal levels of importance) shifted towards a sole, controlling force: me. All of a sudden, this external pressure focused in on my identity and forced me to reevaluate my priorities. My problems soon became the biggest, my accomplishments had to be the best, and my future had to be the brightest.

With the beginning stages of teenage years,  a sense of narcissism can sometimes come dutifully in tow and often times when entering high school, it forces you to think that the sun revolves around you. Adolescence and selfish attitudes are forever linked, as the former ensures a slew of hormones, and when paired with the focus high school puts on oneself, it’s impossible to be completely void of a little egocentrism. And granted, while it’s a distorted way of thinking, it is acceptable when an adolescent.

There is a reason a selfish, angsty stereotype of a teenager exists. I’m realizing now that when in this growing period, it’s perfectly okay to live in a bubble devoted to your own existence because being a teenager should be your only chance to. These years are meant to help you figure yourself out and what better way to do that than to focus on you, only you, and nothing but you. Because once you leave high school, you’ll still be discovering yourself, but in a different context, and with less time to believe your concerns are the only significant ones.

Once outside of these high school walls, the weight of others will become noticeably apparent and the space allotted to thinking about yourself will have to shrink in order to make room for all your other responsibilities. With this photo shoot, I tried to keep the thread of subtle vanity throughout, all while considering the perspective of a self-obsessed teenager.

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Better to Have Loved…

I’ll never forget my first crush. I was four, he was five. His favorite color was pink and he always had animal crackers (the good kind with purple icing and sprinkles on top) to share for snack time. We exchanged giggles over apple juice and  I thought he was the man for me.

However, it was a short lived infatuation and ended swiftly once I saw his T-Rex impression where he’d shove his hands into his Gap Kids tee shirt, screech, and step on everyone during nap time.

I have since moved on from my preschool crush and his name became the first of many on the list of boys who gave me butterflies and sent my heart fluttering. This silly experience introduced me to the magic that arises from young crushes. And while some do indeed end in dinosaur-impression induced heartbreak, the beginning stages of crushes are a lovely, magical journey. From him, I was able to embark into the treacherous world of crushes and revel in the wondrous and exciting path.

And of course, being able to discuss your crush and plan your future together (that includes coordinating your wedding color scheme to his eye color) with your best friend is an equally important part of a crush, perhaps even the best part.

This photo shoot represents those initial feelings of heart-throbbing, wonderful, and nerve-wracking love that deserve to be remembered and shared with a trusting friend by your side. Crushes are fun, crushes are painful and they’re a crucial part of growing up. And who knows, maybe a crush might even lead to a happily ever after.

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United States of Abuse

While entering your favorite restaurant, you pass clusters of people, maybe even spot an old friend in the crowd, and then head towards an available seat. You look over the menu, decide what you want, and place your order.

In those clusters of people you passed while on your way, The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence reports that 1 in 5 women and 1 in 7 men will become victims of severe physical violence by an intimate partner in their lifetime. While you were settling into your seat, in those nine seconds, one woman in the United States was assaulted or beaten. And in the minute it took you to decide what to eat, about 20 people, men and women, were physically abused by an intimate partner in the U.S.

Domestic violence is not an out-of-reach issue. In a recent U.S. News article, Lindsey Crook, data editor at U.S. News & World Report, stated that domestic violence is becoming “as American as apple pie.” It may not be happening inside your home or in your immediate perspective, but in terms of our country, it is incredibly domestic and has been habituating for far too long.

With the news of abusive football players and reality show stars, domestic violence has made headlines numerous times. Often times, in response to the discussion of abuse, many individuals, who feel themselves entitled to judge, ask, “Why didn’t they just leave?” This question never has a simple answer.

Nicole Beverly, a domestic violence survivor who was interviewed by The Huffington Post in a series investigating domestic abuse, was repeatedly beaten and threatened by her husband. “He jumped on my ribcage and cracked my rib. He strangled me until I saw stars. I was sure I was going to die,” Beverly said. “He pulled me into the living room and pointed his gun at me for hours. He loaded and unloaded it, ranting about what was wrong with me.”

“Finally, I came to an epiphany. I realized that either he was going to kill me or I was going to kill him,” Beverly stated. She told her mother, who helped her gather the resources to leave, filed a protection order, and fled to Canada. She escaped but only after putting up with years of abuse.

“People always say, “Why don’t you just leave?” They fail to understand that leaving doesn’t necessarily stop the abuse,” Beverly said. Beverly’s husband ruthlessly stalked and threatened her after she escaped. And years later, when he finally was put behind bars, the threats continued and he found ways to ensure her fear still existed. “Since he’s been inside, he has told inmates that he is planning to kill me as soon as he gets out and that they will see him on the news one day soon. He was also caught trying to solicit inmates to murder me for $50,000,” Beverly said.“Women are at the highest risk of being killed when they leave their abusive partners. Leaving means opening yourself up to incredible danger.”

Domestic violence is a fully consuming trauma and in order to understand the actions of survivors, the complexity of the issue must be comprehended because harmful situations never have easy solutions. “I live in a constant state of high anxiety,” Beverly said. “I left him, but I’m still terrified.”

Domestic violence is running rampant throughout America and all victims are members of our national family who need support and justice. Due to famous celebrities, domestic violence is receiving lots of news publication attention but that focus needs to be shared with the victims and survivors who suffer without the illuminating nature of the spotlight. By standing up for those without voices and grasping the intricacy of the epidemic, we can come closer to permanently disrupt domestic violence’s comfortable stay within our nation.

 

Crash and Burn

I have never broken a bone. I have come close many times and have even been tossed out of not one, but two different tubes in the middle of roaring water rides, but my bones have, somehow, always remained intact. Many of my friends waltzed into elementary school with recently-snapped wrists adorned in neon blue casts but mine always remained plaster-free. Chalking this up to luck and caution throughout my youth, I thought I was in the clear when it came to imminent danger due to childlike carelessness. But oh, how quickly I learned that anyone, regardless of age, can experience fate’s completely random selection and method of cocking, aiming, and shooting her arrow of destruction.

It was late at night, around midnight, on a summer Monday. Before bed, I decided to make a hot water bottle to ease my period cramps. After filling up the entire rubber bottle with boiling water, I laid in bed and placed the bottle on my stomach. Within milliseconds, the bottle burst and every drop fell onto my lower torso.

After very loudly disrupting my family’s slumber, I laid on the floor in my hallway with ice-packs on my thighs and tears in my eyes. “Why had this happened to me?” This thought pulsed through my brain for several hours while I convulsed in pain and cursed the heavens.

Why had destiny chosen to target me in such a harsh manner, especially when I had almost escaped the clutches of foolish youthood and the childish blunders that come with it? Why did this happen to me, a mature young girl who was scheduled to take her driving test, a monumental event when transitioning into adulthood, in less than thirty-six hours?

I soon realized that the top wasn’t screwed properly onto the bottle and the blame settled towards my foolish, idiotic self.

But I had a date with Fail Gail (the famous and fitting nickname for the driving instructor) and destiny scheduled for the next day. And since I didn’t plan on standing either of them up, with medical supplies purchased from CVS and a decent dose of pain relievers, I then attempted to take my road test.

Great idea, right? Let the kid who can barely walk attempt to parallel park between the cones! No, terrible idea. Please do not let a traumatized girl enter that stressful situation because it will end exactly as predicted: poorly. You need full mobility and complete emotional capacity to pass your driving test, both of which I lacked at that time.

Standing outside the Yarmouth, Massachusetts RMV (aka “Hell on Earth”), sobbing profusely, clutching the wrinkled road test application with “Failed” glowing in blue cursive, my unraveled bandages slowly spilled out of both pant legs and began whipping in the wind like white flags declaring a dramatic surrender to life and all of its harm. My mother, who frantically started running across the parking lot upon seeing my disconsolate tears, credits this image as one of the saddest things she has ever seen. I was certainly a sight to see.

Not only was I a seventeen year-old girl with shredded thighs that resembled dried, peeling layers of Elmer’s glue, I was an unlicensed seventeen year-old girl with shredded thighs that resembled dried, peeling layers of Elmer’s glue. My life had taken a sharp turn (almost as sharp as the turn I took during my test that my examiner did NOT appreciate) into a horrific, unrecognizable nightmare in a matter of hours. I found myself wondering once more, “Why?” Why had this strange and painful freak accident happened to me? Why had my life gotten to this pitiful point?

The blame I had towards myself then settled into a very spiteful anger against life as a whole. I had served my time as a youth and worked vigilantly to emerge injury-free yet, harm had viciously cornered me anyway.

I thought I was better than all my fourth grade friends who had tripped during double-dutch and ended up with their older brother’s hand-me-down crutches. I was an upperclassman in high school. I was aging into my heightened self, like a fine wine. But there I was: scorched, humiliated, and without a license.

After the driving fiasco, I then had to go to Shriners Hospital for Children, a specialized burn center, for a brutal skin debridement procedure. And while my wounds started to heal, my mind refused to start the process. I was burnt, filled with resentment, and unable to let go of “Why? Why? Why?”

With enough time to process, my anger eventually did cool. I was able to recognize the incident as what it was, an honest mistake, and eventually move on. It was never easy but I continuously reminded myself that it was all caused by an accident and wasn’t worth becoming a dejected, anger-filled human who had severe contempt for life. With that in mind, my healing process fully began.

After both my physical and mental scars healed, I eventually did pass my road test and am now a seventeen year-old girl with detailed scars, a horror story to tell if desperate at sleepovers, and a license proudly secured in her wallet.

From my battle wounds, I learned several valuable lessons. I know that you must double, triple, quadruple check that everything is properly secured, especially when dealing with boiling liquids. I know destiny doesn’t give a damn about how old you are and will act on its own accord. And, I know to not get too deterred by the mistakes I will undoubtedly make because they’re just an irrevocable part of existence. The incident is still raw in my memory and painful to revisit but with time, I was able to let go of the blame and just accept that there is no reason as to why it happened. It just did.

Life is unpredictable and there is no methodical pattern to it. There is no answer-key that will magically appear if you shake your fist and scream,“why?!” towards the heavens at a loud enough decibel. There is no answer to that question. Hot water will burn you if it gets the chance and bad things will inevitably occur. No one is immune, no matter your level of maturity. Life has its own way of dishing out misfortune and while that is difficult to understand, once accepted, the skies will clear and the good things will eventually arrive. And that’s when life will finally give you some deserved room to breathe.

Through the Years

You’re twelve when the school nurse shakes her head after the mandatory scoliosis test in gym class. Months later, you receive your new back brace and a sentence of 18 hours a day, everyday, until you stop growing and your spine learns how to control itself. Before your new contraption, you were unguarded and free. You lived life with arms open and an attitude for peace but now that threats exist on your radar, you’ve been forced to change your strategy.

With one piece of armor already in place, you begin crafting a sarcastic layer of protection to complete your impenetrable warsuit. The metal hinges on your contraption squeak with every breath so you turn up your clever quips to drown them out. Built of rigid plastic and a venomous verbal shield, you walk the halls of middle school like a twisted Joan of Arc.

Even still, a narrow, beady-eyed boy challenges you. With a hollow guffaw, he uncreatively brands you “scoliosis girl” in the middle of math class without raising his face to meet yours. You pine for the day you’ll be able to leave him, middle school, and all the warfare behind.

Fourteen and on the night of your first Homecoming dance, while waiting for your friend to arrive, you drown your nervous butterflies in stomach acid. Wearing a newly purchased Macy’s dress and a Bobbi Brown makeover, you tell yourself that you’re excited.

Your mom drops the two of you off at the school and you enter the poorly decorated cafeteria with trepidation. A girl in your graphic design class squints at you and tells you that your new appearance is barely recognizable.

Within an hour, your feet blister and your mascara flakes down your face. The DJ turns on an acoustic hit and shouts the dreaded words “slow dance.” You don’t see any boys seeking a pair and knowing it will end poorly if you linger, you, in your too-small heels, quickly rush to the edge of the dance floor, away from the couples. You look around for your friend but after concluding that she is nowhere to be found, you find an empty spot against the wall and press your cheek against the cool brick. You count down the minutes until the chaperones turn the lights back on and the night is over.

This time you’re fifteen and in your friend’s backyard. You sit in a lawn chair that’s a reasonable distance from both the people you don’t know and the burning bonfire in front of you. Through the smoke, you make eye contact with a boy who goes to a different school. He starts singing along to the music while twirling a charred marshmallow next to the glowing embers.

Later on, after everyone else has gone inside to the warmth, it starts to rain. He pulls you to him and shoves his tongue down your throat. He’s rushing–as if he has places to be and you’re nothing but an opportunity that fell into his lap, an obligation to take care of.

Minutes later, he walks away without a word and you stare into the once-glowing fire pit, watching the last spark disappear. His lips made your mouth taste like burnt marshmallows and you decide you want to go home.

Sixteen and filled with wanderlust, you’re sitting on a bench in an airport, waiting to begin the exchange program that will submerge you and some other lucky students in France for two weeks.

You turn to look at your fellow students and all of a sudden, there he is. The first thing you notice about him are his eyes. Laughing before his lips, they barely gave his smile a chance to catch up. With every conversation and every glance, his golden-hazel pools tell you “this is the beginning.” At first, you don’t know what beginning they’re referring to but later on, with hindsight, you understand it all.

He gives you a grin you’ll never forget. With this look and his presence, you sense the warfare of your past declare an order to cease and desist. Feeling a change within you and knowing it’s time, you unshackle your cynical armor and store it away. Unguarded and free once more, your heart contentedly rests.

Months afterwards, while waiting for him to pick you up for Prom, your butterflies soar. Wearing a custom-made dress and a smile, you’re nothing but ecstatic. He arrives and with exuberant joy, hands you a purple corsage.

You arrive at the ballroom and before entering, he looks at you, your dress, your smile and tells you that you’re beautiful.

Later that night, you find yourself barefoot in the center of the dance floor without any desire to leave. The DJ decides it’s time to slow things down so you look to your left, and there he is, right beside you. You press your cheek against his and let time tick onward without your concern.

Seventeen now, a year after meeting him, you comfortably sit on his couch and after not seeing each other for a couple weeks, you enjoy each other’s company. In the sunlight, he lightly hums a Folk song and twirls a piece of your hair between his fingers. With a grin, he lets out a whispered  “wow.” You, confused, ask, “Wow, what?” Without removing his eyes from yours, “Wow, you,” he simply replies.

He gently takes your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. He kisses you without haste, as if he is grateful for both you and every moment spent together.

You separate and stare into each other, watching the world turn. His lips make your mouth taste like sweet sugar and as you look into him, you feel nothing but an overwhelming desire to stay.

It Comes Naturally

Like the fashion world, the evolving beauty industry deals with fads and trends. In recent years, the push for natural beauty and a more mindful relationship between an individual and their products has become an appreciative trend that has had many rethinking their beauty regime. But for some standout local businesses on Cape Cod, organic beauty is not a passing phase but a mission worthy of dedicating an entire business to.

Anya Messina, founder of Anya’s Herbals, crafts effective and organic beauty products out of a healing formula of powerful herbs and botanicals. Each ingredient Messina uses is organic, responsibly wildcrafted, obtained by fair-trade and without fillers, parabens, fragrance chemicals, or any other questionable toxins. “Anya’s Herbals offers highly effective organic skin nourishing products that are beneficial to the planet & it’s producers/growers, while uplifting the spirits and daily joy factor of our customers with each use,” Messina said.

The beauty industry is a complex and competitive business yet Messina always strives to hold quality over quantity and to make sure with each product, someone, somewhere is benefiting out of its production. “The world doesn’t really need another bar of soap, as gorgeous as that soap may be, does it?  But, if the purchase of that gorgeous soap directly benefits a woman and children in Africa, or allows organic farming methods to be an economically viable option for growers locally and around the planet, I believe the world does need that bar of soap,” Messina said.

In addition to focusing on the significance of her products, Messina holds the distribution of her proceeds to the same meaningful standard. “Anya’s Herbals donates 10% of all profits to organizations working for positive change, locally, and globally,” Messina added.

Messina stated that, “Natural beauty products are one of the fastest-growing segments of the highly profitable, global cosmetic business, and as such, the term is being exploited. “Natural” is strictly a marketing term, and unfortunately there are no regulations in place governing the use of the term “natural” on beauty products (or any product).” Many companies are simply slapping “natural” on their bottles without fully researching what it truly means to be natural and are monoplizing on the buzzword.

If you are feeling lost or overwhelmed on how to start the relationship with your beauty products, local businesses like Green Goddess Herbals, a herb, spice, and tea shop in East Falmouth, offer instructional lessons to inform the community about the importance of mindful products. “The classes we offer are natural soap making; making moisturizers, creams and lotions; and how to make herbal oil infusions that can be turned into your own lip balms, lotion bars and salves,” said Andrea Lawson, owner of Green Goddess Herbals. In addition to instructional classes, Goddess Herbals sells skin healthy alternatives to the harsh commercial soaps and beauty products that can be found on corporate store shelves. “Our products are made in small batches, with love. We use organic herbs, high quality oils and skin nourishing butters in all our handmade soap, creams, lotions, balms and salves,” Lawson said.

The mission behind Goddess Herbals is to spread the importance of getting back to basics and becoming mindful of what goes into our bodies. “Choosing natural beauty care helps cut down on the  overload of toxins that cross the skin barrier entering our organs and nervous system. Just as we choose to eat healthy foods for optimal health, we feel we should nourish our skin by choosing what we put on it,” Lawson shared.

Dedicated, authentic businesses that commit fully to their missions are gems in the corporate world we live in. Located on Cape are two of the many businesses that stick to their cause of natural and organic beauty, and we are lucky to have such dedicated and powerful individuals within reach. Anya’s Herbals and Green Goddess Herbals are exhibiting the power local businesses can have when motivated and devoted to a mission.

The Yin to My Yang

“Oh God, you’re not a feminist are you?” spat an obnoxious boy in my Pre-Calculus class last year after I had asked why he was wearing a bold, sexist tee-shirt. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. You should take off your “Go make me a sandwich!” tee because it’s stupid and so are you,” I said. In my head, of course. In reality, I think I let out a combination of a groan and laugh, a “graugh,” if you will, and then bent my head back down to my worksheet.

I knew what I believed in and I had passionate feelings about those ideas yet once he threw out the word “feminist,” I shrunk down to the point of silence. The image of a man-hating, outspoken she-beast flashed into my head and I was scared to be associated with such an extreme.

Now, one sage year older, I realize that the stereotype of an estrogen-filled, lunatic with a female superiority complex goes against the true definition of feminism. Anyone who acts that way does not correlate with the accurate values of the movement and should not be called a feminist. The exact definition, “the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes,” mentions nothing about one gender being better than the other yet the word “feminist” continues to be misinterpreted as a slur for a man-hating female. Now if I was confronted with a similar scenario like the one that occurred last year, I would proudly speak my mind.

I set out to capture a photoshoot that emphasized the necessary balance of the genders. Because, yes, men and women are two separate genders, but when coordinated together and given equal chances, they make a whole human race working efficiently together. And only until our society views this concept as a priority will we be able to reach harmony and achieve true progress.

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True Colors

I’ve seen a lot of things in the Barnstable High School girl’s bathroom. I’ve read inscriptions such as, “Life sucks but you gotta live it,” scrawled sloppily on the stalls. I’ve come across a lone chicken patty resting on the ground on one particularly sad day. And every time I head into the bathroom, I will usually find one girl in front of the mirror either putting makeup on, or doing her hair. Maybe she is really loving her look today and wants to touch up her lipstick. Maybe she was running late and didn’t have time to put her hair up into her go-to, messy bun at home. Regardless, they are doing what they like to make themselves feel beautiful.

I love spotting these girls making themselves up.

They are choosing how they want to present themselves and by watching them, I gain a little more insight into who they are as a person. They accept their surroundings and allow anyone who walks into the bathroom, a peek into their carefree routine. This comfort in who they are and how they look became my inspiration for this photoshoot.

To me, someone is the most beautiful is when they truly let loose of all inhibitions. When they showcase their bold, explosive personality without caring how others will react. Their beauty cannot be contained and they are uncontrollably themselves in those moments. When someone is being themselves and enjoying doing it, that is inarguably stunning.