Clothing defines us—if it didn’t we wouldn’t invest in it. With styles being recycled from decades prior, the idea of individuality becomes narrower with every cycle. Everything that once was is repackaged into the mundane, watering down one’s genuine style. ..
Cosmos “Cosmos” is a conceptual project focusing on the constrictive beauty standards present in the genre of old Hollywood, specifically within glamour photoshoots. Working with our model, we used styling,…
Heart On Your Sleeve The bittersweet curse of wearing your heart on your sleeve, depicts the act of opening your emotions to vulnerability, yet suffering the repercussions. This shoot captures…
“Spiraling” aims to depict feelings of anxiety and hopelessness when battling against your own mind. The imagery of a spiral staircase inspired this shoot, as the visual serves as a…
Your mom’s boyfriend is a groaner. His sighs sound like an avalanche heaving down the side of a mountain. The groans reverberate through the walls accompanying every activity from browsing the fridge to movie nights. He has neck, teeth, and knee problems from working on a boatyard. Also, he plays the bongos when he’s happy.
But as a former user of dating apps myself, it was never about finding someone who worked with me. It was about similarities and, well, matching. In turn, I was looking for a mirror image of myself without even realizing it. I remember often dismissing any profiles that conflicted with my interests if the algorithm dared to let them slip through.
In our most vulnerable moments, we seek community. We desire the listening ears of others, their comforting eyes and soft hands welcoming our embrace. Until we don’t. Until we’re faced with two words that send shivers down the spine of a brooding teenager: group therapy.
It’s no secret that the T hosts Boston’s best cast of characters. And while some of those characters can be off-putting, others are some of the nicest people I have ever met. I can count on my fellow T riders.
“Multiple Sclerosis,” he stated, in a tone that was more matter of fact than sympathetic. He didn’t care to explain what that entailed, but took the liberty of giving me time to Google it myself. When he came back into the room he asked if I had any questions. I only had one. “Could someone get the needle out of my arm…”