Antithesis V.I.I
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Transcript of Antithesis V.I.I
CONTRIBUTORS
GARMENTS ELIZABETH ARLOW FOR ANTITHESIS 1, 3, 6, 10, 13
LITERATURE
TIANA REID 4&5, 8&9, 15 ELIZABETH ARLOW
VISUAL ART CEDAR EVE PETERS 9&10 KENDRA BRAMSON-BOWES 14 SOPHIE EDELL 7 TREVOR WHEATLEY 16
ASSEMBLED & EDITED BY ELIZABETH ARLOW COEDITED BY TIANA REID
ANTITHESIS
Born out of a necessity for innovative, accessible fashion and culture, Antithesis fulfills contemporary desires of sartorial achievement, talent nurturing and
cultural celebration. Showcasing attainable, progressive fashion and art, Antithesis seeks to
provide an approach to contemporary culture beyond the mainstream.
V.I.I INTRODUCTIONS
This project grew out of a need to permanently document the beginning of a brand. As an introduction, V.I.I not only
seeks to establish ANTITHESIS as a collection of garments, but also the
philosophy and vision driving the brand. The work represented in the following pages features a variety of styles and
perspectives that collectively embody the talent and diversity that Antithesis seeks to
nurture and capture.
Divulging personal goals and projects can be difficult. Why is that? Something to do with humility or just a general not wanting to spill the beans before they have cooked? There's a difference between talking about something that you have devoted significant time and thought to, as opposed to speaking to the contribution that you have made to someone else's dream. Antithesis was brought about through my personal desire and infatuation with clothing, or more specifically, culture. We often neglect to recognize the history and cultural influence behind the garment or brand. For many, clothing serves merely a functional purpose -‐ which in itself is admirable and often the most inspiring. With mass availability of culture, I would go so far to suggest that individuals involved with cultural production are more impacted and influenced than ever before, and more particularly at a subconscious level. Antithesis represents that for me. Although the garments themselves are largely minimalist, that design and stylistic quality is deeply rooted in how and what culture I have inhaled.
In a broader sense, Antithesis was birthed and functions as what I consider to be a 'cultural fish bowl'. Collaboration is more prevalent and controversial than ever. It allows you to view your own ideas and passions through the mind of another; it has the ability to produce the highest levels of thought and creation. I am fascinated by the possibility of experiencing my ideas put into motion in conjunction with someone who views production or functionality differently than me. I think everyone should have the ability to experience that. Objective is a tricky word. Intent and actuality are ambiguous -‐ and rightly so. Effortless and functionality are permanent objectives. There are many obvious actions and choices -‐ extending beyond fashion and popular culture. What I have specific interest in are those ideas that are inherent and natural to an individual that are neglected by the public. Clichés are such for a reason.
four a.m. Saturday night, high off of movie popcorn, sugary sweets, and all the cinema of attractions that a 3D action flick has to offer, we ducked in to the local pharmacy, minutes before ten p.m. She was going to dye her hair a boring, but more even, brown. I, on the other hand, was looking for a noticeable, yet unregrettable change. At first, I opted for a light brown. Then, she suggested an auburn hue. We stood and stared at the rows and rows of what seemed to be (and is) the exact same product, just repackaged, rebranded, and transformed. After a few long minutes, I realized why I was having so much difficulty choosing: the sheer whiteness of all the faces. Not a single noticeable black chick to compare myself to. “Wow, I never noticed that,” she said. She never had to. Suddenly, the lights were dimming in the drug store. We had to make a decision. At this point, I had the light brown dye in my hands, with its obscure commercial name, probably something like “Husky Nutmeg,” or “Oaky Hazelnut,” neither of which could possibly be accurate. We walked to the cash. Still unsure, I heard her say something that made me change my mind – even now, I’m not sure exactly what she said – and just like that, I rushed back and grabbed the red-‐auburn-‐brown.
On the walk home, we grabbed a six-‐pack of beer to calm my anxieties (hopefully). When we got back to my apartment, she parted, brushed, and dyed my hair like a professional. I was surprised, since I have black hair and all. You know, that “nappy-‐headed hoe” shit. While washing it out in the shower, after twenty-‐five minutes smoking cigarettes in an old t-‐shirt, I felt like Carrie. And I don’t mean Carrie Bradshaw. It looked like blood and it took forever, longer than forever, to stop running profusely down my neck and back. It was only the next morning, at four a.m. or so, as I was getting myself ready for my flight that I really noticed the redness. It was uneven – patchy almost. But I loved it. I felt liberated in the way that I suppose you do when you get a tattoo. My persistent woes of not knowing how to take care of my hair – which I don’t – vanished. If only for a moment. It looked as if I had calmly walked through blazing flames, and escaped with no wounds, just a head full of untamable fire. -‐ TIANA REID
borderlines In the dead of night, we shuffled like sardines out of the tinny fifty-‐seater bus. We were told to grab our bags that were stuffed – equally sardined – in the belly of the vehicle. I stepped out of the bus squinting my eyes because of the way the assaultive cold brushed my fuzzy eyelids. Inside the small one-‐story building, the lights shone a burning fluorescent yellow, but still, were not bright enough to wake me up. Darkness enveloped the building, making it impossible to feel any true light. We all waited in a messy queue that curved through pole barriers with its paint scratched off. Finally, I stepped over the yellow line to speak to the man in uniform. He asked me all the standard questions like “Where are you going?” “Who are you travelling with?” and “How long will you be gone?” I answered truthfully. I was too tired to think of an amusing lie, anyway. I belatedly added “sir” to the end of my responses. And then he gave me travel advice. He said it was cheapest to fly to New York City out of Buffalo. Thanks… sir. I scraped along back outside. I threw my heavy duffle bag into the bottom of the bus and dragged my heavier self up the stairs and into a seat, any seat, and not the one I was in before, I’m sure. My worn-‐out eyes were looking for a sign – a literal sign – that read “Welcome to the United States,” or at the very least, “Welcome,” but as I crawled back into my seat, I didn’t see anything at all. -‐ TIANA REID