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Wednesday, October 23, 2013 // The Statement7B

Defiance
by Karen Hua

Science of it all: Dancing with Molly
"... This article is clearly a ploy to exploit the drug as
monster, which is misleading, but whatever - people w.
make their own decisions. Miley Cyrus doesn't make N
'sound harmless' justbecause she mentions it ina song
you make your decisions based off of what Miley Cyrus
about I think you have more serious problems..."
- USER: breakingba

F~/11

* the fashion voyeur: leather looks

by adrienne roberts

Leather jackets have gone
through major changes - some,
quite awful - throughout the
this past decades. I remember getting
ill still weird stares as I walked into my.
Molly third grade classroom, unwill-
. And if ingly dressed by my mother is a
s sings stiff, blazer-shaped leather jacket.
Since then, I've had the impression
that leather either made you look
larticles like you're in a motorcycle gang, a
Sandy from "Grease" wannabe or
,. an S&M-loving dominatrix. How-
ever, in the past few years, leather
has become infinitely more femi-
nine, wearable and mainstream.
Leather has quite an interesting
and varied history. The material
first became popular for clothing
during World War I, when leather
jackets were created for practical
reasons - to protect aviators from
the elements when flying. Soon
after, women were wearing leath-
er leggings reminiscent of those
worn by the men on the frontlines.
In the late 1950s, the Greaser
subculture was born; a youth
movement that became a popular
expression of rebellion. In this
time, leather jackets were seen
as a fashion statement that meant
you ignored laws and were there-
fore dangerous.
Leather finally made it onto
the runway in 1960 when Dior's
24-year-old haute couture design-
er, Yves Saint Laurent, showed
leather jackets in their winter col-
lection. He was soon fired after
being heavily criticized that the
ZMAN/Daily jackets took away from the lady-

like tradition of Dior. Leather
jackets, at this point, were still
considered "gritty streetwear."
However, Saint Laurent's jackets
were sleek, cropped and fur-lined
- a huge departure from leather's
rebellious roots.
Leather jackets developed their
BDSM associations in the 1970s as
the Punk era developed in Brit-
ain. Vivienne Westwood, one of
Britain's most famous designers,
had the goal of bringing the dark
world of sex - including bond-
age and S&M - to the streets of
London. When the Punk move-
ment eventually became more
mainstream, many people in Brit-
ain and the United States could
be seen wearing leather jackets
adorned with safety pins and duct
tape. In this time, women were
trying to make a feminist state-.
mentcby wearing clothing thatwas
traditionally seen as more mascu-
line. For example, women would
wear a pink tutu, but add fishnets,
combat boots and a leather jacket
to the outfit.
We're now seeing a combina-
tion of Punk influences with the
more feminine leather jacket on
the runways of designers like J.
Mendel - a designer known for
his ethereal and luxurious cloth-
ing, who dresses the very girly
Taylor Swift. He showed a collec-
tion with many leather jackets.
His collection was described as
"biker chic." Alexander Wang's
CONTINUED ON PAGE38

N o, stupid, you're too old to
have fun!" At 16, this was my
life mantra, mostly because
it was my parents' response to anything
I wanted to do. It was always, "Karen,
you have to eat this and wear this and say
this." "Fun" to me was locking myself up
in my room, and escaping into the world
of Harry Potter - in the form of rereading
the books for the 77th time. Some might
have called me antisocial. I was fairly
satisfied with this perception of "fun",
though part of me wished I could have a
wee bit of a taste of being a teenager. In
my daydreams, I saw myself as Harry's
muggle parallel, and I was convinced that
I too would break free from my cupboard
under the stairs one day.
My opportunity came
two summers ago, when
the premiere of the final
Harry Potter movie,
"Harry Potter' and the
Dealthy Hallows: Part 2"
took place in New York
City. The weekend of the
premiere happened to be
when both my parents and $
my friend Ray's parents
were away. I knew that
weekend would be the
experience of a lifetime,
my rightful farewell to
Harry Potter and my
only chance to be a real
teenager.
We had exactly $200
for two people for three
days in the biggest city
in the world. Before
we could change our
tentative, adolescent
minds, we found
ourselves in front of the
bus station in Boston, bright and early
at 8 a.m. It might as well have been four
in the morning though, since I spent all
night tossing and turning in my bed.
I gave Ray a nervous glance, and he
returned the look. We carried a hot pink,
two-person tent and one small duffle
bag, crammed with our clothes and our
precious $200 cash.
"Ray, we are definitely fucking crazy," I
muttered.
"Last time I checked, I wasn't fucking
anyone named Crazy, but okay," was all
he replied, his face still. He grabbed my
arm and dragged me into the Lucky Star
bus ticket line. I wanted so badly to just
pull him back home, curl up in my room
where everything was always okay and
forget we ever planned this stupid trip.
But before I could do anything, before he

could change his mind, he blurted, "Two
round-trip tickets to New York City.
Return in three days."
Everything seemed to move in slow
motion as we shoved our bags in the
underside compartment of the bus and
stood with our tickets in front of the bus
door.
"Hey, you on or off?" the bus driver
yelled impatiently. I looked at Ray and
thought about all the nights we sneaked
onto Skype at 3 a.m., planning every tiny
detail of this trip. I remembered skipping
lunch every other day for the last four
monthsofsophomoreyear,justtoscrapeup
the measly money. But mostly, I remember
dreaming of this experience, almost peeing
myself with excitement in my sleep (yes,

wanted a nap more than anything in the
world. Was that too much to ask for? Was
it still too late to turn back?
As we trudged up the subway stairs,
we were immediately hit with the energy
of cheers and laughter all around. Before
we knew it, we found our small-town
selves in the midst of the massive Lincoln
Center, where suddenly, the dreadful
heat, hunger and exhaustion were all
forgotten. In front of our own eyes
was about half the world's wizarding
population, all dressed in robes and
carrying wands. The entire street was
lined with tents of every single color, all
crammed together on the sidewalk. A
boy no older than 10 shot past us, head-
to-toe in Harry Potter gear, glasses, scar

around and rewarded all of us for our hard-
core camping with ... red carpet tickets. Ray
and I started jumping up and down and
shouting. It seemed some dreams do come
true, even if they are the trivial wishes of a
teenage girl.
For the rest of the day, I laughed, I cried,
I screamed until my lungs gave out. On the
red carpet, I got a hug from Draco Malfoy,
an autograph from Hermione Granger and
I told Neville LongbottomthatI loved him;
I met the characters I grew up with and
watched the story I adored come to a close.
To me, the actors were still the characters
that taught me bravery, compassion and
acceptance. They were the ones who gave
me a magical childhood I wasn't forced to
grow out of.
As always, though, all
good things must eventually
come to an end. Before this
trip, I used to believe I was
so independent because
I was required to "grow
up" so quickly and forget
about fun. I never realized
how dependent I actually
was, merely waiting for my
next command. I've come
to learn that independence
is part rebellion; it's about
recklessly trying new
things, failing sometimes,
and in that process, learning
to live. Independence is
sometimes about camping
out on the streets of New
York City for a weekend to
meet a bunch of storybook
characters.
I suppose there are
two morals to this story.
First, though it's difficult
AN MULHOLLAND to admit, there is an
expiration date on blaming my parents
for missed opportunities, but there isn't
one on making a change in my life. If
Harry Potter has taught me anything,
defiance isn't about breaking all the rules
and blind disobedience; defiance is about
understanding myself and my limits, then
having the courage to step outside the
cupboard under the stairs.
The second moral is that Harry Potter
heals. Fangirlingheals. Or insimplerterms,
passion heals. When everything else in life
is drab, finding something worth giving
a shit about - that heals you. So thanks,
Harry, for casting "lumos" in my life and
for letting me see a bit of the world.
P.S. My parents still don't know about
this trip.
Karen Hua is an LSA freshman.

Isa junior amanda
nanayakkara mixes printed
jeans with a menswear shirt,
black combat boots and a
leather jacket.

that is athing). Ray looked at me, and then
finally shouted, "We're on!" There was no
turning back now.
For the next three hours on the bus,
we played so many games of Hangman,
Pictionary, and tic-tac-toe that I still
heave at the sight of those games. We
had just begun to doze off when tall,
looming buildings flooded our line of
vision. The bus finally came to a halt.
This was it.
It was noon when we finally arrived at
the Lincoln Center station, after taking
the subway through a maze of hurried
business people and tourists who were all
slightly more agitated than we were and
who were cramped together because they
clearly enjoyed sharing body odor. Our
T-shirts stuck permanently to our backs,
and our throats screamed for water. I

ILLUSTRATION BY MEGA
and all. Right behind him ran a stout
woman with stark white hair, wand in
hand, screaming, "Expelliarmus!" People
lounged in their beach chairs with their
books propped open, or engaged in heated
trivia debates. Cheering fans held posters
crying, "Rowling is our Queen," "Thank
you for my childhood" and the classic
line, "I'd go sleazy for Ron Weasley."
And I knew right then and there, that
all the qualms and insecurities I had on
this trip would dissolve to become the best
experience of my short life. All of this shit
would be worth it. Screw the consequences;
we were going to live it up.
For two hot nights, we nestled in
our sleeping bags on the sidewalk,
surrounded by international strangers,
all as crazy and foolish as we were. And
on the day of the premiere a man came