When I think of how I’d
describe the Ross School of
Business, a few thoughts come
to mind: classroom building,
study spot, home of one of the
busiest Starbucks on campus
(indeed, it’s rumored that the
Business School’s Starbucks has
the highest revenue per square
foot ratio of all Starbucks in
America). An art museum is not
one of them.
And yet, step inside the
Business School and you’ll find
art displays of all kinds, from
paintings jutting in front of
bathroom doors to sculptures
standing in the middle of study
spaces. Indeed, the Business
School has an impressive art
collection of more than 250
contemporary works ranging
including sculptures, paintings
and photographs, each archived
with its own description. Most
pieces are gifts from Business
alumni, but some were specially
commissioned for the Business
School. And the collection is
growing — in the past year, I
have noticed that the Business
School has made substantial
new additions, silently adding
everything from a touching
series of black and white photos
of construction workers to a
gallery wall of lips — all without
explanation.
The idea that the Business
School, in some sense, possesses
a
secret
art
museum
may
have some rolling their eyes,
chalking it up to just another
ostentatious display of elitism.
I mean, seriously, how much
funding does this building get?
And yet, over the years, I
have grown a fond appreciation
for the art collection at the
Business
School,
however
random or unexplained it may
be. Encountering art is always
something precious, but in our
daily lives, the places where
we physically encounter new
art not chosen by us are few
and far between. I say this
not to diminish the value of
digital or online art. Through
the internet, most of us view
some sort of art on a daily
basis, whether that’s scrolling
through VSCO feeds or making
your own curated mood board
laptop
background.
Social
media and digital platforms
like Youtube and Pinterest have
given us access to a broader
range of art by more artists than
ever. But even this is filtered
through algorithms, tailored
around our own preferences
and search queries.
While there’s nothing wrong
with viewing art you like or
that’s
personalized
to
your
tastes, there’s something to be
said about being put in spaces
to view art you would never
choose for yourself, to see
something new — something
unexpectedly
delightful
or
surprisingly
disturbing,
for
that is where we grow. Besides
Art & Design design, we have a
tendency to compartmentalize
the times we experience art
to special occasions, like a
weekend trip to the theater or
a new exhibit at the art gallery
(this is all assuming that we
are interested in visual art and
intentionally consume and seek
it out on its own).
For this reason, I am grateful
as
a
second-year
Business
student that the art collection
at
the
Business
School
superimposes art onto my daily
life in ways I can’t resist.
The other day, I stepped out
of my strategy lecture to refill
my water bottle, mind swirling
with stressors (you have a
meeting after this, don’t forget
the homework in this class, stop
by Walgreens today) when I
was confronted with this series
of images in front of the water
fountain.
Looking at these images, I
felt something in me unfurl, as
if I was letting go of a breath
I didn’t know I was holding.
Words like “always remember
to not let it get too heavy” and
“I can feel it all leave your body,
yes, let it all go away” deeply
resonated, providing a much-
needed reminder of what really
mattered. No matter what I
did or didn’t get done, there
was still compassion and care
waiting for me.
To this day, that water bottle
filling station is my favorite in
the Business School. There’s
something poetic about such
an intentional placement of the
art prints — this idea that as
you seek out water for physical
refreshment, you might also be
mentally refreshed, prompted
to surrender whatever worries
you may be holding onto.
In this way, art speaks to
life. Or rather, this interplay
of art and life creates a unique
viewing
experience.
This
daily viewing at the Business
School is a completely different
experience than if you viewed
the same series of images in a
traditional art gallery.
Viewing art in the context
of our daily routines reminds
me of an instance Bell Hooks
describes in her book, “All
About
Love:
New
Visions.”
In the aftermath of a painful
breakup, Hooks writes about
seeing a street mural during her
morning commute that read,
“The search for love continues
even in the face of great odds.”
This one piece of art gave her
a tangible affirmation of hope.
From then on, seeing this
street mural every day became
a lifeline for Hooks, an anchor,
a quotidian memorial where
she could remind herself, “Yes,
there is love. And here is a
visual declaration of that truth
even when I may not see or
believe it.” Hooks’s experience
shows us that art is not just
peripheral to life, but is vital
to its fulfillment. We need art,
especially in places like the
Business School where life can
so easily become consumed by
busyness, by the endless cycle
of production or consumption.
We need art to force us to pause,
to behold beauty, to unsettle us,
to make us question who we are
and why we’re doing what we’re
doing.
This weekend, I set out to
experience the Business School
like never before. Not as a
classroom building, study spot
or meeting place, but as an art
museum. On a Friday afternoon,
I took the better portion of an
hour to explore the Business
School’s art collection and see
what I could find. Here are
three of my favorite pieces:
#1) “Ross School Construction
Workers” by Andy Sachs
“Ross School Construction
Workers” by Andy Sachs. Photo
by Allison Wei
“Ross School Construction
Workers” by Andy Sachs. Photo
by Allison Wei
A stone’s throw away from
Starbucks,
this
series
of
photographs hangs atop a row
of hightop tables and barstools.
I study here a lot, especially
since the tables can so easily be
used as standing desks. When I
look up from whatever work I’m
doing — whether that’s taking
a virtual meeting, checking
emails or working problem sets
— I often find myself eye-to-eye
with a person in a hard hat, one
of the construction workers who
helped build the new Business
School building, completed in
2018. Whenever I do this, I find
that something in me slows,
even softens. Looking at these
faces, I’m reminded of why I
study what I study: Business,
at the end of the day, isn’t just
about the money, but about
people — creating meaningful
work and products/experiences
for the communities around me.
I’m also reminded of all I have
to be grateful for, all the people
I have to thank, including the
Business School construction
workers, for how I’m able to
currently sit in the Business
School and do what I’m doing.
#2) “15 Mouths” by Lora
Simpson
When I first saw this five-
by-three wall of lips, I burst out
laughing. It’s so unexpected.
There is something so audacious
about these photos, especially
in a place as buttoned up as the
Business School — where we’re
taught professionalism in all
situations. Under each photo of
lips are words including “fluid,”
“meaty” and “sumptuous.” The
fact that these words, as sensual
and provocative as they are,
can coexist with my business
communications
class
right
around the corner reminds
me of the wonderful plurality
in art and in life. Rather
than conforming to the space
around it, art often subverts
the
prevailing
narrative,
shirking norms. In this way, “15
Mouths” is an act of resistance,
a redefinition of the space it
inhabits.
#3) “Reluctant Hero” by John
Schwarz
“Reluctant Hero” by John
Schwarz. Photo by Allison Wei
“Reluctant Hero” by John
Schwarz. Photo by Allison Wei
Located on the second floor
of the Business School, it’s hard
for this sculpture not to bring
a smile to your face. Indeed,
there’s
something
humorous
about
it,
“comical”
as
its
accompanying
plaque
notes.
Made out of recycled materials,
the sculpture that resembles a
winged robot was given to the
school by former Dean Robert J.
Dolan (2001-2012). Dolan gifted
this sculpture with the intention
that
it
could
“inject
some
whimsy into our sometimes
overly serious pursuits.” Ross
can so often be an intimidating
space — both in the crowds of
suited business people and its
hard-to-navigate halls — but
when I look at the “Reluctant
Hero,” I am reminded of the
whimsy that lies in all of us.
Just as the “Reluctant Hero”
brings child-like whimsy into
a space you wouldn’t expect,
I’m reminded that we too must
learn to continually bring our
whimsies and creativities into
our daily spaces, meeting our
brutal, boring realities with an
unwavering spirit.
During my “art museum” tour
of the Business School, one of
the plaques I read mentioned,
“taking a familiar object and
lifting it into art by causing us
to see mundane moments in a
brand new way.” The idea that
what we often take as mundane
and routine can be transformed
into
something
otherwise
stirs hope inside me. In the
same way, making space to
behold art in all our mundane,
daily
moments
transforms
us:
making
ourselves
into
something beautiful, something
unfamiliar,
something
altogether new.
Earmuffs. Belts. Moon Boots.
Ripped tights (on one leg, on
both arms). And we can’t forget
the fur.
Mix
these
up
and
we
get
the
freshly
risen
star
of 2023: Aliyah Bah of @
aliyahsinterlude1
fame.
And
by fame, I do mean it: With
2.5 million followers and 177.6
million likes on TikTok, Bah’s
influence is far-reaching. I
first found out about her style
not by name but by memorable
serve — TikTok after TikTok
commenting on her polarizing
pairing of a bikini with winter
boots
when
vacationing
in
Jamaica was more than a blip
on my radar, but it soon left my
scope completely.
In a serendipitous turn of
events, it was on New Year’s
Eve that the TikTok algorithm
placed one of her more recent
videos on my For You page. In
the video, Bah wore boots and
a bikini, both covered in plush
charms (like a modern take on
the plush pants worn by Flea of
the Red Hot Chili Peppers), and
excitedly told her detractors
to prepare to be “sick of her
in
2023”:
the
self-declared
“Year of Aliyahcore.” That
was the first time I heard the
name Aliyah and, as her timely
prognostication indicated, it
would be the first of many.
Aliyah and co(re) popped up
on my feed often after that. The
“-core” suffix is the online way
of denoting an object as having
a similar vibe or differentia
to others. “Cottagecore” is
picnic-y,
foliage-heavy
and
rural, like stepping off a page
from “Anne of Green Gables,”
while
“dreamcore”
centers
on
surreal,
fuzzy
imagery
that
often
wanders
into
nightmarish territory. As a
rule of thumb, anything you
would put on a word cloud for
the word preceding “core” is
fair game. But, with Bah’s first
name being that prefix, how
can “core” be extrapolated
from the spirit of a person?
Thankfully, the Aliyahcore
portmanteau would not remain
a mystery for long — on Jan.
6 this year, she published a
now-pinned video explaining
her vision. Bah has implied
her style has roots in Y2K and
alternative
fashion
through
the self descriptions of “It girl”
and “Alt. Girl” present in the
Aliyahcore promotional poster.
The former style takes its name
from the digital scare at the
turn of the century — the panic
that computers would be unable
to comprehend the year ’00
coming after ’99 — but really
only refers to the fashion of the
ensuing
decade.
Alternative
fashion, on the other hand, is a
broader term, vaguely alluding
to edgy stylistic nonconformity
based on the indie-ification
of fashion. With 15 and 39
billion
views
respectively,
these trends have garnered
popularity
on
TikTok,
yet
due to their unconventional
origins, can often be hard to
shop for. This is why Bah’s spin
on fashion surprised me: there
was an unexpected punkness in
her argument for accessibility.
While the use of cut fishnets as
grungy sleeves is nothing new,
she said her “infamous garter,”
with
its
supposed
renown
indicating exclusivity, could be
made with “any cut-up piece of
fabric, just (tied) around your
leg,” which reminded me of
the crafty origins of the punk
scene.
A repeated theme throughout
the brief video is the feeling of
inclusivity. She starts the video
by saying styling Aliyahcore is
“really not that hard” which
is why she wants to share it
with us. The video ends by
saying the style has “little to
do with what you’re wearing
but how you accessorize it.”
Although her fashion remains
consistent throughout, she will
frequently comment praises on
fans’ outfits that tag her and
her style regardless of how
close they come to her vision.
Going through the hashtag
on TikTok, I find recreations
borrowing her style directly,
warmer takes that use her
as reference and masculine
adaptations that subvert the
hyperfeminine aspects of her
character. Regardless of its
content, it is almost certain
that when a video tagging her
account appears on my feed, the
first comment I will see below
it is from Bah. While this could
be construed as a continued
attempt to solidify her brand,
her insistence on maintaining
its inclusivity and infectious
positivity makes Aliyahcore a
label I like to follow.
Unlike
other
fashion
influencers, who I can often
only talk about after a lengthy
description
of
their
style
followed by a failed Google
search of “cockroach outfit
tiktok bug blazer help” and
subsequent dropping of the
conversation, Bah’s name is
always on my mind. From the
constant
watermark
blazing
“#aliyahcore” in her TikToks
to the verbal repetition of the
term, she continues to ensure
her personal style’s relevance
and therefore her own.
Bah’s online persona has
become a digital lookbook.
When I wear pink earmuffs and
a white tennis skirt, I conflate
the choice with her being
instead of her style. I embody
a person’s vision instead of
a cultural trend every time I
step out wearing pumps with
a cute crop top. I become
more
jovial,
unexpectedly
bubbly
and
keep
cycling
through stock poses on her
instagram carrousels instead
of my usual ideal animations
with
renewed
confidence
directly taken from her person.
Consequently, when I struggle
with a 10-minute walk due
to an outfit’s impracticality,
I chastise my own weakness;
because
Bah
conquers
the
improbable (weather) in campy
attire, I know that through
Aliyahcore,
all
things
are
possible.
This
entanglement
of
personhood and brand creates
a slight mirage; it’s no longer
the
influencer’s
style,
but
the
influencer
herself
that
becomes a style. Her videos
seem to be shot while she’s out
and about: at the supermarket,
by a wall of graffiti or at the
arcade. However, these places
are not coded as set pieces
but as slices of her life — she’s
repeatedly
mentioned
how
she doesn’t need an occasion
and whatever she wears is
“everyday attire.” Because of
this, Bah is often criticized
for wearing impractical airy
attire while filming in winter.
However, in the comments of
a video, she responded “i dnt
be outside for tht long tbh,”
indicating it is a nonissue
despite her saying her outfits
are day-to-day wear. Although
I assumed she also dressed in
casual clothes, her persona
implies that Aliyahcore exists
at all times — and through
online preservation, she can
in fact exist “today, tomorrow,
and
the
day
after
that.”
However, hearing her digital
self actually confirm my belief
that Aliyahcore is in a way a
performance,
going
against
her
paramount
tenant
of
permanence, somehow shocked
me. The shock didn’t come from
the ‘reveal,’ but the dissonance:
after firmly insisting it is the
other way around, the lifestyle
was revealed as dress-up.
This is not a criticism of
her person or her brand, but
a commentary on the effects
of publicizing a person as a
product. Although I always
understood that the pictures
were posed, lines prepared and
videos produced, the minor
incongruence that confirmed
the distinct person behind
the screen reminded me of
the situation at hand. Bah is
a model, yes but she is not
also her clothes — even if she
charges them with her own
emotional tone and pathos.
However,
Aliyahcore
is
all
of that: It is the artificially
living, breathing embodiment
of a style, born from Bah’s
content and gaining symbiotic
sentience
when
those
influenced recreate it.
Aliyahcore is not only the
essence of a look but the
essence of a person through
performance and presentation.
It posits that on the internet, as
in the rest of this increasingly
postmodern life: One dresses,
therefore they are. And, from
yesterday to the rest of 2023
and beyond, Aliyah Bah has
certainly made sure that she is.
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Ross’s secret art museum might be my
favorite thing about the building
CECILIA LEDEZMA
Daily Arts Contributor
ALLISON WEI
Daily Arts Contributor
Courtesy of Cecilia Ledezma
Wednesday, March 8, 2023 — 3
#ALIYAHCORE: Digital lookbook come to life