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