Before I decided I wanted to become
Carrie Bradshaw a writer, I wanted to be an artist. First, I had an infatuation with the idea of being a marine biologist photographer for NatGeo. This seed was planted in my head when I was but a decade old, and all I wanted to do with my life was hang out with manatees and take cool photos. In middle school, I shyed away from marine biology and leaned toward rock n’ roll. I wanted to photograph trendy shit, like fashion and famous people wearing weird outfits (or, rather, no outfits). My most recent obsession has been in film, not that I’m handy with a video camera whatsoever. In high school I took up acrylic painting on canvas. Now I have a sick DSLR, a beautiful easel, pallet, brushes, and paint set, and an Instagram (Insta covers the trendy photog shit). But, unfortunately, I stopped thinking like an artist and started writing like a yenta.
Since I discovered that I’m really born to write, I haven’t had as much time to paint, swim with sea animals, or to even charge my Nikon. I thought it would be great to take a trip down memory lane and reeducate myself. After all, a huge part of being trendy is remaining culturally in tact with the artistic community. I have this good friend, Juliette Hayt, who is the most talented chick I’ve ever met. She uses oil, watercolor, and arcylic paint and then inks and pens for illustration. Juliette claims that her dark/surreal subject matter doesn’t reflect her as a person and that it all comes from her subconscious. OK, Jules, that’s like me claiming I dressed up as Wednesday Addams for Halloween just “because I felt like it” and not because she’s actually my alter-ego.
What I decided to do for this week’s flavor is to take some of the coolest shit Juliette’s made and then analyze it through an FYDer’s point of view. Enjoy!
This is an example of a dystopian society in which Jewish women around the world have eaten so much fro-yo that their bodies are starting to melt. Eventually, everyone’s body will be a puddle of fro-yo. The women Juliette featured were once big fans of the mango and pistachio flavors.
This is an edgy representation of one of my favorite movie scenes of all time:
This piece represents the horrors that ensue when boys speak their opinions as well as the complex of the egotistical man. More specifically, it dives deep into what happens when you’re at a liberal arts college and on some sort of hallucinogenic drug and a boy makes a sexist comment. The braces are a strong symbol for how boys think their opinions are more important than ours, but, like braces, they are really just ugly and probably not worth what you paid for them.
This is what happens when girls waste their calories on carbs instead of fro-yo. We become green monsters and not even keratin will fix our hair once it’s turned into spaghetti. These girls were clearly once very trendy because they are wearing baggy, vintage t-shirts with slogans like “yum” and a mustache on them. They also have crazy thigh gaps. The moral being portrayed here is “don’t be spaghetti, and also get keratin.”