The threat of fascism is rising around the world, including right here in the United States.
That isn’t just my opinion — an open letter signed June 14 by more than 400 scholars, including 31 Nobel Laureates, issued the same warning.
These warnings aren’t new. Still, they are increasingly frequent — and much scarier coming from our world’s brightest minds.
For student journalists like me, this is a prime time to spring into action and step into our power as the “fourth estate.”
Personally, however, I’ve felt stunned into silence. I like to write about vintage fashion.
Who wants to read about the difference between petticoats and crinolines when they’ve got fascism knocking at their front door?
I’ve seen the articles my classmates are publishing and the hard-hitting topics they are covering. For so long, I’ve felt like a fraud, cowering in the corner, hawking my silly little fashion column to anyone who would listen.
It felt like everyone else was holding the weight of democracy on their shoulders, and I was sitting idly by as the world crumbled around me.
Ironically, my shift toward acceptance and pride in my chosen field has grown as more and more of our freedoms have been challenged.
Just a few weeks ago, I watched live as the president berated an NBC journalist for the question they posed during an Oval Office meeting with South African President Cyril Ramaphosa. I remember thinking this was exactly why I’m not interested in political journalism.
I know if someone in a position of power — let alone the president of the United States — were to insult me in front of a room full of people, I would run out sobbing.
Not quite the “stick it to the man” attitude of our nation’s most prolific political journalists, I know.
Over the past month or so, I’ve come to happily accept that I’m not going to be the next Kaitlan Collins and have fully embraced my dream to become the next Anna Wintour.
No longer will I allow myself to feel like less of a journalist because I don’t want to interview stuffy white men in poorly tailored suits with an inability to feel compassion.
Don’t get me wrong, I am in awe of people who specialize in that type of journalism. Some deeper part of me wishes I had the skills for it.
Political journalism is a key tool in the fight against fascism. However, it is not the only tool.
Any medium that allows citizens to utilize their First Amendment rights is important right now. In a time of rampant misinformation and distrust of the media, anyone who works to seek and accurately report facts is crucial to democracy.
But contrary to popular opinion, fashion journalism is particularly necessary.
Fashion itself is political. What we wear is an affirmation of who we are and where we come from. Our clothing is a bold statement of our identity.
As anti-immigrant sentiment grows and cultural cornerstones come under attack, celebrating our differences is key in the fight for our American identity.
Moreover, the notion that fashion — a domain typically associated with women and femininity — isn’t “serious” is a symptom of growing misogyny worldwide, but especially here in the U.S.
When we perpetuate the idea that fashion, and by extension, fashion journalism, does not hold the same value in society as other industries, we uphold the patriarchal assumption that anything feminine is innately less important than traditionally masculine pursuits.
Unlike those working in fashion public relations, true fashion journalists are not just parroting positive claims about brands or products and feeding the monster that is the current state of American capitalism.
Fashion journalists wear so many hats — both literally and metaphorically. They cover more than just how clothes look and feel.
They play the role of economists and perform complex market and data analysis to research trends. They step into the shoes of sociologists to analyze what celebrities and changemakers wear, and why. They function as anthropologists, documenting and analyzing where our clothing has come from and where it is going.
And frankly, sometimes fashion journalists just write about what they think looks nice — and that’s important too.
I was first introduced to the concept of joy as a form of rebellion by Black feminists on social media, and it is an affirmation that has powered me through moments of self-doubt regarding my career choice.
Poet and activist Toi Derricotte is credited with coining the phrase, “Joy is an act of resistance,” in her eponymous 2008 poem.
This assertion builds upon the framework posed by feminist scholar Audre Lorde in her 1978 essay, “The Uses of the Erotic.” Lorde writes “the sharing of joy” can form “a bridge between the sharers which can be the basis for understanding much of what is not shared between them, and lessens the threat of their difference.”
It’s true that looking at the world through rose colored glasses can lead to complacency. On the other hand, recognizing the beauty of the world in healthy doses can help you recharge and fight even harder.
For people from marginalized communities, finding enjoyment is a direct attack on the systems that try to hold people down. Happiness steels oneself against hopelessness — a feeling that fascists prey on.
At a time when we are being encouraged to grow divided by our differences, fashion journalists reach across the aisle and show us the beauty of our individual perspectives.
When fashion journalists spotlight a designer or a collection, they are platforming more than some seamstress or fabric. They are highlighting the product of someone’s unique lived experience. They remind us that our diversity is not something to fear, but instead something to celebrate.
I am tired of doing the same journalistic work as others — the same reporting, writing and editing — and being made to feel inferior because of the “unserious” subject matter of my work.
If seeking truth, preserving culture and finding moments of levity in an increasingly heavy society aren’t serious, I’m not quite sure what is.