In the midwest food desert I grew up in, there are higher standards for what we wear than what we eat.
If anyone knows how to create a narrative in response to ecological misfortune, it’s the bottled-water industry.
All that mattered, we told ourselves, was what we saw when we looked in the mirror, what we saw when we looked at each other.
The largest archive of footage of myself, ages twenty-three to thirty-years-old, never belonged to me but is owned by brands.
When we look at women who work, what remains unseen and what is expected to remain hidden?
I am the only one in the room who is neither asked nor allowed to answer: “How does that make you feel?”