"Although I didn't write this song, it spoke to me in a way that made me feel as if it was my own story,” Brandon said. “I found myself playing it over and over again in my bedroom, remembering situations that I've been through.”
Check out the video for yourself below.
This sort of vulnerability with the self is exactly what inspired our May digital cover—the Intimacy issue. In thinking about what being intimate—both with others and with yourself—means during such strange times, we of course wanted to explore dildos, orgasms, and Chaturbate culture. It is office, after all.
But we also wanted to move beyond that. What do our current conditions mean in terms of being intimate in all facets of the word—being intimate with your thoughts? With abstraction? With objects or ideas? Do you cringe at your overgrown hair when looking in the mirror and the Snapchat camera? How has isolation played a part in your want or need to be intimate? Have you developed any new intimate relationships while in quarantine?
We asked 13 subjects to explore these ideas in a series of remotely-shot portraits and videos. We also asked each subject to write a diary entry with this vulnerability in mind.
Come into Charli XCX's digital world.
Charli XCX has been underrated for years. At first, she was a rowdy party girl, singing about dancing on tables, fast cars, and fucking up hotel rooms over pop-punk instrumentals. But there comes a point where that gets old, and when Charli found the likes of progressive-minded producers such as London's A.G. Cook and SOPHIE, she found a way to move her sound into the future, still sing about partying, but also open up through more vulnerable lyrical topics.
Then quarantine happened. Notoriously a workaholic, Charli took the opportunity to do what every artist strives to do during this period but only someone like her has the chops to actually follow through with. Her goal was simple: complete an entire "quarantine album" in one month's time, collaborating with fans on song titles, choosing beats, and holding weekly Zoom sessions to update her cult-like followers on the album's progress. It was both a blessing and a curse. This process allowed Charli to be ever more intimate with her fans and with herself, and she ended up producing a dynamic album that is arguably her best work yet. But it also exposed some deep-rooted issues about herself to herself re: productivity, overworking, and using these two things as excuses for not confronting her demons. As she writes in her accompanying diary entry, "I feel like I'm applying so much pressure on myself that everything is crumbling around me. I have constant anxiety in my chest on some days. I am so angry when something doesn't go the way I want it. I am consumed with stress. It's not how I want to be and I know this feeling will pass but right now, today in particular, it's really eating me alive."
This is exactly what our Intimacy issue is about—the sometimes harsh confrontation that comes with being alone with yourself, no distractions, just you and your feelings. For her Intimacy cover, we applied a filter-y, slimy, 3D world onto Charli.
Watch this video, as well as all the other Intimacy videos, on .show, the new interactive video camera and shoppable video marketplace.
This sort of vulnerability with the self is exactly what inspired our May digital cover—the Intimacy issue. In thinking about what being intimate—both with others and with yourself—means during such strange times, we of course wanted to explore dildos, orgasms, and Chaturbate culture. It is office, after all.
But we also wanted to move beyond that. What do our current conditions mean in terms of being intimate in all facets of the word—being intimate with your thoughts? With abstraction? With objects or ideas? Do you cringe at your overgrown hair when looking in the mirror and the Snapchat camera? How has isolation played a part in your want or need to be intimate? Have you developed any new intimate relationships while in quarantine?
We asked 13 subjects to explore these ideas in a series of remotely-shot portraits and videos. We also asked each subject to write a diary entry with this vulnerability in mind.
Today, we start off with New York-based artist Porches.
On his name album Ricky Music, Aaron Maine—AKA Porches—states in a 1 minute 17 second tune: "When asked with my life what I've done / I screamed, 'I wrote some fucking songs!'" This statement encapsulates the 29-year-old's whole life, in a way, and is exactly why we wanted to feature him in this Intimacy issue. He lives for writing songs, he writes a lot of them, and ultimately, this is all he can do to contribute something meaningful to the world—be vulnerable.
We FaceTime him to do this photoshoot and are met with a deep red light that fills his Chinatown studio apartment, and makes it look like another world. This studio has become notorious because 1) it's where he writes and produces all of his music, and 2) ever since the pandemic upended normal life, it's become a makeshift performance space as well. Maine was supposed to embark on a nationwide tour in support of his new album right before we all were forced to go into lockdown. So, he held Instagram Live concerts each night from "Chicago," "Raleigh, North Carolina," and "San Diego" right from his apartment. Most artists would be bummed. For Porches, it was an opportunity to let his legion of fans into his intimate world.
The artist's tenderness and willingness to go there is why we love him over here at office. When directing him via video call, one would think he was a photographer himself given how much he just gets it—the poses, the angles, the vision, the vibe. It made for a super intimate and raw photoshoot, but for Porches—who thrives off of being vulnerable with who he is—it was just another day.
Watch this video, as well as all the other Intimacy videos, on .show, the new interactive video camera and shoppable video marketplace.
According to Simpson, the song started as a narrative about a young sailor who turns to the sea for freedom from society, never looking back. However, he intentionally keeps it lyrically ambiguous. "Everyone that hears gathers something different from it. I once interpreted it as a metaphor for a teenage drug addict," Simpson says. "Miley interpreted it, as reflected in the visual we shot, as a Captain's struggle with society's conception of masculinity."
The video sees him strumming his guitar, singing his heart out, kissing his muscles—all adorned in vintage and archival Chanel, Dior, Vivienne Westwood, etc. Check out "captain's dance with the devil" below, because we could listen to it all day.
