Lo Que te Diría if I Knew How

Whenever I argue with my grandma the same conversation occurs:

“pero abuela, ¡los tiempos han cambiado!” 

 “no. los tiempos no cambian. uno cambia, pero todos los días son iguales: cada día el sol sube y baja.”


Is she right? I always chose to believe that time could change, but I never questioned how. 

In the most literal sense, time stays the same: 

There are twenty four hours in a day 

A sunrise and a sunset

Seven days in a week 

Fifty two weeks in a year 


In the figurative sense, the past, present, and future are foreign to one another. 

The customs of the past slowly fade and make room for those of the present, only for those practices to be replaced by those of the future. 

The differences between time periods is comparable to differences among cultures. 

After all, each time period is characterized by its way of life.


While various cultures coexist in the present, traveling from one into another is like moving from one era to the next: comparing their reality to yours. 

Nonetheless, it is essential to be respectful and considerate of the different customs you encounter.

So, for people with families in different countries, this sometimes means changing ourselves to conform to their norms. 

Meanwhile, people who live close to their families do not have this same dilemma. 

Since their family members share the same culture, the boundaries are easier to comprehend 


For the children of immigrants, being geographically and culturally distant from our families poses a challenge because we can not understand their lives just as they cannot understand ours. 

The societal pressures they face differ vastly from ours 

The perspectives they develop about life are incomprehensible to us just like ours are to them because neither knows what it is like to live a day in the others’ life. 


And, at the end of the day, keeping up with all these boundaries is exhausting:

Who can I talk to? and about what? 

Will they tell my parents? 

Will I become the family chisme?

Will they give me the benefit of the doubt or assume the worst?


Who can understand the pressures of being a college student in Los Angeles? 

Like having to work to barely afford living in such an expensive city. 

Trying to relax when in the end I feel guilty for neglecting my homework. 

Realizing that my bachelor’s degree is worthless even though they think it’s my 

ticket to a six figure income.

Or, if I do try to express this, will they think I am unappreciative of the opportunities they were never given?


Who will empathize with my mental health struggles when the idea of mental health is foreign to them? 

Will they understand what it means to have social anxiety when all of them are outgoing, outspoken, and have each other as a support system?Is it worth confiding in them that I am mentally drained and overwhelmed with all the challenges of being in school and working during a pandemic when the best pieces of advice they have is: “Si puedes, yo creo en ti, eres chingona”


Who can provide the advice I need when they have never gone through anything similar themselves? 

Who can help me budget when they move out of their parents house when they get married, not for school? Advise me on how to eat a healthy, vegetarian diet when they primarily eat meat and do not have to worry about protein intake? Or how to navigate the hookup culture of college?


The fact that the same generation can differ so greatly depending on the culture one is born into makes me think that maybe mi abuelita tiene razón y los tiempos no cambian, nada más uno cambia. 


Entonces, lo único prometido es que todos los días son iguales.

Pero que bueno. Si se que todos los días son una oportunidad para mejorar, eso es lo que haré. 

Cuando baja el sol, puedo preguntarme—¿cambie mi manera de pensar? ¿De ser? ¿Los cambios fueron buenos?


La promesa de que el tiempo siempre quedará igual, me trae calma. 

Sabiendo eso trae el conocimiento que al menos hay una cosa constante en nuestra vida, y aunque todo puede cambiar durante esas veinticuatro horas, el día empezará de nuevo en la mañana.


To view this article in its full designed glory, head over to our Issuu to view our Fall 2020 Boundaries Issue!

The Pink House

Photo by: Destiny Diaz


I want to paint an image of my childhood home. 

Hoping if I can nail this image, then I’d have a sense of where I’m from.


Images pulled together from old photos and half memories 

I want to recreate the home that I once knew, but hesitate

out of fear of getting it wrong.

I fear I am working not with the memory of the place

but the memory of the photos of that space and it makes me squeal—


Like how the door did or at least I think it did when I was small,

the shriek I let out when my fat leg got caught in the door frame when I ran up the steps too quickly.

How EVERYTHING was out of reach, and the windows gated with black bars.

The Art Laboe Show from the yellow speaker set booms another oldie but goodie.

“I’ll be waiting for you puppet” kisses the woman in the speaker and chimes in the melody of James and Bobby Purify.


I feel like I am holding onto slivers

of the place where noise always breaks.

                                   They dig deep 


Like the house with the palms in the front yard,

its pink walls and popcorn ceilings.

The cucumber slices with limón y sal.

This was before Tajín.

Before we knew we liked the burn of chile better than the tang of salt on our tongues.

Before our tongues were torn out of our mouths at the schools with no space for kids like us.

All that is left is the melody that brings back flashes of the pink house. 

“No Estamos Esperanzados”: Expectations of California Day Laborers for the New President and COVID-19 Measures

Street corner with Day Laborers ready to work. Taken by Lesley Ramirez


For many of us, life has been brought to a halt thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic, but this is not the case for day laborers. Day laborers in California are, for the most part, undocumented immigrant men who work temporary jobs. Every day without fail, these groups of men wake up a little before sunrise to begin their day of work. However, due to their citizenship status, many of them have not had the luxury of receiving stimulus checks or any form of federal aid during the pandemic.

Following social distancing regulations, I went out to interview a few day laborers. I asked them the following questions: how has COVID affected day laborers? What do they expect the new president to do differently from the current lame duck? What can our communities do to help them? 

The first day laborer I spoke to was Brandon D., a man in his early thirties, wearing a face mask to comply with COVID-19 regulations. I asked him his thoughts on President-elect Joseph Biden and how he thinks Biden will help immigrant workers. Brandon shared that “at the very least the new president does not seem as racist as the current one. This gives me some hope that he will treat the Latino immigrant communities a bit better.” As for COVID, he said, “Of course he can do a lot more to help us. A big thing [Biden can] do is to get a vaccine out and make it accessible to everyone.” 

Other day laborers like José Rocha and Angel Vázquez agree with Brandon D. and share that they do not wish to see anymore future lockdowns implemented by the new administration. 

Rocha added that another lockdown would “bring on another episode of chaos in the stores. We are out working all day. We don’t get off until late in the day and by the time we would get to the stores everything would be out of stock.” He also said, “If I don’t work, that hurts my family back home as well.”

Along with not receiving government aid, I asked the men if any of them received any form of supplemental help from their bosses or employers. Rocha shared, “It’s me and another guy working, my boss. When he doesn’t get any jobs, I don’t get any jobs, so there was no way for him to help me out. I’m just glad we are both working again.” 

I asked Vázquez what he expects the government to do to help him and others in similar situations. Vázquez explained his disillusionment with the government and stated that “the first government to fail me was the one in Mexico. They discriminate on age, they don’t allow people over 55 years old to work because they don’t want us to receive pensions after retiring, but they’re allowed to run for office at 55 and run a corrupt government.” Following that response, Vázquez was picked up for work that day and asked if I could come back the next morning. 

The following morning, Vázquez continued to share the lack of expectations he has for any president or government. He said, “No estamos esperanzado a que nos den nada, solo que nos dejen seguir trabajando. (We’re not hopeful in receiving anything, we just want them to keep letting us work.)” 

Vazquez added that he and other immigrant workers are always willing to work and that “there’s always going to be jobs we can do because there are things no one else will do, it just all depends on whether they [the government] let us work. The advantage of our job is that we’re always outdoors and we are not around other people.”

Aside from asking them what the government and those in positions of power can do to help, I asked the men what their communities can do to help them and other day laborers.  Rocha asked for people to be more mindful in the case of another lockdown. Vazquez said, “If it’s not necessary for people to go out, they should stay inside because there are people that have to work.” Finally, Brandon D. asked, “Que la gente en la comunidad siga usando mascarillas. Eso nos ayuda mucho porque nos protege un poco más a los que tenemos que trabajar. (People should keep wearing masks. That helps us out a lot because it protects those of us who actually have to work.)”

the past is in the past

Illustration by: Alvaro Hernandez


i look to the past 

far too much, 

this i know

i must give up

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


yet i am helpless to resist

the kaleidoscope of memories that insist 

they pour incessantly:

inevitable and inescapable

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


i remember the scuffed shoes

and scraped knees,

the dirt-stained jeans

plus the sweat-soaked shirts

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


i remember the sun’s caress upon my skin

and the wind lapping at my face,

the grass grabbing wildly for my feet

while the concrete’s unforgiving hands want naught to do with me

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


i remember my high-pitched laughs

and my brothers unfettered wide smiles,

our friends’ exclamations of victory and lament

followed by deep exhalations of breath

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


i remember my mom’s call, timed at light’s descent

and my dad’s tiredness at a work day’s end,

our loud family gatherings at my tia’s

where my cousins and i were at play

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá 


but with these lens

i feel youth passing me by (it crawls and it runs)

and i’d rather not be the one 

to let life give me no other love 

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


i’ll always look back with love (on this you can bet)

but now i must open my eyes,

to recognize all that i have

in this day and age

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


for i still feel the sun’s stroke 

and listen to the wind’s whisperings, 

i lay among the grass on warm summer days

and dance upon the concrete that is my stage

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


for i have friends i never saw coming

and they make me laugh endlessly,

their presence and support given freely when needed

as i do for them

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


for my family is still alive and well

and though we have grown and have more to go,

this bond is ever-present 

and only deepens over time

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


for i am growing and learning

and coming into my self, 

expanding my horizons

and sticking to my roots

todo no es como lo era. y nunca volverá


aceptaré las cosas como son y como vienen

y viviré en el ahora

el tiempo pasará, como siempre ha hecho

y quizás el cambio sí es por lo bueno 

todo no es como lo era. y jamás volverá

Caught in a Loop: An Appropriation of Hoops

Illustration by Jessica Martinez

Gold, silver, large, small, tassels, and decorations: hoop earrings come in a variety of unique representations and colorful motifs. 

Rooted in Latinx culture, hoops represent the “sazón” of minority groups that wear these accessories to signify and represent their solidarity to their cultural identity. Once seen as low-class and distasteful, hoop earrings have now surfaced as a popular trend among celebrities and fashion shows. The fashion elite has cultivated hoops as edgy, stylish, and trendy while minorities were patronized for their distasteful fashion choices. 

From Hailey Bieber to Taylor Swift, these celebrities have partaken in the hoop trend and have been labeled as “stylish” as a result. Considering those who are revered for participating in the new trend (mostly white women), one must ask the question: why is it acceptable for them to wear hoops, while minority groups are scrutinized for their hoops? 

In an article by Refinery 29, the history of the hoop earring is unveiled to date back to 1500 BC Egypt, continuing to a “golden age” of piracy where pirates adorned themselves with hoops. However, more recently, hoop earrings have been associated with Latinx ”chola” subculture. The “chola” subculture was born from the working-class, Mexican neighborhoods in Southern California and incorporated hoops as an identity; it was also an essential part of other working-class communities, such as those of Latinx and Black communities. Across time, hoop earrings have engraved their significance throughout underrepresented groups, cementing their presence in history by demonstrating that they have been around long before they were a “trend.”  

In her article in the New York Times, Sandra Garcia tells a similar story. Garcia recounts how she felt empowered with hoop earrings, “Gold hoops — thick, wide, bamboo-style, small or thin — were an extension of our sass, our style and us.” In a unique twist, Garcia would often lose a hoop and carried a collection of sole hoop earrings she would wear mismatched. She believed that during the 90s the mismatched hoop earrings “were in.” Although, as she grew older she ceased to wear hoops. Her decision stemmed from the fear that hoops painted Garcia as, “too loud, too visible, too ghetto, too black.” The dichotomy between Garcia feeling empowered versus self-conscious about hoops demonstrates how society casts a negative light on cultural identities. 

The obvious questions that present themselves are then: Why is it not acceptable for minority women to practice and project their identities through hoop earrings? Why is it that when white women wear hoops they are made to be cool, hip, or trendy?

Ruby Pivet, a Latinx writer, echoed these questions in her article for Vice. Pivet mentions Vogue magazine declaring up-dos and hoops as the “‘ultimate summer pairing,’” while mostly crediting white models. Pivet says, “White girls did not start the ‘trend’ of over-sized hoop earrings and yet they’re the ones being praised for donning the ‘edgy’ style.” In contrast, women of color face apprehension and racial stereotypes for portraying their identities in the form of hoops. 

In 2015, the Givenchy spring collection consisted of models adorned in facial piercings, hoops, and baby hairs. In a review by Vogue magazine, the fashion show was referred to as a “Chola Victorian” inspiration. Yet, none of the models identified as Latinx, and most of them were white women. The show lacked representation from the so-called inspiration they based their show around. In reference to the baby hairs used by the fashion show, Philip Picardi mentions that, “the message this sends, even though it is hopefully inadvertent, is that baby hairs can look ‘chic’ on white girls, but are still ‘hood’ on Latina and Black girls.” The same ideology can be applied to hoop earrings in the sense that hoops on women of color are seen as “ghetto,” while on white women they are “in style.” 

The Latinx fashion culture, strongly misunderstood by privileged dominant groups,  has been dissected to root out the original sources of the fashion items.  Francis Solá-Santiago expressed in her Glamour article that she previously saw hoop earrings as a rite of passage and as relics handed down by generations. However, it became apparent that in order to appear “polished” or taken seriously she would have to dress down her accessories. This misconception was defied by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a Puerto Rican Democrat from the Bronx,  as she was sworn into congress. Ocasio-Cortez wore bright red lipstick, a white pantsuit, and her hoops. Through this act she reverted back the stigma behind hoops by owning her heritage and conveying the message that hoop earrings are powerful. In a Twitter statement Ocasio-Cortez said, “Next time you tell Bronx girls to take off their hoop earrings, they can just say they are dressing like a congresswoman.” As mentioned by Solà-Santiago, Ocasio-Cortez defying the status quo, demonstrates that Latinx women “shouldn’t sacrifice their identity for the sake of professional success.” Congresswoman Ocasio-Cortez represents that Latinx women can have positions of power without sacrificing their culture regardless of diverging from what is conventionally seen as professional. 

Hoop earrings may appear insignificant, but they represent more than a simple trend. The culture behind them comes from a history of oppression and exclusion for women of color who wear them. Hoops stand for resistance against appropriation that converts cultural expression into fashion. Regardless, the mainstream fashion culture will move on to the next item to appropriate, but it is up to the women that wear hoops to reclaim the culture that shapes their identities. 

Lil Foo Coffee: Culture, Coffee, South Central Pride

Lil Foo Coffee logo created by Jonathan Funes

Frankie Martinez, a trans non-binary Latinx male, born and raised in South Central LA, owns Lil Foo Coffee, a coffee pop-up stationed in Echo Park. Much like Spider-Man’s ability to swing from building-to-building to help his community, Frankie works in the same way: swinging from coffee shop to coffee shop refining his passion for the drink and his passion for his community.

Four years into the coffee scene, Frankie began his coffee endeavors at Starbucks, but resenting the corporate environment that Starbucks created, he moved on to a mom-and-pop shop, Tierra Mia, a downtown location where he created a bulk of his artistic connections. 

Working at the Tierra Mia in Downtown Los Angeles, Frankie says he loved the environment and the people that he met. “The area helped me gain followers,” he says, “and connect with artsy folk that followed me to Echo Park.” Always striving to work more with coffee and the community, Frankie ended up working at Little Amsterdam, a Black-owned coffee shop in Mid-City where within a month of working there, he became the manager.

Frankie has a willingness and passion for the community and coffee, making him the perfect candidate to be Little Amsterdam’s prodigy. The shop owners pushed him and guided him into starting his own coffee business. Not only is Little Amsterdam the catalyst to Lil Foo Coffee’s inceptions, but the reason why Frankie is stationed in Echo Park, a gentrifier’s utopia and the gentrified dystopia.

“[Little Amsterdam] is located in Mid-City because they knew they would get their bread more in Mid-City than in the hood, you feel me?” They guided him because of his willingness and passion for not only coffee but his devotion to his community. 

Knowing that he needed to create a following before he could open up his actual shop, Frankie settled on making his “bread” in Echo Park, the junction where Latinx culture and gentrification lie. “The majority of coffee loving people are white people,” he says, “unfortunately, the mentality is that, and they’ll pay anything.”

Lil Foo Coffee Stand in Echo Park taken by Frankie, the owner himself.

While discussing his pricing, Frankie mentions that this coffee is priced between 4-5 dollars, and consumers can add a shot of CBD for 1 dollar, “which is rare” he says. “This older generation of Latinos/as/x love coffee and it’s not just white folk. I know that being in Echo Park, my prices are generally very low.”

Funneling the money he makes into the community is Frankie’s main goal, saying, “Make my money and my bread from coffee-loving white folk, and bring that money back to the hood.” Frankie’s current aspiration is to create a coffee shop where people, presumably like him, can just come chill and feel safe.  

With a big and bold Leo personality, Frankie wanted the coffee pop-up to have the same energy as him. Having a clear path of how he wanted to represent the shop, Frankie teamed up with Latino artist Jonathan Funes to create an official emblem. Lil Foo Coffee’s emblem blends Frankie’s love for both graffiti and, iconic New York rap artist, MF DOOM, saying, “the bubble letters are [MF DOOM’s] brand, it’s his logo. Me loving MF Doom just makes the [shop’s image] more me.” 

Conscious of the space he is inhibiting, no matter the success, South Central runs deep in one Frankie Martinez, “I’m from the hood, I’m from South-Central, and I’m going to bring that wherever I go.”

Catch Lil Foo Coffee in Echo Park Thursdays from 9 AM – 5 PM  and Fridays-Sundays 12 PM – 8PM.  Be sure to check their Instagram for any schedule changes.


An Iced Latte and an Iced Mocha from Lil Foo Coffee taken by Frankie

Capturing the Brown Experience Through Photography

A Profile on Latina Photographer, Andrea Flores

Demonstrated through the lack of equality in commissioning, publication, and exhibition, the photography industry has dissuaded women from picking up the camera for decades while men are offered most of the opportunities to succeed. But new generations have been pushing for platforms to be given to all perspectives instead of the few, privileged voices that hold the limelight. 

Andrea Flores’s photography has grown from a favorite pastime into an instrument that challenges the boundaries set up by the white, male-dominated photography industry. The first-year business student has been involved in past organizations such as Word Agency, LACMA, LA84, The Children’s Clinic, and more. But the one she looks back on the most fondly is Las Fotos Project, a non-profit organization centered around giving young girls of color the opportunity to express themselves through photography and mentorship. “With LFP, I’ve had my own solo exhibition titled ‘Growing Up’ which is based on the relationships I have with people and what it is like to be me,” Flores said over the phone.

“I survived the night without dying, (we were talking about hot cheetos).” Image credit: Andrea Flores

Flores uses film photography to capture the moments of flickering youth, focusing on her friends, the places she grew up, her community, and the spatial mobility of Los Angeles. She utilizes the sense of freedom and rebellion that comes alongside adolescence and uses this to challenge the obstacles of an industry filled with people who work to keep underrepresented perspectives unseen. 

Flores was initially introduced to photography by her mother. As a child, she was always fascinated by the photography her mother did for fun, which ultimately led to her own fascination in the world behind the lens. 

“Feels like mid90s.” Image credit: Andrea Flores

“I’m what they call a darkroom photographer,” she explains. Originally involved in digital photography, Flores decided to partake in LFP’s darkroom semester two years ago and fell in love with it ever since. “Film photography is also an interesting medium because you never see your results until after the process.” 

The process of film photography and development plays an essential role in Flores’s creative process. She claims, “[I] go with the flow. I get my camera one day, I get an idea and I just do it.” Flores isn’t interested in capturing the still, sterile moments of her life. Instead, she focuses on movement, skating, the subcultures hidden within Los Angeles, and the everchanging fluidity of youth. 

“We should make an LFP vlog.” Image credit: Andrea Flores

She also focuses on showing the beauty of brown skin. She actively challenges the exclusion of models of color by encouraging them to embrace and absorb not just their own identities but the identities of those around them in the spaces we all inhabit. 

Flores sees photography as more than a way to showcase her perspective to the world; it is also her safe space, a place to express her creativity with no judgment. “Photography is a journal, it is something I carry with myself,” Flores stated. Despite the weight of its expectations and restrictions, she doesn’t carry it as a burden. Instead, it is something she bears proudly, confronting the limitations imposed upon her by going directly against them.

In the future, Flores hopes to gain widespread recognition for her work, not just as a photographer, but as the person of multiple identities behind the camera. She wants people to understand the world through different perspectives, and she wants them to appreciate and embrace these different trains of thought. However, above all else she wants young girls of color to be able to dream beyond what previous generations could. 

“Jasper Bones V-Day show.” Image credit: Andrea Flores

And how does she hope to accomplish this? “The long term goals I have are to be an in-house photographer for a band or work with a magazine,” Flores declares, passion thick in her voice. “I would really like to work with my dear friends Romina Estrada, Natalia Angeles, and Jackie Rosas. Our styles are different but still go hand in hand.” 

Not only does Flores strive to be inclusive in what she photographs, but in the methods she incorporates to the process behind it as well. Flores understands that expanding beyond the constraints of a white, male-dominated industry is a learning process that she is willing to navigate in order to pave the way for others.

Latinx Punks

Illustration by Haven Jovel Morales

The punk rock scene and its Latinx influence has greatly shaped the ever-changing development of pop culture within American Society. At its start, punks were tired of cultural norms deeply embedded within the communities its founders were a part of and began to resist these norms by adopting a new style consisting of form-fitting tattered clothing, wild hairstyles, and a darker aesthetic. The punks were able to fully express themselves and reject traditions through their appearance. This look accompanied their ideology that all should be free to be as unique and strange as they desire. One where they shouldn’t be judged negatively for their gender, sexuality, race, or ethnicity. This allowed for punks to be from a diverse set of backgrounds, especially from the Latinx community, which played an extremely significant role in the founding of the movement. 

When you ask someone to describe punk rock, they often describe scenes of angsty, white teenagers rebelling against the authority of their parents and wearing skin-tight clothing while doing hardcore drugs. While this may be the popularized image of the music genre and social movement, punk has a very deep-rooted history in Latin-American culture and continues to draw from it. 

Punk was established in the late ’70s in order to provide a safe haven for those cast out from society and for those who dreamt of rebellion to voice their political opinions. The Latinx youth at the time, were extremely underrepresented and off mainstream America’s radar. Latinx youth yearned for a sense of belonging. These Latinx kids began to express themselves by wearing dark clothes, wild hair, tattered jeans, dark makeup, and rejecting gender norms. The youth involved within this movement donned the self-proclaimed title ‘punks’.

A source of early inspiration for the punk movement was the highly successful Latinx psychedelic rock band, Cannibal and The Headhunters. Cannibal and The Headhunters consisted of all Latinx members who hail from East LA. This influential band received national attention when they toured with The Beatles and went on to have high charting hit records such as the iconic track “Land of a Thousand Dances.” The Headhunters influenced artists in later generations, including the legendary Chicanx icon, Alice Bag, who is often cited as the queen of the punk rock movement. 

When asked about the foundations of the punk rock scene in 2019 during an interview with Al Jazeera, Bag stated: “Whatever it was that made them feel as if they didn’t belong in their own neighborhood, was what we prized, we wanted uniqueness… we wanted the weirdos, matter of fact the weirder you were, the better.”

The LA punk rock scene made a steady rise as the years progressed and eventually found itself entering the mainstream. Their music began to reach wider audiences with a plethora of punk rock bands that featured Latinx members such as the Zero’s, Catholic Discipline, Fear,  Los Illegals, and Black Flag.

The screams, aggressive style, violent lyrics, and rebellious attitudes express the negative emotions these artists felt. The way Latinx punk musicians communicated their personal experiences scared mainstream society and like many movements started by minorities, society began to fear it.  However, Latinxs remained resilient and continued to be punks.

One of the most surprising contributors to the punk movement was Sister Karen Boccalero of the order of Saint Francis, a Chicana nun who valued self-expression through art and helped create the arts center known as “Self Help Graphics.”  This provided the Latinx community of East Los Angeles with the resources to print, learn, practice, record, and perform music. Eventually, through the efforts of Sister Karen and many involved within the Latinx community, the punks had purchased a small basement on Cesar Chavez Avenue called “The Vex.” The Vex began to function as a safe haven for punks and started a renaissance for punk rock with several successful and iconic bands first garnering attention in this venue.

Soon, the movement reached Latin America and bands began forming in countries such as Peru, Argentina, and Brazil. At this point in time, these countries found themselves in political turmoil, which resulted in extremely politically charged punk rock. This attitude soon carried over to the United States and shaped the sound of punk we know and love today.

According to Alice Bag, when speaking on punk it is always important to remember that it “was not invented by white males… punk was created by women, people of color, and queers,” and without these diverse contributions from those who were often unrepresented in mainstream media, punk would not be what it is meant to be: a safe haven for the weirdos, minorities, and social outcasts.