Lifestyle
Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson shares the poem she's kept in every one of her offices
In every office she’s ever had, Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson has kept a copy of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “The Ladder of Saint Augustine.” There’s one stanza in particular that she likes:
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
“I love the idea that in order to be successful, it takes hard work,” Jackson says. “You can’t always control whether you’re the smartest person in the room, for example, but you [can] commit to being the hardest worker.”
Jackson traces her interest in studying law back to her childhood. When she was 4, her father enrolled in law school at the University of Miami. She remembers sitting at the kitchen table with her coloring books, across from her father and his stack of law journals.
“We would work together and he’d ask me questions,” she says. “It was really a bonding moment for me.”
Jackson went on to attend Harvard for both undergrad and law school. As a young lawyer, she says, she was often at the office before anyone else — and then she’d stay until everyone else had gone home. Working as a public defender helped shape the type of judge she would become.
“One of the things I discovered very early on was how few of my clients really understood what had happened to them in the trial process,” Jackson says. “And so when I became a judge, I really focused on being clear.”
In 2022, Jackson became the first Black woman appointed to the United States Supreme Court. During her first year on the bench, she spoke more than any other justice in that same term — a marked departure from past justices who sometimes take years before becoming vocal. Now Jackson is sharing her story in a new memoir, Lovely One. (The title of the book derives from a translation of Jackson’s West African name, “Ketanji Onyika.”)
Interview highlights
On learning about Constance Baker Motley, the first Black woman to argue a case before the Supreme Court
Judge Motley was appointed to the court in the ‘60s, I believe. And this is the court in the Southern District of New York. And I was born in 1970. And when I was in late elementary school, early middle school, I came across an article about her in Essence or Ebony, one of the Black magazines that my parents subscribed to. And, gosh, I mean, it was such an eye opener for me, in part because I learned that we share a birthday, September 14th. We were born on exactly the same day, 49 years apart. …
And so here we had this woman who was a lawyer and who had gone on to be a judge, and the thought of being a judge just kind of planted in my mind. And it was something I guess I’d always wanted to do. And this was also around the time when Justice O’Connor had been appointed to the Supreme Court. So now we had a woman judge on the Supreme Court. I just remember those things being very motivational for me, early on.
On growing up in D.C. with parents from the South, who wanted her to be proud of being Black
I was born at this very, very pivotal time in American history. I was a first inheritor of Dr. Martin Luther King’s dream … if Dr. Martin Luther King presented America with a metaphorical check come due, my generation reaped the first installment. So what it meant for my parents, who were now young people with a baby coming of age in this really, sort of time of opportunity after being so limited in their upbringing, they wanted me to do all of the activities that they had been restricted in doing. But they also felt pretty strongly that it was important to shore up my own self-esteem. Having grown up in a society in which there was so much negative imagery and messaging about African Americans, they were worried that that would undermine my ability to perform in white spaces. And so they carefully monitored what I watched and worked on the inputs.
On what she was like in high school
It was a predominantly white school. … I was popular. I was the student body president three years in a row. So I had a lot of friends and people who liked me, but no dates, which got to be a little bit of an issue my senior year because the student body president, one of the things you’re responsible for is planning the prom. And I wasn’t going to go until a friend of mine who was a junior said, “Who are you going to go to prom with?” And I was like, “No one.” And he was like, “Well, why don’t I take you? Why don’t we go together?” So I went with him, just so I could go and not be totally left out of an activity that I was planning. But it was not easy to be a high school student and feeling like everybody else is dating and people have crushes, and not being a part of the culture was a little challenging.
On how she met her husband at Harvard
So I am in this class, and he’s cute. He’s sitting behind me. He’s chatting with me and tapping on my shoulder and doing silly things. And afterwards we start to develop a friendship, talking about the material. And he would walk me to my next class on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and then on Tuesday and Thursday, I thought I saw him in our government class, and I would lean down the row and wave and he would, like, roll his eyes like, “Who is this lady?” And I thought, this is kind of weird. Like, why would this guy be so nice to be on some days and not on the others? And I told my roommates about it and they were like, “Leave him alone. He’s crazy. You don’t want to be with a crazy person!” One of the nice days … I went up to him and I said, “Why don’t you speak to me in our government class?” And he said, “I’m not taking a government class.” And I said, “Yes, you are.” And then it dawned on him that I must be talking about his twin brother.
On how she had her husband have both balanced career and family
I think very early on we kind of decided to take turns. We could see how there would be different points in each of our careers where the other person’s professional needs would have to take precedence. It’s like we could have it all, but not at the same time. And so there were periods when he was in his surgical residency, for example, he couldn’t do anything more than the 20 hours of service that they required in the hospital, sleeping overnight, doing [it] all. And so then I took a lot of the home responsibilities. And when I was clerking for the Supreme Court, it was flipped. He took time out of his residency to do research in Washington, came down and supported me. He brought me dinner at the Court.
Sam Briger and Susan Nyakundi produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Krishnadev Calamur adapted it for the web.
Lifestyle
Check out the fashion as stars arrive at the 2024 Emmys red carpet
The 76th Primetime Emmys Awards are on Sunday night, hosted by father-son duo Eugene and Dan Levy, creators and stars of the hit TV series Schitt’s Creek. Nominees and stars hit the red carpet on Sunday evening outside of the Peacock Theater in Los Angeles. Here are some of their looks.
Lifestyle
Planeta and Wavey, two designers tapping into the shared language of L.A. and Mexico City
This story is part of Image’s September Image Makers issue, celebrating some of the most daring and innovative artists working in fashion today.
Eric Solis describes his photos as “cyberghetto,” “flow 2000s,” “raver chic.” Models wearing cargos layered with neon mesh shorts, stand among the rims at a car lot, using a purse inspired by one. Remixed plaid jorts. A durag with a blinged-out butterfly bikini top. Club kid platforms accessorized with ripped black tights. The concept: Moda sin fronteras. Solis, an L.A. native who now lives in Mexico City, where much of his family is from, wanted the photos to tell a story about the connection between two brands — L.A.-based Planeta and Mexico City-based Wavey — and in a larger sense, to “blur the lines between how people perceive what fashion is, or how it should look, in both the contexts of L.A. and Mexico.”
For Solis — a multi-hyphenate who works as an architect, event producer, photographer, art director and creative consultant, among other things — this project was an opportunity to capture the conversation he sees happening between Mexico City and L.A. in terms of fashion and style, in a way that felt expansive and not necessarily confined by gender or culture. The models themselves are young people who are mostly from Mexico City (or live there) spanning queer, trans and Indigenous communities that Solis met through fashion shows. The entire team — from the stylist Tuzza to the hair artist Ozmar Báez — was an intentional part of the conversation he was trying to create through the clothes and photos, he says.
Solis was thinking about the dichotomy of the two communities in L.A. and Mexico City, and at least in terms of style, how they were taking from each other and presenting it in new ways. He wanted to take what he was seeing and present it so that it wasn’t L.A. style, wasn’t Mexico City style, but was a hybrid of both.
The shoot acted as a catalyst for a pop-up called “No Hablamos Inglés” that Solis is curating on Sept. 21 at Planeta’s DTLA store. He is bringing the work of more than 20 emerging Mexican designers — spotlighting a scene of alternative, young, queer artists who are morphing how we think about Mexican style — including Palida Studios, Tlacuache Muerto and Resurrected. The name is important; for Solis it stands for cultural pride and community: “Sometimes, Mexicans on the Mexico side feel like they should learn English to better their lives or to be better in business, but this is almost like a saying of defiance. It’s almost rebellious: ‘No Hablamos Inglés.’”
This project is also Solis’ contribution to an ongoing conversation artists have been sparking between L.A. and Mexico for years, chief among them artist and curator Anita Herrera. From the beginning, Herrera has infused her practice with the mission of finding the connection and disconnections between L.A. and Mexico. Her ongoing series, “Diaspora Dialogues,” has consistently used fashion as a medium to explore these topics — as has much of Herrera’s work; she went to fashion school and started her career in the fashion industry.
Israel wears Wavey zig-zag top, bejeweled beanie, acid cargo pants, chrome fanny pack, Planeta neon mesh shorts, Tuzza custom reflector earring.
Solis met Herrera through helping with “Diaspora Dialogues” and met the founders of Planeta at one of Herrera’s exhibitions in Mexico City, “A Través de la Moda,” where she displayed personal pieces from her closet that drew from images and symbols that Mexican Americans hold dear — La Virgen de Guadalupe, the Aztec calendar — “as an exploration of history, myths and novelties between L.A. and Mexico City,” Herrera says. Planeta, founded by designers Hoza Rodriguez and Richard Resendez, has an IYKYK cult-like kind of status among the fashion people, artists and club kids who wear it. Their work is best recognized by the magic they do with upcycling — flannel shirts layered on top of baggy denim become a new genre entirely, something from the future. When they went to Mexico City for the exhibition and were able to see the city through the eyes of Solis and Herrera (Rodriguez and Herrera have been friends since 2009, when they were both starting their careers in the fashion industry), something clicked. “Everything’s unisex,” Rodriguez says of the style he observed in Mexico. “And I learned that they are not influenced by us, we are influenced by them.”
Wavey, a Mexico City brand and store founded by Talulah Rodriguez-Anderson in 2018, makes the kind of things you might wear at a rave on the beach. It’s always been dedicated to communicating its clothing as unisex. Rodriguez-Anderson grew up in L.A. and was inspired by her visual experiences and memories on both sides of the border when starting her brand. The brand’s store, in Colonia Juárez, carries this same energy, with its aesthetic drawing from the cargo trailers that go from Mexico City to the States. A Wavey piece borrows from Chicano silhouettes and images, told through a Mexican streetwear lens — the latter of which Rodriguez-Anderson says is “evolving very quickly.”
Solis wanted to highlight Planeta and Wavey because they felt like family in his mind — with a shared ethos, a look that felt like it was drawing from similar references. “To me, they’re like siblings, they’re like cousins,” Solis says. “They sort of talk to each other in terms of their style.” This is shown in the styling of one of the models, Jorge, who wears reworked checkered Dickies shorts from Planeta pointing to an early-2000s L.A. skater aesthetic, and a blinged-out shirt with the initials “MX” from Wavey as a nod to Mexico City. “It’s a new aesthetic,” Solis says. “It’s not California, it’s not quite Mexican. But it’s both, it’s something else.”
With the shoot, and with the pop-up, Solis says he wanted to show a “cross-section of Mexican youth, real Mexican youth.” He chose Colonia Juárez for the location, specifically an area that’s home to many auto body shops, because it felt true to where these looks would actually be worn. The environment and the clothes are in communion with each other, Solis says. “I also wanted to shoot it in a location that was authentically Mexican. Whereas I feel like La Condesa, or Roma, it can feel foreign, almost.”
“For me, that shoot, when I look at it, it brings some sort of happiness and some sort of truth of who we are as Latinos, as the LGBTQ community, and as human beings,” says Planeta co-founder Rodriguez, also the founder of L.A. brand Hologram City. “When I see that, it makes me happy to know what we really are: we’re talented, we’re creative, we look like superheroes, we’re the s—.”
Even as an architect, Solis has always worked in creative or community realms. He was on the team of designers for the 6th Street Bridge — and curated the art, photography and architecture exhibit “Nuestre Puente,” in collaboration with Estevan Oriol, in celebration of the bridge’s opening. He’s also one of the founders of the DTLA Proud festival. When he moved to Mexico City, he wanted to find a way to blend his obsession with fashion, art and culture, and embed himself into the creative community there as much as possible. Solis frequents Tianguis La Lagunilla once a month, which is where he says he came to really understand Mexico City’s fashion youth culture and meet some of the brands he’s bringing to L.A.
“Moving to Mexico City four years ago and really starting to understand by living here and building community here, [I realized] how our communities are not quite as connected as they could be because of those political, policy barriers that separate communities,” Solis says. “I have a whole circle of friends here in Mexico City that are artists, designers. They have their own brands, very integrated in the creative community here, and many, almost all of my friends who want to expose their brand or expose themselves as artists in the United States, they can’t — because they literally can’t go.” He wants to create connections for these Mexican designers, and allow the people of L.A. to experience their work. As a Mexican and U.S. citizen, Solis feels like he’s able to bridge the two sides — bringing Mexican designers to L.A. through their artistry, even if they’re not able to come here themselves.
The collection of designers that Solis is bringing to his L.A. pop-up this month conjures some key phrases for him: “It’s queer as in f— you.” “Barrio bratz.” “Sin género.” “Mexa-core.” The designers include Ese Chico, known for its irreverent graphic T-shirts and slogan: “Locura sin piedad,” or “madness without piety” — Herrera included it in her “A Través de la Moda” exhibition when she brought it to L.A. earlier this year. Another is Squid, a brand “inspired by nature” that transforms garments through upcycling, airbrush and screen printing into one-of-a-kind works of art. It was crucial for Solis that the pop-up captured this moment in Mexico City’s fashion scene, which he describes as “infinite.”
Jorge Líos of Palida Studios — a brand with a style Líos describes as a balance of elegance and deterioration — is a native of Nezahualcoyotl, an area about an hour outside of Mexico City. The spirit of Mexico City’s street-level fashion scene is a mix of “vulgar, atrevido y chido,” he says. “Como que la gente justo está desmitificando esta idea de que lo que debes de usar solamente son marcas gabachas y ya está volteando a ver marcas Mexicanas. Sobre todo, la escena está construyendo o reafirmando la identidad de ser Mexicano.” (That is, people are demystifying the idea that you should only use foreign brands and are turning to Mexican brands. The Mexico City scene is building up and reaffirming Mexican identity.) Since he was a kid, it was Líos’ dream to travel to L.A. or New York. He loves hip-hop and was inspired by the music culture in both cities. The fact that he is now traveling to L.A. through his designs and that they’re reaching a new audience that might be moved by them? “Es una locura.”
The list of L.A.’s sister cities includes Salvador, Brazil; Busan, South Korea; Berlin; and, of course, Mexico City. For Solis, it’s more than just a connection or conversation: there are familial ties. “The shared passion through fashion is something that really connects us and really unites us,” he says. “I’ve begun to see how fashion can actually build an identity that is of neither place, but is of both places.”
Production Eric Solis
Models Axel, Ellie, Genesis, Israel, Jorge, Li
Makeup Beauty Dealers
Hair Ozmar Báez
Production assist Dennis Caasi
Lifestyle
'South Park' creators renovate a beloved restaurant, and find nostalgia is pricey
Maybe because most of us come from somewhere else, Americans just love replicas of foreign places — William Randolph Hearst’s faux European castle in San Simeon, Calif.; Paris Las Vegas with its half-size Eiffel Tower and mini Louvre; or the mock Alpine village you find in, of all places, Helen, Ga. Creating a giddy atmosphere that Umberto Eco dubbed “hyperreality,” such crazily ambitious simulacra fill nearly everyone with childish delight.
This includes Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park and The Book of Mormon fame. Although notorious for their cynical humor, both harbor a profound affection for one of the places they adored as kids: Casa Bonita, a 50,000 square foot attraction in a Lakewood, Colo., strip mall that has been dubbed the Disneyland of Mexican restaurants. It’s an Anglo businessman’s fantastical riff on an old Mexican village, one decked out with Old West outlaws, volcanoes, cliff divers and even a gorilla that runs through caverns studded with stalactites.
More than half a century after opening in 1974 — complete with TV ads featuring Ricardo Montalban! — this once-spectacular crowd-puller had fallen on such desperate times that it was doomed to close. Then it was bought out of bankruptcy “as is” by Stone and Parker, who vowed to save the beloved Colorado landmark and return it to its former glory.
Their battle to do so is the subject of the enjoyable new documentary ¡Casa Bonita, Mi Amor! Directed by Arthur Bradford and produced by MTV Documentary Films, the movie’s a treat, weaving together great archival footage, excerpts from South Park and Elvis’ movie Fun in Acapulco, plus countless scenes of Parker and Stone’s amused horror when they hear the latest reason why their labor of love is becoming a money-pit.
After a zippy capsule history of Casa Bonita, with its Pepto-Bismol-pink facade and blue fountain out front, the movie returns to the present to show everything it takes to recreate a mecca whose true meaning lay in the feelings it once induced. Because the original Casa Bonita was legendary for lousy food, they bring on an executive chef, Dana Rodriguez, who’s been nominated for James Beard Awards. She takes Parker to Oaxaca so he can soak up the atmosphere and get inspired.
Yet wondrous inspiration bumps into un-wondrous reality. Turns out that their new property is a dilapidated death trap in which everything — electricity, plumbing, air conditioning — must be redone. A renovation originally budgeted at $6 million suddenly balloons to a new estimate of $20 million plus.
Now, as ¡Casa Bonita Mi Amor! chronicles the high price of nostalgia, it also offers an offhand glimpse at one of pop culture’s signature creative teams. It doesn’t take long to spot the differences between the two longtime friends — Parker is clearly the dreamy, creative one; Stone the shrewd whetstone on which he sharpens his ideas. What you may find surprising is the secret sentimentality of guys whose comedy takes such pride in finding nothing sacred. Parker, in particular, betrays a sweetness in his romantic attachment to the innocent pleasures of childhood. He’s also a perfectionist. We see his artistic process, fussing over and tweaking every creative detail of the project.
As their crew desperately races to have everything perfect by opening day — spending even more millions along the way — it becomes clear that Parker and Stone are chasing a ghost or maybe a paradox. The original Casa Bonita was a 1970s inauthentic version of 19th-century Mexico, but to recapture its magic this new version can’t be the same Casa Bonita that Parker remembers so fondly. Just as Indiana Jones’ movies had to use top-drawer talent to emulate cheap, old movie serials, so their restaurant has to meet today’s expectations — tastier food, sharper entertainment — or visitors won’t find it as thrilling as the original. To feel the same, it has to be different.
By the time Casa Bonita finally reopens — there is a happy ending — Parker and Stone have done something that could hardly be more quintessentially American: They’ve spent a fortune to make a copy of a Mexican-themed restaurant that’s actually better than the original.
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