Spring/Summer ‘25 Editorial ”Rapunzel" Pt. 04

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Aeyde Anemoia Ch. 04
  “Rapunzel” by Durga Chew-Bose

Images: Freia Wewer
Words: Durga Chew-Bose
Date: 02.04.2025

This season, we invite guest editor Durga Chew-Bose to reimagine six Grimm Brothers’ tales that inspired the Aeyde SS25 collection. In Chapter 04, Chew-Bose brings “Rapunzel” into contemporary realms, offering a fresh perspective on the traditional storyline. The editorial marks the fourth in a series of commissions exploring German folklore and mythology, rooted in the seasonal concept of “Aeyde Anemoia.”

Listen to "Rapunzel"
By Durga Chew-Bose

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These were the conditions.

An interviewer would be granted the occasion to ask three questions. Not more, not less. Questions could vary in length and focus. All that was asked is that the terms of the artist—the woman with the long hair—be respected: once the questions were answered, the interview would be over. There were no follow-ups.

The room was small, located on the top floor of a narrow building. It was the sort of building that you might only notice if you were someone who remembered to look up at the sky when walking, who was prone to clouds and their movements. It was the sort of building one might call a tower, solitary in its build, mysterious and unexpected. The room had one window. Sometimes, the woman would be seated, other times, standing. Her hair was long and straight, distractingly long and straight. When anyone noted her beauty, they found new ways to describe her hair: a quiet, black stream; a cascading waterfall; a wavelength; like boxed spaghetti; like polished wood floors; like rope before it becomes rope; a horse’s mane, combed and mighty. One interviewer suggested her hair was a curtain—a means for spectacle and surprise. Another felt her hair was the purest fiction, something from a dream, not meant to be looked at or understood. According to this interviewer, her hair served no purpose other than to “heighten”…whatever that meant. What does anything mean in our dreams? One interviewer tried to guess the hair’s length, but this soon proved futile because in choosing to guess, this interviewer spent her three questions without learning a thing. One interviewer couldn’t decide on the words, if the woman’s hair was “sleek” or “fine,” “soft” or “lustrous.” No word belonged. No word was competent enough. Even “satiny” seemed imprecise. “Touchable” was maybe close.

The first interviewer came prepared with three “Yes or No” questions. They were: “Are you happy?”, “Are you lonely?”, “Are you hungry?” Regarding the last question, the woman with long hair answered, “Yes.” But because the conditions were clear—no follow-ups—the interviewer couldn’t address the woman’s hunger. There was no chance of learning what she might be craving. The next interviewer began from the beginning. “Can you recall your first memory?” The woman took a deep breath and answered, telling a story full of indistinct details about an old woman with a peculiar aura. Maybe she had been a neighbor? Sometimes, the old woman would care for her. Sometimes, the old woman would ask her to sing. The memory ended there, vaguely. There might have been a garden and a plant that were forbidden to touch. The interviewer went off course, asking the woman with the long hair, “What is it about first memories that involve elements of danger?” The woman considered how she might answer. She did not fidget. She did not play with her hair. The words arrived without difficulty or effort: “So you are prepared, in life and love, to see things coming.”

The next interviewer seemed nervous. He rattled of three questions without waiting for the answers. The woman’s answers were as follows, feel free to imagine what the questions might have been.

1. An escape plan
2. Moonlight on sleepless nights
2. An element of surprise

The next interview arrived with three questions written on the palm of her hand. “Favorite color?” GOLD. “When do you feel the most beautiful?” WHEN I CAN HIDE BUT BE SEEN. “What comes to mind when you hear the word ‘ease’?” LOVE THAT IS RELEASED FROM OBLIGATION.

The next interviewer arrived out of breath and said nothing until he had caught his breath. This took some time. He stood there, staring at the woman. She waited. It’s hard to explain but the woman’s hair had a soundproofing quality. The room felt like a room inside of a room. A womb room, you know? Even once settled, the interviewer felt no rush to begin. In this room, with this woman, one could take things slow.

The last interviewer asked two questions that seemed ordinary, almost useless. He seemed anxious to arrive at his third question, which was: “May I stay a while?” The woman nodded yes. The interview was over. But her answer claimed the opposite. He had no choice but to leave. As he walked away from the tall building, looking back once, he noticed the woman had draped her hair out the window. She was inviting him back inside without inviting him back inside. She was supplying a signal, communicating with a frequency that was entirely her own.