bianca betancourt

a little peek at my FIRST print cover story on singer-songwriter DIJON for brick magazine — I had no idea this was going to be the cover when I was writing it and I’ll never forget seeing it pop up on Instagram while I was walking around downtown NYC away on a weekend trip. it was a feeling I still can’t really describe, but I can say I’m beyond grateful. 

photos by lindsay ellary 

styling by jordan boothe 

production by the quadri group

did I mention 003 was a double header? we also shot artist ALEIA for CIRCUS’ third print installment — she and Liz are besties IRL which made this dual feature all the more special. cover story to be released online soon but until then, you can purchase your copy here. xoxo.

photos by ashley armitage

styling by nina kristine

hair and makeup by  leatrice lloyd

being able to interview the *incredible* photographer + artist Elizabeth De La Piedra for CIRCUS’s third print issue was an absolute dream. we’ll be releasing the cover story online soon, but until then you can order your physical copy online here <3  photos by alexa viscius

makeup by jessica monzalvo

hair by jana marie hoeller

styling by cloe doherty 

[ photo by Liz Fang, styling by Laura Gordon, makeup by Mollie Gloss, hair by Jana-Marie Hoeller + cover design by Cristobal David Mora ]

It’s been almost a year since I last updated the site, but I promise you I didn’t abandon it for nothing. 

2017 for me was a year of immense growth—and I only survived it because of the tight knit circle I kept around me for the entirety of it. Whether it was friends or fellow creative collaborators, their belief in me and my work and CIRCUS was the sole motivation that kept me going when often times I just wanted to stop. 

Somehow within that blur of a year, we finished up the second print issue, which is currently just waiting for the go-ahead to be printed. Somehow, we completely topped Issue 001 in every way imaginable—in design, in photography, in writing—in everything. 

Jean Deaux was the perfect cover girl to celebrate an issue full of women climbing the ranks through a tight knit Chicago music industry—she’s a musician that’s completely self made, self managed, and carving her own niche and genre through an industry that always wants to define its female artists. 

Alongside Deaux, we have honest and uncensored features on some of CIRCUS’ favorite women artists, including Tatiana Hazel, MAZ, Fee Lion, DJ King Marie and more. 

Below, I’m sharing a few of my favorite behind the scenes shots from our cover shoot day, captured by my dear friend, photographer Desiree Jones, and shot at the CIRCUS studio space in Pilsen, Chicago. 

photos by Liz Fang, styling by Hannah Black, makeup by Jessica Monzalvo, hair by Jana-Marie Hoeller

I’m someone who has always hated change. 

I don’t trust it. 

Change always brings a fresh set of eyes however—a chance for a new vision, a new dream—and that aspect of it all is exciting. 

For my birthday last month, I put together a team of some of my favorite creative ladies in Chicago, and in shorter terms—dear friends—for a little photo shoot to help me bring in 23 and remind myself that change means opportunity and that opportunity is bigger than anything we can hope to obtain or control. 

I was inspired by pop culture figures who in the past have represented evolution—women like Mariah Carey, Courtney Love, The Spice Girls, Madonna—and wanted to become different characters of myself through fashion and makeup. 

I basically was playing dress up—hoping to express the different sides of me that I don’t always show—that not everyone gets the chance to know. 

[DTLA / 2.25.17]

No matter how much easier every day gets, I still catch myself repeating the same motions throughout my typical 24 hour cycle—biting my lip in order to stop it from quivering, closing my eyes, and exhaling deeply—usually in that order.

My saving grace has been my work—more so than friends, family, or pointless distractions. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel of my waitressing days, my writing has become less frequent but more meaningful, and I’ve finally come into my own in terms of what I want to do with my life. After every project, every venture, I have more and more of my peers come up to me to tell me that my work and what I’m doing is needed and necessary—I’ve been knighted this responsibility of bringing people up and together—and I’m honored. The high usually only lasts until I lay my head on my pillow to go to bed, however.

Saturday I was shaking hands and taking business cards and people clear across the country whom I had never met before—but somehow they knew me—made sure to introduce themselves. I brought together women from all over who were telling me they were moved by the work I curated, amazed I did it all myself—and all I could think about every ten minutes was about how he didn’t call, didn’t wish me good luck, not even a text—an email—hating myself and my lack of emotional strength every time I let my mind slip.

And why should he have? I dug myself into a situation that my teary eyed apologies, a hand hold and a doomed promise of “I won’t mess up again” couldn’t fix. The combination of too many Redbull cocktails, not enough soda water in-between and my own heart that I was attempting to fool cost me the only person who knew me better than myself. The only person who really knew me at all. I forfeit a tried and true friendship because I was hurt—rightfully so—but so hurt I couldn’t see the consequences of my words and actions as they catapulted out of me.

Why is it only in our moments of solitude, we can think clearly? Why is it only then, we can admit what we can never say out loud?

I’m thankful I’m not like a lot of people that I know—I know what I’m working towards in my life and I know exactly how I’m going to achieve it. I understand the concept of time and how it can’t be wasted under any circumstances because all we have is now and now is all we have in order to build a future that turns into a comfortable and enriching present.

It’s why I won’t sleep around no matter how much it’s suggested—I tried it once and it was fun for five minutes until that five minutes turned into an hour of my mind wandering and wishing I hadn’t invited this dude over. I can’t look at pictures of The Weeknd or Lenny Kravitz anymore because this random was such a wannabe hybrid of the two. When he had the nerve to compliment me and tell me how sexy I was afterwards (I know, he was just trying to be nice) I just laughed and picked up my phone to call him an uber home. I should have made him pay for it, but I did whatever I could to get him out the fastest. There was no point in me wasting any more of his or my time. If it pains me to listen to you talk for an hour, trust that I don’t want you in my bed.

I felt guilty for a month (the month he continued to ask me to hang out again almost daily) because I knew he genuinely liked me, and I gave him false hope if even for just a night. It’s why I said what I said and did what I did that night—even though I regret it immensely—because you told me it all meant nothing and I believed you—but I was so disappointed to see you still consciously wasting your time instead of building yourself up into the man I know you could be—with or without me.

Every day simply feels like I’m slowly but surely drowning in a pool of indifference. My career is finally flourishing after two years post-grad, but I’m terrified that I can only have success or love and never both. I don’t want someone comfortable with riding my coattails and simultaneously thus far I’ve only loved men who think they can’t offer me enough—leaving me dumbfounded when all I ever asked for was love, respect and support in return. I keep saying that I’m going to lock my heart away for a while—no matter who comes along, no matter how charming, no matter how convincing. I’m trying so hard to be this cold-hearted, no nonsense bitch that I know so deeply that I am anything but.

It’s why I dyed my black hair blonde and cleaned out half my closet and bought new shoes and forced myself to be okay when I wasn’t—for months I’ve wanted to erase who I worked so hard to become because I hated admitting I never would have grown into myself without growing alongside you.

Everyone that matters—a whopping handful of 4 or so people—say it’s all going to be fine. Deep down, I believe it too. But don’t confuse a hope for making things right as me waiting.

I wait for no one.

So until I wake up after the limbo of today that turns into the eventual of tomorrow—I’ll work—I’ll write, and read and edit and produce and curate and create because with this slowly silencing pain has come a new outlook and vision for what I want to put out into the world.

—photo by Felton Kizer, styling by Sal Yvat, Makeup and Hair by Paloma Alcantar, Cover Design by Javier Suarez

It still seems like a dream, but it was only a few months ago that I went out to Los Angeles to produce the shoot for CIRCUS’ first cover story. It was so hard for me to keep under wraps that Ilse Valfre, easily the modern artist of the moment, agreed to be our very first cover star.

Ilse was humble, sweet and so, so gracious and it was an honor to write a story about a young creative (and feminist! and mother!) who not just worked endlessly to gain notoriety but changed the game of how to be a modern artist in a social media and money driven world.

You can read the cover story by purchasing Issue 001 of CIRCUS, but I did want to give a secret tidbit to our readers about the symbolism behind the cover image.

Ilse herself hails from Tijuana, Mexico and in midst of getting ready for the shoot she and our makeup artist Paloma, bonded over the fact they had family in the same small town close to the border. Earlier in the week I was panicking over finding a makeup artist since our previously booked one had cancelled (why does that always happen!?) and when I discovered Paloma’s work and we were working our scheduling we too realized we both grew up in Arizona, only about 30 minutes away from the other. 

It was a beautifully random connection of brown girls from all over coming together to each do what they love to do—and I wanted to symbolize that in the photo shoot. When we were shooting the last look I noticed Ilse had a family of potted cacti and succulents perched on her patio and I INSISTED (ie: demanded) that we incorporate a cactus in one of the shots. 

A cactus, for any girl from the Southwest (north or south of the border) is a symbol of home—the homes we grew up in, the homes our parents left to give us a better life, and with the convenience and popularities of potted plants and succulents—that home will continue to be wherever we make it and our heritage will never be left behind.

Even though I don’t think children are in the cards for me, I’ve always had this vision of a hypothetical daughter of mine. Even if she never becomes a reality, the concept of her is what keeps me alive and going—she would love movies and reading, probably wouldn’t like Britney Spears as much as me, and would be so, so smart. Her hair—doomed to be curly—I would never straighten and I would make sure she loved every bit of herself and knew she was beautiful and knew she was powerful—and that whatever she wants could be hers.

I wanted tonight to play out differently not for me, but for her. Because when I stare at a television screen full of wrinkled, white men talking about taking back our country and returning to our roots, all I can think about is how my “daughter”—meaning this next generation of women—are still going to have to endure endless shit about their bodies and their sexuality and their thoughts and their minds and being hushed and being ignored and until this final stretch of baby boomers finally die out—will never be taken seriously.

I had good training growing up. I spoke proper English and my hair straightened like a white girl’s and I was well read and I passed. I passed the test of an acceptable negro, a tolerable Latino—I was considered by societal standards “pretty” because I was half of each—and not a drop more. When I finally let go of society’s standards—of what I should look like and what I should be—I slowly started to find myself. But with finding myself came becoming more aware of the injustice, indifference and unfairness of how the majority look at minorities like me.

I was ready for ceilings to shatter. I was ready to scream and cry and pop champagne and walk out in the world tomorrow ready to toast to a Madame President—to finally, a new era of hope for change.

But this isn’t the time to cry. This isn’t even the time to mourn. It’s a reminder that it’s time to unapologetically be ourselves—as women, as minorities, as artists and as dreamers. We haven’t come this far just to go back, now.

I’ve been obsessed with city living for as long as I can remember. My most vidid memories as a child were always sitting in the backseat of the car with my forehead rested upon the glass window watching cars race by, following the seemingly endless road to wherever we were going—usually picking my father up from work or visiting my grandmother’s house—and being in awe of the skyline of skyscrapers that welcomed us to the city boundaries each and every time. They were always the same, but never any less exciting to see. 

But I would always have to go home by the end of it all—to a very warm, very safe, but to me always boring suburban environment where no one ever seemed to find interest in the same things I did. I knew as I grew older that the minute I had the freedom of adulthood, I would move to the city. Any city. Anywhere where illuminated building windows and flashing taxi lights substituted for stars was fine with me. 

Fast forward four years and I’ve been a city citizen for four years now. In between staying in Chicago I’ve scheduled a many weekend trips to New York—whenever I’m in need of something “even bigger” and greater to emotionally swallow. In a little over a month I’ll be flying to Los Angeles to work on CIRCUS’ cover editorial. Just last week I returned from a week long vacation in Detroit and Toronto—where I started thinking.

Do artists need the city?  

As the concepts of self care, mental health awareness and body preservation become more pertinent in creatives’ daily routines so does the idea of a break from the fast paced environments’ city life provides. I’m a serious suburb basher, I’m not afraid to admit, but lately I’ve made more trips outside of the city in order to clear my head and be able to breathe a little bit easier. I think about the possibility of having children and knowing that what’s okay for me in my twenties isn’t okay whilst having a toddler. But I also know I never want my child or any youth near and dear to me to grow up in an environment where they feel like an anomaly. 

Sometimes I’m inspired by what’s not there instead of what is. Sometimes I ache for the smell of cut grass and robins versus pigeons. But then likewise, I need my favorite bartender within a three block distance and Whole Foods can substitute for the farmer’s market. 

At the end of the day I think it all is just an ache for diversity—not in pockets across the world, but anywhere we go. Where there’s no need for a safe space but rather the world can be just that—safe and for all. 

—above, Esperanza Rosas, AKA Runsy for CIRCUS Magazine’s spring cover/ photo by Anthony Trevino—

The best part about editing CIRCUS, my digital publication, for the past three years is having the personal power to showcase artists and creatives I truly believe in. At the beginning of 2016 we started doing digital covers (since we’re constantly inspired by indie and classic print publications) for our big feature stories. This spring we profiled Chicago artist and badass Mexicana, Runsy. You can read that profile here. 

As much as I’ve loved the freedom that the digital sphere has allowed me in creating and curating CIRCUS, my main goal has always been to create a physical, print issue. The work we’ve been able to publish at the very least, deserves to live on paper. That along with the fact I’ve never wanted CIRCUS to be a Refinery29 or a Buzzfeed (with much respect to those crazy successful companies!) in the fact we’re producing quick, breaking news focused stories. I’m immensely proud of the fact that every single story we’ve published has no expiration date for it’s relevancy—it’s a true testament to my belief in real, emotionally focused storytelling. 

With that being said, I’m excited to share that this summer will commence the planning and preparation of CIRCUS’ first print issue, tentatively scheduled to be released Fall 2016. 

I’m excited. I’m scared. I have very little idea of what I’m getting myself into. This is something that almost every person close to me or CIRCUS has advised against—the high costs, the difficult intricacies of printing, the fact everyone thinks print is dead and most of all—what if no one buys it? (Our 10K and growing monthly readership makes me think differently however.)

Even though I’m emotionally and financially investing myself into this sure to be eyeopening process and I absolutely believe in the success of this brand I’ve built—at the end of the day this isn’t about making money. It’s about bringing the project I started at 19 to it’s fullest potential. It’s about the art. 

[photo by Jassie UO]

I rang in turning 22 at a famous gay bar in town singing and dancing along to Britney Spears with friends while a confetti bomb decorated the dance floor. I couldn’t have asked for anything more appropriate. 

One of my friends asked me the infamous question everyone gets once the clock strikes midnight on their birthday: “How does it feel?” 

I didn’t quite have the words that explained what it felt like. But later on I realized I felt relieved.

I spent the majority of 21 proving myself: bringing myself into spaces many felt I didn’t deserve to be in and staying my ground even when I could barely stand. 

22 will be a year of movement—specifically moving forward. The last few months have consisted of me slowly exiting my safety zone of a comfortable, predictable life. I’m ready to take the next step in all aspects of my life: my writing, my career, and my relationships—with others and myself.

(image above via Anna Remarchuk) 

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I wanted to start off this post by saying Meghan Trainor is problematic...but that’s not true. She’s not problematic, but the way mainstream media is categorizing her sound and music is. Having a soulful voice doesn’t automatically qualify one to be labeled as an R&B artist. Regardless of what category anyone thinks she belongs in, her honest and insightful songwriting is what makes her stand out right now.

As much as this song echoes every early millennial track from 15 years ago (and the video is giving me serious Jessica Simpson vibes) the lyrics are so important. When a woman is given unwanted attention, Meghan’s excuse isn’t “Oh sorry I’m with someone,” or “My boyfriend will be mad,”—the answer is simply no. Something that so many women (for rightful reasons) are so scared to simply say. 

I just recently joined the podcasts bandwagon and only because everyone around me couldn’t shut up about how great such and such podcast they started listening to and how each one was “so amazing.” 

To be fair, I listened to a lot of podcasts that just simply weren’t my cup of tea—ones that dealt with business and finances and politics and the such which are all super important but not what I want to listen to while making a late breakfast every morning. 

Instead I prefer something light that takes just enough of my attention to be intrigued but not enough that I forgot about the scones I was baking simultaneously. A few of my favorites are listed below: 

-For Colored Nerds

-Women of the Hour

-Radio Cherry Bombe

-Bon Apetit’s Podcast