Lillian Heckler Portfolio

october 2022

Dressed in a white skirt layered over a plaid skirt, a large neon and leopard printed tee shirt layered over a collared shirt, and multiple cross necklaces, Kacey Rebstock huffed quietly at her reflection in the mirror. “This is too normal,” she cried, followed by a high-pitched squeal, much like a dog in heat. Rebstock turned back toward her closet, mumbling at no one in particular, and loudly rummaged through her belongings. 

In Kacey Rebstock’s world, “normal” is a derogatory term. Standing at five foot two, she constantly aims to create outfits that increase the space she takes up in the world. Her hair, curly and shoulder-length, is a combination of copper and brown. She has small ears and a small mouth and a small nose. She is bug-eyed with a tendency to press her lips together. She speaks with a Valley Girl accent, though she is originally from Northern California–“The San Francisco Bay Area,” as she specifically calls it. Her vocabulary bounces variably between eloquent statements, words like “poppy choccy” (hot chocolate) or “bean-a-dilla” (quesadilla with beans), and song lyrics. An eighteen-year-old fashion design student at Parsons, Kacey Rebstock eagerly awaits a future dripping with success.

Next to her flamboyant clothing, Rebstock’s bedroom decorations are sparse and bland. Her bedsheets are gray, her bedspread is gray, and her pillows are gray. The only colors that break the monotony of her bedding are red, yellow, and brown, which come from a Woodstock-printed blanket and a Rilakkuma stuffed animal. “Unzip his back,” she demanded, her fingernails picking at her cheek as she leaned off of her desk chair, “there’s somethin’ in there.” Nestled inside was a note from her younger sister, we love you so much, which Kacey explained bittersweetly. “She gave it to me when I moved out at sixteen.”

Kacey Rebstock was born in the one-stoplight town of Rio Vista, California, where she lived for five years before the bank foreclosed on her parent’s house. From there she moved three times, though she eventually returned to her hometown to complete her high school education. Now living in New York City, she revels in the time that she spends in her own bed. She found her home here and refuses to give it up, stating that it is “Parsons or nothing.” Her determination forces her to ignore the aspects of her life that she dislikes because she refuses to settle for less than what she deserves. Her current situation was her childhood dream, but it is not the end of what she is capable of.

After returning home from a busy day, Rebstock bit decisively into an unwashed cucumber. She placed the fruit onto her bedsheets to free her hands and hoisted herself onto her bed. With the shuffling of her bedding, though, the cucumber slid to the ground with a satisfying plunk. Kacey Rebstock searched her room for it, but the cucumber seemed to have vanished into thin air. She stood with her hands in her hair, bewildered, and explained: “It disappeared! The little time guys moved it! They got embarrassed because they messed up the timelines, so they hid it, and now I have no snack!” 

Kacey Rebstock frequently flirts with the idea of spirituality, citing various family members as significant figures in her spiritual journey. Her aunt, who Rebstock lived with during high school, instilled many of these beliefs in her. “She feels like she’s removed from Earth… like she’s sitting on a cloud and is observing Earth from above,” she fondly said of her aunt. “She feels like my spirit guide.” Kacey Rebstock believes that granting meaning to the average is the key to living a life that will be significant because “if this is not special, what is?”

Romantic love, to Rebstock, is transactional. Her tumultuous relationship with her late father enforced a need to prove herself to men, which has since clouded her view on relationships. She suspects the worst in male intentions and struggles to walk the tightrope that separates guarded and cold. Rebstock, then, finds herself interested in men that aren’t interested in women at all–the softer side of masculinity intrigues her. She avoids exploring her sexual and romantic identity because she fears the things she cannot assign answers to. 

Platonic love, however, is pure in Kacey Rebstock’s mind. Within my first few weeks of living with Rebstock, I quickly discovered that she prefers close companionship over a large group of acquaintances. We walked around and talked about nothing, giggling like the young girls we never let ourselves be. She immediately taught me that a friendship with her is much like her personality itself: a deeply spiritual experience. “When I look at Kacey I see, oh God, I see Kacey,” Amelia Barkett, a schoolmate of Rebstock’s, explains. “When I see Kacey, I see religion.”