How America's girls want you to see them

The Belgian photographer and filmmaker Eva Verbeeck credits the shaping of her adolescent years to two singular pop culture supernovas: singers Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears. "Especially Britney," Verbeeck shared on a recent video call. "She really had this lore around her of the 'American girl.'" Like many women whose formative years coincided with the late '90s and early '00s –– and for those who a US cultural influence was tangible mostly via traditional media like film and TV, music videos and magazines –– teen pop idols were an obvious entry point for establishing what girlhood looked like Stateside.

Growing up in Tessenderlo, a small farming town about 44 miles outside of Brussels, Verbeeck's early references were pulled largely from glossy publications like Vanity Fair, Vogue and Elle, acquired at her local bookstore: she would pore over their pages before ripping out the best ones to stick on her bedroom wall. "The US is a huge export of pop culture and the mythology around it, and visually that was the start of being really excited about America," she said. "Later I was consuming American TV shows about high schoolers, which was fascinating because it was so far from my own world at the time. The whole thing became this kind of escape."

Two decades on, this relationship with the country's culture and aesthetics, and her notion of an imagined 'American Girl,' would inform a six-year project that saw Verbeeck photograph 400 young women and girls aged between six and 18 across 28 US states. Titled "America's Girls, On the Edge of a Dream," the series is released this month as a monograph by GOST Books, with accompanying exhibitions taking place at Cultuurcentrum De Factorij in Belgium and the Savannah Center for Photography in Georgia, in the US.

In 2018, when Verbeeck initiated the project, she had been living in America for several years and was working as a photojournalist; her job typically involved short term, fast paced assignments in the political arena. "America's Girls" was an opportunity to lean into a more intimate, personal practice where she could explore gender and identity, as well as reflect on the concept of girlhood while challenging the narrative she had observed in her own adolescence. Moreover, the portrait series allowed Verbeeck to engage directly with the contemporary experiences of young women and girls living in America.

"I remember taking the first photo and thinking how perfect it was'" said Verbeeck, recalling the moment she photographed 11-year-old Jazmine, a cheerleader with the Savannah Sharks (now based between Brussels and Amsterdam, the photographer was living in Georgia at the time). "In this cheerleading school with sequins everywhere – teenage me could not even imagine." In the portrait, which subsequently became the book's cover, Jazmine's eyelids are painted blue to match the accents of her Sharks uniform, and she cautiously holds the camera's gaze. Her youth is obvious, undoing the unattainable, often heavily sexualized image of cheerleaders immortalized on screen throughout Verbeeck's teens, then typically portrayed by adult women.

Working with a large format camera that dictated the pace of each shoot, Verbeeck introduced herself to potential sitters with open calls to schools, clubs, youth groups and local organizers. Adamant that in each instance the girl should genuinely want to partake –– and the series not be shaped by her own eye –– she rejected street casting, furthermore inviting teens and pre-teens to have their portrait taken with an object or article of clothing tied to their character. Beyond cheerleaders, she photographed members of marching bands, various sports teams, and local girl scouts, while other participants chose to be pictured with pets, wearing a favorite item of clothing, or simply beside their best friend. One girl brought her new bike, received just the day before, another turned up with some rocks.

"It's very different from how we've perceived women in art, or how we've been depicted throughout history, when women were either going to be married off or they were a muse or daughter of nobility," said the photographer, relaying the significance of the props and the agency embedded in the outfits. "Traditionally their names were never mentioned and they wouldn't have chosen what they were wearing –– it was forced, or the artist made it up. Trying to change that narrative, saying 'I care about how you want to be seen,' was important, and eventually it became an important piece of the puzzle."

Speaking to the girls at length, learning about their interests and the way they view themselves, Verbeeck found that conversation was paramount. And while the participants were intrigued by her camera, the photographs themselves were often secondary. "This generation has been photographed a lot, they have a lot of photos of themselves, and a lot of photos of themselves they like," she explained, referencing the way camera phones and social media have made making and distributing images commonplace. "But because young women often aren't taken seriously, me as an adult being genuinely curious became this beautiful interaction. Mostly the girls just wanted you to listen to their opinions."

"They feel a lot of responsibility," she continued, reflecting on the abundance of 24-hour news made accessible via platforms like Instagram and TikTok. "I heard a lot of girls talk about being scared of climate change or war. There's so much information coming at that generation, it's very different from when I grew up." While the conversations themselves are not included in "America's Girls" –– nor are the subjects' locations provided alongside their name and age –– they inevitably shaped the work, establishing trust between the photographer and the participants, that in turn created the central thread of Verbeeck's warm approach. "There is a lot of power in giving deliberate and direct attention to young women, and a real need within their community to be seen, which is what this project is about."