On September 6, New York City’s creative underground showed out for The twentynine Experience, a one-night transformation of Fridman Gallery that blurred nostalgia with next-gen experimentation. The showcase marked the launch of the twentynine zine by digital artist Maya Man (@mayaontheinternet) and designer Isabella Lalonde (@BeepyBella), reimagining the glossy fashion magazines of the early 2000s with a technological twist. What might have been a stack of Seventeen or Teen Vogue unfolded instead as an immersive installation where zine culture, technology and performance collapsed into a single surreal spectacle. It felt like stepping into the glossy chaos of early-2000s fashion magazines, only refracted through AI glitches, plush sculptures and the imaginations of two artists unafraid to poke at beauty standards.
By day, Fridman felt more like a working studio. Artists, stylists, photographers, editors, students and downtown regulars filled the space, snapping photos in front of zine spreads, trading ideas in corners and feeding prompts into the Lenovo Yoga 9i 2-in-1 Aura Edition, imagined with Intel. The device became a portal to remix Man and Lalonde’s likenesses in real time, while a large LED screen cycled fresh generations as they appeared. At the entrance, a vignette of plush sculptures—stitched from deadstock fabric and developed through a partnership between AI and the artist’s archives—set a surreal tone.
Man and Lalonde even moved through the room offering quick prompt tips, laughing at the wildest results—think outer space cameos or dollhouse interiors. The daytime vibe skewed collaborative, and more than a few guests left with signed copies of twentynine. It was equal parts art show, party and experiment—a reminder that technology doesn’t have to sanitize culture; it can amplify its messiness.
A conversation with Hypeart editor Erin Ikeuchi dug into the duo’s process: how imperfections became the point, how humor and distortion can undercut impossible beauty ideals, and why AI is a collaborator rather than a replacement. “Many of humanity’s most significant inventions have come from mistakes,” she noted. “That’s why I’m curious to see how AI will evolve through the unexpected, even beautiful errors it produces.”
Two takeaways defined the night. Maya Man framed AI as a tool of confrontation—not a shortcut—training on her own face and embracing distortions to expose bias and the pressure of self-image. “Because of how they’re trained, generative AI models act like a distorted reflection of the world as it already is,” she said. “For me, it was compelling to use that technology to recreate a style of imagery I’ve been surrounded by my whole life: advertising.”
The work leaned into the friction of collaboration across online and offline: Man’s prompts, models and screens running up against Isabella Lalonde’s fabric, bodies and installation. That push-pull widened the project’s scope; Lalonde’s embrace of AI’s “beautiful mistakes” sharpened it. Even the hiccups—technical or aesthetic—worked like engines, stress-testing where identity and beauty actually get made.
Beneath the spectacle was a philosophical argument: beauty, identity and media are not stable truths but performances, constantly rewritten by culture and technology. By treating AI as both collaborator and foil, Man and Lalonde laid bare the artifice of perfection. Their exhibition was not a rejection of technology but an insistence that artists must meet it on their own terms, reclaiming agency in the face of rapid change. In twentynine, nostalgia became critique and fashion’s gloss turned into a mirror reflecting our own digital anxieties.
Print became an immersive portal as twentynine magazine and The twentynine Experience turned Lenovo and Intel’s Make Space platform—built to champion young creatives by giving them tools, networks, and freedom—into a living lab. The night underscored a bigger truth: creativity is always evolving and technology should evolve with it. In a moment when AI can feel threatening, twentynine flipped the script, showing how play, critique and collaboration can open new possibilities.
Ultimately, twentynine was about interconnectivity, not just images on a wall. Creative minds packed the space, with first-time collaborators trading prompts in a gallery that felt more like a house party. If the early 2000s sold perfection, twentynine—the magazine—and The twentynine Experience made the case for creative mess: humor, critique, and collaboration sharing the same frame, and a reminder that the future is more interesting when it’s cracked open.
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