Beyond the Flags: Come As You Are

INNER COVER PHOTOGRAPHY BY NABRAYAH JONES

COVER PHOTOGRAPHY OF CALEB, COURTESY OF CONVERSE

Table of of contents contents Table

07 08 10 12 14 16 19

ANUSHKA JOSHI

Letter from the Editor ANUSHKA JOSHI

The It Gets Better Project AI-QUYNH BUI

You, Me, and Us to Come ROSE TABLIZO

Coming Out in the Car GIA PARR

Beyond the Flags LUCAS M. KERNAN

No One Ever Really Discloses (Just Once) VICTORIA FRANK

You Are Not Alone

20 22 26 30 32 38

ELLA YURMAN

Same Old Me

BRANDON TAM

Home-Ophobia

ANNIE NGUYEN

Sexpectations

NABRAYAH JONES

Forced Out ANUSHKA JOSHI

A Conversation with Evann McIntosh ANUSHKA JOSHI

Converse: Pride 365

Beyond the Flags Come as You Are

Editorial Team

Anushka Joshi Madison Ledger Nicole Klein Aimee Pham Morgan Grimm

Editor in Chief Creative Director Designer Copy Editor Copy Editor

Contributors

Ai-Quynh Bui Annie Nguyen Brandon Tam Dillon Bernard Ella Yurman Gia Parr Lucas Kernan NaBrayah Jones Rose Tablizo Victoria Frank Special CONVERSATIONS

Justin Tindall Alejandro Isabella Evann McIntosh Reach us

www.GEN-ZiNE.com @thegenzine thegenzine@gmail.com Made Possible by Converse

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR To Our Readers, Welcome to “Beyond the Flags: Come As You Are”. While we’re celebrating LGBTQIA experiences and issues, and having this conversation around National Coming Out Day, we’re taking a different approach to what the traditional connotation of “Coming Out” holds. The idea of beyond the flags and come as you are, is that we are more than our sexual and gender identities. Beyond the flags, we are people with interests and passions that go beyond our sexuality, just like everyone else. And if you identify as something other than a cisgender, heterosexual person, you are entitled to the same experiences that anyone else is and you don’t need to be seen just for how you identify in this world.

As this is the first zine we’re making since the founding GEN-ZiNE team graduated college, this issue is an exciting next step of creating and having conversations that go beneath the surface. We welcomed old and new faces into this issue, all while continuing the journey we started as students. As a student, we were lucky enough for these conversations to be our purpose – to learn, to share, to create, to reflect.

Upon graduating and entering the “real world” I realized that spaces like this one are far and few between. Creating this issue during this time reinforced the why behind GEN-ZiNE. Why do we do what we do? We do it because we’re craving authentic human connection. We do it because we want to talk about what matters to us. And we want to do it on a personal and human level. We want to talk about complex issues as they manifest in our day to day life. In this issue we discuss our pride for who we are and how that shows up in our day to day relationships, our journey with coming to terms with our identity, and a reminder that it is an ever evolving journey for identity.

From our contributors to this issue, I have learned so much about self possession and being comfortable in your own skin. We can all take notes from the authors who have been so generous and open with sharing their experiences with us. I hope we all find power in sharing and hearing each other’s stories. So thank you to our authors for being so vulnerable with us–I am so moved by the words that you have shared with us.

You will laugh and you will cry as you listen to what the authors could have told their younger selves, their stories of coming out, and who they are beyond the flags.

This issue was made possible thanks to Converse’s support. We are grateful for their support as we uplift, empower, and amplify queer experiences.

Standing behind youth voices represents the possibility of intergenerational collaboration, working together to walk towards a better day, and the chance to rewrite the future.

With love,

Anushka Joshi Editor in Chief

It Gets Bet What do you wish your younger self would have known?

That It Gets Better

BY ANUSHKA JOSHI (SHE/HER) The It Gets Better projects is a nonprofit organization whose mission is to uplift, empower, and connect LGBTQIA youth around the world through storytelling.

Resources are put towards getting stories out and onto the screens of children to build connection, an education program that helps take some of the best queer stories into classrooms, and their global program to empower a variety of communities to communicate across 20 countries. Since their partnership began in 2017, Converse has invested more than $518K into the It Gets Better Project. This support has afforded the organization the ability to expand its reach and amplify the impact of its mission to uplift, empower, and connect LGBTQIA youth around the globe.

closet. I can’t keep living this lie anymore to myself, or to the people that I love most in the world’. So that video was the catalyst of me deciding to pave a different path for my life.”

That moment for Justin brought him to work for the organization that he says saved his life––and now he works to continue to provide that experience for others, like 17 year old Alejandro Isabella.

I got the chance to speak with Justin Tindall (he/they), the Director of Programs and Operations, as well as Alejandro Isabella (he/she), a youth voice, to hear about the impact IGBP has had on their respective journeys.

IGBP began in 2010, born out of viral video campaigns on YouTube. As Justin stumbled upon some of the content after college, he recognized how important the videos were for queer people but had yet to give space to his personal connection to the messaging. Fast forward to 2012, and he comes across content from IGBP again. However, this time the video truly mirrored his experiences: “I was on the internet one day, and I stumbled across a new It Gets Better video that was made by students at my former University. I grew up Mormon and attended BYU, which is a Mormon University. It’s a very conservative and very strict community. And that video, in contrast to the previous ones, broke me. It took seeing young people who knew my story. They grew up in communities like mine, they grew up in families like mine, they knew what it was like to be a queer Mormon kid. And knowing all of that, they still had the bravery and the courage to come out and put their story out there in an effort to support other queer people in the world. It took seeing myself reflected, for that light switch to turn and say, ‘This is definitely me.

I am part of this community. And I can’t keep living in the

Alejandro Isabella is a force if I’ve ever met one. Her journey of coming out started when she was in 6th grade, and is ever-evolving. It is filled with love, liberation, exploration, and joy. He’s experimented with labels such as lesbian to queer to bisexual, and has allowed his gender identity to

tter Project ebb and flow. The point is not in the semantics of labels – it is in the constant evolution and revolution of self.

She credits the beautiful space and welcoming atmosphere to being able to express herself in ways that she chooses to–much of which her own energy is responsible for creating, but is expanded by communities like the IGBP. Though he has fluctuated between masculine and feminine energy throughout the years, joining the IGBP Class of 2021 was the first time she felt allowed to resonate with both genders, identify as genderqueer, and introduce himself as Alejandro Isabella.

Though she carries herself with a self possession that is hard to come by, Alejandro Isabella admits that the journey has not always reflected the confidence she holds today: “I would truly tell people to hold onto the ‘it gets better’ mindset. I almost feel hypocritical because there was a point in my life where I was like ‘This is so frustrating. I feel like I’m never gonna find a label that’s gonna resonate with me’.

But I still did. You’re gonna find a label for yourself. You just take your time. So often it’s like it’s so normalized, to find a label for yourself and stay with it for the rest of your life. And I feel like I’m living proof that that’s not how you have to do it. You can go at whatever pace you want, whatever label you want, make up a new label just for yourself! Like, who’s gonna stop you? I try so hard to stress that it’s okay if you don’t have a label now. Since seventh grade I’ve been experimenting with my gender, but I didn’t know what gender queer meant until three months ago. There’s so many labels and there’s so many beautiful identities. It’s yours, it’s not how other people perceive you.”

Through her first year working with the IGBP, she’s had the platform to self reflect outloud and share a story that resonates with and helps so many others. It was an honor to witness her spread their message and joy, and get to know them for who she is. Her sense of security in the unknown is bound to inspire others.

About IGBP: Beyond a platform for storytelling, the It Gets Better Project i s a holistic organization that follows the young queer identity journey. They aim t o hop into the journey at the beginning of the questioning journey, and serve as a preventative measure to provide support from the beginning.

Whether kids need direct services such as housing, a therapist, counseling, clothing, hormone replacement therapy o r more, IGBP has robust resources. During the summer of 2020, they launched an ambassador program to give the microphone and stage t o youth so they can speak to each other and share their stories. I t Gets Better provides the means for them t o talk t o each other, connect, share, and strengthen one another.

Stay tuned fo r…. ÒWriting Our Own DictionaryÓ i s a new web series that takes a deep dive into the vast LGBTQ+ glossary o f terms. I n this four-episode series, hear first-hand from LGBTQ+ people about what their v arious labels and identities mean to them in their everyday lives. The first episode drops Weds, Oct 6 on www.itgetsbetter.org with new episodes every Wednesday in October.

The I t Gets Better Project i s partnering with Converse throughout the month of October for a series o n TikTok called ÒMoments i n Our History.Ó Incorporating LGBTQ+ influencers, participants share the most impactful/surprising/important moments and figures that stick out to them in LGBTQ+ history for National Coming Out Day and LGBT History Month o n TikTok. Check the I t Gets Better Project TikTok channel and search the hashtags #NCOD #LGBTQHistoryMonth

LISTEN TO THE FULL CONVERSATION ON THE POD

You, Me, Me, & & You, US TO Come:

BY AI-QUYNH BUI (SHE/HER) You’ve always been self-assured. I’ve always known that.

I remember the high you had when you realized your attraction wasn’t exclusively for boys. Walk me through that. Show me again. Remind me what it felt like to suddenly come into yourself like that.

You’re only 12, about six years younger than I am, and I remember that when you discovered your sexuality, you didn’t question it. You didn’t run away, scared or confused. It just made sense and you didn’t give it a second thought. That’s the you, the me, I’ve always known and often loved.

While you’ve always been reasonably self-assured, it still wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to question if you actually were correct, lest you were just cocky. But this time around, you know you’re not cocky. It’s admirable for you to know what you know as well as you do.

You don’t know this right now, but I can attest that your sexuality will become a cornerstone for relationships and emotions to come, with boys or otherwise. It’ll teach you lessons about not just your romantic and sexual orientations, but your sexuality itself. Lessons with one of your future girlfriends and our now-ex. Lessons with one of your future boyfriends and my now-ex. Lessons

with the guy before the latter, whom we never really dated, but still allowed to get close to us and expose new insecurities. They’re all things we learned with and from other people, but at the end of the day, they’re all lessons about yourself.

I love that with knowing who you are comes identificatory peace of mind, but I hate to say it will also give you pain. I dislike being the bearer of bad news, but I personally think the worst part of it all is that you won’t be surprised, knowing that the LGBTQ+ community faces backlash. You will lose your best friend because she won’t be accepting of your sexuality. You will have friends who, despite not having malicious intent, will out you to others, causing you embarrassment and discomfort. And of course, you will face the classic instance of getting called slurs, but this time not about your race. So you know, the (unfortunate) usual. I saw that you didn’t prepare yourself for these things, and I can’t blame you for not having done so. You didn’t know. You felt safe. Of course I couldn’t have done anything to help you with that, but I know it would’ve been nice if I could’ve.

I wish I could save you from what I’ve seen, but you’ll have to see for yourself. I’m sorry you’ll walk into it unprepared. I’m sorry you’ll get what you don’t deserve.

I also don’t want to tiptoe around this, so I’ll say it straight up: you’re currently going through the mentally-debilitating identity crisis that many other middle schoolers go through, if not all. Frankly, I don’t want to say something cliché like “it gets better,” but honestly, it does. It really does.

Everything will improve. The facet of sexuality in said crisis serves as an answer rather than another question, and I’m glad you found it. This is one less question left unanswered, so I’m glad you’re not mad about it either, seeing that it fits you without a second thought. I like that. I like that you’re happy that now you understand your sexuality, and are comfortable with it too.

And to let you know, your perspective will become more nuanced as you grow up. Maybe that’s already a given because I know you know you’re still growing up, but I can’t emphasize enough how much you’ll learn about yourself and your sexuality over time, whether you’ll realize it in the moment or not. As a 12-year-old, you may not be particularly mature by any means, but getting older and growing up with your new label for your sexuality will become one of the most empowering things for you, for me, for us. Sexuality is personal.

Don’t be afraid to look more into it. There’s no such thing as understanding yourself too deeply.

Like I said earlier, discovering your sexuality just fit and you didn’t need to question it, but I know it’ll still take you time to adjust to this new sense of self, and I can attest it won’t be easy. You had previously known yourself to be straight, but now you know you’re bisexual. You’ll see yourself in a new light. The change of lighting affects the mood of the scene. Your moment of self-understanding is in progress, and you’re essentially born anew, as I now perceive it. Tell me, do you feel that way too?

My admiration for you stretches beyond what I could possibly put into words. You’re innocent, naïve really, but you’ve found solace in your identity and that’s what’s admirable to me. You’re comfortable in your own skin, far less guarded about your sexuality like I am now, and I love to see you as you are. Enjoy your loud, visible pride while you have it and before you become more private about it, feeling the need to protect yourself.

I know I’ve protected myself, and I suppose that’s another discovery you’ll have to come to on your own. I may have become more quiet and private about our bisexuality, but I promise you I haven’t lost my pride. I don’t want to concern you when I say that, though—being quiet isn’t equivalent to apology or shame.

Right now, you are loudly unapologetic, and I love to see how happy and secure you are. And quiet or loud, now or later, I love to see you stop asking yourself questions, stop doubting yourself, stop listening to others’ perceptions of who you are. With your abolition of question comes your liberation of self.

Right now, your mind is all go, go, go, running on the high of understanding. Don’t stop running; don’t stop understanding. You’ll go places, you’ll see new faces, you’ll learn new things, and that’s only if you keep running. You can’t allow your selfexploration to become stagnant, so keep running.

On the path, off the path, in outer space, under the sea—I don’t care. Just go.

And please know that you’re not running away from anything. You’re running towards something better.

But maybe I don’t have to tell you that. You’re self-assured enough to know that.

Yours truly, The future you and us to come

BY ROSE TABLIZO (THEY/THEM)

You’re sixteen, you’ve just spent two weeks going through a harrowing first-ever existential crisis where you broke up with your boyfriend and refused to speak to anyone except when absolutely necessary, using every spare minute you could find to scroll through the wlw tag on tumblr. You ask your best friend to meet you at your car after school so you can tell him something. You sit in silence together, you wait for your racing heart and shaky hands to find any semblance of stillness, sitting in the driver’s seat of your silver 2014 Honda Accord at the back of your high school’s parking lot, staring straight forward through your windshield,trying to figure out the right words to say as he stares straight forward too.

The journey I have taken through queerness has felt pseudo-religious, when I really step back and look at it. Spiritual at least, as the first time I ever really felt like I knew myself or made sense in the world was when I realized I wasn’t straight, now almost seven years ago. Isn’t religion the subscription to some intangible force that governs your world? Isn’t it a means through which to discover yourself, to extend love to others, to connect with a greater sense of humanity? Yes, to me, queerness is inherently religious. And I have found that, when baptizing myself, I prefer it to be in a car.

You’re twenty, back at home on winter break, and you just had a fight with your mother while picking up Chinese takeout for family dinner. You tried to stifle your tears while she ordered egg foo young and Mongolian beef, and when you both step away from the counter to wait for the restaurant to pack it all up in styrofoam, she asks you what’s wrong. This is the first time you’ve spent time back where you grew up in the suburbs of Texas since realizing you’re nonbinary, and you are more disphoric than you can ever remember being in your life. Everything, your parents calling you their daughter, the way the jeans you’re wearing hug your waist, even looking at your brother or sister for too long, pulls you

deeper into the dissociative state you found yourself in since you arrived a week earlier. You tell your mom that there isn’t anything wrong, and she refuses to accept it. You tell her something is wrong, but you don’t know how to talk about it. Suddenly she is yelling at you in the lobby of this Chinese restaurant about how you never tell her anything anymore, about how she feels like she doesn’t know you, how you two used to be so close and now it feels like you’re hiding something from her. You start to cry again because you know that you are. The very timid teenage boy in a visor approaches you both and apologetically hands you two plastic bags with your food inside. You retreat back into the car.

Again you find yourself facing forward, eyes glassy and fixed out the windshield, sitting in silence and trying to find the right words to say.

You didn’t plan to come out to her as you both set out to pick up a quick bite to eat because neither of you felt like cooking. It’s becoming clear that there’s no way to exit this car without doing so. You’re back in the driveway of your house. She turns off the engine and neither of you move. You wait for yourself to say something, and you can feel her waiting too. You don’t know how to say it, how much to explain to her, you can’t decide how much she’d be ready to hear all at once. The food is getting cold. You begin the sacred ritual.

“Coming out in a car feels like a rite of passage, an age-old tradition of queerness festering in suburbia, begging to be let out...”

BEYOND THE FLAGS: WE ARE PEOPLE TOO

BY GIA PARR (SHE/HER) I remember the day I took my drivers test so vividly. My heart was pounding as I was nervous I wouldn’t pass. I got into the car and the instructor was friendly, instantly making me feel better. After successfully completing the hardest part of my test, I started to make small talk with my instructor. But when I mentioned I did advocacy for the LGBTQ+ community, I shared that I identify as transgender.

Instantly the subject shifted from small talk with a new acquaintance to extremely personal questions.

Here was an adult asking about my medical transition and even questioning whether I was making the right choices at 16 years old.

Just because a person identifies as trans does not mean they should be subjected to interrogation.

Straight and cisgender people are not asked personal and invasive questions by strangers. What makes anyone, let alone a perfect stranger think it is okay to ask LGBTQ+ people invasive questions?

Through my advocacy I have made it my mission to educate people on who I am and not what I am.

I tell people I just finished high school. I am trying to pursue more modeling and acting. I am outgoing and friendly. I recently committed to USC and I have aspirations of being a business owner one day.

Instead of focusing on one aspect of identity such as being transgender I give people the full picture.

Being transgender does not come up often in my day-to-day life. Yes, it is a part of my identity, but it is not the only thing that should be talked about. For me, being transgender is one of the least interesting parts about me. It should not be the sole topic brought up in conversation. I want to be known for more than my gender.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF GIA PARR

In my freshman year of high school, I helped to launch The GenderCool project as a founding “Champion.”

It is a national storytelling campaign to show who trans kids are and not what they are. Through the GenderCool project, I have been featured on national television multiple times and have spoken at some of the biggest companies in the world. The organization is actively helping to change the media narrative about trans people.

Oftentimes we see extremely negative stories or stories that only focus on someone’s trans identity.

GenderCool does the opposite of this and focuses on positive stories and who transgender kids are. GenderCool Champions are teenagers who happened to identify as transgender. But that is just one part of us. We are students, musicians, future politicians, actors, singers, and so much more.

Having a platform with The GenderCool Project and being a former Human Rights Campaign Youth Ambassador has allowed me to voice the need for safer and more positive environments for LGBTQ+ people. Many times we have no choice but to be the teacher or the advocate for LGBTQ+ topics. While you might know a person who identifies as LGBTQ+, there are many people that don’t or are not familiar with the LGBTQ+ community. As a result, their education might come from social media sources that can send harmful and false messages. Creating organizations such as the GenderCool Project is an amazing start to change the conversation about LGBTQ+ people and more specifically trans people. However, more needs to be done.

Schools should teach kids about the LGBTQ+ community and how LGBTQ+ people should be treated. Instead of the internet shaping people’s beliefs, we should educate kids on who LGBTQ+ are. Education is the most powerful tool in creating more acceptance for and less stereotyping aboutfor the LGBTQ+ community.

Recently I wrote a book titled A Kids Book About Being Transgender to help educate kids on what it means to be transgender. I tell my story and how freeing it was for me to come out and be myself. For me, being myself means buying the clothes I want, sitting with the people I love, and presenting myself in the way I prefer. Being trans happens is a part of who I am, but it is just one small part of me. Trans and other LGBTQ+ people are so much more than how they identify.

So how can we change how we treat trans people as a society? It is simple – education. Teaching people what questions are and aren’t OK to ask. Putting resources such as lesson plans or books in schools to create more universal acceptance. Creating media sources that have accurate and educational information for when people do have questions.

All people deserve to have a fulfilling childhood and life. Let all kids be kids and don’t make them answer invasive questions at a young age. Be supportive and remember that trans people are people too.

NO-ONE REALLY EVER DISCLOSES

BY LUCAS M. KERNAN (THEY/THEM) I gave myself A for smoothness on that one, but a Bfor clarity. I’ve found “coming out” as a genderqueer person to a cisgendered person much easier when I frame it in context of sexual queerness. By and large, the general public understands what it means to be a part of the LGBTQIA+ community as a whole (Thanks, Obama.) better than they understand identifying with the individual letters–especially the T, Q, I, A, and +. So that’s why I generally use the word “queer” as my hook into the conversation. It is specific enough to guide the conversation into the right territory, but vague enough to prompt a follow-up question.

“Okay. So you’re gonna have to help me out with that one, because I don’t really–” Maya started, but I knew where she was going. Again, B- for clarity.

I work as a freelance assistant at a public access art studio. Generally speaking, that means that I am employed by multiple people, for four to eight-hour blocks, a handful of times throughout the course of the week. Sometimes they’re one-offs, but if I am lucky I can score a recurring gig. One of my regulars named Maya asks me on our second day together, “So what’s your deal? Do you like guys? Girls?” Sure, she’s a bit forward with the question considering we’re in a professional environment, but she works in the arts–she tells me–so she meets all kinds of people and always wants to know what their stories are.

Until this point, Maya had been hitting me with a “Thank you, sir!” here and a “Nice young man such as yourself...” there. As the “he/him”s whizzed out of her mouth and lodged themselves into the walls behind me, I found myself wondering if this might finally be the right time to break the news that I am nonbinary.

“Well...” I begin gingerly, preparing a layer of dissociative protection much like the garage doors restaurants and newsstands pull down before closing for the night.

“I don’t really care about that kind of stuff, but I am currently dating a girl. And she’s also queer, which is really nice!”

“Yeah! No problem!” I cheered, as if following a four count and an inquiry of appreciation. I could do this routine in my sleep. “I am a nonbinary person, so I actually do use they/them pronouns. And my partner is not nonbinary, but she has her own history with queerness.”

Maya was very receptive! She certainly wasn’t perfect, but I try to give folks the benefit of the doubt most of the time. If I assume I’m the first person to educate them on the existence of gender divergence, I can come to the dialogue from a place of openness and forgiveness– which I find both makes listeners more receptive and, more importantly, preserves my mental and emotional well being. I feel safe with Maya, but in reflecting I must ask myself what I sacrificed for that safety.

Is it worth the money? The discomfort? The potential for it to go wrong? The reason kids go on field trips to the zoo or a national park is it is much easier to understand how big an elephant is or how tall Half Dome is when you are standing right in front of it, so why can’t people just see me existing and understand that a nonbinary existence is indisputable? I’m right here! You’re looking at me! And I’ve told you how I live my life when you aren’t looking at me, so what is so difficult to understand? Why am I forced to first intellectualize my existence in order to have it respected?

That’s why when I came out to my parents, I tried to avoid intellectualizing all together. I told them stories about growing up and feeling out of place. I told them about the trans people I’ve met since leaving home and how they’ve shaped my understanding of myself. I told them that I’ve always felt disconnected with the men and boys in my life; that I have male friends, family, and mentors to whom I am very connected and love very much, but I am certainly not connected to them the way I see them connected to each other. I told them I don’t understand brotherhood just as I don’t understand sisterhood. I don’t know what it means to be a son just as I don’t know what it means to be a daughter. I tried to explain how it feels to walk to the bathrooms at a bar or restaurant and see them marked male and female; how once I was at a bar that taped biological illustrations of the male and female anatomy to the doors just to be extra clear

who belonged and who didn’t (You must have a vas deferens to pee in this hole!). I described to them how being nonbinary is like firing a gun in a bulletproof room.

As the bullet bounces off the walls I dodge it, but I’m not always quick enough. Shopping for clothes, binary bathrooms, and misgendering, are dodgeable bullets, but sometimes they will graze me just enough to cut.

Those are wounds I’ve learned to mend pretty quickly.

Things like terfy family members, violence against trans bodies, and anti-trans legislature are much harder to dodge. Those bullets move faster and are armor piercing.

They tend to make more serious contact and put me in recovery for longer.

Coming out as a nonbinary person, for me, has been a delicate balance between describing feelings of invisibility, rebellion, and trauma, while also teaching the people who are responsible for those feelings how they can remove themselves from the culture and tradition that creates them. I also find myself trying to prove why these issues matter to those people just as much as they matter to me; a binary system is worse for everybody.

And I hesitate to even call it coming out, because it’s never as simple or singular as the extravagant floats covered in drag queens and Capital One logos would lead you to believe, especially as a gender variant person.

It has never been, nor will it ever be a one time “Here I am” moment. More likely, it is a realization followed by a lifetime of correcting, reminding, and standing up for oneself. Actualizing one’s queerness is marketed as stepping into freedom–and that is true in many ways–

(JUST ONCE)

The answer to that question is unfathomably multifaceted. It is the entire canon of past, present, and future queer theorists all wrapped up into one omnibus and taken with a glacier-sized grain of salt; so seeking an answer in singularity seems foolish, at least to me. But continually teaching Genderqueer 101 with no tenure in sight is exhausting–mostly because, even with a fully stacked syllabus, education alone will never be enough to teach people how it feels to be gender divergent in environments that are still entrenched in the binary.

but it can often be like enlisting in the military (That’s right! You just try and keep us out!). It is consigning your identity and self to a cause bigger than you in exchange for community and affirmation. It is choosing to acknowledge instead of ignore, but it isn’t just over once you stop pretending it isn’t happening.

It is rooted in the identification and eradication of a common enemy, because no matter how many times you come busting out of that gorgeous mahogany wardrobe you’ve been hiding in, He will still misgender you. On purpose.

Like most wars fought against injustice, this one features a complex, unknown, and ever evolving landscape–nay, an entire planet with different biomes and natural features to navigate depending on where you land–and unfortunately there are not enough cartographers in the world to make the maps we need to successfully traverse the terrain. To help navigate the little Maya-shaped plot of land I’ve found myself on, I made a map of my own. I suppose it’s not so much a map as a flowchart of all the potential outcomes of me disclosing my queerness at a new job, in addition to the danger associated with each one.

I put it on a timeline at the top as a reminder that disclosure never really ends. That is a daunting promise, but when I look at how many ways my situation with Maya could have gone wrong I find myself more focused on celebrating what went right. I love working with Maya. She’s still not perfect, but I can really see her trying. I can see her reevaluate how she classifies the world into a binary, accidentally or otherwise. I can see that even if she isn’t sure how it feels yet, she’s doing what she can to create feelings of happiness and safety with me. Let it be known, that’s all I could ever hope for.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF LUCAS M. KERNAN

YOU ARE NOT ALONE THE importance of queer community

BY VICTORIA FRANK (SHE/HER)

This summer, I told my parents I am bisexual. At 19 years old, my journey into my sexuality has just taken flight. I never even asked myself the question of my sexuality until I was 17 when things slowly started to reveal themselves from the depths of my psyche. Actually, the first person I came out to was my high school boyfriend at the time when I super casually mentioned that, “Yeah, I like girls too.” I was testing out the waters on him, seeing how saying these words out loud to someone would feel, how unimportant I could make it, and how I would be received. The experiment was successful — I had nonchalantly revealed my secret without stirring up any conflict or conversation. Then I went back to living the classic hetero life, letting other thoughts and events occupy the more accessible parts in my mind and pushing bisexuality into the back corner from which I had only temporarily dug it out.

The thing is, it doesn’t go away. As I stayed in my comfortable social circles, the conversation was not prompted, so it didn’t come up and I stayed pretty confused. These seemingly small moments of ignoring your identity weigh on you.

It’s not like I grew up in a homophobic home, where queerness is penalized. When I finally came out to my parents, they were nothing but supportive, if not a teensy bit awkward. And I don’t blame them for that. Just as I don’t blame myself for not ever questioning my own sexuality when practically every image of love and relationships I grew up with was a hetero model. Who was I to think that my story was any different?

So, when your soul knows it isn’t fully accepted but your mind hasn’t yet connected why, there comes hardship.

There comes standing in front of a mirror, looking at your naked body, making weird facial expressions, then falling back on your bed and clutching where your heart would land if it popped out, wondering what is wrong with you and how it could be possible to feel stranger to your own self. In other terms, there comes mental distress. Confusion to the highest degree. Anxiety, dissociation, self-criticism,

low self-esteem, and the likes. Devastatingly, problems with mental health run rampant amongst the LGBTQ+ community. Results from The Trevor Project’s National Survey on LGBTQ+ Youth Mental Health in 2021 stated that “72% of LGBTQ+ youth reported symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder in the past two weeks,” and “42% of LGBTQ youth seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year, including more than half of transgender and nonbinary youth.”

But god, how important it is to know that these symptoms are not your own fault, and they are not indicative of any brokenness within yourself, but rather the brokenness of the current societal structure. Until this framework is changed, though, the burden can not fall on the individual to thrive against adversity, to rise above the shame and helplessness that comes with marginalization. Instead, we must encourage a culture of interdependence and normalize the need for a sense of belonging. There is an unparalleled comfort in having a community that not only sees the truest parts of you but shares them, giving youth the faith that there is a positive future ahead of them, and giving everyone the knowledge that they are not alone.

Queerness is not something to passively dismiss, much less actively ignore, and it is a damn shame that our country has tried to teach us differently. At 17, I wanted to speak the word “bisexual” once and be done with it. It’s sad; as much heteronormativity promotes the hetero model as “correct,” we fail to understand how beautiful and inspiring the queer world is. When one has to push against the standardized molds set unto them, the default is creativity.

Deeper, colorful communication is an inevitable byproduct as together we explore ourselves and our relationships according to what feels best — not what roles are already prescribed.

There is hope in learning, and there is joy in sharing. I still have a ways to go, but I am excited to endeavor deeper into this new place, and I am filled with love by every story I hear and new friend I make along the way.

A few weeks ago, I made the nine-hour train ride to my hometown for the first time since the pandemic began and spent the next five days being unfailingly misgendered by relatives who would all otherwise consider themselves socially progressive, well-meaning liberals. To their credit, it was the first time any of them had seen me since I’d come out as nonbinary or started hormones, and new pronouns and new tits can be a lot to take in all at once. At the end of the week, once I’d left, I learned from an inside source (read: my dad) that not only had the misgendering been, as expected, unintentional, it hadn’t even registered to many of my relatives that they were doing it. “Was it hard,” my source asked his siblings, “to see El look and dress so differently, to use new pronouns for them?

Was it a difficult adjustment?” “No,” replied one of my relatives. “Why? Should it have been? El’s still the same old El.”

The idea that trans people are still the exact same people just with different exteriors, misses the mark in several ways. Firstly, it ignores the fact that gender transition, be it social, medical, aesthetic, or otherwise, involves a deeply personal reorientation of a person’s life in a way that does change them on the inside.

Medical transition can drastically affect your moods — I cry at the drop of a hat now, way more than I did before estrogen, and every trans person I know that’s on T describes their average state of being as “teen boy horny” — and transitioning socially can involve unlearning years of social conditioning.

I could (and have) write pages and pages about the phrase “socialized as X,” primarily “socialized as a man,” and how it’s used against trans people, primarily trans women who transitioned post-puberty, to suggest that those women are in some way beneficiaries of the patriarchy instead of victims of it. There is nuance here — while the harms caused by living with unrecognized gender dysphoria for the better part of two decades are self-evident, there are certain privileges afforded to being perceived, even incorrectly, as a man. Those privileges can manifest as toxic masculine behaviors (and while it’s here that I’d question whether being socially pressured into engaging with sexual and gender dynamics in an overly aggressive and objectifying way can really be considered a “privilege,” we

SAME O

El’s still the same old El.

I know what they meant by this, and in fact, when my father first relayed the comment to me, I cried.

“They’re still the same old El” meant “it doesn’t matter what they look like, or what pronouns they use, or what clothes they wear.” “They’re still the same old El” meant “that’s your kid, and we’ve known them since the day they were born, and this doesn’t change anything.” “They’re still the same old El,” meant “we still love them.” I know this is what they meant, and I know it’s true, and I will always feel loved because of it. Still, something about the phrase didn’t sit right with me.

Because I’m not the same old El. The old El, the one who used he/him pronouns and thought she was a boy, doesn’t exist anymore. That El was perpetually sad, and confused about why they were sad, and scared that they would never be anything but sad.

That El spent 18 years trying her best to pretend to be something that she wasn’t, and picked up a lot of bad habits along the way. That El was someone I did not want to be, and once I figured that out I made a conscious, active effort to be someone else.

don’t actually have pages and pages to spare), and retraining those ingrained behaviors takes conscious effort. Being a different person on the inside isn’t just a metaphor; it’s the result of active hard work, and to have that work ignored in favor of visible external changes can end up feeling invalidating, even as those visible external changes remain an achievement as well.

The visible changes affect the internal changes in more ways than one. To spend most of your life perceived one way and then to one day suddenly be perceived a drastically different way is jarring, to say the least, but also impacts your underlying sense of self. Gender as performance, and therefore tied closely with perception, is one of the bedrocks of queer theory (thanks Judith), and it’s building on the same Hegelian conceptions of identity and personhood that other thinkers like Marx and Sartre were playing with. On some level, how people perceive you is who you are. Hell is other people because other people get to decide who and what you are.

It stands to reason, then, that being gendered correctly by strangers because you have long hair and a nice

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Like I said, I don’t think my relatives were actively trying to deperson me when they said what they said. It’s been very touching, all things considered, to be accepted so readily by my extended family, and I recognize that’s a privilege not all queer people have. I also think, despite everything I’ve written here, I also think that there is something to the idea of transness as a realization of the true self — that actually I was like this all along; it was just buried underneath layers and layers of mental illness internalized transphobia. There’s something both comforting and liberatory about this way of looking at things. While I stand by everything I’ve said in this piece, I’m unwilling to entirely discard this other conceptualization of transitioning. Being trans is like that a lot — holding two different, often contradictory, ways of looking at yourself close to your heart at the same time — and yes, that is just Hegelian dialectics again, but I’d be doing my philosophy professors a disservice if I didn’t try to sneak it into everything I write at least once.

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BY ELLA YURMAN (SHE/THEY)

Above all else, transitioning is an ongoing process, and I fully expect to keep changing and growing and discovering. Some of my elder transfemme friends have told me that the internal, emotional changes caused by hormones can continue for years after the physical changes reach their conclusion, which, at the very least, gives me something to look forward to. Changes will keep coming, and who and what I am next year will not be the same as who and what I am this year, but if nothing else, I know with 100% certainty that I will never ever figure out how to effectively conclude a personal essay, so in that way, at least, I will always be the same old me.

BY BRANDON TAM (HE/HIM)

RETURNING BACK HOME HASN’T BEEN THE EASIEST TRANSITION FOR SOME OF US OUT THERE. At least for me, it meant that I had to go back to living in a house that rejected my identity as a gay male. And after two years of being on my own at school and finding security in my own sexuality, it feels like I’m slowly creeping back into the dark closet that I was forced to live in during my earlier years. So, I sit here now, trying to live a life t h at ’s not truly me and wond er: How d o we realig n ours elves with b eliefs like homophobia, opposing political values, and religion when they go against every part of our current identity? How does it feel to return to an Asian household as a gay man?

SUMMER AFTER HIGH SCHOOL: TINDER EXPOSED In 2018, rig ht b efore my fresh man year at USC, My parents found out that I had b e en talking to g uys from Tind er, and af ter their dis cover y, I was th reatene d with no supp or t of any kind and was to ld that they would n’t s end me acro ss the countr y to fall in love wi th a b oy. And as I trie d s o d esp erately to come out to my parents, there was no way to find any sym pathy or acceptance; rather, I was g uilte d into thin king that my s exuality would have ne gative effe c ts on my fami ly overall. I was to ld that my young er sib lings would g et bullie d b e caus e they had a gay brother. That my g rand mother who held traditional cons er vative b eliefs, as mo s t Asian ances tors d o, would never b e ab le to s e e pas t the thoug ht of my s exuality. That b eing gay was a s elfish choice I had mad e to inconvenience ever yone who had rais e d me. And it was that same nig ht when I d e cid e d to repress my own s exuality and id entity, livi ng a fals e life until it was time to leave. Even to day, I s trug g le with b eing op en ab out this s tor y b e caus e what I had g one th roug h traumatize d me and the way I saw my own family.

COLLEGE: EXPERIMENTATION & “BUILDING YOUR BRAND” For the firs t time in 18 years, I g ot to fe el what fre e d om was like af ter moving to California from Mar yland. Coming from a s truc ture d home where my parents had contro l over ever ything I did, from the class es I to o k to what ac tivities I did af ter s cho o l, I never really g ot to exp erience the kind of autonomy that I ne e d to have in co lle g e. At s cho o l, I was allowe d to exp eriment and s e e what I like d, and did things that alig ne d with my interes ts. Back in hig h s cho o l, I always thoug ht my id entity as a gay man meant that I had to em b o dy the gay fig ure who is of ten over exag g erate d in the me dia. That b eing overly flam b oyant and hyp er feminine were man nerisms and attitud es that I had to mimic. But d uring my time as USC, I came to the realization that mayb e my id entity as a gay man is s o lely lin ke d to my attrac tion to men and should n’t chang e the way I ac t. I had a chance to date for the firs t ti me. I surround e d mys elf with p e op le who were not on ly supp or tive of my g oals and aspirations, but als o who I was as a p ers on.

THE INEVITABLE RETURN. When I firs t came back, d ue to the pand emic, my s tep dad aske d me: “You know your mom and I s till d on’t know if you’re gay, rig ht?” I was sho cke d b e caus e I thoug ht we had lef t the issue back in 2018, but I had to lie to s e cure any safety for the d uration of q uarantine – and here we are, one year later. However, I b e gan to wond er: Did they continue to love me af ter hig h s cho o l without any confirmation of my s exuality? What mad e my s exuality s o im p or tant that it was s till an issue two years later? And as time g o es on, it fe els like I am cons tantly counting the times in which I d on’t fe el safe or when I can’t b e mys elf. The worr y or concern of b eing “re-oute d” b e gan to b le e d into other par ts of my life that revo lve d around my id entity as a gay male. When was it o kay to talk to my b oyfriend on the p hone? What TV shows were acceptab le to watch around my family? Should I op en TikTo k, knowing my For You Pag e was curate d for tho s e of the LGBTQ+ com munity? How d o I continue to create ar t when my craf t centers around my id entity as a gay Asian male in a p lace that rebukes my s exuality?

There was even a time d uring the ele c tions when my mom q ues tione d my supp or t for the D emo cratic par ty, and while it was b e caus e I felt safer to have Jo e Bid en in office, there was no way to tell her that I felt like my rig hts would b e th reatene d had I vote d for the opp o sing par ty.

YOU’RE NOT ALONE. As I write ab out this exp erience, in s e cre cy b ehind the clo s e d d o ors of my ro om or even at work away from my fami ly, I’m cons tantly remind e d of how hard it is to express mys elf at home. It ’s not easy, having to live with attitud es that g o agains t my id entity. It ’s b e en troub ling me ever since moving back b e caus e I had sp ent the las t two years of my life cons truc ting the p ers on I am to day. And af ter finding s e curity and p eace with who I’ve b e come, s omething that wasn’t achievab le d uring my hig h s cho o l years, it fe els like all of that pro g ress is slowly vanishing. For me, living at home is not jus t pretending to b e s ome one you’re not. It ’s changing your man nerisms, the clothes you wear, the tone of your voice, and even the way you carr y yours elf. It ’s faking interes ts and it ’s really thin king b efore you sp eak s o that you d on’t accid entally out yours elf. It ’s ess entially g oing back into “the clo s et ” in hop es that the tas te of fre e d om you once had will come back s o on. I know that I’m not the on ly one in this situation and that there are other p e op le in the LGBTQ+ com munity who may have it hard er than I d o. Yet I hop e that thes e words and this s tor y gives s ome s or t of relatability to tho s e out there who als o may b e s trug g ling with g oing back to a home that d o es not accept their true s elf. You are not alone.

PHOTOS COURTESY OF BRANDON TAM

SEXPECTATIONS TATIONS

BY ANNIE NGUYEN (SHE/THEY)

Clothes off, off, off. Kiss me there, there, and there until you remember there’s no roadmap for this kind of stuff. Not for us. So much of the queer experience is survival, and healthy platonic/romantic/ sensual relationships are a great place to actually live in pleasure. However, it’s easier said than done to nurture dynamics where you are affirmed and curiosity is fed; where intensity is not only safe, but also reflected on. Here’s a place to start.

Sex communication starts with self-talk. What type of sex is comfortable for you? What’s the kind of sex you’re used to? Are you performing during that type of sex? Are you sober during that type of sex?

Is that what you want? Only when we speak to ourselves about sex can we begin speaking to and with others.

Just like your sexuality and gender, your expectations for sex can be fluid. The pressure to like the same things you once did from clothes to music to people is ever present, but be ready to ask yourself: what benefit do I gain from resisting my evolution in the most private of spaces?

Spend time with yourself to think about what memories you want to make. What movies replay in your head?

What were those scenes missing? Make up scenarios and fantasize about what could happen, especially while having sex with yourself.

You’re writing your own story here, folks.

Self-talk aside, sex communication doesn’t have to be a sit-down conversation. Transparency can be sensual and inviting.

Be okay with pausing to speak; these are phrases to incorporate while twirling your partner’s hair, holding their chin, maybe pulling them in at the elbow, or whispering into their ear. Try not to make out. It’ll be fun:

Intersectional queer sex and relationship communication Do you want to have sex? Consent is only one part of communication.

What is sex to you? Sex doesn’t just have to be orgasm-centered, heterosexual, dick-vagina penetration. Let’s reframe to include a definition of sensuality, which is anticipatory, exploratory, and inviting. For lack of better words, anything beyond traditional penetrational sex can be considered non-normative, or queer.

Is there a specific way of having sex you’d like to try?

What about sex with previous partners did you like/not like?

Are there specific phrases or names I should try saying or avoid?

Are there sensitive body parts or movements I should focus on or avoid?

Are you comfortable? (Say this again and again, check in!)

Is there anything about your identity that affects your experience with sex I should know about so we both have a great time?

Do you feel like you’re performing at all? If so, how can we change that?

How was that for you? (After dabbing it up, of course) How does this experience or other experiences change your understanding of your sexuality? This can be a moment of discovery for you and your partner.

To ask more of: “Pretty please.”

“Oh, you like that?”

“Well, that’s promising.”

To ask Less of: “Hm. Not a fan of that actually.

[Do this instead].”

“Mm. That hand/tongue/[insert body part] there isn’t for me.”

“Do something else.”

“Hey, there’s something that’s been on my mind lately.

Do you mind if I talk it through with you?” (This is a great go-to way to invite conversation for those who hate confrontation.)

“Hi. Brain messy. Please help fix.”

Good sex is one where we moan and laugh and admire. Where giggles aren’t just distracting yourself from knowing something is off. Where endearment exists now, and minds are not preoccupied with “What does this all lead to? What does this mean?” bell hooks, feminist scholar and activist, once wrote, “When men and women punish each other for truthtelling, we reinforce the notion that lies are better.

To be loving, we willingly hear the other’s truth, and most important, we affirm the value of truth-telling.

Lies may make people feel better, but they do not help them to know love.”

You don’t have to be in love with everyone you have sex with. But love must be present within yourself, for yourself, to take up the space to announce what you desire, and a love for the life experience to open up space for someone else to be intimate. To be so much yourself, someone else feels safe enough to do the same.

Be ready to listen and demand listening. Sometimes you will have to educate your partner, especially for more casual or newer relationships. Ask yourself if it’s worth it. Be open to the possibility of it sometimes being worth it. If you’re in any relationship that’s slightly more than platonic, consider incorporating these relationships check-in questions:

Know each other’s love languages, personality types, attachment styles, BDSM test results... Take all these quizzes together or separately. In the age of BuzzFeed quizzes and Instagram polls, this should generally be pretty fun. Again, nothing has to be purely mechanical (though, of course, it’s okay if it is). Seriously, the BDSM test, although often paired with silliness and your Rice Purity score, is actually a great sex communication tool.

Speak in “I” statements and be honest. Have a discussion about what the best medium to communicate for bigger conversations is. In-person, texting, video chat? All personal preference, easy to establish bones. Sometimes, physical distance is necessary for making sure our true wants and needs are communicated properly, without the urgency to comfort the other person at the expense of your own honesty. Texting is also great. You can draft up messages, rewrite them, etc. Don’t freak if they’re taking their sweet time to respond; everyone needs time to think.

What does a healthy relationship look like to you/us?

What are we right now? (Every two weeks or so, or less frequent if commitment is clear in the longer term; just because you were dating each other for the past month, doesn’t mean you can’t go back to just seeing each other or just being friends) How do you think things are going for us?

What does seeing each other, dating, being in a relationship, being boyfriend/ girlfriend/partners/lovers look like to you? What does it mean to you?

Is there anything you’re unsure about?

What would a breakup look like for us? Predict your downfall! You should know each other at least that much.

What is your relationship to monogamy? Thoughts on open relationships?

Polyamorous relationships? What does cheating look like?

If you are seeing multiple people: How much about my experience with my other partners would you like to know about?

Is there anything on your mind we can address? Anything?

Have I done anything that hurt or upset you?

Have I done anything that excited you?

How can we be better friends this week?

Trust Me: You have so many nights of floral cocktails to spend out and lips that remind you of poetry to kiss and shoulders that scare you to brush, but you do anyway.

If you’re spending those moments that may or may not lead into the next morning twisted under bed sheets, make sure you’re experiencing it all transparently and adoringly.

you deserve it.

Growing up in a religious home, listening to the pastor rebuke homosexuality on Sundays, and hearing people around me use the term gay as an insult often made me feel small, ashamed, and like an outcast. I never had the desire to come out to my family out of fear of rejection and hate, and after a while, my parents started to suspect I was gay because of the masculine clothing I preferred to wear or the fact that I never talked about boys. Oftentimes, innocent moments with girl friends would turn into uncomfortable moments of accusations from my parents. I tried to avoid any conversations about the entire topic of sexuality. As I began to grow, I wanted to be more open about my sexuality outside of my home. I remember the day gay marriage became legal in my home state, Pennslyvania, on May 20, 2014. It was a couple of days away from my eighth-grade graduation. I was so excited. I called all of my friends, screaming, “I can legally marry a woman!” After that, I began to feel more seen in the world.

I had already decided to attend an all-girls high school, hoping that I’d have a safe place, hopefully amongst other girls like me. Fast forward to the middle of my freshman year, as I have been acclimated and have made friends with the other gay girls, but still, no one knew for sure back at home. Until one day, what started as a typical day, I woke up, got dressed, went to school, came home, and hung out with my friends outside. When I came back inside that evening, one of my parents had gone through my texts and saw that I was talking to other girls, but not in a way you’d text best friends. I was not much of a vocal kid, so the look on my face said it all. I felt violated because I was not ready to share that piece of my identity. I began to get interrogated; why are you talking to another girl like that? Did you turn gay because you go to an all-girls school? Did someone touch you? Who made you like girls? You do know that God does not allow gay people in heaven, right?

It was an extremely long night. I was outed entirely to anyone in the family that would listen and verbally bullied by some.

Hearing words like “dyke,” “homo,” “faggot,” or being told that my lifestyle is perverted, along with forced to come out, was traumatic. I got prayed over numerous times –– the blood of Jesus did not take the gay away, thankfully. I did not feel loved, supported, nor cared for by my parents over the next few years. I hid my relationships, and I did not feel comfortable bringing new friends around my family because they’d treat them rudely. I tried to avoid altogether anything that had to do with my queerness. I even went to both proms alone because I knew I would not have been allowed to take a woman, and I refused to take a male. My sexuality came up again two years later when I was 16. I started to resent my parents and let them know that I was not okay with feeling like they hated me because I’m gay. One parent said they did not have an issue with it. While that did not seem true, I guess they had time to think about it. The other said, “I will always love you, but I will not support homosexuality. You have to take that up with God.” In 2021, my relationship with my parents has grown tremendously. I recently started opening up my relationship life, and it has been a journey for them to learn to respect myself and my partner. Including my partner in family affairs and simply not being afraid to say her name around my parents is liberating. It has taken many serious conversations, heated discussions, space, time, and patience to reach this point.

The year 2014 was an emotional, transformative year for me.

Being forced out of the closet started my journey of self-acceptance and self-compassion. It was a difficult struggle to confront homophobic attitudes and degrading practices.

Not feeling the love from my family took a toll on my mental health, but I had to challenge and overcome negative stereotypes and thoughts taught growing up to feel good about who I am. My queerness has been a vital part of my identity, and it has allowed me to grow into a resilient individual.

I encourage us all to learn to love every aspect of ourselves.

PHOTO COURTESY OF NABRAYAH JONES

Evann McIntosh

Evann McIntosh is a 17 year old singer/songwriter that creates unique sounds across Indie, Funk, and R&B. They have a strong and growing community around them, which has become a safe space for many. In this conversation, we dove beneath the layers of Evann’s careers and shared some introspective moments on what their journey of identity means to them, and where they are going next.

Anushka Joshi Thank you for joining us! Why don’t you just start off by introducing yourself and telling us who you are?

EVANN MCINTOSH My name is Evann McIntosh. I make music for the most part. I live in Kansas.

I’ve read that you lived in a lot of different places growing up. How did place and location impact your journey to finding yourself?

My dad is retired military. So we moved all over the place. I was born in Monterey, California, then we moved to Florida, and then Alabama, and then we lived in Germany. And now we live in Kansas. Being surrounded by different people all the time and having my environment constantly changing matched what was going on internally for me.

Being a queer kid, you’re constantly thinking about identity, and you’re constantly changing and shifting all the time. Being a kid is constant growth anyway. But I’m constantly trying my hardest not to mold into my environment. I felt like each place that I lived in, I was experiencing resistance to whatever I was being thrown into.

I’d love to know more about the journey of exploring your gender identity. When did you begin questioning, and do you feel like you have come to terms with it?

I haven’t come to terms with it yet because it’s going to be something that I explore for the rest of my life, just because it’s so fluid. But questioning my gender identity goes back to some of my first memories. Some of my first strong feelings were fear. Just knowing that there was nothing that I could hide behind at the time, or knowing that if I were to express these emotions that I’m feeling––a lot of people don’t feel that way. That set me apart from everyone else and I wouldn’t express those emotions because my cover would be blown and I had so much to hide.

I think I’ve gotten to a point where I’m comfortable with that aspect of myself.

And just acknowledging who I am and taking the time to really learn and be who I am. I feel like for a really long time, I would look for myself in others.

Whether that’s what they think about me or how they mirror me, or respond to me. And that’s so difficult when you’re not with a queer person. Now I’m comfortable enough with myself to be able to really go on like this journey of “How do I really feel about myself in relationships with other people?”.

I love that idea of constant evolution and revolution of self, and so I don’t think anyone’s journey is fully complete.

We were talking about the fact that you felt a little bit different from other people growing up, but did you have any clear icons to look up to or anyone who you met where you were like, “Oh, I see myself in you”.

Some of your most impactful influence came from Prince who’s an artist as well. So would you mind sharing a little bit about how a fluid identity influences the art you create and what you want to achieve with the music you’re putting out?

Yeah, I think the first time that that happened was with Prince. I unfortunately l got into him the month after he passed away because my mom had downloaded the Prince Hits album. He blew my mind. I was in sixth grade, which was one of my most formative years, and he’s stuck with me ever since. I thought it was so crazy how he could just be a very fluid, feminine flamboyant man. But anyone who knows him has no question at all that he is who he is. And I thought that was so great. I was obsessed that he could do whatever he wanted to do, all the time.

Just being who I am and having music be an outlet for me, it just pours into my music naturally. I tend to write when I’m struggling or when I have a strong emotion about something, and it tends to either be all about me and my identity and experiences that I’m struggling with. Especially feeling so isolated in the environment that I’m in because no one around me really has an understanding of queerness, and more so they have a resistance to it. But I realize that’s just how they grew up thinking, so I can’t have high expectations for them to understand where I’m coming from. That’s just my personal experience with it. I can’t speak for anybody else.

It became like a way of survival to cope with that way of being like, “why do I have these expectations for these people who it’s like impossible for them to even begin to understand who I am”. They have never had these struggles in their life so I’ve got to get out of here, but what I want to achieve is talking about it through music. And I can say what I feel without being questioned and me needing to give an explanation for it can just be questioned and interpreted on its own. But I think if somebody in my position can hear something like that and feel less alone and know that there are greater things – I think that would be the best possible outcome for any music that I make or anything that I do, if it’s beneficial for anybody besides me. Because I mean what’s the point? I benefit from it because I get to have a career out of my music, but like what’s the purpose in my life if I’m just living to make money and then die? I want to connect with people too.

Don’t we all – I’m excited to talk about community with you, but before that I want to talk about fluidity in an abstract way. What does that word mean to you?

Fluidity is everything to me. I embody fluidity more than I embody masculinity. Fluidity is just being capable of making these decisions for myself and owning myself in my own body without having to be questioned by others. Even if it is questioned by other people, it doesn’t matter. Because

what do they know about? I just don’t care. That’s how I feel about music today too. Half the time these people saying shit about my music don’t make music. So I just don’t care about it. But especially with gender identity, my life is constantly changing, and I’m constantly shifting, and that’s okay. I don’t have to be one thing. Labels are great. And if you’re comfortable with a label, that’s phenomenal. I’ve just never found something that I’ve really felt like I’ve fit comfortably into, that I could really own. But I’m a creature who’s capable of change, and I’m prone to change and it’s just always gonna happen. Just knowing and accepting that, that’s okay. And if someone else doesn’t understand it, why should it matter? I never make a decision in music and be like, this is something that I’m going to do because I have this idea about what it’s going to be like. It just tends to happen with influences and things that I think are really cool. It just ends up pouring into my music because it’s influenced me and my creative process. I believe that’s how I grow musically, it’s just that I listen to more art. I’ll soak it up and just spin it back here. But fluidity is growth and change, and it’s something that I can be comfortable in.

When we talk about fluidity as it relates to growth and change, so much of the world is people living in binaries. When we all subscribe to one story and one narrative in life, we really limit ourselves to specific silos and experience stagnation of our collective potential, I assume. Big question, daydream with me for a second here but, if everyone created their own narrative of identity, what would the world look like, how would the world be? Would we just be happier beings?

It’s hard to even imagine something like that, because the binary is something that’s been prioritized in our lives when it comes to gender and society. It’s just, this is what a woman looks like. And this is what a man looks like. And this is what a household looks like, when these two people come together. That’s something I’ve always struggled with. I’ve always wanted to be the man in it, because that’s the one that I related to most, if I had to choose. But that’s such a heavy transition from one thing to another. And I don’t know if that’s even something that I really feel. And then you realize that it’s not even a real thing that you’re looking at. It’s just an image. It feels almost like an image created for control. It’s hard because everybody believes that. So when you don’t fit into something everybody wants to fix and change you so that you look right.

I’ve had to kill that character in myself because it’s an internal struggle of internalized homophobia and anti queerness and being like, I have to look this way, or I’m too strange.

Even in nonconforming, there’s a pressure to conform! You definitely are a figure that many people look up to, and to my understanding, there are few non binary artists who are rising to such popularity and are able to create a community around them. What does the community around you feel like and mean to you?

It’s a safe space for me because I have an intense fear of having a huge audience because when you grow that fast, you have no time to connect to anybody. And then it’s like you’re against a world at that point. I would rather have friends than like a massive group of people. So I know each and every one of them. I talk to them, we check up on each other, and I have a genuine relationship with these people. I’ve always had the need to connect to the people who want to follow me, and listen to my music, and create fan pages and stuff. It’s crazy. But also, I’ve never had people think I’m that cool in my environment before because I’ve never felt right. So if these new people think I’m great, they’re also great.

They obviously see something in me that they see in themselves, so I try to get to know them. It’s beneficial for me, because I can surround myself with people who have similar thoughts. It all funnels down to this small very saturated group of people who are questioning the same things.

What do you have around you now that you wish you had before?

I wanted to go into music from a super young age because I was already making music. I wanted to be famous, and I wanted all this love, and I wanted all this attention that I didn’t feel and I wanted it so bad. And I think in my adventure through the last couple of years with signing and having an audience, and having a platform, it’s not really what’s most important to me. Especially as I am coming to terms with myself and journeying through self love, cutting off negative influences, and taking the time to get to know myself and feed myself. I don’t want to have a massive audience. I’ve found that in this community of people, that I am so privileged to surround myself with, I’ve found myself somehow helpful by being so outspoken about what’s going on inside of my head. I get to be a part in other people’s journeys with themselves and whether or not they outgrow me and what I’m doing, it doesn’t matter because I know I’ve found what I was looking for and am able to be helpful to past versions of myself that were struggling.

I keep coming across quotes that are like “you are living your past self’s dream”. And knowing that along the way, yes, you have arrived at one of the many destinations in your life, but to all of the younger people, like someone’s looking at you and seeing themselves in you. And that gets to bring them to their next destination as well. So, what’s your next biggest dream?

My next biggest hope is just being able to continue to overcome these obstacles that I have in my brain, not only with gender identity, but the emotions that came with surrounding myself with people who did not want me to be who I am. And they try their best to curve me the other way and call that like love. That’s my biggest struggle right now.

Two months ago, I got this journal, and I just sat down over the span of a couple weeks, and journaled 60 pages. All these things had been sitting in my brain that I never took the time because I wasn’t capable of digesting something like that at such a young age.

I got a new therapist, because my other one I just happened to outgrow.

Therapy for queer people is really strange. Because when you’re talking to someone who has no idea about queer issues at all, it’s hard when they don’t

understand those experiences. I mean, it’s different. Because what are they supposed to tell you? I don’t know. But I’m really trying to work through these issues. Because how else am I supposed to move forward, if I’m still like coming back to the same obstacle, over and over and over again. So I think just continuing to better myself, and making sure that I’m armored and prepared for whatever the next chapter in my life is. That’s not fair to me if I continue to move forward and not address things that are harmful.

Secure your mask before you secure others. Yeah, I get it. You have to nurture yourself and grow as an individual in order for you to truly pursue your journey. Thank you for sharing all of that. The last question I’m going to ask is, if you could tell one thing to your younger self?

I think I would try to tell myself not to be so scared. Because a lot of what influenced decisions that I was making, whether I chose to do something or chose not to, or pursue things that could have been really beneficial for me with my identity, was fear. Don’t be so scared of good things.

It hurts if you do, and it hurts if you don’t. Thanks for chatting, Evann.

PHOTO COURTESY OF EVANN MCINTOSH

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CONVERSE: PRIDE 365

BY ANUSHKA JOSHI (SHE/HER) It’s not everyday where you get to see a company that lives and breathes their values. Since releasing their first Pride collection in 2015, Converse is proud to have donated more than $1.3 million in support of local and global LGBTQIA+ organizations, like the It Gets Better Project, with contributions supporting safe spaces for LGBTQIA+ youth, education on issues directly impacting the community, and essential resources needed during the COVID-19 pandemic.

But Converse’s impact is not limited to financial efforts – it permeates through the culture of their community.

For the sixth annual Pride campaign, Converse tapped a multidimensional group of All Star creatives for a new product collection and campaign for and by the LGBTQIA+ community. The Converse Pride 2021 collection pays homage to everyone’s individual journey of finding joy and freedom in being themselves.

We sat down with some members of Converse’s PRIDE Network to talk about bringing the annual collection and campaign to life each year, living your truth, and what they wish they knew when they were younger.

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Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

JESSICA COLLADO-ALEMAN (SHE/HER): I am a Senior Brand Creative Manager, and live in Marblehead, MA via Miami, FL. ELSPETH LEE MACMILLAN (SHE/HER): I’m a Global Product Merchandiser for Footwear, and I call Portland, OR and Boston MA home.

LINDSAY DEGEN (SHE/HER): I am a Senior Designer for Apparel, and I’m from Cincinnati, Ohio but now I’m in Providence, RI which feels more like home to me.

JASON GARY (HE/HIM): I’m a Global Brand Management Director and my hometown is Norwalk, CT. NICHOLAS PERSAD (HE/HIM): I’m a Communications Manager and my hometown is Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago.

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Tell us how you’ve been able to live your values and find joy in your Pride: JESSICA: When I came to Converse, I loved the inclusive and “come as you are ‘’ workplace culture, but there was certainly an opportunity to share that acceptance, support and representation externally. Spearheading and shaping Pride at Converse, both internally through the Converse Pride Network and externally through our Pride campaigns has been the most amazing intersection of my personal and professional life.

The Converse Pride collection was born out of the Converse Pride Network and today the annual Converse Pride products and campaigns are driven by LGBTQIA+ employees. Being part of a team that designs products and creates campaigns for my LGBTQIA+ community to express themselves and see themselves represented brings me so much joy.

I am proud to work at a brand that stands with my community in an authentic and declarative way. Working at Converse has provided me the opportunity to help shape work that allows LGBTQIA+ youth around the world to feel like they are seen, accepted and belong. Through this work Converse supports and funds organizations that provide safe spaces for LGBTQIA+ youth globally. I think about how I would have felt seeing this representation when I was 15, and it makes me very proud and hopeful for queer youth.

ELSPETH: From the moment I received my offer letter from Converse that clearly stated “come as you are,” I felt the joy and relief to be part of a company where I could bring my full self to work. It’s a long way from where I first started in the workplace.

For over a decade I struggled to be out, from feeling a need to hide part of myself, to eventually being the only out-woman in the office (both experiences are lonely & suffocating, and not sustainable). I’m happy to report that I’ve found my queer family at Converse. I immediately joined the Converse Pride Network, a resource I never had access to in the past. From planning events with the Pride Network, to making Pride Footwear with fellow LGBTQIA+ employees, I feel a great sense of joy and gratitude to be able to celebrate our community as part of my work experience at Converse. And sure, there are the big Pride moments which are fun, but there’s also the huge relief of being able to sit at my desk and not having to hide. The joy in the everyday freedom of being myself.

LINDSAY: After I graduated from college I moved to NYC and started my own fashion line. Growing up in Ohio, and my parents being scientists, I didn’t know anyone in the industry, so I made a point to meet a zillion wonderful people. One person I met was a fashion designer named Todd Thomas who was a seasoned industry professional. Todd took a liking to me and my quirky knitwear work, eventually inviting me to design with him, but he also invited me to some events. One event that he invited me to was a panel at the Ali Forney Center in 2010. The Ali Forney Center is a group that provides shelter and programming for

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Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

homeless LGBTQIA+ youth so that they may thrive instead of just survive. The panel was composed of across the fashion world–set makers, nail techs, designers, technical designers, even a high-end concierge service. Our goal was to show the young group of fashion lovers that you can work in your passion industry and don’t necessarily need to be traditionally creative. The very first thing we did was an introduction round stating our name and pronouns. While common now, this was the first time I had ever experienced this. These kids being so open and proud of their own identities made me understand my own more clearly.

Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

JASON: I’ve witnessed my evolution through my experience of showing up to work. My style has evolved over the years as I’ve grown more comfortable in my skin and felt empowered to be my risky, funky, bold, expressive self at Converse (thank you!). It is a work environment that embraces creativity and, in many ways, has fostered my own. Whether it’s a hairstyle or an outfit, I’m truly joyful and Prideful when I can roll up to work in something atypical and be celebrated – instead of shunned or gawked at. I’m just living and being. It really keeps me going. It continues to inspire me.

Even though I was on the panel I think I learned the most that day. I learned that identities are complex, that my own identity could be more nuanced, and that as a queer cis-white woman I can yell on behalf of the voices that society has muffled. I’m so proud to be a part of this community and if it weren’t for these kids and my friends who supported me through exploration of my own identity, who helped me see the beauty in the grey areas, I definitely would not be as full of joy as I am today.

Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

Beyond The Flags: Come As You Are

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NICHOLAS: Being part of the LGBTQIA+ community, I like to think that I live by my values—especially when it comes to finding joy in my pride—every single day. I am gay 24/7, and I make it known to everyone that I’m out and proud.

However, this question brings up the concept of “coming out,” something that is very difficult for a lot of LGBTQIA+ people. Even after we’ve come out to ourselves and the people closest to us, we have to make a decision to “come out” whenever we enter any social situation and be mentally prepared to engage with a number of different reactions, both positive and negative.

Personally, the “coming out” moment where I felt that I truly lived my values and found joy in my Pride was coming out to my father. Growing up in an extremely religious country in the Caribbean where homosexuality is still viewed negatively, I lived in an ongoing state of fear over being disowned and rejected even while living as a gay man in the United States. We would speak to each other on the phone every week, and I would simply omit anything about my life that was about my LGBTQIA+ identity. It was a tough balance because I felt like I was thriving by being so open, but I was still lying to one of the closest people to me because I thought being honest would be so much worse. Eventually, I made the decision to be completely honest about everything.

To my surprise, my father accepted it all without hesitation. He knew I was happy, that I had found a man that I loved, that I had a job that I loved, and I was building my own dream life. He told me nothing could ever change our relationship. That moment put the saying “a weight lifted off your shoulders” into a completely new perspective for me. I discovered that being my authentic self was enough, and it was the most joyful feeling in the world. I know many LGBTQIA+ people aren’t fortunate enough to have an experience like this, but I also learned that being honest will ALWAYS make you feel joy.

Professionally, the work I’m fortunate enough to do as a member of the Converse Pride Network has been life-changing. One moment that I always reflect on is when we invited LGBTQIA+ youth from one of the local organizations we’ve partnered with to come into our Boston HQ office and meet LGBTQIA+ employees.

There was one youth who was very closed off. They seemed almost scared to be there. They barely spoke, and I remember trying my hardest to engage with them so they would feel comfortable enough to open up. Eventually, we had a great—albeit short—conversation on being out in the workplace and what it meant to me. The next year, we invited the group back, and this person was completely different. They were open and talkative and proud to be LGBTQIA+.

While my one interaction likely didn’t change their life— I like to hope that by being my most authentic self, they left that interaction feeling more determined to live their life authentically.

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Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

What would you tell your younger self or someone who is struggling to find Pride?

JESSICA: People might have told you your life would be harder if you are gay. It’s just not true. We are normal.

We are happy. Our love is real. I know how alone you feel right now, but you will find acceptance, within yourself and your family will come around eventually…. but if they don’t know you will find family. They might not be blood, but they will make you feel accepted and loved.

In my blessed experience your chosen family will love you unconditionally. It truly does get better. When you accept yourself, you will find the people that love and accept you for who you are.

ELSPETH: Lean on your chosen family – your friends.

Surround yourself with those who support and love you and remind you of who you are. They’re the ones who’ll help carry you through tougher times. And if you’re not out to them already, maybe give them a chance – they may surprise you in how supportive they actually are. At the end of the day, your found family will just want to see you happy.

LINDSAY: Try stuff on! You don’t always know what identity fits. And seek the people who support you as you do so.

JASON: It’s easier said than done, but I would encourage them to aim to be their full selves whenever possible. I had a guidance counselor and mentor in high school who said to me (regarding my Pride): the people who matter, don’t care, and the people who care don’t matter. That and the line in “Happy Face” by Destiny’s Child – “There’s plenty of people who don’t like me, but there’s ten times more who love me, and I love myself,” still resonate with me today. You will blossom to be steadfast and proud of who you are. You will be surrounded by people who love you for you, unconditionally. I have so many wonderful family members, friends, and colleagues where my Pride is just another interesting part of what makes me who I am. While you may not see it not now, you will get there.

You won’t and shouldn’t accept anything less.

NICHOLAS: Take time for self-reflection. Give yourself the space to truly understand who you are and who you want to be, your likes and dislikes, your interests, your style and how you want to present yourself to the world.

Once you’ve done the work to better know yourself and build confidence in who you are, you are ready to find your tribe.

Remember, you are not alone. The LGBTQIA+ community is filled with countless amazingly diverse people who are telling unique stories, and you are one of them. There are LGBTQIA+ people out there who are waiting for YOU to be part of their chosen family. Don’t lose sight of that!

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Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

Bedno y The Fl:sg a Coem As You Are

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