GIRLS 10

JUNE 2021

VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2

PRIDE

GIRLS MAGAZINE

VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2, JUNE 2021

GIRLS MAGAZINE PRIDE Letter from the Editor: Page 3 Willa Bennett: Page 5 Grace Rosario Perkins: Page 8 Legacy Russell: Page 13 Lauren Argentina Zelaya: Page 16

GIRLS MISSION STATEMENT GIRLS is a revised portfolio of interviews from a nationwide community of real, strong womxn. It's a magazine that is 100% all womxn, which is beautiful in its rarity - the magazine is a safe space FOR womxn ABOUT womxn. Created by Adrianne Ramsey, it serves as a content destination for millennial womxn.

Read on for an engagement of feminist voices and a collaborative community for independent girls to discover, share, and connect. The usage of the terms "girls" and "womxn" refers to gender-expansive people (cis girls, trans girls, non-binary, non-conforming, gender queer, and any girl-identified person).

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

BY ADRIANNE RAMSEY While some may feel that the United States has come a long way in advocating for the LGBTQIA+ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, Queer or Questioning, Intersex, and Asexual) community and passing beneficial laws, there is still so much progress that needs to be made.

The ongoing COVID-19 global health pandemic has drawn many comparisons to the HIV/AIDS epidemic and artistic activist groups of that era, such as Gran Fury and ACT UP. In 2011, President Obama repealed “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, which was originally signed into law by President Clinton. The U.S. Marriage Equality Act became law in 2015, less than ten years ago. Queer and trans representation in media has steadily improved; some standouts include the TV shows "Orange is the New Black" (2013-2019), “How To Get Away With Murder” (2014-2020), “POSE” (2018-2021), and “Euphoria” (2019 - Present), and the films “Dallas Buyers Club” (2013) and “Moonlight” (2016). Pete Buttigieg, the current U.S. Secretary of Transportation, is the first openly gay U.S. Cabinet member, and Dr. Rachel Levine, who is currently Assistant Secretary for Health, is the first trans person to be confirmed by the U.S. Senate for their job. On February 25, the U.S. House of Representatives passed the Equality Act by a slim margin; at this present writing, it is awaiting consideration by the U.S. Senate. There is a disturbing, rising trend of anti-trans laws being passed in several states, including Arkansas and Florida. Black trans women are the most murdered entity in the United States. I could go on and on, but there is a lot of work to do in recognizing queerness and equality and protecting the LGBTQIA+ community.

For those who argue that being gay is a sin, I remind them that under the Separation of Church and State that it is irrelevant whether churches or other religious houses of worship believe that being LGBTQIA+ is against the will of God. It is the law’s responsibility to keep the two institutions separate. As such, the government isn’t obligated to follow religious doctrine. Rather, the government has a duty to represent all its people’s best interests, or at least protect the right to think, love, and identify our gender and sexuality freely. Isn’t our country supposed to be founded on freedoms?

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LETTER FROM THE EDITOR

BY ADRIANNE RAMSEY GIRLS 10 is a special Pride themed issue, released to coincide with and celebrate the beginning of Pride Month. The main question that this issue investigates is whether the art world is as welcoming to the LGBTQIA+ community as they claim to be. In print, the handbooks for art institutions usually call for their employees to conduct themselves with personal and ethical integrity, with respect for the rights of others, and to appreciate and understand diversity in a multicultural society. However, how effective are these spaces at actually enforcing these rules, and are they amplifying queerness on a systemic and programming level? This includes expanding LGBTQIA+ representation on boards of directors & senior leadership teams and curating exhibitions & public programs that feature queer artists and themes. There is definitely room for improvement, because when institutions choose to ignore queerness, they create an unwelcoming environment that is a detriment for not only queer-identifying staff, but the general public. Art institutions have a responsibility to contribute to the quality of safety and create educational opportunities about queerness. “Safe” doesn’t only mean physically safe, but feeling like you can be yourself and not receive criticism about your identity.

I am very grateful for the wonderful and eye-opening conversations that I had with the four participants of GIRLS 10, who center on QTPOC (Queer, Trans, People of Color), nonbinary people, and queer art and writing in their practices. Special thanks to Morgan Maher for their kind permission in allowing me to publish the exclusive images they took of Willa Bennett, and to Taylor Maatman, Director of Public Relations at The Brooklyn Museum, for her excellent organizing of Lauren Argentina Zelaya’s interview. And lastly, I am thrilled that this is the tenth issue of GIRLS; when I launched this publication four years ago, I had no idea that it would become such a positive and successful venture.

Thank you to all who have read and supported GIRLS for the past four years!

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WILLA BENNETT

Courtesy of Morgan Maher

Willa Bennett is a New York-based writer and content strategist. She currently oversees social strategy at GQ Magazine and has helped build brands such as Seventeen, Nylon, Bustle, Elite Daily, Mic, and more through social media and online video. In 2017, she was recognized by the American Society of Magazine Editors for overall excellence in social media. She regularly covers youth culture, identity, and music.

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WILLA BENNETT This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

GM: What was your path to becoming a writer, as well as your current job?

WB: I lead GQ Magazine's social media team and oversee programming and creative development across our everevolving platforms. I've also held roles in social media and audience development at Seventeen Magazine, Nylon, Bustle, and more. I always saw myself becoming a traditional journalist or author. This all changed with my college thesis at Sarah Lawrence College; I spent a month at a middle school embodying what it might be like to grow up amongst all these social media platforms. This experience only amplified my beliefs that social media is one of the most essential and urgent means of storytelling. I still write and daydream in written words, though. I published my first book of poetry in March and donated the proceeds to The Audre Lorde Project.

GM: How do you advocate for QTPOC and the LGBTQIA+ community in your practice?

WB: Storytelling is a powerful tool. Throughout my career, I have always written, published, and elevated the stories I wish I had growing up. The internet is where so many young people connect and discover who they are for the first time, and to be in a position to make that space safer and more inclusive is never lost on me.

GM: Can you discuss a recent project of yours that amplifies queerness?

WB: In March, I released a collection of poetry called 'there are goose eggs in my belly'. It sold out in less than 24 hours, and since it's been published, I've received so many kind messages (and a few beautiful letters in the mail!) about how the collection inspired them to embrace who they are. It's definitely inspired me to share more of myself with the world, and I've been daydreaming in story ideas, pitches, novels, and poems non-stop since.

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Courtesy of Morgan Maher

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WILLA BENNETT GM: What could institutions do to better highlight queerness and queer communities on a systemic and programming level?

WB: It’s important to not just tell queer stories, but to tell diverse queer stories. The queer experience is vast, complex, and deeply personal. Queerness is multi-faceted, and the more space we give to queer storytellers, the more these nuances can be visible.

GM: Can you name someone/something (a support system, community, initiative, etc.) that is dedicated to amplifying queer art and people that you admire?

WB: I really admire the work The Audre Lorde Project does in New York for queer people of color. I’m so proud of having donated the proceeds of my poetry book to The Audre Lorde Foundation. If you don’t already follow them, you absolutely should.

GM: What does Pride Month, which is in June, mean to you?

WB: Pride Month is a time to celebrate all aspects of your LGBTQIA+ identity. "Coming out" is a social construct and ever-evolving. I don’t think anyone is ever done learning about who they are.

Courtesy of Morgan Maher

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GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS

Courtesy of Grace Rosario Perkins

Based in Albuquerque but having spent most of her life moving between city centers, the Navajo Nation, and the Gila River Indian Community, Grace Rosario Perkins is interested in disassembling her personal narrative and reassembling it as one that layers words, objects, faces, and signifiers built from cultural dissonance, language, and history.

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GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

GM: What was your path to becoming an artist?

GRP: A lot of people in my family are artists, so I’ve always been encouraged to be as expressive as I can. I’m lucky in that regard. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I saw [being an artist] as a viable option. But I originally went to [college] for art history and museum studies. At a certain point, I started working with art centers for adults with disabilities (primarily Creative Growth and NIAD Art Center); then I shifted to drawing, which I don’t do anymore. Unifying with other queer people and women of color allowed me to create a community and space where I felt safe and could be more expansive than usual.

GM: What are you currently working on?

GRP: Right now, I’m just getting back to painting. COVID and the political climate has been a really loaded time for a lot of people. My community was really hit hard on the Navajo Nation. I was asked to work on shows and was commissioned for a couple of things, but I took this last year off to sit and figure out what I want to do next and find ways to engage with my home. Last fall, I was a professor at Mills College; I feel really lucky to do that considering that I’m a self-taught artist. I’m currently making an installation/environment that represents the matriarchs in my family. The women in my life mainly raised me – my aunt braided my hair every morning before school, my mom had multiple jobs just to get us clothed and fed, and my grandma is the most crucial person in my life. I want to honor that, and as I get older, I see how misogyny plays out even in queer circles and the ways [in which] we try and measure one another. That’s something I’ve been dealing with in the last few years as I’ve come into myself; I’m in my thirties and I feel more self-assured than I’ve ever felt.

"Our Love is Wild" shown with "My Spine" and "Kóoní Ndeiilnish (we will work here)", installation view of solo exhibition, "I Wanna Be Yours", Sanitary Tortilla Factory (Albuquerque, NM), 2019. Photo courtesy of Apolo Gomez

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GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS GM: How do you advocate for QTPOC and non-binary people in your practice?

GRP: Through my practice, I’ve always really careful to acknowledge who’s come before me, as well as the people coming after me. […] I’ve been in art collectives and worked collaboratively with women and queer people of color since I was in college (2007 onward). My friend, Shayla Alves, is an Afro-Latina who has been DJ’ing for a few years and is just mistreated here – just classic dude stuff, commenting on her gear and not booking her for events. In the last 9 months, we’ve been practicing together, sharing music, and now we’re working on an intersectional and intentionally led DJ effort. In the Bay Area that’s not a rare idea, but in Albuquerque, we’re already seeing what we have to push through. But we’re also looking at it as an educational opportunity; we want to do workshops and bring in other people to teach and provide resources. Gatekeeping is really exhausting, especially spiritually - why not include people?

I also make myself available to young artists who write me, and I have elders that are mentors who I check in on regularly. I’m also opening an art gallery called Couples Therapy in Albuquerque with my partner, Greg Shimada, who’s also a painter. We’re also going to have an exhibition in the Bay Area this summer. […] There are a few people I really want to work with, such as the Indigenous filmmaker Fox Maxy. Every piece I’ve seen by Fox has been incredibly moving, so I’ve offered them a solo show.

My father, Olen Perkins, is an artist and we’re going to pair him with an artist from Japan, Nanook, to have a two-person exhibition. If it all works out, [the space] will be a hub for the DJ group and women who want to share music as a resource, as well as publishing.

Part of my original proposal was to only hire Indigenous youth to be gallery attendants, represent the gallery, and work with the established artists we’ll "I Looked at You and You Were Smiling, Psychic Laughter", acrylic on canvas, Residency Art Gallery (Inglewood, CA),

bring in. Because of who I am, I need to provide this space for Native youth.

2019. Photo courtesy of Grace Rosario Perkins

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GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS GM: This leads into the next question – what could art spaces do to better highlight queer communities on a systemic and programming level?

GRP: What white institutions have to do in order to even serve us is to have an acknowledgment of who they are. [They have] this idea that “art is for everyone”, but I think that they don’t realize how often that [statement] is tied into oppressive systems.

They’re still institutions that benefit off of us even. It’s a very fine line when you work with an institution, because a lot of times I’ve felt tokenized and underappreciated. [Institutions need to] think about how they can provide [fiscal] resources because they have the upper hand and providing those resources are the only way they’re going to help people, along with investment and continual support.

GM: Why is your specific medium of painting a powerful way for you to amplify queerness and your Indigenous identity?

GRP: I’m a painter primarily. I choose to use really bright colors and materials and make large works because I’m thinking about the limitations that are put onto Indigenous artists and artists of color. I make clothes as well. My mentor has told me a few times to really work big, but right now I’m working less big, [essentially] working more modularly and thinking of how things will look together. But he’s talked about using size [to represent] who I am as a queer, Indigenous woman and make a statement about not being submissive.

I’ve been asked a lot about how queerness comes through in my work; I don’t think there’s any intention. My work is very centered on who I am and my interests, even down to the materials I use, what I put on the surfaces of my paintings, the pigments, and the colors.

Sometimes I make bootleg band T-shirts and hats, which are apart of growing up for me. I spent most of my formative years being a complete weirdo outsider, which I probably still am, but when I was younger, DIY culture was a lifeline for me. So, I find ways to insert those references into my paintings for the people who need to see them. There’s a lot of coding.

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GRACE ROSARIO PERKINS

"RP + NN FOREVER", installation view, National Hispanic Cultural Center (Albuquerque, NM), 20182019. Photo courtesy of the National Hispanic Cultural Center

GM: Can you name someone/something (a support system, community, initiative, etc.) that is dedicated to amplifying queer art and people that you admire?

GRP: [There have been] certain periods of my life where I’ve hung out with groups that were really intersectional, and we did creative things together. There was a crucial, vital time in my life where I played in a punk band, found myself helping people with their collective efforts, volunteered at a microcinema, and taught youth and elders. I just think of that time in a very sweet way because it was important in the ways in which people held space for each other, and I learned from them.

GM: What does Pride Month, which is in June, mean to you?

GRP: It’s a reminder for people to honor queer and trans people who initiated these conversations in the ways that we work together. For me, Pride is simply a time to celebrate and honor community, and recognize the legacy behind them — again, these are survival tools.

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LEGACY RUSSELL

Courtesy of Mina Alyeshmerni Legacy Russell is a curator and writer. Born and raised in New York City, she is the Associate Curator of Exhibitions at The Studio Museum in Harlem. Russell holds an MRes with Distinction in Art History from Goldsmiths, University of London with a focus in Visual Culture. Her academic, curatorial, and creative work focuses on gender, performance, digital selfdom, internet idolatry, and new media ritual. Russell’s written work, interviews, and essays have been published internationally. She is the recipient of the Thoma Foundation 2019 Arts Writing Award in Digital Art, a 2020 Rauschenberg Residency Fellow, and the 2021 Creative Capital Award. Her first book, Glitch Feminism: A Manifesto (2020), is published by Verso Books. Her second book, BLACK MEME, is forthcoming via Verso Books.

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LEGACY RUSSELL This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

GM: What was your path to becoming a curator?

LR: Over the course of my career I’ve worked at a variety of institutional spaces such as The Met, The Whitney, The Brooklyn Museum, and Creative Time. Presently I’m the Associate Curator of Exhibitions at The Studio Museum in Harlem. The Museum is currently building a new building, so we’ve been operating in partnership with MoMA and MoMA PS1. As part of this partnership, over this past season we just wrapped up some phenomenal exhibitions, such as a presentation of Garrett Bradley’s film “America” in a multi-channel installation at the MoMA, and a group exhibition, This Longing Vessel, featuring 2019-20 Studio Museum Artistsin-Residence E. Jane, Naudline Pierre, and Elliot Reed at MoMA PS1. Right now we’re working on launching our fall season, which is yet to be announced – but stay tuned!

GM: How do you advocate for QTPOC and non-binary artists of color in your practice?

LR: I recognize that museum spaces and other institutional sites can be challenging for queer people, people of color, and female-identified people. The histories of these spaces are long and complicated. Sometimes navigating the triggers and volatile fault lines – often rendered invisible, but certainly there – can be exhausting and distract from the ecstatic and radical imagination of what it means to be a creative person in the world. My great hope is that as a curator I can continue to hold space and think through the ways that decolonized, inclusive, and intersectional work can be possible through and beyond the site of the institution. This, to me, is an ongoing act of care and an enduring investment in the future of art and what it should look like.

GM: What could art spaces do to better highlight queer communities on a systemic and programming level?

LR: I often talk about visibility versus representation. Sometimes the two get confused. Being hyper-visible on exhibition rosters or across programs does not always indicate that an institution is doing the deeptissue work required to best address representation. That said, the goal to me is not hyper-visibility as a form of hyper-legibility, but rather to think through the ways that institutions and other art spaces can commit to the support and sustainability of artists in the long-term. This means thinking critically about the structure and participation of their boards, the ways in which they express values of equity through their acquisition practices, and recognizing that collaborating with artists will always require elasticity – that no two artists are the same, nor do they have the same needs. So “art work” is about thinking through how to remain flexible and enacting labor that is responsive to the needs of the individual, not just the systems we operate within.

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LEGACY RUSSELL GM: How does your book, Glitch Feminism: A Manifesto (2020), discuss queerness?

LR: The book is an exploration of Black and queer artists whose ongoing explorations across their respective creative practices are driven by the histories of cyberculture. It asks us to think through the ways that refusing [the] gender binary can be a strategic hack in resisting supremacy and patriarchy, and also redefining what a body “should” look like through the technology of queerness.

GM: Can you name someone/something (a support system, community, initiative, etc.) that is dedicated to amplifying queer art and people that you admire?

LR: Queer|Art|Mentorship continues to do very important work in addressing the need for an expansive and intergenerational network of collaboration and care as a core driver of what it means to be a creative person in the world.

GM: What does Pride Month, which is in June, mean to you?

LR: For me, it’s an opportunity to think through the intersection of Pride Month with Juneteenth; a reminder that these histories of Blackness and queerness have always been layered on top of one another, running alongside one another, in intersection and conversation. That said, it’s time to celebrate the ways [that] Black and queer life have held space for one another, fought for one another, and continue to amplify the future imagination of the world as it keeps transforming.

Glitch Feminism: A Manifesto (2020) by Legacy Russell. Cover design by Elizabeth Karp-Evans, Pacific. Courtesy of Pacific

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LAUREN ARGENTINA ZELAYA

Photo by Jonathan Dorado and courtesy of The Brooklyn Museum

Lauren Argentina Zelaya is a cultural producer, curator, and DJ based in Brooklyn, NY. In her role as the Director of Public Programs at The Brooklyn Museum, Lauren curates and produces public programs that welcome over 200,000 visitors annually to engage with art in new and unexpected ways. Lauren is committed to collaborating with emerging artists and centering voices in our communities that are often marginalized, with a focus on creating programming for and with LGBTQ+, BIPOC, and immigrant communities.

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LAUREN ARGENTINA ZELAYA This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

GM: What was your path to your current career?

LAZ: I primarily call myself a cultural producer and educator. Since a young age, I’ve always loved art. My mom always put me in art classes and encouraged me to be creative and make art. I went to Smith College and studied art history and film studies, and fell in love with college radio, which is where I got my start producing events. After graduation, I got a paid public programming fellowship at The Brooklyn Museum, where I learned [the] pedagogy of producing events about art and gallery teaching. I fell in love with it; I had visited The Brooklyn Museum when I was in college and was really drawn to the ethos of the institution. It feels warm and I immediately felt welcome in that space, which was a stark contrast to other experiences I’d had in museums. The Brooklyn Museum has had a long commitment to presenting work by artists of color and marginalized identities, including LGBTQIA+ identified artists, which drew me there. It’s also the first and only museum to offer a feminist art center. They really foster professional development; I enjoyed it so much and fell in love with the work and community that we engage with at the museum. After the fellowship, I worked at a few other museums in NYC before making my way back [to The Brooklyn Museum] in 2015.

GM: How do you advocate for QTPOC and non-binary people and artists in your practice?

LAZ: I identify as QTPOC, but I also have queer, non-binary staff members on my team as close collaborators. We hire QTPOC and non-binary people to present for our public programs, or collaborate with them to develop public programs that are responsive and engaging. Due to COVID, it’s been difficult to be as involved, but it's important for me to also show up in the creative queer communities in Brooklyn, such as going to other art shows or live performance venues, and supporting those artists. It’s important to show up inside and outside. One of the important cornerstones to my approach is leading with humanity. In this field and other institutional work, we can be trained to be super formal in our correspondence, to the point where we’re not human in our interactions. As a leader, showing up authentically makes space for others to do the same. I want to build trust with folks and relationships with the community. I do think of my work as community building.

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Photo by Alyza Enriquez and courtesy of The Brooklyn Museum

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LAUREN ARGENTINA ZELAYA GM: What could art spaces do to better highlight queer communities on a systemic and programming level?

LAZ: Hire folks who identify as part of the communities that they want to represent or engage with in the institution. Leading with humanity is key; it sounds simple but unfortunately it’s not always common sense. Don’t use institutional jargon; meet people where they are at. As someone who does public programs, [institutions should] have programs dedicated to queerness that are not held only during Pride Month. If I weren’t presenting the cultural production of Black, Latinx, Caribbean, queer or trans people, then I wouldn’t be doing my job because they’re the forces that shape the arts and culture of Brooklyn! So I take it seriously. I need to honor the historic roots of this borough and work with artists and creatives who have roots here, as well as welcome newer residents.

That work is a tremendous responsibility. Our identities aren’t necessarily in a clear box, and we want to celebrate the wholeness of people all the time. Are we being “diverse” in our diversity, and are we making sure all the identities under the umbrella are being represented? Are we thinking about queer immigrants, queer disabled people, and trans femmes? [We need to] make sure that we’re being as inclusive as possible, and that can’t be done with one exhibition or program.

GM: Can you name someone/something (a support system, community, initiative, etc.) that is dedicated to amplifying queer art and people that you admire?

LAZ: I can list so many people and organizations! A major space of support and community building for me has been queer nightlife in Brooklyn. I make it a point to celebrate it in our programming because it’s an important art form, space of community building, and joy, because we need that. Some people who are doing the work in that space that I admire are Amber Valentine, JD Samson, the Drag Queens at Bushwig, Set it Off, Arrebato Queer, Papi Juice, and Bubble_T. In terms of more art-centered spaces and organizations, Visual AIDS has long preserved the legacy and well-being of a diversity of artists, EmergeNYC is an incubator for a many emerging artist-activists, and I just joined the board of Black Trans Femmes in the Arts, which is dedicated to offering support and resources for Black trans femme artists and arts professionals. DapperQ is near and dear to us at The Brooklyn Museum; they’re a queer style platform that looks at the intersections of social justice and fashion. We present an annual fashion show with them.

GM: Could you talk about two projects of yours, the 2019 Brooklyn Museum exhibition “Nobody Promised You Tomorrow: Art 50 Years After Stonewall” and your independent venture “Queer Art Radio”?

LAZ: Sadly I’m not doing Queer Art Radio right now due to COVID. I’ve been talking with my friend Allie/A.L. Rickard about reviving it, but for now hopefully it exists as a little archive on the internet. That was a project I did for fun because I’m a DJ; it was more D-I-Y because my job is so formal in a museum. It was fun to do something where we could hang out with queer artists and creatives and play music. This project blossomed from curating “Nobody Promised You Tomorrow”, in part because I started the radio show with Rickard, who was also one of the exhibition's co-curators. My experience curating "Nobody Promised You Tomorrow" was a complete adventure; to be honest, it was a very radical structure for a museum. (Continued on next page)

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LAUREN ARGENTINA ZELAYA

Photo by Alyza Enriquez and courtesy of The Brooklyn Museum (Continued) It was a 5-person curatorial collective from 3 different departments – education, public programs, and curatorial – and we did it for the [Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for] Feminist Art. The collective structure imitated the origins of Stonewall’s collective resistance; we wanted to celebrate and interrogate the legacy of this historic moment of the Stonewall Riots, and think about its impact on queer and trans cultural production today. [It was also] a great opportunity to amplify artists who are born after 1969 and working and living today; [there were] 28 artists in the show. It was many of the artists’ first time in a museum show, and it was exciting to share so many different aesthetics and realities when it comes to queer and trans artmaking. [There are] so many different and important issues that are [apart of] the vitality of queer and trans communities. It was a 50-year celebration, reflection, and also a visioning for the future; for Stonewall’s 100-year celebration we wanted to make sure that there’s an archive of QTPOC working today. It was also important that we included artists who are not just traditional fine art artists – so not just painters and photographers, but community organizers, poets, performance artists, people who throw parties, and those who think expansively about what it means to be an artist. Shout out to Carmen Hermo, Allie Rickard, Margo Cohen Ristorucci, and Lindsay C. Harris for the journey, care, and rigor it took to pull it off – and all of our colleagues at the Museum who cheered us on! The show will be reorganized at Fresno State this fall, so if you are on the West Coast you can check out a new iteration!

GM: What does Pride Month, which is in June, mean to you?

LAZ: At this particular point in time for me, Pride Month is about gratitude. Working on “Nobody Promised You Tomorrow” really helped me to understand our queer and trans ancestors and their stories - their resistance, rage, and love. I’m also grateful for health and vitality, especially due to the pandemic. Pride Month is also about joy – as resistance and a necessity for surviving and thriving.

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JUNE 2021

VOLUME 2, ISSUE 2

PRIDE

GIRLS MAGAZINE