Whether it’s a popped-up collar, a clean V-neck cut or a boxy boyfriend fit, there’s gender euphoria to be found in football shirts. 

WORDS BY ZOYA RAZA-SHEIKH
IN COLLABORATION WITH VERSUS
HEADER DESIGN BY JACK ROWE

Growing up, men’s football was all over the telly. My older brother was a massive Manchester United fan and would watch every game he could, sometimes I’d even watch with him. I loved seeing the players beeline across the pitch, socks pulled up over their calves, sweat-soaked shirts hugging their chests. I would examine their bodies and think: “Why don’t football shirts look like that on me?”

Gender isn’t easy to figure out. The world we live in primarily operates in a binary manner. Men, women. Straight, gay. They’re still very much considered the default – even more so in football, a sport that’s deeply rooted in old-school views of masculinity. So, it might seem odd that football shirts have provided me with an avenue to experiment with my own gender. Or is it? 

Back then, watching those games with my brother, I didn’t quite know how to describe the feelings I felt as I sat captivated by the slick movements of Louis Saha, Wayne Rooney and Paul Scholes. But now, I’d call it gender envy. There’s no right way when it comes to figuring out your identity and where you fit in a world obsessed with labelling people as simply one thing or another. But for some reason, football shirts have always helped me on my gender journey. 

Shirts have become a core part of my gender expression – I feel more at ease with who I am when I wear them. They provide me with a level of comfort and breathability, both literally and metaphorically. It might seem somewhat trivial, distilling something so big as gender into a brightly-coloured 80s-inspired football shirt. But often it’s the small, everyday things that help us to make sense of the emotions we’ve struggled for so long to engage with – let alone make sense of. 

There’s an unquestionable euphoria in football fashion. Whether you want to call it ‘blokecore’ or ‘ladcore’, the revival of retro kits undoubtedly pulls on iconic British fashion that flooded the streets and terraces throughout the 80s and 90s. Today, both football die-hards and casual matchgoers are experimenting with kits – something we’ve also seen bleed onto the catwalk in recent years (will there ever be a better collaboration than Wales Bonner x Jamaica?). And while the blokecore trend might feel gendered, the style isn’t. It’s a lens of fashion that has been an escape, a place where I can find synergy between my outward presentation and internal feelings. 

Finding sanctity in football shirts was an unexpected port of call, one that caught me by surprise, even as a long-time football fan. Yet I can’t shake the gender-affirming sense of self I find wearing my beige Barcelona 2004-05 shirt. As your identity shifts – whether it’s labels, pronouns, or something bigger – there’s a want to create cohesiveness in how you feel and fashion is the easiest way to signify who you are. From pairing oversized baggy blue-wash denim jeans with a bright yellow 2010-13 Arsenal away number, to matching chunky silver rings with my crisp white Real Madrid top. In football shirts, for me at least, there’s no immediate call to dress femme, instead, you can play around with presentation. This level of openness has given me the freedom to pick and choose what feels best. A feeling I’ve not always experienced in either my surroundings or myself. 

How the Women’s Super League became the pinnacle of UK sapphic culture

As a South Asian baby masc, I’m used to comments of all kinds: ones to do with race, gender, sexuality, you name it. You learn to acclimatise (not always quickly) to the soft racism or how your eyebrow slit, thin silver chain or vocal joy for Chappell Roan can make people feel a bit uncomfortable. “It’s a bit much”, I’ve been told. The level of prejudice – and sometimes even abuse – I’ve experienced over the years for trying to feel at home in my own skin, is perhaps why I’ve never watched a men’s football match in person. 

We’ve all seen and heard stories about how homophobic and racist the men’s game is. Watching Manchester United’s first team with my brother might have been my football entry point but it’s the women’s game that’s welcomed me for who I am. I’ve found women’s football to be a space that’s more inclusive of diverse identities than most – I’d even go so far as to say that I’ve found a community. Being queer in women’s football, both for the players and the fans, isn’t the exception; if anything it’s celebrated. The camaraderie of the women’s game feels more like home for me because I don’t experience the same level of interrogation for wearing my oversized “men’s” shirts and gender-fluid fits.

Many of us spend years following our favourite players from club to club as they evolve with their teams. And while I can’t pull off striking Ballon d’Or-worthy shots like Aitana Bonmatí, I can empathise with growing through motions of change. In a way, through shirts, I do the same. 

Each one brings a different feeling – a sense of home and comfort for a different reason. Sometimes it’s an affirming colour choice or even a modest boxy cut that brings an unexplained feeling of ease for me. Football traditionally hasn’t been a space welcoming of people like me – those who don’t conform to gender norms. So, perhaps there’s some irony in me gaining as much comfort in shirts as I do. But if they help me get to grips with this beast called gender, then it looks like I’ll need to make more space in my wardrobe. 

You can read Zoya’s article on gender and football fashion at Versus here. 

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One thing about RuPaul’s Drag Race is that there will be discourse. With such a massively popular show, it’s a bit inevitable that almost every action (or inaction) by RuPaul and the show’s producers cause conversation. Last week, Marcia Marcia Marcia complained about the show no longer requiring queens to sing for the Rusical (amongst other grievances.) The fandom rose up and cried foul pretty much unanimously when the show was shortened to hour-long episodes and the series later uploaded them at their full length.

Well, there’s a chance season 16 is also an answer to a long running complaint.

For this week’s mini-challenge, RuPaul has the girls do “spit takes.” Yes, that is just like it sounds: RuPaul will give them a comedic line or two as they drink water, and the contestants are expected to spit the water while laughing. Which … I guess this would be a very good skill to have if you want a cameo in someone’s screwball comedy. But, for the maxi-challenge we are back to the Singer sewing machines.

It has been at least a decade since RuPaul’s Drag Race hosted three design challenges in one season — for the purposes of this count, makeover challenges are not design challenges. But for the past five (at least) viewers have complained: spending your family’s money isn’t a talent. People have begged the show to return to its Project Runway-inspired origins so the queens are forced to show us not only what they are made of but what they can literally make. And now, the show seems to be doing just that.

 

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A post shared by RuPaul’s Drag Race (@rupaulsdragrace)

It’s quite perfectly timed, when you think about it. In a moment where, as a direct result of Drag Race, drag queens really do not have to make their own garments, the show reasserts the fact that they could if they wanted to. That, while queens like Miss Fame, Aquaria, and Keiona Revlon sit front row at shows (Keiona is at Paris Fashion Week literally right now) and La Grande Dame is walking in shows, drag performers are still some of the most creative and capable beings out there. And what a cast to show it off.

The theme is See You Next Wednesday, where contestants create a Neo-Goth look using black, white, and gray fabric that has been supplied in the werkroom. Sapphira Cristál turns out a gown that is classic, but beautiful, buoyed mostly by her performance of disinterest on the runway. She’s so adept at her work, in fact, that she has enough time to double-up, putting in some serious work on Mhi’ya Iman Le’Paige’s look — we are coming back to that later. In another season, Sapphira would have probably made for one of the top three looks on the runway. But this is a season of true designers.

Nymphia Wind, Dawn, and Q all had something to prove for the challenge: Nymphia and Q both have one design win while Dawn has none. And prove things they did. Nymphia’s perfectly draped, skintight, veiled creation was second to none in my humble opinion. While on another queen I might complain about the lack of movement (Nymphia had to shuffle down the runway) there was something about it that reminded me of geishas, or the Japanese women in the new FX series Shogun.

 

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Dawn, in a feat of engineering, swings hard for the top focusing on the impossibly small waist that is central to her silhouette and building a floating hoopskirt-cum-chandelier of sorts via fishing line. Q went the biggest, turning out a gown with a massive billowing train that gives it the effect of a cape. She’s rewarded with the win.

In the bottom is Mhi’ya with a simple enough liquidy dress featuring a sheer, shimmering back alongside Plasma wearing … yeah … whatever that is. In the lip sync, even though she removes her wig (without revealing another one) Mhi’ya easily sweeps the floor with our theater queen. But, at least she goes home with two wins.

And a lip sync assassin has been minted.

The post Drag Race is finally giving us what we asked for appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Gen Z killed office casual. Here’s how queer, London designers are reinventing work clothes.

WORDS BY JAMIE WINDUST 
PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF FASHION EAST

With the economic blues hitting home and our hard-grafted Vinted sales no longer safe from the tax man, the euphoria around fashion might feel like it’s on the way out. But even the 2008 financial crash couldn’t stop London Fashion Week and so, this February, LFW reared its subversive, stylish head once more.  

And, okay, we were kind of gagged! From Dilara Findikoglu’s ode to the divine feminine to Tolu Coker’s joyful, street hawker-inspired collection, London’s designers lived up to their bold reputation. But one thing we didn’t expect for a fashion city known for its raves and stick-it-to-the-man attitude? Suits…literally everywhere.

Whether it was Fashion East, JW Anderson, Aaron Esh or Labrum, tailoring took over but, have no fear, the anarchic London spirit still reigned strong. Models stomped down the runway in deconstructed shirts, oversized silhouettes and BDSM-lite briefcases that – if they could talk – would undoubtedly say, ‘my favourite workplace romcom is Secretary‘.

Why, though? Well, there’s no denying that workplace culture is shifting. Gone are the days of your traditional 9-5, but the grind – no matter what you do – lives on. If anything, we’re having to work more than ever to get by: wages are stagnating and the cost of rent, food and pretty much everything else is ballooning. And that’s not even mentioning that the retirement age is expected to keep going up and up, meaning that most of us will be spending even more of our sad little lives clocking in every weekday morning.

So, why not have a little fun with your office wear? Or, if you’re one of the many folk who don’t work in an office, why not cosplay as a vampy office siren, as the FYP seems to have been encouraging us to do since the beginning of the year? At least that’s what LFW – and in particular, the queer designers on its schedule – seemed to be suggesting.

 

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A post shared by Olly Shinder (@olly.shinder)

It’s true; the ‘corporate girly’ vibes are over. Instead, make way for Olly Shinder‘s anti-workwear. For his second Fashion East outing, the designer expanded on his ongoing fascination with contemporary uniforms. Maintaining his interest in athleisure and sportswear, he also took a foray into the seemingly opposed world of corporates and kink: marrying sculptural shirt collars, skinny dad glasses and slacks with thigh-high leather boots, slick rubber accents and Berghain-ready bustiers.

Similarly, Sinead O’Dwyer also took a tongue-in-cheek look at careerism for AW24. Crisp shirts are slashed, twisted and cropped to create bold cutouts and unexpected flashes of skin while briefcases are encased in the tight, criss-cross pattern of her signature shibari-like mesh bodysuits.

 

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A post shared by Sinéad O’Dwyer (@sjodwyer)

Could it be that Shinder and O’Dwyer’s combination of fetish and work is making the bootlicking and power play of the office explicit? The jury is out but, at the very least, these are clothes that can take you from the warehouse to your company all-hands the next morning.

So, as the fashion pack turns their sites to Milan and leaves Hell Island behind, let’s slap an out-of-office on plain grey suits and white shirts and start lobbying our workplaces for kink-inclusive dresscodes.

Read more of GAY TIMES fashion interviews and hot takes here. 

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Inspired by the glamazons who strut the streets of their hometown, the designer has always believed in the transformative power of clothing

WORDS BY JAMIE WINDUST
CREATIVE DIRECTION BY PATRICK MCDOWELL
PHOTOGRAPHY AND CO-CREATIVE DIRECTION BY FRANCISCO GOMEZ DE VILLABOA
STYLING, CO-CREATIVE DIRECTION AND CASTING BY JAIME MORENO
HAIR BY CRISTOPHE POTIN FOR AVEDA UK
MAKE UP BY ELLE MCMAHON
SET DESIGN BY ZUZANNA SKURTYS
SET ASSISTANT LAURA HAYES

Welcome to Queer by Design, a new monthly column by GAY TIMES Contributing Editor Jamie Windust. Here, Jamie profiles emerging designers about the intersections of style, identity and expression and how these factors inform their creative practice.

Exaggerated shoulders, sleek silhouettes and sophisticated tailoring are but a few of the stylistic hallmarks of Liverpool-raised designer Patrick McDowell. While they’ve already established themself as an industry leader here in the UK, they first launched their eponymous label just six years ago, in 2018 – the same year they graduated from prestigious fashion school CSM.

However, McDowell can trace their interest in fashion back much farther than this, to their Merseyside childhood. Here, they’d watch women get dolled up for nights out – witnessing the ways that style and beauty could be sources of strength and empowerment that seemed to radiate on an almost molecular level. “I was amazed by how the clothes they wore transformed how they presented to the world,” McDowell recalls. “I always wanted to be a part of that feeling.”

This nostalgia aside, the future of fashion is forward-thinking – and it’s an ethos that McDowell fully embraces. Not only does their brand use advanced sustainable materials, but it has recently pivoted to an innovative, eco-conscious business model. Unlike many other labels, the garments recently showcased in McDowell’s AW24 collection won’t be snapped up by buyers to be paraded in stores once the season changes. Rather, items will be released in a made-to-order capacity and meted out across the year via drops, timed strategically in order to minimise environmental concerns.

I don't think I'd be where I am today without being queer. It's been a superpower that has allowed me to view the world differently and create my own path.

Queerness is also, perhaps unexpectedly, intertwined with McDowell’s sustainability-first, made-to-order model. Working to the unique measurements of the customer, rather than adhering to the restrictive sizing requirements and gender divisions of ready-to-wear, the designer proudly acknowledges that “we can create pieces for any body and gender identity”.

To celebrate McDowell’s triumphant AW24 show at London Fashion Week, GAY TIMES caught up with the designer to discuss the potent power of a queer perspective, the identity-affirming nature of fashion, and how their brand is nurturing the next generation of design talent.

The Patrick McDowell brand has bloomed since we last spoke. What has it been like to see your work inspire new conversations around fashion and sustainability?

It’s incredible to see the growth of the brand over the last two years. We’ve worked hard to do things differently and it’s so rewarding to see us grow into a future-facing fashion brand. We are made-to-order and limited edition so we create a limited number of pieces that fit our clients properly. I’m proud to say we can create pieces for any body and gender identity – we’re really trying to complete the circle and think how we can do this in a better way.

Your SS24 ‘A Tragedy In Fashion’ collection had so many brilliant collaborations including with Lee Jeans and Rambert Dance Company. How does working with other creative practitioners enrich your designs?

I’ve always been interested in working with and celebrating others. My work expands and grows through highlighting and collaborating with others. It’s a huge privilege to work alongside so many other creative voices.

Community, in all of its forms, has been at the heart of the brand since day one. I’m always looking for new ways to embody this within what we do as a company, so creating a different conversation in the fashion space around how to connect with new communities (and new dimensions of communities we’re already a part of) is both fulfilling and important.

As a child, I used to watch the women of Liverpool dress up for nights out. I was amazed by how the clothes they wore transformed how they presented to the world.

As your brand has evolved, have you had to change the way you express your queerness?

I’ve always felt so lucky to be able to express and understand my queerness through my work. It’s been a real joy to see it grow and develop. I think together we are growing up, exploring more nuanced expressions and fully stepping into ourselves. I don’t think I’d be where I am today without being queer. It’s been a superpower that has allowed me to view the world differently and create my own path.

How has creative education played a role in your brand?

Nurturing creative education is a foundation of Patrick McDowell. I have always been in awe of how life-changing creative education was for me, through my amazing high school art teacher Ali McWatt or through the unique pedagogy at CSM. I’ve been keen since day one to build education into my work. It’s been incredible to set up a scholarship at CSM through my work, with the Italian brand Pinko, to support the next generation of talent. Also, I’ve been able to support students across the country through my role as Global Ambassador for Graduate Fashion Week.

How do you feel when you see LGBTQIA+ people coming across your work for the first time?

As a child, I used to watch the women of Liverpool dress up for nights out. I was amazed by how the clothes they wore transformed how they presented to the world. I always wanted to be a part of that feeling. A feeling I grew to love myself as I explored my own clothing choices and as a means of presenting myself as the type of person I wanted to be. I’m very proud to design clothes that make people feel strong, powerful and beautiful. I want to create pieces that allow people to be whoever they are inside. Pieces that make you feel able to proudly go out into the world and say, ‘This is me’.

Follow Patrick McDowell here.

The post Patrick McDowell might be a CSM grad, but scouse glamour gave them their first fashion education appeared first on GAY TIMES.

James Hazlett-Beard talks with GAY TIMES about his new production agency ART ENGINE, which puts queer creatives at the forefront.

WORDS BY UMAR SARWAR
PHOTOGRAPHY BY GEORGE ASLANIDIS
RETOUCHING BY FLECKS STUDIO

Founder, James Hazlett-Beard, brings a 360 approach to production. Having started his career as an artist, going on to produce editorial, content & global multi-channel campaigns for some of the world’s biggest brands. Honing his craft within; creative agencies, service production, In-brand & post houses. His clients have included; adidas, Bjork, De Beers, H&M, Tom Ford & Vogue France.

Given the continuously changing creative and consumer environments, our clients might find it challenging or confusing to determine the right starting point and approach for tackling the complexities of their projects. This also extends to the selection of tools we utilise for the creative process.

ART ENGINE can be used to power and support our clients to enable them to realise their visions. Using our proactive, reactive & intuitive solutions to optimise workflows, find innovation within our work & produce budget conscious solutions.

With our agency and brand understanding, we can work independently, or as an extension of an existing team, to help our clients – creative agency or brand – take the now, into the next.

James, congratulations on launching ART ENGINE, can you talk us through the company’s ethos and the services it will provide? 

Thanks so much, the launch feels like it’s been a long time coming. 

ART ENGINE is a non-traditional production partner with an intuitive approach to production. We were born from a passion for diverse talent and the innovative tools we use to create. We chose to use the refractive colours in our brand because it represents the diverse talent that fuels our industry and powers creative ideas. As a queer owned business, this was very important for us to have this as a part of our brand DNA. 

We offer full production support from inception to delivery, across stills, motion, CGI & special projects. Our goal as a company is to support creative teams, agencies and brands to achieve their visions, facilitating a safe space for everyone, including members of the queer community to feel safe and supported on or off set. I started the company as I knew I could make a positive change within the industry and bring innovation to processes that needed updating.

One thing that is very important to us is to create opportunities for those who may have been previously overlooked. Breaking down barriers and creating opportunities for those from marginalised groups, even outside the queer community.

Tell us more about you, your background and your experience working within the creative industry.

My career hasn’t always been a linear journey to where I am today: It’s gone through many evolutions, as I’ve gained insights and understandings through the many roles I’ve taken. Where I am now encompasses all of those learnings, affording me a greater understanding of people’s roles, and how they behave on set, which further strengthens the 360 approach we have on projects.

I always knew I wanted to be a creative. I spent most of my childhood on the Isle of Wight, with just my imagination and the countryside to entertain myself. Back then, these places weren’t always the most kind to queer people, and I was constantly singled out inside and outside of school just for being me. I knew I had to leave in order to find myself, my people, and to fulfill my career as a creative. 

I didn’t go to uni. After interviewing for multiple photography courses, they all told me that going out and getting real life experience would be the best route for me. I was shattered. I had no means to pay for living in London; no contacts to start assisting, and no idea where to start. 

I got a job at a department store in Oxford Circus, and began engaging with creatives on social media. After time, model agencies let me test some of their talent and build my portfolio. This caught the eye of queer artist Daniel Lismore, which led me to trek two hours in the snow to shoot them on the banks of Bermondsey. It’s still one of my favorite shoots to date. It reminded me that photography allows me to explore parts of myself I once rejected, then went on to reclaim.

I then went on to produce, and have been fortunate enough to gain experience across all different areas of production: multiple agencies, brands, post houses, and production companies. This experience has given me a broad overview and allowed me to collaborate with so many amazing crews, creatives, and clients from all around the world.  

We‘ve come a long way from when I first started in the industry, but we still have such a long way to go in terms of real inclusivity. I acknowledge my privilege as a CIS white male, and I hope I can continue to help bridge the gap in creating opportunities for queer, and other marginalised, communities. 

What makes queer communities and creatives so exciting to collaborate with?

In my experience, as queer people, we face many different challenges and experiences, both internally and externally, in order to become our authentic selves. 

We bring such a rich perspective to the creative industry, and are so fortunate to be a part of such a vibrant community. Our art can be both an extension of our expression but also a means to tell our story. 

In order to become who we are, we work so hard to unlearn what society tells us to be. As someone who has also been on this journey, I really connect with other queer creatives as we all have a mutual understanding of what it has taken to be who we are today.

We may have different experiences, needs and journeys, but this is exactly what excites me both on a personal and professional level. Not one person is the same and with the infinite possibilities within the gender, sexuality and identity spectrum, we continue to push the boundaries and challenge perspectives inside and outside creative the community.

Who were some of your mentors that inspired you and what type of mentor do you hope to be?

There have been a couple of mentors that have inspired me throughout my journey, one being Fabian Hirose, a management consultant working within luxury fashion with groups such as LVMH, and brands including Valentino. Fabian started me on my personal development journey, inspiring me to look inwards so I could better understand myself, others, and the outside world.

By working through this, I was able to start changing my internal narrative, so my external become aligned with my desired goals and experience. Personal development is a journey that never ends but I am forever very thankful for Fabian giving me the tools to start this journey.

Another huge influence is Claire Ramasamy, Head of Production at the creative agency U DOX. Claire’s kindness and empathy for others showed me that it’s ok to have compassion in the workplace. The industry can be a hard place both physically and mentally. Claire’s actions continue to inspire me every day. 

It can sometimes be hard or overwhelming to even begin to understand where to start on your personal development journey. As a mentor, I hope by listening, having empathy and patience, I can guide mentees onto or as a part of this journey. 

What advice would you give to queer creatives who want to pursue a career within production or the creative industries?

Our industry thrives from the diverse backgrounds, experiences and perspectives it attracts, including those of the LGBTQIA+ community. Be proud of who you are and see the value that you bring as a queer person. People like you are exactly what inspires me and gets me up in the morning. Being queer is your superpower, so own it.

It can be a challenging time when first starting out in any industry. Like anything, you only win opportunities you put yourself forward for. I know for me when I first started out, it sometimes felt like I was sending endless emails, cold calls, job applications and receiving nothing but radio silence whilst working a job I had no interest in.

But I promise you, if you want it badly enough, keep trying, think outside the box, go around the agencies or creatives a few times over and at some point, someone is going to need the help. 

Just make sure you are ready, remain humble and remember that no one owes you anything. When given the opportunity, give it your all and dont be afraid to get your hands dirty. Even to this day I will be sweeping the floors with the runners. Nobody is above any task.

Do you have an advice for facilitating a inclusive and diverse production

Inclusive productions aren’t just for those in front of the camera, it’s also behind. By adding everyone’s pronouns to the call sheet, learning to say people’s names correctly, understanding individual personalities and needs, can make a huge difference to people’s experience in the workplace. This extends far beyond the queer community and includes the BAME, neurodiverse and those with disabilities.

We are still pushing for more female representation leading our projects even as photographers and directors. Let alone roles on set that have been previously filled traditionally by CIS men. We work a lot with neurodiverse talent here at ART ENGINE. Their superpower allows them to be some of the best within the CGI and digital art space. Everyone’s needs are so different and it’s for us to make sure that we make sure everyone feels supported so they can perform at their best. A group of people that feels safe and empowered, will only deliver the best possible outcome.

There really isn’t an excuse anymore not to be pushing for more diversity within our teams. I can sometimes feel like it isn’t always the easiest task to undertake, however, if we all continue to try to push hard every day, one day, we will have achieved our goal to bridge that gap. 

What are your biggest hopes and plans for ART ENGINE for the year to come?

I think the first step is to just introduce ourselves to the world, showing the industry what we do and our ways of working. So far our clients and teams have come back to say they have all felt heard and supported when partnering with us. This kind of feedback is what really excites us.

We see this as a year of growth, innovation, and positive impact for ART ENGINE as we strive to push boundaries, inspire creativity, and make a meaningful contribution to the creative industry.

We have also founded an extension of ART ENGINE called FUEL. Here we are looking to grow this into a space for creatives in the industry to come together. We are also in the early stages of planning our first event, which we hope to launch later this year to platform up-and-coming queer talent. 

This really is just the beginning for us, and I’m so thankful for the support and opportunities we’ve received so far. I can’t wait to see where this journey takes us.

To learn more about ART ENGINE, click here.

The post ART ENGINE: James Hazlett-Beard launches queer-focused production agency appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Equally informed by a religious upbringing and nights immersed in East London’s queer scene, the designer channels the “cunty yet heavenly soft” qualities of Renaissance Catholicism into wearable pieces art

WORDS BY JAMIE WINDUST 
CREDITS FOR  OUTDOOR SHOOT:
PHOTOGRAPHY BY SARAH HUGO-HAMMAN
MODEL PONAHALO MOJAPELO
ASSISTED BY JADE DE NOBRIGA

CREDITS FOR STUDIO SHOOT:
PHOTOGRAPHY BY CÉSAR BUITRAGO
MAKEUP BY ALEX LEVY
MODEL ISABELLA CARR

Welcome to Queer by Design, a new monthly column by GAY TIMES Contributing Editor Jamie Windust. Here, Jamie profiles emerging designers about the intersections of style, identity and expression and how these factors inform their creative practice.

Inspired by the heavenly imagery and iconography of the 15th and 16th centuries, designer Grete Henriette transforms bodies into ethereal, goddess-like beings. From Kim Petras and Sam Smith to Lil Nas X, her designs have drawn the eye of queer divas and pop icons alike.

After graduating from Ravensbourne in 2020 – debuting a graduate collection which drew on corsetry and Regencycore – she created her namesake brand, and developed a signature aesthetic. Transforming chains, rosaries, precious stones and crosses into intricate garments, her work lies somewhere between decadent jewellery and body armour. Henriette doesn’t just want to empower people to look fierce, she wants to instil in them an undefeatable sense of confidence.

Using the LGBTQIA+ community as a constant inspiration, Henriette’s work pays homage to the power that fashion holds for queer people and the transformative, affirming impact it can have in our lives. For her, creating fashion is a deeply personal act and, despite the worldwide appeal of her brand, her roots in the East London LGBTQIA+ scene will never leave her bones.

GAY TIMES sat down with Henriette to discuss the role the LGBTQIA+ community has played in her success and why she is determined to see queer bodies shine.

Let’s start at the beginning. I hear your creative background was in theatre before you went on to study fashion. How has that inspired your brand?

My background in theatre definitely laid the foundation for the aesthetic of my brand’s universe, and why my work can be quite theatrical and dramatic. I was attracted to theatre because it offers an opportunity to communicate and express oneself in a way that is imbued with passion that may lack in other art forms.
Both Fashion and theatre give me a space to express myself and my creativity. At the costume department of my acting course, I realised how interested I was in the construction of conceptual and historical pieces.

There’s an almost spiritual aspect to your work, using such chains and playing with natural light – where do you draw inspiration?

I’ve always been curious about the opulence we see throughout the history of Christianity. Religion was a big part of my upbringing and, like for most queer people, this relationship shifted when I realised I was queer. The gay panic when entering a church is still very real. Through my work, I aim to evoke a feeling of nostalgia through the composition of material, colour and imagery that show distinct familiarities to objects found in a Christian chapel. There is something so cunty yet heavenly soft about the art and fashion from the 15th and 16th Century.

I created the first ‘Saint Chain Dress’ as I was going through my antique jewellery box. I had been collecting antique pieces and rosaries for years. I wished to be able to only wear jewellery, wondering if it was possible for jewellery to become a garment. I started draping the pieces around my body, connecting the individual pieces to one another in the shape of a dress. That’s how it all started.

Your practice expands beyond design and into metalwork and stonework. How is your design process led by the materials you use?

At the moment my favourite material is mother of pearl. My entire algorithm is filled with videos of pearl farming and research on how it can be done sustainably, without harming the oysters. As an earth sign, I feel very connected to nature and its ability to create wonders.

Another recent obsession is natural rose quartz crystal and its healing properties. I’ve been creating looks entirely made with this beautiful stone. However, I do feel like I’m cheating on metal by saying this. Metal is such an essential part of my brand identity; I’ve always been inspired by historical armour and silversmithing. The craftsmanship, the time and attention to detail that goes into creating the pieces is incredible.

What I like most about the process is seeing how a hard, stubborn material transitions into an ethereal, almost angelic looking piece. That brings me so much joy. My favourite look is the ‘Physical Remains of a Saint’ mini chain dress. She is a mix of the materials I’ve mentioned, heavily embellished with colourful gems, pearls and unique antique jewellery pieces.

As an emerging designer how do you navigate expectations that the industry puts on young queer designers?

It can be stressful sometimes, you might get put in a box by some. People still see me as the ‘chain girl’ even if my work has become so much more versatile than that. But to be honest, I think this can also be the fun part of being in the ‘early stages’ of your career. There is a freedom to doing what you love, and most people are just excited to see where I’m going creatively, and see me and my brand grow.

As a member of the LGBTQIA+ community you’ve dressed Sam Smith and Kim Petras, what’s the best thing about being able to dress and work with fellow LGBTQIA+ creatives?

To me, it’s so rewarding to dress fellow queer artists, they get it. Especially, seeing someone feeling themselves, unapologetically embracing queerness covered in crystals, shining in opulence. We also just have the most fun because you know, we’re family.

Would you say that your brand is an extension of your queerness?

Absolutely. My creative process is very emotionally charged. It is how I express myself as an artist and a product of how I see the world. The queer scene in East London has played a big role in my journey and growth as an artist. The support and appreciation for our individuality, boldness and fearlessness, and the way we celebrate one another holds a big place in my heart.

View Grete’s latest work here and on Instagram.

The post Grete Henriette does ‘heavenly bodies’ better than the Met Gala – and the Vatican appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Boozers, Buckfast and yer granny’s curtains are just some of the tongue-in-cheek references adopted by the Welsh designer 

WORDS BY JAMIE WINDUST
CORNER SHOP LOOK BOOK BY ROSHAN WHITTAKER
BTS FROM LATEST SHOW BY EMMA JONES

Welcome to Queer by Design, a new monthly column by GAY TIMES Contributing Editor Jamie Windust. Here, Jamie profiles emerging designers about the intersections of style, identity and expression and how these factors inform their creative practice.

Adam Jones and his eponymous brand have become something of a cult classic, in no small part thanks to the IYKYK appeal of his beloved vests – brightly coloured garments made from upcycled beer towels and featuring the names of classic alcohol brands. 

They’re a walking advertisement for the nostalgic appeal of pubs: a place to hunker down with a Guinness or two and tuck into some roast spuds on a Sunday. And although Jones’s signature design has been worn by the likes of Dua Lipa and Barry Keoghan, they take inspiration from the designer’s upbringing in the small, small village of Froncysyllte near Wrexham. 

And it’s not just boozers that have whet the Welsh designer’s creative whistle. From PE kits to your granny’s doilies, Jones toys with the iconography of British life to exhilarating effect. Take a pair of silky football shorts which, with the simple addition of a white lace trim, shrugs off the machismo and rigid gender conventions associated with the beautiful game. Playful and irreverent, Jones’s work draws unexpected contrasts, splices up established meanings and ultimately encourages deeper reflection on baked-in ideologies we take for granted.

Jones’s most recent collection gives even more food for fashion thought. The aptly titled ‘Corner Shop’ showed off-season in October and pays homage, one primary-coloured apron at a time, to the fishmongers, butchers and grocers of Deptford High Street. At a time when gentrification is sweeping through South London’s communities, bulldozing small businesses to make way for Costas and luxury flats, this celebration of the area’s vendors feels touching, timely and very much needed. 

Intrigued by Jones’s camp humour and tongue-in-cheek references, GAY TIMES caught up with the designer to chat about the egalitarian power of the pub, learning to celebrate his queer identity and whether subverting gender norms in his work has changed his own relationship to masculinity. 

Your work evokes such a nostalgic reaction for so many people who grew up in pubs and working men’s clubs. Would you say this is a form of reclamation? Or is it more of a celebration?

I did grow up in these places but as a child it’s somewhere I felt intimidated or didn’t enjoy being dragged to. It was only when I got older and moved away from home I looked for comfort in the familiarity of these places. I think it was a backlash against the glitz and glamour of London and swanky bars, which perhaps intimated me more than a pub did. I wanted to find a place which reminded me of home and I grew to love the pub. 

It’s that typical thing of wanting to get away from where you grew up and head for somewhere more exotic, but then you’re drawn back to what you know, you miss the old man pubs you didn’t take advantage of when you were there. I think the pub is one of the only spaces that is democratic, there’s no bouncer or door policy – anyone can go. It’s the one place you speak to people you maybe normally wouldn’t, or meet characters you don’t usually surround yourself with. I just love the mix of people that share in the joy of a pint. Once you cross the threshold everyone is welcome.

Many designers who are part of the LGBTQIA+ community use their identities or community experiences within their work. Was this something you found you wanted to do? 

I don’t think I do that consciously. I should probably think about it a lot more. Most designers historically are gay men, so it’s not a difficult industry for me to fit into personally, not now that I am comfortable with being a gay man. Saying that, there was always a certain trepidation to begin with, wanting to enter the world of fashion. It felt like choosing this career was basically me outing myself, which I was not ready to do and found scary as a young boy in Wales. 

So I guess the decision to go for it and take the risk – as it felt it was back then – was a brave one for me, so now I’m just very proud to be gay and a fashion designer, which is a tag I was terrified of. I got into designing clothes because it’s something I have always wanted to do, I didn’t really really see it as embracing my sexuality. As I say, if anything, I was terrified of my sexuality; I just wanted to make clothes.

One of your early supporters was Judy Blame, the late stylist, designer and icon of London’s punk and queer scenes. What kind of impact did he have on you?

Judy inspired me so much. I had never met anyone in the industry like him, his ‘fuck you; attitude, the way he took the piss out of industry figures and laughed at himself was so refreshing to me. He didn’t take anything too seriously, except the work, that’s all that was important. It’s exactly how I felt; he encouraged me, took an interest in what I was doing and that allowed me to feel happy sitting on the outside. He made me feel it was cool to not be accepted by a dated industry, to do things my own way. If he liked my work, I was happy.

Has your own relationship with masculinity changed at all since you’ve had your brand?

Although my brand is for everyone, I find it more exciting to see my pieces on a traditionally ‘masculine’ figure. I think I have become more masculine, weirdly, as I grow up, which I can’t explain. I was definitely not a masculine child, a masculine teenager or a masculine young adult. I guess I’m more comfortable being masculine as the world progresses. I saw masculinity as something intimidating or maybe aggressive growing up, I was never one of the lads, so it was very ‘other’, but now I do feel masculine in my own way. 

Sometimes I worry I would fit in too much in my hometown now, which is a worry! Sinking a pint with the old fellas. I don’t find masculinity scary anymore, I’m interested in it, and inspired by it. What it is to be traditionally masculine, or the way a man would dress without thinking too much about what they’re wearing to go to the pub for example. It’s also fun to twist it a little by adding a feminine touch to something traditionally masculine, there’s a lot there to play with, like a lace frill on a pair of footy shorts, almost taking the piss out of the hyper-masculine or just softening it.

What’s the most important thing for a young designer to have as part of their mindset?

Don’t try to run before you can walk. Just focus on what you want to do and not really how you’re going to get there. Just do it, trust your instinct, do what you want, do the work and see what happens. 

Finally, what would you say to emerging LGBTQIA+ designers who want to start their own brands but who struggle to overcome the red tape that can often guard the industry?

Cut through the red tape. Don’t preoccupy your mind with what the industry considers to be the norm or the route to go down, just make what you want to make and people will notice. The right people, the people who like what you do and respect you and want to be close to what you do are the important ones. You can waste a lot of time being concerned with how this industry works and what it means to be a part of it.

I just want kids to be more punk and disregard the rules a bit. Dream big, it’s like the hare and the tortoise, slowly but surely you can do what you want to do, it just takes time. It can take a lot of time, but that’s ok. You need patience, perseverance and passion.

Check out Adam Jones’s newest collection here

The post Adam Jones celebrates the camp classics of small-town life appeared first on GAY TIMES.

We explore the history behind Japan’s growing ballroom and voguing scene and how key voices have transformed this space into a new form of Japanese queer identity.

WORDS BY KAT JOPLIN
HEADER BY YOSEF PHELAN

“Welcome to Japan, come and see the rising sun. Welcome to Japan come and see the rising sun” — this is the start to the 2021 Mizrahi Japan theme song, written by international legendary mother Koppi Mizrahi and her son, Kinshasa. I always get a shudder of excitement when I hear it. The collision of Koppi’s Japanese voice and language (“Look at me, bitch, wakatteiru?”), Kinshasa’s English chant and the vogue crashes remind me of the freshness of watching Japan’s ballroom grow.

Koppi and Kinshasa are two instrumental players in Japan’s ballroom (or ‘house ball’) scene, bringing not only vogue and vogue chants, but holistic ballroom house culture to the country’s queer spaces. And these spaces are all too eager. Like club kids in the mid-2000s and drag queen culture since 2010, ballroom culture is another case of queer subculture exploding as a global phenomenon, attracting mainstream attention with documentary films like Paris is Burning (1990) and Kiki (2016); drama series Pose (2018); and finally the three season-long reality competition Legendary (2020). 

While there are ups and downs to such mainstreaming and popularisation, particularly given ballroom’s roots as a space to protect the LGBTQ+ community’s most marginalised, one benefit has been the flourishing kiki and major ball scene in more countries than ever before, including East and Southeast Asian countries like the Philippines, South Korea, Vietnam, and Japan. Koppi and Kinshasa’s music, featuring a blend of English and Japanese slang and the quintessential cocky diva attitude, is representative of the new hybrid communities forming in Japan’s fresh ballroom scene.

Ballroom’s roots

In Harlem, New York, 1970s trailblazer Crystal LaBeija kickstarted the ballroom movement as a sanctuary for Black transgender women (fem queens) and gay men (butch queens) looking to compete in pageants and drag balls without racist white judges.

Through the following decade, ballroom became a rich subcultural space for Black and Latinx queer folk, who founded the first Latinx house, Xtravaganza, in 1982. Beyond beauty and runway walking pageants, ballroom included vogue battles (developed by Mother Paris Duprée around the same time Crystal LaBeija started organising balls), unique gender and sexuality systems that rejected mainstream heteronormative roles like “man” and “woman,” and a found-family system (the houses) for queer youth on New York’s streets.

LaBeija, Xtravaganza, Ninja, Mugler, and Revlon are all examples of ballroom houses that continue to this day. This moment became “expression of the house culture became the ballroom” as Ronald Murray, Father Ron ‘drama’ Xclusive Lanvin and one of the curators of Ohio’s House and ballroom culture, labelled it in his TEDx Talk on ballroom culture and history.

Through the decades in which ballroom existed as an invisible, underground, mise en abyme type of world, participants could escape from a wider society in which they were marginalised to a private society where they were mothers, fathers, victors, and trophy winners. These were precious spaces that returned queer people of colour their dignity and sense of belonging.

As the HIV/AIDS pandemic began, they also became places where queer youth could receive sex education, condoms, and testing. With these elements in mind, as well as the popularity of the different waves of vogue itself, it is unsurprising that ballroom quickly expanded across the cities of the United States and, by the late 80s and 90s, had developed a small but flourishing presence in Europe.

Since then, terms from the queer lexicon  – popularised by western LGBTQ+ media such as RuPaul’s Drag Race –  like ‘shade’, ‘werk’, ‘kiki’, as well as dance techniques such as hands performance and ‘death drops’ (referred to as dips in vogue) have been absorbed from ballroom dialect and often with some controversy. Given ballroom’s history, the new era of media interest and commercialisation feels invasive and appropriative to many, who are concerned the general public are only interested in the superficial aspects of ballroom or, worse, are weighing into the scene’s debates on gender and sexuality without understanding its history and socio-political importance first.

As time has passed, ballroom has found itself in dialogue with modern radical queer theory. The category of ‘realness’, for example, is one of the oldest in ballroom, and originated as a way to celebrate trans women’s ability to pass and survive outside in the wider world. Today’s queer community looks more critically at ‘passing privilege’. Similarly, ballroom’s gender-restricted categories such as Male Figure (masculine presenting), Female Figure (feminine presenting), Butch Queen (gay male), and Fem Queen (trans woman) can seem conservative and unfriendly to nonconforming and nonbinary individuals. Many longtime participants and leaders of ballroom resent the lack of history and context critics bring to these conversations.

On the other hand, the popularisation of ballroom has brought fame and financial gain to some of the best voguers and commentators (the MC’s who provide rap-like chants and songs during battles). Additionally, the documentaries, drama series, and reality TV shows showcasing ballroom, together with the work of international house leaders, has helped to continue spreading the dance and culture to even more distant countries. Many new participants stepping into a ball for the first time have a frame of reference and general history thanks to consuming these shows, connecting them to global queer history and heritage as a whole.

Welcome to Japan—1990 to 2011

While Harlem’s original ballroom culture grew from the bottom up (organically arising from the needs of New York’s queer community), ballroom in Japan has developed from the top down. Vogue became popular purely as a dance in 1990 with the release of Madonna’s hit song of the same name. This community-capturing song continued to flourish with the work of the first Japanese voguer, Fumi Xtravaganza, and voguing teams like Electro Musique Fusion in Fukuoka prefecture. However, this first boom largely faded by the turn of the century.

By 2005, we saw the debut of a Tokyo-based dance team called ASIENCE, who performed several hit vogue numbers on Japanese national television. This dance team did not spawn the new emergence of Japanese ballroom in and of itself, but the national broadcast did usher in several key figures who would: future House of Oricci father, Showtime Showta, in Hokkaido and future House of Mizrahi mother, Koppi, in Tokyo both saw the ASIENCE performance and became fascinated with their dance style.

Koppi already had a background in other dance styles like hip-hop and popping. Intrigued by vogue, she began teaching herself techniques using YouTube videos of vogue battles. Koppi eventually joined House of Mizrahi, inspired by pioneering dancers and choreographers Andre Mizrahi and Leiomy Amazon, and dedicated her career to nurturing vogue and ballroom culture in Japan by teaching queer history, house systems, terminology, and ball etiquette. 

Today, labelled as the Overall Legendary Mother of Mizrahi, Koppi is one of the highest-ranked ballroom participants in Japan, and is the teacher and mentor of many of Japan’s other top voguers and leaders. “I fell in love with voguing because it gave me a whole new persona,” she says. “I felt like I could be fully confident—like I’d never felt in my life before I started. I love the attitude [voguers] have, the atmosphere they create.” 

As an ally, she began working with queer colleagues Showta Oricci and her son Kinshasa Mizrahi to connect Japan’s vogue with its LGBTQIA+ community, including performing. By 2010, Japan’s voguers mainly consisted of professional dancers and dance teams with no connection to ballroom or queerness. Texas native Kinshasa, a voguer and commentator who first joined ballroom in the United States, described their early attempts at holding balls in Japan. “Most of the people there were straight women. They didn’t know they could yell and shout when someone dipped. It was so quiet in those first balls. It was uphill work for me and Koppi in the early days,” Kinshasa tells us.

Ballroom etiquette – which is often argumentative and fiery – is also, somewhat, at odds with traditional Japanese social culture, which encourages people to maintain a polite and cool facade. Differences in subcultural expectations and attitudes has led to numerous culture clashes throughout the expansion of Japanese ballroom culture.

The ball boom: from 2011 to now

From 2011, when Koppi and Kinshasa first began holding balls, until 2022, interest in ballrooms gradually grew in Japan’s cities—particularly Tokyo, where Koppi, Kinshasa, and Legendary star Chise Ninja were based, and Osaka where voguers like Showta Oricci and Ku Marciano held events. Outside of teaching and organising balls, Koppi frequently performed in Shinjuku Ni-chōme (Tokyo’s Gay Town) at drag shows and other queer events, hoping to bring more and more queer people to her class. “Actually, I always wanted to have a ball in Ni-chōme, because it’s the centre of gay culture in Tokyo. But I didn’t really have connections with them, so I was struggling to increase the guests and contestants from the gay culture,” she tells GAY TIMES.

By the end of 2021, when I started taking classes with Koppi and attended my first ball (the “Anime Ball,” organised by Chise Ninja), Japan’s ballroom had grown to a healthy, lively crowd with chants, trophies, and overseas guest judges—a far cry from the early balls described by Kinshasa.

The greatest breakthrough for Japan’s ballroom came in 2022, when wonder kid Hiha Babylon (a son of Koppi’s through her kiki house, Pinklady), began organising the monthly Kiki Lounge (a kiki ball) in Ni-chōme’s most popular gay bars. The impact on the ballroom scene was instantaneous. Hiha’s Kiki Lounge brought cheek-to-jowl crowds that crammed around the runway like a mosh pit. Popular categories like OTA Runway and Female Figure Face attracted dozens of contestants, often spontaneous walk-ons. Voguing classes and workshops held by Hiha, Koppi, Chise, and Greek-born Elena 007 are regularly filled with fresh students.

Into the future of ballroom

In December 2022, Koppi organised the Discovery Ball in Shibuya aka the highest-level ballroom competition in Japan. It was also my debut as a member of the House of Mizrahi. I remember pacing and clutching my phone in the changing room, grinning from ear to ear.

The venue was packed full of people. Familiar faces from the Kiki Lounge, but also voguers and house leaders from all over Japan who had travelled to Tokyo to judge or compete. Koppi was almost brought to tears as she addressed the crowd, thanking them for coming.

Japan’s ballroom, still young, is in a period of rapid growth and evolution. In just a few short years, I have seen it gather strength and velocity. In particular, I’ve been impressed by how the scene has adapted itself to be relevant to its local queer community, such as including drag queens like myself more heavily in its major and kiki houses and holding Drags Face categories in which we can compete. It is also a scene still open to innovate and welcome more diverse crowds of participants, taking cues from New York City icon Symba McQueen by implementing Gender Nonconforming (GNC) Face and Realness categories for nonbinary and nontraditional contenders, as well as spearheading a Lesbian Realness category to welcome more queer Assigned Female at Birth participants.

As one might expect for a subculture with a long and deep history, Japan’s ballroom leaders must balance respecting long-standing categories within the US ballroom system and experimenting with their own—a delicate process our leaders have excelled in. Japanese ballroom had a slow start in its early years, in terms of its existence as a queer space. But, it is exciting to see how the last ten years have transformed and accelerated its growth.

Today, entering a monthly kiki ball is like being hit with a wall of sound: chanting, cheering, and screaming. The crowd is full of familiar faces. The judges – stone-faced and terrifying – are my friends and my colleagues. It’s hard to chart the trajectory of Japan’s legendary new scene in the coming years, but the thriving scene fashioned here is unparalleled. And, in a matter of years, Japan’s ballroom community will be like any other. 

The post How Japan is raising its own legendary ballroom scene appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Meet the models and muses who are redefining the fashion mindset and paving their own creative paths.

Photographer Asafe Ghalib 
Words and Fashion Umar Sarwar
Art Director Jack Rowe
Hair Kieron Fowles
Makeup Kareem Jarche
Retoucher Daria Bologova
Photography assistant Sahar Mizrahi
Fashion Assistants Lily Hobman and Bradley Turner
Makeup Assistant Bridget Mogridge

Fashion! It’s a feast for the eyes. It rotates from the camp, the outrageous and the chic. When you gaze into its alluring eyes for a split second you’ll be left inspired, moved, and utterly awestruck by the power of innovation and creative design. It’s only when you dive deeper, past the immediate visual satisfaction, when you unpin, undress and loosen the seams. It’s clear that this seductive and blinding industry is built on and thrives on queer excellence and artistry. Queer creativity is everywhere, in every garment and image. Behind any iconic fashion moment, there is most likely always a queer spirit in the room guiding and facilitating its creation from ideation to conception. Fashion, afterall, provides a vibrant space where queer creatives can transform their lived experiences, unique energies and emotions, dynamic thoughts and feelings into works of art. It’s a place where one’s intersectional thoughts and identities can be explored and expressed with nuance and balance. Fashion, just like the people who exist within it, cannot be defined as one thing, word or look. It is an energy that lives in the eye of the beholder. It’s this thought that inspired us to showcase and profile three multi-dimensional queer models – Sheerah, Munya Jani, and Lucky Love – who are beyond the boxes the industry would like to place them in. They’re models, creatives, musicians, dancers, writers, speakers, change-makers and pioneers for a new wave of fashion.

Sheerah 

In your own words, how would you introduce yourself to the world? What are the key pillars that make up Sheerah? 

If I was introducing myself to people, I wouldn’t even talk about my occupation. There’s words that I feel strongly describe me, my essence and my viewpoint on life. So I would say an anomaly, an icon, a muse, and a God. I would also say punk because I feel like punk is an ideology and a state of mind, rather than just an aesthetic. I’ve always gone into spaces and demanded that I am in those spaces, rather than asked. In spaces where I also feel that straight, cis heteronormativity and whiteness has occupied it, I feel like I’m that opposing force. So these are the words and the ideologies, I think really describe me as a person. When people ask me, ‘What do you do?’ it’s a really hard question for me to answer because I feel, in many ways, being a creative – even that word – is so fluid, just as queerness is. I’m creative with a moral obligation. So it’s using the creativity, mixed in with me wanting to do something better in the world, and how I can use that creativity and the platforms that I have to create change, but also be someone that holds the door open so that other people can get in as well.

Sheerah for president! When you speak about being the opposing force, that takes a lot of confidence, assurance and strength. What was the process of accessing and activating that confidence? Was it always there?

I’ve always, even as a kid, been quite strong-minded. I always had a very confident personality. My mom, especially, encouraged us creatively and we did music and singing. We were always on stage; even in church, when there would always be a guy dressed up for Santa Claus. You know how everyone’s always scared to go up? My parents would go to the front and I had no choice!

My confidence was natural, but I’m still human, so I still had insecurities about the way that I am. When you become aware and conscious, you start to feel like, ‘There’s something wrong with this, there’s something wrong with that…’ So, you build this idea of confidence to the outer world. But actually, I wanted to completely take away that layer and be a confident person. To get to that place is not something that happened straight away.

For me, it took a moment of questioning everything around me and it started when I was a teenager. When we talk about beauty standards, for example, the way that I was feeling internally about myself as well, that started when I started looking into social movements and activist groups. I started to understand Black radical politics, Black activists and creatives. That really influenced me, even to explore my own identity as a Tamil person. The way that you see Black empowerment movements, like the ‘Black is Beautiful’ movement, there’s so much that I took from that as a non-Black person of colour because, a lot of the beauty standards that affect our communities correlate back to anti-Blackness. So many aspects of the way that I looked or aspects of my outer self that were scrutinised was because of my proximity to Blackness.

My dark skin, for example. Learning to love Blackness taught me to love my own self, because I had to dismantle my own internalised anti-Blackness and other attitudes – even internalised queerphobia – in order to even get to the place that I am now. When you start to realise that so many of the things that you’ve been taught are not actually things that you yourself think, you start to realise, ‘Wow, I’ve actually been taught a lie.’ It’s like having to take the building blocks apart. You’re gonna make mistakes along the way, but I think the idea of having confidence straightaway isn’t true. It’s a learning process of constantly being confident or more socially aware.

When reflecting on intersectional identities, whether that’s race, queerness or religion, do you think there’s a superpower or strength that exists there? 

I know that I have so much power. When people focus on one aspect of who they are, they’re missing out on all the other things that make up who they are. As an adult on this journey, I was just focusing on this part of me. Every single identity of mine, every single experience of mine, everything I’ve ever done, bad or good, has made me who I am. My power is when I understand that all of those things accumulated makes me so individual from anybody else. No one has experienced the things that I have experienced. No one identifies the way that I identify. There might be similarities, but my power is understanding that I am my own being and that is why I’m so confident in who I am and sure of who I am.

You’re unapologetic and fearless, often speaking your mind and truth on social media. What’s that experience and reaction been like for you?

I think that I see myself as this vessel. My image is going to precede my own lifespan. My picture is going to precede my own existence, and actually has nothing to do with me. Because of the identities that this body comes with and what it represents, it’s my responsibility to make sure that I present myself in the most unapologetic, out there way possible, especially for people that have never seen themselves in fashion or media. It’s saying, ‘You have every right to occupy these spaces too.’ It’s important for me to use my body as a way of empowerment to others.

I feel so powerful when someone comes up to me because of something I did and it made them change how they viewed themselves or the world around them. And that’s where my power comes from, I think. That’s the impact I want to have: teaching people on how they can be a better human being. Essentially, learning how to drop your ego because I think that’s where a lot of it starts.

We know Tamil representation isn’t plentiful in Western media, but who were some of the key people that inspired you creatively and personally?

The main people that made a huge impact in my life are my family. My grandfather was a Tamil civil rights activist and the first Christian Martyr to die in the Tamil struggle, murdered by the state of Sri Lanka. He was such a prominent person in that community and used the power or the privilege that he had to help those who are marginalised. I actively don’t use the word ‘activist’ but it’s in my bloodline to be so outspoken because that’s what I come from.

My parents never stopped me from what I wanted to do. In fact, they championed me. My dad instilled this immigrant work ethic in me. My mum pushed the creative and music side. Without them being open-minded and instilling certain values in me and my siblings, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. In terms of public figures, a personal hero of mine is Anthony Bourdain. He was more than just a chef. It’s the way he saw the world and human connection. He used food as that focal point but then he had so much knowledge in music and culture and all the people.

My existence is an existence of icons that have been brought together. I also have to give a moment to appreciate my best friend Ryan Lanji. He continues to champion, mentor and give opportunities to so many incredible queer and trans people. Also, I have to thank dark-skinned Black women because they have done the work that everyone else still fails to do. Growing up, I felt I wasn’t white enough. I wasn’t the right type of South Asian or North Indian or Punjabi. Then I wasn’t Tamil enough. It was always Black women that opened their arms and allowed me into their spaces. It’s important that the South Asian community also opens space for others. 

Lucky Love

Lucky, how would you introduce yourself to the world?

I’m Lucky Love, a super sensitive, loving and melancholic character whose only drama is to be in love with life. 

What are some of the key sources of inspiration that go into your music and art? How was Lucky Love the artist born?

My key sources of inspiration are The Italian Renaissance, pictural art in general, and the pure beauty of humanity. I’m fascinated by humanity and the holy aspect of it. Because an artist is only the witness of his time, I’m also very inspired by my surroundings and my queer community. Lucky Love is born from the urge to express ideas, to say out loud all the things I’ve been keeping in my chest for so long. My music is a call to my generation. 

Talk us through your journey as a model in the fashion industry, How did you get started? Did you face any challenges? 

I met the fashion industry through Umberto Leon, who was the Art Director of Kenzo at the time. I did my first show with Kenzo, but everything started after being shot by Craig McDean for Vogue in NYC. After this, I had to be strong and make my space in such a hostile industry. Back in the days when I started, we still had a lack of diversity and representation in the fashion world. It felt quite lonely at the beginning but then nine years later here we are, running the world!

What are some of your key moments so far as a musician and model?

The biggest privilege for me is the incredible artists I had the chance to meet and work with such as Craig McDean and Tim Walker. In the music industry, people like Bonnie Banane, Juliette Armanet and Lava La Rue. Even my producers, Paco del Rosso and Nomak. But I have to admit that when my song ‘MASCULINITY’ went viral on TikTok and became the international anthem of transmasc people, I was so proud. Without knowing it, creating a song that became a safe place for so many queer people is my biggest accomplishment.

Your documentary ‘Lucky’, which was shown at Tribeca Film Festival, ‘was an honest insight to your life and journey. How was it for you to share more of yourself in this way? 

The greatest vertigo of my entire existence. But, I felt like I had to share my experience. I had to say out loud what we never say. People have the tendency to think that when you’re famous you’re happy and you must have had a good and simple life. However, my love for my work and for life comes from all the adversity I’ve faced. My urge to express myself is just a way to turn what people would define as a drama into a beautiful and positive art object.

Your energy is infectious and playful. Where did your sense of confidence come from?   

I’m still trying to figure it out. Self-love is a constant job. I used to be part of the “fake it ‘til you make it” church but lately I’ve had to face my insecurities and learn to love myself. That’s what I talk about in my last song ‘NOW I DON’T NEED YOUR LOVE’. I’ve always been such a people-pleaser begging for love and consideration. I realised that all the energy and effort I was putting into other people, I could give it to myself first.

Your queerness is unapologetic and at the forefront of some of your songs including ‘MASCULINITY’, why is it important for you to share these experiences in your art? 

I want my music to be the refuge I didn’t have as a teen. I want my music to help people of my community to feel seen, represented, important, beautiful and most of all loved.

How can the world become more loving?

By focusing more on what brings us all together instead of focusing on what divides us. Realising the luck we have to be on earth, alive.

What are your dreams and hopes for the future?

My dreams are to simply get to know myself even better,  love myself and share this love with the world. I hope my music’s going to help me connect even more with my audience. I want to wake up every morning surrounded by people I trust and love and doing music more and more. 

Munya Jani 

How would you introduce yourself to the world?

My name is Munya Jani and I am a Black trans woman. I’m 24-years-old and originally from Zimbabwe. I grew up in Hull, where I completed my early education. I am a creative, lover and an active member of the Ballroom scene. In the London Ballroom scene I am known for walking the categories Best Dressed, Fashion Killa, European Runway and Voguer.

How did your modeling career begin? How were you discovered?

My modeling career began in 2019 when I was at university in Birmingham. Due to my personal style, I found myself modelling on my friend’s project. After this I began building my confidence in front of the camera, working on my poses and building my portfolio. This led me to getting signed in London and Birmingham. During this time. I walked my first London Fashion Week show and began booking jobs that would eventually bring me to London.

Where did your sense of style and self-confidence come from? 

From a need to express myself. I grew up with little choice, so in my love for fashion I found a freedom of limitless expression. I think of how I’m feeling on that day and gravitate towards items usually in some order of textures, patterns, silhouettes, comfort and accessories. My self-confidence comes from knowing myself and who I am. I’m grateful to know where I come from and the richness of my culture. I learnt to educate myself to unlearn the shame and stigma that can come along with an inherently racist society. My family, especially chosen family, allow my self-confidence to exude by continuous healing, reaffirming, communication and love.

What does the journey of self-love look like for you?

The path I’m currently on. I’m grateful and privileged to be coming up to one year on hormone therapy treatment. I’ve been on a journey of listening to the little girl inside of me. I’m relearning what it means to love whilst allowing my emotions to navigate my entity. In a world where others are so adamant on discussing realities that do not directly concern them, it takes a radical self-love to be able to withstand any of these perceptions – day in, day out. Overall, I am more aligned with my body, spirit and mind. There’s a peace I find day to day that is somewhat ethereal. It’s honestly a dream to be surviving and chasing self love throughout.

What does queer beauty mean to you?

Queer beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There is a uniqueness that transcends binaries and an abundance of creativity. It is a freedom of expression internally and externally. A beauty that’s found through a personal journey where you deconstruct what it means to present how you are and how you express it. 

How would you revitalize the fashion industry to make it more inclusive and diverse?

Inclusion and diversity needs to become a priority in the fashion industry. Over the past few years, we have seen some changes that bring previously marginalised groups to success. However, this is often done in ways that feel like tokenism. True inclusion and diversity would see a continuous wider cast with different body types, range across countries, queer identities, height, gender and different body abilities.

Although I understand the industry operates on who the client requests, casting directors and agencies can propose new faces and also continue to push for genuine and continuous representation across seasons. I am an active member of the Haus of Maison Margiela, founded in NYC, which is an organisation that addresses social issues that affect the Black and POC communities.

The Haus of Maison Margiela consists of some of Ballroom’s biggest icons, legends and the next generations of stars. The house prides itself on high standards of excellence across personal, Ballroom and professional lives. The Ballroom scene is international and active here in London, especially for the Black and POC queer youth who need it the most. You can find the next ball in London at Somerset house on the 12 August. Details can be found on Instagram @voguerites.

Who are some of your muses and figures of inspiration?

I have a long list of figures of inspirations and role models, but I have to begin with my parents. I am grateful for their sacrifices and hard work as they provided me and my siblings with better opportunities. My younger siblings bring me so much joy. My heart goes out to Ballroom and the chosen family I have found within this community. It continues to give me the strength to endure through life. The Ballroom icons and pioneers that have paved the way for me, I am ever in your gratitude. Some names include Iman, Naomi Tracey Africa, Michaela Jaé Rodriguez, Munroe Berdgorf, Simone, Erica Kane, Dominique Jackson (Tyra Margeila), Tempress, Amiyah, Tabytha and Neasy.

What are your biggest dreams for the future? 

I dream of a more peaceful future, where trans rights aren’t used in parliament as political weapons instead of directing attention to the issues at hand. To meet, work with and form good relationships with the creatives I adore in the fashion industry. Long runways, busy work periods, fashion weeks, Haute Couture, campaigns, editorials and more magazine covers.

I’m grateful to be working in fashion. I cherish all the opportunities I’ve received and I’m looking forward to the rooms I’m going to enter. Working as a model in London can be difficult, especially as a dark-skinned woman. The beauty standards mixed with racist and capitalistic elements force us in a cycle of either not knowing when the next job will come, or chasing invoices for work we’ve already completed.

Proper inclusion is catering to your talent immediately before and after jobs, which also includes our well-deserved payments. Healthcare for trans people in the UK is not adequate due to lack of government funding, and waiting lists can take several years. As people who have already given years of our lives, I urge you to see this through our eyes. Please help the transgender people in your communities begin or continue to access gender-affirming procedures and professionals that help me throughout my journey by donating to the link: https://www.gofundme.com/f/munyas-transition-fund

The post Fashion at the intersection appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Actor and activist Amandla Stenberg is the new face of Calvin Klein’s ‘This is Love’ collection.  The star speaks to GAY TIMES about the power of chosen communities, the queer people who have inspired them and the true meaning of Pride.

WORDS BY UMAR SARWAR
PHOTOGRAPHY BY KARIM SADLI

Actor and activist Amandla Stenberg is the new face of Calvin Klein’s ‘This is love’ collection.  The star speaks to GAY TIMES about the power of chosen communities, the queer people who have inspired them, and the true meaning of Pride.

For Calvin Klein, Pride is simply not just a seasonal celebration. It’s a year round, 24/7, eternal global presence, commitment and attitude. Acceptance, inclusivity and representation is woven into the heart of all their visuals, and this year’s installment of the ‘This is Love’ campaign is no exception.

For 2023, Calvin Klein wants you to Let it Out! To celebrate the collective euphoria at the heart of the LGBTQIA+ community. To dive into yourself and access inner sensuality and confidence like never before. We sat down with Stenberg to find out more on their sense of Pride and what this year’s campaign means to them.

Hi Amandla! Tell us more about your role in Calvin Klein’s new campaign, Let It Out, what does it mean for you to share your Pride?

Sharing my pride especially with other gay people is one of my favourite things to do! In all seriousness, this was a nerve wracking shoot for me but it felt free and meaningful. My body is the strongest it’s ever been right now. It has been a beautiful journey to accept its fortitude and endless generosity in the face of many things in my life that could have broken it. It’s been like a see-saw understanding its expression. It’s a joy to share that.

The campaign is partnering with NGOs including PFLAG, ILGA World and Transgender Law Center, how does it feel to be part of a project taking such impactful actions?

It’s a blessing when I can advocate through the exposure my job provides. Ultimately that is my goal. There have been over 120 bills introduced in the states in 2023 alone targeting LGBTQ people and the safety of transgender students, and restricting access to health care for gender dysphoria. These three organizations are wonderful to donate to, especially the Transgender Law Center, which has historically been led by and centred Trans Femmes of Color, who exist at the most precarious intersection. However, if donation is not an option, these organizations, especially the PFLAG, have pages of easily navigable resources. You can find information on how to engage with your local government, how to lobby against anti-LGBTQ+ bills, how to be a good ally, and how to support your queer children, family and loved ones.

Who are some of the inspiring faces in the queer community who have helped shape your sense of Pride?

Audre Lorde has a big place in my heart. I always return to the prologue of Zami. When Audre writes “I would like to enter a woman the way any man can, and to be entered… I would like to drive forward and at other times to rest or be driven. When I sit and play in the waters of my bath I love to feel the deep inside parts of me…other times I like to fantasize the core of it, my pearl, a protruding part of me, hard and sensitive and vulnerable in a different way. I have felt the age-old triangle of mother father and child, with the “I” at its eternal core, elongate and flatten out into the elegantly strong triad of grandmother mother daughter, with the “I” moving back and forth flowing in either or both directions as needed.”

The key messaging behind this year’s Calvin Klein ‘Let It Out’ are confident sex appeal and freedom, what does this look like to you? For those who may need that extra boost of inner confidence, how can they find it in themselves?

One of the best parts of being queer is there are a million ways to be sexy, a million ways to love, and a million ways to be worth being loved. Being queer is a continual experiment in truth. Your truth will resonate in its own way.

You have a lot of exciting roles coming up in the future, *cough cough* Star Wars’ Acolyte, can you tell us anything about your upcoming projects?

If I do, they will find me and they will kill me. But I can say I’ve never spent so much time training in stunts and I saw a LOT of aliens.

In line with their year-round support of the LGBTQIA+ community, Calvin Klein is proud to have committed over $220,000 USD to NGOs including PFLAG National, ILGA World, Transgender Law Center and more in 2023 to date; additionally, Calvin Klein Australia and the PVH Foundation donated $55,000 USD to BlaQ Aboriginal Corporation this year.

You can support these incredible organisations and look sensually chic when doing so by shopping the collection here.

The post Amandla Stenberg is ready to Let it Out as the new ambassador for Calvin Klein appeared first on GAY TIMES.