about

You know those fuzzy pink diaries with a lock you can buy at Claires or the Mall? I have one collecting dust at the bottom of a cardboard box overflowing with journals. I was 5 or 6 years old when I received that diary, and it was likely the beginning of a slew of messages teaching me to lock up my thoughts, my fears, my feelings, and my desires. What a waste!

Don’t get me wrong, no one talks trash like me and the pages of my journal. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to understand that the  majority of my messy script holds anxieties and beliefs that are then cried onto my best friend’s shoulder, that morph into a new interest or project, that allow me to set boundaries, take risks, and make meaningful connections with other people. It’s in that pocket of vulnerability where I feel most human, most me. 

So think of Miss Gender as that pocket personified, covered in pink, purple, and blue glitter. Here, I (and hopefully you too) can exist unapologetically, exploring the ideals, fears, and stories that make up this confusing human experience. I try not to confine my explorations to a single medium; instead I express, question, and create through writing, mixed media visual art, poetry, and more. I hope this list keeps growing.

Of course I could keep my musings to myself, but I like to believe I’m not the only one who periodically watches Le Mis after having a panic attack, or feels extreme human-like attachment to the big blue fuzzy blanket I sleep with every night.

You know when you read a line in a book or magazine, see a specific piece of art, or listen to a song and you think, “Woah… that person really captured that extremely niche feeling I’ve been grappling with. I sure am glad I’m not the only person in the world who feels that way.” That’s what I hope to do here. 

Also, believe it or not, I don’t love being the center of attention. Being an autistic, gender-variant, disabled individual, it hasn’t always been pleasant for me to be visible, or simply exist. Existing in the world of Miss Gender feels like covering myself in beautiful sparkles and ridiculous fake eyelashes — essentially becoming a dragged-up, hyper-visible version of myself — one who is never afraid to take up space, to reach out a hand in what  can feel like a terrifying, violent, mystifying, beautiful world we live in and scream, “Hey! I’m feeling this too and it’s pretty damn terrifying!”