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 shit like me and the pages of my journal. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to understand that the  majority of the messy script holds anxieties and beliefs that are 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 humans. 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, Miss Gender (and hopefully you too) can exist unapologetically, exploring the ideals, fears, and stories that make up this confusing human experience. They prefer not to confine their explorations to a single medium; instead they express, question, and create through writing, mixed media visual art, poetry, and more. They hope this list keeps growing.

Of course Miss Gender could keep their musings to themselves, but they like to believe they’re 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 they 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 Miss Gender hopes 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. Being Miss Gender feels like covering myself in beautiful sparkles and ridiculous fake eyelashes, becoming a dragged-up, hyper-visible being 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!”