Always reminding me of the autonomy to make my own decisions, Anton and I are discussing what to wear this weekend when we travel to Manchester for the revered queer club night,’ Bollox!’ at The Deaf Institute. It’s April 2022.

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do” is becoming something of a catchphrase for my new boyfriend, who seems to have no idea that he is also my style icon. This conversation can be marked as the beginning of me dressing in all of Anton’s old clothes. All of the time.

He wears queerness on his sleeve and my attraction to it and he is out of this world! His eyes are like two big mugs of hot chocolate staring at me through locks of curly hair. The natural pout of his lips is framed with the beard of an Ancient Greek Philosopher. His body is beautiful, thick and decorated with tattoos… To summarise, I really fancy him!

Looking at the leopard-print shirt he’s holding up, I’m aware that in a room filled with the most extravagant and expressive queer club-goers, my ‘look’ for the evening is going to be rather modest in comparison. Still, though, I couldn’t help but wonder out loud, ‘Will I pull that off do you reckon?’ Anton tells me that ‘pulling things off’ is nonsense and that if one is to wear a piece of clothing which they like then they are, by default, pulling it off. It seems obvious, no?

I was 31 years of age. Although, a part of me was only 4 months old having came out as Queer/Gay in the January of that year. Believe me when I tell you this, In April 2022 I was fully in the throes of identity euphoria!

A bit of background on my relationship to fashion; my ‘usual style’ sits somewhere between slacker-by-summer and lumberjack-by-winter, all whilst maintaining a year-round serve of charity-shop-obsessive-come-parttime-highstreet-girl.

“It’s pretty standard stuff; She’s not a glamorous queen”

Anton’s look on the other hand is something else. Frankly, it’s stunning. His t-shirt game alone is something to be admired. He has a large collection of Limited band Tees and horror-movie merch. Not to mention his iconic pop-culture queer/activist items: ‘All Profits of this sale go to *insert awesome cause here*’ kind of vibes. He serves platform DMs, animal print shirts and louder-than-life patterns. This boyfriend of mine brings light into every room he enters.

The weekend in Manchester came and I changed into the suggested shirt, braces, jean cutoffs and my new (Anton’s old) Doc Marten shoes. What I could not and did not anticipate were the feelings of visibility, affirmation, truth, empowerment and the slightly invigorating sense of danger that washed over me as I looked into the mirror of the hotel room and saw a confident, tall-standing, gay-as-fuck man looking back at me.

“She had arrived!”

Anton wore his platform DMs, a leopard print Faux-Fur jacket, black jeans and a shirt. The colour of the shirt is something I cannot recall now due to it being discarded on entry to the club in favour of a Faux-Fur and Bare-Chested ensemble which rightfully caught the eye of a go-go dancer performing at the event. This led to my man being summoned to the stage to dance his arse off to ‘Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ indie sleaze staple tune, ‘Date With the Night’. And so he fucking should have!

These days, I can say with dead certainty yet some surprise that I am still in the throes of the euphoria I mentioned at the beginning of this piece. My style as a whole is very much the same as it was, though I will rarely leave the house without a set of fully painted nails - the accuracy of which would make any nail technician weep. She’s a messy queen, but she’s learning.

I still dig through the charity shops but I no longer just wear Anton’s old clothes. I have extended my options to include his current collection and our standalone wardrobe is anything but capsule. He must really love me. I also purchased my first pair of black corduroy (gateway dungs) and Anton decided on a humble pair of leopard print. 

You can read my Love Letter to Lucy and Yak Here.

it’s fair to say that I am no Fashionista and nor shall I ever be, the bar for that is high in our community but I proudly double down on my queerness now and I fucking love how my scruffy, glittered nails and/or T-shirt design can tell a person who I am when meeting me for the first time, I do not comply with the trappings of heteronormativity. In other words, don’t ask me if I like football! It’s not cute and I will not tolerate it!

I have moved away from the toxic worry of ‘looking gay’, that ugly hangover of internalised homophobia from all those years in the closet is well and truly dead now. And good riddance to her! I may even book to get my nails done by an actual nail technician. A boy can dream.

“There’s magic in being seen by people who understand—it gives you permission to keep going.”

Alok Vaid-Menon, Beyond the Gender Binary